The Strangely Beautiful Tale Of Miss Percy Parker (16 page)

“There, finally!
Spine,
Miss Parker. Thank you,” Alexi replied, smiling. Then he turned his attention to the book he had been underlining when she arrived, flung it down and launched into a lecture, ignoring that her mouth was still agape.

“Now. Here the
Y
value is manipulated. You will graph these. The lines follow a certain pattern, but you must follow the equation not merely sketch a line. You might catch hold of this, merging as it is geometry with algebra.”

Percy struggled to catch up. “It is?”

“Well, not exactly—but think of it as such and you’ll like it better. That will be all.”

Miss Parker shook her head and gathered her scarf. “Yes, of course. Good evening, sir.” With a curtsey, she scurried to the door.

“Did I say you were dismissed?” he called.

She whirled. “You said, ‘That will be all…’”

“For the
fi rst
lesson.” Alexi rose and went to a shelf. “Turn
the phonograph handle,” he instructed, “and place the needle on the disk.”

Miss Parker’s pale face lit up. She did as instructed, and the phonograph bell crackled; the glorious sound of strings lifting sinuously into the air. Alexi moved toward the open floor of his office.

“The pleasant surprise about music and mathematics, Miss Parker, is that it’s all numbers,” he began casually. “And so is a dance.”

The music became distinguishable as a lilting waltz. Miss Parker’s eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Professor!” Joy radiated from her like a sunbeam, and for a brief moment, Alexi forgot what he was about to say.

“Hush, hush. Don’t make me regret taking the time to do this. Come here, silly girl.”

Percy darted forward, but when she stood before him, looking up, she became so frightened that the professor might read her mind that she shrank back, embarrassed and awkward.

His own composure remained cool as he offered a noble bow. “That is your cue to curtsey, Miss Parker.”

“Oh, yes, of course. How stupid of me.” She curtseyed, and the professor closed the distance between them to a decorous familiarity. She stared up at him. Her pounding heart made her mind swim. The professor placed a hand around her waist and took her right hand. When they made physical contact, Percy thought she might faint. Actual, voluntary human contact from a man she so admired…Tears rolled down Percy’s white cheeks.

“My goodness, Miss Parker, if I thought this would upset you…” Alarmed, Professor Rychman withdrew. “Of course there is an academy rule of no contact, but a dance lesson is most certainly an exception, and if you fear—”

“Oh, no, my dear professor! You must understand. In the convent, the only man I ever could call a friend was a ghost. We could never so much as take hands…”

There was a moment, as they stared at each other, where Percy thought they shared a keen understanding of loneliness. The professor’s dark eyes softened. He respectfully held her gaze until she bashfully looked away; then he held out his hand, patiently allowing her to approach when ready.

Percy wiped her eyes and stepped forward. His hand closed again over her waist. Her fingers alit upon his other palm, and he coaxed her hand into his, squeezing gently.

“Your fear of me simply must cease,” he commanded.

“It…it isn’t that I’m
afraid,
Professor.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Miss Parker, you quake.”

“Not out of fear, I assure you!” But after this declaration, more mottled patches burst upon Percy’s porcelain cheeks. She was terrified anew that he’d expel her on the spot.

The professor cleared his throat and simply said, “The rhythm guides us, Miss Parker. One-two-three, one-two-three.” He tapped time upon her finger. “Your feet must do the same. Place your other hand on my shoulder.”

Percy complied. She was far too nervous to look at him. Instead, she stared at the ornate silver button that clasped his robe about his neck and held his signature scarlet cravat in place.

“I will lead with my right foot. Step back with your left.” The professor moved forward. As Percy faltered he said, “No, the other—”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Stop apologizing, Miss Parker, and
move.
”

Percy stepped back, obedient if rigid. The professor added, “Repeat this, following my lead, stepping back when I step forward, interchanging.” As he did so, Percy followed with hesitation but precision, and moved without stumbling. She felt a giddy rush.

“I see!” She dared a look up at him, and grinned.

“It’s rather simple once you know the steps,” he stated, and began again. “Can you feel the pulse?”

Their steps remained small and controlled. “Yes,” she
breathed, shocked at her voice, which was a good deal more sensual than she intended. Their eyes locked, Percy stumbled and broke away. “I am sorry, Professor, but—”

He stepped forward and grabbed her by the hand, firmly turning her to face him again. Percy gasped. He clamped his other hand upon her waist, putting an abrupt halt to her cringing retreat. He stepped forward. She stepped back. They lifted and stepped and repeated without incident. They moved around the open spaces of the office, each turn imparting confidence. Finally, Percy could not hold back a delighted laugh as she realized she was waltzing. And Constance was watching, hovering above the professor’s desk, smiling proudly.

“I’m dancing!” Percy whispered with glee.

The professor partially smiled, his eyes sparkling for one single moment. “Indeed you are,” he replied, and Percy felt a tug upon her right hand. She allowed his pull—and twirled beneath his arm! As she spun to face him again, his hand returned to her waist. Percy nearly swooned.

The professor lowered his head in approval. “Not a bad start, Miss Parker. You see, if you pay attention to your partner, you can react without even being warned.” He smirked, displaying a mischievousness Percy had never seen—or perhaps it was merely wishful thinking.

The music ended. The disk crackled beneath the needle. The professor released his hold on Percy and stepped back, bowed, holding her gaze. Percy curtseyed in return, wishing the music had gone on indefinitely.

“Now…no more moping about that damnable gala!” he commanded, moving to the phonograph and lifting the needle.

“Oh, Professor, how can I ever thank you for this—?” She ran forward and realized with sudden horror that she had unconsciously meant to embrace him.

“Good night, Miss Parker,” he interrupted.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Good night, Professor. Thank you!”
She spoke hurriedly, awkwardly gathering her things to cover her dangerous intention. “I shall see you on Saturday?”

“Perhaps you will find me in a dark corner, hiding,” he admitted, grimacing as he took to the chair behind his desk and busied himself with a cup of spiced tea.

“Well. Good night, then.” She hurried to the door, wondering if the blush upon her cheeks would ever fade. However, her gaze fell upon the painting that earlier had done her such an ill turn, and she couldn’t help but comment. “Do you know why that painting is so ironic to me, Professor?” She did not turn around to face him, instead stared at the woman being led down into the darkness.

“Do tell, Miss Parker.”

Percy removed her glasses again and turned to face him. “Percy is just a
nick
name.” Then she quit his chamber.

Outside, in the hall, she swooned. Constance bobbed at her side. “You looked so beautiful together,” the ghost breathed.

“Oh, no, none of that, Constance, I’ve warned you against insinuations,” Percy snapped. But then, suddenly: “Oh, my! I nearly forgot!” She fumbled among her books and drew one out. “This was in the library, and I believe it’s yours. The writing in the margins…do you recall it?” She flipped to the appropriate page.

Constance stared, a translucent hand at her lips. “That’s it,” she choked, reading. A drop of water splashed the floor: an actual tear made manifest. “My greatest folly,” the ghost admitted, “was to deny a lovely soul who asked nothing more than to remain by my side.” She glanced desperately at Percy. “You and I seek such similar comfort, do we not? Shall I now find mine?”

“Perhaps your ‘P.’ wanders nearby, seeking you. Or perhaps…perhaps you are simply free to be at peace.”

“Yes, yes! I feel peace, Percy, no longer any sickness in my hollow head. It’s why I was pushing you toward your professor—because no matter what may stand between, love is the
highest power on earth and our one true purpose. You realize that now, don’t you, Percy?”

“Of course,” Percy murmured, looking at the ground.

The spirit continued blithely. “Now that I know, and now that I’ve helped you, I can rest.”

Percy waved the ghost onward, smiling. “Go! Go and find rest, my friend.”

Constance nodded and grew blindingly bright. “At last. I shall see you on the other side,” she said. And with a loving wave of her hand, at last the spectre dissipated. Only the hint of one word remained.
“Paul…”

Percy wiped her watering eyes and darted back to her hall, ignoring the guard she passed along the way; she couldn’t be troubled by murderers or fear when there was so much beauty in the world. Bursting through Marianna’s door, she wailed, “He taught me how to waltz!” then clapped hands over her mouth.

Marianna looked up from her bed, a smile creeping over her face. “Who?”

“You’ll never guess! After our lesson…he asked me to turn on the phonograph. When I turned, he was standing in the middle of the room. Oh, how grand he looked! And then…”

Her friend leaned forward, clearly titillated.

Percy clasped her hands and whispered, “I can’t begin to describe how incredible it felt to be touched on the waist, held by the hand…Oh, this is silly and dangerous!”

“Waltzing?”

Percy looked around as if the walls had ears. “We should not speak of it.”

“Because Miss Thompson might dismiss you out of jealousy?
Liebe ist wie Krieg…
”

Percy squealed. “Hush with your love and war, it was a
lesson,
Marianna. There was nothing untoward—truly! This was utterly innocent! I am his student!”

“Are not some people drawn to one another, no matter
their professions, age or circumstance? Does fate mean nothing? Are you not nineteen, no longer a girl but a woman? Back in my homeland—”

Percy shook her head, crushing down all hope. “We cannot pose such questions, Marianna, no matter where we are. I shan’t risk my future at this academy. Whatever exists between him and the headmistress, so be it. And…there’s been nothing remotely inappropriate. He’s only trying to help.”

Marianna shrugged, thoughtful. “Well, no matter. We must find you a dress.”

“A dress?”

“For the ball, silly. You do not mean to tell me after that rousing lesson you plan to miss?”

“Oh. Well. Perhaps I’ll go—but I’ll still look a fright, and no one will want to dance with me.”

“You will not look a fright, Percy,” her friend promised. “Love’s bloom becomes you.”

Percy hissed. “Never say that, Marianna. How many times must I…?”

She broke off as the German girl turned and ran to her closet, pulled down a mass of fabric from a shelf. “
Fräulein,
your evening gown!” A moment later, Marianna held up an incredible dress.

“Oh, how beautiful!”

“
Meine Mutter
sent me three gowns. Have one!” the girl cried. When Percy laughed, overcome, and nearly knocked her to the floor in an exuberant hug, she added, “Come,
meine Liebe,
there are errands to run, flowers to gather and dreams yet to be planned!”

The Groundskeeper stood looking through the portal, his gaze sweeping the river Thames up to the Tower of London. He was finally returned home, and he stood with calloused feet planted firmly on his natural soil, his arms folded. He
had cleaned his face, which like a carnival mask was currently ill proportioned and eerily lit.

“Oh, my darling Lucy-loo!” he cried, not knowing where she was but only that she was there, in the very heart of the world, and would soon make the Whisper-world proud. “With you and The Guard on the loose, my dear, nothing will stop you. Not this time. Nothing between you and the last pin. Pry, pry, my lovey, it’s up to you,” he chortled, the pitch of his singsong voice rising. “We’ve loosened, we’ve loosened, and everything’s ready. Now…shatter the seal!”

The corridors of Athene Hall were filled with the soft murmurs of women, the rustle of expensive fabrics and the occasional giggle, and excitement had transformed Marianna into a force of nature. Only once she and Percy had donned their finery and done up all their buttons and clasps did she let either of them pause to breathe—and breathing was difficult with the tight press of their undergarments. With grand ceremony, both girls turned to look in the mirror.

Percy did not recognize herself. Pale lavender satin enveloped her in contemporary style. Paired with a snug corset, Percy’s flowing skirt swept out into a bell, with a gathered layer drawn up on either side and cinched into a bustle at the back. A high-backed dress with buttons all down the spine, its neckline was elegantly sloped to allow generous amounts of flesh to be shown without scandal, the bustline accented by flowers embroidered in silver thread and seed pearls. The glitter of her necklace chain matched the sparkle of Percy’s eyes, and her phoenix charm lay reassuringly tucked into her
bodice. A perfect braid swept her hair into a circlet, and sprigs of heather crowned her a veritable fairy queen. Marianna had rubbed the oil of the flowers behind Percy’s ears and around her wrists, and the smell filled Percy’s nostrils with calm delight.

Marianna, elegant in burgundy taffeta with fitted sleeves and a slender V-line waist, spun about slowly. She produced a set of pale lavender lace gloves and presented them to her friend. “You are an incredible sight, Percy. You
are
Titania. This gala is yours.”

“I…I do look all right, don’t I?” Percy breathed. For the first time in her life, she was nearly pretty. Her perfumed hands flitted over each other, and she could not stop staring at her reflection. But there was one hesitation: she had never once left her room without a scarf. “Marianna, I can’t, I’m frightened.” Overwhelmed, she shook her head and reached for the muslin.

“Percy, I tell you, you look amazing.
Schöne!
”

“But you’re accustomed to me.” Percy paused. “Well, you and the professor. He’s seen me, too. He demanded I be brave and not hide beneath shrouds while I’m in his office.” She was surprised she’d never admitted as much to her friend.

Marianna seemed pleased. “Tonight, Percy, you’ll be braver than ever before.”

A second-floor chamber long locked away, silently ready, the ballroom of Promethe Hall was a dreamily glittering sight to behold. This gala was the academy’s one grand indulgence, and Percy and Marianna stood hesitantly at the threshold. Marianna had to keep removing Percy’s hands from her collar, foiling her instinct to cover up.

The ballroom was long, one side lined with high windows that made a dark, starry night visible above the rim of the courtyard. At the center, French doors opened onto little balconies. Past filmy white curtains rustling in the wake of a crisp fall breeze, the silhouettes of coupled men and women stood staring contemplatively at each other’s faces or the
evening sky. The opposite wall was golden and colonnaded, with wide doors at both ends. Alcoves exhibited gaggles of murmuring ladies reclining upon benches lined with crimson velvet. Busts of philosophers and literary figures stood silent sentry amid the frivolity. If living guards were posted, they had done well to dress finely and blend in.

After drinking in the sights, the two girls crept beyond the threshold. Percy glanced around. Marianna anticipated her, and nodded across the long hall. Like a guardian statue at the back stood an unmistakable figure, tall and swathed in black. Percy let out a choking sigh.

Marianna shook her head. “You are hopeless, my friend. Why is it you have set your sights only on the forbidden? Is it because you feel no one else will court you?”

The evening had made her friend bold, but Percy did not mind. In this atmosphere, it seemed as if almost anything could happen. “No. He just…” Percy found she had no words.

Marianna’s friend Edward approached, cutting a dashing figure in a navy coat that fit him like a glove, a grey silk cravat tucked neatly into his vest. His tousled chestnut hair hanging adorably down over his eyebrows, he stared at Marianna with unabashed rapture. “Miss Farelei,” he murmured, clearly relishing the opportunity to kiss her gloved hand. Their bodies shivered simultaneously.

After that long moment of rapture, he turned with a wide and welcoming smile. Taking in the sight of Percy, all of her, he nodded in approval. Her hand was kissed in turn, or rather the lace upon it. “Miss Parker, I am delighted you’re here!” He squeezed her hand in his. “You are unlike anyone I have ever seen—and I mean that kindly. Come into the light, Miss Parker, for I’ll not allow you to slink in the shadows. To do so would be to eclipse the moon.”

Percy beamed. “Your kind words, Mr. Page, are a gift. Believe it or not, a professor of mine recently expressed similar sentiments. Perhaps I ought to listen.” Her eyes flicked
to the opposite corner of the room, where Professor Rychman was holding a conversation with a history teacher, looking thoroughly bored.

“Perhaps,” Marianna supplied with a smirk.

The three students amused themselves with punch and confections, listening to the string quartet, watching and appreciating the gala’s attendees. Everyone boasted breathtaking finery, the very latest fashions in sleeves, bustles and buttons. No one yet had made a scene regarding Percy’s arrival, and she wished to remain inconspicuous by the door.

Edward held out an arm for Marianna. “Miss Parker,” he began timidly, “would you mind if I escorted your friend about the room? I promised I’d introduce her to a fellow who recently returned from her homeland.”

Percy nodded graciously, seeing how Marianna’s eyes lit up. “By all means,” she said, waving them off. Her friend replied with a look of gratitude, and Percy smiled again, happy until she was assailed by a tinge of jealousy, jealousy for the way Edward looked at the other girl’s very normal and beautiful face. But she had no such admirer, and so, forcing herself to stop staring at her professor, she drifted to the corner and evaluated her peers.

A few of the women toted flowers. Many more wore corsages, produced by beaus, admirers or family members. Percy wished that she had a flower. She had no beau, nor admirers, nor family, yet she refused to let this daunt her, was determined not to lapse into a melancholy. She realized, too, that she did not seek the same throes of giddiness that Marianna and Edward enjoyed. She wanted something blissful, yes, but also something deeper and more inscrutable. Something eternal.

Valiantly she smiled, moving at last to sit alone in a chair by the wall. Some unwanted attention was indeed cast her way, murmurs and the occasional titter, but she ignored them as best she could and sought peace. Batted eyelashes, soft words exchanged by inviting lips, giggles, smiles and
butterfly kisses upon palms, scarlet flushes, fans held at precise angles and in unspoken signals: a whole world unfolded around Percy in a language she didn’t understand, a world in which she had no place…This world’s inhabitants twirled past her without a care in the world.

After a bit, the living dancers failed to amuse. Percy couldn’t help but turn and watch the dead who hovered beyond the ballroom windows, hesitant to join the party. She recognized one from her hall, and he lifted up a transparent hand. Percy waved back with a smile—and then realized she appeared quite mad. Quickly she changed the motion to adjusting a bud of heather in her hair, but she had a sense this was unconvincing. The subtle pointing and whispers of her peers increased, and Percy blushed, knowing she was on display.

Alexi was in the midst of an uninteresting conversation—Mrs. Rathbine was droning on about Roman pottery—when he first noticed the goddess across the ballroom: Miss Parker had come, and admirably without her shields. A goddess indeed, for he had guessed her full name after her hint about the painting in his office. She had the name of
his
goddess, though that long-ago oracle had never given it. Nonetheless, his work and his fate required faith, and he had nothing left but to await the final sign. Prophecy had come, surely, and in the surprising form of a student. He knew she could not know that truth for herself, troublesome as her ignorance was. They would both have to await the final revelation.

Miss Parker’s elegant dress and elaborate coif were stunning. Her fine features had been painted with the softest rose blush, and her pale eyes flashed like diamonds. She was by far the most captivating thing ever seen at this silly event. He noted her talking to various young ladies who drifted past, strained into saying something polite. She was gracious and returned their trivial, polite conversation, but when she oc
casionally glanced away, he read her struggle and isolation. She alone, he was sure, understood why he dreaded this event every year. Such recognition was profound.

An enraptured young couple twirled past. As they did, they waved. Percy returned the gesture happily, then watched them twirl away, her warm smile fading. Something seized up deep inside Alexi. Perhaps she felt the weight of his stare, for she looked up. Eyes like snowcaps finally met his, and the rest of the world was muted.

“There you are—my favourite gargoyle!” came a taunting voice.

Alexi turned and saw Elijah Withersby leading a woman through one of the arched entrances and into the ballroom. Miss Linden. Having only seen her briefly, in the moonlight, Alexi was unprepared for what a well-lit room would do for her beauty. It was unparalleled. Her sensual ruby lips twisted in a smile, and her green eyes glittered with a pleased recognition. Her red satin dress was simple yet tremendously flattering.

“Here’s the man of the hour at last.” Elijah removed the woman’s hand from his arm and offered it to Alexi. “Professor Rychman, here again is our dear Miss Lucille Linden.”

Alexi kissed the woman’s gloved hand with solemn courtesy. Rosy-cheeked, with black hair curled immaculately in place, she was indeed breathtaking. A foreign sensation wrestled deep within him. “A pleasure to see you, Miss Linden. I am sorry it has taken so long for our paths to again cross.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine, Professor Rychman, and I forgive you your absence, sorrowful though it has been. Lord Withersby has been kind, as has Miss Belledoux. If you hadn’t pointed me there, I’d have been without recourse! I am forever in your debt. Fate brought me to you, I am sure of it.”

Alexi could see Elijah nodding eagerly.

“Of your little coterie, Professor, you’re the only one I haven’t gotten to know, though Lord Withersby has told me much about you.”

“Has he now?” Alexi eyed his friend.

Miss Linden sighed. “It is difficult to be a stranger in such a large place, and to feel safe when the world is coming apart at the seams…”

She possessed a magnetic intensity Alexi had never encountered, and her regard surpassed custom. But then, just over the woman’s perfect, bare shoulder, Alexi regarded the opal eyes of Miss Parker looking on in stricken sorrow. Her pale, heather-framed face quickly rallied into a hollow smile, and she tried to pretend she hadn’t been staring. But eyes like hers could truly hide nothing; and when the music slowed, the couples parted and still no one came to speak with her, Percy rose from her chair and fled the room. Alexi’s instinct was to follow.

“Professor Rychman?” called a musical voice, jarring him from his reverie. “Are you all right?”

Alexi faced Miss Linden. “My apologies. Something caught my eye.”

“Ah, we interrupt his chaperoning, Miss Linden,” Elijah taunted. “The good professor takes every task with the utmost gravity. He takes great care with his
students.
”

Alexi looked sharply at his friend, but Miss Linden smiled and he felt her smooth gloved hand graze his. “I admire gravity in a man.” Her eyes were precious emeralds, and they sparkled at him. Yet they could not keep his mind from wandering.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Miss Linden…I am terribly sorry. It was a true pleasure to see you, but I must beg your leave. I believe someone requires my assistance. A student,” he added, staring at Withersby.

“I shall miss you,” Miss Linden replied. “But I leave you to your duty.”

Elijah was quick to take the hand she waved in languid dismissal. Giving Alexi a look of extreme scorn, he led her away.

Percy felt her very blood ache as she clutched the folds of her fine skirts and fled. She nearly ran, sweeping up the stairs to the third floor, far from the ballroom. “This must end,” she commanded herself in a mournful whisper. “Your heart is dangerously out of hand! You’re here to be a student, not a romantic. And if no one asks you to dance and you’re jealous of a beautiful woman whose hair looks coiffed with serpents, so be it—but it cannot destroy you!”

The stairs opened onto a foyer, red granite columns rising like stone tree trunks in a forest clearing. The walls were plain and stately. White drapes at each window appeared silver in the moonlight. This place of solitude let Percy breathe again. She felt far more at home here than she had under the chandeliers. Music wafted from below in a spectral waltz.

The click of her dainty shoes echoed softly upon the marble. She made her way to the center of the open space, passing in and out of moonlight, and stopped inside a mosaic circle—Athens’s seal, a golden eagle. “‘As the Promethean fire which banished darkness, so Knowledge bears the Power and the Light,’” Percy murmured, reading the motto.

Whirling slowly in a dance, she released the tension in her arms, let her head loll and loosed a sigh. The waltz music lingered below. Percy felt the strings played as if they were kisses across her face, light touches of the feathers of birds. She was monarch of this moonlit hall: the air, light and shadows obeyed her command…Of course her mind placed her dear professor in her grasp, one hand holding hers and the other firmly upon her waist. She had, after all, a potent memory to invoke. And rather than fighting the image, or letting it embarrass her, she gave in fully and welcomed Professor Rychman into her dream.

Suddenly, Percy felt something cold graze her hand. Her eyes opened in a flash and she saw a worn, smiling old man in tattered Elizabethan garb—an old friend she never thought she’d see again. “Gregory!”