by Janeen Brian
“Yes. The one from Mr Jackson. We have to get it.”
This time Janie stared, dumbfounded. “How?”
“You have to do it.”
“Me?”
“Yes. They know me. They’d recognise me. They don’t know you.”
Janie huffed at her fringe, but only out of habit.
“How? What am I supposed to do?”
“Ask them for a donation. Yes, that’s it. Hold out your bowl, and while they’re getting money, whip the paper off the table. Then run. I’ll wait in the alley beside the candlemaker’s so you know where I’ll be. Oh, what a chance, Janie. We might be able to find out what’s going on at last.”
Janie’s face turned pale.
“Go on!” urged Eloise. “Hurry.”
Then she returned to collecting, although she kept one eye firmly fixed on Janie. The girl wove in and out of the crowd and finally reached the table. Eloise peered, tongue to her teeth, as Janie held out the bowl. The men shook their heads. Mr Humple waved his arm as if to dismiss Janie and then both men leaned forward over the paper. Eloise almost danced on the spot, yet she forced herself to keep collecting or Sister Bernard would want to know why the coin number was low.
Janie hovered for a while, shuffling and glancing at the alleyway. Next she stretched her hand between the men, towards the table.
Eloise gave a small yelp. “Yes, yes,” she muttered. “Get it now!”
Mr Strawney glanced up and eyeballed Janie. He said something and pushed himself to standing. Janie drew back and ran.
Eloise couldn’t believe her eyes. Why did she do that? She was so close. Now they’d never have another chance. Her skin felt hot and her chest clamped hard against her ribs.
Eloise darted up to the alley and met Janie as she puffed up, wild-eyed.
“Janie, why? You were so close. You should’ve got it!” Eloise’s anger bubbled over.
“You weren’t there,” cried Janie, blinking furiously. “You didn’t see. There was a tankard of ale on one corner of the paper and the men had their elbows on the rest of it. If I’d grabbed it, it would have ripped to pieces. And then, that man with the orange cap stood up and snarled at me, to get going. I was scared.”
Eloise clutched the bowl and lowered her head. She couldn’t face looking at Janie.
“Girls!” called Sister Bernard. “Hurry along.”
Glowering, both girls trudged back to the lines of orphans.
Sister Genevieve held out the bag. “What a wonderful collection. Thank you, girls. And Eloise, you sang beautifully as usual. You’re like a spring songbird.”
It was the last thing Eloise felt like. Songbirds could fly away. Over walls and far, far away.
Janie fell out of step behind her and didn’t bother to catch up.
Halfway back to the orphanage, Eloise deliberately slowed down.
“I’m sorry, Janie,” she said. All her life she’d apologised for things that were supposedly wrong or bad. But never had she meant it so sincerely. Never had she seen anyone so crushed.
“I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that,” she said.
The girls continued to walk on, words and thoughts being sorted out between them.
“It wasn’t just that you shouted,” said Janie. “It was because you made me feel as if I’d let you down. But I did try. I tried hard. And you didn’t see what it was like up close. I couldn’t have got that paper. And nor could you.”
A little later, Eloise turned to her, heart beating. “Can we be friends?” she said.
Janie nodded. “Yes,” she said. But once back inside, she added, “I was cross with you before.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. I was so cross I didn’t want to tell you some things I overheard the men saying.”
Eloise recoiled. “What did they say?”
Janie ducked her head. “Shall we escape to the statues? We don’t want any more jobs just now.”
“Quick!”
“Tell me before I burst,” said Eloise as they both squatted in the shade beside the lions.
“They were both talking about a unicorn and –”
“Oh! Go on.”
“And, it sounds weird, but –”
“What? What?”
“They were talking about crushing a unicorn’s horn into powder.”
“You’re joking? What for?”
“Something about mixing the powder with something else – I didn’t hear that part – to make a new substance. And that when that dries, it’s like . . .”
“It’s like, what?” Eloise held out her stiffened hands.
“Like gold.”
Eloise flopped back against the cold slope of the lion’s body.
“That’s . . . that’s not true. How can it be true? Gold is gold.”
“I know,” said Janie. “It’s ridiculous. But they believed it.”
“So, are they going to make this false gold and fool people or what?”
“I don’t know. But that’s what I heard. And they were very keen – I could tell just by their voices, even if I didn’t hear everything they said.”
“So, they’d cut off a unicorn’s horn?” said Eloise slowly. “Which means they’d have to be close enough to do it. Which means either killing the unicorn first. Or just cutting the horn off . . . oh, Janie, that’s awful.” Looking up to the sky, Eloise continued, “So, does that mean there’s a chance that a unicorn will really come down to –”
“On the back of a shooting star,” said Janie. Her face was serious.
Eloise rubbed the lump on her forehead. “I don’t know what to believe any more. Mr Jackson told me a story once. He said strange creatures were supposed to have lived around the pond hundreds of years ago. And they had horns. I thought he was sort of making it up, but now I’m wondering. I mean, unicorns have horns.” She looked questioningly at Janie.
“So does that mean the men think they know how and where to find a unicorn?” Janie spoke as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying.
“And,” said Eloise, “if that’s true, then the writing and the dates or numbers on the paper, have something do with capturing a unicorn. Maybe near Whittering Pond.”
The girls gaped at each other, speechless.
“No wonder they wanted the paper so badly,” whispered Eloise. She rubbed her eyes and looked up at the noonday sun. Then she slapped her forehead.
“Quick! The lunch dishes!”
After a lunch of bone and onion broth with pickled beetroot and a piece of bread, the girls separated. Janie walked towards the schoolroom.
“Ask Sister about the book,” said Eloise and walked outside towards the little bench around the side of the building. She wanted a few moments to gather the thoughts in her head but instead, she ended up imagining her and Dancy riding across large fields. After a while Dancy left the earth and together, as before, they flew through the star-filled night.
“Eloise. I’ve been looking for you,” cried Janie, puffing.
“I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“No, but Sister Genevieve said you’re to go to her now. Something about sewing and Sister Hortense having a rest.”
“Did you get the unicorn book?”
“No,” said Janie as they reached the side door. “Sister Bernard’s got it.”
“Sister Bernard? Why?”
“There’s a lot of facts and information at the back. I don’t know. I hope she hurries up and gives it back.”
“Me too,” said Eloise, taking the stairs two at a time. Her heart beat as she knocked on the door of the little room.
“Come in.”
“Hello, Sister. Janie told me to come.”
“Yes,” said Sister, smoothing her habit. “We must take opportunities when they arise. And so we have a little time today. You’ll see I’ve brought the cushions from the room. First of all, we’ll unpick the old coverings and remove them. Then we’ll take the pieces you cut last time and stitch them to
gether.”
Sister gave a small demonstration by turning the material inside out and sewing with small neat stitches.
Eloise was soon lost in the world of stitching. When she ran out of thread, Sister showed her how to rethread the needle. “And it helps if you stick your tongue out to one side, like this,” she said.
Both she and Eloise laughed.
“And Janie told me you girls would like to look through my book of mythical creatures.”
“Would that be all right, Sister?”
“In some ways, yes. In other ways, possibly not. As you would know, Sister Bernard has the book at the moment, but even when it’s returned, I’m not sure it would be wise for you two to be seen reading it.” She paused and looked at Eloise in such a way that Eloise took her meaning. It might be all right, providing they weren’t seen. “However,” said the nun, snipping a piece of cotton thread, “I’ve always had an interest in creatures of all kinds. Especially those in mythology. Some people think they simply exist in legends, but as I said before, others believe they exist in our everyday world.”
“Sister,” said Eloise, knowing she might well be treading on slippery ground and that she would have to watch her step, “have you ever heard of the horn of a unicorn being ground to powder?”
“Goodness, no. How sad. No, I’ve never heard of that. Why?”
“I’ve heard that maybe the horn has special properties, and when it’s mixed with something else, and dries, it looks like gold.”
“Oh?” Sister smiled as if Eloise had made a joke. “I wouldn’t think so. It sounds too far-fetched. However, as we know, there are many miracles in life, so I’m not one to say. I’ll ask Sister Bernard if she’s finished with the book. There may be more information in the back. But Eloise,” said Sister, her eye sliding to one side, “I’m not sure Sister Hortense is aware of this book.”
Eloise pressed her lips together. She understood.
“Wait a minute,” said Sister, “I’ve just remembered something. Apparently, there’s some belief that the unicorn’s horn carries a special power. I don’t know about gold though. I think it’s something to do with water.”
Eloise started and the needle jabbed her thumb. She had something else to tell Janie.
“Now, how are you going with your stitches? Let me see.” After a murmur of approval by Sister, Eloise carried on and to her delight, she’d soon completed a whole cushion cover.
“Well done, dear. Would you like to start another?”
“Yes, Sister.”
The nun handed Eloise the next cushion to unpick. Eloise took up the scissors and began to snip the old stitches with the sharp metal points. All of a sudden a crackling noise came from the cushion. Mystified, Eloise continued unpicking until she’d peeled off the whole cover.
And there, lying on top of the cushion was an old envelope.
It was bare, with no name or other writing on the front.
“Sister,” said Eloise, “this was in the cushion.”
A look of bewilderment crossed the nun’s face as she took the envelope and turned it over. She then slid out a sheet of paper and began to read. Eloise watched, transfixed, as Sister lowered herself into a chair, her hands shaking, the paper quivering. Her lips moved as she read, but the words were to herself. By the time the nun had read the page, her face was ashen. Still pale, she refolded the paper and with trembling fingers slid it back into its envelope.
“That is all the sewing for today, Eloise dear,” she said in a small, tight voice. “Would you be kind enough to pack up?” She held up the envelope. “And I’d be very grateful if you did not mention this find to anybody.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Apart from Janie. Fingers were crossed.
Shaken by Sister’s reaction, Eloise packed and tidied as quickly as possible. However, as she went to leave, she caught sight of two tiny, hand-stitched letters. They’d been embroidered in black thread at the bottom of the cushion cover that she’d just unpicked.
They read S.H.
Eloise left the room in a daze. She went over the events of the letter finding and Sister’s incredulous reaction to the contents. Whatever she read had been horrific enough to cause her to turn as pale as a church candle.
But what about the two, embroidered letters? A monogram that left Eloise breathless with questions.
She found Janie in the schoolroom. “Have you finished?” she said from the doorway. Janie was hunched over a table.
“I can’t do this mathematical problem.”
“Yes, you can. You’re good at working things out. Besides, I’ve got something important to tell you.”
“Can you wait? Oh, good. I’ve got the answer. Where shall we go?”
Eloise looked quickly from side to side. “Round by the bench.”
The seat was warm from the sun, and birds flittered in and out of the clipped bushes as if looking for something.
“I was sewing,” said Eloise, jumping straight in, “because Sister Genevieve and I are making new cushion covers for the nuns’ room.”
“Is this something to do with the unicorn book?”
“No.”
Janie’s face fell.
“But it’s something else. I found an envelope, tucked inside an old cushion cover.”
Janie frowned. “What’s it doing there?”
“I don’t know. I handed it to Sister and she opened it and inside was a letter.”
“What was in it?”
Eloise rubbed her nose. “I don’t know that either. Sister didn’t read it out.”
“Oh.”
“But when she read it to herself, Janie, she couldn’t speak. She was choked up and she went white. I thought she was going to faint.”
“Really? It must’ve been terrible.”
Eloise nodded with the possibility of what the words might have said.
“But why was the letter inside the cushion cover in the first place? That’s strange.”
“It can’t have been an accident, can it?” said Eloise. “Someone had deliberately put it in there and sewn up the cover again. It was meant to be hidden.”
“Yes. But who would’ve done that?” Janie sat back and gazed towards the bushes.
Eloise shifted closer. “Inside the cushion,” she said quietly, “were two letters, stitched at the bottom.”
“Letters of a person’s name?”
“Yes,” Eloise said. “S.H.”
“S.H.” Janie repeated. Then one hand flew to her mouth. “S.H.” she repeated. “Not . . . you don’t think . . . ?”
“Who else? It came from the nuns’ room. And it’s her initials.”
Both girls sat still.
“But,” said Janie after some time had passed, “it’s nothing really. Not for us. Is it?”
“No,” agreed Eloise reluctantly, but the whole intrigue stayed in her mind.
“We’re not getting very far, are we?” sighed Janie. “With anything. I wish we had that unicorn book.”
“I spoke to Sister about it again. I don’t think she minds us reading it, but she’s concerned.”
“Why?”
Eloise halted. Talking about Sister Hortense, and what she saw as evil, connected her to one of the reasons why she wanted to leave the orphanage. It was a big secret, and she hadn’t yet shared it with Janie Pritchard. She shifted the emphasis by saying, “But Sister isn’t convinced that powdered unicorn horn would produce anything that looked like gold, either.”
“It sounds stupid.” Janie placed her hands squarely on her knees. “But that’s what I heard. Oh, Eloise, what if I heard wrongly?”
“Do you think you did?”
Janie swiped at her fringe and thought. “No,” she said firmly. “I did hear that. Which means the men must know something we don’t. And, I’ve remembered something else. The town crier said something about the unicorn coming on the next full moon. Oh, Eloise!” Janie leaped to her feet. “How could I have forgotten that?”
Elo
ise jumped up and gripped Janie’s arms. “When’s the next full moon? Do you know?”
Janie chewed her lip. “No, but I know who would.”
Both girls cried at the same time, “Sister Bernard.”
Sister Bernard was down at the vegetable patch. The Littlies were pulling out the spinach plants.
Eloise and Janie paused and took in the scene. Sister Bernard looked flushed and the garden patch was scratched about and puckered with holes.
The girls exchanged glances, knowing the nun’s ways of only dealing with one thing at a time. Janie nudged Eloise. But before Eloise could speak, the three Littlies ran up with bunches of wilted spinach plants.
“They’ve gone gooey,” said Mamie.
“We’re not going to eat them,” said Polly.
“We’d be sick,” said Wilfred, pretending to throw up.
“Back here, children,” said Sister Bernard. “Girls, what do you want? If you have nothing better to do, you can help here. What has gone wrong we do not know. Only that Sister Genevieve is concerned for the state of the remaining potatoes and turnips.”
Eloise stared, aghast. This was bad. Very bad. And sadly, it was not the time to ask the sister about full moons. Nor had she had a chance to show Janie the state of Whittering Pond. So, of course the girl couldn’t fully understand Eloise’s heart-wrenching concern that the fouled water could well be spreading underground. What if it was poisoned? What if they ate some of the vegetables?
It troubled Eloise into silence. But on the walk back she said, “You know, Sister Genevieve told me something else. Some people believe the unicorn’s horn has a special power. And she thinks it’s got something to do with water.”
“Oh?” said Janie. “Water?”
At the side door they stopped while Eloise removed her ribbon, shook her hair loose and retied it. “There’s no answers to anything, Janie. We have all these bits of information, or hearsay and thoughts, but none of it really makes sense. Maybe,” she said, “maybe we can’t do any more.”
“Eloise,” said Janie, “we can’t give up. Not yet.”
They walked inside and Janie immediately covered her nose and mouth with her hand. “I hate the smells in here. It never smelled horrible at home. There were flower smells, warm milk smells, fresh oranges and the smells from my father’s pipe. And,” she said, wistfully, “the smell of my own pillow.”
