‘I did.’ Esperanza beams. ‘Alfie’s my trump card. We were married in secret last year at Spanish court, in front of several unassailably credible witnesses. At first it was just convenience for me, to ensure the match with Falmouth never came to anything – Alfie said he’d do it, and that I could divorce him once I’m queen if I liked. But then I started to like him. He’s just so decent, you know? Now I quite worship the ground he walks on.’ She kisses the tip of Alfred’s nose, and he goes bright red, rather flustered by his flamboyant, affectionate wife.
‘I adored her from the start, of course,’ Alfred admits. ‘But we both decided it would be best to keep this quiet and let Falmouth continue to believe she’ll marry him. No one’s more in the king’s confidence, and Espie hopes to get information out of him, about the deeds.’
Looking at the two of them sitting tucked together on the bed, I decide all at once that it’s time to lay my suspicions to rest.
‘So you’re working on Falmouth, and have contacts at court, and Alfred’s looking into the history of the Houses to see if he can find anything useful there?’ I ask.
‘Exactly so. Pass me that box of chocolate creams?’ Esperanza points to a gold foil box on the bureau. I hand it to her and she pops one into her mouth.
‘I can help,’ I say. Time for some honesty. ‘My father knew where Burleigh’s deed was, and I think the House still knows. I can’t ask Burleigh outright, though – the binding would wreak havoc if I did. So I’m using Papa’s ledger as a guide, to watch old memories that might point us in the right direction.’
‘Oh, well done, you.’ Esperanza holds the chocolate box out to me. ‘Have one, you quite deserve it.’
‘No, I can’t,’ I say with a shake of my head. ‘I’ve stayed far too long already, Frey’s waiting for me.’
The last I see of them as I shut the door is Esperanza popping a chocolate cream into Alfred’s mouth as he tries to carry on with his reading, a look of bemused resignation on his face.
13
It is a fine May morning – the last May morning of this year, in fact – and Burleigh looks lovely on the cusp of summer. I sit out in the kitchen garden, on a bench in the sun with my back against one of the walls. The air is warm, and while the garden may be mostly weeds at this point, bees buzz drowsily among their blossoms. Finches flit between the green thistles. I am happy in this brief moment, and Burleigh is happy because I’m happy. Though I can still feel pain emanating from the bricks, and the immense strain of the House holding in its unspent magic, there’s also contentment, benevolence and a vast sense of fondness.
I smile and run one thumb across the bricks behind me. In response, Burleigh unfurls tendrils of honeysuckle and their flowers open, spilling sweet fragrance on to the breeze.
‘Show-off,’ Wyn grumbles, from where he’s splitting and stacking firewood in front of the woodshed. ‘You were insufferable when we were small, you know. Always flaunting the House’s preference for you.’
He sets the axe aside and straightens up, wiping the back of one hand across his damp forehead. I gnaw at a fingernail and try not to look too long or too hard. Wyn’s so . . . competent now. He never was before. And while I don’t like to dwell on why he had to become so, the result can be a little distracting. Especially when I’ve got Papa’s ledger open on my lap and am supposed to be looking through it for anything useful.
‘The House is a fusty old building that plays favourites and doesn’t appreciate the people who do the most for it,’ I tell Wyn. ‘Look at Jed and Mira – they oversaw all the upkeep during Papa’s time, and when has Burleigh ever even acknowledged them?’ A skein of honeysuckle pokes me in the ear, and I bat it away.
‘You love it, though.’ Wyn’s voice is carefully empty, devoid of emotion. He might be speaking of the weather. ‘No matter how selfish or unfair it is. No matter what it’s done to your family, or what they’ve done for it. That’s why you came back.’
I frown at him as he stacks split logs beneath the overhang of the woodshed. ‘There were a lot of reasons why I came back.’
‘Have you found anything new today?’ Wyn asks, gesturing at the ledger with a stick of kindling. I know he’s changing the subject, but let it slide. Instead, I squint down at the pages of the ledger. ‘Actually, I think I have. I’ve been charting the locations of all my father’s journeys, and during the last year before his arrest, he kept going to Cornwall. Over and over, without recording why. So either he had a lover there I knew nothing about—’
‘Unlikely,’ Wyn says.
‘—or he’d found out the deed was somewhere in Cornwall. Somewhere along the coast, in a sea cave.’
Wyn glances over at me and he’s almost smiling. ‘And you used to tell me you weren’t clever enough for riddles.’
‘I am who Burleigh needs me to be,’ I answer, looking at the weed-choked gardens, the crumbling walls and the low places in the ground where wet mortar has pooled.
Wyn’s just about to speak again when the air grows deathly still. The sky clouds over and shifts to a sickly green. A sudden gust of chill rain falls, followed by eerie calm.
‘Burleigh?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’
The House, of course, does not answer, but Wyn squints around the corner of the building.
‘I think there’s someone at the gate,’ he says. ‘It’s storming out in the lane. And the brambles patching the wall look especially thorny.’
Closing Papa’s ledger, I heave a sigh. ‘I expect it’s Lord Falmouth. He came into the Halt yesterday – the king sent him to keep an eye on me and the House.’
‘That’ll be trouble,’ Wyn says with a shake of his head. ‘Burleigh loathes Falmouth. And I can’t say as I was particularly taken by him last time he was here, though he didn’t stay long.’
Getting to my feet, I walk over to Wyn and hold out the ledger. ‘Will you take this for me? I’ve got to go and play charming hostess. I do wish Burleigh would be charming too – the last thing we need is for a poor report to get back to the king.’
Wyn takes the ledger as I’ve asked him to, but I don’t let go. For a moment we’re caught with all that’s left of my father between us.
‘Don’t go, Violet,’ Wyn says without looking at me. ‘Don’t let Falmouth in. It’ll end badly.’
‘Oh, Wyn.’ It pains me to tell him no, but if I don’t follow the king’s rules, it’ll be a torch and a quick end for Burleigh. ‘I have to.’
‘I still don’t like it,’ Wyn says. This time he glances up at me and there’s a bleakness in his grey gaze that cuts me to the quick.
‘I’ll try to get rid of him as soon as possible,’ I promise, and at last I let the ledger go. Pulling myself together, I gather up my worn fen skirts and hurry towards the front grounds, and the bramble gate beyond.
At the head of the drive, I peer through the mess of thorns that patch the hole in Burleigh’s wall. A stiff, cold breeze is whipping at me on this side of the bramble gate, but on the other side it’s pouring rain. Falmouth is sitting astride a black charger and scowling over the weather. His menservants flank him with hunched shoulders, seemingly resigned to their fate of ending up soaked to the skin.
‘Hello,’ I call out. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m here to see your mistress,’ Falmouth calls back, his voice terse and clipped. ‘Is she at home?’
I smile grimly, and oh, I should know better, but I can’t resist baiting him. ‘She was last I checked.’
Falmouth’s horse dances in place and he saws at the bit in frustration. ‘Let me in at once, then.’
‘I’m not permitted to allow strangers on to the grounds,’ I tell him. ‘And I didn’t know you were coming.’
He mutters something under his breath. ‘Look, girl, I’m here on His Majesty’s business, and I expect you to let me in, or the king will hear of it.’
I don’t want to. The House doesn’t want me to. Wyn doesn’t want me to. But if I don’t, and he takes word back to the k
ing that I’m being uncooperative, there’ll be hell to pay.
‘Burleigh,’ I whisper, resting my hand on a thornless length of bramble. ‘It’s all right. I know he’s hurt you before, but I’m here and I won’t let anything happen to you.’
Reluctance pulses through the palm of my hand.
‘Go on, then,’ I coax. ‘You’re fine, I promise.’
Slowly, the brambles begin to pull apart, and I can feel the House’s ill humour in the ground beneath me. At last, there’s enough space for a single horse to pass through, and Burleigh stops there, refusing to yield any further. I give the wall a disappointed look.
But Lord Falmouth urges his charger forward. The horse shies a little in the gap as the House reaches out to it with thorny fingers.
‘Behave, this is for your own good,’ I hiss at the air and the grass and the gravel of the drive. There’s a distant grumble of thunder in answer.
At close quarters and in daylight, Lord Falmouth appears to be a good thirty years my senior, with an unforgiving jawline and eyes that don’t miss a thing.
‘You’re the tavern girl from last night,’ he says as he dismounts. ‘Does your mistress know how you spend your evenings?’
‘Oh yes,’ I answer. ‘She doesn’t mind at all.’
Falmouth’s scowl grows more pronounced. ‘Well. That’s no way to run a household. Things will be a damn sight different here once I’m Caretaker, mark my words.’
I say nothing, because I refuse to countenance the idea of this boorish nobleman as Caretaker of Burleigh House.
‘Have a groom take my horse away and water him,’ Falmouth orders abruptly. ‘And fetch your mistress for me. I want to discuss Burleigh’s management with her – this House is a disgrace.’
Behind Falmouth, a length of bramble snakes out from the wall, running across the ground towards his horse’s rear hooves.
‘Sir –’ I reach out for the charger’s reins and lead it forward a few steps, out of harm’s way – ‘I’m afraid there’s no groom at present, so you’ll have to make do with me. The staff isn’t what it was when my— when Master Sterling was alive.’
‘You mean before he was sentenced to death for betraying the king.’
I paste on a thin smile, more for the benefit of Burleigh than this odious nobleman. Thunder rumbles again, and half a dozen slate tiles slide from Burleigh’s roof and smash on the drive in front of the House. ‘Just so. Would you like to walk with me to the stables, or go on inside and wait?’
‘I’ll join you. Burleigh was hardly congenial the last time I was here, and it would be nice to see a bit of the grounds.’
I lead the horse and Lord Falmouth falls into stride next to me.
‘Did you visit during the old master’s time, then?’ I ask, both to make conversation and to keep him from looking towards the House. From this angle, you can see the wide cracks in the exterior walls of the guest wing, and I don’t want him knowing Burleigh’s in such dire straits.
‘No, I never visited while George Sterling was alive, though we were well acquainted. But I serve as the king’s proxy in his absences. He binds the Houses to obey me while he travels overseas. He was away in Belgium when George’s House arrest ended, so I was the one who had to retrieve the body, though Burleigh House did fuss about it. I ended up having to force the gate.’
The ground beneath us shifts a little. I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him. ‘I’ll thank you not to speak so lightly of the damage you did.’
Falmouth reddens. ‘Who are you to speak to me in such a fashion, girl? I’ll have you beaten for your impertinence.’
Burleigh’s livid. Every stone on the gravel drive begins to chatter, like the sound of small malevolent teeth.
Peace, Burleigh, peace, I think desperately at the House. I can’t keep this up.
‘I’m Violet Sterling,’ I say. ‘George’s daughter and the current mistress of this House. As I said, I don’t appreciate any mention of what you did last time you were here. To do such a thing to a House under a binding is unconscionable.’
‘Of course you are. George’s get would be working as a barmaid – he always spent too much time at the Shilling himself.’ Falmouth rolls his eyes. ‘And don’t be dramatic. The House did all this to itself. What was I supposed to do? Leave your father decaying on his deathbed while this place festered and went bad? Did you know that the boy George kept under arrest with him never even dealt with the corpse – just left it lying out to rot. All that was left by the time I made the House open up was bones. I had the trouble of a burial and a headstone to deal with myself.’
I concentrate on nothing but the rhythm of my breath and my own footsteps, because his words are poison.
Breathe in, and out. In and out. One foot forward. Now the next.
The sound of Wyn’s axe splits the air every few moments, like gunfire. I find it oddly comforting, knowing he’s nearby. Knowing I have an unquestioning ally, should I need him.
As we walk to the empty and derelict stables, daisies sprout and spring up through the gravel along my path. Light beams through the threatening clouds and follows me, so that I move in a halo of gold, like a saint or a Madonna. I’m glad of Burleigh’s obvious attention, just as I’m glad of the sound of Wyn’s axe. It’s a reassurance, that forceful as Lord Falmouth may be, I’m not entirely alone.
I tend to the horse while Falmouth watches. His men are entirely silent, never making eye contact or speaking a word. They’re more skittish than the horse is, and I can only imagine what sort of master the duke must be to make them seem so wary.
Falmouth orders his servants to remain in the stables, and the two of us hurry into the conservatory as fat raindrops begin to fall from the sky. They drum against the glass, and the sound lulls me. When I shiver, a fire springs to life in the grate and I draw closer to warm my hands. We’d be warmer in the study, but brambles are beginning to take over the corners, and the conservatory is still unmarked by Burleigh’s malaise.
‘His Majesty did say the House is oddly attentive to you,’ Falmouth remarks from where he stands looking out at the rainy grounds. ‘And I’m prepared to let you stay here permanently in some capacity. As a scullery maid, perhaps.’
The fire leaps higher, licking at the chimney in a sudden flare of flame.
‘Do you have much experience with Great Houses?’ I ask, because he must think I plan to step aside at summer’s end. ‘Burleigh will need a great deal of attention and a very deft touch if it’s to recover from its present state.’
Lord Falmouth turns and looks me up and down. The back of my neck prickles. I don’t like his proprietary air at all – standing there, you’d think he owns everything around him. ‘Miss Sterling, the king and I are of one mind in this. Burleigh’s been coddled by your family for centuries. What it needs is to be broken. A firm hand would do wonders for this place, and if it’s really that obstinate, well. It’s only one House. There are others, should Burleigh choose to go down in flames.’
‘It’s not a matter of choice,’ I tell him sharply. ‘Burleigh is ailing because of the binding that was placed on it. It was ailing before my father’s arrest, and would still be sickening even if I had the key in hand at this moment.’
I’m not sure if Burleigh is feeding off my agitation, or if I’m channelling the House’s anger. But the fire snaps and roars and rain lashes at the windows.
Please, Burleigh, I beg silently. Calm yourself. But inside my own chest, my heart beats at a furious pace.
Falmouth pays the House no mind. Instead, he crosses the room and stands next to me at the hearth, far closer than I’d like. I grip the mantel with one hand, both Burleigh and I needing the gesture of support.
‘Then perhaps,’ Falmouth says softly, ‘I’d better go back to His Majesty tomorrow, and tell him a torch is all Burleigh House is good for.’
Outside, wind shrieks in the eaves of the House, and the ground trembles beneath our feet. Fool that he is, Falmouth ignores it.
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‘Hush, Burleigh,’ I murmur beneath my breath, running a hand along the mantel. ‘Settle yourself, my love.’
But the House’s distress builds and builds, until I want to crawl out of my skin. Lord Falmouth, who can obviously feel nothing of it, looks at me as if I’m about to fall into hysterics. Perhaps I am.
‘Burleigh, you mustn’t—’ I begin, but the words are drowned out by shattering glass as vines burst into the conservatory from outside. They twine around the Duke of Falmouth’s wrists and ankles, pinning him fast and driving him to his knees. I stumble under the sudden weight of the House’s full attention bearing down on the two of us.
‘The king will hear of this,’ the duke rages as Burleigh drags him away, back through the garden and towards the front gate. It’s raining still, and before long Lord Falmouth is plastered in mud. I follow along, pleading with Burleigh to stop, but the House rages on. Falmouth’s servants run out of the stables, drawn by the commotion. They stop a few paces back, not wanting to interfere.
‘Do you think for a moment that His Majesty will let you stay on once he hears Burleigh has gone wild?’ Lord Falmouth carries on. ‘The king’s army will be here in three days, with torches and kerosene.’
The duke’s words are like a knife in my heart as Burleigh dumps him in the roadway. But then, in an instant, Burleigh’s attention swings away from us and towards something else. The knife twists.
‘Go!’ I bark at Falmouth’s servants, who scurry out just before the brambles twine shut, thorny vines sealing the House’s grounds more securely than any lock ever could.
‘What about my horse?’ Falmouth calls after me.
‘You’ll have to do without him,’ I shout back over one shoulder. ‘I’ve got more pressing things to take care of.’
The clouds above have grown darker since Burleigh’s fit of temper, and rain continues to pour down. Something hits the back of my neck with an unpleasant spatter, and when I reach instinctively to wipe at it, my hand comes away gritty and coated in wet mortar. The sound and substance of the rainfall changes, growing softer, fuller, more sinister, as mortar begins to coat the grass and clog the puddles. I’ve never seen such a thing, not in all my father’s time as Caretaker, and fear eats away at my insides as I hurry around the House.
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