The Book of Spells (16 page)

Avoiding Catherine’s eyes, Eliza smiled brightly at Helen. “So tell us about yourself, Helen,” she said, patting the stool next to her chair, opposite Catherine. “How did you come to be at Billings?”

Helen glanced around warily at the girls before taking the offered seat. She tucked her ankles and laced her fingers together in her lap.

“I used to live here, Miss Wil—I mean, Miss Eliza,” Helen said. “When it was an orphanage.”

Eliza felt the color rising in her cheeks. “Oh, my . . . well, then . . . your parents are not with you?”

“They were both taken by the measles. As well as my little brother, when he was just a baby,” Helen replied matter-of-factly.

“That’s horrible, Helen. I’m so sorry,” Eliza said.

“There’s no need to pity me,” Helen said, meeting Eliza’s gaze. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s that. I was the lucky one. When the Billings family bought this house to turn it into a dormitory, Mr. and Mrs. Billings were kind enough to take me in and give me room, board, and wages. I owe a world of debt to them.”

“What was this place like when it was an orphanage?” Catherine asked, looking around at the plate glass windows, the scrolling wall sconces, the gleaming floors.

“Nowhere near as nice as this,” Helen said. “This room was used as our classroom, though not many learned a thing in here. It was loud and crowded, and there were too many young ones running around.”

Eliza gazed across the busy, bustling chamber—at the gloves and evening bags strewn about, the fine jewelry being exchanged and borrowed, the rouge and lipstick being applied—unable to imagine the life Helen had experienced here.

“Here, Miss Eliza,” Helen said suddenly, lifting something off the dressing table. “Don’t forget these.”

In the palm of her hand were Eliza’s garnet earrings. Eliza smiled gratefully and fastened them in her earlobes.

“My mother always says that if I keep daydreaming, I’m going to miss out on my real life,” Eliza said with a laugh. “She says May didn’t get engaged by sitting around thinking.” She looked at her reflection wistfully, imagining May seated right in the very same place the year prior. Had she been excited to see George at the welcoming dance? Had they already had some kind of understanding then, or was it just a new flirtation like the one she’d thought she had with Harrison Knox?

Instantly, Eliza’s gaze flicked to Theresa, who was busy checking her hair.

Stop thinking about him,
she reminded herself.
Stop, stop, stop.

“You look beautiful, Eliza,” Catherine said, startling her.

“She’s right,” Helen added. “I’m sure your dance card will be fuller than anyone’s tonight.”

Eliza laughed under her breath. “You don’t have to humor me, you two,” she said, dropping her gold compact into her evening bag. “I know I’ll never be a true beauty like my sister.”

“May?” Catherine’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, you’re far more beautiful than May.”

Eliza was incredulous. “No one is more beautiful than May.”

Helen shook her head. “Miss Catherine is right.” She reached over and plucked a satin ribbon from the dressing table, running it through her fingers. “Your sister . . . Miss Williams’s beauty is expected,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “Yours, Miss Eliza, is far more exotic . . . unique.”

The blush rose through Eliza’s chest, up her neck, and into her face. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, wondering if it could
possibly be true. The shape of her eyes, their deep green color, her gleaming brown hair . . . she supposed these features
were
rather exotic next to May’s blue eyes and blond hair.

Eliza glanced at Helen again. She was gazing, her head tilted, at Alice and Viola in the reflection of the mirror as the two of them practiced waltz steps in the center of the floor. The silk ribbon still slipped through her fingers methodically, over and over again. Eliza was clearly not the only daydreamer in the room. Perhaps she had misread Helen from the beginning. Perhaps the maid wasn’t always staring at Eliza, but merely daydreaming.

“You should come along to the dance,” Eliza offered.

“Oh, yes! I’m sure one of the girls has a dress you could borrow,”

Catherine agreed enthusiastically.

Helen’s tilted head snapped upright, and she blinked down at the ribbon in her hands. “Oh, no.” She quickly replaced the ribbon and stood, smoothing the front of her plain gray skirt. “Thank you, but the headmistress would never allow it.”

“Perhaps there’s a way we could convince her,” Eliza said pointedly, looking at Catherine.

Catherine smiled, immediately understanding Eliza’s meaning.

“No,” Helen said again, more firmly this time. Eliza could have sworn the maid glanced at her necklace once again. “No, thank you, Miss Williams. Please don’t.”

Eliza’s face fell as she looked at Helen. “But you don’t understand. We may be able to—”

“No,” Helen snapped, taking a step back.

Stunned, Eliza was about to ask her what was wrong, but at that moment the headmistress walked into the room, her evening dress of old-fashioned black crepe nearly filling the doorway. Alice slammed her book shut and shoved it under her seat, perching on top of it. The room became so suddenly and deathly silent, Eliza was certain the headmistress was going to suspect something.

Quickly she stepped forward and threw her arms wide to block the view of the parlor. “Good evening, Headmistress Almay!” she said gaily. “My, how lovely you look.”

Miss Almay glared down her nose at Eliza’s sapphire blue dress. “As do you, Miss Williams.” Eliza could tell it pained her to say the words.

Eliza reached for Helen’s hand, intending to ask the headmistress if the girl could come along to the dance, but her fingers caught only air. When she glanced around, Helen was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, ladies,” Miss Almay said, lifting her chin to look past Eliza’s shoulders. “Shall we?”

Alice clapped gleefully. Eliza looked at Catherine, a sizzle of anticipation rushing right through her, pushing all thoughts of Helen out of her mind. The men of Easton Academy awaited!

The dance was held in the solarium of Mitchell Hall on the Easton Academy campus. The marble floors had been freshly waxed, and gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the gorgeous green vistas of eastern Connecticut. The sun was just starting to set behind the trees, dyeing the sky outside a romantic shade of pink, as Eliza and her friends entered the hall. A string quartet played in the corner, and tuxedoed waiters proffered refreshments in crystal glasses.

As soon as Eliza stepped through the door, her eyes met Harrison’s. It was as if he’d been waiting for her all night long. But then Theresa emerged from the throng of girls and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, forcing Eliza to face the awful truth that Harrison belonged to another.

“Come, Eliza,” Catherine said, slipping her arm through her friend’s. “Let’s go get some punch and watch Alice flirt.”

Eliza squeezed Catherine’s arm. The two girls helped themselves to raspberry ice punch from the tray of a passing waiter and, along with Lavender, spent the first half hour of the dance people watching, giggling, and wondering whether Miss Almay would take a turn on the floor with Headmaster Crowe of Easton.

“Theresa and Harrison make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Catherine said, eyeing Eliza in a knowing way.

Eliza blinked and blushed. She’d been caught staring.

“I don’t think so,” Lavender said baldly. “She’s very severe and dark, and he’s so boyish and blond. I don’t think they go together at all.”

Eliza pushed away from the wall and, feeling suddenly lighthearted, bestowed a quick kiss on Lavender’s soft cheek. “I knew I liked you, Lavender Lewis-Tarrington!”

Lavender touched her cheek with her gloved hand and laughed uninhibitedly for the first time since Eliza had met her. Grinning, Eliza turned around and, not caring for propriety or decorum at the moment, grabbed the arm of the first boy she could catch hold of, which turned out to be Jonathan Thackery.

“Well, Miss Williams!” he said, his eyebrows raised. “You look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said. “Do you fancy a turn around the floor?”

Jonathan laid his crystal cup of punch aside and offered his arm. “We may as well start practicing. I’m sure we’ll be expected to dance together all night at the wedding.”

“How very conscientious of you, Mr. Thackery,” Catherine joked.

“I’m nothing if not conscientious,” he replied, teasing in return. “But don’t go anywhere, Miss White. You’re next.”

Catherine laughed as Jonathan squired Eliza to the center of the floor. They danced a waltz together, followed by a quickstep. Before long, Jeff Whittaker cut in, then a dark-haired boy who introduced himself as Cooper Coolidge, which, Eliza thought, was an unfortunately alliterative name. As she danced, Eliza managed to forget all about Harrison Knox. She was truly having a good time. She didn’t even look for him over the shoulders of her many partners. Not more than once or twice, anyway.

And then, just as a new waltz was beginning, a hand came down on Christopher Renaud’s shoulder. It belonged to Harrison. He glanced quickly at Eliza, giving her a private smile that she felt all the way down to her toes.

“Chris, my friend, do you mind if I cut in?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Christopher replied. He stepped away from Eliza and bowed his head. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Eliza barely managed a nod. Harrison’s closeness made her feel heady, and her skin, already warm from dancing, was now blazing hot.

He held his arms out to her and Eliza stepped into them, feeling weightless as his hand touched her waist, as his fingers curled around hers. He had a clean yet musky scent. As they started across the floor she felt that if he didn’t hold her up, she might actually faint from the giddy dizziness of it all.

“That’s a lovely locket, Miss Williams,” he said in a formal tone.

“Thank you,” Eliza said. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s quite unique,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “Much like its owner.”

Eliza blushed and looked away. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the book,” she said quietly.

“I hope you’re enjoying it.”

“Oh, tremendously,” Eliza said, adding playfully, “You know how I feel about tragedy.”

“I do at that,” Harrison replied. They both smiled, dancing in silence for a few moments. “Tell me, Miss Williams,” he said finally. “Are you having a good time, dancing with all the men of Easton?”

Eliza looked up at him through her lashes, detecting an edge to his voice. “I’ve been having a fine time, thank you,” she replied. “Are you enjoying your many turns with Theresa?”

Harrison’s grip on her tightened. “It’s been quite pleasurable, thank you.”

Eliza gulped back a knot of envy, which in the next moment hardened in her stomach in the form of guilt. Why should she be envious? He and Theresa were engaged.

“But it would have been far more pleasurable if I could have been dancing with you,” he whispered, bringing his lips close to her ear.

Eliza’s heart skipped a beat and her foot came down atop his. The two of them tripped together sideways, bumping right into Alice and Jeff.

“My, my. Aren’t we graceful?” Alice joked before turning away.

Eliza dropped Harrison’s hand and took a step back, her face burning as she stared at the floor. But to Eliza’s surprise, he grabbed
it back and pressed his thumb lightly into her palm. She looked up into his eyes.

“Eliza, I . . .”

She swallowed hard and glanced around. Miss Almay was talking to a pair of instructors near the windows, but her gaze was cast sidelong at Eliza. Theresa stood near one of the tables with Jane and Viola, and all of them were staring right at her and Harrison—staring and judging.

“Mr. Knox, we mustn’t—,” she began.

“Eliza, I just wish we could go someplace and talk,” he said quietly. “Ever since that first night . . . you’re all I can think about.”

Eliza’s heart expanded like a flower in the sun. But then she saw something move out of the corner of her eyes: Theresa, her arms crossed over her chest, was making her way toward them.

At that moment, the sound of a crystal goblet crashing against the floor cut through the room.

“Oh, my—! What . . . what’s happening?”

Everyone turned to see Cooper Coolidge, shards of broken glass at his feet, backing away from Marilyn DeMeers. He held his hands up, his eyes wide with horror. Eliza covered her mouth in surprise. Several nasty, yellow boils had popped up on Cooper’s palms.

Girls pressed themselves to the walls as one of the Easton teachers lurched forward to escort a whimpering Cooper from the room. Marilyn, however, simply stood by, a superior smirk on her face. Eliza saw her tuck a small bottle into her evening bag. It seemed Cooper had gotten a bit fresh for Marilyn’s tastes and she’d slipped the boil potion into his drink.

Once the door shut behind Cooper, the room erupted in speculative conversation. Theresa grabbed Catherine by the hands and let out a whooping laugh.

“What was that?” Harrison said, stunned.

A useful distraction,
Eliza thought, resolving to thank Marilyn for saving her from Theresa’s wrath.

Headmistress Almay clapped her hands. “Students! This is no time for gossip! Mr. Coolidge will be fine. Let’s get on with our evening!” she shouted.

“We should keep dancing,” Eliza said. She stepped back into Harrison’s arms, but made sure to keep a good, respectable distance this time.

“But about . . . what I said?” Harrison asked.

Eliza pressed her lips together for a moment, her heart at war with her conscience. She hadn’t come to Billings to meet a boy. And she certainly hadn’t come to Billings to steal a boy who was betrothed to another. But somehow she couldn’t stop herself from looking deep into his eyes and saying, “We will find a way.”

“I am going to marry Jeffrey Whittaker!” Alice announced, jogging to catch up with Eliza and Catherine, who were walking arm in arm on their way back to Crenshaw House. Marilyn and Genevieve were several paces behind, going over the events of the night in rapid French, while Jane, Lavender, and Clarissa had clumped together for some sort of intense conversation peppered with random giggles. Only Theresa walked along untouched by any of the other girls, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her skirts whipping about her legs as she went.