And now she had a plan to destroy the Delve.
A plan that Ivy had to stop.
For the rest of the morning Ivy wandered the streets of Truro, brain working feverishly as she tried to decide what to do next. But with every road she crossed and every corner she turned, she found herself more at a loss than before.
Her first thought was to confront Marigold, and demand that she release the piskeys she had taken prisoner. But even though Ivy’s magic was growing stronger by the day, she was still no match for Marigold’s faery powers. If she acted hastily, she might end up as a statue herself.
Then she thought of flying to the Delve, and warning Betony of the danger. But how could she prove to her aunt that that her suspicion was true, let alone tell her what to do about it? She hadn’t found Cicely or Keeve yet, and she had no proof that Marigold was behind their disappearances. All she had was a foolish-looking statue, and the person trapped inside it wasn’t even a piskey.
Obviously she had to find out more about the spell her mother was using, and whether there was any way to break it. Maybe then she’d be able to figure out a way to stop Marigold before any more piskeys disappeared…
‘Ivy!’
Startled, she turned as Molly bounded up to her, a shopping bag in each hand. ‘You look so… I mean, you look great!’ the human girl exclaimed. ‘Are you having a good time with your mum?’
She looked so delighted to see Ivy, so full of health and life and innocence, that Ivy couldn’t bear to discourage her. ‘I’m glad to see you, too,’ she said. That much, at least, was true. ‘Are you here by yourself?’
‘Oh, no,’ Molly said. ‘My mum’s in there, trying on clothes.’ She pointed to a shop up the road. ‘But she’s coming to my audition this afternoon, and—’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m really nervous.’
Ivy had forgotten about Molly’s audition; she’d been too wrapped up in her own worries. But she’d seen Molly in Richard’s dream-message, and heard him say her name. What if the human girl was more important than Ivy had guessed?
‘I tried about twenty different speeches,’ Molly went on fretfully, ‘and my mum helped me pick the best one, but I don’t know.’ She toed the cobbles. ‘I wish Richard was here.’
He was, if only Molly had known it. But if Ivy showed her the statue and told her what had happened, she’d probably be too upset to audition at all.
Yet theatre was Richard’s passion, as dance had become Marigold’s. Surely he’d want to help Molly do her best, even if he couldn’t see it. ‘Would it help if we – if I came with you?’ Ivy asked.
‘Would you?’ The doleful expression vanished, and Molly’s eyes shone again. ‘That would be brilliant. I think it would help a lot.’
The only problem was that Marigold would be working in the adjoining office, but Ivy had to face her mother sometime. ‘What about your mum, though?’ Ivy asked. ‘Do you think she’ll mind me being there?’
Molly waved this aside. ‘Oh, I’ve told her all about you. I mean, not everything, obviously – but when I showed her the pamphlets from Rising Star, I told her that I had a friend whose mum was a teacher at the school. I was afraid she’d never let me go, but that really seemed to make her feel better about the whole thing. She’s looking forward to meeting you.’ She swung one of her shopping bags over to the other hand, and hooked her arm into Ivy’s. ‘Why don’t you join us for lunch?’
Until now Ivy had been too busy worrying to even think of food. But now, as she looked into Molly’s eager face, she began to feel better – and hungry.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I will.’
Mrs Menadue looked dauntingly perfect in a sleek grey dress and sandals, her hair unruffled by the summer breeze. She smelled of the same musky perfume as before, which made Ivy’s nose wrinkle. But she spoke graciously enough when Molly introduced them – and she even insisted on paying for Ivy’s lunch, though she seemed preoccupied and let the two girls do most of the talking.
Once the meal was finished they all walked to the Rising Star Academy, where Trix was waiting for them. ‘Well, hello!’ she said warmly, clasping Mrs Menadue’s hand as the three of them came in. ‘You must be Gillian. I’m Beatrix Little.’ She shook Molly’s hand with equal warmth, then gestured to the stairs. ‘Come up to the studio, and we’ll have a chat. Ivy, are you looking for your mum? She’s in the office.’
‘I came to see Molly’s audition,’ Ivy said. ‘But I can wait here, if you like.’
‘Do that, there’s a love,’ said Trix. ‘I’ll call you when we’re ready.’
Ivy sat down on the bottom stair, but even so she could hear most of the conversation taking place above. Gillian Menadue seemed concerned about how much it would cost to send Molly to the school, and Molly was insisting she could pay for some of the lessons herself, while Trix was suggesting ways they might make it easier to afford.
All of which was none of Ivy’s business, so she did her best to ignore it. But it made her realise something she hadn’t thought about before. Life in a human city was expensive compared to the simplicity of life in the Delve, and judging by the sparse appearance and tiny size of her flat, Marigold didn’t have much money to spare. Yet she’d bought a foldaway bed and plenty of new clothes for Ivy, and they’d been eating regular meals together. Could that be why she was selling the piskey statues – to pay for all those things? The thought was revolting, and yet…
‘Ivy!’ Trix called down to her. ‘We’re finished now. Come on up.’
Tucking her bag under her arm, Ivy hurried upstairs to find Molly standing at the head of the room, fidgeting as she waited for her audition to begin. Gillian sat with folded arms, her face impassive, but Trix gave Molly an encouraging smile.
‘Go ahead,’ she told her. ‘And don’t worry too much – you’re not auditioning for a role, it’s just to help me decide which of our classes you belong in.’
Molly nodded. Her eyes sought out Ivy’s and held them, and then she began to speak.
‘Oh, misery, misery!’ she declared. ‘Again comes on me the terrible labour of true prophecy, dizzying prelude.’ Her face contorted and her voice broke with anguish as she went on: ‘Do you see these who sit before the house, children, like the shapes of dreams? Children who seem to have been killed by their kinsfolk, filling their hands with meat, flesh of themselves…’
Trix looked taken aback, but Gillian remained unmoved. Ivy clutched Richard’s cloth-covered statue closer to her side, unsettled as much by Molly’s haunted expression as by the gruesome words she recited. Surely she couldn’t really think that this was what Trix wanted to hear? She cast a pleading look at the human girl, hoping she would stop and try a different speech instead. But Molly continued as though she hadn’t noticed.
‘…For this I declare, someone is plotting vengeance,’ she finished huskily, bowing her head, and let the words hang in the air a moment. Then she bounced upright, her old self again. ‘How was that?’
‘Er,’ said Trix, looking flustered. ‘I can’t say I expected a thirteen-year-old to choose that particular audition piece. But you delivered it…quite convincingly.’ She turned to Mrs Menadue. ‘Your daughter has talent. I think she could go far given the proper training, and I’d be glad to put her in one of our advanced classes.’
Gillian looked resigned. ‘Well, I’ll have to discuss it with my husband. But I suppose we might be able to work something out.’
‘Oh, thanks, Mum!’ Molly exclaimed, and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. For an instant Gillian’s face pinched with distaste, but then she relaxed and patted Molly on the back.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I should have known you were meant for the theatre, dramatic thing that you are. Just like your father.’
Just then the door to the office opened and Marigold emerged, smiling. ‘I heard your speech,’ she said to Molly. ‘That was quite—’ Then her gaze focused on Gillian and she stopped dead, the colour draining from her face.
Mrs Menadue
detached herself from her daughter and stood up. ‘Marigold,’ she said, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘So this is where you’ve been.’
fourteen
‘What’s going on?’ whispered Molly, tugging Ivy’s arm as their mothers stared at each other. ‘Did you know my mum knew yours?’
Ivy shook her head. ‘I had no idea.’ But judging by the expression on Marigold’s face, she wasn’t nearly as glad to see Gillian as the human woman was to see her.
Trix must have sensed the tension in the air, because she turned to Mrs Menadue and said a little too brightly, ‘You’ll give us a ring then, when you decide what you’d like to do about the lessons? Our advanced class is quite popular, and it would be a shame if I had to put Molly on the waiting list.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Gillian replied. But she didn’t move.
‘So…’ Trix tried again, turning to Ivy’s mother. ‘Everything all right?’
‘You can go now,’ Marigold told her quietly. ‘I’ll look after things here. Have a good night.’ She watched Trix until she’d disappeared down the stairs, then swung back to Gillian. She looked determined now and even a little angry, as she had in Richard’s memory. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘Only to talk,’ said Gillian. ‘Is that so wrong? I’ve—’ For the first time her voice faltered, and she sounded as young as Molly. ‘I thought we were friends.’
Marigold studied her a moment. Then she said, ‘Ivy, would you and Molly leave us alone for a little while?’
Molly looked at her mother uncertainly, but Gillian waved her off. ‘We’ll be fine here,’ she said. ‘Go and buy yourselves some ice cream.’ She moved towards the office, and Marigold stepped aside to let her past. The door closed, and the two girls were left alone.
‘Well,’ said Molly, but Ivy shushed her with a gesture. She sidled across the room, moving so lightly her feet didn’t make a sound, and put her ear to the office door.
‘No, Ivy,’ said Marigold from within, and Ivy knew she was beaten. She might not like the thought of leaving her mother alone with Molly’s, but Gillian hadn’t looked fearful when she walked into the office, and Ivy couldn’t think of any reason why Marigold would do the human woman harm.
Reluctantly she turned away, and followed Molly down the stairs to the street.
‘I can’t figure it out,’ said Molly, as the two of them walked through Lemon Quay a few minutes later. ‘Your mum’s a faery, and my mum’s, well, my mum. How would they know each other?’
Ivy shook her head, equally at a loss. Perhaps Gillian had been one of the humans who helped Marigold after she’d first left the Delve five years ago, and they’d lost touch when Ivy’s mother was captured by the Empress? But Gillian hadn’t seemed shocked to see Marigold again, only disappointed at her unfriendly manner. As though the two of them had been on good terms until recently, but then Marigold had started avoiding Gillian without telling her why…
‘It’s not like she knows your mum’s a faery,’ Molly added, gazing into the distance. ‘She doesn’t believe in that kind of magical stuff. My dad’s never minded me being mad about faeries, but my mum’s always got so annoyed when I talked about seeing them, or wanting a faery of my own.’
Ivy tightened her grip on her bag. ‘What do you mean, of my own?’ she said.
‘I mean to be a real friend, and stay with me always,’ Molly said defensively, her cheeks reddening. ‘Not someone who goes away with no warning at all, and won’t even tell me where they…’
All at once she caught her breath, as though she’d been struck by an epiphany. ‘Your mum’s a faery,’ she whispered. She whirled to face Ivy, a wild light in her eyes. ‘What if my mum can see faeries too, like I can? What if she met your mum years ago and they got to be friends, like you and Mar— I mean Richard – and me?’
Ivy was startled. She’d never considered that possibility. Richard and Molly had an obvious connection in their mutual love of theatre, but Gillian wasn’t a dancer, and the only human Marigold seemed to have that kind of bond with was Serita. ‘I don’t see how—’ she began, but Molly kept talking rapidly, as though she hadn’t heard.
‘But then your mum went away, or stopped talking to her, or – or something. And my mum was so disappointed, just like I was.’ She broke into an incredulous smile. ‘Don’t you see? That’s why my mum was trying to keep me away from faeries! It wasn’t because she thought I was stupid for believing in them, it was because she was trying to protect me!’
To Ivy it sounded as though Molly were making her own story into Gillian’s, and telling herself what she wanted to hear. But she couldn’t deny there was a chance the girl was right. Perhaps Gillian had helped Ivy’s mother when she first left the Delve, and they’d become friends. But then Marigold had been captured and forced into the Empress’s service…and when she came back, she’d been so wrapped up in helping Serita and carrying out her plans for revenge that she didn’t have time for Gillian any more.
‘It makes sense of everything,’ Molly said slowly. Then a determined look came over her face and she pushed past Ivy, heading back the way they had come.
‘Wait,’ called Ivy. She wasn’t exactly afraid of returning to the school – Marigold had no reason to suspect Ivy of turning against her, not yet. But they’d only been gone a few minutes, and she doubted that Gillian and Marigold would be pleased with Molly barging in on their conversation. ‘It’s too soon,’ she said. ‘We need to give them more time.’
But Molly didn’t slow down, or even look round. Ivy had no choice but to run after her.
‘Back already?’ asked the woman at the school’s front desk, but Molly ignored her. She sprinted up the stairs, and with an apologetic glance at the secretary, Ivy followed.
When they reached the upper level Molly started towards the office, but Ivy was quicker. She darted in front of the other girl, and put her ear to the door. Molly did likewise. There was no sound.
The two girls exchanged looks, and then Ivy eased the door open. Two chairs faced each other across the desk, and the computer spun a web of coloured light in one corner. The window stood open, curtains rippling on the breeze. But apart from that the room was empty.
‘They must have gone out,’ said Ivy. She backed into the main room and called to the secretary, ‘Did my mum say where she was going?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the woman, appearing at the foot of the stairs. ‘She’s in the office.’
So the secretary hadn’t seen them leave. Perhaps she’d merely been distracted at the time, but Ivy feared otherwise. What if Marigold had left the school by magic, and taken Gillian with her?
Yet why would she? What possible role could Molly’s mother have in her plans to destroy the Delve?
‘Come on,’ Ivy said to Molly, silently telling herself not to panic. Nothing bad had happened yet. ‘Let’s go back outside, and walk about a bit. Maybe they’ll turn up.’
For half an hour Ivy and Molly wandered the streets in search of Gillian and Marigold, but without success. They were on their way back to the school, and Ivy was wondering if she ought to cast a searching spell, when she smelled the cloying, familiar scent of Gillian’s perfume. Relieved, she hurried towards it – and saw Molly’s mother stumbling around the corner, her dress rumpled and her hair in disarray. All her poise had vanished: she was ashen and shuddering. And Marigold was nowhere to be seen.
‘Mum!’ exclaimed Molly, rushing to her. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I’m all right,’ she murmured, gripping Molly’s shoulder for support. ‘I’m just – I’ve had a bit of a shock.’
‘Where’s my mother?’ Ivy asked sharply.
Gillian blinked, as though the question puzzled her. ‘We were talking,’ she said. ‘Something about a plan, and fixing past mistakes…’ She put a hand to her forehead. ‘How long was I gone?’
Queasiness rose inside Ivy. She sounded like the vendor in the Pannier Market – as though her memories had been deliberately tamper
ed with.
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ said Molly. She glanced at Ivy, and for once there was no warmth in her eyes. ‘I know about Marigold being a faery.’
Gillian’s shoulders sagged. ‘I should have told you,’ she said. ‘But I kept hoping you’d grow out of seeing faeries, or at least you’d stop wanting to get close to them…’
‘What did my mother do to you?’ Ivy asked. ‘What did she say?’
‘She asked me to help her,’ Gillian replied. ‘Something to do with clay… But I said no. And then—’ Her forehead furrowed, as though she were struggling to remember. ‘She was angry. She raised her hand, and everything turned so bright…’
Ivy turned away, too sickened to hear any more. It had been painful when she first began to suspect her mother might be responsible for turning Keeve, Cicely and Richard into statues, but until now part of her had still clung to the hope that her theory might be wrong. After this, though, how could she doubt it any longer?
It was obvious what had happened. Marigold had tried to convince Gillian to help her carry out her revenge, but the human woman had refused, and paid the price for it. It was just a mercy that Ivy’s mother hadn’t turned Gillian into a statue as well…though seeing as Marigold hadn’t spared her own daughter, it was hard to imagine why. Unless the spell only worked on magical folk?
‘Did she hurt you, Mum?’ Molly asked anxiously.
‘No,’ said Gillian. ‘But she’s gone now. And I don’t think she’s coming back.’
Ivy sat alone in the kitchen of Marigold’s flat, staring dully at the table. Even now that she knew her mother was evil, she found it hard to believe that Marigold would abandon her. Why bother to send Richard to find Ivy and bring her to Truro, only to leave her behind?
But when she’d looked in the refrigerator and found nothing but a small bag of apples and a half-empty container of yoghurt, it was hard to conclude anything else. Perhaps her mother had just forgotten to buy more food – but more likely she’d known she’d be leaving soon, and hadn’t thought shopping worth the trouble.