The Very Large Hole was very, very large. From the moment Lucy saw it he was made apprehensive by its existence, for all about them was solid earth, and then this gaping and godless emptiness, and he felt he couldn’t credit it. It shouldn’t be called a hole at all, he decided, but a chasm, a canyon. He and the Baroness circumnavigated the expanse, walking together but saying nothing, the both of them eyeing the void as if something were meant to occur there. This created a tension of expectation in Lucy, so that when a bird shot free of the hole and into the sky, he flinched. The Baroness gripped his arm to hearten him, but Lucy couldn’t rid himself of the thought of Mr. Broom’s demise, so that he mistrusted the ground to hold them. “Perhaps we shouldn’t walk so near the edge, ma’am,” he said.
“And why not?”
“I’m thinking of Mr. Broom’s accident.”
She looked at him pityingly. “But there was nothing accidental about that.”
Lucy felt sickened at the thought of it. “How can you be sure?”
“I knew him well enough,” said the Baroness. Cheerily, then, as one making teatime conversation, she asked, “Do you yourself ever think of suicide?”
Lucy pondered this. “No more than what is customary, ma’am.”
The Baroness looked on approvingly. “That is a stylish reply.”
“Thank you.”
They stepped into a bank of sunlight, and she ceased walking to bask in this. She shut her eyes and Lucy could see the miniature cluster of pale blue veins branching across her eyelids.
“And do you ever think of it?” he asked.
“Mmm” was her answer. She opened her eyes. “It’s such an odd sensation, being back among you. I was so certain I’d never return.”
“But why did you leave here at all, ma’am?”
“Oh,” she said, “they were becoming impossible.”
“Who was?”
“The Baron. And Mr. Broom.”
She pointed at a patch of lush grass some distance back from the hole. “This is where Mr. Broom and I would come,” she said, and she sat, pulling Lucy down with her. Looking about, she seemed to be recalling the time she had passed there, and fondly.
“May I ask what the nature of yours and Mr. Broom’s relationship was, ma’am?” said Lucy.
“He was my young man, of course,” she answered.
“And what was it that drove him to such despair?”
Here she grinned impishly, but said nothing. Reaching down, she plucked a dandelion and blew away its seeds. These traveled on the air and over the Very Large Hole, where they were caught in its drafts. They drew up in staggered ascension, then hurried down, nearly out of sight, before climbing up, up again. This cycle went on for some time, and was a hypnotic thing to witness. When a downdraft yanked the seeds out of sight, the Baroness gasped. She asked, “How long has it been since I’ve been surprised by anything?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Far too long.” Pulling up a shock of grass, she said, “The guests will be here soon, Lucy.”
“Are you not happy about it, ma’am?” For when she’d spoken, there was in her voice some element of unease.
“I don’t know what I am,” she told him. The green blades of grass were slipping from her hand, and she and Lucy watched this.
“Why have you returned, ma’am?”
The Baroness shook her head. Leaning in, she kissed Lucy’s cheek, then stood and resumed walking, alone now, adrift in her strange and terrible beauty.