Ravencliffe (Blythewood series) (35 page)

38

IN SPITE OF
Raven’s compelling arguments, I was less pleased than he with the choice of meeting place. I knew that the Order had invested in the building and was afraid that their intent was to show off their wealth and power. I was also startled to learn that Uncle Taddie had been summoned to the meeting, and worried that the Council planned to use him as an example of the harm that came to humans through contact with the fairies. When I went to visit Miss Sharp at her aunts’ home, she agreed, and was unsure if they could even get her uncle to leave Violet House. But when Taddie was shown a picture of the Woolworth Building he became very excited and determined to go. “It’s just like the clock tower Papa designed!” he exclaimed.

Emmaline tried to explain that it wasn’t exactly a clock tower—there wasn’t even a clock in the tower—but Taddie insisted it was, and that it meant it was safe because clocks kept us safe. As if to illustrate his point of view, the clocks of Violet House began to chime the hour. Since Raven had fixed them, they chimed in synchronicity, each tune blending with the others into a symphony that, indeed, made me feel safe—both parts of me, Darkling and human. Uncle Taddie was right. Thaddeus Sharp had designed the clocks to safeguard Violet House from all harm. It would be nice, I thought as I ate another scone, if the Woolworth Building had been designed to do the same.

On the day of the meeting I traveled down to the city with Daisy and Etta and a dozen other girls. We had been told that we couldn’t all attend the meeting, but everyone wanted to be there to lend their support and admire the view from the observatory.

“If Helen were here she’d wonder why they were all so anxious to see a view they nearly plummeted to their deaths from two months ago,” Daisy remarked wistfully.

“I miss her, too,” I said, squeezing Daisy’s hand. “My grandmother says she’s doing much better and she’ll be there today.”

“I know. She wrote to tell me. Nathan will be there, too. I think it’s so wonderful how he’s been taking care of her—and so romantic! Do you think they’ll get married? If they wait until we graduate we could have a double ceremony.”

“I doubt matters have progressed that far,” I said, trying to curb my irritation. Since Mr. Appleby had taken Daisy back, after she’d written to explain that she’d been overtaxed with studying when she broke off their engagement, she’d talked of little else but wedding plans. It was beginning to wear on my nerves. But when I looked at her now I saw that despite her bright smile she had a worried look in her eyes. Even if the Council approved her marriage to Mr. Appleby, she might never be able to share the secrets of the Order with him. We’d all learned this year what the cost of keeping secrets was.

“We’ll see,” I told Daisy. “We don’t even know what will come of this meeting. Our people might be at war. I hardly think it’s time to be talking about marriage.”

Daisy shrugged and turned to talk to Myrtilene about wedding customs in Savannah, and I looked out the window, hoping for a glimpse of the Darkling Elders flying to the city. Raven was flying with them, as well as my father, who was going to serve as an index to
A Darkness of Angels
. But I couldn’t make out anything through the fog that I suspected was caused by the changelings traveling down to the city. They had been called to the meeting, too, to help decide the fate of Rue, who had been staying at Violet House with Ruth and pretending to be her cousin from Warsaw. I wished Raven could have ridden on the train with me.

My grandmother sent her limousine to the station to take us downtown, which was embarrassing, but the girls were delighted and all crammed in, Cam in front with Babson, whom she interrogated all the way downtown about Rolls-Royce engines. I barely got a word in edgewise to find out that he’d already brought Helen, Nathan, and my grandmother downtown earlier.

“Mrs. Hall wanted to be there first,” Babson confided. “To make sure she got the best seat before Mrs. van Hassel.”

“I hope she hasn’t been overstraining herself with all this,” I said.

“It’s done her good,” Babson replied. “She looks ten years younger. She’s a fighter, your grandmother. Just like you.”

I was heartened by Babson’s belief in me, just as I had before the Montmorency ball ten months ago, but when we pulled up in front of the Woolworth Building I felt as intimidated as I had in front of the Montmorency mansion. It was such an imposing edifice. Entering the marble Gothic lobby I thought of what the press called it: the Cathedral of Commerce. What it felt like to me was a cathedral of power—the Order’s power. Now I felt sure they had chosen this meeting place to intimidate the Darklings and the madges and put us all in our places.

But if that were their purpose, it hadn’t worked on Kid Marvel. He was standing at the elevators in a shiny suit, crisp fedora, and a pink carnation boutonniere.

“There they are—the belles of Blythewood!” he cried out, twirling a walking stick like the Coney Island spieler he was. “Your chariot awaits.” He waved us into an open elevator and hit the button with his cane. “The express takes you to the fifty-first floor in only one and three-quarter minutes. I’ve been going up and down in it all morning. It’s one hell of a ride! Hold on to your hats, ladies!”

Some of the girls literally grabbed their hats. Having flown over this building, I felt sure that I need take no such precaution, but when the elevator rose swiftly up I wished I could hold on to my stomach to keep it from rising into my throat. I was relieved when the doors opened on the fifty-first floor.

“The observatory is just up the stairs, ladies,” Kid announced like he owned the building. “Go give it a gawk. Not you, sister.” He grabbed me by the elbow and steered me down a corridor. Daisy gave me a curious look, but I waved her on without me. Kid Marvel propelled me into a small room off the corridor. It was lavishly furnished with velvet couches and Persian rugs. It looked to be some sort of waiting room. At least the people in it all seemed to be waiting . . . for me.

Delilah approached me first. She was veiled but wearing a smart green baize jacket and skirt. “Miss Hall,” she addressed me formally, with none of the frivolity of the hootchy-kootchy dancer I’d first met at Coney Island. “We are glad you are here. We would like a moment of your time to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course,” I said, looking around the room. I saw Omar and Shango and the other madges I’d met at the Henry Street House. At first I didn’t notice the changelings until they shifted on the couches and I saw they had absorbed the rich red velvet and gold embroidery of the upholstery. Only Rue, sitting between Ruth and Etta, was in human form. “What can I do for you?”

“We would like you to speak for us,” Delilah said.

“But isn’t Omar representing you?” I asked. “That’s what Dame Beckwith told me.”

“Yes,” Omar said. “I am honored to have been chosen as the representative of these good people. But we are concerned that my voice will not be enough to sway the tide of the Council’s opinion.”

“But you’re the most convincing person I know,” I blurted.

Omar smiled and inclined his head. “That is precisely the problem. The Council will think I am trying to mesmerize them, even though I have sworn not to use my hypnotic skills. But if one of their own should speak for us—”

“But I’m not one of their own,” I protested. “I don’t belong wholly to either the Order or the Darklings. I’m on trial here myself—they might exile me.”

“We understand if you do not want to risk aligning yourself with us if you think it will hurt your standing—”

“No!” I cut in, appalled how he’d taken my words. “That’s not it at all. I would be proud to stand beside any one of you. I just don’t know how much help I will be.”

“I think you underestimate your power,” Delilah said softly. “You combine the best of both worlds—Darkling and human—and your experience has forged you into something wholly yourself: a phoenix, what my people call a Benu, the sun-bird, she who creates herself. We believe you can do whatever you set out to achieve, and if you speak for us, the Council will accept us.”

“And if they do chuck you out,” Kid Marvel added, “you’ll always have a place with us.”

I wondered if that meant at Coney Island. I smiled at Kid Marvel and gazed into Delilah’s feline eyes. I didn’t know if she was right about me, but I did know that I owed these people my life and the lives of my friends. “I would be honored to speak for you,” I told them.

I approached the meeting room feeling stronger than before, not just because of the madges’ belief in me, but because I was no longer thinking only of myself. The madges were counting on me. My friends were counting on me. I straightened my spine, feeling the weight of my wings pull my shoulder blades back, raised my chin, and opened the door.

I was expecting some sort of conference room with a big long table, the opposing sides of Darklings and the Order arrayed on either side. Instead it was as if I had stepped inside a giant clock. Eight steeply sloping walls were clad in brass gears and bells shining in the bright light pouring through an open skylight. Even the floor was paved in brass. At the center was a raised disk, rimmed with a low bench on which sat Mrs. van Hassel flanked by Lucretia Fisk and Atalanta Jones, the other bird-hatted ladies from my admission interview; as well as Dame Beckwith, Professor Jager, my grandmother, and, surprisingly, Mrs. Calendar. The Darkling Elders were perched on ledges about the room. I recognized Merlinus, Wren and Gos. I also saw my father, who sat between Master Quill and Miss Corey. And Raven. I let out my breath when I saw him.

A short balding man, who looked familiar but whom I couldn’t place, was standing in the center of the room holding a long bamboo cane in one hand and a folio in the other. Uncle Taddie was sitting cross-legged at his feet, rocking back and forth like a pendulum. When he saw me he jumped to his feet and excitedly waved me in.

“It’s Papa’s clock made huge!” he exclaimed, his eyes bulging. He was vibrating with excitement.

Actually, I realized, we were all vibrating. The entire room was moving, the gears clicking slowly but steadily, the central disk revolving in infinitesimal degrees. It made me feel a bit seasick. Mrs. van Hassel looked distinctly green.

“Yes, I see,” I told Taddie. “It
is
a big clock. But where’s its face? There’s no clock on the outside of the building.”

The short bald man pointed his cane to the ceiling—and as he did, I recognized him. It was Mr. Humphreys, the clockmaker Raven was apprenticed to. I looked up and saw that the skylight was fitted with an iron grill that somewhat resembled a clock—or perhaps a compass. The circle’s face was divided into quarters inside a brass ring, illustrating the sections of a globe. An arrow spun around the circumference. It reminded me of the game the nestlings played to choose who went first or got first choice of rooms.
Round and round the arrow goes . . .

Suddenly a dozen or more gears clicked into place and struck the bells. I braced myself for a deafening peal, but the bells were silent. But their vibrations shook the entire room and rose up in the octagonal chamber and out the skylight. Closing my eyes I could feel the vibrations spreading out around the building—and farther, over the entire city, cloaking New York like a giant glass bell jar.