The new strokes of gray went on quickly the next morning, and this time I was not alone. Far from it.
Florence and Jane came silently into the foyer to watch as I started work. They were companioned by Popau, who came cradled in Florence’s arms. Florence’s eyes seemed turned inward, away from where we were. Jane’s face was a study in arrogance.
After they had looked on for ten minutes or so, I said, “Hello, Florence, hello, Jane. Hello, Popau. Did you enjoy Versailles?”
“Too cold, too old,” Florence said. “Too many rooms, too many dooms.”
“There’s a room full of mirrors there,” Jane said. “It was too silly.” “So—it was too chilly and too silly?” I said.
“Yesterday. What happened to you, and what did you do?” Florence asked.
“I painted and painted, but I never fainted,” I said.
“Did anything dare you, did anything scare you?” Florence said.
“I don’t scare so easily, I don’t scare so queasily,” I said.
“Why do you talk to Florence in rhymes, Uncle Sargent?” Jane sneered.
“Because she talks to me in them,” I said.
“I think it sounds stupid when you do it,” she said.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I said. “But I enjoy speaking with Florence however she chooses to talk.”
“Do you enjoy it when I kick you?” Jane asked.
“Hardly,” I said. “I slept with the light on last night for fear of Jane Boit’s big, fierce feet.”
“Ha, ha,” Jane said. “They’re coming to get you.”
She came stamping across the floor toward me with her arms over her head.
I backed up, taking us out of the line of sight of Florence and Popau, and anything that might be watching from the mirror.
“Ha, ha,” she said loudly, and backed me into a corner.
She kicked me again, in the other leg this time, and shrieked, “Gotcha!”
And from under her pinafore she produced another scrap of paper and dropped it.
“Agh!” I screamed, and covered the paper with my foot.
Florence sidled into view, Popau held before her like a breastplate.
“Come, Jane,” she said.
“You’re a stupid man, Uncle Sargent!” Jane shouted, and ran to her sister.
They went clattering away.
“This doll is stupid,” Florence said, and threw it down at the foot of one of the vases.
I picked up the paper.
STABLES 5 JB
BEWARE F
Stables? There were mews behind the apartments, where the residents kept their horses and carriages. And Jane expected me to meet her there at five o’clock. Or so I guessed. But what did “beware F” mean? Beware of Florence? Why?
I realized then why Jane had slapped Mary that day in the schoolroom. She had been afraid of Florence finding out that it was she who had scratched the first note.
I had thought Jane was the stronger one of the pair. But it was Florence who held power over her sister.
What sort of power?
Perhaps I’d learn something at twilight.
I finished my work quickly, while Popau looked blankly at the ceiling. I did not hear, see, or smell anything unusual.
When I was done and my brushes were cleaned, I went over to Popau and picked him up.
It was the first time I had ever held him. He was dressed today in a pallid green frock from which his stubby legs protruded stiffly. His pudgy china hands were almost hidden by the sleeves. Above the collar of the dress, his dead white head with its sickly looking pink cheeks and black blank eyes was as bland as always.
I thought that perhaps whoever had made him might once have
intended him for a sailor. That would have made sense for a Cushing child. It was easy to imagine him in a blue suit with shiny yellow buttons and a seaman’s beret on his glaring yellow curls. No doubt he had been a fine toy when new. An expensive one.
I wondered which child owner had first dressed him as a girl, and why. Was that what made this expressionless face seem so hideous?
“You’re an ugly little fellow, Popau. You know that, don’t you?” I said. “When I paint you, I think I’m going to have to make you look even blander than you are. Otherwise you’ll draw attention to yourself. And you’re only a prop, you know. It’s the girls who count, not you.
“I beg your pardon, sir. Are you perhaps finished with the doll?”
It was Flint, of course.
“Oh—uh—yes, yes, certainly,” I said. “Miss Florence—just— just—”
“Quite so, sir,” Flint said. “But Miss Julia has requested that the doll be brought to her when found.”
I handed it over.
“Thank you, sir,” Flint said. “Miss Julia will be very pleased.”
“Do you find it ugly, Flint? The doll, I mean?”
I don’t know why I asked him. Perhaps I just wanted to continue our bit of conversation from yesterday.
“Ugly? I’m afraid I couldn’t say, sir. I know little of dolls. But this one seems most important to the family, sir.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Mrs. Boit referred to it as the mystery at their heart.”
“Ah,” said Flint. “Well, I must say he seems to be a great deal of trouble for a doll. Always wandering off and needing to be searched for. And not very pleasant company when found.”
I chuckled, delighted to find that Flint had a sense of humor. I was grateful that he had shared it with me.
Then he said, “I confess I’ve sometimes had the feeling he is watching me out of those dead eyes.”
Flint disappeared up the stairs with Popau.
He returned with my coat and hat, and I went out.
I had several hours before my appointment at five o’clock, so I headed for the bistro where I had stopped a week or so before. The warmth behind the steamed plate glass window was very welcome.
I put my watch on the table before me and ordered. I fear, though, that having a great deal of time to wait, and nothing to read, I had a bit more vin ordinaire than I should have had. By a quarter to five I was tipsy, though not drunk.
I hurried to the Avenue de Friedland and up the alley that led to the stables. I stumbled once or twice on the uneven pavement. By the dim light of the houses, I picked my way to the mews belonging to the Boits’ residence, pulled my coat tightly around me, and waited.
Somewhere nearby, a horse whinnied inside the warm stables. A cat trotted by, looked me over, decided I wasn’t worth running from, and went on its way. The clouds, nearly invisible in the gathering dark, favored Paris with a little snow.
Five o’clock passed. So, I was certain, did five-thirty, though I could not of course see my watch.
I felt my ears freezing. My nose was beginning to run. The wine I had drunk made everything colder.
I began to feel foolish. What was I waiting for, after all? A secret conference with a girl too young to be out after dark? On what subject?
“Sargent,” I said to myself, “this could end by being the very scandal your father told you to avoid. Help the children by all means, but on your own terms. Meanwhile, go home.”
But I waited a little longer, and at last felt a touch on my arm.
Jane was standing there in a hooded cape that made her look like the priestess of an ancient cult. Or perhaps like Little Red Riding Hood. I could hardly see her, but what little light there was showed me her face, troubled and beautiful.
I had one of my moments of clarity: This girl was not merely frightened, she was lost. She seemed to be floating in darkness.
“I’m sorry you had to wait so long, Uncle Sargent,” Jane said. “You know I’m a good sneak, but it was hard to sneak out tonight. Florence is watching everyone. So is Miss Joseph. So is it.”
"So is what?” I asked. "Some ghost?”
"I don’t know what it is,” she said. "I only know what it does. But I don’t understand it.”
“Can it hear us out here?” I said.
“I don’t know,” she said. "It can if it’s here. But I don’t know where it goes. What are you going to do, Uncle Sargent?”
“That depends a great deal upon what you tell me about it,” I said.
“It’s very wicked when it wants to be,” she said.
“It may be wicked, but I don’t think it’s very strong,” I said. "It tried to frighten me yesterday, and all it did was make me look a little foolish in front of Flint. I think it does all it can to scare you because that is all it can do. Begin to stop being afraid of it, and it will lose its power.”
Jane looked around.
“It wants us,” she said. “All four of us.”
“But it can’t have you,” I said. “You know that. That’s why you asked for my help. Because you know I can help.”
“Can you help all of us?” Jane asked. “It won’t be any good if you can’t.”
“Yes, I can,” I said. “But before I can, you are going to have to start telling me everything you know about it.”
“Florence knows the most,” she said. “All I know is that it’s beautiful.”
I pounced on the word.
“What is beautiful?” I said.
“I don’t know what to call it,” she said. “But you would. You have to see it.”
She would say no more.
“Why did you call me here if not to tell me what you know?” I asked her.
“To ask you to stay in the house tonight,” she said. “Come back in. Then you can see it when it starts.”
“Jane, I cannot possibly come into your home uninvited,” I said. “It would be very wrong, not to say unpardonably rude.”
“I’ll hide you,” she said. “Please, Uncle Sargent. I can’t tell you what it is. You have to see it.”
“Look here, Jane,” I said. “This thing you’re so afraid of, you say it wants you. Well, perhaps it can’t have you if you don’t go to it. Tonight when it starts, just don’t be part of it. Stay in your bed. Put on your light. Don’t have anything to do with it. The same for all of you. Start tonight. Resist it and see who’s stronger.”
“I know who’s stronger, “ Jane said. “It is. It’s very strong.”
“Help me, Jane,” I said. “Begin tonight. Don’t go to it. And tomorrow I will begin to paint you all. And I will bring this thing to light in the painting, and that will help to weaken it, too. It knows this, and it knows that it can’t do anything about it. It can’t really hurt you unless you let it. Tonight don’t let it hurt you.”
“Please stay,” Jane implored.
“I cannot,” I said. “I am a gentleman, Jane.”
“Uncle Sargent, we don’t need a gentleman,” she said.
“Well, I will try to be a hero,” I said. “But only during visiting hours. In the meantime, try my idea and see if it helps.”
“I have to go back in,” she said. “If they know I’m out, something bad could happen.”
“Nothing bad can happen unless you let it,” I said. “Now, go.” Sadly, her head down, she turned away and left me alone in the dark.
Nothing bad could happen unless she let it, I told her.
What a pompous fool I sounded like.
And she must already have known how very wrong I was.