The Sweet Far Thing (15 page)

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Pip. One more weight to add, for tonight I am to return to her and help her cross the river to whatever lies beyond.

“Really, you
are
brooding, Gemma, and have been all afternoon,” Felicity chides as we walk the well-worn path to the chapel for evening prayers. “And I think I know why. I saw you speaking to that Indian,” she says, dismissing him in a word.

“Kartik, do you mean?” I say coolly.

Ann’s ears prick up at this. “He’s back?”

Blast.
Now I’ve got both of them to badger me—Felicity with her snideness and Ann with her disturbing, eerie stare.

“Yes, that’s the one. What has he said this time?” Felicity pantomimes a wild-eyed soothsayer. “Don’t touch the magic! Don’t go into the realms! The ghost of Jacob Marley will take your soul if you do. Stay home and darn your socks like a good, proper girl! Hmmm?”

“I see you’ve not lost your gift for the dramatic. Ann, don’t let her take your talent so easily,” I say, hoping to change the subject.

“He did, didn’t he?” Fee presses.

“He simply came to say goodbye properly.” I don’t want to tell them about Kartik. Fee is no friend of his, and if I told her the truth, she’d only gloat. It would be too mortifying to bear. “But if I am preoccupied, it is because I had a vision today—my first since Christmas.”

Ann’s eyes widen. Felicity yanks me to the side of the path, letting other girls pass us. “What was it?”

“A lady I’ve seen in my dreams before. She’s a magician’s assistant or a medium of some sort, for I see her with a Dr. Van Ripple, an illusionist. She writes on a slate as if in a trance—a very odd message.”

“What?” Felicity prods.

Mrs. Nightwing and Mademoiselle LeFarge are coming up the path. They talk of whatever it is ladies talk about when they are not on display. They seem at ease, jovial. We try to stay a few steps ahead of them.

“‘We are betrayed. She is a deceiver. The Tree of All Souls lives. The key holds the truth.’”

Felicity has been hanging on my every word, but now she laughs. “A tree? Really, Gemma. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell off the bicycle?”

I ignore her insult. “The images in my visions don’t always tell a story that I can see. But I think the lady in the vision might be dead.”

“Dead? Really?” Ann asks with a breathlessness that shows her love of the macabre. “Why do you say
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that?”

“Because I saw her pulled from the Thames, drowned.”

“Drowned,” she repeats, clearly relishing the inherent wicked excitement of it.

Up ahead, the chapel doors stand open. Candlelight brings a flickering drama to the windows, making them seem alive.

“What time are we meeting?” Felicity whispers as we reach the doors.

I turn away. “Not tonight. I’m far too weary from the bicycling. I need sleep.”

“But, Gemma!” Felicity protests. “We have to go back! Pippa is expecting us.”

“We’ll go tomorrow night,” I say, forcing a smile though I feel sick at the prospect of what I must do.

Felicity’s eyes brim with tears. “We’ve finally found our way back, and you want to keep us from happiness.”

“Fee…,” I start, but she turns her back, and I realize I shall have to allow them to hate me tonight though it is hard to bear.

The woods dance with the sudden brightness of lanterns. The Gypsies have come; Kartik is among them, and I can scarcely keep myself from trying to catch his eye, no matter how much I loathe myself for it.

“Here now, what’s this? What is the matter?” Mrs. Nightwing demands. Sensing a fight, the girls pour out of the church and congregate at its doors, despite Mademoiselle LeFarge’s entreaties for them to go inside. She might as well try rounding up chickens in the rain.

“We watch the woods,” Ithal explains. He has a pistol stuck into his belt.

“Watch the woods for what, pray tell?” Nightwing bristles.

“Mother Elena does not like what she feels. I do not like what I see.” He jerks his head toward the workmen’s camp.

“There will be no trouble between you and Mr. Miller’s men,” Mrs. Nightwing says in a commanding tone. “Spence has always offered kindness to Mother Elena. But do not push me too far.”

“We offer protection,” Ithal asserts, but Mrs. Nightwing will not be swayed.

“We require no such protection, I assure you. Good night.”

Kartik places a hand on Ithal’s shoulder and speaks to him in Romani; Ithal nods. Not once does Kartik look at me. At last, Ithal motions to his men.

“We go,” he says, and the Gypsies turn back toward the woods and their camp.

“Rubbish. Absolute madness. Protection! That is my duty, and I should think I am rather accomplished
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at it,” Mrs. Nightwing grumbles. “To prayers, girls!”

Nightwing and LeFarge shoo us into the church. I take one last glance at the woods. The men have moved on, their lanterns burning small holes in the evening gloom. All except for one. Kartik is still there, hidden behind a tree, silently watching over us.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ICONSIDER NOT GOING . IWRESTLE WITH THE THOUGHT for the better part of an hour. I imagine Fee’s and Ann’s faces the next time we travel to the realms and Pippa is simply gone. I wonder how the factory fire girls will get on without her. I don’t know for certain that this is the right course, but I’ve promised, and so I must go.

I wait until Ann’s snoring deepens, and then I sneak down the stairs, hoping I’ll not be caught by Brigid, Nightwing, Felicity, or anyone else. Under the shadow of the East Wing’s skeleton, I put my hand to the secret door. It flares to life, and I steal into the realms by myself, running all the way.

Pippa is waiting by the bramble wall. “You came,” she says, and I cannot tell whether there is relief or fear in her voice. Perhaps both.

“Yes.”

“Fee will never know,” Pippa says, as if reading my mind.

We take the path to the garden and the river. I am at a loss as to what I should do. Is there something I should say—a prayer or a spell? If so, I do not know it. So I close my eyes for a moment and say silently,
Please. Please help my friend Pippa.

A small boat bobs on the river behind a tall bunch of marigolds. We wade through the marshy grass, and I pull it to us.

Pip picks a marigold and twirls it in her hands. “It’s so beautiful here. I forget sometimes.”

“We can go whenever you are ready,” I say gently.

She tucks the posy behind her ear. “I’m ready now.”

We settle ourselves in the rocking boat and push off from the shore. I have ridden to adventure, joy, and danger on this river, but never has my journey been tinged with such melancholy. This is goodbye forever, and though I feel it’s right, it’s still very hard to let her go. I keep seeing the Pip I knew before,
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the Pip who called me friend.

I steer toward the other side of the river, where the horizon glows the golden orange of sunset. It makes me feel sleep-drunk, as if I am napping in the sun. And then, suddenly, the boat stops. It will go no further.

“Why have we stopped?”

“I don’t know,” I say. I try to push off, to no avail.

“I thought you had the power to take souls across,” Pippa says, sounding panicked.

“I’ve never done it before. You’re the first. I don’t think I can take you any further. I think you have to go the rest of the way on your own.”

Pip’s eyes widen. “No, I can’t! I can’t go in the water. Please, please don’t make me.”

“Yes, you can,” I assure her, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my nerves. “I’ll help you. Here, grab hold of my arms.”

I ease her into the water and let go. Her skirts billow out like lotus blossoms. “Goodbye, Gemma,” she says, moving against the current. Watching her go is like seeing a part of myself vanish, and I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from shouting, “Don’t. Come back. Please.” The light is swallowing her up. My cheeks are wet with tears.
Goodbye, Pip.

With a sudden lurch, she slips below the water. Her hands thrash violently. She pops up, coughing up water, desperate for air.

“Gemma!” she screams, terrified. “Help me!”

Panic seizes me. Is that what is supposed to happen? But no, I’ve seen other souls cross without such anguish. “Pip!” I scream. I lean far over the boat. She grabs my hand and I pull her aboard.

“Go back,” she says, coughing. “Go back!”

It isn’t until we reach the shore safely and Pippa falls into the garden on her knees that she begins to breathe easily.

“What happened?” I say.

“I couldn’t cross,” she cries. “It wouldn’t let me.” Her eyes are wide with fear. “It wouldn’t let me!”

“She cannot cross. It’s too late.” Gorgon slides into view.

Pippa grabs my arm, frantic. “What is…she…saying?”

“You ate the berries,” Gorgon hisses. “Over time, they have worked their magic on you and claimed you for the realms. You are one of us now.”

I think back to that horrible day when Pippa was left behind while we escaped. I remember the creature chasing her into the river. I remember later finding her, cold and pale, in the water. And I remember the
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fateful moment when she made her choice to stay by eating the berries. Why did I leave her? Why didn’t I fight harder to save her?

Pippa rushes toward Gorgon and beats her with closed fists. The snakes roar to life, snapping and hissing. One nips Pip. She yelps and falls to the grass, cradling her hand. Her sobs come as hard as a choking rain.

“Do you mean…to tell me…that I shall have to stay here? Forever?”

Gorgon’s yellow eyes betray no emotion. “Your lot is cast. You must adapt. Accept and live on.”

“I can’t!” Pippa wails. She chokes out words between sobs. “Gemma…you! You told me…I…had to cross!”

“I’m sorry. I thought—”

“Now…now you tell me I shall have to stay here…in the realms forever! All alone!”

Pippa is in a heap upon the ground. She rolls her forehead back and forth against the cool grass.

“You’re not alone. You have Bessie and Mae and the others,” I say, desperate to offer some hope, but even I can hear how hollow it sounds.

Her head whips up quickly; her eyes glitter with tears. “Yes, those horrid girls, with their hideous burns and coarse manners! What sort of friends are they? They were a way for me to pass the time—they’ll never replace Fee and you and Ann. Please don’t leave me here, Gemma. Take me back. Please, please, please…” She grabs fistfuls of grass in her tiny hands, crying as if her heart will break. I can scarcely hold back my own tears.

I sit beside her, try to stroke her hair. “There, there, Pip.”

She pushes my hand away. “It’s your fault!”

I’ve never felt so desperate, so awful. “Wh-what if you had magic to help you?” I blurt out between my own sobs.

Pip’s tears slow. “Magic? Like we used to?”

“Yes, I—”

Gorgon cuts me off. “Most High. May I have a word?”

The ship’s plank lowers to the ground with a soft creaking, and I climb on board and take my preferred seat near her face. “What is it?”

Gorgon whispers to me in that syrupy hiss of a voice. “I would warn you against hastiness, Most High.”

“But I can’t leave her here like this! She was one of us!”

“The girl has made her choice. Now she must accept the terms. She may choose the Winterlands, or she may choose another path. She need not fall.”

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I look over at Pip, who’s tearing blades of grass neatly in two. Her skin is pale, but her cheeks are ruddy with grief. She seems a lost lamb.

“Pip has no talent for making decisions,” I say, feeling more tears threaten.

“Then it is time to learn,” Gorgon says.

She’s behaving as if she were my mother, as Miss Moore and Miss McCleethy have. I’ve done with people telling me what to do. Tom and Grandmama and Mrs. Nightwing. So many who would lace me up tightly with their good intentions.

Gorgon is unbothered by my tears. “Sympathy can be a blessing and a curse. Be careful yours does not trap you. This is her battle, not yours.”

“You are too hard by half. I don’t wonder that you are the last of your kind,” I say. I am sorry for it at once. But the damage is done. Something like pain moves across Gorgon’s usually mysterious face. The snakes lie down softly, rubbing against her cheeks like children in need of soothing.

“It is not the way of things,” she says.

“It wasn’t the way of things. Everything is changing, and now that I have this power, I intend to make changes of my own,” I snap.

Gorgon searches my face for what seems an eternity. At last, she closes her eyes, shutting me out. “Do what you will.”

I have insulted her. I shall have to tend to that wound later. For now, I must help Pippa. She is sobbing, stretched out upon the shore, blades of grass strangled tight in her closed fists. She sits up with ferocity.

“You’ll go on, all of you. To dances and parties, marriage and children. You’ll find happiness, and I shall be here forever, with no one but those horrid girls from the factory who’ve never even been to a tea.”

She falls in on herself, rocking like a small child. I cannot bear her pain or my guilt for having brought her to the realms in the first place—and for not being able to help her now. I would do anything, say anything, to take this from her.

“Pip,” I say, “shhh. Give me your hands.”