Down a Dark Hall (7 page)

“Hey, Kit, guess what? I drew your
portrait!” Lynda stood in the entrance to the parlor, holding a sheet of paper against her chest.

“You did?” Kit glanced up from her book. “Let’s have a look.”

The girls generally gathered in the parlor during the hour before dinner. It was a pleasant spot, well-lit and with comfortable
furnishings, and a good deal more modern than the rest of the rooms at Blackwood. Usually they chatted or watched TV, but
tonight no one seemed to be in a talkative mood. Kit and Ruth had been reading, and Sandy was over at the card table in the
corner, dealing out a game of solitaire.

Now, with Lynda’s entrance, they all looked up from their activities. There was something about Lynda’s bright prettiness
that lit up any room, and at this moment she looked so innocently pleased with herself that Kit found herself smiling.

“Come on, let’s see it. I didn’t know you were an artist.”

“I didn’t either,” Lynda said, handing her the paper. “I really surprised myself.”

Kit held the sketch out in front of her in a joking manner and then caught her breath in amazement. “Wow! It
is
of me!”

“I told you it was.” Lynda perched on the arm of her chair. “Do you like it?”

“Like it!” Kit exclaimed. “It’s—it’s—incredible. I mean it, honestly. Lynda, you’re amazing!”

“This I’ve got to see.” Ruth got up from the couch and came over to stand behind them. She was silent a moment and then said,
“You couldn’t have drawn that, Lynda. You must have traced it or something.”

“I didn’t,” Lynda said in a hurt voice. “I just sat down and drew it. I’d been taking a nap, and I woke up, and all of a sudden
I wanted to draw a picture. I went over to the desk and got a pencil and a sheet of paper and sat down and did it, just like
that. And the weird thing is, I didn’t even know who it was going to be until it started to look like Kit, and then suddenly
it
was
Kit.”

“But you’ve never done any drawing before,” Ruth said skeptically. “You never took art classes in school. This sketch—well,
it’s expert. The eyes have that direct, kind of challenging look that Kit’s do, and the mouth, the chin—​everything—it’s Kit, all over. It’s absolutely professional.”

By this time Sandy too had come over and was studying the picture.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s really good. Would you do one of me, Lynda? I’d like to send it to my grandparents. I bet
they’d frame it.”

“Sure,” Lynda said happily. “Now that I’ve got the knack of how to do this, I’ll draw everybody. Next I think I’ll do Madame
Duret with her eyes kind of boring right into you, the way they do. Or maybe Jules. Would anybody like a picture of him?”

“You’ll have to scan that one,” Kit said with a laugh. “We’re all going to want a printout. And one of Professor Farley stroking
his beard—”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” The professor’s deep voice broke into the conversation. He stood framed in the doorway, smiling
in his friendly way. “Let me in on the joke. I was drawn by the laughter.”

“I was drawn too,” Kit said, “but in my case, it was by a pencil.” She turned the picture so that he could see it.

“Look what Lynda did. Isn’t that something?”

“It is, indeed.” Professor Farley came slowly into the room to stand, gazing down at the penciled portrait. “That’s an excellent
piece of work, Lynda. Have you studied art for a long time?”

“I’ve never studied it at all,” Lynda told him. “In fact, the only drawing I’ve ever done was during a party once when we
were all supposed to draw each other and then have people guess who the pictures were. I drew Ruth, and won the prize for
last place!”

“Well, you’ve surely improved since then,” Professor Farley said admiringly. “I’m going to mention this to Madame Duret. She
likes to encourage talent in our young people. I’m sure she will provide you with art supplies that will allow you to express
yourself better than you can with a pencil.”

“Can I keep this?” Kit asked, and Lynda nodded, pleased.

“Of course. I’m glad you like it enough to want it. And I will do you, Sandy, and you too, Ruth, if you want me to. Or do
you still believe that I traced it?”

“No,” Ruth said apologetically. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Besides, what could you possibly have traced it from? I’m
sorry if I doubted you. It’s just that we’ve known each other so long, and to suddenly discover that you’re a natural artist—it’s
just a shock. It’s like I don’t really know you at all.”

 “You know me better than anybody,” Lynda said fondly. “I’d never have made it through at that last boarding school if it
hadn’t been for you. Like I said, I’m just as surprised myself.”

“Five minutes till dinner,” Kit said, glancing at her watch. “I’m going to run upstairs and put this picture in my room before
something happens to it. The way we’re passing it around, it’s going to be nothing but one big smudge.”

The soft glow of twilight lit the stained-glass window at the end of the hall with a gentle radiance that made the hallway
itself appear like the center aisle of a cathedral.
At a moment like this,
Kit thought as she walked down it,
I can almost believe that all the creepiness has been in my imagination
.

She reached the door of her room and opened it and went in. She flicked on the study light and laid the pencil portrait on
the desk.

For a long moment she stood there, gazing down at it. It was not an intricate sketch; the lines were pure and simple, and
yet it caught something beyond a surface likeness.

The straight nose, the stubborn chin, the curve of the rounded cheek, all were there, but there was something more, something
about the eyes. As Ruth had commented, they had a directness which was typical of Kit, but there was another quality too—a
vulnerability, a touch of uncertainty. The eyes were those of a girl who was not as sure on the inside as she appeared outwardly
to be.

“Who am I?” the eyes asked. “What is my place in life? Am I pretty? Do people like me? Does
Jules
like me? In what direction am I going? Will I accomplish anything worthwhile in my lifetime? Will I be happy? Am I worth
loving?”

A multitude of questions glimmered behind the eyes, suggested by a few tiny lines and some subtle shading. It was the difference
between the real Kit, the one known only to herself and possibly to Tracy, and the strong, self-confident Kathryn Gordy everyone
else saw.

How did she know?
Kit asked herself wonderingly.
How could Lynda Hannah see right through me so well? We’ve never even talked with each other except as part of a
group
.

But the girl in the picture could not be denied.

“Kit?” Sandy’s voice called to her from the stairs at the end of the hall. “Madame’s rung the bell for dinner. Come on or
you’re going to be late.”

“Coming,” Kit called back.

Flicking off the light, she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She hesitated a second and then, turning back,
she reentered the room and took the key off the bureau top, where it had lain ever since Madame had given it to her upon her
arrival at Blackwood, and went out again into the hall.

This time she thrust the key into the lock and turned it. She did not know exactly why, but for the first time since she had
come here, she felt that her room held something of value.

Dinner hour was one of the pleasantest times at Blackwood. All meals were served in the grandeur of the dining room, but only
the evening meal was eaten by candlelight with a white cloth on the table and linen napkins and fine china. The dishes were
pure white and thin to the touch, and each plate was bordered by a delicate line of gold.

“They came with Blackwood,” Madame Duret explained when Kit asked about them. “The dishes and kitchenware, the furniture,
the piano, the drapes and carpets, all of them have been here for years and years. The only things that were brought in from
outside were the furnishings in my own apartment, which I had shipped over after I closed my school in England, and those
in the reconverted carriage house, which was made into an apartment for Professor Farley. And, of course, the furnishings
in the rooms occupied by you girls.”

“It’s strange,” Kit commented, examining the china, “that something so lovely would just have been left here. You’d think
the owners would have wanted it for themselves.”

“It is strange,” Madame had agreed, “but then, people are peculiar sometimes, are they not? After Mr. Brewer died the new
owners wanted nothing to do with Blackwood except to sell it. It is a shame, really, but very lucky for us.”

The china set the mood of dinner. It was an elegant meal, served in several courses, and Madame Duret seemed at that time
less a headmistress than a gracious hostess, entertaining her guests with interesting stories of her life abroad. Jules occasionally
contributed to these, as did Professor Farley, who had taught at Madame’s school in England, though not at the one in France.
Conversation flowed freely, with all of the girls joining in, and dinner generally ended with everyone in good spirits, ready
to adjourn to the parlor or to go up to her room to study.

This night, though, was different. The atmosphere in the dining room seemed charged with an extra quality, a kind of electricity.
Conversation moved well, as always, but to Kit there seemed to be an artificiality about it, as though the speakers were playing
their parts and did not really have their minds on the discussion. At one point she caught an exchange of glances between
Madame and Professor Farley. As far as she could see, there had been nothing to trigger it, but when Madame Duret turned back
again her eyes were shining with a kind of suppressed excitement. Or perhaps it was simply the flicker of the candles reflected
in the black pupils.

When dinner was over and Kit had started down the hall to the stairs, Sandy caught up with her and laid a hand on her arm.

“Let’s go out for a little while,” she said softly.

“Out? At night? Whatever for?” Kit asked her.

“Just into the garden. I need to talk. Please?”

“All right,” Kit said. “But we’d better sneak out through the kitchen. I’m sure Madame wouldn’t want us roaming around the
grounds in the dark.”

Natalie was putting away the silver when they entered. She glanced up sharply.

“Where do you girls think you’re going?”

“Out,” Kit told her. “For air.” Natalie’s crispness had never bothered Kit, for she knew that the girl liked her and that
this was simply her manner.

“I don’t blame you,” Natalie said now. “It’s stuffy in this place. The rest of the staff is quitting.”

“You’re kidding!” Kit exclaimed. “Why?”

“They just don’t like it, especially the upstairs part. They say it spooks ’em, cleaning in that hall. One girl says she gets
headaches.”

“Are you quitting?” Kit asked.

“Not me. I need the job. I got myself and a sick dad to support. Besides, I don’t go along with all that superstition stuff.
Whatever happened was so long ago, you can’t blame it on that.”

“What do you mean?” Kit’s curiosity was piqued. “What happened here?”

“Oh, well, Mr. Brewer was sort of odd.” Natalie gave a shrug. “People blow things out of proportion. Will you be warm enough
outside? My coat and sweater are in the broom closet if you want to wear them.”

“Thanks,” Kit said gratefully. “We won’t be outside long.”

Giving the coat to Sandy, she herself pulled on the worn blue sweater that hung on a nail on the inside of the closet door,
and the two girls let themselves out into the night.

The path from the kitchen door led around the corner of the house and into the garden. There was a three-quarter moon hanging
high over the trees, sending long bands of silver out across the lawn. The garden path was aglow with moonlight, and a faint,
sweet smell rose from the bushes, as though in remembrance of recent summer flowers. Below the lawn the pond lay black and
still with the moonlight making a silver path across its surface. The night air was cold and pure, tinged with the scent of
trees. The woods rose in a dark frame around the silver garden and shining pond.

“It’s so nice out,” Kit said softly. “I’m glad you wanted to come outside. It’s even more beautiful at night than it is in
the daytime.”

“I had to come,” Sandy said. “If I’d stayed cooped up inside those walls any longer I think I would have suffocated. Kit,
am I crazy? What is happening to me?”

“You mean, your dream?” Kit tried to sound reassuring. “I talked with Jules about that, and what he said made a lot of sense.
You’re away from home for the first time, adjusting to new things—”

“That’s not it,” Sandy interrupted. “It really isn’t, I’m sure of it. It’s this place—Blackwood itself. There’s something
creepy about Blackwood. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it too. I know you have.”

“Well, yes,” Kit found her thoughts swept back to that first day as she and her mother and Dan saw the mansion standing before
them, huge and imposing with the late afternoon sunlight glancing off the windows to make the whole place seem aflame from
within.