Elves and Escapades (Scholars and Sorcery Book 2) (13 page)

I hesitate, thinking of boggarts. “In case it’s not us,” I say, shortly.

I expect a wail. Instead, I get brave, earnest nods.

“How will you find us again?” asks Kay.

I grin, as reassuringly as I can. “That bit is easy.”

I close my eyes, and a moment later, the pixie mother and youngling pop out of the fog. I scoop down and catch them before they can protest, bundle them up in my scarf so that the mother’s arms and legs are pinned, her baby wrapped securely against her chest where it will be safe, and hand the entire bundle to my little Rhoda.

“Cuddle that.” The poor creature squeals in anger at me, and I silently apologise to her for the betrayal. “I can track the mind of a trapped pixie from miles away!”

Some of the girls actually laugh. “My good girls. Chins up and be brave, and we will wheedle all the cocoa and cakes in the world out of the kitchen after an adventure like this!” I shake hands with a couple of them, and then the White cousins follow me off the fog, into the path.

“That was awfully good,” Frances says, after a moment. “You are wonderful with them.”

“I like them,” I say briefly. I am much colder without my scarf, and I need my breath. “Girls, I know nothing about walking in the woods. I always fly over rough territory.”

“We won’t let you break your neck,” Gladys says, unexpectedly. “We have been on enough Guide camps together, after all.”

Frances shoots her a quick look, but says nothing.

I don’t have time to sort it out. I try to keep hold of the fleeting impressions from fairies, and trust to my friends to keep me upright.

There is the sound of rushing water ahead, and my heart feels as cold in my chest as my bare face feels. Frances and Gladys exchange worried looks. I don’t have the energy to care that they are on the point of talking to each other.

The fairies are close.

Gladys and Frances catch Mary’s thin, wailing cries through the fog at the same time they wrap around my heart with heavy chains of dread. I am faster, and I almost fall down the sudden slope of the river gorge and into the water before the cousins grab one each of my arms and drag me back.

The water churns around most, frosty rocks, throwing up spray thicker than the fog. Mary is crouched on slippery rock in the middle, her legs drenched, her face wet with spray and tears.
 

Only a few feet below her, the falls begin. Not high, but full of rocks. If the child is swept away, I have a fair idea of what will happen.

Frances, too, knows. She grunts with effort, and a tree leaning over the stream somehow leans closer, a sturdy branch coming down to the stranded girl. Mary clings to it gratefully.

“Thanks.” I touch Frances’ gloved hand. “A useful talent.”

“Nice to have it come in handy,” she says, and half smiles.

“Mary, what happened?” Gladys speaks before I can kick her.

“I was scared and I wanted to come back. I saw your torches and I followed them. Then I fell.” Her voice is hoarse with exhaustion. She must have been calling out for a long time, or weeping, or both.
 

“You’re miles from the path! What on earth were you thinking of?”

This time, I do kick Gladys, quite hard. Frances, too, is alarmed. “The kid’s upset, for heaven’s sake!” she hisses. “Don’t yell at her!” Gladys drops her chin to her chest, surprisingly docile.

“You must’ve followed a will o’wisp, sweetheart,” I tell Mary, as gently as I can. “Now, be still and be brave. I give you my word we’ll get you out of there.”

Mary nods, and I try not to let any uncertainty show in my expression. The rocks would be slippery enough at the best of times, let alone after a frost. I could call the unicorn, but if it lost its footing in the churning water, I would be risking its legs.

“Right.” Gladys shuffles backwards toward the slope.

“What are you doing?” Frances grabs her shoulders, her voice high and sharp.

“Going to get her.” Gladys’ mouth is set in a firm line. “It’s my fault. She was under my care, and I took her off in the fog, and didn’t watch her properly.”

“But you’re terrified of water! I’m a Guide, it’s my job.”

“Idiot.” Gladys’ voice is gruff. “Say, Frances… one thing. I’m sorry I was such a beast over Emlyn.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Gladys seems to be choking her words out with immense difficulty. “It’s not your fault he liked you best.”

“Emlyn? Oh don’t be absurd!” Frances looks horrified. “I don’t have any thoughts of such a thing. Love making at our age! He’s just a boy friend.”

Gladys’ face flames and her nostrils flare, then abruptly she relaxes. “Oh, Frances. That’s the worst of it. You really are a baby. Oh, don’t be cross! I don’t want to argue any more.” Her voice is more pleading than I’ve ever heard it. “Kiss and be friends?”

With a cold tingle at the base of my spine, I suddenly realises that Gladys thinks there is a possibility she is going to die, and wants to clear the air with Frances first. Sympathy wells up in me. Poor Gladys, to feel as desperate and hopeless as I did, over some boy who liked Frances’ plump pleasantness better than her black browed prickliness.

Rosalind and I are not the only ones who have somehow dropped over the edge of adulthood in the last few months. Poor Gladys.

Frances kisses her, quickly and fondly. “You silly girl.” She sounds quite choked. “As if I’d let a boy friend come between us. You’re my cousin.”

“Charley!” Mary’s screams cuts into the scene. One of her legs has slipped, ad she is clinging to the branch and trying to scramble her way back up, legs kicking in the water. “Charley, please, come and get me!”

“Looks like it’s me going after all,” I say, cheerfully.

“But Charley—”

“Listen,” I hiss, “Mary’s terrified. And she trusts me. Don’t you see, it has to be me? You’d do better using that Gift of yours to warm us up, we’ll need it. Frances?”

Frances is calmly removing her cloak. She takes off her jumper, too, and ties the arms loosely around my neck. “The seams on your cloak are more likely to rip if you need to use them as a rope,” she explains, and kisses me, her lips warm against my chilled cheek.
 

Gladys hugs me, suddenly and fiercely. “Good luck, Charley.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to break a leg,” I warn. “It’s the last thing I need.”

Clambering down the slippery rocks gives me an odd, dreamy feeling, almost as if I’m floating in the frost. My foot slips, and while I frantically scrabble for purchase, I realise, with a queer calmness, that Gladys is right and I may well die. I am terribly sorry that I won’t see Rosalind again, if so. It seems incredibly sad that she will suffer. Cecily and Esther, will be awfully cut up as well. And my parents…

I find my step and pause to take a deep breath, before sliding down to a rock at the bottom. I crouch there, regaining my breath.

“Charley?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why did the will o’wisp hate me so much? I think they’re pretty.” Mary’s voice is plaintive, but has lost its edge of terror. She has so much faith in me, I realise, that just knowing I’m coming for her is making her feel better. After all, I remember from a laughing conversation what seems an age ago, she is completely gone on me.

 
“They don’t hate you, little love. They just really don’t understand humans.” I take a deep breath, and half lope, half jump forward. One foot catches in the water, and for a second I think I am going to fall, but the balance built up through a lifetime of flying, riding and games pulls me through, albeit with a thoroughly soaked foot. I regain my balance and keep talking.
 

“They think it’s amusing to lead us around, but a will o’wisp would never drown, or be injured by falling on a rock. They don’t know it hurts us.” Mary is listening intently, and somehow the conversation is making me feel more steady too. I make it to the next rock less precariously. “They truly mean no real harm.”

I detach one small part of my mind from my concentration, and a halo of golden light and fairies slowly emerges through the frost. “See, Mary?” One more leap. This rock is far wider, enough to support three girls. “They’ve come to cheer you up, because you’re frightened.”

She manages a wobbly smile, and I reach out an arm to her. She reaches back, and our fingertips brush. Her gloves are shredded, her fingers bleeding. I can’t get a firm grip on her hand without leaning further forward, and I’m afraid that would send me tumbling into the water, most likely bringing her with me.

I lower my hand and move my weight to a more stable position. Then I hold out both hands.

“Mary, I need you to jump.”

She shakes her head wildly at me. “I can’t.”

“You can.” I manage to smile at her. “I’ve seen you on the playing fields. You’re swift as the wind. All it takes is one quick jump, and I’ll catch you.”

“I can’t!” Her voice drops to a whimper, and her hands press to her cheeks.

“Mary, my pet, it’s not so very far to jump at all. I’ve seen you jump far further, and land solidly. It’s only the water makes it seem so terribly far.” It’s true enough. The jump looks terrifying, but it’s not really far at all. “I won’t let you down. I promise.” I smile again. “The fairies will keep you company.”

Her lower lip trembles sharply, then she lifts her chin. “All right.”

She leaps like a gazelle, all right, and falls forward onto one knee. I pull her into my arms. One of my feet falls back, unsteadily; I regain my balance, and hug the child tight. The fairies circle joyfully around us, responding to my relief.

“Good girl, brave girl! You did it.” I’m laughing, and Gladys and Frances are applauding. “The rest is easy now.” And somehow, with the relief surging in my heart, it is. The gaps between the rocks seem laughably tiny. I jump, and I’m close enough to hold her hand now, guiding her to the next jump, and the next. I boost her up the side of the gorge, safe and sound, and follow.

“Child, you’re soaked!” Frances pounces maternally on her.

“Here,” Gladys says, volunteering her cloak with a half smile, and wrapping Mary in it. “Well done, Charley.” She cups her hands, and warming flame starts up in them. Mary and I huddle close to it. I strip off my gloves, and put them over Mary’s poor bleeding, chilled hands.

“You’re a perfect heroine, Charlotte,” Frances says.

I grin at my friends, elated. “Show your thanks by being friends again. Boneheads.”

I’m chilled to the bone by the time we find the girls again, my hands lumps of ice. They cheer, and Mary tells a ridiculously over the top version of my courage as we make the long tramp back. She tells it again to Esther, back at the coach.
 

Esther quirks her crooked smile at me.

“So, you’ve redeemed yourself again, you troublemaker?”

“I suppose so.” I return her smile, and flick a finger to the cousins, standing side by side as in the old days. “And I’ve reunited a broken family, too.”

“Interesting,” she remarks, and my heart is full of things I want to tell her, about love and friendship. Mary is clinging to my hand and I’m not going to spill any secrets. “I do detest trouble in the home.”

“Jealousy,” I dare to say, “is the devil.”

“It is indeed.” She gives me a quick, sidelong smirk. “Pity to let it spoil friendships, though. Careless.”

Warmth spills into my heart.

Mary tugs on my hand. “Will you sit with me, Charley?”

All kinds of common sense things about not encouraging pashes flit into my head, but Mary is small and tearful and all I can think of is my own little sisters, and how I would feel if Peggy or Babs scared and wanting comfort. “Of course.”

The coach driver wraps his coat around us both, and Mary settles against my shoulder and goes to sleep, poor tired thing. My thoughts are a jumble of how much I love the little ones, how frightened I had been, and how much I want to be curled up on Rosalind’s shoulder, weeping.

I miss her. I miss her so much.

I am glad the White girls are friends again. I am glad Esther and I worked out… whatever it was we had just worked out.
 

Most of all, I want Rosalind back.

five

S
ERIOUS

AS I’M MAKING my way back to the Blue Dormitory after dance and dinner, my long skirt swishing around my legs, the door to a study opens in my face. I veer to the right and find myself charging fully into a girl coming out, knocking her off balance. I stumble myself, grabbing her and setting her back on her feet as I regain my balance.

“It’s seems I’m forever destined to trample you down with my clumsy feet,” I say, elaborately casual. I’m conscious of my heart pounding in my throat and the way everything seems to recede so there is only Rosalind’s face before me. I feel absurdly happy, and also incredibly self-conscious. I’m surrounded by my girl friends, and the last thing I can do is kiss her in greeting the way I want to.

 
“Hullo, Charley,” she says, in her most grave, unsmiling way.

 
I stand there like an idiot, holding her shoulders, unsure of what to say or do. Cecily rescues me, as is her wont.

 
“Hullo, Rosalind, welcome back. Lucky you, basking in the sun while we’ve been pigging it here in the mud and sleet.”