Chapter 10

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The girls are taking some fresh air when I come out to the great lawn. The sun has held

all day, and now it's a bright blue afternoon. Low clouds drift lazily across the sky. Up on

the hill, the chapel stands straight and tall. Out on the green, the younger girls have

wrapped a blindfold around the eyes of a little brown-haired girl. They spin her in circles,

then scatter like marbles. She puts her arms out unsteadily, wobbles across the lawn,

calling out "Blind man." They yell back "buff," and she feels her way toward their highpitched

voices. Ann's sitting on a bench, reading her halfpenny paper. She spies me but I

pretend I don't see her. It's not very kind of me, but I want to be alone.

The forest off to my right looks inviting, and I dart into its cool shelter. The sunlight leaks

through the leaves in bits of warmth. I try to catch its sweetness in my fingers but it drips

through them to the earth. There's a stillness here, broken only by the muffled calls of

"buff" from the girls' game. Mary Dowd's diary sits quietly inside my cape, her secrets

weighing the pocket down against my thigh.

If I can discover what she wants me to know, perhaps I'll find a way to understand what is

happening to me. I open to a new page and read.

December 31, 1870

Today is my sixteenth birthday. Sarah was quite saucy with me. "Now you will know

how it is," she said. When I pressed her to tell me more, she refused me—I, who am like

her very own sister! "I cannot tell you, my dearest, dearest friend. But you shall know

soon enough. And it shall be as a door opening for you." I don't mind saying that I felt

very cross with her. She is already sixteen and knows more than I, dear diary. But then

she took both my hands in hers, and I cannot feel anything but fondness for her when she

is so very kind with me.

What exactly is so glorious about being sixteen is beyond me. If I'd hoped Mary's diary

would get more interesting or insightful, I was mistaken. But there's nothing else to do, so

I find another passage.

January 7, 1871

Such frightful things are happening to me, dearest diary, that I am afraid to recount them

here. I am afraid to speak of them all, even to Sarah. What will become of me?

There's a strange, knotting feeling in my stomach. What could be so terrible that she

couldn't confide in her own diary? A breeze comes, bringing the sound of girls. Blind

man. Buff. The next entry is dated February 12th. My heart beats faster as I read.

Dearest diary, such blessed relief at last! I am not mad, as I feared. No longer do my

visions overtake me with their power, for I have begun to control them at last Oh, diary,

they are not frightful, but beautiful! Sarah promised it would be so for me, but I confess I

was too afraid of their glory to let myself enter fully. I could only be pulled along against

my will, fighting it. But today, oh, it was glorious indeed! When I felt the fever coming

on me, I asked it to come. I choose this, I said, and stuck my courage fast. I did not feel a

great pressure pushing in on me. This time, it was no more than a gentle shudder, and

there it was—a beautiful door of light. Oh, diary, I walked through it into a realm of such

beauty, a garden with a singing river and flowers that fall from trees like the softest rain.

There, what you imagine can be yours. I ran, fast as a deer, my legs powerful and strong,

and I was filled with a joy I cannot describe. It seemed I was there for hours, but when I

came through the door again, it was as if I'd never left. I found myself again in my room,

where Sarah was waiting to embrace me. "Darling Mary, you've done it! Tomorrow, we

shall join hands and become one with our sisters. Then we shall know all the mysteries of

the realms."

I'm trembling. Mary and Sarah both had visions. I am not alone. Somewhere out there are

two girls—two women—who might be able to help me. Is this what she wants me to

know? A door of light. I've never seen such a thing—or a garden. There's been nothing

beautiful at all. What if my visions aren't like theirs at all? Kartik told me they would put

me in danger, and everything I've experienced seems to prove him right. Kartik, who

could be watching me right now, here in these woods. But what if he's wrong? What if

he's lying?

It's too much for my head to hold right now. I tuck the book away again and thread in and

out between enormous trees, letting my fingers trail over rough bumps on ancient bark.

The ground is littered with acorn shells, dead leaves, twigs, forest life.

I reach a clearing and there in front of me is a small, glass-smooth lake. A boathouse

stands sentry on the far side. A battered blue rowboat with only one oar is anchored to a

tree stump. It slides out and back with the breeze, wrinkling the surface slightly. There's

no one around to see me, so I loose the boat from its mooring and climb in. The sun's a

warm kiss on my face as my head rests against the bow. I'm thinking of Mary Dowd and

her beautiful visions of a door of light, a fantastical garden. If I could control my visions,

I'd want most to see my mother's face.

"I'd choose her," I whisper, blinking back tears. Might as well cry, Gem. With my arm

across my face, I sob quietly, till I'm spent and my eyes scratch when I blink. The

rhythmic lapping of the water against the side of the boat makes me go limp, and soon

I'm under sleep's spell.

Dreams come. Running barefoot over forest floor in the night fog, my breath coming out

in short white wisps. It's a deer I'm chasing, its milky brown flesh peeking through trees

like the taunts of a will-o'-the-wisp. But I'm getting closer. My legs picking up speed till

I'm nearly flying, hands reaching out for the deer's flank. Fingers graze the fur and it's no

longer a deer but my mother's blue dress. It's my mother, my mother here in this place,

the grain of her dress real on my fingers. She breaks into a smile.

"Find me if you can," she says, and runs off.

Part of her hem catches on a tree branch but she tears free. I grab the scrap of fabric, tuck

it into my bodice, and chase her through misty woods to an ancient ruin of a temple, its

floor scattered with the petals of lilies. I'm afraid I've lost her, but she beckons to me from

the path. Through the mist I chase her, till we're in the musty halls of Spence, up and

around the endless stairs, down the hallway on the third floor where five class pictures

hang in a row. Follow her laugh up the final flight of stairs till I'm standing, alone, at the

top, in front of the closed doors to the East Wing. The air is whispering a lullaby to me…

Come to us, come to us, come to us. Push open the door with the palm of my hand. It's no

longer a scorched ruin. The room is alive with light, golden walls and gleaming floors.

My mother is gone. Instead, I see the little girl huddled over her doll.

Her eyes are large and unblinking. "They promised me my dolly."

I want to say Sorry, I don't understand, but the walls melt away. We're in a land of barren

trees, snow, and ice, of harsh winter. Darkness moves on the horizon. A man's face looms.

I know him. Amar, Kartik's brother. He's cold and lost, running from something I can't

see. And then the dark speaks to me.

"So close…"

I come to with a snap and for a moment, with the sun glinting off the water in sharp

peaks, I'm not sure where I am. I do know that my heart is hammering away in my chest.

The dream seems more real than the water licking at my fingers. And my mother. She

was close enough to hold me. Why did she run? Where was she taking me?

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of low, girlish laughter coming from behind the

boathouse. I'm not alone. The laugh comes again and I recognize it as Felicity's.

Everything collides in me. Longing for my mother, who slips away from me even in

dreams. The layers of mystery in Mary's diary. The shiny-slick hatred I feel for Felicity

and Pippa, and all those who flit through life without a care. They've picked the wrong

day, the wrong girl for cruel pranks. I'll show them cruel. I could snap their slender necks

like twigs.

Careful I'm a monster. Better run for safety. Fly away on your little deer hooves.

I'm out of the rowboat quiet as feathers falling on snow, creeping around the other side of

the boathouse, sticking close to the cover of bushes. It's not me who's going to get a fright

today. Not on your life. The giggling has softened into murmuring and something else.

There's a deeper voice. Male. The Torture Twins are not alone. All the better. I'll surprise

the lot of them, let them know I won't be their willing fool ever again.

I take two steps closer and jump out in time to see Felicity locked in an embrace with a

Gypsy. She sees me and lets out a bloodcurdling scream, I scream. She screams again.

And now we're both panting while the white-shirted Gypsy takes in the skittish sight of

us, startled bemusement showing in his gold-flecked eyes and in the arch of his thick,

dark eyebrows.

"What… what are you doing here?" Felicity gasps.

"I might ask you the same question," I say, nodding toward her companion. To be found

alone with a man is shocking—a reason for a quick and necessary wedding. But to be

found with a Gypsy! If I were to tell, Felicity would be ruined for life. If I were to tell.

"I am Ithal," he says in a thick Romanian accent.

"Don't tell her anything," Felicity snaps, still trembling.

Mrs. Nightwing's strident voice cuts through the forest, moving toward us. "Girls! Girls!"

Sheer panic passes over Felicity's gray eyes. "Dear God, she can't find us."

A dozen voices call out our names. They're getting closer.

Ithal moves to hold Felicity. "Bater. Let them find us. I am not liking this hiding."

She pushes him away, her voice harsh. "Stop it! Are you mad? I can't be found with you.

You've got to go back."

"Come with me." He takes her hand and tries to lead her away but she resists.

"Don't you understand? I can't go with you." Felicity turns to me. "You have to help me."

"Is this a request from the girl who locked me in the chapel last night?" I say, folding my

arms across my chest.

Ithal tries to slip an arm around her waist, but she pulls free.

"I didn't mean anything by last night. It was just a laugh, that's all." When she sees that

I'm not amused, she tries a different tack. "Please, Gemma. I'll give you whatever you

want. My pen set. My gloves. My sapphire ring!"

She moves to take it off her finger but I stay her hand. As delicious as it would be to

watch Felicity squirm under Mrs. Nightwing's interrogation, it's better to know that she'll

owe her escape to my charity. That should be punishment enough for her.

"You'll be in my debt," I say.

"Understood."

I shove her toward the lake.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving you," I say, and push her in. While she sputters and shrieks in the cold lake

water, I point Ithal in the other direction, toward the woods. "Go now if you ever want to

see her again!"

"I will not run like a coward." He plants his feet stubbornly, adopting what he must think

is an heroic pose. He's just begging for a pigeon to fly by and relieve itself.

"Do you really think you'd ever see any of her inheritance? She'd be cut off without a

cent. If you weren't slapped in leg irons and hanged in Newgate first," I say, invoking the

name of London's most notorious prison. His face blanches but he's still standing his

ground. Male pride. If I can't get him out of here, we're done for.

Kartik appears from behind a tree, startling me. Except for his black cloak, he's dressed

just like a Gypsy—kerchief about his neck, colorful vest, pants stuffed into high boots. In

halting Romanian, he speaks to Ithal. I don't know what he's said but the Gypsy leaves

quietly with him. On the path, Kartik glances back and our eyes meet. For some reason, I

find myself nodding in a silent thank-you. He acknowledges my nod with a curt one of

his own and the two of them move quickly toward the safety of the Gypsy camp.

"Here, take my hand." I pull the furious Felicity from the lake. She's missed it all in her

struggle.

"What did you do that for!" She's soaked, her cheeks blossoming with rage.

Mrs. Nightwing has found us. "What's going on here? What was all that screaming

about?"

"Oh, Mrs. Nightwing! Felicity and I decided to take the boat out on the lake and she fell

in quite by accident. It was terribly foolish of us and we're dreadfully sorry to have

frightened everyone." I'm speaking faster than I ever have in my life. Felicity is actually

stunned into silence except for a well-timed sneeze, which immediately causes Mrs.

Nightwing to fuss and fret in her own irritable way.

"Miss Doyle, put your cape around Miss Worthington before she catches her death. We

shall all go back to the school. This is not a suitable place for young ladies. There are

sometimes Gypsies in these woods. I shudder to think what might have happened."

Felicity and I cannot stop staring at our feet. To my surprise, she nudges me in the ribs

with her elbow. "Yes," she says, without cracking a smile. "That's a sobering thought

indeed, Mrs. Nightwing. I'm sure we're both grateful for your good advice."

"Yes, well, see that you're careful in the future," Mrs. Nightwing harrumphs, preening a

bit under Felicity's skillful manipulation. "All right, girls, back to the school. There's still

daylight and work to be done."

Mrs. Nightwing rallies the girls and starts them back on the path. I throw my cape over

Felicity's shoulders.

"That was a bit melodramatic, wasn't it? 'We're both grateful for your good advice'?" I

don't want her to think she can put anything over on me.

"It worked, didn't it? If you tell them what they want to hear, they don't bother to try to

see," she says.

Pippa comes running over to us, breathless. "Good heavens, what really happened? You

must tell me before I die of curiosity!"

Ann is a sudden shadow at my side. She says nothing, just follows along with sure,

plodding steps.

"It's just as Gemma said," Felicity lies. "I fell in the water and she pulled me out."

Pippa's face falls. "That's it?"

"Yes, that is all."

"There's nothing more?"

"Isn't it enough that I nearly drowned today?" Felicity huffs. She's so good I could swear

she almost believes it herself. Now I know that she's never confessed about her Gypsy

beau to Pippa, her closest friend. Felicity and I have a secret, one she's not sharing with

anyone else. Pippa senses that we're not telling the whole truth. Her eyes take on that

suspicious, wounded look girls get when they know they've fallen off the top rung of

friendship and someone else has passed them, but they don't know when or how the

change took place.

She leans in close to Felicity. "What were you doing with her?"

"I do believe that one headmistress is enough, Pippa," Felicity scoffs. "Really, your

imagination is so brilliant you should put it to use as a novelist someday. Gemma, walk

with me."

She loops her arm through mine and we pass Pippa, who can do nothing to save face now

but make a show of snubbing Ann to run off and talk with the other girls.

"Sometimes she is such a child," Felicity says when we're a few steps behind them all.

"I thought you were the best of friends."

"I adore Pippa. Really. But she's very sheltered. There are things I could never tell her.

Like Ithal. But you understand. I can tell that you do. I think we're going to be great

friends, Gemma."

"Would we still be great friends if I didn't hold a secret over your head?" I ask.

"Don't friends always share secrets?"

Would I ever share my secrets with any of these girls? Or would they run in horror to

know the truth about me? Up ahead, Miss Moore shepherds the younger girls through the

trees and out onto the great lawn. She watches us with a curious expression, as if we're

windows into the past. Ghosts.

"Come along, girls" she calls. "Don't dawdle."

"Dawdle? I can barely breathe from trudging up this hill at a gallop!" Felicity sniffs.

"How long has Miss Moore taught at Spencer?" I ask.

"She arrived this past summer. She's a breath of fresh air in this staid old place, I can tell

you that. Oh, what's this?" Felicity says.

"What's what?" I ask.

"This remnant in your bodice. Bit torn. Ugh, and muddy. If you need a proper

handkerchief, you only have to ask. I've got scads of them." She puts the scrap in my

open palm. It's blue silk, torn and soiled around the edges, as if it might have been ripped

by a branch. My legs shake so that I have to lean against the first tree I see.

Felicity looks puzzled. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I say, my voice whispery tight.

"It's as if you've seen a ghost."

I might have.

The muddy blue silk is a promise in my hands. My mother was here. I'd choose her. It's

what I said before I fell asleep. Somehow, I've changed things. I've brought her back with

this strange power of mine. For the first time, I want to know everything about it. If

Kartik won't tell me, I'll find out on my own. I'll hunt down Mary Dowd and get her to

tell me what I need to know. They can't stop me.

Felicity gives my hand a pull. "Don't be so slow."

"I'm coming," I say, quickening my pace till I'm clear of the trees and into the warm sun

again.