Ravencliffe (Blythewood series) (14 page)

“What about the third vessel?” I asked.

“It’s never been found. The shadow master has been looking for it. If he found it and released the rest of the shadows, the world would descend into irredeemable darkness. Already the Darklings are barely able to maintain the balance between good and evil. As the world gets more and more crowded with humans it becomes harder and harder for us to exist in it. How many more places like this, for instance, are there for young fledglings to spread their wings?”

He tilted his chin out toward the open air where Oriole and Marlin were spinning parabolas against a pink sky. Dawn came so quickly on these nights!

I nestled deeper into Raven’s arms, chilled by the story he had told me. “If the Order and Darklings could join forces, the Order could protect the Darklings.”

“I’m afraid any hope of that died when your Mr. Farnsworth sank to the bottom of the ocean with
A Darkness of Angels.
”

“We don’t know he drowned,” I protested, although as the weeks went by without any word from Agnes, I had less and less hope that he was still alive. “And there might be another way to convince the Order that the Darklings aren’t evil. I could speak to Dame Beckwith—”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said quickly. “You think Dame Beckwith and your teachers are your friends, but so did the Indians who lived here and the others the Order has betrayed. They’ll kill you if they find out what you are.”

He stroked my wings protectively, and I felt a shivery sensation deep inside.

“You mustn’t take the risk until . . .” he said hoarsely, his hand traveling from my wings to my face, his touch as feathery and light as the touch of his wings, one of which was cupped around my back and drawing me toward him. I scooted closer, my own wings stretching out and intertwining with his, until we were both entirely fitted within the mantle of our joined wings. It was like being inside a nest. The pink light of dawn shone through our feathers, making the space between us glow, turning his skin gold and his lips rose-petal pink.

When our lips touched I felt his wings fluttering against mine, as fast and light as a hummingbird’s wings.

“Until what?” I whispered.

“Until you’re ready to leave them and come to me.”

16

NEITHER OF US
spoke on that night’s flight home. Nor was I able to see him for another week. Midterms were approaching, and Helen had organized us into a study group that resembled a military camp.

“What choice do I have?” she asked when I complained. “You’ll never pass otherwise. You’ve failed your last Latin quiz and history exam.”

She was right. I had been having trouble focusing on my work. What good did it do to study Latin declensions when there were girls being held captive in a place like the Hellgate Club? How could I enjoy the privileges of Blythewood when the changeling and those other girls endured a life of abject slavery, when girls like Molly were leaping to their deaths? And why study the illustrious history of the Order when half of what we learned in our books was lies masking the reality of the Order’s shoddy treatment of half the people on the planet?

I veered between distraction and irritability in most of my classes, unable even to draw a bow correctly in archery because of the unfamiliar strain in my back muscles from flying or to ring the changes in bells because my new Darkling ears made the noise unbearable. I couldn’t even pay proper attention in my favorite class, English, where a line of poetry recited by Miss Sharp would remind me of the touch of Raven’s lips on mine. If I didn’t buckle down I wouldn’t need to be revealed as a Darkling to be kicked out of Blythewood. Then I’d have no choice but to go to Raven . . .

But where? Would we live together in his nest? Or at Violet House with him in his guise as Raymond Corbin, clockmaker’s apprentice? Would we marry? But Raven hadn’t asked me to marry him. And he hadn’t said anything more about taking me to meet his parents.

On the day before midterms it occurred to me that I didn’t have to wait for a chance to slip away at night; I could go to Violet House to see Raven. And I had the perfect excuse.

“Etta,” I said as we gathered in the Commons Room after lunch to study, “you must miss Ruth terribly. Why don’t we walk into town today and visit her?”

Helen and Daisy lifted their heads out of their books and looked at one another. As if they’d arrived at an agreement, Helen spoke.

“We’re not allowed to leave the castle on Halloween. You remember what happened last year.”

Last year we’d been attacked by shadow crows on our way back from Violet House. “What I remember is that
you
instigated our excursion into town last year,” I said, getting up and brushing pencil shavings off my skirt. “But Etta and I can go and come back far before dusk. We’ll just nip in for a cup of tea and a quick visit. What do you say, Etta?”

Etta was already on her feet and racing for the front hall for her coat. I followed her at a more leisurely pace with Helen and Daisy trailing behind me.

“Don’t you care if you fail?” asked Helen.

“Actually,” I said, putting on my jacket and straightening my hair in the hall mirror, “I don’t. But you two stay here studying if you like. We’ll bring you back tea cakes.”

Helen and Daisy exchanged another worried look and a nod.

“We’ll go with you,” Helen announced.

“Suit yourselves,” I said, sweeping out of the door.

The walk to town would have been uncomfortably silent if not for Etta’s bright chatter. She was so happy about the prospect of seeing Ruth that I felt bad I hadn’t brought her sooner—and guilty that I’d only thought of it now as an excuse to see Raven. As we turned down Livingston Street, though, I worried he wouldn’t be there. He could be out on a job for Mr. Humphreys, the clockmaker, or in the woods at his nest . . . or who knew where else. I realized that although I had shared many nights—and kisses—with Raven, I didn’t really know much about how he spent his days. A man who could fly could be anywhere.

But then a burst of laughter from the direction of Violet House put paid to all my worries. That was Raven’s laugh; I would know it anywhere. And that was his rich baritone intermixed with a higher soprano . . .

A soprano?

As we arrived in front of Violet House I saw where the voices were coming from. On the front porch, seated in a cozy wicker settee—a rather small settee—Raven and Ruth were having tea. Or at least, the table in front of them was set for tea and Ruth was wearing a very pretty yellow tea dress trimmed with cerise ribbons. But they weren’t drinking tea at the moment. I wasn’t sure
what
they were doing, only that it seemed to necessitate Raven having his hands in Ruth’s hair and both of them laughing quite a bit.

I stopped on the bluestone sidewalk, my heart thudding in my chest, heat flaming in my cheeks. My wings strained against my corset.

“Ruth!” Etta cried.

Ruth looked up, her cheeks pink, her dark eyes shining. “Ettaleh!” she cried, jumping up. A cherry-colored ribbon drifted in the air behind her. Raven stood and caught it in his hand and then, seeing me, turned the same color as the ribbon. I would have turned and fled, but Etta and Ruth were pulling me toward the house. Ruth was jabbering away in my ear about something I couldn’t follow, and then she was introducing Helen and Daisy to “Mr. Corbin.”

I saw Helen narrowing her eyes at Raven and then looking from him to me and back again. The first time Raven had appeared at Blythewood in the guise of Raymond Corbin, clockmaker’s apprentice, she hadn’t recognized him as the Darkling she’d glimpsed in the woods. He’d looked every inch the humble workingman then. But he didn’t look humble now. His cheeks were flushed, his dark hair tumbling around his face and his loose collar revealing his finely carved throat. He held out his hand to shake Helen’s and blushed as he saw he still held the cherry-red ribbon.

“I believe that belongs to Miss Blum,” Helen said primly.

“Y-yes,” Raven stammered. “She got it caught in the wicker settee. I was helping untangle it.”

“Mr. Corbin has the most nimble fingers,” Ruth gushed. “Of course he has to in his line of work.”

I glared at Ruth, but she was too busy simpering at Raven to notice.

“The Misses Sharp will be pleased to see you,” Raven said. “They love unexpected visits.”

Something about the way he said it suggested that
he
didn’t. Was I not supposed to visit him at Violet House? Or was he just embarrassed to have been caught with his hands in Ruth’s hair? But if it was completely innocent, why would he be embarrassed?

I would have given much for a reassuring look or a squeeze of the hand, but instead Raven busied himself picking up the tea tray and ushering us inside.

“We were having tea out here,” Raven explained, “because it was such a fine day, but I’m sure the aunts will want us all to join them in the conservatory for a proper tea.”

“Oh,” Helen said archly, “so what you were having wasn’t a
proper
tea?”

Raven blushed, but Ruth laughed. When I’d last seen Ruth she had been a terrified, cowering creature. When had she become this carefree, pink-cheeked ingenue? I should have been happy for her transformation—Etta certainly was—but my suspicion that her interest in Raven—or his in her—had worked this transformation chilled my generosity.

“The aunts are always contriving to get us alone together,” Ruth whispered to me. “They’re such old dears.”

“Yes, they are,” I agreed through gritted teeth.

The old dears were bustling out of the conservatory, delighted at our arrival. “I only realized you were coming a half hour ago!” Emmaline cried. “It must have been a sudden decision.” She looked from one to the other of us with her bright bird-like eyes. Emmaline was a chime child like me and could usually predict the future, but apparently my behavior had been so erratic that it had thrown off even her prognosticating ability.

“Yes, it was,” Helen agreed. “Ava seemed to have been
seized
with a sudden desire to be here.”

“So that Etta could see Ruth,” I said, glaring at Helen.

“Well, whoever’s idea it was, we’re delighted you’re here,” Aunt Harriet said. “There’s plenty for tea. Come on in to the conservatory.”

We all crowded into the conservatory, where there certainly was
plenty
for tea—finger sandwiches, scones, clotted cream and jam, Victoria sponge cake, and a huge sherry trifle. “The darling aunts have been so kind and made everything kosher for us, Ettaleh,” Ruth told her sister. Daisy, Etta, and Ruth tucked in with gusto exclaiming over each delicacy, the two sisters in Yiddish, which they laughingly translated to Daisy. Helen sat back, delicately sipping her tea, and interrogated Raven.

“Where did you say your people were from?” she asked sweetly.

“I didn’t,” Raven responded sulkily.

And so on. I found I had no appetite. Nor was I able to follow the thread of the Misses Sharp’s conversation—until Miss Harriet leaned forward and confided to me in a breathy whisper: “It’s so lovely to see dear Ruth getting on so well with Mr. Corbin. It’s done the poor girl a world of good to have his company.”

At which point I spilled my tea.

Just when I didn’t think the tea party could get any more awkward, Uncle Taddie loped in to announce that there were some guests to see Miss Blum.

“More unexpected guests!” Miss Emmaline cried. “My instincts are terribly off today. Who can they be?”

Raven leapt to his feet and inserted himself between Ruth and the door. “We should ascertain who they are before letting them in,” he told the aunts.

I knew he was only making sure that none of van Drood’s henchmen had found out Ruth, but it was the last straw for me. I got up huffily. “I will go
ascertain
their identities. If they’re here to harm Ruth I’ll simply throw myself on their daggers.”

Before anyone could stop me, I was out in the foyer, where I found a rather abashed-looking Kid Marvel standing with his hat in his hand and a more collected and turbaned Omar staring at the grandfather clock.

“You might as well come in,” I told them. “Everyone else has.”

Oddly, the addition of Kid Marvel and Omar to the mix seemed to bring the disparate elements of our uncomfortable tea party into some kind of harmony. Ruth was delighted to see the men who had orchestrated her release from the Hellgate Club, Daisy was goggle-eyed to meet performers from Coney Island, Miss Hattie seemed enchanted to encounter a person even smaller than herself, and Miss Emmaline and Omar exchanged looks that seemed to indicate they were having some kind of telepathic communication.

“I believe you would prefer the cucumber to the watercress” was one of the less cryptic comments she made to him. To which he replied, “Yes, the reason you could not foresee our arrival was that I cloaked our intentions.”

Before either man could be allowed to tell us the purpose of their visit, they had to be fed a quantity of tea sandwiches, tea, and tea cakes, which Omar, sitting cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, partook of sparingly, while Mr. Marvel tucked in with a gusto that delighted Miss Harriet. Only when both men had been adequately fed did Miss Sharp ask what had brought them to Rhinebeck.

“It’s about Ru—” Kid Marvel began, turning his hat around in his hands. “I mean, er, the
other
Ruth.”

Ruth leaned forward and laid her hand on his. “It’s all right, Mr. Marvel, you don’t have to worry about my feelings.
Raymond
”—she said the name like it was a secret only she was allowed to say, and I barely resisted lobbing the sugar tongs at her—“has explained to me how the changelings work, and I see now it was not her fault. I’m the one who was fool enough to go with that awful man. I’m grateful to her for sparing my parents’ grief and sacrificing herself on behalf of Etta and me. I wish you would tell her that when you see her next.”

“A most generous and eloquently expressed sentiment,” Omar began, bowing to Ruth. “The only difficulty being that the, er, young lady—”

“Call her Rue,” Etta said. “It means sorrow and that’s what she’s spared us.”

“Ah,” Omar said, “that does seem to fit the young lady. And I know she would be pleased to hear you give her a name. But as I was saying, the difficulty is that—”

“She’s gone!” Kid Marvel blurted.

“Gone?” we all said together.

“But where to?” Etta said, clearly upset.

“That’s the problem, ain’t it?” Kid Marvel answered. “We don’t know. The whole lot of them’s up and vanished.”

“You mean all the girls at the Hellgate Club?” I asked, appalled.

“That’s just what I mean!” Kid Marvel replied. “And not just the dolls. Madame LeFevre, the thugs that guarded the doors, the whole kit and caboodle, vanished—
vamoosed—
without a trace!”

“But I thought you were watching the place,” Raven said, getting to his feet and towering over Kid Marvel.

“I done that,” Kid said, jumping to his feet. “I kept a lookout myself and had two boys watching the back alleyways. But two nights ago a fog comes up from the river. It weren’t no ordinary fog, neither. It stank, for one thing, like week-old fish and rotten eggs. Me and my boys could hardly tolerate it, but we stuck to our post all thought the night. In the morning some of them do-gooders from the settlement house—no offense to your friends there,” he said, bowing to me, “comes knocking on the door to preach against the Social Evil. Usually Madame LeFevre comes out and gives ’em the boot, but this time the door creaks right open and the do-gooders go inside hollering, ‘Is anybody home?’ Not two minutes later they comes running out like their knickers are on fire—begging your pardon, misses. So we goes inside to investigate and comes to find the whole place is empty. Not a soul in sight.”