Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

"This is more than a trick!" I cried, dismayed by her indifference. "My clothes were ruined!"

"Oh, come now, you make too much out of what appears to me just careless packing. Sweaters catch in zippers, in luggage locks. You tug to pull them free and holes appear, and threads ravel."

"And the jacket, that accidentally fell into a tub of hot water, on its own?"

"I don't see a jacket. If you had further evidence, why didn't you bring it with you?"

"I dropped it down the wet towel chute. You can find it in the laundry room."

"There's a sign above that chute. All wet washable clothes are to-be put into the smaller chute."

"Mrs. Mallory, it was a plaid jacket! It could stain someone's clothing."

"Exactly what I mean. It could also stain white towels and washcloths."

My lips began to tremble. "I had to put it somewhere so the girls who did it couldn't hide the evidence and say it never happened."

She fingered the pretty blue sweater, looking thoughtful. "Why don't you take these sweaters and try to mend them with needle and thread? I have to confess, I really don't want to find your wet jacket. If I do, that means I will have to take action and question all the girls. Things like this have happened before. If we side with you, will that help you to be accepted here? I'm sure your guardian will buy you new sweaters."

"You mean I should let them go unpunished?"

"No, not exactly. Just handle this yourself, without our aid." She smiled at me in a tight way. "You must remember, Miss Casteel, though they want you to think you are scorned and beneath their contempt, there isn't a girl here who is more envied. You are very lovely and have a touching freshness that is rare. You seem like someone from a hundred years ago, shy and proud and much too sensitive and vulnerable. Those girls see what I see, what everyone here sees, and you frighten them. You make them uncertain about what they are, and what their values are. And, you are also the ward of Tony Tatterton, a very admired and successful man. You live in one of the finest old homes in America. I realize you have a past that has scarred you, but don't let it wound you permanently. You have the potential to become anything you set your mind to be. Don't let silly schoolgirl pranks ruin what can be the best learning years of your life. Now, I can tell from your expression that you are outraged and want some sort of revenge or recompense for the clothes you have lost. But aren't clothes relatively unimportant to you? Won't they be replaced? Did those girls ruin something of real value you might have hidden in your room?"

Oh, oh! I hadn't thought of that! In the bottom of my hamper I had hidden a heavy box containing the silver-framed portraits of Keith and Our Jane! I had to check the moment I was back there to see if they had been taken or destroyed!

I started to leave, then I turned and met the stern but sympathetic eyes of Mrs. Mallory. "I think you owe me something, Mrs. Mallory, for keeping my silence--and peace in this school."

Her eyes went guarded. "Yes, tell me what you think I owe."

"There is going to be a dance this Thursday evening, with the boys from Broadmire Hall. I know I haven't won enough credits in the time I've been here to deserve an invitation to that dance, but I want to go."

For the longest time she stared at me, her eyelids half-lowered, and then she smiled, her eyes amused. "Why, that's a small thing to ask. Just see that you don't embarrass the school."

The portraits of my two little ones were safe. I put them back until Friday when I would take them to Troy, so he could turn them over to the detectives he'd promised he'd hire to find my younger sister and brother.

I thought of Tom, who had always been my champion. I knew what he'd want me to do now that I had things going my way: "Don't rock the boat," he'd say.

Maybe it was having Farthinggale Manor for my home, with Tony as my guardian, with Jillian for a grandmother, even a reluctant one, and Troy for my friend that gave me more audacity than common sense should have allowed. For I was going to rock the boat. Come hell or high water, I wasn't going to let those girls get the best of me! I glanced in the nearest mirror and saw very little of the old Heaven Leigh Casteel in the image of a girl with shoulder-length, smartly styled dark hair that gleamed. But what to do? Already I knew Mrs. Mallory wasn't likely to do anything to risk her cash donations.

I fell prone upon the bed, hanging my head over the side, and began to brush my hair up and over, so it fell like a dark shawl around my face, closing out the brightness of the three lamps. I heard the chimes in the bell tower beginning the evening melodies of patriotic songs flavored with faith in God. And my brushstrokes caught the timing as I stroked, stroked, stroked, as I plotted and planned how to get even with those six girls who had obviously waited in the bathroom, knowing just what I'd do with a dripping wet jacket that would ruin new green carpeting and earn for me several demerits.

Back in Winnerrow I'd cringed and cowered in my shabby, ill-fitting clothes and scuffed, worn-out, secondh

and shoes, feeling too weak from perpetual hunger to fight back effectively. I felt too humiliated and ashamed of who I was, a scumbag Casteel, to find the right methods of proving my individuality and merits. But now, things were different. I had storebought courage, despite my ruined sweaters and jacket. I was still too well outfitted to cringe and cower like a Casteel.

And as I brushed and brushed, forgetting to count, an idea was born. The perfect way to have my own revenge . . . and we'd see who won this game in the end. Boston boys were basically the same as boys all over the world. They drifted like bees to the prettiest, sweetest-smelling flower. And I knew I could be that.

Eight The Dance

. THAT VERY TUESDAY EVENING, WHEN ALL THE OTHER girls in my wing were obviously trying not to whoop it up too noisily, I heard my name mentioned several times, and always laughter followed. It made me uneasy to know I was the brunt of so many jokes. Still, I had a friend that I could call. Locking my door first, I put in a call to Troy. His telephone in the cottage rang and rang, giving me nagging fears that he wasn't there, and I didn't know where else to reach him. Then he answered, sounding very busy. And if his voice hadn't warmed when he knew who it was, I would never have requested what I did. "You want me to go into your closets and choose the party dress that will best make a sensation? Heaven, do you have several?"

"Oh, yes, Troy. Tony had me try on at least ten, and though he'd intended to buy me only two, he ended up with four. I didn't bring any with me, thinking it would be a long time before I earned enough merits to be invited to one of their dances-- but here I am, invited."

He kind of groaned. "Sure, I'll do what you ask, but I don't know much about what a fifteen-year-old girl should wear to one of those school functions."

True to his word, late that very evening, while I hid in shadows of the front parlor and waited, and all the other girls slept, Troy eased his car into the drive of Winterhaven, and I slipped out the front door to meet him. Behind me the front door was kept from closing tight and locking by a thin book I had inserted.

"I am so sorry to cause you this trouble, Troy," I whispered, slipping into the front seat beside him. I couldn't help moving close enough to put my cold lips on his cheek. "Thank you! I'm ever so grateful to have a good friend like you. I realize you must think me a terrible pest and nuisance, calling you up so late. I know you have a thousand better things to do, but I need this dress, I really do!"