The Ivory Rose (3 page)

The girls found lots more information about the other Witches’ Houses and the history of the area, but nothing more about the murder of Georgiana Rose Thornton.

Ruby clicked the mouse to close down the internet.

‘Wow,’ sighed Ruby. ‘Who would want to kill a twelve-year-old girl?’

‘That’s awful,’ agreed Jemma and paused for a moment. ‘You know, Ruby? Has it occurred to you that the murdered girl’s name was Georgiana, and Sammy’s invisible friend is Georgie?’

The two girls sat there side by side, both with their hair swept back into ponytails, Jemma’s a short honey-blonde and Ruby’s a deep auburn. Ruby was the practical one, the eldest of four in a chaotic family, while Jemma was dreamier and creative.

Ruby whistled and wrinkled her nose. ‘It must be a coincidence, Jem. How could Sammy know the girls’ name was Georgiana? Unless she heard one of the neighbours talking about it?’

Jemma thought of the freezing touch on her arm.
I didn’t imagine it. I didn’t
.

‘What did you find out, girls?’ asked Milla, coming over and laying one hand gently on each of the girl’s shoulders.

Jemma glanced at Ruby, unsure of how much to tell Ruby’s mum. Ruby shrugged.

‘We’re searching for information on Rosethorne because Sammy says she can see an invisible little girl called Georgie,’ Jemma began tentatively. ‘And it turns out a little girl called Georgiana was killed in the house over a hundred years ago. A couple of things have happened
in the house that are very strange – doors closing by themselves, untouched things falling, freezing cold sensations and Shadow, the cat, goes crazy just before these things happen …’

Milla patted Jemma on the back.

‘Well, animals do seem to sense strange things we humans can’t,’ mused Milla. ‘So do children, for that matter. A child being murdered is a very tragic event, which could well upset the equilibrium of any house. I don’t think we should scoff at things we don’t understand. We live in a truly astonishing world.’

Jemma smiled at Milla gratefully. It was nice to have someone take her concerns seriously. Milla wandered back into the kitchen to continue preparations for dinner.

‘I’d better get home or Mum will be in a miff,’ explained Jemma, pushing back her chair and jumping up. ‘She’s already terrified I’m going to fail my end-of-year exams because I’m working for Maggie.’

‘Ha,’ scoffed Ruby. ‘As if you’d ever fail! You mean she’s worried you won’t get straight As.’

Jemma nodded glumly. ‘You need straight As in everything to be a lawyer.’ Latte pushed her nose into Jemma’s hand and licked her palm, begging for a pat. Jemma obligingly stroked the dog’s nose. Latte’s tail went wild, her golden eyes liquid with adoration.

‘Do you even
want
to be a lawyer?’ asked Ruby. ‘I thought you wanted to be a vet?’

‘What does it matter?’ retorted Jemma. ‘You still need straight As!’

Ruby gave Jemma a hug as she walked her to the back door.

‘See you at the bus stop!’ called Ruby.

‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ called Dan, sticking his head around Jemma’s door. ‘Mum’s already back from the gym, and I’m starving. It’s time to eat.’

Saturday mornings followed a regular ritual in Jemma’s family. Elizabeth hit the gym early, before anyone else was awake. Jemma slept in, or read a book curled up in bed. When Elizabeth returned, they all strolled up to their favourite café for breakfast.

‘I’ll have the usual, please, Dimitri,’ said Elizabeth, taking a stool at the bench overlooking the street.

‘Eggwhite omelette, spinach and tomato, and a skim milk decaf?’ checked the waiter.

‘A “why bother”?’ added Dan with a grin at Jemma, as he did every week. ‘Make mine a double flat white and a Big Bruno Breakfast. Same for you, Poss?’

‘Yes, please, and a hot chocolate,’ confirmed Jemma, taking a seat beside Elizabeth.

Elizabeth tutted as she always did about Bruno’s Big Breakfast, but it was a reflex action. She had flicked on her iPhone and was scanning emails.

Dan picked up the paper and skimmed the headlines, reading out snippets to Jemma.

‘Global warming debate … Political scandal – “jobs-for-the-boys” accusations … Opposition Leader calls PM a useless, fat cow … blah, blah, blah.’

Elizabeth looked up sharply. Dan laughed.

‘No, only joking,’ Dan assured her. ‘He called her something much worse than that.’

Jemma sighed, staring out at the cars whizzing past. A girl her own age walked by with her parents and older, blond-haired brother. Jemma recognised him from the school bus – his name was Tom.

Jemma wondered what the girl thought when she glanced in the open café window and saw her family, sitting side by side at the bench. Elizabeth, as always, was fully made-up, hair blow-dried and scrupulously dressed in crisp, beige trousers, white linen shirt, large dark sunglasses and ballet flats. Dan was more casual with chino shorts, blue polo shirt and brogues.

Then Jemma herself – medium height, slight, freckled nose, short blonde hair in a neat ponytail, a floral sundress and white leather sandals.
Is she looking at me with envy?
thought Jemma.
Or does she think we look like stuck-up snobs?
The girl’s eyes slid over Jemma and back to her brother, who was flicking her with a rubber band.

The waiter brought the drinks and then the three huge white plates, balanced precariously on his palms. Bruno’s Big Breakfast smelt delicious – crispy bacon, scrambled
eggs, sauteed mushrooms and sourdough toast. Jemma’s mouth watered.

‘What would you like to do today, Jemma?’ asked Elizabeth, putting her iPhone away in her handbag. Elizabeth was meticulous about the ‘no mobile phone rule’ during meals. Meals were ‘quality family time’.

Jemma thought carefully. Elizabeth liked to do special things on the weekend – visit a museum or the art gallery, take Jemma to her Saturday morning activities, ride bikes in Centennial Park, go to a concert or the opera.

‘Ruby’s mum is taking all the kids to Glebe Markets this afternoon and asked if I’d like to go with them after ballet, then hang around at Ruby’s for a while,’ explained Jemma, crossing her fingers under the bench.

‘Oh?’ asked Elizabeth, sipping her ‘why bother’. She paused for a moment, cutting into her eggwhite omelette. Jemma held her breath hopefully.

‘Well, I had thought we could go to Paddington this afternoon and buy you a new outfit, but I suppose that can wait,’ conceded Elizabeth. ‘If you go to the markets I could get some extra work done. But remember: don’t be home late because we have three of the partners coming over for dinner, with their wives.’

‘Can’t wait, can we, Poss?’

Dan rolled his eyes at Jemma, which made her laugh.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ cried Jemma. ‘That would be great.’

The three tucked into breakfast, chitchatting about what to cook for the dreaded partner dinner – tandoori lamb or Thai grilled chicken?

‘I’ve been thinking about your birthday party, Jemma,’ Elizabeth suddenly remembered. ‘I thought we could
either invite some of the girls to high tea at the Grosvenor, or perhaps you would prefer to go out for dinner to Karlo’s?’

Jemma’s face fell and she put down her toast.

‘Well, I was hoping maybe I could just have a couple of girls over for a sleepover, cook some spaghetti bolognaise, watch a DVD, paint our nails … You know, hang out.’ Jemma suggested hesitantly.

‘A sleepover?’ Elizabeth frowned. ‘I don’t really like sleepovers – no-one sleeps. You girls will stay up all night, giggling and talking. If you want to paint your nails, maybe we could organise a party at my favourite nail salon. I’m sure Luella wouldn’t mind if we booked out the whole salon one evening. We could have noodles delivered in those cute little cardboard boxes.’

Jemma looked down at her half-eaten bacon and eggs. She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

‘Hmmm,’ she murmured, stirring the egg yolk with her fork tip.

Elizabeth finished her coffee and pushed back on the stool. ‘I’ll ring Luella this afternoon,’ she finished. ‘Now we should get going, or you’ll be late for ballet, and you should practise your flute before you go out with Ruby.’

The markets were crowded – families buying their weekly vegetables, pale-faced tourists toting cameras, and lots of edgy inner-city types dressed as emos, punks, rockers and fashionistas. Tattoos and piercings abounded, as did wildly dyed hair, ripped jeans, unisex outfits and big black boots.

Stalls sold everything from delicate glass jewellery, abstract paintings, pottery, exotic trinkets, vintage clothing to household junk.

Milla wandered off with the younger children in tow, giving Ruby and Jemma strict instructions where to meet her at two o’clock, along with some money to buy lunch.

‘Look, Jem,’ whispered Ruby in awe. Two teenagers strutted past dressed in ripped black leggings, basketball boots, denim shorts, and layers of black and sparkly silver – black singlets, black lace, silver vests, studded belts, loads of jewellery, oversized sunglasses and perky trilby hats. The girls looked cool, and they knew it.

Jemma glanced down at the floral dress she had worn to breakfast and suddenly felt very conservative.

‘Come on, Jem,’ shouted Ruby, dragging her by the hand into the maelstrom of people. ‘Let’s have some fun.’

Ruby led Jemma through the markets, searching for stalls that sold vintage and second-hand clothing. They tried a few things on, giggling as they attempted to change in the tiny tent cubicles and struggled to see themselves in the spotted old mirrors.

Jemma riffled through a box of scarves, scraps of lace and netting. Around her people jostled and pushed, grabbing for bargains from the heavily laden trestle tables.

‘What do you think, Rubes?’ she asked, draping a length of black lace across her chest.

‘Hmmm,’ mused Ruby, narrowing her eyes. ‘We could make you a gorgeous crop top from that. There would be enough left over to sew some fingerless gloves too.’

The woman sitting behind the trestle table twinkled with amusement.

‘How much is it?’ Jemma asked, stroking the delicate lace with her finger.

‘It
was
ten dollars for the metre. But I can give it to you for five? There’s a little hole in the corner. I’ve got a lovely remnant of blue French velvet you might like as well?’

Jemma thought of the money she had already earned babysitting Sammy, and the more she would earn in the coming weeks. She nodded and pulled out a five-dollar note from her wallet.

‘Just the lace, thanks.’

Ruby had inherited her mother’s eye for a bargain, along with her fashion sense, and had the patience to sift through piles of junk to find a hidden treasure.

‘Look at this leather bomber jacket, Jem,’ Ruby said. ‘Don’t you think it’s cute? This would look awesome on you.’

Jemma’s eyes lit up and she tried it on over her dress. It was far too big, with a price tag to match, so Jemma reluctantly left it. Ruby was already onto the next treasure, discovering a black cotton vest with engraved silver buttons – a find that Ruby grabbed at once.

Jemma found a T-shirt stall, with dozens of colours, slogans and patterns. Her favourites were the ones emblazoned with simple French words:
Oui
,
Non
and
Je Suis.
Jemma bought a black T-shirt that said
Fantastique
in hot pink with silver swirls. Ruby bought one with a ferocious lion on it.

At lunchtime the two girls stopped to rest their legs, sit under a tree and drink a mango-and-banana smoothie, with a lemon-and-sugar crepe. They opened their paper shopping bags, ooohing and aaahing over silver trinkets,
studded belts, colourful bracelets and silk scarves. Jemma piled the new bracelets over her wrist, enjoying the tinkle as she moved her arm.

The two girls had a pile of bags when they finally rushed to meet Milla at the front gate, only ten minutes late. Milla smiled at them knowingly.

‘Did you have fun, girls?’ she asked, herding everyone out the gate. ‘What did you buy?’

Ruby and Jemma chattered over the top of each other, talking excitedly about everything they had seen and loved and bought.

‘Mum, Mum, could we stop by Stella’s Warehouse on the way home?’ begged Ruby. ‘Jemma doesn’t have any leggings, and she really needs some. And we bought some lace to make crop tops; could you help us this afternoon, pleeeaaase, Mum?’

‘How could I refuse?’ said Milla, rolling her eyes at Jemma. ‘You two
are
on a shopping mission today.’

Stella’s Warehouse was a treasure trove of bargain clothes. Liam and Daisy complained loudly, but Milla gently chided them to be patient while Jemma tried on her leggings.

‘Look, Jem, at these hotpants – they are
so
cute!’ Ruby exclaimed, waving a tiny pair of denim shorts in the air.

‘They are
so
short!’ Jemma retorted. ‘I couldn’t wear that!’

‘Wear them over leggings, goose,’ teased Ruby. ‘Try them on. Can I have some too, Mum? Pleeeaase?’

‘Can you afford them?’ asked Milla with mock severity. ‘You know the new rule – you earn pocket money helping
me with the chores, and you can buy yourself any extra treats you want.’

Ruby looked crestfallen. She had spent all her pocket money at the markets, and she didn’t earn as much as Jemma did.

A thought occurred to her and she smiled winningly at Milla.

‘Pleeeaase, Mum? I’ll do the vacuuming this afternoon …’

Milla laughed out loud, giving Ruby a bear hug.

‘Now that’s the kind of promise I can’t turn down,’ agreed Milla. ‘All right, my darling, but you’d better get into all those dusty corners. And don’t tell Dad!’

Daisy and Liam started playing hide-and-seek among the clothes racks, shrieking with laughter, while Ruby and Jemma tried on their hotpants. Brenna sat on the floor, reading her book quietly.

Jemma checked her wallet warily and saw the big hole she’d made in her savings. She checked her image in the dusty mirror. It was the first time she had earned her own money that she could spend on her own clothes. The mirror won.

‘I’ll take them,’ Jemma announced to the sales assistant, with a grin at Ruby.

Back at Ruby’s house, Milla ordered them to give her a fashion show of their purchases. Before Ruby was born, Milla had been the editor of a glossy women’s fashion magazine, travelling the world, styling photo shoots, meeting famous models, attending cocktail parties and being given amazing clothes and accessories by the world’s top designers. Milla still wrote regular freelance articles
for various publications and enjoyed styling mock fashion shows and photo shoots with her kids.

The girls changed into black leggings, denim hotpants, French slogan T-shirts and jewellery, then strutted down the stairs to show Milla. Brenna, Liam, Daisy and Latte the labrador all sat on the floor to watch the fun.

Milla narrowed her eyes at each girl, then set to work. Ruby was wearing purple basketball boots and the black vest over her T-shirt, while Jemma still wore her sensible white sandals.

‘Those shoes don’t quite work, Jemma,’ Milla decided. ‘Ruby, go and find Jem some ballet flats. Show me that belt. I think it would look better slung low on your hips … That’s better. Now, let me see that lace. Ruby’s right – we can whip you up a very cute little crop top with that. Brenna, go and find my jewellery box and my make-up kit, please darling.’

In no time flat, Milla had measured Jemma, snipped out a rough shape from the lace, and zipped around it with the sewing machine, creating a cute crop top for Jemma to wear over her T-shirt. Ruby used the remnants to fashion some sheer, fingerless, elbow-length gloves for them both.

When the girls were both dressed to Milla’s satisfaction, she started on their hair and make-up. With Ruby, she piled her thick, red hair into a messy bun at the back of her head, with one plaited lock of hair draped over her right shoulder. Jemma’s usually neat hair was too short to put up, so Milla mussed it up with mousse and tied it back with a turquoise bandana, the knot sitting perkily on top of her head.

‘I think, just for fun, we might try a little make-up today,’ suggested Milla. ‘I don’t normally think girls your age need make-up, but it would complete the new you!’