He looked slightly surprised, but took the medicine from her and examined it. “Let it do its work,” Cal said simply, then passed it to Josh.
The green phial lay on Josh’s open palm. His hands were broad and strong, but I had seen the delicate carving of a horse that he had made as a gift for Evie on Valentine’s Day, and how sensitively he handled the living animals under his care. Now he touched the glass bottle lightly with the fingertips of his other hand and said, “Helen, come back to us.” A flash of light flared out from the phial, and I saw the wonder in Evie’s eyes and realized that she hadn’t quite believed that Josh could be connected with Lady Agnes until that moment. “Let this bring healing,” Josh added, handing the bottle back to Evie.
“Let it be so,” she whispered, and I saw so clearly that we were all connected, in one endless circle of life and death and renewal, an endless circle of love.
My mind pulled back sharply to the present. “Thanks so much, everyone,” I said in a businesslike voice. “Now we need to get in to see Helen and give her this. We’d better get back to school.”
We rode back in pairs, Evie and Josh falling a little way behind.
Cal stayed close to me. “I hope this medicine helps Helen, but everything still feels so fragile,” he said. “You need something more to protect you, Sarah. If Mrs. Hartle is on the loose again, anything could happen. I can’t bear to think that you might be the next one she attacks. Let me sneak into the school grounds tonight. I could sleep in the stables to be nearer to you.”
“No, if you get caught they’d set the police on you! You mustn’t risk it.”
“They can’t stop me being with you when you’re in danger,” he growled.
“If she’s going to attack me next, it could happen anywhere,” I answered. “You can’t always be there, ready to defend me. Evie was right about one thing; we have to be able to live, not creep about in hiding. I’ve got to finish this, Cal. I’ve got to put a stop to it once and for all so that we can all live in peace.”
“Why don’t you come away with me and get out of all this?” he asked abruptly. “We could join my family on the road, and be free in the ancient ways, with nothing to keep us apart.” My heart beat fast. I saw myself riding pillion on the back of Cal’s horse, my arms wrapped round his waist, or driving together in a beat-up truck, making our way on the old trails across the countryside, laughing with his sister and uncles around a campfire, telling tales and singing songs, then lying together in a narrow bed and waking up together in the morning. . . .
“No, I can’t, it’s impossible.”
“Why not, rich girl?” he teased. “The Romany life too hard for you? Parents wouldn’t approve?”
“It’s not that. I’ve made a promise. To be true to my sisters and to be faithful to the gifts of the Mystic Way, wherever they might lead me. I have to see this through. And your mother said a promise can’t be broken—”
“Except with a curse. You’re right.” Cal sighed. “But I wish you weren’t.” He slowed his horse to a walk, and we twined our hands together and rode side by side, not speaking, listening to the beating of our hearts.
When we got back to school, we left the boys at the gates with the horses and hurried to the dining hall for breakfast. As soon as the meal was over, Evie and I flew straight to the infirmary. We were eager to see Helen and give her the healing cordial. But the nurse barred our way.
“Helen’s not at all well, I’m afraid,” she said disapprovingly, as though any sign of illness was a criticism of her professional care. “She’s got a high temperature and needs to rest. I can’t possibly let you see her.”
“Has she seen the doctor?” I asked, sickeningly disappointed.
“The doctor came late last night and said it’s probably just shock—a reaction to the fall. He’s given Helen something to make her sleep. I’m sure she’ll be better soon.”
“Has she said anything, has she been talking? Did she ask to see us?” Evie asked.
“No, no, and no,” the nurse answered. “Now stop pestering me. I’ve nursed enough Wyldcliffe girls to know what to do. The best thing you can do for your friend is stop worrying about her.”
It was easy to say and impossible to do. For a wild moment I suspected that the nurse was a secret member of the coven and was deliberately obstructing us from seeing Helen so that she could do some harm to her. But I had no reason to believe that. I put my hand on the nurse’s starched sleeve pleadingly. “Please, Sister McFarlane,” I begged. “Let me just see her for two minutes. I know you’re looking after her beautifully, but we’ve been so frightened, it was such an awful shock. If you let me see her just for a moment, we’ll stop worrying and we won’t bother you anymore.”
The nurse pursed her lips, as if making up her mind; then she relented. “Well, if it means so much to you. It’s nice that you care so much. Just one of you, mind, and not for long.”
“You go, Sarah,” said Evie quickly, slipping the phial into my hand. “I’ll wait here.”
I followed the nurse into the bright, sunny infirmary. Helen was lying on her back in the nearest bed with the covers pulled to one side. She looked hot, and although her eyes were closed she didn’t seem properly asleep. She moved her head restlessly, and her breath was quick and shallow.
“I think the sun is in her eyes,” I lied, and the nurse bustled over to the window to adjust the blinds. As quickly as a conjurer I touched Helen’s lips with the glass phial, and a few drops of the liquid slipped into her mouth.
“Well, you’ve seen her now,” said the nurse kindly, turning back from the window. “You can see she’s in good hands. Come back later, and I’ll tell you how she is.”
I had no choice but to leave, but at least we had done what we could.
Evie and I went to get our books ready for class, though I didn’t know how I could possibly concentrate on Latin verbs that morning. When we got to our classroom, Velvet was showing off to a crowd of girls in the few minutes of freedom before the mistress arrived. Sophie wasn’t there, but the others were hanging on to her every word.
Velvet saw me and turned on her most charming smile. “Hey, Sarah, look at this.” She ignored Evie. They hadn’t got on since their first meeting. “It’s so funny!”
I wasn’t in the mood to humor Velvet. All I wanted was to ask her what she had been doing near Helen when she’d had her accident, but there were too many people around. “What is it?” I replied curtly.
“We’re just looking at these latest photos.” Velvet held out a garishly colored magazine. It was crammed full of glossy photographs of vacant celebrities and wannabes. Velvet held up the center spread. The headline read Rick Romaine’s Rebel Daughter! She thrust it under my nose, and I saw the first few lines of the article.
Velvet Romaine, daughter of rock star Rick and supermodel Amber Romaine, has become a pupil at the country’s most exclusive and prestigious school. Wyldcliffe Abbey School for Young Ladies is notoriously strict. Will this prim and proper environment cure Velvet of the excesses that have landed her in trouble so often? Or will this “Wyld Child” prove to be too much of a handful for the school authorities?
There was a big photo of Velvet standing on the steps of the school the first day she arrived at Wyldcliffe. In the background a thin, upright figure was slightly out of focus; a woman turning her face from the camera. It was Miss Scratton.
I remembered something. I needed to get out of there.
“And the photographers are still hanging round the village trying to get more pictures of me,” Velvet gloated. “I must think of something suitably outrageous to do for them.”
“I think you’ve done enough damage already,” I said coldly.
“Hey, what have I done now?”
“Ask Sophie,” I said, then turned to Evie. “I . . . um . . . left my Latin dictionary in my dorm. Will you come and get it with me?” She looked surprised but followed me out of the room.
“Did you see that photo of Miss
Scratton?”
“Yeah, of course,” Evie replied. “But why is it important?”
“It reminded me of something. Come on, before Miss Clarke turns up and stops us.”
I hastily led the way past the library and down the dark passageways to the red corridor. Its walls were covered in faded crimson damask, and had once led to a magnificent ballroom, which was now closed up. Most of the rooms in that part of the school hadn’t been used for ages, not until Miss Scratton had three of them fitted up as common rooms for the lower, middle, and senior divisions of the school. At the end of the corridor there was the padlocked door of the old ballroom, then another gloomy passage that was occasionally used as a shortcut to the locker rooms at the back of the building. The passage was hung with obscure paintings of dreary landscapes, interspersed here and there with old photographs. I walked along quickly, scanning the walls.
“Here it is.” I stopped in front of a faded sepia photo, labeled Wyldcliffe School, Armistice Day 1918.
About forty girls dressed in identical soft-collared tunics were lined up in rows, smiling for the camera. They were holding flags and a sign decorated with rosettes that said PEACE AND VICTORY. On the back row, half a dozen mistresses were looking out more gravely, their faces etched with the cost of war as well as the relief of its ending. “Look—there!” I pointed to the teacher on the end of the row. She had turned her head as if trying to prevent the camera capturing her image.
“It’s Miss Scratton, I’m sure it is.”
“It’s a bit blurred,” said Evie doubtfully.
“But it’s just how she looked in that photo with Velvet, can’t you see?”
“I suppose so . . . it could be her, I guess.”
“It is her, I’m sure of it. And that means she might have known my great-grandmother Maria. She was here just after the war ended.”
“But how does that help us?” Evie asked.
“I’ve been thinking about Maria a lot lately, and I have this feeling that she is connected to all this. I think—I think I saw her up on the Ridge yesterday, near the standing stones. Don’t you think that’s strange, on the day that both Helen and Miss Scratton are injured?”
“Couldn’t that just be coincidence?”
“I’ve told you, I don’t believe in coincidence. And it wasn’t just a daydream or anything like that. I—well, I hope you don’t mind, Evie, but I used the Talisman, and then I saw Maria, or a girl at least, and heard this drumming noise. And Helen heard drums when she had her vision of her mother. And that message on Agnes’s door: ‘Listen to the drums.’ I’ve been beating myself up for not working it out yet, but I just haven’t been able to see where it was leading. But Maria keeps coming back to me, and perhaps she’s the sign we need.”
Evie looked slightly doubtful.
“I know it’s not much,” I admitted, “but it’s all we’ve got. Perhaps there’s a connection between the message on the door and the drums in Helen’s dream and in my vision of Maria. Perhaps they are Gypsy drums? If we tried to contact Maria again—if you used the Talisman—perhaps we could find out if she is really behind the message and what it means.”
“So you heard drums when you saw Maria?”
“Yes. And I’m convinced that Maria knew something that would help us. Please, Evie, let’s just try to contact her. We’ve got nothing to lose, and it might lead to something.”
“Of course. We’ll do it tonight.” Evie’s face was set and hard, like a young soldier’s. “I’ll try anything and do anything for you and Helen. I won’t let you down again, I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The day dragged past. All I could think about was using the Talisman. But we had to wait until nightfall, when we could get away from the other students and the prying eyes of the mistresses. The only relief to the usual routine was that it happened to be the day that the local village kids were coming to use the school’s facilities. Some were going to play tennis, others would have music lessons, and some would be allowed to use the rather chilly outdoor pool. Evie had volunteered to help with the swimming, and I had agreed to go along with her. I had wondered whether the other teachers would use Miss Scratton’s absence as an excuse to cancel her plans to open Wyldcliffe’s doors to the local people, but apparently the event was going to take place as scheduled. And so after lunch, instead of going to the science lab for our normal afternoon classes, Evie and I went down to the pool. We found the sports mistress, Miss Schofield, looking even more bad-tempered than usual, glaring at an eager but slightly apprehensive group of about a dozen ten-year-olds.
“Well, I suppose you’d better get changed. And no messing about! You’ve got two minutes exactly.”
The kids crowded into the old-fashioned wooden huts that had been built as locker rooms by the side of the pool. I rather reluctantly found myself an empty cubicle and went inside to strip off my uniform and get into my bathing suit. It was a soft, warm day, but the water in the deep marble pool still looked pretty cold. Evie was happy, though, temporarily distracted from our troubles by the lure of the water. She would have swum in any weather, but the pool was only filled in these warmer summer months. Eventually we were all ready. Most of the children were giggling and shy, but some of the bigger boys were trying to show off, pushing and butting into one another and threatening to jump in.
“Stop that!” Miss Schofield barked as she lined them up. “You will get in slowly and sensibly, and follow my instructions exactly. . . .” She obviously wasn’t in favor of the new Wyldcliffe-for-all scheme, which boosted my flagging enthusiasm. I had never liked this bullying teacher, so anything she wasn’t happy with seemed good to me.
“Ooh, it’s cold,” said a thin little girl with untidy hair, as she put her toe into the water.
“You won’t feel it once you’re in,” I said encouragingly.
“It’s gorgeous, honestly.” Evie smiled. “And it’s lovely to have you here. We’re going to have great fun.”
Miss Schofield glowered as one by one we helped the children to get in the water. There was lots of shrieking and splashing, but soon they began to enjoy themselves. Miss Schofield, although she was a snob and a bully, was an expert coach, and she took the stronger swimmers to the deep end and helped them with their technique. Evie and I stayed in the shallow end with the more timid children, playing games and trying to build up their confidence. The time raced by, and soon it was time for them to get out. “But we haven’t done any diving,” said a stocky little lad. “I can dive already.”
“Show me,” said Evie. He fearlessly threw himself headfirst into the pool and came up laughing and spluttering in a ring of bubbles. “Well done,” Evie said, laughing. “Now watch me.”
She did the most beautiful dive into the deep end and glided along the bottom of the pool with her long red hair floating behind her like dark silk. As I watched her admiringly, the light around me seemed to fade. She wasn’t coming up—she’d been down there too long—her slim body seemed suspended in the greenish water, like a frozen statue. Everything around me was dim and silent, except for the sound of my own heart beating. I watched, immobilized with fear, as Evie’s body seemed to roll over lifelessly in the water. She floated toward the surface with her arms hanging awkwardly by her sides and her eyes gazing upward, seeing nothing, like Ophelia drifting to her doom. I felt the water choking my own mouth and breath, drowning my senses, and I gave a great gasp and cried out, Evie! The next moment the sun was shining again and the vision was over. The children were clapping as Evie surfaced gracefully at the far end of the pool, her diving display over.
“That was great fun, wasn’t it?” she enthused as we got dry. “The kids are so sweet.” Then she sighed. “If only everything could be, you know, normal like this.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “If only.” I couldn’t tell her what I had seen. I couldn’t tell my best friend that I had seen a vision of her death.
The children were given a tea of buttered toast and home
made cakes in the dining hall, and then they were ready to go home. We helped them find their cardigans and jackets and sports bags; then the whole party trooped down the corridor to the black-and-white-tiled entrance hall. “Ooh, look, it’s so big! Do you sleep here? Can we come again?” Their innocence touched me. It was good to hear laughing, unself-conscious voices in that place, although when we passed Celeste in the corridor, she shrank back theatrically as though the children would infect her. “Miss Scratton, our High Mistress, says she wants you to come often,” I said, trying to compensate for Celeste’s rudeness. But the kids hadn’t noticed, and they jostled happily out of the hallway and onto the drive, where their teacher was waiting to collect them. Evie and I walked with her, then waved good-bye to the children halfway down the lane, just beyond the school gates.
“Bye!”
“See you again!”
“Thank you!”
Their voices filled the air as they walked away toward the village. The spring sunshine had cooled, and the color had faded from the day. “Better get back inside,” I said.
“Let’s just watch them a minute longer,” said Evie. Her face was glowing, and she looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her. “I’d like to have ten children, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, not all at once,” I joked feebly, feeling more and more anxious. “I really think we should go. We can’t risk anything happening before we try to contact Maria tonight.”
“I suppose so.” She turned away from where the crowd of children had now disappeared, and we walked back up the lane to the school gates. The western sky was filled with harsh light. I didn’t know why I felt so nervous, but I pulled at Evie’s arm and urged her to go more quickly. We reached the gates, where the old sign of the school’s name still spelled out its eerie message among the missing letters: BE COOL OR YOU DIE.
I heard the sound of hooves, as urgent as my heartbeat. A black horse was galloping toward us out of the light. Its rider was a tall young man wearing a heavy cloak and hood. He had long black hair and eyes the color of a summer sky and a smile full of sorrow. Evie gave a little moan as though she had been hurt, then she stumbled forward.
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