Dark Angel

by V. C. Andrews

  "You look so clean, Heaven," merrily chirped Pru Carraway, out of her college-girl clothes and into her transparent baby dolls. "Did you feel a special need for staying so long in the shower?"

  "Just the same old need I have every night since I came to Winterhaven--to wash the atmosphere from my skin and hair."

  "The atmosphere is dirty here? Dirtier than where you came from?"

  "There are coal mines and cotton gins where I come from, and the coal soot is carried on the wind to dirty clean clothes on the line, and curtains have to be washed once a week. And the airborne cotton lint invades the lungs of the millworkers, and even the lungs of people who live downwind. But since I came to Winterhaven I have experienced nothing but clean, wholesome, American fun. I cannot wait to write my thesis about my experiences at Winterhaven. It should be very enlightening to those who don't know what goes on in private schools like this."

  Suddenly Pru Carraway was smiling, smiling broadly. "Oh, come now, Heaven, are you any the worse for wear? We always play that joke on a new girl. It's fun to mislead them and let them dress incorrectly. It's all part of our initiation. Now, if you complete the last ritual, you can become one of us, and pull the same tricks on the next new girl."

  "No thanks," I said coldly, the memory of those awful cramps that had left me weak still very much with me. "I don't care to become a member of your club."

  "Of course you do! Everyone always does! We have oodles of fun, and food and drinks stashed away that you wouldn't believe. And the next step will complete our requirements; we don't like girls who chicken out." She smiled at me winningly, with more charm than I had previously suspected she possessed. "All you have to do is slide down the dirty linen chute, then find your way out of the cellar, which is always kept locked. There is a way out, but you'll have to find it."

  The pregnant pause stretched and stretched as I thought this over. "But how do I know the chute isn't dangerous?"

  "Why we've all done it, Heaven, every last one of us, and none of us were harmed!" Pru smiled at me again. "C'mon, be a good sport . . . besides we want to visit you this Christmas."

  An anger difficult to describe was building within me. There were all kinds of petty tricks they could have played that wouldn't have been so physically violent. And down there on top of all the dirty linen was a double bag of filth just waiting . . .

  "If someone would prove to me that the chute is safe, and there truly is a way out of the locked basement, maybe . . ." I said. "I wouldn't want to be caught down there in the morning by one of the washwomen, who would immediately report me for being off limits--then maybe . . ."

  "We've all done it!" flared Pru, as if she considered my caution utterly overdone. "It's only a swift downhill ride and you end up on damp towels. No big deal."

  "But I want to make sure I can find my way out of the basement," I insisted.

  "All right!" shouted Pru. "I'll do it first myself to prove it can be done! And when you see me again, you'll realize I'm the only truly brave person here, for someone other than the president of the club should have volunteered."

  Destiny was at hand. Whatever happened next was none of my doing, I thought, as I watched Pru Carraway preen and praise herself, then prance toward the very largest of the clothes chutes where I'd dropped my plastic bag. With a great show of bravery, and a flourish of her hand, waving farewell as she called "See you later," she crawled through the round opening while the strong, heavy door was held open by one of her friends.

  With Pru out of sight, the door was released, and with a loud bang it slammed shut. Beyond and out of sight Pru was telling the world in a loud, shrilling yell that the ride down was fun, fun, fun!

  I held my breath. Maybe the double plastic bags would hold, maybe.

  Then, quicker than I anticipated, came a different kind of scream. Horrified! Disgusted! Anguished!

  "Doesn't she always overdo it?" said some girl I didn't turn to identify.

  Amy Luckett leaned to whisper. "Forgive us, Heaven, for what we did. But all of us have to endure some ordeal, and I overheard your guardian tell Mrs. Mallory not to give you any help or protection from what the other girls did. It seems he wants to 'test your mettle' and see what you're made of."

  I didn't know what to think. Far away Pru was still screaming and sobbing. Her wails began to drift away, becoming fainter and fainter. And with each passing second the nineteen girls who surrounded me became louder and louder with their comments, wondering why it was taking Pru so long to return.

  Finally Pru Carraway showed up. She was pale, shaken, and so darn clean. Even her hair had been freshly shampooed. Her skin had been scrubbed with such force it looked shiny and raw. Her pale and stony gaze riveted on me. The girls around me grew very quiet. "Okay, I've proven it can be done. It's your turn now."

  "I don't really care to belong to your club," I pronounced in a cold and haughty manner that rivaled her own. "Fun is fun, but anything that is dangerous and insulting and embarrassing physically goes beyond good taste, and good sense. I will go my way, and the rest of you can go yours."

  Every one of those girls stared at me with absolute shock in her eyes, but in the glittery eyes of Pru Carraway glowed something else--relief that I hadn't exposed her shame, and resentment and hostility because, while she was gone, I had somehow managed to make a few friends.

  Nine Logan

  . I NEVER BECAME ONE OF THE SELECT IN WINTERHAVEN, but at least the majority of the girls accepted me for what I was, different and independent in a shy and uncertain way.

  Subconsciously I had found the same old shield that I had used in the Willies and Winnerrow; indifferent, that's what I'd pretend to be. Let them throw slings and arrows, what did I care? I was here, where I wanted to be, and that was enough.

  When Troy called the day after the dance to see how it had gone, I told him someone had played a terrible trick on me, but I was much too embarrassed to tell him what the trick had been. "You weren't harmed were you?" he asked, seemingly very worried. "I've heard those Winterhaven girls can be quite nasty to new girls, especially those they haven't grown up with."

  "Oh," I answered in a new, nonchalant way, "I think this time the trick was also on them."

  The very next Friday evening, sooner than expected, Jillian and Tony came back from California, full of holiday spirits. They gave me gifts of clothes and jewelry, and Troy in his small cottage was a constant, dependable comfort, just knowing he was there, every weekend, my secret friend. I more than suspected he didn't really want me there, distracting him from his chores, and if he hadn't been so polite and sensitive to my needs he would have sent me away.

  "How do you entertain yourselves on

  Saturdays?" Tony asked one day, when he saw me scurrying from the library with an armful of books.

  "Studying, that's how," I said with a little laugh. "There's so much I thought I knew but I don't. So if Jillian and you don't mind, I'm going to lock myself up in my bedroom and cram."

  I heard his heavy sigh. "Jillian usually has her hair done on Saturdays, then she goes to a movie afterward with a few of her friends. I was hoping you and I could make a day of it in the city, doing some Christmas shopping."

  "Oh, ask me again, Tony, please do, for there's nothing in this world that I would rather do than visit the main store of Tatterton Toys."

  For a moment he appeared startled. Then a slow grin spread on his handsome face. "You mean you really want to go there? How wonderful. Jillian has never shown any interest in it whatsoever! And your mother, knowing we quarreled about that often, took her mother's side and said she was too old to be bothered with silly toys that didn't make the world go around, and didn't improve social or political conditions--so what good were they?"

  "My mother said that?" I asked, totally astonished. "She was echoing your grandmother, who wants a playmate, not a businessman. For a short time, when she made exquisite doll clothes, I had hopes one day she'd really become a part of Tatterton Toys."

/>   Soon I'd slipped away to Troy's stone cottage, where I wanted to be more than anyplace else. Just to be with him gave me excitement. Why had Logan never made my pulse beat so hard?

  While I lay on the thick carpeting in front of Troy's hot fire, I wrote to Tom, pleading for him to give me some advice on how to approach Logan again in a way that wouldn't seem too aggressive.

  Finally, just when I believed Tom was never going to answer my last letter, one showed up in my post office box.

  I don't understand all your fears. I'm sure Logan will be thrilled if you give him a call, and arrange to meet some place. By the way, in my last letter, did I forget to tell you that Pa's new wife is expecting a baby? I have not heard from Fanny directly, but I still have some old friends in Winnerrow who keep in touch. It seems the good reverend's wife has gone home to stay with her parents until her first child is born. What about you, have you heard from Fanny, or from the people who have Our Jane and Keith?

  No, I hadn't heard one word. And here was Pa, blithely making more babies, when he should never want to see another! Not after what he'd done! It hurt to feel that Pa could do evil and never be punished, at least not enough! That little brother and sister I used to feel so necessary in my life were growing fainter and fainter in my memory, and that scared me. My heart was no longer feeling the sharp anguish of losing them, and I couldn't allow that to happen. Troy told me he had contacted his law firm in Chicago and they would begin their investigation soon. I had to keep my flame of anger alive, keep it new and raw, and never allow the passing of time to salve the wounds Pa had delivered. Together again, all five Casteel children all under one roof. That was my goal.

  Just as I'd feared, when finally I had the nerve to dial Logan's number, his voice didn't show the warmth and approval that had been there when he loved me. "I'm glad you called, Heaven," he said in a chilly, detached way. "I'd be happy to meet with you this Saturday, but our meeting will have to be short. I have a big paper due next week."

  Oh, damn him! Double damn him! I was stung by the cold tone in his voice, the same that his mother had used whenever she was so unfortunate as to find me with hi one and only beloved son. Loretta Stonewall hated me and had made little pretense to hide her disapproval of her son's devotion to hillbilly trash. And her husband had followed her lead, though he had looked embarrassed a few times by his wife's obvious hostility. But I was going to go and meet Logan this afternoon, no matter how cold he sounded. I spent two hours getting ready--I was determined to look my very best.

  "Well, what a pretty picture you make, Heaven," Tony sang out when he saw me. "I love that color dress you're wearing. It is very becoming, though I don't remember selecting that one." He frowned a little as he reflected, while my breath caught and held, for it was a dress that Jillian had given me, one Tony had given her, and she had never worn it because she didn't like the style, the color, or the fact that her husband considered his taste better than hers. "On a day like this, dear girl, you need more than just an ordinary coat," he said, reaching into a closet and pulling out a heavy, dark sable coat. He held the fur for my arms to slide into the sleeves. "This fur is three years old, and Jillian has many others, so keep it if you want. Now, where are you going? You know you have to tell me in advance of your plans, and have my approval."

  How could I tell him I was planning to meet a boy from my past? He wouldn't know that Logan was different, out of place in Winnerrow. He'd presume he was just any young man in a mountain valley village he'd never seen: uncouth, uncultured, and uncivilized.

  "Some of the friendlier girls at Winterhaven have asked me to one of their luncheons in town. And Miles doesn't have to drive me. Nor do you. I've already called a cab."

  My heart beat faster, louder, as I told my lie that should have been the truth. Something Tony detected in my expression or tone made his eyes narrow as he weighed my words. Shrewd,

  sophisticated eyes that seemed to know all the wicked and tricky ways of the world. Long seconds passed as those observant eyes took in my forced calmness, my feigned assurance that struggled to show only innocence, and perhaps I convinced him, for he smiled. "I'm very pleased you have made friends at Winterhaven," he said with pleasure. "I've heard all kinds of tales about what those Winterhaven girls do to newcomers, and perhaps I should have warned you. But I wanted you to learn from experience how to handle every kind of difficult circumstance."

  He smiled at me in such an approving way, somehow I just knew, absolutely knew, he'd heard every embarrassing detail of what happened to me the night of the dance. He chucked me under the chin. "I'm glad you have spirit and fire, and know how to handle things yourself. You have their approval now, even if you think you don't need it. Now that you've been accepted, you can go your own way, with my approval. Be tough. Refuse to be bullied. And be confident with the girls--but when it comes to boys, you come to me first. Before you date I'll have your escort and his family checked out. I can't have you running around with trash."

  What he said made me shiver a bit, for it seemed I could have no secrets from him. And yet as he stood there looking me over with a great deal of approval, something proud sprang into my spine and made me stand taller. And something warm and sweet between us made me step forward to kiss his cheek. He seemed very surprised and just as pleased. "Why, thank you for doing that. Keep it up, and I may become just another soft touch."

  My taxi arrived. Tony stood at the front door and waved, and I headed for one of the haunts of the B.U. boys, The Boar's Head Cafe.

  I anticipated all kinds of difficulties in finding Logan. I even thought he'd pretend not to notice me again, or pretend he didn't know me, for I had not done one thing to make myself look like that shabby mountain girl who was my shame. And then, sitting in the window of the cafe, I spotted Logan. He was laughing and talking expressively to a pretty girl seated across from him. This contingency had never brushed my mind, at least not seriously, that he could be seeing someone else. So there I stood in the lightly falling snow, not knowing what to do now. October had come and gone. We were now midway into November. How nice it would have been to invite Logan to Farthinggale Manor, and before a cozy fire, Logan and Tony would have the chance to get to know each other. I sighed wistfully for all my wishes that seemed never to come true. And then, then, while I disbelieved what my eyes saw, Logan leaned across the table and teased that girl's face with his lips, ending up in a real kiss, the kind that lasted and lasted--kissing her in a way he'd never kissed me!

  I hated him! I hated her! Be damned to you, Logan Stonewall! You're no different from any other guy on the make!

  I spun on my heel, not realizing the fresh snow would be so slippery. And down I went, flat on my back. Ungainly sprawled, I stared up at the sky, totally stunned that I could have done something so stupid. I wasn't hurt. I refused everyone who tried to assist me up . . . and then Logan ran out of the cafe. His first words proved that this time he knew me. "My God, Heaven, what are you doing flat on your back?"

  Without asking permission to help, he put his hands under my armpits and lifted me up. I struggled to keep my footing, and that forced me to cling to him, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "The next time you buy boots, I would try some with lower heels."

  The girl in the cafe was staring out, her eyes angry.

  "Hi, stranger," I greeted in a husky low voice, trying to hide my embarrassment. I released my grip on him, having found my footing, then brushed snow from my coat. I threw him an angry look that would have stung if looks could stab. "I saw you in the coffee shop kissing that girl who is staring out at us, looking furious. Does she own you now?"

  He had the decency to blush. "She means nothing to me, just a way to spend Saturday

  afternoon."

  "Really," I replied, with as much ice in my voice as I could manage. "I'm sure you wouldn't be so understanding if you caught me in the same situation."

  His color deepened. "Why do you have to bring up that? Besides, it was more than a few kisses
between you and that Cal Dennison!" he almost shouted.

  "Yes, it was," I admitted. "But you would never understand how it came about, even if you were generous enough to give me the chance to explain."

  As he stood in the snow that was falling harder now, he seemed very strong, with his jawline set in a firm, determined way, so his cheek dimple no longer played hide-and-seek. His clean-cut good looks caused many a female passerby to pause and look at him twice . . . and he was staring at me with a stranger's uninterest.

  The cold wind hissed around the corners of buildings and whistled to the ground with buffeting force, causing his hair to-fan wild in the wind. My own hair was lifted and blown forward. I found myself breathing fast and hard, wanting so much to win his approval again. Just to be so near his strength and goodness made me realize how very much I needed him. I craved with a terrible yearning to have his love again, his warmth and his caring, for he had loved me well when I was a nobody, a nothing, and with him I didn't have to pretend to be more than what I was. "Heaven, it was sweet of you to call me. I've been wanting to do that every time I thought of you. I drove by your Farthinggale Manor once, just the gates, and they so impressed me I lost my nerve and turned around."

  Then he was seeing me, really seeing me. Incredulity flashed through his eyes, lighting them briefly with pleasure. "You look so different," he said, moving his arms as if to embrace me, before his arms dropped to his sides and his hands found their way into his pockets, as if they'd found a safe, confining harbor.

  "I hope it's for the better."

  He looked me over with so much disapproval, I began to tremble slightly. What had I done wrong?

  "You look so rich, too rich," he answered slowly. "You've changed your hairstyle and you're wearing makeup."

  What was wrong with him? None of my "improvements" seemed to make him happy. "You look like one of those models on magazine covers."

  And that was bad? I tried to smile. "Oh, Logan, I have so much to tell you! You look terrific!" The snow began to freeze my face. Specks of fluffy white caught in his hair and in mine, and touched the tip of my nose with cold. "Isn't there somewhere we can sit and talk, where it's comfortable and warm, and maybe then you won't glare at me like you are doing now." I kept making small talk as he led me inside to a table where we ordered hot chocolate. I noticed the girl he had been with continued to glare at us. But I ignored her, and so did Logan.