A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(76)

Pippa is lying in the hammock while her knight regales her with some tale of chivalrous deeds done on her behalf. He gazes at her as if she’s the only girl in the world. And she drinks it in like ambrosia. Ann is busy singing, gazing into the river, where she has assembled a make-believe audience of hundreds who clap and sigh and adore her. I’m the only one chafing here, feeling discontented and powerless. The thrill of our adventures has begun to wear off. What good is it to have this supposed power if I can’t use it?

Pippa finally strides over, twirling a rose in her hands. “I wish I could stay here forever.”

“Well, you can’t,” I tell her.

“Why not?” Ann asks, coming up behind me. Her hair is loose and wavy across her shoulders.

“Because this is not a place to stay,” I answer, defensively. “It’s a place of dreams.”

“What if I choose the dream instead?” Pippa says. It’s such a Pippa thing to say—foolish and taunting.

“What if I refuse to bring you here the next time?”

Felicity has managed to pierce a small rabbit. It hangs limp and lifeless from her arrow. “What is the matter?”

Pippa pouts. “It’s Gemma. She doesn’t want to bring us back.”

Felicity is still holding the bloody arrow in one hand. “What’s all this, Gemma?” Her face is grim and determined and I find myself breaking the staring contest by looking away.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, you implied it,” Pippa sniffs.

“Can we just forget this whole silly argument?” I snap.

“Gemma.” Pippa sticks her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Don’t be cross.”

Felicity adopts the same ridiculous face. “Gemma, please stop. It’s very hard to talk with my mouth like this.”

Ann is on it now. “I won’t smile until Gemma does. You can’t make me.”

“Yes.” Felicity is giggling through her bulldog face. “And everywhere people will say, ‘They use to be so attractive. Pity about that lip problem.’”

I can’t help it. I start to laugh. They roll on the ground with me then, the four of us screaming and making the most asinine faces imaginable till we’re exhausted and it’s time to go.



The door appears, and we slip one by one through the portal. I’m the last to go. My skin is beginning to tingle with the door’s breath-stopping energy when I catch sight of Mother holding the little girl’s hand. Beneath the large white pinafore, the girl’s dress is colorful and unusual. Not something one would see at an English girls’ school. Interesting that I’ve never noticed it.

The two of them are looking at me, hopeful and wary. As if I can change things for them. But how can I help them when I don’t even know how to help myself?





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


TODAY IS ASSEMBLY DAY. MY DICTIONARY HAS NO formal entry for this occasion, but if it did, it might go something like this:

Assembly Day (n.) A boarding school tradition in which the family of the schoolgirl is allowed a visit, resulting in the mortification of all and the enjoyment of none.

I’ve coiffed my hair, buttoned, laced, and pinned myself into ladylike perfection—or as close as I can get to it. But inside, I’m still reeling from my visit with Mother and our argument. I behaved terribly. Tonight I’ll go to her and apologize, feel her warm arms around me again.

Still, I wish I could tell my family—Father especially—that I’ve seen Mother. That somewhere beyond here in another world, she is alive and loving and beautiful as we all remember her to be. I have no idea what I’ll find when I go downstairs, and I’m torn up with hoping and wishing. Father might walk in, looking well fed and well groomed in his fine black suit. He might hold out a gift for me, something wrapped in gold paper. He might call me his jewel, might even get sour-faced Brigid to laugh at his tales, might hold me close. He might. He might. Might. Is there any opiate more powerful than that word?

“Perhaps I could come along with you,” Ann says as I try to tame my hair for the hundredth time. It doesn’t want to stay neatly coiled atop my head as a lady’s should.

“You’d be dreadfully bored within five minutes,” I say, pinching roses into my cheeks that flare and fade straightaway. I don’t want Ann along when I’m not sure of what I’ll find.

“Will your brother be coming today?” Ann asks.

“Yes, God help us all,” I mutter. I don’t want to encourage Ann where Tom is concerned. Two springy curls flop down low on my forehead. I’ve got to do something with this hair.

“At least you have a brother to annoy you.”

In the washstand mirror, I catch a glimpse of Ann sitting forlornly on her bed, dressed in her best with nowhere to go, no one to see. I’m going on and on about the trials of seeing my family, while she’ll spend the entire day alone. Assembly Day must be excruciating for her.

“All right,” I sigh. “If you’re up for the torture, you can come along.”

She doesn’t say thank you. We both know it’s a mission of mercy, but for which one of us, I can’t say yet. I take in the sight of her. White dress straining at the seams over her chubby body. Wisps of lank hair already escaping from her chignon, hanging in her watery eyes. She’s not the beauty I saw last night in the garden.