Even as I run through the overgrown vegetable garden, my fear turns to a sickening premonition. There’s nothing to be heard but the damp, thick plashing of falling mortar. Wyn’s axe has gone silent. He’s still near the woodshed, propped against a mound of neatly stacked logs. Wyn looks for all the world as if he could be sleeping. But when I shake him frantically by the shoulders, he doesn’t wake.
‘Wyn. Come on, Wyn. Open your eyes.’
The full weight of Burleigh’s attention is still bent on him, and the unnatural rain hasn’t slackened yet. I sink my hands into a slurry of mud and mortar.
‘Burleigh House,’ I plead, ‘please stop. Please let him be.’ Resistance and frustration leak up through my skin.
‘I’m begging you,’ I say to my House. ‘If you’ve ever loved me, turn away from him now.’
Ever so slowly, Burleigh’s focus begins to shift. The clouds thin little by little, bit by bit, and finally dissipate.
‘Wyn?’
His hands are cold. I chafe them between my own, but he still doesn’t wake. Glancing over one shoulder in an agony, I calculate the distance to the kitchen door. It’s a hundred yards away, and though I hate to leave Wyn, I can’t move him on my own.
‘Don’t move,’ I breathe. ‘I’m coming back for you straightaway. Burleigh, if you touch him again, I’ll never forgive you.’
The House rumbles, but a single beam of sunlight cuts through the cloud cover and spills over Wyn’s unconscious form.
Scrambling to my feet, I bolt across the kitchen garden and in through the door. ‘Mira?’ I shout. ‘Mira, where are you?’
There’s no sign of her. I rattle through the halls, calling her name as I go. At last I hear a faint answer and hurry towards the sound of her voice.
Mira’s in the conservatory and, as soon as I enter the room, descends upon me, taking my face in her hands and looking me over as if I’m likely to have lost an arm.
‘Violet, are you all right?’ she asks in a panic. ‘What happened in here?’
‘His Majesty sent the Duke of Falmouth to look in on the House,’ I say mechanically. ‘He was awful, and Burleigh lost its temper. The House dragged him off the grounds, but then it started losing control of its magic. There was mortar, raining from the sky, and Wyn tried to stop it – he did House magic, but now I can’t wake him. Mira, please, I need your help.’
It’s only as I speak of what’s happened that the true horror of it strikes me. Brutish Lord Falmouth and Burleigh’s rage and Wyn, still where I left him.
‘Where’s Wyn?’ Mira asks as I press a hand to my mouth and tears spill from my eyes. ‘Vi. Where is he?’
‘Out by the woodshed,’ I say, pulling myself together. ‘We’ve got to get him inside.’
Puddles of mortar are already drying out along the garden path. The weeds are flattened by it, borne down by the weight of that unnatural rain. Everything smells like damp, cold stone.
And when we come out in front of the woodshed, my heart jackknifes in my chest. There’s no sign of Wyn.
‘He was just here,’ I say, casting about us. ‘I swear, Mira. Where could he have gone?’
Mira has two fingers to her temple, as if her head aches. ‘Has Wyn done House magic before?’ she asks slowly.
I bite my lip and look down at the mortar-slick ground. ‘Yes.’
‘Have you done House magic since we got back? Violet Helena Sterling, I expect the truth from you.’ I’ve never seen Mira so stern before.
‘. . . Not on purpose,’ I answer weakly.
‘Which is a yes. Get inside and pack your bag, young lady. We’re leaving.’
‘What?’ I gasp. ‘Mira, you can’t—’
‘I can think of two things that might have happened to that boy,’ she says, cutting me off. ‘Either he realized this place is a danger to him, and left like he planned to at first, or—’
‘Or what?’ I cross my arms and scowl.
‘You said yourself Burleigh dragged Falmouth off the grounds. This House isn’t right any more. What if it did the same to Wyn? What if it broke its bond and did away with him?’
‘Did away with him?’ The anger that courses through me is a hot and electric thing. ‘Are you calling Burleigh a murderer? My House would never.’
Mira looks profoundly weary. ‘Violet, my love. Your House already has. And I know what your father taught you to be. What you’ve always thought was your role. But can you, Violet Sterling, really put this House before anything else when it comes down to it? Before anyone? Think on that. Think long and hard. And do it while you’re packing – I can’t, in good conscience, let you stay in a place that constantly puts you in harm’s way.’
For a moment, I think of stamping my feet or raging at her, but my anger’s already collapsing into grief. If Mira looks weary, I feel as if I’ve lived on this Earth for a thousand years.
‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t want me to stay,’ I tell her, and my voice breaks on the words because I love Jed and Mira with my whole heart. I’d be lost without them. ‘I can’t go. Not until I’ve unbound this House or it lies in ashes.’
Violets spread around my feet like ripples as I speak.
‘Why?’ Mira asks. ‘Help me to understand, Vi. Why can’t you just leave this place behind?’
I sniff, and give her a long look through my tears. ‘Who else does Burleigh House have to speak on its behalf? No one, Mira. No one. Without me, it would be entirely alone.’
‘Where are you going?’ she calls after me as I stumble off.
‘To look for Wyn. He can’t have got far.’
14
Wyn is well and truly gone.
I search the House from top to bottom. I scour the gardens, and the meadow, and the graveyard. I look in every outbuilding. At last, I have to leave for the Shilling, but going without having found Wyn tears me to pieces. The knowledge that either he left or came to some sort of harm sits inside me, cold and poisonous as mortar. At the Shilling, there’s no sign of Esperanza or Alfred – presumably they’re in hiding, avoiding an encounter with Falmouth, who’s still in residence at the inn. But he’s sequestered in the gentlemen’s gaming room so I see nothing of him until late in the evening. Then a clatter sounds from the kitchen. At the end of the bar, Frey glances over her shoulder towards the corridor.
‘Here, Vi.’ She hands me a tray of glasses filled with strong, expensive whisky. ‘You take this into the gaming room while I see what’s going on out back.’
I do as I’m bid. As I go, I repeat over and over to myself, You will not lose your temper you will not lose your temper you will not lose your temper.
But as I walk into the smoky, lamplit room, I can feel my shoulders tense and my stomach tie itself up into knots. Falmouth sits at the furthest table, intent on a hand of what looks to be whist. I weave through the tables, replacing empty whisky glasses and ignoring the bawdier comments from travelling merchantmen – the folk of the Halt who frequent the public room never pester me so. As I work, I watch Falmouth. I watch him win his hand and smile, as if he expects the world to offer up whatever he wishes for. I think of him forcing his way through Burleigh House’s wall, leaving a wound that even now hasn’t really healed. I recall my House’s rage at his presence. And I think of the fact that when I go home tonight, barring some miracle, there’ll be no Wyn faithfully keeping watch over my bedroom door. All because of Lord Falmouth.
‘Well, here she is, the Caretaker turned barmaid,’ Falmouth drawls as I freshen the table. ‘I was just telling these gentlemen that I’m off to Bath first thing in the morning, to recommend His Majesty torch your foul-tempered House. No one wants another Ripley Castle, now do they?’
I grit my teeth and silently replace his glass.
But the Duke of Falmouth keeps speaking, his voice low and his words insidious. ‘Did you know I was acquainted with Marian Ingilby too? Yes. The girl who brought down the Sixth House and ruined all of Yorkshire. We were thick as thieves back in the day, Mari
an and your father and me. I rather think George fancied Marian, until Ripley Castle finished her off and he had to settle for your mother.’
Everyone’s attention is fixed on us, and I keep my face a careful blank.
‘You don’t like hearing about the Sixth House, do you?’ Falmouth taunts. ‘It always struck a nerve with your father too. And isn’t it odd how history seems to be repeating itself? Another failing House. Another desperate girl. Another county on its way to ruin.’
A discontented murmur runs between the listening travellers, and I swallow. Of all the things I’m risking by trying to set Burleigh free, the good of the West Country weighs heaviest on my shoulders.
‘Burleigh is nothing like Ripley,’ I answer sharply. ‘For eight hundred years it’s guarded this piece of the country and been only gentle.’
With slow, deliberate motions, Falmouth rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing the angry red welts at his wrists where Burleigh’s vines caught and dragged him. ‘Is this how your House deals gently with people?’
The murmurs among those watching grow louder.
‘You deliberately provoked my House!’ I say. ‘You walked on to its grounds and did nothing but bluster and threaten and speak of its death as if it can’t hear or feel a thing.’
‘It isn’t human, Miss Sterling.’ Falmouth shakes his head, as if I’ve taken leave of my senses. Blood and mortar, I think I hate him worse than the king.
‘No. No, it isn’t. But Burleigh is alive,’ I insist. ‘It can think and it has a will of its own and it knows what everyone’s saying about it – that it’s not worth saving. That it would be better to just let it burn. So yes, of course my House is on edge. It’s suffering.’
‘And what is the kindest thing to do for a suffering creature?’ Falmouth answers smoothly. ‘Put it down. The greatest impediment to the well-being of the West Country right now is not Burleigh House, Miss Sterling. In point of fact, it’s you, and your foolish insistence on attempting the impossible. If your father, a Caretaker in good standing, was unable to save Burleigh, what makes you think you stand the slightest chance? What exactly is it you’re doing to try and restore Burleigh House?’
I clamp my jaws together and glare at him wordlessly. I’ve said too much already, but I’m not foolish enough to let this arrogant nobleman goad me into acknowledging my own treason.
Falmouth drops a handful of banknotes on to the table and gets to his feet. ‘I’ll bid you goodnight, gentlemen,’ he says to all those listening in. ‘The company’s been fine, but the staff here leave something to be desired.’
I let him go. I stuff my anger down so deep inside that my very bones ache, but I let him go.
The last few hours of my shift are a blur. At the end of them, I step out into the cool night air and draw in a long breath. I don’t know how much time I’ve got left with Burleigh, but every moment I have I plan to spend working on its behalf.
And come morning, I’ll search again for Wyn, though I’m beginning to suspect he’s gone. Perhaps this last brush with Burleigh’s magic brought him to his senses – made him see how desperately dangerous all this is. In the interest of self-preservation, perhaps he finally left me and my beleaguered House behind.
For now, though, it’s time to go home, and scour Papa’s ledger for a question about the deed my House can bear to answer.
As I step away from the Shilling, rough hands pull me back into the shadows and shove me up against the tavern wall. Though I wriggle like a landed fish, the Duke of Falmouth’s grip on my wrists is sure and cruel.
‘You dare to disrespect me in company, Miss Sterling?’ he mutters hot in my ear, and I am all at once blindingly afraid and so furious I can’t speak. ‘I will teach you to still that rebellious tongue.’ He presses one arm across my throat, choking me, and my field of vision narrows. ‘Tell me you’re sorry for answering back,’ Falmouth growls. ‘And use my title while you do it.’
But I can’t speak. Falmouth leans forward, putting more weight on my throat. My eyelids flutter as everything begins to go dark.
The sharp click of the hammer on a flintlock pistol rings through the night.
‘Step away from my serving girl,’ Frey says coolly, standing on the threshold of the Shilling’s back door.
The duke hesitates, but his weight shifts and I gasp hungrily for air.
Frey moves a step closer. ‘Walk on,’ she orders, her pistol still trained on Falmouth. ‘Keep walking until you’ve left this village, and don’t come back.’
The duke gives Frey a killing look. ‘I will run your little tavern out of business, once I’ve seen Burleigh House burnt to the ground. I’ll ensure that no one reputable ever stops here again.’
Frey only shakes her head. ‘Do you think you’re the first disgruntled gentleman I’ve chased off for getting rough with a serving girl? Not the first and not the last. I’ve heard the same threats a dozen times, and they never come to anything. No, folk recognize a devil in fine clothes when they see one.’
Falmouth stalks off towards the inn’s front door, swearing under his breath.
‘Not that way,’ Frey snaps. ‘You won’t be staying under my roof tonight, so just you walk on. The Stag’s Head in Taunton might take you. I’ll send your menservants along come morning.’
He stops for a moment and his shoulders go stiff, as if he’s about to protest, or turn and threaten Frey, but she speaks once more and there’s a deadly seriousness to her words.
‘Walk. On.’
At last, Falmouth does as he’s told. It’s not until he’s half a mile down the lane that Frey turns to me.
‘All right, Violet?’
I nod shakily.
‘Good.’ Frey tucks her pistol into the band of her apron and sets her hands on her hips. ‘Now listen closely, because I’ll tell you this once, and you’d do well to remember. There are some men in this world you can play against and win – who’ll keep to the rules and grumble if you best them, but do no more. There are others you will only ever lose to, even if it seems like you’ve won for a moment. Learn to see them coming, and keep out of their way.’
‘Thank you, Frey,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not sure what he would have done if you hadn’t come along.’
She shrugs. ‘I’ve got a sense for trouble, and I generally turn up when I’m needed. You go straight home now, Vi.’
Frey stands in the shadow of the doorway and watches as I walk down the lane, in the opposite direction from that the Duke of Falmouth was forced to take. But my hands tremble and my throat aches and I don’t feel truly safe until brambles twine shut behind me and I’m back on the grounds of my beloved House.
I make it to the jacaranda before I stumble and fall to my knees and sob. Burleigh wraps me in arms of ivy and grows a bed of moss beneath me, while the wind whispers wordless, comforting things in the branches overhead. When my tears are spent, a pale aurora paints itself across the sky. I lie still as a stone and watch it for a very long time, and I have never felt so hopeless or, in spite of Burleigh’s presence, so alone.
15
It’s not even dawn yet when I wake to someone knocking determinedly at my door. My heart leaps – Jed’s left the House by this time of day and Mira never knocks.
I tumble out of bed, pulling my dressing gown on as I go. ‘Wyn—’
But his name dies on my lips. It’s Esperanza standing in the hallway, neat as a fashion plate in her riding habit.
‘Your House let me in, after rather a lot of coaxing. I’m off to Bath,’ she tells me, everything about her brisk and businesslike. ‘Somebody’s going to have to convince my father that Falmouth’s being an absolute boor about Burleigh, and I’m the best person for the job. But I’m leaving you Alfred, in case you need anything, and in case anything new comes up. I think we’re close, though – we’ve got a list of two dozen port towns in Cornwall that my darling papa apparently visits every time he’s about to leave England. And maybe I can winkle something out of Falmouth while I’m in
Bath.’ She kisses my cheek and I catch a breath of her jasmine scent.
‘Espie,’ I say. ‘Be careful, won’t you? Falmouth, he’s—’
‘Oh, believe me, I know,’ Esperanza answers. ‘But I’m quite clever, as it turns out, and I know the most shocking things about that hideous man. Secrets that would severely dent his reputation if they came to light.’
I shake my head. I don’t know how she manages, in her world of espionage and underhanded dealings and perpetual gossip. I’d wither and die if I had to live that way. ‘Where on earth do you get your information?’ I ask.
Esperanza waves a dismissive hand. ‘From all the girls at court, of course. No one takes us seriously, so we make the most efficient spies. Now I’ve got to be going if I’m to beat Falmouth into Bath. Be good. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’
And then she’s gone, as quickly as she came.
I walk over to the window seat and pull Papa’s ledger on to my lap, not so much because I intend to look through it at the moment but from force of habit. Though I leaf through the pages, I can’t concentrate. The eastern sky is growing grey, and after a few minutes of restless fidgeting I dress hastily, then slip out of the House. The back woods are misty and green, though patches of mortar pockmark the forest floor. Birds sing in the trees overhead and a few bluebells still hold their bloom.
‘Wyn?’ I call as I wander here and there, not bothering to keep to the path. ‘Are you there, Wyn?’
I don’t really hope to find him. The truth is, he’s been on his way out since I got home – I think I just delayed the process. But I can’t reconcile myself to his absence until I’ve looked everywhere, and left no stone unturned. If something terrible has happened, and he hasn’t simply left, I’d never forgive myself for not keeping up the search.
‘Wyn?’
Somewhere overhead, a robin begins to sing, the liquid notes of its song carrying through the wood. There’s a flash of russet as a red squirrel hurries up a tree. I shut my eyes for a moment, breathing in the smells and sounds of the wood.
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