There was a short silence. I looked him straight in the eye. I am not afraid of you. I am not afraid.
“She’s a good girl,” said Margery unexpectedly. “She comes here with no ill purpose, my lord, of that I am sure.”
“Not only that,” said Ben with a crooked grin. “She wouldn’t have come at all if we’d given her a choice in the matter. Very averse to sea travel, is Jenny. She’s here by accident as much as anything.”
“Besides,” said John, “if you are suggesting some noble family would pay a ransom for her return, you are certainly wrong. This is a child who has fended for herself for some time, I am convinced. She has no family but this one to turn to.”
“Child?” Richard seemed like a hunting creature waiting to pounce. “The girl is of marriageable years, and comely enough in her wild, unkempt way. What future has she here, if what you say is true?”
“My brother and I had an idea, Hugh” This was Lady Anne, and sensed this part of the conversation, at least, had been well prepared. “He—we thought, since we are lacking in suitable company for her here, that Jenny might go to stay at Northwoods for a while. Richard is headed back there in the morning, and sees no difficulty in her joining his party. Elaine has several young companions, and has said she would welcome another. This would please me, Hugh.”
“Out of the question.” Red’s response was immediate and abrupt.
“Not so fast,” said Richard, his eyes narrowing. “There’s Elaine to think of as well, boy. Your betrothed. Don’t forget, I’ll be away from home again soon, and my daughter asks this as a special favor from you. It’s lonely for her up there with her father gone. She’d welcome the novelty.”
My heart quailed. I had little doubt of the true purpose of this request. It was not companionship for his daughter that he wanted. It was the information I could give him. And I sensed his interest in Simon’s fate was not simply that of a solicitous uncle. No, there was something more to this, I was becoming sure of it. Red had been right to suspect his uncle’s motives. Richard needed to know what I knew, and whether I would tell it to others. And he would be adept at making me talk.
“This could be a good idea, Hugh,” said his mother carefully. “You cannot be unaware that Jenny’s presence here has brought some—unrest—to the household and to the folk of the estate. Since Elaine has been so kind as to extend an invitation, surely it could do no harm to send Jenny to Northwoods for a while. It would relieve the pressure here greatly. Perhaps you have closed your ears to what people are saying about her and about—about your motives in keeping her here. It is a delicate matter. But this would be a wise decision, I think.”
Red’s mouth tightened. I thought, how little they know him, his own family. Even I understand him better. He cannot be pushed like this.
“It is my household, and my decision,” he said. “If Elaine is seeking companionship, let her visit us at Harrowfield. For her, there is always a welcome here. But the other—I will not consider it. And now, this conversation is finished.” He walked over to Lady Anne and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, Mother.” He looked at Richard, who was leaning on the mantel again, his eyes hooded by their lids, the quirk of his mouth mischievous, dangerous. “You’ll be making an early start tomorrow, I’ve no doubt,” said Red. “We’ll provide an escort as far as the bridge.”
Richard lifted his brows. “Seeing me off? Thank you so much. I’ll be sure and let Elaine know you’d like her to pay you a call. Let her see for herself how things are here. Of course, she must take charge of Northwoods in my absence. But I can spare her for a few days. For naturally the wedding will be held here. This will give her a good opportunity to plan the festivities. May Day, Anne and I thought, would be most appropriate. No need to wait until midsummer. This time my campaign will be swift and deadly. I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”
Chapter Ten
Then followed what I looked back on later as the last good time at Harrowfield. Richard was gone, and spring burst on the valley as if celebrating his departure. My little garden bloomed with brave crocus and tiny pale daffodils and fragrant herbs. The sun warmed the stone walls and the old terrier stretched her stiff limbs and ventured out to explore under the blossoming lilacs. I took to rising early and walking forth while the air was crisp and the day new. This way, I could almost imagine I was back home at Sevenwaters, and that everything was all right again. Almost. As often as not, I would walk to the orchard with its lichen-covered walls to find Red already there, cloak over his shoulders against the cold, ink pot on the bench beside him, quill gripped somewhat awkwardly in his large hand. Sometimes I would sit there for a while, and he would give me a grave nod of acknowledgment, and go on with his work.
It was clear to me that what he made with such care was some kind of record of the estate, where purchases and profits were marked down methodically year by year. And yet, I could see it was more, for I glimpsed intricate diagrams that seemed to show the layers beneath the soil, and the different roots of plants, and the way the rain fell and nourished them; and here and there a tiny representation of tree or leaf or flower, done with a delicate control. This was the man whose uncle chided him for playing peasants; whose hands were so big mine were swallowed up by them. I liked sitting there quietly with my back against the smooth stones of the wall, watching him work. It came to me how much easier such a task would be if he knew how to write. I began to realize what a rare gift we had been given, I and my brothers, when Father Brien chose to share his skill with us. For it had become plain that there were none at Harrowfield, save the household scribe, with the ability to set down letters and to decipher them. And the scribe himself seemed to struggle when asked to make out a message of any complexity. Had matters been different, I could have offered to help. That would have raised a few eyebrows.
Some mornings I felt the need to keep moving, and Red would put away his quill and ink, and walk with me up through the fledgling oak forest to the hilltop from which he had first shown me the broad acres of his estate. From river to skyline, from road’s end to far horizon, the valley was clothed in its first brave green. They were good times, quiet peaceful times. There was no need for words between us. Slowly, the poison of Richard’s tongue slipped away from my mind, and I began to trust again.
Elaine came, and her behavior was as impeccable as her elegant, plain gowns and her glossy, smoothly braided hair. She was courteous to Lady Anne, but nonetheless made it clear that she had her own opinions and her own intentions once she became mistress of Harrowfield. She was charming to Margery and brought a toy for the baby, a little creature carved from bone on which he could chew, for Johnny was cutting his first tooth. I could tell she was deeply curious about my role in the household but, unlike her father, she tempered this with a natural reticence and what I believed to be a strong sense of what was right. She sat with Margery and me in the mornings to sew, and watched me working without apparent judgment.
Afterward, she inspected my hands, first asking if I had any objection.
“You know that some folk call you mad, or touched in the wits,” she said, and her big blue eyes looked directly into mine. “I don’t think I can believe that. I suppose there is a purpose, a very strong purpose, in what you do.” She looked at the shirtsleeve I was weaving, and the basket of thorny fibers. “How long?” she asked. “How many?” She was the first person to ask me this so directly. I placed my fingers over my lips, then swept both hands down and outward. I cannot say. I must not speak of this.
“Yes, Red told me,” said Elaine gravely. I thought, her use of this name makes her one of that inner circle, one of those few that he trusts. Why did this surprise me so much? After all, they were to be wed soon enough.
“But this work does not go on forever, does it? It has some end, some goal? Perhaps you can tell me that much.” She was as insistent as her father, in her quiet way. To shake my head could have led to misunderstanding. Besides, I needed no reminder of the w
ords of the Forest Lady. She had made it quite clear that not a word of my story, not a single part of it might be told, if I wished to free my brothers from the spell. Not in speech, or sounds, or pictures. Not in embroidery, or song, or gestures. No matter how kindly the manner of asking. And so I turned away, and would not answer Elaine’s questions.
She staved only a few days. She did spend a lot of time with Red, walking up and down the garden, talking gravely. It seemed Elaine hated to be idle; during the mornings she managed to plan the entire wedding with Lady Anne while completing the neat hemming of a fine lawn veil without apparent effort. I heard her agreeing to May Day with no visible enthusiasm, making decisions rapidly and without a great deal of interest as to which guests should be invited, and what she would wear, and whether six courses or seven made a more appropriate feast. She dealt with it all as if she were transacting the sale of a flock of sheep, or negotiating repairs to a barn, as a piece of necessary business to be done as efficiently as possible. The ceremony itself seemed unimportant to her. This seemed a little sad to me. I thought, she is marrying a good man. She could scarce hope for a better. Perhaps she really does care. But it is the way of these Britons, to lock the passions deep inside where nobody can see. On the surface, calm and controlled. Beneath, who knew what?
On the few occasions when I happened to see Red and Elaine together, walking toward the river or across the grass Jeep in conversation, I saw little relaxing of that control. His manner was polite, hers earnest. They did not hold hands, or link arms, or touch one another as I had seen my brother Liam do with his Eilis. And as, the goddess forbid, I had seen my father do with Lady Oonagh. I found myself watching them too much, and went back to my work, feeling vaguely unsettled. Outsider as I was in this household, I wanted Red to be happy. After all, I reasoned, the well-being of this whole small community depended on him. I was uneasy for him, and for her, sensing that something was wrong. There came a day when she spent the whole morning with Red in the gardens, sitting on a bench under the lilacs, walking around and around the hedges. She was talking and talking, moving her hands from time to time to emphasize a point. He was saying little. And then, in the afternoon, she packed up and left. Some of her household remained behind, because of the wedding. A cook, a groom or two. Compliments of Richard of Northwoods.
Had they quarreled? Apparently not. Red was uncommunicative, but that was nothing unusual. He was by nature a man of few words. Preparations for the wedding continued. The work of the estate was in full swing, and practice with sword and bow was put aside for more productive activities. The men were away from the house for most of the day, leaving us to our handiwork and to gossip. Not that there was much of that; Lady Anne was quite strict about idle tongues and what they might lead to. Nonetheless, I heard a few things I’d rather not have. For instance, that I was a sorceress who had put a spell on Lord Hugh so that he had to keep me in his household, and that when Elaine asked him to send me away and he refused her, she went off in a huff. Said she wouldn’t wed him until that barbarian from across the water was despatched back where she came from. This upset me, though I was disinclined to believe it, for I had seen no ill will in Elaine’s manner toward me. Besides, her feelings were always so well in check I could hardly imagine her being angry with Red or anyone else. As for the spell, I’d heard that one before. If anyone had put a spell on Lord Hugh, it wasn’t me. And he had his own reasons for keeping me here, as I had mine for staying. The fifth shirt was well on the way and at last I let myself believe that there might soon be an end to this part of my story.
There was another thing being said, and this I liked even less. This was that the evil enchantment they spoke of was in the work I did, the twisted, tortuous spinning and weaving of spindlebush (for so they called it). It was through this strange activity that I spread my influence over the household, and in particular, over Hugh. They could see it was shirts I was making. I had thought them a people with no tales, but once they came on this idea, it seemed every waiting women, every cottager had some old story of a garment with evil powers, that burned or poisoned or drove its wearer mad. The idea spread frighteningly fast and after a while people did not bother to lower their voices to a hush, for it seemed they no longer cared if I heard what they said about me. My friends in the household tried to protect me from it, but this became impossible.
Then small wrong things began to happen. I slipped and muddied my gown when out walking. Lady Anne gave it to a servant for cleaning, but there was a mishap, and the gown was returned to me strangely stained. Unwearable. But it was the only one I had. So I wore it until Lady Anne, frowning, found me another, even plainer and more shapeless than the last. I wore that, and held my head high. Then Alys went missing. This drove me frantic, for it put me in mind of the lady Oonagh, and the strange cruel tricks she had played on our household at Sevenwaters, and I spent the best part of a day hunting everywhere and trying not to let my panic show. My mind dwelled on my faithful Linn, who had died in the forest trying to protect me, and when I thought of her I was overwhelmed by images of that terrible day when I had carried her body home through the forest and had waited, weeping and bleeding, for my brothers’ return. I schooled my face to calm as best I could, and searched methodically in the house, in the stables, in the barn, under hedges, in the orchard. I felt quite alone that day, for Lady Anne kept Margery indoors and the men were busy about the farm. I might have asked Megan to help me search, for she was still friendly enough, but she was minding Johnny and could not be called.
By late afternoon I was becoming resigned to the fact that I would not find Alys; that something ill had happened to her. I resolved to wait in my garden, and to ask Ben or John for advice when they came home. But it seemed there was no need for this, for as I rounded the corner by the kitchen door, there she was, sitting on the stone steps outside my room with an expectant look, apparently none the worse for wear. I let my breath out in a sigh of relief and exasperation. Where had she been hiding all this time? How dare she worry me so about nothing, the rascal? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry.
It was only as I came close that I realized all was not as well, or as simple as I had thought. For Alys bared her teeth and growled at me. This was common enough behavior; she was famous in the household for her bad temper, one of the privileges of great age. But she never directed it at me. I stood a few paces away, not to alarm her, and studied her carefully. She looked all right. Maybe she had simply been frightened. Whatever was bothering her, it needed careful handling. I crouched down and edged closer. She growled again, drawing back her lip. She was trembling, great shivers coursing through her small body. Terrified. Try as I might, she would let me no closer.
Eventually I retreated to the kitchens for a scrap of lardy cake. Terriers are good eaters and find it hard to resist a treat. Slowly, very slowly, I came closer to her, until I was only a few paces away. Then I sat on the ground, with the cake next to me, and stared into the distance. The growls gradually subsided. After a while she crept over; and I heard the sound of furtive munching. It was safe to look at her again.
She had not been hurt. Simply held captive, and frightened. Perhaps, to discover who had done it, I might look for hands with bite marks. For what they had done had disturbed her greatly. I could see now that in the long wiry hair on her back was shaven a crude but unmistakable sign. It was a symbol I had seen chalked above doors to ward off witches. A sign I had seen made with the fingers, against the works of the devil. A message for me. Sorceress, be gone. For now, they had stopped short of hurting her, perhaps mindful of whose dog she had been.
Perhaps it had only been children. A prank. Maybe it was of little importance. So I said nothing of it at supper, trying to act as if all was well, for I did not wish to add fuel to any rumors. But as Conor had told me more than once, I was not very good at hiding what I felt. Not like some. Margery asked if I was all right, and I nodded, and Ben said I looked tired and I smiled. John tried to make me ea
t; they were always trying to make me eat, but my body was long used to denial, and accepted only small quantities of the plainest fare. A little bread, some fruit, a bowl of barley broth. Occasionally cheese. They thought I starved myself, but I did well enough. Besides, it concentrated the mind better, going without. I remember Father Brien saying that once.
Looking up and down the table, and around the members of the household as they ate and drank and chattered among themselves, I wondered how many of them really thought me a threat. For they were, for the most part, good folk, hardworking, honest people who valued their simple, orderly life. Red provided well for them, they lived safe and secure, and in return they gave their labor and their loyalty. My presence there was like a small but constant disturbance in a still pond; the ripples spread and spread and upset the balance of things. Someone had cared enough about this to act against me. So far, only small things; but there was a deep unease in me, for small things could lead to larger ones, I had seen this all too well when Lady Oonagh came to Sevenwaters. And I was so close to the end of my task, closer all the time. Liam, Diarmid, Cormack, Conor. Finbar whose starwort shirt was growing fast, for I was working long and hard, shrugging off the pain. Soon there would be but one shirt to make, and then the spell would be broken, and I would go home. As long as I could finish the task. Briefly, I thought of going to Lady Anne, telling her what had happened to the dog, for I knew she would stamp hard on such mischievous behavior in her household, whatever she might think of me. But telling her was to add fuel to the argument for me to be sent to Northwoods, and that prospect struck a deep fear into me. There was something evil about Red’s uncle, a menace in his eyes and in his clever words that turned me cold in his presence. Sooner than go to his home, I would leave this place on my own, I would fend for myself again. I decided not to tell anyone about what had been done to Alys. Pretend I did not care. After all, what could anyone do about it?
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