Ravencliffe (Blythewood series) (20 page)

I followed Farnsworth and Drood to the deck to a scene of utter chaos. Passengers in life vests were crowding around already-full lifeboats, screaming and pushing to find a seat. When one lifeboat was lowered the crowd surged, looking for the next one. In the midst of this chaos, one figure shone like a beacon. Agnes Moorhen, feathered hat perched jauntily on her head, was guiding my grandmother and Mrs. van Beek through the roiling crowd. Mrs. van Beek was weeping, but my grandmother’s face was steely.

“For heaven’s sake, Honoria,” she cried, “remember you are a lady of the Order and get a grip on yourself!”

“But we’ll drown!” Mrs. van Beek wailed as a half-full lifeboat was lowered to the water.

“Stop this instant!” Mr. Farnsworth cried, striding forward. The crewmen stopped lowering the boat. Without another word, Mr. Farnsworth bodily lifted my grandmother into the lifeboat, then Mrs. Van Beek, and then Agnes. As he placed Agnes in the boat she begged him to join them. He seemed to consider it, but then glanced behind him. I followed his gaze to where van Drood stood still among the surging crowds—then I looked back at Mr. Farnsworth. He gave Agnes a tender kiss, whispered something in her ear, and ordered the crewmen to lower the now-full lifeboat down. Then he turned to join the seething crowds on the deck.

I plunged back into the wild melee that now filled the deck of the
Titanic
and followed Mr. Farnsworth. I saw him stop again and again to help others onto the lifeboats, never taking a spot for himself. He kept heading for the prow of the ship, which was now the highest spot as the great vessel began to tilt toward the bottom of the sea. Anything loose was sliding down the deck, careening into the struggling passengers, while Mr. Farnsworth and van Drood made their inexorable way to the prow of the ship.

When he reached the prow, Mr. Farnsworth calmly stepped over the railing. The ship was almost vertical now. I was only able to keep from sliding down the deck by holding on to a stanchion. Drood, though, had no such difficulty. He walked straight up the tilting deck like a praying mantis climbing a stalk of wheat. As he passed me I saw his face, his lips stretched into a horrible grin, smoke curling out of his mouth. He was feeding off the horror of the crew and passengers, and now he intended to swallow Mr. Farnsworth and take the book.

Mr. Farnsworth regarded him stoically as he approached, his lips mouthing silent words that I thought might be a prayer or perhaps a curse. Whatever it was, he was powerless to stop van Drood. I saw van Drood reach for Farnsworth. He grabbed the portmanteau. Farnsworth let go of the railing and spread his arms out wide, like a diver preparing to do a backward somersault, held up only by the straps of the portmanteau . . .

Van Drood jerked the portmanteau, snapping the straps, and Farnsworth fell backward. I screamed and was suddenly airborne, my wings breaking through my corset. I flew over the prow of the ship, which was now plummeting into the sea, and dove down, following Mr. Farnsworth into the sea.

The shock of the frigid water nearly made me lose consciousness. Would I die back in New York if I died here?
This
felt horribly real, the water cold as death. The pull of the sinking ship was dragging me down into the depths of the sea. I remembered what Raven had told me about souls caught in the Hellgate—how even a Darkling could be caught forever in that deadly whirlpool. I could feel the souls of the drowning all around me, their lives pulling me down with them, a bit of my soul going with them . . . and then I was rising up toward the surface, borne up by something winged.

It was a Darkling—a male Darkling with a face carved with lines of grief and a streak of white in his dark, wet hair. His eyes regarded me sadly as he brought me to the surface—eyes that were somehow familiar.

“Even in dreams you can lose your soul, dearling,” he said to me.
Dearling
. My mother had called me that.

He helped me onto a stray bit of wood bobbing in the sea where Mr. Farnsworth lay.

“You can see me here?” I asked.

“I could see you anywhere.” He touched my face, and I could feel the warmth of his worn hand. “But I cannot stay. There’s something I must do for this one.”

He turned to Mr. Farnsworth, who was watching the older Darkling with wide, stunned eyes. One hand clasped the edge of the float, while the other pulled out the oilcloth packet that contained the book.

“Take it,” he rasped. “Keep it safe. It tells how you can save your kind—and ours.”

The Darkling took the packet and slipped it underneath his shirt. Then he gathered up Mr. Farnsworth in his arms. “Come with me, dearling,” he said as he sprang into the air.

I followed him into the sky and over the wreckage of the
Titanic
—over the dead and dying in the frozen water. There were other Darklings here—a whole flock—swooping down and flying up again with pulsing light in their arms. They were carrying the souls of the dying away, so they wouldn’t be sucked down into the whirlpool created by the sinking ship.

Then we were flying over the lifeboats full of terrified, wide-eyed survivors. I saw Agnes and my grandmother with their arms around Mrs. van Beek as she wept for her husband. And I saw van Drood crouched in the hull of another boat, his cloak drawn low over his head, the portmanteau clutched to his chest. As we flew over him, he tore open the portmanteau, took out the book and rifled through the pages. When he saw that he’d been tricked, he roared, and out of his open mouth poured smoke, and the smoke turned into a murder of crows that followed us.

We flew faster, pursued by the shadow crows, through the cold dark night. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep up the pace, or what we were flying toward . . . and then I made out in the distance the light of a ship steaming toward the wreckage of the
Titanic
. It was the
Carpathia
, the ship that rescued the survivors of the
Titanic.
We flew toward it with the murderous crows at our heels. They came so close I could smell their burnt breath and feel their sharp beaks pecking at my skin. One tore into the Darkling’s shirt, scrabbling at the unbound book, and ripped a page away. The Darkling kicked at it savagely and plunged down toward the
Carpathia
. He lit down just long enough to lay Mr. Farnsworth on the deck. “He will be all right here,” he told me, “but I must lead away the shadow crows. As for you—” He touched my face so lightly and quickly it was a like a feather brushing against my skin, and bent his sad eyes down at me. “It’s time for you to wake up.”

“But—” Before I could protest I was no longer on the deck of the
Carpathia
, but back in Mr. Farnsworth’s room at the Sailors’ Home. I was safe and warm, but I wanted to be back on the freezing sea. I stared at the faces of the four people in the room, even Mr. Farnsworth, who had regained the spark of reason in his eyes, my eyes filling with tears. “I saw him,” I said. “I saw a Darkling take the book.” What I didn’t tell them—couldn’t tell them—was that the Darkling who had taken the book was my father.

22

EVEN IF I
had told them, I wouldn’t have been able to explain how I knew. I just knew. The way he looked at me, how he called me
dearling
—the same thing my mother called me in just the same tone of voice—his eyes, which were familiar because they were so much like my own eyes.

“He saved Mr. Farnsworth,” I said instead. “And took the book. He was trying to lead van Drood’s crows away. But I don’t know if he survived.” Could I have been given that vision of my father because I would never see him again alive?

“But he had the book?” Agnes asked.

“Yes.” It was Mr. Farnsworth who answered. Omar had been right that recovering his memories would help cure him. His vagueness and confusion seemed to have fallen away. His eyes were clear and sharp. “I gave the book to the Darkling. I knew he would keep it safe from van Drood, only—”

“Where is he keeping it?” Agnes asked the question for all of us. “If this Darkling did indeed escape with the book, and it contains the secret of healing the rift between the Darklings and the Order, then why hasn’t he brought it to anyone in the Order?”

She was looking to me for an answer. I didn’t have one, but I had an idea who might.

Agnes and Sam took me in a cab to Grand Central Station. On the way Sam told me all that he had discovered about the financial ruin of the van Beeks.

“Mr. van Beek had invested heavily in the
Titanic
itself,” he told me. “He was sure it was a safe bet because the ship was supposed to be unsinkable.”

He paused, and we were all silent in the cab, absorbing the awful irony. “Did you find out who talked him into the investment?” I asked.

“Yes, a Mr. Arnold Arbuthnot of the First National Investment Firm. But we can’t pin the blame of the Order’s present financial blunders on Mr. Arbuthnot. I’m afraid he died right alongside Mr. van Beek.”

“Oh! How awful! I suppose he couldn’t have been deliberately trying to ruin Mr. van Beek then.”

“No, but I did discover that one of the largest shareholders in First National is Judicus van Drood. What I’m beginning to suspect is that van Drood uses hapless minions to do his dirty work.”

“He no doubt controls them with the
tenebrae
,” Agnes said.

“The way he controlled Sarah Lehman,” I said with a shudder, remembering Sarah at the end, smoke writhing out of her mouth even before she burst into flames.

“Yes,” Agnes said. “And after they’ve done his bidding he disposes of them and moves on to his next victim. It will make it difficult to make a connection between Mr. van Beek’s financial ruin and the Order’s present investment scheme.”

“But not impossible,” Sam said, lifting an admonitory finger. “The thing to look for is the underlying
pattern
. An investment in one huge project that—should it fail—will ruin the Order. I’ll get on it right away.”

“Thank you, Sam,” I said, squeezing his hand. We’d reached the station, and the cab was having difficulty jockeying in the crowded queue to drop passengers off. It was raining again, and Agnes insisted he get me close to the covered entrance. “And thank you for finding Mr. Farnsworth. I’m so relieved he didn’t die on the
Titanic
. I felt so responsible since I was the one who asked him to bring the book . . .”

My voice faltered as I realized that while I might not be responsible for Mr. Farnsworth’s death, I was responsible for the deaths of all those who had died on that ill-fated ship. I saw Agnes’s face crease with concern, but before she could waste her breath reassuring me I stepped out of the cab into the driving rain, which felt as frigid and pitiless as the North Atlantic.

I felt cold all the way back to Blythewood, huddled in my window seat watching the rain fall into the Hudson, its dark gray water a reminder of the icy chill of the Atlantic. I barely looked up when Myrtilene, Mary, and Susannah got on a few stops into the ride, humming Viennese waltz tunes. I’d been blessedly free of
Die Puppenfee
for several hours. How had I ever thought I liked it? The sound of it made me feel sick now. I pretended to fall asleep after they joined me so I wouldn’t have to engage in their chatter. I soon slipped into a deep doze and dreamed myself back to the wreckage of the
Titanic
and that icy sea. All around me I could hear the cries of the drowning and then the beat of wings above me. Looking up, I saw my father’s face.

“I’ve come for you, dearling,” he said, taking me in his arms. We rose above the icy water, but its chill didn’t leave me. Looking down I saw why. My body still lay on the floating plank. As I watched, it sank into the sea—

I startled awake on the train, the conductor’s call of “Rhinecliff!” mingling in my ears with the cries of the drowning. Myrtilene, Susannah, and Mary were all staring at me.

“Are you all right?” Mary asked. “You look like you’ve caught a chill. You don’t want to get sick before the big dance.”

“Blast the dance!” I cried, getting shakily to my feet. I
was
chilled. I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again. I stepped off the train into a cold wet wind blowing off the river and hurried up the steps with Mary and Susannah twittering behind me.

“Ava!” Susannah called. “Gillie’s over here. Where are you going?”

“Into town,” I called over my shoulder.

The tromp into Rhinebeck was a good mile and a half, but I couldn’t bear the idea of being shut up with those girls going on about the dance and humming those grating waltzes. I walked through the rain all the way to Main Street, turned left, and then right on Livingston Street and up three blocks to Violet House. When Ruth opened the door, she gasped. I must have looked like a drowned woman who’d dragged herself up from the sea. At least that’s what I felt like.

“Ava! You’re soaked clean through! Come on in by the fire.”

She dragged me through the foyer, where I left puddles of water, and into the conservatory, where a cheery fire crackled in the grate and a tea tray was laid out on the table.

“I-I-I n-need R-r-ray—” I stuttered through chattering teeth.

“Mr. Corbin?” Ruth asked. “I’ll go get him. Sit down by the fire and put this over you.” She draped me in an Indian shawl and disappeared. The aunts appeared in her stead, twittering and tsking over me like birds pecking at crumbs.

I heard Raven’s voice saying my name when he entered the room. I tried to get up, but my legs had gone numb. Then he was at my side.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice harsh as a crow’s caw.

“I—I s-saw . . .” My lips couldn’t form the words.

Raven turned to Emmaline and Hattie, who loomed over us (even tiny Hattie looked miles tall standing over me, as if I were at the bottom of the sea looking up) wringing their hands. “Leave me alone with her,” he barked.

The aunts stared and gaped, but they fluttered obediently away. I heard the door click behind them and then Raven was taking off his jacket. I thought he was going to put it over me, but instead he drew me into his lap and encircled me with his wings. I tried to tell him that it was too dangerous—anyone could come in and find us like this—but I was shaking too hard to speak. As his feathers touched my skin, warmth came back into my body, dispelling the awful cold in great shuddering waves. I nestled deeper into his arms, clinging to him as if the waves might pull me away, but he held onto me.

“I’ve got you,” he said again and again. “I’ve got you.”

When the worst of the convulsions were over, he turned my face up to his and asked again what had happened. I told him about entering the vision with Mr. Farnsworth and all that I had witnessed on the
Titanic
. Then I told him about my father coming for me and carrying me out of the icy water. When I got to that part he looked grave.

“I’m afraid a bit of your soul was trapped in the whirlpool,” he said. “Your father saved you, but . . .”

“Not soon enough?” I finished for him. “Are you saying I’ve lost part of my soul? Will I ever get it back?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s dangerous for Darklings to vision travel. If your father hadn’t been there you might have been lost entirely.”

I narrowed my eyes at Raven. “You don’t seem surprised that I saw my father. Did you know he was on the
Titanic
?” Raven looked away. “Do you know where he is now?”

He sighed and looked back at me. “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier, but the Elders forbid us to talk about him. He was banished many years ago.”

“It was because of my mother, wasn’t it?”

Raven nodded and stroked my damp hair back from my brow. “We’re not allowed to love human women—it’s how we were cursed in the first place. Anyone breaking that rule is banished from the flock. There’s talk of a community of exiles in Europe, but no one knows if that’s just a myth. Perhaps your father was traveling with the
Titanic
when it sank and he tried to save the souls of the dying passengers.”

“He saved Mr. Farnsworth,” I said, a defiant touch of pride stealing into my voice. “And he saved the book. We have to find him. Would these Elders of yours know where he is?”

“They might, but they won’t like being asked.”

“Too bad,” I said, shivering again. The cold was stealing back. “Will you bring me to them?”

Raven wrapped his wings more tightly around me. “Yes,” he said, “but not until you’re well. You’ll need all your strength to face them.”

I tried to tell him I was well enough to face them right now, but before I could make my argument I fell back into the darkness—and into that icy sea—again. I dimly sensed being moved from Violet House and riding to Blythewood in Gillie’s trap, wrapped in blankets and an old moth-eaten fur rug. Nothing seemed to keep me warm as Raven’s wings had. Where had he gone? I wondered. Why would he leave me?

When Dame Beckwith saw me she sent me straight to bed with a cup of tea and a hot water bottle. I fell into a deep sleep—and into the deep, icy sea. I could hear the screams of the drowning and see the great ship
Titanic
sliding into the water, sucking everything down with it, pulling me under. The force yanked me straight into the frigid water. As I sank I saw I was surrounded by the other passengers, their faces distended in horror as they were sucked down into the maelstrom. I looked down and saw the whirling water beneath me, a black pit like an open mouth . . .

It
was
an open mouth. It had rows of razor-sharp teeth that turned like a grindstone. That’s what waited beneath us . . . beneath
me.
It was wrapping its tentacles around my legs, sniffing at me because it smelled something on me it liked. It was pulling me down into its ravenous mouth—

I awoke screaming, flailing at the bedclothes twined around me like tentacles. Dimly I heard Helen’s and Daisy’s voices trying to soothe me, then Helen telling Daisy to run and get Dame Beckwith. “She’s burning up,” I heard her say. I tried to explain that, no, I’d burned up once before and survived it, but now I was freezing to death. Van Drood had been right: there was darkness inside me. The kraken smelled it and wanted more. It wouldn’t be satisfied until it ate me whole. They had to keep me awake, I explained to a wide-eyed, pale Helen, or else the kraken would eat me.