Free The Godforsaken Daughter by Christina McKenna Page B

She repeated it now, aloud.
    “A new beginning. A new beginning.”
    Ruby grew excited. Grandma Edna was talking to her. It was Edna’s voice she was hearing. She was sure of it. That’s why she’d been led to the secret case. That’s why she’d had the dream. There was no need to be afraid.
    She replaced the dream dictionary, and was about to restore all the items to their proper place and shut the case, when she noticed that this second tier had tabs either side, just like the first. Perhaps there was something underneath.
    She lifted out the second tier. There was something. At the bottom, she saw a flat, rectangular object inside a black velvet bag. It had a drawstring of golden cord. Nervously, Ruby lifted it free. She untied the cord and drew out a book. But no ordinary book. This one was handmade. The spine was bound with string and reinforced with two lengths of branch cuttings. It was covered in thick black canvas.
    She turned it over.
    On the front, calligraphed in gold Celtic script, were the words:
    THE BOOK OF LIGHT
    Written by Edna Vivian Clare
1854–1952
    The book fell from her hands.
    Those dates!
    Oh God, if Edna wrote the book, how did she know when she was going to die?
    Suddenly, she felt sick. Nausea rose in her throat. The urge to flee the attic, strong again. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she should simply burn the case and everything in it.
    She tried to get off her knees, but the effort was too much. First, she needed to put everything back. With trembling hands she returned each item to its rightful place.
    “S AVE IT FOR ME, R UBY. S AVE IT FOR YOURSELF. ”
    She stopped. The voice had used her name. Now she knew for certain it was Grandma Edna. She started to weep.
    “I’m afraid, Grandma!” she cried. “I’m afraid, so I am.”
    “T HERE IS NO DARKNESS BUT IGNORANCE. Y OU ARE PROTECTED. ”
    “I am?”
    She waited for an answer, but none came. She repeated the words out loud several times. “There is . . . no darkness but . . . but ignorance. I . . . am . . . I am protected.”
    Repeating the words made her feel calmer. A clearness of purpose overtook her. She knew what she had to do. She fastened the clasp, rose from her knees with ease. Through the skylight, she saw that Ida’s car was still in the yard. Good. That meant the door to her mother’s bedroom would still be closed.
    She secured the skylight once more, carefully lifted the case, and left the attic.
    She descended the two flights of stairs to the first-floor landing. Murmuring voices from her mother’s room promised safe passage to her own bedroom. She tiptoed inside, crossed to the bed, and placed the case under it. A pelmet of pink valance made for the perfect hiding place.
    She felt relieved as she exited the room. Relieved and exhilarated. She had done what her father would have wanted: protected Grandma Edna’s legacy. Those ancient secrets in that black book were now hers to learn.
    It was her duty to do so.
    Ruby Vivian Clare’s new beginning was about to begin.

Chapter nine
    H ail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, hail, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears . . .”
    Nine twenty-five p.m.: Ruby and her mother on their knees in the kitchen—exhorting God with a protracted rosary. Mrs. Clare’s voice ringing out above Ruby’s: more sonorous, more earnest sounding, as was the matriarch’s right.
    “Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy towards us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O merciful, o loving, o sweet Virgin Mary! Pray for us. Pray for us. Pray for us. Amen . ”
    In tandem they crossed themselves, kissed Christ’s image on the crosses of their rosaries, returned the beads to purses, and rose. Ruby first, who then assisted her mother.
    This duty of saying the rosary was strictly adhered to by Mrs.