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A Wolf's Craving

Fated Mates Series

Brandi Elledge
Copyright © 2022 by Brandi Elledge

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the
publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover design by Anna L. Spies

Contents

Dedication

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Chapter Twenty

21. Chapter Twenty-One

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Also By

Acknowledgments

About Author
This one is for Brook (with no e). Thank you so much for working
me in between school, life, and work. I’m proud to call you my
cousin. Now, when are we going to the Big Easy?

“Laissez le bon temps rouler.”

 Chapter One

M ISS DONALDSON HIT THE chalkboard with her eraser,

viciously erasing yesterday’s saying of, “You’re only as strong
as your lineage,” before she grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote,
“Look at the people beside you. Are you ready to spill their blood?”
I looked over at my best friend, Tate. Her jaw was clenched, but
she refused to make eye contact with me. Next, I nervously looked
over at my other best friend, Cat, who was in a desk adjacent to me.
She had her chin resting in her hands and a look of worry on her
pretty face. Lastly, I swiveled in my seat to look at Deidre, my other
best friend, who was directly behind me. She gave me a soft smile
and patted me on the back. The rest of the students were extremely
quiet.
This was ludicrous. Was no one going to say anything?
“Miss Donaldson,” I said, “question.”
She pinned her hazel eyes on me. Her crimson hair was tied in a
severe bun that did nothing to detract from her pretty features.
“What now, Bali?”
 “Including kindergarten, we’ve all been with each other for twelve
years. During those years, the faculty here at the academy has
allowed us to sit with each other at lunch, befriend each other, and
bond with one another. Then, in our last year, you drill into us how
we are supposed to turn on one another the day of graduation.
Forgive me, but this is complete and utter bullshit.”
The class gasped as Tate chuckled.
I carried on, my voice a little higher. “What if we don’t want to
play by your rules? What if we want to maintain our friendships that
you and the other teachers have allowed us to form?”
“My rules?” She threw down her chalk and walked to the front of
her desk. “You have it all figured out, don’t you, Bali?” She pulled
her silk blouse from her skirt and began to unbutton the shirt.
Deidre whispered from behind me, “I anger a teacher, I get
detention. You anger a teacher, and you get a strip tease.”
I paled. What in the world was Miss Donaldson doing?
She threw her shirt to the side as she stood in front of the now
gawking class with nothing but a beige camisole on. “I’m assuming
everyone here knows Mr. Griswold.”
“Our defense teacher?” Tate asked.
“He’s smoking hot,” Deidre said, and Cat chuckled.
Miss Donaldson gave a jerk of her head. “Story time, ladies and
gents, for the ones who have some notion that they will be able to
remain friends with anyone who is not part of their faction. As you
all know, I’m part of the seraph community. Mr. Griswold is fae. We
grew up together, just like most of you did. We sat at the same
lunch table, went to the same games, and we eventually thought we
could date each other and did for several years. The day after we
graduated—not the next month, or year, but the day after—we were
on a romantic picnic. Mr. Griswold’s faction showed up during the
middle of our date and taught us a lesson.” She turned then and
everyone in the class gasped.
There were deep grooves in her back with pink scar tissue
surrounding the massive holes.
“As you can see, my wings were taken from me, and Mr. Griswold
lost two of his fingers as a reminder that he shouldn’t touch what he
can’t have. If either of us go to a healer, then we forfeit our lives.”
She turned back to face us, then. “I don’t make the rules, but since
that day, I play by them. I don’t know why they encourage all of you
to become friends, other than the fact that maybe they are sadists.”
Douglass, a demon boy, said, “Are you even allowed to say that?”
She turned her pretty face toward him. “I just did. What would
you call people who do something like this”—she pointed at her back
— “and then force you and your now ex-boyfriend to work at the
same school?”
Cat whispered, “That’s cruel.”
“Yes, Miss Crowe, it is.” She shifted her gaze back on me. “So, go
ahead, Bali, and remain friends with those in a different faction than
yourself. But, if they catch you, and they will, you’ll pay the ultimate
price.”
A quiet witch named Darli spoke up. “Miss. Donaldson, are you
saying that our parents would be okay with us turning on one
another?”
 Miss Donaldson gave her a sad look. “Darli, I understand that you
have two wonderful parents, which is a rarity in the supernatural
world. Ninety percent of my students don’t, so congratulations on
the parent lottery, but your naivety will eventually get you killed, and
I’m guessing your vampire boyfriend. The faction leaders are leaders
because no one can top them in power, so unless your family has
some hidden talents that I’m unaware of, say goodbye to your
boyfriend.”
She looked at us all then. “You will be expected to stay away from
each other. Get used to that now.”
Tate growled, “Why even bother to teach us the history behind
every faction if we won’t be able to hang out with different
factions?”
Miss Donaldson gave her a sad smile. “Because, Tatelynn, if you
don’t know your opponent’s weaknesses, how will you make them
bleed?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “This school is a safe
zone, but once outside of it, you need to be very careful of who you
go near. Mr. Griswold stays two hours longer every day to give me
plenty of time to get in my car and head in a different direction than
him so that he won’t be forced to teach me a lesson. That is the
world we live in.”
We all grew quiet then.
My heart hurt for my teacher. The way her eyes teared up when
she talked about the past, there was no doubt that Miss Donaldson
was in love with Mr. Griswold, and the fact that he would give her
plenty of time to leave so they didn’t accidentally bump into each
other outside of these walls said that he also cared about her. How
could any of this be right?
Miss Donaldson had put her shirt back on and was teaching us
about fae history in a monotone voice, implying she didn’t want to
be stuck in this class, either.
I understood what was expected of us, but maybe the faction
leaders needed to be brought down a peg or two, and maybe I was
just the girl to do it. I had fooled them all into thinking I was a siren
for almost eighteen years. Who was to say I couldn’t one-up them
again?
I had three hundred and fifty-seven days to figure out a way to
not lose my best friends and a way to take down the six faction
leaders. If you believed with all of your heart, then anything was
possible.
 Chapter Two

E LEVEN MONTHS LATER…

The New Orleans air was humid and swampy, which was par
for the course. Hands in my pockets, I headed down Canal Street,
ignoring all the Mardi Gras beads that hung from the branches.
Everyone was celebrating the weekly weekend festivities. Meanwhile,
me and my friends were planning. Or maybe they had truly given up
hope and I was the only one still planning for a way to keep us all
together.
I stepped over an unidentified puddle as I nudged by a crowd of
rowdy bachelorettes who looked like they were embracing the city to
its fullest.
New Orleans was either a city that you loved or hated. Why?
Because it was a city that commanded strong emotions. Whether it
be anger or lust, that was up to the individuals out on the streets,
partying until the early morning. However, there was so much more
to the Big Easy.
 My city was a place that was transfixed in a state that belonged to
the past. For people like me and my friends—otherworldlies,
supernaturals, immortals—the past brought us a familiar connection.
This was our home. We felt grounded here.
On the way to my destination, I put dollars in the palms of every
homeless person I passed. I didn’t have the extra cash to spend, but
I knew that living in this city could be hard for the humans, and
dying was easy, so I helped them out whenever I could. I was sure
that, if any of the other factions caught me doing so, they would
label me as weak. And being kind was weak. Being weak meant you
would be ostracized, which was a death sentence in itself.
I handed another bill to a homeless man who gave me a gummy
smile.
“Thank you, beautiful,” he said.
I returned the smile with a nod and kept walking.
I knew that my acts of kindness were merely a Band-Aid for a
bigger problem, and I completely understood that I had a lot to lose
if anyone caught me. Not to mention it wasn’t necessarily saving
anyone, and yet I always made sure I had a stack of ones in my
pockets.
A sigh left me as I crossed the street. Sometimes, I felt like my
soul was a mirror image of the city, like maybe New Orleans was
never meant to come out on top, but I love how she kept swinging.
The city was dangerous, wild, and a fighter, but I admired her for
that.
I cut through different vendor tables that had been set up in the
square, ones simply to sell their wares or make extra money as they
proclaimed to have some sort of gift. Most of those were frauds. All,
in fact, except one. One I was hoping not to see tonight.
My friends and I always joked that she had eyes in the back of her
head, but the truth was she had eyes into the future.
When I saw Madame Mary Lynn at her normal spot, I put my head
down and began to walk faster. However, she shouted my name with
that tone that I had become accustomed to. Luck wasn’t on my side
tonight.
I slowly turned to her. I loved the psychic just as much as the rest
of my friends, but I didn’t have time for a lengthy chat today.
There was a warning in her gaze, so I planted my feet and stood
stock-still.
She currently had a pudgy human sitting in front of her, at the
table that was covered with store-bought knick-knacks and candles.
I knew that the wares she used might be props, but she was the real
deal.
She straightened the turban on her head before she refocused on
the pudgy man. “Listen, chère, you want happiness?”
The man nodded.
“Then start doing these things: take better care of your health,
spend more time with your children—after all, they will be the ones
who will be looking after you when you’re older—and stop all your
extra-curricular activities.” She narrowed her brown eyes at the man
who began to twitch in his seat. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what
I’m talking about, either.”
The portly man snatched his hat from her card table, threw some
money down, and then stomped off, almost colliding with me in his
haste to get away.
She huffed a little. “He came to me, wanting to know how to
achieve happiness. I tell him in a roundabout way to quit cheating
on his wife, and he gets all upset with me. Guess he wanted for ol’
Jewel to tell him to go out and buy a yacht.” With her brown eyes,
she searched my face for a second before she crooked a finger at
me. “Come here, girl.”
I bounced from foot to foot. “I’d love to sit and chat, Mary Lynn,
but I’m meeting my friends.”
Her beautiful, light brown skin almost glowed in the moonlight as
she tapped her long, red fingernails on her cardboard table. “You
think I don’t know that you are up to something, child? Sit down.”
I groaned as I made my way to her table and plopped down in the
vacant chair that the pudgy man had just fled from. I was
unbelievably patient as she studied me.
I loved Mary Lynn, I really did, but at the moment, I could
strangle her. She was an outcast. No supernatural group would
welcome her into their faction, but she made a living for herself by
reading humans’ palms.
Because Mary Lynn stuck her nose up in the air when it came to
supernatural laws, me and my friends admired her. We made it a
habit to come and talk to her at least once a week and, over the
years, she has turned into a confidant for all of us. Normally, I loved
her hovering, mothering ways, but not when I had so much on the
line.
“Bali, did you know that this city was founded on criminals and
patients from the French asylums? That’s why we’re all a little
batshit crazy.” She chuckled, and I took a deep breath. I would not
scream with frustration. “Sometimes, doing things that others would
consider crazy is the norm for us, chère.”
I nodded.
“Do you know what your biggest flaw is, child?”
“Nope. But I’m sure that you’re going to tell me.”
She narrowed her eyes into slits. “Scratch that, smartass. Do you
know what your second biggest flaw is? You always put the cart
before the horse.”
“Um …”
She leaned in closer. “You are the leader of your group. You are
smart, beautiful, funny, but a pragmatic thinker, you are not. You
always jump the gun. It’s because you are impatient. You always
want things right when you want them.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you trying to tell me not to
go to the cemetery tonight?” I felt my voice rising with each word. I
had to go and at least try.
“Have you ever thought of getting out of the city?”
Was she crazy? No way. Whatever happened to me—to all of us—
in the next week, I refused to leave this city. It was my city. My
home. I would never budge from the French Quarter.
She knew my answer, and not because she was a psychic, but
because she could read my face. “It would be easier.”
I shook my head. “This is my—our—home.”
She leaned back in her chair with a smile on her face. “In the
darkest hour, evil seems to always win, but if you are patient”—she
cleared her throat—“which again, you struggle with, then you can
beat evil, child. You want to take down the faction leaders”—she
snapped her fingers—“like that, but sometimes things can’t happen
that quickly.”
I tapped my fingers on the black table cloth. It seemed everything
always boiled down to good versus evil, and I was so tired of that
script. I got it. What grew root in this swampy soil centuries ago
some could say was evil, but not all that landed here were malicious.
That went for the supernaturals, too. There had always been a
constant battle between what was deemed good and what was evil,
and since every faction thought the others were pure evil, thanks to
the agenda that the faction leaders were pushing, there had to be
rules set in place to help us all co-exist. Now those rules, those
segregation laws, were working against me and my friends.
“You are thinking about your friends again, and I fear you’re not
listening.”
I held back a groan. “I’m trying. It’s just … we graduate soon.”
She nodded. “I know.”
She went quiet then, and I knew not to rush her, or it would take
twice as long. Her eyes had a faraway look, like she was receiving a
glimpse into the future. Meanwhile, I looked around at the other
vendors, who were packing up their things.
Finally, she said, “Your family, along with your three best friends’
families, settled in New Orleans for basically the same reasons. Your
family came here centuries ago to hide. Hide from humans and
supernaturals alike. Vampires, like our fierce Tatelynn, came here
because they found a place where no one bothers to look twice.
Sirens, like our charismatic Deidre, found more than enough willing
participants to use their powers on. And witches, like sweet Catalina,
came here because there is energy in this city. Power. In fact, every
faction that lives here, in the Crescent City, came here for one of
three reasons—they were trying to hide, they found a place where
no one blinked at pointy ears or sharp fangs, or they thrived here.
This city has always housed supes. Did you know that it wasn’t until
recently that the factions decided not to mingle with each other?”
“No, ma’am. I guess I assumed it’s always been like this.”
She laughed. “No, there used to be dances held where all
supernaturals came to interact with anyone and everyone. That was
back in the 1860s.”
I scoffed, “Even werewolves?” That was hard to imagine.
“Child, the werewolves were here before even the Native
Americans.” She fanned herself. “There is something about a shifter
that is so hot.”
I shifted in my seat, much like the portly man had done. Mary
Lynn looked to be around fifty, and I didn’t want the image of her
thinking a werewolf was hot in my head.
I cleared my throat. “The werewolves are gone now.” That, I knew
for sure. They had exited the city years ago, but even with that, we
were still overrun with otherworldly.
“The wolves left when power became their number one priority.”
I raised my brows. “Huh? Didn’t you just say this city helps us
thrive?”
“I’m going to tell you a secret.” She leaned in, so I did the same.
“Someone, a long time ago, gave the wolves something to protect.
It was meant to stay in the city, but with all the discord, the wolves
were forced out. The pack leader then was weak and arrogant, but
the gift was never intended to stay with him permanently.” She
waved a hand like she had caught herself getting off subject. “They
say that the wolves fled to the swamp to avoid the more powerful
vampires, and they are scared to come back to the city. When a
faction has a weak leader, sooner or later, they will have issues. In
this instance, the issue was they couldn’t stay in New Orleans
without being hunted. It’s been over a hundred and sixty years since
a wolf has been in the city.”
“So, when Marie Laveau was alive, that is when all the factions got
along with one another?”
“Maybe those words aren’t the best way to describe it. Everyone
had enough respect and fear for the queen not to step out of line.
She didn’t tolerate bloodshed.”
“Then, with her death, they were free to once again set out to
destroy each other?”
She nodded.
“Why so much hate?” I asked.
“If the faction leaders can make everyone hate each other, they
have more power. They are needed more. Think of it like this; if all
the fae joined with the vampires, who would the fae leader rule? He
would have no subjects. Each member of each faction pays money
at the end of the year to their faction leader. If the fae no longer
belong to their faction, then they would pay the vampire leader.”
I was starting to get it. “Then the vampire faction leader would
become richer.”
She nodded. “And he would have more power in his faction.”
 “Why wouldn’t they tell us this in school?”
“Simple, child. If you found your mate, and he belonged to
another faction, there is a chance that you both would ignore each
other if there was hatred between your factions, but if you knew
that the hate was generated, and all for more power and money for
the faction leaders, it wouldn’t sit too well with you.”
She was right. No, it wouldn’t. Forget mates, though … I didn’t
want to lose my friends.
Graduation was soon.
“I know where your mind is, child, and I know how important it is
for you and your friends to stay together. I’ll let you continue on
your way with this: don’t always just assume everything. You think
in black and white only. Eventually, that, along with your impatient
nature, will get you in trouble.”
I nodded as I stood, already anxious to be on my way. “I’ll see
you around.”
She lifted one shoulder. “Every minute on earth is precious. I’m
tired, though.” She seemed to be lost in thought for a few seconds.
“Do me a favor, Bali? Make sure you won’t be hunted by the other
factions. It’s not an easy life.”
I nodded in agreement. My family, more than anyone, knew what
it felt like to be hunted. We were the unicorns of the supernatural
community. No one knew that, though, other than my best friends
and Mary Lynn.
“Be careful, Bali, and remember one thing for me? No matter your
flaws, or the flaws of your friends that weigh on their shoulders,
never stop believing that New Orleans deserves better than this.”
 I honestly had no clue what she was talking about, but I was
running out of time. I knew what she wanted to hear, though.
“I will always believe, and I promise that I will try my hardest to
think before I act.”
She sighed dramatically. “Well, I guess that’ll have to do for now.
Take care, child.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together in confusion. Why did that
goodbye sound so permanent?
Tomorrow, I would stop by and ask her if everything was all right.
Tonight, I had to save my friends.
I gave her a quick hug goodbye then hurried away before she
could stop me again.
As I got farther away from Mary Lynn and her table, Jazz music
flowed over to me, immediately calming my nerves. Normally, I
would take a few minutes to stand in the crowded streets and let the
beat soothe my soul the only way good music could, but not tonight.
I had too much on the line. If I didn’t come up with something soon,
me and my friends would be torn away from each other. No, worse
than that. We would be forced to hunt each other.
At the thought of us tracking one another down to inflict harm, a
shiver ran down my spine. I picked up the pace to where I was
almost running down the street.
My three best friends represented a bond closer to what family
should be than what I currently had with my own relatives. I could
never hate my friends, but we all knew what would happen if we
didn’t heed the advice of the administration, our relatives, and the
faction leaders. They would break us mentally and physically. And
the problem with being immortal meant that there was no limit on
the torture that they could enforce upon us.
After dodging several drunk frat boys that made promises I knew
they wouldn’t be able to fulfill, I was finally at our meeting spot. It
was never a good idea to meet up at the Grande Dame City of the
Dead cemetery at night, yet that was precisely why we always met
here. The tourists were usually smarter than to come here in the
dark, and the vagabonds left us alone, as if they could tell we
weren’t entirely human, so the cemetery was our spot.
I hopped over the iron fence and made little noise as I walked
toward the tomb that I was looking for. Then, dashing between the
crypts, I saw a flash of auburn moments before one of my best
friends grabbed my wrist.
Cat gave me a wink. “Hurry up and be quiet! It’s best to let them
sleep.”
I nodded so she would ease her grip on me. I knew she was
referring to the dead, which she talked of as if they were still alive.
Cat was a witch. Not a good one, but a witch, nonetheless. All
four of our powers were mediocre, which was normal, considering
that at least ninety percent of each faction had little to mediocre
powers, but even with her limited gifts, she could sense when we
made the dead angry. According to Cat, we had spent our entire
eighteen years of life making the living mad. We didn’t want to piss
off the dead, too.
There we stood, between the above ground tombs that looked
more like small houses than actual grave sites, and waited for the
rest of our party to show up.
 Deidre came barreling through the cemetery, and the commotion
that was around her made both me and Cat wince.
Cat put a finger to her lips. “Really? One time is all I’m asking for.”
Deidre rolled her golden eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Show some
respect for the dead. How about next time?”
Cat glared at her, and I covered my mouth to hide my smile.
Deidre was a descendant from what the locals called Les Sirens.
Little did they know that it wasn’t myth after all and Deidre did, in
fact, come from a long line of sirens. All my friends were stunningly
beautiful, even by immortal standards. The difference with Deidre
was she had a sensuality about her that always caused a stir with
mortal and immortal men alike. Her white-blonde hair was a contrast
with her tanned skin. She demanded attention everywhere she went,
unlike Cat. Even though Cat created just as much of a stir with the
opposite sex, she didn’t demand, want, or relish in the attention.
Deidre, on the other hand, was just the opposite. If a male had the
audacity to not notice her when she walked by, then she would circle
around and walk in front of him again.
We all heard a noise but didn’t turn, recognizing the quiet
footsteps that were approaching.
“Oh, thank the heavens,” Deidre said. “Cat is already getting on
me about being loud. We need a better referee than Bali here.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.
Facing our newcomer, Tate, I took in her appearance and held
back a laugh. “What are you wearing?”
She had her pink hair pulled back in a high ponytail, her gorgeous
face was scrubbed clean of any makeup, and she was wearing a
white baby doll dress.
She blinked her blue eyes rapidly. “I’m playing the innocent part,
duh.”
“Um … Why?”
She crossed her arms over the ridiculous dress that looked like it
belonged to a seven-year-old. “Because, as of yesterday, my parents
forbid me to hang out with all of you”—she held up her hands to do
air quotes, “‘lepers,’” she snarled. “I’ve been instructed that, if I get
caught with any of you, I will be starved for two weeks.”
Deidre winced. “Can vampires go that long?”
Tate’s crimson ponytail swung back and forth. “Not baby vampires.
So, here I am, dressing like a little girl with the ruse that I’m just
going to do a pub crawl and trick some older gentlemen into
donating some blood.”
I pulled my brows together. “Because you’re trying to attract then
attack pedophiles, or your parents wouldn’t believe your story if you
wore your normal leather attire?”
She glared at me. “No, because they know all of you well enough
by now to know that you all would make fun of me if I wore
something like this. They also know how I loathe to be made fun of,
so this”—she waved a hand at her dress—“helps my story.”
I slung an arm around her. “Oh, boo, we are still going to make
fun of you.”
Deidre nodded. “You look ridiculous.”
Cat shrugged. “I think you look adorable, but next time, wear
pigtails.”
 Tate picked my arm up from her shoulders and glared at each of
us. “You guys suck.”
I winked at her. “So says the vampire.”
“Why are we meeting here?” Cat asked. “I’m in the middle of a
great book.”
“Because I have a plan.”
They all groaned, but I ignored them.
“No, really, this one is going to work.”
Deidre was studying her nails, her voice smooth and sultry as she
said, “Well, sug, let’s hear it. It can’t be any worse than your last
fifty ideas.”
I threw my raven hair that had purple running through it behind
my shoulders. “I love how you support me while being passive
aggressive.”
Deidre winked. “It’s an artform that I have mastered.”
I rubbed my hands together. “With the new high priestess taking
over the witch coven yesterday—”
“Boo,” Tate said. “She didn’t just take over; she sliced and diced
the old high priestess to shreds, and any of her true followers
scattered to the wind.”
“Basically, what I just said.”
Cat shushed us. “Seriously, guys, be respectful. Also, that’s why I
was trying to finish that book. I need to pack everything up, and I
don’t want to lose the book during the move.”
“Honey,” Deidre said, “there are more important things than
reading.”
 Cat gave her a look like she had just admitted to harming small
children.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Guys, come on. The high
priestess has given Cat twenty-four hours to pledge to the coven or
to pack her belongings and get out.”
Cat gave me a funny look. “That’s why I’m packing.”
“Yes, but do you really think she’s going to just let you go? No
way. You won’t be able to move in with me and Deidre or Tate.”
“Why can’t I move in with you?” Cat asked.
I shook my head. “Because the high priestess has been asking you
a lot of questions about me. I’m scared she knows that I’m not quite
what I seem.”
Deidre rolled her eyes. “It’s because you don’t dress like a siren.
You dress like a nun.”
Cat scrunched her nose up. “Jeans and crop tops aren’t modest.”
I waved my hands. “Missing the point, guys. Soon, we will be
expected to torment one another if we happen to cross paths, hence
my plan. And here it is.”
Tate guessed, “Slip into the faction leaders’ homes and kill them
while they are sleeping?”
We all stared at her.
“No,” I said. “Why do you always go so dark so quick?”
I pointed to the tomb in front of us. “This is my plan.” Then I
watched as my friends all took in the large, white tomb. “That’s
Marie Laveau’s tomb.”
Cat tapped a finger against her chin. “Bali, we know whose tomb
it is.”
 “Right,” I said with excitement in my voice. “Okay, then let me tell
you how the Queen of Voodoo is going to help us. We are going to
do a ceremony, and she is going to grant us our wish.”
Tate sighed. “You’re talking about the stupid legend we were told
as kids?”
“I wouldn’t call it stupid,” Cat said louder than normal. Then she
looked around, as if to apologize to whatever ghosts lurked by.
Tate threw her hands up. “Well, it’s fake. Why are we wasting our
time here in a cemetery? If we have one last night together, we
should be spending it doing something fun, right?”
“For real,” Deidre said. “I say we go to the nearest bar and make
the cutest boys there our lap dogs for the night.”
“Guys,” I said, “Hear me out. When the Queen of Voodoo was in
charge, there was order here in the city, especially in the French
Quarter. She made everyone behave, and those who stepped out of
line in her city paid the price. She wanted the factions to intermingle
and not be divided like we are now. She didn’t care about money or
power. Look at us … Tate is a vampire, Cat a witch, Deidre a siren,
and”—I lay a hand over my heart—“I’m a djinn, a genie, yet we are
all friends. We are legends. We are as different as can be, and we
hold no hate in our hearts toward each other. Who is to say that the
Queen of Voodoo won’t help us?”
Deidre nodded. “You’re right. It can’t hurt, baby.”
Cat gave me a warm smile. “I’m in. What do we do?”
“Cat, you’re the witch; this is actually more up your alley. I mean,
I have an inkling of what we should do, but this is more your forte.”
 Cat winced. “It’s super disrespectful to desecrate a tomb, and I
fear that’s exactly what we need to do.”
“I think, just this once, she’ll forgive us,” I tell her.
Cat held up her hands. “I think that, if she is as powerful as the
legends say, she’ll be able to hear us from the spirit realm, so we
apologize first then make our wish.”
“Deal,” I said. “Do you have anything else to add that you think
might help us connect better to her?”
“Me? Just like all of you, I’m below average on the scale of being
powerful. I can only give you advice from what my instincts are
telling me. I think we do a ritual, speak from the heart, and keep it
short and sweet.”
Deidre laughed. “Just like my last boyfriend.”
“Ugh,” Tate groaned. “Please spare us the details.”
“Not me,” I said. “You can definitely give me all the details, but
maybe not here.”
Cat glared at us both. “Definitely not here, you twits. So
disrespectful.”
“Yes, Mom,” I quipped.
“What are we wishing for?” Tate asked.
We all stared at her.
She threw up her hands. “Sorry, I get bored easily.”
Deidre replied, “For us to not be separated or turned into each
other’s enemies?”
I wrapped a strand of black and purple hair around my finger. “We
need to be more specific.”
 “Yes,” Tate said. “If we were more powerful than even our faction
leaders, they couldn’t tear us apart. We’re obedient because we fear
them, but if they feared us, then they couldn’t separate us.” She
pulled at the hem of her baby doll dress. “I’d love for my parents to
shrink in fear of me, hide in the hallways as I passed.”
I blinked slowly. “Um … Those thoughts might have to be
addressed with an adult. I don’t think we are qualified.”
Cat nodded. “We all have issues, but you open your mouth, and
we realize that ours are minimal in comparison.”
Tate hissed at us, showing her fangs.
“Back on topic,” Deidre said. “Let’s just say that Marie Laveau
hears us from the other side and feels like granting our wish, and we
become powerful. We will be ostracized. Outcasts.” She gave us a
saucy smile. “I don’t mind being an outcast; I’m just saying that our
factions will turn on us, and they will come after us with everything
they have.”
I shrugged. “Then let them. Together, we will beat them. We start
our own faction, and everyone will be scared to even walk on the
same street as us.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Cat said, “but if it did”—a huge smile
covered her beautiful face—“wouldn’t that be a sight to see?”
At that, we all grinned.
“So, we agree? We will ask to be the most powerful?”
Cat nodded. “And we explain to her why. It’s not for greed,
money, or the idea of power. It’s so that we can remain friends.
We’re all we have ever known; we shouldn’t be forced into being
enemies just because the leaders of the factions say so.”
 It was true. Deidre had never known her father, and her mother
had abandoned her when she was a toddler. She was supposed to
board at our school that started from kindergarten up to twelfth
grade, but when I had found her sobbing into her milk one day, I
had taken her home with me.
My parents had one child, as their civic duty requested, and then
they had hired a nanny to raise me. I see them once every few years
when they aren’t busy traveling to different countries. Honestly, I
hate it when they show up. It’s like strangers being forced to find
some sort of common ground while awkwardly not accomplishing
the mission.
Poor Tate had it the worst of all of us. Her parents were more
powerful than most, and they were extremely cruel. More than once,
we’d had to nurse Tate’s wounds, inflicted by her parents.
“Let’s do this,” Deidre said. “Cat, what do you need to get his
party started?”
“Obviously, I’m not prepared for a ritual,” Cat huffed. “I need
candles and a knife. Maybe we should regroup and come back
tomorrow?”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “I know that you are nervous, but
there is no reason to be. This will either work or it won’t.”
Deidre came over to us with her arms loaded down with white
candles. She dropped them at our feet.
“Dude,” Tate said, “where did you get those?”
She jerked her chin to a mausoleum to our right. “Mr. Davis’s
tomb.”
Cat’s mouth dropped open in shock. “No, you did not.”
 “Dude, she did,” Tate said.
Hands on hips, Deidre said, “Oh, like he needs them.”
Before Cat could start lecturing us, I intervened. “We will put them
back after we are done.”
Deidre fished between her cleavage then threw me a lighter. “My
work here is done, folks.”
I gave her a wink, low key, impressed with her resourcefulness.
Tate hiked up her baby doll dress, revealing an eight-inch blade
strapped to her upper thigh. None of us commented as she
unsheathed the blade and handed it over to Cat, who in return gave
her a weary look.
I bounced on the balls of my feet. “Okay, now that you have what
you need, can you start?”
Cat sighed as she placed all the candles in a circle. She
commanded us to wait on the inside while she chanted with extreme
hesitancy. I hoped she knew what the heck she was doing.
“Palms out, ladies.”
We did as she commanded.
She cut into my palm first. Then she grabbed my fist and closed it
so the blood was pooling in my closed hand.
Tate’s nose flared. “Ah … The smell of genie blood.”
I gave her a glare. “Stay away, cupcake.”
She rolled her eyes as Deidre let out a hiss. “Why do I feel like
you went deeper on me than on Bali?”
I snickered as Cat repeated the motions with Tate and finally
herself.
“Why everyone’s left hand?” I asked.
 “Because we are all right-handed,” Cat said. “Dab your right finger
into the pooled blood. We will make three Xs on the tombstone.
Each of us will go over the three Xs with our own blood. Bali, you
start us off.”
I stepped up to Marie’s tomb and made three Xs with my blood.
Then I watched as each girl went over my Xs.
After Cat was done with the final X, she said, “Everyone knock on
the tombstone then quickly grab hands. Let’s make a circle within
our candles.”
Our bloody hands clasped together, Cat gave me a nod, telling me
to take over.
I cleared my throat. “Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen of our beloved
city, we are in need of help and are calling on you tonight. We are
weak, and soon the other factions will come for us. Make us strong.
The strongest of our kind and, in return, we pledge to you that we
will help New Orleans keep swinging and fighting for what is right.
We will give this city everything we have, if you’ll grant us the power
to stay together.”
Just when I thought nothing was going to happen and I had
ruined probably our last free night with one another, the ground
beneath our feet shook and each flame from the candles went out
one at a time.
Tate was the first one to fall to her knees, a grimace covering her
beautiful face as she pulled at her pink hair.
I stood there in shock, my body unwilling to move through the
vice that had locked me into place. Then pain hit me. A pain so
intense that I prayed that the ground would open up and take me in
its cold embrace.
A scream left Deidre that I was sure would crack all the marble
around us, and Cat was quietly convulsing in front of me. Her amber
eyes rolled back in her head, and that was the last thing I
remembered before sleep saved me with her sweet calling.
 Chapter Three

T HE LIGHT DRIZZLE OF rain peppering my skin woke me. My

head fell to the right as the rain continued to wet my lashes.
We were laying on the wet ground with our limbs on top of each
other, still in the circle. The night had faded away to the early
morning light, and we were covered in dirt. My body felt heavy with
a foreign power that was running through my veins. I was the first
to sit up.
“Guys,” I said, “what just happened?”
Cat groaned as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. “My
head feels heavy.”
Deidre came up on all fours, gasping, “I think I’m going to throw
up.”
I reached out to steady her and felt her power humming as
something inside of me felt like it was draining. Her eyes widened in
shock, and she jerked away from me.
Cat narrowed her eyes. “What just happened?”
“I … I think that Deidre just fed off me,” I said.
 “Fed?” Tate ran her tongue over a sharp incisor. “Like how?”
I shook my head. “Not like that. I don’t know. I just felt like she
was feeding off my emotions—fear, excitement, and the aftershocks
of pain.”
No one said anything for several beats. Finally, Deidre said, “I
need water.”
We all watched in fascination as the rain water began
accumulating and rolled toward Deidre’s outstretched hand.
I gasped. “Are you doing that?”
Tate was the first one to make it to her feet. The white baby doll
dress was smattered with dirt. The rain water ran over her feet to
get to Deidre. Startled, Tate jumped in the air fifteen feet and landed
on one of the monuments.
“Tate?” Cat said. “How did you just do that?”
“I believe,” I said, “we’ve acquired some new gifts.” I watched the
water cumulate on Deidre’s hand. “Cup it.”
Deidre did, and the water instantly formed into a ball. Deidre’s
mouth rounded in shock as she threw the water from one hand to
the other. “This is crazy.”
I swiveled my gaze to Cat. “You’re a witch, and your element is
fire, so maybe—”
“If you are suggesting I try to start a fire here in the middle of the
cemetery, you are crazy. I can’t afford to be haunted for the rest of
my life.”
Tate was still perched on top of a monument like she didn’t know
how to get down. “Guys, it worked. It really worked.”
 Deidre was still throwing her water ball around as more water ran
over the soil and earth to get to her. Cat was popping her knuckles,
something she always did when she was thinking, and I sat there,
staring at my friends.
“Try to make fire,” Tate said to Cat. “Deidre can throw water on it
if it gets too out of control.”
Cat closed her eyes, her forehead crinkling with concentration.
Finally, she flicked open her eyes as she thrust her hands out in front
of her. A ring of red fire appeared, but it wasn’t what any of us
expected.
Deidre stood slowly, dropping the water, and when it hit the
ground, it burst all over her legs and shoes. Tate jumped down,
cracking the ground, but no one seemed to notice. Cat had moved
to stand shoulder to shoulder with me.
“Is that what I think it is?” Tate asked.
The other three of us nodded.
Deidre shrieked, “Lawd, have mercy. The girl has created a portal.”
“Close it,” I said sternly.
“How?” Cat asked, her voice several octaves higher than normal.
“Dude,” Tate said, “I don’t know. Abracadabra that shit.”
I couldn’t take my gaze away from what lie just inside the portal.
There was black coal and red liquid that looked like lava that flowed
over the planes. A heat like no other was pouring through to this
side, and that was really saying something considering the humidity
was at a hundred percent. We all flinched when a massive demon
appeared in front of us. He was looking at the open portal and us
with the same amount of shock that we were.
 “Cat,” Tate barked, “close the damn portal now!”
“Don’t yell at her!” Deidre said. “When does snapping at someone
ever help?” She stroked Cat’s arm. “Honey, if you could just—”
The demon let out a growl that I felt vibrate through my bones.
“—shut the damn portal,” Deidre finished.
So much for not snapping.
He put one foot through the portal so he was straddling what I
assumed was hell and New Orleans.
My power hummed inside of me, as if it knew that I had no
knowledge of what to do with the current situation.
I took a step forward, toward the portal. “Hey, bud.”
He swiveled his black eyes to me, and the moment he made eye
contact, my power surged. I knew that I had him exactly where I
wanted him.
“Tell me, what do you desire?”
His body grew still, as if he was mesmerized. “I want freedom
from my lord.”
I nodded. “I can give you that and much more. I need you to stay
on your side and don’t let anyone through.”
“Okay,” he said, as if he was in a daze.
Tate was staring at me, but I couldn’t afford to break eye contact
with the demon. “What in the ever-loving hell is going on?”
Ignoring her, I said, “Cat, love, you opened this portal. What were
you thinking of when you did it?”
“I thought of creating fire, and then I said a silent prayer that I
didn’t catch the cemetery on fire because I was certain the souls
would drag me to hell.”
 I patted her on the arm while keeping the demon in my stare.
“That was very specific. Okay, now that the shock is wearing off, I
want you to think of how you really want that portal closed.”
After a few exasperated tries on Cat’s part, I watched as the portal
disappeared.
We all stood still for a few seconds, and then Tate ran her hand
through the air where the portal used to be. The back of her hand
lightly hit the marble, and yet she cracked it.
“Wow,” I marveled. “That’s some strength you have there, Tate.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, we got Deidre over there, who
looks like she can manipulate water, and the way she is stroking
Cat’s arms while her eyes roll back in her head, I’m assuming she is
feeding off emotions. Cat, the sweetheart of our group, just opened
up a freaking portal to hell. To hell! And I don’t know what you just
did.”
I threw my hair over my shoulder. “I’m not really certain, either,
but I do know that was just the tip of the iceberg.” I looked at each
of the girls. “We need to study our new powers; figure out exactly
what we can do.”
“Whoa, chickas!” Tate exclaimed. “You think we can do more? I
barely touched that crypt, and it cracked from top to bottom. I’m not
sure if I can handle much more.”
Cat gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s okay. I’m sure this whole
process is going to be scary. Good news is we can figure it out
together.”
Tate threw an arm around Cat, making her stumble. “Sorry,” she
whispered. “This is going to take some getting used to.” Then she
said, “You do realize what this whole opening portals makes you,
right?”
“What?” Cat asked warily.
Tate wiggled her eyebrows. “The baddest witch in town.”
After we cleaned up all the candles and gave a proper thanks to
the Voodoo Queen, we all went home to gather our things. We knew
that no one would be able to stop us. We had fate on our side. We
had walked into that graveyard as teens of limited powers, who
belonged to different factions of the supernatural community, and
the four of us left united, unbreakable, and more powerful than any
of our ancestors before us.
 Chapter Four

S IX MONTHS LATER…
Tate threw down another envelope on my desk.
“Ugh,” I said. “I’d rather deal with another faction leader carrying
a pitchfork, screaming for our deaths, than to deal with more
paperwork.”
Tate smiled. “Well, it’s the electric bill, so I suggest you pay it
unless you want to force Cat to read in the dark.”
“What?” Cat shouted from the kitchen of our shared house in the
French Quarter.
“Nothing, nerd,” Tate yelled back.
“Just because you read at a kindergarten level,” I said, “doesn’t
mean you have to put down Cat.”
Tate made claws. “Meow. You’re in a mood, and Mama likes it.”
I rolled my eyes as I snatched up the bill. The last six months had
been a rollercoaster ride of emotions. We dropped out of high school
then used our newfound power to band together to make us
untouchable. In fact, that was what the different factions call us—
The Untouchables. I had no clue where the nickname originated, but
if I had to take a guess, I would say it was Deidre who had spread it
around. Only she could get an overused, corny name to stick.
Now that we had made a name for ourselves and finally had it to
where the faction leaders weren’t trying to test us daily, we only had
to focus on paying the bills. Three years ago, we would have
laughed at the thought that our only future struggle would be
keeping the lights and water on. Turned out that none of us were
business women.
Deidre came into my makeshift office, wearing a dress that looked
more like a slip and eating out of a carton of ice cream. “Hello,
beauties, what are we discussing?”
“Electric bill,” I said.
She wrinkled her slender nose. “Ew … Again?”
I laughed. “Yeah, it’s super funny how these bills come in like
clockwork.”
Cat wore a worried expression as she walked into the room and
sat on the only nice piece of furniture in the room. She put a
bookmark in her current read and laid her latest obsession on her
lap. “Guys, what are we going to do? We have all this power and no
money.”
“We could get higher paying jobs,” Tate said.
“Yeah,” Cat squealed, “if we want to do unsavory things.”
Tate shrugged. “I mean, the electric bill isn’t going to pay itself
just because we choose to do right by our powers.”
“Yeah, but we made a promise at that tombstone, remember?” I
said.
 Tate gave me another shrug. “It’s not like what we are doing now
is completely angelic.”
Cat ignored her. “We’re barely getting by. I’m making healing
potions for the humans, but no one in the supernatural community
will even toss a nickel our way. Bali is using her unsavory skills to
convince the unsuspected stranger to donate to our cause, but—”
“Hey,” I said, “it’s honest work.”
She shook her head. “It’s not, though.”
“Well, thanks for calling me out,” I said. “Also, my non-honest
work paid for the mattresses that all of you sleep on, but hey, I don’t
see you tossing and turning on those temper peds.”
Deidre licked her spoon. “I’ve got a bad back, so I appreciate your
contribution.”
Cat sighed. “Deidre is making poor souls fall in love with her then
pawning everything they give her.” She held up a hand. “I’m not
saying it’s a bad thing, but we all have to be honest. The last man
who gave her a car … well, that whole incident turned out to be a
gift from hell.”
“I didn’t know the pig was married,” Deidre defended herself.
“Then there’s Tate. She’s tracking down criminals and getting paid
in crumbs.”
Tate smiled. “But the hunt is fun.”
I threw up my hands. “Hey, but the point is we’re getting by.”
“Barely,” Cat grumbled.
“Mary Lynn got by for years. Remember?” I said.
“Um … What I remember,” Deidre said, “is Mary Lynn talked to all
of us one final time and, well, we never saw her again.”
 Cat held her book to her chest. “I was devastated. With her
guidance, she kept me grounded. I don’t know if all of you realize
how much I relied on my daily chats with Mary Lynn.”
Tate and Deidre both groaned at the same time.
“Yes, hon,” Deidre said, “you’ve told us almost daily for the past
six months that you miss her.”
“Truth is, we all miss her,” I said.
“You think we will ever find out what happened to her?” Cat
asked. “I mean, she literally just disappeared.”
Before I could say anything, there was a knock on our door. Cat
had set up a spell around the perimeter that only people who held
no ill will toward us could cross our threshold. Even with her
protection spell, we had fought too hard the last six months to relax
now. We all spread out, taking fighting stances.
“Come in,” I shouted.
The door swung open to show an older woman. She was shrunken
and stooped over with age, and her tanned skinned seemed darker
in comparison to her white, curly hair. She took in the appearances
of all of us before shuffling through the door as she hiked her purse
up higher on her shoulder. Even though we had never seen this
woman before, she had no qualms walking right into our home.
My power hummed inside of me. I could feel it wanting to coil
around the old lady, as if to taste her. That was a first.
“So, the rumors are true.” Her voice had the southern drawl that
we were all used to, and there was something vaguely familiar about
her, though I had never seen her before.
 I leaned a hip against the desk that I was now in front of. There
was something completely off about this lady. “It depends on what
rumors you speak of.”
She raked her eyes over all of us. “The rumor I refer to is that four
women, who are of extraordinary beauty and of different factions,
have banded together to make their own faction.”
“Oh, that one,” Tate said. “Yep, that one’s mostly true. Deidre and
Bali are from the same faction.”
The old woman smiled. “Sure, they are.”
We all looked at each other in confusion. No one knew my secret
other than my parent, my three best friends, and Mary Lynn. I came
from a long line of djinn who had convinced the world that they
were sirens who were below average on the power scale. It was
safer that way.
“I’m here to offer you all an opportunity. A job of sorts.”
Cat’s eyes lit up. “What kind of job?”
“One that pays extremely well.”
“We’re listening,” I said.
She shuffled into the room some more. “My feet are tired. Do you
mind if I sit down for a second?”
Cat, being the nurturer of the group, immediately grabbed the
woman’s arm and ushered her to the couch. “Of course. Could I get
you something to drink?”
“No, sweet child. I just need to rest for a bit.”
We all took a seat in the living room on the opposing couch,
watching as she settled into the couch as if she would retire there
for the rest of the evening.
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reluctantly, but still with a secret alacrity. She was left alone with the
mentor, who had so often brought her advice or semi-reproof.
‘You have something to tell me? Oh, Mr. Sommerville, what is it?’ she
cried.
‘It is nothing very bad. You must not be alarmed—there is no ill news,’
he said.
The anxious mother looked at him with a wistful entreaty in her eyes. Ill
news was not what she feared. When a woman has had neither
companionship nor help from her husband for a dozen years or so, naturally
her sensitiveness of anxiety about him gets modified, and it is to be feared
that she would have taken information of Mr. Meredith’s serious illness, for
instance, more easily than the summons which she feared for one of her
boys. She watched every movement of her visitor’s face with anxious
interest.
‘Edward cannot go till the settled time. You know that,’ she said,
instinctively following the leading of her own thoughts.
‘It is not Edward that I have come to speak of; it is neither of the boys.’
‘Ah!’ said Mrs. Meredith, with a sigh of involuntary relief; and she
turned to him with cheerful ease and interest, delivered from her chief fear.
This evident ignorance of any other cause for animadversion moved the old
Spy in spite of himself.
‘What I am going to say to you, my dear lady, is not exactly from
Meredith—though he has heard of the subject, and wishes me to say
something. I hope you will believe there is no harm meant, and that what I
do, I do from the best feeling.’
‘I have never doubted your kind feeling, Mr. Sommerville; but you half
frighten me,’ she said, with a smile. ‘If it is not the boys, what can there be
to be so grave about? Tell me quickly, please.’
Mr. Sommerville cleared his throat. He put his hat upon the head of his
cane, and twirled it about. It did not often happen to the old Scotch nabob to
be embarrassed; but he was so now.
‘You’ll understand, my dear lady, that in what I say I’m solely actuated
by the thought of your good.’
‘How you alarm me!’ said Mrs. Meredith. ‘It is something, then, very
disagreeable?’
 ‘Oh, yes. I’ve no doubt it will be disagreeable. Medicines are seldom
sweet to the palate. Mrs. Meredith, I will out with it at once, not to keep you
in suspense.’
Here, however, he paused to take out his handkerchief, and blew his nose
with a very resounding utterance. After he had finished this operation he
resumed:
‘I don’t presume to teach a lady of your sense what is her duty; and I
don’t need to tell you that the world exercises a great supervision over
women who, from whatever cause, are left alone.’
‘What have I done?’ cried Mrs. Meredith, half frightened, half laughing.
‘I must have made some mistake, or you would not speak so.’
‘I doubt if it could be called a mistake; perhaps it would be better to say
a misapprehension. Mrs. Meredith, there is one of your friends who pays
you a visit every day.’
‘Several,’ she said, relieved. ‘You know how kind people are to me.
Instead of supervision, as you say, I get a great deal of sympathy——’
Mr. Sommerville waved his hand, as if to ward off her explanation. ‘I am
speaking of one person,’ he said: ‘a man—who is here every evening of his
life, or I’m mistaken—your neighbour, Mr. Beresford, next door.’
‘Mr. Beresford!’ she said, with a thrill of disagreeable surprise; and there
came to her instantaneously one of those sudden realisations of things that
might be thought or said, such as sometimes overwhelm the unsuspecting
soul at the most inappropriate moment; her colour rose in spite of herself.
‘Just Mr. Beresford. He means no harm and you mean no harm; but he
should be put a stop to, my dear lady. You gave me your word you would
not be angry. But, madam, you’re a married lady, and your husband is at a
distance. It’s not for your credit or his good that he should visit you every
night.’
‘Mr. Sommerville! stop, please! I cannot let you talk so—or anyone.’
‘But you must, my dear lady, unless you want everybody to talk, and in a
very different spirit. The world is a wicked world, and takes many things
into its head. You’re a very attractive woman still, though you’re no longer
in your first youth——’
‘Mr. Sommerville, what you say is very disagreeable to me,’ said Mrs.
Meredith, offended. ‘Poor Mr. Beresford! since he lost his wife he has been
miserable. Nobody ever mourned more truly; and now, when he is trying to
learn a little resignation, a little patience——’
‘He should not learn those virtues, madam, at your expense.’
‘At my expense!’ she said, with sparkling eyes; ‘at what expense to me?
I allow him to come and sit with me when he has no one at home to bear
him company. I allow him——’
‘I thought his daughter had come to keep him company.’
‘Poor Cara! she is a sweet child; but, at seventeen, what can she know of
his troubles?’
‘Softly, softly,’ said Mr. Sommerville; ‘one plea is enough at a time. If
Mr. Beresford is without a companion, it does not matter that his daughter is
only seventeen; and whatever her age may be, if she is there he cannot be
without companionship. My dear lady, be reasonable. If he has a child
grown up, or nearly so, he should stay at home. A great many of us have not
even that inducement,’ said the old man, who was an old bachelor; ‘but no
kind lady opens her doors to us.’ He looked at her sharply with his keen
eyes; and she felt, with intense annoyance, that she was getting agitated and
excited in spite of herself.
‘Mr. Sommerville,’ she said, with some dignity, ‘if anyone has been
misrepresenting my friendship for Mr. Beresford, I cannot help that. It is
wicked as well as unkind; for I think I have been of use to him. I think I
have helped him to see that he cannot abandon his life. I don’t mean to
defend myself. I have not done anything to be found fault with; friendship
——’
‘Is a delusion,’ said the old man. ‘Friendship between a man and a
woman! There is no sense in it. I don’t believe a word of it. Meaning no
harm to you, my dear lady. You don’t mean any harm; but if you talk to me
of friendship!’
‘Then I had better say nothing,’ she answered quickly. ‘My husband’s
representative—if you call yourself so—has no right to treat me with
rudeness. I have nothing more to say.’
‘My dear lady,’ said old Mr. Sommerville, ‘if I have appeared rude I am
unpardonable. But you’ll forgive me? I mean nothing but your good. And
all I want is a little prudence—the ordinary precautions.’
 ‘I will none of them!’ she said, with a flush of indignation. ‘I have
nothing to be afraid of, and I will not pretend to be prudent, as you call it.
Let the world think or say what it pleases—it is nothing to me.’
Then there was a pause, and Mrs. Meredith betook herself to her work—
a woman’s safety-valve, and laboured as if for a wager, while the old
plenipotentiary sat opposite to her, confounded and abashed, as she thought.
But Mr. Sommerville was too old and experienced to be much abashed by
anything. He sat silent, collecting his forces for a renewed attack. That was
all. He had a sincere friendship for her in his way, and was as anxious to
prevent scandal as any father could have been; and now it occurred to him
that he had begun at the wrong end, as he said. Women were kittle cattle.
He had failed when he dwelt upon the danger to herself. Perhaps he might
succeed better if he represented the danger to him.
‘I have made a mistake,’ said the hypocritical old man. ‘It can do no
harm to you, all that has come and gone. I was thinking of my own selfish
kind that give most weight to what affects themselves, and I am rightly
punished. A lady sans reproche like yourself may well be sans peur. But
that is not the whole question, my dear madam. There is the man to be
considered.’
When he said this she raised her eyes, which had been fixed on her
work, and looked at him with some anxiety, which was so much gained.
‘You will not doubt my word when I say there’s a great difference
between men and women,’ said the old diplomatist. ‘What is innocent for
one is often very dangerous for the other, and vice versâ: you will not deny
that.’
Then he made a pause, and looking at her for reply, received a sign of
assent to his vague proposition, which indeed was safe enough.
‘How can you tell that Mr. Beresford receives as pure benevolence all
the kindness you show him? It is very unusual kindness. You are kind to
everybody, madam, above the ordinary level; and human creatures are
curious—they think it is their merit that makes you good to them, not your
own bounty.’
She did not make any reply, but continued to look at him. Her attention
at least was secured.
‘If I were to tell you the instances of this that have come under my own
observation! I have known a poor creature who got much kindness in a
house on account of his defects and deficiencies, and because everybody
was sorry for him; who gave it out, if you’ll believe me, and really thought,
that what his kind friends wanted was to marry him to the daughter of the
house! It’s not uncommon, and I dare say, without going further, that you
can remember things—which perhaps you have laughed at——’
‘All this has nothing to do with Mr. Beresford,’ she said, quietly, but
with a flush of rising offence.
‘No, no.’ He made a hesitating answer and looked at her. Mrs. Meredith
fell into the snare.
‘If he has misunderstood my sympathy for his troubles, if he has
ventured to suppose——’
‘Cara has gone out with her aunt,’ said Edward, coming in hastily; ‘but
there is surely something wrong in the house. Mr. Beresford called me into
his room, looking very much distressed. He told me to tell you that he
thought of leaving home directly; then changed his mind, and said I was not
to tell you.’
‘Why do you tell me then?’ cried his mother, with impatience. ‘What is
it to me where he is going? Am I always to be worried with other people’s
troubles? I think I have plenty of my own without that.’
Edward looked at her with great surprise. Such outbreaks of impatience
from his gentle mother were almost unknown to him. ‘He looks very ill,’ he
said: ‘very much disturbed: something must have happened. Why should
not I tell you? Are you not interested in our old friend? Then something
very extraordinary has happened, I suppose?’
‘Oh, my boy,’ cried Mrs. Meredith, in her excitement, ‘that is what Mr.
Sommerville has come about. He says poor James Beresford comes too
often here. He says I am too kind to him, and that people will talk, and he
himself thinks—— Ah!’ she cried suddenly, ‘what am I saying to the boy?’
Edward went up to her hurriedly and put his arm round her, and thus
standing looked round defiant at the meddler. Oswald, too, entered the room
at this moment. The hour for luncheon approached, and naturally called
these young men, still in the first bloom of their fine natural appetites, from
all corners of the house. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. But he had another
verse of his poem in his head which he was in great haste to write down,
and he crossed over to the writing-table in the back drawing-room, and did
not wait for any reply. Edward, on the contrary, put the white shield of his
own youthfulness at once in front of his mother, and indignant met the foe.
‘People have talked a long time, I suppose,’ said Edward, ‘that there was
nobody so kind as my mother; and I suppose because you have trained us,
mamma, we don’t understand what it means to be too kind. You do, sir?’
cried the young man with generous impertinence; ‘you think it is possible to
be too innocent—too good?’
‘Yes, you young idiot!’ cried the old man, jumping up in a momentary
fury. Then he cooled down and reseated himself with a laugh. ‘There is the
bell for lunch,’ he said; ‘and I don’t mean to be cheated out of the luncheon,
which, of course, you will give me, by the freaks of these puppies of yours,
madam. But Oswald is a philosopher; he takes it easy,’ he added, looking
keenly at the placid indifference of the elder son.
‘Oswald takes everything easy,’ said Mrs. Meredith, with a sigh. And
they went downstairs to luncheon, and no man could have been more
cheerful, more agreeable than the old Indian. He told them a hundred
stories, and paid Mrs. Meredith at least a score of compliments. ‘This
indulgence will put it out of my power to be at your levée this afternoon,’
he said; ‘but there will be plenty of worshippers without me. I think the
neglected women in this town—and no doubt there’s many—should bring a
prosecution against ladies like you, Mrs. Meredith, that charm more than
your share; and both sexes alike, men and women. I hear but one chorus,
“There’s nobody so delightful as Mrs. Meredith,” wherever I go.’
‘We are all proud of your approbation,’ said Oswald, with much
solemnity: he was always light-hearted, and had no desire to inquire
particularly into the commotion of which he had been a witness. But
Edward kept his eyes upon his mother, who was pale with the excitement
she had come through. What that excitement meant the young man had very
little idea. Something had disturbed her, which was enough for her son; and,
curiously enough, something had disturbed the neighbours too, whom
Edward accepted without criticism as we accept people whom we have
known all our lives. He was curious, and rather anxious, wondering what it
might be.
But as for Mrs. Meredith, the idea of communicating to her sons even
the suggestion that she could be spoken of with levity, or criticised as a
woman, appalled her when she thought of it. She had cried out, appealing to
the boys in her agitation, but the moment after felt that she could bear
anything rather than make them aware that anyone had ventured upon a
word to her on such subjects. She exerted herself to be as vivacious as her
visitor; and as vivacity was not in her way, the little forced gaiety of her
manner attracted the attention of her sons more than the greatest seriousness
would have done. Even Oswald was roused to observe this curious change.
‘What has happened?’ he said to his brother. He thought the Spy had been
finding fault with the expenditure of the household, and thought with alarm
of his own bills, which had a way of coming upon him as a surprise when
he least expected them. It was almost the only thing that could have roused
him to interest, for Oswald felt the things that affected Oswald to be of
more importance than anything else could be. As for Edward, he awaited
somewhat tremulously the disclosure which he expected after Mr.
Sommerville’s departure. But Mrs. Meredith avoided both of them in the
commotion of her feelings. She shut herself up in her own room to ponder
the question, and, as was natural, her proud impulse of resistance yielded to
reflection. Her heart ached a good deal for poor Beresford, a little for
herself. She, too, would miss something. Something would be gone out of
her life which was good and pleasant. Her heart gave a little sob, a sudden
ache came into her being. Was there harm in it? she asked herself, aghast.
Altogether the day was not a pleasant one for Mrs. Meredith. It seemed to
plunge her back into those agitations of youth from which surely middle
age ought to deliver a woman. It wronged her in her own eyes, making even
her generous temper a shame to her. Had she been too good: as he said—too
kind? an accusation which is hurtful, and means something like insult to a
woman, though to no other creature. Too kind! No expression of contempt,
no insinuated slander can be more stinging than this imputation of having
been too kind. Had she been too kind to her sorrowful neighbour? had she
led him to believe that her kindness was something more than kindness?
She, whose special distinction it was to be kind, whose daily court was
established on no other foundation, whose kindness was the breath of her
nostrils; was this quality, of which she had come to be modestly conscious,
and of which, perhaps, she was a little proud, to be the instrument of her
humiliation? She was not a happy wife, nor indeed a wife at all, except in
distant and not very pleasant recollection, and in the fact that she had a
watchful husband, at the end of the world, keeping guard over her. Was it
possible that she had given occasion for his interference, laid herself open
to his scorn? It seemed to the poor woman as if heaven and earth had
leagued against her. Too kind; suspected by the jealous man who watched
her, despised by the ungrateful man by whom her tender generosity had
been misinterpreted! She sent down a message to Cara that she was not
going out. She sent word to her visitors that she had a headache. She saw
nobody all day long. Too kind! The accusation stung in the tenderest point,
and was more than she could bear.
 CHAPTER XXV.

AN IDEALIST.

When Agnes Burchell encountered Oswald Meredith, as has been recorded,

she had but recently taken up her abode at the ‘House.’ She had gone there
much against the will of her family, actuated by that discontent which many
generations may have felt, but only the present generation has confessed
and justified. Agnes was the eldest daughter of a very prosaic pair, born in a
very prosaic household, and how it was that the ideal had caught her in its
tenacious grip nobody knew. In the Rectory at the foot of the hill, noisy
with children, greasy with bread and butter, between a fat father who prosed
and a stout mother who grumbled, the girl had set her heart, from the very
beginning of conscious sentiment in her, upon some more excellent way.
How this was to be reached she had not been able to divine for years, and
many pious struggles had poor Agnes against her own better desires, many
attempts to subdue herself and to represent to herself that the things she had
to do were her duty and the best things for her. Between exhortations to the
service of God in its most spiritual sense, and exhortations to be contented
‘in that condition of life to which God had called her,’ her heart was rent
and her life distracted. Was there, indeed, nothing better in the world than to
cut the bread and butter, like Werther’s Charlotte, to darn the stockings, to
listen to parish gossip and her mother’s standing grievance, which was that
Cherry Beresford, an old maid, should be well off and drive about in her
carriage, while she, the Rector’s wife, went painfully afoot—and her
father’s twaddle about the plague of Dissenters and the wickedness of
curates? Agnes tried very hard to accommodate herself to these
circumstances of her lot. She tried to change the tone of the family talk,
making herself extremely disagreeable to everybody in so doing. She tried
to reduce the children to obedience and to bring order into the unruly house,
and in so doing got herself soundly rated by everybody. Who was she that
she should take upon her to be superior to her neighbours—to set them all
right? The rest of the Burchells were very comfortable in their state of
hugger-mugger, and that she should pretend a dislike to it aggravated them
all deeply—while all the time she was informed, both in sermons and in
good books, that to do the duty nearest to your hand was the most heroic
Christian duty. Poor Agnes could not see her way to do any duty at all.
There were three sisters over sixteen, more than could be employed upon
the stockings and the bread and butter. Then she tried the parish, but found
with humiliation that with neither soup, nor puddings, nor little bottles of
wine, nor even tracts to carry about, her visits were but little prized. Louisa,
her next sister, answered better in every way than she did: when Louisa was
scolded she scolded back again in a filial manner, having the last word
always. She boxed the children’s ears, and pushed them about, and read a
novel—when she could get one—in an untidy room, with unkempt brothers
and sisters round, and took no notice; neither the disobedience, nor the
untidiness, nor even unjust reproof when it came her way having any
particular effect upon her. Louisa did what she was obliged to do, and knew
nothing about the ideal. But Agnes did not know what to make of herself.
She was called by absurd nicknames of mock respect by the others—the
‘princess’ and ‘your royal highness,’ and so forth; and Mrs. Burchell
seldom lost an opportunity of saying, ‘Agnes thinks she knows better, of
course; but my old-fashioned ways are good enough for the rest of us.’
Thus year after year went over her young head, each one increasing her
inappropriateness—the want of any fit place for her where she was. It was
against the pride of the family that she should go out as a governess, and,
indeed, she was not sufficiently educated herself to teach anyone else. She
was at the very height of discomfort when there dawned upon her the
prospect of doing something better in the ‘House,’ serving the poor,
teaching the untaught. The Rectory was very full at the time, and her room
was much wanted for an uncle who was coming to pay a visit; but yet,
notwithstanding this great immediate convenience, there was much
resistance made. Mr. Burchell’s Church politics were undecided. He was
only entering upon the path of Ritualism, starting mildly under the guidance
of a curate, with Saint’s-day services, and the beginning of a choir; and the
name of a Sisterhood frightened him. As for Mrs. Burchell, her indignation
knew no bounds. ‘Your duty is at home, you ungrateful girl, where your
father and I have stinted ourselves to let you have everything that is
comfortable. And now you go and leave me to work night and day among
the children. I who have no strength for it——’ ‘There is Louisa, mamma,’
said Agnes; upon which Louisa cried with indignation, and asked if
everything was to be left upon her—and all the little boys and girls looked
on from the corners with demure delight to watch the progress of the
‘shindy’ between Agnes and mamma. At last, however, after many scenes
of this kind, Agnes was allowed to go free. She went to London, and set
herself up with a modified uniform, and was as glad and triumphant as if it
was the noblest vocation in the world which she had thus struggled into.
Alas! it was not very long before the bonds of the prosaic earth again galled
her, and the ideal seemed as far off as ever. Ignoble breakfasts and dinners
and teas are as ignoble in a charitable ‘House’ as in an overcrowded
Rectory; and here, too, there was gossip and unruliness, and want of
discipline, and very poor success in the elevation of life out of its beggarly
elements. To teach children their A B C is not an inspiriting occupation,
even when the children are destitute and orphans. It was so hard to realise
that they were so. The poor little wretches were just as tiresome and
insubordinate as if they had been her own brothers and sisters: nothing of
the sentiment of their position hung about them. And the Sisters were
extremely business-like, and did their duty without a tinge of romance, as if
they had been hired to do it. The awakening had been sharp for Agnes, but
she had already got beyond the first stage, and was now fighting with her
disappointment and arguing herself back into satisfaction. It was impossible
to tell what a help to her was the breaking of little Emmy’s leg. It is an ill
wind that blows nobody good. She would have liked to nurse her altogether,
but at least to go to her to the hospital, to cheer her, and whisper consolation
—that was something; and when the child’s face brightened at her coming,
Agnes, with a sudden throb of her heart, felt that at least for the moment
here was the ideal for which she had sighed. Here was some real good of
her. But for her nobody would have visited little Emmy: they would have
been content to hear that she was doing well: that smile of half-celestial
happiness upon the poor little sick face would never have reflected heaven
but for Agnes. It was the first approach to contentment in her own
occupation which she had ever felt. And she had to work all the harder to
get herself this pleasure, which made her satisfaction still more warm.
But—whether it was right to talk to the stranger who was so very much
interested in poor little Emmy afterwards!—was that a part of the ideal,
too? To be sure he had a right to inquire—he had been present at the
accident, and had carried the child in his arms to the hospital—how very
kindly!—and talked with what understanding! and an enthusiasm which
was balm to Agnes, and partially rekindled her own. That he should ask was
quite natural; that he should walk with her back to the ‘House’ had seemed
very natural, too. Quite natural—he did not look as if he thought it a thing
even to apologize about, but went on, with quiet simplicity, going the same
way as she did. Agnes felt that, as a young lady at home, it would have
appeared perhaps a little odd that a stranger should have done this; but she
reflected with a thrill, half of pleasure, half of annoyance, that the uniform
of a Sister had its disadvantages as well as its advantages, and that while it
protected her from all rudeness, it at the same time broke the ceremonial
bonds of politeness, and left her open to be addressed with frank simplicity
by all classes of people. She had thought it right to let him know that she
was not a Sister, but only a teacher, but it had made no difference in him.
Perhaps (she explained to herself) it was the fact that there were nothing but
women at the ‘House,’ which gave a certain piquancy to this conversation
with a man; for the clergy, in their cassocks, were but a kind of half and
half, and talked just in the same tone as Sister Mary Jane about the business
of the ‘House,’ and subscriptions, and the balance-sheet, and what the Vicar
thought, which was the final test of everything. Why did she like this
stranger so much better than the clergy? It was because his tone and his
looks and what he said were a little variety, and breathed of the outside
world and the wider horizon. To be sure, it had seemed to her a little while
ago that everything noblest and highest was to be had within the ‘House,’
where so many consecrated souls were giving themselves up to the service
of God and the poor. But being inside had modified the views with which
she had contemplated the ‘House’ from without. The world itself, the
wicked and foolish world, though no less foolish and wicked, had gained a
certain interest. There was variety in it: it was perhaps more amusing than
the ‘House.’ These thoughts filled the mind of Agnes as the door, which
was always kept locked, was closed upon her. The horizon grew narrower
as she came in—that was a natural effect, for of course four straight walls
must cut out a great deal of sky—but the effect seemed greater than usual
that day. She felt shut in; nothing could be easier than to unlock the door,
though it looked so heavy—but there was a feeling of confinement
somehow in the air. Agnes had to go into the severe Gothic room, with
windows high in the wall, where the children were coming in to tea, while
Mr. Oswald Meredith walked away in the free air as he pleased, holding his
head high. She breathed a soft sigh unawares. Where was the ideal now?
There came upon her a vision of the woods and the Hill, and the winding
paths that led to it, and of the four winds that were always blowing there,
and the leaves that answered to every breath. What a thing it would be to
thread through the woods, as she had done so often, with the wind fresh in
her face, chill but vigorous, breathing life and exhilaration! How one’s ideal
shifts and changes about when one is twenty! The ‘House’ looked poor
indeed in the weariful afternoon about the darkening, full of the odour of
weak tea.
Things grew very serious, however, next week, when, exactly as it
happened before, just as she came out of the hospital from her visit to
Emmy, Mr. Oswald Meredith once more appeared. He was both sorry and
glad in a breath—sorry to be too late for personal inquiries, glad to have
been so fortunate as just to find her—the best authority about the child.
‘I felt sure you would be going to see her,’ he said. ‘Little Emmy is a
lucky little girl. May I hear how she is getting on? though I scarcely deserve
it for being so late.’
He turned as he spoke to walk with her, and what could Agnes do? She
could not refuse to answer him, or show any prudery. He evidently (she said
to herself) thought nothing of it; why should she appear to demur to
anything so simple? Give a report about a suffering child? Anyone might do
that—to anyone. And she told him that Emmy was making satisfactory
progress, though she had been feverish and ill. ‘I was a little frightened,
though the nurse said it was nothing. She wandered, and spoke so strangely
for a little while. Poor little Emmy! She had a beautiful dream, and thought
herself in heaven.’
‘While you were there?’ said Oswald, with a significance in the simple
question which covered her face with a sudden blush. Then she blushed
deeper still to think what foolish, unpardonable vanity this was—vanity the
most extraordinary, the most silly! What he meant, of course, was a simple
question, most natural—an inquiry about a fact, not any wicked
compliment. How Agnes hated and despised herself for the warm suffusion
of shy pleasure which she had felt in her heart and on her face!
‘Yes,’ she said, demurely; ‘but she soon roused up and came quite to
herself. She had been in great pain, and they had given her something to
deaden it, that was all.’
 ‘I quite understand,’ he said, with again that appearance of meaning
more than he said. No doubt it was merely his way; and it was
embarrassing, but not so disagreeable as perhaps it ought to have been.
Agnes kept her head down, and slightly turned away, so that this stranger
could not see the inappropriate blushes which came and went under the
bonnet of the Sisterhood. Then there was a pause; and she wondered within
herself whether it would be best to turn down a cross-street and feign an
errand, which would take her out of the straight road to the ‘House’—
evidently that was his way—and by this means she might escape his close
attendance. But then, to invent a fictitious errand would be unquestionably
wrong; whereas, to allow a gentleman whom she did not know to walk
along the public pavement, to which everybody had an equal right, by her
side, was only problematically wrong. Thus Agnes hesitated, in a flutter,
between two courses. So long as they were not talking it seemed more
simple that he should be walking the same way.
‘What a strange world a hospital must be,’ he said. ‘I have been
watching the people coming out’ (‘Then he was not late, after all,’ Agnes
remarked to herself), ‘some of them pleased, some anxious, but the most
part indifferent. Indifference always carries the day. Is that why the world
goes on so steadily, whatever happens? Here and there is one who shows
some feeling——’
‘It is because the greater part of the patients are not very ill,’ said Agnes,
responding instantly to this challenge. ‘Oh, no, people are not indifferent. I
know that is what is said—that we eat our dinners in spite of everything
——’
‘And don’t we? or, rather, don’t they? Ourselves are always excepted, I
suppose,’ said Oswald, delighted to have set afloat one of those abstract
discussions which young talkers, aware of a pleasant faculty of turning
sentences, love.
‘Why should ourselves be excepted?’ said Agnes, forgetting her shyness.
‘Why should it always be supposed that we who speak are better than our
neighbours? Oh, I have seen so much of that! people who know only a
little, little circle setting down all the rest of the world as wicked. Why? If I
am unhappy when anyone I love is in trouble, that is a reason for believing
that others are so too; not that others are indifferent——’
 ‘Ah,’ said Oswald, ‘to judge the world by yourself would be well for the
world, but disappointing for you, I fear. I am an optimist, too; but I would
not go so far as that.’
She gave him a sudden look, half-inquiring, half-impatient. ‘One knows
more harm of one’s self than one can know of anyone else,’ she said, with
the dogmatism of youth.
He laughed. ‘I see now why you judge people more leniently than I do.
What quantities of harm I must know that you could not believe possible!
What is life like, I wonder, up on those snowy heights so near the sky?—a
beautiful soft psalm, with just a half-tone wrong here and there to show that
it is outside heaven——’
‘Indeed, indeed, you are mistaken! I—I am not a Sister—you mistake
me,’ said Agnes, in agitation. ‘It is only the dress——’
‘You are doing just what you condemn,’ he said; ‘setting me down as a
superficial person able to judge only by the outside. I have superior
pretensions. Is my friend Sister Mary Jane the Superior of the convent? But
I suppose you don’t call it a convent? I have only known them in France.’
‘We call it only “the House”; but I have never been in France—never out
of England at all. Is it not like going into a different world?’ Agnes took up
this subject eagerly, to escape the embarrassment of the other; and
fortunately the House itself was already in sight.
‘The very same world, only differently dressed. I suppose there is
something harmonious in a uniform. All the nuns have a kind of beauty, not
the pensive kind one expects; or perhaps it is the white head-dress and the
calm life that give the Sisters such pretty complexions, and such clear eyes.
Sister Mary Jane, for instance—you will allow that the Sisters are calm
——’
‘But not indifferent!’ said Agnes, moved to an answering smile, as they
reached the safe door of the House. She threw that smile at him as a
farewell defiance as she went up to the locked door which opened to her
with an alarming sound of keys turning, like the door of a true convent of
romance, though it was in a London street. He lingered, but she did not look
back. She was very thankful to reach that safe shelter, and find herself
delivered from the doubtful privilege of his attendance. And yet somehow
the afternoon darkened suddenly, the sky clouded over as she went in, and
her heart sank she could not tell how. Why should her heart sink? She had
scarcely got indoors before she was met by Sister Mary Jane, who asked for
little Emmy with business-like brevity; then, just pausing for a reply, went
on to talk of work, the subject which filled all her thoughts.
‘Go, please, and take care of the middle girls at relaxation; they are in St.
Cecilia; and keep your eye on Marian Smith, who has already lost five
marks for untidiness; and Araminta Blunt, who is in punishment for talking.
And see that relaxation is ended, and they all begin learning their lessons at
6.30. I must take the elder girls myself for an hour before evensong. Have
you had tea?’ said Sister Mary Jane. ‘No? Then go quickly, please, my dear,
and have some. It is not cleared away yet. The infants have been rather
unruly, and I mean to speak to the Vicar about it this evening. We want
someone else to help with the infants. In St. Cecilia, yes. Make haste, my
dear.’
Agnes went into the large room which was called the refectory—the
banqueting-hall of the establishment—where the air was heavy with tea and
bread and butter, and the long tables, partially cleared, still bore traces of
the repast. It was a large room; the walls enlivened with Spiritual pictures,
and rich with lines of coloured bricks unplastered. The servants of the
House were not of a very superior class, as may be supposed, and to see
them pushing about the cups and saucers, rattling down the heavy trays full
of fragments, and hustling each other about the tables, was not exhilarating.
How closed in and confined everything looked, how dreary the atmosphere,
the evening so much more advanced than out of doors! Agnes tried to drink
with contentment her lukewarm cup of tea, and to think with satisfaction of
the middle girls who awaited her in St. Cecilia. But it was astonishing how
difficult she felt it to do this. The summer afternoon skies, the soft breathing
of the spring air, the long distances—though they were but lines of streets—
and wide atmosphere—though it was tinged with London smoke—which
lay outside these walls, had suggested sentiments so different. The
sentiments which they would have suggested to Sister Mary Jane would
have been quite unlike those that filled the mind of Agnes. She would have
said it was a sweet evening, and hurried in to work. The smell of the tea did
not sicken her, nor the sight of the used cups and the stains here and there
on the cloth, where an unruly child (doomed to lose her marks for neatness)
had pulled over her cup. She thought that to superintend the middle girls at
relaxation was as pleasant an occupation as could be found—and that a
walk through the streets was a weariness to the flesh. As for Mr. Oswald
Meredith, except that it was very nice of him to have given such a good
subscription to the House, she would not have considered him worthy a
glance—her mind was busy about other things. She had to take the girls for
an hour before evensong, and afterwards had to look over their exercises
and inspect the books, and hear the reports of the teachers. Araminta Blunt,
who was in punishment for talking, and Marian Smith, who had lost five
marks for untidiness, were of more interest to her than all the ideals in the
world. She was very kind to fanciful Agnes, as well as to everybody else,
but she had no time to indulge in fancies for her own part. She gave her
directions to one and another as she went along the passage. There was not
a minute of her valuable time which she could afford to lose. Agnes thought
of all this with a sigh as she went to St. Cecilia, where the middle girls
awaited her. Would she ever be as satisfied with her work, as pleased with
her surroundings, as Sister Mary Jane? And was it not her duty to
endeavour to make herself so? For she could not say to herself as she had
done at home that this was mere carelessness and apathetic resignation to
the common course of events. Here, on the contrary, it was self-sacrifice
that was the rule, and consecration to the service of the helpless. The poor
girl was young; perhaps that was the chief drawback in her way. The
softness of the skies, the speculative delights of conversation, the look of
Oswald Meredith as he spoke of ‘the snowy heights so near the sky,’ what
had these mere chance circumstances, which she had encountered
unawares, to do with the serious life which she had herself selected as the
best? And, alas! was St. Cecilia, with the girls at relaxation, anything like
those ‘snowy heights?’ The little squabbles, the little fibs, the little
jealousies which the children indulged in none the less for being in the
interesting position of orphans, helpless and friendless children, with no
father but God, jarred upon her more and more as this poetical imagination
of her life came back to her mind. Surely he must be a poet. This was her
concluding thought.
 CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE ‘HOUSE.’

Roger had not renewed his visit to Cara for some weeks. He had been too
much cast down and discouraged by that first Sunday for which he had
prepared so elaborately, and looked forward to with so much eagerness. But
discouragement, like everything else, wears out, and when he had gone
round the circle from anger to disapproval, from disapproval to contempt,
from contempt to pity, Roger found himself with some surprise back at his
original point, longing to see Cara, and ready to believe that anything that
had come between them had been accidental. The two Merediths would not
be there for ever, and Cara no doubt, poor girl, must be pining for someone
from her old home, and would be glad to see him, and hear all that
everybody was doing. He was sorry he had said a word to his mother about
what happened in the Square; indeed he had done nothing but regret ever
since the indiscretion which tempted him to complain; for Mrs. Burchell
was one of those inconvenient persons who never forget the indignant
criticisms of injured feeling, but continue to repeat and harp upon it long
after that feeling has sunk into oblivion or changed into contempt. Very
soon the softening influences of his early love, and the longing he had after
the object of it, made Roger forgive Cara all her imagined sins against him;
but his mother could not forget that he had been slighted, and punished his
betrayal of his wound by incessant reference to the evils in the Square. This
of itself helped on his recovery, since to find fault yourself with those to
whom you are attached is a very different thing from hearing them assailed
by others. The process ended by a serious quarrel with Mrs. Burchell, who
would not give up this favourite subject, and taunted her son with his want
of proper pride, and inclination to put up with anything, when she heard of
his intention to go back. ‘If I had been so treated anywhere, I would never
go near them again. I would not invite people to trample upon me,’ cried
the Rector’s wife. ‘I might forgive, but I should never forget.’ ‘My dear,’
the Rector had said, ‘Roger has himself to look to: we are not able to do
very much for him; and Cara will be a kind of heiress. I should not mind
any trifle of that sort, if he has serious views.’ ‘What do you call serious
views?’ cried Roger, ashamed and wretched, and he plunged out of the
house without waiting for an answer, and betook himself to those wintry
woods of which Agnes was thinking at the ‘House,’ and which even in
winter were sweet. Roger had no sordid intentions, which was what his
father meant by ‘serious’ views; and though he was well enough satisfied
with his daily work, and not, like Agnes, troubled by any ideal, yet he felt,
like his sister, the wretched downfall of existence into misery and
meanness, between his mother’s prolonged and exaggerated resentment and
his father’s serious worldliness. That boyish love of his was the highest
thing in the young man’s mind. If nothing else that was visionary existed in
his nature, his semi-adoration of Cara, which had lasted as long as he could
recollect, was visionary, a touch of poetry amid his prose, and to hear it
opposed, or to hear it sordidly encouraged alike shocked and revolted him.
He resolved never to mention Cara’s name again, nor to make any reference
to the Square, to shut up his sentiments about her in his own bosom,
whether these were sentiments of admiration or of offence. Supposing she
was cold to him—and it would be very natural that she should be cold, as
he had never gone back to her, nor visited her but once—he would bear it
and make no sign; never again would he subject her name to comments
such as these. Fathers and mothers do badly by their children when they
force them to such a resolution. Roger kept his word all through the weary
Sunday, and did not say even that he would not return home for the next;
but he made his arrangements all the same.
When the next Sunday came the heart of the aunt at Notting Hill was
once more gladdened by the sight of him; and in the afternoon he duly set
out for the Square. Perhaps his dress was not so elaborate nor his necktie so
remarkable as when he first went there. He had sworn to himself that he
would form no special expectations and make no grand preparations, and on
the whole he was happier on his second visit. Miss Cherry, whom he found
at the Square, was very glad to see him, and Mr. Beresford spoke to him
kindly enough, and Cara was sweet and friendly. But they treated his visit
as a call only; they did not ask him to dinner, which was a disappointment.
They offered him a cup of tea, which Roger did not care for, being scarcely
fashionable enough to like five o’clock tea, and let him go when they went
to dinner, forlorn enough, turning him out as it were upon the streets full of
people. To be sure Roger had his aunt at Netting Hill, who was very glad to
see him, who would give him supper and make him very comfortable. Still,
as he had hoped perhaps to be asked to stay, to spend the evening with Cara,
it gave him a very forlorn sensation, when they bade him cheerfully good-
by at the sound of the dinner-bell. He went out into the evening streets,
where many people were going to church, and many coming back from
their afternoon walk, going home to their families in twos and threes.
Scarcely anyone seemed to be alone but himself. Still he said to himself he
had no right to grumble, for they had been kind—and next Sunday he
would go again; and with this melancholy yet courageous resolution he
made a little pause at the corner of the street, asking himself where he
should go now? His aunt would have taken tea and gone to evening church
before he could get to Netting Hill. So he changed his direction and went
manfully the other way, to the ‘House,’ to visit his sister, arguing his
disappointment down. Why should they have asked him to dinner? Besides,
he did not go for dinner, which would have been mercenary, but for Cara—
and he had seen Cara, without those Merediths thrusting themselves into his
way; and she had been very kind, and Miss Cherry had been kind, and there
was no reason why he should not go again next Sunday afternoon. So why
should he be discouraged? There was Agnes, whom he had not seen since
she had gone into this ‘House,’ as they called it. It was only right that a man
should go and look after his own sister, even if he did not approve of her. So
Roger employed his undesired hour of leisure in the way of duty, and went
to see Agnes, gradually calming himself down out of his disappointment on
the way.
The Burchells were not what is called a family devoted to each other.
They were good enough friends, and took a proper brotherly and sisterly
interest in what happened to each other, especially as every new piece of
family news brought a certain amount of enlivenment and variety and a new
subject for conversation into the monotonous family life; but they were
prosaic, and Agnes was the one among them whom the others did not
understand much, and not understanding, set down bluntly as fantastic and
incomprehensible. Had she fallen in love with somebody or had a
‘disappointment,’ they would have entered to a certain degree into her
feelings, and even now Roger could not quite divest himself of the thought,
that, though he knew nothing of it, something of this kind must be at the
root of her withdrawal from home. An ideal life, what was that? Neither
Roger nor any of the rest understood what she could mean, or really