It was the start of another joyless week without Sebastian. There was no sign of the sun that morning. Another heavy load of snow had fallen in the night, and the world outside was as cold as a frozen, miserly heart.

I dragged myself out of bed and lingered in the chilly bathroom, trying to find some energy to face the day. My reflection stared back at me, tired and strained. I had lain awake most of the night going over and over in my head how I could learn how to control the fire element, but I hadn’t stumbled across any great revelation. I sighed and wrapped my robe around me and went back to the dorm. When I got there, the others had already left for breakfast.

The warning bell rang. I had to hurry. I quickly found my skirt and blouse and started to dress. As I fastened my school tie, I realized that I was no longer wearing the little gold locket that contained the scrap of Effie’s hair.

“Oh no!” I quickly searched through the rumpled sheets on my bed. How could I have lost it? Had I dropped it in the bathroom, or lost it out riding? Think, Evie, think…. I didn’t dare to ask if anyone had found it, in case Miss Raglan heard about it. She would no doubt make me hand it over to her, and I hated the idea of her pawing anything that was connected to Agnes. I made my way downstairs, angry with myself for so carelessly losing this link with my past.

I slipped into my place next to Helen and Sarah in the dining hall. “Did you hear about what happened in the village last night?” asked Sarah.

“No—what do you mean?”

“It’s kind of weird, horrible really. I went down to the stables early this morning and saw Josh, and he told me that someone in the village had found a dead fox nailed to their front door, and blood daubed everywhere.”

“But that’s totally—”

“Sick. I know; it’s disgusting. And I heard the women who work in the kitchens talking about it as well.” Sarah lowered her voice. “Do you think it could have anything to do with…the coven?”

It did sound like some kind of horrible voodoo. “But why would they do that? What would it mean? What do you think, Helen?”

Helen shrugged. “I don’t know. But they’re capable of anything. They wouldn’t cry over a dead fox.”

“It could be something completely different,” said Sarah. “A local quarrel, mindless vandalism, anything. Josh thought that maybe it had something to do with the travelers’ camp.”

Josh hadn’t struck me as the kind of person who would listen to prejudiced gossip about the traveling Gypsies.

“Why would he assume that they would be behind this?” I said indignantly.

“No! He didn’t mean that. The person who lives in that cottage apparently supported letting the Gypsies camp on that bit of land in the village. Josh thinks maybe some of the people who don’t want them in Wyldcliffe did this to him as a protest.”

“Or to try to pin the blame on the Gypsies,” added Helen.

“Exactly. There are plenty of people who don’t recognize the Romany people or their way of life, who think they are thieves and scroungers going from place to place and causing trouble. It makes me so angry.” Sarah sighed. “I wish the travelers could know that we don’t all think like that.”

It seemed that there might be another battle going on in Wyldcliffe, not just our own, but our conversation was cut short as Miss Raglan marched into the room. She stood on the raised platform and two hundred girls rose to their feet in silence. Miss Raglan didn’t look up and said grace in a subdued voice.

“Amen…Amen…” The dutiful response echoed around the room. We sat down, and I helped myself to eggs and toast from the serving dish, but Sarah pushed her food around listlessly.

“Listen, Sarah,” I said. “Why don’t we try to visit the camp and see what’s going on, if you’d like to?”

Her face lit up. “Would you really?”

“Sure,” I said. “As soon as we get a chance. I promise.”

After breakfast, we walked back through the entrance hall on our way to our first class. Harriet was hanging about by the table, looking at the students’ mail that was left there every morning. I hadn’t seen her since she had been lying in bed in the infirmary, and she looked up and smiled self-consciously, as though she were half pleased and half anxious to see me. A feeling of exasperation welled up in me, and for the hundredth time I wished she hadn’t sat next to me on the train that first day. Then I pulled myself together and made myself speak to her kindly.

“Are you feeling better, Harriet? How’s the wrist?”

“Much better, not too sore,” she said, waving her bandaged wrist to show me. In her other hand she held a large square envelope. “This is for you.”

I took the envelope from her, and as my fingers brushed hers I had a feeling of revulsion, as though I had touched something dead.

“Is it something important?” she asked.

“What? Oh…um…no, it’s nothing.” I shoved the letter in my pocket. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Harriet. See you later.”

My heart was jumping. I had already seen the printed names on the front of the envelope: Carter, Coleman, and Tallen. I knew those names. And I was pretty sure that I knew what this was all about.

Miss Raglan strode up behind us. “You should be in my classroom by now, going over your math assignment, not fussing over the mail,” she said sharply. “We have a lot to get through this morning and exams coming up soon. Please hurry.”

“Yes, Miss Raglan, sorry, Miss Raglan.”

The letter would have to wait.

As soon as the bell rang for break I grabbed Sarah and headed for the stables. Helen was in trouble over a piece of unsatisfactory work and had to stay behind with Miss Raglan.

“What’s going on, Evie?” asked Sarah as we hurried across the cobbled yard to Bonny’s stall. “Who is the letter from?”

“Frankie’s lawyers. It can only be something to do with her will. I don’t want any of her money, or anything like that. Why they have written to me and not Dad?” As soon as were we safely hidden in the stable, I tore open the envelope, but I couldn’t get past the first few lines of the letter:

Dear Evelyn, We are writing in relation to your late grandmother….

I didn’t want to have anything to do with all this. I didn’t want to be reminded that Frankie wasn’t there anymore. I passed the letter to Sarah with a lump in my throat. “You read it,” I said. “Please.”

“‘Dear Evelyn,’” she began. “Umm…then there’s a whole lot of introductory stuff. Who they are and everything…you know all that…. Oh, wait…it says, ‘You may be aware that your grandmother left certain personal items in a safe-deposit box at her bank. One of them was addressed to you. Your father, as official executor of the will, has given us permission to send this item to you directly. It is a document, which we now have pleasure in enclosing.’ Then it says would you please acknowledge safe receipt, best regards and condolences, blah, blah….”

“So what’s this document?” I felt sick with nerves. The term before I had received a letter showing my family’s connection with Agnes’s daughter, Effie: a letter that had changed my life. What would this new document bring?

Sarah pulled a sealed, folded paper from the envelope. “This looks really old,” she said, handing it to me. My fingers trembled as I touched the yellowish paper and recognized the small sloping script, written in faded black ink. It said:

I ask my daughter to hand this on unread to her daughter, and so on, until the girl with red hair and gray eyes—the girl from the sea—may receive it. I pray that that this will be done as I request. A. T. H.

“Look at the initials,” Sarah exclaimed. “A for Agnes!”

The first two letters had to be for Agnes Templeton. I searched my memory for the details of the story Agnes had told in her journal. What was her husband’s name? Francis…Francis Howard, that was it. A. T. H. Everything fit.

At the bottom of the paper someone had added a few lines in pencil.

To be given to Evie on her eighteenth birthday, or on my death, whichever is earlier. Dearest Evie, I have kept this curious family relic for you. Take care of it, my lamb, and yourself. With endless love, Frankie.

I kissed the place where she had written her name, then turned to Sarah.

“Shall I open it?”

She nodded. “Yes. Open it now.”

I carefully removed the red discs of sealing wax, and unfolded the paper. Inside was another scrap of Agnes’s handwriting. A memory of the gift I once received and which now lies hidden at Fairfax Hall. This message was pinned to an even older sheet of parchment. It was thin and worn, with a ragged edge as though it had been torn from a book. The words on it were printed in cramped black letters, and around the edge of the paper there were drawings in colored inks—stars and flowers and exotic symbols.

“What does it say? What is it?”

“‘For the healing of Blindnesse and to give good Sight for those who are in need of it…’” I stopped, bewildered for a moment, then began to laugh. “Blind! Of course, I have been so blind! But now I know what to do!”

“What is it?” said Sarah. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see, Sarah?” I replied excitedly. “This is a page torn from the book that Sebastian found and gave to Agnes. The Book of the Mystic Way! She described it in her journal and said she learned most of what she knew from it. She’s telling me that if I want to learn to control the fire, I must find the Book and study what she studied. Oh, why didn’t I think of that before?”

“Of course! The Book was a gift to her, and then it was taken back by Sebastian. Presumably he took it to his home at the Hall. It all makes sense. But if Agnes really wanted to help you, why couldn’t she have somehow left you the whole Book, not just this scrap of paper?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t have it with her anymore when she realized I was going to be involved one day. Anyway, I don’t think it’s as simple as that. I mean, why doesn’t Agnes appear to me in a vision and give me all the answers?”

“Well, it would help,” Sarah replied with a wry smile.

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s meant to be that easy. We have to do this ourselves. The Mystic Way is only another tool we can use to help us through life; it’s not a magic wand to take all our problems away. That’s what Sebastian didn’t understand.”

As I mentioned his name my excitement died down. There were still so many obstacles to overcome. Even if we could get to Fairfax Hall, how could we be sure that the Book would still be there so many years after Agnes had left me this clue? What if it had been taken—or destroyed?