Eldric knew more about me than anyone since Stepmother.
“I’m here to make a bet with you,” said Eldric.
“What sort of bet?”
“I’m willing to bet that you’ll go to Blackberry Night.”
“Have you been talking to Cecil?” I said.
“Never, if I can help it.”
“He mentioned it too, at your garden party. But the reverend’s daughter can’t go to Blackberry Night.”
“I’m not finished,” said Eldric. “I’m betting you’ll go to Blackberry Night if we can guarantee you one hundred percent—yes, one hundred percent, ladies and gentlemen—that the Reverend Larkin will never find out.”
“That’s an odd sort of bet.” But it wasn’t a bet at all. It was an invitation. He wasn’t inviting Leanne; he was inviting me.
“Pearl and I have been plotting. She’s making you a frock woven of moonbeams, and you shall wear it to Blackberry Night.”
“I really could never do that.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Because Father disapproved? Because he delivered his mighty sermon against Blackberry Night?
Do I want Father to guide me in such matters? Do I want Father to place his fingerprints on my thoughts?
I do not.
I woke up to Rose coughing.
She stood over me, coughing and staring so hard a person couldn’t help but wake up.
“Eldric prefers that I not awaken you,” she said. “He says you need rest. But I prefer to talk to you, so I can make you better. It was quite a difficult decision.”
“I shall get better on my own,” I said.
“It’s not that sort of getting better,” said Rose.
“What sort of getting better is it?”
“That’s a secret,” said Rose.
At least I needn’t fret about Rose’s illness. The Boggy Mun had frozen the progression of her disease until Halloween, at which time she’d either get better, or die.
“I knew it!” She sat on the bed. She almost sat on the Brownie. “I knew you were all one color. Your face matches your nightdress. But Eldric says not to worry. You’ll be pretty again when you recover.”
“Eldric said that?”
Rose nodded.
“Perhaps you should bring me a looking glass,” I said.
“I prefer not,” said Rose. “I have no time to lose.”
“Not yet, mistress,” said the Brownie. “Don’t look yet.”
“I prefer so,” I said. “I have all the time in the world.”
In the end, Rose fetched a looking glass. I studied my face as one might look at a portrait of oneself.
“You’re not listening,” said Rose. “I made a very difficult decision. I want you to be able to see the secret.”
Rose was right about my all-one color, and worse: There were thin vertical lines to either side of my mouth. I knew what a soppy sort of novel might call them: lines of pain. I knew what a non-soppy sort of Briony might call them:
Ugly.
“Where is Eldric?” I said.
“Lessons,” said Rose. “I have a very important question to put to you.”
“Is he with Mr. Thorpe?”
Of course he was, but Rose is not an
“Is he with Leanne?”
“Yes,” said Rose. “Now, you really must attend properly: How does midnight look to you?”
“Late.”
“I don’t mean that,” said Rose. “How does it look to your eyes?”
“Dark,” I said. “But sometimes there’s a moon.”
“How does before midnight look to you?”
“How much before midnight?”
Rose paused. “I think that might be a secret.”
“You have so many secrets, Rose!” I ticked them off on my fingers. “My birthday. That book of yours you wished had burnt. The different sort of getting better, the one that doesn’t have to do with my hand. The secret you want me to see.”
“Yes,” said Rose. “How does before midnight look to you?”
“If it’s five hours before midnight, it might look like twilight, which means the sky’s a very deep sapphire blue and the air is like a Persian cat. If it’s ten minutes before midnight, it looks just the way midnight does.”
“That’s no help at all,” said Rose. “I shall be obliged to consult Eldric.”
My hand hurt more than usual. How horrid it would be if my hand were really missing, and the pain was that long-distance pain I’d learned about in the
I raised my arm and looked at the monstrosity of bandages. They said my real hand was in there. That’s what they said.
Pearl buttoned me up and attended to the other tasks she believed my left hand incapable of performing. There was to be a tea party that afternoon, but I knew no more than that. A surprise was brewing, in addition to the brewing of tea. The past few days had been full of whisperings, followed by sudden silences whenever I drew near.
Rose came dancing in to fetch me. “We’ve a surprise for you, but I mustn’t tell. That’s what Father said.”
Father needn’t have said anything. Rose has a strict sense of honor, or perhaps it’s a simple inability to break the rules.
She was rosier than usual, and she smiled her real-girl smile. She was Pinocchio at the story’s end.
“Am I to see it now?” I said.
“If you prefer to come.” Rose led me down the corridor, which smelled of sawdust and paint and varnish. I hesitated at Father’s study because there was nothing else down the corridor save the remains of the library. But Rose passed the study. I dragged myself on.
We were mixed up today, Rose and I. Usually, I was the one who sped along on wolfgirl feet. Rose was the one who dawdled and stumbled and complained. But my legs had gone all snively, and now that we were nearing the library, they went all wet-handkerchief-y, which was probably because I’d been ill, but it could also be because I don’t like surprises.
“Hurry up!” said Rose. “You have to go in first.”
But still, I hesitated. The house-fixing smells were in there, as well as the voices and laughter, and among the voices was Leanne’s. Leanne? Some foolish part of me had hoped she and Eldric were no longer friends. After all, Eldric hadn’t gone on the hayride.
Foolish Briony. A regular girl would have known.
“I prefer that you open the door,” said Rose.
My right hand was still encased in plaster. I turned the knob with my scarred left hand. The door opened upon the color of honey. Upon honey-colored wainscoting, gleaming with beeswax. Upon a honey-colored floor with an island of crimson carpet.
