Sophie Cleverly - The Last Secret

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2019

Published in this ebook edition in 2019

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

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London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

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Text copyright © Sophie Cleverly 2019

Illustrations copyright © Manuel Šumberac 2019

Cover illustration copyright © Kate Forrester 2019

Cover design copyright © HarperCollins Children’s Books 2019

Sophie Cleverly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the 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: 9780008218232

Ebook Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008218218

Version: 2018-11-14

“This is one of the best books I have ever read. It was exciting, funny, warm and mysterious.” Lily, aged 9

“The whole book was brilliant … after the first paragraph it was as though Ivy was my best friend.” Ciara, aged 10

“This book is full of excitement and adventure – a masterpiece!” Jennifer, aged 9

“This is a page-turning mystery adventure with puzzles that keep you guessing.” Felicity, aged 11

“A brilliant and exciting book.” Evie, aged 8

“The story shone with excitement, secrets and bonds of friendship … If I had to mark this book out of 10, I would give it 11!” Sidney, aged 11

For all the readers of Scarlet and Ivy. This last secret is for you …

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Chapter One: Ivy

Chapter Two: Scarlet

Chapter Three: Ivy

Chapter Four: Scarlet

Chapter Five: Ivy

Chapter Six: Scarlet

Chapter Seven: Ivy

Chapter Eight: Scarlet

Chapter Nine: Ivy

Chapter Ten: Scarlet

Chapter Eleven: Ivy

Chapter Twelve: Scarlet

Chapter Thirteen: Ivy

Chapter Fourteen: Scarlet

Chapter Fifteen: Ivy

Chapter Sixteen: Scarlet

Chapter Seventeen: Ivy

Chapter Eighteen: Scarlet

Chapter Nineteen: Ivy

Chapter Twenty: Scarlet

Chapter Twenty-one: Ivy

Chapter Twenty-two: Scarlet

Chapter Twenty-three: Ivy

Chapter Twenty-four: Scarlet

Chapter Twenty-five: Ivy

Chapter Twenty-six: Scarlet

Chapter Twenty-seven: Ivy

Chapter Twenty-eight: Scarlet

Chapter Twenty-nine: Ivy

Chapter Thirty: Scarlet

Chapter Thirty-one: Ivy

Chapter Thirty-two: Scarlet

Chapter Thirty-three: Ivy

Chapter Thirty-four: Scarlet

Chapter Thirty-five: Ivy

Chapter Thirty-six: Scarlet

Chapter Thirty-seven: Ivy

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Books by Sophie Cleverly

About the Publisher

he last secret was waiting for us in a drawer at the bottom of our father’s desk.

But the first surprise had been Father inviting us back for the holidays. Last time we’d been home, our stepmother had told us in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want us setting foot in their cottage ever again. But that chilly December, Father had telephoned our new headmistress at Rookwood School and told her that he would be picking us up instead of his sister – our Aunt Phoebe.

My twin, Scarlet, and I clambered out of Father’s motor car, taking in the sight of our home as we breathed frosty plumes into the air like dragons. I was trying to remember it all in case we were forbidden from returning once more.

It was a large cottage that could have come straight from a fairy tale, all bright stone with a perfectly thatched roof. Whereas Aunt Phoebe’s house was a working cottage – mud on the floors and dusty coats hung up on hooks – this place seemed to exist only to look pretty. As I gazed at it, I felt nothing but cold, inside and out. There was an iron gate that opened on to the pristine lawn where we had once sat with our suitcases, Scarlet waiting to go to Rookwood and me to Aunt Phoebe’s – it seemed like a lifetime ago. The roses clambering up the stone walls could have been beautiful, tinged with white frost, but they were beginning to brown and wither, and the thorns looked sharp.

It was funny how quickly the seasons could change from one to the other. It seemed only moments ago that we’d suffered an ordeal on All Hallows’ Eve, and shuffled through autumn leaves to the bonfire on Guy Fawkes Night. Now there were only two days left before Christmas, and here we were, at a place I thought we’d never see again.

Father walked up to the front door with our luggage, humming to himself. Scarlet and I followed, sharing a nervous glance as we crunched our way up the path. What were we going to find inside? I was sure our stepmother wouldn’t be pleased that Father had ignored her wishes and invited us back to the house.

But as the door was unlocked and we were led inside, we found the place cold and quiet – as if no one else was there.

“Where’s Edith?” Scarlet asked.

Father dropped our luggage and leant back against the door. He seemed a little out of breath. “Oh. Hmm. Probably out shopping, I expect.”

That didn’t quite make sense. There were no shops for miles around, and we’d been in the motor car, so how would she have got there? Unless Father had dropped her off and forgotten about it, but that seemed unlikely.

I peered into the sitting room and the kitchen, but both were empty, nothing but ashes in the fireplaces. A Christmas tree stood in a corner, with a few sad-looking baubles drooping from it and some boxes wrapped up underneath. There were stockings hanging on the mantelpiece, but from a glance I could see that there were only three, with our stepbrothers’ names – Harry, Joseph and John – sewed on.

“What about the boys?” I added, half expecting them to ambush us and start throwing things. “Where are they?”

Father put his hand over his eyes. He looked a little unwell, I thought. There was a strange tinge to his skin. “Probably … Probably playing outside. Yes.” He nodded, and then wandered off, leaving us standing there in the hallway.

It was most odd. We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in our old bedroom, wearing as many of our clothes as possible to try to keep warm.