“Every hour, every minute, every second.” I smiled back. He wrapped his arms around me and I snuggled against him, warm and safe. Everything was going to be all right. I trusted him completely, and there was nothing I couldn’t tell him.
“Sebastian, I wanted to ask what you know about Lady Agnes.”
“Agnes? What about her?” His body was suddenly tense and rigid next to mine.
“You were telling me all that stuff about Lord Charles when you showed me the old grotto, so I thought you might know about Agnes,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot, and those weird things I’ve been seeing—I think they are linked with Agnes. She’s sort of…close to me. Kind of connected. It’s hard to explain, but I wonder if you’d ever heard anything about her having a baby before she died? I know it sounds completely crazy.”
Sebastian let go of me and stood up. “It’s true,” he said slowly. “She ran away from Wyldcliffe and married some ragtag painter, a struggling artist. They had a baby. A daughter.”
So the first part of my theory was wrong. Agnes had been married after all. So what about Effie? Was she really Agnes’s daughter?
“Do you know what happened to the baby?” I asked eagerly.
Sebastian turned to me with tired eyes. “Why are you asking all this?”
“I thought I had figured out something about Agnes that led to a connection with my family, but I must have gotten it all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
It all came tumbling out in a rush: the letter from the nursing home; the baby girl, Effie, who arrived at Uppercliffe Farm in the year that Agnes died; and my notion that she might have been Agnes’s illegitimate child. I told him about the paper with the cryptic message about the “heirloom” of Evelyn Smith’s descendants, and about Frankie’s last gift to me.
“A necklace?” Sebastian’s voice grew urgent. “Is it the one you were wearing the other day? I didn’t really see it. Let me look.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Wait a minute.”
Something rustled in the dark shrubs as I fumbled to untie the ribbon. I glanced around, feeling strangely reluctant to take the necklace off, even for Sebastian. But I held it out to him, its silvery shape glowing in the moonlight, and he reached out to take it.
There was a crack of blue light, and Sebastian staggered backward, clutching his arm. The necklace fell to the ground.
“Sebastian! What happened?”
His eyes were closed, and he didn’t speak; then he slowly looked up and gave me a haunted, twisted grin. “Just a shock—static electricity. You have this effect on me.” He collapsed onto the bench with his hands covering his face. I flew to his side and put my arms around him.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
He groaned. “What’s going to happen to us, Evie?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll persuade Miss Scratton to let us meet properly—you know, on the weekends. I’ll write and explain to Dad, and he’ll sort it out with the school. There’s nothing to worry about.”
But even as I said it, I knew it was no good.
“It’s not going to work,” he said, staring at the ground. “It can’t work. I have to go away.”
My brain reeled. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t saying those words. But he was getting up, walking away from me, getting ready to leave.
“You can’t…not just like that, Sebastian,” I cried wildly.
“Evie, you promised once not to think badly of me. I need you to remember that promise when I am gone.”
“What about last night?” I stammered. “You said we would be together always.”
“And you would regret it for all eternity.”
“I wouldn’t; I wouldn’t!”
“But I would,” he said harshly. “I would, Evie.”
Tears burned in my eyes. A terrible weight settled on my heart. I must have done something wrong the night before. Yet I had only returned his kisses with honest delight. I felt lost on a treacherous sea with no one to guide me. I ran after him.
“Where are you going? Stay with me,” I pleaded.
“I can’t. There’s something I need to know. Everything depends on it. Meet me by the school gates tomorrow night. I’ll be waiting.” He paced away, then turned for one last moment, a look of pain and desperation on his face. “Remember that I love you.”
In a few moments he had gone, and the night was dark around me, as though every light had been put out. I knew that when we next met, it would be to say good-bye. And I knew that, whatever Sebastian had said, that crack of blue fire had been no static shock.
My necklace still lay gleaming on the wet ground. I bent down and picked it up, and slowly made my way out of the garden like a sleepwalker.
Thirty-nine
T
he necklace. The blue fire. The child. Sebastian.
How did it all connect? I didn’t know why or how, but I sensed that Lady Agnes was at the center of it all. It was only after I had mentioned her that Sebastian had behaved so oddly, so anxious and strained…. I dragged myself back to the dorm, and as I fell asleep it seemed to be her face, not Laura’s, that was watching over me. When I woke up I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
I had planned to tell everything to Sarah that morning, confident that I had solved all the mysteries, but now I was confused and afraid. I kept quiet, worrying about what it was that Sebastian needed to find out. What could it be? And if he loved me, why was he talking about leaving?
The seconds and minutes seemed achingly slow. I struggled to focus on what the biology teacher was explaining in mind-numbing detail, and narrowly avoided getting a detention in Latin for muddling up a whole passage of Virgil. But every tormenting hour brought me closer to the answers I needed.
The December sun had set in the dirty yellow sky like a hard, bitter fruit. It was dark outside, and the lamps were lit for supper. I kept looking at my watch. Soon I would see him. Soon I would find out….
“Evie, what’s wrong?” Sarah leaned across the supper table.
“Headache,” I lied, but she didn’t look convinced. I made an effort. “It’s Frankie’s birthday. It’s kind of hard.” That was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t just Frankie who was tearing at my heart.
At last we stood for prayers, and the students were dismissed. Sarah gave me a quick smile, and I stayed behind as usual to set out the coffee trays with Helen. I deliberately said nothing as we worked side by side. I had enough on my mind without dealing with Helen. As we finished putting the last silver spoon into place, she shoved a piece of paper into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked curtly.
“It’s something you need to know.” She looked terrible, really jumpy and exhausted. “Just read it; that’s all.”
She slouched out, her head down. I unfolded the paper and spread it out on one of the tables. It was a clipping from the local newspaper. Valuable Painting Stolen, shouted the headline. I sat, mystified, and began to read.
A recent break-in at a local historical building, Fairfax Hall, has resulted in the loss of an old family portrait. The oil painting had hung there since Victorian times. Burglars forced their way into the Hall, which is now a popular museum, and took the portrait of Sebastian Fairfax, the wayward son of Sir Edward Fairfax.
A cold hand seemed to touch the back of my neck, and my eyes raced across the rest of the article.
It was rumored that Sebastian had taken his own life, though his body was never found. Mrs. Melinda Dawson, the museum director, commented, “It’s such a terrible shame to lose the only portrait we had of this colorful figure. And it’s a mystery why nothing else was taken. The picture had no great value, but it’s a great loss for the Hall.”
At the bottom of the article was a reproduction of the missing painting. It was an exact portrait of my Sebastian. The same eyes, the same hair, the same mocking expression.
Impossible.
I ran after Helen, but she had
already disappeared.
“Have you seen Helen Black?” I asked a crowd of twelve-year-olds on their way up the marble stairs to bed, but they just shrugged and shook their heads.
“Are you looking for Helen?” said a voice behind me. It was Miss Dalrymple, and standing next to her was the sour, heavily built math teacher, Miss Raglan. They looked like black crows in their drab clothes, but Miss Dalrymple was all smiles.
“Poor Helen has detention this evening, I’m afraid. Silly girl! She should know the rules by now.”
“Some people just can’t keep away from trouble,” Miss Raglan said coldly.
“But I need to speak to her, just for a second,” I pleaded. “Where is she?”
“Oh, dear, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait,” said Miss Dalrymple. “Unless…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Unless you’d like us to take her a message?”
“No…no…” I backed away from her. “No, thanks.”
Lying on my bed in the dorm, I waited for Helen to come back, but when the hours passed and she didn’t turn up I couldn’t delay any longer. Perhaps she’d been ill and had gone to the nurse’s room again, I thought. But I had no time to worry about Helen. I had to find Sebastian before it was too late. Too late, too late. The words echoed in my mind like a warning.
Sebastian was there at the gates, as we had arranged. The newspaper clipping was hidden deep in my pocket. It would wait. I wanted to hear first what he had to say.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, as though I were a guest at a surreal dinner party. His voice trembled, and his hand shook as he helped me up onto the horse. I clung to him as though I could hold on forever, but as we galloped away the horse’s hooves seem to beat out the same grim message: too late, too late, too late…. A swirling mist crept over the hillsides, and the moon rode high above us. Sebastian urged the horse faster and faster over the moor. Soon I recognized the shadowy outline of a building below us. We had reached Fairfax Hall.
Sebastian pulled up, and the horse picked its way down the side of the slope, toward the old house. I could see the shallow lake where we had sat and sketched that silly, ornate fountain. The water had been turned off, and now everything was still and silent.
“W-why are we h-here?” My teeth were chattering with cold.
“I want to show you something.”
He slithered off the horse’s back, and I followed him across the grass until we reached a dark shape: a slab of stone half-buried under a tangle of thornbushes. It was the exact spot where I’d seen Helen, or thought I had, on our visit to the Hall.
“Come and look, Evie.” Sebastian took my hand in his cold fingers, and we stood side by side in front of the granite tablet.
In Memory of a Beloved Son,
Sebastian James Fairfax,
Born in 1865.
It is thought he departed this Life
In 1884,
By his own hand.
GOD REST HIS SOUL.
“This memorial is for me. This is who I am.”
Fear broke over me like an icy wave. “Stop being so dramatic; it’s a stupid—”
“It’s true.” He looked immeasurably tired and sad. “My parents put this stone up for me within sight of their house. But they got something wrong. I didn’t die in 1884. I never died.”
No, no, no. I wanted to scream, but I did my best to stay calm. Sane, sensible Evie, calm and logical and reasonable…
“But you’re not called Fairfax,” I argued.
“Sebastian James, remember? I only told you my first two names. I conveniently forgot about the Fairfax. I’m sorry I lied to you. I had no choice.”
“Please stop—”
“Poor Evie, you think I’m quite mad, don’t you? And you’re right. It was mad of me to allow myself to start seeing you, mad to carry on with it, and mad to let myself love you.”
Love.
It seemed like a word from a different world. But it was all I had. Sebastian loved me. I loved Sebastian. I had to hold on to that and never let it go.
“It’s because I love you that I have to tell you the truth,” he said. “It’s too late to continue pretending that it’s all going to have a happy ending.”
Too late. My heart felt empty, like a ransacked grave.
“When you go back to the school tonight you will never be able to see me again. I have to make you understand. Please give me this one chance to explain.”
“All right,” I replied mechanically, though my words seemed to come from the depths of a dream.
We moved away from the granite stone, and Sebastian spread his coat for me on the grass. I sat down, but he walked about restlessly, as though he didn’t know how to start. Then he pulled a small black book from his pocket and pushed it into my hands.
“You need to read this. If you don’t believe what I’m saying, you’ll believe her.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“Agnes, of course. This is her journal. Everything you need to know is in there.”
I looked in wonder at the musty, waterstained little book. Its pages were covered in small, sloping handwriting. Some of them were stuck together, and the ink had spread and faded. It certainly looked very old.
My voice cracked in panic. “Where did you get this?”
“Please, Evie, just read it—for me. For us. Please.”
The words danced in front of my eyes. Was I really going to find out the truth at last? I began to read the faded, looping handwriting: My news is that dearest S. is back from his travels at last.
Forty
I
had finally reached the last entry of the journal. Sebastian and I had sat side by side through the night, taking no notice of time, as I followed Agnes on every step of her strange journey. And now she had almost finished telling her tale:
DECEMBER 11, 1884
We have reached Wyldcliffe after an exhausting journey and have been here several days. Martha and her family have been sworn to secrecy about our presence until I find the right moment to approach my parents. Martha’s people are all being so kind. Her nephew John is newly married, and his wife begs me to let her cuddle the baby, marveling over her tiny fingers and toes. I swear they are all in love with her already. Their love and understanding make my task a little easier, but I dread that first meeting with my family. I still haven’t decided whether to knock boldly on the front door or to write to them first. I have been taking long walks at dusk, leaving my baby—and the other treasure that I guard—safely with Martha, while I wander in my old haunts, brooding over my memories.
Once, I thought I saw a rider in the distance on a black horse, and my heart leaped with the thought that it might be him. But Martha says she has heard that he hardly stirs from the Hall, and lives in almost total seclusion. It is better like that, though I confess I would love to see him one more time and know whether he has repented of his folly. I pray he has, for all our sakes.
If only we could go back to before all this began and have one more ramble over the moors, just as when we were children. And yet I cannot regret anything that has happened, for without this tangled tale I would not have my beautiful baby, my darling Effie. Only her life matters now. Soon I must find the courage to face my parents and find out my little one’s fate and whether they will protect her when I have gone. For something in me whispers that I have come back to Wyldcliffe to die.
Despite this, my heart is full of hope. I feel sure my child will have a happier life than mine. And when I look into the future with what little force I have left, I know that after my daughter and my daughter’s daughters have left this earth, then the girl I have seen in my mind will come from the wild sea and put all this great sorrow to rest.
Tears blurred my sight. I could hardly see to read the last few lines.
I dreamed of her again last night. She was standing on the top of the moors with her hair blowing free and my gift to her hanging around her neck. As I watched her, I saw her raise her hand, and the hil
ls around her turned to high green waves battling in a mighty storm. I do not know what it meant. But she too is my daughter, my sister, my hope. I know that I am with her always, and will somehow help her before the end.
All this great sorrow. I wiped my eyes, seeing Agnes in my mind as clearly as I saw the rough grass at my feet. She was bending over a low table, scratching away with an old-fashioned pen, and she raised her pale, serious face to me and smiled.
My head was whirling with images of fire and water, of meetings and arguments, of strange rituals and threatening shadows. And through it all was a dark-haired boy, passionate and headstrong and beautiful. A boy called Sebastian James Fairfax. I let the book fall from my knee and closed my eyes.
“So now you know,” Sebastian said in a low voice.
“I know what?” I forced myself to say. “The diary must be fake, a joke.” But I knew in my heart that it wasn’t.
“It’s no fake. This journal was buried in a lead casket next to Agnes’s grave. For these many, empty years I have respected her resting place, but last night the thought of those hidden papers tormented me beyond endurance. Agnes had once spoken to me of a girl she had seen in some strange vision. I had to know if that girl was you—if you were part of our tangled tale.” He looked away, as though he were ashamed. “I…I dug up the casket last night. I had to find out if Agnes had left a clue that would tell me the truth.”
“Oh, my God…”
“You’re the one she wrote about, the one she was waiting for. It’s true. You are descended from her. The last time I saw Agnes she told me that the baby was dead, but in fact it was alive and well, hidden at Uppercliffe Farm with old Martha. After Agnes died, Martha’s family secretly hid her journal and brought the baby up as one of their own. You’d guessed that part of the story already, and you knew it was Effie’s necklace that you wear.” A hungry look flickered across his face. “The necklace is the key to everything.”