Swift (18 page)

‘The food was very good,’ she said to Molly. ‘I appreciate it.’

Molly paused in her combing, and her set expression relaxed. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said, and went back to brushing the horse again. There was a long silence while Ivy wondered what to say next, but then Molly spoke without looking up:

‘My mum didn’t used to ride much. But lately she’s been taking Duchess out all the time. I asked her once if I could ride with her, but she said no, she needed time to herself.’ Her voice turned acid on the last two words, and her hand clenched in Dodger’s mane. ‘Like she doesn’t get plenty of that already. Sometimes I wonder why she even bothered to have me.’

Ivy was silent.

‘Sorry.’ Molly rubbed her face against her forearm. ‘You don’t want to hear all that human stuff. It’s just…it gets hard sometimes, not having anyone to talk to. I mean, I have friends, but…’

Ivy felt an ache of sympathy. She knew all too well what it was like to wonder if her parents cared. And though she had friends in the Delve, the things she’d done and been through in the past week were more than she could expect any of them, even Jenny or Mattock, to understand. ‘You don’t need to apologise,’ she said. ‘I know what you mean.’

Molly gave her a watery smile. Ivy smiled back – and suddenly felt happier than she had in a long time. It was good to feel that she’d brought the human girl a little comfort, however small.

Yet she couldn’t stay here much longer, even for Molly’s sake. ‘I’m going to look for Richard,’ Ivy said. ‘I’ll be back.’ Then she changed to swift-form and flashed out the open door.

The yard dropped away beneath her, the low rectangles of the barn and cottage receding with it. She shot westward, passing over hedge-bordered fields and patches of woodland, bare ridges and grassy valleys, clusters of human dwellings and dark ribbons of paved road. Other birds flapped or flitted across her path, some much larger than she was and others smaller, but nowhere did she see a bird with Richard’s distinctive markings. Where could he have gone?

Ivy circled to the east, rising higher as her sharp eyes searched the air. Perhaps he was already on his way back to the barn, and she’d just missed him. Surely there was no reason to worry…

And yet she did. Because deep inside her, an instinct as sure as her sense of direction told Ivy that Richard ought to have returned a long time ago. And that if she didn’t find him there when she returned, then he wasn’t coming back at all.

Ivy paced the barn floor, her emotions an agonising spiral of impatience, confusion, and worry. What could have happened to Richard? Had he been captured? Hurt? Perhaps even killed?

‘I don’t think he’s the sort to take risks unless he has to,’ said Molly, when Ivy voiced her fears. ‘If you’d heard the way he talked the first time he was here, especially when he was ill…he doesn’t fancy himself as a hero.’ She stroked Dodger’s nose as the brown horse lipped the last fragments of apple from her palm. ‘I think he might just have decided it was time to go.’

But he promised my mother
, Ivy protested silently.
He said he’d bring me to her if he could.

And yet, surely Richard had done far more than Marigold had expected of him already? He’d risked his life, and nearly lost it, delivering her message. He’d done the near-impossible, by teaching her wingless daughter to fly. And if that weren’t enough, he’d saved Ivy’s life twice over, just to bring her this far.

No wonder he’d been so frustrated by Ivy’s stubbornness last night, her seeming ingratitude. No wonder he’d flown off to cool his temper – and if he’d decided in the end that it wasn’t worth coming back, who could blame him?

‘You’re probably right,’ Ivy replied, though there was a knot in the middle of her chest that wouldn’t go away. Perhaps Richard considered himself well rid of her, but she wished she’d had the chance to say goodbye.

‘Well, anyway,’ said Molly, wiping her hands and tossing the rag aside, ‘my mum’s gone to the grocer’s and she won’t be back for a while. Why don’t you come inside and get cleaned up, and I’ll make you some tea?’

Ivy ran a hand through her filthy hair. She longed to accept Molly’s invitation, but part of her feared to take the risk. If Molly’s mother returned unexpectedly and found an oddly dressed stranger in the house, there was no telling what might happen.

Yet Ivy could hardly go to Truro covered in dirt and bloodstains, either. And if Richard didn’t show up in the next hour or so, going on without him was exactly what Ivy would have to do.

‘Yes, please,’ Ivy said. ‘I’d like that very much.’

Such a strange place to live, thought Ivy as she followed Molly into the cottage. The tunnels and caverns of the Delve had rounded ceilings and gently bowed-out walls, but everything here was sharp angles, like the inside of a box. Instead of displaying the beauty and solidity of the surrounding stones, the humans had covered them with plaster and paint. And there were windows everywhere she turned, which made her feel exposed and self-conscious.

‘Here you are,’ said Molly, leading her to a white-tiled room crowded with unfamiliar shapes. ‘Leave your clothes outside the door, and I’ll—’

‘Wait,’ said Ivy. ‘Where do I bathe?’ She could see no water-channel where she could splash her face and hands, or a pool she could pump full and step into. There was a little bit of standing water in one basin, but she couldn’t imagine trying to get clean with it.

Molly broke into a grin. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’ she said, and Ivy would have been embarrassed, except that the other girl looked so delighted by her ignorance. ‘Well, if you want to have a proper soak you can use the tub, right here. First you put in the plug, and then you turn the taps like this. And you can use this towel to dry off after.’ She started the water running, poured in some liquid that made it froth and bubble, then waved cheerfully to Ivy and shut the door.

There was one alarming moment when Ivy couldn’t figure out how to make the water stop, but she managed to solve the mystery just in time. Soon she was blessedly clean, and shaking out her damp curls as she dressed in the clothes Molly had left for her. First came a turquoise blouse with short sleeves and a softly gathered neckline, then a pair of dark blue breeches that came halfway to her knee – both of them too wide for Ivy’s slight frame, but once she’d pulled the belt tight they fitted well enough. She hung up the towel, drained the bath, and went out.

She found Molly in the kitchen, pouring tea into two flower-painted cups. The other girl had set out a plate of split buns with butter, strawberry preserves and clotted cream, and as soon as Ivy came in she pulled out a chair for her. ‘I could cut up some cheese as well, if you like,’ she said. ‘Or make watercress sandwiches.’

‘This is lovely,’ said Ivy, reaching for the butter-knife. She had loaded up one of the splits and taken a bite – they were as good as anything Mattock could make – when Molly spoke again:

‘So how are you going to find your relative, if Richard doesn’t come back? Have you been to Truro before?’

The food caught in Ivy’s throat, and she had to take a sip of tea to ease it down. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure I’ll find her somehow.’ Though since she had no idea where the dance school was or what it looked like, it might take a while.

‘Oh,’ said Molly. ‘And when will you be leaving?’

Ivy’s hands tightened around her teacup, seeking its comforting warmth. There was a hollow feeling inside her, and she realised that she’d given up hoping that Richard would return. ‘As soon as I’m done here,’ she said.

‘And this relative of yours…’ began Molly, then stopped and gave an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, I’m asking too many questions again, aren’t I?’

Guilt stirred in Ivy. This girl had been so kind to her, and asked for so little in return. Was it really fair to leave her in the dark?

‘It’s my mother,’ she said. ‘She disappeared five years ago, and I never knew what had happened to her. Until I met Richard, and he told me she was alive, and wanted to see me.’

‘And she’s been in Truro all this time?’ Molly frowned. ‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? If she wanted to see you, why didn’t she come and find you herself?’

She was right, of course. No matter how hard Ivy tried to rationalise it, that was the one thing about her mother’s story that had never made sense. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps there’s a reason, but I won’t know until I see her. The problem is—’

She was about to tell her about Cicely, but a crackling noise from the front of the cottage interrupted her. ‘That’s my mum’s car!’ Molly exclaimed, snatching Ivy’s teacup out of her hand. ‘Quick – hide in my bedroom. Third door on the right.’

There had to be a better plan, but Ivy didn’t have time to think of one. She ran down the corridor to the room Molly had indicated, darted inside and shoved the door closed behind her. Heart drumming, she pressed her ear to the wood and waited.

‘Mum!’ exclaimed Molly brightly from the kitchen. ‘I was just making lunch. Would you like some?’

‘It looks more like tea to me,’ the woman replied, disapproval in her tone. ‘What a mess you’ve made! But I suppose. Go and get the other bags from the boot for me, please.’

‘Right,’ Molly said, and the front door banged in her wake. Ivy kept her ear to the wood, afraid to move. What if Molly’s mother guessed that her daughter had not been here alone? What if she came looking for the intruder? But no footsteps sounded in the corridor, and at last Ivy relaxed. She let her hands slide from the door, turned – and her lips parted in amazement.

Molly’s bedroom was full of faeries.

Printed on the coverlet and the draperies, etched on ornaments dangling from the ceiling, framed in wood or casually stuck to the wall, pictures of the Small People were everywhere. Faery dolls of all sizes formed a teetering pile in the corner, and the shelf beside the window was cluttered with little statues of them, from a glass-winged faery in pewter to a pottery piskey with a look as mischievous as Keeve’s…

Wait. The
window.
If Ivy opened it, she could change to swift-form and fly out. Dodging past the shelf, Ivy took hold of the right-hand pane and pulled. It creaked, but didn’t budge.

‘What’s that?’ came a sharp voice from the corridor, and Ivy’s mouth went dry. She looked about for a hiding place, but she could already hear footsteps clicking towards her, and there was no time. She dropped to a crouch and turned herself invisible as the door swung open, and Molly’s mother strode into the room.

She had changed out of her riding clothes into a floral dress that emphasised her willowy shape, and her hair fell in a smooth bell to her shoulders. She was pretty in a fine-boned way – though Betony would have said she looked unhealthy – but the hard, suspicious look on her face made Ivy shiver. Her eyes swept the room, searching…

‘Mum?’ asked Molly from the corridor. ‘What’s wrong?’

She sounded so innocent, as though she hadn’t a fear in the world. No wonder Richard had encouraged her to become an actress.

‘Never mind,’ said the woman, her gaze flickering past Ivy one last time. ‘It must have been the wind.’ She kicked a prop into place to hold the door open, then walked away.

Molly waited a few seconds before stepping into the room. ‘Ivy?’ she mouthed.

‘I’m here,’ Ivy whispered back. ‘Open the window for me, please?’

The girl hesitated, a line forming between her brows. For a moment Ivy wondered why she looked unhappy – then she realised, and felt a stir of pity. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to run away without saying goodbye. I’ll meet you in the barn.’

Molly’s face relaxed. She hurried to the window and slid the pane open, then flashed Ivy a grateful smile and slipped away.

‘I’ve got your clothes,’ said Molly when she came into the barn a little while later. ‘I had to work fast to keep my mum from seeing them, but I don’t think she suspects anything. Still…phew!’ She wiped her brow dramatically, and thrust a cloth sack at Ivy. ‘They’re still damp, though. Keep my clothes on for now.’

Ivy slung the bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m grateful for all your help,’ she said. ‘I wish I knew how to repay you.’

‘I’ll tell you how,’ replied Molly. ‘You’re going to let me come with you and help you find your mother. And don’t say I can’t,’ she went on before Ivy could protest, ‘because I looked up dance schools in Truro and there was only one that did dance
and
theatre, so I know exactly which one it is. If we get on the next bus, we can be there in less than an hour. And my mum already said I could go, so there’s no good reason for you not to let me.’

‘But what if Richard comes back, and you’re not here to—’

‘He’s not coming back,’ Molly interrupted. ‘I know he’s not. Because he did the same thing to me, last time.’ Her mouth twisted into an unhappy shape as she said it, but then she raised her chin again. ‘Are we going or not? Because the next bus will be here in ten minutes.’

Until now, Ivy had thought she’d be better off alone. But though flying to Truro might be quicker at first, it would be useless if she ended up lost the moment she got there. She needed someone who not only knew the city, but also understood the ways of the human world, to show her where to go and what to do.

And perhaps that was what Richard had intended all along, by bringing her and Molly together. Not only so that Ivy could get the help she needed, but so that Molly would get what she wanted, too.