The Strangely Beautiful Tale of Miss Percy Parker

by Leanna Renee Hieber

  “Oh, no, my dear professor! You must understand. In the convent, the only man I ever could call a friend was a ghost. We could never so much as take hands…”

  There was a moment, as they stared at each other, where Percy thought they shared a keen understanding of loneliness. The professor’s dark eyes softened. He respectfully held her gaze until she bashfully looked away; then he held out his hand, patiently allowing her to approach when ready.

  Percy wiped her eyes and stepped forward. His hand closed again over her waist. Her fingers alit upon his other palm, and he coaxed her hand into his, squeezing gently.

  “Your fear of me simply must cease,” he commanded.

  “It…it isn’t that I’m afraid, Professor.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, Miss Parker, you quake.”

  “Not out of fear, I assure you!” But after this declaration, more mottled patches burst upon Percy’s porcelain cheeks. She was terrified anew that he’d expel her on the spot.

  The professor cleared his throat and simply said, “The rhythm guides us, Miss Parker. One-two-three, one-two-three.” He tapped time upon her finger. “Your feet must do the same. Place your other hand on my shoulder.”

  Percy complied. She was far too nervous to look at him. Instead, she stared at the ornate silver button that clasped his robe about his neck and held his signature scarlet cravat in place.

  “I will lead with my right foot. Step back with your left.” The professor moved forward. As Percy faltered he said, “No, the other—”

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “Stop apologizing, Miss Parker, and move.”

  Percy stepped back, obedient if rigid. The professor added, “Repeat this, following my lead, stepping back when I step forward, interchanging.” As he did so, Percy followed with hesitation but precision, and moved without stumbling. She felt a giddy rush.

  “I see!” She dared a look up at him, and grinned.

  “It’s rather simple once you know the steps,” he stated, and began again. “Can you feel the pulse?”

  Their steps remained small and controlled. “Yes,” she breathed, shocked at her voice, which was a good deal more sensual than she intended. Their eyes locked, Percy stumbled and broke away. “I am sorry, Professor, but—”

  He stepped forward and grabbed her by the hand, firmly turning her to face him again. Percy gasped. He clamped his other hand upon her waist, putting an abrupt halt to her cringing retreat. He stepped forward. She stepped back. They lifted and stepped and repeated without incident. They moved around the open spaces of the office, each turn imparting confidence. Finally, Percy could not hold back a delighted laugh as she realized she was waltzing. And Constance was watching, hovering above the professor’s desk, smiling proudly.

  “I’m dancing!” Percy whispered with glee.

  The professor partially smiled, his eyes sparkling for one single moment. “Indeed you are,” he replied, and Percy felt a tug upon her right hand. She allowed his pull—and twirled beneath his arm! As she spun to face him again, his hand returned to her waist. Percy nearly swooned.

  The professor lowered his head in approval. “Not a bad start, Miss Parker. You see, if you pay attention to your partner, you can react without even being warned.” He smirked, displaying a mischievousness Percy had never seen—or perhaps it was merely wishful thinking.

  The music ended. The disk crackled beneath the needle. The professor released his hold on Percy and stepped back, bowed, holding her gaze. Percy curtseyed in return, wishing the music had gone on indefinitely.

  “Now…no more moping about that damnable gala!” he commanded, moving to the phonograph and lifting the needle.

  “Oh, Professor, how can I ever thank you for this—?” She ran forward and realized with sudden horror that she had unconsciously meant to embrace him.

  “Good night, Miss Parker,” he interrupted.

  “Oh. Yes, of course. Good night, Professor. Thank you!” She spoke hurriedly, awkwardly gathering her things to cover her dangerous intention. “I shall see you on Saturday?”

  “Perhaps you will find me in a dark corner, hiding,” he admitted, grimacing as he took to the chair behind his desk and busied himself with a cup of spiced tea.

  “Well. Good night, then.” She hurried to the door, wondering if the blush upon her cheeks would ever fade. However, her gaze fell upon the painting that earlier had done her such an ill turn, and she couldn’t help but comment. “Do you know why that painting is so ironic to me, Professor?” She did not turn around to face him, instead stared at the woman being led down into the darkness.

  “Do tell, Miss Parker.”

  Percy removed her glasses again and turned to face him. “Percy is just a nickname.” Then she quit his chamber.

  Outside, in the hall, she swooned. Constance bobbed at her side. “You looked so beautiful together,” the ghost breathed.

  “Oh, no, none of that, Constance, I’ve warned you against insinuations,” Percy snapped. But then, suddenly: “Oh, my! I nearly forgot!” She fumbled among her books and drew one out. “This was in the library, and I believe it’s yours. The writing in the margins…do you recall it?” She flipped to the appropriate page.

  Constance stared, a translucent hand at her lips. “That’s it,” she choked, reading. A drop of water splashed the floor: an actual tear made manifest. “My greatest folly,” the ghost admitted, “was to deny a lovely soul who asked nothing more than to remain by my side.” She glanced desperately at Percy. “You and I seek such similar comfort, do we not? Shall I now find mine?”

  “Perhaps your ‘P.’ wanders nearby, seeking you. Or perhaps…perhaps you are simply free to be at peace.”

  “Yes, yes! I feel peace, Percy, no longer any sickness in my hollow head. It’s why I was pushing you toward your professor—because no matter what may stand between, love is the highest power on earth and our one true purpose. You realize that now, don’t you, Percy?”

  “Of course,” Percy murmured, looking at the ground.

  The spirit continued blithely. “Now that I know, and now that I’ve helped you, I can rest.”

  Percy waved the ghost onward, smiling. “Go! Go and find rest, my friend.”

  Constance nodded and grew blindingly bright. “At last. I shall see you on the other side,” she said. And with a loving wave of her hand, at last the spectre dissipated. Only the hint of one word remained. “Paul…”

  Percy wiped her watering eyes and darted back to her hall, ignoring the guard she passed along the way; she couldn’t be troubled by murderers or fear when there was so much beauty in the world. Bursting through Marianna’s door, she wailed, “He taught me how to waltz!” then clapped hands over her mouth.

  Marianna looked up from her bed, a smile creeping over her face. “Who?”

  “You’ll never guess! After our lesson…he asked me to turn on the phonograph. When I turned, he was standing in the middle of the room. Oh, how grand he looked! And then…”

  Her friend leaned forward, clearly titillated.

  Percy clasped her hands and whispered, “I can’t begin to describe how incredible it felt to be touched on the waist, held by the hand…Oh, this is silly and dangerous!”

  “Waltzing?”

  Percy looked around as if the walls had ears. “We should not speak of it.”

  “Because Miss Thompson might dismiss you out of jealousy? Liebe ist wie Krieg…”

  Percy squealed. “Hush with your love and war, it was a lesson, Marianna. There was nothing untoward—truly! This was utterly innocent! I am his student!”

  “Are not some people drawn to one another, no matter their professions, age or circumstance? Does fate mean nothing? Are you not nineteen, no longer a girl but a woman? Back in my homeland—”

  Percy shook her head, crushing down all hope. “We cannot pose such questions, Marianna, no matter where we are. I shan’t risk my future at this academy. Whatever exists between him and the headmistress, so be it. And…there�
�s been nothing remotely inappropriate. He’s only trying to help.”

  Marianna shrugged, thoughtful. “Well, no matter. We must find you a dress.”

  “A dress?”

  “For the ball, silly. You do not mean to tell me after that rousing lesson you plan to miss?”

  “Oh. Well. Perhaps I’ll go—but I’ll still look a fright, and no one will want to dance with me.”

  “You will not look a fright, Percy,” her friend promised. “Love’s bloom becomes you.”

  Percy hissed. “Never say that, Marianna. How many times must I…?”

  She broke off as the German girl turned and ran to her closet, pulled down a mass of fabric from a shelf. “Fräulein, your evening gown!” A moment later, Marianna held up an incredible dress.

  “Oh, how beautiful!”

  “Meine Mutter sent me three gowns. Have one!” the girl cried. When Percy laughed, overcome, and nearly knocked her to the floor in an exuberant hug, she added, “Come, meine Liebe, there are errands to run, flowers to gather and dreams yet to be planned!”

  The Groundskeeper stood looking through the portal, his gaze sweeping the river Thames up to the Tower of London. He was finally returned home, and he stood with calloused feet planted firmly on his natural soil, his arms folded. He had cleaned his face, which like a carnival mask was currently ill proportioned and eerily lit.

  “Oh, my darling Lucy-loo!” he cried, not knowing where she was but only that she was there, in the very heart of the world, and would soon make the Whisper-world proud. “With you and The Guard on the loose, my dear, nothing will stop you. Not this time. Nothing between you and the last pin. Pry, pry, my lovey, it’s up to you,” he chortled, the pitch of his singsong voice rising. “We’ve loosened, we’ve loosened, and everything’s ready. Now…shatter the seal!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The corridors of Athene Hall were filled with the soft murmurs of women, the rustle of expensive fabrics and the occasional giggle, and excitement had transformed Marianna into a force of nature. Only once she and Percy had donned their finery and done up all their buttons and clasps did she let either of them pause to breathe—and breathing was difficult with the tight press of their undergarments. With grand ceremony, both girls turned to look in the mirror.

  Percy did not recognize herself. Pale lavender satin enveloped her in contemporary style. Paired with a snug corset, Percy’s flowing skirt swept out into a bell, with a gathered layer drawn up on either side and cinched into a bustle at the back. A high-backed dress with buttons all down the spine, its neckline was elegantly sloped to allow generous amounts of flesh to be shown without scandal, the bustline accented by flowers embroidered in silver thread and seed pearls. The glitter of her necklace chain matched the sparkle of Percy’s eyes, and her phoenix charm lay reassuringly tucked into her bodice. A perfect braid swept her hair into a circlet, and sprigs of heather crowned her a veritable fairy queen. Marianna had rubbed the oil of the flowers behind Percy’s ears and around her wrists, and the smell filled Percy’s nostrils with calm delight.

  Marianna, elegant in burgundy taffeta with fitted sleeves and a slender V-line waist, spun about slowly. She produced a set of pale lavender lace gloves and presented them to her friend. “You are an incredible sight, Percy. You are Titania. This gala is yours.”

  “I…I do look all right, don’t I?” Percy breathed. For the first time in her life, she was nearly pretty. Her perfumed hands flitted over each other, and she could not stop staring at her reflection. But there was one hesitation: she had never once left her room without a scarf. “Marianna, I can’t, I’m frightened.” Overwhelmed, she shook her head and reached for the muslin.

  “Percy, I tell you, you look amazing. Schöne!”

  “But you’re accustomed to me.” Percy paused. “Well, you and the professor. He’s seen me, too. He demanded I be brave and not hide beneath shrouds while I’m in his office.” She was surprised she’d never admitted as much to her friend.

  Marianna seemed pleased. “Tonight, Percy, you’ll be braver than ever before.”

  A second-floor chamber long locked away, silently ready, the ballroom of Promethe Hall was a dreamily glittering sight to behold. This gala was the academy’s one grand indulgence, and Percy and Marianna stood hesitantly at the threshold. Marianna had to keep removing Percy’s hands from her collar, foiling her instinct to cover up.

  The ballroom was long, one side lined with high windows that made a dark, starry night visible above the rim of the courtyard. At the center, French doors opened onto little balconies. Past filmy white curtains rustling in the wake of a crisp fall breeze, the silhouettes of coupled men and women stood staring contemplatively at each other’s faces or the evening sky. The opposite wall was golden and colonnaded, with wide doors at both ends. Alcoves exhibited gaggles of murmuring ladies reclining upon benches lined with crimson velvet. Busts of philosophers and literary figures stood silent sentry amid the frivolity. If living guards were posted, they had done well to dress finely and blend in.

  After drinking in the sights, the two girls crept beyond the threshold. Percy glanced around. Marianna anticipated her, and nodded across the long hall. Like a guardian statue at the back stood an unmistakable figure, tall and swathed in black. Percy let out a choking sigh.

  Marianna shook her head. “You are hopeless, my friend. Why is it you have set your sights only on the forbidden? Is it because you feel no one else will court you?”

  The evening had made her friend bold, but Percy did not mind. In this atmosphere, it seemed as if almost anything could happen. “No. He just…” Percy found she had no words.

  Marianna’s friend Edward approached, cutting a dashing figure in a navy coat that fit him like a glove, a grey silk cravat tucked neatly into his vest. His tousled chestnut hair hanging adorably down over his eyebrows, he stared at Marianna with unabashed rapture. “Miss Farelei,” he murmured, clearly relishing the opportunity to kiss her gloved hand. Their bodies shivered simultaneously.

  After that long moment of rapture, he turned with a wide and welcoming smile. Taking in the sight of Percy, all of her, he nodded in approval. Her hand was kissed in turn, or rather the lace upon it. “Miss Parker, I am delighted you’re here!” He squeezed her hand in his. “You are unlike anyone I have ever seen—and I mean that kindly. Come into the light, Miss Parker, for I’ll not allow you to slink in the shadows. To do so would be to eclipse the moon.”

  Percy beamed. “Your kind words, Mr. Page, are a gift. Believe it or not, a professor of mine recently expressed similar sentiments. Perhaps I ought to listen.” Her eyes flicked to the opposite corner of the room, where Professor Rychman was holding a conversation with a history teacher, looking thoroughly bored.

  “Perhaps,” Marianna supplied with a smirk.

  The three students amused themselves with punch and confections, listening to the string quartet, watching and appreciating the gala’s attendees. Everyone boasted breathtaking finery, the very latest fashions in sleeves, bustles and buttons. No one yet had made a scene regarding Percy’s arrival, and she wished to remain inconspicuous by the door.

  Edward held out an arm for Marianna. “Miss Parker,” he began timidly, “would you mind if I escorted your friend about the room? I promised I’d introduce her to a fellow who recently returned from her homeland.”

  Percy nodded graciously, seeing how Marianna’s eyes lit up. “By all means,” she said, waving them off. Her friend replied with a look of gratitude, and Percy smiled again, happy until she was assailed by a tinge of jealousy, jealousy for the way Edward looked at the other girl’s very normal and beautiful face. But she had no such admirer, and so, forcing herself to stop staring at her professor, she drifted to the corner and evaluated her peers.

  A few of the women toted flowers. Many more wore corsages, produced by beaus, admirers or family members. Percy wished that she had a flower. She had no beau, nor admirers, nor family, yet she refused to let this daunt her, was det
ermined not to lapse into a melancholy. She realized, too, that she did not seek the same throes of giddiness that Marianna and Edward enjoyed. She wanted something blissful, yes, but also something deeper and more inscrutable. Something eternal.

  Valiantly she smiled, moving at last to sit alone in a chair by the wall. Some unwanted attention was indeed cast her way, murmurs and the occasional titter, but she ignored them as best she could and sought peace. Batted eyelashes, soft words exchanged by inviting lips, giggles, smiles and butterfly kisses upon palms, scarlet flushes, fans held at precise angles and in unspoken signals: a whole world unfolded around Percy in a language she didn’t understand, a world in which she had no place…This world’s inhabitants twirled past her without a care in the world.

  After a bit, the living dancers failed to amuse. Percy couldn’t help but turn and watch the dead who hovered beyond the ballroom windows, hesitant to join the party. She recognized one from her hall, and he lifted up a transparent hand. Percy waved back with a smile—and then realized she appeared quite mad. Quickly she changed the motion to adjusting a bud of heather in her hair, but she had a sense this was unconvincing. The subtle pointing and whispers of her peers increased, and Percy blushed, knowing she was on display.

  Alexi was in the midst of an uninteresting conversation—Mrs. Rathbine was droning on about Roman pottery—when he first noticed the goddess across the ballroom: Miss Parker had come, and admirably without her shields. A goddess indeed, for he had guessed her full name after her hint about the painting in his office. She had the name of his goddess, though that long-ago oracle had never given it. Nonetheless, his work and his fate required faith, and he had nothing left but to await the final sign. Prophecy had come, surely, and in the surprising form of a student. He knew she could not know that truth for herself, troublesome as her ignorance was. They would both have to await the final revelation.

  Miss Parker’s elegant dress and elaborate coif were stunning. Her fine features had been painted with the softest rose blush, and her pale eyes flashed like diamonds. She was by far the most captivating thing ever seen at this silly event. He noted her talking to various young ladies who drifted past, strained into saying something polite. She was gracious and returned their trivial, polite conversation, but when she occasionally glanced away, he read her struggle and isolation. She alone, he was sure, understood why he dreaded this event every year. Such recognition was profound.