Down a Dark Hall (3 page)

The bed was high and beautiful, but not
particularly comfortable. Kit lay back upon the velvet bedspread and stared up at the wine-colored canopy. Somebody—was it
Poe?—had written a story about a bed exactly like this one in which the canopy had sunk slowly at night to smother the person
unlucky enough to be sleeping beneath it. They had read it last year in literature class and there had been squeals of incredulous
laughter. Now the story didn’t seem so funny.

I don’t like canopies,
Kit decided,
and I don’t like hard mattresses. But I am going to like it at Blackwood even if it kills me. I made Mom a promise
.

Her mother and Dan had been gone for over an hour now, and still she had not begun to unpack her suitcases. She climbed onto
the bed at first simply to see what it felt like and, once there, she had remained, staring up at the canopy and thinking.

She
had
been annoying over the past weeks. She could admit it now, and she was ashamed of herself. Her mother had been through enough
hard work and loneliness since the death of Kit’s father, and she deserved any happiness that came her way. Maybe Dan wasn’t
the person Kit herself would have gone out and selected for a stepfather, but if her mother loved him, then that was all that
mattered. In all fairness, no man her mother chose as a second husband would have pleased Kit completely. She had been close
to her father and no one could ever take his place.

She had been the last person to see him. No one had ever believed that, but it was true. She had been seven at the time and
had awakened in the night to find her father standing at the foot of her bed, gazing down at her. Although the room had been
dark, she had been able to see him clearly, his head bent, his gray eyes wistful, and a world of love reflected in his square,
strong-featured face. Kit had drawn herself up on her elbows and stared at him.

“Dad?” she said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Chicago on business.”

When he didn’t answer she shivered, realizing suddenly how cold the room had become even though it was midsummer. She lay
back upon the pillow, pulling the sheet and bedspread up to her chin, and let her eyes close for a moment. When she opened
them again it was morning, and sunlight streamed through the windows, falling in bright golden patterns upon the bedroom rug.

She got up and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and went downstairs. The house was filled with people.

One of her aunts came over and put an arm around her and said, “Poor baby! Poor little love!”

“What is it?” Kit asked. “What’s happened?” Her eyes took in the group before her. “Why is Mom crying?”

“It’s your father, dear,” her aunt told her. “There was an accident last night and your mother only got the call about it
this morning. Your father was in a taxi headed back to his hotel, when the driver ran a stop sign—”

“But that can’t be true,” Kit interrupted in bewilderment. “He was here last night. I saw him. He came into my bedroom.”

“You were dreaming, dear,” her aunt told her gently.

“I wasn’t,” Kit insisted. “I was awake. Dad was here. I saw him.” Across the room she cried to her mother, “Daddy did come
home last night, didn’t he? You must have gone to pick him up at the airport. Mom—”

Her mother’s face was white and terrible in grief, but she came quickly and took Kit in her arms.

“I wish he had, honey,” she said in a choking voice. “If only he had.”

The year that followed saw many changes in their lives. Her mother, who had never worked before, took a course in business
school and found a secretarial job with a law firm. She sold the house—“The payments are too much for me to manage,” she said,
“and I can’t keep up the yard by myself”—and rented an apartment in the city close to the office where she worked.

Kit knew it had not been easy. Her mother was a pretty, vivacious woman, and much as she loved her daughter, there was bound
to be a void in her life, a terrible longing for adult companionship. This had been proven by the change in her spirits since
she had found Dan.

Mom’s happy now, and I will be too,
Kit told herself determinedly. But she could not forget that feeling in the driveway, the sudden evil chill as though a cloud
had slid across the sun.

If Tracy were here, they would have laughed about it. They would even have made a joke of the crimson canopy; Tracy would
probably have suggested attaching bells to it so that the tinkle would wake them when it attacked in the night. Tracy Rosenblum
was levelheaded and smart and funny, and the possibility that she might not be accepted at Blackwood had never occurred to
either of them. When the notice had arrived, Kit couldn’t believe it.

“But you’re an honor student!” she had exclaimed incredulously. “You always get better grades than I do!”

“Maybe it was the psychological tests,” Tracy had said. “Or the interview. It’s possible the woman just didn’t like me.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everybody likes you. Besides, you knew all about her art collection and you could talk to her about the
Vermeer she discovered, and she kept calling you ‘chérie’ with every other breath. She liked you better than she did me.”

“Well, you come up with a reason then.” Tracy had shrugged her shoulders philosophically. “I just didn’t make it, and that’s
that. So back I go to old P.S. 37, and off you go to Blackwood, and I’m going to expect a lot of text messages and phone calls.”

“You’ll get them,” Kit had promised. “But there’s still a chance I can talk Mom out of sending me.” Well, that chance was
gone. Here she was, stretched out on velvet, staring up at more velvet, watching the room grow dim as dusk settled outside
the window.

Impulsively, she got out her cell phone and punched in Tracy’s number. The “no service” message popped up on the screen. Just
her luck. This really
was
the middle of nowhere.

Kit felt like screaming with frustration. She’d have to resort to e-mail. They had to have Internet in the school.

I should unpack,
Kit thought.
And set up my computer
. But she made no move to do so. She felt lulled and heavy, weighted down with a strange weariness which she could not explain.

There was a rap on the door. A voice said, “Miss Kathryn?”

“Yes?” Kit came to life with a start. Guiltily she shoved her feet over the edge of the bed so that her shoes no longer touched
the spread. “Yes—what is it?”

“Dinner, miss.” The voice was unmistakably Lucretia’s. “The others are already down.”

“Oh, thanks. I guess I lost track of time.” Pushing her legs the rest of the way over the edge of the bed, Kit sat up. To
her surprise she saw that in only a moment’s time the twilight outside had deepened into night. The room was very dark.

Reaching over, she fumbled with the lamp on the bedside table, found a knob at its base, and turned it. The light went on
and shadows leapt high against the opposite wall.

I wish there was an overhead light,
Kit thought, getting to her feet.
There’s such a thing as being
too
old-fashioned and charming.

She crossed to the desk and turned on the study lamp, which helped slightly. She knew she should change from her travel-wrinkled
clothes, but with dinner already waiting, it seemed better not to take the time. She compromised by scrubbing her hands and
face and running a comb through her thick mane of blond hair.

The face that looked back at her from the bathroom mirror was not conventionally pretty. The mouth was a little too wide,
the chin too square. But the gray eyes were direct and friendly and the cheeks were flushed with the glow of vitality and
good health. It was a likable face, and the only time Kit really thought about it was when she saw its growing resemblance
to her father’s.

Leaving the lights burning in the bedroom, she stepped out into the hall and drew the door closed behind her. Immediately
she found herself standing in a tunnel of darkness. The hall was unlit except for a single bulb encased in a frosted globe
at the top of the stairwell. Kit began to walk slowly toward it, and to her astonishment, she saw a slim, pale figure moving
toward her as though out of the wall beyond the stairs.

She stopped, and the figure stopped. She took one tentative step, and suddenly realized that she was seeing her own reflection
in the mirror above the stairs. “Good one, Kit,” she said aloud, disgusted with herself. “Next thing you know I’ll be seeing
vampires.”

Placing her hand on the smooth mahogany banister, she descended the stairs to the hall below. This was well-lit, and though
it was empty she could hear the sound of voices and the clink of glasses and silverware in a room beyond. Following the sounds,
she made her way down the hall to the door of the dining room and looked inside.

The room was massive, with high, arched ceilings and a crystal chandelier of such grandeur that it might have been stolen
from the set of a period movie. Beneath it stood a large, circular table covered with a white linen cloth and set with candles
and china. Three people were seated around it, and there was a fourth place setting. Madame Duret glanced up from the conversation
to see Kit standing in the doorway.

“Come in, my dear. Forgive us for starting without you, but dinner at Blackwood is served promptly at six thirty.”

“I’m sorry,” Kit said contritely. “I think I must have fallen asleep.”

As she entered the room the two men at the table rose to their feet and Madame made the introductions.

“Kathryn Gordy, may I present Professor Farley and my son, Jules.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kit said.

The elderly gentleman across from her had a receding hairline and a short, white beard, trimmed into a point. Kit shook his
hand politely, but her eyes had already shifted past him to Jules Duret.

Slim and fine-boned, with glossy black hair framing a face so perfect that it might have belonged to a TV star, he was without
a doubt the cutest guy she had ever seen in person.

“Won’t you sit down?” Madame Duret asked pleasantly. She reached over and lifted the little silver bell that stood by her
water glass. At the chime, a swinging door in the back of the room opened and a plain, flat-faced girl in a blue uniform appeared.

“Miss Kathryn is here now, Natalie,” Madame said. “She will have her soup.” The girl nodded and retreated to get the soup.

Madame smiled at Kit as she took her place at the table. “It is pleasant to have you with us a day early, Kathryn. Professor
Farley will be your instructor in math and sciences. Jules has just received his degree from a music conservatory in England
and will be teaching piano.”

“Are the other teachers not here yet?” Kit asked, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap. There was a slight pause
that Natalie filled by placing a bowl of soup in front of her.

“There are not to be any others,” Jules said after a moment. His voice had the same charming blend of accents as his mother’s,
so subtle as to be almost undetectable, yet adding a note of color to his speech.

Kit regarded him with surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I, too, will be teaching,” Madame told her. “I will instruct in languages and literature, and of course, in art, if there
should be an interest.”

“But the brochure mentioned several different classes,” Kit exclaimed. “How can there be so many with only three people to
teach them?”

“You mustn’t worry about that, Kathryn,” Professor Farley said as his wise old eyes seemed to twinkle in the candlelight. “You will receive all the personal attention at Blackwood
that you could possibly ask for. I had the pleasure of teaching at Madame Duret’s school in England several years ago and was so impressed by her achievements there that I convinced her to open a
school here in the United States.”

“How is your room, chérie?” Madame asked. “There is a supply of extra blankets if you need them. Are there enough hangers
in the closet?”

“Everything seems fine,” Kit said. “Except I wish I could use my cell phone. And there’s one other thing—the light in the
hall seems awfully weak. I didn’t notice it this afternoon because of the light from the window, but now at night it’s really
dark.”

“That’s one of the problems that comes with renovating an old place,” Professor Farley said. “That upstairs wiring just doesn’t
do the trick. Madame has been trying to get electricians out from the village, but that’s easier said than done.”

“Perhaps we could remove the globe,” Madame Duret said, “and use a bulb of a higher wattage. As a temporary measure, of course,
until we can have another fixture installed.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Kit said in sudden embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it. I’m not usually worried
about things like that, it’s just that the dorm floor is so empty right now. It won’t matter at all tomorrow when the other
girls get here and it’s all filled up with people.”