Down a Dark Hall Page 3

  Slim and fine-boned, with glossy black hair framing a face so perfect that it might have belonged to a TV star, he was without a doubt the cutest guy she had ever seen in person.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Madame Duret asked pleasantly. She reached over and lifted the little silver bell that stood by her water glass. At the chime, a swinging door in the back of the room opened and a plain, flat-faced girl in a blue uniform appeared.

  “Miss Kathryn is here now, Natalie,” Madame said. “She will have her soup.” The girl nodded and retreated to get the soup.

  Madame smiled at Kit as she took her place at the table. “It is pleasant to have you with us a day early, Kathryn. Professor Farley will be your instructor in math and sciences. Jules has just received his degree from a music conservatory in England and will be teaching piano.”

  “Are the other teachers not here yet?” Kit asked, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap. There was a slight pause that Natalie filled by placing a bowl of soup in front of her.

  “There are not to be any others,” Jules said after a moment. His voice had the same charming blend of accents as his mother’s, so subtle as to be almost undetectable, yet adding a note of color to his speech.

  Kit regarded him with surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I, too, will be teaching,” Madame told her. “I will instruct in languages and literature, and of course, in art, if there should be an interest.”

  “But the brochure mentioned several different classes,” Kit exclaimed. “How can there be so many with only three people to teach them?”

  “You mustn’t worry about that, Kathryn,” Professor Farley said as his wise old eyes seemed to twinkle in the candlelight. “You will receive all the personal attention at Blackwood that you could possibly ask for. I had the pleasure of teaching at Madame Duret’s school in England several years ago and was so impressed by her achievements there that I convinced her to open a school here in the United States.”

  “How is your room, chérie?” Madame asked. “There is a supply of extra blankets if you need them. Are there enough hangers in the closet?”

  “Everything seems fine,” Kit said. “Except I wish I could use my cell phone. And there’s one other thing—the light in the hall seems awfully weak. I didn’t notice it this afternoon because of the light from the window, but now at night it’s really dark.”

  “That’s one of the problems that comes with renovating an old place,” Professor Farley said. “That upstairs wiring just doesn’t do the trick. Madame has been trying to get electricians out from the village, but that’s easier said than done.”

  “Perhaps we could remove the globe,” Madame Duret said, “and use a bulb of a higher wattage. As a temporary measure, of course, until we can have another fixture installed.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Kit said in sudden embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it. I’m not usually worried about things like that, it’s just that the dorm floor is so empty right now. It won’t matter at all tomorrow when the other girls get here and it’s all filled up with people.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Madame Duret lifted her napkin to dab at her lips. Professor Farley took a sip from his water glass. Kit turned to Jules, whose head was bent over his plate.

  “It will be different tomorrow,” she said again, “after everybody gets here.”

  “Naturally,” Jules said. “It will seem different then.” He lifted his head, but his eyes did not meet hers, and there was a strange, closed look on his face.

  That night she dreamed that the canopy was lowering. Twice she dreamed it. Slowly, softly, the air was pressing down upon her as the great, billowing bubble of wine-colored velvet descended to settle over her face.

  The first time she woke, shaking, she groped frantically for the lamp on the bedside table. She pressed the button at its base, and at once the room was filled with dim, yellow light.

  Sitting up, Kit looked around the room. It lay in perfect order except for a pile of her own clothing which she had tossed onto a chair, and the two suitcases, still only partially unpacked, which lay open on the floor before the closet.

  The canopy stood high above her, just where it should have been.

  Kit turned off the light and lay back upon the pillow, and after a bit she slept. When she woke again, from the same dream, she turned the lamp on and left it burning for the rest of the night.

  In the morning, Kit laughed at herself for her midnight foolishness. Bright sunshine poured in the window, falling in golden splashes across the rich hues of the carpet and picking up the gleam of the woodwork in a way that made the room seem aglow with beauty. The canopy was only a canopy, a regal decoration for what must undoubtedly be classed as one of the world’s most elegant beds.

  Kit swung her legs over the side and placed her bare feet on the rug. It felt thick and luxurious, and she dug her toes into it as she crossed the room to the window. Once there, she wondered how she could possibly have skipped looking out of it the day before, for the view was so spectacular that her heart leapt with pleasure.

  Below her lay a garden, still partially abloom with late summer flowers, and through it ran a narrow, gravel walkway which wound about like a maze, splitting and turning and meeting itself once again. Beyond this lay a stretch of lawn that led down to a pond. The pond was not large, but it shimmered like silver in the morning light, smooth and flat and luminous as a mirror. Past that rose the woods, circling protectively around the opposite shore and coming in a full curve to border Blackwood on all sides.

  Above everything rose the sky, blue and clear in a high, rich arc. The air smelled fresh and sweet. From this side of the house, Kit was not able to catch sight of the driveway. She could imagine it filled with cars and harried fathers busily extracting suitcases. In a short time now there would be other girls filling the hall, laughing and chattering, comparing backgrounds and rushing inquisitively in and out of one another’s rooms.

  I’m glad I got here early, Kit thought as she dressed. This way I have sort of a head start. She made her bed and unpacked her suitcases, hanging her dresses and skirts in the closet and folding other clothing to place in dresser drawers. In the second suitcase she had packed her photographs. One was of Tracy and herself, taken three years before at Tracy’s thirteenth birthday party. They were giggling and posing self-consciously with their arms around each other’s shoulders with a mammoth chocolate cake in front of them.

  The other picture was of her parents on their honeymoon. Her mother had had it enlarged and framed for her soon after her father’s death.

  “I want you to remember him,” she had said. As though I could ever not remember, Kit thought now, studying the picture. Her father’s clear eyes laughed out at her and the stubborn chin, so much like her own, gave a look of strength to a face still curved and boyish. The girl clinging to his arm was harder to remember. Had her mother ever really been that young and carefree, so radiant with joy?

  Be happy, Mom, Kit told her silently. Please, be happy with Dan. For no matter what companionship and security her mother found in her second marriage, Kit knew in her heart that she would never again be the girl in this picture.

  She set the photograph of her parents on the bureau and tucked the picture of herself and Tracy into the rim of the mirror. Something seemed to be missing. I should have brought some posters, or shots of cute boys from school, she realized, thinking of the standard decorations for dorm rooms. She had a ton of pictures at home, taken at parties.

  Then again, Kit thought resignedly, any specimens I could have come up with would look pretty unimpressive next to Jules Duret. I bet Blackwood turns out to have a lot of dedicated piano students.

  Yesterday’s doldrums were over. Today the world was bright and shining. When she left the room she found the hallway flooded with the same rainbow light she had seen the afternoon before. The figure approaching from the depths of the mirror did not startle her now; i
nstead she looked like a friend. Kit waved and smiled at her, pleased with the neat, bright-faced image who waved back.

  There was no one in the downstairs hall, but a murmur of voices came from behind the closed door of Madame’s office. Kit swung on past it and into the dining room, and found it empty. The sound of running water came to her from the room beyond. Crossing through the dining room, Kit pushed open the swinging door and entered the kitchen.

  The thin girl who had served dinner the night before was standing at the sink, washing a frying pan. She glanced up and frowned as Kit came in.

  “Breakfast is over, miss, but the lady says I’m to fix you something if you want it. They had their breakfasts at eight o’clock. It’s past ten now.”

  “I slept late,” Kit said apologetically, “and then I unpacked. My name’s Kit Gordy. You’re Natalie, aren’t you?”

  The girl nodded. “Natalie Culler. What do you want to eat?”

  “Don’t worry about fixing me breakfast,” Kit said. “I’ll just make myself some toast if that’s okay.”

  The girl made a gesture to stop her.

  “That’s my job. I do the cooking.” She removed two slices of bread from a wrapped loaf and placed them in the toaster. “After all, it’s what I’m getting paid for.”

  “You wait tables and do the cooking too?” Kit exclaimed. “That’s an awfully big job for one person. Will there be somebody to help you when all the students get here?”

  “There won’t be that many,” Natalie said. “I’m eighteen now and I’ve done cooking off and on since I was twelve. A few extra don’t make much difference.”

  “But, god! A whole school full of girls!” Kit regarded her with awe. “Won’t that mean—”

  The girl interrupted. “Your toast’s up, miss. Here’s the butter, and there’s jam over there on the counter.” She paused and then added in an apologetic manner, “The lady—Madame Duret—she doesn’t want the village staff talking with the students. She told us that when she hired us. I can ask people what they want and things like that, but that’s all the talking I’m supposed to do.”

  “Oh,” Kit said awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

  “I know that, miss, but this job means a lot to me. Full-time work isn’t easy to find in a place like Blackwood Village. So maybe it’s best you take your breakfast and go eat it in the dining room, all right?”

  “Okay,” Kit said. “Sure.”

  She pushed open the kitchen door and went through into the room beyond. The door swung closed behind her, shutting off the everyday world of the kitchen area, and immediately the dark beauty of the Blackwood dining room surrounded her. The room’s floor-level windows were shielded from the outside by tall shrubbery. The light that did slip through between the leaves was dim and diffused. The round table glowed gently with polish and the crystal chandelier hung silent and pale above it.

  The room was so empty, so devoid of movement or sound, that Kit hurried through it without being tempted to sit down and went out once again into the entrance hall.

  The door to the office stood open now. Madame was just inside, talking to a slight, red-haired girl.

  She turned as Kit came opposite the doorway and said, “Here is one of our students now. Kathryn, come here, dear. I want you to meet Sandra Mason.”

  “Hello,” Kit said, pleased to see another girl finally.

  “Hi.” The bright-haired girl smiled shyly. She had a narrow, elfin face and an up-tilted nose that was sprinkled with freckles.

  “Sandra came by bus as far as the village,” Madame Duret explained, “and Professor Farley met her there and drove her the rest of the way to Blackwood. Would you show her upstairs, Kathryn? Her room will be 211, the corner room at the end of the hall.”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Kit said, suddenly feeling ridiculous with her hands full of toast. She glanced about for a place to deposit it, saw none, and decided to make the best of the situation. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “No, thank you,” the girl said seriously. “I ate in the village.”

  A few moments later, as they left Madame behind and mounted the stairs, the redhead added, “I didn’t really.”

  “Didn’t really what?” Kit asked.

  “I bought some coffee and a doughnut at a deli, but I couldn’t eat them. I guess I was too excited. I mean, I’ve never been away to school before.”

  “Neither have I,” Kit told her. “I got here yesterday, and I wasn’t exactly prepared for what it would be like.”

  “The house waiting at the end of the drive—when I saw it from the car I couldn’t believe it—”

  “If you think that was something,” Kit said, “wait until you see the bedrooms.”

  Room 211 was identical to Kit’s, except that it was a corner room with one window facing the driveway. It was done in greens and golds instead of red, but the ornate furnishings, the plush carpet, and the heavy draperies were the same.

  Kit could see on Sandra’s face the same amazement that she herself had experienced the day before. “It’s so—​different!” the girl exclaimed. “I guess I should have realized from the brochure, but somehow it just didn’t come across as . . . as quite like this.”

  “Totally,” Kit agreed. “It’s like living in a palace. I was the only one sleeping in this dorm wing last night, and I kept having funny dreams. I hope nightmares don’t come with the bedrooms as built-in accessories.”

  “I hope not too. I’m not exactly the world’s soundest sleeper.” The girl smiled nervously. “By the way, I go by ‘Sandy.’ No one calls me ‘Sandra’ except Madame Duret.”

  “And I’m never ‘Kathryn,’” Kit said. “I’m ‘Kit.’ Do you know what’s funny? The morning’s almost over and I haven’t seen anybody but you. Don’t you think the other students should be here by now?”

  “Someone’s here,” Sandy said. “I can hear a car in the driveway.” She crossed to the window and stood, looking out. “There are two girls and a man. He must be the chauffeur; he’s wearing a uniform.”

  “But no parents?” Kit went over to stand beside her. “That seems weird, doesn’t it? You’d think the parents would want to see their daughters get settled and take a look at where they’ll be living.” She caught herself—remembering what Madame said about Sandy’s arrival—and grew red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “That’s all right,” Sandy said. “My family wanted to bring me but they don’t drive. I live with my grandparents. They’re moving into a retirement village that doesn’t take teenagers, and it seemed best for me to come away to school and just visit them on vacations.”

  “My mother just got remarried,” Kit said, feeling she had to volunteer something or seem unfriendly. “She and my stepfather are honeymooning in Europe.” She leaned forward, studying the two girls who had climbed from the car and were watching the chauffeur unload their belongings. “That blond’s pretty, isn’t she? I bet she hooks Jules right out from under our noses.”

  “Jules?” Sandy said blankly.

  “Madame Duret’s son. Young, dark, and handsome. He’s going to be our music instructor.”

  “That sounds like a challenge for somebody,” Sandy said. “Did you go out much back home?”

  “I hung out with a bunch of people, and some were guys. But I didn’t leave a boyfriend behind if that’s what you mean. How about you?”

  “My grandparents are old-fashioned. They don’t think a girl should date until she’s old enough to get married.” Sandy sighed. “Not that it mattered. Nobody’s ever asked me out.”

  “They will,” Kit said comfortingly.

  “I guess.” Sandy turned away from the window and went to open the door to the hall.

  A few moments later they could hear the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and the sound of excited voices. Lucretia’s expressionless voice was saying, “Rooms 208 and 206, on your left, ladies.”

  “What a funny hall! The
window at the end makes it all different colors!” The high, light voice of the blond girl rose liltingly as she hurried ahead of her companions.

  “Oh, hi!” she said as she saw Kit and Sandy. “I’m glad somebody’s here! I was beginning to think we’d come on the wrong day!”

  “We’re glad to see you too,” Kit told her. “I’m Kit Gordy and this is Sandy Mason.”

  “I’m Lynda Hannah,” the girl said, “and this is Ruth Crowder. We’re both used to boarding schools but I’ve never seen one like this! It’s really amazing!” Her exquisite, china doll face was bright with excitement, and the pale hair framed it like a halo.

  Her friend was a complete contrast, a short, heavyset girl with a smooth, dark cap of hair and a downy shadow across her upper lip. Her thick brows met each other across the bridge of her nose, and her eyes were sharp and alert behind thick glasses.

  She acknowledged Kit’s greeting with a nod and turned to open the door of her room.

  “I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed as the interior became visible to her. “Come look at it, Lynda!”

  “Oh, let me see mine!” the blond girl gasped. “I wonder if it’s the same!” She hurried down the hall to the next door.

  “Come on,” Kit said to Sandy. “Let’s look out and see who’s coming next.”

  They reentered Sandy’s room and crossed to the window. The driveway below was empty. Even the chauffeured car that had brought Lynda and Ruth had disappeared. The drive stretched flat and straight, bordered by shrubbery, down to the black iron fence, and beyond that the trees crowded close like a line of sentinels. The sun was high in the sky and threw no shadows.

  “I guess it’ll be a real mob scene this afternoon,” Sandy said. “The people who plan to drive up in one day won’t be coming till later. I wonder, though, why there weren’t any other students on the bus this morning. After all, there can’t be many buses coming through a little place like Blackwood Village.”