A Great And Terrible Beauty (24 page)

A tall, broad-shouldered man steps out. He wears the military uniform of Her Majesty’s guards—not an officer, but a foot soldier. He approaches me shyly, holding his hat in his hands. There’s a sweet boyishness to his face that’s familiar. Except for the unearthly pallor, he could be the neighbor across the way or the loved one from a family photograph.

“Begging your pardon, but are you the one that’s with my Polly tonight?”

“Polly?” I repeat. I am speaking to a ghost, so I can be forgiven any breach of manners. I am sure I’ve seen him before.

“Surely I saw you there with her—Miss Polly LeFarge?”

A man in a uniform. A faraway smile. A fading tintype on a tidy desk. Reginald, Mademoiselle LeFarge’s beloved fiancé, is dead and buried, nothing but a memory she can’t let go of.

“Do you mean Mademoiselle LeFarge? My teacher?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, miss. My Polly often talked of teaching, but I promised her I’d make a right good bit of money in the army and then I’d come home and take care of her proper, with a church wedding and a little cottage in Dover. She loves the sea, Polly does.”

“But you didn’t come home,” I say. It’s more of a question than a statement, as if I still hope that he might walk into her classroom someday.

“Influenza,” Reginald says. He looks down at his hat, twirls it round in his hands like a wheel of fortune at a country carnival. “Would you give Polly a message for me, miss? Could you tell her that Reggie will always love her, and I’ve still got that muffler she knit for me that Christmas before I left? It held up fine, it did.” He smiles at me, and though I can see the blue of his lips, it’s still a good smile, a true one. “Would you do that for me, miss?”

“Yes, I will,” I whisper.

“Much obliged to you for helping me cross over. And now, I think you should be getting back. They’ll be looking for you here if you stay.” He places his hat on his head and strolls back into the mist from whence he came, till he disappears entirely.

When I return to Madame Romanoff, otherwise known as Sally Carny, she’s singing old church hymns in a shaky voice. The dead have all gone, but she’s still holding on to that tree branch for dear life. She sees me and nearly jumps into my arms. “Please take me back!”

“Why should I take you back after the cavalier way you treat people who are grieving for their loved ones?”

“I never meant no harm, miss. I swear it! You can’t blame a girl fer makin’ a livin’, miss.”

I can’t, really. If she weren’t doing this, Sally Carny would be on the streets, having to pay her way through far more odious, soul-crushing means. “All right. I shall take you back. But only under two conditions.”

“Anything. You name it.”

“First, you shall never, ever, under any circumstances—and that includes public drunkenness—tell a single soul what has happened here tonight. Because if you do . . .” I trail off, not really sure what threats I can make, but it doesn’t matter. Sally’s got her hand across her heart.

“As God is my witness. Not a word!”

“I shall hold you to that. As for the second condition . . .” I’m thinking now of Mademoiselle’s kind face. “You will convey a message from the spirit world to someone in the audience tonight, a woman named Polly. You are to say that Reggie loves his Polly very much, that he still has the muffler she knit him at Christmas.” I add this next bit on my own. “And that he wishes her to move on and be happy. Do you have it?”

The hand goes to the heart again. “Every word.” Sally puts an arm about my shoulders. “But Miss . . . wot would you think a joinin’ up wif me and me boys? Wot wif your gifts and me promotion, we could make a fortune. Fink on it. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Fine, stay, then.”

“Forget I said anything!” Sally shrieks, and I feel reasonably sure I’ve scared her into keeping her mouth shut. Now, to get back. Mother said to think of the place left behind. But I’ve never tried it before, and I’m not sure I can do it. For all I know, Sally and I could be trapped here in the misty woods forever.

“You do know ’ow to get us back, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” I say, irritated.
Dear God, please let this work.
With Sally’s hand in mine, I concentrate hard on the lecture hall. Nothing happens. I open one eye and we’re still in the woods, Sally in a state of complete panic beside me.

“Holy Mother of God! You can’t do it, can you? Sweet Jesus, save me!”

“Will you be quiet?”

She settles into singing old hymns again. Beads of perspiration break out along my upper lip. I close my eyes, and think only of the lecture hall. My breathing grows louder and slower. There’s a pulling sensation. The edges of the forest fold into mist; the mist folds back into a great hole of light, and then we are once again on the lecture hall stage. It has worked! The ticking of the pocket watch is a comfort to my ears, as is the time: 9:49. Our whole excursion into the spirit world has taken only a minute, though Sally Carny’s face seems to have aged ten years in that brief time. I’ve been changed too.

“Madame Romanoff” is back, speaking in a shaky voice.

“I am receiving a communication now from another part of the spirit world for someone named Polly. Reggie wishes her to know he loves her with all his heart. . . .” She trails off.

“Muffler,” I prompt, through clenched teeth.

“That he has the muffler from Christmas and that she must live happily without him. That is all.” She makes a high moaning sound and falls slumped against her chair. Seconds later, she “awakens.”

“The spirits have spoken, and now I must rest my gifts. I thank you all for coming this evening and remind you that I will be communing again in Covent Garden next month.” As the audience applauds, Sally “Madame Romanoff” Carny leaps from her seat and retreats off into the wings, where her confused lackeys wait for an explanation of tonight’s deviation from their plan.

“I knew you were up to something!” Cecily whispers, taking my arm. “Was it extraordinary?”

Elizabeth cuts in. “Did you see the spirits enter Madame Romanoff’s body? Did her hands go ice cold? I’ve heard that can happen.”

I am suddenly the most popular girl at Spence.

“No. I saw no spirits. Her hands were warm and far too moist. And I’m fairly certain her rings were paste,” I say, walking quickly, putting as much distance between Mademoiselle LeFarge and me as possible.

Elizabeth pouts. “But what shall I write my mother of tonight’s experience?”

“Tell her to stop wasting her money on such nonsense.”

“Gemma Doyle, you are an absolute horror,” Cecily grouses.

“Yes,” I say, ending my one-minute reign as Queen of Spence.

“What a fake,” Felicity announces as I join the throng making its way out of the lecture hall. “She believed that bit about Sarah being your mother’s name. And then instead of the real Sarah Rees-Toome we get some lovesick Reggie calling for his Polly.”

“Whatever is the matter with Mademoiselle LeFarge? I thought by now she’d be threatening to give us forty bad-conduct marks each,” Pippa whispers.

“She’s probably waiting for the ride home,” Ann says, looking terrified. “She’ll most likely tell Mrs. Nightwing what we’ve done and we won’t be able to attend the tea dance next month.”

This makes even Felicity blanch, and I’m certain to end up in the stocks or the equivalent. Mademoiselle lags several paces behind us. She doesn’t seem particularly grim. Instead, she dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief and smiles at Inspector Kent, who offers to escort us to our carriage.

“I think everything will be just fine,” I say.

The crowd is a thick knot of people all trying to get to their carriages without getting wet. I’m separated from the rest of them when an older couple charges ahead of me and slows down to a near halt. I can’t get around them and I can just make out Felicity’s blond head moving farther away.

“Can I help you, miss?” The familiar voice is followed by a familiar hand yanking me into a small alley beside the grand house.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Kartik.

“Watching you,” he says. “Care to tell me what tonight’s little stunt was all about?”

“It was just a laugh, that’s all. A bit of schoolgirl fun.”

My name is shouted out on the street.

“They’re looking for me,” I say, hoping he’ll let me go.

He grips my wrist tighter. “Something happened tonight. I could sense it.”

I start to explain. “It was an accident. . . .”

“I don’t believe it!” Kartik kicks hard at a stone on the ground, sends it flying.

“It’s not what you think,” I babble, trying to defend myself. “I can explain—”

“No explanations! We shall give the orders and you shall follow them. No more visions. Do you understand?” His smirk is contemptuous. He’s waiting for me to tremble and agree to his terms. But something inside me has changed tonight. And I cannot go back.

I bite his hand and he yelps, dropping my wrist.

“Don’t you ever speak to me that way again,” I snarl. “I am no longer content to be the scared, obedient schoolgirl. Who are you, a stranger, to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

He growls at me. “I am Rakshana.”

I laugh. “Ah, yes—the great and mysterious Rakshana. The powerful brotherhood who feel threatened by things they cannot understand and have to hide themselves behind a
boy
.” The word hits him as if I had spit. “You’re not a man. You’re their
lackey
. I don’t care about you, or your brother, or your ridiculous organization. From now on, I shall do exactly as I wish and you cannot stop me. Do not follow. Do not watch. Do not even attempt to contact me or you’ll be sorry indeed. Do
you
understand?”

Kartik stands, rubbing his wounded hand. He’s too shocked to say anything. For the first time, he’s utterly silent. And that’s how I leave him.

Mademoiselle LeFarge never does reprimand us. She sits silently the whole ride back, her eyes closed, a sad smile on her face. But in her fingers is the inspector’s calling card. Between the jostling of the carriage and the long evening, everyone has fallen into a twilight sleep. Everyone except me.

I’m on fire with what I’ve seen tonight. Everything in Mary Dowd’s diary is the truth. The realms are real, and my mother is there, waiting for me. Kartik’s warnings are nothing to me now. I don’t know what I’ll find through that door of light, and truthfully, I’m a little afraid to find out. The one thing I do know for certain is that I can no longer ignore whatever power this is inside me. The time has come.

My hand is on Felicity’s shoulder, shaking her gently awake.

“Wh-what is it? Are we back?” she says, rubbing her eyes.

“No, not yet,” I whisper. “I need to call a meeting of the Order.”

“Yes, lovely,” she says drowsily, closing her eyes again. “Tomorrow, then.”

“No, it’s important. Tonight. We must meet tonight.”

I AM
NOT
SUPPOSED
TO
USE
MY
POWERS
. I AM
NOT
supposed to go willingly into a vision. The realms have been closed for twenty years, since whatever happened with Mary and Sarah changed it all. But if I don’t travel that path, I’ll never see my mother again. I’ll never
know
anything. In the pit of my stomach, where intentions bloom into decisions, I know I’m ready to start down that uncertain road.

This is what swirls through my head as I sit in the darkened cave with the others. It’s sticky and wet. The night’s rain has done nothing to cool the air. In fact, it has only made the lingering heat stale and unbearable.

Felicity reads the latest installment from Mary’s diary, but I can’t take in much of it. My secret is coming out tonight, and every part of me is taut with waiting.

Felicity closes the diary. “All right, then, what’s all this about?”

“Yes,” Pippa says sullenly. “Why couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“Because it couldn’t,” I say. My nerves crackle. Every sound is amplified in my ears. “What if I told you the Order was real? That the realms are real?” I take a deep breath. “And that I know how to get there?”

Pippa rolls her eyes. “You pulled me out into this horrible muddy night for a joke?”

Ann snorts and nods at Pippa, showing her solidarity with her new best friend. Felicity catches my eye. She can tell that something has changed.

“I don’t think Gemma is joking,” she says quietly.

“I have a secret,” I say at last. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I don’t spare any of it—my mother’s murder; my visions; what happened when I held Sally Carny’s hand and ended up in the misty woods; the temple and my mother’s voice. The only part I hold back is about Kartik. I’m not ready to share that yet.

When I’ve finished, they look at me as if I am insane. Or wonderful. I’m not entirely sure. And now I understand that truth casts a spell of its own, one I’m not sure how to hold on to, though I’m desperate to try.

“You have to take us,” Felicity says.

“I’m not certain what we’ll find there. I’m not certain of anything, not anymore,” I answer.

Felicity holds out her hand. “I’m willing to risk it.”

I catch sight of a symbol I’ve never noticed before at the very bottom of a cave wall. It’s partially defaced, but some of it is still visible. A woman and a swan. At first glance, it seems as if she’s being attacked by the great white bird, but on closer inspection, it seems as if the woman and the swan are joined together as one. A great mythical creature. A woman prepared to fly, even if she has to lose her legs to do it.

I grab Felicity’s outstretched hand. Her fingers laced in mine are strong.

“Let’s go,” I say.

We light candles, place them in the center of our circle and crowd around their light, holding hands.

“What do we do now?” Felicity asks. The candlelight throws her shadow, tall and thin as a spire, on the wall.

“I’ve only been able to control it the one time, when I tried to get back tonight,” I say in warning. I don’t want to disappoint them. What if I’m unable to do it again and they think I’ve made up all of it?