Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

"She was happy until the day she died," I whispered, not really lying. She had been happy, foolishly happy, according to Granny and Grandpa, despite all the hardships of a drafty, miserable shack in the hills, and a husband who couldn't give her anything like what she was accustomed to.

"Then I don't need to hear anything more," crooned Jillian, putting her arm around me and pulling my head into the deep fur of her coat collar.

What would they say if they knew the truth about me and my family?

Would they just smile and think soon enough I'd be gone, and what difference did I make after all?

I couldn't let them know the truth. They had to accept me as one of their own kind; I had to make them need me, and they didn't yet know that they needed me. And I was not going to be scared and let them see my vulnerability.

Yet, they spoke a different kind of English than I did. I had to listen very carefully; even familiar words sounded strange in their pronunciation. But I was determined to see that I'd soon be accepted in their world, so different from all that I had known. I was smart, quick to learn, and I'd find a way sooner or later to find Keith and Our Jane.

The perfume I'd considered delicate at first was now inundating me with its heavy base of jasmine, making me feel giddy and totally unreal. Thoughts of my stepmother Sarah came fleetingly to mind. Oh, if Sarah could only once in her life have a bottle of Jillian's perfume! A jar or box of Jillian's silky face powder!

The rain that I had predicted earlier began with a soft drizzle, and in seconds sheets of water drummed on the blacktop. The driver slowed and seemed to take more care, as all three of us behind the glass barrier stopped talking and sat each with our own thoughts. Going home, going home, that's all I had in mind. Going to where it's better, prettier, where sooner or later feel truly welcomed.

My dream was happening too fast for me to drink in all the impressions. I wanted to save and savor all of this first ride to wherever they were taking me, and ponder the memories later, when I was alone. Tonight, alone in a strange house. Better thoughts came. Oh, wait until I write and tell Tom about my beautiful grandmother! He'll never believe someone so old could look so young. And my sister Fanny would be so jealous! If only I could call Logan, who was only a few miles away, living in some big college dorm. But I had been gullible and naive enough to fall for Cal Dennison's seduction. Logan didn't want me now. He would no doubt hang up if I phoned him.

Then, as the driver made a right turn, Jillian began to ramble on and on about the plans she would soon make to entertain me. "And we always make Christmas a special event, we go all out, so to speak."

Now I knew. She was telling me in her own way I could stay through Christmas. And it was only early October . . but October had always been a bittersweet month: goodbye to summer and all the bright and happy things; wait now for winter, for all the cold and bleak and stark things.

Why was I thinking like this? Winter wouldn't be cold and bleak in a fine rich house. There would be plenty of fuel oil, or coal or firewood, or electric heat, whatever, I'd be warm enough. By the time Christmas had come and gone, I'd have added so much fun to their lonely household, neither one would want me to go. No they wouldn't. They'd need me . . oh, God, let them need me!

Miles passed, and to lift my spirits and my confidence, suddenly a brilliant sun peeked through the dreary clouds. Trees in vivid autumn colors lit up, and I believed God was going to shine

his light on me after all. Hope sprang into my heart. I was going to love New England. It looked so much like the Willies--only without the mountains and the shacks.

"We'll soon be there," said Tony, lightly touching my hand. "Turn your head to the right and look for a break in the tree line. The first glimpse of Farthing-gale Manor is a sight to remember."

A house with a name! Impressed, I turned to him and smiled. "Is it as grand as it sounds, is it?"

"Every bit as grand," he answered somberly. "My home means a great deal to me. It was built by my great-great-great-grandfather, and every first son who takes it over improves it."

Jillian snorted, as if contemptuous of his home. But I was excited, eager to be impressed. With great anticipation I leaned forward and watched for the break in the trees. It came soon after. The chauffeur made the turn onto a private road marked by high, wrought-iron gates that arched overhead and spelled out with ornate embellishments Farthinggale Manor.

I gasped just to see the gates, the imps and fairies and gnomes that peeked between the iron leaves.

"The Tattertons affectionately refer to our ancestral home as Farthy," informed Tony with nostalgia in his voice. "I used to think when I was a boy there wasn't a house anywhere in the world as fine as the one where I lived. Of course there are many that exceed Farthy, but not in my mind. When I was seven I was sent to Eton because my father thought the English know more about discipline than our private schools do. And in that he was right. In England I was always dreaming of coming home to Farthy. Whenever I felt homesick, which was most of the time, Pa close my eyes and pretend I could smell the balsam, fir, and pine trees, and more than anything, the briny scent of the sea. And I'd wake up aching, wanting to feel the damp, cool morning air on my face, wanting my home so badly it physically hurt. When I was ten my parents gave up Eton as a hopeless cause, or else I'd be forever homesick, and I was allowed to come back, and oh, that was a happy day."

I could believe him. I'd never seen such a beautiful and huge house, made of gray stone so it sort of resembled a castle, and not unintentionally, I believed. The roof was red and soared, forming turrets and small, red bridges that assisted one in reaching portions of the high roof that would have been inaccessible otherwise.

Then Miles pulled the limo to a slow stop before the tall and wide steps that led to the arching front door. "Come," called Tony, suddenly excited, "let me have the pleasure of introducing you to Farthy. I love to see the amazement on the faces of those who view it for the first time, for then I can see it freshly all over again myself."

And with Jillian following less than

enthusiastically behind us, we slowly ascended the wide stone stairs. Huge urns were beside the front door, holding graceful Japanese pine trees. I could hardly wait to see the inside. My mother's home. Soon I'd be inside. Soon I'd see her rooms and her belongings. Oh, Mother, at last I'm home!

TWO Farthingale Manor

. INSIDE THAT HOUSE OF STONE, ONCE MY COAT WAS OFF, I turned in slow circles, my breath caught, my eyes wide, staring, staring, and too late I realized it was bad manners to stare, country and gauche to be impressed by what others took for granted. Jillian looked at me with disapproval; Tony with pleasure. "Is it all that you thought it would be?" he asked.

Yes, it was more than I'd dared hope for! Yet I recognized it for what it was, the object of my mountain wistfulness, my dreamscape.

"I have to hurry, Heaven dear," Jillian reminded, suddenly sounding very happy. "Look around as much as you like, and make yourself at home in the castle of the toy king. I'm sorry I can't stay to witness your first impressions, but I have to hurry on so I can take my nap. Tony, show Heaven dear around your Farthy, then show her to her rooms." She gave me a sweet, pleading smile that took some of the hurt from my heart because she was neglecting me already. "Dearest girl, forgive me for rushing away to tend to my incessant needs. However, you'll see enough of me later on to grow bored with the sameness of what I am. Besides, you'll find Tony ten times more interesting; he never needs to nap. His energy is boundless. He has no health or beauty regimen, and he dresses in a flash." She gave him the strangest look, both of irritation and envy. "Somebody up there must like him."

She was lighthearted now, as if her nap and beauty regimen and the promise of a dinner party later gave her more sustenance than I could ever bestow. Up the stairs she tripped, graceful, swift, not glancing back one time, while I stood staring up, completely in awe.

"Come, Heaven," said Tony, offering his arm, "we'll make the grand tour before going to your rooms, or do you need to wash up, or something?"