hands flush against the wood. With a strength summoned by her need to escape she pushed upward, head and hands, spine and legs all commandeered for the task. The trapdoor had no choice but to spring open.
Kitty ascended to the parapet. It was the sea off to the southwest she chose to watch during her ruminations. But Maggie Tulliver and Mary Ann had been superceded by Brid and Taddy. By what sheâd just seen. Not only a fleeting glimpse, a quick, almost teasing, appearance, but a prolonged and uninterrupted display, assured and without the least apprehension on their part. Their existence was their own.
And Kitty their only witness. The Hag hadnât seen them, even though sheâd known who they were from Kittyâs descriptions. They were the young hostages chosen at random for hanging when the gunpowder plot was revealed. That there might have been no plot was accepted by some and dismissed by others. A search, somewhere between compulsive and rabid, had continued for months. Although the castle was practically dismantled, fields and pastures uprooted, border walls demolished and rock boulders overturned, no gunpowder had been discovered. By the time the ruthlessness had come to an end, the hangings had already taken place, the need for evidence having been dispensed with so that justice could be served without impediment. And so some portion of their spirits had been toldâor allowedâto stay. But to what purpose? To haunt, to frighten, to turn white the hair and to addle the mind? As far as Kitty could tell, they wreaked no vengeance. Nothing had been destroyed. They were highly selective, to say the least, about when to make their presence known. Kitty McCloud seemed to have exclusive claim to the honorâor to the curse.
The curse. Did it consist only of these bewildered spirits? If so, let the entire land, the whole wide world, be cursed, so fair were they, so fine their presence. More a blessing, surely, than a scourge. But what had they to do with Kitty, and what had Kitty to do with them? That she had been chosen she already knew. But why? She had no powers. She wasnât all that certain she believed in what her eyes had seen. And yet, she had seen.
Off in the distance the sea was wild. Again and again the crested waves flung themselves at the shore. Kitty was indifferent to the whole shebang. She had troubles enough without taking on the idiosyncrasies of the deep. And, she realized, she would have to simply accept what she could not understand. Mystery, by its nature, was not subject to explication.
Of course, as a writer, it was her impulse to search for understanding, to expose a motive, to tame the chaos of the human adventure. She was a skilled manipulator, devoted by her calling to trace the movements of the unseen hand, to reassure her readers that events fulfilled themselves and, in the process, revealed truths otherwise unrealized. She was supposed to solve mysteries. To accept them was inimical to her calling. To admit the limits of her gift would be to admit defeat.
But she had no choice. A refusal to live with the reality of these unrealities would make a demand she was not yet prepared to make: to leave the castle. To abandon the curse. To dismiss these bewildered youths and forget their fate, a fate beyond their hangings, a destiny still to be fulfilled. How could she do that? How could she forsake those who had been forsaken by all the world?
Kitty stood at the parapet and watched the waves bash themselves against the headlands. She had been wrong to consider herself threatened by this presence of mystery. She had been brought beyond the common boundaries. Either she possessed or had been given a special grace. She had been honored, and to refuse it or rebel against it by going mad or abandoning the castle was inconsistent with her nature. She would go back to the landing below, to the loom and the harp; she would, if possible, communicate to Brid and Taddy that she
Kitty ascended to the parapet. It was the sea off to the southwest she chose to watch during her ruminations. But Maggie Tulliver and Mary Ann had been superceded by Brid and Taddy. By what sheâd just seen. Not only a fleeting glimpse, a quick, almost teasing, appearance, but a prolonged and uninterrupted display, assured and without the least apprehension on their part. Their existence was their own.
And Kitty their only witness. The Hag hadnât seen them, even though sheâd known who they were from Kittyâs descriptions. They were the young hostages chosen at random for hanging when the gunpowder plot was revealed. That there might have been no plot was accepted by some and dismissed by others. A search, somewhere between compulsive and rabid, had continued for months. Although the castle was practically dismantled, fields and pastures uprooted, border walls demolished and rock boulders overturned, no gunpowder had been discovered. By the time the ruthlessness had come to an end, the hangings had already taken place, the need for evidence having been dispensed with so that justice could be served without impediment. And so some portion of their spirits had been toldâor allowedâto stay. But to what purpose? To haunt, to frighten, to turn white the hair and to addle the mind? As far as Kitty could tell, they wreaked no vengeance. Nothing had been destroyed. They were highly selective, to say the least, about when to make their presence known. Kitty McCloud seemed to have exclusive claim to the honorâor to the curse.
The curse. Did it consist only of these bewildered spirits? If so, let the entire land, the whole wide world, be cursed, so fair were they, so fine their presence. More a blessing, surely, than a scourge. But what had they to do with Kitty, and what had Kitty to do with them? That she had been chosen she already knew. But why? She had no powers. She wasnât all that certain she believed in what her eyes had seen. And yet, she had seen.
Off in the distance the sea was wild. Again and again the crested waves flung themselves at the shore. Kitty was indifferent to the whole shebang. She had troubles enough without taking on the idiosyncrasies of the deep. And, she realized, she would have to simply accept what she could not understand. Mystery, by its nature, was not subject to explication.
Of course, as a writer, it was her impulse to search for understanding, to expose a motive, to tame the chaos of the human adventure. She was a skilled manipulator, devoted by her calling to trace the movements of the unseen hand, to reassure her readers that events fulfilled themselves and, in the process, revealed truths otherwise unrealized. She was supposed to solve mysteries. To accept them was inimical to her calling. To admit the limits of her gift would be to admit defeat.
But she had no choice. A refusal to live with the reality of these unrealities would make a demand she was not yet prepared to make: to leave the castle. To abandon the curse. To dismiss these bewildered youths and forget their fate, a fate beyond their hangings, a destiny still to be fulfilled. How could she do that? How could she forsake those who had been forsaken by all the world?
Kitty stood at the parapet and watched the waves bash themselves against the headlands. She had been wrong to consider herself threatened by this presence of mystery. She had been brought beyond the common boundaries. Either she possessed or had been given a special grace. She had been honored, and to refuse it or rebel against it by going mad or abandoning the castle was inconsistent with her nature. She would go back to the landing below, to the loom and the harp; she would, if possible, communicate to Brid and Taddy that she
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