I don’t allow myself to turn on to one side until I’m certain he must have dozed back off. But when I finally do turn over, I let out a startled yelp, because Wyn’s awake and staring right at me.
‘Blood and mortar, Wyn, what are you doing?’
‘I’ve remembered something,’ he says, narrowing his eyes. ‘You used to sleep through anything. There was that winter I fell down your bedroom chimney, looking for Father Christmas – you never even woke up.’
‘Not one of your best ideas, that.’ I shake my head.
‘Why are you really awake, Vi? What’s the matter?’
We’re only inches from each other. It’s too warm and too close and I think I might stifle. I throw off the blanket and sit up. But Wyn follows suit, and though I’m less warm now, we’re side by side and I’m acutely aware of his arm pressed against mine.
I put a finger to my mouth to gnaw at a nail, but they’ve all been bitten down to the bloody quick.
‘That bit of verse I found, in your shepherd’s hut in the back woods – you know what it is.’ It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
Wyn lets out a sharp breath and rests the back of his head against the wall. ‘Of course I do. And you’ve found out, haven’t you?’
‘Yes. Wyn, I don’t know what else to do. I’m running out of time to find the deed – in a few days, even if I can sort out where it is, it’ll be too late. I wouldn’t be able to get to it and back again before the king arrives. I think . . . I think I have to bind myself to Burleigh House.’
It sits like a cold weight in my gut, the knowledge that I will die for Burleigh. If only I could save the House any other way.
Wyn reaches out and takes my hand. He laces his fingers through mine and a little thrill runs through me. ‘Vi?’ Wyn asks. ‘What did your father love most in this world?’
‘Burleigh,’ I answer without hesitation. ‘And he always put the House first.’
‘Did he?’ Wyn lifts our joined hands. The mortar has faded from under my skin and the bruises have gone from my wrists, leaving only the faint old scar that circles my left arm. ‘Where did this come from?’
‘I caught myself on a bit of wire, when we were small,’ I say. ‘You know that, though.’
He winces. ‘Violet, I haven’t always been honest with you. But I’m going to tell you the truth now, about everything. About how I came to be at Burleigh House, and about why I stayed behind with your father, and about some other things besides.’
My breath catches. I’ve been waiting for him to tell me the truth, but now it’s come, I’m not sure I want to hear what Wyn’s going to say.
‘The first thing you should know is this,’ he tells me. ‘That scar didn’t come from catching yourself on wire. You got it a week before I came to the House, and every night for a year I listened to your father tell you a story about how you’d hurt yourself in the garden. At the beginning you laughed, and by the end, you believed him. It’s easy to forget things when you’re only six years old, but I remember, Violet. I remember.’
I don’t understand why Wyn would say such a thing, and I pull my hand away from his. ‘What are you talking about? My father wouldn’t lie to me.’
Wyn gives me a pained look. ‘You’re not going to like any of this, Vi. Maybe I should just stop. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.’
But I have one unimpeachable witness to everything that’s gone on within these walls, who will show me the truth of any matter. ‘Burleigh,’ I say, rubbing a finger against the mark on my wrist. ‘Show me the day I got this.’
The corridor wavers with an overlay of memory – the image of my own bedroom. A little ghost springs to life on the braided rug nearby – Violet Helena Sterling, age five, playing with her dolls and their house. It’s a replica of Burleigh Papa had made for me, though a year after Wyn joined us Mama had the toy house taken away. You’ve outgrown it, Vi, she said, even though I still played with it every morning before she took it from me.
Little Vi plays on her own for a minute, and then fixes her eyes on the armchair behind me. I turn, and find my father’s ghost has joined us as well, sitting by the hearth with a stack of correspondence.
‘Papa?’ Little Vi asks. ‘Will you play with me?’
‘Not just yet,’ he answers, without looking up from his letters. ‘You know I only promised to sit up here with you so long as you didn’t interrupt my work.’
Little Violet sighs and turns back to her dolls, but her disappointment quickly turns to delight. Because all around the doll’s house, Burleigh has laid out a garden, just like our own grounds. There are miniature roses growing from the floorboards outside the conservatory, little grasses and wildflowers beyond them, and even a row of seedling trees to represent the back woods.
‘Burleigh,’ I watch myself whisper. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I love you the most. I’d do anything for you, you know? Anything.’ A green vine, marked with patches of grey mortar, snakes up from the floor and twines itself around Little Vi’s wrist. She smiles, then winces and goes very still as thorns spring out from the vine. Blood beads out on to my child-self’s skin like a bracelet, but it isn’t crimson, it’s gone pink, mingling with the mortar in the vine and on its thorns.
Papa glances up, and then he’s out of the chair and kneeling at Little Violet’s side, tearing the vine from her wrist. Tears pool in her eyes.
‘You’re hurting,’ she says reproachfully. ‘Stop it, Papa.’
I watch as my father takes my chin in his hand and his eyes rove over my face. ‘What have you done, Burleigh?’ he says.
‘Burleigh hasn’t done anything wrong,’ Little Vi answers irritably. ‘It’s sorry, and didn’t mean anything by it.’
Papa wraps a handkerchief around my bleeding wrist, his gaze never leaving me. ‘What do you mean, Burleigh’s sorry? That’s very specific, Vi.’
Little Vi shrugs and turns back to her dolls as soon as he lets her go. ‘I mean it’s sorry you’re angry, but thinks you shouldn’t be. Don’t you feel it, Papa?’
He shuts his eyes and the ghosts around me waver and rearrange.
In this new vision of Burleigh House, Little Vi’s tucked up in bed, and it must be later on the same day, for the handkerchief still binds her wrist. Mama and Papa stand at her bedside and are in the middle of speaking in strained tones as the girl I was sleeps peacefully.
‘I wanted you to know, Eloise,’ Papa says. ‘I want to be honest with you. I didn’t expect it of Burleigh – I thought if it chose anyone, it would choose me – but I’m going to take care of everything, and it won’t matter, I promise. It won’t ever come to anything, because I’m going to sort out the House, and it will never have need of Violet in that way.’
Mama’s face is a mask of shock and horror. ‘George, there is nothing you can tell me that will make things better. This House is a danger to Violet. It marked her for death. Perhaps you can live with that, but I can’t.’
Papa grows defensive. ‘It doesn’t matter so long as she’s not working House magic. And Burleigh only marked her because I don’t think anyone’s ever loved a Great House the way Vi does. She’s willing. She’d give the breath out of her lungs for this place. The Houses don’t understand about age or childhood, anyway – Burleigh’s been here for thousands of years.’
There’s venom in Mama’s voice. ‘That doesn’t change the fact that Violet is five years old. She still thinks fairies live under the rosebushes. Of course she loves her magic House. But when she gets older, she’ll come to realize the devil is in it. Fix this, George Sterling. Make. It. Right.’
‘I can’t.’ Papa spreads his hands helplessly. ‘There’s nothing I can do. I can only try to ensure that Burleigh never needs her.’
Mama turns on her heel. ‘You’re a smart man. A brilliant Caretaker, they say. So figure something else out,’ she hisses over one shoulder as she leaves the room.
The memory fades, leaving Wyn and me sitting side by side once more in the dim hallway. A little
vine springs up at my side and twines around my wrist, brushing velvet petals against the place where thorns bit at me. I swallow, and tamp down an urge to pull away from Burleigh’s touch.
‘The House bound you to itself when you were five years old, Violet,’ Wyn says softly. ‘Burleigh’s always loved you best – I’m only sorry that this is what it led to.’
I sit in silence, trying not to think how the vine resting soft against my wrist suddenly feels like a shackle.
I love Burleigh. Burleigh loves me. I would choose Burleigh.
Burleigh chose me.
Then why does this still seem so much like betrayal?
As always, I force my hurt feelings down inside. It doesn’t matter. I have a job to do, and was intent on this path anyway. Burleigh House has just made my life easier. All that remains now is to open myself to its magic. To let it overtake me.
To become the last Caretaker, who saves her beloved House.
‘I’m glad you told me,’ I say to Wyn, though the words sound forced. ‘I would have chosen Burleigh anyway, so at least the House and I are in accord.’
‘No, Violet. That’s not all of it,’ he says.
19
Fear gnaws at my insides as Wyn looks up at the ceiling.
‘Burleigh,’ he says. ‘Show us the day I came here.’
Somewhere within the walls, timbers groan.
‘Burleigh,’ Wyn presses. And darkness falls.
A phantom image of the front drive appears around us, on a fresh afternoon in early spring. I know this day at once, because there I am, with a bandage around my left wrist. I stand waiting for Papa in my braids and my pinafore, bouncing up and down in place. He left for Taunton before dawn on an errand, which he said was partly for the House and partly for me. I remember my excitement over that – most of his trips were strictly on Burleigh’s behalf. At last the gate swings open and Papa’s horse appears on the drive. I bolt towards him, only to freeze in place.
Because there’s a boy with my father, sitting in front of him and looking absurdly small and timid. He’s pale and hunched, and I don’t know what’s filthier – the boy himself or his clothes.
‘Papa,’ I call to my father as soon as he’s within earshot. I’m so brazen – so certain of myself and my place. ‘Who’s that with you? He looks a frightful mess.’
Papa reins in his horse and dismounts, then helps the strange boy down. The boy stands in the shadow of my father’s quiet gelding and trembles, like a frightened dog. I give him a dubious look. Never a compassionate child at best, I funnel what empathy I do possess towards Burleigh House, leaving little behind for others.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ I ask flatly.
‘There’s nothing wrong with him, Vi,’ Papa says. ‘He’s from the foundling home in Taunton. Was left there three years ago. But they’re at their wits’ end with him, because he keeps running away, and then a well-meaning someone or other finds him and brings him back.’
I stare daggers at the boy. This is my House. There’s little enough of Mama and Papa to go round, and Burleigh especially belongs to me. I will brook no rival in its affections.
‘Why’s he here?’
‘To be company for you,’ Papa answers, taking his riding gloves off, one after the other. ‘You know your mother always says you shouldn’t be alone so much. Well, here’s a friend. And he needed a home anyhow. It should work out well for everyone.’
I watch as Little Vi steps forward, not even bothering to hide the doubt that etches itself across her face. I can still remember that visceral sense of suspicion and mistrust the first time I saw Wyn. How quickly things changed between us, though.
‘Boy,’ Little Vi asks Wyn. ‘Do you speak?’
He nods.
‘Are you going to speak?’
He shakes his head.
‘Why not?’
Wyn shrugs.
‘Are you afraid?’
Another nod.
Little Vi frowns at him for several moments.
‘Why don’t you take it upon yourself to look after him?’ Papa says at last. ‘Consider it practice, for looking after Burleigh someday.’
The girl I was brightens. How well Papa knew me – if I thought something would benefit the House, I always gave it my very best.
‘What do you think, Burleigh?’ Little Vi asks the air around us. ‘Is Papa’s idea a good one?’
A thunderclap sounds directly overhead, though it’s a clear day.
Wyn’s eyes go wide as saucers.
‘Do you like that?’ Little Vi says, solicitous now she’s been assured Wyn’s presence is in the House’s best interest. ‘That’s just Burleigh. It can do lots more. I’ll show you.’
She reaches out a hand, but when Wyn flinches, draws back. ‘Don’t you want to be touched? I won’t, then. Not unless it’s all right.’
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and then finally holds out his own hand. I watch with a smile as Little Vi takes it in hers. ‘What’s your name, then?’
‘Haelwyn,’ Papa answers on his behalf. ‘Haelwyn of Taunton.’
‘What about Wyn?’ Little Vi asks the boy. ‘That’s easier, isn’t it?’
He nods vigorously, and she leads him off towards the House. ‘I’m Violet Sterling. Did you know I’m going to be Burleigh’s Caretaker someday? So I suppose it’s a good thing if I can practise on you. I think you maybe need a bath. And probably some supper. We’ve got lots of rooms, and I’m sure they’ll give you one . . .’ The voices grow fainter as Wyn and Little Vi go down the drive. ‘. . . but if you promise to keep it a secret, I’ll make you a bed in my cupboard. Only the House is very big, and it likes to remember, and it can be frightening at night if you’re not used to it.’
The very last thing I hear before the memory fades is my six-year-old self’s voice, speaking to Wyn.
‘We’re probably better off if we stick together, you and I.’
After a moment of darkness, Wyn and I are alone in the corridor once more.
‘Papa brought you home to be company for me,’ I say a bit defiantly, because a dreadful possibility is dawning in my mind and I hate – I hate – even the barest hint of it.
‘Come here,’ Wyn says. He gets to his feet and crosses the hallway to the door that leads into my father’s bedroom. I haven’t been able to bring myself to enter that particular room of the House – not after seeing Burleigh’s memory of Papa dying. It’s been shut up since I got home, because I haven’t wanted to think about everything that happened inside.
‘I thought that I’d come here as your companion too.’ Wyn stands with a hand on the doorknob. ‘I thought it until the night before your father’s arrest began. And then he took me aside and explained. It wasn’t charity that led George to give me a home. He needed me. There was one thing he loved more than Burleigh House, you see. One thing he wasn’t willing to sacrifice in his role as Caretaker.’
‘Wyn, don’t.’ My voice is a small and broken thing, but Wyn goes on.
‘It was you, Violet. He couldn’t die knowing the House would one day take your life, as well as his. And he couldn’t bind himself to Burleigh in your place – he’d already taken in too much mortar for Burleigh to accept him as a conduit. Channelling House magic works differently after you’ve been bound together, you see. So he asked me to stay when the arrest began.’
Wyn turns the knob and pushes the door open. The room beyond is much changed. Not a stick of furniture remains, except for a pile of old bedding in one corner. Dust and dead flies lie thick on the windowsills. Carved into the far wall, the jagged letters of my name are still visible by moonlight.
VI.
Wyn crosses the room, and I follow after him like a moth drawn to flame. He reaches out and touches the place where Papa cut into Burleigh House.
‘Blood and mortar,’ Wyn says. ‘It can undo one binding and make another. But Burleigh didn’t want me – it wanted you. So we needed a lot of blood, and a lot of mortar. We
waited as long as we could, but a year before the end of the arrest, your father was less and less himself, and there was nothing for it but to . . .’ His voice trails off.
I can hardly breathe, thinking of what’s been done to both Wyn and my House. Of all the ways they have been bound and broken. ‘Show me the rest,’ I whisper, the words barely audible even in the absolute silence of this cursed room.
Wyn hesitates. Then, with a single decided motion, he pulls his nightshirt up over his head and drops it to the floor. He stands with his back to me, in only his loose linen trousers, and I can see what my father has done.
From the top of Wyn’s shoulders to the small of his back, my name is written in thick lines of scar tissue. VI – a copy in flesh of what’s been carved into Burleigh’s wall.
I take in a sharp breath that’s already halfway to a sob. The sound rings loud in the emptiness of Papa’s room. ‘Oh, Wyn.’
I will never forgive my father for this. For damaging the two things I love most in this world just to keep me safe. And while my desire to defend Burleigh is a determined constant, wishing I could undo the past for Wyn sets a fire in me.
‘May I?’ I ask.
Wyn shrugs without turning around.
Stepping forward, I trace the tall capitals of my name with one finger. I put all of my heart into that gentle touch, as if I could heal with the strength of everything that lies between Wyn and me, and with the warmth of skin against skin. Wyn shivers, but doesn’t pull away.
‘Why did you do it?’ My voice breaks a little on the words, and I rest the flat of my hand against Wyn’s back. ‘Why did you agree to this?’
‘I felt brave that day,’ he confesses. ‘I haven’t often, since then.’
And I can’t bear it any more – the things that have happened under this roof, the time we spent apart, the people we’ve become, the small distance that still exists between us.
‘You are brave every day, Haelwyn of Taunton,’ I tell him. ‘Again and again, you’ve stayed here for me, and Wyn – I never would have asked you to if I’d known.’
A Treason of Thorns Page 17