A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)

A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1) Page 66

Felicity is up, quick as a hare. With nimble fingers she unties Pippa's rowboat and sends it out onto the lake with a shove. Pippa scrambles to grab the rope but it's too late. She's moving out, ripping open the surface of the water.

"Pull me back!"

"That wasn't a very nice thing to do," I say.

"She needs to remember her place," Felicity says by way of an answer. But she tosses an oar after her anyway. It falls short, bobs on the surface.

"Help me pull her back," I say. The loon girls are standing now, watching us in amusement. They enjoy seeing us behaving badly.

Felicity plops down onto the grass and laces a boot.

With a sigh, I call out to Pippa. "Can you reach it?"

She stretches her arm around the side of the boat for the oar just out of reach. She's not going to make it, but she stretches further to try. The boat tips precariously. Pippa falls in with a yelp and a splash. Felicity and the younger girls erupt in laughter. But I'm remembering the brief vision I had just before Pippa's seizure, remembering the chilling sounds of splashing and Pippa's strangled cry from somewhere under murky water.

"Pippa!" I scream, rushing into the heart-stopping cold of the lake. My hand finds a leg. I've got her, and I pull up with all my strength.

"Grab hold!" I sputter, kicking for shore with my arm around her waist.

She fights me. "Gemma, what are you doing? Let me go!" She breaks free. The water rises only to her shoulders. "I can walk from here, thank you," she says, with indignation, trying to ignore the giggles and finger-pointing on the other side of the lake.

I feel ridiculous. I distinctly remember an impression of Pippa struggling under the water during my vision. I suppose I could have been so panicked, I don't remember things clearly. At any rate, here we are, both safe and sound except for the dripping. And that's all that matters.

"I'm going to strangle you, Felicity," Pippa mutters as she balances unsteadily in the water. I throw my arms around her, relieved that she's all right, and nearly pull her under again. "What are you doing?" she shrieks, slapping at me as if I were a spider.

"Sorry," I say. "Sorry."

"I'm surrounded by lunatics," she growls, crawling onto the grass. "Now, where's Felicity got to?"

The bank is empty. It's as if she's vanished. But then I see her disappearing into the woods, daisy crown perched on her head. She walks casually and easily away without so much as a backward glance to see if we're all right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The hand-lettered marquee outside the elegant town house in Grosvenor Square reads:

An Evening of Theosophy and Spiritualism with

Madame Romanoff, Grand Seer of St. Petersburg.

to her, all things are known.

to her, all things are revealed.

One night only.

The London streets are an Impressionist painting of slick cobblestones, orangey streetlamps, well-manicured hedges, and clusters of black umbrellas. Puddles splatter the hem of my dress, weighing it down. We rush for the safety of the open doors, our delicate dress shoes tapping out careful steps on the slick cobblestones.

The audience shows its breeding. There are men in tuxedos and top hats. Women with their gems and opera gloves. We're all in our very best dresses. It feels strange and wonderful to be in silks and petticoats instead of our usual school uniforms. Cecily has taken the occasion to show off a new hat. It's far too old for her and makes her stand out in a glaring way, but as it's the height of fashion, she's determined to wear it. Mademoiselle LeFarge is in her Sunday best, a green silk dress with a high, ruffled collar, a green silk bonnet, and a pair of garnet drop earrings, and we make a fuss over her.

"You look simply perfect," Pippa says as we enter the imposing marble foyer, brushing past attentive butlers.

"Thank you, my dear. It's always important to look your best."

Cecily preens, certain she's been given a compliment.

We're ushered through heavy curtains to a conservatory that could easily hold two hundred people. Pippa is craning her neck, inspecting the audience.

"Do you see any attractive men here? Anyone under the age of forty?"

"Honestly," Felicity chides, "you'd only be interested in the afterlife if there were a chance to find a husband there."

Pippa pouts. "Mademoiselle LeFarge takes this seriously, and I haven't noticed you mocking her!"

Felicity rolls her eyes. "Mademoiselle LeFarge has taken us away from Spence and to one of London's most fashionable addresses. She could look for Henry the Eighth as far as I'm concerned. Let's not forget our mission?" Mademoiselle LeFarge slides her bulk into a red-cushioned chair and we file in behind her. People are beginning to get settled. Down in front is a stage with a table and two chairs. On top of the table sits a crystal ball.