The Forgotten Book

by Mechthild Gläser

  We’d reached the ruins by this time, and the spot where the path bent around to the left and followed the riverbank for a stretch. But Darcy didn’t seem any more bothered about walking along the Rhine this morning than I was. Without saying anything we both stepped off the track at the same moment and carried on toward the ruins.

  “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Darcy continued, running his left hand along one of the old stone archways. “I just want to find out a bit more about what was going on with Gina before she disappeared.”

  “You were at the school then, too.”

  “I know,” he said. “But at the time … for a few months we’d sort of been going our separate ways. Gina had changed—she spent a lot of time out here in the woods, and she suddenly developed an interest in old ghost stories. I thought it was all a bit stupid and just a phase she’d grow out of, so I…” He broke off and blinked at me, bewildered. It was almost as if he was waking up from a dream. He looked a bit like Dr. Meier in the dining hall a few days ago.… Oh, dear, was the book’s effect wearing off already?

  “What kind of stories?” I asked quickly.

  “Oh, something about our ancestors and this monastery,” Darcy murmured distractedly—then he suddenly turned his back on me and moved with long strides down what had once been the nave. I followed him hesitantly. I didn’t like that self-assured stride: With every step, he seemed to be turning back into the haughty lord of the manor I knew him to be. His shoulders were rigid now, and his jaw was set.

  “That’s a funny-looking angel,” he said at last, pointing to the statue of the faun as we passed it. “The stonemason can’t have been very good at his job.”

  “It’s not an angel,” I said, but Darcy had already turned to one of the faded gravestones and was scraping off some of the moss with his shoe to reveal the inscription. “Still ugly, though,” he muttered.

  “Is that one of your ancestors?” I asked, coming to stand beside him.

  “Yes.” He removed his foot from the gravestone and looked at me. Then he frowned, and a furrow appeared on his forehead. “Er … sorry, but what are we doing out here again?”

  The effect of the chronicle must have completely worn off. “You wanted to apologize for kicking us out of the library and to explain why you came back to Stolzenburg in the first place,” I said helpfully.

  Darcy seemed lost in thought. “Well, I don’t know what I was thinking, but … as far as I can recall, I’ve now done both.”

  I nodded. “But I’d still like to know more.”

  “About what?”

  “About you and Gina, and what you plan to do next. About what you mean when you say you can sense she’s still alive.” I could see the shutters coming down, but I carried on. “Oh, yes, and about Toby. Do you know why he suddenly seems to have lost interest in Charlotte?”

  “Well—that’s because she’s already got a boyfriend, and he’s not into playing games,” said Darcy impatiently.

  “What?”

  He shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t feel very well today for some reason,” he said. “I’ve felt really weird all morning—I’m just not myself. I’m afraid I’m going to have to go and lie down.” He did look a bit green about the gills, to be fair.

  “Charlotte doesn’t have a boyfriend,” I exclaimed, but Darcy had already turned away and was hurrying back toward the castle.

  I sank down onto one of the old walls and rested my chin in my hands. Thoughts were whirling around my head like a flock of startled sparrows. What Darcy had told me about Toby was a surprise, but it was still by far the least bizarre thing that had happened today. There was no doubt that my entry in the chronicle had affected Darcy’s behavior. I wasn’t sure why or how, but my words had obviously caused him not only to hand over the library as planned but also to confide in me, in an almost friendly way, for at least half an hour. No wonder he was feeling nauseous.

  I, on the other hand, had got what I wanted, and you might have thought I’d be feeling very pleased with myself. But I suddenly felt a bit subdued. The seriousness of what had just happened—of the things Darcy had confided in me, despite the fact that we usually couldn’t stand each other—hit me hard. Suddenly I wondered whether what I’d written about Darcy had really been such a good idea after all. It would have been nicer to get a real apology than one conjured up by the book, wouldn’t it? Although I’d probably have been waiting a very long time.

  Trying to change Darcy’s character had definitely been a step too far, I decided. A few scribbled lines in the chronicle had manipulated him into telling me things he’d probably never told anyone else in the world, and that shocked me. I’d made Darcy tell me something he wouldn’t have chosen to tell me of his own free will. And I’d been given an insight into his feelings that I had no right to. I bit my lower lip and decided that in the future I would be a lot more prudent, and choose my words with greater care. I didn’t want this kind of thing to happen again, especially not to people I liked. Eavesdropping on my friends was not my style.

  What a morning it had been! I tipped my head back and gazed up at the little patch of bright blue sky that shone through a gap in the leaves. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Darcy de Winter had come here hoping to find his twin sister and how he still believed she might be somewhere nearby, after all this time. True, he wasn’t my favorite person in the world, but surely there must be a way I could help him in his search for Gina. Perhaps I could write something about it in the book? Or was that too dangerous?

  I pondered for a while. The truth was, I knew nothing about Gina de Winter or why she had gone missing. And that would make it very difficult to find the right words. Something like “And so Gina de Winter reappeared after a four-year-long walk in the woods” would be far too risky. From what I knew of the book, a line like that could easily result in a rambler stumbling across Gina’s dismembered corpse in the woods the next morning. What I’d have to do was find out a bit more about the circumstances of her disappearance, and then perhaps …

  The other problem was that there was still so much I didn’t know about the chronicle itself. I was learning new things about its powers every day. For example, Hannah and I had discovered that its magic only applied to Stolzenburg land and the people who lived on it. As soon as you tried to describe anything non-Stolzenburg-related, your pen would simply stop working. The book’s pages seemed to reject the ink.

  And my conversation with Darcy had shown me that the book did not have the power to alter people’s personalities, at least not permanently. Unfortunately, this meant that sooner or later my dad’s hypochondria would be back with a vengeance.

  The fact that we’d gotten the library back, however, was a step in the right direction—even if it was in a terrible state and needed a huge amount of work to restore it to its former glory. But we’d think of something. Now that we had the chronicle …

  Yes: The chronicle might be complicated and a little unpredictable at first.

  But it was definitely a good thing.

  July 1794

  The summer at Stolzenburg is doing me a world of good. I take great pleasure in my long walks in the woods and the untamed beauty of the Rhine Valley. I miss my family, of course, especially dear Cassandra. Oh, if only my dear sister were here with me! I am impatient to see her again when I return to England in the autumn. But until then I plan to take full advantage of these weeks with Father’s friends in Germany.

  In the village they tell strange tales about the castle. It is rumored to be haunted. Although cannot the same be said of any grand house? There are eerie tales that tell of an ancient creature living in the catacombs beneath the castle, like the Minotaur in the Labyrinth. They please me: I have a mind to write them down. Perhaps they will even become my first real novel.

  7

  The school council meeting that evening was a disaster. Helena, without my knowledge, had put the school uniforms back on the agenda again. And whe
n I objected that we had more than enough on our plates with the upcoming open day, the alumni reunion, and the Autumn Ball (which were all due to take place the following weekend), nobody listened. The school reps were still refusing to compromise on the school-uniform issue, and they’d even found some new allies in the Year 9 boys. The way I saw it, it made absolutely zero difference whether we wore navy trousers, skirts, and blazers with white shirts or black trousers, skirts, and blazers with light blue shirts. So why create unnecessary expense for our parents?

  During the hour-and-a-half-long discussion about the sample fabrics somebody had ordered over the summer holidays, I cursed myself for not having thought to write about this in the chronicle. When Clara in Year 13 pointed out for what must have been the hundredth time that the school crest had light blue in it and would go so well with sky blue shirts, I decided that resistance was futile and leaned back in my chair. I would deal with the matter that evening, in my own way.

  In my head I composed a few sentences that I hoped would solve the school-uniform problem once and for all. I kept my eyes down, gazing intently at a mark on the tabletop and pretending not to notice the glances—some curious, some envious—that I’d been getting from the other students all day. By now, everyone had heard that I’d gone for a walk in the woods with Darcy de Winter.

  Ten minutes later the majority of the school council voted in favor of the new uniforms, and Helena declared the meeting over. I left the room quickly and hurried outside.

  The sun was already sinking behind the treetops, and in the meadow on the edge of the parkland, the archery club was gathering up their equipment. I watched them for a while, enjoying the feel of the last rays of sunshine on my face. It had been stuffy inside the meeting room and I’d started to feel a bit sleepy, but the fresh air soon perked me up again. I decided to take a walk around the castle before going back to my room, since I’d probably be up half the night writing in the chronicle.

  As I passed a trellis covered with climbing roses, Frederick suddenly appeared in the archway. He was wearing his gardening overalls and holding a pair of hedge clippers, and he had a little twig stuck in his hair. He smiled when he saw me.

  I pointed to the twig. “Um, you’ve got something—”

  “Where?”

  “There, in your hair. A twig.”

  “Can you get it for me?” Frederick bent his head toward me.

  “Of course,” I said, hoping my fingers weren’t trembling. He looked up at me and grinned as I picked the twig and also a few leaves out of his dark blond hair.

  “I’m about to finish up for the day,” he said. “What do you reckon, Emma, do you fancy a drink in the village?”

  Waaah!

  Okay, stay cool.

  I plucked one last leaf out of his hair. “Um, I dunno…,” I said (though my voice came out a little more high-pitched than I’d intended). Then I shrugged. “Yeah, why not.”

  The walk from the castle down to the village had never felt so short. It felt as though we’d barely had time to say two words to each other (Frederick told me about his broken-down car and all the repairs it needed, and I told him about the frustrating school council meeting) before we found ourselves approaching the houses on the outskirts of the village.

  Stolzendorf was a tiny village, which had stood nestled in the hollow at the foot of the hill for centuries. It only had about a hundred inhabitants, and it was made up of half-timbered houses and a few cottages built from the same sandstone as the castle. There was also a little market square in the center with a hairdresser’s, a nail salon, and a pub called the Golden Lion. A few years ago a supermarket had opened up on the edge of the village, and Stolzenburg students were frequently found there stocking up on sweets and other necessities.

  Frederick led me inside the Golden Lion and we found a snug spot in an alcove by the window, as far away as possible from the bar and the TV on the wall beside it. There was a football match on.

  “Champions League?” I asked, evidently revealing my footballing ignorance, because Frederick laughed and didn’t answer. His laugh was as quirky as his smile. I realized I was staring at him and quickly looked down at my lap.

  I suddenly remembered I was wearing my oldest sweater and almost no makeup. But that didn’t seem to bother Frederick. He beamed at me. “I’m having a beer,” he said. “Same for you?”

  “Sure,” I said without a moment’s thought. I didn’t actually like the taste of beer—I wasn’t keen on any kind of alcohol, really. But now was not the time to appear boring or uncool.

  Frederick nodded. “Back in a minute.” He made his way to the bar and returned a few minutes later with our drinks. I took a sip of my beer and swallowed it hurriedly, before my taste buds could properly register the bitter flavor.

  Frederick watched me with a twinkle in his light blue eyes. “Emma,” he said at last, softly. “I’m really glad you came out for a drink with me. It’s so nice to be able to spend a bit of time together, just the two of us.”

  “Yeah,” I said, as a warm feeling spread through my stomach. “I think so, too.”

  Frederick took a sip of his beer. His hands were still slightly muddy from gardening—and was that a little caterpillar crawling up his shoulder? So cute!

  “I heard what happened to the west wing library,” he said. “That was awful. All those precious books just pulled off the shelves and chucked on the floor! It’s an outrage!”

  “I know.” After my conversation with Darcy I’d gone back to the library that afternoon for a more thorough inspection. The extent of the damage was heartbreaking. It would take days to turn the library back into a comfortable meeting place for Westbooks.

  “Did you know my family made those bookshelves?” said Frederick. “The Larbachs have been running the joinery here in the village for generations, and at some point in the mid-eighteenth century the lord of Stolzenburg got my ancestor Johannes Larbach and his brothers to refurbish the west wing library. They also put in a whole load of secret doors and passages all over the castle.” He grinned and made the cuckoo sign. “The lord was a little paranoid, by all accounts.”

  I thought of the splintered bookshelves. “Well, you’re not going to be very happy when you see what your ancestors’ shelves look like now,” I said.

  “No, I don’t doubt it. Did Darcy say how it happened?”

  “No. He said he had nothing to do with it.”

  “Sure.”

  “I actually believe him, to be fair,” I said, surprising even myself.

  Frederick frowned. “Why? Because he went for a walk with you? Because he’s been flirting with you?”

  The rumor mill at Stolzenburg really was working overtime. For some inexplicable reason, I felt my face turn red as Frederick looked at me. I quickly lifted my glass to my lips and took another swig of beer, which to my surprise didn’t actually taste that bad. At least it seemed to be helping with my shyness. After the next gulp I felt much less flustered in Frederick’s presence, and I thought I would soon be back to my usual articulate self. (I hoped so, anyway—I really didn’t want to mess this up.) I cleared my throat. “Why would Darcy have trashed the library, though?” I asked. “Do you think he’s looking for something? Whoever did it obviously searched the place from top to bottom.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. I mean, what could he be looking for?” Frederick leaned back slightly and stretched out his bad leg (his ankle still hadn’t fully healed) beside the table. “I have to admit I can’t stand the guy, personally.”

  “Ditto.”

  Frederick sighed. “It’s so unfair the way these rich kids carry on, isn’t it? They get an amazing education handed to them on a silver platter and during the holidays they swan off all over the world without ever having to think about getting a job or earning money. A de Winter can do whatever the hell he likes—he can take over an entire wing of a castle and trash a library and everyone will still kiss his arse. I bet he was just bored so he decided to smash the place
up like some rock star in a hotel room.” I was struck by the bitterness in Frederick’s voice.

  “No,” I said slowly. “I do think Darcy’s rude and arrogant, but I don’t think he would do that. He hasn’t come here just to have a good time.” Darcy had looked so sad in the woods that morning. And what he’d said had seemed genuine.

  Frederick rolled his eyes and muttered something about things being unfair and car parts not growing on trees, but then he seemed to regain his composure. “Okay, I’m done ranting. But I’m still intrigued to hear about your walk with Darcy. Did he say anything about Gina?”

  “Er—that’s his sister, isn’t it? The girl who went missing?” However much I liked Frederick, sharing other people’s secrets was not my style.

  “Yes,” said Frederick, looking me squarely in the eye. “Did he mention her?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Frederick shrugged. “It was awful, what happened. And me and Gina—well, we were friends. So I just wondered whether the family had heard from her,” he said quietly. His thumb brushed the back of my hand as he reached for his glass. I took another sip of my drink. “Darcy hasn’t changed. He was a jerk back then, too,” Frederick went on. “Gina was really unhappy, but he just ignored her. And he had a huge go at me for taking it seriously and trying to help her.”

  “Really? What do you mean?” I had time to take two or three more sips before Frederick finally came out with a rather confusing explanation. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “She started having these nightmares. Nothing too disturbing, but she took them to heart. But her brother thought she was just making a fuss about nothing and … well, he’s always been an idiot, basically. Do you want another drink?” He pointed to my empty glass.