The Dance in the Dark. Sophie Cleverly

now that Violet and Rose are roomies?”

      “Apparently I’m to go in one of the bigger dorms with the first formers,” Ariadne said. She went out into the corridor and picked up one of her suitcases. “I’m actually rather excited. They’ll love my midnight feasts, don’t you think?”

      Ivy laughed. “I’m sure they will,” she said.

      “Oh, wonderful,” said Ariadne, sinking on to the bed in relief. “Anyway,” she said suddenly, “did I interrupt you? You were talking about something …”

      Ivy sat down on her bed. “I was thinking about our mother,” she said. “I had this dream about her, and— Oh! You don’t know!”

      “Know what?” Ariadne asked.

      Ivy gave me a quick glance – neither of us had explained. Nor had we put it in our letters. The truth had seemed too strange and secret to risk the teachers finding out, even the good ones. “After you were expelled, we went looking for the memorial plaque to the girl who drowned in the lake. And we found it, but it wasn’t exactly what we were expecting …” I paused, not wanting to waste a good moment for dramatic effect. “The name on it was our mother’s. Or at least, what we thought was our mother’s.”

      “Your mother was a ghost?” exclaimed Ariadne. Her voice was reaching peak squeakiness levels.

      “No, no,” Ivy waved her hands desperately. “At least, I don’t think so. We think that Emmeline Adel must not have been her real name.”

      “Hmm.” Ariadne wrinkled her nose. She looked utterly baffled. “Well, who was she then?”

      “Not the faintest,” I said. “A pupil at this school, I suppose. That’s as much as we know.”

      “Oh!” said Ariadne suddenly. “Was she one of the Whispers, do you think?”

      That was a good point. Last term, when we’d discovered Rose hiding in the secret room below the library, we’d also uncovered the Whispers in the Walls. They were a top-secret club who, twenty years ago, had vowed to bring down Headmaster Bartholomew and reveal the truth about what he’d done to the pupils of Rookwood – including the murder of the real Emmeline Adel. We’d had their book full of coded writing, but it had been destroyed in the fire, along with the staircase down to the secret room.

      “I suppose she might well have been,” Ivy replied. “If only we hadn’t lost that notebook …”

      “I might be able to remember some of the names from the wall,” Ariadne said, in between thoughtfully chewing on one of her nails.

      Suddenly, an idea flashed brightly in my mind. “We ought to talk to Miss Jones! She went to school here, didn’t she? She might have known our mother!”

      Ivy beamed at me. “That’s a brilliant idea!”

      “Um, I think she’s away,” said Ariadne. “I went past the library earlier and I didn’t see her in there.”

      “She probably needed some time off,” said Ivy. “She was really upset about the library. It was in such a state after the fire.”

      I hadn’t been there yet, but Ivy said it still smelt faintly of smoke, and a lot had had to be replaced. Miss Jones had been totally distraught about the loss of her precious books.

      I went over and patted Ariadne on the back. “Dinner?” I said.

      “Oh! Yes!”

      I grinned. If Ariadne had missed Rookwood’s school dinners, there was definitely something wrong with her!

      Miss Jones the librarian was indeed away that week, Mrs Knight confirmed at the Richmond dining table. Our inquisition would have to wait.

      The days leading up to Friday were a blur as I counted down the hours to my next secret ballet session. And of course, I had to come up with a way to distract Ivy. There was no way she was going to believe me if I tried to use the shoe excuse again.

      Things got even more tricky when I happened to pass Miss Finch in the hallway. “Ah, Scarlet,” she said. “Could you come down after dinner on Friday? I think I’ll need a bit of a longer rest after the lesson.”

      “Yes, Miss,” I said, a lot more brightly than I felt. “I’ll see you then.”

      On Friday, our ballet lesson flew by, almost quite literally, as were practising tour jetés. I felt that I was getting better – but was I good enough?

      I gave Miss Finch a little wave as class finished, not daring to be any more obvious. And I barely touched my dinner – which was part of the plan, but honestly I felt too nervous to eat.

      “What’s wrong, Scarlet?” Ivy asked. “I know you hate the stew, but it’s not actually that bad today.”

      “I don’t feel well,” I said. “I think I might … be sick.” I gagged a little for effect.

      “Goodness,” said Mrs Knight. She edged her chair backwards as if I were about to spew all over her. “To the sick bay, quickly!”

      I nodded, pushed my chair back and hurried out of the hall. I felt ashamed seeing the worried looks on Ivy and Ariadne’s faces. There was some chuckling from Penny’s direction, but I tried to ignore it. It was better than her knowing what was really going on.

      I rushed through the corridors, pulling my ballet outfit out of my satchel as I went. I had to dart into an empty classroom and tug on my leotard and tutu. As I stuffed my uniform into the bag, I really hoped no one would try to check up on me in the sick bay. I decided to leave my bag hidden behind a desk, and come back for it later.

      I made it to the door of the ballet studio, which was swinging open, and peered down the stairs.

      All was quiet. I couldn’t hear the tinkle of Miss Finch’s piano keys, or any sound of her walking around. It suddenly seemed a little too quiet.

      Come on, Scarlet, I told myself. Don’t be a wet blanket.

      I took a deep breath, and the first step.

      And as I got nearer I realised what else was wrong.

      It was dark.

      The gas lamps that always burned brightly in the studio were out.

      I felt my heart speed up.

      “Miss?” I called. “Miss Finch?”

      There was no reply.

      At the bottom of the stairs, there was a small candle holder on the wall. I fumbled for it, and found a waxy stub with the wick still intact, and a match balanced on the side. I tried to stay calm, but my hand shook as I struck the match on the wall and lit the candle. A flame sputtered to life.

      I held it out in front of me, and I saw …

      Myself and the candle, reflected a million times in the mirrors.

      The piano, the stool tipped on its side.

      And Miss Finch’s walking stick, lying in the middle of the floor …

      

       Chapter Nine

       IVY

      Scarlet flung open the door of room thirteen and strode in.

      She found me sitting on the bed, arms folded. “Where have you been?” I demanded.

      She looked at me crossly. “I was ill, remember? I went to the sick bay.”