Part 8 (2/2)

I s.h.i.+vered in a blast of cold wind. ”Do you think she's gone now?”

James looked at me, a long look that required no words. We both knew we weren't done with Sophia and she wasn't done with us. Her fall hadn't killed her. No one can die twice. She would return.

Thirteen.

AT THAT MOMENT, SPRATT looked up and saw us. ”Stay where ye be,” he yelled. ”Don't take one step. I be sending the boy with a ladder.”

While James and I huddled together, Spratt and his helper ran up to the attic. They managed to lay a ladder across the slates from the window to the roof's ridge. The boy climbed out on the slates and crawled up the ladder until he reached our perch. First he helped James climb down the ladder to the attic window. Once my cousin was safely inside, the boy returned for me. Spratt held my hands and guided me inside.

Uncle and Aunt were waiting in the attic. At the sight of us, Uncle ran to embrace both James and me, but Aunt stood aside, her face tight with anger.

Pulling me away from Uncle, she shook me. ”How could you do such a thing? And on this day, the very day Sophia died!”

”It's not Florence's fault,” James cried. ”It was Sophia. She made us do it.”

Hearing this, both Aunt and Uncle forgot me and turned to James in consternation. ”James, James,” Uncle cried. ”Your sister cannot make you do anything now. She's dead and gone. Please don't say such things.”

”The boy is in a state of shock, and no one to blame but her.” Aunt pointed at me. ”I don't know what she's up to, but I tell you she's the devil's own.”

Uncle ignored his sister. ”You,” he said to Spratt, ”hurry to the village and fetch Dr. Fielding. I fear my nephew will have a seizure.”

Spratt scowled at Aunt. ”The boy be telling the truth. It were her, all right.”

”You daft old man,” Aunt cried. ”Be quiet and fetch the doctor.”

Spratt stood his ground, his brows lowered, his face flushed. ”I tell ye, that girl be here yet, a-lurkin' and a-sneakin' and tryin' to do mischief to the little lad. Jealousy be stronger than death, as any fool knows.”

”I'll not listen to this.” Aunt turned away, her hands clasped. ”It's a torment to be reminded of my darling's death.”

Uncle took Spratt's arm. ”Samuel,” he said. ”Get the doctor!”

”Yes, sir.” Spratt hurried past Aunt and ran down the attic steps. Carrying James, Uncle followed close at his heels.

”Florence,” he called, ”find Nellie and tell her to build up a good fire for Master James. He'll need hot tea, too.”

Eager to escape Aunt's baleful eye, I ran to fetch Nellie and Mrs. Dawson.

Halfway down the steps, Sophia stopped me with a cold hand on my shoulder.

”Now do you see how I suffered?” she whispered. ”n.o.body showed concern for me, just as n.o.body shows concern for you. Did anyone ask if you were cold or hurt? Oh, no. It was go fetch tea for James, Florence. Make sure the fire is warm enough for James, Florence. James, James, James. Always and forever, James, James, James.”

I wheeled and faced Sophia. ”Of course Uncle is worried about James. He's been in bed so long, it's a wonder he has any strength. He needs a doctor. I don't. Why shouldn't he come first?”

Sophia stared at me, her features twisted with anger. ”You're on my brother's side, too. When will anyone ever be on my side?”

”Aunt is on your side.”

”But I do not care for Aunt. She's such a tiresome old thing. Manners, deportment, etiquette, never a smile or a laugh or even a hug. How dreary it was to sit and play the piano for her. So much effort on my part simply to win a doll or a dress or a pair of fancy slippers. It wasn't what I wanted!”

Sophia withdrew further into the shadows, weeping now. It seemed to me she was dissolving like a paper doll in the rain, blurring, wavering. I could barely see her. But I could hear her.

”I wanted someone to love me the way they loved James,” she sobbed. ”That's all! If he hadn't been here, maybe someone would have loved me. But no, he took everyone's love and left me nothing. Nothing, nothing at all!”

With a wail of sorrow, Sophia vanished and I was alone on the stairs. All that was left of her was an aching emptiness, a loneliness that hung in the air where she had disappeared.

”The tea,” Aunt called to me from the top of the stairs. ”You were to tell Nellie to bring tea and stoke the fire! Why are you still lingering on the stairs? Have you no sense? Do you not care what happens to James?”

Without answering, I ran to the kitchen and found Nellie scrubbing the kitchen floor. ”Quick,” I said. ”Fix a good, hot fire in James's room, and bring hot tea for him.”

Nellie wiped her small red hands on her ap.r.o.n. ”What's happened, miss?”

”Never you mind,” Mrs. Dawson said. ”Fetch the coal.”

”Yes'm.” Nellie ran to the scullery.

Mrs. Dawson looked at me. ”I knew there'd be trouble today. It was her, wasn't it? Causing mischief like she used to.”

Before I could answer, she said, ”No, don't tell me. I don't want to know.” Grabbing a tray, she added, ”Run along. I'll bring the tea.”

I left Mrs. Dawson in the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs. Poor Sophia. Poor pitiful, sad Sophia. Had she gone uncomforted to her grave? I thought of her tombstone, already tilting over her grave, her name, her birth and death dates. What a short life. What an unhappy life.

Anxious to escape my thoughts, I went to James's room. Uncle had gotten him into bed and heaped blankets over him. ”More coal on the fire,” he barked at Nellie. ”Build it up and drive away the chill.”

As I approached the bed, Aunt took my arm. ”What are you doing here? Your presence is not required.”

As she began to usher me to the door, James stopped her with a cry. ”Please let Florence stay,” he begged. ”Please.”

”Hasn't she caused enough mischief already?” Aunt asked.

Pus.h.i.+ng Uncle's hands away, James sat up in bed. ”I tell you, this is Sophia's fault. She made Florence and me go to the roof. She wanted-”

”Nonsense!” Aunt exclaimed. ”Sophia rests in peace as do all the dead. No one returns from the grave. It is heresy to think so.”

Uncle gazed at his sister, his face solemn. ”You heard what Samuel Spratt said, Eugenie. Perhaps there is some truth in this talk.”

”Are you mad, brother?” Aunt tightened her grip on my arm. ”The boy is ill, the girl is a liar, and Samuel Spratt is a superst.i.tious, ignorant old man.”

”Please, Aunt,” I said. ”You're hurting me.”

”Release Florence,” Uncle said. ”James wishes her to stay.”

”Then I shall depart!” With that, Aunt left the room in such haste that she almost b.u.mped into Mrs. Dawson, who had chosen that moment to appear with the tea tray.

Mrs. Dawson set the tray down and beckoned to Nellie. ”Come-you left the kitchen floor half scrubbed.”

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