Never had she felt so exhilarated in her life. The summer breeze was slowly cooling despite the warm sunlight bathing her fleeting figure. Ingrid had escaped through a secret back door by one of the unused rooms but she didn’t know whether she’d been spotted yet.
Glancing over her shoulder, it appeared as if nobody had noticed her absence. The rest of the household probably figured she was sulking in her room. That would give her an hour tops.
A giddy laugh bubbled between her lips, coming out as a suppressed giggle. She kept running as fast as her legs could carry her across the field and kept to the shadows of the trees the sun was casting. Her arms did start wearing out from holding up her dreaded skirts but at least she was feeling unbelievably free.
At last, she spotted the shed at the edge of the paddocks where cows and sheep were grazing peacefully. None of the stable hands seemed to be out and about which gave her a clear path to the shed.
Ingrid cringed at the brief recall of escaping through her room window just to reach the empty room beside her. It had been a nightmare; trying to crawl across a wall with hardly a ledge to stand on was hard enough as it was. The long dress didn’t help but she’d made it. Her bedroom was locked, her absence was so far unnoticed and she’d be free for an hour.
Another laugh burst through her lips as she came to an abrupt halt in front of the shed’s door. The bolts were rusted and locked with padlocks, the faded red paint was starting peel and in some parts, the wood had rotted. But it was nothing that she couldn’t get through.
Looking side to side then back to the manor, the only witnesses of her break-in would be the livestock. The thought made her giggle.
Placing her dainty gloved hands on the thick black padlock, Ingrid imagined the lock fall open. She focused all her thoughts into it until finally, came the groan of metal. The hunk of iron snapped open in her hands, allowing Ingrid to slip it off. Next would be the hardest part.
Ingrid exerted as much force as she could against the large metal sliders but they wouldn’t budge. The metal was almost as thick as her arm and several metres longer. It seemed impossible for her entire form to dislodge it.
After several minutes of tireless pushing, Ingrid kicked the door out of frustration. “Open, you should thing!”
Abruptly, a squeal pierced her ears followed by the loud thunk. She jumped back in surprise as it fell at her feet quite heavily. Not wasting any time, she wiped the sweat from her brow and squeezed her fingers between the gap of the two doors. With one pull, she knew she couldn’t it alone.
Ingrid released a sigh of irritation. Here she was, ready to try the car she’d conjured up and she couldn’t even get the door open.
Keep calm and imagine, she reminded herself despite the bubbling annoyance within her chest. Ingrid reluctantly took several steps back and closed her eyes. She breathed in slowly, all the while fabricating an image of the barn doors opening up, giving her a gap just large enough for her to squeeze through.
For several more delayed moments, she continued to add as much detail to her imagination until finally, her eyes snapped open.
Just like she’d envisioned, the doors had opened though much silently than she’d expected. Shrugging it off, Ingrid sucked in a breath and wriggled between the little space she’d created. That had taken much less effort than it would have taken her to open the doors by hand.
Once she finally burst inside, she met with a thick cloud of dust kicked up from her landing. Ingrid lifted an arm to her mouth, coughing vigorously and waving with the other hand until it seemed to clear.
Slithers of light cast spotlights across the dirt-ridden ground. She could barely see in the old shed but the large figure in the centre of the room could have been glowing for all she cared.
It had worked.
“Yes!” she cheered under her breath, waving an arm about excitedly. “I did it!”
Nothing could compare to the pride that swelled in her chest. Ingrid almost skipped around the car, running her hand along the smooth metal shape. When she completed a full turn around the vehicle, she stopped for a moment to admire her handiwork, despite the lack of light.
As far as she could see, the car was solid and sturdy. All she needed to do was test it out. Blindly, Ingrid felt for where she assumed the handle would be and pulled it open. Sticking one leg inside in a very unladylike manner, Ingrid ducked beneath the roof and pulled herself in –
“Oof!”
Rough, hard ground met her basckside with an impact that knocked the air out of her. Ingrid found herself on the hay-covered flooring, shocked. Where were the seats? The lack of light was no help at all.
“So make your own,” she suggested to herself. “If you can make a car, you can make light.” That was it. Yes. That was what she would do.
Holding out her hands, Ingrid didn’t need to blink as she quickly imagined a candle in her hands. She would have tried for a torch but she was just too eager to shed some light on the whole situation.
The candle’s wick lit just by a glance and immediately, the light filled the car.
Ingrid was mortified to find that she was in fact inside the car – only the vehicle had no insides. The entire thing was empty.
“What the heck?” she muttered, brushing herself off. Rising to her feet, she hunched her back to fit as she examined the rest of the interior.
The roof of the car appeared normal, as did the doors. However, the seats were absent as was the steering wheel and other controls that a car normally had. To simply put it, the car was a shell of metal. She wasn’t even sure if she could call it a car anymore.
Disappointment flooded through her as Ingrid stepped out of the open door and slammed it shut. And here she was, thinking she’d outdone herself by creating a car but had wound up with an empty shell that was completely useless to her. She couldn’t drive it to town to deliver the application herself and now, she was all out of ideas.
Ingrid’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. She turned to the disappointment of her imagination and closed her eyes, the dim light of the candle casting shadows across the lids.
The large hunk of metal slowly vanished from her mind’s eye. It took much less effort than she normally took when she tried conjuring things. Once she was finish, Ingrid opened her eyes and found the old shed empty, as if the car never existed. She did the same for the candle too; there was no need for it anymore.
Locking up the shed was much easier than opening it in the first place, probably because she knew what she was doing that time. Ingrid felt a hollowness in her chest where disappointment filled it to the brim. Her imagination wasn’t strong enough. She hadn’t been able to conjure a car.
Ingrid snorted at her pitiful thoughts. Of course it hadn’t worked; her imagination was weak, unexercised. But it gave her all the more reason to find some other way to apply for the academy. There was no doubt about it now; Ingrid desperately needed tutelage and Madam Darlington’s school was her ticket to mastery.
She had to find another way. She just had to.
“No, Miss. I’m sorry.”
Ingrid could have pulled her hair out. “Why not?” She knew she was being childish but she couldn’t help it; Beatrice was supposed to obey her orders too, not just her mother’s.
“Mrs Charles strictly forbade me,” Beatrice replied simply, keeping her gaze on the ground. “I’m sorry, Miss, but orders are orders. I will not send this to the postman when he arrives.”
A frustrated sigh escaped the brunette. She paced in front of Beatrice whom she had not dismissed just yet. “This is the third time I am begging you for a favour. Can’t you please just turn a blind eye to my mother, just this once?”
Beatrice shook her head firmly, lips thinning with impatience. “I’m sorry, Miss. But I do have chores to do and I am under obligation to Mrs Charles’s instructions.”
“Mother, why are you so impossible?” Ingrid exhaled through her teeth, fists clenching. “So you won’t do it?”
“We have established this already.” The maid looked up, exasperation in her brown eyes. “Miss Ingrid, I’m sorry but I won’t do it. I can’t do it.”
“I’ll take all the blame and I promise nobody will be fired!” Ingrid offered, trying to sound confident but honestly, she was unsure whether or not she could have that power over her mother. “Please, just do this one thing for me and we will never speak of it again.”
“And what happens if your acceptance letter comes in the mail? Your mother checks it herself everyday.” Beatrice pointed out, straining to keep her tone polite. “Miss Ingrid, this is a lost cause. Please, don’t make this any harder on yourself.”
Ingrid felt as if she would scream at any given moment. Sitting down on her plush bed, Ingrid racked her brains. Surely there was something that could convince her mother? Certainly not the mention of war but . . . but there must have be something, anything!
“My apologies, Miss, but I have chores to do and I cannot be late again.” Beatrice’s tone was a little annoyed but nevertheless polite. Ingrid couldn’t blame her; she’d been pestering the poor redhead all week. She hadn’t even gone into town, too busy formulating plans that could get her out of this dilemma.
But of course, nothing had worked. Not even begging her maid.
“Fine. You’re dismissed.”
Ingrid heard the door close behind the maid but paid no attention. Throwing herself back, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion take over. Begging, pleading and arguing was one sure-fire way to put her to sleep.
A window must have been opened somewhere because Ingrid was feeling a draft. Fleshy bumps arose across her arms as she hurried down the corridors late at night. She didn’t need a flashlight or lamp when she knew the manor like the back of her hand.
Scurrying down two flights of stairs, Ingrid trailed her hands along the stone walls until she came across the kitchen, her throat feeling raw and papery for some odd reason. It may have been due to the lack of water and food she was consuming; a hunger strike Ingrid thought would have worked but to no avail. Her mother’s resolve held strong.
The thought of her mother caused her anger to flicker slightly. She couldn’t believe her mother’s instructions to the domestic workers. A week of it and Ingrid was already growing tired of their antics, all their watchful eyes on her when she walked to and from between the library and her room. One more week and she knew she would go insane.
But first, to calm her thoughts, a glass of water.
Just as her fingers came across the smooth doorway to the kitchen, Ingrid stopped at the sound of whispering voices and trickling water. The maids.
“She’s driving me insane,” a voice muttered, deep and tired but held a hint of femininity. Millicent. “All my food is going to waste because of her stupid hunger strike.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were talking about her. Momentarily, Ingrid was cross with the fact that the staff were talking behind her back but she realised it was only expected; she’d been causing quite a stir within the Charles Manor lately. It was no surprise, really.
“She keeps begging me to send her application letter,” came another voice. Beatrice. No surprise there either. “I swear, the girl is mental about imagination. It’s dead, for crying out loud!”
Ingrid’s rage flared at Beatrice’s words. Imagination was most certainly not dead! Before she could burst inside and tell them off, a loud thwack resounded from beyond the door.
“Keep your voice down! Do you want to be fired?” Silence was her reply. “And besides, you don’t know what imagination can do. I’ve seen it work wonders, Bea. It’s not dead.”
There came a muttered reply, followed by yet another thwack. “Hush. It’s not dead and you know it; why else would the Orcons be recruiting Imaginists for war?”
Ingrid inhaled sharply at this. So their side wasn’t the only one that saw the power in imagination. That was all the more reason she needed to get into the Academy. What good was having an imagination if she couldn’t put it to use? Even if she didn’t get to go to war, surely she could be of some minute use?
“Now back to bed, Bea. Remember, be patient with the girl. She deserves our sympathy.”
Without complain, footsteps started shuffling in her direction. Alarmed, Ingrid fled around the corner and pressed herself against the nearest door, trying to blend with the threshold.
A shadow slithered past her feet in haste and paid no attention to her. She saw the last of Beatrice’s trailing red hair before slipping out of her hiding spot. That had been too close.
Ingrid relaxed, shoulders slumping against the doorframe. It was all clear in her head now, no longer clouded by doubts of her talents. No matter what, she had to get into Darlington’s Academy – or any Imaginist Academy for that matter.
Suddenly, as if a light bulb had flickered to life, a thought popped into her mind. Madam Darlington’s Academy was not the only school for Imaginists. Hadn’t her mother mentioned Great Aunt Matilda owning a school herself? That was her ticket to an imagination school, regardless of war participation or not.
Ingrid couldn’t stand by and leave her imagination to rot in her mind any longer. If she couldn’t help the war, she’d find a different way to put her talents to use.
Great Aunt Matilda would be her ticket to freedom.
Tabitha wasn’t oblivious to Ingrid’s efforts. Her daughter knew that every action she took, every word she spoke was reported straight to the head of the house – Tabitha.
And yet, she couldn’t understand her true intentions this time. Ingrid stood before her with a disgruntled expression but nevertheless, what she was asking for obviously pleased her mother.
“You want my address book?” Her eyebrow arched elegantly. “To call Mr Kennedy?”
“To apologise and to speak with Harry,” Ingrid replied, trying not to make it sound as if it were rehearsed. “Mother, you were right. I’ve been silly with all this imagination nonsense. It’s useless. I can’t go back and relive my childhood but I can start making better memories from now on. And I want to start that with Harry.”
Obviously, it all sounded quite far-fetched. Ingrid herself couldn’t even believe what she was saying. But she had to convince even herself in order to complete her plan. This was the only way she could get what she wanted, even if it pained her to say it.
“Are you sure?” Tabitha appeared unconvinced. She had seen all of Ingrid’s tactics as of yet and this by far was the most unusual. “You were so against the engagement. Why the sudden change of heart?”
This was what she had been preparing for. “He’s one of the very few men left, now that most have been conscripted. When else would I find the chance to get to know a decent man?”
The look on her mother’s face made her nervous and edgy. It took everything she had not to fiddle or give away her calm, apologetic façade. “But so suddenly? Over two days, you changed your mind?”
“It’s not too late, is it?” Ingrid asked, trying to appear hopeful.
For several agonising moments, she waited as her mother’s brown eyes raked over her face. She rested her chin between her fingers, elbows resting on the wooden surface. Finally Tabitha spoke. “I suppose not. Mr Kennedy is such a kind man and I have met his son. They’re quite alike and he’s still quite fit for somebody excused from the war.”
“Why was he?” Ingrid tried to show interest with questions.
“He was given special permission from the King himself to look after his father,” Tabitha explained with a sigh. “Mr Kennedy’s wife would have taken care of him but she passed away several years ago, when Harry was a boy.”
The sympathy on Ingrid’s face wasn’t feigned at all but rather quite genuine. She hadn’t known such things. Why did it seem as though the Kennedy family was struck with so many tragedies? First, Mr Kennedy was going blind and now they had been without a mother and wife figure for several years now?
“So . . . can I call him then?” Yes, the Kennedy family had a tragic backstory but her patience was wearing thin. She didn’t care about the Kennedys, as harsh as that was; all she cared about was getting Great Aunt Matilda’s phone number. “Please?”
Tabitha let out a resigned sigh, rummaging through one of the drawers of her desk. Fishing out a thick book bound with a metal clasp, she handed it reluctantly into Ingrid’s eager hands. She tried to tone down her keenness. “Bring it back as soon as you’re done and I want you to tell me all about it.”
Ingrid’s smile almost faltered but she kept it tight and forced it onto her lips. “Of course.” She hadn’t thought that far in her plan yet, but she’d figure something out when the time came.
“Take your time.” Tabitha flashed a genuine smile but she could see that her mother was still a bit conflicted over her true intentions which she hid well.
Ingrid was more than willing to flee the room. Clutching the book tightly to her chest, she trampled up the stairs in excitement, suppressing a shrill squeal of delight. Her heart had been pounding nervously, now that she was out of her mother’s scrutinising stare, but it was gradually receding to a regular thrum.
She had reached her father’s office to use his telephone in privacy when she came to an abrupt pause, hand freezing around the doorknob.
Her father’s absence had come to about a month. Momentarily, Ingrid stopped and gathered her thoughts. How was it that she could muster up any joy or excitement when her father could be out on the battlefield, possibly at the front line, risking his life at that very moment?
The very idea chilled her to the bone, hand lowering from the knob. What if he was killed already and the King’s official was late in informing them? Or what if he was missing in action? What if he was captured by the enemy? What if –
“No, Ingrid.” She stopped herself, shaking her head furiously. Glancing side to side, she was relieved to find she was alone. Who knew what more gossip she could possibly stir up when she was caught talking to herself. “Father is fine. Father will be inspecting some new artillery, too busy trying to improve rather than fight. Right now, you focus on improving your imagination.” Maybe she wouldn’t be directly involved with the war, should her imagination miraculously reach such an advanced level, but rather more indirectly. Maybe, just maybe, her imagination may count towards something towards winning the war.
And to even start pursuing that goal, she needed to make this urgent phone call.
Gathering her courage again, Ingrid twisted the knob open, feeling it resist slightly from the lack of use. She pulled herself in and shut it behind her, sneezing once at the dust that had accumulated within the room.
Leonard’s study was empty of course, but cleaner than she’d imagined. Ingrid knew her father was organised but to this extent, she was surprised. Not a single stray sheet of paper lay about. All his fountain pens were neatly organised into a single black pot and the books were shelved into what she saw was alphabetical order. Aside from the dust that had begun to accumulate, the room was spotless.
At least the maids had kept to their orders; nobody was to enter her father’s study, not even to clean it.
Ingrid’s eyes fell upon the sleek black device atop her father’s desk, the digital pad unused and clear of fingerprints. He must have wiped it clean before he left.
Holding the wireless earpiece to her ear, Ingrid opened up the address book on the surface of the desk. She flipped through several pages impatiently until finally, she came across a name she was much acquainted with; Matilda Greene. Her finger found the button which lit the touch pad with a red glow, other fingers following in quick succession to type in the number.
When she pressed the call button, the earpiece started ringing in her ear. Anticipation spiked her veins, causing Ingrid to drum her fingers on the desk impatiently as she lowered herself into her father’s leather chair.
It felt like eons, waiting after each ring for some sort of sign until finally, it came; a click and a rustle. Ingrid perked.
“H-Hello?” she squeaked, almost inaudible. “Who is this?”
“This is Madam Matilda speaking,” came a gravelly, firm tone. “Who may I ask, is calling?”
“Great Aunt Matilda!” Ingrid blurted out, unable to help herself. “It’s me, Ingrid!” Her lips clamped shut all of a sudden as she cleared her throat, an embarrassed flush crawling into her cheeks. “I mean, good afternoon, Madam.”
There was a pause on the other side and for a moment, Ingrid thought in a panic that the connection had been lost. “Good afternoon, Ingrid. It’s been too long since I’ve heard your voice. You sound much older.”
“I’ve just turned seventeen five months ago,” Ingrid told her relative with a warm smile. “And you sound just the same.”
“Yes, yes, so I’ve heard,” Matilda replied quite hastily. “Is there a reason behind your call?”
“Oh! Yes!” Grinning eagerly, Ingrid swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. “M-Mother mentioned that you ran a school for Imaginists. I-Is that true?” What if she’d resigned from running the school? Ingrid thought in horror. She certainly hadn’t considered that aspect. In fact, in reflection, she hadn’t considered many aspects.
However, Matilda’s next words were unbelievably reassuring. “Of course, child. Has she not told you already?”
“I need you to keep this a secret from mother,” Ingrid replied, lowering her tone.
“What? Absolutely not! Why are you calling without permission? Your mother doesn’t know, does she? Why are you going behind her back –”
“Aunt Matilda, calm down!” she interjected, trying not to raise her voice. “Mother thinks I’m calling a suitor she matched for me. But I really wanted to know if you had a spot left in your school for me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other line. “Your mother doesn’t know?”
“She knows I am interested in the Art of Imagination,” Ingrid confessed glumly. “But she won’t let me apply to Madam Darlington’s Academy that was advertised a week before. She won’t hear any of it and it’s absolutely suffocating. Please, Aunt Matilda, could you possibly make a space for me at your school? Even if it’s part-time, I’m much willing to oblige.”
Matilda had paused yet again, obviously contemplating her words. “And your mother doesn’t know?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Ingrid muttered under her breath, knowing fully well her great aunt had heard.
“Well you will have to tell her if you’re going to apply to Darlington’s Academy,” Matilda replied gruffly. There was also something else in her tone, something Ingrid couldn’t quite pinpoint.
“But mother forbade me. She’s been giving the staff instructions not to send my mail or let me into town without being spied on the entire time! Can’t I just apply to your Academy in secret?”
There was a sudden bark of laughter on the other end, causing Ingrid to jump in surprise. “You can’t keep it a secret from her if you’re going to be boarding at Darlington’s Academy. We only accept boarders.”
“But mother won’t let me – hang on. ‘We’?” Ingrid pieced the words together, a light bulb going off in her mind. “Oh! You’re Madam Darlington?”
“It was my mother’s maiden name,” she explained, amusement colouring the old woman’s tone. “And I will only be accepting you as a student if your mother gives you permission.”
The first part absolutely delighted Ingrid. The latter, not so much. Her heart plummeted. “Mother won’t let me.”
“Then we’ll just have to convince her, won’t we?” Ingrid could see it now: Great Aunt Matilda’s grey eyes would be sparkling with that rare twinkle of mischief, something she’d seldom seen in the stiff old woman.
“If we convince mother, I won’t have to apply or trial or anything?” Ingrid asked, wondering if there was a much more complicated process than she’d foreseen.
“My dear girl, Darlington Academy has reserved a place for you the moment your imagination ripened.”
Now that was something she hadn’t heard of. Her mother had never mentioned such a thing, ever. Actually, the fact that her mother had kept such a crucial detail from her was infuriating. Ingrid could feel an angry heat flush through her neck.
“But nevertheless, it’s not too late,” Matilda told her hastily. “I will be there tonight.”
The door suddenly burst open, jolting Ingrid in her seat.
“Miss Ingrid, who are you speaking to?” exclaimed a mortified voice.
“Beatrice!” Ingrid squeaked, shocked at the maid’s rude interference. Immediately, she spoke back into the phone. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll call you later. Maybe I’ll see you soon?”
“What? Ingrid, I’m coming tonight so inform your mother. And who is this Harry?”
“Goodbye.”
“Ingrid Charles don’t you –”
She slapped a hand down on the End Call button and her Great Aunt’s voice was cut off abruptly. Turning back to the maid, Ingrid glared at her in an attempt to mask her excitement. “Do you have a valid reason for interrupting me?”
“I-I just thought I heard you mentioning imagination and th-thought –”
“I was speaking to Harry who was agreeing with me that imagination was not dead,” she snapped, causing Beatrice to flinch. “I will dismiss your rude intrusion for today but the next time you step out of line, I will not be so forgiving. Is that understood?”
“Oh . . . yes, Miss.” A look of shame crossed her freckled face. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. Your mother just wanted me to make sure you were not discussing inappropriate matters over the phone.”
“Mother?” Ingrid echoed, growing more and more irritated with the very woman by the minute. “She put you up to this?”
Beatrice kept her head bowed, nodding furiously. “Yes.”
Ingrid opened her mouth to protest, complain, tell the poor maid off but she wasn’t the true object of her irritation. And she had other things to do – like fabricating a conversation to Harry for her mother.