The Last Secret, page 14
Ivy didn’t look at all convinced, but she agreed and we tiptoed out of the room.
We went back downstairs, hoping to find some food, but instead we were met with a less than appetising sight: our stepmother.
She was herding our stepbrothers in through the front door. They were looking taller and scruffier than ever.
“Hello,” Ivy tried.
I instantly wished she hadn’t said anything. Edith regarded us on the stairs and looked as if we’d just threatened to stab her. The boys, on the other hand, all pulled eurgh faces and ran away. Did they ever stand still?
“Well,” said Edith, hands on her hips. “You’re here again. That’s strange, because I distinctly remember telling you that you were not welcome here.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” I told her, gripping the banister tightly.
“Our school is closed for the week,” Ivy explained. “Father brought us back.”
“Nice of him to tell me,” she muttered under her breath. Then she looked up at us again. “You two had better make yourselves useful.” She shot out her arm towards the kitchen. “Clean up. Dust. Sweep the fireplaces.”
I felt myself deflating. More of this! “And what will the boys be doing?” I asked sarcastically. “Arranging flowers?”
Our stepmother ignored me. “Listen, you little brats,” she hissed, pointing at me and shaking with anger. “I don’t want you here, and you don’t want to be here. But if you have to be under my roof, you do as I say.”
I folded my arms. “You wouldn’t talk to us like that if Father were here.”
Her frown deepened even further. “And where is he?”
“He’s upstairs,” Ivy said, with a concerned glance at me. “He just fell asleep. Is he all right?”
“Oh,” Edith said. Her expression became unreadable. Then she waved the question away. “He’s fine, I’m sure. Probably exhausted from dealing with you two.”
I didn’t know what to say. Dealing with us? We hadn’t done anything!
“What are you waiting for?” she barked. “Kitchen, now!”
We trudged slowly towards the kitchen like we were going to a funeral. I resisted the urge to punch our stepmother as we went past.
“At least if we’re alone doing all the cleaning, we don’t have to look at her,” I whispered to Ivy.
We got started. We swept the floors, cleaned the dishes, dusted the cobwebs. Everything was filthy. I thought our stepmother might have deliberately left it all in that state just to make us sort it out, but according to her she hadn’t even known we were coming. She was probably lying.
It was when I was cleaning the spice rack that I found it.
The spice rack had belonged to our mother. It hung on the wall near the oven, and was filled with all manner of herbs and spices in jars that mostly looked like they hadn’t been touched since she’d died. But there were a few on the bottom, like the salt and pepper, that were less dusty and seemed still to be in use. I ran a cloth over them, not really paying attention to the monotonous task, when a jam jar labelled HERBS went crashing off the shelf and smashed into pieces on the floor.
“Drat! Did she hear that?” I said. Ivy and I froze, waiting for thundering footsteps to come down the hall, but there was nothing.
“I’ll clean it up,” Ivy said, fetching the dustpan and brush for the glass. But I’d noticed something.
The jar hadn’t been empty. Nor had it been filled with herbs. In fact, it contained a small black bottle, which somehow was still intact. It had a plain label.
Crouching down, I carefully picked it up from the shards surrounding it. “What …?” I muttered. I unscrewed the cap and was met with a faint smell that I couldn’t quite place.
I peered inside. It was filled with white powder. It looked like crushed tablets of some sort. “Ivy …”
She got down to my level and looked at the bottle in my hands. “What is it?”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s herbs.”
Ivy paled and began to sweep up the glass, which crunched under the brush.
I was still staring at the bottle. As I looked more closely, I saw that the blank white label was coming away slightly in one corner. Was it covering something? I stood up and picked at it until, after some effort, it peeled off in one go. I dropped it to the floor.
There was another label underneath it, one that someone had clearly tried unsuccessfully to remove. But you could just make out the remains in red ink: a skull and crossbones, and the word POISON.
I couldn’t breathe. My free hand clamped over my mouth.
Poison. Our stepmother had poison.
What was she going to do with it? What had she done?
Carefully, as if I were disposing of a bomb, I screwed the cap back on and set the thing down on the table.
I turned round to see Ivy wrapping the glass shards in newspaper and throwing them in the dustbin. She took one look at me, and I thought she was going to drop everything. “Scarlet? What’s wrong?”
She walked back over. With a shaking hand, I pointed to the black bottle on the table. “It’s poison,” I said.
“What? Are you sure?” She leant closer, and I watched her expression as she read the label. As she straightened up, it was like looking at a ghost of myself in the mirror. I imagined both of us were as pale as each other. “Maybe it’s for rats …” she tried.
I shook my head. “It was in a herb jar, Ivy! And its label was covered!”
Ivy’s eyes were wide and scared. “She wouldn’t …”
Now I could feel my fear turning to anger. “She would. She pretended I was dead just because Miss Fox gave her money! She planned my fake funeral! And now she wants to make it a reality!”
Ivy’s hands flew up to her face. “You think she means to kill us?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I growled, clenching my fists.
But something else was coming into my mind.
Father.
For months, he’d been acting strangely. He hadn’t been himself at all. I thought he was just distracted by what he’d learnt about our mother. But now … now everything was worse. He’d nearly crashed the car on the way home. Now he was collapsed upstairs, white-faced and cold.
The same idea seemed to occur to Ivy at the same time. “You don’t think …”
“Father—” I began.
“She’s already doing it,” Ivy finished. “She’s putting this in his food!”
Ivy was right, I was sure of it. Our stepmother wasn’t just nasty, she was truly evil.
For a moment I had the urge to pick up the tiny black bottle and hurl it at the wall, smashing it to pieces. But I didn’t – I didn’t want to breathe in any of that white powder and, besides, it was evidence.
Ivy started pacing frantically. “We need to stop this, right now! But how can we?”
I couldn’t take my eyes from the bottle. An idea was beginning to form in my mind.
“We put it back,” I said.
Ivy stopped and looked up at me in surprise. “What?”
“We put it back,” I repeated. “We’ll replace the jam jar and make it look like the one that got smashed. Then she won’t know any different.”
“Why?” Ivy asked, her hands spread wide, her eyes looking at me like I’d just suggested we both volunteer to be murdered.
“Because –” I said, unclenching my fists, letting the anger turn into something new – “we’re going to catch her red-handed.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
IVY
e did just as Scarlet had planned. I found a nearly empty jam jar in a cupboard, washed it out and made a new label.
“Shouldn’t we run for the doctor?” I asked as I did this. I was now seriously worried about Father. He could be useless and uncaring at times, but he was still our father. I didn’t want him to die.
“If we do that,” Scarlet warned, “she’ll be on to us straight away. She’ll probably throw out the evidence and lie to the doctor. If we can expose what she’s up to in front of Father, then we’ll be free to help him.”
I thought she was probably right, but there was still so much that could go wrong. How ill was Father, really? We had no idea what this poison was, or how long Edith had been giving it to him.
“We’ll just have to pray she tries it tonight,” I said. But to myself, I added – If she doesn’t, then maybe I’ll just call for the doctor anyway. We couldn’t let this go on any longer. Maybe it would backfire and Father would never forgive us, but at least he would be seen by someone.
We carefully re-covered the label on the little black bottle, and put it inside the new jar. Then we replaced it on the spice rack. It barely looked any different from how it had before.
“She isn’t getting away with this,” Scarlet said. “No matter what she tries. We’ll stop her.”
I wished I had my sister’s confidence, but since we’d as good as lost against Henry Bartholomew, and we’d never once managed to reveal our stepmother’s true colours in the past … I didn’t have much hope.
People rarely listened to us until it was too late.
I was barely keeping it together as we came back downstairs that evening. We’d heard our stepmother banging about in the kitchen – which meant she was cooking. We had to get down there to watch her.
I stepped inside, and as soon as she saw me, she snapped, “Ivy! You need to chop these vegetables. Now.”
I nodded and got to work. If she thought I was helping, she wouldn’t kick me out.
Scarlet, on the other hand, had gone to fetch Father. He’d just woken up in his bedroom, and seemed to be all right – for now. Our plan was to get him to sit in the kitchen, so he could witness what was happening.
“Where are the boys?” I asked Edith.
She frowned at me, appearing shocked that I’d spoken to her at all. “They’ve gone for tea with their friends,” she said.
“Ah,” I said, carefully chopping a carrot. That was good. I didn’t really want them here to see this.
Not long afterwards, Father appeared, yawning, in the doorway, with Scarlet behind him. He sat at the table and peered at his newspaper as if it were first thing in the morning.
I shared a fearful glance with Scarlet. I felt as though we were teetering on the brink. So much could go wrong. What if our stepmother didn’t use the poison in front of us? We needed to keep a close watch.
She was bustling around, putting salt on a piece of meat, stirring a sauce angrily (I hadn’t known that you could stir a sauce angrily, but our stepmother definitely managed it). And then she went over to the spice rack …
“Ouch!”
I’d been so busy watching her that I hadn’t been looking down at my hands, and I’d cut my finger with the knife. It stung, a small drop of blood sliding down my skin.
Edith looked at me in horror. “You clumsy—” she began, before realising that she was about to insult me in front of Father. “Get yourself cleaned up.”
Drat. I’d stopped her from picking up the poison! I went over to the sink and washed my finger, putting pressure on the cut so that it would stop bleeding. It was thankfully only small. But had our plan been thwarted?
Edith turned round to my twin. “You. Scarlet. Finish the chopping.”
Scarlet came over and carried on. We shared a glance, wondering what would happen next. Every time I looked back at Father, he seemed in a little less of a daze.
When the food was nearly ready, our stepmother made us get the plates out. I was really beginning to worry. We needed her to pick up the poison, or our whole plan was out of the window. We bustled around the kitchen, trying our best to watch our stepmother like a hawk.
And then it happened.
Standing over one of the plates, the one with the largest portion of meat that was reserved for Father, our stepmother was once again reaching for the jar. I could barely breathe as she picked it up, her claw-like fingers closing round the outside. Would she notice that it was different?
But she said nothing. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she unscrewed the lid.
Scarlet was closest. She ran forward and grabbed our stepmother’s arm, holding it outstretched. “Stop!” she yelled.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” our stepmother roared. She tried to wriggle free, but Scarlet had a tough grip.
Father finally looked up from his newspaper, frowning. “Scarlet? What on earth …”
“She’s trying to poison you!” Scarlet all but screamed.
“I’ve never heard such nonsense in all my life!” Edith protested. Her cheeks were turning red. “Unhand me this instant, you horrible child!”
Father’s frown deepened. “Let go of her, Scarlet,” he said. Even this hadn’t brought back his fire. He still sounded flat and empty, not able to summon the energy to shout.
I had to do something. I dashed over to them and pulled the jar from our stepmother’s fingers, so that Father could clearly see what I was doing. Edith was shaking with rage. I half thought she might spit in my eye.
Hurrying to the table, with Father watching me intently, I put the jar down and pulled out the black bottle. The label we’d replaced peeled off easily, revealing the POISON warning.
In that moment, everything seemed to slow down. There was something in Father’s eyes that I hadn’t seen for years and years. It was as if he was suddenly truly awake.
He turned to our stepmother at a glacial pace. “What is this?” he said, barely raising his voice.
“It’s a trick!” she screeched. “They did this!” She swung her free arm back and forth between Scarlet and me.
“We think this is why you’ve been feeling unwell,” I said, trying to ignore her.
“They’re only herbs!” Edith protested.
“I thought …” said Father, staring down at the table. “I thought my food had been tasting a little off. I thought I was imagining it.” He put his hand to his forehead. It was like the realisation was truly hitting him. “Edith … Why?”
She was getting frantic now, and finally wrenched her arm away from Scarlet. There was a red mark where my twin had gripped her. “Honestly, Mortimer, these little brats have hated me since the day I first arrived! Can’t you see that?”
Father’s gaze didn’t waver, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t ask you that, Edith, I asked you why. After all we’ve been through together, all I’ve done for you!”
“And I’ve told you it’s nonsense,” said Edith.
“You have no other reason to have poison,” he replied. “And certainly not to be hiding it among the herbs.”
“She wants you dead!” Scarlet said. “Just like she wants us out of the way!”
Our stepmother turned to Scarlet, her fury radiating from her. “I don’t regret letting that woman lock you away for one second,” she hissed. “It was worth every penny. I wish you had been gone forever!”
She froze, then. I felt something wrench at my heart and I realised what had just happened.
She’d just admitted what she’d done.
She had accepted Miss Fox’s bribe. She knew Scarlet was locked in the asylum. She knew my twin wasn’t really dead, but she’d made us believe it anyway.
And now Father knew the truth.
He stood up. “Get out,” he said.
She pressed herself against the kitchen counter, her eyes wide. “What did you say?”
Father didn’t back down. “You heard me. I said get out.”
“Mortimer, this is my – our home …”
“You forfeited that when YOU LET ME THINK MY DAUGHTER WAS DEAD AND THEN TRIED TO MURDER ME!” Father roared, so loudly that I flinched.
Edith looked afraid, but her eyes slowly narrowed, her old stubbornness coming back. “Oh, you think you’re so wonderful? I work here every day, cleaning and cooking and raising the boys! And what thanks do I get in return? I know what you’ve been keeping from me, Mortimer.” She tapped her nose. “I found out how much you’ve been earning. Why haven’t I seen a penny? Why do I have to scrimp and save?”
“Or accept bribes from evil teachers?” Scarlet added sarcastically, but they ignored her.
“I gave you enough,” Father said. “I cared for you! I gave you a roof over your head!”
“I want a way of life!” she seethed, jabbing her finger at him. “I want what you did for your precious Emmeline, or whatever her name was! You hear two words about her and suddenly you’re obsessed again!”
Father clenched his fists. He hated it when people brought up our mother. “Stop changing the subject.”
“This is the subject!” Edith shot back. “Why do you think I did this?”
There was near-silence again, heavy with tension. All that could be heard was the crackle from the dying embers of the fire. So that was why she wanted to get rid of Father? She was angry about Mother, and not being given enough money – so she was going to kill him to get what she thought she deserved? My mind could scarcely contain it. I felt my legs shaking beneath me.
Eventually, Father walked over to her. I watched her cower. He wouldn’t hurt her, I knew, but I’d never seen him so furious in my life.
“You need to leave,” he said, his quavering voice barely containing his rage. “You have two hours. Fetch your boys, gather your things and GET. OUT.” He flung his arm towards the door.
“But—”
“If I ever see you again I will call the police immediately,” he said. “Now LEAVE.”
We watched as our stepmother, finally speechless, her futile protests dying on her lips, gave us one last hateful look.
And then the bittersweet moment we’d dreamt of for years finally happened.
She left.
Chapter Twenty-eight
SCARLET
should have felt happy.
This was what I’d always wanted, wasn’t it? To expose the truth about our stepmother? For Father to see who she really was? I thought it would be like throwing a bucket of water on the Wicked Witch – she’d melt away and we’d all celebrate.
Instead, she’d left us in a mess, Father sick and devastated, the two of us feeling just as queasy.
