“Delicious,” she says, her mouth juicy full.
Miss Moore comes back to us with a laugh. “I see Felicity doesn’t complicate the matter with too much deliberation. She’s a hawk, diving in.”
“Eat or be eaten!” Felicity takes another mouthful.
I’m thinking of Sarah and Mary, wondering what horrible choice they made. Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to shatter the Order. And that leads me to the choice I made the day I ran from my mother in the marketplace. The choice that seems to have put everything in motion.
“What happens if your choice is misguided?” I ask, softly.
Miss Moore takes a pear from the bowl and offers us the grapes to devour. “You must try to correct it.”
“But what if it’s too late? What if you can’t?”
There’s a sad sympathy in Miss Moore’s catlike eyes as she regards my painting again. She paints the thinnest sliver of shadow along the bottom of the apple, bringing it fully to life.
“Then you must find a way to live with it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE AFTERNOON IS A FINE ONE, AND THE GROUNDS AND gardens of Spence are blooming with girls—on bicycles, playing pantomimes, strolling, gossiping. The four of us have taken up a game of lawn tennis. We’re playing doubles, Felicity and Pippa against Ann and me. Each time my racquet touches the ball, I fear I’m in danger of decapitating someone. I think it is safe to say that I may add tennis to the long list of skills I shall not acquire. By sheer luck, I manage to hit the ball to my opponents. It sails past Pippa, who watches it go by with all the enthusiasm of a cook watching water come to a boil.
Felicity throws back her head in exasperation. “Pippa!”
“It isn’t my fault. That was a dreadful serve!”
“You should have reached for it,” Felicity says, twirling her racquet.
“It was clearly out of reach!”
“But so much is within our reach now,” Felicity says, cryptically.
The girls watching us play may not know what she means, but I do. Pippa is having none of it, however.
“This is dull, and my arm aches,” she complains.
Felicity rolls her eyes. “Fine, then. Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
We bequeath our racquets to an eager, pink-cheeked foursome. Our game ended, we link arms and roam through the tall trees, past a group of younger girls who are playing Robin Hood. The trouble is that they all want to be Maid Marian and no one wants to be Friar Tuck.
“Will you take us into the realms again tonight?” Ann asks, when their voices have faded to a hum behind us.
“You couldn’t keep me away.” I smile. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?” Pippa asks, bending to pick acorns.
“My mother.”
Ann gapes. Pippa’s head pops up. “But isn’t she—”
Felicity interrupts. “Pippa, help me gather some goldenrod to bring to Mrs. Nightwing. That should put her in a happy mood tonight.”
Dutifully, Pippa follows Felicity on her mission and soon we’re all looking for the September blooms. Down by the lake, I see Kartik leaning against the boathouse, arms crossed, watching me. His black cloak flutters in the wind. I wonder if he knows about his brother’s fate. For a moment, I feel a bit sorry for him. But then I remember the threats and taunts, the smirking way he tried to order me about, and all my sympathy vanishes. I stand tall and defiant, staring straight back at him.
Pippa wanders over. “Good heavens, isn’t that the Gypsy who saw me in the woods?”
“I don’t recall,” I lie.
“I hope he doesn’t try to blackmail us.”
“I doubt it,” I say, trying to feign lack of interest. “Oh, look—a dandelion.”
“He is rather handsome, isn’t he?”
“Do you think so?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“For a heathen, that is.” She tosses her head in a coy fashion. “He seems to be looking at me.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that Kartik could be watching Pippa and not me, and for some reason, this bothers me. As infuriating as he is, I want him to be gazing only at me.
“What are you looking at?” Ann asks. Her hands are full of drooping yellow weeds.
“That boy over there. The one who saw me in my chemise the other night.”
Ann squints. “Oh. Him. Isn’t he the one you kissed, Gemma?”
“You didn’t!” Pippa gasps in horror.
“She did,” Ann says, matter-of-factly. “But only to save us from the Gypsies.”
“You were with the Gypsies? When? Why didn’t you take me?”
“It’s a rather long story. I’ll tell you on the way back,” Felicity chides. Pippa is squawking about the way we’ve kept vital information from her, but Felicity’s eyes are on Kartik and then me with an understanding that makes me feel suddenly like running for cover. And then she has her arm around Pippa’s shoulders, telling her the story of our adventures in the Gypsy camp in a way that completely exonerates me. I am a noble, self-sacrificing girl who endured his kiss only to save us. It is so convincing that I almost believe her myself.
When we step through that door of light again, the garden realm is there to welcome us with its sweet smells and a bright sky. I’m apprehensive. I don’t know how much time I shall have with my mother, and a small part of me doesn’t want to share that time with my friends. But they are my friends, and perhaps it will comfort my mother to meet them.
“Follow me,” I say, taking them into the grotto. She’s nowhere to be seen. There are only the trees and, farther on, the circle of strange crystals.
“Where is she?” Ann asks.
“Mother?” I call out. No answer. Nothing but the chirping of birds. What if she’s not really here? What if I did imagine it?
My friends avoid my eyes. Pippa whispers something low in Felicity’s ear.
“Maybe you dreamed it?” Felicity suggests softly.
“She was here! I spoke with her!”
“Well, she isn’t here now,” Ann comments.
“Come with us,” Pippa says, treating me like a child. “We’ll have a jolly time. I promise.”
“No!”
“Looking for me?” Mother strides into view in her blue silk dress. She’s as lovely as ever. My friends are struck dumb by her presence.
“Felicity, Pippa, Ann . . . may I present Virginia Doyle, my mother.”
The girls mumble their polite how-do-you-do’s.
“I am so very pleased to meet you,” Mother says. “What beautiful girls you all are.” This has the desired effect. They blush, completely charmed. “Will you take a stroll with me?” Soon she has them regaling her with stories of Spence and themselves, the three of them competing for her attention, and I’m a bit grumpy, wanting to have my mother only to myself. But then Mother gives me a wink and takes my hand, and I’m happy again.
“Shall we sit?” Mother gestures to a blanket woven of fine silver thread, stretched out on the grass. For something so light, it is surprisingly strong and comfortable. Felicity runs her hand over the delicate threads. They give off the most striking tones.
“Dear me,” she says, delighted. “Can you hear that? Pippa, you try.”
We all do. It’s as if we’re conducting a symphony of harps through our fingers, and it sets us to laughing.
“Isn’t it marvelous? I wonder what else we can do?” Felicity muses.
Mother smiles. “Anything.”
“Anything?” Ann repeats.
“In this realm, what you wish can be yours. You have only to know what you want.”
We take this in, not quite comprehending it. Finally, Ann stands up. “I’ll give it a try.” She stops. “What should I do?”
“What do you most want? No—don’t tell us. Fix it in your mind. Like a wish.”
Ann nods, closes her eyes. A minute passes.
“Nothing’s happened,” Felicity whispers. “Has it?”