The Book of Bones (3 page)

“Good news, my dears,” she announced with a smile. “No lessons today!”

“Fantastic!” I blurted, with visions of taking Jesse for a canter on Port Meadow.

“Instead we're going to brush up our etiquette for Miss Minchin's wedding. I want you
all
to be a credit to me.”

A deep sigh went around the room. Lessons might be bad, but learning manners was worse. Far worse.

“Would you do me the honor of the first waltz?” A young man stood on the edge of the dance floor and made me a courtly bow. He was quite handsome, I suppose, in his bow tie and tails. But there was something rather too intense about him, with his flushed face and shining eyes. We were at Miss Minchin's engagement ball at her fiancée's castle. Merriford, set on the bleak sweep of Dartmoor, was more used to the whistle of gales than this sparkling society throng.

“No, thank you,” I said firmly, moving my peach taffeta skirts back against the wall. “We're only here to watch.”

But the young man seemed not to hear. He held out his hand toward me, with another bow.

“Look, I don't mean to be rude, sir,” I snapped. “It's just we're not interested in dancing.”

The young man was clearly an idiot. He was gazing at me, a dazzled expression on his face. Strange, for I didn't look
that
wonderful. Then I glanced at him and
realized that
I
was invisible. He was actually looking past me, toward Rachel. And she was gazing, or do I mean
swooning
, back at him.

“Stop,” I said stepping between them. “This won't do.”

He held out his hand for Rachel's dance book, an elaborate gold one with ruby tassels, and I saw the page was already full of appointments. Rachel was glowing, her lovely face peeping out above her white lace collar. The ball had scarcely started before her first admirer had crawled out of the woodwork. I didn't like it at all. There was something odd about the young man. Besides, Mrs. Glee had been quite clear, Father had said we weren't meant to dance—only to observe.

“I'm afraid
she
can't dance either,” I said firmly.

“Can't or won't?” the young man asked, gazing at her. Rachel flushed, pink flaming up her neck till it reached her ears. Annoyingly she looked even more beautiful.

“Oh, Kit, be reasonable. I'm sure Mrs. Glee won't mind if I dance this waltz. You know I love waltzes.” With that Rachel let the young man take her hand and sweep her away onto the dance floor. It was a pretty sight, the gas lamps flaring and the women blazing in gowns as vivid as a thousand tulips. Hot, though. I was already sweating under my corset. An ice would cool me down. I turned, intending to skirt past the dancers into the refreshment room, and bumped smack into Waldo.

Isaac and Waldo were standing together, grinning. With a sinking heart I realized they must have witnessed the whole scene.

“I suppose I had better dance with you, Kit,” Waldo smirked. “Before you go making a fool of yourself again.”

“As a special favor, I'll dance with you too, Kit. Though I'd rather be home with my chemistry equipment,” Isaac said. “We've all got to do our bit to save you from more embarrassment.”

“I'm not dancing with anyone,” I snarled. “Certainly not with one of you clowns. Anyway, Isaac, shouldn't you be looking after Rachel? She
is
your sister.”

Isaac glanced at Rachel. “I think she can look after herself,” he grinned.

Sighing, I sidled away from my friends. Give me an ice before a boy any day. The daintier treats were always popular at parties. It was wise to get in quick before the rush, else you could end up disappointed. I had no love of Cornish pasties or the bony ends of fowl. But with a rough tug, Waldo had taken my hand and pulled me into the crush of dancers.

“Waldo, what are you doing?” I gasped, when I could get a word in. It was hard for there was such a press of bodies.

“Keeping you out of mischief,” Waldo smiled, looking down at me.

My heart was beating disturbingly. Waldo steered me firmly through the crush. I pulled away, but found that he was stronger than me. I glared at him but he smiled straight back at me, his blue eyes infuriatingly smug. Nice eyes—though I would never let Waldo know I thought so.

What could I do? I didn't want to make a scene, so I had no choice but to submit and let Waldo trundle me around the dance floor. After a few minutes I found, to my surprise, that it was actually quite pleasant. Waldo was a better dancer than I'd imagined, his guidance strong and firm. He didn't tread on my feet or breathe on my face. My thoughts slid above the throng as my feet broke free.

“Kit,” Waldo was grinning down at me. I realized with a start that my feet were still moving, though everyone else seemed to have stopped. “The dance is over.”

“Oh.”

“That wasn't so bad, was it?”

I shrugged. “Better than Mademoiselle Blanche's dancing school, I suppose.”

“Oh, come on, Kit, you loved it.”

“What girl wouldn't be honored to dance with
you
?”

Frowning, Waldo steered me back to my place, where the girls were huddled by the wall waiting for young men to ask them to dance. Well,
I
wouldn't be a wallflower.
If I had to go to this ball I might as well do something. I was just about to suggest to Waldo that we take another turn around the dance floor, this time to a lively polka, when I noticed someone was desperately trying to catch his eye. She was a blond girl, with perfect ringlets, pale blue eyes and a little rosebud mouth. Quite pretty, I suppose, but I have to confess I took an instant dislike to her. There was something so sugar-
sweet
about her.

“I see you have an admirer,” I snapped.

“Hardly an admirer.” Waldo laughed. “Just Emily.”

“
Who
is Emily?”

But Waldo did not answer my question. Instead he said abruptly, “Look, Kit, you don't mind if I skip this dance, do you?” Then he was off, scurrying over to Emily, whose face was alight with pleasure.

I turned away. I wasn't going to stand about watching as Waldo trampled Emily all over the dance floor. Anyway Mrs. Glee had just arrived, and I was sure she would forbid us all to dance. After all, my father had said we had to “be a credit to him.” But to my dismay she took one look at Rachel and the wavy-haired young man, another look at Waldo and Emily and promptly vanished.

Feeling a little sulky, I brushed off Isaac's suggestion that we do the polka together. Isaac, I am sure, would murder my toes, for his mind would be full of his current
experiment—making a bomb out of cake ingredients. He seemed delighted with my suggestion that we locate the ices instead, so we left the ballroom.

I was a little upset with Waldo, for we were meant to be friends and yet he had deserted me at the first sight of a simpering Emily. But the ices cooled me down. I had three helpings. One a delicious melting pink concoction flavored with rosewater, another vanilla-ish, and a third which was a mystery. Isaac swore it was rum, but I have never drunk the sailor's tipple and I'm pretty sure he hasn't either.

I returned to the ballroom alone, for Isaac could not be torn away from the refreshments. My mood soured when I saw that Waldo was dancing with Emily again, this time a slower waltz. They were quite making exhibitions of themselves, for Emily seemed to be whispering in his ear. Anyway, I leaned against the wall frowning and a moment later Miss Minchin—soon to be Mrs. or even Lady Prinsep—stopped.

This beaming person was such a different creature to the thin-lipped governess who had come to our house all those years ago.

“Dear Kit.” She beamed. “Let life into your heart.”

“Pardon?” I asked, taken aback.

“You're not a boy,” she said. “I know you want to be one. But, Kit, you're a girl. Be lovely.”

“Being lovely is hardly an occupation.”

“Oh, it is,” she beamed. “It's jolly hard work.”

I backed away, for there was a gooeyness about her that made me uneasy. For one ghastly moment I even thought she was going to embrace me. Luckily her groom-to-be called to her and she was lost in the ball gowns. The next thing I knew, Waldo was standing next to me, frowning.

“Something is up, Kit,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” I replied, a little coldly.

“It's Emily. She says Mrs. Glee is not what she seems.”

“What on earth does she mean?”

“It's odd, Kit. I don't like it.”

“Spit it out.”

“Emily claims that Mrs. Glee is not Mrs. Glee at all. She says she recognized her at once. She's a Mrs. Dougal and she was their housekeeper till she disappeared last summer. There was some mystery about it, but Emily never found out what really happened.”

“So?”

“Thing is, some valuable cufflinks vanished at the same time.”

I was perturbed, for it was an odd tale. But then I thought of the blinking, simpering Emily and felt doubtful. Who did I trust? Mrs. Glee, who was thoughtful and had our best interests at heart, despite her illness. Or the conniving Emily?

“I'm surprised you believe what Emily tells you,” I shrugged. “She has obviously forgotten her spectacles.”

“Emily doesn't wear spectacles,” he replied.

“Of course not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sheer vanity. Emily is so short-sighted she can't see beyond the end of her nose. If she had her spectacles on she would know she'd never met Mrs. Glee before. Instead she makes up a story to try to impress—”

Without waiting for me to finish my sentence Waldo flashed me a disgusted look and walked away.

It was a cheerless day to travel, the wind howling off Dartmoor, buffeting the coach that was taking us back to Oxford. A storm was blowing up and soon a few fat droplets began to splatter against the windows. The track leading off the moor past the small country villages was rough, full of potholes that jerked us about till our bones ached. I pitied Hodges, our genial coach driver, sitting on his perch high above the horses. He was exposed to the full fury of the elements. Even more, though, did I pity the four poor beasts. Already their bridles were lathered in froth.

Mrs. Glee had decided we would travel from Merriford House back to Oxford by coach, even though the train was so much more convenient. I had tried to argue but she had made up her mind. I suspected, frail as she was, she was frightened of train travel. So here we all were, cold, crushed together and jolted. Huddled between Rachel and Isaac I recalled the old legends that told of great beasts that roamed the moor, of highwaymen
who preyed on unguarded travelers. I shivered a little. But I got no sympathy from my friends. Indeed the atmosphere inside the coach was as thick as fog. I could have choked on the dark looks, misunderstandings and ill humor wafting around. Both Waldo and Rachel were furious with your friend Kit Salter, and had declared they would never speak to me again. Rachel had been especially hurtful.

“You know what your problem is, Kit?” she had spat. “Apart from being downright domineering, of course. Jealousy. Don't look so surprised. J.E.A.L.O.U.S.Y. You don't like your friends having other friends. You want to be number one the whole time.”

The silence in the coach left me plenty of time to reflect on Rachel's words. Uncomfortably, I had to admit that there might be some small element of truth in what she was saying. But minuscule. Really very small. Truly!

As neither Waldo nor Rachel was talking to me, and Isaac was lost in his own (possibly explosive) thoughts, I turned to Mrs. Glee, who was crocheting a hideous pink bonnet.

“Merriford House was splendid,” I said. “So gloomy. All that wind whistling down the chimneys.”

“Lovely,” she agreed, with a vacant smile. “I'm so happy for Miss Minchin. Marrying a baronet's son. Usually sweet fortune does not smile upon poor governesses.”

There was a wistful look in her green eyes as she said this. I wanted to take her hand and squeeze it to give her a little courage. Life, I guessed, had not been kind to Mrs. Glee. You could see her own misfortunes in the lines on her face and in the anxiety with which she greeted everything. She did try, our poor new governess, but she just wasn't strong enough for this world.

I had never found out about Mr. Glee. I was tempted to try a little probing.

“Do you miss Mr. Glee very much?” I asked.

To my surprise she went rigid.

“Why?”

“Sorry?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. I thought—”

Mrs. Glee was biting her lip “He was a brute, Kitty, a brute.”

I didn't know what to say. This conversation wasn't going as I'd imagined. She sounded so fierce.

“I didn't know,” I muttered lamely.

“Not a day goes by, not a single day, when I don't give thanks that I am rid of him.”

There was silence after this. The four horses pulling our coach labored in front of us. All that could be heard was their panting and snorting and the fierce whoosh of the wind outside. I was wearing a thick navy traveling
cloak over my serge dress, but I was still chilled. Inside and out. There were so many mysteries about our new governess—her anger as well as her suffering. Everything seemed to make her fearful. Why had Mrs. Glee turned down the quick and modern train? Dark shapes loomed against the gray darkness of the moor. Wind-blasted trees, the occasional wretched cottage. I wondered that the horses were able to canter so fast, avoiding potholes in the dusk.

The coach stopped with a jolt. Rachel was thrown against Waldo and screeched. Isaac's glasses fell off as the horses began to neigh, a high terrifying sound. Odd noises were louder in the silence of the moor: the driver Hodges shouting, the crack of a whip and then another deep voice intermingled with scuffling. I peered through the window but could see only dark shapes through the smudgy pane.