Sorrow and rage. Sorrow and rage.
His Majesty gets up and stands over me. ‘Come along then, my dear. Do as you’re told, and everything will go well for you. Disobey, and I will show you how incapable this House is of resisting my orders for long, whatever its sentiments may be.’
Sorrow and rage. Fear.
And the fear is what breaks me. Wordlessly, I take the king’s hand and let him pull me to my feet, though his touch turns my stomach.
‘Good girl.’ He pats me on the shoulder. ‘I knew you’d see reason. You’ve always been a clever thing – far more sensible than your father.’
I say nothing, because if I speak the bitter words that spill out will surely cost both me and my House dearly.
‘Go on then,’ His Majesty urges. ‘Do whatever it is young girls do on their wedding days. And smile, Violet. This is a happy occasion, for both you and the House. Soon you’ll have a perfectly serviceable Caretaker to make use of.’
Sorrow. Rage. Fear.
I don’t want anyone else to be Caretaker. Neither does Burleigh.
And blood and mortar, I do not want to get married.
I wander into the hall, hardly able to think through the fog of the House’s feelings and the pressure of its unspent magic. One thing’s clear: I need to get His Majesty off the grounds before Burleigh loses its composure.
‘Uncle Edgar,’ I say as he joins me in the corridor. ‘I’m just going to need a moment to get dressed, as you say. Why don’t we meet out in the lane?’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Because of Burleigh?’
My face burns as I answer. ‘Yes. Because of Burleigh.’
‘Oh, very well.’ The king runs a finger along the study doorpost, and the whole frame shudders. ‘You have your work cut out for you here if you’re going to stave off the inevitable, Violet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a House in such a state.’
I swallow back a retort, reaching out and resting a comforting hand on the nearest wall instead. But as I do, the icy bite of House magic gnaws at my skin, turning my fingertips grey.
Burleigh’s doleful, apologetic even, and yet here it is. My second dose of House magic since waking. I’d make a widower of Lord Pottsworth in a month, at this rate.
‘Well, I’ll see you shortly, Uncle Edgar,’ I say with half a curtsy, and hurry up the stairs. All the way to the second floor, I run my hand along the banister and watch as more mortar spreads through my veins.
What can I do, though? Burleigh needs help and it’s not in me to refuse my House, whatever the cost.
By the time I shut the bedroom door, my skin is grey to the wrists and I can hardly feel my hands. Nevertheless, I sink down next to the bed and press my numb fingers to the floor.
‘Peace, Burleigh,’ I whisper. ‘Peace.’
But the House’s anguish and rage and fear at the king’s presence are all still roiling in its walls, and in my blood. I squeeze my eyes shut, because my head feels fit to burst and the light hurts me.
Cold creeps further and further up my arms.
Distantly, I hear a whine of hinges as the bedroom door opens, and then Wyn’s voice cuts through the fog of Burleigh’s pain or my own, I’m not entirely sure which it is any more. But that can’t be right. Wyn left.
‘You’ve got to stop this,’ he says sharply, his tone all splinters and thorns.
‘I’m not doing anything!’ I manage to protest. My eyes fly open as Wyn settles on his knees in front of me and takes both my hands in his own. I may not be able to feel much, but I can feel that.
‘Not you. The House. I’ll torch it myself if it doesn’t stop.’
A fierce gust of rain lashes the window in response. Is it raining? The sky was clear a moment ago, unless I’ve been sitting here taking in mortar for longer than it seems. I’m not used to Burleigh’s sudden changes any more – they were once a matter of course, and now they take me by surprise.
‘That’s enough,’ Wyn says, and I know he’s not speaking to me this time because there’s something fierce and compelling about his voice, like I’ve never heard before.
Immediately, the pressure in my head lets up as Burleigh’s focus shifts. Slowly, slowly, warm and living blood runs back through my veins. The icy touch of mortar begins to let up as its flow reverses, draining out of me and into Wyn. When I look at him, his eyes are fixed on mine, but vacant and unseeing.
‘Wyn?’ I breathe. ‘What’s going on? What are you doing?’
He doesn’t answer – just sits there, and it’s as if his body is nothing but an empty shell.
I look down at our clasped hands. Wyn’s are pale as ever, and dusted with a few freckles, but there’s no sign of mortar that’s leaving me to run beneath his skin. No grey poison threading through his veins. And yet, somehow, the House magic is working in him. I can feel it, passing out of my body and into his.
The last of it goes, but Wyn’s gaze stays blank and lightless.
I don’t know what to do. A helpless rage, choking in its futility, floods my veins.
Then Wyn blinks, and his eyes focus on me.
‘I saw the king’s coach while I was on the road to Taunton,’ he says, as if absolutely nothing had happened. ‘So I turned around to warn you, but clearly he beat me here.’
‘What was that?’ I ask, ignoring what he’s just said. ‘What did you do with the House magic? I’ve never seen anything like that before. Never even heard of something like it.’
Wyn pulls his hands away from mine and hunches his shoulders, growing prickly and withdrawn once more. ‘Don’t worry about it. What did His Majesty want?’
That question’s the only thing that could possibly distract me from what’s just happened. ‘He came to tell me I’m getting married.’
I can’t keep despair from my voice. I don’t know how to get around this – though everything in me says to bolt, I can’t. Burleigh is a tether I will not loose myself from. ‘The king has someone he wants to name Caretaker, and I know if I don’t do as I’m told, he’ll turn me out of Burleigh House. Congratulate me, Wyn.’
‘I will not.’ When I glance up, Wyn’s scowling. ‘You’re not getting married,’ he says. ‘You’re Violet Sterling; you’ve never done anything you don’t want to do. So stop being a fatalist and get yourself out of it.’
‘I left Burleigh House. I left my father. I left you,’ I tell him, bristling at his tone. ‘So in point of fact, sometimes I am forced to do things I don’t want to. And I don’t know how to stop this.’
Wyn shrugs. ‘We were children when you left the House. We’re not children any more. Think of something.’
I let out a growl of frustration. ‘It’s not that easy!’
Getting to his feet, Wyn makes for the door. ‘I’m going down to the kitchen to talk to Mira,’ he says as he goes. ‘I’ll stay for an hour. If you’ve found a way out of this by then, I’ll stay longer – give you the fresh start you wanted. But if you let the king bully you into a marriage of convenience, I’ll be gone again by the time you’re back.’
I scoff. ‘As if your presence is some great prize. I’m not sure I even want you here any more.’
Wyn turns, and gives me a long-suffering look. ‘I’m not the prize to be won, Violet. Your freedom is. If you win it, I’ll stay awhile, because you could clearly use the help. But I won’t stay on only to watch you be ground down under the heel of His Majesty’s boot.’
He shuts the door behind him, and as he goes, all my despair is replaced by anger and stubbornness and determination. That’s always the way with us Sterlings – we fight our hardest when backed into a corner. When facing down the impossible.
I clench my fists and scowl at the door, because of course Wyn knows that. This is no different from the time I hit my head, slipping on damp rocks in the stream bed at the back of the grounds. Too afraid to leave me to run for help, Wyn pulled me to my feet and jeered and bullied and cajoled until we made it back to the House. It’s not so bad, Violet, don’t fuss over n
othing, you’re being ridiculous, he’d said. I remember Mira shrieking at the sight of me, covered in blood, and Wyn disappearing the moment Jed took charge. It wasn’t until after I’d had my head bandaged and been washed and dressed that I found Wyn, in my cupboard as always. His hands were still shaking, but he’d got me home by waking that Sterling stubbornness.
‘All right, then,’ I say, squaring my shoulders. ‘Burleigh House, I don’t want to get married. You don’t want a new Caretaker. And we’re in deadly earnest, but to His Majesty, everything’s a dance or a game. I think – I think we’re just going to have to do the best with the hand we’ve been dealt.’
White blossoms burst jubilantly from the mantel and the sun scuds out from behind its cover of clouds, pouring golden light through the windows. Burleigh’s clearly pleased with my resolve, and confident enough in my ability to get round His Majesty. If only I had that same measure of assurance.
‘We haven’t got much working in our favour,’ I tell the House grimly. ‘Which means it’s time to start bluffing.’
His Majesty waits in the lane, seated on a black charger and escorted by a dozen royal guards. The presence of the guards is a visceral reminder of the day the king came to see my father imprisoned, and a new tendril of fear uncurls in my belly. I tamp it down. Steady on, Vi. Don’t let him see you’re afraid.
In contrast to the king, I drift through the bramble-choked scar in the wall as light as gossamer, a scrap of gentle summer sky come to earth. I twine my fingers in my skirts as I walk down the gravel drive. I’m wearing one of Mama’s old gowns. The frock is too low in the waist to be quite the thing, but it’s long enough, and the forget-me-not blue makes me look harmless, which is what I want. It’s fitting to do this in Mama’s clothes too, as for once it’s her I need to imitate and not Papa. No matter how unhappy she was, whenever an outsider arrived at Burleigh, Mama closed ranks. She put on a dazzling smile and lied through her teeth, chattering about how lovely life in a Great House was, and how perfectly wonderful things were between her and my father. Right up until the end, she kept her misery hidden from everyone but her family.
That’s who I must be now – a girl without a care, a reed that bends without breaking. Never mind the state of my House, the treason I’m planning to embark on, the fear that sometimes threatens to overwhelm me – His Majesty must not sense the slightest bit of it.
‘Uncle Edgar,’ I say with a curtsy as I step through a gap in the mortarous briars that now serve Burleigh for a gate. ‘Thank you so much for waiting. I feel worlds better about this now that I’ve had a chance to freshen up.’
I don’t. After working House magic twice in one day, I feel as if I might fall over at any moment. But I’m planning to tell rather a lot of lies, so I might as well begin as I mean to go on.
‘Well, you’re a pretty picture now,’ His Majesty answers indulgently. ‘Shall we carry on to the village? Lord Pottsworth is waiting at the church.’
I let a small sigh escape my lips, and the king raises an eyebrow. ‘Troubles, my dear?’
‘I don’t know Lord Pottsworth. I’ve never even met him. It isn’t that I object to marrying a Caretaker you choose – you’re Burleigh’s deedholder and it’s for you to appoint a new keyholder. I accept that. But it does seem hard that I don’t have any say in the matter. And you promised me time to settle in. I’d hardly call a day generous in that regard.’
Coming up alongside the king’s charger, I reach out and rub a finger along the horse’s embossed leather martingale. His Majesty stares down at me, a frown playing across his features.
‘You could have far worse men for your husband than Lord Pottsworth,’ he says. ‘He’s dull as powder, but that only means you’ll be able to manage him however you like. And he has a passion for orchids – I’m sure if you bring Burleigh round, he’ll do marvellous things with the greenhouse and the gardens.’
I don’t point out that the greenhouse has, in fact, been overtaken by brambles and that without the key, I can’t restore it. Nor do I mention that my House doesn’t need a Caretaker who can be managed, but one with fire and strength of will and an unflinching resolve to put Burleigh’s needs first.
Instead, I glance up at the king with what I hope is a wistful expression. ‘It’s just that everything’s been taken out of my hands. And it’s all so sudden. Your own marriage was a political match – were you happy before Queen Isabella had to return to Spain?’
I refuse to let my gaze falter. The words sound entirely innocent, but it’s the king himself who taught me to play games of strategy, and I know as well as anyone how badly his match to Isabella went. The king gives me a searching look, but I stand my ground, wide-eyed and guileless as only a seventeen-year-old girl with ulterior motives can be.
‘No one likes a forced marriage,’ I say, letting self-pity creep into my voice. ‘All I want is a bit of time, and some choice in the matter. In return, I promise to bring Burleigh around, and settle down happily once you’ve found someone I fancy.’
For a long while the king only watches me, with that prying, hawkish gaze of his. I want to shift, to look away, but hold fast, even when I begin to suspect he’s about to drag me off to be married to the faceless Lord Pottsworth – by force, if necessary.
‘Very well,’ the king concedes finally, and I think I might melt with relief. Or at least I do until I hear the rest of what he has to say. ‘I’ll give you a choice. Marry Lord Pottsworth now, stay on here, and find a way to reconcile the House to him. Or you’re welcome to spend half the summer alone with Burleigh and come August I’ll give the key to Lord Falmouth, should the House still be standing. Falmouth won’t want to marry you – he’s got his eyes set rather higher – but I hear he’s dreadfully hard on chambermaids. Perhaps he could find you a position as a servant here.’
‘Lord Falmouth who tore this hole in Burleigh’s walls? That’s hardly much of a choice,’ I say, keeping my voice to a petty grumble while my mind races.
‘Mm, yes. He’s the one who alerted me to your father’s treasonous inclinations, as well. But that,’ the king purrs, ‘is me raising the stakes, you vixen. How badly do you want time with the House? And what do you plan to do with it, I wonder?’
‘Host a number of lawn parties,’ I answer lightly, though my hands, hidden in my skirts, are balled into fists. ‘Perhaps take up tennis. All right, you’ve got a bargain, Uncle Edgar. Come August, should the House still be in need of a Caretaker, I will let it pass to your man Falmouth, without a murmur or a complaint.’
Three months at most then, for me to succeed where my father failed.
‘I still plan to summer in Bath, to keep an eye on things here,’ His Majesty warns me. ‘And I expect unfaltering loyalty from you until the autumn, of course.’
‘That goes without saying,’ I answer with a smile. ‘You’re all I have left in the way of family, Uncle Edgar. I feel far more forgiving now I’m home and you’re allowing me some leeway. I think we’d better let bygones be bygones.’
‘You’re a devious little witch,’ the king says affectionately, patting my head as if I’m a faithful hound. ‘I always did like that about you. We’re far more similar than you think, Vi.’
Like hell we are. ‘Oh, I think so too, Uncle. We do tend to land on our feet.’
‘As you say.’ He gestures to the guardsmen and they start off down the lane, moving away from Burleigh Halt and towards Taunton. ‘You know where to find me if you need me,’ His Majesty calls back over one shoulder. ‘Oh, and I’m sending someone into town, to look out for you and the House. Just in case Burleigh should unfortunately need to be – dispatched – at short notice.’
So we’re to have an executioner in residence while I plan my treason. Wonderful. What could possibly go wrong?
Rather than complain or answer back, I stand in the lane and wave, a dutiful girl farewelling her beloved godfather. It’s only once the king’s party has rounded the bend in the road and disappeared from view that I step
back and lean against the House’s wall for support.
‘I hate him,’ I whisper to the sun-warmed stone. ‘I want you out from under his thumb, and for neither of us ever to have to answer to him again.’
Mortar oozes from the wall in reply, like blood from a wound that won’t heal.
9
I find Mira in the kitchen, but there’s no sign of Wyn.
‘Are you married, then?’ Mira says, looking up from the basin full of laundering she’s at work on.
‘No,’ I tell her. ‘Not yet, at least.’
‘Good,’ she says with an approving nod. ‘Wyn told me what was going on. My first thought was to run out with the rolling pin and beat the priest over the head with it, if need be. But then I remembered you’re nearly grown and set on being a Caretaker, so you need to fight your own battles.’
I rest my chin on my hand and let out a sigh. ‘Everyone’s far more confident in my capabilities than I am.’
Mira smiles wickedly. ‘If things hadn’t gone your way, I had every intention of making that lord’s life utterly miserable while he was under this roof. Burleigh and Jed and Wyn all would’ve helped. The king’s man would have been begging for an annulment after a fortnight. And there was always the rolling pin, if he tried to lay a finger on you.’
I look at her, bent over the washbasin, her hair all gone iron-grey, arms red to the elbows from the sting of harsh soap. I love her. Blood and mortar, I love her and Jed so much it hurts sometimes.
‘I’m sorry I was cross about the deed,’ I tell Mira. ‘I don’t deserve you or Jed, truly I don’t.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘No family agrees about everything; why should we be any different? But Violet, try to be safe, won’t you?’
‘I’ll do my very best,’ I promise, getting up and brushing a kiss to her cheek. ‘Wyn hasn’t left yet, has he?’
‘No, he said he was going to do some plastering in the dining room. He was . . . anxious . . . while you were out there with the king.’
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