Chapter Text
If you want to find Cherry-Tree Lane all you have to do is ask at the sign of the Shunned House. The barman will scratch his head thoughtfully, and then he will point his huge finger and say: "Sure, dude. Like, first to your right, second to your left, sharp right again, and you're there in no time. How awesome is that?"
And sure enough, if you follow his directions exactly, you will be there in no time — right in the middle of Cherry-Tree Lane, where the houses run down one side and the Park runs down the other and the cherry-trees go dancing right down the middle.
If you are looking for Number Three Hundred and Seven — and it is quite possible that you will be, for this story starts in that particular house — you will very soon find it. But for reasons you will find out by the end, you might not find Laura Hollis.
However we are not at the end yet, and on the particular day when this story begins you would have found her straight away at Number Three Hundred and Seven sitting at her window looking out onto the row of cherry trees and wondering when Spring was going to come so that they would shake themselves into pink blossom.
She was also sulking a little because her father had gone out to put an advertisement in tomorrow’s Times asking for a new governess. From this you might be thinking that Laura was a little girl, but you would be wrong. Or, to be more precise, you would be right but only in one sense. For while Laura was indeed a very little girl and had to get a stool to stand on before she could take down her hat boxes from their place at the top of the wardrobe, she was not a very young girl. She was nineteen years old, and so no doubt you begin to understand her frustration over her father’s insistence on still needing a governess.
Nineteen is a little too old to be coddled, but Mr. Hollis liked Safety. Safety was a word he always used with a Capital Letter at the front and everywhere he went he was determined to be Safe. And so, pondering deeply the best kind of governess for his daughter, he reasoned that the Safest governesses were those who were very experienced and especially those who were very experienced at looking after the smallest and most delicate girls. And so it was that he provided for Laura an endless stream of fussy old women who delighted in treating her like an invalid and insisted she put two pairs of stockings on when going out in the cold. For a treat, they took her to tea with Carmilla Karnstein, who lived next door.
Now, Carmilla Karnstein was a very different kind of person. She was twenty-one and lived at Number Three Hundred and Eight Cherry-Tree Lane with her mother. Carmilla’s mother lived a life of Precision to the same degree that Laura’s father lived a life of Safety – and just like Laura yearned for adventure, Carmilla loved disorder.
You might have thought that this would make the girls natural friends, but in truth their personalities were so different that they never could see eye to eye (although Carmilla was quite small as well and would have had no difficulty looking Laura in the eye were she not trying to avoid her). Carmilla was grumpy and lazy and called Laura names. She made Laura very angry and tea with the two of them was one big sulk. But the governesses were always so exhausted by Laura’s running around that they dozed off in their chair and woke up in the confident belief that Laura had enjoyed a lovely time with her friend.
With considerable ingenuity and inventiveness Laura saw off governess after governess. Nanny Callis resigned after losing Laura in the park. Nanny Straka quit when her scheme to go boating on the lake resulted in her old trouble coming back. Nanny Spielsdorf sought retirement following the Incident with the Fish. Mr. Hollis started to get grey hairs and the gentleman at the Times office saw him come in so often to place a new advertisement that they became close friends and Mr. Hollis was named godfather to his son.
So Laura sat there listening to the sound of the East Wind blowing through the bare branches of the cherry-trees in the Lane. The trees themselves, turning and bending in the afternoon light, looked as though they had gone mad and were dancing their roots out of the ground.
She was just seeing somebody walk down the street and thinking that it might be her father when she noticed somebody else. That somebody was holding an open umbrella in her hand even though it wasn’t raining, and the reason she seemed to be holding it was that she was flying. The East Wind lifted her up by the canopy of the great black umbrella and carried her along at a phenomenal speed so that though Laura had seen her first far off over the park, she landed neatly on Cherry-Tree Lane just as Mr. Hollis was opening the gate and waving at Laura in the window.
She – for Laura could see now clearly that she was a she – wore a sensible dark blue coat and neat black hat stuck through with pins. Her hair had been gathered up under it, but the wind had blown one or two wisps of it loose, and Laura saw that it was reddish and curly.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Hollis, who had noticed her approaching his own gate, but had not observed the mode of her appearance behind him.
“Good morning,” said the strange woman. “I am here concerning the position.”
“The – the position?” Mr Hollis said.
“As governess. I am Miss Perry.” The woman said this as if she were expected.
“As governess? But I only just-”
“You are Mr. Hollis? This is Number Three Hundred and Seven Cherry-Tree Lane? That is Laura in the window?” Miss Perry pointed right up at Laura’s face, though Laura had not seen her take a single glance at the window.
“Well – yes,” he flustered. “You’d better come in.” Mr. Hollis led her up the garden path and in through the front door. Laura immediately hurried out of her room and came to the top of the stairs to take a closer look at this remarkable person.
Inside the hall Laura watched her take off her hat, carefully dropping the pins into the large carpet bag carried in her left hand. Freed from their constraints her long curly hair unfurled into a torrent. She hooked her umbrella on the hatstand and turned to Mr. Hollis.
“I shall expect every second Tuesday off,” she informed him, “and I must insist on a room with a view of the park. Two guineas a week plus room and board. That’s settled then.” she concluded to his baffled expression.
“References-” he began, trying to keep up.
“I make a point never to give them. Now: as to plans for tea-”
Mr. Hollis cast around for some contribution he could make to this fait accompli. “Saturdays are often spent with Miss Karnstein next door...” Laura's heart sank to hear that. Normally a new governess could be relied upon to take a few days to realise there was another girl in the neighbouring house. What rotten luck!
“Splendid. Laura,” she called up the stairs, “wash your face and get your visiting clothes on. Come along, spit spot!” And she swung herself onto the bannister, slid all the way up to the landing, and marched straight past Laura and into her bedroom without so much as needing to ask the way.
Now this was all very strange indeed, thought Laura as she sloped back into her bedroom in Miss Perry's wake. Sliding down the bannisters was a common event – especially when Mr Hollis was out – but up was a different matter entirely. Who was this strange new governess? The question momentarily put out of her mind even the urgent need to escape from tea with Carmilla.
Her appearance did not give anything particularly remarkable away. Her red-gold torrent of curly hair was eye-catching, but the rest of her was smart and respectable and commonplace. She looked somewhere in her twenties, except for her eyes. Her eyes saw you looking at them and refused to answer any questions at all on the subject.
“Right,” said Miss Perry after she had done her own much more searching looking at Laura, “You look fairly ready – as ready as you could be, anyway. You'll do, you'll certainly do. I'm sure Miss Karnstein will be pleased to see you.” Laura was equally sure that this was in no way possible and picked an excuse.
“I'm ill!” she burst out. She was not ill, but surely Miss Perry would not be so sure of that at a first meeting to contradict her? “I have a terrible headache, and I don't think I can go to tea today.”
Miss Perry looked at her very severely. “Nonsense. You look very well.”
“Oh but I don't feel well, not inside. I don't feel myself at all.” And Laura cradled her head in one hand, trying to give the impression of one who was communicating with difficulty the enormous pain under which she laboured.
But Miss Perry only pursed her lips. Then without saying a word she picked her big carpet bag off the floor and placed it on the table in the centre of the room. She snapped the great brass clasp at the top and thrust her hand in, right down to the shoulder – although Laura could not see how this could be possible, as her arm was surely longer than the bag was deep. But before she could raise any question, Miss Perry started pulling things out of the depths of it. There was a spatula, a small collapsible puppet theatre, a strange can marked 'bear spray', a bottle labelled 'holy water' and finally – a thermometer.
“Open wide,” she said – not that she needed to, because Laura was still staring open-mouthed at the unexpected bag and its contents. Miss Perry popped the end of the thermometer into her mouth, firmly tucked her jaw closed for a moment and then withdrew it for inspection.
“As I thought: Tiny Gay Laura. Well, no surprises there. It says you are quite yourself,” she concluded.
“Tiny gay- what?”
“See!” And Miss Perry handed it to her to see – and there, on the side where numbers would normally be were the words Tiny Gay Laura.
“But Miss Perry, how can it know?”
She looked scornfully at her. “It knows, Laura, because it has no mind to be deceived. And since you are tiny, gay and Laura (I could see that myself in a trice), it simply confirms that you are feeling yourself. So no pretending to be ill! We are going to see Miss Karnstein.” And she marched Laura out of her room and downstairs – using, to Laura's disappointment, the stairs themselves.
Carmilla's mother, whose name was Mrs Morgan, left home each day at twenty-seven minutes past two because it took her exactly eighteen minutes to reach the house of her friend with whom she had tea each day and she wished to arrive at precisely a quarter to three. On days when Carmilla did not accompany her, the house staff were quite used to Laura being brought round at a moment's notice – but they always told Mrs Morgan that she arrived promptly on the strike of three, because that made her happy.
Carmilla was discovered in the drawing room lounging on a chaise-longue. Nobody could lounge like Carmilla. She folded herself around furniture as if she was a cat, and never seemed more comfortable than when she was almost falling off onto the floor.
“Ah, the cupcake,” she said when Laura was shown into the room by Joan the scullery maid. This was one of her nicknames for Laura. “Well, sadly I’ve already eaten. Oh, and a new governess! Driven the tall blond one off finally, have you? Any ideas how long this one will stay?”
Laura made a growl in the back of her throat.
“Good morning Miss Karnstein,” trilled Miss Perry. “I am Miss Perry and I’ve come to bring you along on our walk. And in answer to your question: I shall stay until the wind changes.” Carmilla’s face carefully assumed an expression of utter disinterest.
“Right, because you’re my governess now.”
But Miss Perry would not be intimidated. “You know very well how keen your mother is on you getting out and about,” she said. Carmilla did indeed know, and Laura too, how much trouble the girl would be in if Mrs Morgan found out she had been uncooperative – though how Miss Perry knew it was more of a mystery.
“Go out?” Carmilla put on an expression of considerable martyrdom. “I'm afraid that's quite impossible, Miss Perry. I'm not feeling myself at all today. Clearly I have no other choice but to stay here on the sofa.”
Miss Perry put her hands firmly on her hips. “I do not know if there is something peculiar in the air in this part of London, but the number of girls who say they're not feeling themselves is far above the proper average for this time of year. Who, if I may enquire, are you feeling?” When there was no answer to this impossible question she whipped out her thermometer from somewhere inside her coat and advanced on Carmilla. Laura watched, breathless.
“What the frilly hell is this- ow!” Carmilla tried to protest, but the governess could be very firm, and she got a small swat around the ear for the bad language.
“Hmm. As I thought, you're quite yourself. See: Broody Gay Carmilla.” She handed the thermometer to Carmilla to inspect and as the girl looked in sudden goggle-eyed confusion from the diagnosis up to Miss Perry's face and then down to the tube again, Miss Perry busied herself finding Carmilla's coat on the coatstand out in the hallway.
Once the strange governess was out of earshot Laura sidled closer. “Are you really?” she whispered.
“Am I what?” Carmilla snapped, putting it down finally and resuming her normal rudeness.
“Well.. gay?”
“Not that it's any of your business, cutie, but yes. So what?”
“Um. It's just I didn't know. And - me too.” Laura held her breath after the confession.
“Well, obviously.” Carmilla rolled her eyes. “The way you stare at Joan the scullery-maid's legs when she brings the tea things could be put in a waxwork museum as a monument to female depravity.” Laura coloured and folded her arms. She had very much hoped that Carmilla might have been stunned out of her normal rudeness.
“Come along girls,” ordered Miss Perry, having retrieved Carmilla's black coat from the coatstand of other similarly black clothes. “Time for our walk. Spit-spot!”
“Where are we going?” Laura asked, trying to keep pace with Miss Perry's rapid bustle through the streets. All around them were crowds of people going into the City and crowds of people coming out of the City again, all for no obvious reason.
“To see a friend,” Miss Perry replied. “And buy gingerbread.”
Laura's heart leapt. She loved gingerbread, but she was never allowed quite enough at home. Mr Hollis had Ideas about sweet foods and rotting teeth. Behind the two of them, Carmilla trudged with a frown on her face and a hunch in her shoulders.
“Hooray!” she cheered, and moved by the excitement she even ventured to address some words to her neighbour. “See, isn't this worthwhile?”
“Jesus, you're unnecessarily cheerful today, even for you,” Carmilla muttered in annoyance. Laura darted a glance at the governess, expecting a reprieve for this language, but she was preoccupied with studying the crowd for the best way through and seemed to only half-register the comment.
“Lovely boy really,” Miss Perry said vaguely. “Although he never could tie his sandals properly, and I did have to speak severely to him about playing with clay all the time.” Laura turned her gaze at Carmilla's ironically disbelieving expression. How did she raise her eyebrows that high?
A gap opened up in the press as the crowd moved on, and Miss Perry hurried the girls to the other side of the street and then on past the gleaming shop windows full of delightful clothes and delicious foods and incomprehensible forms of tobacco.
“Here we are!” she announced at last as she steered the girls into a little alley. There was only one shop opening into the cramped space, with a window of dark glass almost impossible to see anything through. Miss Perry inspected her reflection, and was satisfied to see that her hatpins were all in their allotted places. The sign in gold lettering over the door read LaFontaine & Co.
A bell jangled vaguely in the rafters as the three went in, and after a few seconds of silence, a voice called out from what seemed a very long way away, “Who goes there?”
“Just me!” called Miss Perry in reply, and then there was a great scraping and groaning as if somebody were very rapidly shoving things away and scurrying down a ladder. The door behind the black wooden counter was flung open and in hurried a small red-haired figure in a dirty leather waistcoat and rolled-up sleeves.
“Perr!” they cried and embraced Miss Perry, who took this remarkable appearance rather well. “Are these your new ones?”
“Stand up straight girls! Yes, this is my new ward Laura,” Laura did an approximation of a curtsey, “and her friend Carmilla.” Carmilla gave a vague attempt at a salute, which seemed to amuse the strange person as they saluted back. “Girls, this is LaFontaine.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss LaFontaine,” said Laura dutifully. The red-head shifted a little and Miss Perry tutted.
“Not Miss, Laura. LaFontaine.”
“Oh!” said Laura in surprise. “Mr LaFontaine, I'm sorry,” she tried again, but Miss Perry took her very firmly by the shoulder and steered her into a corner of the shop. Carmilla sidled over after giving the shop owner a long appraising look.
Laura had a finger wagged at her in a disapproving way. “Just LaFontaine, Laura. Don't go making up names for them, it's very rude.”
“But are they a Mr or a Miss? Or a Mrs?” she added, shooting a glance back to check for a ring.
“None of those,” Miss Perry said firmly.
“Well, they have to be one of those,” Laura protested.
“Nonsense! Whatever gave you that idea, silly girl? Why, you might as well say there is no time between noon and midnight, or that every direction is either north or south. Now.” And she chivvied the girls forward again to where LaFontaine was leaning on the counter.
“It's quite all right,” they said before Laura could apologise. “Now: what can I do for you three today?”
Laura looked around at the bare shop. It was all in dark, almost black wood, and although there were cupboards and cabinets covering every wall there didn't seem to be the slightest hint of merchandise. “Um… gingerbread?” she asked hesitantly.
LaFontaine broke out into a large grin. “Splendid! You'll like this – you especially,” they added to Carmilla who had not said a word yet, but had only fiddled with her necklace of little silver stars. They ducked down behind the counter and came up bearing a large, plain cardboard box. “Step up!” they instructed the three visitors, and stuck their hand deep in the box.
Laura was the first in the queue, and LaFontaine withdrew their hand from the cardboard depths with something glowing caught in their fist. They passed it carefully into Laura's cupped hands and she instinctively clutched to her chest. She stepped back to stand on her own and only then did she cautiously look at what she held.
It was a star. It was made of gingerbread – not a flat cut-out from a roll of dough, but as if a dozen wafer-thin star shapes had been intersected with each other. It was like a Christmas ornament to hang on a tree, but made of the finest golden sugary gingerbread and it was glowing with a warm light. She had thought at first glance it was covered in gold paper catching the sparse and flickering gas-lights, but as she lifted it up she saw clearly how it glowed from within.
“Knew you'd like it,” smiled LaFontaine. Laura looked at the others. Miss Perry held hers with amused enjoyment, as if it were a familiar but favourite treat. Carmilla was entranced. She had dropped her scowl and her sarcasm and bore an expression of utter wonder at the star she held in her hands. Its light glinted off the silver star-shapes on her necklace and threw her cheekbones into strong relief.
Laura lifted it to her mouth and then paused, uncertain. “I almost don't want to eat it,” she said to nobody in particular.
“Oh, but you must,” said LaFontaine. “Or else you won't see what happens next. Keep your lips shut.” They picked a star of their own out of the box and with a flourish popped it into their mouth. Miss Perry crunched hers likewise. Laura watched Carmilla, then when she saw how the other girl didn't want to relinquish the beautiful object, opened her mouth and placed the star gently on her tongue. Encouraged, Carmilla did likewise.
It tasted perfect. The ginger was fresh and strong without being overpowering. The sugar was enough to satisfy even Laura's sweet tooth. The stars were crunchy and brittle, but right at the middle was a chewy core made out of a lump of crystallised ginger root.
The four of them ate in silence until Laura began to feel a warmth in her mouth. The ginger flavour grew stronger and stronger rather than weaker and weaker as would be normal. It grew warmer and warmer insider her mouth and she started to feel distinctly uncomfortable.
LaFontaine was looking at her in amusement. “Looks like you're first,” they said unclearly, keeping their own lips sealed shut. Miss Perry nodded, and Laura saw Carmilla's eyes widen as they fixed on her mouth. She wondered vaguely if she had a smudge on her lips or something.
The heat on her tongue grow great indeed and she took several deep breaths through her nose hoping it would go away.
And then Laura realised that Carmilla was looking at her because her cheeks were glowing. They had become bright enough now that she could see light on the palms of her hands when she raised them to her face. LaFontaine and Miss Perry's mouths were beginning to glow as well - and when Carmilla had a half-second lapse of concentration and let her lips open a fraction of an inch, a dazzling shaft of light almost blinded Laura.
Alarmed, she looked to LaFontaine for reassurance. They waved their arms in a circle, fluttering their hands and miming drawing in a deep breath and letting it out. She breathed in deeply through her nose, held it for a moment, and then opened her mouth to let it out.
The star rushed out of her mouth. It floated on her breath like a wisp of thistledown, and bobbed in the currents of air into the middle of the room where it hung over the counter. The gingerbread had all been eaten away, but Laura couldn't see what it was made of. It was just a bright point of golden light, throwing gentle shadows into the corners of the room.
Laura watched it in amazement. Had the star been inside the gingerbread all along? She was still wondering when LaFontaine blew theirs out. The second golden star rushed through the air with practised aim. It almost collided with the first, but then the two of them spun into a whirling dance around each other. Carmilla coughed as she breathed out, and hers swung a wide discombobulated arc around the shadowy corners of LaFontaine's shop before it joined its companions in the middle. Finally Miss Perry gathered herself up and released hers – brighter than the other three and with a gentle blue tinge instead of the gold of the other three. (“Show-off,” said LaFontaine).
When the four stars were happily bobbing around in the middle of the room, LaFontaine retrieved a fan from somewhere under the desk and carefully wafted them up to the ceiling. They hung there, a perfect equilateral triangle of silver stars surrounding a central, bluish light.
Laura tore her glance away from this sight to look at the faces of the others. LaFontaine was proud, Miss Perry admiring. But Carmilla had her eyes turned up to the cobweb-covered ceiling as if in prayer. There were glints at the corner of her eyes that looked like tears, and Laura had never before seen her look so happy.
Well, you can imagine how different the next morning was for Laura. She did not hide under the covers or pretend to still be sleeping when Miss Perry came in. In fact she was already awake and getting dressed, excited with what the day might bring. And when Miss Perry announced that they would take a walk in the park that morning, she didn't think for a moment about planning to give her new governess the slip. She didn't even raise an objection when she was steered left coming out of her gate and hustled forward to ring on the next-door bell to ask for Carmilla. Even her grumpy neighbour wouldn't spoil whatever was coming next.
(Although if she had been thinking quite clearly she would have realised that even without the promise of an adventure, she didn't find the thought of Carmilla as tiresome today as she had yesterday. Watching somebody cry with happiness at the sight of her very own star will do that.)
It turned out that Carmilla was likewise prepared to put complaining to one side. And even when Miss Perry suggested she bring her sketchbook – something Laura had never even known existed – she made no objection worse than raising an eyebrow.
“It's a shame spring isn't here properly yet,” Laura said when they had found a spot to rest in the middle of the cool but gently-greening park. “It's always so bare this time of year.”
“The trees are waiting for the birds,” Miss Perry informed her in a tone of authority. “They don't like to wake up until there's somebody to sing to them.” There was a sort of subdued contemptuous snort from Carmilla, which spurred Miss Perry into a retort.
“Well,” she said, sounding a little offended at the scoffing, “if you're so uninterested in waiting for spring to properly begin… show me your sketchbook.”
Carmilla looked sulky, hesitated, but then passed it over. Miss Perry flicked through the pages with Laura peering over her shoulder. The drawings and watercolours were really very good. They showed a variety of scenes – houses in the country, a seaside which resembled the east coast, and many of the park itself at different times of the year.
Finally she found one she liked, the park seen from a spot not far from where they sat now. The bright colours of flowering summer filled the centre of the page, while towards the edges it tailed off into pencil outlines and then into unmarked paper. Miss Perry laid it on the ground, stood up and tapped her umbrella on the middle of the page.
Laura blinked. She was sitting exactly where she had been, just off from the winding path through the shrubbery. Only now it was high summer and the park was alive with the shining of flowers and chattering of birds. The sunlit grass stretched out around them, all the way to-
“Holy-” she began.
“Yeah,” breathed Carmilla next to her. The park faded away at the edge. First the colour left it, and then the bare pencil-lines continued in ever-vaguer hints until, almost out of sight, a great expanse of whiteness opened up.
“How charming,” commented Miss Perry, if she wandered into paintings every day. “You really have caught the play of shadow, Miss Karnstein.” She sighed in pleasure. “Now run along and play, why not?”
Laura knew she could run. She could – and had – put half a mile between her and a watchful governess before they even noticed she was gone. But so rarely did she get encouraged to that in her excitement she found herself tugging Carmilla's hand to challenger her to a race.
“Come on, catch me!” she challenged her. “Bet you I can get to the white blank page before you're even on the pencilled-in bits!” And Laura took off, feet pounding on the springing grass. A flock of goldfinches were thrown up in shock in front of her approaching strides and she absorbed their flashing yellow and red flight in delight.
It was very strange, running to the edge of the picture. Everything started to turn white – she had expected that much – but the horizon was the oddest of all. It seemed to fall away from her in all directions, as if not just the landscape but the very fabric of the world was dropping off. She slowed down and stood on the edge of the world.
Behind her, Carmilla's running footsteps got closer and closer. “Caught you,” she puffed when eventually she arrived.
“Well done. Any idea how we get across to the next page?” Laura said. She noticed with satisfaction that the other girl was much more flustered from the run than she herself. There was even a pinkness in her cheeks that she'd never worn before. It was rather nice, actually.
“I'm sure Miss Curly will know,” drawled Carmilla.
And sure enough she did. Miss Perry had not been left behind because she was slow. Rather, she had stayed behind to pull out Carmilla's own sketching kit from her carpet bag where she'd quickly stashed it. And arriving a little afterwards with a pencil (ordinary size, Laura noticed – and how did that work?) she led the way.
The thing about blank paper – the truly wonderful thing, as any artist knows – is that it can be anything. So Miss Perry knelt down and drew the smallest seed on the plain heavy paper, and then a little flowerpot to hold it.
“Stand back,” she said. But the girls needed not telling, for the ground started to rumble and then with a mighty crash the beanstalk shot out of the pasty white soil. It turned green and tangly as it flew a great arch across the white sky and disappeared into the haze on the other side. With a cry of excitement, Laura launched herself onto the first leaf and scrambled upwards. It was wide enough to run on, and somehow her feet stuck to it as if whatever was under her feet was always downwards.
She ran through empty space around her until the great winding stalk bent down again and there opening up below her was the next page. It was a sunlit country scene under a cloudless blue sky. She landed on the springy long grass and heard Carmilla jump down from far above, landing neatly like a cat. She looked around and laughed, and the laugh kept coming and coming until she thought it might tear the scene around her into scatterings of colour. Carmilla came to stand beside her, and the happiest widest smile grew on her lips as she watched Laura laughing.
They started running at the same time, skirting the edge of a wood heavy with wild garlic and rambling dog-roses before veering right into a rolling meadow with scattered trees. Miss Perry had been left far behind and everything spun around her in the landscape of Carmilla's making.
But then the tree in front of her burst open before her eyes. She was showered with water and paint and thrown back onto the grass. Disoriented, she stared at what was left of the oak – vague, smoky and bleeding out at the edges.
“What?” cried Carmilla.
“It's raining!”
Laura was right. The next raindrop fell to their right, exploding a patch of cowslips into a swirling puddle of green and yellow.
“Laura! Under cover!” Carmilla was pointing to the woods behind them, but Laura shook her head.
“It's not coming from up there,” she pointed at the bright blue and cloudless sky. “It's from outside the picture!” And as soon as she said it, a series of giant drops hit the woods themselves, and the girls jumped at the sights of the whole wall of trees begin to wave and flow forward in a loose mass.
“We need to find Miss Perry.” Carmilla and Laura sprinted back the way they'd come, jumping left and right as the landscape turn grey and soaking wet around them. The field began buckling as the paper curled and rippled in the rainstorm and more than once they were hit by flying globs of rain.
“Well, that's quite enough of that!” said Miss Perry sharply, marching up from the great tangle where her beanstalk plunged its way back into the ground. “You'll catch cold.” She tapped her umbrella on the ground imperiously and Laura suddenly became aware that she was tangled in Carmilla's arms, the two of them standing soaking wet in the middle of the park with the painting lying open on the grass beside them and rain falling from the ashy sky. The watercolours on the sketchbook were running heavily and the landscape had lost most of its focus. Carmilla bent down to touch the surface. It was damp, and she withdrew blue-stained fingers.
Miss Perry bustled around them, packing things into her carpetbag and unfurling her umbrella – which seemed much larger than it had been when last it had been seen. She gathered the girls around her and marched at a military pace for Number Three Hundred and Eight, the nearest house of the two.
“Get changed, Miss Karnstein, you'll catch your death of cold. Spit spot! And lend Laura something, just for now. I have some medicine for just such an occasion.” She flung herself into her remarkable bag and began sorting through, the sounds coming from out of its depths rather heavier than is normal for handbags.
“Do we have to have medicine?” Laura sighed. “We were only in the rain for a moment.” All manner of syrups and tinctures she hated, because they all tasted like carbolic soap and overcooked cabbage.
Miss Perry pursed her lips. “Nevertheless. One cannot be too careful. Here.” She handed both girls a spoon, and took one herself to keep them company. Carefully she poured out a few drops from the bottle into each of them.
Now a very strange thing happened when Laura looked at her spoon next to Carmilla's. Her spoon had a pale watery purple colour with strange little bubbles. But Carmilla's was yellowish with lots and lots of little bubbles all bursting as fast as they could. She watched in confusion as Miss Perry poured her own dose – it turned out bright red and syrupy.
“Grape soda!” she exclaimed as she tasted her medicine. “I love soda. Much nicer than horrible carbolic!”
Carmilla frowned and tried her own. “Champagne. Beautiful,” she said and added, “They served champagne at the first party I ever attended.”
“Rum punch,” pronounced Miss Perry of her own. “Most satisfactory.”
So in the end, everyone was quite happy about the medicine, but Laura was not allowed a second helping.
Later that night, when she had gone to bed and then got up again, Laura drifted across her bedroom to look out over the park. On her left, a window of Number Three-Hundred and Eight was ablaze in light. Thin net curtains shrouded the inside, but she could see Carmilla's gauzy silhouette standing there. It occurred to her then that she'd never seen her like this from her own house. If she had pushed the thought further she would have discovered that the other girl had always remained carefully out of sight before.
She thought that her watching was itself watched, and then confirmed it when Carmilla's silhouette against the window raised its arm and pointed at the sky across the park. Laura followed her direction and tried to pick out its object. Slowly, she saw framed within the gently drifting clouds what Carmilla had seen.
Hanging in the sky with all the clarity they had worn against the ceiling of LaFontaine's shop were three gently pulsing stars in a neat equilateral triangle, and right in the middle a particularly bright one with a bluish tint.