Immortal

by Gillian Shields

  Eight

  I

  am swimming in the deep waves at home, at sunrise. The light on the sea is like mother-of-pearl, and I am full of surging joy, as though I could swim on and on without ever getting tired. Then I feel something brush against my ankle. I kick out, thinking it is just a drift of seaweed, but it’s a cold hand pulling me under the surface, down, down, too far down. Twisting in panic, I see Laura, dead and ghastly, her hair floating around her lifeless face, her eyes hollow sockets. She is dragging me with her into the black depths. I want to scream, but I am fighting desperately for breath. I can’t breathe; I’m in danger…what dangers are waiting for a girl from the sea…I can’t breathe….

  I opened my eyes and threw the smothering blankets aside. Fumbling for my watch, I saw that it was three o’clock in the morning. My heart was pounding and I had to get out of bed to shake off the nightmare. I crept over to the window seat and looked out at the grounds below patterned with moonlight and sharp black shadows. Each tree and bush seemed to stand out artificially, like something in a theater set. I laid my head against the cool glass of the window and tried to get my breathing back under control. I didn’t dare look at Laura’s picture on the wall. I hope she haunts you, Celeste had taunted me. I hope she haunts your every breath.

  Please let Laura be at peace, please, please…. I begged in some sort of jumbled prayer. It made me sick to think of her struggling all alone in the lake, terrified, fighting for her life—choking for breath under the cold black water would be such a dreadful way to die.

  I had always refused to think about what had happened to Mom, until now. Despite her death I had been drawn to the sea, as though I could cancel out the past by defying the waves myself. Every time I had gotten out of the stinging salt water and dried myself on the beach, I felt that I had cheated death as though I were immortal. But in that dark Wyldcliffe dorm, the absolute certainty of my own death rose up and terrified me. It would really happen one day, and then there would be no cheating. In a flash of memory I thought of an inscription on the harbor wall at home, put up in honor of the sailors who had lost their lives over the many centuries: For we all must die, and are as water spilt upon the ground….

  We all must die. Peering out of the window, I could see the ruins in the moonlight and the quiet lake next to them. How had Laura managed to come to harm in such a peaceful-looking place?

  “We all must die,” I murmured to myself. Then I seemed to hear, from somewhere in my memories, Frankie’s warm, comforting voice, as though she were reading aloud in the little church at home: We all must die…yet God doth not take away life…. Whosoever believeth in Him shall have life everlasting.

  I got back into bed and went to sleep.

  It seemed only a minute later that the morning bell was dragging us from our beds. Another relentless Wyldcliffe day was beginning.

  I got dressed quickly and set off down the marble stairs before Helen came back from the bathroom. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but I really didn’t want to wander around in the dark with her, communing with the spirits of long-lost kitchen maids. Besides, I didn’t dare turn up late for breakfast again. I decided that I would count this as my first real day at Wyldcliffe. I wouldn’t be late, I wouldn’t get into trouble, and I definitely wouldn’t faint.

  Simple.

  Little knots of girls were making their way down the stairs, their skirts and shirts and hair all smooth and clean and neat for the new day.

  “Hi,” I said brightly, but they just ignored me. Total silence. It was as though I didn’t exist.

  “No talking on the stairs,” said a low voice behind me. I swung around and was grateful to see Sarah’s friendly face. She put her finger on her lips. Now I understood—another rule. I grinned back at her in relief and clattered down the cold white steps.

  When we reached the bottom, the High Mistress was standing there, elegant and aloof. She watched me with expressionless eyes.

  “I thought I told you that jewelry is not permitted in school.”

  I had forgotten all about it, and the heavy links of Frankie’s necklace showed at the top of my shirt.

  “I’m sorry…I forgot….”

  “Please be aware that when I tell a student to do something I do not expect her to forget.”

  “I’ll take it off.” I fled back up the stairs before she had time to say anything more. There was something about her that gave me the creeps—those fathomless dark eyes, that ultracontrolled way of speaking, and yet the flicker of rage that was visible just under the surface.

  “Be careful, you idiot!”

  Celeste glared at me furiously as I almost knocked into her at the top of the stairs.

  “Oh…yeah, sorry,” I panted, dashing past. I wasn’t going to give her—or Mrs. Hartle—the satisfaction of seeing me late for breakfast again. I raced into the dorm, unfastening the necklace as I ran, then pulled open the drawer by the side of my bed.

  I paused. I felt strangely reluctant to drop the necklace into the drawer. How did I know it would be safe? Celeste would probably have no qualms about trashing my stuff, and I couldn’t bear the idea of her touching it. This was too personal, too private. The silvery pendant gleamed hypnotically in my hand. This was my last link with Frankie. Her face flashed into my mind, and it suddenly seemed incredibly important not to be parted from her little keepsake.

  Scrambling in the drawer, I grabbed hold of a nightgown that had a fine thread of white ribbon running around the neck. I tore the ribbon off. Then I slipped the pendant from its chain and strung it on the ribbon instead. In a couple of seconds I had tied it around my neck, tucking the whole thing under my shirt. I checked the mirror. Nothing could be seen of the necklace now. Mrs. Hartle would never know that I was still wearing it.

  Running down the stairs again, I reached the dining hall just as the last few girls were taking their places, and managed to get a seat next to Sarah. I had to stop myself from grinning at her idiotically. Defying Mrs. Hartle, even over something as trivial as this, made me feel good.

  After breakfast, Miss Scratton stopped me on the way out of the dining hall. “I hope you’ll have a more successful day today, Evie,” she said in her dry, harsh voice.

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  She stepped closer.

  “Who knows what is waiting for us in each new day? Try to stay out of trouble.” Her beady eyes darted all over me, and I wondered crazily if she could see Frankie’s necklace hanging under my shirt. But that would be absurd.

  “You will quickly get used to our ways,” Miss Scratton continued. “I hope that you will soon feel at home at Wyldcliffe. It has been home to many wanderers over the years.” I didn’t know what she was talking about. I had lost sight of Sarah, and I needed to get to class. I sort of smiled at Miss Scratton, hoping that she had finished with me, and dashed out.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone from my class in the crowd of girls in the corridor, so I examined the printed schedule that I had been given. It was Tuesday, so the first class was gym. A map of the school was printed on the back of the schedule. After a few wrong turns in the endless passageways, I managed to find the changing room. The rest of my class was already getting ready for gym—lacrosse, I guessed by the look of the equipment.

  “Hey, Evie, have you got your gym clothes?” asked Sarah. I shook my head.

  “Dad ordered everything, but it hadn’t arrived by the time I had to leave home. The store said they would send the stuff here.”

  “You’d better explain to Miss Schofield when we get down to the field. Come on; hurry up. You don’t want to be—”

  “In trouble again.” I smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

  We trooped out of a side door with the others and followed a path that led away from the school building and down to the grounds.

  It was a dull day with a dirty gray sky. In the distance, the moors lay like a drab blanket on the horizon. On our right, the ruins of the chapel soared up to the heavens
, fractured and broken, yet even in this sluggish light they were extraordinary. But the others ignored them, chattering to one another until we arrived at the fields and tennis courts that were tucked away behind a belt of trees.

  The gym teacher, Miss Schofield, was waiting for us impatiently.

  “Come on, come on, no dawdling!” she yelled. “Start warming up by jogging around the field.” At least she looked younger than some of the other teachers—or mistresses, as Sarah had told me to call them—but she sounded irritable. “You, the new girl—come here. Why aren’t you wearing your gym clothes?”

  I explained what had happened. For an instant I thought she was going to explode with annoyance, but she just barked, “Run up to the housekeeper’s room. She’ll know if they have arrived.”

  “Um…where?”

  “Second floor, corridor on the right, third door on the left. Ask for Mrs. Edwards. And hurry! Or the period will be over by the time you’ve gotten changed.”

  I didn’t wait for her to tell me twice. I jogged back to the school, slowing down only as I passed the ruins again. As soon as I could, I promised myself, I would come and explore them properly. First I had to find the housekeeper’s room. Second floor, corridor on the left, third door on the right, she had said. Or was it the other way around? I consulted my printed map, but only the main teaching rooms were named: geography, French, art, music, and the rest. They were on the ground floor. A series of rooms on the second floor was marked, STAFF OFFICES AND LIVING QUARTERS, but that was all. There was no mention of the housekeeper’s room.

  “Drat!”

  I followed the map back to the marble staircase and ran up to the second floor. The landing was decorated with granite pillars and carved paneling. Looking down over the edge of the banister, I could see the pattern made by the black and white tiles on the floor in the entrance hall. How easy it would be to fall and go crashing down below. The thought made me feel slightly sick, and I turned down the corridor to the left.

  There were no signs on any of the doors. Hovering outside the nearest one, I listened for voices, then knocked timidly, but there was no answer. I moved on to the next. This seemed more promising. I thought I heard a soft noise coming from the room. I tapped on the door. There was no reply, so I grasped the heavy handle and pushed the door open.

  Six or seven mistresses were huddled around a circular table, poring over an old book that looked like an ancient Bible. They were reciting under their breath as though they were reading aloud. I coughed and the women swung around to stare at me. One of them quickly shut the book and covered it with a purple cloth. A slightly overweight blond woman snatched something up from the table and slipped it in her pocket.

  “How dare you come in here without permission!” snapped the tall, gray-haired woman who had hidden the book away. Her face was red and mottled with annoyance. “Don’t you know the rules, girl? This is the mistresses’ private common room.”

  “I’m sorry; I’m new,” I apologized. “I did knock.”

  The plump blond mistress bustled up to the door. She had a reassuring, smiling face, but her teeth looked slightly too big and uncomfortable in her mouth, and for one absurd moment I thought of the wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” she cooed. “Let’s have a look at you. I’m Miss Dalrymple, and you’re Evie Johnson, of course. This is your first week, isn’t it? Now, Miss Raglan, don’t snap the poor girl’s head off.” The gray-haired woman glared at me, but Miss Dalrymple seemed determined to be friendly. “Come in, come in; don’t be shy.”

  She hustled me into the room, and six pairs of eyes latched on to me.

  “Look, ladies, at all that lovely red hair.”

  “I hardly think we need to get carried away by the color of Miss Johnson’s hair,” Miss Raglan replied coldly. “What were you doing up here?”

  “Looking for the housekeeper,” I said. Why were they all staring at me?

  “That’s the third door on the other side of the stairs,” she snapped. “And remember—this room is out-of-bounds.”

  “Yes…sorry…”

  “Good-bye, Evie, for now. I do hope you’ll be in my class.” Miss Dalrymple smiled another flash of teeth. “Geography, dear. Don’t forget.”

  I backed out of the room, stammering more apologies, and then fled to the housekeeper’s door. I collected my gym clothes and ran back down the marble staircase. I was suddenly not looking forward to geography. It had been plump, fussy Miss Dalrymple who had hidden something in her pocket. And I could have sworn that it was a silver dagger.

  nine

  THE JOURNAL OF LADY AGNES, SEPTEMBER

  25, 1882 Yesterday we drew the Sacred Circle for the first time. For the ceremony, S. used a black-handled silver dagger that he had brought back from his travels, cutting the air in deft patterns to mark out a space in which to work the Mystic Rites.

  I was so afraid that we were doing wrong, and would have begged him to stop, but he bade me to be patient. We were in a rough cave up on the moors lit only by a candle. We stood in our Circle, waiting. A deep silence fell over us. The candle burned without wavering, like a single bright eye. Then S. spoke the incantation written in the Book. It seemed to echo through me like the sound of a bell. But nothing happened. Then he called upon the spirits of the four Elements to reveal themselves to us. Again there was no response. He turned the pages of the Book impatiently, calling out the words and prayers and charms written on them, growing frustrated as nothing had any effect.

  A small voice in my head said, I knew nothing would happen. I felt my body relax. We had tried and failed, and now S. would forget all about this nonsense. Yet, if I must tell the truth, in some secret part of me I was also disappointed. What had I hoped for? A thrill of excitement from defying the rules set out by Mama and Miss Binns? Or was it to please him that I wanted something to happen? Suddenly he turned to me and pushed the Book into my hands.

  “You do it.”

  “Oh…but—”

  “Please, Agnes. Just once. Please do this for me. Call the Sacred Fire.”

  A strange shudder went through me, and I knew that I wanted to do this. I had to, and so I began.

  I heard my voice tremble as I read the incantation to summon the elemental spirits. Then it grew in power, and the strange words rolled from my lips as though I had been speaking them all my life. The earth beneath my feet began to shake, and there was a flash of lightning. A blustering wind that sounded like the hungry sea swept through the cave. I dropped the Book and stretched out my arms. Tiny white flames danced in my cupped hands. I felt no pain or fear, and in that moment I felt more myself than I ever had before.

  I saw him stagger away from me with a cry, and the Circle was broken. The white fire vanished, the wind dropped, and the earth was still. We stood eyeing each other warily, panting for breath, overcome with wonder.

  “The Elements answered your call, Agnes,” he said slowly. “You have called their spirits and they have answered. The Fire has spoken to you.”

  We walked back to the Abbey in silence, trying to believe it, trying to understand. And I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Since then I have felt transformed. I am indeed on fire with hopes and dreams. Everything shimmers and glitters around me. Life is overflowing; I see tiny insects crawling, I see fish in the lake and birds swooping over the chapel ruins—and I crawl and swim and fly with them.

  And there are other things that I see too: strange ghosts glimmering in the shadows. This morning, as I left the schoolroom to fetch some new embroidery silk for Miss Binns that my aunt Marchmont had sent from Paris, I had an odd feeling that I was being watched. I turned and saw the faintest image of a young girl walking in the corridor behind me. I thought at first that it was a trick of the light, but it was as though the curtain between this world and another had been lifted. She wore a short tunic, and her legs were covered only by stockings, and like me, she had flame-colored hair. When
I saw her shimmering there, half hidden by the gulf that lay between us, I seemed to hear the sound of the waves and smell the salt tang of the sea….

  Our “game” has proved to be gloriously, unimaginably real. Now I am burning to know more and discover every secret.

  I have never felt so alive.

  Ten

  I

  had never felt so depressed. It was as though part of me had died. Everything about Wyldcliffe seemed strange and uncomfortable—no, more than uncomfortable—threatening. Every shadow made me jump; every night brought disturbing dreams; every morning I woke with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  I told myself that it was just because the school was so different from everything I had ever known. I would soon get used to it. I would soon toughen up. Be sensible, Evie; of course that teacher didn’t have a dagger in her pocket. It was simply a letter opener shaped like a knife. Of course I hadn’t really seen Laura drown. It was only a dream. And the girl with the flame-colored hair was imaginary. There was nothing to worry about. I was just anxious and homesick. But somehow I couldn’t quite convince myself.

  When I had been at Wyldcliffe about a week, I finally got a letter from Dad. It was set out with the rest of the students’ mail on a long table in the entrance hall. My heart skipped as I recognized his neat handwriting. I stuffed the letter in my pocket and counted the seconds until the bell rang for morning break. When it did, I followed the class out onto the terrace overlooking the grounds. The other students hung around Celeste as she went on about the marvelous vacation she’d had in some exclusive island paradise. Helen had stayed in the classroom, reading, and there was no sign of Sarah either. I hadn’t seen much of her, as she spent all her spare time in the stables.