River of Destiny

by Barbara Erskine

  Leo did not come home until much later that evening, long after Zoë and Ken were poring over a sample book of curtain materials. Ken had borrowed a ladder from Steve and nailed an old bedspread across the large barn window. It gave them at least an illusion of privacy and could be caught back with a tie. Ken had brought home some samples and a pile of catalogues from his visit to Woodbridge. He was feeling quietly satisfied that he had remembered, and from Steve and Rosemary he had obtained the name of a woman who would make their curtains for them. She had performed the same task for The Threshing Barn. ‘These huge windows are fabulous in the daytime,’ Rosemary had agreed with a rueful nod, ‘but in the winter when it is dark outside, I don’t like it at all. I don’t blame you for feeling a bit vulnerable. We put something up in the first month.’

  Ken glanced at Zoë as she flipped through the samples. She had caught the sun during the afternoon; there was a glow to her complexion he hadn’t noticed there for a long time, even after they had been sailing. She was still a good-looking woman, his wife. She felt his eyes on her and glanced up. A quick flash of anxiety seemed to cross her face, then she had looked away again. She pushed away the samples. ‘I want something absolutely plain. These patterns wouldn’t suit the room at all. We have to keep the utilitarian austerity of the place.’

  She was of course right. He had always admired her taste, her judgments were usually spot on. ‘What colour, do you reckon?’

  There was no answer. ‘Zoë?’

  She was staring past him into the depths of the room. All the colour had leached from her face. For a moment he found he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to see whatever it was she was looking at. Slowly he turned his head.

  12

  It was still dark when Hrotgar burst into the cottage, a flaming brand in his hand to light his way. He held it up and surveyed the single room. ‘Where is it?’ he shouted. ‘Edith! Where is Eric? Where is the sword?’

  She had finally fallen asleep after lying for hours listening to the call of an owl quartering the woods behind the forge and she was genuinely frightened and confused as she swam up from the depths of her dream. She grabbed the bed covers and held them against her as she sat up, staring at the angry man who stood in the middle of the room, the wild shadows dancing round him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t know where he is. What has happened?’

  Hrotgar moved towards her. ‘Don’t pretend!’ he shouted. ‘Eric has stolen back the sword. I know it was him. Who else would dare?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ she repeated. ‘I’m sorry. He didn’t come back last night. He was up at the hall.’

  ‘And so were you,’ Hrotgar shouted. He came very close, thrusting his face into hers, the flaming brand held dangerously close to the roof thatch. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t hear him. He was angry. He confronted the sorcerer. The man has cast the runes. He said it was taken by Eric and he said the sword was here.’

  She looked at him, terrified. ‘It’s not here. It can’t be here. I don’t know where it is, I swear it by Our Lady’s mantle.’ She shrank back in the bed. ‘Please, leave.’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ He turned and hurled the brand into the hearth where it smouldered for a few seconds and then died. The roomom was suddenly almost dark. He turned back and grabbed her arm. ‘He’s a dead man. What he has done is sacrilege. He has taken grave goods already sworn to the gods!’ He paused, seemingly in despair, and she saw him shaking his head, his profile dark against the dim glow from the embers. ‘There is nothing to be done then. I am too late. It will be up to others to find him. Of course, that means,’ he was suddenly breathing heavily, his words catching in his throat, ‘that you can at last be mine.’ He stepped towards her and before she could dodge away from him he thrust her back on the bed, throwing his weight down on top of her, stifling her scream with his hand. In the hearth the brand ignited an unburned section of dry apple branch and the room was suddenly lit by the flickering flames, which cast shadows over the walls and filled the air with sweet smoky perfume.

  By the river Eric had thrust the sword, wrapped in a heavy piece of sacking, into a hole in the bank. He dragged a handful of undergrowth over it and wedged moss and weed into the gaps. Satisfied it couldn’t be seen, he glanced round yet again to make sure he had not been overlooked, then he crept away towards the village. He passed his cottage and for a moment he paused. Surely he had closed the door behind him? He looked at it puzzled, then he shook his head slowly. All was quiet. For now he had other places to be. He needed to find the Lord Egbert’s brother and consult him on what was to be done and he must go to the church and speak to Father Wulfric. Surely the Christian God had magic enough to defeat this Saxon sorcerer and negate his curses. He glanced up as a bird flew overhead in the dark, and as he heard its lonely piping call he crossed himself, something he had not done for a long time. It was an omen. Almost, he stopped; almost, he diverted back to his cottage and the forge, but the call of his duty to the family of Lord Egbert was strong and with an effort of will he forced himself to walk on up the track towards the mead hall and the thegn’s house.

  As soon as they were in full sight, he stopped. The great doors at the end of the hall were open and he could see the light from a hundred torches pouring out into the darkness. Men and women were running around and he could hear the shouting from where he was. There was no shelter on the track. He glanced round, then he loped sideways in the shadows towards one of the great oak trees standing on the edge of the small field. He took cover behind it then peered out again, narrowing his eyes against the flare of lights, trying to make out what was happening. Had they discovered the loss of the sword already? He measured the distance from his hiding place to the next tree and, ducking away from the cover, sprinted towards it. He could hear the shouting more clearly now, but still he couldn’t make out the words. He glanced behind him towards the village but the cottages there were all in darkness. Most of the people were up at the hall. Far away in the south-east a pale line of light was appearing on the horizon. Soon it would be dawn.

  Sam was standing in Henry Crosby’s office, twisting his cap between his fingers. He had never seen the squire looking so angry or so ill.

  ‘I understand you let Zeph go. May I ask why?’

  Sam’s face darkened. ‘I have on several occasions found him less than satisfactory; then I had reason to suspect him of an act of downright vicious cruelty to one of the horses. I will not tolerate such behaviour in my stable.’

  ‘We are talking about my wife’s mare, Bella,’ Henry said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I had understood that he was careless rather than deliberately cruel.’

  ‘Is that what Lady Emily said, sir?’

  Something about the way Sam said the words made Henry pause. ‘That is what my wife told me.’

  Sam kept his face impassive. ‘With all due respect, sir, she was not there. She did not see the mare.’

  ‘I see.’ Henry looked thoughtful. ‘I am sure you did right, Sam. I would never challenge your judgement. I assume you sent Zeph off without a reference? Do you know where he has gone?’

  ‘Back to Ipswich, I would guess, sir. He’ll find work on the barges easily enough. I don’t care what he does as long as he never works with animals again.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Henry Crosby paused for several seconds. ‘All right. You may go, Sam. Thank you.’

  Sam hesitated, changed his mind about whatever he was going to say and turned to the door. Outside he rammed his cap back on his head and headed for the kitchen.

  Molly was down at the forge cottage with her sister. Susan was pale and uncomfortable as she walked up and down the small parlour floor. ‘Why won’t it come?’ She put her hands to her back again and groaned. ‘I can’t bear it!’

  Molly shook her head. ‘Have you asked Betsy? There must be something you can take to bring the baby on.’

  ‘She
suggested raspberry leaf tea. I’ve taken it. I’ve drunk pitchers full of it.’

  ‘Where’s Dan? The forge was empty when I came past.’

  Susan bit her lip. ‘He’s been acting peculiar these last few days. Something has upset him.’

  ‘Of course it has.’ Molly glanced at her sideways. ‘You do know they killed that mare, Bella? Had the knacker to her. Said she broke a leg. That must have upset him after he had worked so hard on her. He was fond of her, wasn’t he?’ She shook her head.

  Susan stared at her. ‘I didn’t know they killed Bella! Why didn’t Dan tell me?’

  ‘Probably trying to save you any more upset.’

  ‘Was it that woman?’

  Molly laughed. ‘Oh, yes. ‘Course it was. I reckon she did it to pay Dan back. You know word is, in the servants’ hall, that Dan refused her when she came back to him. She was spitting nails. He loves you, Susan. He’s not going to let her get her claws into him again.’

  ‘Then where is he?’ Susan’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Maybe he’s up the fields with George. They’re busy this time of year.’ Molly glanced at the window where the sun was shining through the dusty pane. Normally Susan would rather have died than allow a speck of dust in her precious parlour. ‘Do you want to go for a small walk outside in the fresh air?’ she asked tentatively. ‘I have to be going back soon. I only managed to get away because Mrs Field wanted me to drop some things in on Jessie Turtill. I need to get back before her ladyship finds out I’m overdue back at the hall, but I could spare a few minutes.’

  Susan shook her head. ‘You go, Moll. I don’t want you getting in trouble. I’ll be all right here. Dan will turn up soon enough.’

  ‘What is it? What can you see?’ Ken whispered. He could feel the uneasiness in the air; the tension which was almost like an electrical charge, but he couldn’t see anything.

  ‘There,’ Zoë whispered. ‘There is a man standing there.’

  ‘Where?’ Ken was paralysed with terror suddenly. His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to pinpoint whatever it was she was seeing. ‘What sort of man?’

  ‘He’s shadowy; tall, working clothes. I can’t really see his face. He’s there, where the floor section is exposed. It’s the floor from his time.’

  Silently and very slowly she stood up, then with an exclamation of annoyance she shook her head. ‘No, he’s gone.’

  Ken stared at her. ‘Aren’t you scared?’

  She gave a small self-conscious smile. ‘I am usually when I sense things, but do you know, I wasn’t. Not this time. He was too wispy and shadowy. And he was just standing there. I didn’t sense any danger from him. He didn’t know we were here. It was just as though the light was suddenly shining through a crack in the old barn walls and catching him as he went about his business. Why should he be frightening?’

  ‘Most people would be terrified.’

  ‘I’m not most people.’

  ‘No.’ He paused. ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘We should be pleased about the things that make us special, Ken,’ she said gently.

  ‘And this is Leo’s philosophy, is it?’ Ken couldn’t keep a sudden bitterness out of his tone. Zoë stared at him. For a moment neither of them said anything.

  ‘I don’t know what Leo’s philosophy, as you call it, has to do with any of this,’ she said at last.

  She walked towards the stairs.

  Ken sighed. He swept all the samples and books and catalogues into a pile. Not for the first time he wished he hadn’t given up smoking. Now would be the perfect moment to go outside and have a cigarette under the stars. Anything to get out of the house.

  Jackson was in his father’s den. He had spent a fruitful morning with the photoprinter and had a bulging envelope full of incriminating pictures to show for it. He grinned to himself and glanced at his watch. Mike would be over in a minute; he was going to enjoy looking at the fruits of Jackson’s labours while they decided the best use they could make of their evidence. That was a bonus. The real purpose of Mike’s visit was to plan the next step in their war against Rosemary Formby.

  It only occurred to him for a brief second to wonder where his sister was. She wasn’t there, getting in his hair, which was the main thing.

  Jade was watching The Old Barn. Zoë was still inside, but Ken had gone out early again. She had watched him open the door and stand there, taking deep breaths of the cold morning air, then he had banged the door shut, unnecessarily loudly, in her opinion, and walked off to find his car. She had crept after him to make sure he was actually off the property and seen him stand for a long time deep in thought in front of Leo’s old muddy Land Rover. She smiled. So he did know. Pity. She would have liked to break the news to him herself. But then there was still plenty she could do to spoil Zoë’s life.

  She heard the distant sound of a motorbike and drew back out of sight behind the cart shed as Mike Turtill appeared down the drive. Her face darkened. She didn’t like Mike, and if he was going to see Jackson, it meant she would have to stay away.

  Leo was home, but did she want to go and see Leo? Her visits to him were spoiled now. And anyway, no doubt he would soon be joining up with Zoë.

  She was right. Within half an hour she saw them both walking down the path towards the river. Once they were on the Curlew they would be out of her reach. Her skills had not proceeded as far as electronic bugging though for a moment the idea appealed to her. It never occurred to her that her brother might be on the same quest and that for future reference he would probably be quite capable of thinking of a way to organise surveillance of the boat.

  Leo grinned as he helped Zoë on board. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking? The woods are full of busy little eyes, watching.’

  Zoë nodded. ‘Wretched girl.’

  ‘We’ll cast off and drift down river a little way. I don’t know how far she is prepared to follow, but she can’t drive yet, thank God, and I trust she isn’t going to leap into one of the family boats and row after us.’ He gestured towards the two large dinghies upturned on the mud of the foreshore a little further down river. ‘Are you up for a bit of a sail?’

  Zoë nodded gamely. ‘The wind isn’t too strong; and I trust you.’

  He smiled. ‘You sit still in the corner there and leave it to me. Curlew and I know each other well. We’ll give you a nice gentle ride.’

  As the sail filled and the boat drew away down river Leo glanced back at the landing stage. Jade was standing there in full sight. The expression on her face was one of total devastation. He was standing, the tiller in one hand, the main sheet in the other, one bare foot on the seat. Zoë was staring ahead, her hair blowing round her face. She hadn’t looked back and so hadn’t seen the small figure behind them, for which he was glad. Once again he was troubled by his own sense of guilt that somehow he was betraying Jade, though why, he wasn’t sure. He felt no guilt at all about Ken. Zoë was a free agent. It was up to her what she did or didn’t do with her husband and with her neighbours.

  They lowered the sails and dropped anchor a while later off a small wooded bay. There was no sign of any houses or roads nearby and one or two buoys, which showed it must be an anchorage of sorts, were vacant. The breeze was gentle and the sun was warm as they slid into the bottom of the cockpit out of sight.

  Later, when they were eating their picnic of French bread and cheese and sipping white wine from the glasses that Leo had tucked into the top of his backpack she told him about the ghostly appearance the night before. ‘It was nothing to do with Jade. I could see him clearly. Well, not clearly, but enough to know that there was someone there.’ She shivered and reached for her jacket. ‘It’s weird. I don’t think he is trying to contact me; I don’t think he is aware of anything. He is just there, like the walls and the floor.’

  ‘Trapped in time and space.’ Leo was leaning back, his bare feet on the seat opposite. ‘Don’t some people say that ghosts are nothing but visual echoes? There is nothing ther
e to be scared of.’

  ‘I wasn’t scared this time.’ She leaned across and cut herself another piece of cheese. ‘It all fits together. We can hear horses sometimes, and the clanking of harness. It’s a kind of window into the past of the barn. I would love to know who they were; what their names were; what their story was.’

  ‘You should ask Bill Turtill. His family have lived here for generations. He was telling me the other day. His great-great-grandfather, I think it was, was farm manager when the Crosbys at the Hall owned all the land, and his father and grandfather before him had worked for the family, probably going back years.’

  Zoë nodded. ‘I went to the library and looked it up. The whole set-up came to an end I think around the First World War.’

  ‘That’s right. Then Bill’s grandfather bought the farm in the twenties or thirties. It was the Depression and I suspect land prices were at an all-time low and nobody wanted it so he probably got it for a song. They have worked very hard to make a go of it. Penny is going to start doing bed and breakfasts next year so they are doing up the farmhouse as well.’

  ‘And has Bill got a son to come after him?’

  ‘Do I hear a hint of sexism there?’ Leo laughed. ‘What about a daughter? Actually he’s got one of each, but I don’t think either is showing any interest at the moment. It must be heartbreaking when generations of links to the soil come to an end.’

  ‘Going back to my ghost,’ Zoë said after a moment. ‘He must have worked for one of the Turtills. Isn’t that strange? And he must have worked with horses.’

  ‘Which were shod in my cottage. Or at least the forge part of it.’ Leo stretched lazily. ‘I like that sense of continuity. It is something that is being lost everywhere. One more generation and it will be gone for good.’ He glanced up at the pennant at the mast head as the halyards and stays rattled in a sudden change of wind. ‘So,’ he went on after a moment. ‘You don’t know where Ken is going on these day-long forays of his?’