Snow Sisters

by Carol Lovekin

  Miss Jenkins slotted the final book into place: a copy of I Capture the Castle – a gift from Nain to Verity on her last birthday. As Miss Jenkins walked back to the desk, Verity took it down and flicked it open – recalling being captivated by the first line and wanting to sit in a sink and write her own story.

  Miss Jenkins reappeared, balancing yet more books.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘Marvellous choice; splendid book.’ She smiled at Verity. ‘You have excellent taste, my dear.’

  Ridiculously pleased, Verity hesitated, reluctant to admit she already owned a copy.

  ‘I’ve decided I want to read everything.’ She blushed, feeling foolish. ‘What I mean is…’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean. I’m the same. Reading is learning and learning is knowledge.’

  ‘If I don’t get to go to school, how will I learn anything?’ Verity couldn’t believe she’d said the words out loud. Although Miss Jenkins knew she didn’t go to school it wasn’t anything they had ever talked about.

  ‘I thought you didn’t mind.’

  ‘I say I don’t mind. I can’t bear the arguments.’

  And I can’t let Meredith down.

  ‘Sometimes, my dear, we have to fight for what we want.’ Miss Jenkins paused. ‘I wonder.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Remind me, how old are you now?’

  ‘I’ll be sixteen in September.

  Miss Jenkins tapped her finger against her nose. ‘Hang on a moment.’ She disappeared down the rows, into a room behind the desk, returned a few moments later holding a book aloft, a smile on her face.

  ‘I may be overstepping the mark dear – you are grown up for your age and this book…’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘It isn’t all about fiction, and this book … well, in my view every girl ought to read it. Not least one in search of learning.’

  She handed the book to Verity. ‘They’re poems, only so much more. A friend sent it to me from America; I’ve been carrying it around ever since.’

  Verity’s hand ran across the title.

  The Dream of a Common Language.

  ‘Goodness, what a lovely idea.’

  Miss Jenkins smiled. ‘I shouldn’t say this, although I’m going to. It isn’t about being given an education, Verity; you have to believe you have the right to claim one. I’m where I am in my own life because good women shared their dreams with me.’

  Wherever Miss Jenkins was, Verity decided, was a place she’d like to be.

  The librarian laid her hand on Verity’s arm. ‘Maybe, if you like the poems, I’ll lend you some of her other books. Her name is Adrienne Rich.’ Miss Jenkins said the name as if it mattered.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Jenkins, you’re so kind and…’

  ‘I’m a woman on a mission. In my view, no girl should be denied a proper education and a bit of subversion never hurt anyone.’ Miss Jenkins was brisk efficiency again. ‘Make sure you take care of it.’

  Verity checked out the other books, tucked the mystery one in between them and made her way into the cold.

  Outside Mrs Trahaearn’s shop, she waited until the coast was clear before collecting a bottle of gin for her mother.

  Mrs Trahaearn said, one more time, there was a limit to her patience. ‘Don’t fret, cariad – I’ll give her a ring.’

  Verity tried not to imagine the kind of conversation Mrs Trahaearn might have with Allegra.

  If only she would say no and refuse to serve me.

  Stuffing the bottle of gin under the books, she told herself it would only make things worse. Allegra would find a way to make it Verity’s fault and the fuss she was then bound to cause in the shop would reverberate through town. Everyone would know. And Allegra would find another shop, move on and run up another bill.

  ‘Did you get some books for your sister?’

  The girls were in the sitting room curled on a sofa.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Allegra tapped the copy of I Capture the Castle lying on the sofa

  The conversation with Miss Jenkins had distracted Verity. She’d left the library with only Meredith’s books, a novel she already owned and the ghost anthology. ‘A library book?’

  ‘I can see it’s a library book, you already have it.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Miss Jenkins didn’t realise and she was being nice. I didn’t…’

  Allegra gave a pinched smile. ‘Oh Verity, you have to learn to be assertive. Miss Jenkins doesn’t have a clue. Librarians don’t understand books. They’re just glorified filing clerks.’

  ‘That’s not true. She—’

  ‘Oh, it is, trust me. Librarians don’t know a thing about literature or art. Let’s face it; I can’t see Miss Jenkins at the National.’

  ‘You’ve barely ever spoken to her so how—’

  Allegra voice was edged with its customary mockery. ‘Good grief, Verity, don’t take everything so seriously. We’re teasing, aren’t we, Meredith?’

  ‘Are we?’ Meredith made a rude noise. ‘I didn’t say a word. And in any case, when was the last time you went to an art gallery?’ She turned the page of her own book.

  ‘It’s not about going to galleries, it’s about appreciation. Unlike Verity, who is apparently an expert, Miss Jenkins doesn’t know her Gauguin from her Rossetti.’

  ‘She doesn’t need to,’ Verity said.

  ‘Of course she does! If I go into a library and ask for a book about the Pre-Raphaelites, I don’t expect to be asked who they are.’

  ‘Were.’ Verity couldn’t resist. ‘And Gauguin was an Impressionist.’

  Allegra tutted. ‘You know what I mean; stop trying to be clever.’

  ‘She’s a librarian, Mam, which is the whole point; she knows where the right books are, if you ask for them. And she knows about loads of things, she’s always helping me with stuff.’

  She thought about the mystery book, lying in the space under the window seat in her bedroom. Before hiding it, she’d sneaked a look.

  No one has imagined us….

  Verity wasn’t sure she understoodquite what the poet meant. It sounded grown up in a way she thought she wanted to discover.

  ‘The point is, Verity, Miss bloody Jenkins doesn’t think art counts.’ Allegra’s voice battered Verity’s thoughts. ‘Good Lord, the one time I asked her for a book on Millais, she hadn’t heard of him.’

  ‘Who has?’

  And I bet she did. You’ve probably made it up to make yourself look smart.

  Allegra marched out of the room. ‘I’ll show you, you pair of Philistines.’

  ‘Why does she always have to be such a pain?’ Verity slammed shut her book.

  ‘Humour her,’ Meredith said. ‘Otherwise she won’t stop.’

  Allegra returned with a large book open at a page which she shoved under Verity’s nose. ‘Now then, tell me this doesn’t matter!’

  Meredith leaned over her sister’s shoulder and peered at the page. It was a picture of a red-haired woman in a green gown holding a pomegranate. She looked sad.

  She looked like Allegra.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Verity said. ‘And no one’s saying it doesn’t matter but other than hanging it on a wall and looking at it, what’s it for?’

  A look of genuine pain crossed Allegra’s face. ‘It’s Rossetti! Dear God, it isn’t for anything. Art just is. It doesn’t have to have a purpose, it is the purpose.’

  Verity suspected her mother was quoting someone. She knew better than to suggest it.

  ‘If someone bought one of your paintings,’ Meredith said, ‘then it would have a purpose. We could have some new clothes.’

  ‘You have the frocks your grandmother made for you. And the house is full of clothes.’ Allegra turned her eye on her eldest daughter again. ‘You don’t need Miss Jenkins, is what I’m saying. And neither does Meredith. You’re both far cleverer than she is.’

  No, she’s cleverer than you can imagine, and you can’t stand the competition.

  Allegra picked up her shawl and wrapped it r
ound her shoulders. ‘Well, I can’t hang around here all day. I want to finish the sea thing before the light goes.’ She turned to Meredith. ‘And for your information, baby brat, three of my paintings sold last month, so there.’

  Pleased her mother had regained her temper, Meredith said, ‘That’s great, Mam, and the new one’s looking lovely.’

  ‘Thank you darling. You’re sweet. If it sells, maybe we can run to another new frock. From a shop this time and not homemade. And perhaps when I’ve finished it, we can invite the redoubtable Miss Jenkins to take a look and see what she has to say.’

  Not wanting the argument resurrected, Meredith asked why Allegra didn’t paint a picture of them. ‘Like the one you did when we were little.’

  ‘You mean the one in my bedroom?’

  ‘Yes. You said you painted it for my birthday.’

  ‘I did. You were two and Verity was three. You were so tiny, both of you, like little animals.’ A fleeting shadow crossed her face and in a second was gone, replaced by her sharp smile.

  Allegra’s smile could cut diamonds.

  ‘I suppose I could try another one. Now you’ve grown so pretty.’ She blew Meredith a kiss. ‘We’ll see.’

  Meredith followed her mother to the door. ‘Verity’s prettier than me. She’s beautiful.’

  Allegra’s smile flattened. ‘Yes, of course she is.’ She pulled her shawl tighter. ‘Bloody hell, it’s cold.’

  ‘Cold enough for snow.’ Meredith gazed out of the window.

  ‘It won’t snow, Meredith – your sister doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’ Allegra opened the door. ‘Now don’t bother me, either of you.’

  ‘She’s doesn’t get it, does she?’ Meredith leaned on the windowsill. ‘Why do you love snow, Verity?’

  ‘It’s like friendly rain; softer and kinder.’

  ‘Good answer.’

  ‘Why do you love it?’

  The light from the window turned Meredith’s hair to coral candyfloss. ‘Snow makes me brave. When it snows, the sad part of me goes away.’

  Twenty-two

  Meredith went to bed early, hungry for more of Angharad’s story.

  I wonder what she thought about snow.

  Would a girl who wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without a chaperone be allowed to play in the snow?

  She noticed her slippers on the window seat, wondered if Verity had put them there.

  Why would she? It made no sense. And she still hadn’t found her necklace.

  Because it upset Verity, Meredith had stopped pinching herself. She didn’t think it would make any difference. Angharad’s voice hovered on the periphery of her mind, waiting.

  The words have been inside me for a hundred years…

  Meredith clutched the red heart to her chest.

  He saw my terror … it left him cold…

  Curling up she held Nelly tight and closed her eyes, drifted into sleep. The shadow of whispered words spread around her like the wings of a dark bird. The dream came back and Angharad inhabited it.

  It wasn’t hard to anger him…

  Meredith woke with a start. Her heart raced under her ribs.

  I knew he could hurt me…

  The words were a breath of broken sentence.

  Meredith scanned the room, less sure than before whether what she heard was her imagination or a ghost.

  You’re always making stuff up…

  And yet in the dark, with nothing to distract her or insist she was imagining things, Angharad was as real as if she were in the room, her unfolding story as authentic as Meredith’s drumming heart. In spite of a layer of fear prickling her skin like needles, she refused to let it overcome her. Angharad had chosen her and Meredith wasn’t about to let her down.

  Through a gap in the curtain the sky loomed and the room grew colder and gloomier.

  Vermin must be destroyed…

  The words hung on the air, throaty and harsh and frightening. Angharad sounded angry, her voice heavy with acrimony.

  She sounds furious, she sounds terrified too…

  In the early hours of the following morning, Meredith woke up and looking in the mirror, saw dark circles under her eyes. The eyes themselves were as bright as raindrops. She tried to recall what the ghost had said. The detail evaded her and this time she didn’t bother trying to write anything down.

  The best I can do is to listen.

  She found Verity in the kitchen.

  ‘Is it catching? Waking early?’

  ‘I finished my book,’ Verity said, ‘and I’m hungry.’

  ‘Me too.’

  As they nibbled toast by the range, Meredith said, ‘I don’t know if it’s my dreams or not.’

  She looked so solemn; Verity learned over and gave her a hug. ‘Silly old sausage; it probably is.’

  ‘Yes, only they’re not like ordinary ones any more. I don’t like them and maybe madness is catching.’

  ‘Now you’re being soft. Of course it isn’t.’

  ‘It’s too cold in my room. And things move about.’

  ‘I do that all the time. Put things in one place and they turn up somewhere else.’

  ‘This is different.’ She pointed to her feet. ‘My slippers were on the window seat and I still can’t find my necklace. It’s her, I know it is.’

  Verity didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’m freezing.’ Meredith scooped some coal from the scuttle onto the fire.

  ‘Well, I still think it’s going to snow,’ Verity said. ‘It’s not just me; it was on the weather forecast.’

  The door opened and Allegra came in, dishevelled, half asleep. ‘Still going on about snow?’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘Has the kettle boiled? God, I need coffee. What on earth time is it?’

  ‘Half past seven.’

  Allegra groaned. ‘It’s all right for you, you’re a lark.’

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of coffee.’ Verity switched on the electric kettle.

  ‘What are you doing up, Meredith; you’re usually like me, a proper little night person.’

  ‘No I’m not, I’m a snow person.’

  Allegra ruffled Meredith’s hair. ‘I almost hope it does snow, anything to shut you up.’ She took the mug of coffee from Verity. ‘Thanks. I’m going back to bed.’

  Meredith poked a log with the toe of her slipper, snatched it back as a shower of hot ash broke free. She watched the new flames leap up. ‘She’s frightened.’

  ‘Of what? Snow?’

  ‘Not Mam, you idiot; Angharad.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘We have to help her, Verity. I know it. I knew it when I found the sewing box and saw her name; when I touched the red hearts for the first time.’ Meredith narrowed her eyes. ‘And you do believe me, I know you do.’

  ‘Even if I did, I don’t see what we can do. Or what she could possibly want.’

  Meredith shivered and this time it wasn’t from the cold. ‘She’s afraid, Verity, really afraid.’

  It was so cold Meredith developed chilblains and for once didn’t make a fuss about wearing socks.

  They were supposed to be doing maths and she was wasting time, questioning why anyone would want to do sums made of letters.

  ‘It’s algebra, you idiot.’

  ‘I know what it is, Verity; I want to know what it’s for.’

  ‘It isn’t for anything. It’s like art, darling.’ Verity pulled a face. ‘It just is!’

  Meredith giggled. ‘Well I can’t do it so I’m not going to.’ She pushed the book away, dropped her pencil in the muddle on the table. ‘And Allegra won’t check so botheration to it.’

  Verity gazed out of the window. ‘I honestly think it’s going to snow.’

  ‘You could be right. It’s spooky weather.’

  ‘Everything’s spooky to you.’

  ‘She’s still telling me things.’

  ‘Like what?’ Verity wasn’t sure she wanted to know but she couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

/>   ‘Do you think she’s always been here?’

  Verity refused to believe her grandmother wouldn’t have known if a ghost had lived in Gull House. And if she had, that she wouldn’t have given it short shrift.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Meredith said. ‘What if she’s been stuck here and I’ve woken her up?’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘No it isn’t. Not if you think about it.’ Meredith leaned forward. ‘You know that book you brought from the library. It says ghosts who haven’t found peace can wake up if something triggers them.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as finding a personal possession?’

  ‘Like a sewing box.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Verity had to say this because otherwise she would be buying into the beginning of something she didn’t understand and didn’t want to.

  Meredith was having none of it. ‘You do, Verity. I know you do.’

  Outside, Meredith stamped her feet.

  She wasn’t sure at what point she’d become convinced she’d woken up Angharad’s ghost. It made perfect sense to her and whatever Verity said, Meredith knew her sister believed it too. What mattered now was making sure Allegra didn’t find out about it.

  Trusting her mother was a doubled-edged sword.

  She wouldn’t only want the sewing box; she’d want my ghost too.

  The garden wore a pelt of frost. In the chilly morning light, Meredith crunched across the grass, the cold making her skin burn. She imagined herself as Jadis, ordering the snow, never allowing it to melt.

  ‘Please, please let it snow.’

  She screwed up her eyes and said the words out loud like a spell.

  Stars, books, Gull House, magic and snow: these were the things that made sense to Meredith.

  Her breath made a cloud in front of her face. A solitary snowflake floated onto her eyelash and Meredith’s heart leapt in her chest.

  Verity’s right. It is going to snow.