Betrayal

by Gillian Shields

  “Yeah, well, you should have told them before about the sleepwalking—gotten a dorm on the ground floor or something,” I grumbled. “You could have been killed!”

  “I know.” She played restlessly with the fringes on the edge of the blankets, frowning to herself. Then she suddenly leaned over and grabbed my arm, her eyes wide and afraid. “Evie, did you see her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That woman, you know, that night on the stairs?”

  I stared at her in disbelief, not knowing what to say. Was she talking about Agnes? Could she possibly have seen her too?

  “Um…what kind of woman?”

  Harriet frowned again. “I don’t know; I can’t really remember. All I can remember is her voice, leading me on somehow…and now I can’t get rid of it.”

  “Get rid of what?”

  “Her voice in my head.” She began to cry quietly, like an overtired child. “Sometimes I think I’d like to fall asleep in the snow and never wake up.”

  “I think I’d better go, Harriet,” I said, feeling alarmed by her fragile state of mind. “You need to get some rest.” I went to fetch the nurse and then slipped away, trying to work things out. Perhaps Harriet had somehow tuned in to Agnes’s presence on the stairs and it had given her a kind of psychic shock, which had made her slip and fall. Or perhaps she really was related to Agnes and now Agnes was trying to reach her, just as she had reached out to me? For some reason I didn’t like the idea of that. My relationship with Agnes was special; I didn’t want anyone else butting into it. But that was so petty—how could I be jealous of poor Harriet?

  I walked slowly back to my dorm. Not everything that happened at Wyldcliffe had some mysterious meaning, I reminded myself. It was probably all very simple. Harriet had been sleepwalking, she had fallen and banged her head, and now she was confused and upset. But Harriet’s problems were not my problems. Her world was not my world. And in my world I had to concentrate on the job I had to do, not get sidetracked by every drama that boarding school threw up. I began to run down the corridor. I had to find Helen and Sarah and get back to work.

  Twenty-three

  Look!” I waved my hand and filled the attic with a thick covering of snow. The dusty shelves glittered with sparkling icicles. Sarah replaced the snow with a carpet of primroses. Then Helen made a breeze rustle through the icicles and made them chime like silver bells. We laughed and returned the room to its original state, then looked at one another, suddenly sobering up.

  “I wish it could all be for fun like that.” Sarah sighed.

  “I know, but we’re ready now for more than fun. Don’t you feel that?” I said. “Aren’t we ready to try the Talisman again, before it’s too late?”

  “I think we are,” replied Helen slowly. “What about you, Sarah?”

  Sarah hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, we’re ready.”

  Sunday, our only day of freedom, arrived again at last. I sent a message to Josh that I had a cold and didn’t feel up to my riding lesson, then met Sarah at the school gates with the ponies so that we could set off to Uppercliffe.

  “Won’t Josh wonder how you’re well enough to ride out, but not well enough for his class?”

  “He probably won’t notice that we’ve gone out,” I said. “I’m sure he couldn’t care less what I do.” But it wasn’t true. I knew that his brown eyes followed me whenever I happened to be down in the stables, and I knew that I was avoiding him for that very reason. “Anyway, Sarah, I can’t afford to spend time messing around having a riding lesson when we’ve got so much to do today. Helen will be at Uppercliffe by now. That’s the only thing that matters.”

  Sarah looked kind of troubled, but I turned away and urged Bonny on as fast as I dared. Perhaps my love for Sebastian was making me selfish, brushing Josh and Harriet and everything else to one side as unimportant. I didn’t want that to happen; I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I couldn’t let down Sebastian. He had to come first. I would sort everything else out later, I promised myself, if only I could find Sebastian.

  Helen was already waiting for us when we reached Uppercliffe. She had dug up the Talisman and was examining it closely. I couldn’t help wondering whether, if the Talisman had been left to Helen, she would have already discovered how to use it. Again I had a faint, troubling feeling of jealousy as I took it from her.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Shall we start?”

  There’s no need to dwell on the failure of our efforts. The frustration, the rising anger, the terrible powerlessness. It is enough to say that nothing worked. The Talisman hung proud and cold and useless on its silver chain.

  “What are we going to do?” I stormed, tempted to fling it from me in rage. I was furiously angry, but not with the Talisman or Agnes or the others. I was angry with myself. Why couldn’t I awaken Agnes’s powers? What was wrong with me? Everything I had tried and learned seemed feeble and less than nothing. But I had worked so hard. Follow my path…. I had tried, hadn’t I? And then it dawned on me. The answer was stunningly, glaringly obvious. I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

  “We’ve been doing it all wrong,” I said blankly.

  “What do you mean, Evie?” asked Sarah.

  “We’re calling to the Talisman through our own powers. But Agnes’s element was fire, not water or earth or air. If we want to unlock Agnes’s power in the Talisman, we have to do it through her element, not our own.” I looked up at the others, convinced that I was right. “We need to channel the power of fire. She said I had to follow her path—I thought she just meant the Mystic Way, but she must have been talking about her own special powers. The fire is the only way to the Talisman.”

  “But can you do anything with fire?” asked Sarah quickly.

  “I don’t know; I’ve never tried.”

  “Then try now,” said Helen.

  Sarah found some scraps of rotten wood and made a campfire in the ruins of the old house. The wood spat and smoked, but a thin orange flame began to flicker and glow. I felt keyed up with excitement. This time I really would do it; everything would make sense at last. Agnes would help me this time; I was sure of it.

  “See if you can control the flame with the power of your thought,” Helen said. “That’s one of the things Agnes learned to do first.”

  “All right. I’ll try.”

  We formed a circle and held hands and the chanting began. As I let my mind drift with the lulling incantations, the voices of the distant sea and the underground streams and the rain clouds high over the hills began to call to me, but I had to try to block them out.

  Fire. That was what I needed now. I had to think of warmth and color and life. I clasped the Talisman in my hands and focused on the dancing flames that licked around the little shards of wood. Fire. Heat. Life. The fire of our desires… I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

  In my mind I saw the flames flare up like blazing rockets. There was a flash of heat and I seemed to see a girl with auburn hair standing in a shabby room. It was Agnes. She was surrounded by dancing, fiery lights. She flicked her wrist to control them and they made brilliant shapes that swooped around her, stars and dragonflies and birds of paradise. She gazed into my eyes and held her hands out to me. You can do it, Evie. My face and hands grew hot; I was panting for breath; I opened my eyes and reached toward the fire that glowed on the earthen floor of the cottage. With all the force of my mind I willed the flames to change, commanding them to obey me.

  Nothing happened.

  “I—I can’t do it.” I stepped back, feeling weak and shaky. “I can’t. Sorry.”

  Sarah and Helen glanced at each other. There was an awkward silence.

  “Perhaps you could learn to do it, eventually,” Helen said slowly. “But how long would that take? And it’s not just about controlling a simple flame. Agnes’s powers were much deeper than that.”

  “I know,” I groaned. “I know, I know, I know.” I stumbled outside, desperate for so
me fresh air. Leaning against the rough walls of the cottage, I let the wind blow through my hair, as though it could also blow away the weight of my despair. I looked across the valley to where the village lay tucked in the folds of land. I could see the towers of the Abbey behind a screen of leafless trees. Down there, girls were enjoying the Sunday relaxation that even Wyldcliffe allowed. They were writing letters home, or reading, or chatting, or having music lessons, or learning to ride…. For one second I saw myself walking away from the Talisman and everything it represented. I could hide it again up here and no one would ever know it had existed. Wouldn’t Helen and Sarah say I had tried hard enough to help Sebastian? Wouldn’t they understand if I gave up now? For those fleeting moments, I saw another Evie, walking hand in hand with a boy with straw-colored hair and quiet brown eyes, laughing in the sunshine….

  No.

  I wrenched my thoughts away. Sebastian had chosen to dwell in the shadows, but I would follow him there and bring him back to the light, however impossible it seemed. I would not give up. I would not grow weary.

  I would not betray him.

  Twenty-four

  FROM THE PRIVATE PAPERS OF SEBASTIAN JAMES FAIRFAX

  Do you grow weary of your poor friend? I saw you, Evie. You were laughing—smiling—looking so beautiful. It was so good to see you like that, but you were not smiling at me.

  Your smiles were for a tall boy with hair like corn, and you looked so happy. As though you had never known me.

  Have you forgotten me already? Or was this one more cruelty sent to me by my tormentors, as they wait hour by hour for me to fall into their grasp?

  The end is getting closer, closer—

  Perhaps I was crazy to think that you could stay true to me, when all I bring to those I love is danger and despair.

  My parents, my friends—I spurned them all.

  The women who served me I corrupted and then abandoned.

  Dear Agnes, whom I valued above all others, my dearest Agnes whom I loved as a sister—I killed her as surely as though I had strangled her with my bare hands.

  How, then, can I expect you to remain faithful to me?

  Everything is leaving me.

  Everything fades into mist.

  Listen. This is important. You must listen to me, my darling, while I can still form these labored words—listen—

  Our story may end well. Even now, there is still a flicker of hope, like a candle in a storm. One day, I may be saved. One day, I may see you face-to-face. Then I will tell you—I will tell you the whole of my heart. But there is another possible ending. Perhaps I have already glimpsed it.

  In this story, you become discouraged. The road is too hard. You turn aside. There is someone else at your side. He walks in the living air, a young man with brown eyes and sunshine in his smile. Do you recognize this story? Is this the path you have chosen?

  If so, don’t blame yourself.

  Dark—so dark—so tired—

  I ache for you. I scratch out words for you: “My darling, my dearest, love, longing…” But these words are worn and tattered, used in a thousand trite Valentine’s cards. How can I tell our story? What can I say? “For a little while, we walked the earth together, and it was enough.” What words can truly speak of that bliss?

  I am so very weary; my strength fades—

  I have no words to tell you how I crave your touch and the scent of your hair, and the trusting look in your eyes. But I must tell you this:

  If you choose to bestow those graces upon another, I would understand. I will never blame you, Evie. All I want now is for you to walk in the sun. And if in your new life, you ever remember Sebastian James Fairfax, remember him with a smile, not with tears. Too many people have wept over me.

  Everything fades.

  My story must end soon. But yours must continue, and your path must be paved with every joy.

  Twenty-five

  It was the start of another joyless week without Sebastian. There was no sign of the sun that morning. Another heavy load of snow had fallen in the night, and the world outside was as cold as a frozen, miserly heart.

  I dragged myself out of bed and lingered in the chilly bathroom, trying to find some energy to face the day. My reflection stared back at me, tired and strained. I had lain awake most of the night going over and over in my head how I could learn how to control the fire element, but I hadn’t stumbled across any great revelation. I sighed and wrapped my robe around me and went back to the dorm. When I got there, the others had already left for breakfast.

  The warning bell rang. I had to hurry. I quickly found my skirt and blouse and started to dress. As I fastened my school tie, I realized that I was no longer wearing the little gold locket that contained the scrap of Effie’s hair.

  “Oh no!” I quickly searched through the rumpled sheets on my bed. How could I have lost it? Had I dropped it in the bathroom, or lost it out riding? Think, Evie, think…. I didn’t dare to ask if anyone had found it, in case Miss Raglan heard about it. She would no doubt make me hand it over to her, and I hated the idea of her pawing anything that was connected to Agnes. I made my way downstairs, angry with myself for so carelessly losing this link with my past.

  I slipped into my place next to Helen and Sarah in the dining hall. “Did you hear about what happened in the village last night?” asked Sarah.

  “No—what do you mean?”

  “It’s kind of weird, horrible really. I went down to the stables early this morning and saw Josh, and he told me that someone in the village had found a dead fox nailed to their front door, and blood daubed everywhere.”

  “But that’s totally—”

  “Sick. I know; it’s disgusting. And I heard the women who work in the kitchens talking about it as well.” Sarah lowered her voice. “Do you think it could have anything to do with…the coven?”

  It did sound like some kind of horrible voodoo. “But why would they do that? What would it mean? What do you think, Helen?”

  Helen shrugged. “I don’t know. But they’re capable of anything. They wouldn’t cry over a dead fox.”

  “It could be something completely different,” said Sarah. “A local quarrel, mindless vandalism, anything. Josh thought that maybe it had something to do with the travelers’ camp.”

  Josh hadn’t struck me as the kind of person who would listen to prejudiced gossip about the traveling Gypsies.

  “Why would he assume that they would be behind this?” I said indignantly.

  “No! He didn’t mean that. The person who lives in that cottage apparently supported letting the Gypsies camp on that bit of land in the village. Josh thinks maybe some of the people who don’t want them in Wyldcliffe did this to him as a protest.”

  “Or to try to pin the blame on the Gypsies,” added Helen.

  “Exactly. There are plenty of people who don’t recognize the Romany people or their way of life, who think they are thieves and scroungers going from place to place and causing trouble. It makes me so angry.” Sarah sighed. “I wish the travelers could know that we don’t all think like that.”

  It seemed that there might be another battle going on in Wyldcliffe, not just our own, but our conversation was cut short as Miss Raglan marched into the room. She stood on the raised platform and two hundred girls rose to their feet in silence. Miss Raglan didn’t look up and said grace in a subdued voice.

  “Amen…Amen…” The dutiful response echoed around the room. We sat down, and I helped myself to eggs and toast from the serving dish, but Sarah pushed her food around listlessly.

  “Listen, Sarah,” I said. “Why don’t we try to visit the camp and see what’s going on, if you’d like to?”

  Her face lit up. “Would you really?”

  “Sure,” I said. “As soon as we get a chance. I promise.”

  After breakfast, we walked back through the entrance hall on our way to our first class. Harriet was hanging about by the table, looking at the students’ mail that was left there every mor
ning. I hadn’t seen her since she had been lying in bed in the infirmary, and she looked up and smiled self-consciously, as though she were half pleased and half anxious to see me. A feeling of exasperation welled up in me, and for the hundredth time I wished she hadn’t sat next to me on the train that first day. Then I pulled myself together and made myself speak to her kindly.

  “Are you feeling better, Harriet? How’s the wrist?”

  “Much better, not too sore,” she said, waving her bandaged wrist to show me. In her other hand she held a large square envelope. “This is for you.”

  I took the envelope from her, and as my fingers brushed hers I had a feeling of revulsion, as though I had touched something dead.

  “Is it something important?” she asked.

  “What? Oh…um…no, it’s nothing.” I shoved the letter in my pocket. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Harriet. See you later.”

  My heart was jumping. I had already seen the printed names on the front of the envelope: Carter, Coleman, and Tallen. I knew those names. And I was pretty sure that I knew what this was all about.

  Miss Raglan strode up behind us. “You should be in my classroom by now, going over your math assignment, not fussing over the mail,” she said sharply. “We have a lot to get through this morning and exams coming up soon. Please hurry.”

  “Yes, Miss Raglan, sorry, Miss Raglan.”

  The letter would have to wait.

  As soon as the bell rang for break I grabbed Sarah and headed for the stables. Helen was in trouble over a piece of unsatisfactory work and had to stay behind with Miss Raglan.

  “What’s going on, Evie?” asked Sarah as we hurried across the cobbled yard to Bonny’s stall. “Who is the letter from?”

  “Frankie’s lawyers. It can only be something to do with her will. I don’t want any of her money, or anything like that. Why they have written to me and not Dad?” As soon as were we safely hidden in the stable, I tore open the envelope, but I couldn’t get past the first few lines of the letter: