Hawthorn Read online

“What good are our laws if we all die?” Raven cried. “You can wager that Drood is not obeying any laws.”

  “If we rush into this rashly we will play into his hands!” Merlinus roared.

  “And that is why we are here today to plan,” Miss Sharp said, inserting herself in between Dame Beckwith and Merlinus. “But first, my aunts have prepared a lovely tea for us.” She gestured toward the tea table, which was piled high with plates of sandwiches, scones, buttered bread, and cakes. Miss Harriet was perched on a high chair with a teapot poised above a violet- patterned cup. Plump Miss Emmaline sat beside her slathering clotted cream and jam on a scone. Etta and Ruth bustled back and forth from the kitchen bringing more trays of baked goods. The aroma of tea and butter wafted up from the table like a harbinger of peace and civility. “Can’t we all sit down together and talk this through?”

  Merlinus began to speak, but Wren laid her hand on his arm and his face softened. “My son has told me that this coming war will take the lives of so many humans that all the Darklings in the world will not be enough to save their souls. He tells me that Faerie itself will perish in its wake. It is true that he broke our laws to bring these girls back, but if by doing so we are able to avert that terrible future, then I will not waste what we have learned. I will be honored to sit down at your table.” He bowed low to Emmaline and Harriet and I saw Wren exchange a relieved look with Raven.

  “Oh good,” Miss Emmaline said, holding up a plate. “I knew you would. Won’t you have a scone?”

  “Do you take one lump or two?”

  “Try the Victoria sponge.”

  “Is this oolong?”

  For the first twenty minutes we didn’t talk of world affairs at all. There were sixteen of us crowded around the tea table—and two extra chairs. I asked Miss Emmaline if I should move the chairs away to give us more room, but she tilted her head to one side and said, “Their train has been delayed at Poughkeepsie but they should be arriving just about . . .” She tilted her head the other way and held up her finger. “Now,” she said as the doorbell rang.

  Etta jumped up to get it, followed by an excited Taddie singing, “Whitehorn and Elfwood say the bells of Blythewood . . .” They came back with a dwarf in a three-piece checked suit, and a tall turbaned Hindu.

  “Mr. Marvel!” Helen cried, spewing scone crumbs. “Mr. Omar! I didn’t know you were coming.”

  The tall Indian man bowed to Helen. “Your friend Daisy informed us of your recovery, for which I thank the invincible goddess Durga—”

  “And told us you were in want of a con man,” Kid Marvel finished, pumping Helen’s hand and then mine.

  I looked at Daisy. “You called Mr. Omar and Mr. Marvel?”

  “Gillie said yesterday that we needed to make it look like we were doing one thing while we were really doing another. Isn’t that what Mr. Marvel helped us do last year at the Hellgate when we rescued Ruth?”

  “Youse all comported yerselves like professionals,” Kid Marvel said, winking at Miss Harriet, who was refilling his teacup. “When we got the call from Miss Daisy here I says to Omar, if them kids need help again I’m on board.”

  “And I remarked to my esteemed colleague Mr. Marvel that it would be an honor to assist the garuda and her friends.” He bowed to me and I blushed at the ceremonial name—that of a winged goddess from Hindu mythology—that he’d bestowed on me.

  We made room at the table for Omar and Kid Marvel. While Kid Marvel loaded his plate with sandwiches and cakes, Omar asked me to tell exactly what had happened. The table fell silent as I told our story—from encountering the trow in the woods to falling into the hole and meeting Mr. Ward inside the vessel. Even Taddie, who was still clutching the same broken flowerpot and had been speaking in rhymes all afternoon, quieted down to listen, although he occasionally played a tune on the teacups with his spoon, and he grew so excited when I described meeting Mr. Ward that he jumped up and ran from the room shouting, “Whitehorn and Elfwood say the bells of Blythewood!”

  “You’ll have to excuse Taddie,” Emmaline said. “He had an unfortunate experience in the Blythe Wood when he was young. Go on, Ava dear.”

  I had used Taddie’s interruption to take a sip of tea and prepare myself to tell the rest of the story. Still, it was painful to describe the ruins of Blythewood once again. I was glad Gillie wasn’t there as I told of the shattered windows, the molten bells, and the airship that emitted a white light that scoured the inside of your brains and left you an empty-headed cog in van Drood’s infernal factories. When I came to the things we’d seen in Mr. Bellows’s classroom I looked at Helen and she saved me.

  “I don’t think we need to go into the details. We’re here to change those futures and perhaps it would be best if we didn’t go into the personal fates of . . . of those here.” Her eyes fell on Miss Sharp and then Daisy with such grief that everybody at the table must have guessed what she meant—except for Daisy, who was busy pouring tea for Mr. Omar.

  “I agree,” Miss Emmaline said. “I’ve often had to decide whether or not to share what I’ve seen of the future, and sometimes felt it was best not to. And as Helen says, these fates will change if we are successful. I believe that the reason my visions have been so blurry is that the future is changeable.”

  “What’s important to know,” Mr. Bellows said, slapping his knee and upsetting the teacup he had balanced there, “is that van Drood must have found the third vessel and released the last shadows, causing this horrific war, a war that reached across the world . . .”

  “A world war,” Miss Corey murmured, taking Miss Sharp’s hand. She had seen how Helen had looked at her beloved, and it had frightened her.

  “A war that reaches into more than one world,” Wren said. “Tell us what you saw in Faerie, Ava dear.”

  Grateful for that “dear,” I described what Helen and I had seen in Faerie. When I got to the part about my mother, my eyes blurred and I had to stop. I felt Raven’s hand slip into mine under the table and squeeze. I took a sip of tea and described the deadly soot that had crept over everything.

  “Shadows infiltrating Faerie,” Wren said, her voice hoarse. “It could mean the end of all hope and beauty in this world.”

  “How do you mean?” Miss Corey asked, the marks on her face standing out clearly. Last year Miss Corey had learned that she was a changeling. The marks came from when she had been transformed into Lillian Corey. I didn’t know how the teacher, who had been raised to distrust and hunt the fay, had assimilated the knowledge. There was a note of challenge in her voice now. “I mean, I know now that the fairies aren’t all evil, but would the world really be worse off if they were gone?”

  “Lil—” Miss Sharp began.

  “It’s all right,” Wren said. “Miss Corey asks a good question. You Blythewood women”—she smiled at me—“are refreshingly direct. What you may not know is how the fairies contribute to this world. The beauty they bring to the flowers in spring, the rainbows they cast, the dew they weave into the grasses at dawn, the soft spring breezes they blow when winter seems dreariest . . .

  “Have you ever,” she asked, looking around the table, “felt oppressed by grief and worry?” Her eyes came to rest on her son, and I realized how hard it had been for her to watch Raven grieve for me, and then her eyes traveled to Dame Beckwith and locked onto her shining eyes. “So weighed down by fear for someone you love—a son, a daughter, a lover, a friend—that you can barely lift your eyes up off the ground? And then, just when you feel there is no hope, a soft breeze touches your face, carrying with it the smell and feel of spring, and you lift up your face to welcome the air’s touch and somehow your burden is lightened. You know all is not lost. You resolve to makes things better. You have hope.”

  Dame Beckwith dashed a tear from her eyes. Miss Corey and Miss Sharp held hands. Mr. Bellows cleared his throat. Omar murmured something that sounded like a prayer.

>   “Well, that spring breeze in winter is the gift of the fay. Elf-kissed, we call it. They bring hope where there is none. They bring beauty in the midst of sadness. Without the fay, your world would be a bleak place. If we don’t stop van Drood from releasing the last shadows, the world will be without hope . . . and a world without hope . . .” She shuddered. “Is not a world I would want to live in.”

  “We’ll go to Hawthorn Hall to find the vessel,” Mr. Bellows said, banging his fist on the table. The teacups chimed in their saucers.

  “But the crows will follow us, and we’ll lead van Drood straight to the vessel,” Miss Corey pointed out.

  “We’ve got to distract the boids while you girls take off,” Kid Marvel said.

  “My people can scare the crows away,” Merlinus said, “but not for very long. If even one escapes and follows you to Scotland we’ll be doing more harm than good.”

  “We have to find a place to trap the crows,” Miss Sharp said.

  “But how . . . ?”

  “But where . . . ?”

  Discordant voices rose in the conservatory. It reminded me of when the clocks had tolled out of sync. But then one voice shouted above the others.

  “Whitehorn and Elfwood say the bells of Blythewood!”

  It was Uncle Taddie, upset by all the dissension. We all stopped to look up at him.

  “Whitehorn and Elfwood say the bells of Blythewood,” he repeated, and then, having gotten our attention at last, finished the rhyme, but differently from how he had before. “There lies a vessel deep in the May, to gather the shadows and hide them away.”

  “Taddie dear,” Miss Harriet tutted, “you’re overexcited. Go pick some posies for our guests.”

  “Wait a minute, Auntie,” Miss Sharp said. “I’ve never heard Uncle Taddie say that rhyme before. Will you say it again, Uncle Taddie?”

  Beaming for his niece, Taddie repeated the rhyme.

  “Hm,” Mr. Bellows said, “Whitehorn is another name for Hawthorn.”

  “So is May,” Dame Beckwith said.

  “So a vessel deep in the May—” Miss Corey began.

  “Means a vessel buried in Hawthorn,” Daisy said.

  “Like the one we found!” Helen said. “And Elfwood—”

  “Is Aelfweard,” I finished, standing up and moving closer to Uncle Taddie. “That time you got lost in the woods, Uncle Taddie, did you fall in a hole and meet a man named Aelfweard?”

  Taddie bobbed his head up and down. “Yes, yes, Mr. Elfwood! He showed me his pictures and told me . . .” Taddie’s face creased with confusion. “He told me many things, but then on my way back I got lost in the tunnels and everything got all jumbled.” He finished with a sad look on his face. Emmaline patted his hand.

  “I think I know what happened,” I said. “Those tunnels cross through Faerie and go in and out of our time. Uncle Taddie must have gotten lost in time on his way back from the vessel. No wonder he’s—”

  The clocks began to chime and the confusion on Taddie’s face vanished. “Out of time!” Taddie cried out. “Yes, yes, the clocks have helped me remember. Mr. Elfwood told me that if the shadows bothered me I should send them all back to him. Even a broken pot can hold a few flowers.” He held up the broken flowerpot he’d been carrying around all afternoon.

  “Do you mean we can trap the shadows in the broken vessel?” Raven asked, putting his arm around Taddie’s shoulders.

  Taddie beamed at Raven. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He gave his sisters a reproachful look. “Now can I have my tea?”

  10

  “I DON’T KNOW why we have to play bait,” Helen complained, tugging at her kid gloves, “while Daisy gets to run through the woods in buckskin.”

  “Daisy did come up with the plan so it’s only right that she gets to choose what part to play in it.” I snatched Helen’s gloves away to keep her from shredding them. “And she can’t very well climb trees in skirts.”

  We were standing at the front door to Blythewood beside our luggage. Our New York City addresses were prominently displayed on tickets hanging from our trunk handles. Helen was dressed in her best traveling outfit of robin’s-egg blue jacket and skirt, matching reticule, and a straw bonnet adorned with a jaunty feather—one of Marlin’s, I suspected.

  “I feel like a trussed-up goose standing here waiting to be attacked by those filthy birds.”

  I looked up at the sycamore trees lining the drive. We’d only been standing here for ten minutes and already they were thick with crows. The plan was for Helen and me to wait for Gillie’s carriage, obviously dressed for a journey, long enough that the crows assembled. Three nights ago Raven and Marlin had found Aelfweard and talked to him about trapping the crows in the broken vessel. The guardian had been willing to help if it meant protecting his fellow guardians. Everyone wanted to play their parts. Kid Marvel had worked out the plan with Daisy, who then insisted she should be stationed in a tree to watch our progress. Omar had taught our teachers a stronger mesmerism spell and was standing by to orchestrate the mesmerizing of the crows. The Darklings were ready to herd the crows into the vessel. Cam—

  “Look, there’s Cam now!” Helen pointed to the sky where the sun caught the canvas wings of Cam’s aeroplane. “Now that’s an exciting role,” Helen said. “I’d like to fly an aeroplane.”

  “Helen, you’re terrified of heights,” I pointed out.

  “Marlin’s cured me of that,” Helen said, stroking the feather in her hat. “I want to do something useful, not stand around and wait for people to do for me.”

  I stared at Helen, who had spent her whole life being waited on by servants. But instead of pointing that out, I squeezed her bare, cold hand. “I know. I hate waiting while our friends are putting themselves in danger, too. But I have a feeling there will be plenty for us to do in the days to come. Right now, though, our job is to smile at Gillie and fuss over the placement of those hatboxes of yours. How many hats are you taking?”

  Helen cracked open one of the boxes a half inch and I saw it contained a biscuit tin of Nathan’s favorite raspberry biscuits.

  “You know they have biscuits in Scotland,” I pointed out in a whisper. “In fact, these biscuits come from England . . .”

  “Sh,” Helen cautioned, jerking her chin toward a crow that had landed on the pediment above the doorway. Another joined it as the door opened and Dame Beckwith came out with Mr. Bellows. Miss Corey and Miss Sharp followed behind them. They all gathered around us, hugging us and saying their good-byes, Mr. Bellows bursting into an exuberant farewell speech. Although I knew it was all part of the game, I felt my eyes stinging with tears. I pictured the drive filled with girls leaving for holiday, heard the shouted farewells and promises to write, and realized this could well be my last leave-taking from Blythewood. Who knew when I’d be back—or even if the school would still be standing if we failed? As we got into the carriage, the bells began to ring. They played the changes I’d heard the first day Gillie had driven me up the drive—a tune to ring us home.

  At the sound of the bells, the crows on the tower took flight and dived toward the carriage. Before they could alight, our teachers and Dame Beckwith withdrew their daggers and brandished them in the air. The diving crows veered away from the flashing gems on the daggers and circled over our heads. At the same moment, the Darklings swooped down from the trees, driving the crows from the branches into the maelstrom of circling crows.

  “Now!” Miss Sharp cried to Helen and me.

  I was so mesmerized by the spinning crows that Helen had to grab my hand and pull. Then we were running across the lawn toward the woods. I looked back over my shoulder in time to see the circling crows break away as Miss Sharp stumbled to the ground. She did such a convincing job of her fumble that I nearly cried out at the sight of her falling under all those crows, but the crows weren’t bothering about her. T
hey made a beeline for Helen and me.

  “Hurry!” Helen shouted. “We can’t let them catch us!”

  Catch us? Weren’t they just supposed to be following us to see where we were going? What would they do if they caught us?

  There was no time to think about that. As we entered the woods, the crows were at our backs. Oily wings brushed against my face, sharp beaks nipped at my neck. Through a blur of wings I saw Helen batting at the crows with her blue reticule. Then a much larger winged creature swooped down and beat the crows away. This time I had to grab Helen’s hand to get her to quit staring at Marlin—dashing as he looked, wings flexed, hair flying, sword in hand—and run. I spotted a white notch in a pine and made for it, weaving in and out of the slim trees. Raven had blazed the trail to Aelfweard’s vessel. All we had to do was follow it and keep ahead of the crows. The Darklings were on either side of us making sure none of the crows got away. I caught a glimpse of tawny leather jacket and blue denim trousers—Daisy’s “field outfit”—as she climbed through the trees directing the Darklings. I could hear the drone of Cam’s plane above, making sure none broke free and left the woods. I felt as though Helen and I were being driven through a chute like cows to slaughter. The crows felt it, too. They were squalling, sensing the trap but powerless to escape it.

  I made the mistake of looking back and saw that the crows had merged into a seething black mass, boiling like a wall of smoke hurtling toward us. At the center of that mass a face was forming. It was the face I saw in my nightmares: Judicus van Drood. On the surface he looked like any prosperous middle- aged man, his black hair streaked with silver, his long aquiline nose flared in disdain, but when I looked into his black eyes I saw a terrible emptiness there, and when he opened his mouth smoke gushed out along with the words I heard in my head:

  Where are you running, Ava? Do you think you can hide from me? Wherever you go I will follow and watch. Do you think I didn’t see you come back from Faerie terrified of what the future held? You know that the tide is turning to the dark. You know that I will find and release the last shadows. The world will be mine. Why not join me now? Nathan already has.