The Ghost of Midnight Lake by Lucy Strange

Author:Lucy Strange [Strange, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

At last—someone who can tell me the truth about who I really am, but the secret is still beyond reach: a casket, heavy with treasure, locked and dropped into the dark, deep water. Moll Speedwell would tell me nothing more. My frustration drives the oars back and forth, back and forth. I don’t feel the tears freezing on my cheeks or the raw skin blistering on my palms; I don’t feel the muscles burning in my arms and my back; I don’t feel anything at all until I am back in Thomas’s snow-deep garden, tying the little boat to the iron mooring ring. Then it all comes at once—a flood of pain and despair. I feel wounded inside and out.

I trudge up the length of the garden, placing my snow-heavy boots in the same bold footprints I made when I set out with such hope and determination just a few hours before. Back in the cottage, I light a fire and sit there staring into the flames. I don’t know what happens next.

What happens next is lunch, says my brain. You can’t do anything on an empty stomach, Aggie.

So I heat up Thomas’s portion of the rabbit stew, and, as its rich warmth spreads through my body and limbs, I start to feel a little better.

I need something to do while my brain sifts through all that has happened. I fetch my needlework bag from my room. I always used to find needlework a calming thing to do—but my hand pulls out the sampler with the almost-finished Asquith family crest: IN AETERNUM FIDELIS, the motto reads. Eternally faithful. The only bit left to do is to embroider the roses that twine around the words, but I don’t want to do that. Looking at the shield makes me think about the bequest in the earl’s will—that I should be given a jewel that has been missing for my entire life. It strikes me now as a hollow gesture. Perhaps Clarence was right—perhaps the earl was mad after all. I shove the sampler back into the bag and decide to mend the threadbare cushion on Thomas’s comfortable chair instead. I begin to stitch the shape of a goose over the worn patch. It will have Susan’s face—accusatory, quizzical: an orange, black-tipped beak; beady blue eyes. I am surprised at how much it looks like Susan already. I think Thomas will like it.

The rhythm of stitching is soothing. The little fire crackles softly. It makes me think about what Bryn said: I’d give anything for a home like this. It does feel like home now—more of a home than Gosswater Hall. Would you go back, Aggie—if you could? I try to remember what life as Lady Agatha felt like, but when I try to picture it in my mind, I don’t see myself at all—I see Old Moll and her lonely life of luxury on Thorn Island. No: I don’t think I would go back. But I don’t seem to be able to go forward either.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.