A Great And Terrible Beauty (13 page)

“Blood was used for a sacred drawing, to pay tribute to a goddess whose influence was being sought. Here.” Miss Moore points to a faint red etching of what looks like a bow and arrow. “This is one for Diana, the Roman goddess of the moon and the hunt. She was a protector of girls. Of chastity.”

At this, Felicity gives me a sharp nudge in the ribs. We all cough and shuffle our feet to hide our embarrassment. Miss Moore soldiers on.

“The quite remarkable thing about this cave is that there are depictions of all sorts of goddesses here. It isn’t just the Pagan or Roman but the Norse, the Germanic, the Celtic. Most likely, this was a place known to travelers who heard they could practice their magic in safety here.”

“Magic?” Elizabeth asks. “They were witches?”

“Not as we’ve come to think of witches. They would have been mystics and healers, women who worked with herbs and delivered babies. But it would have made them suspect. Women who have power are always feared,” she says sadly. I wonder how Miss Moore came to be here, teaching us how to draw pretty pictures instead of living out in the world. She’s not unattractive. Her face is warm, her smile quick, and her figure slim. The brooch at her neck has several rubies in it, which suggests that she’s not without means.

“I think they are extraordinary,” Felicity says, moving her lantern closer to the wall. Her fingers trail over a rough silhouette of what appears to be a crow woman flanked by two other women who’ve been partially rubbed away by time.

“Ugh, that’s rather nasty,” Cecily says. Shadows flicker across her face, and for a moment, I can imagine what she’ll look like as an old woman—sort of pinched and thin with a large nose.

Miss Moore peers at the drawing. “That particular lady is probably related to the Morrigan.”

“The what?” Pippa asks, batting her lashes and smiling in a way that will undoubtedly make men promise the earth.

“The Morrigan. An ancient Celtic goddess of war and death. She was greatly feared. Some said she could be seen washing the clothes of those who were about to die in battle, and afterward, she flew across the battlefields, taking the skulls of the dead with her in her fury.”

Cecily shudders. “Why would anyone want to worship her?”

“Don’t you have any warrior spirit, Miss Temple?” Miss Moore asks.

Cecily is aghast. “I certainly hope not. How . . . unattractive.”

“What makes it so?”

“Well.” Cecily is clearly uncomfortable. “It’s like . . . being a man, isn’t it? A woman should never show anything so unseemly.”

“But without that spark of anger, without destruction, there can be no rebirth. The Morrigan was also associated with strength, independence, and fertility. She was the keeper of the soul till it could be regenerated. Or so they say.”

“Who are these women here?” Ann points a pudgy finger at the worn drawings.

“The Morrigan was a threefold goddess, often seen as a beautiful maiden, the great mother, and the bloodthirsty crone. She could change shape at will. Quite fascinating, really.”

Felicity regards Miss Moore coolly. “How did you come to know so much about goddesses and such, Miss Moore?”

Miss Moore leans her face in toward Felicity’s till they’re separated by only a breath or two. I think Felicity is really going to be raked over the coals for being so cheeky. Miss Moore speaks slowly, deliberately. “I know because I read.” She pulls back and stands, hands on hips, offering us a challenge. “May I suggest that you all read? And often. Believe me, it’s nice to have something to talk about other than the weather and the Queen’s health. Your mind is not a cage. It’s a garden. And it requires cultivating. Now, I think we’ve had enough of mythology. Let’s do some sketching, shall we?”

Dutifully, we take out our sketching pads and slender reeds of charcoal. Already Pippa is complaining that the cave is too hot for sketching. The truth is that she can’t draw. Not a whit. Everything she attempts ends up looking like a clump of gloomy rocks, and she’s not a good sport about it. Ann is tackling her project with her usual perfectionism, making small, careful strokes on the page. My charcoal flies across the pad, and when I’m finished, I’ve captured the smudgy likeness of the hunt goddess, spear in hand, a deer running ahead of her. It seems bare, so I add a few symbols of my own. Soon, the bottom of the page is filled with the moon-and-eye symbol of my mother’s necklace.

“Very interesting, Miss Doyle.” Miss Moore peers over my shoulder. “You’ve drawn the crescent eye.”

“There’s a name for this?”

“Oh, yes. It’s a very famous symbol. A bit like the Freemasons’ pyramid.”

Ann speaks up. “It’s like that strange necklace you wear.”

The girls stare at me, suspicious. I could kick Ann and her big mouth. Miss Moore arches an eyebrow. “You have this symbol on a necklace?”

With effort, I pull the amulet out from its hiding place under my high collar. “It was my mother’s. It was given to her by a village woman a long time ago.”

Miss Moore stoops down to examine it. She rubs a thumb over the hammered metal of the moon. “Yes, that’s it, all right.”

“What is it, exactly?” I say, tucking it back inside my bodice.

Miss Moore stands, adjusts her hat on her head. “Legend has it that the crescent eye was the symbol of the Order.”

“The what?” Cecily says, making a face.

“You’ve never heard of the Order?” Miss Moore says, as if this should be as familiar to us as basic arithmetic.

“Do tell us, Miss Moore!” Pippa’s over in a flash. She’d do anything to get out of drawing.

“Ah, the Order. Now, there’s an interesting story. If I can remember my folklore correctly, they were a powerful group of sorceresses who’d been around since the dawn of time. Supposedly they had access to a mystical world beyond this one, a place of many realms where they could work their magic.”

Kartik mentioned realms. So did Mary Dowd’s diary. My skin has gone cold, and I’m desperate to know more.

“What sort of magic?” I hear myself asking.

“The greatest of them all—the power of illusion.”

“That doesn’t seem terribly special to me,” Cecily scoffs. Elizabeth folds her arms. It’s obvious they don’t have much use for Miss Moore.

“Really, Miss Temple? That comb in your hair—it is the latest fashion, isn’t it?”

Cecily is flattered. “Why, yes, it is.”

“And does that make you fashionable? Or does it merely create the illusion that you are?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Cecily’s eyes blaze.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Miss Moore says. Her wry smile is back.

“Could they do anything else?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. These women could help spirits cross over into the afterlife. They had the power of prophecy and clairvoyance. The veil between the supernatural world and this one was a very thin one for them. They could see and feel things that others couldn’t.”

My mouth is dry as sawdust. “Visions?”

“You’re awfully interested,” Elizabeth taunts. Felicity yanks a lock of her hair and she yelps, then quiets.

“How did they get to that other world?” It’s Felicity’s voice now, asking the question I want the answer to. Cold shivers run down my arms.

“Oh, my, I see I’ve started a little fire.” Miss Moore laughs. “Didn’t you have any sadistic nannies who told you these tales to keep you quiet and well behaved at night? Heavens, what’s to become of the Empire if governesses have lost their touch for scaring the wits out of their girls?”

“Please tell us, Miss Moore,” Pippa begs, shooting a glance at Felicity.

“According to the legends—and my own vicious nanny, God rest her wicked soul—the sisters of the Order would hold hands and concentrate on a way in—a doorway, a portal of some kind.”

A door of light.

“Did they need to do anything else to cross over? Did they have to say something, an incantation or some such?” I press. Behind me, Martha does her annoying mimicry, and if I weren’t so absorbed, I’d find a way to take her down a peg.

Miss Moore laughs, shakes her head. “Gracious, I haven’t the faintest idea! It’s a myth. Like all of these symbols. A bit of story passed down through the generations. Or lost through them. Such legends tend to fade away in the face of industrialization.”

“Are you saying we should go back to the way it was?” Felicity asks.

“I’m saying nothing of the kind. One can never go back. One always has to move forward.”

“Miss Moore?” I ask, unable to stop myself. “Why would someone have given my mother the crescent eye?”

Miss Moore ponders this. “I suppose someone must have thought she needed protection.”

A horrible thought works its way inside me. “But suppose a person was without the necklace—without its protection. What would happen to her?”

Miss Moore shakes her head. “I hadn’t considered you to be so impressionable, Miss Doyle.” The girls snicker. My face goes hot. “These symbols are no more effective than a rabbit’s foot. I shouldn’t place too much stock in your amulet’s protective powers, no matter how attractive a piece it may be.”

I can’t let it alone. “But what if—”

Miss Moore cuts me off. “If you wish to know more about ancient legends, ladies, there is a place that can help you. It’s called a library. And I believe that Spence is in possession of one.”

She pulls a pocket watch from her canvas bag of art supplies. I’ve never seen a woman carry a man’s watch before, and it only deepens the mystery that is Miss Moore. “It’s almost time to go back,” she says, closing the watch with a decisive snap. “Now, how did we end up wandering about with ancient goddesses when we came to admire art? I want to do a bit of sketching near the mouth of the cave. You may join me when you’ve gathered your things.”

Tucking the bag under her arm, she strides confidently toward the mouth, leaving us alone in the semidarkness. My fingers are trembling so badly that I can barely bundle my supplies together. I’m vaguely aware of the other girls. Their gossipy whispers fill the cave like the buzzing of flies.

“Well, this was certainly a waste of our time,” Cecily mutters. “I’ll wager Mrs. Nightwing would be interested to know all about what Miss Moore is teaching us.”

“She’s a curious creature,” Elizabeth agrees. “Strange.”

“I found it all very interesting,” Felicity says.

“My future husband won’t,” Cecily grouses. “He’ll want to know that I can draw something pleasant to impress our guests. Not ruin his dinner with talk about bloodthirsty witches.”

“At least it got us out of that dreary old school for the afternoon,” Felicity reminds them.

Ann’s pencils slip from her hands and fall to the ground, the noise of their fall echoing loudly. She drops clumsily to her knees, trying to gather them all.

“That face of Ann’s must be a talisman against all men,” Elizabeth whispers just loudly enough to be heard. The others laugh in the way girls do when they can’t believe someone has been cruel enough to say what they really feel. Ann doesn’t even look up.

Felicity loops her arm through mine, whispers low. “Don’t look so grim. They’re harmless, really.”

I shake my arm free. “They are the hounds of hell. Could you call them off, please?”

Cecily giggles. “Careful, Felicity, she might use her evil eye against us.”

Even Felicity can’t keep from sputtering with laughter. I wish I could use my evil eye. Or at least my evil boot right smack against Cecily’s backside.

Miss Moore leads us back into the daylight and through the woods by a different path, which takes us to a small dirt road. Across the low stone wall that borders the road, I can see a Gypsy caravan nestled in the trees beyond. Felicity is suddenly by my side, using the advantage of my height to hide her from view, in case Ithal is near.

“Ann, I think Miss Moore wants you,” she says. Ann obeys, huffing in her ungainly way toward our teacher. “Gemma, please don’t be cross.” Felicity peeks her head out, searching. “Do you see him?”

There’s nothing out there but three wagons and a few horses. “No,” I answer in a surly tone.

“Thank the gods.” She links her arm through mine, oblivious to my bad temper. “That would have been awkward. Can you imagine?” She’s trying to win me over with her charm. It is working. I smile in spite of myself and she shares one of those rare, ripe grins that seem to make the world a fun, inviting place.

“Listen, I’ve got a capital idea. Why don’t we form our own order?”

I stop cold. “And do what?”

“Live.”

Relieved, I start walking again. “We’re already living.”

“No. We’re playing their predetermined little game. But what if we had a place where we played by no one’s rules but our own?”

“And where, pray tell, would we do that?”

Felicity looks around. “Why not meet here at the caves?”

“You’re joking,” I say. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

She shakes her head. “Just think of it: We’d make our own plans, wield our own influence, have a bit of fun while we can. We would own Spence.”

“We’d be expelled, that’s what.”

“We’re not going to get caught. We’re far cleverer than that.”

Up ahead, Cecily is prattling on to Elizabeth, who seems very distressed that her boots are getting muddy. I throw Felicity a look.

“They’re not so bad once you get to know them.”

“I’m sure the piranha fish is nice to its family, too, but I don’t want to get too close to it.”

Ann looks back at me, slack-jawed. She’s just discovered that Miss Moore didn’t want her after all. No one does. That’s the trouble. But perhaps there is a way to change that. “All right,” I say. “I’m game, with one provision.”

“Name it.”

“You have to invite Ann.”

Felicity can’t decide whether to laugh or spit venom at me. “You can’t be serious.” When I don’t answer, she says, “I won’t do it.”

“As I recall, you owe me a debt.”

She gives me a smirk meant to dismiss the whole idea. “The other girls won’t allow it. You know that, don’t you?”

“That shall be your dilemma,” I can’t help adding with a smile. “Don’t look so grim. They’re harmless. Really.”

Felicity narrows her eyes and marches off to catch Pippa, Elizabeth, and Cecily. In a moment, they’re arguing, with Elizabeth and Cecily shaking their heads and Felicity huffing her displeasure. For her part, Pippa just seems glad to have Felicity’s attention. In a moment, Felicity is back by my side, fuming.