Part 4 (1/2)

Filled with revulsion, I threw the doll across the room. Her head hit the edge of the mantel and she landed on the oor. Like a child fatally injured in a bad fall, she sprawled on her back, arms flung out, head broken.

Stricken to see such a pretty thing ruined, I picked her up and hid her in the back of a drawer full of extra linens. It wouldn't do for Aunt to see her gift to Sophia so badly treated.

Stricken to see such a pretty thing ruined, I picked her up and hid her in the back of a drawer full of extra linens. It wouldn't do for Aunt to see her gift to Sophia so badly treated.

Not daring to leave the dress on the bed, I scooped it up and stuffed it into the wardrobe, behind my best dress and my coat.

Once dress and doll were hidden, I ran downstairs. I did not want to remain alone in my room for fear Sophia might return.

Seven.

UNCLE AND AUNT HAD NOT come back from their trip to town, so I joined Mrs. Dawson in the kitchen. To my relief, Nellie wasn't there. After speaking to her so rudely, I couldn't face her.

”You look poorly,” Mrs. Dawson said. ”Are you coming down with something?”

I shook my head. ”I'm just tired.”

”Drink your tea. It should perk you up.”

I poured milk into my cup, added sugar, and filled it with tea. Steam rose around my face, comforting me. I breathed in the sweet smell of Earl Grey, my favorite blend, rich with bergamot.

Mrs. Dawson sliced bread and pa.s.sed it over to me, along with a serving of shepherd's pie. Its mashed-potato crust was baked golden, and the vegetables and beef inside filled the kitchen with an aroma that made me hungry in spite of myself.

Mrs. Dawson watched me eat. ”You may not be ailing,” she said, ”but something's eating at you.”

Looking Mrs. Dawson in the eye, I said, ”Do you believe in ghosts?”

Mrs. Dawson must have heard the fear in my voice. Studying me closely, she said, ”Has something frightened you, Florence?”

Surrendering to my need for comfort, I flung my arms around her and pressed my face against her soft body. ”Sophia,” I sobbed. ”I saw her today. She was hideous, horrible, monstrous.”

Mrs. Dawson rocked me gently. ”No, no, Florence. Sophia is dead and gone.”

”But I tell you, I saw her,” I insisted. ”She spoke to me.”

Mrs. Dawson took me by my shoulders and held me at arm's length. ”And I tell you, you dreamed it.” Her eyes implored me to agree with her. ”You're lonely here, you want a friend, and you've made yourself believe in Sophia.”

I shook my head. ”Surely Aunt has seen her-”

”No more, no more. I'll hear no more.” Mrs. Dawson's voice quivered as if I was scaring her. ”The poor child's soul rests in peace now. Father Browne saw to it. He blessed her proper.”

Making a shooing motion, she said, ”Go on now. Find a book to read. Forget the dream. Forget Sophia. Say nothing about her to Nellie or anyone else. You'll only bring grief on yourself.”

Defeated, I gave up and left Mrs. Dawson to her work. As I walked away, I heard laughter in the shadows. A cold finger brushed my cheek. Footsteps pattered behind me. I did not look back. I knew who it was.

At the top of the steps, Sophia appeared beside me, her face tinged blue, her eyes circled with dark smudges like bruises. ”Why don't you visit James?” she whispered. ”I know you want to.”

I drew back, repulsed by the smell of damp earth that clung to her. ”Aunt and Uncle forbid it.”

”I never let others stop me from doing what I want.” Keeping her hand on my arm, she floated into my room as if no more than air, but I could not break away from her.

My wardrobe opened, and Sophia pulled out the blue silk dress. ”Wear this. You must be presentable if you are to visit James.”

Even though I knew it was futile to argue, I said, ”I am not going to visit James.” But as I spoke, I found myself taking off my own drab brown dress and slipping into the blue silk. The fabric touched my skin, as delicate as b.u.t.terfly wings.

Sophia picked up my brush and comb and began brus.h.i.+ng my hair. When it shone as brown and glossy as hers once did, she tied it back with a blue velvet ribbon. ”There,” she said. ”You're not nearly as pretty as I am, but I suppose you'll do.”

I wanted to tell her she was not pretty now, but instead I stood silently before the mirror and admired my reflection. Instead of a wretched orphan, I saw a well-dressed girl, the sort I'd admired on the streets of London.

Behind me, I noticed Sophia kept her back to the mirror. ”Why don't you stand beside me and look at yourself? Then you can see who's prettier-you or me.” It was a terrible thing to say, and I was ashamed of myself for speaking the words out loud.

Ignoring my question, Sophia seized my hand and led me away from the mirror and out of my room. As we walked down the hall, the blue silk rustled like autumn leaves. My hair was a soft, sweet weight on my shoulders and neck. I walked lightly, gracefully. I forgot to be afraid, forgot to worry. At last I was going to meet my cousin James.

Sophia stopped in front of James's door. First she pressed her ear to the wood and listened. Then she bent to peek through the keyhole.

Straightening, she favored me with her thin-lipped smile. ”He's all alone, sitting in bed, reading. Don't bother to knock. Just walk in and stand quietly until he notices you. He loves surprises.”

”Aren't you coming with me?” I asked.

But I was speaking to empty air. Sophia was gone, leaving an echo of her laughter behind.

For a moment, I hesitated. Perhaps it was unwise to enter without knocking. Suppose I frightened James? What if Sophia was tricking me into doing something I shouldn't? Could I trust her to be truthful?

But I simply could not resist visiting my cousin. Quietly I turned the k.n.o.b and slowly opened the door. The curtains were closed tightly, and the fire burned low. An oil lamp beside the bed gave enough light for me to see James. Propped up on pillows, he was deeply engrossed in a book.

Like Sophia, he bore little resemblance to the child in the photograph. His round cheeks were gone, leaving his face narrow and solemn. His skin was pale, and the hair tumbling over his eyes was long and curly. Even from this distance, I could see he was thin and frail. Sickly.

Cautiously I took a few steps forward, unsure whether I should approach him or tiptoe out of his room. What I was doing seemed intrusive, rather as if I'd entered a sanctuary without permission.

I must have made a sound, for suddenly he turned and saw me. His reaction horrified me.

”No,” he screamed, ”you can't cross my threshold. It's forbidden! Get out! Get out!” He was on his knees now, hurling a book at me. Then another and another.

The heavy volumes. .h.i.t the wall over my head, and I ducked this way and that to avoid being struck. He was definitely stronger than he looked.

When he ran out of books to throw, James fell back against his pillow, shrieking and crying. ”Don't come near me!”

I ran to him and seized his hands. ”Don't be afraid. I'm Florence, your cousin. Hasn't Uncle told you about me?”

”You can't trick me,” James cried. ”I know who you are-I know what you want!”

”No, no, James, please listen. I'm Florence Crutchfield. My father was your father's brother. I'm an orphan, just as you are. We're both wards of our uncle, Thomas Crutchfield.”

Gradually, James's struggles lessened, and I re-leased his hands. Although he still trembled, he breathed more naturally and his body began to relax.