Eternal (8 page)

“Or Sebastian,” Miss Scratton replied.

“But Sebastian’s story is over,” said Evie with an effort.

“That’s what we—what we achieved last term. Why would he be mixed up in this?”

Miss Scratton frowned. “It depends who sent the message. Is it a warning or a trap? We can’t be sure. We might be tempted to assume that the message is friendly, perhaps a sign from Agnes, as you were permitted to open her door, Sarah. And you came away with a great prize, the Book itself.”

“Yes,” I said. I had retrieved the Book from the stables and hidden it in my sports bag only a few minutes earlier, and now I took it out and handed it to the High Mistress.

She laid it on her desk, lightly tracing the outline of the embossed silver letters on the cover: The Mysticke Way.

As she touched the Book, other letters formed, silvery and uncertain. They glimmered in front of my eyes, and I saw the words THE PATH OF HEALING melt and dissolve into another phrase: THE PATH TO HELL. When Miss Scratton took her hands away, the milky, flickering words faded and vanished.

She looked up at us, her eyes narrowed. “This Book has brought either hel or healing to the many souls who have come into contact with it. Both madness and wisdom lie in its pages. Perhaps we might believe that we are far above any temptation to use it for evil, but we must be careful.”

“What about the writing on the door?” I asked. It said

‘Listen to the drums.’ Do you know what the message means, Miss Scratton?” I asked. “Can the Book help us?”

“If the message is important, it wil be made clear in time,” Miss Scratton replied. “There is a time for al things.

They cannot be forced.” She looked at me and gave me a tired smile. “Dear Sarah, you are always eager to do the right thing. But sometimes we have to wait until the right path is revealed to us. Patience is a neglected virtue.”

“But what about this?” Helen pul ed up her sleeve and showed Miss Scratton the livid mark on her arm. “I can’t just wait to find out about this. Sarah told me what the Book said. People thought marks like this were evil. An omen of death.”

The High Mistress seemed to suppress an exclamation, but she merely said, “Cover it up and show no one else.

Some force is reaching out for you.”

“Is it—my mother?”

“Celia Hartle’s spirit has not left this val ey,” Miss Scratton answered gravely. “The remnants of the coven have been gathering, and rumors of her new and deadlier powers are being spread by her faithful favorites.”

For many months Miss Scratton had masqueraded as a member of the coven in order to track their plans. I hoped fervently that they had no suspicion that she was in fact acting against them and helping us.

“But the coven is finished, isn’t it?” said Evie. “Their dreams of immortality died along with Mrs. Hartle.”

“Sadly, there is no limit on evil. It is like foul water that wil mold itself to any new shape that it finds. The hatred of evil for innocence is eternal and unchanging. The Dark Sisters are fewer than they were, as any waverers were frightened off by Mrs. Hartle’s apparent death. But she is not truly dead, Evie. She has rejected that great mystery with al her twisted force. And those of her fol owers who remain—and even I do not know al their identities—are unyielding in their loyalty.”

“Do they stil think you are one of them?” I asked.

“They do not trust me entirely, and my plans for the school have horrified the members of the coven who work here. Secrecy and rigid rules suited their purposes. I have had to convince them that in opening up the doors of Wyldcliffe we wil deflect some of the talk and suspicion that had begun to hover over the school like clouds.

Already some parents have withdrawn their daughters this term, and more wil go if the school does not change.” She sighed. “In other circumstances, I could have wished to stay here. To be the High Mistress, guiding so many young hearts and minds, would be a worthwhile task.” She fel silent, as if brooding on a deep, insoluble problem, then spoke again. “In the meantime, the Dark Sisters have one aim, and that is to serve Celia Hartle’s corrupted spirit.

And in turn she has one simple aim—revenge. She hates you for depriving her of Sebastian’s strength and powers and soul. Sadly, I fear she hates Helen most of al .”

“I hate her too,” Helen said in a whisper. “Was it her stopping me passing through the air? It is the only freedom I’ve had al these years—I won’t let her take that from me. I won’t!”

Miss Scratton glanced at Helen with cool pity.

“Remember that forgiveness is stronger than hatred, Helen. It could wel have been her. But there are other hidden forces at work in Wyldcliffe. As I told you before, deep in the tangle of caves and tunnels under the hil s there is a crack, a fractured time shift between this world and the shadows and the unseen lands of the past. You have reached out to mysteries, and this makes you vulnerable to many influences, both good and bad.

However, for the moment, I think we can assume that if Celia Hartle is roaming the edges of this world once again, the daughter who dared to defy her wil be uppermost in her thoughts. I am sorry, Helen. This is a great burden to you. I wish I could do more.”

“But there must be something we can do!” I said. “Isn’t there any way of protecting Helen from her?”

Miss Scratton lowered her voice. “I have already told you too much in revealing that I am a Guardian and in speaking of these matters. That is why I may not be al owed . . . I wish . . . but I wil not leave you powerless or unprotected. Tomorrow night—” Miss Scratton broke off, listening.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Miss Scratton hastily thrust the Book back into my gym bag and pushed it into my hands.

“Enter!” she cal ed. Then she continued in a cold, loud voice. “Helen Black, your work last term was disgraceful. I would expect better from a ten-year-old. Al three of you need to improve . . . ah, Miss Dalrymple, do come in, I have nearly finished.” She turned back to us with a severe expression. “You seem determined to be a bad influence on one another’s studies. I do not wish to see you sitting next to one another in class from now on. And you wil each bring me your notes on the French Revolution first thing tomorrow morning. You are dismissed.”

We filed out silently. Miss Scratton’s pretended anger was convincing, but I wondered if it would fool Miss Dalrymple. We knew that she had been one of Celia Hartle’s inner circle, although she smiled at us hypocritical y as we walked past her into the corridor. Then she closed the study door firmly in our faces and shut herself up with Miss Scratton. I looked at the others. They both seemed depressed, occupied with their thoughts.

“What do you think Miss Scratton was going to say about tomorrow night?” I whispered. “How can we find out?

We need to—”

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about it now?” asked Evie wearily. “My head is kil ing me. I’m sure Miss Scratton wil tel us whatever we need to know later. Until then, why don’t we just forget it?”

“Evie, we can’t just ignore—”

“Do you real y think Miss Scratton wants us to do those notes on the French Revolution?” she interrupted. Her face was pale and its expression distant.

“I don’t know, maybe we should,” I said doubtful y. “Miss Dalrymple heard her tel us to do them. We should act like Miss Scratton is nothing more—or less—to us than the High Mistress.”

“Bother. I wanted to . . . oh wel . I’m going to the library to get started straightaway.”

“We could do it together,” I offered.

“No. It’s okay.” Evie walked away in the direction of the library. Helen watched her go, then shrugged and walked off too, heading out to the grounds. What was happening to us? I wanted to pul us al together to fight our enemies, but it was like trying to catch smoke.

I sighed and turned to my only comfort—my horses. I would go down to the stables before starting the notes Miss Scratton had asked for. When I reached the cobbled yard five minutes later, my heart tightened in my chest.

Josh was taking a break from his work, sitting on a bale of hay with his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up and smiled. “Hey! Sarah!”

I smiled back. For one moment I thought that he actual y wanted to see me. For one moment, that was al .

“Have you seen Evie anywhere?” Josh jumped up and walked over to me eagerly. “She promised to meet me after class. She must be free by now.”

My stupid smile froze. How could I have been so naive?

A sick tremor of rejection churned in my stomach. I was such a fool. Josh didn’t want me. And he wasn’t the only one. Helen was withdrawing into herself again, and Evie—

my best, my dearest friend—had made it perfectly clear that she wanted to get away from me. I had imagined myself to be the faithful anchor of our little world, but it looked as though I had been deluding myself. In that moment, I felt total y humiliated and useless.

“Sarah? I was asking about Evie? Do you know where she is?”

“Um . . . Miss Scratton has given us some extra work.

Evie went off to the library to do it. I don’t know how long she’l be.”

Josh frowned. “That’s a pain. I have to get home now to help my mother, then get down to some studying. Did I tel you I’m going to try to get into vet school next year?”

“Oh . . . no . . . that’s great, Josh.”

His smile shone out again. “Yeah. I’m stil going to keep up my riding, though, but I think a career looking after horses properly would be better than mucking out stables for the likes of Celeste, don’t you?”

I laughed feebly. “Oh, definitely.” I just wanted to get away. This was even more painful than I had expected. I felt plain and dumpy and total y uninteresting to anyone.

Despite my good intentions, my raw longings for attention and sympathy came flooding back. But I was just kidding myself. My dream of love had been exactly that—a dream, a total fantasy.

“I was tel ing Evie about it yesterday,” Josh went on.

“She’s been encouraging me to apply to col ege. We’ve been in touch al through the holidays, but it’s so good to see her again.”

So they’d been writing and phoning each other. Another thing that Evie hadn’t told me.

“I wish she’d been able to meet me tonight. I real y wanted to show her some stuff before I left. I think she’s going to be amazed by it.” Josh hesitated, looking at me as if he was making up his mind about something. “I wanted to give it to her myself, but it’s more important that she sees it. Hang on.” He dived into the tack room and came out a few moments later holding what looked like a smal bundle of papers stuffed in an envelope, and a tightly folded note.

“Can you give her this? Don’t let anyone else see it, except Helen, of course. It’s some incredible news. Wel , I’l let Evie tel you about it.” He handed me the bundle and the note. “And tel her I’l see her tomorrow, okay? You won’t forget? Thanks, Sarah, you’re so good.”

Good old Sarah. Always reliable, always there. Josh swung away with his graceful, confident stride. I waited until he had gone, fighting temptation. As soon as he was out of sight I gave in weakly and unfolded the note. Dear Evie, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Meet me by the gates before breakfast tomorrow. I can’t wait to hear what you think of this. . . .

Bang, boom, bang . . . My heart thudded, wounded by jealousy and despair. Why was I bothering? I had tried to be strong and good, but no one wanted anything that I had to offer. I looked up, and the evening sun dazzled my eyes.

Bang, boom . . . Hope drained away. The hil s seemed ful of watchers. The drums were coming closer, but I stil didn’t know what they meant.

I turned away from where Josh had been standing and leaned my head against Starlight’s neck. No one could help me. Nobody wanted me.

My heart ached for everything that I might have had if Cal had not moved on. I wished with al my soul that I could ride away from Wyldcliffe and fol ow Cal and his Gypsy brothers over the horizon, into a different life.

MARIA MELVILLE’S WYLDCLIFFE JOURNAL

APRIL 6, 1919

It was when we walked to the village church one Sunday that I first saw the Gypsy Brothers. We were walking as usual in a “crocodile”—a long row of neat girls dressed in Sunday-best coats and hats. I was walking next to Violet Deane from the lower form. No one ever walks with her, as she stutters. Poor Violet, I don’t mind her slow speech. As we walked together I told her the names of all the plants and trees that I could see. Some I already knew from home, others Miss Scarsdale had shown me.

“Maria Melville, we do not need you to make a commentary on the local wildlife,” Miss Featherstone scolded. She told me to walk in silence like the others, but just then a murmur ran along the line of girls like a flame running through dry grass.

“Look! Look over there in the field! They’ve come back. We saw them last year, don’t you remember?”

“Oh, look at their little carts! Aren’t they sweet?”

But there were other whispers too.

“That man is staring at us.”

“How black his eyes are!”

“What a ruffian he looks—it shouldn’t be allowed.”

Now Miss Featherstone was really angry.

“Young ladies, you will not notice, you will look straight ahead, and you will remain silent!”

But we couldn’t help noticing. A Gypsy camp had sprung up overnight on the edge of the village. It was like something from a fairy tale. There were brightly colored wooden houses on wheels and a smoking campfire and horses and dogs. And the people! I thought my heart would burst with excitement. There were people like me with dark hair and skin. Their eyes seemed full of sharp wisdom, as if they could see far away and yet right inside my heart. I stood staring, and a boy of about sixteen grinned at me. I smiled back. This was my family—my real family, like Adamina and Stefan.

“Maria Melville, stop gaping like a street urchin,”

Miss Featherstone snapped at me. “Take two bad conduct marks.”

After that we marched in silence into the stone church, which was too cold and empty for my God to inhabit. Later Miss Featherstone told us that we were forbidden to visit the village because of the