The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

And I wonder, what good is this power if it only makes me feel more alone?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Two days later

SPENCE ACADEMY

THE RAIN HAS BEEN AT US AGAIN. FOR TWO DAYS IT HAS kept us captive, soaking the woods and turning the lawn to a muddy mess. It lashes my bedroom window as I finally remove the soggy red bandana I posted there upon my return from London, and hide it under my pillow again, out of sight. Kartik has always come before, but not this time. At first, I’d feared he’d gone on to Bristol and the Orlando without bothering to say goodbye. But just yesterday, I saw him from my window. He noted the red cloth and left it behind without a second glance.

Since then, I’ve begun three different letters to him.

My Dear Kartik,

I am afraid I must end our acquaintance. I am enclosing the bandana. Please use it to dry your tears—that is, if you have any to shed, for I have begun to wonder.

Fondly,

Gemma

Dear Kartik,

I am terribly upset to hear that you have gone blind. You must have, for surely if you had sight you would have seen the red bandana I affixed to my bedroom window, and understood it to be an urgent correspondence. I wish you to know that, though you are sightless as Mr. Rochester, I remain your friend and shall make every effort to visit you in your hermitage.

With greatest sympathies,

Gemma Doyle

Mr. Kartik.

You are a wretched excuse for a friend. When I have become a great lady, I will pass you on the street without so much as a nod. If you are half so kind to the Orlando, it shall surely sink.

Regretfully,

Miss Doyle

My hand hovers over the page once again, searching for words to match my heart, but I find only these: Dear Kartik…Why? I tear it into tiny pieces and feed it to the flame of my candle, watching the creeping black curl the edges of my hurt into something dark and smoky falling to ash.

Ann and Felicity have both returned at last, and we are together again in the great hall. Felicity tells us about visiting Lady Markham whilst Ann recounts the horrors of Lottie and Carrie. But my thoughts are elsewhere; my troubles with Kartik, Fowlson, and Tom have put me in a dark humor.

“And then Lady Markham introduced her son, Horace, who is as dull as a water pitcher. Actually, I’m sure a more pleasant conversation could be had with a water pitcher.”

Ann laughs. “Was it as bad as all that?”

“Indeed it was. But I smiled sweetly and tried not to cross my eyes and the day was won. I believe I have secured Lady Markham’s affections and her sponsorship.”

“Do you know what Charlotte said to me?” Ann says. “‘When you are my governess I shall do as I please. And if you don’t do as I say, I shall tell Mother I saw you touching her jewels. Then she’ll turn you out on the street with no character.’”

Even Felicity is appalled. “She’s a bad seed! We should hang her from her toes. Aren’t you glad you won’t be her governess after all?”

“Only if I secure that appointment with Mr. Katz,” Ann says, chewing a fingernail. “I do hope my letter arrives soon.”

“I’m certain it will,” Felicity says, yawning.

“Gemma, how was your holiday?” Ann asks.

“I had a visit from Fowlson,” I say. “He means to blackmail me into giving up the magic to the Rakshana by recruiting my brother, Tom, into the brotherhood. I’m afraid of what they might do to him in order to reach me.”

“The Rakshana!” Ann exclaims.

“Why don’t you turn Fowlson into a giant bullfrog or wish him deep into the jungles of Calcutta?” Felicity harrumphs.

“Don’t you see? The moment I tip my hand that I’ve got the realms magic, they’ll take it from me. I can’t let them know.”

“What will you do?” Ann asks.

“There is something else. When I was in London, I had another vision—and I saw Miss McCleethy in this one.” I tell them about the lady and the ghostly carriage. Firelight shadows writhe on the curtains of Felicity’s tent like demons.

“McCleethy,” Ann says, shivering. “But what does it mean?”

“Yes, what’s the good of a messenger you can’t understand?” Felicity complains. “Why, just once, can’t one of these haunts simply say, ‘Hello, Gemma, frightfully sorry to bother you, but I thought you might like to know that Mrs. X is the one to watch out for—she’ll eat your heart. Cheerio!’”

I roll my eyes. “Most helpful. Thank you. I’m afraid my visions don’t work quite that way. It’s up to me to assign the meaning. Not that I’ve a clue. But there is someone who might. We must attend the exhibition at the Egyptian Hall and find this Dr. Van Ripple. I shall get to work on LeFarge as soon as possible.”