XVI, May
Dearest Gwen,
I'm dreadfully sorry for making you wait so long for this letter. I would have written you sooner, if time permitted it. As it so happens, I've been busier these past few days than when I had wish-it-were anything-but-this rounds. I'm going to tell you everything that has happened, but first I want to touch upon a certain point you made in your last letter.
I know that I will sound awfully repetitious, but I must mention how horrible it is of your aunt not to let you train your Power. Now, if her excuse was an aversion towards magic, then I could be more sympathetic with her decision— though I would in no way agree with it. However, knowing your Aunt Beatrice's love for court illusions, I know that that is not the case. That she refuses to let you practice simply because you are a lady is absolutely appalling. Aunt Beatrice was always a century behind on such matters.
If it would make you feel any better, I can tell you that life with Grandmama isn't becoming any less difficult. Oh, Grandmama doesn't say much about the magic. In fact, she'd rather not acknowledge its existence at all, if she could help it. I believe her attitude towards any magical event is to ignore it in hope that it will disappear. That does make it easier for me—Grandmama never asks questions if she assumes I am working at something supernatural. She does, however, do a lot of grunting and sighing, but I've learned to take no notice of her when she is in one of these moods.
I only wish that Grandmama's attitude towards magic would apply to everything else. Then I wouldn't have to fear the dawning of her dreary drawl at all hours of the day. As you predicted in one of your letters, Grandmama has indeed decided to overlook her illness for a time in order to prepare for the Festival. I was near the east garden a few days ago when, to my halting surprise, I saw her climb the brick stairs—the ones she proclaimed last year that "not even the coming of the town vicar could force me to ascend"— to the garden to criticize my clumsy skill at washing garments. It's funny how little her "swollen legs, crooked spine, and the sting of old-age " seem to bother her when she is racking her wits for new ways to complain about my work.
As she climbed the last step, Grandmama gave me a thoughtful look—the kind that convinced me she was up to something.
"Adamine, you silly girl, you're going to have to wring every one of those garments again. They are dripping all over the place and I fear the soap water will poison my rhododendrons," she said. She didn't seem to care that there were a good twenty leaps between the flowers she spoke of and the clothesline.
"Yes Grandmama. I'll get right to it," I said in the dull tone I've learned to use when I'm around her. I caught Grandmama's eyes wandering briskly about the yard. I knew then that she hadn't walked up the brick stairs just to complain about some dripping garments.
"Adamine, I am sure you are aware that the summer festival is approaching."
"Yes Grandma--"
"Don't interrupt me, Adamine Catalane Ross." Something in her voice suggested I'd better drop my tone of indifference and give her my full attention.
"As I was saying, the Festival is approaching and it is your obligation as a Ross to attend it. As you might have noticed, if you weren't at your rubbish musings all day, I haven't been feeling quite well of late. Of course, that wouldn't usually prevent me from being your chaperone. As it so happens, I have another engagement that night so I will--"
"--I won't be able to attend the Festival?" I asked, the thought making me feel slightly regretful. I was looking forward to the company of others my age. And if Grandmama couldn't chaperone, then I would certainly have to miss it.
I definitely wasn't prepared for what came next.
"Well," Grandmama continued, "I talked to that nice Boyd boy when he brought the mail last Monday and I've decided that he will take you to the Festival."
My mouth dropped and, for once, I was speechless.
"Mind you, I cannot allow you to be in the presence of a boy without a chaperone. Luckily, his mother will be available to escort you to the town hall and remain with you throughout the night." A great dread overcame me as she said this. If Sanders and his mother are to be my escorts to the Festival, perhaps I would be better off not going at all. Sanders might take this as an opportunity to seek revenge—though perhaps his mother's presence will limit his plans.
"But, Grandmama --"
"Not another word, and no need to thank me. I can only hope that you will conduct yourself as a young lady that night, and not the ill-mannered ruffian I know you to be on occasions." After saying her piece, Grandmama descended the brick stairs and made her way back to the house—leaving me with a handful of dripping garments in one hand, and a handful of unanswered questions in the other.
Why in the world would Sanders offer to take me to the Festival? I am certainly not his most favorite person—and he is not mine. And why is Grandmama so willing to allow me to go with the Boyds? Though Grandmama can be, on the occasion, quite a matchmaker, she generally considers town gatherings to be "inconsequential activities". I cannot count the number of times she prevented me from going to the Ancas' summer celebrations because she was too weary to act as chaperone.
Last, I am simply dying to know what Grandmama's other "engagement" is all about. I didn't give it much thought until after she left—but it is, by far, my most burning question. Grandmama hardly ever visits with others—unless you count nosy Mrs. Ogden, who makes it her duty to impose in all Sacalan's lives, or Mrs. Craciun, whom Her Excellency visits when her protesting muscles force her from her dustbed. I may be dying to know what she was on about, but I know that no prodding on my part could convince her to reveal anything that she had not offered to tell me in the first place.
Well, the Festival isn't for another six days. And nothing as interesting as discovering that I will be going with Sanders has happened since Grandmama last got out of bed--yes, Grandmama is lying in her dustbed as I write. Though, I did have an odd experience of sorts this week. On Tuesday, I was retrieving drinking water from the well near the Socaci house when I met with the Seu sisters. Silvia, the older sister with the dark mole above her upper lip- approached me and said:
"It will be nice to see you at the Festival Saturday. But it's a real pity you had to go through all that trouble to assure your attendance. Really, you could have come with Marioara and me if you were that anxious about missing it. I'm sure Voicu wouldn't have minded the extra weight." And she left before I could say a word. Really Gwen, I wonder what Sanders is telling everyone-- that I begged him to take me? Well, if that's the case, he had better be on his guard Saturday night. I won't have a boy ruining my good name when I can very well do that on my own.
So now I am airing out my best indigo dress for the Festival—it's been in my valise for nearly three weeks. I also have to dig through all my belongings to find some appropriate accessories.
Thank you for sending me all those wonderful spells Mr. Chalmers taught you. I haven't been able to put them to use yet. I expect I'll need them Saturday to levitate a glass of water over Sanders head—and accidentally let if fall—or to locate a good hideaway if things get too intense.
I suppose you have already arrived at your father's estates by now. Please update me on Cassie's condition, and describe all the exciting happenings about York.
Your friend always,
Addie
P.S. You might be wondering how I evaded the wrath of your memory charm for an entire week. Alas, I did not. I had to bury my quill pen under the pear tree for the entire time. The alarm was so loud that I could still hear it vaguely when passing the tree. Luckily, it didn't seem to bother anyone but Ursu. The poor dog went around with his tail between his legs all week…he couldn't figure out what the noise was, and his whining got him a great deal of reprisals from Grandmama.
XVIII, May
Dearest Addie,
I have some news that I simply must tell you about now, before anything else. As it has been some time since your last reply (I'm sure that summer storm didn't help Lightning fly any faster), I've finally arrived at my father's estates. As you know, the estates are temporary (as they belong to Grandpapa's heir, Uncle Charles), but as he is away as the government's diplomat, Papa is setting uncle's affairs in order for him. You also know that I was so excited to be visiting a new place, with new places to explore (although I wouldn't really call York a city, but rather a large village). However, I fear that my enthusiasm has been much diminished ever since I learned that this area is haunted!
We've both been through some very wild adventures together, so I'm sure that you understand that the thought of haunts, ghouls, and ghosts, does not particularly frighten me. However, I worry for Cassie - with her delicate physique and vivid imagination, she seems to take the thought of ghosts deeply to heart and seems rather frightened. Perhaps I am rambling. Allow me to begin at the beginning.
We had just arrived on the estates on Wednesday afternoon and the rest of the day was spent unpacking, getting back into the custom of dressing for dinner, things like that. Then on Thursday, the Hardbottle brothers came to visit. I wonder which is more despicable…Wendell or Oliver? They came riding up in time for afternoon tea (what a fortunate coincidence) with their mother. While Mrs. Hardbottle and Aunt Beatrice had tea at one end of the drawing room, Cassie and I were stuck entertaining the two brothers.
"Did you hear any ghosts last night?," asked Oliver.
"What ghosts?," Cassie and I replied in unison.
"Why, there are ghosts in this area! About two centuries ago, Roman soldiers invaded the county of York. In time, the local farmers drove them off, but the land is still haunted by those soldiers who died here. No one knows what will lay the ghosts to rest, but rumors have it that they wish to complete their original tasks - to murder all the English and to take everything in this land, since they believe it belongs to them," Wendell explained.
After that, I'm afraid that all was lost. All poor Cassie could do was to ask the two of them questions and grow mare panicky as each moment passed. At dinner that night, that was all she could talk about. For once, I was grateful for Aunt Beatrice's usual reply to the strange and supernatural - "Pooh, child. Don't worry your head over it - they're simply tales of an overactive imagination." Sadly, Cassie didn't seem to heed Aunt's advice very much (not that I blame her - most of the time I try to ignore Aunt's advice myself). That night, as I tucked Cassie in, she said, "Gwen, do you think the Roman ghosts will come for me tonight?"
"Of course not. I asked Mr. Chalmers and he said that ghosts are not common occurrences at all. The odds of seeing a ghost in your lifetime are slimmer than Oliver adding up 2 + 2 to get 4," I said, "Furthermore, the odds of seeing multiple ghosts in one place is like getting hit by lightning, three or four times. Don't worry about the ghosts - there are none."
Although my reply seemed to gain her smiles at that moment, I am afraid that the stories are bothering her after all. Every morning for the past four days, she has come to breakfast with circles under her eyes and the maids tell me her sheets are a mess, from her tossing and turning all night. Tonight, I am going to suggest that she is given one of the puppies from the kennels to be her own personal pet. Although having a dog sleeping with her may not be the most sanitary thing in the world, perhaps having a warm, loving, fuzzy doggie near her will help her sleep and "protect" her from the ghosts. Otherwise, I am at my wits' end at what else I could do. I will wait a few days to get your reply and see if you have any suggestions, but this seems to be my best course of action, no matter how hard I will have to fight Aunt Beatrice over the matter.
Now that that matter is settled for better or for worse, I also must update you on the spells that I sent you in my last letter. After I sent Lightning off, I realized just how unclear I had been. In regards to the levitation spell, the heavier the object is to be lifted, the more mental energy it will require. This may seem obvious, but I do not wish to be chided by Mr. Chalmers for being haphazard by only giving you half the information about a spell. As for the locating spell, remember to concentrate on the object or person you are looking for. The thought can be as simple as "north" or as specific as "the gloves Mama gave me" (which reminds me, I should look for those). It is easier for beginners in spell casting to say (out loud) what they are looking for, while doing so in Latin makes the spell much easier (although you can be limited by what Latin you know), but it also makes it more dangerous as others with the Power will be able to hear what you are doing. All spells can be done mentally, but they are more difficult that way. Finally, one more thing that I must mention - Mr. Chalmers has had time to teach me one more spell - the one for fire. The word is cendaray (sen-dair-ray). The fire can be started anywhere (even underwater if you are powerful enough), but it is easiest just to start the fire on some kindling and let it feed on the wood. If you try to keep the fire going in the air, on stone, or on other places it does not naturally burn, its fuel is the Power you put into it, making it much more draining to use. I hope I've been clear enough so that you will be able to use it (on Sanders if necessary).
That brings me to another point - your story of what happened between you and your grandmother is very interesting to me. What do you think that your grandmother means by allowing you to go with Sanders and his mother? What is her other engagement? Your letter raises so many questions and afraid that all the possible answers in my mind do not bode well for you. As Uncle Charles would say, "I smell a rat". I'm afraid that all I can do now is control my curiosity until your next reply, in hopes that it will bring something of this matter to light.
I must do one more thing before I send this letter off. I simply have to tell you something about these estates. They are very large and cover quite a wide variety of terrain. There is a portion of a forest, so that fresh meat can always be hunted, a small lake for rowing and boating, and (I'm told) some musty old caves tucked into some corner of this land. As for the manor itself, it is gorgeous. Although I haven't had time to explore every nook and cranny (what with unpacking, entertaining the Hardbottles, and the continuation of my lessons), I can easily tell you that the manor is enormous and very finely furnished. One room I did get to visit was the library - where every wall was covered in books! I know you can imagine my thrill at the thought of being able to spend some time there to read some of them. The windows are huge, letting in lots of light, while the chairs are perfect for curling up (even though Aunt Beatrice says ladies don't curl up: they sit up straight). As for my room, I have a canopy bed! (You know I always wanted one of those.) The walls are covered in an embroidered tapestry that depicts a very calming scene of the forest and it fades into a ceiling tapestry showing all of our constellations (I can't imagine how much time it took to do all that work - the women must have had more patience with needles than I ever will).
I fear that I have exhausted you with all my rambling. I shall give this letter to Lightning immediately, in hopes that he gets to you in time for the Festival.
Your best friend,
Gwen
P.S. I'm sending along a bit of ribbon that should (if my memory serves me) match your dress, so you can braid your hair, if you choose. There's no harm in looking good. Although it's not a necessity, it always gives a girl a boost of confidence to know she is well dressed.
P.P.S. If I remember correctly, you can disable the charm on the quill if you pour an infusion of marigolds over it. However, if you stop writing to me, I will get Mr. Chalmers to teach me a stronger charm and place it on a quill to send to you.
P.P.P.S. Although I'm not sure, I don't think that the locating spell can be used to find "a good hiding place". You see, from what I understand, a good hiding place is too vague for the spell to find. This may seem contradictory to my statement that the spell can be used to find the direction north (which in its own way is rather vague), but the difference is that there is only one north, while there might be many different possibilities for a good place to hide. That's why (according to Mr. Chalmers), such a spell can't be used to locate thieves, since the police don't know who the thief is. On the other hand, the spell can be used to locate a stolen item (because it is specifically your item). I'm sorry that I've been unclear, but I'm sure that even without the spell, you'll be able to get away from Sanders if necessary. Write back soon!
G.R.S.