Copyright

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk

Scarlet and Ivy: The Lost Twin

Text copyright © Sophie Cleverly, 2015

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers, 2015

Cover illustration © Kate Forrester; Interior illustration © Manuel Šumberac

Sophie Cleverly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007589180

Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780007589197

Version: 2016-06-01

For Mum and Dad, who made everything possible.

For Ed: we have everything to look forward to.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Acknowledgements

Read on for a sneak peek …

About the Author

About the Publisher

his is the story of how I became my sister.

I got the letter on September the first. I remember that because it was the day after our thirteenth birthday. My thirteenth birthday. The first one I wouldn’t share with my twin sister, Scarlet.

I woke up and made my way down the winding stairs of my aunt Phoebe’s house, breathing in the smell of bacon cooking as I went. The early morning sun was already warming the air. It could have been a good day.

As I emerged from the shadow of the stairs and into the sunlit hallway, I noticed it. An envelope lying on the stone floor.

For a moment I thought it might be a belated birthday card – the only card I’d had that year was from my aunt, and looking at the single, lonely name written at the top had hurt more than I could say – but as I picked the envelope up it felt more like a letter.

Scarlet had always liked to send me secret messages, but she sealed her letters so haphazardly that you could probably have opened hers just by breathing on them. This one was closed tightly and sealed with wax. I turned it over and saw that it was addressed to my aunt. I ought to open it, I thought. Aunt Phoebe didn’t object to me reading her post. In fact, it was usually necessary; she just let it pile up in the hallway if I didn’t.

I went into the kitchen and sat down on one of the rickety chairs. I took a closer look at the seal on the envelope – it was black, with a raised imprint of a bird on top of an oak tree. The words ‘Rookwood School’ were stamped underneath in dark-coloured ink.

Rookwood School. Scarlet’s school. Why were they writing to Aunt Phoebe?

I slid a butter knife from the drawer along the envelope.

Mrs Phoebe Gregory

Blackbird Cottage

Bramley Hollow

30th August, 1935

Dear Mrs Gregory,

As you are the guardian of Ivy Grey, I am writing to inform you that in light of recent unfortunate circumstances a place has become available at our school, and your niece will take it. Her parents have fully paid the fees and she is due to start as soon as possible. A teacher will be sent to collect her and the details will be explained upon her arrival.

Regards,

Edgar Bartholomew (Headmaster)

I threw the letter down as if it had singed my fingers. Could they really be referring to my sister’s death as ‘unfortunate circumstances’?

I sat and stared at it, questions racing through my head. For some reason, Rookwood School wanted me – the twin who wasn’t good enough. Surely there were hundreds of other girls they could give the place to. Why me?

It was then that I noticed that the smell of bacon cooking had turned into the smell of bacon burning. I jumped up and ran to the iron stove, waving the smoke away from my face. It was too late; the bacon was already cremated.

Aunt Phoebe must have wandered off somewhere in the middle of cooking. This was a common occurrence. I glanced out of the kitchen window and spotted her sitting on the bench in the garden, her hands folded neatly in her lap and a faraway expression on her face. Aunt Phoebe’s husband had died in the Great War, leaving behind only a study full of books and a small pension for my aunt. She hadn’t been quite the same since.

I grabbed the letter and went outside. My aunt didn’t look around even though my footsteps crunching on the gravel betrayed my presence. She was watching the goldfish in the pond. Little ripples curled as they bobbed to the surface and then darted away, their golden scales glinting in the sun.

“Aunt Phoebe?”

“Oh, Ivy,” she replied, blinking up at me, and then returning her gaze to the water. “I didn’t see you there, dear.”

“You got a letter from—” I started, but my aunt interrupted, seemingly unaware that I had spoken.

“Scarlet loved the fish, didn’t she? I remember when you were little, she used to kneel by the pond and make faces at her reflection. She always said that it was like another twin, only even wetter than you.”

I gave a weak smile. Typical Scarlet. She made fun of everyone, and me the most, but I never thought anything of it. Or tried not to, anyway.

Scarlet and I were mirror twins. Before we were born, our mother thought she was having only one baby, but then I arrived – a slightly smaller and weaker version of my sister, but a perfect mirror image. Our birthmarks were the same but on opposite sides. I was left-handed while Scarlet was right-handed. Aunt Phoebe’s husband, Doctor Gregory, had once told me that our hearts might be reversed too. I was like Scarlet’s reflection come to life.

I sat beside Aunt Phoebe on the bench. It wasn’t surprising that my aunt’s thoughts were of Scarlet. She had always been everyone’s favourite, bold and brash and outgoing. I was just Ivy. Shy, clingy Ivy. I could have been Scarlet’s reflection, but I might as well have been her shadow.

“Oh goodness, I am sorry,” Aunt Phoebe said. “I was just reminded of her.”

“I understand,” I said.

But I didn’t. I didn’t understand why Scarlet had died. I didn’t understand how someone so full to the brim with life could be gone. I didn’t understand why God, if he was up there, would give me a twin only to take her away again.

Or that somehow the world was still carrying on.

“You got a letter,” I repeated, waving it at her.

Aunt Phoebe looked up. “Oh? What does it say?”

“They want me to go to Rookwood. To take Scarlet’s 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.

t was a bright day that followed, one of those where it feels so hot and hazy that you can’t believe the summer is coming to an end. I was lying flat on my back on the stone edge of the pond, reading a tattered copy of Jane Eyre and trying my best to forget about my impending Rookwood fate.

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 now.

I threw in my underclothes and my best dress – all of which bore the strong scent of lavender from Aunt Phoebe’s drawer liners – even though I knew that I would be required to wear a uniform at Rookwood School. I took out my ballet clothes, the cream leotard and skirt, and the black set too. I wrapped the soft pink shoes in tissue paper before packing them. They were almost new, and I prayed they would last a few months at least.

It had taken no time at all to pack the contents of my life. Now the little room looked bare and sad. As I laced up my leather shoes I stared at the floorboards, trying to convince myself everything was going to be all right.

You’ll be fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s only a school.

I shut my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. And then I traipsed back downstairs with my bag.

“Are you ready to go?” Aunt Phoebe asked. “I’m sure Mrs … Miss, I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Miss Fox,” snapped the woman.

“I-I’m sure Miss Fox will look after you,” Aunt Phoebe said, without raising her gaze to meet my eyes. She placed a hand on my shoulder, reassuringly. “I’ll see you soon, Ivy, my dear,” she added, planting a kiss on my forehead.

“I hope so,” I said, managing a smile. “I’ll write.”

Miss Fox’s foot began tapping even faster. “We haven’t got time for niceties. The driver is waiting.”

I winced and clutched hold of my bag more tightly, then I followed Miss Fox into the lane, where the bright sunshine hit my eyes.

“Goodbye, darling,” said my aunt.

“Goodbye,” I mouthed back. And before I knew it, I was being bundled into the back of an expensive-looking motor car.

The smell of leather seats and the smoke from the driver’s cigar hit my nose instantly.

“Sit up,” snapped Miss Fox, as she climbed into the front.

“I’m sorry, miss?”

She turned and looked at me as if I were a sick sheep. “Sit up straight when you’re in my vehicle. And kindly avoid touching the seats.”

I folded my hands in my lap and began to ask, “How long will it take to—”

“Quiet!” she interrupted. “All this senseless chatter is giving me a headache.”

The engine chugged into life as I leant back and tried to take some deep breaths, but the fumes made me cough. Miss Fox tutted loudly.

All I could see of the driver was a flat tweed cap and the grey hair on the back of his neck. He said nothing, simply nodded and pulled away.

I peered out of the back window, and saw Aunt Phoebe standing on the doorstep. She gave me a sad wave. I watched her shrink as we drove, fading into the sunlight that streamed through the trees.

I turned around, and saw my eyes reflected in the driver’s mirror. They were brimming with tears.

he car wove its way through the twisting country lanes. Miss Fox sat bolt upright in the front seat, barely blinking as the wheels bumped through ruts in the road. I fidgeted in the back, thinking it strange that she had chosen to sit up front with the driver.

On a few occasions she turned around to give me a look, and I tried to avoid her eye. Eventually she turned her angry gaze on the passing countryside instead, allowing me back into my own world.

The trouble was that my world was filled with Scarlet. Everything we passed in the familiar landscape reminded me of her. The way she used to hop over wooden stiles, while I dangled my legs over warily. The way she used to pick the green leaves off the bushes and crush them into tiny pieces. The way she used to smile at the blue sky, pointing out the shapes in the clouds that only she could see.

The worst was when I noticed two girls, perhaps sisters, playing together in a garden. I felt the memory flow through me, and as hard as I tried, it wouldn’t stop coming. The day Scarlet left for school …

We were standing there on the lawn, each with our matching suitcases; Scarlet in her uniform, me in a plain pink dress.

Father wanted to send us away. “Time to get an education,” he said. “Time to become proper young ladies,” he said. But Scarlet had won a place, and I hadn’t. So they were sending her to Rookwood School, and me to stay with Aunt Phoebe. Father waved goodbye to us with a glass of whisky in his hand. Our stepmother, wearing a pinafore and a grimace, dismissed us without even a second glance as she fussed over her sons, our stepbrothers.

Maybe Aunt Phoebe was a better alternative to our parents, but she was strange and scatterbrained. You could never tell what she was thinking.

There on the lawn, with the suitcases, I knew what Scarlet was thinking. She wished that we were both going to the school, so she wouldn’t have to go alone. I knew she was thinking that, because I was thinking it too. I started to cry; big, gulping, childish sobs.

Scarlet took my hand. “Don’t worry, Ivy-Pie,” she said bravely. “I’ll write you a letter every week. And you’ll write me one back. And when I’ve finished school I’ll come and get you, and we’ll run away together and become beautiful actresses, or prima ballerinas, only we’ll be even more famous because we’re twins. And we can go to America, and everyone in the whole world will want to be our friend.”

I cried even harder. Because it was ridiculous, and I would miss the ridiculous things that Scarlet came out with. Not only that, but because we both knew that I would never become famous and loved by everyone.

That destiny could only be Scarlet’s.

I wiped away a tear and quietly folded my knees up on the seat, risking further tutting from Miss Fox. But she didn’t notice, so I stayed curled up there, trawling through my memories.

Scarlet making a fortress from blankets, protecting her dolls from the Viking Hordes. (That would be me. I wasn’t much of a horde.)

Scarlet leaving trails of painted Easter eggs around our garden, making me find them with clues and riddles. (Our stepbrothers always tried to smash them.)

Scarlet brushing her hair for a hundred strokes before she would let me plait it.

Scarlet hunched over her diary, scribbling away, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth.

My sister always wrote in her diary. Every little event had to be pinned to the page. I never saw the point of it then, but she always said that if she didn’t write down everything that happened, it would just disappear forever. There would be no one to remember.

I told her that I would remember, always, but she just laughed and took no notice.

I started picking at the stitching of the seat nervously. There was no way that Scarlet would have been afraid in this situation. She would have taken it in her stride, asked all the questions I wanted answers to. But Ivy Grey never asked questions. Well, not difficult ones anyway. I always just did as I was told.

“Stop that, child,” Miss Fox hissed. “And sit properly!”

I looked up from my lap, but she had already turned away.

Scarlet would have answered back. Scarlet would have drummed her feet on the seats. Scarlet would have ripped out every bit of that stupid stitching.

I did as I was told.

Soon the road widened, and more houses slid into view. I saw a dark-haired man digging his garden, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. His beard and strong features reminded me of Father, and I felt a sudden pang of guilt – I hadn’t even spoken to him for months. He was working in London, I supposed. The economy was still reeling from the Crash and it had left him working all the hours he could.

It wasn’t as if I was close to our father. When we were younger, he had been a fiery man, always shouting. But soon after our stepmother came along, he became different. Scarlet was relieved; she was grateful for the peace, didn’t miss the fire. She could never understand why I would prefer the man who shouted at us to the man who spent long hours withdrawn, blank-faced.

With three boys to spoil, our stepmother swiftly decided it was too much for her to keep looking after us as well. That was when she suggested that he ship us off to boarding school.

If only he hadn’t sent us away. If only we’d stayed together.

If only …

The car slid through a pair of enormous gates. Beside them were pillars topped with stone rooks in flight, their wings spread wide and claws grasping at the air.

A long drive snaked its way up to the school, through a cloak of trees and past what looked like a lake shimmering in the distance. We came to a halt and I heard the driver’s feet hit the gravel as he climbed out.

“Watch your step, miss,” he said, pulling open the door.

I smiled up at him as best I could as I clambered out with my bag.

Rookwood School loomed over me, huge and imposing. The bright green trees that lined the drive looked lost in the gloom of the building. The walls were stone – the highest parts blackened by years of chimney smoke. Dark pillars stretched towards the sky in front of me, and crenellations framed the vast slate roof.

It looked like a castle. Or a prison.

It took all my strength not to turn and run back down the length of the drive. Of course, even if I had, I would surely have been caught and punished.

Rooks flew past overhead, their loud caws mixing with the distant shrieks of girls playing hockey.

“Don’t just stand there gaping, girl.” Miss Fox was looking at me like I was an unexpected slug on the sole of her shoe. “Follow me, unless you think you have something better to do.”

“Yes, Miss … no, Miss.”

She turned around, muttering something that I couldn’t hear.

I followed her up the front steps, her sharp shoes clacking and pockets jangling. The front doors were huge, and despite being ancient they swung open without even the smallest creak when she pushed through them. Inside there was a double-height room with a gallery running all the way around. It smelt strongly of floor polish.

In the middle sat an oak desk and a somewhat lost-looking secretary. She was shuffling papers in what I thought was an attempt to look busier than she actually was.

Miss Fox approached the desk and leant on it with both hands.

“Good afternoon, madam,” the secretary said quietly, as Miss Fox’s shadow fell across her.

“Some would say so,” replied Miss Fox, glowering. “I have a child here. Scarlet Grey.” I started to correct her, but she waved an uncaring hand in my face and carried on speaking. “She will begin attending classes tomorrow. Sign her in on the register, please.”

Miss Fox must have been the only person who could pronounce the word ‘please’ like it actually meant ‘RIGHT NOW’.

“D-do you want me to escort her to her room, madam?” asked the secretary.

Miss Fox blinked. “No, I am going to take her to my office to … fill her in. Get her signed up.”

She strode away towards the corridor and I hurried after her. I risked a backward glance at the secretary, who stared at me with wide eyes.

We went past rows of doors, each with a little window revealing the class studying inside. The girls were sat in rows, silent and serious. I was used to a quiet school, but in here there was an air of … wrongness. Like it was too quiet, somehow.

The only sounds were our footsteps and the ever-present jangling from Miss Fox’s pockets. When we reached her office, she pulled out a silver key from one of them and unlocked the door.

The room was dimly lit and smelt of old books. There was a single desk with a couple of high-backed chairs and some tall shelves. That was pretty normal, but that wasn’t all there was.

The walls were covered in dogs.

Big dogs, small dogs, strange foreign dogs – their blank sepia faces stared down from faded photographs, each in a brown frame. In one corner of the room there was a stuffed beagle in a glass case, its droopy ears and patchy fur serving to make it look even more depressed than beagles do when they’re alive.

The most bizarre sight was a dachshund, stretched out in front of the small window at the back of the office. It appeared to be being used as a draught excluder.

Strange, I thought, that someone with a name like Fox would like dogs so much.

“Stuffed dogs, Miss?” I wondered aloud.

“Can’t stand the things. I like to see them dead,” replied Miss Fox.

She pointed a long finger at a nearby chair until I got the hint and sat down on it.

“Now, Scarlet—”

“Ivy,” I corrected automatically.

She loomed over me like an angry black cloud. “I think you have misunderstood, Miss Grey. Did you not read my letter?”

Her letter? “I-I thought it was from the headmaster.”

She shook her head. “Mr Bartholomew has taken a leave of absence, and I am in charge while he’s away. Now, answer the question. Did you read it?”

“Yes. It said I was to take a place at the school … my sister’s place.”

Miss Fox walked around me and sat down in the leather chair that accompanied her desk. “Precisely. You will replace her.”

Something in the way she said it made me pause. “What do you mean, replace her, Miss?”

“I mean what I say,” she said. “You will replace her. You will become her.”

gasped. “No,” I whispered. “What are you—”

“Silence!” she shouted, slamming her fist down on her desk like an auctioneer’s gavel. “Scarlet’s place needs to be filled, and it is fortuitous that we have someone to fill it. We shall not have the good name of Rookwood School tarnished by unfortunate circumstances. We’ve put the absence before summer down to a bout of influenza, which you, Scarlet,” she looked at me pointedly, “have recovered from well.”

I was lost, reeling, and the room span around me. Perhaps this was a nightmare, and in reality I was in a tormented sleep back at my aunt’s house.

“But …” I protested. “You didn’t accept me for the scholarship! Only Scarlet passed the entrance exam.” I had never forgiven myself for that. I’d been up all of the previous night fretting about it, and I was sure I hadn’t studied enough.

“That is irrelevant, child. The fees are already paid. You will take your sister’s place for the sake of the greater good. From now on, you are Scarlet. Ivy might not have passed the entrance exam, but you did.”

I wanted to shout at her, but my lips were quivering and my breathing was shallow and panicked. “P-please, why do I have to do this?”

She held out a finger to silence me, the tip of her nail long and sharp.

“It does not concern you. These are adult matters, and we shall deal with them as we see fit. You don’t want to trouble the other pupils with this, do you?” She leant back and looked away from me.

“D-does my father know about this, Miss?” If everyone at the school was clueless, I hoped there was a chance that Father had been deceived as well.

My hopes were shattered when she replied, “Of course he does. We have his full permission. He understands that it’s the best way. Now,” she continued, “we’ve kept your room for you. Breakfast is at seven thirty.” She started tapping her fountain pen, and talking in a flat voice as though she were reading from an invisible blackboard. “Lessons start at nine.” Tap. “The matron’s office is at the end of our corridor.” Tap. “No loitering in the hallways.” Tap tap. “Lights out at nine o’clock …”

I should have been listening to the rules, but I couldn’t help being distracted by the items on Miss Fox’s desk – a lamp, a telephone, an inkwell, an ivory paperweight, a chequebook, a small golden pill-box and – oh no – a stuffed Chihuahua with a mouth full of pens.

“Pay attention, girl!”

My eyes darted back up. “Yes, Miss Fox,” I replied.

Miss Fox gave an exasperated sigh. “Here, take this –” she handed me a map and a list of the school rules. “Remember, you are Scarlet now. There is no more Ivy.”

She got up from the chair quickly, and waved at me to follow her.

It’s quite a thing to be told that you don’t exist any more. It took me a moment to stand, my legs were shaking so much.

I felt like one of the sad dogs on Miss Fox’s walls. Their glassy gazes penetrated my back as I walked out of the office, trying to leave Ivy Grey behind.

I trailed after Miss Fox, along the corridors and up some dark, claustrophobic stairs to the first floor. The walls were lined with regimental rows of little green doors with numbers pinned on. We stopped at one bearing the number thirteen. Of course, Scarlet’s favourite number. She laughed in the face of bad luck.

Miss Fox unlocked the door, thrust the labelled key back into the depths of her dress and left me standing in the corridor with nothing but a “get changed, girl” over her shoulder. The door was left swinging uncertainly on its hinges, and I peered inside with trepidation.

The dorm room was not unlike our bedroom at home, with two iron beds standing side by side.

In my mind, I saw Scarlet dashing in, bouncing on the mattress and untucking the bed sheets – she always said it made her feel like she was in a sarcophagus if they were too tight. She would blow a dark lock of hair from her eyes and tell me to stop looking so gormless and bring in our bags.

I stared down at my feet. There was just the one bag there, its sides slumping on the hard wooden floor.

Shaking my head, I picked it up and walked into the room, the ghost of Scarlet evaporating from my mind. I had to calm down, to pull myself together.

Sort out your room. Unpack your things. Don’t forget to breathe!

Out of habit, I immediately went for the bed on the left, before realising that Scarlet would have gone for the right. I had no idea if anyone would notice such things, but I dutifully crossed to the other bed, set down my bag and looked around.

The whitewashed room contained a big oak wardrobe, a wobbly chest of drawers and a dressing table with a chipped mirror. I caught sight of myself in it. Scarlet and I had the same dark hair, same pale skin, same small features like a child’s doll. Only on her it had always seemed pretty. It just made me look lost and sad.

“Scarlet,” I whispered. I stepped forward and held my hand out towards the mirror. When we were younger we used to stand either side of the downstairs windows and copy each other’s movements, pretending to be reflections. I would always do it backwards by accident, and she would collapse in fits of laughter. Yet now, as I waved my hand at the mirror, the image in the glass followed it exactly.

My head hurt.

In one corner of the room there was a washbasin with a sink and plain porcelain jug, with white flannels laid out next to it. Even though this room had belonged to Scarlet in the previous year, there was no sign of her.

I began to wonder what they had done with all her possessions. If they weren’t here, where were they? Where were her clothes and her books? Where was …

Her diary.

When we were little, she always showed me the contents of her diary. Sometimes she would let me write in it too. A new one every year. She would fill it with drawings of us, identical stick figures living in a gingerbread cottage with the evil stepmother. But as we got older she became more secretive, always hiding it. Not that I would have read it. If there were thoughts in there that she couldn’t share with me, her twin, I didn’t want to know them.

Scarlet’s precious diary could have been destroyed or lost or tossed away by a maid, and that thought made me shudder. But there was a small chance that Scarlet had hidden it too well for it to be found.

And if it was still here – all that was left of my sister – I desperately wanted it.

The wardrobe, I thought. It was always one of her favoured hiding places. I dashed over and flung its doors wide open, coughing at the musty smell of mothballs.

The only thing it contained was a single uniform, neatly folded over a hanger – a white long-sleeved blouse, a black pleated dress and a purple striped tie with the Rookwood crest on the end and a pair of matching stockings tucked underneath. I held the uniform up against me; it was exactly my size.

Scarlet’s uniform.

I stood still for a few moments. I was being foolish. They were only clothes. Scarlet and I shared clothes all the time. But now she was gone, and it wasn’t Scarlet’s uniform any more, it was mine. And that scared me.

I carefully laid out the uniform on the opposite bed and continued my search. The base of the wardrobe was lined with old newspaper and I peeled up the yellowing sheets, my nose wrinkling.

Nothing.

I stood on tiptoe and felt around on the top shelf – yet more nothing, unless you counted the dust.

I tried tugging at each of the drawers of the chest in turn. Several of them stuck and I held my breath, willing the diary to be inside. But each time I managed to get one open, I was faced with an empty drawer. Scarlet’s belongings may have been worthless to the school, but they weren’t to me. I knew that Scarlet had our mother’s silver-backed hairbrush – engraved with her initials, E.G. – as I had her pearls. Where could that be?

I fell on to my hands and knees and peered beneath the beds, but all I could see was an expanse of threadbare carpet. I tried picking at threads to see if it would come loose, hoping for a secret compartment under the floorboards, but it was well stuck down. Useless. I felt like crying.

I stood up and went over to the bed and threw myself down on to the uncomfortable mattress. Scarlet could have hidden her diary anywhere. Or maybe it had already been found, and destroyed …

Then – wait – I could feel something. There was a peculiar lump in the mattress. It was something hard and pointy. I shuffled my weight around, hoping that I wasn’t imagining it. No, there was definitely something there.

I jumped up, ran to the door and checked the corridor for teachers. It was silent, empty. I prayed that Miss Fox wouldn’t return any time soon.

Certain that no one was coming, I pulled off the grey blankets and bed sheets, throwing them into a heap on the floor. I ran my hand over the bare mattress, and I could still feel the lump. But there was no way to get to it. Or was there?

I got down on the floor and lay on my back, pulling myself right under the bed until I could see through the metal slats. It was dusty, and I had to resist a strong urge to sneeze.

And then I saw the hole. It was a long narrow slit cut into the material, maybe with a knife. The perfect size for a diary.

I pushed my hand into the mattress. Feathers and pieces of cotton stuffing scattered around my head and tickled my eyes as the coiled springs scraped against my skin. Then I could feel something else! It was hard and worn, maybe leather, and the tips of my fingers were just touching it.

My hand sunk in further, and I ignored the dust, the scraping, until …

There it was. I wrenched it out by the corner, and I clutched the little book to my chest, my heart pounding beneath it.

Scarlet’s diary.

They hadn’t found it. There was a piece of my sister waiting for me after all.

I wriggled my way out from under the bed and hastily tried in vain to brush myself off. Then I sat up, leaning against the cold frame, and stared at the book in my hands. It was brown and shiny, and the letters ‘SG’ had been carefully scored into the cover.

It looked as though half the pages had been torn out, but some of it was still intact. Hardly daring to breathe, I undid the leather strap, and turned to the first page that remained:

Ivy, I pray that it’s you reading this.

And if you are, well, I suppose you’re the new me …

ou must keep this a secret from everyone. Especially Miss Fox. She cannot hear about this, understand? I’ve had to split up the pages. She would do anything to destroy the evidence.

You will be fine, as long as you remember me. It’s just acting, like we always said we would do. Only you’ll be playing my part.

Don’t pay too much attention in class. Don’t wear your uniform too neatly. Stay away from Penny. Don’t get on the wrong side of the Fox … you don’t know what she’s capable of. Don’t be as wet as you usually are – just look in the mirror, remember you’re trying to be me.

And Ivy, I give you full permission to read my diary – in fact, you MUST!

I stuffed the diary into my pillowcase, my heart racing. This was madness.

How could Scarlet possibly have known this would happen? She’d said I had to go along with the deception, and it seemed I had no choice but to do as she said. I shuddered at the thought of disobeying Miss Fox, too.

I couldn’t believe the web of lies I’d found myself in. All to escape shame for the school, to stop the other pupils from panicking about the ‘unfortunate circumstances’.

Who could I turn to?

Aunt Phoebe.

Of course! I ran to my bag and pulled out a pen, paper and ink. I flattened out the sheet on the dressing table and hastily scrawled:

Dear Aunt Phoebe,

Help! This has all been a huge mistake. I don’t know what’s going on here but they want me to pretend to be Scarlet. This can’t be right. I’ve found her diary, and somehow she knew this would happen. Something terrible is going on here.

Could you come and get me? Or tell Father? Please, this is important!

Ivy

I folded the letter into an envelope and wrote Aunt Phoebe’s address and URGENT in big letters.

But then, almost immediately, my excitement began to fade. How exactly was I going to send a letter? I didn’t have a stamp, nor did I know where to find a post office. If pupils needed to send letters from the school, they probably had to give them to a teacher. And if Miss Fox got hold of it, well …

That was a chance I couldn’t take. I had to trust Scarlet’s words. They were all I had left.

I forced myself to change into her uniform. The fabric was scratchy and didn’t smell like her at all. I looked in the mirror, but something was wrong … I loosened the tie, tugged on the hem of the dress and pulled the stockings up unevenly – there, not too neat.

Once I was dressed, I unpacked my few possessions before remaking Scarlet’s – my – bed, and finally collapsed on it, exhausted. But as my eyelids began to drift shut, I noticed a shadow fall across the room.

“Hello,” said the shadow.

I looked up. The girl barely filled the doorway. She was small and so mousy that she looked like she might beg for cheese at any moment.

I was about to offer an equally timid “hello” in reply, but then I remembered. I had to be Scarlet now …

“Hello!” I said, jumping up from the bed and forcing a cheery smile on to my face.

The mousy girl took a small step backwards. “Um, good afternoon. MynameisAriadneI’mnew.”

“Sorry?”

The girl inhaled a long, deep breath. “My name is Ariadne. Ariadne Elizabeth Gwendolyn Flitworth.”

“Oh … um, sorry,” I said, wincing.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” Ariadne sighed. She held out a small hand, nails bitten to extinction.

I looked at it for a second, and then shook it with nervous enthusiasm. “My name is Iv— Scarlet. Nice to meet you.” Oh dear, I thought, as I unhooked my hand from hers. I’m not very good at this.

Ariadne stooped to pick up her luggage, a little convoy of suitcases trailing after her. I watched her pick up each one and gingerly lift it over to her side of the room. I didn’t think to offer any help. It seemed like some kind of strange ritual.

“Are you new as well?” Ariadne suddenly asked.

“Me? Oh no,” I replied, my mind racing. “I was here last year.”

Ariadne looked around the bare room curiously, so I babbled on.

“Well, I was quite ill for a while. Some kind of flu, they said. Had to take all my things back home. They, erm, didn’t want everyone else to catch it.”

“Oh, of course,” said Ariadne, tucking strands of mousy hair behind her ears as she shuffled back and forth. “My father decided to send me here, because he had to go away on important business.” She didn’t say this in a proud or boastful way – more like repeating something she had heard many times. She finished laying out her suitcases and turned to face me, blowing a stray hair out of her face. “Um, I don’t suppose you could show me where the lavatories are?”

Oh good grief. I could hardly say that I had forgotten where the lavatories were. I hadn’t even looked at the map yet and I couldn’t remember seeing any signs on my way through the school either, but surely there would be some on this floor.

Ariadne was still staring at me so I quickly said, “Of course, they’re just … down here,” and motioned for her to go out into the corridor. As I followed, I glanced back at the bed, checking that the diary was fully concealed in my pillowcase.

Classes must have finished for the day as uniformed girls were milling about in the corridor. As I walked along, Ariadne trailing behind me, the whispers started. There were sideways glances and staring eyes and hands over mouths.

Oh, Scarlet, I thought. What have you been up to here?

The gauntlet seemed to stretch forever. I quickened my pace, and I heard Ariadne’s rushing footsteps as she tried to keep up.

Finally, I came to a door marked ‘Lavatories and Bathrooms’. “In here,” I said to Ariadne, holding the door open. Then I ducked in behind her, and shut the world out.

Ariadne walked into a stall and pulled the door closed. I could still hear the commotion from outside, but it was muffled as if it were far away. I leant against the wall, trying to conceal my panic.

The lavatories were cold, with giant windows of dappled glass that let in weak light. The walls were a horrible mint green, and the paint was flaking with damp. But it was still luxury compared to Aunt Phoebe’s outdoor privy and tin bath.

I went over to the sinks and wrenched at a tap, hoping to rinse some of the embarrassment off my face. At first there was nothing, then a tiny dribble. I wrenched harder, and a torrent of water shot out, splashing my dress.

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

“Scarlet?” the sound of Ariadne’s voice drifted over the wooden door.

I was concentrating on wringing out my uniform and almost didn’t reply. “Ah – yes?”

“What were those girls staring at?”

I tried to imagine what Scarlet could have done to elicit such a reaction, but it could have been anything. Even her best behaviour was probably too outrageous for this school.

Before I had a chance to answer I heard the lavatory flush and the bolt of the door slide back. Ariadne appeared at the sink next to me and began washing her hands.

“Do you think they were staring at me?” she said, looking flustered. “It’s because I’m new, isn’t it? They probably think I’m strange, or ugly, or dull, or … or … all of those things!” She sunk down onto the floor in a heap, her dress billowing out over her legs.

I almost laughed with relief. “Actually I think they were probably staring at me. Because … because I was away for so long. They probably thought I ran away to join the circus.”

“Are you sure?” she said, blinking up at me.

I wasn’t sure of anything. “Absolutely. They probably didn’t even notice you were there.”

I suddenly realised that what I had said might have been a little insulting. But Ariadne was standing up, a quivering smile spreading across her face.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She looked at me expectantly, as if to say ‘what next?’.

I didn’t want to go back into the corridor again, but we couldn’t stay in the lavatories forever. So I took a deep breath and walked out. The crowds had thinned a little, but heads still turned to look at us as we passed. I sped up again, hoping that I wouldn’t lose Ariadne in the throng.

When we got back to room thirteen I breathed a sigh of relief and retreated to my bed. I felt for the reassuring lump of the diary inside the pillowcase. I would have to hide it back inside the mattress as soon as possible.

Ariadne began methodically pulling items from her many suitcases. Dresses, skirts, blouses. Each item of clothing was already perfectly folded, yet she spread everything out and folded it back up again. It was oddly relaxing, watching Ariadne unpack. I enjoyed the moment of quiet.

“Well, look what the Fox dragged in.”

I looked up.

A girl stood in the doorway. She had curled copper hair, a pale blue hair bow and a face full of freckles. The face might have been pretty, were it not wearing a scowl.

So much for quiet.

Ariadne walked over to her and held out a hand. “Hello!” she said. “I’m Ariadne. I’m new.”

The girl completely ignored her and carried on glaring at me. “They shouldn’t have let you back in, you know. You don’t deserve to be here.”

I stared blankly at her and then I went for the first reply that popped into my head.

“Why?”

“Don’t try and pull the innocent act on me, Scarlet Grey. We all know what you did.”

“We … we do?” I asked.

“Ugh. You make me sick,” she spat.

“What’s your name?” piped up Ariadne.

The girl blinked at her. “What? Oh. Penny, short for Penelope.”

“My name’s Ariadne. It’s not short for anything. It’s Greek. She helped Theseus defeat the Minotaur!” She stabbed the air with her arm. “Pleased to meet you!”

Ariadne was clearly trying to make up for her earlier shyness. I wasn’t sure that this was quite the way to do it.

“I’m sure you are.” Penny narrowed her freckle-rimmed eyes. “Anyway. Some of us have friends to go and talk to.” She turned on her heel and started to stalk out of the room.

“If they’re friends with you, I probably don’t want to talk to them,” I said without thinking.

Ariadne was staring at me, open-mouthed.

That was not a very Ivy thing to say. In fact, it was a very Scarlet thing to say. A strange mix of unease and pride crept over me.

Penny leant back into the room. “You’d better be careful around her, Ariadne,” she hissed. “You never know how you might end up …” She slid a finger across her throat ominously and then stalked away.

“What was that about?” asked Ariadne.

“I wish I knew,” I said.

But, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know at all.

t six o’clock it was time for dinner. I had spent an hour listening to Ariadne telling me about her beloved pony, Oswald, and her dog, and her chickens. The whole time I was becoming more and more aware that I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. I would have to go down and find food, but that meant facing more people who knew Scarlet. Surely they would see through my pretence?

I left the room with Ariadne chattering away behind me. There was no need to worry about where the dining hall was – all I had to do was follow the stream of girls flowing down the stairs. I tried to disappear, to not to think about their staring eyes.

“… and we’ve got this huge duck pond full of fish, you know, really really huge. It even has a bridge across it.”

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” I asked, turning to look at her as we walked.

Ariadne blinked, her train of conversation derailed. “No. It’s just me and Mummy. And Daddy, sometimes. I wish I did, though. What about you?”

“Um, yes. I have a sister. But she … goes to another school. And some brothers, I suppose. Stepbrothers, really.”

Ariadne sighed. “How lovely.”

“You haven’t met them,” I said.

The dining hall was an enormous noisy room with rows of tables, all filled with girls. There was a long hatch in the wall that looked into the kitchen, and through it the cooks were spooning steaming food on to plates. Whatever the food was, the whole room smelt strongly of stew. Ariadne and I joined the back of the dinner queue. I’d never seen so many people in one place.

Everyone was talking at once, and the air was filled with the sounds of knives scraping and glasses clinking. I wanted to clamp my hands over my ears to block it all out.

Then I spotted Miss Fox, who looked very much like she wanted to do the same. She was standing at the far end of the hall, tapping a wooden cane against the side of her leg. I swallowed, uneasily.

I took a tray and a cheap-looking china plate from the pile. One of the cooks, her hair messily poking out of a white cap, lifted her ladle and spooned a large pile of gloopy brown stuff on to the plate.

“Sorry, what is it, please?” I asked.

“Stew,” she replied, flatly.

“What kind of stew, Miss?”

The cook just stared at me and then turned to serve Ariadne.

As I headed into the middle of the room, I stopped and froze, realising I didn’t have a clue where I was supposed to sit. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I swore Miss Fox pointed with a barely noticeable flick of the cane. Empty seats.

Ariadne followed me to the table and we sat down. She poked her food around the plate with a fork, apparently trying to make sure it was dead.

“Welcome back, Scarlet!”

I looked up. I was being addressed by a woman with greying hair and big grey eyes to match.

“Um, thank you, Miss,” I responded. I scooped up some of the stew with my fork. It wasn’t as bad as it looked, but ow, it was hot. I swallowed it quickly.

“Decided we like the stew now, have we?” said the teacher sitting opposite us.

I stared down at my plate. “Oh. I guess it’s not that bad … really?”

She smiled archly. “Indeed. Well, I always like to see a healthy appetite.”

Ariadne came to my rescue. “What’s your name, Miss?” she asked.

“Ah, you must be the new student! I’m Mrs Knight. I’m the head of Richmond House.”

“I’m Ariadne, Miss. Pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand. It still had a fork in it.

Mrs Knight ignored it, but I heard giggles rippling away from us along the table. I felt my cheeks turn red.

It wasn’t long before they faded, but I noticed that one person laughed for a little longer than anyone else. I peered down the length of the table, and wasn’t surprised to see Penny looking back. She gave me a fake smile, and waved her fork in my direction. Then she pretended to stab herself with it, and started making gagging noises. Her friends were in fits.

I flushed even harder. Scarlet would’ve done something. Perhaps she would have tipped the stew down the front of Penny’s black dress. The threat of Miss Fox’s cane would mean nothing to her.

But I wasn’t Scarlet. I was still Ivy. I finished my dinner in silence.

It was lights out. I lay in my nightgown, feeling strange in my new surroundings. I waited in vain for Ariadne to go to sleep. She had been whispering excitedly for the past half an hour, while I occasionally replied with ‘mmmhmm’ as loudly as I dared.

Once she dozed off I would be able to take out the diary. The light of the full moon through the thin curtains ought to be enough for me to read by.

“Isn’t this exciting?!” Ariadne somehow managed to pronounce extra punctuation marks even when whispering.

“Shouldn’t we go to sleep now?”

“But it’s like a sleepover, isn’t it? We can stay up all night and have a midnight feast!”

“We don’t have any food, Ariadne.”

“Oh, right.”

I watched as she picked up a teddy from the floor. It was fluffy and bright-eyed, clearly brand new.

“I suppose I shall try and go to sleep then,” she sighed, placing the teddy next to her head on the pillow and patting it gently. “I’m sure it will be absolutely impossible. Goodnight, Scarlet.”

“G’night,” I mumbled.

She flopped down with her eyes wide open. “Impossible!” she whispered.

Exactly two minutes later, she was snoring contentedly.

Finally! I pulled the lumpy pillow from under my head. With a quick shake, the diary fell out into my lap and I turned my back to Ariadne.

I hoped the diary might hold answers, but when I opened it again I realised that it was empty aside from the letter to me. There were only torn edges of pages that had been ripped out. Where had a year of Scarlet’s life gone?

I looked at the words on that remaining page again, read them over and over, the ink swimming in front of my eyes. I shook my head. Don’t be as wet as you usually are, Ivy.

I would have fallen asleep clutching the little leather book in my arms, but I couldn’t risk it. So I hid it away, and held on to the memory of my sister instead.

The following day was a Saturday; a blessing that saved me from lessons and wearing Scarlet’s uniform. Ariadne and I returned to the dining hall and ate cold porridge for breakfast. It was lumpy and required far more chewing than it ought to have done.

“What shall we do today?” Ariadne asked.

I blinked up at her. What was there to do at this school?

Luckily, she didn’t wait for me to respond. “I’d like to visit the library,” she said. “I’ve heard they have a wonderful collection.”

So, after a sneaky look at my map in the lavatory cubicle, we took a trip to the school library. It was an impressive sight – rows and rows of enormous shelves, stretching up to a high vaulted ceiling. There were ladders on wheels for reaching the upper levels, and some girls were laughing as they pushed each other along the racks. In the centre lay numerous tables, packed with students being studious, or at least doing a good job of pretending.

And books. There had to be hundreds, no, thousands of them. So many stories, unread. So much to learn.

Of course, I had to pretend I was completely unimpressed. Scarlet would have seen the library many times before, and she wasn’t particularly interested in books.

“I’ll just get … a couple out,” I said to Ariadne, trying to sound bored.

“A couple? I’m going to get the maximum!” she exclaimed.

And that was how we returned to our room, me carrying a meagre two books and Ariadne tottering under an enormous pile of them. If the girls hadn’t been laughing at her yesterday, they certainly were now.

On Sunday we had to go the school chapel for a service. The sermon echoed off the walls, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I saw Scarlet everywhere, in the brass of the candles, in the stained-glass windows and in the tarnished gold collection plates. I felt like somehow she was watching me.

It started to drizzle as we filed out under the glare of Miss Fox. I tried to hurry back through the jostling crowds with Ariadne trailing behind me. But then I checked myself. You’re trying to be Scarlet – don’t be so wet.

Father had always said that she walked around like she owned the place, like there was a pole down the back of her dress. So that was what I had to do.

And it worked! The stream of girls began to move out of my way as I climbed the steps of the school. I turned back to Ariadne and smiled at her. She stopped and waved back, almost getting trampled in the process.

That was a bit more like it, wasn’t it, Scarlet?

That night, accompanied by Ariadne’s gentle snoring, I took out the diary, just to hold it. But I soon found myself reading the words again.

Scarlet’s last line, that oft-heard insult – ‘don’t be as wet as you usually are – just look in the mirror’ – had been playing on my mind. It seemed out of place somehow. And why would Scarlet underline it? Unless …

What if it’s one of Scarlet’s secret messages that used to drive me mad? What if she’s telling me to look for something? She said she’d try to leave me with some advice – did that mean this was a clue?

I looked at the underlined words again – first, something wet. A lake? A river? That seemed unlikely. And second, somewhere with mirrors …

The bathrooms.

It jumped into my head as if Scarlet had whispered it right in my ear.

It was lights out, and everyone was in bed. There was a good chance that Miss Fox would be patrolling the corridors, looking for rule-breakers. Then again, surely needing the lavatory was a valid excuse to be up in the night. I sat up in bed and looked down at my shoes. Too noisy; I’d have to go barefoot.

I tiptoed to the door – my ballet training was certainly useful for something. I had to tug on the handle hard and it made a squeaking noise as it opened that was like a scream in my head. I winced as I stuck my head out and surveyed the corridor. Empty. The nearby door marked ‘Matron’ was shut tight.

I hurried towards the bathrooms. Every time I passed a door, I half expected Miss Fox to leap out from behind it. Suddenly there was a bang from the other end of the corridor, and I almost jumped out of my nightgown. It was only a window, left hanging open in the breeze.

There was a dim light in the lavatories, but through the door marked ‘Bathrooms’ it was a different story. I could just make out a small row of doors along the dark corridor, each with a number on it.

My heart beat faster as I tried the handle of the first door.

Inside was an enormous cast-iron bath, rusting at the edges, a flat-framed mirror and a faint smell of mildew.

I pictured Scarlet walking into the room, walking right through me. I pictured her when we were five, climbing into the bath and splashing me with soapy water. Then I pictured her sneaking in here to hide something in the last days of her life.

“What am I even looking for, Scarlet?” I whispered. There was a lump rising in my throat.

I walked to the mirror, ran my fingers over the cold glass. My reflection stared back at me, and I had to look away. I tugged on the mirror, wondering if there was anything behind it, but it was screwed tightly to the wall.

I looked around the chilly room. The pages obviously couldn’t be in the bath. They certainly weren’t next to it. That left only one place – underneath.

I crouched down and felt along the rough iron surface …

Nothing. My heart sank faster than the Titanic.

But then – I could almost hear Scarlet’s laughter ringing out in my head – there were four more bathrooms to choose from, weren’t there?

Two and three were as empty as number one. I shivered in my nightgown.

As I walked into number four, I thought I heard a muffled noise, somewhere nearby. I stood stock-still and listened, but there was no sound apart from the dripping of a tap. It must have been a mouse. These old buildings were full of them.

That gave me a thought. Where do mice live? Holes. Holes in the skirting, holes in the floorboards. Hiding places.

I crouched down and I crawled around to where the pipes descended through the floorboards. There was a jagged gap surrounding the lead pipes, just large enough to fit my fingers through.

I touched something. Paper.

“Oh my goodness!” I whispered, drawing it out. My hands were shaking. The pages were crumpled and covered with dust, but Scarlet’s flowing handwriting was clearly visible on them.

It was then that I heard the noise again, even closer than before. I had to get back to my room as soon as possible. I walked out of the bathroom and pulled the door to behind me, as quietly as I could. And then I turned to go back into the lavatories.

Only someone was in my way.

“Hello, Scarlet,” Penny said, grinning and showing her pointy teeth. “What do you think you’re doing in here at this hour?”

I was right about there being a mouse. I was the mouse.

And Penny was the cat about to eat me alive.

enny glared at me. “I said, ‘what are you doing in here?’”

I scrunched the diary pages tightly in my fist behind my back. “I’m … it’s … nothing. I just needed to go to the lavatory, that’s all.”

“You’re up to something,” she said, leaning towards me. “It’s after lights out and you’ve been creeping around in the bathrooms. I’ve a good mind to tell the matron. Or how about Miss Fox?”

She stood there, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

“But,” I said, my mind racing to keep up with my mouth, “won’t you get into trouble as well? You’re not supposed to be up either.” There was a flicker of doubt in her expression. “Why don’t we just go back to our rooms?”

Suddenly, she grabbed my arm and pulled it out in front of me. “Listen, you little worm,” she hissed. “This is my school, and you can’t sweet talk your way out of everything, understand?”

I could barely breathe. I was praying that she didn’t grab my other arm as well.

Thankfully, Penny didn’t seem to notice. “You think you can just walk back in here and get away with everything again, don’t you?” she said.

“D-do I?” I stuttered.

“What was that?” she said, her grip tightening.

It was taking all my strength not to panic and cry. Scarlet would be tugging out a lock of Penny’s copper hair or kicking her hard in the shins. I thought that wouldn’t exactly be the smartest thing to do, though. Penny had the look of someone who would scream like a banshee, and I didn’t want the teachers to come running.

Instead, I decided to try reason. “Penny, let’s just … forget about it, all right? Whatever I did, I—”

“You know what you did,” she interrupted, digging her nails into my wrist.

I gritted my teeth. “Well … I’m sorry about it. Now, can you please let me go, before we both get a caning?”

Her glaring eyes bore into me. “Sorry? That’s all you can say?”

I blinked at her.

“Fine,” she said, her voice turning strangely calm. “But you’re not forgiven. And when I find out what you’re up to this time, it won’t be a secret for long.”

I watched Penny stalk out of the room. A full minute later, I allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief, and brought my fist holding the diary pages shakily in front of me again.

What a nightmare.

I went back down the dark corridor as silently as I could, and prised open door number thirteen. Ariadne was asleep with her pillow over her head. Good.

I folded the thin cotton sheets and the blankets back over myself and flattened out the new pages against the wall.

You’re going to meet a girl named Penny Winchester. She’s got a whole swarm of bees in her bonnet when it comes to me, so you should STAY AWAY FROM HER.

That was Scarlet – always late.

Penny thinks she’s the queen, and will try and order you about so you have to put her in her place. She actually has more in common with a poisonous toad.

I smiled for the first time in what felt like days.

The other person you have to watch out for is Nadia Sayani. She’s shaping up to be Penny’s new sidekick. She looks pretty and simple but don’t be fooled; she’s super rich and super clever, so you’ll have to brush up on your acting skills. She might spot that something’s afoot.

I wasn’t sure if I was capable of acting anything but suspicious.

Now, you need to find the rest of my diary. You CANNOT let anyone else see it. But someone needs to know the truth about

About what?

I looked around frantically. Had I dropped the next page somewhere?

No, I couldn’t have. They were scrunched up so tightly in my hand that I had almost lost the feeling in it.

So what was the next clue? Scarlet was probably up there laughing at me, calling me a dunce for not knowing the obvious place she had hidden the other pages.

The truth about what?

I gently tucked the pages inside the leather cover of the diary, and got down on all fours to hide it back inside the mattress, and then I climbed into bed.

A delicate snore came from Ariadne’s side, and reminded me that it was getting late. Tomorrow was another day. Another day of doing a bad impersonation of my twin. Another day spent fearing that someone would catch me out at any moment.

Another day without Scarlet.

I pulled my pillow over my head, and tried my hardest to go to sleep, as Scarlet’s final words danced across my mind.

On Monday we were woken at seven by a shrill bell. I sat there at breakfast, feeling uncomfortable in Scarlet’s uniform, as Mrs Knight babbled away about something to do with her rhododendrons. Penny wasn’t looking at me. I hoped that she was keeping quiet about last night.

We had an assembly, where we sang hymns and listened to Miss Fox drone on about the school rules. She obviously liked rules much more than she liked people. There seemed to be hundreds, and I wondered how I was ever going to remember them all.

Our first lesson was history and luckily Ariadne had spent yesterday memorising our timetable and the classroom map, so I was able to follow her to class.

“Are you good at history, Scarlet?” she asked me as we walked. “It’s my favourite.”

Scarlet was useless at history. I, on the other hand, had a great memory for names and dates. “It’s all right, I suppose,” I said feebly.

“My great-great-granddaddy fought against Napoleon, you know,” replied Ariadne.

I feigned polite interest, but as we walked through the echoing corridors all I could think about was how to keep up this act in front of Scarlet’s teachers. Surely they would notice that I wasn’t my sister?

We joined a line of girls outside the classroom and filed in silently. I suddenly realised, too late, that I had no idea which desk belonged to Scarlet.

I felt like a bird in a flock that had just flown the wrong way. Which seat should I choose?

“What’s the matter, Scarlet?” said a simpering voice that could only belong to Penny. “Did you leave your brain at home?”

Giggles flooded the room as my cheeks heated up. At that moment there was a thud and a giant cloud of white dust billowed out of a cupboard.

From the cloud of dust emerged a coughing, white-haired woman. She waved her hand frantically, trying to disperse it. We all stared as she coughed for what felt like an age, and then finally slammed her blackboard rubbers down on her desk and pointed a quivering finger at me.

“Scarlet Grey!” she said, in an accusatory tone.

“Yes, Miss?” I responded, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

“That’s Madame Lovelace to you, insolent girl!” She pronounced it Loveless. “Why aren’t you at your desk?”

“I-I fancied a change of scenery?”

I heard snickers from behind me.

Madame Lovelace glared. “And you,” she said. “Who are you?”

Hang on a minute. Who was she talking to? I turned around and saw Ariadne standing just behind me, looking sheepish.

“Um,” said Ariadne. “I’m new.”

Madame Lovelace gave an exaggerated sigh. “Both of you, sit down,” she said, jabbing her finger in the direction of two unoccupied desks in the first row.

Relieved, I hurried to the nearest one and sat down.

“Now, girls,” said the teacher, slapping at her dusty dress. “Open your desks and take out your pens, please. Today we shall be studying the Battle of Waterloo.”

The lid of my desk was woodworm-speckled and decorated with a little brass number four, plus many years of idle scratches. I lifted it up. It smelt of ink and paper inside, and a familiar floral scent that went straight to my heart.

Scarlet. It was the rose perfume that she’d worn for the past few years after getting a bottle of it for Christmas.

I glanced around the class to see if anyone else had noticed the smell, but the other students looked half asleep. Madame Lovelace began to dictate lines about Napoleon and the Duke of Wellington.

Ariadne put her hand up. “My great-great-granddaddy fought against Napoleon,” she said.

“Very nice, dear,” said Madame Lovelace, looking displeased at the interruption.

I peered into the desk. There was a book in the bottom, with The History of Great Britain written in dull, heavy letters on the cover. I took it out.

“Now,” said Madame Lovelace, “turn to page fifty-three for a list of the important historical figures involved in the battle. Make a note of these, as you will need to remember them.” She punctuated every sentence with occasional coughs.

I heard Penny giggle quietly behind me.

I opened up the book and the smell of Scarlet’s perfume hit me so strongly I almost choked. It was as though she’d poured it all over the pages. I looked at Ariadne. Even she was wrinkling her mousey nose, so I slammed the cover shut.

“Miss Grey!” shouted Madame Lovelace.

“Yes?”

“Yes Madame. Do you have a problem with your book?”

“No, Madame.”

“Then kindly stop abusing it and pay attention!”

For the rest of the lesson I tried to ignore the perfume, but it felt like it was seeping into my mind. Why would Scarlet have brought her precious bottle into class?

At ten o’clock the bell rang and everyone began to filter out of the room. I had to think of a reason to stay behind.

“Madame Lovelace?” I asked.

She peered up at me over her thick-rimmed glasses. “Yes, Miss Grey?”

“May I clean the blackboard for you?”

Madame Lovelace looked like I’d just offered to spit in her tea. “Are you up to something, girl?” she said, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she frowned. “The Scarlet Grey I know wouldn’t have cleaned my blackboard without the threat of the cane.”

Oh no! She might tell Miss Fox and then … No. Stay calm. My mind scrambled for something to say.

“I’m turning over a new leaf.” I swallowed and tried again. “I shouldn’t have been insolent earlier. I thought I should make up for it.”

I half expected Madame Lovelace to stand up, point her bony finger at me and shriek that I was an imposter. Scarlet never made apologies for herself. I was always the one who had to do the apologising.

But it didn’t happen. Instead, she just blinked at me a few times and then said, “Very well. Just make sure you clap the rubbers out afterwards. I do hate chalk dust.” She gave a small cough again, and I wasn’t sure whether or not she was illustrating her point. “You can have a house point for that.”

I nodded, although I had no idea what a house point was, or what I did with one.

I watched her shuffle out of the room, and then lifted the heavy desk lid. Underneath where the book had lain were several old sheets of paper and a green exercise book, all of which smelt like a rose garden. And underneath that I spotted the catch. A little metal thing in the bottom. I lifted it, and it opened a smaller hole. Inside it was an ink well, some dusty old pen nibs and – folded into a tiny square – a piece of paper.

I snatched it out quickly and immediately my eyes were drawn to the first word …

her.

Her? The last line from Scarlet’s diary reappeared in my mind. Someone needs to know the truth about … her.

The question was – who was she?

omeone needs to know the truth about her. And what’s really going on at this school because otherwise the Fox will have won.

I know you can do this, Ivy. I believe in you.

Your sister,

Scarlet x

P.S. This is the final straw.

I wiped a tear from my cheek. I’d spent a good deal of my life alternately being infuriated by Scarlet or trailing after her like a lost puppy, but now I missed her more than anything.

I folded the paper neatly and hid it in my dress pocket. I sat staring into Scarlet’s rose-scented desk, the silence of the empty classroom flowing around me. But then I noticed the ticking of the clock and realised that it was only two minutes until my next lesson.

I glanced up at the blackboard. It was still completely covered with names and dates! I picked up a dusty board rubber from Madame Lovelace’s desk and scrubbed it as hard as I could. Chalk filled my nose and I suppressed the urge to sneeze. It was useless. I’d wiped the whole thing and it had just turned from writing to a white cloud, no black in sight. It would have to do. Madame wouldn’t expect Scarlet to do a decent job of it, anyway.

I hurried out of the classroom and heard someone call out to me.

“Scarlet!”

I spun around to see Ariadne leaning up against the wall.

“Have you been there the whole time?” I said, baffled.

“I was waiting for you,” she said, staring at her shoes.

Oops. I hoped she hadn’t seen me looking in the desk. “Oh …”

“What were you doing in there?” she asked.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I didn’t want to get on Madame Lovelace’s bad side already, so I cleaned the blackboard for her.”

Ariadne looked confused and then panicked. “It must be time for home economics! It’s in W3, right? The third room in the west wing?”

“Of course,” I said. “Perhaps you should lead the way, so that you remember how to get there.”

Ariadne nodded and then set off in what I hoped was the right direction, her little leather satchel bobbing up and down on her back. I followed behind, keeping my hand curled tightly around the diary page in my pocket.

The rest of the morning was a blur. I tried to act indifferently in my lessons, even when they were fascinating, like the stuff about Isaac Newton and gravity, or fun, like making Victoria sponges in home economics. I spent lunch ignoring the looks that Penny tried to give me. By the afternoon I felt exhausted from the effort of being Scarlet, and couldn’t remember what I’d been doing most of the time. All I could think of was the letter in the diary.

And then it came to the last class of the day. Sport.

Miss Fox lined us all up in the hall and we stood there blinking in the low sunlight spilling through the windows.

“Now, girls,” she said sharply, “as it’s the beginning of term, you must pick which exercise to partake in. You may choose between swimming, horse riding, hockey, lacrosse and ballet. However, if you are lacking in any particular talent –” she looked one of the larger students up and down like she was a cow at a market – “I recommend you take part in one of the team sports. I’m sure we can find a place for you somewhere in the field.”

The girl hung her head even lower than it had been before. I shuffled uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of my uniform. I was glad not to be the focus of Miss Fox’s attention for once.

“Write your names on the sign-up sheets and join your classes,” said Miss Fox.

I thought immediately of my soft pink ballet shoes wrapped in tissue. I hadn’t danced since Scarlet died. But even if I felt hesitant about starting again, there was no choice. Scarlet would have picked ballet.

So I headed straight for the corner where a group of slim, elegant girls had already gathered. But before I could get there, Miss Fox had grabbed my arm.

“I presume you’ll be choosing ballet, Miss Grey?” she hissed in my ear.

I looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Yes, I’m good at ballet, Miss,” I said. “I’ve had lessons for years.”

Miss Fox gave me a nod, accompanied by a murderous stare, but before she could say anything else another teacher appeared next to us – a tall, strong-looking woman with bobbed hair – and started talking loudly about a shortage of hockey sticks.

I glanced over at the hockey corner. A group of nervous-looking girls stood there, and I was surprised to see Ariadne among them. She shrugged hopefully and I waved back. I couldn’t imagine poor Ariadne lasting through five minutes of hockey but it seemed Miss Fox had struck a nerve.

I joined the ballet girls. It took me a few seconds to remind myself to write Scarlet, not Ivy. I pulled out my fountain pen and signed my name with a flourish. I prayed that no-one was paying close enough attention to notice that I wrote with my left hand, not my right.

When I looked up, the other ballet girls were all staring in my direction.

“Scarlet,” said one of them. She had dark skin and big wide eyes, like a deer’s. It wasn’t a greeting, or a question, just a statement.

“Hello?” I said guardedly.

The other girls giggled and turned aside, whispering to each other. Several of them had already pulled their hair into tight buns, giving their faces a strange, sharp quality.

“Is this everyone?” I heard a voice say behind me.

I turned around to see a woman who looked so young that had she not been out of uniform I wouldn’t have been sure if she was a pupil or a teacher. She was wearing a black leotard with a long white satin skirt and a matching headband. Her hair was red, not a wiry copper like Penny’s but a lovely soft colour, almost blonde.

“Yes, Miss Finch,” said the deer-eyed girl.

“Nearly the same as last year, then. You girls go and get changed, and then meet me in the studio.” She smiled at me warmly. That was a relief, at least.

I trekked back up to my room to get my ballet clothes. As I stretched my pink tights over my legs, I felt like I was secretly becoming myself again.

The ballet studio was one of the few locations I remembered from the map that Miss Fox had given me, in the school’s basement. Winding stairs led down to it, and I could feel the air getting colder as I descended.

The studio itself was lit with gas lamps rather than the modern electric lights I had seen dotted elsewhere in the school. It had wooden floorboards and a mirrored wall, with a barre running all the way around it. I winced as I caught sight of my flickering reflection. With my hair tied up I somehow looked even more like Scarlet.

Most of the others were warming up at the barre, doing familiar stretches. I stayed at the far end of the room, hoping to avoid anyone’s attention.

I laced on my toe shoes, then began copying the rest of them. It felt good to be doing something I understood. If only I didn’t have to look at my own face quite so much. I tried to do my exercises facing away from the mirror.

A chiming note rang out around the room. Miss Finch was sitting at a shiny black grand piano in the corner. It looked new and expensive. “I’m glad to see everyone’s remembered their warm-up,” she said. “You’re going to need it. I apologise for the temperature of the studio, but unfortunately the heating isn’t wonderful down here.”

Some of the other dancers were rubbing their arms, and I had goose bumps rising already.

“Anyway,” she continued, “please carry on with your exercises at the barre.”

As everyone began to practice their pliés and tendus, Miss Finch sighed and shuffled her sheet music half-heartedly. A moment later she slipped out through a door at the back of the room.

“Centre work now, girls,” she said when she reappeared. We all moved into the middle of the room and began our exercises there. She walked between us, occasionally correcting arm and leg positions.

I was out of practice. My muscles ached as I stretched them, my joints clicked. At least I remembered the moves well enough.

Miss Finch instructed us to move on to adagio, where she led us through different steps. I watched closely as she tried to demonstrate, and I noticed that although she was quick and graceful, her right leg seemed to be trailing. When she walked she had a limp, as if it pained her.

The room was getting warmer the more we danced in the glow of the gas lamps. The sound of our shoes shuffling on the floorboards was relaxing, especially now that the others were too busy concentrating to whisper about me. Well, about Scarlet.

Finally we came to allegro

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