A Great and Terrible Beauty

by Libba Bray

  “All my life, I’m afraid. My poor mother and father have suffered so. But as you are such an honorable man, I find that my heart will not permit me to continue this deceit.”

  Bravo. The British stage is missing a fine actress in Pippa. She gives me a sideways glance. I smile in approval.

  Mr. Bumble looks exactly like a man who has bought a fine piece of china, only to bring it home and discover the crack. “I am an honorable man. One who honors his commitments. I shall speak to your parents at once.”

  Pippa grabs hold of his hand. “Oh, no. Please! They would never forgive me for telling you the truth. Please understand that I’m only looking out for your welfare.”

  She’s giving him her large, pleading eyes. Her charms have the desired effect.

  “You do understand that if I were to break this engagement, your reputation—your very virtue—would be called into question.”

  Ah, yes. Wouldn’t want us if the old virtue were questionable. Heaven forbid.

  “Yes,” Pippa says, eyes downcast. “That is why I think it would be best for me to refuse you.” She slides the ring from her finger and drops it into his palm. I wait to see if he will beg her to reconsider, if he will pledge his love in spite of her ailment. But he seems relieved, his tone imperious.

  “What shall I say to your parents, then?”

  “Say that I am too young and foolish to take as a wife and that you have been noble enough to allow me to end things and save my reputation. They will not press you.”

  Pippa has never been lovelier than she is at this moment, with her head held high, her eyes shining in triumph. For once, she’s not flowing with the current but swimming against it.

  “Very well, then.”

  Mrs. Nightwing enters. “Oh, Mr. Bumble, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. One of our girls had a bit of the hysterics, but she seems to be fine now.”

  “It’s no matter, Mrs. Nightwing. I was just leaving.”

  “Already?” Mrs. Nightwing is quite flummoxed.

  “Yes. I’m afraid I have a pressing matter that needs my attention. Ladies, good day to you.”

  Confused but duty-bound, Mrs. Nightwing sees him out.

  “How was I?” Pippa asks, sinking into the chair like lead.

  “Brilliant. Miss Lily Trimble herself couldn’t have done better.”

  Pippa surveys her bare finger. “Pity about the ring, though.”

  “You could have waited till he asked to have it back!”

  “He wouldn’t have, though.”

  “Exactly my point!”

  We’re laughing when Mrs. Nightwing enters, suspicious and predatory. “Pippa, is all as it was between you and Mr. Bumble?”

  Pippa swallows hard. “Yes, Mrs. Nightwing.”

  “Then where, pray tell, has your ring gone to?”

  We hadn’t gotten this far in our planning—how to explain the loss of the ring to everyone. Now we’re stuck, I fear. But Pippa lifts her chin, the faintest hint of a smile beginning to show.

  “Oh, that. He noticed a flaw.”

  We sit, sheltered by the colorful scarves of Felicity’s private salon. Pippa and I are giving an account of the morning’s adventure with Mr. Bumble in rapid, sometimes overlapping detail.

  “And then Pippa said . . .”

  “. . . he found a flaw!”

  We laugh till no sound comes out of our mouths, till our sides ache from it.

  “Oh, that’s sublime,” Felicity says, wiping a tear from her eye. “Let us hope that is the last we shall see of the unfortunate Mr. Bumble.”

  “Mrs. Bartleby Bumble.” Pip spits out the hard Bs. “Can you imagine the horror of that?”

  We laugh again and our laughter drifts down into sighs.

  “Gemma, I want to go again,” Felicity says when it’s quiet.

  Ann nods. “Me too.”

  “It might be pressing our luck to do it again so soon,” I say.

  “Do be a sport,” Ann pleads.

  Felicity nods. “Yes, after all, nothing terrible happened. And think of how marvelous it’s been having all that power at our fingertips. Perhaps your mother was simply doing what mothers do best—worrying needlessly.”

  “Perhaps,” I say. I must admit that I’m in love with the feeling the magic of the runes provides. One more visit to them can’t hurt. And then I promise I’ll stop and do as my mother says. “All right, then,” I say. “The caves it is.”

  “Oh, honestly, I’m too tired to run off to the woods tonight,” Pippa groans.

  “We could do it right now. Right here,” Felicity says.

  Pippa’s eyes widen. “Are you mad? With Mrs. Nightwing and all the others around us?”

  Felicity lifts a section of scarf with her finger. Crowded around the warm fire in clumps of threes and fours, the others are oblivious to us. “They’ll never know we were gone.”

  We take that ride on the mountaintop, falling into ourselves without trying to stop. I have only one rough moment. I’m a mermaid, rising from the sparkling sea, but when I look down, the water is my mother’s face, tight and fearful. I’m suddenly afraid and wish I could stop. But in the next moment we’re swept away to Felicity’s tent. Our eyes are shining, our skin is rosy, our all-knowing smiles are back. Our bodies feel like luxurious sighs as we stand in the great hall, completely invisible.

  Oh, God, the great and terrible beauty of it. Around us, the motion of the room has slowed to the lethargic tempo of a music box coming unwound. Their voices are deep and every word seems to take a lifetime to say. Mrs. Nightwing sits in her chair, reading David Copperfield aloud to the younger girls. The temptation is too much for me. I touch her arm, ever so slightly. She doesn’t stop reading, but slowly, slowly, her free hand lifts and comes to rest on the spot I’ve touched. She scratches at the place where my hand has been, an irritation like an insect bite she’s reacted to and forgotten again. It’s extraordinary.

  Pippa lets out with a tiny whelp of joy. “They can’t see us! It’s as if we’re not really here! Oh, the things I’d like to do . . .”

  “Why not do them?” Felicity says, arching a brow. With that, she reaches over and flips the book in Mrs. Nightwing’s hands so that it is upside down. It takes Mrs. Nightwing a moment to register what has happened, but when she does, she’s completely perplexed. The girls at her feet cover their mouths with their hands to suppress their giggles.

  “Why is everything so slow?” I say, leaning my hand against a marble column. It wriggles beneath my hand and I pull it back fast.

  The column is alive.

  Hundreds of tiny marble fairies and satyrs move on the surface. An odious little gargoyle unfurls his wings, cocks his head to one side. “You see things the way they really are now,” he says. “The others think this is only dreaming. But they live in the dream, not us.” He spits and wipes his nose on his wing.

  “Ugh,” Felicity says. “Disgusting. I’m tempted to squash him.”

  With a screech, the gargoyle is off, flying higher on the column.

  A glimmering fairy boy with yellow eyes smiles up at me. “Why don’t you free us, then?” His voice is a soft murmur.

  “Free you?”

  “We’re trapped here. Free us—just for a moment, long enough to stretch our wings.”

  “All right,” I say. It seems a reasonable request, after all. “You are free.”

  With screeches and yelps, the fairies and nymphs run down the column like water till they’re scurrying about the floor, scavenging bits of cheese, hunks of bread, the odd checker piece. It’s madness with all these creatures running and flying about.

  “Gracious!” Pippa squeals.

  A satyr the size of my thumb strides to a girl seated on the rug. He peeks under the hem of her dress, lets loose with a lascivious howl.

  “So sweet and plump,” he growls.

  “What filthy creatures,” Felicity says, laughing. “The ladies of Spence are in for a very naughty treat.”

  “We ca
n’t let them do this,” I say, half-laughing myself at their pranks. As the satyr climbs the girl’s calf, I pick him up with my fingers. “Oh, no you don’t,” I chide merrily.

  He writhes and curses in protest. In an instant, his face transforms into a demonic mask and he sinks his sharp teeth into the tender skin of my wrist. With a cry of pain, I drop him. Is it my imagination, or is he suddenly larger? Felicity gasps beside me, and now I know it’s true—the beast is growing. He looms over us, his horned head touching the ceiling.

  “Let’s see how you taste, sweet or sour,” he hisses in a deep, gravelly voice.

  “What’s happening?” Pippa shrieks. “Make it stop!”

  “Stop, this instant!” I shout. The satyr only laughs to see us so frightened.

  Pippa is pawing at me in her fright. “It isn’t working! Why isn’t it working?”

  “I don’t know!” I shout back. Using the magic is more complicated than I thought.

  “I knew this was a bad idea,” Pippa chides. Wasn’t she the one begging to do it only moments earlier?

  “We’ve got to get them back on the columns,” Felicity screeches.

  A gargoyle hops onto my leg. In one quick motion, I grab him by the wings and rush to the fireplace, where I hold the naughty beast over the fire. He screams in terror.

  “Tell me how to undo it.” He curses at me, and I lower him just a bit, till the flames lick at his legs. “Tell me or I shall drop you in!”

  The gargoyle calls out to his friends for help, but the satyr only laughs. “Proceed. What’s one less gargoyle in the world? It should prove most amusing.”

  I lower the creature another inch. “Tell me!”

  He screams. “Yes, yes! I shall tell you! Repeat after me: For your lies in marble shall you lie . . .”

  A bare-breasted nymph hops onto the mantel. “You bastard! Don’t tell her any more!”

  “For a thousand years and never die . . .”

  The nymph tries to swipe at him, misses and falls into the fire, which accepts her with a crackle and hiss.

  Wide-eyed, the gargoyle yells, “That’s it. That’s the phrase!”

  “Go on, then! Say it!” Felicity shouts. The satyr has them cornered.

  Dry-mouthed, I start. “For your lies in marble shall you lie . . .”

  The most hideous screeches fill the room. The beasties like their freedom. My heart is beating as fast as their wings, and the next part comes out in a rush. “For a thousand years and never die!”

  Inches from me, the satyr shrinks till he’s no more than thimble-sized again. Fairies, nymphs, gargoyles, and satyrs whoosh past us, flying backward through the air, till they stick fast to the columns, shrieking the entire way. They spit and curse us. Slowly, the marble freezes them into silence, their angry faces and open mouths the only testament to what has just happened.

  I’m shaking and sweat-drenched. We all look a fright.

  Pippa shudders. “I never did like this room. Now I know why.”

  “I think I’ve had enough magic for one night,” Felicity says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

  Only Ann disagrees. She lingers near Cecily and Elizabeth. “One last bit of fun.”

  “What are you going to do?” Pippa asks.

  Ann smiles. “Nothing they don’t deserve.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “SHOULD BE RIGHT . . . ABOUT . . . NOW,” FELICITY SAYS, opening the curtain of scarves just in time for us to hear Cecily’s and Elizabeth’s ear-piercing screams, followed by Mrs. Nightwing’s screeching, “Merciful heavens!”

  They’re completely naked, their clothes strewn about the room—a stocking thrown across an ottoman, a chemise wadded upon the floor. When they realize their state, the two of them squeal and try to cover themselves with their arms. Cecily actually attempts to use Elizabeth as a human shield, while Elizabeth cries and pulls Cecily’s hair.

  “What is the meaning of this!” Mrs. Nightwing booms. The room erupts in shocked giggles, gasps, and a round of pointing. Finally, Miss Moore covers their nakedness with a blanket, and Mrs. Nightwing pulls them into the hall, where we can hear her voice rising into a tone that’s nearly operatic.

  “Now, that was brilliant,” Felicity says, snickering. Ann beams. Her revenge has been sweet indeed. I’ve got that twisted feeling inside that comes from enjoying something I know I’ll regret later. I try not to think about it. My gaze falls on Miss Moore. It’s probably my guilty conscience coming to call, but the penetrating way she looks at me, I could almost swear she knows what we’ve done.

  Something Pippa has just said starts a fresh round of hysterics. I’ve missed it. I’ve been watching Miss Moore stride toward us.

  “Have we been set upon by hyenas?” she asks, poking her head inside the tent.

  We try to compose ourselves.

  “Forgive us, Miss Moore. We shouldn’t laugh. That display was most shocking,” Felicity says, struggling to keep the giggle out of her voice.

  “Yes. Shocking. And very strange,” Miss Moore says. Her gaze falls on me again. I stare at the floor. “May I come in?”

  “Yes, please do,” Pippa answers, making room inside.

  “I’ve never been inside the inner sanctum before, Felicity. It’s quite nice.”

  “I know another place that’s far lovelier,” Felicity answers. I flash her a warning glance.

  “Really? Any place I might’ve been?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. It’s a secret place. A sort of private paradise.” Felicity smiles dreamily.

  “Best not tell me, then. I don’t know if I could be trusted in paradise.”

  She gives an almost girlish laugh. I try to imagine what Miss Moore must have been like as a girl. Was she obedient? Cruel? Rebellious? Shy? Did she have a good friend and a secret place where she found a retreat from the world? Was she ever like us?

  “What is this you’re reading?” The diary is sitting out in plain view. Ann goes to snatch it but Miss Moore is quicker. My heart is in my throat as Miss Moore turns the diary over in her hands, examining it.

  Felicity is quick. “It’s just some silly romance. We found it in the library. After your suggestion.”

  “Was this my suggestion?”

  “Going to the library, I mean.”

  Miss Moore opens the book. We don’t dare look at each other.

  “‘The Secret Diary of Mary Dowd.’ My . . .” A page falls to the floor. “What’s this?”

  Dear God! The illustration! Felicity and I nearly knock each other down in our mad rush to reach the forbidden image before she does.

  “Nothing,” Felicity says. “Just some doodling.”

  “I see.” Miss Moore turns a page and then another.

  “We take turns reading it aloud,” Ann offers. We’re squirming in our seats.

  Miss Moore’s eyes never leave the pages as she says, “Perhaps tonight I shall join you. Would you indulge me?”

  It’s not as if we can say no.

  “Of course,” Felicity croaks. “I’ll show you where we left off. We’re almost to the end, I believe.”

  Miss Moore’s eyes scan the page in her hands. The waiting is interminable. I’m sure she’s going to march us off to Mrs. Nightwing at any moment. But at last, her deep, warm voice fills the tent.

  “April 6, 1871

  “What we have done cannot be undone. Tonight, I went into the woods with Sarah. Night bloomed, and the moon grew fat in the sky. It wasn’t long before Mother Elena’s child, Carolina, came tripping along to us. We had promised her a dolly.

  “‘Have you brought my dolly back?’

  “‘Yes,’ Sarah told her. ‘She’s clean and new and waiting for you just beyond these trees. Come, Carolina, and we’ll take you to her.’

  “It was a most egregious lie and one that hid the dreadful purpose of our hearts.

  “But the child believed us. She took our hands and wandered off happily with us, singing a bit of an old tune.r />
  “When we reached the school, she asked, ‘Where is my dolly?’”

  “‘Inside,’ I said, my heart turning to stone.

  “But the child was afraid and refused to go.

  “‘Your pretty dolly is missing you. And we’ve got lovely toffees, besides,’ Sarah said.

  “‘And I shall let you wear my pretty white pinafore,’ I said, lacing her arms through and tightening the ribbons at the back. ‘My, how pretty you look.’ This cheered her considerably and she followed us into the cupola of the East Wing, where we set our candles to burning.”

  Miss Moore pauses. The room falls silent. This is it. All that’s left is for her to snap the book shut and throw it on the fire. But she has only stopped to clear her throat, and in a few seconds, she starts anew.

  “‘Where is my dolly?’ the child whimpered, and Sarah threw the old rag doll to her. It wasn’t what she expected and she cried.

  “‘Shhh, shhh,’ I said, trying to comfort her.

  “‘Leave her,’ Sarah snapped. ‘And let’s to our purpose, Mary.’

  “There is a time in every life when paths are chosen, character is forged. I could have chosen a different path. But I didn’t. I failed myself. While I held the child down, my hand covering her mouth to silence those cries, Sarah called the beast from its hiding place in the dark heart of the Winterlands. ‘Come to us,’ she cried, her arms lifted high. ‘Come and grant me the power that should be mine.’

  “And then, such a fearful thing. We were pulled into a vision then, into that twilight world between this one and the next. A great black void approached, taking shape into the beast. Oh, I would have run then if I’d only had legs to do so. The cries of the damned near to stilled my heart. But Sarah smiled, lost to the pull of it. The child struggled hard against me, terrified as she was, and I pressed my hand more firmly against her small face, trying to shush her, to block out my own fear. Then slowly I raised my hand and covered the small nose there as well. She knew what I intended then and she fought me. But it was her life for ours, or so I saw it. I held fast to the child till her struggling ceased and she lay still on the floor of the East Wing, her eyes wide open, dead to the world. A terrible realization came over me at what I had done.