Читать книгу The Whispers in the Walls - Sophie Cleverly, Sophie Cleverly - Страница 10

It’s not easy having to tell your father that, despite him believing the opposite, you’re not dead. But looking on the bright side: at least I was alive to tell him that.

Ivy and I knocked on the door of our childhood home the day after that first telephone call from the asylum (a lot of silence followed by a lot of shouting). Miss Finch had managed to get the school to pay for a room in a boarding house while everything was sorted out and Father made his way back from London.

It was a cold day at the beginning of November, and we stood shivering on the steps of the cottage.

The door was opened by a hideous she-troll.

“Oh. There’s two of you again,” she sneered.

“How nice to see you, dear stepmother,” I replied, pushing past her.

She huffed indignantly at me as Ivy followed me in. “Scarlet, if you think you can walk around like you own the place just because of what happened, then you’ve got another thi—”

She froze mid-sentence at the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Suddenly she put on a different expression like a mask, and pulled us into her arms. “Oh, girls,” she simpered. “I’m just so glad to have you home safe.”

Father stepped down into the hall. When his eyes met mine, he took a deep breath and adjusted his tie.

“Scarlet,” he said.

“Father.”

“I just … I can’t believe it. You’re here.” His normally cold exterior was showing some cracks – tears glinted in his eyes. I broke free of my stepmother, ran over and embraced him. He wrapped his arms around the back of my head, not quite touching me, but it was closer than we’d been in years.

Ivy hung back. “We need to tell you everything,” she said. “Rookwood isn’t just awful, it’s dangerous. And what Miss Fox did—”

Our stepmother snorted. “It’s all over now, isn’t it? This Miss Fox has run away. There’s no need to trouble your father with such things.”

Father straightened up and looked at his wife. “No, Ivy’s right,” he said. “I want to understand how this happened. Let’s go to the study.”

He led us away from her, and I couldn’t help feeling a little amused by how horrified she looked at being left out of the conversation. Why did she want to avoid the subject of what had happened, anyway?

We walked through the house, past familiar doors and fireplaces and furniture. The landscape of my childhood. Harry, one of my young stepbrothers, peered round a door and stuck his tongue out at me. What a way to welcome your sister back from the dead! I reached over to give him a slap, but Ivy grabbed my wrist and pulled me past.

Father’s study was still dull and sparsely furnished, with a mahogany writing desk, a chair and some filing cabinets. Ivy and I sat down on the floor, beside the fire that half-heartedly smouldered in the hearth.

Father sat in the chair and began polishing his glasses.

“I don’t know where to start,” Ivy said.

“I do,” I replied.

I told him everything that had happened. I told him about Vile Violet, my roommate who had bossed me around and spied on me and stolen my things. I told him about wicked Miss Fox, who had taken Violet away after she threatened to reveal a dark secret up on the rooftops. I told him how I’d tried to confront Miss Fox, only for her to smuggle me out of school and have me locked up in the asylum.

Father stared intently at the wall above my head, but I could tell he was listening from the sharp intake of breath every time I got to a shocking moment.

Ivy chimed in towards the end, telling him what had happened at Rookwood in the meantime. I’d heard more of her story in the boarding house and on the train. How Miss Fox had hidden me away to save her own skin, to stop anyone finding out that she had an illegitimate daughter. Not to mention that she was funding her lifestyle with the money paid by parents as school fees (perhaps explaining why the only thing on the dining hall menu was stew).

“It was a nightmare, Father,” I finished, “and I’m just so glad to be home. So can we stay?”

He looked at me. “No.”

“Why?” I gaped at him.

He took off his glasses and put them down on the desk. “Scarlet, you know why. You’ve got to go back to school.”

I felt a wave of unease wash over me.

“But Father, someone from that school put Scarlet in an asylum and pretended she was dead,” said my twin. “You can’t send us back there!”

I looked at her, surprised that shy, timid Ivy had spoken out for once. But our father didn’t seem to notice. “It was just that Miss Fox character. And she won’t be returning.”

I stood up, fists clenched. “I won’t go back there! You can’t make me!”

Father didn’t rise to it. “Edith hasn’t got time to run around after you two. She has the boys to think of.”

Edith. Our stepmother. I hated the way he said her name. It was clear he cared about her more than he cared about us.

I heard Ivy mutter something at the carpet.

“What was that?” Father asked.

She climbed to her feet. “I said, are you sure Edith wasn’t involved with this? She was the one that told us Scarlet was … you know … She was the one who identified the body, wasn’t she? She offered to take care of the funeral arrangements, everything …”

Our father went deathly silent, and for a second I thought he was going to slap her. But his breath came out shakily and then he spoke again. “Don’t be foolish. She cares for you. We both do. That’s why we want to see you get an education, and become independent young ladies.”

Ivy stared at the floor, and I knew she was remembering the first time he had said that. The first time he sent me away.

“Father,” I said quietly. “Don’t. Don’t send us back to Rookwood. Please.”

He shook his head. “I know you’ve had a difficult time. I’ll think about it.”

Father ushered us out of his study, leaving us standing in the hallway. I gritted my teeth, and contemplated giving his door a good bashing. But then I spotted Harry’s gormless face staring at me from the parlour door.

I ran over and into the room. He tried to duck down behind the armchair, but I grabbed him by his collar and pulled him up.

“What are you up to, you little weasel?” I demanded.

“Nothing!” he said, scrabbling and trying to get away.

“I bet you were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

He kicked me in the shins. I was momentarily distracted and dropped him. “I wish you’d go away again!” he yelled, running to the other side of the room and trying to flatten out his scruffy hair. Which was pointless, because it always looked like a bird’s nest.

“You little …” I started, raising my fist. Ivy clutched my arm.

“Mummy hates you,” he said. “We’ve all been better off without you. We’ve actually had money and I got new shoes and—”

He probably would’ve continued that sentence, but I barrelled towards him. I tried to grab him again, but he ducked under my arms and ran away shrieking. Ugh. What a hideous brat.

In the suddenly quiet parlour, Ivy spoke.

“Scarlet,” she whispered. “I think I might have been right. I think our stepmother was involved with this. If they had more money, maybe that’s because she was bribed by Miss Fox to go along with it.”

I squeezed my fists so tightly that I could feel my nails digging in. “I bet she was. That disgusting TROLL. I’ll kill her! I’ll—”

Ivy interrupted. “But say it is true. How did Miss Fox know that our stepmother wanted us out of the picture?”

I felt my cheeks turn hot. Of course. There was something I’d forgotten. “Ah. My first day of school. We may have had a small argument in front of everyone, including Miss Fox. I might have been a bit insulting to our dear stepmother, and she may have started yelling that I was a leech and it would be better if I disappeared forever.”

Ivy sat down heavily in the armchair and put her head in her hands. “Scarlet,” she said finally, her voice muffled, “are you saying at least some of this whole mess was just because you can’t control your temper?”

I shrugged. How was I to know that Miss Fox would turn out to be so evil that she’d try and convince everyone I was dead?

After what seemed like an age of Ivy trying to calm me down, I decided that we should go to the garden. Down past the thorn bushes and out into the thin woods, there was a winding footpath that led to a clearing and a babbling brook. It was a special place for us. A good place to escape to.

As we walked past the study door, I heard raised voices. It was Father and Edith. I came to a stop, Ivy nearly walking into the back of me.

“…HAVE to send them back.” The sound of our stepmother’s voice floated through the door. I leant up against it, and reluctantly Ivy did the same. “They need to grow up.”

“I’m just not sure, dear.” That was Father. “Do we really think they’ll be safe there?”

“They’ll be fine,” snapped our stepmother. “It’s just a school! I can’t COPE with them here, you know that. They need to go.” And then, the killing blow. “It’s them or me!” she screeched.

“Her,” I whispered. “Say her!”

There was an unbearable pause.

When Father replied, his voice was quieter, and I strained to hear it. “I’ll take them back in the morning,” he said.

We were allowed to stay for supper and had a bed for the night, but that was all. Father was shipping us back to Rookwood first thing the next day, a fact that had left me spitting with anger while Ivy tried to comfort me. Father left me to “get used to it”. He was lucky I didn’t snap his stupid glasses in two.

Our stepmother dished up burnt roast lamb and soggy vegetables for dinner, whilst simpering about what brave girls we’d been. Harry and the other boys, Joseph and John, didn’t seem to care that we’d ever gone away, and were their usual horrible selves, pulling faces and flicking peas at us. I scolded one of them and the troll flicked her eyes up at me, nostrils flaring, as if I’d attacked him. But she didn’t dare say a word in front of Father.

Exhausted, Ivy and I made our excuses and climbed the steep stairs to our bedroom. I flicked on the little brass light switch, illuminating the two matching beds side by side, and the tall mirror between them. There was a cupboard and some curtains, but besides that the room was bare.

I carried my suitcase inside, a small leather one that contained a few of my possessions. Much as Miss Fox had been a repulsive witch, she had at least allowed me that much when she threw me into Rosemoor Asylum. She must have told the doctors so many lies about me to convince them I was hysterical, a fantasist, and needed to be locked away for my own sake and for the safety of others. I shook my head fiercely. I was never going back there.

“Oh, Scarlet,” said Ivy, sinking down on to her bed. A little cloud of dust flew up from the white sheets. “What are we going to do?”

I flopped onto my own bed. “Poison Edith? Run away?”

“No poisoning, Scarlet. And we can’t run away from everything. We don’t have any money, or a motor car. They’ll just catch us and send us straight back to Rookwood.”

“We’ll dig an escape tunnel,” I said. But I was being stupid, and I knew it. We were stuck.

My twin gazed up at the plaster on the ceiling. “It could be worse.”

I hated Rookwood. Every inch of the place was filled with terrible memories. “How could it possibly be worse?”

“I could be alone.”

She smiled at me then, a smile that flowed from the depths of sadness, and I felt a piece of my anger float away.

“You’re right,” I said. “We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

I jumped up on the bed, shoes on, not caring.

“If we have no choice but to go back, then we’re going back. Rookwood School isn’t going to know what hit it!”