The Girl Who Came to Bedlaam

IX. Nightly Excursions

"Never in all my years," Marge was saying as she knitted away feverishly, "have I felt as poor as I do now."

"You and Ammie have this desire for fine things in common, you know," came Susan's muffled voice as she held her face over a steaming bowl of water and rose tea oil. "I only wish for a respectable name and situation. In that I shall find solace."

"You speak bravely, silly girl, but weren't you saying earlier how you wished to have a fine house and carriage?" said Ammie, eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

"She always pretends to be a saint, that's why her sinuses are giving in to the cold," said Miss Finicktoff.

"And you are a christened fiend, Marge. And if you throw another yarn at me I'll call Ms. Petruny!"

"Come, girls," said Harriet. "We mustn't bicker. I'm sure if we do, Lia will wish she hadn't decided to spend the night in our company."

I was only half listening since my attention was drawn to the window.

"Did you hear that?"

"What?" All heads turned in my direction.

"I'm not sure. It was almost like the wind and yet so unlike it. Perhaps that of an oncoming storm."

Marge glared in my direction.

"Don't dare to mention a storm, Lia. Gordorf cannot withstand another. The last one nearly took down Bedlaam's roof!"

"It wasn't as bad as that."

"Marge is afraid of storms, Harriet. So she'll think all of them will blow up the roof."

"And you're still afraid of grasshoppers," said Ammie, shooting a venomous glare at the golden haired Susan. "Not to mention toads and crickets and spiders and—"

"Listen!"

They all shut up like clams. And for some time, silence reigned while every girl stared and listened.

"There! Something's gone past the window!"

Everyone ran to gaze and gawk, each one squeezing and pushing the other in order to peer into the darkness outside.

"Lemme see, Susan!"

"What is it?" whispered Violet.

"Nothing important, obviously," said Marge.

"Was it a bird?"

"Don't be a ninny, Rose, it's dark."

"Ellen Trupp if you hit me with yer elbow one more time I'll box yer ears in!" said little Phoebe.

Eventually, everyone returned to their places.

"Lia, come and sit down it was probably just a grindelle."

"Really, Violet? A grindelle after dark?"

Violet gave one of her rare impatient looks.

"If you should know, Miss Finicktoff, male grindelles hunt after dark while the females hunt during the day."

Marge shifted uncomfortably.

"She didn't know that, of course!"

"Shut your water well, Phoebe."

"Where did you learn about grindelles, Violet?" inquired Janie, a very inquisitive girl of seven who took a keen interest in animals, particularly the ones with wings. Violet brightened visibly.

"Dinah Henfield knows a great many things about birds and things and shared a few grindelle habits and peculiarities with me last time I visited."

"Of course she did," muttered Marge.