Spiral Path (Night Calls Series Book 3) (9 page)

The decision was made for me; a slender young woman with
blonde curls framing her face entered the room and walked straight to me.

I had no idea what to do. I decided to err on the side of
complete courtesy and stood up to greet her.

“
Miss
Sorensson? I am Margaret Rutledge.” The vowels were stretched a bit, the “t” a
soft popping sound behind her front teeth. She was English! Her accent was
audible but easy to understand, and I suspected it meant she came from a
wealthy, educated family.

“
I
am pleased to meet you,” came out of my mouth. “I hope you are feeling better.”

“
Yes,
much better,” she replied, her hands clasped loosely before her. She held a
blushing brown shawl closed over her pale yellow dress. I took note of how she
was hanging onto her shawl.

Miss Rutledge said, “Professor Livingston has asked me to
give you a tour of the house and grounds. Have you finished eating?”

“
Yes,
I have.”

“
Well,
then let us begin with the first floor of the main building. Then the school
and dormitory, and finally we will get our coats, and I will show you some of
the grounds.” Miss Rutledge led me out into the entrance hall.

There followed some of the most bewildering hours of my
life. Now, I can laugh at how confused I was, but this house might as well have
been a queen’s mansion—it was that foreign. No one was currently in the guest
bedrooms on the ground floor, so Miss Rutledge led me around to see both of
them. One had an octagonal shape, and both had special storage areas above the
bed alcove, which I thought quite clever. All the walls were vivid, lovely
colors, and the furniture beautifully made, with dark, glossy finishes.

“
President
Jefferson helped design this house,” my guide told me. “He loves building
things, and his own home is mostly just how he wants it. So he is happy to make
suggestions for his friends, if they want the benefit of his experience.”

Cousin Esme knows
President Jefferson?
I nodded.

Miss Margaret Rutledge did not show me the Livingston
private areas. However, an open arch lead to the private library, and from the
hallway it was wonderful to see. Sometimes, she told me, students had
permission to borrow those books, or to stay in the private library and read.

A greenhouse anchored the south end of the building. Both a
large parlor and the entrance hall had unusual things hanging on the walls:
gifts to the Livingstons, or things they had acquired in travel.

Occasionally we’d see older students moving around in the
main house, but Margaret did not stop to introduce me to any of them. Professor
Livingston had said I was to get the tour, and what my cousin wanted she got.

“
The
school library is in the south wing; we’ll go there next,” Margaret said. “I
will show you the locations of the necessary rooms; we have several in the
school wing. They are clearly marked for men or women, and we are expected to
honor that convention.” She headed for the stairs, because the first floors
between wings were only open breezeways. Upstairs, the outbuildings were
reached through heavy oak doors that opened easily with a touch of the hand.

“
Magic?”
I asked her. She looked puzzled, until I said: “Oak is a heavy wood, and these
doors are thick. Yet the doors open so smoothly.”

“
Oh!
Yes, it’s two kinds of magic—a spell, and also, they are very good doors. They
are beautifully balanced.”

There was not a lot to see on the second floor. Those halls
contained bedrooms for the younger students. “All the younger children are in
the south wing, with two older students to keep an eye on them. Once a student
reaches thirteen, it’s the north wing for them.

“In
the north wing, w
omen live on the second floor, men on the third. The
doorways are spelled; you cannot go onto the third floor, so do not bother
going up there. Men cannot come on the second floor. Few students remain beyond
their seventeenth year. The men may go on to college, if their families can
give them that luxury.”

“
And
the women?” I asked, after she’d grown silent.

“
They
return to their families. Most to marry. Alliances are built that way, you
know. Daughters of wealthy men seek other wealthy men to marry. Or occasionally
a daughter marries into the European nobility.”

Yes, I knew about such things. I didn’t like them, though.

The hallways seemed wider on the school side, to allow
students to reach their next classes quickly, or so I guessed. The library was
simply overwhelming. I finally stood and just stared.

I didn’t know that so many books existed, much less could be
purchased for a small school!

Margaret did not treat me like a rustic. She seemed pleased
by my response. “It is wonderful, is it not? It is rare that a small school has
such an extensive lending library. The Livingstons value knowledge, and share
it with any who will take care of the books. There are even a few people in New
York who borrow from this library.”

Well, I thought we were in New York, but I decided not to
ask that question right now. It did set me wondering, though. Was any of this
building someplace else? Not on the same grounds as the house?

Most of the classrooms did not vary. Long tables had slate
tops for taking fast notes with chalk, and wooden wings that swung up and
across the slate for placing paper and inkwells. Slate stood mounted on stands
or the wall for teachers to write upon. Wardrobes held the instructors’
materials, and several rooms had no chairs or tables at all. Two classrooms contained
their own pumps!

One thing I noticed immediately, as soon as we crossed into
the second floor of the south wing. It was much warmer in this hallway, warm
enough that I did not need my shawl.

“
Is
the house being worked on?” I asked as I examined a large window at the end of
the second floor. I could not feel any draft from the window or its frame.

“
No,
why do you ask?” Margaret said quickly.

“
This
side seems much better insulated than the main house.”

Margaret smiled. It was a nice smile, revealing dimples and
adding sparkle to her smooth English features. “It’s a spell, of course. The
Livingstons have created a way to link various power sources into the wings, so
the rooms are quite comfortable. They don’t heat the parlor, dining areas or
the entryway, except from the fireplaces. In case people who are frightened of
magic come to the house.”

“
My
room seemed cold this morning,” I ventured.

“
Professor
Livingston had guests this week who were surveying the facilities with a mind
to sending their children here for school. The wings are warmer than most other
people’s homes even without magic. They are very well . . . chinked,
I think the word is. There are few places in the walls for air to sneak in. The
Livingstons want the parents to feel comfortable sending their children here.”

“
Do
children without Talent go to school here?” That opened up all kinds of
possibilities. I wondered if this privilege was limited to family members of
practitioners.

“Yes, they are welcome here. They may even attend classes
discussing magic. It is limited to children who have a parent or other family
members who do have talent. What if they should have a talented child?
Sometimes the power sleeps for a generation or two. Something needs to be in the
family lore—a letter in a family Bible.
Something.”

Margaret seemed a bit upset with this conversation, so I
quickly said: “Shall we go get our coats and see the gardens? What I can see
out my window is wonderful, even in winter!”

Margaret laughed. “Yes, there are barely words for it! Two
labyrinths, one planted for women, and the other for men, and a huge maze!
There are even greenhouses for fruits and vegetables. Let’s go get our coats.”

She led the way out the school door onto a cobbled, covered
walkway free of snow. Once inside again, we threaded ourselves up the staircase
closest to Professor Livingston’s room, and found ourselves on the second
floor. This time I saw huge doors to my right, and also looked over the
entrance hall below.

“This is? . . . ” I gestured as we passed the
doors.

“A moment.” Margaret tilted toward the doors, listening. “Unoccupied.
They are supposed to put up a warning if it’s being used, but sometimes they
forget.” Margaret opened the door.

“Here is our ballroom, used for big lecture classes, and for
dances! You do know how to dance, don’t you?”

“I know many country dances,” I replied. “I know there are
new dances, but there was no one at home to teach me.”

“We have a class on dancing and deportment,” Margaret said
as she pulled the door closed. “Also we learn about all sorts of manners from
around the world. It is very useful, since students come from many different
countries. Some cultures have rules that dictate manners. For example, you
cannot offer wine to a Jew without making sure you have a bottle a rabbi has
approved. Neither Jews nor Mohammedans will eat pork. Chinese shopkeepers will
never say ‘no’ to you directly, but you can tell that you’re never going to get
an answer—much less the answer you want—by how flowery their phrases of regret
are.”

Continuing to walk down the hall, Margaret gestured above
and said, “The area above the ballroom is the dome room. It has been shielded
to protect us from any spell casting that goes wrong. We practice ritual and
transformation magic up there.”

Another large oak door—and where was that door when I left
the bedroom this morning?—and we were back in familiar territory. Three doors
down on the left, and I was back in my room.

“We do not have enough advanced students right now to double
up in rooms, so for now you’ll have to sleep alone. I’m sorry.” She sounded
sincere.

I considered telling her I’d had to sleep alone my entire
life, since I had no sisters, but I kept my tongue still.
Don’t volunteer information
, I reminded myself. I hung my shawl
over a hanger and got my coat and boots.

Margaret had
very
good manners. However astonished she might have been at my heavy sheepskin
boots and coat, she only said, “How nice and warm you must be! You will be able
to go out on the harder days.” Once I was ready, we went down to the sixth room
on the left, and Margaret led me into her own room.

The spread on the mattress was textured and white, very
elegant, and several pillows on top made an attractive backdrop. She had what I
mistook for a handful of rare flowers in a vase on her dresser, but they turned
out to be silk.

“How lovely!” I said as she laid her shawl on the foot of
the bed and pulled out a heavier cape.

“My mother and grandmother taught me to do that,” she said. “They
taught me to draw flowers, them to paint them, and finally to form them from
silk.”

She may have said something else to me, but some metal, oval
box frames attached to a pair of slippers caught my eyes. They were open on the
heel side at their tops.

“What are those?”

Margaret did look a bit surprised, but said: “Shoe pattens.
They lift you out of mud and snow, to keep your boots from becoming soaked or
horribly dirty. I’ll show you.” She pulled out the slippers and took the metal
frames with us.

We went outside. While I pulled my gloves on and tucked in
my scarf, Margaret balanced against the pillar and slid her boots into the
metal scuffs. I thought she’d fall over, but no, she stepped off down the snowy
path and headed for the labyrinths and maze.

The landscape was a wonder, even sleeping until spring.
Margaret clearly loved the gardens, being full of tidbits of information about
them. It turned out that the holly bushes that formed the women’s labyrinth
were female bushes, except for the ones that framed the entrance, while the men’s
labyrinth had male bushes, again except for the entrance, where berries could
be plainly seen.

“And the difference is?” I asked. There was a section in my
Great-Grandmother’s book on labyrinths, but I had only glanced at it.

She understood what I meant. “The way it spirals,” Margaret
said. “The plant in the center is different, too. You’ll see them when you walk
the paths.”

“You can walk either path?” If so, then that meant . . .
what?

“Yes, you can walk both!” Smiling, Margaret went on: “Mostly
they are just a beautiful, green walk. They have a use for the oldest students,
but my year hasn’t studied them yet.” She stopped at a wide, green opening in a
tall hedge. “This is the maze. Would you like to walk it? With the sun out, it
will be a nice outing.”

“Do you know the way out, in case I’m not up to solving the
puzzle?” I smiled as I said it, because I thought I could solve it. But it
would be nice to know that Margaret could get us out in a hurry if we got too
cold.

“Yes, I can get us out,” she assured me. “There is magic in
the maze, but it will not force us to stay in it.”

Good.
I was a
little off-kilter, with the sheer size of this place. I was willing to see
still more, but I knew I’d sleep well that night. Why, we’d yet to see the
stillroom and kitchen, so, as far as I was concerned, a lot of important things
had been left off my tour.

“This maze was formed of yew, a tough plant favored in
Europe for mazes and labyrinths,” Margaret started as we entered the maze.

Immediately, I felt a strong presence of magic, as if I walked
upon a woven path of energy. Eddies swirled about me, like water curling in a
stream. I was glad Margaret had warned me, or I would have been alarmed.