“Kay Kay would like her,” Ariel said, ignoring Will, who rolled his eyes.
“Then she’s yours to play with,” said Aunt Effie. “Take her.”
Ariel reached out her arms for the doll and buried her nose in the doll’s dark hair. “Thank you, Aun’ Effie,” she said. She gave her prize a protective hug and glared at Meg and Will. “I’m gonna show her to Kay Kay right now!” She headed up the staircase, her shoes spreading a trail of dust.
No one noticed what else had arrived in the chest of books. It glided down the hall, confused at the new location. This place looked like a peasant’s cottage, not like home at all. It sniffed and drew its cloak around its ancient shoulders.
CHAPTER SEVEN
An Invitation
For the rest of the day, Ariel wouldn’t leave the doll or the Griffinage. “Kay Kay likes it here,” she said. “Kay Kay likes the attic room best. Kay Kay’s bed is just like mine in the cubby.” She dragged the doll to lunch, propping it on the wooden bench next to her, and cradled it in her arms, rocking. At least the doll was quiet, thought Will. He was getting mighty tired of Ariel’s constant prattle: “Kay Kay likes blue. Kay Kay loves the doll. Kay Kay’s scared of the well. Kay Kay’s birthday is in April. . . .”
“If I hear one more word about Kay Kay, I’m going to throw her down the well myself,” Will grumbled.
He was itching to get going. With his stomach comfortably full of cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, the worries of the morning were slipping away. The bell song might be strange, but the curate-priest fellow could also be wrong. It was easy for nonmusical people to mix up tunes; they did it all the time. Will shoved the thought of the bell song out of his mind. He was eager to show Meg the children’s chapel at St. Giles and look for the tombs of Gillian and the manor ghost. The church would also put distance between his ears and Ariel’s babble about Kay Kay. Aunt Effie seemed to sense his mood. “Ariel, you come help me in the garden after lunch. We’ll let Meg and Will go off for a bit. Yes, yes, you can bring the doll.”
The bells were ringing when Will and Meg reached the village. First they pealed, chiming a string of eight notes, then tolled the hour. Two dongs. Two o’clock. Will stood perfectly still, listening. He’d told Meg about his meeting with Father Casey, skipping the parts about the bell song. When the last reverberation died away, he shook his head.
“It’s different.”
“Sounds the same to me,” said Meg.
“No, but it’s different from the bell pattern I heard yesterday,” said Will. “There’s a C-sharp missing too. I didn’t hear that bell at all.”
“How can you tell if a bell plays C-sharp or not?”
“Well, I can. That’s all.”
They entered the church and the cold, sweet silence swept over them. Wow, Meg mouthed to Will. Will nodded. It was easy to feel a sense of awe in a place like this, with stone pillars arching up and giant grave flagstones covering the floor. Centuries of hushed footsteps filled the air, and Will half expected a medieval knight to enter and walk down the aisle beside them. It was the kind of place where you felt like whispering without being told.
“I can’t believe you actually played Star Wars in here,” said Meg, giggling.
Will glared at her. He hadn’t exactly meant to play Star Wars; he’d just sat down at the piano and the music came out. There were times Meg couldn’t understand. At home, Meg took piano lessons too, but she complained about practicing. Will grew agitated if he didn’t play at least twice a day.
They circled the church in silence. Candles flickered from metal candleholders. Some were stubs, and others tall and recently lit. The candles were stacked in rows like bleachers, each row a step up. As Will watched, one of the flames snuffed out. He hurried to catch up with Meg.
She was standing near the altar looking into a small side chamber. The chamber glowed red and blue from its stained-glass window, and the mottled light touched a stone slab marked with a single name: MENDIP.
“The manor family tomb,” whispered Meg.
In the middle of the chamber loomed a stone dais, with a stone couple stretched stiffly side by side. One figure was a man, dressed in chain mail. Beside him was the stone effigy of a woman, a ruffed collar carved around her neck. They were lying down, as if on a stone bed, and even had two small stone pillows, complete with tassels. Who’d want a stone pillow? Will thought. Fancy stone clothes flowed around them, and their hands pointed up in prayer. Meg read the inscription aloud: “ ‘James, Third Baron of Mendip, and Wife.’ 1588. That’s not the right one. Must be generations of Mendips buried here.”
“Yeah, look at them all,” said Will. “1588, 1630, 1752, what a lot. Let’s see, 1860. That’s it! There she is,” said Will. He pointed to a monument mounted on the wall. Stone curtains draped over its edges, and in the monument’s corner knelt a small figure, a stone girl. “ ‘Here lies Richard, Fourteenth Baron of Mendip,’ ” read Will. “ ‘Born March 12, 1815; died February 20, 1880. Also Elizabeth, his wife, born November 20, 1831; died December 2, 1860. Rest in peace.’ ”
“I guess they hoped she would,” Will added, shivering a bit. It was eerie to stand next to a ghost’s grave. Her stone monument looked securely mounted to the wall, not like some of these other Mendip tombs with stone lids that looked as if the people inside might pop out. He wondered if their skeletons were really in there. Still, those people were dead dead, not like a ghost who wandered about and could be anywhere. The thought made Will jump. He wanted to get out in the sunshine now, but Meg looked serene and in no hurry to go. He tugged her arm.
“You said we’d see the Chapel of Innocents,” Meg reminded him. Will nodded, and they left the manor ghost’s grave and crossed the nave to the east aisle.
The Chapel of Innocents was bathed in dappled orange, red, and gold light. Will smiled. Even though they were surrounded by children’s gravestones, the sun’s cheerful rays made this little chapel room much friendlier. Plus, none of these kids were ghosts.
Meg pointed to the little stone altar Will had seen earlier. It was flanked by two angels and decorated with stone roses. In the center were the words:
MENDIP
In loving memory of
Gillian Elizabeth
April 5, 1850
April 5, 1860
Lamb of God
“That’s right,” said Meg. “Shep said she died on her birthday.”
“So?” said Will, still anxious to get outside. “It doesn’t really matter. If you’re dead, you’re dead.”
“But on your birthday.” Meg shuddered.
“Makes it easy to count the years,” said Will. “See? She was ten.”
Meg examined the paving stones in the chapel. In the far corner was a small black stone on which someone had recently laid lilacs. “Look at this. It says: ‘Katherine, daughter of Thomas and Anna Croft,’ ” read Meg. “ ‘Born January 3, 1852, Missing April 5, 1860; age 8 years, 3 months, 2 days.’ April fifth again. She died the exact same day as Gillian.”
“But she didn’t die. It says ‘missing,’ ” Will pointed out.
“Yes, that’s odd,” agreed Meg. “Missing on April fifth. I wonder if they knew each other?”
Will felt a small chill. April fifth was two days from now. What if something terrible took place on that day? He didn’t believe in bad omens, but still.
“I wonder what happened to her?” mused Meg. She gestured toward the plain black stone with MISSING carved on it. “Somebody around here might know. Somebody put fresh flowers on her grave.”
Back at the Griffinage, the newly arrived visitor drifted into the kitchen. Heat still lingered from the morning’s activity of coffee brewing and toast warming. This was the warmest room in the peasant cottage. The newcomer paused. Maybe it was here. It hunched its ancient shoulders and poked at the stack of firewood Shep had placed behind the wood stove, dislodging several sticks that toppled to the floor. Nothing. Its heart ached. It cast about the cottage kitc
hen, angry, irritated, then rose up the staircase to the rooms above.
Outside, Ariel scooped up a handful of fallen plum blossoms. She was sitting in the orchard with Uncle Ben, scattering petals like confetti on the great dog’s back. Beyond the plum trees, she could just see Aunt Effie’s bottom sticking up in the air as she bent over a flower bed. Ariel let the blossoms run through her hands, some landing on Gillian’s head. That was what they’d named the doll. It had been Kay Kay’s suggestion. Ariel wished Kay Kay would come back to play. They’d met twice since she’d found the doll, always in the attic. Ariel had looked up in the attic before coming outside with Aunt Effie, but the little room stood empty. Where was her new friend?
At least she wasn’t alone. Uncle Ben was here, and Gillian, too. Uncle Ben was so delightfully furry, and every time she held the doll she felt hugged in a warm and delicious glow.
Beside her, Uncle Ben shifted and gave a low growl. The vibrations rumbled through Ariel’s legs where she leaned against him. She looked up.
There was Kay Kay.
She was sitting on a branch of a nearby plum tree, one foot dangling from the branches. It was the foot with the shoe on it.
“Hello,” said Ariel, scrambling to her feet. She darted around Uncle Ben, her face full of smiles. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Kay Kay gave her a brilliant smile.
“I can’t always come,” answered Kay Kay. “But I can play now.”
“Good! I brought Gillian.” Ariel hurried back to where she’d left her, and shook the fallen petals off her dress. Soon the two girls were settled into a game, Kay Kay up on her branch and Ariel on the ground.
“You’re sneaky,” said Ariel, after a time. “How come you show up and go away so fast?”
The girl shrugged. “I’m good at that. I’ve always been fast. I can run fast too.”
“But you’re really fast! And quiet. You must be good at hide-and-seek.”
Kay Kay nodded solemnly. “Nobody looks long enough.”
All this time, Uncle Ben was rumbling a steady growl. Dogs made noise with new people sometimes, like the mailman, thought Ariel. Kay Kay wasn’t exactly the mailman, and she wasn’t even new, since she lived here, but she didn’t like dogs, and maybe Uncle Ben could tell. Dogs were smart like that.
“Make him go away,” said Kay Kay, pointing down at Uncle Ben, who now crouched at the base of her tree and was growling louder.
“Shoo, Uncle Ben!” called out Ariel. “Go away! Shoo!” Uncle Ben sat squarely on his haunches and cocked his head at Ariel. He looked as if he had no intention of shooing. Off in the distance, Aunt Effie finished weeding a tulip bed. She brushed away last fall’s dried walnut leaves and moved on to the next flower bed, out of sight.
“Can I come up?”
“If you can.”
Back home Ariel often climbed the crabapple tree in the side yard. This plum tree had nice, low branches, perfect for her height, and spread evenly around the trunk. She propped Gillian against the trunk, placed her hands on the tree’s scaly bark, and swung up to the first notch.
Being up in the tree was like being in a snowy castle. Pure white petals surrounded her. The petals showered down like snow whenever she moved, adding to the ring of plum blossoms already carpeting the ground. Ariel laughed with delight.
Kay Kay laughed too. “Come to my birthday party!” she said. “You must come. You’re my best friend.”
“Okay,” said Ariel, with a smile. She’d always wanted a best friend. “When is it?” she asked, a moment later.
“April fifth.”
“Is that today?”
“No, but soon. I’ll tell you.”
Kay Kay climbed higher. Ariel looked longingly after Kay Kay, but did not follow. She knew better than to climb on tiny branches. The branches on these orchard trees thinned to mere slips of twigs, and Kay Kay was perched on a high one. Ariel watched a robin flutter in and land on an upper branch, causing a small shower of petals. It was funny. The little branch swayed under the weight of the robin, but Kay Kay’s branch did not sag at all.
“Bring Gillian,” said Kay Kay, talking about the party again. “You and Gillian will be my only guests, so you have to bring her.”
“Just us?” Ariel loved parties. She might get extra treats being the only guest, since, of course, Gillian would only pretend to eat.
“And bring a present.”
“You’re not supposed to ask for presents,” said Ariel, who knew her manners. “You’re just supposed to say ‘thank you’ and smile even if you already have the exact same thing at home.”
Kay Kay shrugged. “Presents are part of parties,” she said, and Ariel knew this was true.
She left the highest branches and came down to Ariel’s level so they were sitting side by side on the same branch. Then she scooted closer so their heads were touching. Ariel had never been this close to Kay Kay before.
“Hold still,” whispered Kay Kay.
Ariel felt fingers touch her hair. Not like her mother’s fingers. When her mother braided her hair, she could feel warm, knobby fingertips flick in and out from her scalp, moving with strength and confidence. These fingers were icy cold. Ariel sucked in her breath. The girl’s fingers moved across her head with the lightest touch, caressing her hair. Kay Kay began to hum. It was the same high-pitched, wordless tune she hummed in the attic room, the song that was so sad. As Kay Kay hummed, the tune drew Ariel out of the sunny blossom-filled orchard and into a cold space where only she and the caressing fingers existed.
At the base of the tree, Uncle Ben whined.
The chill deepened. The fingers continued to ply her hair. Ariel longed to be back inside, back in the Griffinage with Aunt Effie, wrapped in a blanket, listening to Alice in Wonderland with Uncle Ben’s big head in her lap. Or cuddled up with Mama, and Mama laughing and then saying, How about hot chocolate? At the thought of her mother, Ariel jerked away from Kay Kay’s cold hands.
“I’m done playing,” said Ariel.
Ariel dropped to the ground. She scraped her shin on the rough bark, but didn’t stop to see if it needed a Band-Aid. Instead, she threw her arms around Uncle Ben’s enormous, comforting neck. The humming stopped, but a sound like a sob made her look back.
“Don’t go,” Kay Kay pleaded, her silver eyes rimmed with tears. “Stay with me. You’re my only friend. My always friend.”
Meg and Will stood surrounded by flowering cherry trees in the St. Giles churchyard. It felt good to have left the stone silence of the church behind them. The afternoon sun shone down. A plump little English robin chirped and hopped nearby. Every now and then the wind sent a shower of pale pink petals tumbling down. Will brushed some off his hair. Things didn’t seem eerie or mysterious now that they were outdoors.
Meg read a plaque and informed him that they were standing in what was called the “Reflection Garden.” It was mostly a few benches amid beds of tulips and daffodils. Will relaxed. Maybe that’s what you did in a reflection garden. Just then, a dark shape caught his eye. He pointed to a weeping willow, which stood in the corner, drooping its green fronds and yellow catkins to the ground. Something dark peered out from its edge. “What’s that?”
“Looks like an old church bell,” said Meg.
It was. Mounted on a stone pedestal hung a bell, a huge metal one the size of a small boulder. Meg ran her finger along it. “Boy, it’s big. Bells always look so tiny high up in their spires. Bet the noise is deafening if you’re really up there.”
Will wasn’t listening. He ducked down and craned his head up inside the bell’s belly. The bell was hanging from a wooden frame, so it was easy to poke his head inside.
“What are you doing?” asked Meg.
“Looking for information.” Will’s voice echoed from inside the great bell.
“Read the plaque, then.” Meg stopped and read every plaque she saw, though Will wished he’d seen this one. “It says right here: ‘Tenor bell from St. Giles church. Cast in 1804
by Mears and Son, from the Whitechapel foundry, London. Removed after the fire of 1968.’ ”
Will banged the side of his head on the bell as he crawled out. He groaned and waited for the pain to die away. As he lay still, he heard the slight reverberation of the bell itself. He’d played a note with his head. Suddenly, Will jumped up and grabbed a stick from under the willow tree. He whacked the bell hard. Meg jumped. A clear note sounded through the air.
“Come on, let’s go,” said Will.
“Wait! What’s going on? What’s the big hurry?” asked Meg.
Will ran to the churchyard gate. He did not look back. He heard Meg swing the gate open, then a bang as the gate swung back on its hinges and slammed shut. He headed toward McBurney’s pasture and the Griffinage. Meg ran after him.
“What’s going on?” she asked again when she’d caught up.
“That’s the bell I heard,” said Will, panting and stopping to look at her. “It’s a C-sharp. I heard that bell playing from fifty years ago when it shouldn’t be playing.” So Father Casey was right, he added to himself. Aloud, he said: “I’m going crazy. That’s what’s going on.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the Night
At the Griffinage, they found Ariel cuddled up under a pile of wool blankets with Uncle Ben beside her. From the edge of the blankets, Meg could see a tuft of black hair from the china doll intertwined with Ariel’s curls.
“Been there nearly since you left,” said Aunt Effie, touching her hand to Ariel’s forehead. “Wonder if she’s coming down with something. I’ll go fetch the thermometer.” She disappeared down the hall. Will headed to the kitchen to get a drink of water. His hiccups were back.
Meg knelt beside Ariel and touched her forehead. It felt reassuringly warm, the right sort of warm, not sweaty or burning with fever. For the first time she wondered if Ariel could see ghosts. She was the right age, according to Shep. Should she ask her when she woke up, or would talking about ghosts scare her? Meg listened for a moment to Ariel’s soft breathing mingled with Uncle Ben’s low rumbles.
The Griffins of Castle Cary Page 7