by Unknown
‘Hmm.’ She looked at him long and hard, then a bell went over the doorway and she gave a cross tut. ‘Drat, that’s the mistress’s bell. Mrs Ramsbottom, I should be down in two ticks but will you put my plate on the warmer if I’m kept?’
The cook gave no answer, but a jerky nod seemed to indicate that she’d heard and Ellen ran swiftly up the narrow stairs and disappeared.
‘Well, Luke . . .’ Mr James appeared from a back pantry, holding a bottle in his hand. ‘I can see from your derrière that you’ve acquainted yourself with the horses.’
Luke looked down at himself and then plucked sheepishly at the strands of hay still sticking to the back of his trousers. He must have brushed a bale on leaving the stables.
‘Mr Alexis Greenwood has sent word down to say that he and Miss Rosa will be riding in the Row tomorrow, so please have Brimstone and Cherry saddled and ready for ten o’clock, understood?’
‘Yes,’ Luke said, then hastily added, ‘sir,’ as he saw Mr James’s raised eyebrow.
‘Now, let’s be seated. We won’t wait for Ellen.’
‘Luke, you’re next to me,’ Becky whispered. He looked down to see her hand stroking the seat of the wooden chair beside her.
‘Dear Lord . . .’ Mr James intoned as they all sat. Luke folded his hands. ‘Dear Lord, help us to remember our good fortune in our lot and in this food on our plates. For all the tasks that we have to accomplish, lend us Your strength and may our work sharpen our appetites for the feast. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ Luke said. But far from whetting his appetite, there was a coldness in the pit of his belly as he put his fork to his lips. One full moon he had for his task. And he had no idea how to accomplish it.
That night, tossing and turning on the thin pillow, Luke thought he’d never sleep. His head was too full of everything that had happened in the day: trying to play the part of Luke Welling, trying to keep up with his new job, and trying all the while to work out the lay of the land for his mission.
But he did sleep. He must have done, for he woke in the night sweating and crying and with the image of the Black Witch in front of his eyes in the darkness. His hand shook as he reached out and struck a match, the flame wavering high in his trembling fingers.
The wick caught and he sank back, curled on his side, hating himself. He was one of the Brotherhood now, or almost – he’d undergone trial by knife and trial by fire and accepted the trial of the hammer. So why did he still wake night after night, his body drenched with sweat and his face wet with tears?
He lay, staring into the candle flame, trying to quiet his thudding heart and chase away the image of the Black Witch and that white, creeping hand crawling across the floor towards his trembling leg. And as the flame waxed and flickered, red and gold, an image came into his head; a girl, her hair like a halo of fire around her head, glowing like an ember in the dark. He closed his eyes, but the fire burnt against his closed lids, long after he’d shut his eyes.
‘Will you be able to ride like that, miss?’ Ellen stood back and looked at Rosa, buttoned into the tight new habit, the black skirt swishing the rug as she paraded in front of the fly-spotted bedroom mirror. The skirts were much longer and heavier than she was accustomed to. Belle followed at her heels as she paced and turned. ‘Your stays are awful tight.’
‘I think so.’ Rosa took an experimental deep breath, feeling the whalebone cutting into her middle, and then let it out. In her head she could hear Alexis’ bitter hissing voice: You look like a scrawny boy, and she despised herself for caring. This was not her – this girl who primped and laced and brushed her hair until it shone. The real her was the girl who rode bareback through the woods at Matchenham, with her skirts pulled up so she could sit astride, and her hair tangled by the wind. But where was that girl now? It was as if London had killed her.
‘You look beautiful, Miss Rosa.’ Ellen spoke as if she could hear Rosa’s thoughts. ‘Mr Knyvet would have to have a heart of stone not to—’
‘Ellen!’ Rosa cut across her, blushing furiously. ‘Mr Knyvet has nothing to do with this.’
‘Yes, miss,’ Ellen said, but the dimples in her cheeks told Rosa she did not believe her.
‘How’s the new stableboy?’ she said curtly, changing the subject. ‘Settling in?’
‘Well!’ Ellen tossed her head and began tidying the brushes on the dressing table crossly. ‘He’s not much of a boy for all that. I think there’s something rather pushing and forward about him, if you ask me.’
‘Really?’ Rosa picked up Belle, nuzzling her warm forehead. ‘He seemed just the opposite when I met him in the stables. Positively tongue-tied.’
She remembered his deep voice, his East End accent, the way his consonants blurred together, like wooden blocks shaken together until the edges wore blunt.
‘Oh he’s quiet, miss, but that’s not what I meant. He’s too quiet. It’s – it’s like he doesn’t care, somehow, but . . .’ Ellen stopped, struggling to put her finger on what she meant, but Rosa thought she knew. He had the quietness not of self-doubt, but of someone holding themselves back, keeping themselves apart. And the reserve in his eyes wasn’t born of inadequacy but of something else, something she couldn’t quite identify. As if . . . the words came to her suddenly, as if someone had whispered them in her ear: as if he were trying to hide the wolf inside.
She shivered suddenly. What nonsense. Just because he was quiet and didn’t tug his forelock and look nervy enough for Ellen. Anyway, it was natural enough for Ellen to dislike him; he’d pushed out her sweetheart, hadn’t he? Usurped his place.
Except . . . except wasn’t he supposed to be Fred’s cousin? So why would Ellen resent someone who was doing Fred a good turn, keeping his place for him until he was well enough to work again?
Never try to understand servants or outwith, Alexis’ dismissive voice spoke inside her head. They’re a law to themselves – as nervy as animals and half the sense.
‘I’d better go down,’ she said to Ellen. ‘I mustn’t keep Alexis waiting. He wants to be in the Row by eleven. Goodbye, Belle darling.’ She dropped a kiss on Belle’s warm twitching back and then set her gently on the window seat. ‘Keep my seat warm. And wish me luck.’
‘You have to admit, Rose, this ain’t half bad,’ Alexis called across the narrow strip of path between them.
Rosa looked down at Cherry’s back and up at the blue sky, bright and sunny for once, all trace of last night’s fog and rain clouds chased away by the winter sun. Only the smoke from London’s thousands of chimneys drifted across the sky, deceptively clean and white against the stark blue.
Then she looked across at Alexis, his top hat gleaming in the morning sun. She hated to agree with Alexis, but he was right. It wasn’t like riding at Matchenham, full gallop across the dew-wet fields, with her hair loose like a gypsy and full of twigs and the smell of damp leaves, but there was something very pleasant about the ordered ranks of riders with their gleaming horses, the men so handsome in their top hats and riding coats, the women in their stocks and habits, hair swept up and shining in the sun. The brass on the carriages glittered like gold, the grass to either side was manicured into a soft green carpet scattered with golden leaves, and she could hear the bells from Brompton Oratory and St James’s floating across on the fresh morning breeze. And even the pinching of her stays and the ache in her cheekbone could not take away from the bubbling delight of being on horseback again, the pommel of the side-saddle firm against her thigh.
Beneath her, Cherry whickered excitedly and Rosa knew that she felt it too.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, putting her hand down to stroke Cherry’s warm neck. ‘I know I’ve neglected you.’
Behind them came Castor’s plodding step and she thought of the stableboy and the look in his eyes as he’d handed her up on to Cherry’s back. The way his gaze had gone to her che
ek and stayed there, so that her hand had crept almost unconsciously to cover it.
‘What?’ she’d snapped. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing, miss,’ he’d said, his face impassive, and turned away.
She knew, she knew there could not possibly be a mark there – she’d checked in the glass this morning and the spell had worked. Not even the faintest purple. He could not have known. There was no way he could have known. But still – his eyes and the shadow of a frown between his brows . . .
She shook herself. You’re getting foolish. You’ve been living too long with outwith servants, living with deception.
Luke watched Rosa as she rode, watched her reach down and pet Cherry, whispering something to the horse, and he thought again of the moment he’d handed her up into the saddle. Something about her face had caught his eye, the shadow of something around her cheekbone, almost as if the remains of a spell lingered there, shimmering in the morning sun.
He’d stared like a fool, like the idiot he was – unable to tear his eyes from it – and it was only when her hand had gone nervously to her face and she’d said, ‘What? What is it?’ with a catch in her voice, that he realized he’d frozen, the saddle girth slack in his hand, his eyes fixed on her.
‘Nothing,’ he’d choked out, and carried on tightening Cherry’s girth for her. ‘Nothing, miss.’ Then he’d turned away, trying to hide his disquiet.
It was one thing to imagine himself living among witches, entwined with their magic, at the mercy of any spell – it was quite another to find himself there in reality. He was here – just feet away from them – and they were riding in the Row just like all the other men and women, but reeking of magic so strongly he could not understand how the other riders didn’t flinch away. And not just one witch either, but two – that Judas-haired brother of hers, Alexis. He might be a beef-fed bully with a seat like a sack of potatoes, but he was still a witch. His power shimmered around him like a miasma, though the day was clear.
He, Luke, was outnumbered. Even with the knife in his boot, it was an uncomfortable thought.
He was so wrapped in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the third rider coming across and, when Rosa and Alexis reined in, he was caught by surprise. His horse, Castor, stumbled, barging Brimstone’s hind quarter with his shoulder.
‘Damnation!’ Alexis snapped, as Brimstone jumped and sidled beneath him. ‘Can’t you control your horse, you clumsy oaf?’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Luke muttered. He looked over, to see a tall man in immaculately tailored riding clothes reining in a magnificent Arab that gleamed like polished mahogany, the sheen on its burnished coat second only to the polish on the man’s tall leather boots. It would be impertinence to stare, but Luke’s quick glance took in everything from the man’s high top hat to the wicked-looking spurs that glinted at his heels. A little dog ran at his feet, jumping and chasing its own tail for the sheer joy of being alive, a strange contrast to the contained stillness and power of the man on horseback. The whole group, man, horse and dog, were wreathed around and about in spells, bound and twisted in a fog of power so thick that it was almost palpable – Luke barely repressed a shudder as he turned his eyes to the ground.
‘Sorry, Knyvet,’ Alexis was saying. ‘New stableboy. Our usual chap broke his arm and got himself laid up for a month, so we’ve got his sot of a cousin filling in.’
‘He’s not a sot, Alex,’ Rosa said stiffly. ‘He’s just new. Give him a chance. Anyway, Mr Knyvet doesn’t want to hear our domestic troubles, do you, sir?’
‘Au contraire.’ The man bent over Rosa’s hand, his horse stamping and sidling as he kissed her gloved knuckles. ‘Everything about you is charming to me, Miss Greenwood. What a delightful . . . surprise to see you both here.’
‘Oh . . .’ Luke saw a flush on Rosa’s cheek. ‘As Mama said, I – I love to ride.’
‘I remember that from Matchenham. Although, as I recall,’ he looked at her from beneath his lashes, his blue eyes veiled and lazy, ‘as a little girl you were happier bareback. But what I meant was, what brings you to the Row? I’ve never seen you before.’ There was something in his expression that Luke couldn’t quite place, something teasing, speculative, not quite pleasant, as if Rosa were a moth beneath a pin and he was not going to let her go easily.
‘I don’t think Mama would permit me to ride bareback these days,’ Rosa said lightly, skirting his question, although the flush remained on her cheek, high and angry. The man, Knyvet, smiled, and was about to say something when his dog leapt up exuberantly at Rosa’s skirts.
‘Down, Pointer!’ Knyvet snapped, and he kicked the little dog with his shining boot, sending it tumbling over the rutted surface of the row.
‘Sebastian!’ Rosa cried, and the little creature whimpered with pain and cowered back at its master’s heel.
‘Oh don’t mind Rosa,’ Alexis said with a sneering laugh. ‘Her heart bleeds for anything on four legs. She’s not quite so bothered about the chaps on two.’
‘I’ve no use for disobedience,’ Knyvet said. ‘Be it in dogs, horses or servants. If they cannot learn to obey of their own volition they must have it beaten into them.’ Then he gave a short laugh. ‘But enough of this; let’s speak of lighter things. Since we’ve met so serendipitously’ – a smile creased his cheek – ‘won’t you allow me to escort you across the park? I’m on my way to the headquarters, so our paths lie in the same direction.’
‘I’d be delighted,’ Rosa said slowly. Her eyes went back to the little dog trotting in Knyvet’s shadow, its tail firmly between its legs.
As they set off, Alexis hung back.
‘Don’t wait for me,’ he called. ‘I’ve a fancy Brimstone’s limping. I’ll get the boy to take a look at his shoe and catch you up.’
Obediently Luke slid from Castor and pulled up the leg Alexis indicated with his whip. It looked sound enough. The shoe was firm and there was no swelling and no stone in the hoof, or none that he could see.
‘I can’t see nothing, sir,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to check the other leg?’
‘Of course not, there’s nothing wrong, you fool.’ Alexis’ voice was low and full of contempt. ‘Just dig at it with your knife or whatever you do. Make it look realistic and try not to be more of an idiot than your mother made you.’
Luke gritted his teeth and drew out his pick, pretending to pull out an imaginary stone from Brimstone’s shoe, but all the while following Rosa and Knyvet with his eyes. They rode like a matched pair, as they trotted down the Row, Rosa so slim and straight in her black habit that it looked as if he could break her in two, Knyvet tall and erect in the saddle beside her, his top hat making him look even taller, their magic crackling around them both like a cloud of light and storm. So this was the plan, was it? Marry her off to the tall arrogant bastard of a witch, to create more witch babies to wreak more misery on the world? Well, not if he could help it.
His fingers tightened unconsciously on the pick and Brimstone gave a whinny and flinched, pulling his foot away from Luke’s grip.
‘Hi, you fool!’ Alexis snapped. ‘You don’t need to carve the poor brute’s hoof out. Make it look realistic, I said, not stick him to the quick.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Luke muttered. He stood, shading his eyes, watching Knyvet leaning into Rosa, saying something close to her ear. She laughed at his remark, her magic shimmering like a halo of ghostly fire in the winter sunlight.
‘Come on,’ Alexis said impatiently. ‘We’ve given ’em long enough. Any more and it’ll start to look obvious.’
Luke swung himself back into the saddle and they both cantered down the last length of the Row, to where Kynvet and Rosa had stopped beneath a tree. As they came up the last few yards separating them, Rosa laughed again and said something to the little dog, putting her hand down towards it. It yipped out a bark, jumping joyfully towards her h
and, and then leapt back towards Knyvet. He kicked it away and it gave a whine. Knyvet said something to Rosa and she shook her head and clicked to Cherry, but as she did the pup leapt up again. There was an ominous rending sound and Rosa gave a cry.
‘Dammit, Rose!’ Alexis pointed with his crop at the hanging triangle of black fabric. ‘The brute’s torn your skirt!’
‘It’s nothing,’ Rosa said quickly. She bent, pressing her handkerchief to her calf, and Luke saw, with a feeling of foreboding, that it came away red.
‘God-damn it.’ Knyvet flung down his reins. The little dog wagged its tail joyfully at the sight of his master dismounting, but then Knyvet grabbed its collar and it squealed in pain. He picked up his riding crop.
‘Sebastian!’ Rosa cried. He ignored her and lifted the whip, and the little dog screamed as it came smacking down. He lifted it again, and again it bit, and the pup let out a squealing wail. Luke turned his face away.
‘Sebastian!’ Rosa shouted. There was a scrambling sound and Luke turned back to see her slide from the pommel of the side-saddle in an ungainly slither. She fell to her hands and knees on the ground but scrambled up. ‘Sebastian, stop! For God’s sake, stop!’
Knyvet didn’t seem to have even heard. He was labouring the little dog again and again with all his strength. The creature had stopped crying and lay limp in his grip, only the force of Knyvet’s blows making its body jerk.
‘Sebastian!’ Rosa sobbed. She grabbed at his arm, but he threw her off without even turning his head and she staggered back.
Luke swallowed. His fists were clenched. He felt a fierce desire to grab Knyvet by the collar and beat him like he was beating the dog, beat him until he squealed like the defenceless pup. But it would be suicide to strike a witch and, worse, suicide to his mission. He would be sacked, thrown from the house, and then where would he be? He had barely three weeks left – there would be no time for another plan, no time to do anything but crawl back with his tail between his legs. And then he would be dead himself, at the hand of the Malleus, as all men were who failed in their task.