"I wouldn't have done it had I known she was standing directly behind me."
"You know that Mrs. Nightwing is like God--everywhere at once. In fact, she may be God, for all I know." Felicity sighs. The firelight casts a golden sheen upon her white-blond hair. She glows like a fallen angel.
Ann looks around, nervous. "Y-y-you oughtn't to talk about"--she whispers the word--"God that way."
"Why ever not?" Felicity asks.
"It might bring bad luck."
Quiet descends, for we are all too well and too recently acquainted with bad luck to forget that there are forces at work beyond the world we see, forces beyond all reason and comprehension.
Felicity stares at the fire. "You still assume there is a God, Ann? With all we've seen?"
One of the noiseless servants flits down the dim hallway, the white of her apron outlined by the somber gray of her uniform so that all that is seen against the darkness is the apron; the woman disappears entirely into shadow. If I follow her movement as she rounds a corner, I can see the happy, firelit hall from whence we've just come. A swarm of girls of varying ages, from six to seventeen, breaks out into spontaneous caroling, entreating God to rest ye merry gentlemen. No mention of God's resting gentlewomen, merry or not.
I long to join them, to light the candles on the grand tree, to pull at the strings on the bright Christmas crackers and hear the paper pop with a satisfying, jolly sound. I long to have no concerns other than whether Father Christmas will be kind this year or I shall find coal in my stocking.
With arms linked like paper dolls cut from the same paper, a trio of girls sways back and forth; one places her soft, curly head on the shoulder of the girl next to her, and she in turn gives a tiny kiss to that one's forehead. They have no idea that this world is not the only one. That far beyond the formidable, castle-like walls of Spence Academy, far beyond the barrier of Mrs. Nightwing, Mademoiselle LeFarge, and the other instructors here to mold and shape our habits and characters like so much willing clay, beyond England itself, there is a place of such beauty and fearsome power. A place where what you dream can be yours, and you must be careful what you dream. A place where things can hurt you. A place that has already claimed one of us.
I am the link to that place.
"Let's gather our coats," Ann says, moving for the immense, coiling staircase that dominates the foyer.
Felicity regards her curiously."What ever for? Where are we going?"
"It's Wednesday," Ann says, turning away. "Time to visit Pippa."
CHAPTER TWO
WE MAKE OUR WAY THROUGH THE BARREN TREES behind the school until we reach a familiar clearing. It is frightfully damp, and I'm glad for my coat and gloves. To our right lies the pond where we lay lazily in a rowboat under early September skies. The rowboat sleeps now on the frostbitten rocks and the bitter, dead grass of winter at the water's edge. The pond is a smooth, thin sheet of ice. Months ago, we shared these woods with an encampment of Gypsies, but they are long gone now, headed for warmer climes. In their party, I suppose, is a certain young man from Bombay with large brown eyes, full lips, and my father's cricket bat. Kartik. I cannot help wondering if he thinks of me wherever he is. I cannot help wondering when he will come looking for me next, and what that will mean.
Felicity turns to me. "What are you dreaming about back there?"
"Christmas," I lie, my words pushing out in small, steam engine puffs of white. It is miserably cold.
"I have forgotten that you've never had a proper English Christmas. I shall have to acquaint you with it over the holiday. We'll steal away from home and have the most splendid time," Felicity says.
Ann keeps her eyes trained on the ground. She'll stay here at Spence over the holiday. There are no relations to take her in, no presents to shake or memories to warm her till spring.
"Ann," I say too brightly."How lucky you are to have the run of Spence while we're away."
"You needn't do that," she answers.
"Do what?"
"Try to paint a bright face on it. I shall be alone and unhappy. I know it."
"Oh, please don't go and feel sorry for yourself. I shan't be able to bear the hour with you if you do," Felicity says, exasperated. She grabs a long stick and uses it to whack at the trees as we pass them. Shamed into silence, Ann trods on. I should say something on her behalf, but more and more, I find Ann's refusal to speak up for herself an annoyance. So I let it go. "Will you be attending balls over Christmas, do you think?" Ann asks, biting her lip, torturing herself. It is no different from the small cuts she makes on her arms with her sewing scissors, the ones her sleeves hide, the ones I know she has begun again.
"Yes. Of course," Felicity answers, as if the question is tedious. "My mother and father have planned a Christmas ball. Everyone shall be there."
Everyone except you, she might as well say.
"I shall be confined to close quarters with my grandmama, who never misses an opportunity to point out my faults, and my infuriating brother, Tom. I promise you, it shall be a very taxing holiday." I smile, hoping to make Ann laugh. The truth is that I feel guilty for abandoning her, but not guilty enough to invite her home with me.
Ann gives me a sideways glance. "And how is your brother, Tom?"
"The same. Which is to say impossible."