Somebody Stop Ivy Pocket (19 page)

‘Doctor Benson?’ I snorted magnificently. ‘Doctor Benson told my godfather he had a mild case of hay fever – the poor man had a sneezing fit that
very
afternoon which took his head clear off. It shot right through the dining room window and killed his horse.’

‘I think it’s you that needs a doctor,’ said Victor with a raspy chuckle. ‘I might have a cold, but you’re off your rocker, you are.’

‘You are losing him, child.’

It was
her
. I looked about the room frantically. But I couldn’t see a ghoulish ball of light or a ghostly apparition in the bright sitting room. Then I glanced to my left and sure enough, there was the Duchess of Trinity in the potted fern. She was about the size of my thumb, and looked rather like a water drop on one of the leaves closest to my head.

‘I have the matter in hand,’ I whispered.

‘What’s that you said?’ Mr Grimwig looked mildly concerned.

‘Your flair for invention has broken the spell,’ said the Duchess sternly. ‘The way to his heart is through his cats, but you must act quickly, child.’

‘Very well,’ I whispered, ‘now kindly shut your pie hole and let me get on with it.’

Mr Grimwig’s forehead was etched with a scowl. ‘Did you just tell me to shut my pie hole?’

‘Not you, dear – the gasbag in the fern.’

‘I will have to ask you to leave.’ Mr Grimwig put the cat to one side and stood up. Straightened his tie. ‘Does your mother know you’re out wandering the streets trying to sell coffins?’

‘Yes, dear, it was her idea.’ I crossed the cosy room and knelt down beside the black cat lying in front of the fire. I stroked the beast most tenderly. ‘I adore most animals as a general rule but these lazy fur balls are definitely my favourite. I can see that you take excellent care of them.’

‘I try my best.’

‘It must worry you
terribly
knowing that after you are gone they will be thrown in a sack and drowned in the river.’

‘Never! Not my boys!’

‘Yes, dear, I’m afraid so. Unless you have family who will take them in?’

Mr Grimwig hesitated. ‘Well … no, I don’t suppose I do.’

‘Haven’t you any relatives?’

‘Well, I had a cousin, but she’s gone now.’

‘You must miss her terribly.’

He laughed drily. ‘She loved money and little besides – there are turnips with more Christian charity than that
duchess
.’

‘Slanderous jackass!’ bellowed the Duchess. Then she must have remembered the greylands, for her voice lost its fury. ‘Oh, but such
courage
, to point out what a horrible creature I was and smear my name. Bravo, cousin Victor!’

‘Mr Grimwig, if you die without planning your funeral, the city will use your savings to pay for a coffin and plot. But if you took up our generous offer, and purchased a
discount
funeral, you would save a great many pounds. Pounds that could be left for the care and well-being of your cats.’

Judging by the way his nose was scrunched up, he appeared to be deep in thought. ‘There’s some sense in that, I suppose.’

‘I knew you were much wiser than you looked.’ I jumped up. ‘My associates and I will come next week to measure you up, collect payment and whatnot.’ I slapped his arm in the way all businessmen do when cementing a deal. ‘When the Snagsbys call, it would help a great deal if you had taken to your bed.
Moan and groan. Dribble to your heart’s content. If you could wet the bed that would be thrilling. At Snagsbys’ Economic Funerals those close to death can save an additional five per cent.’

‘But I feel perfectly –’

‘Remember the cats, dear,’ I said sagely. ‘The less you spend on your funeral, the more you have for them.’

The delightful man nodded his head. ‘True enough.’

The Duchess of Trinity’s glow was alarmingly bright and filled the cab with ripples of blue light.

‘You have done well, child,’ she said, hovering above the seat opposite me as the coach carried me back to Paddington. ‘I am in your debt.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m overflowing with good deeds. Now tell me what is happening to Rebecca at Prospa House.’

‘I do not know the mysteries of the universe, child. One hears the faintest of whispers, the merest fragment passing on the wind … I only know that when the girl put on the necklace, her fate was sealed and her destiny tethered to this
other
world.’

‘How did Mr Blackhorn end up there?’

‘Perhaps he took a wrong turn.’

I folded my arms. ‘Are you not sorry for what you did to Rebecca? Because if you aren’t then our deal is off.’

‘I am crushed, child!’ wailed the ghost. ‘While I knew the stone was an instrument of death, I knew nothing of its
other
powers.’

‘And that’s supposed to excuse you?’ I snapped. ‘Because of you Rebecca didn’t reach her mother, which is all she ever wanted.’ The anger had drained from my voice and all that remained was sorrow. ‘Duchess, please help me – how do I bring her home?’

She sighed and it sounded like a lion’s growl. ‘I do not know, child – and I am sorry for that. But if it is answers you seek, may I make a suggestion?’

I nodded my head. ‘Go on.’

‘You’ve noticed that every Sunday your parents leave the house on private business.’

‘It’s hardly a secret. They go to Bayswater to visit Ezra’s sister.’

The Duchess was suddenly upon me, floating an inch from my face.

‘Follow them,’ she whispered.

Then the dead woman vanished through the roof of the carriage.

They set off on foot, as they did every Sunday, and walked to the train station. There they purchased two tickets and boarded a train. But not to Bayswater. Instead, as I sat in third class, one carriage behind them, we rolled out of London and headed south towards Sussex.

The Snagsbys got off at Arundel. Walked through the village without stopping. Over a small stone bridge. Along the only road leading out of town. I was magnificent. More shadow than girl. Slipping behind trees if Ezra stopped to wipe his forehead. Leaping into tall grass when Mother Snagsby turned her head even slightly. All the while staying wondrously undetected.

I expected them to turn at each farmhouse we passed, certain
one
of them must be their destination. They didn’t. Instead, they mounted a low hill and paused in a meadow, beyond which I could see a church steeple. Mother Snagsby and Ezra set to work, picking a large bunch of wild flowers between them. Then the ancient couple, backs bent, entered the solitary churchyard.

A low stone fence surrounded the vicarage, and I climbed it. Crossed the rather unkempt yard. Mounted the next fence and found myself not ten feet from where the Snagsbys had stopped. We were in a graveyard. I was hidden behind a crypt with a
glorious marble angel on either side. The Snagsbys stood before a white headstone. I was too far away to read what was inscribed on it.

There was an urn with some wilted flowers at the far end. Ezra pulled them out. Fetched some water from a nearby pump. Then filled the urn with the wild flowers they had picked. As he did this, Mother Snagsby retrieved a cloth from her bag and a bottle of something or other and began scrubbing the gravestone.

I cannot say exactly how much time passed. When their jobs were completed, the old couple sat down on either side of the grave. No words passed between them. At one point Mother Snagsby’s rounded shoulders began to shake. Just a little. I believe she might have been weeping. When they were done, Ezra kissed his hand and pressed it to the headstone. But Mother Snagsby did not. Instead, she leaned forward and laid her cheek against the stone. Keeping it there for the longest time.

Then they collected their things and walked slowly from the churchyard.

When they were almost at the bottom of the hill, I bounded between the tombs and was upon the grave in question. The white headstone sparkled in the morning sun as if it were brand new. But it wasn’t. The date carved in the stone told the tale – it was over thirty years old. And as I read the record of who lay in
the ground beneath my feet, I could hear my heart hammer in my chest. For it changed everything.

GRETEL MARGARET SNAGSBY

Beloved Daughter

Died, Aged Six

I came upon him as I was making my escape.

‘Ezra?’

When I had arrived home from Sussex the Snagsbys were still out – they were ordering a new selection of coffin handles and accessories across town and had left word with Mrs Dickens that they would not be back until late afternoon. When they finally returned, I said nothing about what I had seen that day. Nor did I quiz Mrs Dickens. I simply hadn’t the words.

Mother Snagsby looked awfully tired. Barely touched her dinner. And retired early to bed. For once she did not walk the halls.

Which was why I had used my key to unlock my bedroom door and slip out. My destination was Winslow Street. But really, it was Prospa House. And Rebecca. But as I passed the hall, I saw a candle burning in the sitting room. Ezra was in his favourite chair, a nightcap upon his head, staring out at the dark night.

I entered the room. How could I not?

‘Ezra?’ I said again.

He looked up at me, his eyes clouding over. He scratched his whiskers and seemed rather puzzled. I understood his confusion.

‘The lock on my bedroom door must be faulty,’ I said, sitting on a wooden chair beside the window. ‘I was in need of light refreshment and was on my way down to the kitchen when I saw the candle burning in here.’

Ezra nodded. ‘Seems neither of us is in the mood for sleep.’

What I said next was both the only thing that made any sense and the one thing I hadn’t the right to say. But all else was stuff and nonsense.

‘I followed you today. I saw where you went. I know who is buried there.’

‘Yes,’ said Ezra.

‘You
knew
?’

‘Wasn’t hard to see you skulking about behind us.’

‘But why did you not try to stop me seeing where you were going?’

Ezra shrugged. ‘A secret can be a heavy thing to carry.’

‘Does Mother Snagsby know?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Ezra, meeting my gaze. ‘I’d be awful grateful if we kept it that way, Ivy.’

‘Of course.’