Eliza turned around and everyone stopped. “We cannot talk about this now. After lunch we’ll meet under the elm tree. But right now there are too many ears.”
She slid her gaze from the left, where Miss Almay was talking animatedly with Helen and Mrs. Hodge, to the right, where two of their teachers were about to mount the stairs to McKinley Hall. The other girls nodded or hung their heads. Eliza looked at Theresa, and together they walked inside.
Most of the girls slipped into the French classroom, while Genevieve and Marilyn bid them good luck and headed to conversational English, a course established for all the foreign students, of which there was a grand total of four. Eliza was heartsick as she sank into her usual chair. She tried not to look at the empty seat to her right, but she couldn’t help it. Catherine should have been there, but instead she lay all alone in the chapel basement.
She’s gone and it’s my fault,
Eliza thought.
And if we are caught right now, that will be my fault as well.
“It’s going to be all right,” Theresa said as she sat down at Eliza’s right.
Eliza felt a grateful pang for Theresa’s confidence. Not once had they mentioned their argument of the night before, and the word
Harrison
hadn’t been uttered between them. Eliza felt as if they had some sort of unspoken agreement to focus only on Catherine. Today, and for the next few hours, nothing else mattered.
Then Miss Tinsley walked into the room, and Eliza clutched her desktop. The Presence in Mind Spell had to work. It simply had to.
“
Bonjour, classe!
” she intoned.
“
Bonjour, Mademoiselle Tinsley,
” the girls replied, less than enthusiastically.
Just then, the door opened again and in walked Helen Jennings with a tea tray. She set it down on the teacher’s desk and went about pouring out a cup for Miss Tinsley. As she did, her eyes darted around the room and paused when she saw Catherine’s empty seat.
Eliza’s stomach sank through her toes. Helen saw that Catherine wasn’t there.
“Veuillez repondre quand je dis votre nom!”
Miss Tinsley picked up her class roster and looked up at the room as Helen replaced the teapot on the tray. “Alice Ainsworth.”
“
Presente,
” Alice replied, sounding ill.
Helen stepped back against the wall and hovered there, waiting. But for what? Why didn’t she just go? Eliza clutched the desk harder.
“Jane Barton,” Miss Tinsley read.
“
Oui, mademoiselle,
” Jane said weakly.
“Theresa Billings,” Miss Tinsley said, looking right at Theresa.
“
Presente, mademoiselle,
” Theresa said rather loudly.
As the teacher read through the rest of the list, Eliza held her breath. She was last in alphabetical order, with Catherine right before her. There was a stillness in the room that she could hardly stand, and it felt as if all the oxygen had been removed, leaving behind a thick, wet cloud that choked her senses. She couldn’t stop staring at Helen,
willing her to just leave. But Helen stayed where she was and stared silently back.
“Clarissa Pommer?” Miss Tinsley said.
“
Presente, mademoiselle,
” Clarissa said.
Eliza’s stomach clenched. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Miss Tinsley looked at her class list. She looked up at the empty chair next to Eliza. A huge lump formed in Eliza’s throat. Her hand shot out and caught Theresa’s, which was there waiting for her.
“Catherine White?”
No one moved. No one breathed. No one said a word. There was a moment of complete suspended time, in which Eliza felt as if the whole world was about to implode around her. Helen’s glare hardened as she seemed to stare right through Eliza’s chest. Then, as if drawn by some invisible string, Miss Tinsley’s gaze slid to Eliza.
“Eliza Williams,” she read.
“
Presente, mademoiselle,
” Eliza said, her voice a mere whisper.
“
Bon! Toute la classe est presente!
” Miss Tinsley said, turning and dropping her roster on her desk. Finally, finally, Helen turned and left the room. Eliza could have cheered as she watched her go. She felt somehow as if she had won a standoff with the maid. As if she had just proven something—but of course, that wasn’t possible. Helen could have no idea what had just gone on; she was completely in the dark. Wasn’t she?
“
Attention, étudiantes!
” Miss Tinsley said, clapping her hands sharply. “
Répétez, s’il vous plaît!
”
Eliza looked at Theresa as the instructor began her daily routine of call and response.
Then, suddenly, Eliza’s heart fluttered with pride. Their spell had worked. They had cast a huge spell, just the two of them, and it had worked. Perhaps this was why the dizziness hadn’t been as debilitating as usual when they’d cast their spell. Maybe it meant they were growing accustomed to it, growing more powerful.
When she looked at Theresa again, she saw her feelings reflected in her friend’s eyes. If the two of them could accomplish something of this magnitude alone together, they stood a chance of raising the dead.
“Here. We need a full cup of rosemary,” Alice said, kneeling on her gardening pad in Crenshaw’s herb garden that afternoon. She yanked up a few bunches of the fragrant, spindly herb and tossed them in Eliza’s basket. “That should do it.”
Eliza knelt down next to her friend and glanced tentatively at her profile. Alice continued working, the brim of her wide straw hat shading her pale skin from the sun. Eliza wanted to ask why Alice was helping with their plan even though she had been steadfastly against it last night.
“I hope Jane and Lavender are able to get the fig oil in town,” she said instead.
“I’m sure they will,” Alice said, tugging out a weed and tossing it toward the side of the garden. “Theresa set them on the task, and Theresa always seems to get whatever she wants.”
“Even the eye of newt?” Eliza said.
Alice didn’t respond. She simply went on with her work.
“What will we tell Miss Almay if she comes out for a stroll on the grounds?” Eliza asked. She pushed herself up and walked over to the bushes near the house to gather some lavender.
“We’ll tell her we’re weeding,” Alice said flatly, tossing another dandelion off onto the grass. “What’s another white lie, after all?”
Eliza paused and turned back toward her friend. “Alice, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help in all this. I know how you must feel, and I’m so very sorry this has happened, but I honestly think this is going to work. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
“I keep thinking about that first night,” Alice said, still refusing to make eye contact. She moved methodically—trowel in the dirt, dig, yank out the weed, throw it—the same pattern over and over again. “How you convinced me to go into the chapel. How you told me you’d never let any harm come to anyone you loved.” Finally, she stopped digging and stared right into Eliza’s eyes. “Perhaps you should think about keeping your promises to yourself from now on. Because from what I can tell, Catherine is dead, and the rest of us are doomed to eternal damnation.”
Eliza’s jaw dropped open, the wind knocked right out of her. Tears of confusion, regret, and anger filled her eyes. She was just opening her mouth to speak when Alice turned away from her, and a pair of well-worn leather shoes appeared in her line of vision.
“Miss Eliza?”
Eliza looked up and shaded her eyes with her hands. The sun lit
Helen Jennings from behind. Quickly she placed the twig, laden with lavender leaves, into her basket.
“Yes, Helen?” she said, wiping her dirty hand on her apron. Her voice cracked, and she saw Helen’s brow knit with concern. This surprised her, given their previous encounter.
“Is everything all right, miss?” Helen asked.
The tiny hairs on the back of Eliza’s neck stood on end. “Everything’s fine, Helen,” she said firmly, looking the girl in the eye as she fiddled with her locket. Helen’s expression hardened. She glanced at Alice, who was still intent on her work, then held out her hand. Tucked into the cup of Helen’s palm was a small folded note. Eliza’s heart skipped a beat, and she quickly took it and squirreled it away in the pocket of her dress.
“I came to see if the two of you wanted a refreshment from the kitchen.” Helen glanced past Eliza at her wicker basket, which was half full of herbs. “Lavender, rosemary, and ginger root, I see.” Then she looked Eliza in the eye and arched her brows. “Are you making a potpourri?”
Eliza swallowed hard. “Yes. We thought they might make a nice gift for our parents on parents’ weekend.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Helen said flatly.
Feeling completely flustered, but not entirely sure why, Eliza took a deep breath. “We don’t need any refreshments, thank you. Right, Alice?” she said, gazing directly into Helen’s eyes.
“No, thank you, Helen,” Alice replied.
“All right, then,” Helen said.
She gave Eliza one last knowing look before she turned and walked away slowly, carefully avoiding the vegetable plants as she went. Eliza stood and watched Helen until she had gone inside the house and closed the door behind her, but even then she had this awful, prickly feeling that she was being watched.
Helen Jennings knew more than she was letting on. And the thought frightened Eliza to her core.
That night, the girls gathered in Eliza’s room and quickly performed the Spell of Silence so they could sneak out to the chapel. Everyone was dressed in dark tones—black, gray, navy blue—as if attending a funeral instead of an awakening.
“When will we be leaving, Eliza?” Genevieve asked. “I would like for this to be finished.”
Anxiety was etched on all her friends’ faces. All but Alice’s, who sat at the foot of Eliza’s bed and had drawn the hood of her black cape over her face so that only the very tip of her nose could be seen.
“We’ll go as soon as Theresa arrives,” Eliza replied. “Don’t worry, Genevieve. This will all be over soon.”
The door to Eliza’s room suddenly opened and Theresa entered. Eliza felt a thump of foreboding and guilt the moment she saw her. The note Helen had delivered earlier had been from Harrison—a request for her to meet him again tonight. Eliza hadn’t felt comfortable
sending her refusal through Helen, so she knew that Harrison was going to be standing in the woods tonight, waiting for a girl who would never come.
“You really should knock, Theresa,” Lavender said. “For all we knew, you could have been the headmistress.”
“Thank you for that lesson in etiquette, Lavender,” Theresa said sarcastically.
Theresa had dressed in a royal purple frock, the most festive of the bunch. The book of spells was clutched against her chest, and she glanced around the room until her gaze came to rest on Eliza.
“We have a problem,” she said, keeping her voice low.
Every single girl turned to look at Eliza. All except Alice.
“What is it?” Eliza said.
Theresa opened the book as she walked to Eliza. “The instructions are quite clear. This spell will not work without all eleven members of the coven present to recite it.”
“What?” Jane exclaimed, stepping forward.
All around there were questions and whispers and panicked twitters. Eliza took the book and scanned the page. Theresa was right. The instructions referred to “eleven voices raised” and “twenty-two” crossed arms. The numbers were there over and over again. Her heart sunk into her toes and disappointment descended over the room.
“Well, we’ll just have to try it with ten,” she said, trying to sound firm.
“I don’t think so,” Theresa said.
“She’s right,” Marilyn spoke up, for once without Petit Peu in her
arms. “What if something goes awry because we do not have enough power? This is Catherine’s life we are talking about.”
The other girls murmured their assent. Eliza couldn’t help wondering if some of them were grateful for an excuse to not perform the spell.
“We need an eleventh,” she heard herself say.
“Where are we going to get someone new now?” Viola whined, fidgeting her black-gloved hands. “Not to mention someone who won’t run screaming when we tell them what we’re about to do.”
An idea flitted through Eliza’s mind. It made her feel sick to her stomach, but what other choice did she have? Catherine’s life hung in the balance.
“I know someone,” Eliza said.
“You do? Who?” Theresa asked.
“I’d rather not say until I know that she is willing,” Eliza told her. “All of you go to the chapel and wait for me there. If I haven’t arrived within an hour, you can return.”
As the girls grumbled and whispered and gathered their things, Theresa latched on to Eliza’s arm tightly.
“We can’t wait much longer to do this,” Theresa said through her teeth. “Those forty-eight hours are wasting away.”
“I know,” Eliza said, lifting her chin. “I just need a little time. Trust me. I will bring our eleventh.”
Eliza waited until her friends had walked out into the night. From her large window overlooking the Crenshaw House entry, she saw the lights of their candles and lanterns bounce merrily through the darkness, as if unaware that anything could be wrong in the world.
She snuck out of her room and closed the door quietly behind her. Crenshaw House was dark and perfectly still. She took a moment to get her bearings in the wide hallway before tiptoeing down the runner carpet and onto the wide oak stairs. Her fingers lightly brushed the polished banister as she scurried down the steps. The first floor was deserted, but she could see a shaft of light beneath the door to the kitchen. Cringing at every creak in the old floor, Eliza moved slowly and cautiously toward the light, her ear tilted toward the ceiling to catch any noise, any sign of life, from Miss Almay’s room. Just outside the latchless kitchen door, she paused. Whoever was inside was humming, and the tune was low and mournful, like a funeral dirge. A chill
of fear raced through Eliza and she stood for a moment, her hand on the door, her breathing shallow and raspy.