Ravencliffe (Blythewood series) (26 page)

“Hall?” Livermore said. “Ah yes, believe I played snooker with your grandfather, Throckmorton. Good stock, the Halls. You should be dancing.”

“Yes, you should be dancing,” Scarlet Cummerbund echoed, blowing smoke rings up into the air. He wasn’t even holding a cigar, I realized with a chill. Worse, the smoke rings summoned one of the black-clad young men. He clicked his heels together as if he were in a military parade and bowed to me. As he lifted his head I braced myself to look at his face—terrified that he had none—but the man had the requisite, if bland, features: brown hair, brown eyes, thin nose, brown mustache, red lips.

“Would you care to dance, Miss?” he asked in a smooth, polite voice.

“Oh, thank you, but no, not now—”

“Nonsense, Ava,” Dame Beckwith said. “You
must
dance.”

“Yes, you must,” Livermore and Cummerbund said in unison.

“No, really—”

But the polite, bland-featured gentleman had already taken my elbow and was leading me onto the dance floor. I tried to free myself, but his grip was like iron. I looked back at Mrs. Calendar, who was leading Dame Beckwith into one of the sleighs. She would free Dame Beckwith if anyone could. I’d put up with this one dance and then rejoin my friends.

My partner put his arm around my waist and spun me deftly into the whirl of dancers. I let out a little gasp at the speed and he said, “Don’t worry, Miss, I’ve got you.”

That was exactly what I was worried about. His arm around my waist felt like an iron manacle. I looked into his bland face, searching for malice in his brown eyes, but saw nothing there but polite expectancy. He was humming along with the music like a child.

“Who are you?” I began, and then, recalling my manners, amended, “We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Avaline Hall.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hall,” he replied. “I’m . . . I’m . . .” For half a second he lost the rhythm of the dance and we nearly collided with another couple—Myrtilene, I saw, and her dance partner. Then my partner laughed.

“Well, ain’t that the darndest thing. I seem to have forgotten my name. But don’t you worry your little head about that. I do remember that my father owns the largest chain of dry good stores east of the Mississippi and I went to all the best schools. I’m sure my name will come back to me by the time we’re standing in front of the altar.”

“I have absolutely no intention of marrying you, Mr. . . . Whoever-you-are.”

My partner laughed. “That’s what all the girls say, but they don’t mean it.”

“Well, I
do
mean it. Please take me off the dance floor now.”

“Look, it’s time for one of those divert-i-ments you gals are so good at. Come, let’s watch it together.”

Still gripping my waist, my partner pulled me off the dance floor. A troop of dancers dressed like China dolls pirouetted out and began to perform a jerky ballet. I saw Herr Hofmeister standing in the doorway waving his baton, directing the girls’ movements, plucking the air with his gloved hand as though playing an invisible harp. One of the Chinese dolls—could that be Cam Bennett?—moved at his direction as if connected to him by strings. I felt my partner’s arm twitching to the same rhythm.

“That’s what all the girls say,” he murmured. “Pleased to meet you. All the best schools. But they don’t mean it.” I looked around and saw that all the young men were mouthing similar inanities. And it didn’t seem to bother the girls—
our
girls. There was Beatrice Jager beaming at her partner as if he were reciting Plato, when all he was saying was “I do love croquet” over and over again. And there was Wallis Rutherford goggling at a chinless specimen prattling on about wanting at least a dozen children.

On the fringes of the crowd I spied Nathan and Helen and Daisy working to separate out our girls to de-mesmerize them, but their dancing partners wouldn’t let them go. When Nathan tried to pry Susannah Dewsnap out of one man’s grip he backhanded Nathan in the jaw without a change of expression and calmly remarked that he preferred yachting in Oyster Bay to Nantucket. And all the while the men kept their eyes on Herr Hofmeister’s twirling baton.

That was it—Hofmeister was controlling
them
. We had to stop Hofmeister. We needed the bells. What had happened to our teachers? Had they been caught?

I squirmed against my partner’s arm, but he only tightened his grip.

“Let me go!” I screamed.

He turned to me, his face blank as paste, and said, “That’s what all the girls say, but they don’t mean it.”

My blood turned cold at his words and then curdled when each and every one of the young men turned toward me in unison and spoke in van Drood’s voice. “That’s what your mother said, but she didn’t mean it.” Then like clockwork the young men swept their partners onto the dance floor.

As I struggled against my captor’s grip, the ballroom doors slammed open with a bang that disrupted the flow of the dance. For a moment the girls, arrested in their movements, stumbled like automatons whose clockwork had broken. Their partners also stopped and looked toward the door to see what had caused the disruption, their bland, plump faces registering the annoyance of men used to getting their way. Who—or what—had come?

I turned to see the wide doorway darkened by a cluster of cloaked figures. They stood in a V formation, the tallest figure at the point, their cloaks dripping with icicles as though they had swum here beneath the frozen river. I thought of the
tenebrae
under the ice—but then the lead figure took a step forward and whisked his cloak back over his shoulders with a sound like . . .
wings
.

“Raven!” I breathed.

“We heard you were having a dance,” he said in his clear, rich voice, sweeping his plumed cap off his head. Under his cloak he was dressed in black leather pants, a black leather vest, and a flowing white shirt. He looked like a pirate from one of Mr. Pyle’s illustrated adventure books. “I guess our invitations were lost in the mail.”

28

“DARKLINGS!” DAME BECKWITH
hissed.

“They’re here to help,” I said, trying to wrench myself out of my captor’s arms. When Raven saw me struggling he crossed the dance floor in two strides and loomed inches from my captor’s face.

“
Let her go
,” he growled in a barely human voice.

“I lost her mother to one of you.” My captor spoke in van Drood’s voice. “I won’t lose her, too. Now why don’t you leave. Your kind aren’t welcome here.”

Raven seemed momentarily taken aback by van Drood’s voice coming out of the rosy lips of the bland-faced man, but he recovered quickly. He looked around the ballroom at the coterie of well-dressed young men frozen like players in a tableau vivant. Then he turned back to the one who still gripped my arm. He stooped his head within a hair of the man’s ear and growled. “You’re not even brave enough to show yourself in person, van Drood. No wonder Evangeline Hall chose Falco over you.”

The man holding me made a hissing sound, like air leaking out of a pneumatic tire, and his hands fell from my arms. Raven swept me away from him onto the dance floor. The orchestra had begun to play again—but a completely different tune from the syrupy strains of
Die Puppenfee
. Glancing up at the balcony I saw that a group of Darklings had taken the musicians’ places. The music had a rhythm that made my feet skip over the dance floor. As we spun around the room I saw the Darklings shouldering away the investors, who huffed and puffed but retreated. Around me girls came awake, their cheeks turning pink beneath the pasty doll makeup, their limbs loosening and breaking free of the puppet master’s strings.

“
This
is what you planned with Nathan,” I said.

“Yes,” Raven admitted. “And I wish I could dance all night with you, but your Nathan has another plan.”

“He’s not
my
Nathan,” I objected.

“You may have to tell him that,” Raven whispered in my ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers all the way down my spine. “But right now it looks like he wants you to go with him.”

He’d danced me to the door, where Nathan, Helen, and Daisy waited for me. Nathan took my hand, but his eyes were on Raven.

“Can you handle things from here?” he asked.

“Yes, I think my friends have got things under control,” Raven replied, surveying the room.

“Maybe for now,” said Nathan, “But we have to get to the bell tower. The others must have run into a problem.” He, too, was looking around the room. When his eyes came to rest on the investors, his brow furrowed. They were clustered together now, looking disgruntled. “I do wonder what
they’re
planning, though.”

“Oh, let me go find out,” Daisy cried. “I’ve always wanted to be a spy.”

“Be careful, Daisy,” I said. “Van Drood is channeling himself through them. They might try to mesmerize you again.”

“And you be careful,” Raven said. “All of you. They’ll have placed guards on the bell tower.”

I turned back to say good-bye to Raven. “Thank you—”

He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. “It’s always a pleasure to dance with you, Miss Hall,” he said formally. “I hope we shall have many more dances.” Then he swept away.

I turned back to find Nathan’s eyes on me. I expected him to say something about Raven, but all he said was, “Let’s go.”

We hurried to the North Wing and found Miss Sharp, Miss Corey, and Mr. Bellows on the last landing before the belfry. Seven Dianas were standing guard in front of the door, bows drawn, eyes glazed.
Their training makes it easier for me to get inside their heads
, van Drood had once told me. I had no doubt that they would shoot us if we tried to get past them, and there wasn’t any room to navigate in the narrow passage.

I held the repeater in my hand and pressed the stem. All evening I’d had it programmed to play the de-mesmerizing tune, but now it played a refrain from
Die Puppenfee. It must be picking up the tune inside the Dianas’ heads
, I thought. Hastily, I stopped it before it mesmerized the rest of us.

I stepped toward Georgiana, who stood in the center of the line, and heard the vibration of her bow string as she pulled it a fraction tighter, adjusting her stance so the tip of her arrow was aimed directly at my heart.

I heard the deep bass bell tolling in my head, signaling danger. Not just for me, but for all of Blythewood. I knew that if I couldn’t get past the Dianas something terrible would happen. Something terrible
was
happening. Beneath the tolling of the bell I heard the orchestra playing
Die Puppenfee
again. Then I heard a loud crack—as if the very stones of the castle had snapped under the strain of the ice holding us captive.

“Gunfire,” Nathan said. “We should go back—”

“Wait!” I said, even though every fiber of my being ached to go to Raven. “We have to get to the bells. And I think I know how.”

I closed my eyes. Inside my head the only sound was the bass gong of my danger bell, banishing everything else. I could feel its vibrations deep in my belly and in the tips of my fingers and toes. I could taste the metallic tang of the bell’s clapper on my tongue. I concentrated on the ringing of the bell and let myself hear all the fears that went with each toll. Fear of being exposed as a monster, fear of losing my home, my friends, Raven . . . fear of making a choice and having it be the wrong one . . . I let myself feel each one of those fears until I thought I would explode with the weight of them.

And then I drove the bell out of my head. I felt it rise out of me and move up into the belfry, where the bells of Blythewood began to ring out—only the sound they made was muted. They had been muffled. They were loud enough, though, to get through to the Dianas. Georgiana was blinking as though she wasn’t sure where she was.

“Now!” I cried, reaching for her bow. I plucked it out of her now-limp hands. Helen yanked Alfreda Driscoll’s bow, screaming, “Ha!” My friends were able to disarm the other Dianas and then we were racing up into the belfry. We ripped off the cotton batting that had been wrapped around the bell clappers to mute the bells—that was why they hadn’t rung out!—and then each took a rope while Nathan called out the changes to muster the bells into order. We rang the de-mesmerizing tune again and again. As we did, the ice clinging to the castle cracked and fell to the ground.

Then I heard someone scream.

I peered over the battlement to see who had been struck by the falling icicles. I was hoping it was Herr Hofmeister, but it was one of the investors. He was lying on the flagstones, flailing his arms like a cockroach. Herr Hofmeister stood above him yelling to “be quick about it—the sleighs are leaving!”

I looked up at the drive. The sleighs were pulled up to the door, where they were being loaded . . .

With
girls
.

I heard Daisy’s voice rise up. “Oh, a sleigh ride, what ripping fun!” Then I heard Beatrice Jager cry, “I’ve never been on a sleigh!”

“No!” I screamed. “Don’t go with them!”

But the bells drowned out my voice. Shouldn’t the bells have banished the spell by now?

“Oh,” I heard Daisy again, her voice less gleeful now. “I say, perhaps another time.”

But she was silenced by a man in a beaver coat who shoved her into the sleigh. I heard other girls objecting now, but it was too late. The sleighs were moving out, their bells jangling madly as they raced, not to the drive as I expected, but down to the river. The sleighs slid onto the ice, where they were swallowed by a cloak of shadows—the
tenebrae
rising from under the ice to flock around the sleighs—and then disappeared into the night with the stolen girls.

When we got downstairs we found the Darklings held at gunpoint by a gang of tough-looking men—the sleigh drivers, I realized. Behind the Darklings were a group of girls and teachers huddled in a mass. The Darklings had spread their wings to keep the sleigh drivers from taking the rest of the girls, but they couldn’t attack the drivers without getting shot themselves. When the sleigh drivers saw us, their leader yelled, “Let’s go, boy-os!” and with a volley of pistol shots aimed at the ceiling, they fled outside into the last remaining sleigh. Mr. Bellows, Nathan, Raven, and Marlin ran after them. I joined them.

“We’ll follow the sleighs,” Raven yelled, his wings spread out for flight. “You stay here and make sure there’s no residual spell. Don’t worry; we’ll find them.” He took to the sky with Marlin and two other Darklings following. My wings itched to go with them, but the sounds from inside—moans, shrieks, hysterical crying—told me I was needed here.

I went inside and found a scene of utter chaos. Dolores Jager ran past me, looking for her sister, until Cam grabbed her and told her that Beatrice had been among the girls taken in the sleighs.

“But she can’t have gone without me!” she cried. They were the first words I’d ever heard from her.

A crowd of students was huddled around a small body on the floor. I thought it was a girl at first, but as I got closer I saw it was Gillie. Dame Beckwith crouched over him, pressing her shawl to the wound in his chest. She was calling for Mr. Malmsbury to help her carry him to the infirmary.

Seeing me, she demanded to know where the rest of the girls had gone. When I told her that they had been taken in the sleighs, her face fell. She seemed to age ten years in ten seconds.

“But Raven and the others are following them,” I said, trying to sound more optimistic than I felt. “They’re sure to find them and rescue them.”

A strangled sound came from Gillie. Dame Beckwith leaned down, angling her ear to Gillie’s lips, which were working to form words. I knelt beside him and listened with my Darkling ears.

“Send . . . the . . . hawks.”

“He wants us to send the hawks after the girls,” I said.

“Of course!” Dame Beckwith cried, her eyes shining. “You’ve trained them to track the girls, haven’t you? Is there a command?”

He shook his head, his eyes on me. “Ava . . .” he gasped. “Ava . . . knows . . .” Before he could finish, his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

“What did he say?” Dame Beckwith cried, staring at me.

“That I know how.” I saw Dame Beckwith’s eyes widen. The only creatures other than Gillie who knew how to speak to birds were Darklings.

“I, er, heard him practicing with the hawks once. I think I know the command.”

“Then go,” Dame Beckwith said, freeing one hand from Gillie’s to clasp mine. She was looking at me as fiercely as a hawk. “Do whatever you have to do to get our girls back.”

I nodded, got to my feet, and ran up the stairs.

On the fourth-floor landing I went out the window to the fire escape that led to the roof. As I crossed the roof to the mews I heard the hawks beating their wings in their cages and crying out shrilly. They knew that something was wrong.

When I opened the mews door I was shocked at what I saw. The usually clean and ordered pens were filled with feathers and blood. The birds were flinging themselves against their wire cages, so frantic to get out they had bloodied themselves in their efforts.

I stood in the doorway, panting from my sprint up the stairs, their panic infecting me. I was a Darkling. I should know how to talk to birds. I’d seen Raven do it, but I had no idea how.

I tried English first.

“Blodeuwedd,” I said, addressing the great horned owl who was Gillie’s favorite.

At the sound of her name she stopped the frantic beating of her wings and turned her huge yellow eyes on me.

“Gillie’s been hurt,” I said, feeling foolish talking to the great solemn owl, but then I poured it all out. “Men possessed by shadows have taken our girls!” She swiveled and tilted her head as I talked. I opened her cage and put out my hand, though without a glove, her powerful talons could snap off my fingers. She was still in an excited state; if she didn’t understand me, she might claw my eyes out, too. But she hopped obediently onto my hand. Emboldened, I opened all the cages.

The hawks and falcons hurtled out—kestrels, peregrines, goshawks, and lastly, the two prized gyrfalcons that Mr. Montmorency had bought—a mated pair named Eirwyn and Gwynfor. I feared they might fly in a dozen directions before I could command them, but instead they followed me as I walked to the edge of the roof and stood at the parapet with Blodeuwedd on my hand. Below us the frozen lawns gleamed in the moonlight, but the Hudson was covered with a thick blanket of fog. Our girls had vanished into it. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Digging in my pocket for a handkerchief, I came up with Daisy’s, which she’d given me earlier. I held it in front of Blodeuwedd, as I’d seen Gillie do with the feathers of smaller birds he wanted the the hawks and falcons to hunt. “Find Daisy,” I told Blodeuwedd. “Find them all and tell us where they are so we can bring them back.”

Blodeuwedd turned her yellow eyes on me. Their glow warmed something inside me. Then she opened her hooked beak and uttered a shrill cry. The falcons echoed her. “Go!” I cried, only what came out wasn’t a human’s voice but a wild bird’s cry. I watched the birds rise into the night until the white feathers of the twin gyrfalcons faded into the night sky like stars at dawn.