Mama kisses the top of my head before making her own departure,and Cordelia helps me undress. She chooses my favorite cotton nightgown—thesoft, nearly-threadbare one. Bless her heart for putting my comfort beforefashion.
“Shall I read to you?” she asks.
I smile with my cracked lip as Cordie takes a book from theshelf. It is most likely Mrs. Radcliffe’s gothic masterpiece, The Mysteriesof Udolpho. My companion smuggled the forbidden novel into my mother’sfortress of propriety a few days ago, and it has proved gripping. I settle backagainst my pillow and she begins reading where we left off last time. Andcontinues on, with only a few pauses to sip water or adjust her lap blanket,until the book reaches its conclusion. “Well, wasn’t that something, MissHester?” she asks.
Nodding in agreement, I stifle a yawn. Despite my weariness,Udolpho was a thrilling tale which transported me outside my little world fora few hours. How I wish I could travel to far away places! Visit the Continent,the Far East, India and Africa. Even as I dream of it, I know I never will. Myparents wouldn’t allow me to go and neither would my magic. Stonehenge is thecenter of my power as a Visionary, and it sustains me in both the supernaturaland physical sense. I can visit other places for a time, but I cannot remainthere. If I do, I’ll grow weak and eventually perish.
“How are you feeling, miss?” Cordelia asks.
She sounds worried. Does my face reflect my disappointment withthe confines of life? I try to look cheerful, and it must be convincing.Cordelia decides that I am well enough to leave alone, says goodnight, and pullsthe curtains around my canopy bed. The bedroom door shuts, and I listen as herfootsteps turn toward the servant’s quarters.
Snuggling under the satin duvet, I close my eyes, but sleepdoes not come. I toss and turn as the wagon accident repeats itself in my mind.Should I contact Tom? Would he mind the interruption at this time of night? Ihad planned to tell him tomorrow since he is likely asleep, but my reserves ofpluckiness and strength are tapped out. I sit up and send Tom a message ofyearning, pour my heart into each word. I share with him how scared I was inthat wagon, express my sadness over losing Jem. He answers immediately withwarmth and concern. We remain in this suspended state of mental togetherness,until Tom begins thinking rationally. He has me describe my experience again. Thequestions sound casual yet I know he is upset.
The horse was given a lash? You’re certain of it?
Miles away in my bedroom, I nod, as though Tom is there withme. Yes, just before Jem bolted. Was it a practical joke run amuck, do youthink?
Someone struck the horse and threw the whip back into thewagon, making it look as though you’d hurt the animal yourself. Nothing funnyabout that, Hettie. You might have been killed, as well as a score of otherinnocent people.
At Tom’s request, I make a list of those who might want me dead.It’s a miserable, horrible thing to do, but I begin with the obvious candidate.He who wishes I had never been born and has said so on several occasions.
My father.
It didn’t sound like him walking toward the wagon. Theemotion smelled different, more intense. As if it were usually contained andhad suddenly broken free. Besides, Father doesn’t hide his feelings. His distastefor me is obvious.
I’m sorry, love. John Grayson’s a rotten, money-grubbingscoundrel. Just say the word, and I’ll give him the trouncing he deserves.
No! No trouncing’s needed at present. It can’t be Father,anyway. He plans out every possible outcome. This was too spur-of-the-momentfor him.
Tom’s thoughts are a tapestry of frustration and fear. Whatabout our killer from the Halloween vision? He might have tracked you down,thinking you know the truth about him.
I grab a pillow and hug it tightly against my chest. MaryArden warned me of danger, too. Let’s not forget the heir ofArchimendax.
You communicated with the woman telepathically before. Whynot try it again? Ask her about him. His identity, to begin with…
I doubt it will work, Tom, but I’ll try.
Inhaling slowly, I listen to the beating of my heart. I reachout, calling her name with my psyche. Mary Arden. Mary Arden…Yet I hearnothing. Clairvoyant patterns are unique, and it’s difficult to connect with avirtual stranger, like taking a handful of sand and searching for a specific grain.Unless there’s an intrinsic bond, like Tom and I share—then it’s as easy asbreathing. The crazy witch woman and I do not have such an attachment, however.
Sorry. I’m not getting her.
How did it work before, love?
My exchange with Mary Arden plays through my mind again,leaving an unpleasant residue. I think she used Compulsion.
You’re sure, Hettie? Forbidden gifts?
As sure as I can be.
All right then. We’ll have to find old Mary’s place in thewoods. Until I locate her, stay inside, no more taking off on your own. Becautious, for once.
I bristle at his reprimand. Why does everyone in my lifeimagine they can tell me what to do?
Fine, Tom. I’ll do it if you insist, but boredom makes megrumpy.
Better grumpy than dead, love. I’ll come to you tomorrow.See for myself that you’re recovering.
I wish you could, but I expect Mama will hang about. And thenew doctor is scheduled to visit.
Suddenly, I feel as though I cannot endure another moment ofwakefulness. Sensing my fatigue, Tom fades away fast, but calls to me oncemore.
Be careful, heart of mine. Be safe.
7
Luctor et emergo.
I struggle and I survive.
Itis early evening of the next day when Dr. Kelly returns. Cordelia has been myonly source of entertainment, since Mama hasn’t allowed me to leave my suite ofrooms. We are now halfway finished with A Sicilian Romance, another of Mrs.Radcliffe’s novels. The oldest child of two teachers, Cordie is well-educated,and her voice is smooth and expressive. Even so, my body is aquiver withuntapped energy, and I fantasize as
