Immortal (26 page)

Water.

A single drop falling from a leaf onto the ground. The distant ocean, unimaginably vast, as deep and dark as the space behind the stars. Fine mist on the moors in the morning. Rain falling into the rich earth. A mountain stream singing as it raced down, down, down to the sea.

I couldn’t do anything to command water, but I dreamed about it. The dream I’d had on my very first night at Wyldcliffe, of a great wave rising up to sweep everything away, haunted me night after night. And from the minute I woke and splashed my face in the bathroom, I was aware of how it was impossible to live without water.
Water of life, cleanse and refresh us
…. The half-remembered words of a hymn that Frankie used to hum under her breath drifted up from my memories. Every time I drank a glass of tepid water in the dining hall, I thought of those useless bits of information you pick up without noticing.

Fact: There are more atoms in a single glass of water than there are glasses of water in all the seas in the world. All I had to do was turn on the tap to touch a living miracle.

More facts: The world’s surface is seventy percent water; a child grows in the womb in a sac of water; our “human bodies are largely composed of water….”

Water. The world. A child. My body. My tears.

Water for Evie. The old craving to swim came over me again, but I ignored it. I shut out the rain and the mists and the dreams.
You have to feel
, Helen had said, but I wasn’t going to be tempted. I didn’t want to feel anything. My heart had been wrung as dry as a bone, and I was going to keep it that way.

Forty-seven

S

o what is this Memorial Procession actually for?” I demanded. “Is this another of your crackpot Wyldcliffe traditions?”

We were down at the stables on a chilly December evening, grooming Bonny and Starlight. Sarah stopped brushing Bonny’s chestnut coat and glanced into the next stall to make sure no one was there.

“It’s for Lady Agnes,” she said. “At sunset on the twelfth day of the twelfth month, on the anniversary of her death, every girl in the school has to gather down in the old chapel ruins to say prayers for her soul. I get the feeling the staff would like to abolish the procession, but it was a condition laid down in Lord Charles’s will when the school took over the Abbey, so they’re stuck with it.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t expected this. Part of me still couldn’t accept that Agnes was dead. I had come to know her face, her voice, her smile, until they were part of me. I blinked and kept brushing Starlight’s tail and tried to keep my voice steady. “Well, it’s a good thing, isn’t it? Honoring her memory and all that?”

“Yes, of course,” said Sarah. “It’s just that there was some trouble a couple of years ago. One of the juniors became hysterical and swore that she had seen Agnes’s ghost hovering in the chapel. The whole thing turned into a kind of morbid drama, and the girl’s parents removed her from the school. So the mistresses are always worried that things will get out of hand again. I’m worried too. I can’t get rid of this feeling that we’re being watched.”

Just then someone came over with a bucketful of feed for the ponies. It was the boy I had seen working in the stables before.

“Hi, Josh,” Sarah said, turning to him brightly. “Thanks for bringing that.”

The ponies greeted the boy like an old friend. He laughed and set down the bucket. His clothes were scruffy, but he moved with the confident grace of an experienced rider.

“No problem.” He smiled. “I thought Bonny was dragging her hind leg earlier, but I cleaned out her hooves, and she seems fine now. I just thought I’d let you know.”

He turned the warmth of his smile on me, but I looked away.

“Okay, I’ll watch out for it,” said Sarah. “Thanks, Josh.”

“See you.” He strode away, whistling cheerfully. I busied myself with the ponies, my thoughts racing. I could hardly bear the idea of hanging around in the ruins with all the other Wyldcliffe girls, trampling the ground where Agnes had been, where Sebastian and I had once walked together. But I mustn’t think about Sebastian….

Very soon the Memorial Procession became the only topic of conversation in the school. Uniforms were ironed and shoes polished to Miss Scratton’s satisfaction. Tubs of white flowers from the greenhouses were arranged in the main hall, filling the corridors with their secretive, papery scent. The music master, Mr. Brooke—one of the few male teachers allowed over the Wyldcliffe threshold—insisted on extra classes every morning to practice the hymns. I glanced over at Celeste and her snooty blond friends and wondered what they would say if they knew they were going to be singing for my ancestor, Lady Agnes Templeton. I was part of the Abbey now, just as much as they were. Like Effie, I rightly belonged.

This was one Wyldcliffe tradition I would be proud to uphold.

We lined up on the winding marble stairs, with the younger ones in the front and the tall top class on the higher steps at the back. The whole school was there, except for Celeste, who had been excused because of her injured leg. We were all wearing our bloodred winter coats and holding a single white lily in our gloved hands. Excited whispers ran through the crowd of girls like little dancing flames. They didn’t care a bit about Agnes, of course; the night’s procession would just be a theatrical excitement, nothing more.

There was a clatter of heels on the black and white tiles, and the mistresses swept into view below us: Miss Scratton and Miss Schofield and Miss Raglan and Miss Dalrymple and all the rest of them. They were robed in their dark academic gowns and carried tall white candles in silver holders. Mrs. Hartle was holding what looked like a heavy prayer book, and she frowned as she looked up at the rows of girls waiting on the stairs. I tried to see any likeness to Helen, but although they were both tall, they couldn’t have been more different. Mrs. Hartle’s face was dark and smooth and heavy, and Helen’s full of light, like a medieval angel. It was hard to believe they were mother and daughter. No wonder it had been easy to keep it a secret.

“Silence!” called Miss Scratton. Her eyes darted over us. “Elizabeth Fisher, your coat is unfastened.” The unfortunate Elizabeth fumbled to do up her buttons. “We will proceed from the main door to the chapel ruins. There will be no talking. There will be no giggling. There will be no silliness. Let us begin. Mr. Brooke, are you ready?”

The slightly flustered music teacher gave us the note and we began to sing, our voices echoing high and clear. Then the High Mistress led the way down the steps of the Abbey. A few crimson streaks of sun were visible in the pearl-gray sky. The day was dying. We paced slowly, in time to our solemn singing, which floated across the shadowy lawns like the thin chants of the nuns in the old times. The black robes of the mistresses fluttered in the biting wind, and I was glad for my thick coat.

The procession made its way around the edge of the lake and up to the ruins. Then we fell silent and stood in a circle around the green mound of the altar. The broken columns and archways of the ancient church gleamed in the candlelight. The whole place felt like a stage waiting for something to happen. Mrs. Hartle handed the book to Miss Scratton, who began to intone a kind of prayer, her voice carried away by the wind.

“‘Man, that is born of woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower…. In the midst of life we are in death….’”

The words washed over me. I watched each girl go up to the mound and lay her flower on it, whispering the words, “In memory of Lady Agnes.”

“Whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death….’”

It was my turn. I walked up slowly. This was where she had lain in death, killed by the man I loved. In a flash I saw it all again: the struggle in the dark, Agnes’s pale dress, the fury in Sebastian’s eyes, and the terrible, eternal regret….

“For Agnes,” I said. Then I remembered the other silent victim of this haunted place and added quietly, “For Laura.”

I turned away and looked with surprise at the ranks of watching girls. I had forgotten that anyone else was there with me. Miss Scratton’s dry voice was still chanting in the background. “‘We give thee hearty thanks that it hath pleased thee to deliver our sister Agnes out of the miseries of this sinful world.’”

And then it happened: a scream tore through the still night air. “Look! Look over there!” Panic spread through the girls. “It’s over there!” Fingers were pointing and eyes were raised to the jagged arch where the east window had once stood. A figure in a white gown was looming there, its face covered by a long, streaming veil. It suddenly swooped down over the terrified girls, and the screaming grew like a storm. “It’s her! It’s Lady Agnes!” There was a confused stampede as they ran, knocking down the candles and crushing the flowers.

“Girls, stop this at once!” Miss Scratton shouted desperately, but no one was listening. Everyone around me was running, but I was still, as still as the High Mistress, who stood like a carved statue under the archway, her dark eyes watching me in triumph.

Later, when we were all safely back inside, I was made to stand in front of everyone as Mrs. Hartle held up the bundle of sheets and nightgowns that had been rigged up to scare a bunch of schoolgirls.

“Evelyn Johnson,” she said coldly. “Your name is clearly marked on these items. Your actions tonight show not only a deplorable lack of consideration for others and a blatant disregard for our Wyldcliffe traditions, but a considerable degree of stupidity. How did you think you would get away with this senseless prank?”

I stared at the floor and didn’t reply. It was easy to guess that Celeste had organized the whole thing. She had used my stuff to fix up the scarecrow version of Agnes that had been enough to terrify the younger girls and ruin the procession. She had done it, but I knew that I would be blamed. Celeste would get away with it, but I wouldn’t. Even before Mrs. Hartle spoke next, I knew what was coming.

“Your record at this school has been most disappointing. You have already acquired two demerit cards this term. This will be your third. Your behavior is a disgrace. The governors may wish to review your position at the school. In the meantime you will report to me for your detention and punishment.”

You mustn’t get another demerit, Evie.
With a sick lurch in my stomach I remembered what Miss Scratton had said. Had she known something? I glanced up at the rows of curious eyes, staring at me as pitilessly as on the night I had arrived at Wyldcliffe. Helen saw me and turned away, but Sarah looked back, close to tears. I couldn’t see Miss Scratton anywhere.

“That will be all. Girls, I apologize that tonight’s celebration has been spoiled by one unworthy member of our community. You will all go straight to bed. Evie, you will come with me.”

I followed her in silence. It seemed that everything had been leading to this moment. I was in the hands of the High Mistress, and I was totally alone.

Forty-eight

T

his is the moment.

I am in Mrs. Hartle’s study. It reminds me of my first day at Wyldcliffe, all those months ago. But I have changed. I’m no longer the same person, though Mrs. Hartle is just as secretive and deadly as when we first met. I am afraid. Now, like Helen, I am afraid of the High Mistress. She prowls around the room, picking things up, glancing though books, ignoring me, making me wait.

Finally she stands tall and dark in front of me and speaks.

“I know all about you, Evie. I know who you are. The first time we met, I admit you startled me with your resemblance to the portrait of the one we call the traitor.” Her eyes dart over to a corner of the room. A painting that I hadn’t noticed before is hanging against the paneling, and I recognize the girl with the long red hair….

“Don’t call her that! Agnes was true to the Mystic Way. It’s you who have twisted it into something vile.”

“Agnes was a fool,” Mrs. Hartle states calmly. “She should not have entrusted her powers to a mere girl who knows nothing of our deep arts. But we will soon relieve you of that burden. Give me the Talisman.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t really imagine that you can hide it from me any longer?” she sneers. “My poor crazed daughter has already given your secret away. Oh, not on purpose, but you were like children playing with matches when you tried to master the Rites. I soon became alerted to your feeble attempts to summon the Powers. The High Mistress sees more than you know. Your pathetic experiments led me straight to you. And now I have found what I have long been searching for.”

“But the Talisman is no good to you,” I hazard. “Only I can use it.”

“You! Don’t fool yourself. You have no powers. You didn’t try hard enough, did you, Evie? And now you will be destroyed by your precious Sebastian.” There is scorn in her voice when she says his name. It fills me with anger.

“He won’t hurt me on your orders. He is your master, not your servant.”

Her face flushes darkly. “Our so-called Master has betrayed us. He has refused our aid and is fading rapidly. But we will not allow that to happen. He promised us immortality, and he must be made to keep his promise. Now that he is weak and we are strong, we will take the Talisman to him and force him to wield it.”

She holds out her hand. “Give it to me now,” she commands. “I want it.”

Something clicks in my brain. Sebastian has refused her help. That means he has decided to fade rather than hurt me. He doesn’t want me to die. He’s not my enemy after all; he never will be. My fear vanishes like a dream. I feel strong, stronger than she could ever be. I know what I must do.

I untie the ribbon around my neck. The necklace gleams innocently, a pretty trinket; that’s all. I drop it into Mrs. Hartle’s outstretched hand.

A crack of blue fire lights up the room. She staggers back, then slumps over her desk. I snatch the Talisman from where it has fallen. The High Mistress has been stunned, knocked out, but only for a moment. I have to get away before she comes to. I have to get the Talisman somewhere safe.