Part 9 (1/2)

Touching Uncle's hand as she pa.s.sed, Nellie whispered, ”I ain't seen her, master, but she be here a-watching us all.”

Uncle nodded. ”Yes, my dear,” he said softly. ”I'm beginning to believe my niece haunts this house. There have been times when I...” His voice trailed off and he gazed into the fire. ”Even Mr. d.i.c.kens believed in ghosts, I daresay. And Shakespeare, too. Who is to say what is real and what is not?”

Nellie glanced about fearfully. ”Don't be saying too much about spirits, sir. Some folks say talking of the dead brings them out of their graves and into a house. They wants a warm place, too, I expect. The burial ground be powerful cold.”

”That's quite enough, Nellie.” Mrs. Dawson took the girl's arm and led her toward the door. ”Beg your pardon, sir. We're all a bit unsettled.”

”It's perfectly all right, Dawson.” His face thoughtful, Uncle leaned back in his chair and watched Nellie follow Mrs. Dawson out of the room.

For a while we all sat in silence, drinking our tea and staring into the fire.

At last Uncle spoke. ”Did not Mr. Shakespeare say 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio'-or something to that effect?”

”In Hamlet,” I said. ”After the ghost of Hamlet's father came to say he was murdered.”

Uncle looked at me, pleased. ”You've read Shakespeare, have you?”

”A few plays,” I said. ”I didn't completely understand them, so I plan to read them again when I'm older and know more about life.”

Uncle chuckled. ”What fun a governess will have with you and James.”

James frowned as if he did not like the change of subject. ”What we told you is true, Uncle. Sophia forced me to go to the roof.”

”She thought she could change the past,” I said. ”She wanted James to fall and die so she could live.”

”But it happened exactly the same way it did before,” James said. ”Sophia fell and I didn't.”

”She's jealous of James,” I said, ”and she always has been. She thinks no one loved her.” I paused and stared into the darkness beyond the firelight, wondering if Sophia was there now, listening. Overcome with pity, I dropped my voice to a whisper. ”Sophia's very lonely. And very sad.”

Uncle sighed. ”I hope our loneliness and sorrow does not follow us to the grave and torment us there as it did in life. I've always thought of death as a re-lease from mortal cares, but if what you say is true, my dear Florence, my philosophy, like Horatio's, must be reexamined.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Dr. Fielding. His face was ruddy from the cold, and the fresh smell of a winter evening clung to him.

”Well, well, young man,” he said to James. ”I understand you've been so foolish as to venture onto the roof again.”

”It wasn't my idea,” James began, but stopped when Uncle shook his head and frowned at him.

”Not your idea?” Dr. Fielding looked at him inquisitively.

James interested himself in the loose thread in his blanket, plucking at it to avoid looking at the doctor.

”It was my idea,” I said quickly. ”I wanted to see the place where Sophia fell, but I didn't expect James to climb up on the roof. I thought he would point from the window.”

Dr. Fielding looked at me as if he'd noticed me for the first time. ”So you followed him in case he needed rescuing?”

”Yes, sir.” My cheeks burned with shame at telling a lie.

Turning to Uncle, Dr. Fielding said, ”The girl bears an amazing resemblance to Sophia.”

”Physically, yes,” Uncle said. ”But she is of an entirely different temperament.”

A look pa.s.sed between the two men, and Dr. Fielding took a seat on the edge of the bed. Taking James's wrist, he felt his pulse. ”Quite normal,” he said. ”How do you feel?”

”I feel surprisingly well, sir, though a bit tired from so much exertion.”

Dr. Fielding listened to James's chest with his stethoscope, examined his throat, and finally leaned back with a smile and p.r.o.nounced him much improved.

”Although I do not recommend doing it again, I must say, climbing the roof seems to have been good for you.”

”I have no intention of doing it again, sir,” said James.

”I am very glad to hear it,” Uncle said.

Dr. Fielding nodded in agreement. ”I suggest a day of rest tomorrow. Your aunt and uncle should watch for signs of a chill or some other adverse reaction to today's activities.”

”Would it be possible for me to rest downstairs in the sitting room?” James asked. ”I've grown weary of my bedroom.”

”That's a splendid suggestion,” said Uncle. ”Do you give your permission, Fielding?”

”Wholeheartedly. James has spent entirely too much time in bed. Hopefully he'll soon be outside playing in the garden with Florence.” Dr. Fielding patted James on the head. ”But stay warm.”

Uncle kissed James and left the room with Dr. Fielding. Alone, James and I sat on the bed and gazed at the fire. Outside, the wind blew harder. The snow seemed to have turned to ice from the noise it made striking the windows.

James yawned and snuggled under his covers. ”I'm so tired,” he whispered.

Curling up beside him, I peered into the corners where the shadows were darkest. Nothing stirred there. Nothing spoke. The fire murmured, and the sleet rattled the windowpanes. For a moment, I imagined I saw Sophia making her way through the night, her thin form battered by the wind. Slowly she walked, her head down. She paused at the churchyard gate, rimmed in ice now, and looked back as if she could see me from where she stood. Never had I witnessed such unhappiness, such loneliness, such despair.

Gradually Sophia faded out of sight among the crooked rows of tombstones. Moving close to James, I put one arm around him and fell into a deep sleep.

Fourteen.

A WAKENED BY A RAPPING ON the door, I sat up and stared about me, surprised to find myself in James's room. He lay beside me with eyes closed, breathing peacefully, his face pink with health.

”Miss, are you in there?” Nellie called. ”Mrs. Dawson has sent me to fetch you for supper.”

James opened his eyes. ”Where is Sophia?” he asked, still groggy from sleep.

”Gone,” I whispered, remembering my vision of her vanis.h.i.+ng among the tombstones in the churchyard, defeated forever, I hoped.

”Truly gone?” James looked doubtful.

”She's not here now, I'm certain of it.”

Nellie knocked and called again.

”Who's knocking?” he asked, suddenly fearful.