The Dance in the Dark. Sophie Cleverly

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The Dance in the Dark - Sophie  Cleverly

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       Chapter Twenty-four: Scarlet

       Chapter Twenty-five: Ivy

       Chapter Twenty-six: Scarlet

       Chapter Twenty-seven: Ivy

       Chapter Twenty-eight: Scarlet

       Chapter Twenty-nine: Ivy

       Chapter Thirty: Scarlet

       Chapter Thirty-one: Ivy

       Chapter Thirty-two: Scarlet

       Chapter Thirty-three: Ivy

       Chapter Thirty-four: Scarlet

       Chapter Thirty-five: Ivy

       Chapter Thirty-six: Scarlet

       Chapter Thirty-seven: Ivy

       Chapter Thirty-eight: Scarlet

       Chapter Thirty-nine: Ivy

       Chapter Forty: Scarlet

       Chapter Forty-one: Ivy

       Chapter Forty-two: Scarlet

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       Also by Sophie Cleverly

       About the Publisher

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       Chapter One

       IVY

      As new beginnings go, it was a good one.

      The sun was making its first attempt at shining after the long dark winter. I had my twin by my side – Scarlet was lounging on the grass, pretending it was warmer than it really was. Tall trees towered over us, their fresh buds stretching towards the sky.

      And, well, we were back at Rookwood School. That part wasn’t so good, but things were better than they were last term. Mrs Knight, the interim headmistress, welcomed us in the foyer with a big smile on her face. The school hadn’t had much luck with headmistresses and headmasters of late – Miss Fox was still on the run after being accused of embezzling money, not to mention hiding my sister in an asylum and pretending she was dead. And Mr Bartholomew had been no better. The cruel headmaster had finally been locked up for his involvement in the death of a pupil decades ago. Now the school was headless, so to speak, and Mrs Knight was left in charge.

      We’d had our first day of lessons of the spring term, and there hadn’t been a caning in sight. All the teachers seemed happier. Even Violet seemed happier, and that was a feat in itself.

      “Everything’s rather good, isn’t it?” I said to my twin with a happy sigh. I was a little chilly in my thin uniform, and the grass was damp, but the view down the long driveway of the school was beautiful now that everything was turning green again.

      Scarlet looked up at me, unimpressed. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

      I wasn’t, but I was trying my hardest to be airy and cheerful. Of course, Scarlet had to bring me right back down to earth with a bang. Ariadne. Our best friend had been expelled before Christmas, after she was blamed for the fire that Mr Bartholomew had set to cover his tracks. Even after her name was cleared, her parents didn’t want her coming back to Rookwood.

      It felt like there was an Ariadne-shaped hole beside us. Several times that day I’d gone to tell her something, or expected her to pipe up with a jolly comment, only to be met with silence.

      “I’m sure she’s happy at home,” I said weakly.

      Scarlet sat up, grass stuck all down the back of her dress. “Oh, come on,” she said, giving me a gentle shove. “Cheer up, Ivy, things are better. Let’s make a list.” She pulled out her pen and a tatty notebook, the one she’d been using in place of her old diary. “One: no headteachers are going to try to murder us. Two: no more nasty punishments. Three: everyone’s getting on. Penny has even stopped hating Violet.”

      Penny Winchester and Violet Adams were former archenemies of Scarlet, and they’d had their own massive falling-out last term. It was true that they had finally made up, although that mostly involved not speaking to each other. “I’m not sure whether that should be on the list of good things,” I said. “Do we really want them teaming up again?”

      My twin chewed the end of her pen thoughtfully. “Good point. All right, scratch that one. Now we need a new number three.”

      “Well,” I said, “Christmas was nice.”

      We’d been allowed to spend Christmas with our Aunt Phoebe, Father’s scatterbrained sister, after she’d found the courage to stand up to our meddling stepmother. I’d lived with our aunt for years before I came to Rookwood, when Scarlet was away at the school. Although I didn’t like to admit it, she’d always seemed to prefer the company of my twin, which was rather strange given how opposite they were.

      “Three: Christmas,” Scarlet said aloud as she jotted it down. As an afterthought, she added, “excellent plum pudding.”

      I smiled. It had been so strange for me, seeing Scarlet in the cottage where I’d lived when I believed her to be gone forever. Strange but wonderful. I hadn’t even minded when Aunt Phoebe burned the turkey, or when she’d given me the

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