could just walk through those gates and down that road and escape this place.
Now I can see the freckles across her nose and the deep brown of her big, blinking eyes. More unruly curls than ever are escaping from her white cap.
Iâm so busy staring and studying her, that it takes me completely by surprise when Flora turns her head sharply.
âHello,â she says, her brown eyes locked on mine.
The girlâs words are like a slap to my face. This is different. Wildly, madly different. This really isnât some mirage in my mind. Iâm looking directly into the eyes of a living, breathing girl from another time, another version of Wilderwood Hall â and sheâs looking directly back into mine.
âYou can ⦠you can see me?â I mumble, tripping over my words.
âAye, but why is it that I can see you and others cannot?â says Flora.
Her chest is heaving, as if thereâs a bird locked and frightened inside of it, fluttering and trying to fly free.
â I donât know, but please donât be scared,â I tell her, holding my hands up imploringly.
She clasps a hand to her chest and looks ready to run.
âActually, right now, Iâm a bit scared too,â I add, hoping it makes her feel better.
My honesty makes her pause at least. She looks me up and down, her eyes widening, scandalized by my lack of skirt Iâm sure. Wherever and whenever I am, to a girl like Flora, leggings must seem like Iâm walking around next to naked.
âWhat are you?â she demands. âSome kind of selkie?â
âA selkie?â I say, wondering if itâs some kind of Scottish slang for an English person. âWhat is that?â
âA beastie that once was a seal. That rises from the sea and takes on human form,â Flora jabbers on, sounding panicked. âYou
are
a selkie, I know it! My grandmother herself said she saw them when she was a girl growing up in Oban. She said she went down to the shore and played with them. No one ever believed her stories but me.â
The girlâs eyes are huge in her gaunt face, fear only a scream away, I worry. Oh, but she
mustnât
scream â or Iâm likely to scream too, and I donât know
who
that might alert. The fierce housekeeper or someone else from this
older
Wilderwood? The possibility of that makes me deeply uneasy.
âIâm not a ⦠a seal or a selkie,â I tell Flora quickly. âIâm just a normal girl.â
âI think you are
not,
miss,â she announces. âYou â you may seem it now, as you are, but earlier you were the strangest thing to me. A haze that became a figure and then faded to nothing. You appeared and were gone so quickly that I could not trust my own eyes!â
And now I know for sure: I didnât just imagine being on the beautifully furnished first-floor landing this morning, any more than I imagined the noise and steam and clatter of the busy kitchen a few minutes ago. And Iâm definitely not imagining the terrified girl standing staring only inches away from me.
âSo you did see me this morning?â I ask her. âWhen you were hiding in that room, or store cupboard, or whatever it isâ¦â
âIn my closet, you mean?â asks Flora.
âYour closet?â I repeat, wishing I knew more about whatever era Iâve slipped into. Perhaps âclosetâ meant something different to a cupboard back then. âDo you â¦
live
in there?â
Flora suddenly does something I donât expect, and I donât suppose she does either.
She bursts out laughing.
But just as quickly, she reigns in the smiles and glances around alarmed at the French doors at the front of the house. Floraâs worried, I suppose, that she might be discovered. I donât suppose the wealthy family who own the house would want their staff enjoying the fountain or any other part of the estate that wasnât strictly the