Shadows at Stonewylde (20 page)

‘Can I sit here, Leveret?’

She scowled up through her mat of curls and was really surprised to see ginger hair. Rufus – the only person at Stonewylde, apart from his mother, to be blessed with truly red hair. Her scowl deepened. The last thing she wanted was to make conversation with a silly boy, who’d doubtless attract his mates to the table too. She knew it was Rufus’ first year at Senior School, although he lived in the Tudor Wing with Miranda. She’d seen him daily when they were at the Village School together, but had never really had much to do with Rufus. However as offspring of two of the key Council Elders and siblings of Yul and Sylvie, they’d been thrown together on occasions in the past. Leveret grunted noncommittally and continued eating quickly. If he thought she’d be friendly he was wrong.

‘I saw you coming out of Yul’s office at break time,’ said the boy, sitting down opposite her. He picked up his cutlery and started to eat, his table manners far neater than hers. Rufus watched her carefully from beneath his thick fringe of silky red hair. Like his half-sister Faun, he’d inherited his father’s deep brown eyes. Combined with the bright hair and pale skin, he was striking and Leveret had always thought of him as a red squirrel. Not that she thought of him much.

‘Did he ask to see you, or did you ask him?’

His voice was quiet and a little hesitant, and he nervously blinked at her through his fringe.

‘None of your business!’ she retorted. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that … I know you’re Yul’s half-sister and I’m his half-brother, and—’

‘Yeah, but different halves. I’m no relation to the old magus.’

‘No, I know – you’re lucky. Everyone hates him and I don’t like people thinking I’m going to turn out like him.’

‘Doesn’t seem to bother Yul. Or Faun.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

Leveret had almost finished her lunch and took a great gulp of water, anxious to be off. She’d take a pear with her to the herb garden.

‘Leveret, do you think …’

He stopped and she frowned at him. He was pretty hard work and she’d never asked him to sit here.

‘Spit it out, Rufus. Do I think what?’

He knew she was about to get up and leave, and it came tumbling out in a rush.

‘I really want Yul to teach me to ride and I want to go and ask him but I’m scared he’ll say no or just laugh or something and—’

‘Why on earth are you telling me this?’ she asked. ‘I can’t ride. Well, not very well.’

‘I just thought …’ he paused and looked at her in anguish. Their eyes met for the first time and Leveret felt an unexpected surge of sympathy. He had beautiful deep brown eyes, like soft velvet, and his hair reminded her of new conkers. But it wasn’t that – it was his wistfulness that got to her. So she smiled encouragingly; he’d been brave to come and sit with her and his mates were probably all laughing at him.

‘Tell me, then,’ she said more gently. ‘What did you think?’

‘I wondered as you’re so close to Yul if you might kind of … ask him for me? Or at least see if you think he’d listen if I asked? He’s so brilliant, such a fantastic rider and if he’d just take me out and—’

Leveret felt another rush of compassion. Poor kid – she needed to put him straight about his half-brother.

‘Rufus, I’m sorry but I don’t think I can help you. You’ve got the wrong idea about me and Yul. He never usually speaks to me at all and I was only in his office this morning to be told off.’

‘But you’re so close to him! I’ve seen you loads of times. I remember the day when he came on his horse – that beautiful Nightwing – to collect you from Nursery and he sat you up on the saddle in front of him and you galloped away together across the Village Green. And him giving you piggy-backs up to the Stone Circle for the ceremonies, and when he took you home from school that time you were sick all over the floor. And on the beach in the summer, you used to hold onto his neck when he swam out to the rock, and—’

Leveret felt a lump in her throat as his words spilled out. Poor Rufus; she’d never realised. It’d never occurred to her how Rufus must’ve felt watching her as a little girl with her wonderful big brother, who was also his big brother. She doubted it’d ever occurred to Yul either. She couldn’t actually recall one incident when she’d seen him even talk to the little boy, let alone make him feel special.

‘Oh Rufus! It’s true, Yul was lovely when I was young, before he went away to university and then came back and was hand-fasted. He was lovely and I adored him. But … but he’s not like that anymore. He’s horrible, really awful. He’s just been shouting at me in his office and I actually thought he was going to hit me!’

Rufus looked doubtful at this.

‘No, really! He grabbed me and his face was red and he was shaking with fury. He’s not a nice person anymore and really, you’re far better off without him. I’d steer well clear of him and not ask him about riding. He’ll just drop you when other people muscle in and he gets bored with you, and then …’

She couldn’t go on. Rufus stared at her, trying to gauge her expression under the curtain of black curls.

‘Leveret? Are you okay?’

She shook her head, keeping her face down.

‘Well … thanks for warning me. I might still ask him if I get a chance, but I won’t expect too much. Sorry if I’ve upset you.’

Rufus got up in embarrassment, taking his half-eaten lunch away. He’d never intended to make anyone cry.

S
quatting alone at the end of a muddy lane, on the very edge of the Village, was a desolate cottage. It seemed to slither into the surrounding brambles and briars, the filthy, cracked windowpanes staring out like dead eyes. The front garden was untended and choked with tall weeds and inside was no better. The sitting room was dark and squalid with unidentifiable piles of mess everywhere, all furred with greasy dust. A fire burned in the hearth but other than that it was a cheerless place. The furniture was similar to that in all the other cottages but it was all heavily worn and soiled. Unlike Maizie’s scrubbed table and well-stocked dresser, the table was littered with stale scraps of food and mounds of dirty crockery. Acrid smoke from three pipes hung heavily in the air. Clustered around the fire on battered rocking chairs sat three women, two elderly sisters and one enormous, slack-bodied daughter, all drinking tea and smoking, engaged in desultory conversation.

Violet and Vetchling were wrapped in dirty shawls, their feet clad in ancient boots, whiskery faces lined and grimy. They were an unfetching pair, their faces permanently creased in expressions of dissatisfaction. Vetchling’s daughter, Starling, was little better. Long, greasy hair hung down her back, which was slabbed with fat. Her face could’ve been quite pretty – and once it had been – but her belligerent scowl and dark-stained teeth put paid to that. She drew deeply on the clay pipe and toasted her great rolls of stomach and side-sagging breasts in the heat of the fire.

The three could be found like this most days. They were close-knit; the events of years ago when Vetchling’s son Jackdaw had been banished from Stonewylde bound them together. The whole community had ostracised them, but even before that they’d lived on the fringes. Diligence and sheer hard work were prized by the Villagers and these three were not good examples of such virtues. Starling had never been hand-fasted, but as a young woman had enjoyed the company of many of the Village lads, especially when they’d been drinking and weren’t feeling fussy. Unlike most Village women, Starling had conceived Magpie late in life. She had no desire for a child and thanks to her mother and aunt’s knowledge, had managed to avoid falling pregnant until his conception. His father could’ve been one of many and Starling made no secret of her indifference to the unwanted baby, neglecting him shockingly.

The three women sat now in companionable silence, sucking on their pipes and slurping at their tea. Just as they always avoided the Stonewylde doctor, they’d also rejected the services of the Stonewylde dentist. Consequently Violet and Vetchling were now almost toothless and Starling would be following just as soon as her puffy gums gave up their hold on her remaining dark stumps. They treated their ailments themselves as the two older women had a good knowledge of herb lore. Even today, Violet and her sister cultivated a diversity of unusual plants. Stuffed in the dresser drawers were paper twists bursting with various seeds, all gleaned from this year’s gathering. The back garden of their cottage, where fruit and vegetables were supposed to be grown, bore harvests unlike those of the other Villagers. The dense weeds and undergrowth were merely a blind. Nobody ever examined the nature of the rank fecundity of Violet and Vetchling’s plot, and an abundance of strange plants thrived there undisturbed, producing crops not grown elsewhere at Stonewylde.

‘Fire needs stoking,’ muttered Vetchling, grunting as she leant forward to fling another log into the flames. ‘More wood, Starling.’

‘He’s out there now chopping,’ replied her daughter. ‘Can’t you hear him?’

Vetchling was a little deaf but could just hear the rhythmic thud of axe on wood coming from the lean-to outside. She nodded.

‘Taking his time about it,’ she grumbled. ‘Always does, lazy clout. If there’s a job to be done, he’ll make it last all day, that one. Bone idle.’

‘Aye, sister. Listen, he’s stopped again.’

‘Magpie!’ bellowed Starling. ‘Hurry up with them logs!’

The back door crashed open and Magpie tramped through the kitchen into the sitting room bearing a great basket of newly cut logs. The three women eyed him malignantly as he shuffled between them with his burden, trying to place it on the hearth whilst avoiding their feet. His coat hung in filthy folds about him and his nose was running. He kept his dull eyes down.

‘Lazy good-for-nothing!’ spat Starling, aiming a solid kick at his bent form. He yelped like a dog. ‘Is that all the wood cut now?’

He stood there in their midst with his head hanging, greasy hair covering his face, and nodded.

‘About time too – it’s taken you all morning. Now get the water, boy. WATER! D’you understand?’

He nodded again miserably and stood there waiting for any other instruction.

‘Well get on with it then, you half-wit!’ Starling screeched, picking up the heavy stick she kept propped by her chair for just such a purpose and lashing out at him. He could have avoided the blow but didn’t, and it caught him soundly on the hip. He’d learnt over the years that dodging the blows and kicks only made them rain down harder; it was best to take them stoically from the outset. He began to shuffle away, sniffing hard, and Violet’s boot shot out to connect with his shins.

‘Don’t dither about fetching the water, boy,’ she said. ‘I’ve an errand for you myself and I’m not waiting all day. If you take too long there’ll be no dinner. You’ll come back to an empty bowl and ‘twill serve you right.’

He regarded her mournfully then left the room, collecting the water cart from outside to pull down the lane to the nearest pump in the heart of the Village.

Starling chuckled and stuffed another pinch of the herbal mixture into the bowl of her pipe.

‘He ain’t getting no dinner anyway, the stupid git. I already told him that this morning when he spilt the ashes all over the hearth. Mind you, he’s probably forgot. What did I ever do to deserve such an idiot?’

‘He has his uses,’ muttered Violet. ‘If he were normal like Jay, he’d be up at the Hall now. Terrible custom that, taking our young ‘uns away from us. Jay should be living here with his family, not up there.’

She spat into the fire and rocked harder on her chair.

‘Aye, sister, but our Jay comes back most days to see us, don’t he? Likes his pipe too much to stay away long,’ cackled Vetchling. ‘That boy does love a good smoke. Don’t know what we’d do without him popping in to see us. He’s a fine young man, just like his father were.’

‘Aye, just like our own Jackdaw.’

‘I saw that busy-body Maizie yesterday,’ said Starling. ‘Did I tell you?’

‘Aye, daughter, you did. That one’s got ideas above her station. Who does she think she is?’

‘She knows well who she is,’ muttered Violet grimly. ‘She’s the mother of that upstart whelp. ‘Tis why she thinks she can come poking her nose into our doings.’ She spat again, more violently. ‘She’ll get her come-uppance, that one, and pay for her high and mighty ways. She’ll fall along with the rest of ‘em.’

‘Aye, sister, she’ll fall, and that bastard of hers with his black locks. Blond is the magus, not black – any fool knows that. He’ll fall alongside his whore of a mother, and that Outsider runt of a wife too. They’ll all suffer, right enough, and we’ll be sitting pretty.’

The three cackled in unholy unison and sparks shot up the chimney.

A while later, Starling heaved herself out of her chair and waddled over to the range. She poked at the bubbling contents of a large iron pot and the aroma of rabbit stew filled the cottage. The two crones smacked their lips. Starling began to ladle portions into chipped bowls and Vetchling rose creakily to get the spoons and bread. Soon all three were tucking into their dinner, still rocking gently by the fire, sucking and champing at the very tender stew that never came to an end but was added to daily. The bread, collected from the bakery by Magpie earlier in the day, was dipped into the rich gravy until it disintegrated. Starling helped herself to several portions of stew and generous amounts of bread, but the crones had smaller appetites. At last they sat back replete, and all belched loudly before reaching for their pipes.