Once Lord Barrington had left for his London train the next morning, we got to work like mad things. Dorcas was responsible for Kit’s room, since it was here that the séance would take place. She was under strict orders not to touch his things of course, but the room itself needed preparing. For this, Lady Barrington’s instructions were endless– put this chair here, drape this curtain there –but neither me nor Gracie were trusted to help. So we did the donkey’s work of bringing in coals and beating carpets, and placing huge vases of lilies in the hallway.
Gracie was glad not to set foot upstairs; part of me was too. For an uneasy feeling hung over me that Lady Barrington was hoping for too much tonight. Her absolute faith in the séance unnerved me. But I was excited too, and glad to be here to be part of it.
Later that morning, I needed linen from the cupboard and went to ask Dorcas for the key. I hovered in Kit’s doorway, taking in the scene. Though the drapes were drawn shut, the lamps all blazed, making the room unnaturally light. Dorcas was on her knees banking up the fire, even though the room felt too warm already. The mantel mirror was covered with black cloth and a space had been cleared in the middle of the room, where a circle of chairs now stood. The sight of it made me shudder.
‘What is it?’ said Dorcas, seeing me. She was flushed with heat from the fire.
Before I could answer, a service bell rang somewhere down the hallway. Dorcas tutted irritably and got to her feet.
‘Why isn’t Mrs Jessop answering it? Have you seen her?’
I hadn’t. No one had seen her since breakfast.
Dorcas headed past me for the door. ‘What was it you wanted, anyway?’
‘The linen cupboard key,’ I said.
She shot me a look like she didn’t quite believe me. As we stepped out into the corridor, I saw she locked Kit’s door behind her.
After I’d got my clean tablecloths, I stopped off in the kitchen for a cup of water. What with the rest of us busy upstairs, Cook was by herself and working flat out by the looks of things.
‘Just the girl,’ she said, passing me a bucket. ‘Her Ladyship wants ice cream tonight. God knows why in this weather.’
‘I’m doing the dining room. I can’t stop.’
‘They won’t miss you if you’re quick. Just follow the path out of the yard and up to the lake and then . . .’
The lake!
In a flash I said, ‘’Course I’ll do it,’ and grabbed the bucket from her.
‘Hang on! I in’t finished telling you yet!’
Cook said something about trees and doors that were a bit stiff but I was only half listening. I’d been so fixated with Kit’s room, I’d forgotten all about the blinking lake, the one place where I knew Kit’s ghost would be. My heart beat faster as I headed for the door.
‘And put this on or you’ll freeze to death out there,’ said Cook, handing me an old greatcoat from its peg by the back porch.
*
The lake was set back behind the house, beyond the great yew hedges of the graveyard, and surrounded by copses of birch trees. I turned right out of the courtyard and headed up the path. It looked familiar enough. I’d come this way on Tuesday, when Will and me had been frogmarched to the house. But now I was heading up the path, not down it, and the snow was deeper too, making walking quite hard work. Everything was white, the hedges black and stark against it. And the air was so sharp, it made me cough when I breathed. I was mighty glad of Cook’s old coat, though it was ten sizes too big and made me look like a scarecrow. Not that I cared. There wasn’t a living soul out here to see me.
Up some steps and the path began to twist and turn through the bushes. Then, quite suddenly, the dark green of the yew trees loomed up ahead like a wall. I didn’t think to stop and peer through for a glimpse of Kit’s grave. In truth, I didn’t have time.
Once I’d passed the yews, the snow thinned a little and the path took me into a copse of bare birches. Not far to the lake now; I could almost see it through the trees.
Kit would’ve come this way.
I turned up my collar and quickened my pace.
He’d have walked this same path, looked up at these same trees. Was he whistling to himself? Was he thrilled to be out here in the fresh air?
In my head, I could almost see him, head down, striding along with his skates slung over his shoulder. An ache built up in my throat.
He didn’t know what he was hurrying towards, that moments later he’d be dead.
I shuddered. It was too awful to bear.
Someone should’ve stopped him, warned him that it wasn’t safe. If only he’d gone riding instead, or got sick and stayed in bed. If only . . .
By now I’d reached the edge of the trees. I passed through the little gate, and caught my breath. The lake spread out before me. Everything looked flat and bleak and strangely silent. This was Kit’s last view of the world.
What a place!
Putting the bucket down, I hugged the greatcoat tight against me. A fresh fall of snow covered the ice so it looked smooth and blank like paper. There were no skating tracks, no big black holes, no sign that we’d ever been out here. Five days had passed since then, just five days, and the lake had already forgotten us. Yet Kit was a boy ten years dead. No one had forgotten him.
I didn’t know what I was hoping for; some sort of sign, maybe, that he could hear me, that he knew I was nearby. I cupped my hands to my mouth. ‘Kit! Kit!’
A startled blackbird swooped from the bushes. The silence returned. Nothing moved. I was the only living thing out here, small and dark and shivering, in the middle of all this white.
‘Can you hear me, Kit?’
I hardly expected an answer. I thought of his bedchamber back inside, with the too-bright lamps and chairs pushed close together. And I pictured her Ladyship, all expectant, all lit up with love.
Would he come tonight? Would he really come? Or like last night, would his spirit choose to wait outside?
I hid my face in my hands and tried to breathe slowly. It was all too close. Too real. I felt sure I’d never get through the rest of the day, never mind the evening. Any scrap of excitement I’d had was gone. Now all I felt was dread.