Immortal (16 page)

“I’m not so sure. Reverend Flowerdew’s book says the painting is kept at the Abbey. There are loads of old pictures on the walls. I might have walked past it without realizing it.”

“Or you could actually have received a message from Lady Agnes.”

“So why didn’t you see her?” I asked. “I mean, you’re the one with Romany blood and second sight and all that.”

“I don’t claim to have the Sight with all its powers. I’m just willing to be open to possibilities. Anyway, I guess Agnes would only appear to you, because it’s you she needs to communicate with.”

I didn’t want to be convinced. “I just think we should try to stick to the facts,” I said, “not get carried away with all this mumbo-jumbo stuff.”

“All right, then, let’s stick to the facts. The portrait of Lady Agnes looks weirdly like you. Well, there’s usually a perfectly logical, scientific explanation for people looking alike.”

“What do you mean?” I wondered aloud.

“Simple genetics, Evie,” she said. “You and Lady Agnes could be related.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because she was rich and aristocratic,” I tried to explain. “And I’m just…ordinary.”

“I think you’re anything but ordinary,” Sarah said. “Even so, families change, lose their money, move to different areas. We know that Agnes didn’t have any children, because she died in that accident. It says in the reverend’s book that her parents died a few years later of some fever they picked up on their wanderings. They had no direct descendant to take over the Abbey, so it became a school.”

“I don’t get—”

“It’s simple, Evie. Agnes might have had other relations, like cousins, and they might have had children. And you told me that your grandmother once had family in this area, didn’t you? We could try to trace your family tree back to see if you’re connected with the Templetons in any way. That wouldn’t be messing with any old voodoo. That would be sticking to the facts, wouldn’t it?”

I was fascinated by the idea, which seemed reassuringly practical. Perhaps there really was nothing more to all this than an old family blood tie and the workings of my unconscious mind. “But I wouldn’t know where to start. And I can’t ask Frankie. She’s too ill to be able to help.”

“You could write and ask your dad, though. He might remember something.”

“Yeah, he might,” I agreed. “Okay, I will.”

Sarah smiled encouragingly, then hesitated. “Evie, who is this guy you’ve been seeing?” she asked.

It was a question I had been asking myself over and over again.

“He’s called Sebastian James. He lives near here.” I groped for the raw facts. “He rides a black horse. And he’s going to college next year. To Oxford.”

“I’m impressed. He must be clever. But why are you meeting at night?”

“Mrs. Hartle’s hardly going to invite him for lunch, is she?”

“Okay, okay,” said Sarah. “So, he’s waiting to go to college, he knows he wouldn’t get past the Wyldcliffe staff, he obviously likes the romance of midnight meetings—what else?”

What else indeed. How could I describe the slant of his cheek and the light in his eyes and the warmth of his smile? How could I explain the sheer exhilaration of being with him, or the pain of our quarrel? I couldn’t even try. I said nothing.

“I don’t know whether you’re planning to see this Sebastian again, but I don’t think you should,” Sarah went on. “Not until we’ve found out some more. And you definitely shouldn’t meet him at night, Evie. It’s too risky. He might be dangerous.”

Sebastian’s moods. Sebastian’s secretiveness. The glitter in his eyes, the flash of his temper. Did that make him dangerous? Wasn’t every human being potentially dangerous? A nagging voice in my head reminded me of something Sebastian had once said:
I don’t want this to go any farther. It could be dangerous for you.

“Are you saying he’s an ax murderer?” I said defensively.

“No, I’m just asking you to be careful. If he’s genuine he’ll get in touch with you properly—you know, write a letter or something. And if you get caught going out at night again you might even be expelled.”

“Yeah, well, I could have done without Helen landing me with another demerit,” I grumbled.

“She was only trying—”

“I know, I know. Only trying to help.”

“Please, Evie.”

I didn’t want to tell Sarah that it was probably all over with Sebastian anyway. Telling her would make it too real. I pretended to be persuaded by her arguments.

“All right,” I agreed. “I’ll wait. I won’t see him until we know some more. Okay?”

“Okay.” She looked relieved.

Just then the nurse put her head around the door. “Sarah, it’s time you left. You look a lot brighter, Evie. Your friend has done you good.” Then she hurried away.

Sarah squeezed my hand and smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow. And thanks so much, Sarah.” I watched her go, feeling better. My friend had
done
me good. I glanced down at the little flower that Helen had given me. Perhaps Helen, in her own strange way, wanted to be friends too.

My friends. It seemed an eternity since I had been able to say that, and I rolled the words around in my head luxuriously:
my friends, my friends
. And from far away, an answering voice echoed:
my sisters, my sisters.

I was tired. Closing my eyes, I wondered if Dad would know the answers to my questions when my letter reached him. All I could remember Frankie saying was that her own grandmother had been a northerner, a country woman, who had lived on a farm near Wyldcliffe. Oh, what was the name of the farm? I was sure Frankie had mentioned it to me. Then the farm had failed for some reason, and Frankie’s grandmother had died, leaving a baby daughter behind. Her husband—Frankie’s grandfather—had married again and moved away with his new wife and the little girl, finding his way down to the west and the sea. And the girl grew up to be Frankie’s mother. It all seemed very complicated.

The clock in the white room struck ten. I yawned.

So Frankie had only ever known her stepgrandmother. I remembered seeing an old photograph of her—Sally? Molly?—sitting on an upturned boat and mending a fishing net. But that wasn’t the right woman; I wasn’t related to her. I began to drift, sinking into sleep. I had to go farther back. I had to go back to the farm, the name of the farm…the farm…

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the answer was ringing in my head like a bell.

Twenty-eight

THE JOURNAL OF LADY AGNES, FEBRUARY

12, 1883
I woke up yesterday morning with the answer to what I must do clear and bright in my mind’s eye. But it is so very hard!

These past weeks have been dreadful. S. has been very ill. If only he had been able to go to Oxford in January, as he had planned—the new people and ideas he would have encountered there might have shaken him from his obsession. There is no hope of that now. He has fallen into a series of fits and fevers that make any such attempt impossible. His parents are in despair and have summoned a well-known physician from London to treat his melancholy.

Martha told me that the servants at the Hall are whispering about the terrible scenes that take place over there; how S. fights the doctor and destroys his instruments and raves like a lunatic until he has to be restrained by his father and the serving men. They imagine that the fever he suffered in Morocco is burning in him again, but I know what is really eating at him, body and soul. I know it is me whom he seeks in his delirium, and the precious “gift” he thinks I could give him if I chose.

I have to get away from here, out of his reach. I must.

Like many desperate wretches before me, I have decided to run away to London, where it is so easy to hide. It will tear my heart to leave Wyldcliffe, but more than anything it hurts me to think of the pain I will cause my parents. They will never know why I have to do it.

I have written a letter for them saying that I want freedom and a new life, and that it will be useless to search for me. I wrote that they must pretend to the gossiping world that I have gone abroad to stay with my aunt Marchmont in Paris. When I said good night to them just now, I told them that I love them. Will they believe that when they have read my letter in the morning? There is nothing else that I can do, though, and no other choices left to me.

Tomorrow I will get up before even the maids are
about, and take what little money I have and a small bundle of clothes. I have bribed the local carter, Daniel Jones, to meet me at the end of the lane and take me to the nearest railway station, and then I shall make the journey to the great city, dressed in some plain clothes I have secretly bought in the village.

Poor Papa had promised to take me to London on the railway this summer. How he would have enjoyed showing me the changing landscape as we sped toward the city. Now I shall be traveling alone. But I am sixteen, quite capable of sitting on a train for a few hours.

It is no use to pretend that I am not crying. My father has always been so kind to me, and even Mama, now that I know I must never see her again, is dearer to me than I thought possible. I see now that she only ever wanted my happiness, and if she could imagine no greater happiness than sitting in an elegant drawing room, that was not her fault.

I cannot write any more. My new life starts here. After tomorrow, it will be as though Lady Agnes Templeton does not exist. It is the end of everything.

And it is a beginning.

Twenty-nine

I

t was a new beginning.

I left the infirmary and clattered down the marble stairs, hungry for breakfast, clutching my flower in its little pot. At the bottom step I turned carelessly into the corridor and ran straight into the High Mistress.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

Some of the rich black earth from the pot had spilled onto Mrs. Hartle’s light silk sleeve. She calmly brushed it away, then stopped me by laying her hand on my arm. It gave me a strange sensation, like being touched by something dead.

“It is against the school rules to run on the stairs and in the corridors. You should know that by now.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled again.

“And what’s this?” Her dark eyes rested on the plant. It looked so fragile and easily crushed next to her powerful presence. “Ah,
Campanula rotundifolia.
” I must have looked confused, because she explained with a flicker of contempt, “In English, the common harebell. One of our native plants. It grows on the moors.”

“Helen gave it to me. I’m going to plant it in the old kitchen garden.”

“Helen?” she repeated with a faint arch of her eyebrow. “How very nice. Only you must remember that it’s very difficult for a wildflower to survive once it is uprooted. I think you’ll find that her gift to you won’t live very long.”

My skin crawled as her fingers dug deeper into my arm. Then the High Mistress seemed to lose interest in me, and swept down the corridor toward her study. I watched her go. I wouldn’t like to see her really angry, I decided. I made my way to the dining room, taking good care not to run.

I slipped into a seat opposite Sarah, eager to tell her my news. An instant later someone shoved me in the back. Celeste was standing over me.

“Well, look who it is—our friend Evie, back from the dead. I thought that lacrosse ball had finished you off? Such a disappointment.” She sashayed away, and Miss Scratton called everyone to attention for prayers.

“Why does she hate me so much?” I asked Sarah as we ate our breakfast.

“Oh, Celeste’s always been a bit of a drama queen. She adored Laura, and she’s somehow gotten it into her head that you’re taking Laura’s place. It’s totally unfair, of course, but I guess she’s just still really upset. Try not to let her get to you.” Sarah lowered her voice. “Have you written to your dad yet?”

“I don’t need to,” I said excitedly. “I’ve remembered the name of the place where Frankie’s family lived. It was called Uppercliffe Farm. I’m sure that was it—Uppercliffe.”

To my surprise, Sarah’s face fell.

“I don’t think we’ll find much information there. I’ve ridden past Uppercliffe loads of times. It’s in ruins. But we could still go and look,” she added quickly, seeing my disappointment.

“Okay. When?”

“Let’s go out that way for a ride on Sunday afternoon. We’ll have to ask Miss Scratton’s permission first. You can’t afford to get another demerit, so we’ll have to do it all by the rules. I’m sure she’ll say yes, though. She’s knows I’ve been riding for years, and she lets me go out on my own sometimes.”

“I can’t ride at all!” The only time I’d been on horseback was with Sebastian, and then I had been able to cling to him. This would be different.

“I’ll teach you. We’ve got a few days to practice. I’ll ride Starlight, and you can ride Bonny. She’s such an angel, all you have to do is sit there and not fall off.”

But I could just see myself falling off. I could see myself lying twisted on the moors, my eyes staring sightlessly at the gray, gray sky, just as she had, long ago. BE COOL OR YOU DIE. I pushed the thought away.

“Okay,” I said with an effort. “I’ll do my best.”

Miss Scratton made a sign, and the rows of girls began to file out. I looked around for Helen. She was still sitting on the other side of the room, crumbling a piece of bread and gazing into space. I walked over to her.

“Thanks for the flower, Helen; it was really nice of you.” Without meaning to, I was using the voice people keep for the sick. The voice the nurses used when they spoke to Frankie. I tried again. “Sarah says I can plant it in her part of the walled garden.”

“Things shouldn’t be walled up,” she murmured.
Oh, Lord,
I thought,
she really is completely loopy.
Then she looked up at me and gave me a rare, sweet smile. I saw for the first time how beautiful she was, with her white-gold hair and her delicate face. “I’m glad you like it, Evie. It’s my favorite flower. And I’m really sorry about the demerit. I just wanted to stop you from going out at night.”