“‘I hesitate to ask, but is there any news of my dear friend at Fairfax Hall? I pray for him every day, as I do for you.’
“‘In hopes that I will see you again soon, I am your ever-grateful friend, Agnes Templeton Howard.’”
I folded the letter up and gave it back to Evie.
“It’s Josh, isn’t it?” I said. “He’s the one touched by the fire. A spark of healing.”
“Do you really think so?” Her voice was barely audible, and she didn’t look at me. “I want so much to be healed. I feel that I’ll never be the same again.”
“But what you said before about hope—not being afraid to live, embracing the good and bad—”
“It’s easy to say,” she replied with the ghost of an unsteady smile. “Not quite so easy to do.”
I thought I heard a noise in the corridor. I turned quickly to see who it was and noticed a shadow in the doorway. Someone was there, hovering by the door.
“Who’s there?” I called. I heard a cough, and then a slight figure entered the room. It was the music master, Mr. Brooke. He was a nervous, pale young man with a hesitant manner and a permanent cold. He was one of the few male teachers who had been allowed at Wyldcliffe and was obviously not considered a threat—it was impossible to imagine any student ever having a crush on him.
“Have you finished sorting out those copies, Miss Johnson?” he asked in his high, reedy voice. “You should have done it by now. The bell will be ringing soon for supper.”
“Sorry, Mr. Brooke,” Evie murmured as she quickly gathered the music together, hiding the letter and photos under one of the scores. “You go to supper, Sarah, I’ll be okay.” She turned her back and bent over her work. Mr. Brooke frowned at me, and I had no option but to leave her to get on with her chores.
The letter confirmed what I had really already known—that Josh was fated to bring Evie back from the barren places she had wandered in, back into the warmth and the light.
But who would ever heal me?
Chapter Twelve
The next morning after breakfast, I went with Helen and Evie to knock on the door of the High Mistress’s study.
“Enter.”
Miss Scratton was once again in deep conference with Miss Dalrymple, looking through some papers. There was tension in Miss Scratton’s thinly pressed lips, and she didn’t look up as we trooped into the room. Miss Dalrymple eyed us greedily, however, as though weighing up our suitability for some secret task. Knowing that this fat, fake, smiling teacher was in fact one of the Dark Sisters made me so angry, but we were helpless to act against her. The police would have laughed at any claims we could make. That Miss Dalrymple belonged to a black magic cult? That a year ago Helen had seen Laura van Pallandt, Celeste’s cousin, being sacrificed and murdered by Mrs. Hartle? Only we knew that Mrs. Hartle had stolen some of Laura’s life force in a sick ceremony, sucking her soul away. But she got greedy and went too far and Laura had died. No one would believe us, though. We had no evidence. It was an accident, they would say, the poor girl had drowned in the lake. A terrible, tragic accident.
No, there was no way we could run to the authorities. It was only in the midnight world of shadows that we could confront Miss Dalrymple and the rest of the coven. I forced myself to smile back and promised my anger that one day Rowena Dalrymple would pay for the wrongs that she and her kind had done.
“Good morning, ladies,” she simpered. “I hope you have completed the task our dear High Mistress has set you. You should be setting an example for the other students, not falling behind. I’m sure you don’t want to let yourselves down in any way.” She smiled as if to encourage our efforts, but her eyes were heavy and blank like two wet pebbles.
“Here are the notes you asked for, Miss Scratton,” I said, handing them over.
“And mine.” Evie laid hers down on the desk, and so did Helen.
“I shall be reading them carefully to make sure they are satisfactory,” Miss Scratton replied icily. “You may go.” We turned to leave; then she called us back. “Wait. It would be useful for you to read this account of the Reign of Terror. Chapter eighteen. We shall be discussing the topic in my next class.”
I took the book she was holding out, and then she dismissed us. Miss Dalrymple’s heavy stare followed us as we walked out of the paneled room and into the corridor. As soon as we were out of earshot of the High Mistress’s study, I pulled the others into an empty classroom.
“Chapter eighteen! Let’s look and see if there’s any message for us.”
A thin piece of paper had been tucked discreetly into the book at the beginning of the chapter. I snatched it eagerly and recognized Miss Scratton’s neat handwriting: Meet me tonight at midnight at the ruins. Bring the two gifts. Do not be seen too much together. Let it be understood that you have quarreled. If you are being watched, it will be better for the watchers to think that you are no longer united in strength and purpose. DESTROY THIS NOTE.
“Tonight then,” said Helen. “With the gifts. The Book and the Talisman. Is that all right, Evie?”
Helen and I both looked at Evie questioningly. Would she be willing to plunge into the dark once again?
“Why not?” Evie replied. “If you go, I go. We are bound together in sisterhood, each to each. Isn’t that how it works?” But she didn’t sound natural; it was as if she was quoting from an old book.
“Are you sure?” I said.
“Of course. We haven’t really quarreled, have we? Why would we ever do that?”
Because you don’t really want to be part of this any longer. Because you’re scared and confused. Because you want to bury your love for Sebastian in Josh’s arms. Because I’m angry and jealous and can’t admit it. Because you can’t look me in the eye anymore.
I didn’t say any of that, of course. “We’ll never quarrel” was what I really said. I didn’t mean to be a hypocrite. At that moment I desperately wanted it to be true.
“But you heard what Miss Scratton said,” Helen reminded us. “We have to stay away from one another. Until midnight.”
She walked away quickly, as though she was glad of an excuse to be alone. Evie mooched away in the opposite direction. I tore the note into a hundred tiny fragments, then went outside and dropped them like seeds at the back of a bed of spring flowers, praying that something good would grow from Miss Scratton’s plans.
There was no moon. Thick clouds had drifted in from the west and blotted out the stars. That was a good sign, I thought. There would be less chance of being seen.
I reached the stable yard. It looked so different at night, closed up and secretive. Trying not to make a sound, I raised the latch on Starlight’s stall and crept inside. My darling horse raised his head sleepily.
“Shhh . . . ,” I murmured. I lifted the loose brick in the corner and found the Book, then made my way across the empty courtyard and down to the lake, keeping to the trees and the shadows. I didn’t dare turn on my flashlight, but I felt sure-footed in the dark, and soon the ruins rose up in front of me. How still and silent they were, how old they felt; a mysterious link with a forgotten way of life. And yet the earth under my feet was far, far older, and so were the hills and the hidden stars. Our human gains and losses seemed very small and fragile in comparison.
I was the first one there. I waited under a broken archway that was deep in shadow. Mist hovered over the lake and crept along the ground. A few moments later I saw Helen and Evie flitting over the damp grass. I gave a low whistle and they joined me in my hiding place. As we waited a star emerged from behind the clouds and looked down on us like a cold, staring eye. I shivered, and wished that Miss Scratton would arrive. The bell of the village church began to toll midnight and then died away.
A figure wrapped in a long cloak began to pace across the empty spaces of the ruins, looking down on the ground, shrouded by a hood. Whoever it was didn’t seem to have the same air or gait as Miss Scratton. I held my breath. The unknown person was getting closer, apparently s
earching for something, or someone.
A fox barked in the distant fields. The figure looked up with a sudden jerk, changed direction, and hurried away. Then I heard Miss Scratton’s voice in my ear. “Don’t move. Wait.”
The hurrying figure had disappeared into the thick shrubs. The sound of rustling footsteps faded into silence. I turned in relief to Miss Scratton and whispered, “Who was that?”
“One of the coven, no doubt. We have to work quickly.”
“But what are we going to do?” asked Evie.
“We are going to attempt to perform a powerful spell of protection that may help to ward off Mrs. Hartle’s spirit. You are all vulnerable to attack, so at least this may be a way of creating a protective circle around you.”
“You mean she won’t be able to get at us?” asked Helen doubtfully. “Could anything really keep her away?”
“We must hope so. Evie, do you have the Talisman?”
Evie took the necklace off and handed it to Miss Scratton, who shook her head. “No, it is yours. You must use it.”
“But I don’t know whether I can anymore. . . .”
“Then we shall find out. Now, Sarah, did you bring the Book?” I brought it out from under my jacket. “Excellent. This was once a holy place, the heart of Wyldcliffe, and its blessings may aid us.” She looked at us solemnly. “Let us begin. Do not be afraid of what you see. They are simply dreams and visions. Remember that: Do not be afraid.”
I can’t reveal all the secrets of the ceremony that followed. But first we placed the Book on the earthen altar, opened its pages, and read its instructions: “To Guarde against an Evil Spirit . . .” The heavy black letters had a menacing look. What if we didn’t succeed?
We made the Circle, then linked hands. “I stand here as Guardian and protector of these your servants,” Miss Scratton intoned. “Accept my presence, Lord of Creation. May it be pleasing to you. Let us do your work in secret.”
All at once, the walls of the chapel sprang up whole, as they had once been hundreds of years before. But they were silvery and insubstantial, like the milky lettering that had appeared under Miss Scratton’s long fingers when she had handled the Book. I seemed to see them and yet not see them, with the lake and the trees and the shrubs still faintly outlined beyond the walls, like the ghostly negative of a photograph.
We all stared at our teacher questioningly.
“What . . . how . . . ?”
“For a brief moment we are protected from spying eyes. This much I can do. The rest is up to you.”
We fell to work, following the instructions of the book, tracing complex patterns on the ground and speaking the incantations: “For the protection of our sisters . . . to guard against the wolf, the raven, and the nameless dead . . . to bind the spirit to the grave . . . to bind the enemy in the wilderness . . .”
We summoned the powers of the earth, air, and water. The wind sang outside the glassy walls, and the lake murmured in its bed, and the earth rumbled beneath our feet. I seemed to see shadowy rows of women kneeling in the dim corners of the chapel and whispering ancient prayers.
“Evie, now you must ask Agnes for her aid,” urged Miss Scratton. “Call upon the sacred flame. But do not fear anything you might see.”
With trembling hands, Evie raised the Talisman on high.
“Agnes?” she called. “Please help us. We need you.” A flash of lightning tore across the black sky. My eyes were blinded for a moment; then I saw the outline of a girl dressed in white. She was standing under the ruined east window with her hands stretched out toward us. Agnes had heard and answered our plea.
“We make a Circle against the demon and the goblin,” we chanted. “We shield our sisters against hatred and revenge, in day and night, in sun and storm.”
A streak of fire shot around the edges of the Circle like a whip crack of electricity. Then Agnes spoke, her voice far away and faint. “It is done, my sisters. Do not release the spell. Let it protect you now and tomorrow and for all time.”
“Now and for eternity.”
The spell was made. The flames died away, and Agnes was no longer with us. Miss Scratton spoke. “Well done.” But just as we were about to break the Circle, everything changed. A violent wind sprang through the chapel ruins, tearing at our clothes and hair, snatching our breath away. We were plunged into complete blackness. Strange sighing voices sobbed and howled in the air. “Hold hands,” commanded Miss Scratton. “Don’t let go! Don’t be afraid!”
I seemed to see the rows of shadowy women again, but now I could see their faces under their veils; pale holy faces, intense with prayer and fear. They rose like frightened birds as a band of men, armed with swords and clubs, burst into the chapel. The thud of violent blows and screams and the shattering of glass pierced my mind. Then the shadows wavered and changed, and now I saw a crowd of black-robed women carrying a muffled, heavy burden. They stumbled and jolted, and I saw what they carried. I swayed in horror. It was poor dead Laura, her lips blue and her wide eyes staring and empty. Her body was being dragged in secret to the lake by the Dark Sisters. I wanted to scream, but Miss Scratton gripped my hand and whispered, “Hold on! Don’t look!”
The dreadful image dissolved and the air swirled. I saw Agnes again. Now she was in front of me, now behind; now she was running past, her rich auburn hair streaming down her back. The next moment someone was running over the grass with her: a dazzlingly handsome young man with black hair and blue eyes. He radiated confidence and energy, as though nothing could ever hold him back or diminish his bright youth.
“Sebastian! Sebastian!” Evie cried in agony. But neither Agnes nor Sebastian could see or hear us. The images flashed from one scene to another. The two friends were reading under a broken archway. They were carrying a picnic basket to the lake. Now they were laughing, now quarreling—arguing violently. Then, most dreadful of all, Sebastian was stumbling toward the chapel’s grassy altar, carrying Agnes’s lifeless body in his arms. He was weeping and cursing himself. I stood and watched him in speechless horror, but Evie tried to wrench her hand out of mine and run to him.
“NO!” shouted Miss Scratton. “Do not break the Circle!”
Sebastian stumbled nearer and nearer to us, until I could have touched him, and then as abruptly as it had begun the wind dropped and the wailing voices were stilled, and the shadows of Sebastian Fairfax and Lady Agnes Templeton were no longer visible to our sight.
“It is over.”
Miss Scratton stepped out of the Circle. The glimmering chapel walls melted away, and the ruins took on their familiar shape. We were back in reality, whatever that meant now.
Evie was crying, sobbing in desperation. I had never seen her break down like that before. I should have rushed over to comfort her, but for an instant something held me back. I am ashamed to confess it, but I actually envied her for having had something that was so precious that losing it was such agony. As she covered her face with her hands, I picked up the Book from where it lay on the cold earth. The words that Agnes had written in her journal came back to me: If it were up to me, I would fling this book into the lake and let it sink into those deep waters, never to be seen again. I didn’t want to accept it, but deep down I understood now why Evie wanted nothing more to do with the Mystic Way. Loving Sebastian had left her with memories almost too painful to bear.
Chapter Thirteen
MARIA MELVILLE’S WYLDCLIFFE JOURNAL
APRIL 9, 1919
The memories of what I have to describe next are almost too painful to bear. I would never have imagined the places that my innocent rebellion would lead me. But that was later. At first I was happy, because of Zak.
At school I pretended to be the perfect student, though I couldn’t help smiling to myself when I thought about my hours of freedom at the Gypsy camp. Sometimes I saw Miss S. looking at me, and I wondered if she guessed.
I had imagined that my secret life with Zak and his family would carry on just the same, carefree and happy, bu
t one morning I rode up to the camp and found everything in confusion. Women were crying and wailing and the men looked angry and the children looked scared. I jumped off Cracker and ran up to Zak. “What’s wrong? What has happened?”
Zak looked different, as though he had become a man in a single night. “My father is missing. He went out hunting late last night and has not come back.”
“Perhaps he is just sleeping out on the hills.”
“No! Old Rebekah has spoken. She says he has been taken by the evil spirits who dwell in the caves.”
“Don’t be so foolish!” I exclaimed.
“You call the Romany ways foolish?” Zak glared at me. “Everyone knows that Rebekah has the Sight. If she says a thing, it is true. The men are going out to look for him.”
“But where will you look? The moors are vast. Where will you start?”
“My uncles saw my father late last night up near the entrance to the caves by the White Tor. He said he was looking for a fledging linnet as a gift for my mother and would stay a little longer on the hills. He must have strayed too close to the caves and angered the spirits that live there. That is where we will go to search for him. Underground.”
“Let me come with you,” I begged. I didn’t believe in the spirits story, of course. I thought that his father must be lying hurt on the moors after an accident.
“This is not for girls, Maria. Besides, we hunt at night. My father was taken at night, so he will be found at night.” Zak shook his head to fight back his tears. “If my father does not come back, I will have to be the head of our family before my time, and look after my mother and sisters.”
“I am sure you will find him, Zak. But I wish you would tell the doctor or the village constable. They would help you to search.”
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