Solstice at Stonewylde (13 page)

‘I know, I know! Cherry, remember the album? The album old Rosemary used to keep of the boys?’

‘Oh my stars – of course! Are you thinking o’ the locks?’

‘That I am, dear sister, that I am! I’m sure there’s locks of hair in there.’

‘What?’ squeaked Sylvie in excitement. ‘What album? Where?’

‘Well, my dear, when the two little boys, Sol and Clip, were growing up they had their own nurse called Rosemary. Poor old thing, she were, doted on them boys but they treated her terrible, especially young Sol. See, their mother had nothing to do with ‘em.’

‘Raven?’

‘That’s right – Raven.’

The women exchanged glances.

‘You’re thinking I look just like her, aren’t you?’ said Sylvie.

‘Well yes, my dear, you do. Peas in the pod.’

‘Why did they have a nursemaid? Why didn’t Raven care for her sons?’ asked Sylvie.

‘Oh no, she couldn’t do that! They were kept away from her out of harm’s reach,’ said Marigold. ‘Raven lived with Mother Heggy, and sometimes she lived wild in the woods, especially in the summer. I reckon she would’ve killed them boys if she could. She hated ’em as much as she hated their fathers. She were ill-used, the poor girl, first by old Basil, and then Elm. No reason to love the children she were forced to bear, especially not Sol.’

‘No, she always despised Elm more than Basil. And Sol were ever his father’s son in that respect.’

‘In what way?’

‘Sol were a thug as a boy, a real bully, and he used to fight the Village boys and beat ’em badly. Elm sent both boys away to school in the Outside World as soon as they was old enough. Mind you, that were after Raven had died.’

They poured some more tea, clearly ready for a good old gossip
about the past, but much as she wanted to hear all this fascinating detail, Sylvie was very conscious of the time. Her mother could be looking for her and she had to get the hair to Mother Heggy tomorrow.

‘So you think there may be some of Magus’ hair in this album?’ she asked.

‘Aye, I do. Old Rosemary, she used to keep an album all about the two little boys as they grew. It were a big leather book full of photographs o’ them that Hallfolk took, drawings they’d done and suchlike. And I’m sure she kept locks of their hair in that album from when they was very little. Now where would it be, Cherry? Can you remember?’

‘’Tis in that room where old Siskin works sometimes. You know, where all them papers and framed photographs are kept. We’ll have to rummage.’

Sylvie started to get up. They both looked at her in surprise.

‘Not now, maid!’ said Marigold. ‘’Tis far too late. The Hallfolk are about and they’d see us if we started rifling and rummaging now.’

‘We’ll have a look tomorrow, dear,’ said Cherry. ‘Don’t you worry – I can go in that room nice and early to get the cleaning done and nobody’d think twice. We have to be careful o’ Martin, for he’d snitch as soon as look at us. But in the morning he won’t question me going into any of the rooms with a feather duster. If that album’s still about, and I don’t see why it shouldn’t be, I’ll find it and get the lock of hair to you.’

‘It’s Dark Moon tomorrow and Mother Heggy said she must have it by the evening.’

‘We know that, and don’t you fear, we’ll get it to you in time. And be happy to do it.’

‘Aye, anything that’ll help rid Stonewylde o’ Magus, Dark Angel take his wicked soul!’

The two women didn’t let her down. Sylvie returned to her bedroom after breakfast the following morning to find a twist of paper on her pillow. She opened it and stared at the small
silver-blond lock of hair inside. She felt a sharp twinge of emotion looking at the tiny piece of Magus’ childhood, so small and silky in her hand. It must’ve been difficult for him growing up without a mother, in the care of a harsh father who was interested in nothing but his own base pleasures. She pictured the little boy tearing around Stonewylde getting into mischief, fighting other boys and gaining a bad reputation, unloved by anyone except an old nursemaid and lashing out at the uncaring world, trying to control others with his strong will and angry fists. A little boy with nobody to nurture him and bring out his gentle side, and then sent away to a tough boarding school where he’d learnt to hide his darkness and present an amiable face to the world.

She stroked the silver lock, curled like a tiny crescent moon, and wondered if she held the means to Magus’ downfall in her palm – maybe to his death. But she pushed the guilt and pity away and thought of Yul instead, still recovering from the terrible ordeal Magus had put him through. Whatever the reasons behind Magus’ cruel nature, the fact remained that Yul was in danger from him, and indeed so was anyone else who crossed him, including herself. Sylvie hurried to Mother Heggy’s cottage before her misgivings could get the better of her.

‘I don’t know if it’s any good,’ she said, breathless from climbing up the hill in the chilly November wind, ‘because it was cut when he was a child. I’m sorry, Mother Heggy, but it’s all I could get.’

‘’Twill do,’ wheezed the old crone, fingering the lock of hair with gnarled fingers. ‘Shouldn’t matter how old it is so long as ‘tis his own. Now I can get to work.’

‘Will … will the spell actually kill him?’

‘No, not on its own. ‘Tis not that powerful magic. I’m old and on the wane myself, not like I used to be. But ‘twill weaken him just as I weakened Alwyn. ‘Tis a symbol of intent, my spell-mongering. I do what I can to help the boy for he’s the grandson of my Raven and the one with the Earth Magic. The Goddess chose him, as I knew she would.’

‘But Mother Heggy, I don’t understand why you hated Magus
so much when he was a child, before he’d done anything bad, and yet you don’t hate Yul. Magus was Raven’s own son, after all.’

‘’Tis true, but he were conceived from her suffering. She should never have borne children. If you could only have seen it … My poor little Raven! Just a tiny, delicate little thing she was and he a great heavy brute of a man. ‘Twas terrible how he forced her every single month, like his brother afore him, while she was moongazy and weak and couldn’t defend herself. And he brimming full o’ the power and energy he’d leeched from her through the stone, capering about like a wild torn cat and greedy with the moon-lust. No child of such a cruel union could ever be loved, not by me nor by her.’

Sylvie was silent, thinking of what little she knew of her own sordid conception. Did her mother resent her for it? Now that she’d conceived a baby in loving circumstances, had she realised the difference and decided that she didn’t love Sylvie so much any more? It would explain why her mother had been so cold and uncaring recently. Sylvie swallowed hard, trying to push down the feelings of hurt and rejection. At least Yul loved her, even if nobody else did.

The crone had shuffled across to a dilapidated cupboard in the corner where she peered closely at the bottles and jars jostling on the shelves.

‘But ‘tis different with Yul,’ Mother Heggy continued, decanting a green-tinged liquid into several smaller bottles she’d set out on the table, her hand remarkably steady for someone so old and blind. ‘True he has his father’s blood, but not his father’s evil – the power and the strength without the cruelty. And Maizie were willing. She loved Sol, and in his own way he loved her, so Yul’s conception was not cursed.’

Sylvie nodded bleakly at this, and taking the small bottles Mother Heggy pressed on her for Yul, hid them in a little bag she carried. Then after quickly hugging the old woman goodbye, Sylvie left for the Great Barn where she must join all the other women for the Dark Moon gathering.

It was an ordeal walking into the Barn, and Sylvie immediately located Holly and her gang over on one side of the enormous space. Once again they’d commandeered the pile of squashy cushions and were lying about on their backs, laughing and talking loudly. Another group of older Hallfolk women sat at a distance from them, examining a great heap of rushes. Sylvie fumbled at the pegs as she hung up her jacket, not sure where to sit. All she wanted was to hide herself away from everyone and not attract any attention from Holly’s group. But it was difficult to avoid company here, so after some hesitation she decided to join the group of Hallfolk adults.

Hazel looked up at her arrival and the smile faltered on Sylvie’s lips. The doctor was still cool with her, despite the daily visits in which Sylvie tried to get back to their previous friendliness. Magus had done a thorough job of turning Hazel against her.

‘Can I join you?’ she asked diffidently.

Hazel nodded, pulling a handful of dried rushes from the pile. This month they were making mats for the Villagers’ cottages, one of the women explained to Sylvie. The rushes had been harvested in the autumn from the marshes where the river flowed into the sea, and these new circular mats would replace the worn-out ones on the stone kitchen floors. Sylvie sat down and watched how they selected the rushes and smoothed them out, before binding the ends with thin reed and beginning to plait. It was clearly more difficult than it looked, and timidly Sylvie began to pick out some of the long rustling leaves from the heap.

‘I had the results back from your tests just after you left my office this morning,’ said Hazel, plaiting efficiently as she talked. ‘Magus is due home very soon and he’ll be pleased to see them.’

‘Are they alright? Is there anything wrong with me?’

‘No, there isn’t, so Magus was right all along.’

Sylvie’s heart sank. Although she hadn’t wanted there to be anything seriously wrong, this news would only strengthen Magus’ case that she was faking the lethargy and exhaustion she suffered after moondancing for him.

‘He’ll be pleased that I’ve put on weight, won’t he?’

‘I expect so, although you haven’t gained that much and your blood tests indicate there was some malnourishment. He won’t like that at all.’

‘But I am eating properly now, Hazel. I couldn’t help eating nothing when I felt so ill, and you know I was asleep for most of that week after the last full moon.’

‘Excessive sleeping is just another way of not facing up to life. Maybe it’s time you woke up, Sylvie,’ Hazel replied coldly.

A couple of the women in the group were Sylvie’s teachers, and they looked across at her.

‘I hope you’ve finished that history coursework,’ said one of them sternly. ‘Magus has requested a full report on his return and I’ve got my notes ready for him. There are still gaps in what you’ve submitted so far.’

‘It’s almost done,’ said Sylvie. ‘I should be able to finish it off tonight.’

‘Too late for the report though.’

‘How’s the revision going?’ asked another. ‘You know the mock exams start soon. Have you caught up yet?’

‘Nearly,’ said Sylvie quietly. ‘I’ve been working hard.’

‘Pity you didn’t try that earlier. The mocks will prove just how little effort you’ve put in over recent months. I always say they’re a wake-up call.’

‘Just what she needs,’ said Hazel grimly. ‘What a good job Magus realised how far you’ve slipped, Sylvie, and just in time, too. You’re very lucky he’s taken such an interest in your welfare.’

Sylvie swallowed her bitter retort, fighting down the tears of frustration and injustice that made her throat ache.

‘And I hear your maths is quite dreadful,’ continued the history teacher. ‘I think you’ve left that too late to turn around and William’s very annoyed you’ve let him down. Magus is always particularly proud of the high maths results achieved at Stonewylde. He’ll be furious with you.’

‘I’m doing my best,’ said Sylvie, bent over the plaiting to hide her burning face.

‘About time too. Oh for Goddess’ sake, girl! What are you doing to those rushes? What a dreadful mess! Unplait all that and start again. Or go and do something a little simpler that you can manage.’

Sylvie gave up and stumbled miserably over to the group working on patchwork quilts, still avoiding the Hallfolk girls who were eyeing her malignantly across the stone floor. The group of Village women who were busy quilting welcomed her warmly and moved around their benches to make space for her. Maizie and Rosie were especially pleased that she’d joined them, Rosie even swapping places so she could sit next to her. Remembering Sylvie’s clumsy attempts the month before, she offered to teach her how to sew properly. Sylvie tried hard to copy the girl’s tiny neat stitches as she hemmed her hexagons, but glumly wondered if she’d ever find anything she was good at.

The conversation was mundane but comforting, revolving around simple things such as whose house pig was next due for slaughter, and when to shut the bees up for winter. Sylvie started to relax a little, managing to block out the strident laughter coming from the gang on the cushions. Then the women in her group turned to the favourite topic of the moment – the return of Jackdaw. He and Magus had been away for over a week now, but it was known that Magus was due home any day. The servants always fed any Hallfolk news back to their relatives in the Village, and there was much speculation as to whether or not Jackdaw would return with the master.

‘I reckon he will. His things are still in the rooms over the stables where he were sleeping,’ said Tom’s daughter.

‘He better not show his face in the Village,’ said Edward’s wife grimly. ‘There’ll be such trouble if he does!’

‘Marigold said he comes into the kitchens like he owns the place, swaggering about and giving out orders. She said she’s tempted to add a little Death Cap or Destroying Angel to one o’ his pies.’