Blackmoore(53)

I stood up. “You are too kind, Miss St. Claire. Indeed, you are the epitome of thoughtfulness. But I think I will do something else and let you two have your chat.”

“Where are you going, Kitty?” Sylvia asked.

“I think I’ll explore the house again, since it is too rainy for the moors.”

Miss St. Claire frowned at the window. “It is most unsatisfactory that it has rained two of our three days here. But we shall entertain ourselves.

Perhaps later we can play some charades. Or whist. Or we could organize a ball! Oh, let’s do organize a ball. It will be such fun for the other guests.

We are responsible for their entertainment, you know, and I would so hate it if any of our guests were to feel bored here.”

I walked across the room, ready to be rid of Miss St. Claire’s exhaust-ing thoughtfulness.

“If it clears up this afternoon, Miss Worthington,” Miss St. Claire called to me before I closed the door, “we should all walk to Robin Hood’s Bay.”

She was so unbelievably kind. She made it most difficult for me to dislike her. I smiled. “I would like that very much.”

But instead of exploring the house immediately, I went to the bird room. Touching the painting of Icarus, I thought again of the tower and 158



Henry’s confession last night. I thought of the secret he had asked for; the memories that had awakened stayed with me all day. I was, for a short time, transported back in time, to two years before, to the days immediately after Henry saved me from the river.

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Chapter 22


three years BeFore


The weather had turned unpredictably, and grey skies became the back-

drop upon which the stifling boredom of my time played out. Finally, on the fourth day of rain, I took my kitten, bundled her up in an old shawl, and tucked her inside my coat. Then I tied on my bonnet, picked up a parasol, and marched through the woods to Sylvia’s house. I saw Sylvia through the French windows and ran up to knock at them. She hurried to let me, dripping, into the morning room. Luckily her mother was nowhere to be seen.

“I could not stay away any longer,” I announced as she helped me take off my dripping wet coat. “Eleanor has been talking ceaselessly about her latest interest, and I cannot listen to one more syllable about his many fine qualities.” I held up my scarf-wrapped bundle. “So I have brought my kitten for us to play with.” Sylvia cooed and pulled away the scarf until we could see the kitten’s grey and white face, eyes closed in sleep.

“I am so glad you have come,” Sylvia said, taking the kitten from me and cradling it like a baby in her arms. “I have been dying of boredom. Henry too.

He has been in the most impatient, short-tempered mood these past few days.

Always complaining about the rain and watching out the window.”

My heart quickened, as it had every time I had thought of Henry since

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he had rescued me from the river. But I said nothing to Sylvia about it. I had told her I found the kitten but not about Henry jumping into the river to save me. It was the first secret I had ever kept from her.

“So what have you decided to name her?” Sylvia asked.

“I haven’t chosen a name yet. I was hoping you could help me think of it.”

Sylvia looked into the kitten’s face. “I think she looks like a Mimi.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Mimi?”

“Yes. Or perhaps Dorothy, and you could call her Dot for short.”

I shook my head.

“Why not? Those are good names.”

“Let’s keep thinking,” I said. Sylvia rattled off more ideas, all of which sounded too silly to me. But I was not paying real attention to her. The impatience that had plagued me for the last four days was as strong as ever. I realized that I was impatient to see Henry. In fact, the longer I sat here in his house without seeing him or hearing his voice, the more restless I became.

Finally I stood and said, “Let’s ask Henry. He always has good ideas,”

Sylvia followed with the kitten, muttering something about having better ideas for a cat’s name than a boy would have.

I knew where Henry would be. He spent most of his afternoons studying

at the large round table in the library after spending the morning with his tutor. He took his education very seriously. The window was usually open, bringing a bracing chill into the room, fluttering pages of his books and notes.

Today, though, it was closed against the rain, and candles were lit all around to combat the gloom of the overcast day.

“Henry, we need your help,” Sylvia said as we walked into the

Henry lifted his head and looked directly at me. I froze where I stood,

feeling as if he had just told me a secret with that look. It was new. It was a question and a statement and a quick, hidden secret all at once, and then he glanced back at his work, set down his pen, pushed back his books and papers, and turned to us again. And that dark, secret look was gone. There was only Henry, with a little lift of the corner of his mouth.

“What do you need my help with?” he asked.

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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n

She held up my kitten. “We cannot think of a suitable name.”

“Let me see it,” he said, standing and crossing the room toward us. Sylvia handed the kitten to him, and he walked over to the seats in front of the fireplace, where the light was brightest. A rug cushioned the floor, and chairs encircled the warmer space. Sylvia and I followed. Henry sprawled out on the rug, leaning against the settee, and held up the kitten, inspecting her from all angles.