Part 4 (2/2)

He studied my face. ”You're not Sophia,” he whispered, ”but you're wearing her dress and your hair is like hers. When I saw you in the shadows by the door, I was certain...”

He lay back against the pillows, his face as white as the sheets tumbled about him. ”You frightened me.”

”I'm so very, very sorry. I didn't mean to, but Sophia-”

”Do you see her too?” he interrupted, his eyes wide with surprise. ”I thought I was the only one.”

”She made me wear her dress, she fixed my hair, she sent me here...” I clenched my fists in vexation. ”Please forgive me, James. She, she...”

I looked warily around the room. Was Sophia hiding in the corner by the wardrobe? Was she watching from behind the curtains?

James looked at me. ”You're afraid of her too.”

”She terrifies me. She could be here, she could be there, she could be anywhere.”

James took my hands in his small ones. ”Not here. We're safe in my room,” he said. ”She can't cross the threshold.”

”Everywhere I go, she goes. The house, the garden. I can't get away from her.” I shuddered and continued to search the corners for signs of Sophia.

James shook his head. ”Spratt made a charm and hid it over my door. As long as it's there, she can't come in.”

”Spratt made a charm?” I stared at my cousin, thinking I'd misunderstood him. ”What sort of a charm?”

”Since you come from London,” James said, ”I doubt you believe in potions and charms and such, but Spratt's mother was a healer. And so was her mother and her mother before her and so on, back and back in time. She taught Spratt all she knew, including the making of charms to ward off evil.”

Not sure what I believed, I looked at him, huddled under blankets and propped up on pillows, trusting in a charm to protect him from his own sister. His dead sister.

I moved nearer to him, fearful of the shadows around us. ”What can Sophia actually do to harm you? We see her, we hear her, but she doesn't have a real body.”

Fixing me with the same blue eyes we all had, James sat up straight and leaned closer to me. ”Sophia doesn't need to be flesh and blood. Haven't you felt the cold touch of her hand? Hasn't she influenced you?” He paused and added, ”Was it your idea to come to my room? Did you want to do it, or did she make you?”

My silence answered for me.

James lay back against his pillow, but he kept his eyes on me. ”My sister has no body. She's never hungry. She's never tired. She's never sick. She's free to concentrate all her energy on one thing and one thing only. It's all she wants, and she's determined to have it.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as if talking about Sophia's strength had exhausted his own. The room was so silent, the very air seemed to hold its breath.

”What does she want?” I whispered.

James looked at me then, his face as pale as the pillow. ”She wants me to die.” His voice was flat and dull, his eyes almost as lifeless as Sophia's.

”She can't hate you that much. It's unnatural, it's wicked, it's-”

”You don't understand.” James's voice rose until he was almost shouting. ”It's my fault she's dead. I killed her. I didn't mean to, but I did. And now she wants to kill me.”

”How could you have killed her?” I asked. ”You're younger and smaller than she is. You-”

”I don't want to talk any more,” James cried. ”I'm tired and need to rest-you've overexcited me. Go away!”

Confused by the change in his behavior, I reached out to comfort him, but he swung at me, striking me with his fists, not caring whether he hurt me or not. ”Go away, I tell you,” he shrieked. ”Go away!”

Afraid of making him truly ill, I shrank back from the bed. At that moment, the door opened and Aunt entered the room.

At the sight of me, her face lit with joy. Holding out her arms to embrace me, she cried, ”You've come back to me! I knew you would. I've saved all your things. I've waited and prayed for your return.”

When I recoiled from her touch, Aunt realized her mistake. Immediately her happiness turned to rage. Seizing my shoulders, she shook me so hard, my head bobbled on my neck like a rag doll's. ”Where did you get that dress? It's Sophia's, not yours. You have no right to help yourself to her things.”

James cowered in his bed, his anger at me forgotten. ”Stop, Aunt-you're upsetting me. Do you want me to die too?”

Pus.h.i.+ng me aside, Aunt ran to him. ”My poor lamb. What has Florence done to you?”

She reached for his hands, but he pushed her away. ”Leave me alone! Florence has done nothing to me.”

Aunt drew back, rigid with anger. ”How dare you speak to me like that! After all I've done for you! Have you no grat.i.tude?”

”Can't you ever leave me alone?” James cried. ”I hate you! You wish I'd died instead of her. I heard you say so when you thought I was sleeping.”

Unable to bear any more, I ran out of the room. The things I'd imagined in my days at Miss Medleycoate's mocked me. Sisters and brothers were jealous and hateful; they didn't love one another as I'd thought. Aunt was mean and spiteful. Sophia had despised her little brother. James claimed he'd killed his own sister.

After locking myself in my room, I stripped off the blue silk dress, ripping a sleeve in my haste. b.u.t.tons popped off and rolled across the floor. Without pausing to think about what I was doing, I stuffed Sophia's dress into the fire.

It smoldered for a moment and then burst into flame. Fire shot up the chimney. Seizing a poker, I did my best to keep it contained. As unhappy as I was, I had no desire to burn Crutchfield Hall to the ground.

With relief, I watched the fire subside. The smoke made my eyes water, and the room reeked of burnt silk. Wearing only a thin slip, I ran to the window and let in a torrent of cold fresh air.

As the cas.e.m.e.nt swung outward, I saw that the constant rain had turned to snow. Trees and shrubbery, roofs and walkways, everything blended together in a sparkling white. Sharp lines disappeared, square shapes softened, hills and flat land merged.

If I'd been in a happier frame of mind, I might have thrilled to the snow's beauty. I'd certainly never witnessed its like in London's crowded, dirty streets.

But today I stared at the snow without really seeing it, too angry and scared by the morning's twists and turns to appreciate it. I'd reached a point so low that I almost wished to return to Miss Medleycoate's establishment. Perhaps the food was worse and the beds less warm and comfortable, but no ghosts roamed the orphanage's halls. I had Miss Beatty to comfort me and friends to laugh and talk with. I was often sad but never lonely or frightened. Here I was all three.

Eight.

FINALLY THE COLD DROVE ME to close the window and put on my own dress, rough and brown and scratchy against my skin. Afraid to stay in my room alone, I took my book and ran down to the sitting room and made myself comfortable in the big leather chair by the wood fire, much warmer than my coal fire.

I was so deeply immersed in Vanity Fair that I didn't notice Sophia until she exhaled her cold breath on my cheek. Startled, I dropped my book. ”Go away,” I begged. ”I've had enough of you.”

”But I haven't had enough of you, dear Florence.” She perched on the arm of the chair and studied me with her dull eyes. ”I see you've changed your clothes. Did you not like my dress?”

”I hate your dress!” I told her. ”When James saw me wearing it, he thought I was you.”

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