A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(88)

“Forgive us, Miss Moore. We shouldn’t laugh. That display was most shocking,” Felicity says, struggling to keep the giggle out of her voice.

“Yes. Shocking. And very strange,” Miss Moore says. Her gaze falls on me again. I stare at the floor. “May I come in?”

“Yes, please do,” Pippa answers, making room inside.

“I’ve never been inside the inner sanctum before, Felicity. It’s quite nice.”

“I know another place that’s far lovelier,” Felicity answers. I flash her a warning glance.

“Really? Any place I might’ve been?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. It’s a secret place. A sort of private paradise.” Felicity smiles dreamily.

“Best not tell me, then. I don’t know if I could be trusted in paradise.”

She gives an almost girlish laugh. I try to imagine what Miss Moore must have been like as a girl. Was she obedient? Cruel? Rebellious? Shy? Did she have a good friend and a secret place where she found a retreat from the world? Was she ever like us?

“What is this you’re reading?” The diary is sitting out in plain view. Ann goes to snatch it but Miss Moore is quicker. My heart is in my throat as Miss Moore turns the diary over in her hands, examining it.

Felicity is quick. “It’s just some silly romance. We found it in the library. After your suggestion.”

“Was this my suggestion?”

“Going to the library, I mean.”

Miss Moore opens the book. We don’t dare look at each other.

“‘The Secret Diary of Mary Dowd.’ My . . .” A page falls to the floor. “What’s this?”

Dear God! The illustration! Felicity and I nearly knock each other down in our mad rush to reach the forbidden image before she does.

“Nothing,” Felicity says. “Just some doodling.”

“I see.” Miss Moore turns a page and then another.

“We take turns reading it aloud,” Ann offers. We’re squirming in our seats.

Miss Moore’s eyes never leave the pages as she says, “Perhaps tonight I shall join you. Would you indulge me?”

It’s not as if we can say no.

“Of course,” Felicity croaks. “I’ll show you where we left off. We’re almost to the end, I believe.”

Miss Moore’s eyes scan the page in her hands. The waiting is interminable. I’m sure she’s going to march us off to Mrs. Nightwing at any moment. But at last, her deep, warm voice fills the tent.

“April 6, 1871

“What we have done cannot be undone. Tonight, I went into the woods with Sarah. Night bloomed, and the moon grew fat in the sky. It wasn’t long before Mother Elena’s child, Carolina, came tripping along to us. We had promised her a dolly.

“‘Have you brought my dolly back?’

“‘Yes,’ Sarah told her. ‘She’s clean and new and waiting for you just beyond these trees. Come, Carolina, and we’ll take you to her.’

“It was a most egregious lie and one that hid the dreadful purpose of our hearts.

“But the child believed us. She took our hands and wandered off happily with us, singing a bit of an old tune.

“When we reached the school, she asked, ‘Where is my dolly?’”

“‘Inside,’ I said, my heart turning to stone.

“But the child was afraid and refused to go.

“‘Your pretty dolly is missing you. And we’ve got lovely toffees, besides,’ Sarah said.

“‘And I shall let you wear my pretty white pinafore,’ I said, lacing her arms through and tightening the ribbons at the back. ‘My, how pretty you look.’ This cheered her considerably and she followed us into the cupola of the East Wing, where we set our candles to burning.”

Miss Moore pauses. The room falls silent. This is it. All that’s left is for her to snap the book shut and throw it on the fire. But she has only stopped to clear her throat, and in a few seconds, she starts anew.

“‘Where is my dolly?’ the child whimpered, and Sarah threw the old rag doll to her. It wasn’t what she expected and she cried.

“‘Shhh, shhh,’ I said, trying to comfort her.

“‘Leave her,’ Sarah snapped. ‘And let’s to our purpose, Mary.’

“There is a time in every life when paths are chosen, character is forged. I could have chosen a different path. But I didn’t. I failed myself. While I held the child down, my hand covering her mouth to silence those cries, Sarah called the beast from its hiding place in the dark heart of the Winterlands. ‘Come to us,’ she cried, her arms lifted high. ‘Come and grant me the power that should be mine.’

“And then, such a fearful thing. We were pulled into a vision then, into that twilight world between this one and the next. A great black void approached, taking shape into the beast. Oh, I would have run then if I’d only had legs to do so. The cries of the damned near to stilled my heart. But Sarah smiled, lost to the pull of it. The child struggled hard against me, terrified as she was, and I pressed my hand more firmly against her small face, trying to shush her, to block out my own fear. Then slowly I raised my hand and covered the small nose there as well. She knew what I intended then and she fought me. But it was her life for ours, or so I saw it. I held fast to the child till her struggling ceased and she lay still on the floor of the East Wing, her eyes wide open, dead to the world. A terrible realization came over me at what I had done.