a rude gesture after her.
While Father drove us to school, I spent the whole journey through the winding lanes thinking of the music box tucked away in my bag. We’d hidden the papers inside it again, along with the photographs. Part of me was afraid that the secret catch would stop working and they’d be trapped in the box forever, but we’d tried it several times just to make sure. Each time it sprang open like it had before.
At one point, Father started coughing so hard he had to stop the car in the middle of the road.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
It took him a few minutes before he said anything again. He’d gone rather green. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just feeling a little under the weather, that’s all.” He slapped his face gently with his hands, recomposing himself. “Right. We must get going. I’ve got work to do.” And off we went again.
We pulled into Rookwood, through those grand gates, the stone rooks staring down at us from their pillars. It was a January morning and there was still a layer of frost over everything, making it sparkle in the sunlight. The bare trees waved their cold limbs at us as we passed.
As we went down the drive, the familiar sight of numerous motor cars and buses greeted us – each one spilling passengers out at the front of the school. I took a deep breath. We were back.
When we finally made it to the main entrance, Father stopped the car and helped us out with our bags. He seemed to be struggling somewhat. “Here you go, girls,” he said. “I hope you have a good term.”
“Thank you,” I said, unsure what else to say.
“I’m … sure we will,” said Scarlet. She wasn’t used to being on speaking terms with our father either.
Inside Rookwood’s huge doors, the new headmistress, Mrs Knight, was calling instructions to the girls who were streaming in. “Straight to your dorms, please! Assembly in one hour!”
We heaved our bags upstairs through the crowd. It took some time, but we eventually made it to our assigned dorm, room thirteen.
“Let’s dump our things here and then go and find Ariadne,” Scarlet suggested.
“Good plan,” I replied. I put my bag down in front of the wardrobe while Scarlet threw hers on her bed. Of course, there was something important I had to do first. I reached in with care and pulled out the music box, setting it down gently on the desk. It chimed quietly as it touched the wood. I hoped that it looked enough like any other trinket box that no one would think anything of it.
“I wonder who Ariadne will be sharing with?” Scarlet asked as she made a vague attempt at hanging up the few clothes she owned. A dress slid off its hanger, but she ignored it.
“Hmm.” I wrinkled my nose. “No idea.” Our best friend had been sharing with a girl named Muriel Witherspoon last term, but Muriel had been expelled after being responsible for a string of awful events. Now Ariadne was once again left without a roommate.
My excitement began to build at the thought of seeing Ariadne again. I’d missed her so much the past few weeks. She always knew how to cheer us up, like a ray of sunshine through the dark brooding clouds of Rookwood.
We made our way to her dorm room, where I was pleased to see the door already flung open and our best friend beside the bed with her suitcases.
“Ariadne!” Scarlet called out, running in to hug her.
I followed and joined in.
“Hello!” Ariadne said brightly, once we’d released her from the hug. “Did you have a good Christmas?”
I shared a look with my twin. “It was … fine,” I said. My thoughts immediately flashed to the music box, but we were interrupted by a voice from the doorway.
“Good morning,” came a voice with a Scottish accent. If Ariadne was a ray of sunshine, this voice was rain on the moors.
“Oh,” Ariadne said.
We turned round. It was the new girl, Ebony McCloud. She’d been involved in the havoc with Muriel last term, pretending to be a witch and frightening everyone. But she’d since apologised, and I supposed that at least she seemed to be trying to make up for what she’d done.
“Don’t worry,” she said, traipsing in with her black bag and dropping it on the opposite bed. She must have seen the look on our faces. “I won’t turn you into frogs in your sleep.”
Ariadne cleared her throat. “I must be forgetting my manners,” she said. “Good morning, Ebony. Nice to see you again.” She elbowed both of us.
“Morning,” I said as brightly as I could.
“Hullo,” said Scarlet.
A smile twitched at the corner of Ebony’s lips. “Mrs Knight was pretty cross when she found out I was pretending to be sharing a room last term. We’re always meant to share, so apparently I ruined the whole system.” She sighed. “And since you’re missing a roommate, Ariadne, I’ve been told I have to stay here.”
Ariadne looked a little unsure, but she still made an effort. “Oh goody,” she said.
“It’s all right, honestly,” Ebony said. “I won’t be pulling any of those tricks from last term. I promise. I’m just Ebony now. I didn’t even bring my cat.” That made us smile. Her cat, Midnight, had followed her to school last term and we’d all been convinced it was her magical familiar. Maybe Ebony really had abandoned her witchy ways.
Once we were all unpacked, it was time to go to assembly. We trudged downstairs to the hall, where we all filed in. The air was filled with chatter.
Mrs Knight took to the stage. “All right, girls, settle down!”
The chatter faded to a quiet mumble before it melted away completely.
“Welcome back for the spring term, everyone.” She cleared her throat. “I know we have had … difficulties in the past. But I am confident that we can push forward and make Rookwood School the best it can be!”
“Isn’t this what she said last term?” Scarlet whispered, but I shushed her.
“If we all work together,” Mrs Knight continued, “We can—”
She was interrupted by the doors at the back of the hall opening.
We all turned round. A man had walked in. He was fairly young, possibly in his twenties, though I couldn’t guess his precise age. He had dark hair, short on the sides and slicked back on the top. He had matching dark eyes and a close-cropped beard, and he was wearing a suit that looked tailored and expensive. He proceeded to lean against the back wall with an interested expression on his face.
“We can …” Mrs Knight tried again, but then faltered, seeming unable to ignore the distraction any longer. “Excuse me, sir!” she called towards the back of the hall. “We’re in the middle of assembly. Would you mind waiting outside?”
The young man looked around as if there might be someone else she was addressing. “Oh, don’t mind me, madam,” he said. “I’m just observing.”
There was utter silence as everyone stared at him. Few men ever set foot in Rookwood School, let alone young and well-groomed ones. And that wasn’t all – there was something strangely familiar about him.
“I …” Mrs Knight was speechless for a moment. “Look, I really must insist …”
The man sighed, stepped forward and then began striding towards the front. Hundreds of eyes followed him.
“Well, if you really must,” he said, with an unusual air of confidence. He hopped up on to the stage and stood looking out at all of us. “My name is Henry Bartholomew, son of Edgar Bartholomew, and I’m the new owner of your school.”