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Tracy Ronning
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High Priestess
Prologue
The dream has never changed, not since I was a child
before my first bud
of womanhood. It comes on soft cat's paws in the
midst of the night, in the
witching hour, without warning. It begins always
with the house, and that
curious sense of belonging, of knowing. The house
is silent as I mount the
stairs, that preternatural heavy stillness that sets my
heart to pounding
before I even reach the top. It is night- shadowed
and quiet with only the
soft revealing moonlight coming through the high windows
to light my way.
Something has woken me from my bed to send me drifting
through this huge old
house. Something beguiling, something terrifying
that has pulled me from a
sound sleep to check every door, every bolt, every window
latch. Now it
pulls me upward through the strange heavy silence,
calling to me as a lover
would, or the devil.
I pause on the landing, my gaze
sweeping the shadowed portraits above my
head. The features are indistinct, faintly evil,
and I shudder. Across
from me the girl in the mirror shudders, too. I
turn to her, to myself,
observing the way my eyes glow unnaturally, like a cat in
the dark, or a
girl caught in a nightmare. The long, gauzy white
folds of my nightdress
flutter as I lift my hand, pressing it to my breast in
order to feel the
beat of my heart. I am alive, I tell myself,
alive. But the mist, heavy
stillness of the house does not lift.
At the top of the stairs I feel the
breeze. Somewhere a window has been
left open. The wind catches the ends of my hair
hanging below my waist,
sending it tickling about my thighs. Guided by
something beyond me, my bare
feet trace a path to the west wing, past the great double
doors that stand
open for me. I pause here, expecting some sort of
hindrance, but there is
none. I reach it at last, the door at the end of
the hall. It stands ajar-
the last obstacle. I could go back, some sane part
of my mind tells me,
back to a warm bed to dream away this sensual
nightmare. But the pull is
too much. With a trembling hand I push open the
door......
.....and wake up screaming. Only
gradually do I realize that I am in my
own bed, that my hands are shredding the bedclothes in my
terror. Dimly,
from beneath the choking shrieks coming from my throat, I
hear my slumbering
home come alive around me- the thudding feet, the frantic
voices, the
servants bursting into my room. Candelabras fill
the room to banish
darkness as they cluster around me, but I am not
comforted. Only when the
Lady of the House's tread is heard in the hall, when she
sweeps through the
door to take my rigid body in her arms, her greying hair
in it's long braid
brushing my cheek, do the screams abate to whimpers.
"Go now." Gently she
shoos the servants from the room. "It's only
another of Miss Katherine's nightmares."
Only nightmares. To my family,
consisting of a father too drunk to
notice and a brother uninterested in the child I was,
that's all they were,
nightmares. The servants knew better- I could
tell from their sly, canny
glances. And I knew better too.
CHAPTER ONE-1756
I grew up wild on an Estate in Sussex
County, too strong willed for my
sweet city bred mother to control. My Papa could
have cared less what I
did; if I rode his best hunter down through the
town like Lady Godiva I
doubt it would have mattered to him. I suppose it
could be said that it
wasn't his fault. I was a girl, and therefore of no
consequence to him. In
the manner of the times he paid little attention to
me. It was my brother
Theo he love and made much of. With Theo by his
side, my father rode out
every day as acting Squire, teaching my brother how to
exploit the land in
the gentry legacy. I, left to my own devices
by a mother who could not
control me, haunted the village. There our tenants,
my earliest friends,
scratched out a meager existence, while we lived in
splendor up at what they
called the Big House. I learned early on that the
fine china, crystal
glasses and lovely silks my family enjoyed were direct
contributions of the
poor's back-breaking efforts. I was a fey little
Gypsy beneath my quality
clothes, and it suited me better to spend my time among
people of the same
ilk. They with their Dark Gods and Mysticism-
I preferred them to sipping
tea in a proper lady's parlour and doing needlepoint any
day. They knew the
land and it's ways far better than any Quality squire who
played at farming
for profit. They taught me how to feel my world
around me, to know the sky
and the wind and the woods. They pressed the dirt
of Lancing Land into my
palm so that I could feel the beat of the earth's heart
beneath my feet,
slow and ponderous and true. My father called them
simple pagans, who
couldn't survive on their own without the Gentry to guide
them. I don't
think he realized that without them, it was we who would
not survive. We
exploited them with high rents and cheap labour so we
could have every
luxury- luxury that most of my social standing thought
was inherently
God-given. It shamed me. But I was
considered an eccentric child.
I've always thought that children see
so much more clearly than adults.
Greed, malice, and other "Adult" vices do not
yet cloud their vision, and
society's expectations do not yet lie heavily upon their
heads. I will
never forget the first time I came home after a romp with
the village
children, my clothes torn and my face dirty. They
played rough, those
children, and I had taken many a tumble to prove that I
was no soft Parlour
Miss. The shock on my mother's face as Nanny tried
to sneak me upstairs,
tracking mud in my wake, was enough to make me
cringe. But with all the
innocent wilfullness of a child, I did not allow myself
to crumble before
her disapproval. I knew intuitively
that there was something wrong at the
base of her anger, though I could not put it into
words. I straightened my
back and stared belligerently back at her until it was
she who dropped her
eyes.
"In the future," she
spoke in her calm, cultured voice, "you will
not
play in the village. I will not have my daughter
romping with peasants."
She knew as she spoke the words they meant nothing to
me. I was stronger
than she, and I did as I pleased. She dare not
approach my father with any
matter concerning me, lest she be taken to task for being
unable to
discipline her daughter. Her authority over me was
minimal.
So I grew, wild and unchallenged,
until my fourteenth year when the
nightmares began to grow so vivid and frightening, I
could no longer bear
them. Don't be mistaken, I was a brave child.
All my life I had been
taking mad risks; climbing trees too high, swimming
when the current was
too strong, and taking jumps far too dangerous on my
Papa's hunters. It was
this about me that finally drew my brother's attention to
me one day, at the
annual hunt. I was riding a hunter too strong for
my small body, and the
pace the hounds were setting was unbelievably fast.
I was determined to
keep my seat. It was one of the wildest rides I
ever had; I clung like a
squirrel to my mount's back, straining with every last
bit of strength to
control him. I admit, I was beyond reckless-
I was taking dangerous jumps
a seasoned veteran would not have dared at breakneck
speed. A low-hanging
branch was almost my undoing- if the jump had been a
fraction higher or I
any bigger, I would have been swept off and probably
killed on impact. As
it was I was bruised for a week where the branch scraped
my back. At long
last the kill was made, and I was turning exhausted for
home when my brother
appeared beside me.
"I say, child." I
don't think he knew my name, but I was amazed he was
speaking to me at all. At that point in my life, my
older brother was a
pretty stranger. "Brilliant job you made of
it. Didn't know you could ride
so well." He fell into place beside me easily,
our tired horses side by
side. "Easy to see you'll miss it when you're
sent away."
My head jerked up. I had those
first pricklings of warning raising the
hairs on my arms, telling me this brother of mine had a
dislike of me that
went far deeper than the indifference he had always shown
me. I was
instantly alert. "Away, what do you mean,
away?"
"Don't be silly." He
smiled at me, a charming young man with his future
secured. "Sooner or later you'll be sent away,
either to school or to
marriage."
I felt myself trapped by the grey eyes
so like my own. Why was he
doing this? Was he just baiting me? "I
shan't go away. This is my home."
Theo laughed at me, throwing back his dark
head and setting the horses to
prancing uneasily. "Of course you will, little
one. Daughters don't stay
on the land. Sons are the ones who inherit.
Haven't you been told that
yet?" Suddenly he reached out to grab the
reins from my hands, pulling me
very close so he could peer into my eyes. I was
shocked into compliance to
see the malicious way his face had twisted.
"And you the darling of our
peasants. Their golden girl." He mocked
me. "I daresay you'll be married
off by the time you're fifteen. But don't
worry, little one. Father and I
will be sure to find someone befitting your
station; a Duke or an Earl-
someone much, much older who will probably whip you every
day and never let
you out of doors again."
I felt dizzy. There was a
roaring in my ears, a silent warning about my
brother that I couldn't place, one that told me not to
take his viciousness
towards me lightly. This was more than sibling
jealousy. "I shan't marry!"
I shot back angrily. "And you're very cruel to
speak to me so!" I knew I
should act cool and pleasant to him, but my temper was
never the sort that
could withstand good sense for long, and it was a matter
of moments before I
lost both. Breaking away from Theo, I kicked my
horse savagely into a
gallop, letting the wind whip away his words. But
his laughter followed me.
Perhaps it was his laughter that
brought on the dream again, or the way
the sound of it chased after me, like the shadows of my
nightmares. It
became more horrifying for me after that incident.
My terror grew by leaps
and bounds like a live thing, until it became far too
heavy for a girl of
fourteen to bear. It hung oppressively over the
entire household. I was
not the only one to feel it. The servants were most
affected, for they
knew, even better than I, that they were not only
nightmares. Some of the
maids were refusing to enter my rooms at night.
They were from the village,
girls I had played with when I was younger, and they
loved me well, but they
feared me, too. I heard snatches of conversation
even in that trance-like
state of fear as they stood outside my door, waiting for
me to come back to
reality.
"Nonsense!" The Housekeeper
would say, who was town bred and knew
nothing of Gypsy ways. "Keep your pagan ideas
to yourself and get along in
into Miss Katherine's room. You're needed
there."
"I won't, I tell you!"
It hurt me to hear how terrified they were of
me, terrified enough to brave the Housekeeper's wrath and
risk losing their
position. "She's fey. Some they say can
see the future, and Miss
Katherine's one of them. Something evil's about
that Miss." It became a
litany in those early days. It seemed everywhere I
went there were mixed
feelings and warnings whispered about me.
My mother was at a complete
loss. Her only daughter seemed to be on the
verge of madness- indeed I felt and behaved as is I
were. As the weeks
stretched on into months and things only seemed to
worsen, she became
desperate to solve the dilemma. Far more desperate
than I, for I never
would have consulted my father as she did. In
retrospect it was easily seen
why she did it; my mother had been raised to run a
household smoothly and
efficiently- to worry about such things as the price of
silks and the hiring
of dependable staff. Such unnatural things as me,
she had been taught, were
handled by fathers or brothers or husbands. She had
no reference point in
the management of what appeared to be a psychotic
child. So she brought the
problem eventually before my father, who had no interests
in my needs at
all, and wished only for his household to be at peace
again. It was decided
after very little thought- it was easily
deduced who had planted the
thought in his head, since he was capable of very little
of his own, drunk
as he was- that I should be sent away to a strict
boarding school in London.
There I would no doubt settle in to a comfortable routine
until a suitable
match could be made.
All this was related to me by my
mother, in the room that had become my
prison, each sentence punctuated with tearful laments on
how she was bound
to the estate. "Oh, how I wish I could go with
you!" On and on went her
self-pitying words until I thought I would scream and
slap her, and were it
not for the numb state of shock I was in, I would
have. Instead I sat quite
still on my window seat, my hands folded in my lap,
staring blindly down at
the gardens in twilight. Down there I could see my
brother Theo strolling
with my father, who was drunk again, both of them
swirling glasses of brandy
casually as if they had not just conspired to turn a
little girl's world
upside down. For a brief, dizzying flash the scene
below me changed, and I
saw my brother alone in the gardens- staring up at a cold
winter sky, older
and very sad. I blinked in surprise, but it was
gone. My head ached
suddenly; I passed my hand over my eyes in a weary
gesture much older than
my years, thinking of the village and their belief that I
could see the
future.
".....I shall no doubt be in
London very soon to plan your coming out-
at least I have that...." With difficulty I
focused on my mother's words
again. I could not feel anger at her selfishness,
or my father's
indifference, or even my brother's cruel pleasure and
treachery. I was
numb. "We shall leave as soon as the school
proprietress sends word- that
will be at least a fortnight's time. Enough to
prepare." I closed my eyes
and ears to my mother, overcome at last. A
fortnight's time. All the time
left to me on the only home I had ever know. All
the time left to me before
exile.
I had hoped to spend the time left to
me on the land, saying goodbye to
the people and places I have loved since my birth.
But I had underestimated
my father's interest. The rumours that Miss
Katherine represented some sort
of dark soothsayer to the village had reached his drunken
ears, and fearing
an uprising among his tenants, he had confined me to the
House and Gardens
with only one terrified maid to look after me. I
took on a rather tragic
figure that echoes some romantic novels I have read- the
poor, mad girl
locked away from society's eyes- the secret shame of the
family... It was
given out only that I was ill and would be leaving for
treatment in London
shortly. "The natives are becoming
restless." My father announced to the
world at supper, as we all tried our best to look
interested and not see the
wine stains on his white shirt. "And restless
servants are useless ones.
We must nip these pagan ideas in the bud. It is our
Christian duty."
Arrogant fool. To think he meant to wipe out
hundreds of years of pagan
beliefs that had been instilled in our villagers down
through the
generations, and all by locking away one little girl from
the world. And he
did it in the name of Christianity! It was my first
lesson as to how
hypocritical Christianity could be.
So I wandered in the Gardens and about
the House, and looked longingly
at the wild woods so close to me, knowing that in
the village they were
missing me. My maid, who refused to enter my rooms
at night, brought me
trinkets during the day to ease my loneliness;
bluebells from off the
Green, a lock of silky man from my favourite hunter, cups
of smuggled
chocolate from Mrs. Hodgett's cottage on the edge of the
village. These
cups came invariably right after dinner, before bed, and
I'm sure were mixed
with some powerful home-made elixir to help me sleep, for
I slept deeply
without dreaming whenever I drank them. I was
comforted in my solitude to
know the villagers had not forgotten me.
My last evening at home I spent in the
Gardens, gazing up at a fine
Lancing sky. I strolled quietly among the roses in
full bloom, drawing deep
breaths of their heady scent, committing all around me to
memory. Who knew
when I would be able to return? Theo's
maliciousness could keep me away for
the rest of my life, as far as I knew. I had no
power when it came to such
things. It made me want to cry, to think of never
seeing all the beloved
familiar things around me. Lancing Estates was an
essential part of my
blood.... I could not imagine never seeing it
again. I wondered as I stood
gazing up at the first stars, in all my young naiveté-
would there always be
this tug of war between what I felt was right and what
others decided was
right for me?
I don't know how long I stood there
that night, with my head thrown back
to see the sky, but a rustling in the shadows brought me
crashing back into
myself. My hand went instinctively to cover my
throat in a gesture only
half-understood. For a moment, startled as I was, I
was not myself at all-
not the brave little girl I had always been, but someone
else entirely.
Someone who had looked into the future and seen horrors
there waiting for
her. The noise came again, louder, and the
vision that paralyzed me faded.
Whoever made such a sound, it was too obviously human to
be much of a
threat. I strode forward in my old confident
manner, calling out as I went.
"Out with you, now, whoever is there. I won't
bite, you know. Come out
before I come in after you!"
I was surprised to see half- a- dozen
familiar shapes rising from the
bushes- shapes I instantly recognized as my
friends- Gypsies from the
village. Even Mrs. Hodgett the recluse was there,
her thin wise face
wreathed in a welcoming smile that took me back to the
first time I had ever
seen her. She had been waiting by the gate that
early morning as I rode by
on my pony, feeling superior and jaunty so high off the
ground in my new
riding habit. That had been the first of her
endless cups of chocolate.
Down off the back of my illustrious pony she had coaxed
me with them, and
upon taking my hand, had said "I've been waiting for
you, my child. I've
been waiting for you all my life, and I knew this morning
you would finally
come." She had entranced me. I hadn't
understood her then, not as I do
now, but she had always understood me. That was a
rarity in my little
world.
I laughed now as they crowded around
me, delighted to see them. "What
are you doing here?" I asked them, pulling
them into the shadows of the
garden with a worried glance over my shoulder.
"You should not have come...
If Father finds you here there will be Hell to
pay." And yet it warmed me
to see them there, to know they risked all their meagre
lives afforded to be
near me. For if they were caught they would surely
be turned out without
pay or a reference, off the land they had lived on for
generations in
service of the Lancing family.
Mrs. Hodgett brushed aside my protests
with a wave of her hand. "Not
even the Lord of the House could keep us from saying
goodbye to Our Girl."
She told me.
"Oh yes," my face fell
with the words. "Goodbye.... of
course." I
gave myself a mental shake and brightened with
effort. "Come then, give me
your blessings quickly- before someone sees you
here. I would not have any
of you compromised." One by one they came
forward, and I suffered their
embraces though I hated to be touched, for I knew they
meant only to show
their love. More than one had small remembrances
for me- gifts that touched
me for I knew how little they had to give. At last
only Old Mrs. Hodgett
was left, and we stood for a long minute facing each
other, silent in our
parting.
For just a minute I saw it, and then
only because I was no ordinary
girl. There was a warning in her eyes that
frightened me. "What is it?" I
asked her in hushed tones, but she shook her head,
perhaps more frightened
than I.
"I will not speak of it now, not
with night all around us, and eyes
watching that we do not see." I glanced
worriedly at the lit windows of the
House before realizing this was not what she meant at
all. My mouth opened
to question her, but she shushed me with a raised
hand. "You'll come back
before the time comes- we'll speak of it
then. There is much you will need
to know. But keep your wits about you and hold fast
to purity there in
London, my girl..." I blushed at the
inference. Coming forward, she gave
me a brief, hard hug. It startled me to feel how
thin she was. Before I
could speak again, she took my hand, closing the fingers
about a warm, small
hard object that seemed familiar. "Wear this
at all times in memory of us-
it will bring you back safely." Then she was
gone; the shadows swallowed
her up as if she had never been there at all, and I was
alone again under my
Lancing sky.
Curious, I moved under the light of the
windows to see what she had given
me. I couldn't help but smile to see what was
in my hand; it was a
beautiful piece of smooth amber glowing back at me, a
piece that I had
admired often on her mantelpiece above the fire.
She had asked the village
smithy to forge a setting for it, and strung it on
a thin floss of black
silk to wear about my neck. I was relieved...
for some reason I had
expected to see a crucifix in my palm. I tied the
necklace on immediately,
liking the way it hung, heavy and warm, just between my
breasts. Amber for
health... for safety. I blew a kiss in the
direction of the village, and
turning, hurried into the House.
I awoke the next morning to a misty,
hazy morning full of partings.
Too quickly I was hurried to the coach that would take me
away from all I
knew and loved. Leaving the House, I paused to take
one last look, to
imprint the image forever of all I had known and loved on
my brain. Through
the mists, the rising sun threw a pale lemon color over
the world, washing
the gardens and their chaos of soft-colored blooms
with the light. The
flagstones of the walkways and the House itself seemed
heavy and dreamy in
that light, and the paddocks gleamed with fresh dew as
they waved in the
gentle breeze. For the last time I drew in a deep
breath of Lancing Air,
tasting the familiar mixture of garden flowers, warm
earth, fresh green
grass, and the faintest tang of sea air that blew up from
the south. I felt
my throat close with emotion, and turning, looked up at
the House behind me.
There, framed in the tall windows, I caught the shadows
in the barest of
movements and shuddered, knowing Theo was there, watching
me, and smiling.
As always I was stung by his maliciousness. He was
glad I was leaving.
Hurriedly I climbed into the coach away from his
eyes. My mother was
already there before me, squeezing my hand in her
excitement to be gone from
Lancing Hall. I could not respond; my hand was a
dead, limp defeated thing
in her grasp. My heart was breaking to leave.
The coach pulled away slowly, making
it's way down the gravel path that
led down through the village and out onto the main
drive. I had not
expected, as I leaned dejectedly against the frame of the
window, to see
anyone there. Morning was the busiest time of the
year in Mid-summer,
before the sun got too hot to work. I was surprised
then as we rolled
through a silent village where our tenants stood at the
gate, watching the
coach go by as if they had nothing better to do with
their time, or nothing
more important. It was a salute, of sorts, I
realised, and returned the
respect they paid me despite my mother's dismay, hanging
out the window in
order to catch their eyes and nod to them as we passed
them. No words
needed to be said, not to me, their Golden Girl. It
was all there in their
eyes.
The coach picked up speed as we
reached the outskirts of the village.
There at her gate, as I knew she would be, was Mrs.
Hodgett, smiling that
same smile I remembered the first time I had ever seen
her. I smiled in
return, touching the warm stone beneath my gown. I
knew she saw the
gesture, and understood. The coach carried me away
from her, round the bend
out of sight, and she was gone. It brought a dull
ache that did not ease.
We swept past the gatehouse and were out on the road
before I could draw
another breath.
The long trip Northwest to London I
won't go into, with it's countless
Inns and roadside stops. I was mad with it after
the first day, for now
that we were off Lancing land, I was forced by a will
stronger than mine to
act the part of a young Miss of good breeding. All
around me the influence
intruded on even my most secret thoughts from those
surrounding me... from
my Mother to the coachman to the Innkeepers with their
beady eyes and hungry
purses. They expected something from me, and I with
my limited experience
in the outside world gave it to them, smoldering all the
while to rebel.
Society's expectations of me meant in short that I stay
cooped up in the
closeness of the carriage the entire trip. Only
once did I beg my mother to
ride ahead on horseback- I even promised to go
quite sedately, if only I
could get out in the open air. I was
suffocating. The look she gave me
was answer enough.... there would be no riding for me in
the near future. I
took to sleeping long hours and waking still exhausted
with little or no
appetite upon stopping. But there were no
nightmares. And that was all the
proof my mother needed to ensure herself that my
father had made the right
decision.
It was during these long naps that my
story really began, for we came
finally into London. I fell asleep in the country,
despondent and thinking
that I was doomed to travel forever, and awoke quite
abruptly to the clamour
of the city streets.
The sun had just set- it was barely
twilight in the massive sprawl that
was London, and the street lamps were just being lit to
cast a golden glow
over everything. The bustle of people had a
magical, foreign tone to it
that caught me immediately. It was exciting even to
me to see the Gentlemen
and Ladies, all striding purposely through the streets,
intent on going
somewhere.... It made me wonder what sort of lives they
must have...what
where they doing, where were they going and what did they
think about how it
impacted their lives? There were hundreds and
hundreds of them- it was an
immense sprawl of buildings and lives and stories that
somehow intermeshed
with mine simply because they passed my line of
sight. I was amazed.
London, in the glow of the street lamps at twilight, was
somehow monstrously
beautiful. Even I could appreciate it.
It was then that I saw him, poised as
if on stage in a great theatre of
golden light. Our carriage was pulling away
from the curb towards faster
traffic when the seething crowd seemed to part
before me, giving way in a
direct line to where he stood. He was staring
straight at me as if he had
expected me; I felt the shock of his gaze go
through me as if I had been
struck. The fascination with the London streets
left me in an instant. I
was drawn only to him, to his eyes bent upon me and the
slow, dreamy moving
of the carriage away from him. He was dressed
immaculately in pewter grey
of impeccable cut, obviously a gentlemen, and his jet
hair was drawn away
from his face in an old-fashioned queue. His
gaze cut across the distance
that grew between us, leaving me terrified and
breathless, but I could not
look away. He drew me. As I stared, he gently
tipped back his head, almost
thoughtfully, watching me under half-hooded eyes that
gleamed unnaturally.
Yes, it was the eyes that held me- his eyes, blue-green
and blazing like
fire opals in the coming night. Strange and
luminous and incandescent......
I hung out the coach window in a most
Unladylike way. I did not care.
I was unable to tear my eyes away from him.
Something frightening clicked
into place in that moment, as the carriage took me
further and further away
from him, and I wished insanely only to go back, to stare
once more into
those strangely beautiful, compelling eyes. The
crowd closed in around him
again and he was gone. I leaned back against the
cushions with the
strangest sense of deja vu, telling myself he is
real, he is real, I have
seen him. I was not imagining things or losing my
mind. He was as real as
the cushions beneath my head.
"...... Oh, and look Katherine,
there's the park, why styles have
changed so. Fancy how sleek the ladies have
become...." Slowly I regained
my world around me, focusing on my Mother's excited
gushing. I had not
realized that my sense of hearing had momentarily been
lost. Wryly I
touched the cushions behind my head, knowing my Mother
would not understand
the humor in such an action. I laughed to myself,
and closed my eyes. I
knew in that moment that a chapter of my life had been
closed. I felt it
close as surely as if His hand had slammed closed the
cover. I felt
helpless... I felt frightened... and somehow I relished
it. I was now
hurtling towards the destiny that had long been chosen
for me. It was
begun.
**************
Hours later I sat silently beside my
Mother while she spoke to Mrs.
Harrington, Headmistress of Harrington School for Young
Ladies. I was
bored. Not that I could have spoke if I wished, for
the Ladies were engaged
in some sort of sick ritualistic ignoring of me, the
youth in the room, that
was frighteningly limited as far as options. In
truth I had none. It was
as if I weren't there, and it annoyed me.
Fortunately for the peace of Mrs.
Harrington and her small establishment, I was feeling far
too drained and
trance-like from my previous adventure to give the scene
the sort of
upheaval it deserved. I did not have it in me to
play Devil's Advocate.
Not now. Not with the memory of Him... so close.
"Of course, our young ladies are
instructed in all the proper etiquette
of good social standing." Mrs. Harrington had
a way of speaking through her
nose, as if it were being pinched, that gave one an
immediate impression,
and a right one, of what she truly was. I could
clearly see her
interpretation of proper. I would learn
needlepoint, dancing, which fork to
use, how to remove my gloves daintily upon returning from
a garden stroll
with a Gentleman, how to speak like a mincing Brainless
Twit of a Girl....
I groaned inwardly and wished for the late blooming roses
of Lancing Hall's
Garden. I could almost feel the heavy summer air
there. Almost. I felt
angry, weary, and most of all trapped.
A knock at the door brought my
attention back from it's wanderings. At
the Headmistress' rather sharp bidding the door swung
open, and a young girl
entered, her head bent submissively. "You
called me, Madame?" Her voice
was soft and low, and very meek. I felt
an instant disgust. Not just for
the meekness, which went against everything I had ever
been as a child, but
for her beauty, and her... special normality.
The girl was my age but of
smaller build, a petite little angel with heaps of
red-gold hair that
tumbled down her back in soft waves. I could see
the way this girl's life
would go. Beautiful, gentle and meek, she would
have suitors surrounding
her and marry early. Her life would be that sweet,
perfectly normal song
that would forever elude me. In seeing her I saw
from the outside what my
life would never be. I saw what I thought I didn't
want and suddenly ached
for with all my being. And in that one instant,
without even knowing her
name, I wished the beautiful little girl dead with all my
heart. Wished it,
and then recanted it with a horror that surprised
me. I felt as if suddenly
I should very righteously be afraid of what I ask for.
As I was thinking these things she was
moving past me with all apparent
docility. And yet, even as she passed me I caught
the wayward flash of her
eyes glancing towards me. That one, green,
precisely intense glimpse made
me gasp aloud. I had thought her meek, obedient,
gentle. The
mischeviousness of that one glance corrected me, and I
laughed low in my
throat in response. Her lips curved in the barest
smile to hear it. From
that moment I loved her with all the spontaneous,
passionate nature of my
soul.
"Yes, Jennifer." Mrs.
Harrington seemed unaware of the undercurrents in
her parlour as she beckoned Jennifer forward.
"Lady Lancing, Miss
Katherine, may I present Miss Jennifer Harding. She
is of a prominent
family here in London." Mrs. Harrington
boasted. It was a slip that both
my mother and I ignored. We were both too wrapped
up in our own thoughts; I
with the cleverness of the little actress before us, and
my mother with...
my mother with....
She was distracted.
"Harding, Harding......" She seemed
not to know
she spoke aloud. "I know that name from my
girlhood here in London...
Where do I know it from?" My mother was lost
in that vague sense of
remembrance that made me want to shake her. She
always managed even at the
best of times to inspire annoyance in me. But my
eyes were suddenly drawn
by the girl beside me, by the way her face had fallen at
my mother's words,
and her cheeks had lost their youthful flush to leave her
dispirited; a
porcelain doll of the living beauty that had stood there
only a moment
before. A quick glance at Mrs. Harrington proved
that she had noticed it
also. Shrewdly she took the opportunity to fill the
silence, commanding
Jennifer to take me on my first tour of the school.
In a matter of moments
we were whisked out the door, but not before
comprehension dawned on my
mother's face.... not before we heard her voice gasp in
startlement and hear
her say "Of course! The Harding girl... all
those years ago... Her name was
An-" With that the door was closed behind
us. We had been dismissed.
"I'm sorry." I said
softly to Jenn. I felt such a strange compassion
and protectiveness towards this exquisite little girl,
feelings I could not
explain or understand. I could not see her face as
it was hidden by a great
cloud of copper hair, but as I tried to touch her arm I
was surprised to see
her suddenly lift her head, her cheeks bright with
rage and her green eyes
snapping anger. I took a step back.
"You'll get used to
it." She told me bitterly, her voice no longer
soft
with compliance, but sharp with hurt and frustration.
I didn't understand. "Get
used to it?" I repeated. "What ever
do you
mean?"
"Being spoke to as if you were
simply an ornament, without feelings or
opinions or the ability to string more than three words
together at a time."
She jerked her head in the direction of the parlour
door. "You'll get used
to it, but that doesn't mean you have to like it."
Without another word I let her lead me
up the stairs, showing me to the
room that I would spend the next two years sleeping in,
away from the scent
of Lancing Gardens. I would not wake to the sight
of the gardens outside my
window anymore. Indeed, I would never truly awake
in this place feeling as
if I belonged. But another piece of my destiny, it
seemed, had just fallen
into my life. As I watched the slim back of my new
roommate as she walked
before me, I knew that I had just found a soul
mate. This girl, this
school, this city..... It was all simply a part of the
plan.
We became inseparable so quickly after
that. I was an outcast of sorts
among the other girls- my provincial ways and aggressive
nature were
considered "fast" by them- they treated me with
a superior disdain- as if I
would waste my time on such a prim little bunch of
ninnies. I preferred to
be alone rather than in their company. Still, it
would have been lonely,
had it not been for Jenn, my partner in crime. She
had a sense of daring
that inspired me- she was as sweet and charming as I was
silent and
solitary- together we were a terror to the poor Head
Mistress. The girls
learned to respect us, and Mrs. Harrington learned to
overlook our small
pranks and escapades, if only to save her own hide.
Oh, in the beginning we
were punished for small things such as sneaking the
street children in for
afternoon tea, dressed in our own frocks. But this
was short lived. One
well placed garden snake in the Headmistress' desk was
enough to ensure our
immunity in the future. Poor woman! I'm sure
she had thought upon opening
a school for young ladies to teach wisely to grateful,
gentle creatures who
looked upon her as a role model. She had not
counted on strong minded Gypsy
brats like me, inspiring chaos in my wake.
Oh, but Jenn was better at it than
I. She could smile sweetly into your
face, acting all the while the pretty, meek child, and
spook salt into your
tea at the same time. I had no patience for what my
elders were trying to
mould me into- a proper young lady of good manners and
breeding, and an
empty head.
But there were strange things at work
in my life. Perhaps I did not
awaken screaming in the middle of the night while at the
school, but there
were other, more subtle things that surrounded me.
Little gifts were left
for me by unknown givers. Dried wildflowers left on
the threshold of my
room. Tiny, exquisite perfume bottles beneath my
pillow. Coils of fine
velvet ribbon for my hair left in the pocket of my
afternoon frock. At
first I thought they were from Jenn, but I of all people
knew when her
innocence was not faked. One day, while the Head
Mistress was ill and abed,
a little boy showed up at the door, bearing a small
basket that held a tiny,
fluffy black kitten. I kept the kitten hidden in my
room until he was old
enough to slip out the window unseen, sure that The Head
Mistress would take
him away in an instant if she saw him. He
would curl in the small of my
back as I slept, purring to receive the confidences that
I could not tell
even to Jenn. In the morning the pat of his little
paw against my cheek
awoke me. But not a clue of who the gift-giver
was. Or how the gifts were
placed in such intimate places without my knowledge.
And then one day, in the spring of my
second year at Harrington's School
for Young Ladies, I got my answer.
It was an outing in the park. It
began simply enough, fourteen well
bred young ladies strolling among the gardens demurely
under the watchful
eye of our guardians, the teachers. I was bursting
to lift my skirts and
run in the newly balmy weather, but of course was not
allowed. I contented
myself with standing as far from the crowd of Young
Ladies as I possibly
could without detection, staring off across the park to a
cluster of trees
and inhaling the new green of the earth. Jenn sat
beside me gathering
tulips into a chaste bouquets. It frustrated
me. On my own land I would
be out on the land on my favorite hunter, supervising the
planting that Theo
never could get quite right. Under his stern hand
the planters were apt to
be lazy and spiteful in ways he would never
discern. It always infuriated
him that the fields under my supervision yielded more at
the end of the
season, when I spoke so gently and smiled so often at the
same men he
commanded. I gave a deep, melancholy sigh that made
Jenn pat hand in an
absent, comforting way. Yes, I would be on the land
right now, were it not
for my brother.
A flicker of light caught my eye as I
stood there. I gasped when I
turned, for it was he from the square that day in London,
were I could have
sworn was nothing but trees before. He was sitting
motionless atop a great
black beast of a horse, his face turned to me across the
distance. I
recognized him instantly. Again he was dressed in
grey, this time with top
hat and tails, complete with riding gloves, whip and
spur. His long black
hair was loose and flowing beneath the hat and shone
blue-black in the
sunlight. And the horse he was riding... I had
never seen such a horse as
this- he looked as if he had been carved from black
marble; every curve of
muscle so perfectly symmetrical and defined, he looked
too perfect to be
real. The great arched curve of his neck bowed and
flexed as he pawed the
ground, restless to be off and released from the stern
hand that held him
still. I gave a low moan under my breath, and my
hand slowly rose to clutch
my throat. I was terrified and yet not so, and felt
the wildest urge to
stumble towards him, yet could not move. His hand
lifted- I swear I felt
the caress of his fingers on my cheek- and then I heard
it. My name. He
said my name. He said "Katherine".
I must have fainted. I cannot
remember. I only remember reaching
urgently for Jenn, trying to speak past the suddenly
constricting muscles in
my throat, and seeing the black spots dance before my
eyes before I lost
consciousness. There must have been a great uproar
afterwards, but I donıt
remember it, and can only go by Jennıs testimony of the
situation. In her
words I fell like a stone, and was blind, deaf and dumb
to all that happened
around me, though my eyes were open. Indeed I
barely drew a breath. She
thought at first I was struck dead on the spot. But
when they felt for my
pulse it was there, faint and fluttering. Somehow
they managed to get me
back to my bed in the school under the care of a doctor,
and three days
passed in which I was incoherent, weak and
feverish. Only then did I come
back to myself. Jenn never left my side.
Even after I had recovered, and I felt
my spirits begin to rise again, I
could not think or speak of that day. It was said
officially that I had
caught a sudden chill in the manner of most delicate
young ladies , but I
knew it wasnıt true. I knew it wasnıt true- there
wasnıt a delicate bone in
my country-raised body. But I for one had no
interest in the truth. I
brushed off Jennıs gentle questioning with an impatient
tone that would have
hurt someone less familiar with me. But Jenn knew
me well, and my
brusqueness brought no more than a passing frown from
her. She simply let
it go in her usual quiet manner with me, and we were soon
acting as if it
had never happened at all.
The last year of School flew by
quickly. I felt as if I were in a state
of grace, in the eye of the storm where things were
deceptively calm.
Somehow I knew that my time with Jenn in London would be
the only stable
period of my life, one I could look back on whenever I
needed to ground
myself. But it went by so fast.... and often I
thought of the threats my
brother had made to exile me forever from Lancing
land. I shuddered at the
idea of a marriage arranged by my brother. For all
I knew plans might
already be in the making to wed me to some old, rich man
far away where I
would be of little threat or consequence.
It was one of the most powerful things
Jenn and I had in common, our
fear of marriage and itıs ultimate submissions. We
both enjoyed our
relative freedom and headstrong natures far too much to
submit to that sort
of union, loving or otherwise. I could not
imagine my every move being
approved by someone beside myself, someone with the
literal power of life
and death over me. Even a doting man would still
have had the control. At
times I wondered if the grief I felt for my home stemmed
from the loss of
control my youth had afforded me.
I had hoped for the relief of Lancing
Estates on the Holidays at least,
but that was not to be. My exile was a complete
one. I spent my Holiday as
a guest of Jennıs family at Harding Manor in London,
which was not so very
bad after all. Being with Jenn in many ways
compensated me for the loss of
my home. In fact, I became a frequent visitor to
Harding Manor after
Jenniferıs father, Lord Harding, took favor to me.
The traits he would have
abhorred in his daughter he found pleasing in me;
my blunt manners and
aggressive nature amused and refreshed him. He
spoke at length with me on
the merits of this breed of hunter to that and the wisdom
of cross-breeding
the two- something that he never would have thought
proper to speak to Jenn
about, and something she would never have found interest
in to begin with.
The Lady of the Manor however, viewed me with the
condescending fondness
usually reserved for the village idiot. She seemed
to find me far too
provincial for her taste, though she tolerated my
attachment to her daughter
well enough. I knew the reason for her
feelings. Her jealousy of me, while
subtle, shone to me as clearly as a beacon. My
family was an older one-
superior in lineage to hers, though not as well
funded. Despite my fatherıs
well known drunkenness, we were far above being sneered
at. And so she
tolerated my friendship to her daughter though she did
not like me. But it
did not keep her from sending the occasional barbed
comment in my direction,
or from slandering me behind my back. In fact, I
received an earful one
afternoon while crouching with Jenn on the staircase,
behind the parlor
doors. It was one of our favorite vices, to
eavesdrop on Lady Hardingıs
afternoon tea gatherings. We invariably heard some
scandalous rumor or
vicious set down that sent us back upstairs to recover
from the giggles.
This day however, to my dismay and anger, I found I was
the tidbit.
"There is no doubt the girl is
striking." The conversation flowed
easily enough at first. "In her own dark
way." There was a pause while the
tea was poured by some faceless servant.
"I do think that men of any age
prefer fair young ladies," Another
matron piped up. "donıt you agree,
Abigail?" I winced. Abigail was the
formidable Lady Harding. I could imagine what would
come next.
Lady Harding gave a great sigh, and
set down her tea cup with a gentle
"chink". I could almost see in my mind
her benevolent, falsely sympathetic
face. "Yes, Madeline.. she is very striking...
but really!" Ah, here it
came. "The child is entirely too
wayward. She has no grace, no delicacy to
speak of.. she walks as if she were the gamekeeper on
some backwards farming
estate! Such long unladylike strides. Youıd
think sheıd been raised by
peasants!" I let out a low growl that was
covered by Lady Hardingıs lovely
drawing room laugh. "Itıs a good thing the
child is an excellent
horsewoman, I do concede her that.. sheıll have plenty
to speak about with
the young men as they wait to dance with my
daughter!"
There was a loud titter of vicious
laughter in the room, which overruled
my choke of rage and the scuffle on the stairs, during
which I was
determined to barge into the room, and Jenn was
determined to hold me. Her
low voice in my ear, urging me away, finally drew me from
the tea-room and
lead me upstairs to our rooms, where she shooed the maid
from the rooms and
closed the door. Softly, without a word, she pulled
me to the oval mirror
in the corner of her boudoir, and standing behind me,
pulled the pins from
my hair. It spilled over my shoulders and down my
back in a great, angry
cloud of wild Gypsy curls, almost crackling with the rage
I was feeling
still. "Now tell me, what do you see,
Kat?" she whispered against my ear.
"I see an awkward clumsy fool of
a girl." I said angrily.
Her hands soothed me patiently.
"No, look again, my dear. Stop seeing
with Motherıs jealous eyes." I turned to her
in surprise. "Yes," she said,
"I know of it. But look at your hair, and the
shape of your face. Look at
the way your eyes slant upwards like a cat." I
shuddered suddenly to feel
her fingers in my hair. "And see the fullness
of your mouth.... when you
speak, the words come out like silk..." She
reached up on her tiptoes to
press a kiss to the corner of my mouth, and I
sighed. "Just because you
donıt subscribe to the typical beauty of an oval face
and sloping shoulders,
and pale features, does not mean you arenıt beautiful,
Kat... there is more
beauty in you than I could ever possess, and one day a
man will come along
who worships such a beauty as you are, not only for your
face, but for your
mind, and your heart."
"And I shall send him
away" I choked on sudden tears, turning to
embrace her, "for I will never love any man the way
I do you, my sweet."
She smiled and held me, her bright
copper head bowed to my shoulder.
"You say that now, Kat. But you will love him
immensely.. and what you feel
for me will not stop that. But I will not be lost
to you." I should have
known it then, I should have felt it. I could have
used my strength to
sense the power of her words even if they were only
half-true. But I was
too overcome with my love for her, and I let it go, let
that small voice of
warning slide back into the abyss it had come from.
It seemed no time at all before the
grace period I so treasured came to
an end, and we were preparing for our official
coming-out, two young ladies
of good families, fresh out of boarding school. I
became a permanent guest
of the Harding Household, and my mother came to stay as
well, to plan her
only daughterıs introduction to society. I
half-expected Lady Harding to
slight her as she had me, and though I was not overly
fond of my mother, I
was prepared to defend her. But my mother surprised
me. She did not need
me to defend her, she handled herself well enough.
Lady Harding, also, was
surprisingly agreeable. I seemed the only one
unhappy, caught up in a
flurry of preparations that I did not want to be part
of. I suppose I would
have found it exciting if I had been one of the
simpletons I had gone to
school with, or even if I had been Jennifer, who was such
a lady at heart
and loved such things. I was not. I was a
Gypsy to my bones, and no amount
of finery or glamour would make me feel
differently. And so I hated the
long hours of shopping, the torturous days of standing in
front of mirrors
in some stylish dressing room, being poked and prodded
like an ornamental
clothes horse while Lady Harding and my mother sipped
tea. I was
scandalized by the amount of money my father was willing
to bestow on the
whole affair. I had no girlish thrill of fatherly
pride. I knew one thing
motivated my fatherıs generosity- the prestige of
presenting a beautiful
daughter to London society. He probably didnıt
even remember what I looked
like, the old fool.
It was my Jenn, again, who made it
bearable. The long hot hours of
standing still while women fussed about me until I was
ready to scream-
they faded away when I saw her emerge, time after time,
in some beautiful
silk and lace creation that made her look like a fairy
princess. She adored
the attention, and I adored her. Watching her
pirouette in her ball gowns
and afternoon frocks of pale, fragile colors, I could
feel my tension
disappear and my love for her swell my heart to
bursting. She was welcome
to the attentions of men... I cared nothing for them... I
loved only her.
And yet, when I finally looked in the
mirror at the gowns my mother had
chosen for my coming out, I could not help being
surprised. and even
pleased. For I was no longer the rangy, windblown
wild girl that had run
loose on Lancing Estates. I had grown up.
I would never be a fairy princess as
Jenn would. She inspired love,
poetry, ballads when men looked at her with her sweet
clear loveliness. I
inspired lust. I was taller, of slenderer build....
my mother called it by
some trash poetic term "willowy".....with long,
long legs and softly curving
hips and breasts. My long hair would always be
impossible to control, for
even the most severe of hairstyles would not long hold
the wild dark curls.
My face was arresting, with high cheekbones, a full
mouth, and the slanted
sharp grey eyes of cat, made brighter by the dark wings
of my eyebrows and
the thick black lashes that fringed them. I looked
in the mirror with a
new-found vanity that surprised me, and gave a wicked
little grin that
transformed my face into that of a seductress.
Behind me, Jenn laughed
aloud and slung her arms around me, burying her sweet
face in the curve of
my neck. What a pair we would be!
True to her word that first day
in London, my mother defied traditional
dress of a young debutante, steering clear of the pastels
and whites in
order to dress me in vivid dark colors that complimented
me well. My
signature colour became a lovely forest green of which I
had several
garments, including a beautiful riding habit of green
velvet. Jenniferıs
mother was shocked at the choices as no doubt most of
society would be, but
my mother was nonplussed. Once I was dressed, even
the formidable Lady
Harding had to admit I was stunning.
"You see," smiled Jenn,
whispering to me in our carriage on the way
home, "I told you we would be the darlings of
society this Season."
"You may be." I said
irritably back, for it had been a long day, and
beautiful or not, I hated to be touched and fussed
over. "I have no desire
to be pawed and drooled on by half-grown foolish
boys." But even as I
spoke, I knew I was only speaking in half truths.
There was someone I was
hoping very much to see, though he was not a boy but a
full-grown man. A
longing tinged with fear filled me when I thought of him,
that same nervous
helplessness that always overcame me. Would I see
him, perhaps, in a crowd
at some society ball? Was he even real, or a vision
of some madness or
warning?
Our new wardrobes were carefully
stored in our rooms at Harding Manor
for the upcoming festivities. In our honor, Lord
and Lady Harding, along
with Lady Lancing, my mother, had arranged a sumptuous
ball there at the
manor. It was still weeks away in preparation,
however, and Jenn and I had
the last chance of being children. Our mothers were
far too wrapped up in
planning for the coming ball to supervise us, and Jennıs
father found us far
too amusing to scold us for our wildness. As for
the servants, they knew
better than to make any report of our antics. For
instance, the groom that
had refused me the mount of my choice, a wicked looking
grey stallion, found
his bed filled with manure that night. The maid who
had reported seeing
Miss Lancing climbing the trees in the garden, her skirts
hitched immodestly
above her knees, mysteriously split the seams of her new
corset before a
room full of guests. And the Butler who scolded the
young Misses for
playing cricket in the hallways found the barnyard cat,
to whom he had a
severe allergy, mysteriously ensconced in his private
room, cleaning itıs
dirty paws on his very pillow. We managed without a
butler for several
days.
At any rate, Jenn and I had almost a
full two weeks of freedom to enjoy.
And enjoy it we did, with a wildness that made me long
for my home. I
taught Jenn to tickle for trout in the slow stream that
ran across her
property; how to stand motionless in the cold water in
the middle of the day
until some unwary fish would drift close to her cold
hand, half-asleep in
the heat of summer. "Just let your fingers
dangle" I warned her over and
over, for she hadnıt any patience and always moved too
soon. "let him drift
into your hand, then stroke his belly just
so..." Lightly I would trace my
fingers under the troutıs belly until he felt heavy and
sleepy in my hand,
and then flick! I would catch him under the gills
and flip him neatly onto
the bank.
"Well, youıll never starve,
Kat" Jenn was a sight to see in those hot
summer days, the last innocent days of our childhood, as
she waded through
the shallow water with her skirts hitched above her
knees. Her copper hair
straggling wet about her face, and smears of river mud on
her arms and legs,
she had the look of a pretty beggar child from some
remote country tenant.
A far cry from the princess of Harding Manor, soon to be
the toast of the
season. I told her so, making her laugh.
"You bring out the best in me..."
She slung one muddy arm about my waist, both of us
heedless of the damage to
our afternoon frocks. Yes, in those precious days
we forgot such things as
decorum, in order to be children one last time. It
was a thrill to sneak
back into the house in the evening, dodging servants,
leaving mysterious
tracks of mud and grass that were never explained.
Upstairs we would race,
where tubs of hot water were always conveniently waiting
to scrub away the
traces of the day. We shared one bath, Jenn and I,
for in our hearts we
were children still and knew no shyness with each
other. Bye dinner we
seemed different people, respectable, calm, composed
young ladies with
nothing to show of the wild ways we spent our days.
And none of our elders
had the thought to ask how we spent them.
On the last day of our freedom, Jenn
dragged me in the late afternoon
into the attic, where I least longed to be. The air
was cooling now towards
fall, but afternoons were still hot, and the attic was
sweltering. I was
protesting still when we stopped before the door, and she
tried the knob
only to find it locked. I grinned. "It
seems youıve wasted your energy, my
sweet." I told her mockingly, ready to turn on
my heel and abandon the
idea. But she shot a mysterious look at me, and
fishing in the pocket of
her frock, pulled the estate keys from within. My
mouth hung open. "Where
did you get those?" I said dumbly, knowing
full well she must have stolen
them from the Butler. Her laugh answered me.
"when?" I shot out before
she could answer me.
"Last night- while he was
sleeping. Crept right in and took them off
his key ring." Her face was an irresistible
picture of charming
delinquency. "You should see his night-dress...
goodness"
"You wicked girl..." I
laughed low in my throat, loving her sense of
danger. "Why didnıt you wake me? How
could you let me sleep through it?"
"I wished to surprise you.
Thereıs something I wish you to see. The
family mystery." She said mischievously, but
there was an underlying
graveness in her voice that betrayed her. I said
nothing as she turned the
key, letting her pull me up the steep stairs through the
attic glom. She
led the way through a musty collection of old furniture
and wardrobes, both
of us brushing off spider webs and their tenants as
absently as any country
lass. It was the rats in the shadows we kept well
away from, with their
shining eyes and scurrying feet. I had a natural
aversion to them that Jenn
apparently shared, for we steered clear of them on our
long trek across the
vastness of the attic. Finally she stopped before a
collection of dusty
old-fashioned chest, and sinking back on her heels, threw
back the lid on
the nearest one.
"Neat work." I told
her wryly, fingering the broken lock that until now
had held all the chestıs secrets tightly away from the
world. She ignored
me as she dug through the treasure trove within, casually
flinging ribbons
and faded old garments in every direction until she
reached the bottom.
There, hiding from view, were various yelling letters
tied up in a single
violet ribbon. Something in the way her hands
trembled as she lifted them
touched me- I could feel her excitement as if it were my
own. I could hear
the sweet humming in my head that told me once again that
this was all a
part of the plan, for this girl to find these letters and
bring me to them.
For a moment I was dizzy, as I always was when the
visions came, and then it
passed. Jenn was staring at me, her eyes wide, her
face very still. "What
is it?" I asked her sharply.
She shook her head, and her voice had
a decided quaver in it. "Your
eyes, Kat..."she whispered to me. "For a
moment I didnıt know you- like
that time in the park..."
"Itıs nothing, itıs only the
heat." I was brusque to her, but I
couldnıt help it. How could I tell her the truth
of the darkness of my
visions? I feared the reaction it would bring,
feared that like others, she
would turn from me, thinking me as mad as Cassandra was
thought when she
foretold the doom of Troy.
It made my heart hurt to see her brush
off my bad temper with her usual
sweet smile. She began to speak but I hardly heard
her... though the tone
of her voice was clear. She was nervous- excited by
the this secret hidden
in the pages tied by a violet ribbon. "My
motherıs old letters, from when
she was a girl." The words seemed so
contrary. I could not imagine Lady
Harding as a girl, full of wishes and dreams, surrounded
by soft things such
as scented stationary and violet silk ribbons. What
a bitter life she must
have led to become the hard, petty woman she was
now. I wondered, not for
the first time, would life turn me, too, into a hard
casing of steel,
smothering the natural softness within? I felt I
was already well on my way
to such a fate. What would be the final nudge that
would make me a replica
of Lady Harding?
Jennıs hand on my arm stopped my
wayward train of thought. Again she
was looking at me with that half-frightened, half
concerned look that made
my heart beat faster. Had I drifted off again into
a trance, so quickly, so
easily? I shrugged off her hand, uneasy with my own
lack of control. "You
can stop looking at me like a frightened rabbit
now. You have my full
attention." This time even she flinched at my
sharpness. I could have
kicked myself. "Forgive me." I said
roughly. "Iıve much on my mind as of
late."
She leaned forward abruptly to kiss
me. "Poor Kat, youıre much to
serious! Listen- this will distract you from
your worries for a while."
And lifting one fragile page, worn with time to a brittle
yellow, she began
to read.
December 27th, 1716
Harding Manor, London
My Dearest Daughter,
Doubtless you have heard the rumors
circulating, and have begun to
wonder if they can possibly be true. My dear
Abigail, you must be strong,
and take my news with the composure of a Lady and a
Harding. It is true
that your cousin is dead. Angelique was found
Sunday morning in her bed,
and will be buried with all haste due to the nature of
her illness. I will
not have time to fetch you from school for the
funeral. Therefore, I must
impress on you the importance of your good conduct and
obedience to your
fatherıs and mineıs wishes. You will talk of this
with no-one, and I
absolutely forbid you to entertain any of the foolish,
scandalous rumors
about the way your cousin died!
We will be sending someone as soon as
possible to bring you home, as
under the conditions it will be impossible to keep you at
school. Please
prepare yourself to leave within the week. I know
you were extremely fond
of Angelique, and will find this a tragic loss, as we all
will. Know that
my thoughts and prayers are with you, my daughter.
Your Loving Mother
Barbara Harding
I was silent for a moment. So
now at last, Jenn was sharing with me her
secret family scandal. It touched me. "I
cannot see any loving mother
writing a letter like that."
Jenn shrugged. "It was my
Grandmamaıs way. She was always spouting
duty and obedience while she was alive, until I was ready
to scream with it.
It made me see why Mother is the way she is."
Her eyes slid up under her
brows, and I saw in the dim light that they were shining
with an unholy,
obsessive light. "But Kat, didnıt you find
that intriguing? Arenıt you the
least bit curious as to how she died? No mention of
it was made, except for
an obscure one about illness. And all that business
about ignoring the
rumors!"
I narrowed my eyes at her.
"You know something, Jennifer Harding.... Do
not pretend that you donıt." She laughed,
that delicious, sparkling laugh
that made young men mad for her. "well, out
with it, my girl. Whatıs the
riddle?"
Triumphantly she held up a small,
threadbare diary, itıs pages wrinkled
and crackling. "Motherıs diary. Found
it at the very bottom, under an old
cloak. She told me she had burned it years
ago- I guess when it came down
to it she just couldnıt do it."
I was agape. "donıt just
sit there looking prim!" I finally hissed at
her. "Read it to me!"
She took her time leafing through the
pages, casting me many sneaking
glances in the bargain in order to see my
impatience. I was ready to snatch
it from her hand when she finally stopped on a particular
entry, clearing
her throat. "Ah, yes. Her it
is." In an important voice she began to
read. "December 30th, 1716. Today I
received news of my dear Angeliqueıs
death. I grieve for her, for her youth and beauty,
and for all the joy she
brought into the lives of those around her. What
shall I do without her
now; my confidant, my sister? She was the first to
treat me as more than a
bothersome child- as long as I live I will not forget the
day she let me
dress up in her glamorous grown-up silks, and put up my
hair with her own
two hands. And now she is dead.
They tell me nothing of how she died,
if she was in pain, if she went
quickly, if she was happy. And yet, in the same
breath they expect me not
to listen to rumor. How can I not hear it? It
is all around me, the story
that on the last night before her mysterious death,
Angelique was the toast
of the Christmas ball in a shocking red silk gown.
It is said that during
the last dance of the night, she was seen dancing with a
strange, beautiful
dark man that she seemed to know, for she laughed and
looked upon him with
great emotion, though they spoke not a word. After
the dance he kissed her
hand and disappeared. The next morning, according
to the servantsı account,
she was found dead across her bed, covered with pale rose
petals. The
windows were opened, the doors locked- they had to break
it down in order to
reach her. But most frightening of all... what I
cannot forget or ignore...
they say her body was drained of blood! I know not
what to think. It is
being told that it was a loverıs quarrel, and that the
strange man from the
ball murdered her. But for me not to know she had a
lover! She would have
told me- she did so love to shock me.
It does not matter now. She is
dead. And I have lost the closest of
friends to my heart." The short eulogy
ended. I lifted my gaze to Jennıs
face to find her staring back at me, her eyes intense and
curious. "Itıs
strange, isnıt it, Kat?" I was suddenly
shivering in the hot air of the
attic, cold in the heat of summer as if I had taken
instantly ill. I could
see that Jenn was trembling as well, although she did not
know why. I knew,
however. Knew, and thrust the knowledge away from
me as if it were a
leperıs touch. Instead, I focused on the sweet
beauty of Jennıs pale,
innocent face, and as surely as any coward forced back my
premonition.
Gradually I realized that Jennıs hand was gripped
tightly in my own.
"Yes, it is strange."
I answered finally, with difficulty. Inside I
was hating myself for my cowardice, for my
selfishness. It was too soothing
to know that Jenn was there before me, whole and happy-
it made me dismiss
my fears and let me think that I could control the events
in our futures.
Arrogance had always been a fault of mine.
"I would like to know what
happened to her." Jenn was saying, while
inside I was screaming- be careful what you ask for, you
might get it, my
girl!
"I donıt believe weıll ever
know." I lied softly. We sat silently in
the attic gloom, our heads bent, our hands still touching
as if we were
afraid to break the contact between us. The air
around us grew slowly
darker, and it took me a moment to realise that it was
simply day fading
outside, not my own dark thoughts affecting the light
around us. This was
our last day as children, as innocents- tomorrow would be
spend in a last
flurry of preparation for the ball tomorrow night.
We would at last be
young women, Jenn and I, something that she longed for
and I dreaded. I
thought of Lancing Estates, and my heart ached to return,
to take Jenn back
to where I felt I could keep her safe, where my power was
more concentrated.
I knew that here in London the fate that was barelling
towards us both was
far too strong for me to control.
I donıt know how long we sat there on
the attic floor, with the spiders
spinning their delicate webs all about us. It was
the tolling of the estate
bells, signaling the end of the day and the impending
evening meal that
brought us back to ourselves. Hurriedly we gathered
our wits and rushed
downstairs to wash and dress. It was much, much
later when I realized that
Jenn had not returned the diary of her mother to the
chest intact, but had
torn the pages concerning Angeliqueıs death out to carry
with her. Although
the idea frightened me, I never questioned Jenn about her
motives. I
understood.
