drink the bones
Rule of Rose // Barefoot in the Dark
Chapter 3We moved like ghosts after that day on Strange Hill.
Something changed between us, and around us, and inside of us.
The Orphanage was no longer -- or perhaps more accurately, had never been -- a safe place for us. It took that day on the hill for us to join together and use our combined strength to lift the veil and see that place for what it really was.
To use the candlelight to see through the shadows.
We were marked as troublemakers.
And nobody liked a troublemaker.
Not the Red Crayon Aristocrats, with their rules, and their hierarchies, and their unwavering loyalty to the Prince and Princess.
Not the Stray Dog Society, with their secrets, and their rituals, and their ravenous god.
We gathered and stacked the secrets and whispers like bones and kindling.
We got too close, and lost control of the flame, and watched helplessly as every scrap of innocence and childish dreams were left blackened and charred.
We moved like ghosts through the ashes.
Water dripped incessantly in the girls lavatory.
Drip, drop, drip, drop.
It was pointless to complain about it, though; the Orphanage was sorely lacking in any kind of handyman. All they could do was watch things fall apart around them.
She emerged from the stall furthest from the door, quiet as a church mouse.
That's what her father used to say, when he'd turn to find her watching him.
"Why, Miss Ellie, you startled me! How long have you been there? You're as quiet as a church mouse."
Diana didn't have to turn to see her; they could see each other just fine in the reflection of the mirror above the sink.
Even so, it was a long, uncomfortable moment before Diana spoke.
"Are you and Jennifer friends now?" She asked the Eleanor behind her.
Eleanor looked away, unwilling to give Diana any information that might be used against her.
"You know she's Lower Class, Eleanor. A Countess should not be associating with someone so far beneath her."
The lowest someone of her rank was supposed to freely associate with was a Baroness -- Meg.
An official Rule of Rose, as mandated by the Princess of the Rule of Rose.
Eleanor had worked hard to climb the ranks of the Red Crayon Aristocrats, and had always been a faithful adherent of the Rules.
If she didn't fall in line, she risked being demoted... among other penalties.
She would end up Filthy, like Jennifer.
The thought made her wince.
"We just get assigned to do chores together," she said, finally. Something to satisfy Diana, and Wendy. "Mr. Hoffman is still upset with us about wandering off to look for Clara."
The Diana in the mirror stared at her with cold, gray eyes. They glittered like shards of glass.
"I see," she said, finally. "Have you found out anything about Clara?"
"No," Eleanor said.
From the corner of her eye, she watched as the corners of the reflection's mouth seemed to convulse -- pulling down into a tiny grimace, before slowly curving up into a taunting smile.
"And you're not going to, either."
Eleanor's lips parted in surprise; before she could say a word, however, the Duchess strode out of the lavatory without ever bothering to turn around, leaving her alone with her confusion.
"Do you think she knows something?" Jennifer whispered.
They were alone in the Filth Room, no need to whisper, but Eleanor found herself answering back in equally hushed tones.
"It's hard to say with Diana," she admitted, carefully plunging her hands down into the cold bucket of sudsy water. She'd rolled the sleeves of her dress up to her elbows, but they were still damp in spite of her efforts. "She may know something, or she may just be horrible."
In all likelihood, it was a combination of the two.
"Do you think maybe she had something to do with it?" Jennifer asked, sloshing water out of the wash basin.
Eleanor froze, the dress she'd been scrubbing suddenly forgotten.
No, she hadn't really thought about it.
It was much too terrible.
"She's plenty mean enough," Jennifer whispered. "Remember what she did to your hand with the hammer? And then there was that poor rat..."
And the fish, and the rabbit, and Meg's letter.
And Clara?
Eleanor felt an icy sliver of dread wind its way up and down her spine.
Hadn't she seen the two of them together, sneaking through the halls when everyone else was supposed to be asleep?
Hadn't she watched, silent and undetected, as Diana, in a rare moment of docility, sat at the edge of Clara's bed and allowed the older girl to first gently untangle an especially matted clot of hair before weaving a smooth plait into her freshly combed tresses?
Hadn't she wondered?
"No," she said, more to herself than to Jennifer. "Not even Diana could be cruel enough for that."
"We can't rule her out, though," Jennifer argued.
Eleanor didn't feel like arguing.
"She'd never tell us anything."
"There are other ways," Jennifer said, examining a stain on one of Xavier's shirts. She made a face before gingerly picking at it with her fingernails.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw her and Mr. Hoffman in his office a few days after Clara disappeared," Jennifer said. "Through the keyhole, I mean. He seemed angry with her, I think, but he was trying to keep his voice down. She was crying, but you know how she is."
Eleanor said nothing, although it certainly had piqued her interest.
Diana was Mr. Hoffman's favorite little pet; he never got angry with her. Even after she'd killed his precious koi; he'd ended up consoling her as she wept inconsolably in his arms.
"I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I know he keeps a diary at his desk," Jennifer continued.
"How do you know that?"
"I've seen him writing in it a bunch of times," Jennifer replied. "He's always calling me into his office to yell at me for one thing or another, and he's always got that diary out, keeping a list of everything everyone does."
What a wretched, petty little man.
"And you think he's going to just show it to us?"
Maybe Diana was right; maybe Jennifer was a twit.
"Don't be daft," Jennifer said. She gave up on Xavier's shirt, wringing it out and dropping it in the growing pile to be taken out to the clothesline. Eleanor didn't blame her; he was just going to get it filthy again, anyway. "One of us will have to distract him -- I suppose that'll have to be me, since he already doesn't like me -- while one of us sneaks into his room and has a look." She paused for a moment, and looked at Eleanor, curiously. "You can read, can't you?"
Eleanor tried not to be too offended.
"Of course I can read," she said. "I'm twelve years old."
"So is Nicholas, and he can barely spell his own name."
"That's because Nicholas was dropped on his head at birth," Eleanor said. She wasn't sure whether or not it was an actual fact, but it was a prevailing theory throughout the Orphanage. Even Nicholas himself seemed to believe it.
"I'll cause a distraction, then," Jennifer said. She thought for a minute. "Maybe I'll break something."
"Don't get yourself in too much trouble," Eleanor said, quietly.
Jennifer shrugged, setting to work on an old scrap of a nightgown.
"It's not him I'm afraid of."
The next day, a terrible crash rang out across the Orphanage, causing the children scattered throughout the building to shriek and cower.
"What was that?" Meg cried, clinging to Diana.
"How should I know?" Diana replied, prying Meg's hands off of her dress. She smoothed the fabric back against her body, trying to rid herself of the other girl's touch. "It sounded like it came from upstairs, though."
"What in blazes?" Mr. Hoffman roared, bursting into the foyer. His eyes lit on Diana, and the anger softened into concern. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
"No, Mr. Hoffman, sir," Diana said, affecting the angelic facade she saved only for the headmaster. "I have no idea what's happened, though. I was just telling Meg to fetch me a broom, so I could get an early start on my chores, when suddenly I heard that horrible racket!"
"Stay here, then," he ordered.
Eleanor watched as he charged up the stairs, yelling profanity and abuses as he went. As she had hoped, Diana and Meg followed quickly after him, eager to see what had -- and would -- transpire.
She ducked quickly into the empty reception room (a grand and ostentatious room the children weren't normally permitted in, even for cleaning; Miss Martha alone was entrusted with the dusting and polishing), shutting the door softly behind her.
She winced as the cage thumped against her legs in her hasty movements as she crossed the room, carefully avoiding the expensive furniture and decorations. The red bird complained shrilly, but the commotion upstairs ensured that it would go unnoticed.
The Headmaster's room was unlocked, a fact that both pleased and frightened her.
She had never been in his room before.
To her surprise and dismay, it smelled.
A musty, sweet smell she associated with the old man himself, and a damp, fishy smell that emanated from the fish tank.
Empty now, except for the small model of the Orphanage that sat mired to the bottom. Ambulia swayed in the gentle current.
The mermaid had long since been captured.
She turned away from the empty tank.
Mr. Hoffman's desk was cluttered with paperwork and other writing instruments, but there was an orderliness to the arrangement that almost made it feel staged.
Mr. Hoffman and his posturing. Who did he expect to impress with such displays? Nobody came to the Orphanage anymore.
She found the diary lying on the desk, precisely as Jennifer had described, and without hesitation or guilt, Eleanor began to flip through the pages, the Headmaster's florid handwriting filling the pages in tidy, measured rows.
She skimmed over them, wholly disinterested in anything other than references to Clara or Diana.
16 August 1930
Today, I was busy catching up on my work, when Clara came by to offer me a hand. I guess my teaching paid off. I was grateful for her kindness. In the wee hours of the morning, she was still working, so I gently took her to bed.
I can hardly believe it. My little Clara, bless her heart, is already 16 years old.
She tells me she wants to stay in the orphanage and help with the daily chores. Maybe I should seriously consider the offer. Tomorrow, I'll discuss it with Martha.
Such arrogance! To attribute Clara's kind and loyal nature to himself and his teaching -- what a despicable, self-important old creep!
24 August 1930
This is simply inexcusable! My precious koi is gone. The children must be responsible. I won't stand for this. Where is Diana? What's she been up to? My opinion of her will suffer because of this.
Eleanor remembered, with no small measure of discomfort, how the Headmaster had handled the business with the koi.
Stroking and petting and rubbing as Diana cried and cried.
How Meg's breathing had changed as they huddled together behind the fish tank, watching the entire grotesque performance.
How Diana had pinned Jennifer to the bed...
Eleanor turned to another page.
30 August 1930
I am at a loss for how to describe Diana's behavior as of late.
She is not outwardly disobedient, or disrespectful, but there is something about the way she looks at me... it's as if though she is waiting for me to make a mistake.
Well, she'll be waiting a good while yet.
I'm afraid she underestimates me.
6 September 1930
Last night I watched from the window as they gathered around a small fire they'd built on the stone path between the entrance and the front gate.
Naturally, I could not hear them, or even see their faces as they all wore paper bags with crude faces drawn upon them, but if their movements were any indication, they appeared to be performing some sort of ritual.
This morning I woke to find Leo's bed neatly made, and Leo nowhere to be found.
7 September 1930
Still no trace of Leo, and now Ida has also disappeared.
Every one of the remaining children insists that they know nothing of Leo and Ida's whereabouts, nor will they admit to any knowledge of the occurrences late at night.
I've spoken with Martha, and she, too, will be on alert from now on.
9 September 1930
It is unfortunate what happened to Clara.
I will miss the comfort she brought me.
15 September 1930
Now we've lost Basil as well. It's the same as with Leo, Ida and Clara -- present at bedtime, as I personally oversee the nighttime formalities, but come morning, their beds are neatly made, and the children are nowhere to be found.
As our numbers continue to dwindle, I am more concerned than ever that
The entry ended abruptly.
He must have been writing it when Jennifer distracted him, Eleanor thought.
Blast; if only their timing had been better.
Still, she had more information now than she'd had several minutes ago; at least Jennifer's efforts were not entirely wasted.
Returning the diary to its original state, Eleanor collected the bird and slipped out of the Headmaster's room without incident.
Eleanor watched as Jennifer halfheartedly scrubbed the toilets in the lavatory.
Mr. Hoffman had condemned her to this gruesome chore as punishment for apparently obliterating the library.
"Of course Meg cried all over Diana, and Diana made a big show of comforting her, and now I've got to do Miss Martha's chores on top of my own, but at least you were able to read his diary," Jennifer chattered. She wished Eleanor would help, but Eleanor was of the opinion that she had already done more than enough.
"Tell me again what he wrote about the late night rituals," Jennifer asked, attempting to remove a fresh crayon drawing from the toilet seat with a faded and stained rag. It seemed, somehow, to make it worse.
"There really wasn't much," Eleanor replied. "Simply that they had gone outside and started a fire."
"It didn't say who?"
"No."
"Hm." Jennifer scrubbed at the colored, waxy scrawl for a moment, seemingly lost in concentration. "Do you think it's the Aristocrats?"
"I would have been notified."
She would have -- wouldn't she?
The Aristocrats had been quiet lately; the Monthly Gift hadn't been named yet, and the Princess had been ill. The most she'd really seen of the other Upper Class Aristocrats had been when she'd come upon Diana, who had callously informed her that she'd just destroyed a love letter Meg had written for her, and Meg, who had been preoccupied searching for her notebook.
Neither one had seemed bothered by the recent disappearances of their bunkmates, but that was hardly unusual.
"Stray Dog," they'd said with a shrug, and then turned their attention back to themselves where it belonged.
"Well," said Jennifer, dropping the rag back into the bucket of murky water at her feet. "What do you suppose we should do now?"
"I suppose," Eleanor said, not looking at Jennifer as she spoke. "That we could start by talking to Wendy."
"I don't know if we'll be able to," Jennifer said. "Mr. Hoffman has been keeping her room locked since Clara disappeared. He doesn't want anyone disturbing her while she's feeling poorly."
"Then we'll have to find out ourselves, won't we?" Eleanor replied. "I'll meet you in the filth room tonight after Mr. Hoffman and Miss Martha have gone to bed."
"And if they don't gather tonight?"
Finally, Eleanor turned to Jennifer, who looked haggard and exhausted already. How unfortunate that fate had cast them together as partners.
Abandoning Clara to whatever had befallen her was, however, an intolerable concept. Eleanor would not even begin to entertain the idea of it.
"Then we'll continue to keep watch until they do."
At night when I dream, Clara, I can still smell the smoke.