Chapter 17

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The only two people who might be able to share my secret and explain it to me have been

dead and gone for twenty years, everything they know returned to the earth.

"How dreadful," Felicity says, shooting me a quick glance.

"Yes, quite," Mrs. Nightwing snaps. "I believe we should move on to a more pleasant

topic of conversation. I've just had the most delightful letter from one of our former girls,

now Lady Buxton. She has returned from a trip to the East, where she was privileged to

see the famed whirling dervishes. Her letter is a perfect demonstration of a clever note—

one that entertains and does not tax the recipient with problems of a personal nature.

Should anyone wish to see it, I shall keep it at the ready."

She sips her tea. We're losing ground fast. I look at Felicity, who looks at Ann, who looks

back at me. Finally, Felicity sighs heavily, working up real tears.

"Miss Worthington, what on earth is the matter?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Nightwing, but I can't help thinking about those girls and the fire and

how simply awful it must have been for you."

I am so astonished that I have to bury my fingernails in my palm to keep from laughing

out loud. But Mrs. Nightwing takes the bait completely.

"Yes, it was quite terrible," she says, sounding miles away. "I was a teacher here then.

Mrs. Spence was headmistress, God rest her soul. She died in that fire, trying to rescue

the girls. All for naught, all for naught."

She seems tortured by it, and I'm feeling guilty for dragging her into it again. Brigid is

standing next to me, clearing plates and listening.

Felicity rests her chin in her hands. "What were they like, Sarah and Mary?"

Mrs. Nightwing considers for a moment. "Like all girls, I suppose. Mary was a reader. A

quiet girl. She wanted to travel, to see Spain and Morocco, India. She was a particular

favorite of Mrs. Spence."

"And Sarah?" I ask.

Brigid's hand hovers over the plates as if she's forgotten her purpose for a moment.

Quietly, she gathers the silver.

"Sarah was a bit of a free spirit. In hindsight, Mrs. Spence might have done more to rein

her in. They were fanciful girls, taken with stories of fairies and magic and whatnot."

I stare into my custard dish.

"How did the fire happen?" Cecily asks.

"It was a foolish accident. The girls took a candle to the East Wing. It was after they

should have been in bed. We shall never know why they went. Probably one of their

fanciful adventures." Mrs. Nightwing sips from her cup for a moment, lost. "The candle

caught on a drapery, I suppose, and spread quickly. Mrs. Spence must have rushed in to

help them, the door slammed shut behind her…" She trails off, staring into her tea as if it

might help her. "I couldn't get it open, you see. It was as if something heavy was holding

it fast. I suppose we should count ourselves very lucky. The entire school might have

gone up in flames."

It's quiet except for the clatter of dishes in Brigid's hands.

Ann barges in. "Is it true that Sarah and Mary were involved with something

supernatural?"

A dish crashes to the floor. Brigid is on hands and knees, sweeping the pieces into her

apron. "Sorry, Missus Nightwing. I'll just get a broom."

Mrs. Nightwing fixes Ann with a glare. "Wherever did you hear such a scurrilous

rumor?"

I stir my tea with a concentration particular to nuns at prayer. Blast Ann and her stupidity.

"We read—" Ann is interrupted by my swift kick to her leg. "I-I c-c-can't rem-mmember."

"Nonsense! If someone has been telling you such tales, I should know at once…"

Felicity is on top of the game. "I am relieved to hear it isn't true and that Spence's

refutation is above reproach. What a terrible accident." She glares at Ann when she says

accident.

"I do not believe in the supernatural in the slightest," Mrs. Nightwing sniffs, straightening

her spine and pushing away from the table. "But I do believe in the power of young girls'

minds to conjure all sorts of hobgoblins that have nothing to do with the occult and

everything to do with very real mischief. So, I'll ask you again—has someone been filling

your head with nonsense about magic and whatnot? Because I won't stand for it."

I'm sure she can hear the hammering of my heart across the table as we all swear our

innocence on the topic. Mrs. Nightwing stands.

"If I find out otherwise, I shall punish those responsible severely. Now, it's been a long

day. Let's all say good night."

We promise to turn in when we've finished, and Mrs. Nightwing retreats to make her

nightly pronouncement in the great hall that it is time for bed.

"Were you dropped on your head as a child?" Felicity snaps at Ann the moment Mrs.

Nightwing has left us.

"S-s-sorry," she stammers. "Why didn't you want her to know about the book?"

"And have her confiscate it? I think not." Felicity sneers.

Brigid bustles back in, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"You seem on edge tonight, Brigid," Felicity says.

"Aye," she says, sweeping crumbs from the table. "Talking about those two is enough to

give anyone the chills. I remember 'em, all right, and they wasn't the saints the missus

makes 'em out to be."

If you want to know something about a household, ask the servants. That's what my

father used to say. I offer Brigid a seat next to me. "You should rest for a moment, Brigid.

It'll do you good."

"Don't mind if I do. Oooh, my feet."

"Tell us about them. The truth" Ann says.

A low whistling sound escapes from Brigid's mouth. "They was wicked girls. Especially

that Sarah. Very cheeky she was. I was young then—not bad-lookin' m'self. Had plen'y of

suitors who come for me on Sundays for the walk to church. Always went to church, rain

or snow or shine, I did."

Brigid is unraveling. We could be here all night listening to tales of her piety.

"And the girls?" I prompt.

Brigid fixes me with a stare. "Getting to it, ain't I? As I was saying, I'd go to church on

Sundays. But one Sunday, Missus Spence, who was the Good Lord's angel on m' right

hand, Missus Spence asks me would I stay and look after young Sarah, who's feeling

poorly. This would be about a week before the fire." She stops, coughs for effect. "It's

hard to talk, m' throat bein' so dry."

Dutifully Ann brings her a cup of tea.

"Oh, that's a good girl. Now, I'm only tellin' you wot I know as a lesson. And it don't go

no further than these four walls. Swear it."

We fall all over ourselves swearing, and Brigid picks up where she left off, happy to

beholding court.

"Mind you, I wasn't happy about staying. M' regular suitor, Paulie, was to call for me and

I had a new bonnet besides, but I knew m' duty. You'll learn that soon enough, Miss Ann,

once you've secured a position."

Embarrassed, Ann looks away and I can't help feeling sorry for her.

"Oooh, this wants sugar…" Brigid says, holding out her teacup like a queen. She's taking

us for all we're worth but she has information we need so I'm back with the sugar bowl

and we wait till she has stirred two lumps in. "I admit I wasn't feeling charitably toward

Miss Sarah that day. But I go to bring her breakfast on a tray and find her not in bed

where she should be but down on the floor, crouched low like an animal, talking to Mary.

They was having harsh words. I hear Mary sayin', 'Oh, no, Sarah, we can't do that, we

can't!' And Sarah says something about 'That's easy enough for you to say. You want to go

off and leave me.' And Mary started in cryin' soft and Sarah wrapped her in her arms and

kissed her bold as you please. Well I' bout fell out right there, I can tell you. 'We'll be

together, Mary. Always.' And then she said something else, I couldn't tell wot exactly, but

something about sacrifice.' Sarah says, 'This is wot it wants, Mary, wot it demands. It's

the only way.' And that's when Mary grabbed her and said, 'It's murder, Sarah.' That's wot

she said: murder. Makes m' blood run cold all over again just thinkin' about it."

Ann is chewing on her fingernails. Felicity takes hold of my hand, and I can feel how her

skin has gone cold. Brigid glances over her shoulder in the direction of the door to make

sure we're alone.

"Well, I must've made a sound or something. Sarah was up quick as you please with

murder in her eyes. Pushed me up against the wall, she did. Looked me in the face—cold

eyes she had, eyes without a soul—she said, 'Snooping, Brigid?' I says, 'No, miss. Only

brung you your tray like Missus said to do.' Because I was scared to m' bones, I don't

mind saying. There was something not right going on."

We're all holding our breath, waiting. Brigid leans in toward us.

"She had one of them hex dollies—a ragged poppet like the kind them li'l Gypsy rats

carry round—and she brings it to my face. She says, 'Brigid, do you know wot happens to

snoops and traitors? They're punished.' And then she yanked a lock of hair clean out of

my head and wrapped it round the poppet tight. 'Keep your mouth shut,' she warns me.

'Or next time…' Well, I never run so fast in all m' life. Stayed in the kitchen all day long,

I did. And a few days later, them girls was dead, and I can't say as I was sorry' bout it.

Though it were a shame about poor Missus Spence."

Brigid makes the sign of the cross over herself quickly. "I knew they'd come to no good

—the two o' them with their secrets and running off to visit that Mother Elena when the

Gypsies came through." Brigid doesn't miss the nudge Ann gives my arm with her elbow.

"Aye, I know all about trips to Mother Elena. Old Brigid weren't born last Sunday. Best

stay away from her. She's not right in the head, always nattering on about somethin' or

other. I hope you girls ain't getting mixed up in anything o' that sort."

She gives us a flinty stare. I practically drop the sugar bowl that's still in my hands.

"Of course not," Felicity says, putting the haughtiness back in her voice. She's gotten

what she wants from Brigid so there's not much point indulging her, as far as she's

concerned.

"I should hope not. Don't want you to start putting on airs, taking fancy names like they

did. Thought they was duchesses or some such, Sarah making me call her… wot was it

now?" She stops, thinks, shakes it off. "Well, there's the steel trap o' the mind sprung

open again. Was right on the tip o' m' tongue, too. But if I ever find the likes of you three

doin' that Gypsy hocus-pocus, I'll haul you down to church by your ears and leave you

there for a week. You see if I don't." She gulps the last of her tea down quickly. "Ah, now,

who's enough of a luv to get her poor Brigid another cuppa?"

After bringing Brigid more tea and promising to go straight to bed, we detour into the

great hall. The other girls have all trundled off to bed. Two maids tend quietly to their

duties in the large room, turning down the lamps till the white of their aprons is all we

can see of them, and then they, too, are gone. The fires are fading to a glow. They flicker

and smoke, casting shadows that seem to make the marble columns come alive.

"We've been reading the diary of a dead girl." Felicity shudders. "There's something

terribly creepy about that."

"Do you suppose," Ann says, "that any of what Mary wrote could be true? The

supernatural part?"

With a loud crack, the fireplace gives off a sudden spark, making us jump.

"We need to see Mother Elena," Felicity announces.

No. Absolutely not. Let's draw the curtains and stay in, warm and safe, away from the

uncertain woods.

"Do you mean go to the Gypsy camp? Tonight? By ourselves?" Ann says. I can't tell

whether she's panicked or thrilled by this prospect.

"Yes, tonight. You know how the Gypsies are—they never stay for long. By tomorrow,

they could be gone for the winter. It has to be tonight."

"What about…" I almost say Ithal's name, but stop myself. Felicity's eyes are a warning.

"What about what?" Ann asks, puzzled.

"The men," I say, speaking deliberately to Felicity. "There are men in the camp. How will

we make certain we're safe?"

"The men," Ann repeats solemnly. Men. How one small word could have so much current

running through it…

Felicity matches my tone, sending me her coded message. "I'm sure we can handle the

men. You know how those Gypsies make up all sorts of lies. We'll just laugh along with

them."

"I don't think we should go," Ann says. "Not without an escort."

"Oh, I agree," Felicity mocks. "Why don't you go in right now and ask Brigid to

accompany us on a midnight run to the Gypsies? I'm sure she'd be most obliging."

"I'm quite serious."

"Stay here, then!" Ann immediately bites at a ragged fingernail and Felicity puts an arm

around her. "Look, there are three of us. We shall be each other's chaperones. And

protectors if need be. Though I suspect any fears of being ravished are just wishful

thinking on both your parts."

"Ann, I believe we've been insulted," I say, putting my arm around her too. There's an

excitement in the air I can almost taste, a sense of purpose I've never felt before. And I

want more of it. "Are you saying we're not ravish-worthy?"

Felicity grins so widely, her whole face comes to life. "Let's find out."