Wilhelmina’s spidery handwriting emerges on the portrait of Eugenia Spence: The Tree of All Souls. The Tree of All Souls. The Tree of All Souls. It fills the whole of the painting. The whispers grow louder. I put my hand to the painting, and it’s as if I fall straight through it and into another time and place.
I’m in the great hall, but it’s changed. I see what must surely be Miss Moore as a girl, the brooding concentration in her face. A girl with startling green eyes smiles at her, and I gasp as I recognize my own mother.
“Mama?” I call, but she does not hear me. It is as if I’m not really here.
An older woman with white hair and blue eyes sits with them, and I know her, too. Eugenia Spence. The face that seems so intimidating in her portrait is kind here. Bright and ruddy with life.
A girl brings her an apple, and Mrs. Spence smiles. “Why, thank you, Hazel. I shall relish it, I’m sure. Or should I cut it up with a share for all?”
“No, no,” the girls protest. “It is for you. For your birthday!”
“Very well, then. Thank you. I do so love apples.”
A small girl in the back raises her hand shyly.
“Yes, Mina?” Mrs. Spence calls.
Now I see traces of the woman in the girl’s face. Little Wilhelmina Wyatt trudges toward her teacher and presents her with a gift of her own, a drawing.
“What is this?” Mrs. Spence’s smile fades as she examines the drawing. It is a perfect representation of the enormous tree I’ve seen in my dreams. “How did you come to draw this, Mina?”
Wilhelmina hangs her head in shame and misery.
“Come now. You must tell me. Lying is a sin and speaks badly to a girl’s character.”
I hear the scrape of the chalk as Wilhelmina writes upon the slate, the words taking shape slowly: The Tree of All Souls.
Hurriedly, Mrs. Spence takes the chalk from the girl’s fingers. “That’s quite enough, Mina.”
“What is the Tree of All Souls?” a girl asks.
“A myth,” Eugenia Spence answers, cleaning the slate with a rag.
“It’s in the Winterlands, isn’t it?” Sarah asks. Her eyes glimmer with mischief. “Is it very powerful? Won’t you tell us, please?”
“All you need to know at present lies within the pages of your Latin book, Sarah Rees-Toome,” Mrs. Spence scolds in a teasing way.
She throws the drawing into the fire, and tears fall from little Mina’s eyes. The other girls snicker at her crying. Mrs. Spence lifts the girl’s chin with her finger. “You may draw me another picture, hmmm? Perhaps a nice meadow or a drawing of Spence. Now, dry your tears. And you must promise to be a good girl and not listen to voices you shouldn’t, for anyone can be corrupted, Mina.”
The scene shifts, and I see Wilhelmina slipping a jeweled dagger from a drawer into her pocket. Her body changes with the years until the womanly Wilhelmina stands before me again, the dagger in hand. Her face is twisted in fury. She raises the dagger.
“No!” I scream. I put up my hand to block the blow.
I’m still shouting when I come back to myself in the dining room. Everyone’s gawking at me, horrified. Pain. In my hand. Rivulets of blood trickle down my palm and onto the damask tablecloth. The knife at my plate. I’ve gripped it so tightly I’ve cut my hand.
“Miss Doyle!” Mrs. Nightwing gasps. She rushes me to the kitchen, where Brigid keeps the gauze and salve.
“Let’s ’ave a look,” Brigid says. She rinses my hand, and it stings. “Not too deep, thank goodness. More a scratch ’n’ a scare than anythin’ else. I’ll fix it right up.”
“How did it happen, Miss Doyle?” Mrs. Nightwing asks.
“I—I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
She holds my gaze a moment past what is comfortable. “Well, I trust you’ll pay closer attention in the future.”
Felicity and Ann are waiting for me in my room. Felicity has taken over my bed and helped herself to Pride and Prejudice. Seeing me, she tosses the book aside like one of her suitors.
“Have a care with that, if you please.” I rescue the poor book, soothing its ruffled pages, and put it back to bed on the shelf.
“What the devil happened?” Felicity asks.
“I had a very strong vision,” I say. I tell them what Wilhelmina Wyatt showed me, the scene in the schoolroom. “I believe she’s trying to tell me that the Tree of All Souls does exist. I think she needs us to find it. The time has come for us to go into the Winterlands.”
