place.”
Her eyes widened considerably. “Well, gosh.” She paused. “That’s quite an honour. It’s a prestigious school, isn’t it?”
Rookwood School. Barely a few months ago, just before the summer had begun, Scarlet had died there. A sudden fever, they said, flu or pneumonia; something that couldn’t have been predicted or prevented. My stepmother casually told me these explanations as I sobbed, as if they meant nothing, when half of my world had just been torn away.
I never wanted to go to that place. Not now, not ever.
I looked up at my aunt, her gentle face framed by greying hazel curls. “And your father has already agreed to it?”
I sighed. It was just like him to agree such a thing without telling me. “According to the letter. It says the fees have been paid in full.”
“Well, then it’s decided, my dear,” said Aunt Phoebe.
I didn’t reply.
“I’ll leave you to think about it,” she said brightly, patting me on the leg. Then she wandered off down the garden path, past the privy and the vegetable patch, and began pulling weeds. She started to sing quietly to herself, already a world away.
I felt helpless, like I was being slowly dragged towards Rookwood, a place only seen in my imagination, but nonetheless it filled me with terror.
Maybe it will be a good thing, I tried to tell myself. A new start, new friends. Any friends. After all, Scarlet had always said she wished that I could join her there. I would be closer to her there, somehow, wouldn’t I?
Without warning, I started to cry and hastily wiped the tears from my cheeks. Who was I kidding? The last place on earth I wanted to go was the place where Scarlet had … Just thinking about it made my head pound.
I threw the stupid letter on to the grass.
Aunt Phoebe looked up, clutching a handful of straggly dandelions. I put my head in my hands and heard her walking back towards me down the gravel path.
“Oh, Scarlet,” she said, looking over me with blank eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be all right going to this school. I’ll miss you terribly, of course, but you will be fine on your own, won’t you?”
She didn’t even notice her mistake.
I didn’t think I would ever be fine on my own.
Sometimes I would look into the water just to see my green-tinged reflection staring back at me. It was almost enough to pretend Scarlet was right there with me.
Almost.
“Ivy!” My aunt’s voice rang out from the back door.
I sat up so quickly I almost dropped the book in the pond.
“Ivy!” she called again, despite the fact that I was looking straight at her. She was wringing the ends of her apron in her pale hands.
“Yes?” I answered.
“You’ve got a … visitor. It’s a teacher from the school.”
So soon? I wasn’t ready for this now. But then, maybe I never would be. I cautiously walked back to the cottage, curling my toes over the hard stones.
“A lady,” she added, before gently pushing me into the kitchen.
The lady was tall and skinny, and wore a long dress that looked several sizes too large. It was black and covered with pockets. Her face was sharp and pointed, and her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun that made it look like she had a row of clothes pegs on the back of her head, pinching her skin tighter. It was not a particularly pleasant face to look at, especially given that she was fixing me with the expression of someone who has just chewed a rotten wasp.
“Ivy Grey?” she said.
“Yes?” I replied, stunned.
“Yes Miss. I trust that you have received our letter?”
“Yes, Miss.” I nodded carefully, and watched as she stalked around the kitchen table. She ran a finger along the surface, then scrutinised it in a most unladylike manner. “Good. Then you will accompany me to the school.”
I blinked. “Right now?”
The woman lowered her eyebrows and folded her bony arms. “Yes, right now. It is the beginning of the term. Therefore, you are supposed to be at school.”
I turned around, and saw my aunt standing there, wide-eyed.
“Aunt Phoebe?” I said, giving her a pleading look.
“Excuse us a moment,” she said to the teacher, gently pulling me back into the hallway. “Oh, my dear,” she said quietly. “She does seem strict, but it is a very good school, and they’re bound to be rather, um …”
“But Aunt Phoebe …” I whispered, “I-I thought there’d be more time.” Truth be told, I was a bit worried about my aunt being all alone too. “And what about you?” I asked.
My aunt smiled vacantly. “I’ll get along just fine.”
I peered back through the door at the horrible sharp woman, who was tapping her foot and glaring at me with squinty eyes.
“I haven’t got all day,” she said, haughtily. “Go and get your things.” She gestured upstairs, the contents of her pockets jangling as she moved.
Scarlet would have stamped on that tapping foot. But me – well, I did as I was told.
I climbed the stairs with a shudder. Everything about that ghastly woman in the kitchen made me nervous.
My bedroom was through a little doorway off the landing, built for someone a great deal smaller than me. It had a low-beamed ceiling and a window with warped panes of glass. When I came to stay at Aunt Phoebe’s house, it had seemed so lonely at first; obvious that there was no room for a twin. But it had grown to feel like home, and I was sad to be leaving it.
I reached under the bed to find my blue carpet bag. I filled it with my few possessions – a comb, toiletries, metal hair-curling clips, stationery and ink, some books, the half string of tiny pearls that I had inherited from our mother, Emmeline. She had died shortly after giving birth to Scarlet and I, so we never knew her. Maybe if she had been there to look after us, Scarlet would still be alive
