The Crickhowell School for the Muses (10 page)

“Still doing all right?” Francis asked.

Awen looked over her right shoulder and nodded, trying to hide her smile.

Suddenly, she remembered where they were going. She no longer had to fight her smile—it dissipated on its own.

The blades of grass gradually shortened until the field they crossed looked like any other. Francis kicked the horse into a trot, then a brisk canter. The sky had darkened to the point where Awen could only make out the silhouettes of things: trees; a pile of stones that perhaps used to be a house. She felt a change in the horse’s movement as they began to ascend an incline; slight at first, it grew into a large hill. Awen’s heart fluttered as they climbed, her damp palms slipping through the horse’s mane.

She knew exactly what lay ahead.

She saw the glow of the window first:
one room alight on the bottom floor. Then a bang—the front door shutting—punched the air. Someone with a yellow lantern stepped out onto the lawn, the light bobbing as the figure glided toward Awen and Francis. The horse walked them the remainder of the way.

Francis sighed loudly. “We’re here. It looks as if they’ve been expecting you.”

“Who is there?” Awen recognized Miss Nina’s call.

“My name is Francis,” he replied, now just feet from Miss Nina. “I found one of your girls along the way, in the woods. I was returning from some business I had in another town, and I thought I’d bring her back to you. Apparently she had walked all the way from Beaufort, clear on the other side of the forest.”

“A girl in the woods? Who is it?”

The horse stopped next to Miss Nina, and she lifted her lantern to see.

“Ah, Awen…You’ve returned. Come down from there now.” She reached toward Awen, grabbing at her arm.

“I’ve got her.” Francis urged the horse forward a step, thus pulling Awen out of Miss Nina’s grasp. He dismounted swiftly, landing like a cat on the ground, then helped Awen slide off the horse.

Miss Nina stared silently at the pair for a moment, her lips pulled to one side in disapproval. “Hmm,” she began. “Beaufort, you said?”

Francis nodded.

“Then my suspicions have been confirmed. Where are the other girls? I presume Carmella and Genevieve were taken as well.”

“Taken? Was she
stolen
a second time?” There was an edge to Francis’s tone, and Awen noticed a sour expression on Miss Nina’s face at his words. “There were others, too? Well, I didn’t see them anywhere. Perhaps they’re still at Beaufort with whoever this woman is that you mention. Excuse my asking, Miss, but what exactly is going on here?”

“Ahh, nothing that concerns you, my dear boy.” She reached out to pat his shoulder.

Francis evaded her by raising his arm, pretending to wipe his forehead.

She ignored the offense. “Thank you for returning the girl. I mean that sincerely. However, I do not advise you to get caught up in this situation any more than you might have already.”

Francis opened his mouth to speak.

“I am sure,” she cut in, “that you have a great many business obligations to attend to.” She waved her right hand. “Away you go.”

Francis again opened his mouth—but closed it without speaking, an exasperated expression on his face. He turned toward Awen and nodded once. Then he mounted the horse with one swift, acrobatic leap, and rode away.

* * *

Awen entered the castle behind Miss Nina. She thought back to her arrival on that very first night, now some months ago. But this time, Miss Nina did not drag her in; Awen followed on her own accord. She knew she could turn at any moment and run…but, somehow, everything was different now.

She did not need to.

Awen glanced up at the chandelier hanging in the entrance hall. She thought it looked smaller. It shone less brightly, too—had some candles burned out?

“This way,” Miss Nina snapped before Awen could count the flames.

Awen turned toward Miss Nina’s voice and saw that she stood outside the library, fumbling in her pocket for a key. Awen followed Miss Nina into the library, automatically moving on tiptoes. Awen stopped at the desk just inside the room and rested her hand upon it.

“One moment.” Miss Nina tossed the words to the side, speaking, it seemed, to no one in particular. Awen watched as she set the lantern down on the table and turned to move toward the door. Miss Nina grabbed the doorknob and bent half of her body into the hallway, looking up and down the corridor, listening for footsteps. She shut the door abruptly but without sound, then moved back to the side of the desk opposite Awen. Her expression had suddenly become alert, her movements jerky.

Awen wondered how this woman could possibly be the same one she had seen minutes ago, out on the lawn—the figure that had glided through the night, yellow lantern bobbing in mid-air. Her heart fluttered. No matter how she felt about Miss Nina, it was somehow disconcerting to watch her nervous movements.

Miss Nina bent forward, elbows on the desk. She cleared her throat twice but did not tell Awen to sit.

Awen tried not to look at Miss Nina. She also tried not to appear as if she were
not
looking at her. Awen moved her toes, squeezing them together and fanning them apart, as a restlessness worked its way through her body. She tensed her muscles, fighting the urge to jump up and swing her arms around.

“You don’t need to tell me anything,” Miss Nina finally said. “Not that you would anyway,” she added under her breath. “I know what happened. I know where you went, who was involved. Rosaline, that silly, worthless woman. Berwick.”

Awen’s eyes widened at his name.

Miss Nina leaned farther across the table. “I’m not stupid, Awen. And
they
are about to learn that.” She slapped her palm against the desk. “Working behind my back to steal away my business. Hah!” she huffed. “No one can run a school like this as well as I can.”

A long moment passed in silence. The edginess in Awen’s muscles subsided, her breathing growing so quiet that she could hear the flicker of the lantern.

Then, Miss Nina stood up straight and began to pace. Her voice changed. Detatched. Her commanding demeanor was back and the anger gone. “I’m sending you off tomorrow. To your patron, Sir Robert—the man to whom you were
supposed
to be sent, until Rosaline made off with you and the other girls. And as for
her
…” Miss Nina stopped walking. “I’ll be dealing with
that
woman and her conspirators as of tomorrow.” She stared at the side wall for a moment, then took up her pacing. “Well, anyway, that is that. You will not be coming back to this place. Or, shall I say, you had
better
not be.” She halted once more and focused two narrowed eyes on Awen.

“You are done here.”

* * *

Awen sat cross-legged on the old mattress in her old room. All was the same as before—the tiny window; the walls bare, except for the sign on the door, illuminated by the moonlight:
Learn, but do not…
She already knew what it said. Awen felt it should not be so surprising that nothing had changed. After all, she had been away no more than a handful of days. Yet still, the feeling again.

Everything was different now.

The change was not tangible. The hallways looked the same: the glimpse of dining hall she had seen on her way up the stairs; the wooden placards affixed above office door frames. She wondered if Mr. Whitewood was around. Did he leave in the evenings? If so, then he probably would not return before she was to go herself.

Awen hoisted herself up from the mattress and turned toward the window. She pressed her face to the pane, placing her palms on either side. She wondered in which direction stood the house of her patron. Would she be able to see it from here when the sun was out? She never recalled sighting a single building from Crickhowell. But then, she had never looked.

She expected to feel some twinge of nerves, but…nothing. Only a startling sensation of calm. In fact, as she mused upon the day to come, excited anticipation began to build in her chest. Without Rosaline hanging over her and Miss Nina directing her, maybe she would get a chance to do something for herself.

Awen slid her hands down from the wall and crossed her arms in front of her. She leaned against the window, closing her eyes, face pressed to the glass.

* * *

Awen pressed her cheek against the cool glass window and surveyed the interior of the carriage, moving only her eyes. This coach was nice, clean, and light inside, compared to the dank one in which she had ridden to Beaufort. As it was the only piece of Crickhowell the patrons ever got to see, it only made sense that it should be so lovely.

Awen watched the orange glow of the sun as it crept over the horizon. She yawned. The anticipation she had felt the previous night was now tipped with anxiety. They could not have been driving for more than ten minutes; maybe the trip would take a long time. She pressed her palms together, wiggled her toes. She had nothing with her aside from the new, clean Crickhowell dress she wore, and boredom threatened to overtake her.

She stretched her legs out in front. Awen was the only passenger in the carriage. The driver up top, from the only glimpse she had gotten, was tall and dark. He had not spoken to her when she had gotten in, but had loaded a small trunk up top for her, about whose contents she had no clue. Yet there had been something pleasant in his expression—a distant kind of smile. Perhaps he had a story.

Awen yawned, then pondered trying to sleep for the remainder of the trip. Her eyelids were already halfway shut, and the steady swing of the wagon acted like a sleeping draught, weighing down on her muscles. Her head drooped slowly.…

Suddenly, the carriage hit a bump, propelling Awen upward. The heavy feeling was gone in an instant, and with that, the thought of sleep became disgusting. Sleep was dull, foggy stasis. Sleep was waking up with your mouth full of grey. She did not want to meet her patron while trying to fight back the soggy clouds in her brain.

She decided to stare at her fingernails instead.

A dirty corner of her thumbnail had a snag in it. Awen peeled it back, folding it this way and that, until it finally broke off. She flicked it away.

Awen glanced about, trying to think of something else to do. The window. Yes, the view from the window might have something to offer. She pushed off with her feet, sliding across the bench to the far window on her right. She put her hands on the glass. This side of the carriage was slightly warmer, the first rays of the sun heating it up like a muffin in an oven.

It was difficult to see clearly outside. The rising sun shot out glowing bits of light, like ashes in the atmosphere. Sun fog. The grass seemed aflame, and the small bit of the path she could see looked like liquid gold. She tilted her head sideways and pressed her right cheek against the window, trying to see the path up ahead. All she could tell was that it came to a right curve. There did not seem to be any obstruction around—no trees or boulders. She wondered if the curve meant that they were almost there.

Awen slid back to the left side of the carriage to peer out that window. She exhaled, her lips curling into a smile. The carriage was following alongside water—a sparkly, blue-green river.

Awen spotted a handful of flowers growing at the water’s edge. Someone had begun to line one side of the river with small round stones, then apparently had given up after a short distance. Farther down was a little wooden footbridge. Awen could not see any houses around, and she wondered who had put these things here. And how long ago. And why.

One of the horses drawing the carriage let loose a loud neigh. Awen felt the coach slowing down; judging by the clopping of the hooves, the horses had switched gait to a walk. Hit by a shower of nerves, Awen shivered, then crossed her arms to fight back the goosebumps.

The carriage hit an incline, and Awen had to hold on to the bench to keep from falling backward. Why did every place she went to seem to be situated atop a hill? For a moment, she forgot her anxiety and let out a giggly snort.

The carriage slowed further, then finally ground to a halt. Awen pressed her face against the left window, trying to see what lay ahead: nothing. She moved to the other window, and still saw only grass. Awen shifted back to the middle of the bench and crossed her arms. Maybe this stop was just for the horses. She heard one whinny and kick at the ground.

Suddenly, the carriage door swung open, and the driver stood outside, Awen’s small trunk in his arms. He balanced it on his side, holding out a hand. “Miss?”

Awen craned her neck out the door, a puzzled expression on her face. She stretched out a hand, looking to the left and then the right.

Directly in front of the carriage, hidden from the view of the little side windows, stood a grand stone house. Awen’s mouth dropped open, and she stepped haphazardly out of the carriage, nearly falling on top of the driver. Her eyes were still fixed to the house—the
castle
, really. But this was bigger than Crickhowell, and grander than dank Beaufort. Those castles hardly deserved the title.

Awen turned to the driver, her eyes wide and questioning.

He nodded, then shrugged, but Awen could see the awe deep in his eyes. “Well,” he sighed, “good luck.” He set the trunk on the ground.

Awen looked down, taken aback.

“I would bring it in for you,” he added, noting her response, “but I’m not really supposed to. Nina prefers the patrons to see the carriage—but not the lowly folk driving it. Adds to the magic.” He clicked his tongue ironically, and he winked. “You can roll it.” He motioned toward the trunk. “It has wheels.”

Awen nodded with a sadness that took her by surprise.

The driver watched her silently for a moment, an unfathomable expression on his face. “Well,” he tilted his head toward the house, “he’s probably watching. And waiting for you. I suppose you’d better head up.” He gave Awen a small smile, then turned away.

Awen watched him climb up to his seat atop the carriage.

“Good luck!” he called down. He whipped the horses forward.

There was something beautiful about that little white carriage, wheels turning, creaking down the golden dirt path. The sun was bright in the sky now, and she had to squint, so that the carriage disappeared in her eyes before it actually became hidden by the steep hill.

Awen turned, facing her new home straight on. She sighed, picking up one end of the trunk, and stepped forward.