I'd thought about just staying locked in my attic like a Victorian heroine. Okay, so I was being melodramatic but I didn't want to see anyone. The thought of Dad coming to drag me out sent me trotting down to Arncliffe, ready for another Sunday of arranging flowers with Mrs Holden and the rest of her coven. Everything felt pointless and I ached with emptiness. Shame would probably creep in at some point. I had behaved like a child last night. Though it was possible that only I knew what was going on. Grace and Ciarán might not even remember. I tried to find comfort in that without much success. There was no need to see Mrs Cranford now; if I was done with the Pattern I should be done with her. It was harder to hold onto my resolve now that the rage had passed.
Better if I didn’t see Mrs Cranford so I couldn’t be guilted into changing my mind though. I shied away from the thought that I was just avoiding Ciarán. Arriving early, I paced outside the church, restless again.
This was useless. I kept hashing over the same ground. It was just a kiss. Both times. With me and with Grace. For Ciarán, it was just a kiss. I shouldn't have attached more importance to it than that. With effort I shoved myself back into feeling nothing at all. It was so much harder now. But numb was better. While the beauty of a fresh spring day was lost on me, so were the hurts of the last few days too.
"Emily? I wasn't expecting you this week." Mrs Holden, once again disguised as a boiled prawn, and wearing a slight frown, appeared with the keys to the church doors.
"D-Dad expected me to kuh come." Well he would have done if I’d spoken to him. My voice was dull and lifeless.
"Are you sure you're well enough?" Mrs Holden sounded almost concerned. I shrugged. "Okay then, let's find you something to do."
There was no sign of Mrs Cranford today. I was both relieved and disappointed. Until I stopped, I hadn't realized how much energy I had devoted to breaking the Pattern. Now I was lost. I drifted from arrangement to arrangement, muddling the flowers and spilling water. Mrs Edwards huffed behind me trying to repair the damage. I knew now, how Helen felt when Kate was sent away. Losing something hated that nevertheless gave your life purpose. Dull, grey minutes slid away like apathetic slugs.
Miss Greer and Mrs Holden were having a whispered argument about a stall of some kind. I tuned in without much interest.
"…just not sure that you're the best one to run it, dear." Mrs Holden was nearly as pink as her suit.
"My family has been here for over two hundred years. My grandmother's great grandmother's great grandmother was the village handywoman!" Miss Greer sounded as acidic as I'd ever heard her normally soft voice.
"Yes, but the village fair? Really the history display should be run by someone with a broad knowledge of village history." Mrs Holden was clearly intent on getting her own way.
A tour of the history of Arncliffe? That would take all of two minutes. I considered the urn I was currently disarranging.
"I suppose we could ask Mary Cranford then," Miss Greer suggested.
"Hmmph, she's rather too fond of other facts."
I found myself listening harder in spite of my vows not to get any more involved.
"Well some of it is interesting. Famous visitors for instance. You know Emily Bronte stayed at the vicarage…"
"Puh pardon?" I whirled on the startled Miss Greer. "Eh Eh Emily who?"
"Bronte, dear. The writer. Not that I was ever a fan of that book. Such dreadful violence. Even the love scenes seemed…tainted." Miss Greer was dabbing at the water I’d spilled on her coat.
"And sh-she stayed huh here?" I demanded with unreasonable excitement.
"So they say. Mary may have evidence. She lived in the vicarage as a girl."
"Muh Mrs Cranford? In the vuh vicarage?" My mouth refused to close. My forehead crumpled in a frown of confusion. She hadn’t told me. Not once. She had ‘played the witness’ herself. She must know far more than she had told me. The clippings. No wonder she had started collecting them. I had depended on Mrs Cranford to be a rock in the middle of this mess. But she had been part of the Pattern from the beginning. And she had said nothing.
Surely she hadn't meant to feed Ciarán into the Pattern? Numb bewilderment gave way to searing rage. She’d lied to me and sent me into danger, when she must have failed already herself!
"Emily, where are you going?" Mrs Holden's voice drifted after me as I dashed out of the church, knocking over an urn of flowers on the way. I didn't bother to reply.
It seemed only a moment later that I was stood at Mrs Cranford's pale-blue cottage door. I didn't remember knocking but seconds later it opened.
I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1) Page 46
