by Kate Forsyth
‘You trying to trick me? What are you, some kind of spy? Get out of here, I say!’
‘Father, no, Luka’s our kin, he’s no spy, nor a thief either. He just wants our help.’ Fairnette held out both hands imploringly.
He glared at her with his red-rimmed eyes. ‘Who are you? I don’t know you. What do you want? Coming round, trying to trick me and steal from me. I won’t allow it, I won’t!’ He surged to his feet and at once all three children scrambled back a few steps, for he was very tall and broad, with massive shoulders and thick, muscled arms. He shook a huge fist at them. ‘Get out of here, I say!’
‘Come on,’ Fairnette said, and pulled them away. ‘There’s no point talking to him when he’s like this. We’ll come back later. He’ll have forgotten all about it, and we can ask him again.’
Her voice was stiff and unhappy.
‘Does he not remember you? His own daughter?’ Emilia felt this would be worse than not having a father at all.
‘Sometimes he remembers. Sometimes he thinks I should still be only a baby, and does not believe I’m me. Other times he does not remember he has a daughter at all.’
As Fairnette spoke she was picking bunches of sage leaves from the herb garden and stuffing them into a shallow metal dish she had picked up from a shelf. The old man had collapsed back onto his bench, staring once more at his hands. He was muttering to himself under his breath, but Emilia could not hear what he said.
‘That’s terrible,’ Emilia said.
‘I’m just a girl,’ Fairnette said bitterly. ‘He never forgets any of the boys, not even Van who’s younger than I am. Though . . .’ her voice trailed away, and she said to herself, ‘though, of course, Van’s hard to forget.’
Emilia was bursting with curiosity but she did not speak. She shot a warning glance at Luka, who was just as curious as she was. He closed his mouth and was silent too.
For a moment it seemed Fairnette would say more, but then she shrugged and moved away. ‘Come and meet the bees,’ she said. ‘They’ll want to know who you are.’
Emilia and Luka raised an eyebrow at each other in surprise, but followed her willingly down a narrow path into the woods.
Telling the Bees
‘Do the bees talk to you?’ Emilia asked.
Fairnette smiled faintly. ‘No, not like that. But bees are very wise, you know. They always tell me when someone is coming. Except they said I’d have three visitors this morning. I’m sure they would not count Zizi as one.’
‘Why not?’ Luka said, frowning, cuddling his little monkey closer.
Emilia grinned. She was glad to hear Luka returning to normal.
‘Well, if they counted the monkey, why not the dog?’ Fairnette said.
‘A dog’s only a dog,’ Luka said. ‘Zizi’s practically a person!’
‘So is Rollo!’ Emilia cried, and fondled his soft ears. He wagged his tail and licked her, before bounding on ahead, his nose to the path.
Fairnette smiled at them placatingly. ‘They’re both the most people-like animals I’ve ever met,’ she said. ‘But the bees wouldn’t count them, I’m sure. They’ve never counted dogs or horses or whatever before.’
‘How do they tell you?’ Emilia wanted to know. ‘Do they hum in your ear?’
Fairnette laughed again. She was very pretty when she laughed. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘They come inside. Bees don’t come inside unless they want to tell you something. Three were in the kitchen this morning. I opened the window to let them out and I thought to myself, Three visitors today, coming to buy some honey perhaps. So I made sure I had some new-baked bread, to try with the honey, and I went out to pick some flowers. I did not expect you so early!’
‘So do the bees always tell you things?’ Emilia asked. ‘What else do they tell you?’
Fairnette’s smile faded. ‘They always know when trouble is coming,’ she said. ‘They knew before Van had his accident. They were very unsettled all day, and I thought perhaps a storm was on its way, or . . .’ She sighed. ‘And then, after it happened, they knew we had to leave Horsmonden. They all rose in a big swarm, and flew away, and I had to run to follow them. They led me here, and hung off the eaves of the oast house, which had been abandoned for years. I picked them up and put them in a box, and then I went to Mr Browne and told him I wanted this house. He felt very bad about Van, you know, and so he gave it to me, or rather, to Father.’
‘Who’s Van?’ Emilia asked, although she thought she could guess.
‘He’s my brother,’ Fairnette said sadly. ‘He’s only ten, you know, two years younger than me. The rest of our brothers are all much older.’
‘So what happened to him?’ Luka asked, rather to Emilia’s relief. She had not wanted to ask.
Fairnette was quiet for a moment. ‘He got burnt,’ she said. ‘At the foundry. Stevo had to throw him in the water trough to put him out. We were all sure he would die, but I put honey on the burns. I didn’t know what else to do. My mother always used to give us honey to eat when we had sore throats. It seemed to work. He lived, anyway, though he says he just wishes I’d let him die.’
‘How awful,’ Emilia said, thinking of Noah and trying to imagine him being on fire. It made her feel sick.
Fairnette nodded. ‘He won’t go out where anyone might see him – he won’t go outside at all, not even into the garden, or to come and see the bees.’
They walked on in a subdued silence. Zizi swung through the trees, shrieking and throwing acorns at them. She was glad to be away from the smoky town.
‘Where’s your mother?’ Emilia asked.
‘She’s dead,’ Fairnette said. ‘She died when I was eight.’
‘My mother’s dead too,’ Emilia said. They looked at each other sadly. There was no way to explain the dark absence in their lives to anyone who had not lost their mother too. Only those who had suffered the same sorrow could understand.
‘And what of all your other brothers?’ Emilia asked. ‘Don’t they help you?’ For it had occurred to her that Fairnette had the care of both her injured brother and her elderly forgetful father, all by herself.
Fairnette shook her head. ‘Van doesn’t want them.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know what happened that day up at the foundry. Van should not have been there, I know. But he hated being the youngest, he could not wait for the day he was allowed to start work too. He’s like all the Smith men, he loves the forge and the fire. I think . . . I think something must’ve happened that day, something no one tells me. Because they all blame each other for what happened, and Van blames everyone.’
Emilia would have liked to ask more, but they were approaching a clearing in the woods filled with the soft, ceaseless humming of bees. Emilia watched with interest as Fairnette lit the sage leaves in the iron dish she carried. Then, waving the smouldering leaves from side to side, she walked slowly into the centre of the clearing. Smoke drifted about the row of six dome-shaped straw beehives that stood on a wooden rack under the trees.
Bees were busily flying in and out of the entrances, zooming away into the woods on either side, or crawling about the beehives. Fearlessly, Fairnette walked into their midst, the smoke wreathing about her head. Bees hovered about her in a noisy golden cloud, landing on her head, her arms, her hands, her cheeks, her lips, her eyelids. Fairnette did not even flinch. She stood quietly until she was wearing the bees like a living shroud, and then, moving very smoothly, she approached each hive and checked it over carefully. The tops of the hives had been hinged so that she could lift them and peer inside, waving the smoke all about first. Then, step by step, Fairnette retreated back to the edge of the clearing, the bees unfurling sleepily from her.
Emilia and Luka stared at her with amazement and something that was almost horror. She’s a witch too, Emilia thought. A bee enchantress.
‘Do you want to see?’ Fairnette’s dark eyes were glowing. ‘It’s very beautiful, a beehive.’
‘Won’t they attack us and sting us?’ Luka asked.
‘I don’t think Zizi knows how to be calm and slow,’ Luka said. ‘I’ll stay here and keep her quiet, I think.’ He had a very vivid memory of the last beehive they had encountered, with Sweetheart the bear. Sebastien Hearne had been unable to sit down for hours.
Fairnette smiled. ‘Coward,’ she said. ‘What about you, Emilia?’
Emilia followed Fairnette across the clearing. Behind them, Luka laid one hand on Rollo’s neck to keep him near, cradling Zizi in the other arm.
‘One must always be clean and sweet and sober to come to the bees,’ Fairnette said in a soft voice. ‘They do not like noise, or clamour, or roughness, or bad smells. They do not like strangers. So stand by here and let me introduce you.’
Emilia nodded.
‘Oh, bees, we thank you for your good work and harmony,’ Fairnette said in a soft singsong voice. ‘We come here in peace, to tell you of strangers here among us. This here is Emilia Finch. She means no disrespect to you, coming with her hair all blowsy and her hem hanging down. She has not had time yet to tidy herself after her long journey. She means you no harm. She thanks you for your good honey, which gave her new heart this morning.’
Emilia found herself bowing her head and murmuring a thank-you, even as she lifted her hand to unconsciously smooth down her unruly hair.
‘There among the bushes is Luka Finch,’ Fairnette continued. ‘He means you no disrespect not coming forward to greet you himself. He has with him wild creatures that may not know enough of you to go gently among you. He, too, thanks you for your good honey. He said it was the most delicious he had ever eaten.’
The bees danced about Fairnette as if listening.
‘Luka and Emilia have trouble in their family, and have come to us for help. I hope that we can lend them a hand, and bring peace and harmony back to the Finch family, so that all is right in their world.’
Emilia stood very quietly, hearing the hum of the bees’ wings in her ears. One blundered against her arm, and it was hard not to flinch back. Then it flew off again, following an invisible road through the air.
‘Come see through my glass window,’ Fairnette said. ‘This is my favourite thing in the world. It always makes me happy to see how the bees all work together. Mr Browne had it made for me.’
To Emilia’s utter fascination, she was able to look through the window into the very heart of the hive. She could see the bees coming in from outside and delivering the nectar to other bees, one to another in a long, slow chain of honey-making. She could see the airy construction of honeycomb cells, with the dark heart of the brood buried deep inside. She even saw bees carrying in droplets of water to let fall on the backs of the worker bees who were busy fanning the hive to keep it cool. Fairnette was glad to explain everything to her, and Emilia had to turn and signal to Luka to come and see as well, for she knew he would be as entranced as she was.
Fairnette pointed out what she called soldier bees, whose job it was to attack any threat. ‘It is their job to guard the queen,’ Fairnette told them. ‘Without a queen, the hive will die.’
Emilia could not help wondering what would happen to their hive if Cromwell died. He ruled like a king, without being a king, and his sons were not princes to inherit the throne. She could understand why prayers had been said for him all over the countryside that Sunday. Everyone, Roundhead or Royalist alike, dreaded the turmoil that would follow his death.
‘I like looking into the hive,’ Fairnette said dreamily. ‘All is in order, everyone knows their job, they all work together for the good of the whole hive.’
‘If only people could be like that,’ Emilia said passionately.
Fairnette sighed. ‘I used to think so too. But they can be cruel, the bees. When there are too many new queens, the first born kills them all. She stings them to death. She is the only bee that does not die when she uses her stinger. She’ll kill her own mother too if she has to. And the male bees die once they mate with the queen, and if they do not mate with her, the worker bees drive them away from the hive and they die from hunger. Which is, I suppose, better than the fate of the poor drudges, who simply work themselves to death.’
Emilia and Luka stared into the hive. It suddenly seemed sinister. There was a long silence, then Fairnette gave herself a little shake and said, smiling, ‘Yet they make honey, the best and sweetest food in the world, and they make wax, which brings us light, and any one of them would die to protect their hive. So it’s beautiful as well.’
‘Sweetness and light,’ Emilia said. ‘And yet . . .’
‘Not all is sweetness and light in the honeybee’s world,’ Luka said, in a deep, dramatic voice. All three of them laughed, and then, since their laughter disturbed the bees, backed away from the hive as quickly as they dared.
They headed back to the cottage, talking and laughing. It was sad to see how Fairnette’s glow faded as they approached the forge. Her father was asleep, his chin sunk down into his beard. His pipe had fallen from his hand, and lay smouldering on the bench.
Fairnette picked it up and tapped it out. ‘He’ll burn the house down one day,’ she said sadly, and straightened his collar with a gentle hand. He did not stir.
‘Come back to the house,’ Fairnette said to Emilia and Luka. ‘I have much to do, I’m afraid. I have not yet done the washing, and soon I will need to start cooking dinner. You will stay for dinner, won’t you? Father may feel better after a little sleep. I’m sure he will help you make copies of those keys, if we ask him right.’
‘That’d be lovely, thank you,’ Emilia said gratefully.
‘I’ll make us a feast, in honour of you coming,’ Fairnette cried. ‘We have plenty of food, for most people roundabouts here tend to barter their goods for my honey and my candles. They give me eggs, or some bacon, or a sack of flour, and Mrs Browne brought me a hen yesterday. They use a lot of candles up at the big house, and she knows I’d rather not be paid too often in gold, for it only means I have to go to town to spend it. I don’t like having to go to town.’
‘So you make a living out of your candles and honey?’ Luka asked curiously.
‘We live well enough,’ Fairnette said. ‘Candles are expensive, you know. I could sell a lot more, if only I had the time to make them. But I already have so much to do around here, for I need to tend the garden as well as the house, and make sure my bees have plenty to eat.’
‘It’s a lovely garden,’ Luka said. ‘That must be why your honey is so delicious.’
Emilia shot him a suspicious glance. She did not really like this new gallantry of Luka’s. Fairnette liked it, though. She smiled and blushed and murmured thanks.
‘I have to make sure the bees have nectar all the time, else they’ll not have enough honey for the winter,’ she said. ‘So this means we have flowers from early spring to autumn. I do like that.’
‘No one grows flowers any more,’ Emilia said. ‘The Puritans think a garden should only be useful, not beautiful.’
‘Flowers are useful,’ Fairnette said. ‘How could bees make honey without them?’
‘My bet is the blue-noses don’t eat honey,’ Luka said. ‘Surely anything so delicious must be a sin?’
They came into the house, laughing, Zizi riding high on Luka’s shoulder, her paw on his ear.
They heard a bang from the kitchen, and at once Fairnette’s face sobered, and she hurried through the house.
The boy with the woollen hood was stooped over the kitchen table, holding a jar pressed to his body with a thin, red, knobbly stick. He was trying to open the lid with his free hand, but could not manage it. The bang they had heard was him thumping his fist on the table with frustration.
Emilia wondered why he did not just hold the jar in one hand and open it with the other, but the very next instant she realised with an awful shock that the red, knobbly stick was in fact the stump of his forearm. He had no hand.
Just then, he
glanced around.
She gasped aloud.
One side of his head was horribly scarred. His hair was burnt away, and his scalp was mottled red and white like a slice of sausage.
He flinched away at the sound of Emilia’s gasp, and hunched his shoulders. ‘Who are they?’ he cried, his voice shrill. ‘Tell them to go away!’
Fairnette rushed forward. ‘Are you hungry, Van? Here, let me open it for you!’
‘I don’t want you to open it for me!’ he cried. ‘I want to do it myself!’
‘It’s just a bit stiff, that’s all,’ Fairnette said, and went to pick up the jar.
He struck her hand away. ‘Leave it alone! I don’t want any!’
Fairnette was distressed. ‘Let me open it for you, Van. I don’t mind. Please. I don’t want you to be hungry.’
‘What’s the use?’ he said in a voice of utter misery. ‘I can’t do anything. I can’t even open a stupid jar.’
Zizi’s eyes had brightened at the sight of the jar, which she recognised as the one that held the dried apples. Paying no attention to the children, she swung herself down on to the table, picked up the jar and deftly opened it. She helped herself to a few dried apples, then, remembering her manners, held it out to Van, her head cocked to one side.
There was a moment’s silence. Emilia held her breath, braced for another explosion from the scarred boy, but instead he slowly put out his hand and took one of the apple rings.
Wondering what the other jars contained, Zizi swung herself up to the shelf and nimbly opened another. It held flour, which held no interest for her, though she dabbled at it with her tiny paws and tasted it, before spitting in distaste, screwing the lid back on, and trying the next, which held dried herbs. In the third jar she found fresh plums, which she adored. She gobbled a few down, then, wondering at the silence, looked round. In an instant she had bounded back to the table and was offering the jar to Van. Silently he took one with his good hand and ate it, and Zizi offered the jar to the others.
‘Isn’t she a darling,’ Fairnette breathed.