A Great And Terrible Beauty (7 page)

Pippa goes wide-eyed as an ingénue in a bad play. “Oh, Miss Moore! Ann has stolen Felicity’s sapphire ring.”

Felicity thrusts out her ringless finger as proof and attempts a mournful pout. “I had it earlier and noticed it was missing just after
she
came in.”

It’s hardly a convincing performance. The organ-grinder’s monkey is a better confidence man, but there’s no telling whether or not Miss Moore will be taken in by these two. After all, they have money and position and Ann has none. It’s amazing how often you can be right as long as you have those two things working in your favor. I’m ready for Miss Moore to straighten her spine and humiliate Ann in front of everyone by forcing her to admit her shame—and calling her all manner of horrible names as well. There’s a certain type of spinster lady who takes her amusement by torturing others under the guise of “setting a good example.” But Miss Moore surprises me by not taking the bait.

“All right, then, let’s have a look around on the floor. Perhaps it fell somewhere. Come on, everyone, let’s help Miss Worthington find her ring, shall we?”

Ann stands looking down at her shoes, unable to move or speak, as if she expects to be found guilty. I know I should feel pity for her but I’m still a bit miffed over the way she abandoned me, and an uncharitable part of me thinks she deserves this for trusting them. The others move chairs and peer behind curtains in a halfhearted attempt to find the ring.

“It’s not here,” a girl with a pinched face announces in triumph moments later when the ring doesn’t turn up.

Miss Moore lets out a long sigh, chews at her bottom lip for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is soft but firm. “Miss Bradshaw, did you take the ring? If you admit it, the penalty will be less severe.”

Ann’s face has gone splotchy. The stutter returns. “N-n-no, mum. I d-d-didn’t t-take it.”

“That’s what happens when you let her class into a school like Spence. We’ll all be victims of her jealousy,” Felicity gloats. The other girls nod. Sheep. I’m stuck in a boarding school filled with sheep.

“That will be quite enough, Miss Worthington.” Miss Moore raises an eyebrow. Felicity glares back at her, places a hand on her hip.

“That ring was given to me by my father for my six-teenth birthday. I’m sure he would be most unhappy to hear that it had come to be stolen and no one was doing anything about it.”

Miss Moore turns to Ann, reaches out a hand. “I’m sorry, Miss Bradshaw, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to let me see inside your knitting basket.”

Thoroughly miserable, Ann hands over the knitting basket, and suddenly I know exactly what’s going on, what’s going to happen next. It’s a prank. A vicious, nasty prank. Miss Moore will find the ring in there. The incident will be noted in Ann’s academic record. And what family would possibly hire a girl as a governess who’d been labeled a thief? The poor, stupid girl is just standing there, ready to accept her fate.

Miss Moore pulls a dazzling blue sapphire from the basket, sad disappointment registering quickly in her eyes before she remembers herself and makes her face a mask of restraint and propriety. “Well, Miss Bradshaw, what do you have to say for yourself?”

A mixture of deep wretchedness and resignation pulls Ann’s head and shoulders low. Pippa’s mouth broadens into a smile, Felicity’s a smirk as they exchange quick glances. I can’t help wondering if this is Ann’s punishment for talking to me earlier on the way to chapel. Is it a warning to me to watch my step?

“We’d best go see Mrs. Nightwing.” Miss Moore takes Ann by the hand to see her executioner. What I should do is go back to the fire and read my book. Every bit of reason in me says I should keep quiet, blend in, side with the winning team. Some days my reason is no match for my temper.

“Ann, darling,” I say, copying Pippa’s chummy tone from earlier. Everyone seems surprised to hear me speak, no one more surprised than I am at the moment. “Don’t be modest. Tell Miss Moore the truth.”

Ann’s huge eyes search mine for meaning. “The t-t-truth?”

“Yes,” I say, hoping I can make this up as I go along. “The truth—that Miss Worthington lost her ring tonight during vespers. You found it and put it in your knitting basket for safekeeping.”

“Why didn’t she return it right away, then?” Felicity steps forward, challenging me, her gray eyes inches from mine.

Tricky, tricky.
Make this good, Gem
. “She didn’t want to embarrass you in front of everyone and make it obvious that you’d been careless with something so valuable, a gift from your father. So she was waiting for a private moment. You know how kindhearted Ann is.” A little
Perils of Lucy
. A little smacking Felicity with her own petulant story about dear old Father. All in all, not bad.

Miss Moore appraises me. There’s no telling whether she believes me or not. “Miss Bradshaw, is this true?”

Come on, Ann. Play along. Fight back.

Ann swallows hard, raises her chin to Miss Moore. “Y-y-yes. It is.”

Good girl.

I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself until I lock eyes with Felicity, who is glaring at me with a mix of admiration and hatred. I’ve won this round, but I know that with girls like Felicity and Pippa there will always be a next time.

“I’m glad that’s settled, Miss . . . ?” Miss Moore stares at me.

“Doyle. Gemma Doyle.”

“Well, Miss Gemma Doyle, it would seem that we are in your debt. I’m sure Miss Worthington would like to thank you both for retrieving her lost ring, wouldn’t you?”

For the second time tonight, Miss Moore surprises me, and I’m almost certain I see a satisfied smile pulling at the corners of her proper British mouth.

“She could have come forward sooner and not frightened us all so,” Felicity says by way of thank-you.

“Grace, charm, and beauty, Miss Worthington,” Miss Moore admonishes, waving a finger disapprovingly.

Felicity looks like a girl whose lollipop has just landed in the dirt. But then she’s all smiles again, the bitterness gone, pushed down deep.

“It would seem that I am in your debt, Gemma,” Felicity says. She’s goading me by being so informal with my name when I haven’t given her leave to do so.

“Not at all, Felicity,” I volley back.

“This ring was a gift from my father, Admiral Worthington. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Half the English-speaking world has heard of Admiral Worthington—a naval hero, decorated by Queen Victoria herself. “No, I can’t say that I have,” I lie.

“He’s very famous. He sends me all sorts of things from his travels. My mother runs a salon in Paris, and when Pippa and I are graduated, we’re going to Paris, where Mama will have us outfitted by the finest couturiers in France. Perhaps we’ll take you along as well.”

It’s not an invitation. It’s a challenge. They want to know if I have the means to keep up with them. “Perhaps,” I say. They don’t invite Ann.

“It’s going to be a wonderful season, though Pippa will probably get the lion’s share of attention.” Pippa beams at this. She’s so lovely that scores of young men will prod their relatives to introduce them. “You and I will simply have to be good sports about it.”

“And Ann,” I say.

“Yes, and Ann, of course. Dear Ann.” Felicity laughs, giving Ann a quick kiss on the cheek, which makes her blush again. It’s as if all is forgotten.

The clock strikes ten and Mrs. Nightwing makes an appearance at the doors. “Time for bed, ladies. I bid you all good night.”

Girls shuffle out in twos and threes, arms linked, voices and spirits high. The excitement of the evening lives on in a contagion of whispers that trickle from girl to girl. We’re going round and round in a maypole dance of stairs and more stairs, inching toward the maze of doors where our rooms lie.

I’m finally unable to hold back my irritation with Ann. “You’re welcome, I’m sure.”

“Why did you do it?” she asks. Is no one here capable of saying a simple “thank you”?

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?”

She shrugs. “What’s the point? There’s no winning against them.”

“There you are, Ann, darling.” Pippa comes up and takes Ann by the arm, slowing her down so that Felicity can slip in beside me. Her voice in my ear is confession-quiet.

“I shall have to think of a way to repay you for finding my ring tonight. We have a bit of a private club, Pippa, Cecily, Elizabeth, and I, but there might be room for you.”

“Aren’t I the lucky one? I’ll rush right out and buy a new bonnet for the occasion.”

Felicity’s eyes narrow, but her mouth never loses its smile. “There are girls who would give their eyeteeth to be in your position.”

“Fine. Then ask them.”

“See here, I’m offering you a chance to get on at Spence. To be a part of something and have the other girls look up to you. You might do well to think about it.”

“To be part of something the way you made Ann a part of something tonight?” I say. I look back at Ann, several steps below me now, her nose running again.

Felicity sees this. “It’s not that we don’t want Ann involved. It’s just that her life isn’t going to be like ours. You think you’re being so kind to her when you know very well that you can’t be friends with her on the outside. It’s much crueler to make her think otherwise, to lead her on.”

She’s right. I don’t trust her farther than I can run full-steam in a corset, but she is right. The truth is hard and unfair, but there it is.

“If I were interested in joining—which I’m not saying that I am—but if I were, what would I have to do?”

“Nothing yet,” she says, her face breaking into the sort of smile that doesn’t make me feel at ease. “Don’t worry—we’ll come to you.” She lifts her skirts and runs up the stairs, shooting past the rest of us like a comet.

IT’S
THE
SOUND
THAT
WAKES
ME. MY
EYELIDS
FLUTTER
open, fighting off the remnants of dreams. I’m lying on my right side, facing Ann’s bed. The door and whatever may be just inside it are down past my feet at the far end of the room. To get a good look, I’d have to move, sit up, roll over, and I’m not about to let on that I’m awake. It’s a five-year-old’s logic: If I can’t see it, it can’t see me. No doubt plenty of unfortunate people have wound up with their heads cut off by assuming the very same thing.

All right, Gem, no use getting frightened. It’s probably nothing.
I blink and let my eyes adjust to the dark. Fingers of moonlight reach through the crack in the long velvet drapes and up the walls, nearly touching the low ceiling. Outside, a branch scratches against the windowpane with a squeak. My ears strain for some other noise, something in the room with us. There’s nothing else but the rhythm of Ann’s steady snoring. For a moment I think I must have dreamed it. And there it is again. The creaking of floorboards under careful steps that tells me this is not my imagination. I let my eyelids close to small slits so that I can pretend to be asleep but still see. No one takes my head without a fight. A figure looms closer. My tongue feels thick and dry in my mouth. The figure reaches out a hand and I’m up quickly, smashing my skull into the overhang just above my bed.

I hiss in pain, forgetting my visitor and placing a palm on my throbbing forehead.

A surprisingly small hand clamps over my mouth. “Do you want to wake the whole bloody school?” Felicity leans over me, the moonlight catching the planes of her face in such a way that she is all wide, hard angles and milky-white skin. She could be the face of the moon itself.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my fingers rubbing across the goose egg-sized lump rising along my hairline.

“I told you we’d come for you.”

“You didn’t say it would be in the middle of the bloody night,” I say, matching her tone. There’s something about Felicity that makes me want to impress her, show her that I’m a match for her strength and she can’t win me so easily.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

“What?”

She speaks to me slowly, as she would a child. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

My head still hurts from the bang. Ann is snoring lightly, completely unaware that we’re having this conversation.

“Come back in the morning,” I say, flopping back against my pillow. I’m awake enough to know that whatever she wants to show me at this hour can’t be good.

“I won’t make this offer again. It’s now or never.”

Go back to sleep, Gem. This does not sound promising
. It’s my conscience talking. But my conscience doesn’t have to spend the next two years making inane teatime chatter, bored to the point of catatonia. This is a challenge, and I’ve never said no to a challenge in my life.

“All right, then. I’m up,” I say. Then, just to make sure I don’t seem too soft, I add, “But this had better be good.”

“Oh, it will. I promise you.”

I find myself following Felicity out of my room, down the long corridor, past rooms of sleeping girls tucked away behind walls that house pictures of women from Spence’s past, grim-faced ghosts in white dresses whose somber mouths are tight in disapproval of this little escapade, but whose sad eyes all seem to say
go. Go while you can. Freedom is brief.

When we get to the huge landing and the stairs leading down, I pause. “What about Mrs. Nightwing?” I say, glancing up the enormous stairs that extend to a fourth floor I can’t see in the dark.

“Don’t worry about her. Once she’s had her glass of sherry, she’s down for the night.” Felicity starts down.

“Wait!” I whisper as loudly as I can without waking anyone. Felicity stops, turns to me, that pale face taunting. Hips swaying, she inches back up to the stair just below me.

“If you want to spend your time here embroidering God Bless Our Home samplers and learning how to play lawn tennis in a corset and skirt, go back to bed. But if you want to have a bit of real fun, well . . .” And with that she trips lightly down the stairs and around the corner to the next set of stairs, where I can no longer see her.

Pippa meets us in the great hall. The huge fireplaces have all gone dark, with a few embers still crackling and spitting but no real warmth or light left. She’s been hiding behind a large fern. Now she pops out, eyes wide and agitated.