He looked tired, however, underneath his smiles. I was not surprised to hear that he had suffered a fever in Morocco and had been dreadfully ill for many days. Now he is troubled by a wearisome cough and is thinner than he should be, with dark shadows under his eyes. His illness is the reason for his return home earlier than planned.
I cannot stop myself from being selfishly glad that he was forced to come back. This year of 1882 has been so very tedious, so long and dreary without him. I never realized before how much his talk and ideas, his books and poems enlivened my existence. Even rambling across the moors was not so keen a pleasure without him by my side. Miss Binns could not hope to fill his place, and I believe she is as delighted as I am that my companion has returned. He does not go to the university at Oxford until the New Year, so he will have every chance to recover his strength, and I will have him near me for many happy weeks.
Poor Miss B. has indeed been sadly puzzled by me of late. She does not understand my thirst for study, although she is a good creature, and I am grateful that Papa engaged such a kindly, gentle governess for me. But can a little French and music and the dates of the kings and queens of England add up to a real education in these modern times? If only I could go away to school! I asked Mama whether I could attend the Ladies’ College in London that I have read about, now that I am sixteen, but she said it was out of the question for a young lady of my rank, and that I must remember that I am Lady Agnes Templeton, not some obscure girl forced to earn my bread by my wits.
I confess that I am driven to distraction by Mama’s notions. What has worldly rank to do with the desire for knowledge? Today there are new ideas in every sphere, and I want to be part of this new world, not just a decorated doll.
Over these last months I have felt myself changing. Earlier in the summer my monthly bleeding began. Mama hugged me when I told her and cried a little, then dried her tears and said I would soon be a wife and mother. I am afraid that Mama will find some stammering young man whose only recommendation is that he is the son of a duke, and will force me down the aisle with him. But I could never marry anyone I do not truly love, not even a royal prince. However, my dear mother appears to think otherwise. I fear that if she knew my true thoughts, we should often quarrel. I must make sure that she never sees this journal.
I feel…I don’t know how to express it…as though I am tingling with some unseen, unknown power, and I long to break free of everything that seems small and dull and superficial. My dreams are full of fire and color, both waking and asleep. There is one strange dream in particular that I have had many times recently. In it, I am standing in a deep underground cavern where a tall flame burns and twists. I walk over to this column of fire and scoop some of it in my hand. The flames dance like bright leaves in the wind, without scorching me. I am afraid, though exhilarated….
Whenever I have this dream I wake feeling restless and head for the freedom of the moors. I lie on the grass, with the earth under my bones and the air on my face, and I still feel that flame burning and dancing inside me.
If only I had someone to talk to, a friend, or a sister. Sometimes I have imagined such a friend so strongly that I swear I could almost see her. But now at least darling S. is back. I cannot be lonely with him only two miles away at the Hall. His father has given him a fine new black mare, so he has promised that we shall have many rides out together as soon as he is a little rested. I will have to be content with getting my education secondhand from him, and seeing the world through his stories. Yet I know in my heart that I am capable of doing something worthwhile, and I will not rest until I have discovered it.
I stand with my childhood behind me and my destiny ahead, as though I am poised on the crest of a wave that will send me hurtling to some distant, unknown shore.
Five
T
he morning bell was clanging like a fire alarm. I dragged myself out of bed and found my way to the bathroom. There were two or three old-fashioned cubicles, each with an antiquated-looking shower and a tangle of copper pipes. I went into the nearest one and locked the door behind me.
My head ached with lack of sleep, and I couldn’t shake off a feeling of nagging anxiety. As I undressed, I noticed that the cut on my hand had healed into a dark red line—the cut that had apparently come from nowhere. It didn’t make any sense. If only there were someone I could talk to about it.
I missed Dad and Frankie so much it hurt.
Standing under the tepid shower, I tried to let the water wash everything away. Forget it, I told myself. I must have gotten it all wrong. The glass had never been broken in the first place. I must have grazed myself on a corner of the brass frame; that was all. Or maybe something sharp had fallen into the sweater when I was packing it at home. There was no mystery. And there was no one watching me. There couldn’t be.
Impossible.
I needed to concentrate on dealing with my new school, just ordinary stuff like finding my way around and doing my best in class and staying out of Celeste’s way. I needed to forget the whole thing. Most of all, I needed to forget about the boy with the dark hair and the haunting eyes.
I got back to the dorm and put on my unfamiliar uniform: the dark gray skirt, the bloodred stockings, the old-fashioned tie. I looked in the mirror hanging on the wall and didn’t quite recognize the girl who looked back at me.
Celeste, India, and Sophie came jostling back from the bathroom.
“Hey, how sweet,” said Celeste. “She’s admiring her uniform. Isn’t it a shame that she won’t be wearing it for long?”
I remembered my resolution to be tolerant and swallowed down the angry reply that I wanted to shoot back at her. It was a massive effort.
“Come on, Evie,” said Helen. “Let’s go to breakfast.”
I looked at her in surprise. I hadn’t expected Helen to show me any support. Gratefully I followed her out of the room, but she didn’t go down the marble staircase, where girls were starting to make their way to the main hall. Instead she pulled me into an alcove partly hidden from the corridor by a curtain. At the back of the alcove was a plain wooden door. Helen drew back a bolt and pushed the door open.
I saw a dim, secret landing where some twisting wooden steps snaked down into total darkness. Helen groped behind the door, then picked up a flashlight and switched it on. “I keep this here. Come on,” she said. “It’s officially out-of-bounds, but I’ll show you the way. Then we don’t have to bump into Celeste and her crew.”
“But…where are we going?”
“We can go down here. It’s the old servants’ staircase.”
Helen shut the door behind us and pointed her light at the spiraling steps. They were so narrow they seemed to have been squeezed into a gap between the walls, like a ladder going down into a dark pit.
“You must be joking.” I didn’t really want to admit it to Helen, but I’d always been spooked by enclosed, dark spaces. “I’m not going down there.”
“It’s perfectly safe. Or would you rather hang out with Celeste?”
She set off, the light bobbing in front of her.
“Helen! Wait!”
I plunged down the crooked stairs after her, trying not to imagine that the walls were pressing in on me. After a few turns we came to another dark landing.
“That’s the staff floor,” said Helen. “Keep going.”
We finally reached the bottom and stepped into a dank, deserted passage. Helen swept the light over the cobwebbed walls.
“So where are we now?” I asked, hoping that wherever it was, we’d get out of there as quickly as possible.
“This used to be the servants’ quarters in the old days, when the Abbey was a private house. That door over there leads back into the main part of the school, near the marble steps, but if you go down this passage in the other direction you get to the old kitchens and out to the stables. I like it here. I’ll show you, if you want.”
The last thing I wanted was to go exploring some crummy back rooms that
no one had used for more than a hundred years, but Helen seemed entranced by the place. I had no choice but to follow her as she headed farther into the old servants’ wing. Everything was painted a depressing dark brown, and it was all thick with dust. I was sure I heard the rustle of mice in the walls. I’d had enough. I was just about to ask Helen to turn back when I caught sight of a row of old bells in a mahogany frame. There were faded labels under them saying things like, DRAWING ROOM, BLUE SALON, and BILLIARDS ROOM.
“What were they for?”
“The bells rang when the servants were needed in all the different rooms. The maids would have run up and down the back steps a hundred times a day, some of them younger than us. They wouldn’t have been allowed to use the marble staircase, of course. That was only for the Templetons.”
“Who were they?”
“The people who owned this place.”
Helen opened the door of an abandoned kitchen. “This is where the servants would have worked.” She gazed around. “Can’t you hear their voices?”
She was really beginning to freak me out now. I had no desire to hear the voices of some dead Victorian maids, however much Helen was into all that. My heart seeme to slow down, and the weird feeling of being watched pressed in on me again. Whispers and secrets seemed to vibrate in my head….
Just then a bell sounded in the distance, and I jumped. Helen blinked.
“That’s the breakfast bell. We mustn’t be late!” She darted back down the passage toward the main house. “Come on! Hurry!”
I struggled to keep up with her long legs, and in a few minutes we were back at the old servants’ staircase. Then Helen pushed open a door that led into the main corridor, near the marble steps. The sound of footsteps trooping down to the dining room echoed away to our left. We raced to catch up with them, but it was too late. As we entered the dining hall, flushed and out of breath, the girls were already standing in their long rows by the tables. Mrs. Hartle was at the high table, saying grace. Helen looked agonized and waited nervously by the door. I caught sight of Celeste, smooth and pure as an angel, her mouth curved in a secret smile.
The High Mistress finished her prayer, then glanced at me coolly.
“So, Evie Johnson is late again? We’ll have to help you and your friend Helen to remember that unpunctuality is against the rules at Wyldcliffe. Miss Scratton, two demerit cards, please.”
Miss Scratton walked over and gave us each a printed red card. She frowned as we took them, and I gathered from Helen’s miserable expression that this was a deep disgrace. Another of Wyldcliffe’s dumb traditions.
“This is to remind you that the rules must be kept,” said Miss Scratton. “And perhaps I should explain, Evie, that when a girl has been given three demerits, she must report to the High Mistress for a detention.”
It all seemed a fuss about nothing, but Helen flinched as she held the card. I realized with astonishment that she was absolutely terrified of Mrs. Hartle. Helen was kind of strange, I thought uneasily. I couldn’t help being annoyed with her for landing me in trouble on my first morning. Yet she had tried, in her own way, to protect me from Celeste. I was still trying to work her out when the bell sounded for the end of breakfast and the beginning of class. We filed out of the dining hall, and I found Celeste at my side.
“You’ve made a great start, Johnson. A demerit on your very first day. Must be a record. Just shows what happens when you hang around with a loser like Helen.”
I tried to keep my temper. “It wasn’t Helen’s fault.”
“Are you sticking up for her? That’s so sweet,” she mocked. “But don’t expect Helen to be a real friend. She’s completely crazy.”
“She’s not,” I said stubbornly, though I had been pretty much thinking the same thing. “She’s just…high-strung; that’s all.”
“Is that what you call it?” Celeste’s face suddenly looked sickly white under her tan. “Was she too high-strung to talk to the police, even though she was the last person to see Laura alive? Was she too high-strung to tell us the truth about what happened that night?” Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t talk to me about Helen Black, or get involved in things you know nothing about.”
She walked away, her blond hair swinging.
“Come along, Evie,” said a brusque voice behind me in the corridor. It was Miss Scratton. “You don’t want to be late again today. I will be teaching you this morning. Follow me.”
She kept up a monotonous flow of information about my schedule and where to find the various classrooms, but I could hardly take it in. Why would Helen have needed to talk to the police about Laura? I suppose I had assumed that she’d been killed in some awful car accident, but it seemed as though she had died here, at Wyldcliffe. Had she been ill? And why were the police involved? Even more bizarrely, Celeste seemed to be suggesting that Helen knew something about it.
“You can see from the thickness of the walls and the low ceilings that this part of the building is much older than the rest….” Miss Scratton was saying as we marched side by side down yet another corridor. “It’s part of the original medieval nunnery, possibly once used as a hospital wing.”
I dragged my mind back into focus, murmuring, “Yes. Very interesting.”
She led the way into a classroom. It had white walls, rows of desks, and a tall bookcase. A large framed poster of the witches in a production of Macbeth hung behind Miss Scratton’s desk.
“Find yourself a seat.”
There were about twenty girls in the class. I was pleased to see Sarah sitting at the back. At least that was one friendly face. She gave me a quick smile, but the other girls seemed to flick their eyes over the scarlet punishment card I was still holding, then turn away as though they didn’t want to be associated with my disgrace. There was an empty desk next to Helen. I sat down and pretended to busy myself with my notebook and pens.
The atmosphere was hardworking and studious, quite different from the free and easy ways I was used to at home. Miss Scratton taught English and history, and despite her dull, dry voice, she was an excellent teacher. After a while I found myself actually enjoying trying to keep up with the arguments and theories she put forward. It was a relief to lose myself in the work and forget about everything else. I bent over my books, absorbed by what I was reading. And when I looked up, I got the biggest shock of my life.
The room had changed.
Oh, I don’t mean the whitewashed walls and the latticed windows—they were exactly as they had been before. And the room was still set up as a schoolroom, but instead of rows of wooden desks and girls in dark uniforms, I saw a large polished table scattered with papers and heavy books. Old-fashioned furniture crowded the room, and a large globe was displayed on a stand. A plump, middle-aged woman with flushed cheeks and a fussy dress was pointing something out on the globe to her only pupil, a girl dressed in white.
The girl’s gray eyes were alive with concentration, and her auburn curls were caught in a black ribbon. The image of the shadowy girl I had seen the night before in the mirror swam into my mind. This girl was real, though, not a reflection like a vision of a long-lost sister in a half-remembered life. But I didn’t have a sister; I’d never had a sister…. As I watched her, I heard the sudden roar of fire and saw the blinding light of clear white flames. I cried out, then felt myself dissolving into nothingness.
When I came to I was slumped across my desk, and Helen was bending over me. The other girls pushed her out of the way.
“What’s the matter? Has she hurt herself? Why did she scream like that?”
A low voice cut across their eager questions.
“Evie fainted for a few seconds, that’s all,” said Miss Scratton. “Please don’t crowd around her. Back to your places, girls, and start reading quietly.” Miss Scratton frowned at me as she felt my pulse. “Have you ever fainted before?”
I thought confusedly of my encounter with the boy and his horse, but I shook my head. I couldn’t tell what was real anymore a
nd what was just a daydream.
“I felt dizzy, that’s all,” I mumbled.
“Well, you’d better go outside. It is rather stuffy in here.” She glanced at Helen, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, “Sarah, take Evie and show her the grounds. She’ll soon feel better in the fresh air.”
“Come on, Evie,” said Sarah. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Her simple friendliness touched me and tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away. As I followed Sarah out of the classroom, I remembered the vow I had made. No one, absolutely no one at Wyldcliffe would ever see me cry.
Six
W
e sat on a bale of straw in the dusty, warm stable. Sarah smiled and offered me a bag of apples. “I keep these here for Bonny, but they’re perfectly okay, especially if you haven’t had much breakfast.”
I bit into one of the yellow apples. It was sweet and good. That exactly described Sarah too, I thought, with her rich brown hair and freckled complexion. She looked as though she belonged outside, in the fields and woods. As I munched my apple, Bonny, her sturdy little pony, tried to steal it with snuffling lips. Sarah laughed, then looked at me curiously. “So what happened to you just now?”
I avoided her eyes. I wasn’t really sure myself. All I knew was that it wasn’t the first weird thing that had happened to me since arriving at Wyldcliffe. But how could I tell Sarah all that nonsense about a handsome guy on horseback, and broken glass that wasn’t broken, and a redheaded girl who couldn’t possibly have been there? Sarah seemed the first normal person I had met so far, and I didn’t want her to think I was totally crazy. I was just stressed, I decided. Nothing like that would happen again.
“Just a dizzy spell.” I shrugged and jumped to my feet, wanting to change the subject. “What about you taking me around the grounds, like Miss Scratton said? I haven’t seen them yet.”