Sophie Cleverly - Scarlet and Ivy – The Lost Twin

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk

Scarlet and Ivy: The Lost Twin

Text copyright © Sophie Cleverly, 2015

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers, 2015

Cover illustration © Kate Forrester; Interior illustration © Manuel Šumberac

Sophie Cleverly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007589180

Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780007589197

Version: 2019-06-03

For Mum and Dad, who made everything possible.

For Ed: we have everything to look forward to.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015 HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk Scarlet and Ivy: The Lost Twin Text copyright © Sophie Cleverly, 2015 Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers, 2015 Cover illustration © Kate Forrester; Interior illustration © Manuel Šumberac Sophie Cleverly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780007589180 Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780007589197 Version: 2019-06-03

Dedication For Mum and Dad, who made everything possible. For Ed: we have everything to look forward to.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Acknowledgements

Read on for a sneak peek …

About the Author

About the Publisher

his is the story of how I became my sister.

I got the letter on September the first. I remember that because it was the day after our thirteenth birthday. My thirteenth birthday. The first one I wouldn’t share with my twin sister, Scarlet.

I woke up and made my way down the winding stairs of my aunt Phoebe’s house, breathing in the smell of bacon cooking as I went. The early morning sun was already warming the air. It could have been a good day.

As I emerged from the shadow of the stairs and into the sunlit hallway, I noticed it. An envelope lying on the stone floor.

For a moment I thought it might be a belated birthday card – the only card I’d had that year was from my aunt, and looking at the single, lonely name written at the top had hurt more than I could say – but as I picked the envelope up it felt more like a letter.

Scarlet had always liked to send me secret messages, but she sealed her letters so haphazardly that you could probably have opened hers just by breathing on them. This one was closed tightly and sealed with wax. I turned it over and saw that it was addressed to my aunt. I ought to open it , I thought. Aunt Phoebe didn’t object to me reading her post. In fact, it was usually necessary; she just let it pile up in the hallway if I didn’t.

I went into the kitchen and sat down on one of the rickety chairs. I took a closer look at the seal on the envelope – it was black, with a raised imprint of a bird on top of an oak tree. The words ‘Rookwood School’ were stamped underneath in dark-coloured ink.

Rookwood School. Scarlet’s school. Why were they writing to Aunt Phoebe?

I slid a butter knife from the drawer along the envelope.

Mrs Phoebe Gregory

Blackbird Cottage

Bramley Hollow

30 thAugust, 1935

Dear Mrs Gregory,

As you are the guardian of Ivy Grey, I am writing to inform you that in light of recent unfortunate circumstances a place has become available at our school, and your niece will take it. Her parents have fully paid the fees and she is due to start as soon as possible. A teacher will be sent to collect her and the details will be explained upon her arrival.

Regards,

Edgar Bartholomew (Headmaster)

I threw the letter down as if it had singed my fingers. Could they really be referring to my sister’s death as ‘unfortunate circumstances’?

I sat and stared at it, questions racing through my head. For some reason, Rookwood School wanted me – the twin who wasn’t good enough. Surely there were hundreds of other girls they could give the place to. Why me?

It was then that I noticed that the smell of bacon cooking had turned into the smell of bacon burning. I jumped up and ran to the iron stove, waving the smoke away from my face. It was too late; the bacon was already cremated.

Aunt Phoebe must have wandered off somewhere in the middle of cooking. This was a common occurrence. I glanced out of the kitchen window and spotted her sitting on the bench in the garden, her hands folded neatly in her lap and a faraway expression on her face. Aunt Phoebe’s husband had died in the Great War, leaving behind only a study full of books and a small pension for my aunt. She hadn’t been quite the same since.