I’ve done everything I could to be able to live without them.”
“Yes, but the painting changed everything,” He gazed at her, again in a way that made her feel like an object at the wrong end of the microscope.
“How so?”
“You told me that the visions had never been so powerful or your connection so strong. The painting means something to you, not just because you can talk to the dead. Through Burton’s painting, you’re revealing yourself to yourself.” The ‘scientist’s’ thesis posed and validated, Jackson took his seat again and swirled around on the chair in triumph.
Madison felt her posture stoop. None of what he’d said made sense to her. “I’ve never seen that painting before,” she denied. “Never heard of it. Burton lived in England more than a century ago. The characters in the painting died more than two hundred years before that. How could all this mean something to me? ”
“I don’t know, but we have to find out. What do you know so far?”
She turned away from him and said, “I went back to the Bodleian, and there’s nothing about Robert Dallembert, apart from some snippets of his soldiering during the Civil War. Right now, I just know that the Puritan was named Peter, the maiden Sarah, and the Cavalier Robert. Robert and Sarah loved each other, but they didn’t marry, either because she died, or because Robert dumped her butt and chose someone as wealthy and titled as he was.”
“So you don’t know much more than when we talked at the Ashmolean?”
Madison heard reproach in his tone.
“I’m meeting the Vances’ genealogist after the Christmas break. He should be able to tell me more about Rupert’s ancestor,” she defended herself.
“Why can’t you meet him earlier?”
“He’s abroad for the whole of December.”
Jackson shook his head, not satisfied with her answer. “Madison, you won’t resolve this mystery by playing sleuth, or by being a historian, as much as it hurts me to tell you that. The mystery of the painting lies beyond the strict realms of rationality, of science, of facts.” He paused. “It lies in magic.”
This was exactly what Madison did not want to hear.
When she stepped out of the Faculty of History, her mind was churning. She stared down at the cigarette butts that littered the ground and brought a shaky hand to her forehead.
Her legs felt weak, all her energy directed inward. What had happened in Jackson’s study was more than she could take in. She hadn’t given any serious consideration to the fireball incident before. In her good old see-no-evil way, she had delayed thinking about it.
What a lazy coward she was.
Now, she didn’t know if she was excited or worried by what she discovered. Maybe a little bit of both.
The honking of a car and the screeching of its tires pulled her out of her thoughts. Her eyes darted around and caught sight of a familiar silhouette. Pippa had turned at the corner of George Street and Cornmarket Street. The memory of her friend with Ollie sprung to Madison’s mind. For once, she wouldn’t delay action.
She ran after Pippa, calling her name. After she reached Cornmarket Street, she shouted again, “Pippa, please wait.”
The girl spun around and faced Madison, who noticed the dark circles under her eyes. The night had been long.
“Hey, I’m glad to see you,” Madison managed to say, as she struggled to catch her breath.
Pippa gave her a tight smile and answered, “I’m on my way to class, so I can’t chitchat right now. Sorry, darling.”
“Okay.” Madison hesitated but decided to forge ahead, her concern for Ollie back at the forefront of her mind. “What happened last night with Ollie? I saw the two of you making out.”
Pippa’s head jerked upward and her cheeks flushed. “You’re spying on me?” She spluttered out her words.
Cursing herself for her lack of tact, Madison waved her hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Harriet told me you weren’t feeling well.” A
“Yes, but the painting changed everything,” He gazed at her, again in a way that made her feel like an object at the wrong end of the microscope.
“How so?”
“You told me that the visions had never been so powerful or your connection so strong. The painting means something to you, not just because you can talk to the dead. Through Burton’s painting, you’re revealing yourself to yourself.” The ‘scientist’s’ thesis posed and validated, Jackson took his seat again and swirled around on the chair in triumph.
Madison felt her posture stoop. None of what he’d said made sense to her. “I’ve never seen that painting before,” she denied. “Never heard of it. Burton lived in England more than a century ago. The characters in the painting died more than two hundred years before that. How could all this mean something to me? ”
“I don’t know, but we have to find out. What do you know so far?”
She turned away from him and said, “I went back to the Bodleian, and there’s nothing about Robert Dallembert, apart from some snippets of his soldiering during the Civil War. Right now, I just know that the Puritan was named Peter, the maiden Sarah, and the Cavalier Robert. Robert and Sarah loved each other, but they didn’t marry, either because she died, or because Robert dumped her butt and chose someone as wealthy and titled as he was.”
“So you don’t know much more than when we talked at the Ashmolean?”
Madison heard reproach in his tone.
“I’m meeting the Vances’ genealogist after the Christmas break. He should be able to tell me more about Rupert’s ancestor,” she defended herself.
“Why can’t you meet him earlier?”
“He’s abroad for the whole of December.”
Jackson shook his head, not satisfied with her answer. “Madison, you won’t resolve this mystery by playing sleuth, or by being a historian, as much as it hurts me to tell you that. The mystery of the painting lies beyond the strict realms of rationality, of science, of facts.” He paused. “It lies in magic.”
This was exactly what Madison did not want to hear.
When she stepped out of the Faculty of History, her mind was churning. She stared down at the cigarette butts that littered the ground and brought a shaky hand to her forehead.
Her legs felt weak, all her energy directed inward. What had happened in Jackson’s study was more than she could take in. She hadn’t given any serious consideration to the fireball incident before. In her good old see-no-evil way, she had delayed thinking about it.
What a lazy coward she was.
Now, she didn’t know if she was excited or worried by what she discovered. Maybe a little bit of both.
The honking of a car and the screeching of its tires pulled her out of her thoughts. Her eyes darted around and caught sight of a familiar silhouette. Pippa had turned at the corner of George Street and Cornmarket Street. The memory of her friend with Ollie sprung to Madison’s mind. For once, she wouldn’t delay action.
She ran after Pippa, calling her name. After she reached Cornmarket Street, she shouted again, “Pippa, please wait.”
The girl spun around and faced Madison, who noticed the dark circles under her eyes. The night had been long.
“Hey, I’m glad to see you,” Madison managed to say, as she struggled to catch her breath.
Pippa gave her a tight smile and answered, “I’m on my way to class, so I can’t chitchat right now. Sorry, darling.”
“Okay.” Madison hesitated but decided to forge ahead, her concern for Ollie back at the forefront of her mind. “What happened last night with Ollie? I saw the two of you making out.”
Pippa’s head jerked upward and her cheeks flushed. “You’re spying on me?” She spluttered out her words.
Cursing herself for her lack of tact, Madison waved her hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Harriet told me you weren’t feeling well.” A
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