Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

by Paula Brackston

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Please let’s not fight. I can’t cope with any of this if we’re hurting each other.”

  “Hush now,” he said, pulling her closer.

  They stood without moving for a long while, silently drawing strength from a closeness and familiarity born of years of intimacy. She felt tears sting her eyes at the thought of what she had done to Dan. She blinked them away, wishing that, just for a few moments at least, she could pretend everything was as it had been before. What a difference a few short months had made to all of them.

  “You know I love you, Laura,” he told her. She fancied she could hear tears choking his voice. “I will always love you. No matter what.”

  No matter what? What did he mean? Did he know about her and Rhys? Had he known all along? Or was it what had happened to Angus that had made him say such a thing? Laura dearly wanted to say something meaningful back, something honest and loving. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead she lifted one of his hands and kissed it fondly.

  “Are you OK?” he asked. “Really OK, I mean?”

  Laura nodded.

  “And us, Laura? Are we OK, too?”

  How could she answer? She closed her eyes. She so wanted to be able to say yes, they were fine. They would always be fine. But so much had happened, there was so much she still did not understand about herself, about what she was experiencing, and about what sort of future she and Dan could have together. She took a deep breath.

  “I think we will be,” she said carefully. “I’m sure we will be. Soon.”

  Dan’s body tensed but he did not move. There was a silence in which Laura could sense him struggling to take in what she had just said. So few words, and yet so loaded was each one they were almost too heavy to bear. She had, in fact, admitted that they were not OK, and if he had harbored any suspicions about her fling with Rhys then she had just as good as admitted everything. But, beyond that, she had tried to reassure him. To give him hope. She waited for him to react. At last he kissed her shoulder and stepped away.

  “That’s good,” he said, his back to her as he walked toward the bathroom. “Good enough for me. Think I’ll take a quick shower.”

  She watched him close the door and heard the water turned on. Now she could breathe again. Dan was a good man, a man who knew how to love somebody. He could have quizzed her there and then, he could have cornered her and pressed her for answers, but he had not. He had said he would love her no matter what, and he had clearly meant it. He was prepared to wait for her to come out of whatever she was going through. She silently cursed herself for her own stupid selfishness.

  * * *

  MEGAN SAT ON the rough floor of her prison and accepted the fact that however accustomed her eyes became to the darkness, she was never going to be able to see so much as a chink of light. The stonemason had done his work well, so that no glimmer of a torch reached her from the dungeon, and the outer wall of the castle was at least the thickness of two oak trees. No sunlight could force its way through. She closed her eyes, finding her own darkness less frightening. The initial horror at her entombment had subsided, and now she found herself devoid of feeling and unable to think clearly. She longed for Merlin, to hear his voice, to feel the comfort of his strong arms about her. And yet, above all, she wished him safe, and for him to come to the castle would be to put himself at great risk. For a moment Megan wondered what it would be like, to die of thirst and of hunger. Would she simply get weaker and drift into a final sleep? Would she become raving and delirious? Would there be pain? Would she be able to breathe for more than a few hours in this airless place of endless night? She stood up quickly, hugging herself, rubbing her arms. She must not give in to despair. Whether she wished it or not, Merlin would not abandon her. He would come. He would find her as he had promised he would, and they would be together again. She must endure and be patient. She paced the small space, her hands out in front of her, becoming familiar with the curve of the outer wall and the straightness of the inner one. Round and round she walked, calming herself with the rhythm of her steps. Her head still hurt, though Megan had been able to remove the bandage. She was exhausted from all that had happened and from fear and grief. She moved to the far corner of the room and lay down on the cold flagstones. She could feel the dirt beneath her hands as she folded them under her head for a pillow. She imagined the grimy state of her beautiful dress now. At least it was thick and warm, though she knew all too well that it would not be able to keep out the bone chilling cold of her tomb for long. She closed her eyes and wished for sleep. Peaceful, renewing, safe sleep. At last, she felt herself drifting and relaxed into the blissful moment before slumber would remove her from her torment.

  A scratching noise at the inner wall reached her ears. At once she was awake again. She sat up, instinctively looking toward the sound even though she could see nothing. It could have been a rat or a bat or a mouse, but there was something in the purposeful nature of the noise that suggested a human hand. Megan waited and listened.

  “Megan?” The voice was no more than a whisper, and at first Megan thought she had imagined it. Then it came again. “Megan? Are you there?”

  “Huw!” Megan flung herself against the wall, straining to listen for more words. “Huw? Can you hear me?”

  “Oh Megan! You are in there!” the little boy said in a mixture of sobs and whispers. “Poor, poor Megan! Why has Father done such a terrible thing? I shall go to him and tell him he must let you out. He must!”

  “No! No, Huw. Do not tell your father you have been here.” She kept her own voice as level and calm as she could. “If he knew you had spoken to me he would stop you coming again, Huw. You can help me, but you must be careful.”

  “Tell me what to do, Megan. I will do anything. You have only to ask.”

  Megan was deeply touched by the child’s affection for her and his determination to help. She was reluctant to involve him, knowing that there were limits to his father’s feelings for the boy. How angry might he be if he discovered Huw had been helping her? But she had no choice. At this moment, he offered her only chance of survival.

  “I need water, Huw. And some food. Can you fetch them without being seen?”

  “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

  “Wait! One more thing, Huw. Bring a tool, something sharp. We will have to make a small hole in the wall. Not a hammer though. We would be heard. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Megan. Fear not, I will look after you.”

  Huw scampered away, and his absence after such brief but vital contact left Megan feeling even more alone than she had before. At least now she had hope. There were means of staying alive. That her life now depended on one small boy was a frightening thought, but it was just possible that Huw could indeed make the difference between living or dying. She felt along the inner wall again, searching with her fingertips for the smallest crevice, the tiniest flaw in the mason’s handiwork. At last, at a low point where the new wall met the old, she found an indent where two stones where not well matched. The lime mix between them was still not completely set. She started to scratch at it but could make no impression at all with her nails. She needed something sharp or hard. She felt about on the floor for any stray pieces of stone, but there was none. Exasperated, she stood up again. She could not leave everything to Huw. There must be something she could do, she thought, rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. Of course! Her ring! She wriggled it off her finger, her skin cooler now than before. She unthreaded a ribbon from the neckline of her dress and wrapped it around the silver of the ring giving her a better handle and leaving only the sharp gem protruding. She began to dig at the wall, timidly at first, then, feeling that she was making progress, with more vigor.

  By the time Huw returned she had made some inroads into the gap between the two stones.

  “Megan? I have some water and bread,” he told her breathlessly.

  “Are you sure you were not seen?”

  “I am su
re.”

  “What tool did you find, Huw?”

  “I took a knife from the kitchen. Will that do, Megan?”

  “That will do very well. I have started to dig. Look down to your right, no lower than your knee.” She tapped the place from her side of the wall. “Can you hear that?”

  “Yes.” He started to scratch with his knife. “Oh, it is very slow.”

  “Don’t let that concern you, my brave little friend. Work steadily, and you will make progress. Only take care that no one hears you.”

  “The guards are all up having their breakfasts. Brychan is out riding. I said I was feeling unwell and would stay in my bed awhile. No one will miss me for some time.”

  “You are a true hero, Huw,” said Megan, marveling at the idea that it was breakfast time. There was not the tiniest indication in her little tomb that morning had broken. How long could the human spirit endure such unnatural conditions, she wondered?

  Together they toiled on, pausing only for the occasional word of encouragement. The more she dug the more Megan became aware of the dreadfully solid, near impregnable nature of her prison. Near impregnable, but not completely, she told herself as she worked on. She knew they did not have unlimited time, for if Huw’s absence was noticed he would be searched for. With unexpected abruptness a sliver of light stabbed through the wall.

  “Huw! It’s working. I can see the light from your candle!”

  Huw scratched with renewed enthusiasm. At last Megan could see the end of the knife poking through the narrow opening.

  “Good boy, Huw!”

  “But it is such a small hole, Megan. Such a tiny space.” He began to cry softly. “I wish I could just get you out, Megan. I don’t like you being in there.”

  “Hush now, little one. This is not a moment to be sad. We could not make the hole bigger or it might be noticed. As it is, this little space will save my life, with your help.”

  “I’ll pass the bread through in small pieces.”

  “Dip it in the water first, not too much, though, or it will be too soft to force through. That’s it.” She took the morsels as she felt them pushed into the gap. As they passed between the stones they blocked out the light momentarily, and Megan had to fight to quell panic. How crucial was that glimmer to her sanity.

  After some time Huw said, “That’s the last piece. It is enough?”

  “It is plenty. Thank you, Huw. I never smelled a more delicious loaf.”

  “But, Megan, what about the rest of the water? No cup or bowl could ever fit through the tiny opening we have made.”

  “You must simply pour it through the hole.”

  “But you have nothing with you to hold water.”

  “I will drink as you pour this time. Next time you come see if you can find me a small piece of leather. That will come through our portal, and I can fashion a bag of it with ribbon. It will hold water well. Now pour slowly.”

  Huw did as he was told and Megan lapped the gritty, lime-tainted water. It tasted bitter and dirty, and grit threatened to choke her as she drank, but she knew she must drink it or die.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY morning was cold, bright, clear and, as far as Laura was concerned, inappropriately cheerful. It had reached a point where everyone at Penlan seemed worn out by the relentless worry and upset. It was decided that the boys would spend the morning with Dan clearing part of the garden and building a bonfire. Laura drove Steph to the hospital. They made the journey in silence, each lost in her own thoughts. The day before Laura had finally found a moment to use the Internet without being observed and had looked up Peterborough Mental Health Trust. Lawnsdale was indeed a psychiatric hospital. After searching her mind for a way to confirm her fears she had summoned her courage and telephoned the number given. She knew they would never give out information about an ex-patient. Unless she could trick them into doing so. Of course, it was just possible Rhys could have had a job there, rather than being an inmate. But in her heart she already knew which was the more likely answer.

  “I’m phoning from the surgery in Abergavenny” The lie had made her voice thin. “We are still waiting for the notes for Mr. Rhys Fisher to be forwarded on to us.”

  “Oh? Just a moment, please.” The young woman from the hospital administration department had disappeared for what felt to Laura like an age. At last she returned. “Mr. Fisher’s notes were sent on to the surgery at the Holly Road Hospital, Cardiff, last year. I have a copy of the accompanying letter from Dr. Hindmarsh. He was Mr. Fisher’s psychiatrist for the whole eight months he was here. You’ll have to take the matter up with Holly Road, I’m afraid. Which surgery did you say you were calling from?”

  Laura had wriggled and waffled and made her excuses before ringing off as quickly as she could. She had found out what she needed to know. What she had suspected. Rhys had been an inpatient in a mental hospital. More than once, by the sound of it. She googled Dr. Hindmarsh and was further alarmed to find that his specialty was delusional psychosis. She felt ill at the thought of just how dangerous Rhys might be, and that it was she who had let him into their lives. It also accounted for his reluctance to talk about his past.

  As they arrived at the hospital Laura did her best to forget about Rhys. She was here for Steph and for Angus. However often she saw her dear friend, the sight of him still so inert and so dependent on medical intervention was shocking. She looked at the tortured expression on Steph’s face.

  “Oh, Steph,” she said, taking hold of her hand. The two stood in silence together, looking down at poor Angus, both unsure if life would ever return to anything approaching normal ever again.

  “They still won’t let us move him,” Steph said. “I know it’s silly, but I want to take him home. Well, back to London, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, you and Dan, you’ve been great. It’s just, the boys would be better off back at school. And all this hanging around…” She shook her head slowly. “Wake up, Angus, you lazy old sod,” she said with a sniff. “This is no time for a lie in.”

  Laura squeezed her hand. “He will be OK, Steph. You have to believe that.”

  Steph nodded, “I know. The boys keep asking me when Daddy is going to wake up. How can I tell them he might not? Or that if he does, he might not be the Daddy they remember.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I try not to think about it but … Oh, Laura, what am I going to do?”

  Laura wrapped her friend in her arms, noticing how angular her body had become after weeks of worry and not eating properly.

  “I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better, Steph. We just have to stay positive. Angus is a fighter. He’ll come through this. OK?”

  Steph nodded again, dabbing at her eyes. “OK,” she said in a small voice almost unrecognizable as her own.

  “I’ll go and find us some coffee,” Laura said. ’There must be a machine here somewhere.”

  “Right.” Steph mustered a tired smile. “Only fair that we should suffer, too.”

  Laura leaned against the coffee machine and felt close to tears. Ridiculous, she told herself, Steph needs your support. She does not need a sniveling wreck. Pull yourself together, woman.

  She punched buttons and waited for the cups to fill. Two young doctors joined her, waiting for their turn. Laura recognized one of them as the intern who she had seen with Angus soon after he was first admitted.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m here visiting Angus Keane. He’s a close friend.”

  “Ah yes, the climbing accident, I remember. How is he?”

  “Not very good, I’m afraid. You know, he wasn’t really climbing. Just going for a mountain walk.”

  “Nasty head wound.”

  “He just slipped off the path. Hit some rocks. It seems such bad luck, to have such a serious injury from a simple walk.” She took the coffees and stood aside to let the others make their selections.

  “He was unlucky,” the young doctor went on. “Must have landed pretty hard. But
then, he’s quite a heavy chap. And of course the conditions didn’t help. Damp and foggy, wasn’t it? Took a while for the air ambulance to get to him.”

  “Yes, but he was being looked after by an experienced hill walker.”

  “I’m sure he did his best, but once the body goes into shock all sort of things can be affected.” He fed coins into the machine.

  “Can’t you prevent shock?”

  “To an extent, if you can keep the patient warm.” He picked up his drink and turned to leave. “Well, must get on. I hope your friend makes a good recovery. Everyone here will do their best.”

  “Thank you.” Laura stood and watched him walk away, then a thought struck her. “Wait!” She trotted after him. “You say he needed to keep warm. What if the walkers had had one of those survival blankets with them? You know, the tinfoil type things? Would that have made a difference?”

  “God, yes, huge difference. A sad reminder of how it pays to be well prepared. If he’d been snuggly wrapped up in one of those he wouldn’t be in the condition he’s in now. A not particularly serious head injury is one thing, but add complications brought on by shock and you’re dealing with something quite different.” He was interrupted by a beeping from his coat pocket. “Sorry, being paged. Gotta go.”

  Laura’s mind was racing. All she could hear was William’s voice telling her how he was so well prepared for the walk. With his special bag. And the survival blanket.

  As soon as she returned home Laura went into the utility room and searched through the coats. She found William’s hiking bag and rifled through it. No survival blanket. It must have been taken out and used when Angus had his fall. So why wasn’t he still in it when he was taken to the hospital? None of it made any sense. Rhys had been with him, looking after him while they waited for Mountain Rescue. He must have known how important it was to keep Angus warm. What possible reason could he have for taking off the survival blanket? Anwen’s words came back to her. Laura knew she considered Rhys dangerous in some way. But why would he want to harm Angus? And was he really capable of such a terrible thing? She went into the kitchen and hurried over to the shelf beside the telephone. There were dozens of scraps of paper with numbers written on them among the local directories and Laura’s own phone book. At last she found what she had been looking for. She unfolded the crumpled sweet wrapper. There, in Rhys’s flamboyant hand, were the map coordinates for the spot where Angus had been injured. She stuffed the paper into her pocket. She had no clear idea of what she might find, but at the moment she felt she was trying to do a puzzle with only half the pieces. Maybe the mountain would reveal some more.