“If I were interested in joining—which I’m not saying that I am—but if I were, what would I have to do?”
“Nothing yet,” she says, her face breaking into the sort of smile that doesn’t make me feel at ease. “Don’t worry—we’ll come to you.” She lifts her skirts and runs up the stairs, shooting past the rest of us like a comet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT’S THE SOUND THAT WAKES ME. MY EYELIDS FLUTTER open, fighting off the remnants of dreams. I’m lying on my right side, facing Ann’s bed. The door and whatever may be just inside it are down past my feet at the far end of the room. To get a good look, I’d have to move, sit up, roll over, and I’m not about to let on that I’m awake. It’s a five-year-old’s logic: If I can’t see it, it can’t see me. No doubt plenty of unfortunate people have wound up with their heads cut off by assuming the very same thing.
All right, Gem, no use getting frightened. It’s probably nothing. I blink and let my eyes adjust to the dark. Fingers of moonlight reach through the crack in the long velvet drapes and up the walls, nearly touching the low ceiling. Outside, a branch scratches against the windowpane with a squeak. My ears strain for some other noise, something in the room with us. There’s nothing else but the rhythm of Ann’s steady snoring. For a moment I think I must have dreamed it. And there it is again. The creaking of floorboards under careful steps that tells me this is not my imagination. I let my eyelids close to small slits so that I can pretend to be asleep but still see. No one takes my head without a fight. A figure looms closer. My tongue feels thick and dry in my mouth. The figure reaches out a hand and I’m up quickly, smashing my skull into the overhang just above my bed.
I hiss in pain, forgetting my visitor and placing a palm on my throbbing forehead.
A surprisingly small hand clamps over my mouth. “Do you want to wake the whole bloody school?” Felicity leans over me, the moonlight catching the planes of her face in such a way that she is all wide, hard angles and milky-white skin. She could be the face of the moon itself.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my fingers rubbing across the goose egg–sized lump rising along my hairline.
“I told you we’d come for you.”
“You didn’t say it would be in the middle of the bloody night,” I say, matching her tone. There’s something about Felicity that makes me want to impress her, show her that I’m a match for her strength and she can’t win me so easily.
“Come on. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
She speaks to me slowly, as she would a child. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”
My head still hurts from the bang. Ann is snoring lightly, completely unaware that we’re having this conversation.
“Come back in the morning,” I say, flopping back against my pillow. I’m awake enough to know that whatever she wants to show me at this hour can’t be good.
“I won’t make this offer again. It’s now or never.”
Go back to sleep, Gem. This does not sound promising. It’s my conscience talking. But my conscience doesn’t have to spend the next two years making inane teatime chatter, bored to the point of catatonia. This is a challenge, and I’ve never said no to a challenge in my life.
“All right, then. I’m up,” I say. Then, just to make sure I don’t seem too soft, I add, “But this had better be good.”
“Oh, it will. I promise you.”
I find myself following Felicity out of my room, down the long corridor, past rooms of sleeping girls tucked away behind walls that house pictures of women from Spence’s past, grim-faced ghosts in white dresses whose somber mouths are tight in disapproval of this little escapade, but whose sad eyes all seem to say go. Go while you can. Freedom is brief.
When we get to the huge landing and the stairs leading down, I pause. “What about Mrs. Nightwing?” I say, glancing up the enormous stairs that extend to a fourth floor I can’t see in the dark.
“Don’t worry about her. Once she’s had her glass of sherry, she’s down for the night.” Felicity starts down.
“Wait!” I whisper as loudly as I can without waking anyone. Felicity stops, turns to me, that pale face taunting. Hips swaying, she inches back up to the stair just below me.
“If you want to spend your time here embroidering God Bless Our Home samplers and learning how to play lawn tennis in a corset and skirt, go back to bed. But if you want to have a bit of real fun, well . . .” And with that she trips lightly down the stairs and around the corner to the next set of stairs, where I can no longer see her.
Pippa meets us in the great hall. The huge fireplaces have all gone dark, with a few embers still crackling and spitting but no real warmth or light left. She’s been hiding behind a large fern. Now she pops out, eyes wide and agitated.
“What took you so long?”
“It’s only been a few minutes,” Felicity says.
“I don’t like waiting down here. All those eyes on the columns. It’s as if they’re watching me.”
In the dark, the marble sprites and nymphs take on a ghoulish quality. The room feels alive, taking note of our every move, counting every breath.
“Don’t be such a ninny. Let’s be brave girls, shall we? Where are the others?” As if on cue, two girls descend the stairs and join us. I’m introduced to Elizabeth, a tiny ratlike creature who offers an opinion only after everyone else has, and the pinch-faced Cecily, whose narrow upper lip curls when she takes in the sight of me. Martha, the tripper in the chapel, isn’t among them, and I realize she’s not part of the club; she only wishes she were. That’s why she was willing to trip Ann—to curry favor with them.
“Ready?” Cecily sneers.
What have I gotten myself into? Why don’t I simply say, All right, girls, it’s been lovely. Thanks ever so for the midnight gambol about the old palatial grounds. Wouldn’t have wanted to miss the way the parlor flares to life at night with a wonderful, nightmarish glow, but I’ll just be getting back to bed now. Instead, I follow them outside onto the back lawn, where the full moon bleeds yellow behind a thin, high bank of clouds. The bloody fog is still there and it’s frightfully cold. I’m dressed in only my nightgown. They’re clever girls with their blue velvet capes on.
“Follow me.” Felicity starts up the hill toward the chapel, the fog swallowing her whole in just a few steps. I fall in behind her and the others fall in behind me so that turning back is no longer an option. Suddenly I’m second-guessing my decision to follow the Mystery Sisters out onto the vast, foggy night all the way to the chapel doors.
“We have a tradition here at Spence,” Felicity says. “A little initiation ceremony for new girls who might prove worthy of our inner circle.”
“Can you really have an inner circle with only four people?” I ask, sounding braver than I feel. “Seems more like an inner square, doesn’t it?”
“You’re lucky to be here,” Cecily snaps.
Yes, I feel incredibly lucky to be standing out here in the freezing cold in only my nightgown. Some people might call it remarkably stupid, but I’m feeling quite optimistic.
“So, what is this secret initiation?”
Elizabeth looks to Felicity for permission to talk. “You only need to take something from the chapel.”
“As in steal something?” I ask, not liking where this is going one bit but feeling too far in to get out now.
“It’s not stealing. After all, it will never leave Spence. It’s just a way to prove that you are trustworthy,” Felicity says.
I have a few seconds to think and even though the most reasonable answer is to say I’m not interested and go back to bed, I say instead, “What do you want me to take?”
The clouds thin into wisps. Buttery moonlight spreads out and down. Felicity’s mouth opens, her tongue rubbing against her top teeth, feeling them. “The communion wine.”
“Communion wine?” I repeat.
Pippa makes a coughing noise in her throat before dissolving into giggles and I can see this is an impromptu request, an extra bit of daring on Felicity’s part.