Throughout the rest of the day, my thoughts are on the Fall this morning. I listen numbly, answer monotonously, and probably seem sullen and hostile. But I do not care. My mind keeps running over everything he said, everything I felt, and the one thought of mine that he found.

I fell because of you.

He pretended he hadn't found it, but relaxed his grip a little. I was able to scream, the sound muffled by his palm, and I grew strangely quiet and calm. I lay still on the bed, and he had to shake me to get me to move.

"What did you mean, I'm just a vessel?"

"You are late. I will be here this evening. Come up after your lessons are complete." The word 'lessons' makes me feel immature and childish. White-hot hate pulses through my veins, angry at how he knows how to hurt me, disarm me, make me vulnerable again. He tosses the key at me, and, quick as a bird, my hand is out, catching it. The jagged metal slices into my palm, and I gasp as the nerves scream out indignantly. He wraps the cut with cotton torn from his shirt, and I notice once more the wound on his chest.

"What happened to you?" I motion towards his torso, and he grimaces slightly at the memory.

"I had a ... run in last night. Nothing that concerns you." He snubs me again, and this time I react.

"Stop treating me like a child, Kartik. I'm 16 years old. Stop patronising me and I might warm towards you a little."

"I don't care whether your feelings towards me are icy cold, Miss Doyle."

I wrench my hand from his, and leave.

Felicity does not approach me during the day; nor does she sit with me at supper. However, when I head towards the stairs once more, she catches sight of me and, quick as a dagger, is upon me.

"Going anywhere ... interesting?" she smiles innocently, but I am in no mood to humour her.

"Unfortunately not, Miss Worthington. I am feeling rather drained, so, if you will excuse me."

"What if I have no desire to excuse you?"

"Well, then, Miss Worthington, I will have to excuse myself." And with that I carry on up the grand staircase, my injured hand stinging as it trails along the banister. I know that she will follow me, but it gives me a sense of achievement at not having bended to her will.

"Miss Doyle, I am going to accompany you to your room whether you like it or not, because, as I am sure you will recall, I am rather anxious to meet this midnight visitor of yours." She whispers it in my ear, her voice slick with confidence, and I finally understand the power she holds over the weak and cheerless creatures in the hall.

"Miss Worthington, I will arrange a meeting between you two, but first I must tell him. He can get quite ... violent. Angry."

"Well, then, I shall just have to watch my step." She smiles teasingly, and my mind races. What will he do to me when he sees Felicity? What will he do to her?

But, all too soon, we are outside my bedroom and Felicity walks smoothly in. I hear a cry of surprise from inside, and then a strong, brown arm tugs me ungracefully in also.

"Miss Doyle, may I enquire as to what you were thinking?" His voice is cool and smooth, but the hand around my wrist tells another story. He is furious, and he is trapped.

"Miss Worthington saw our conversation 2 nights ago, and ... I had to tell her everything. She knows it all." This is a slight lie. She does not know about the events of this morning, and for that I am glad.

Felicity watches the exchange between us emotionlessly, and I can tell that Kartik is being made to feel uncomfortable. He glances towards her, as if she is but a china doll, and then drags me to the bed. I can see a smile hovering over Felicity's lips, and then she sits languidly on Ann's blankets. Kartik stares at her as if she is a wild animal, and is unsure of whether she is going to pounce.

"So, Kartik ... Gemma was telling me all about your little romp in the woods, and the episode on the bed." I blush, for she is making it sound as though I shaped the truth to make it slightly more interesting, and slightly more scandalous.

"Was she indeed?" There is no smile on his face or in his eyes, and it makes me shiver to think of what he will do now that he feels caught. "Gemma has a habit of dramatising events to make herself more intriguing." He glances towards me, and I struggle against the hatred flooding his eyes.

"Felicity is the one exaggerating, I am afraid."

She turns on me now, her grey eyes flickering with danger. "Oh, was I, Miss Doyle? Perhaps we better consult Mrs Nightwing on the matter."

Although this threat is growing no less dangerous, the effect of it is beginning to wear off. I turn away from her and say to Kartik, in pleading tones, "I didn't tell her anything ... remotely..." I trail off, my fingers unconsciously twisting and tweaking my blankets in desperation.

" Miss Worthington, delightful though our meeting has been, I am afraid that I need to talk to Gemma alone."

"Oh, well that would be convenient, wouldn't it, Gemma? I wonder what is so desperately important that my presence is uncalled for?"

" Felicity..."

"No matter." She flicks her hair back, smiles provocatively at Kartik, and begins to sashay out when Kartik springs like a cat from the bed and bars her way.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asks, superiority dripping from her voice.

"Making sure you don't open that pretty little mouth of yours." He advances on her, and, for the first time, I see Felicity frightened. She glances towards me, her mouth slightly open in surprise, her eyes imploring, begging. Then I realise that I have a way to change everything.

"Do you promise not to tell anyone what I have told you, and what you have seen?" My voice is firm, and she waits but a second before whimpering her agreement.

"Kartik, step down."

But he ignores me.

"Kartik."

He turns on me then, a flash of something I do not recognise in his eyes. "What, Miss Doyle? Do you control me now, then? Is that how it is?" But he leaves her, and she shakes silently by the door, breathing deeply to try and regain her composure. But she knows now that there is no going back. Although I have taken the advantage from her, in the form of Kartik, I have something else, something vastly more valuable.

I know what makes her frightened.

That night, when I dream, she is there once more. The girl, who I do not know, and who yet knows me, is calling to me.

"Gemma, my darling, how grown up you are! How beautiful you are! My, you look just like mother. How is she, Gemma, darling? How are they all? Little Thomas, dear sweet Thomas, he must be almost 20 now! And father ... how is he? Does he still laugh the same? Do he and mother ever talk of me? Ever think of me?"

I want to answer but I do not know how. My mind is racing. How can I visit this place in my sleep, oh so willingly, and yet how does it have the power to drag me under whenever it wants to?

"Gemma, the key is in the silver! Remember that. You must open the locket and then all will become clear."

I wake with a start. The locket! I had forgotten, and so had Kartik, in the drama of the moment. I sit up in bed, listening to Ann's heavy breathing, and pity her for a moment. How is it that she will never have a chance to be anything? Who make these rules that leave her crying into her pillow every night? I hear her, of course I do, but, being a proper English lady, I leave her, say nothing, cause her no embarrassment.

The locket hangs heavily around my neck. I never used to notice it. It was so light. But I fumble, lighting a candle and rifle through my mother's belongings, finding the small leather purse once more. The key is back there, clearly put by Kartik in a moment of compassion. I will open it myself, I decide. And, after 5 minutes of fumbling and silent cursing, the locket is open, and a scroll of tightly furled paper falls into my lap. It is thin and yellow with age, and I am terrified that it will crumble amongst my fingers, but it is surprisingly thick and sturdy. The candle flickers, and the writing is thin and spidery, so I have to hold the flame almost close enough to burn it, before I can read what it says.

The locket is the key, and you are the lock.

I furl it back up, secure it in the locket and twist the key once more. And then I sleep the deep dreamless sleep of the dead.