The portraits of my two little ones were safe. I put them back until Friday when I would take them to Troy, so he could turn them over to the detectives he'd promised he'd hire to find my younger sister and brother.
I thought of Tom, who had always been my champion. I knew what he'd want me to do now that I had things going my way: "Don't rock the boat," he'd say.
Maybe it was having Farthinggale Manor for my home, with Tony as my guardian, with Jillian for a grandmother, even a reluctant one, and Troy for my friend that gave me more audacity than common sense should have allowed. For I was going to rock the boat.
Come hell or high water, I wasn't going to let those girls get the best of me! I glanced in the nearest mirror and saw very little of the old Heaven Leigh Casteel in the image of a girl with shoulder-length, smartly styled dark hair that gleamed. But what to do?
Already I knew Mrs. Mallory wasn't likely to do anything to risk her cash donations.
I fell prone upon the bed, hanging my head over the side, and began to brush my hair up and over, so it fell like a dark shawl around my face, closing out the brightness of the three lamps. I heard the chimes in the bell tower beginning the evening melodies of patriotic songs flavored with faith in God. And my brushstrokes caught the timing as I stroked, stroked, stroked, as I plotted and planned how to get even with those six girls who had obviously waited in the bathroom, knowing just what I'd do with a dripping wet jacket that would ruin new green carpeting and earn for me several demerits.
Back in Winnerrow I'd cringed and cowered in my shabby, ill-fitting clothes and scuffed, worn-out, secondhand shoes, feeling too weak from perpetual hunger to fight back effectively. I felt too humiliated and ashamed of who I was, a scumbag Casteel, to find the right methods of proving my individuality and merits. But now, things were different. I had store-bought courage, despite my ruined sweaters and jacket. I was still too well outfitted to cringe and cower like a Casteel.
And as I brushed and brushed, forgetting to count, an idea was born. The perfect way to have my own revenge . . . and we'd see who won this game in the end. Boston boys were basically the same as boys all over the world. They drifted like bees to the prettiest, sweetest-smelling flower. And I knew I could be that.
Eight
The Dance
.
THAT VERY TUESDAY EVENING, WHEN
ALL THE OTHER girls in my wing were obviously trying not to whoop it up too noisily, I heard my name mentioned several times, and always laughter followed. It made me uneasy to know I was the brunt of so many jokes. Still, I had a friend that I could call.
Locking my door first, I put in a call to Troy. His telephone in the cottage rang and rang, giving me nagging fears that he wasn't there, and I didn't know where else to reach him. Then he answered, sounding very busy. And if his voice hadn't warmed when he knew who it was, I would never have requested what I did. "You want me to go into your closets and choose the party dress that will best make a sensation?
Heaven, do you have several?"
"Oh, yes, Troy. Tony had me try on at least ten, and though he'd intended to buy me only two, he ended up with four. I didn't bring any with me, thinking it would be a long time before I earned enough merits to be invited to one of their dances—but here I am, invited."
He kind of groaned. "Sure, I'll do what you ask, but I don't know much about what a fifteen-year-old girl should wear to one of those school functions."
True to his word, late that very evening, while I hid in shadows of the front parlor and waited, and all the other girls slept, Troy eased his car into the drive of Winterhaven, and I slipped out the front door to meet him. Behind me the front door was kept from closing tight and locking by a thin book I had inserted.
"I am so sorry to cause you this trouble, Troy,"
I whispered, slipping into the front seat beside him. I couldn't help moving close enough to put my cold lips on his cheek. "Thank you! I'm ever so grateful to have a good friend like you. I realize you must think me a terrible pest and nuisance, calling you up so late. I know you have a thousand better things to do, but I need this dress, I really do!"
"Hey," he objected, seemingly embarrassed with my overdone apologies, "don't be too grateful. I really had nothing better to do." He moved a bit farther from me, and this put him very close to the driver's door—causing me to move back toward the passenger door, and not crowd him. "I found the four dresses you spoke of and tried to decide between them. However, all of them were so pretty, I couldn't decide. So I brought all four, and you can make the choice."
"You had no preference?" I asked, very disappointed, for I'd depended on his being male and wise about what men liked best. "Troy, surely you must like one better than the others."
"You'll look beautiful no matter what you wear," he said in a shy way. And for a few moments we sat there, his car motor idling, with the wind blowing the last of the dead fall leaves into the shrubbery.
It was twelve o'clock. Very seldom did any of the "after hours" school parties last past eleven. It almost seemed the girls of Winterhaven feared midnight and the "witching hour" as they called it. "I have to go now," I said, opening the door and putting one leg outside. "Would it be all right if I called you once in a while?"
His hesitation lasted so long, I hurriedly left his car. "Forgive me for presuming again."
"I'll see you Friday," he said, without committing himself to anything more. "Have fun at the dance."
His low, dark car sped away, leaving me
standing in the wind that pressed my long, heavy blue robe close to my body, and I had a huge garment bag to handle this time when I stole as quietly as possible inside the main building of Winterhaven. The wind behind me took the heavy door and blew it inward.
All the little crystal prisms on the wall sconces tinkled, and down the front hall a heavy fern toppled over and made a terrible crash! On the first floor the faculty had their private rooms, and I saw a yellow line appear beneath one closed door. Quickly I picked up my little book, grabbed my garment bags with a more secure grip, and then I ran silently up the stairs, with only my huge bags making scraping noises on the railings. How eerie the dim halls were at night, with only small sconces burning. How quiet and hushed the atmosphere, making me glance often over my shoulder as I crept on tiptoes to the safety of my own room. But as I closed and locked the door behind me, I had the uneasy feeling that my little nighttime adventure had been witnessed by someone.
There were a hundred things I had to do to make that dance work out as I wanted it to, with me as the belle of the ball! And to do that I had to find out what the other girls were going to wear. During the day all the dorm rooms had to be left unlocked so they could be inspected to see if the beds were made and clothes were hung up, and each blind at the windows was pulled to the standard level so that Winterhaven would look symmetrical from the outside.
Long before the wake-up bells in their high towers began their loud morning tolling, I was up and in the huge bathroom, enjoying a shower before any other girls entered. So far, my early-to-bed-and-early-torise habit had given me the privacy I wanted.
However, this day, I was only partially dressed when three or four sleepy-eyed girls drifted in, all in various styles of sleep attire. If their daytime outfits were dowdy and sloppy, what they wore at night must have come straight from Frederick's of Hollywood. They saw me in my brief bikinis and they froze, as if stunned to have caught me, at last.
"She doesn't wear long johns," whispered Pru Carraway to her best friend, Faith Morgantile.
"I was sure she'd wear red ones," Faith whispered back.
They were giggling now, struck by something vulnerable they saw on my face, or hidden in my eyes, for once upon a time in the Willies I'd wanted white or red long johns just as much as I wanted a new coat, or new shoes, or anything that would keep me warm.
And as other girls swarmed into the bathroom, each with at least one friend, I stood like an island with the sea eddying around m
e, so miserable and unhappy, the Willies didn't seem such a terrible place to be after all. At least there I'd been with my own kind. And then, almost crying, I pulled on the remainder of my clothes and left that lavatory full of steam and odors of toothpaste and soap. Behind me their laughter continued on, on, on.
Midway back to my room, I hesitated. Was I going to let them get the best of me? What about my plan? They were all bathing, showering, fiddling with hair and makeup. Now was the best time to dash into three rooms, each shared by two girls. It wasn't something I exactly liked to do, but I was driven to do it, and without any difficulty at all, I found my two stolen jackets, and I also found out just what kind of party dresses the girls of Winterhaven wore to their hospitality dances.
Wearing a skirt, blouse, and one of the jackets I'd just recovered', under a heavy coat, with high boots, I strolled through the softly falling snow toward Beecham Hall. The school campus gave the impression of being a tiny village, charming and quaint, and for me it would have been paradise realized if only I could fit in, and begin to enjoy myself.
In class the girls saw the jacket I'd taken from Pru Carraway's closet, and from the way they eyed me up and down, they considered me more than brazen to confront them. "I could have you dismissed for sneaking uninvited into my room—" began Pru Carraway.
"And stealing my own jacket?" I asked. "Don't threaten me, Prudence, just use prudence before you plan your next destructive trick. Now that I know the way into your closets, and know where you hide your goodies, just make sure you hide them very well in a new place." Lazily I pulled from my coat pocket a candy bar. Her eyes bulged as I bit into the chocolate.
Perhaps she was remembering her box of expensive candy bars had been hidden under her stacks of books with titles such as: Fraught with Passion, The Priest and His Undoing, The Virgin and the Sinner.
That Thursday night I dressed with more care than ever before. Behind me in my closet hung the four dresses that Troy had brought, still sealed in a long garment bag that was impossible to open without a key. It could have been cut open, but apparently the girls of Winterhaven were not prepared with a knife strong enough to cut through such heavy material.
From what I'd seen in the closets of three rooms, the Winterhaven girls were very fond of strapless gowns that fitted tightly, and the more glitter and sparkle the better. My own four dresses, which Tony had chosen, were cocktail length; one was bright blue (the one I'd worn to the Farthinggale Manor dinner), the second was bright crimson, the third white, and the fourth, an odd kind of floral print dress that made me wonder why Tony had chosen it. It had seemed to me when I was growing up that all the housewives in the hills and in the valley had worn print dresses to church. A passion for print dresses, as if they feared solid colors revealed what food had been carelessly dropped. And because of this I had developed a distaste for any print, even beautiful watercolor ones such as the dress Tony had chosen. Blue, green, violet, and rose were intermingled on that long, fluttering gown with its full bell sleeves bound with green velvet ribbons. But the more I looked at it hanging there, the more like springtime it seemed—and it wasn't spring. It was now November.
Downstairs the decorating committee had
removed most of the tables from the large dining room. The rugs had been rolled and put aside.
Colorful streamers and festive paper decorations had been hung from the ceiling, and spinning where a more sedate chandelier had once hung was a large, mirrored ball. I had never guessed that this room, which was sunny and bright by day, since it faced east and south, could be converted into a very passable ballroom.
Amy Luckett saw me as I headed for the dance, and she stopped to stare, her small hands rising to cover her short cry of admiration. "Oh, oh," she gasped, "I didn't know you could look like that . . .
Heaven."
"Thank you," I said, recognizing an obscure compliment from the look in her eyes. "I thought you were on the guest list."
Again her hands covered her mouth. Her eyes grew huge. "I wouldn't go if I were you . . " she mumbled from behind those hands.
But I went.
Nothing was going to stop me from going, not now, not when I had on that crimson dress that hung like a clinging sheath from a wide, sparkling cuff that crossed over my bust and went around to the back, and the entire dress was held up by two glittering red shoestring straps. Upstairs was a small crimson jacket meant to cover the skin the dress revealed, but I was out to prove something to the boys, to the girls, to myself, and that modest jacket was left behind. It was a slender dress, revealing to advantage my figure. The saleslady in the shop had been surprised when Tony had wanted me to try it on. "A bit too old, Mr.
Tatterton, don't you think?"
"Yes, indeed, much too mature. But dresses like this aren't easy to find, and I love this shade of red.
This will never go out of style. My ward can wear it ten years from now. When the right woman wears this, she'll seem to be made of liquid fire."
That's what I felt like too as I approached the improvised ballroom where music blared forth. I was a bit late on purpose, wanting to make my impression by coming in last . . . and oh, I did make an impression.
The girls of Winterhaven stood in a line to the left of the door, and the boys were across the room, also lined up. Every single face turned to stare at me when I appeared in the archway. And only then did I see what Amy Luckett had meant. Not one single girl had on a fancy dress, not one!
They were wearing, more or less, what I wore every day, skirts with blouses or sweaters. Nice skirts, new blouses, and expensive sweaters, with nylons and small-heeled pumps. I wanted to go through the floor, I felt so wrong in my long, slinky red dress that suddenly made me feel like a tramp—oh why had Tony chosen something like this for me, why?
And all the boys were staring at me, beginning to show toothy, knowing grins. For a flashing moment I considered spinning about and running and leaving Winterhaven for good. Then, as if unable to turn, or run, I braced myself and tried to saunter nonchalantly into the room as if all my life I'd known how to overdress, and how to carry it off with panache. And they came at me, fast, those boys who suddenly changed their minds about other dance partners. For the first time in my entire life, it was I and not Fanny who had boys crowded around her—all pleading for the first dance, and if not that, the second or third.
Before I knew what was happening I was swept off in the arms of some gangling, red-haired fellow who kind of reminded me of Tom.
"Wow! Wow!" he breathed, trying to pull me embarrassingly close. "We all hate these sissy exchange dances, but when you showed up, honey, it wasn't boring anymore."
It was the red dress, of course, not me. This was exactly the kind of dress that Fanny would scream and fight for. Red, the color medieval aristocracy had assigned to the street harlots. Red, still the color associated most with women of loose virtue. Red, the color of passion and lust and violence and blood. And here I was having to fight off strong, male bodies seeking cheap thrills from rubbing against me.
Whirled around as I was, pulled from the arms of one boy by another, I caught but brief glimpses of the other girls. My hair, which I'd piled high on my head, was caught by sparkling barrettes; soon I felt it beginning to slip. My hair fell and the curls bounced on my shoulders. I grew tired, angry that my partners wouldn't let me sit between dances and take a breather.
"Let me go!" I finally yelled above the loud music. I saw the teachers and others in the room hazily as I pulled away and tried to seat myself on one of the pretty settees taken from one of the formal parlors and put in here for dance night. Dainty cups of punch were shoved at me, plates with tiny sandwiches and pretty canapes, and male fingers several times successfully managed to feed me. The tea and fruit punch had been spiked. Two cups to slake my thirst had me feeling giddy. Two tiny sandwiches I nibbled before my treats were taken from my hands, and I was pulled back onto the dance floor. The twenty girls of Winterhaven with enough merits to att
end this dance watched my every movement with peculiar intensity.
Why did their eyes glow so expectantly?
I was having a good time, or so I had to believe when all the boys were lavishing on me such flattering attention. A good time at the expense of all the other girls who were neglected. Why were they watching me without envy? Even when other couples danced, it was I who drew all eyes. It made me uneasy the way everyone watched only me. What was I doing wrong, or doing right? Even the members of the faculty stood off to one side with dainty cups in their hands and kept their eyes riveted on me. Their curious interest added to my nervousness, when before I'd been terrified I'd have none.
"You sure are beautiful," said the boy whirling me around. "And I love your dress. Are you trying to tell us something by wearing red?"
"I don't understand why the other girls aren't wearing their party dresses," I whispered to this boy, who seemed less bold and insensitive than the others.
"I thought we were supposed to dress up."
He said something about wild and crazy
Winterhaven girls who were never predictable, but I only half heard him. A cramp, sharp and dreadful, shot across my abdomen! It wasn't my time of the month, and even then my cramps were never really severe. The dance ended, and before I could recover my breath, my next partner was heading my way, a devilish grin on his face. "I would like to sit the next one out," I said, heading for a settee.
"You can't! You are the belle of this ball, and you are going to dance every dance."
Again one of those hideous pains in my belly almost doubled me over. My eyes went unfocused.
The faces of the girls watching me smeared into distorted images such as seen in fun-house mirrors. A short, plump, nice-looking boy was tugging on my hands. "Please, you haven't danced with me. Nobody ever dances with me." And before I could protest again he'd tugged me to my feet and I was out on the dance floor, this time moving to a different kind of music. Today's kind of music that had a strong beat.
Dark Angel (Casteel Series #2) Page 12
