Anyone but Ivy Pocket by Caleb Krisp

Author:Caleb Krisp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2015-03-05T16:00:00+00:00

She found me before I found her. Rebecca’s face was a cloud of anguish when she spotted me walking out of the woodlands, and hurried over. “You must be terribly confused about why I asked you to lie about falling down the stairs. Ivy,” she said, “there’s a lot you don’t—”

“I’ve seen her!” I declared triumphantly.

“Who?” Rebecca looked alarmed, poor dear. “Who did you see?”

“Miss Rochester,” I said excitedly. “The missing governess!”

Rebecca frowned. “You have seen Miss Rochester?”

“I’m utterly positive,” I said with pride. “Of course, most people wouldn’t have a clue, they would just think her a passing stranger. But I knew it was your tragic governess—for I have all the natural instincts of a junior Sherlock Holmes. Trust me, Rebecca, Miss Rochester has returned!”

A faint smiled washed the frown from Rebecca’s face. “Ivy, are you sure it was her?” she asked.

“Positive! At least, I think it was her. I can’t be completely sure, since I have never laid eyes on the woman before. Have you a picture of her?”

“No,” said Rebecca glumly. Then she brightened a little. “But you could tell me what she looked like.”

“That is easy,” I said, “for her face is fixed in my mind. Lovely blond hair. Face like a cherub. And her eyes. They were remarkable—one blue, one green. I never saw such thing.”

The poor dear was trembling. In fact, she looked positively stricken. My brilliant description had floored her. Miss Rochester had returned!

“It’s true,” whispered Rebecca. There were tears welling in her eyes. Then she lunged at me. Hugged me like a madwoman. She pulled back. Hugged me again.

Her eyes roamed my face. “Have you told anyone else—about the lady?”

“You are the first,” I said.

“It would be better if you said nothing about her to anyone else,” said Rebecca. “Just for now.”

“Why shouldn’t we tell everyone about Miss Rochester? Her return is a good thing, isn’t it?”

It was as if a great wave of grief or happiness washed over the poor dear. She sobbed. Wiped her eyes. Sobbed again. She wept like a fountain. I did my best to calm her. Patted her head two or three times. Smiled kindly.

“Please, Ivy, I know I have asked a great deal of you,” she said, her words tumbling out in a flurry, “but it isn’t without reason. There are things . . . things that make no sense. Yet, they are true. Impossibly true! Please, just do as I ask.”

I sighed. “As you wish. But I have to say, dear, in my professional opinion—you’re barking mad.”

She hugged me again, kissed my cheek, then ran off towards the house.

Rebecca didn’t come to dinner. And I hardly saw her at all the next morning. The great house was a hive of activity—which was no great surprise, as the ball was tomorrow night. I spent much of the morning with Miss Always in the library. She was still busy working on Matilda’s speech, but she always had time for me. There was so much I wished to

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