Sara Craven - Summer of the Raven

by Summer of the Raven (lit)

  Men, she thought, would always want to believe Anto­nia, to trust her, because she was a beautiful woman. For Victor Winslow disillusionment had probably come slowly, but Rowan knew that it had come

  And now there was Carne, who had trusted Antonia enough to lend her a large sum of money, and believed what she said. How many years of marriage would it take before his disillusionment set in? Rowan wondered bit­terly.

  I ought to hate him, she told herself. I ought to despise him for not being able to see what she is--shallow and self­ seeking. But I don't, and I can't.

  But it was little comfort to tell herself that at least this time she would not have to live under the same roof and see him being made unhappy. And perhaps Antonia, married to the man she wanted, and with all the money she would ever need, would become a reformed character. And perhaps the moon was made of green cheese, Rowan thought wryly.

  She would remain in her room until they were both safely off the premises, she decided, and as an extra precau­tion she locked her bedroom door and the door leading into the bathroom, in case Antonia took it into her head to pay her another visit.

  I can face her tomorrow, because I must, but not tonight, she thought.

  She kicked off her shoes and lay wearily down on the bed, and eventually she must have dozed, because when she opened her eyes it was almost dark, and the house was very still.

  Rowan sat up slowly, waiting for her head to clear a little. She felt muzzy, and there was a faint throb in her temples which usually in her experience presaged a thun­derstorm. She glanced apprehensively towards the window and saw that the clouds gathering over the fells were slate grey and navy, and somewhere in the distance she thought she heard the faint rumble of thunder. She groaned and swung her feet to the floor. A storm was all she needed, she thought fatalistically.

  The air seemed to press down on her as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She scrambled a couple of eggs, piled them on to buttered toast, and made herself a strong cup of coffee.

  She hadn't imagined the thunder this time. She could see the flash of lightning too, as the storm approached, and she wondered ironically what effect it would be having on Antonia, who was terrified of thunder and lightning. It would probably give her an excuse, always supposing she needed one, for clinging to Carne even more closely, con­firming the impression of helpless fragility she liked to give.

  A perceptible drop in the temperature indicated that it was about to pour with rain, and Rowan shivered as she cupped her hands round the comforting warmth of her beaker.

  A few large drops stung the kitchen windows, and then the downpour proper, began with a searing flash and roar of thunder that sounded immediately above the house. Rowan flinched instinctively, and at the same moment all the lights went out.

  It wasn't completely dark, but it would be soon, and Iowan swore mildly as she made her way across the kit­chen. A large torch and a number of spare batteries were kept in one of the cupboards she knew, but she doubted whether Raven's Crag boasted anything quite so prosaic as candles.

  But Sybilla would have some, she thought suddenly, and wondered how she was facing up to the storm. Sybilla did not seem the nervous kind, but thunder had a habit of reducing the most stalwart souls to a jelly.

  She went along to the flat door and knocked. 'It's Rowan,' she called. 'Are you all right? Can you see your way about?'

  There was no reply. Listening intently, Rowan could only hear the sigh of the wind in the trees outside, and another deafening peal of thunder. She knocked again, louder.

  'Sybilla? Please answer. Are you all right?'

  Silence. In exasperation, Rowan tried the flat door, and to her surprise it swung open at once. She went in and called, but there was still no reply. She frowl1ed 'as she stood there, uncertain of what to do next. It wasn't possible, surely, that Sybilla had gone out with Carne and Antonia?

  Feeling like some guilty intruder, she began to look round the flat. Perhaps Sybilla had taken some tablets and had an early night. But the bedroom was empty, and there were signs in the living room-an empty toffee cup, a book lying open on a small table beside an armchair-that she had been there quite recently.

  Could it be-was it possible that Sybilla had gone out for her usual evening stroll in the garden and had been taken unawares by the storm?

  Oh, no! Rowan thought, her heart contracting in dismay. Where could she find shelter, except under a tree, which was worse than being out in the open?

  She dashed to the cloakroom and found her raincoat, not bothering to pull it on, just putting it over her head. Then she went out. The rain was steady and felt like ice. Rowan switched on her torch and shone it in front of her. The light seemed feeble in the gathering murk, but it was all she had. She walked forward carefully, pausing every now and then to call Sybilla's name, but the wind seemed to carry her voice away, and she wasn't sure even now she wasn't getting soaked on a wild goose chase.

  When she heard the answering cry she thought at first it was her own voice getting tossed back at her by the wind in some weird way. She stood, head bent, listening, and trying to cut out the racket around her, and heard the voice again, very small and wavering and somewhere ahead of her.

  She shouted, 'Sybilla? I'm coming. Hang on!'

  But Sybilla was not able to do anything else, as Rowan realised when she rounded a bend in the path and saw the crumpled heap lying there. A groan escaped her.

  She ran forward and knelt down. The older woman was a pitiful sight, her face twisted with pain, her white hair and clothes plastered to her by the downpour, but she managed a wry smile for Rowan.

  'My--stupid hip, dear child. It just seemed to collapse under me, and I fell, and couldn't get up again. I-think I've damaged my ankle too. It twisted; you see, as I tried to keep my balance.'

  'Everything's all right now, I'm here,' Rowan said soothingly, trying to dam back the feeling of panic besetting her. She was there, but what could she do? Sybilla wasn't as fragile as she looked, which was a good thing considering the condition she was in, but could Rowan manage to lift her? Her ankle was the least of her problems. Shock, and the soaking she had received, could bring on pneumonia, and it was essential to get her into the dry and fetch medical attention without delay.

  She said, trying to sound cheerful, 'I'm going to get you back in the house, Sybilla. I think the best thing is if you could link your arms round my neck while I lift you. I'll try not to hurt you.'

  Sybilla shook her head; There was a pinched look round her mouth, Rowan saw apprehensively. 'I'm-too--heavy for you, my dear. Fetch Carne:'

  'He's out,' Rowan explained gently. 'And so is Antonia.

  We're on our own. We have to manage. Now, put your arm round my shoulders and let's see how we get on. We can't stay here--you're lying in a puddle.'

  'Carne has been levelling some of the ground here to make a lawn,' Sybilla said on a little gasp, as she struggled to comply. 'I came out to have a look. I tried to hurry when I heard the thunder.'

  It took all Rowan's strength to get to her feet with Sybilla clinging to her like a dead weight, trying to muffle little gasps of pain as they moved with awful slowness back towards the shelter of the house. It was an endless shuffling progress and at times it seemed to Rowan, whose back and shoulders were aching almost intolerably, that some malig­nant force was moving the house away from them as they moved towards it.

  But eventually they reached it and Rowan took Sybilla round to the kitchen entrance to avoid climbing the steps up to the front door. She deposited the older woman on the bench by the kitchen table, and went out again to find the torch which she had dropped. Fortunately it still worked, and she ran back to the house.

  Sybilla was shivering violently, she saw compassion­ately.

  Trying to sound brisk, she said, 'You must get those wet things off, Sybilla. I'll go and find your nightdress and dressing gown, then I'll phone your doctor-that's if the phone's still working.'

  She fetched the dre
ssing gown at once and left the kit­chen, knowing instinctively that however difficult she found it, Sybilla would not wish to undress in front of her or want her assistance in doing so.

  As she lifted the receiver, the reassuring buzz of the dialling tone came to her ears, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she dialled. The doctor was at home, and promised to come at once. Rowan flew upstairs and fetched a blan­ket before returning to the kitchen ..

  'This is probably the warmest place to be,' she remarked as she went in. 'But I've brought you some extra wrapping all the same. I'm sorry it's so dark.'

  Sybilla gave her a faint smile. 'The storm is passing, dear child. Perhaps they'll be able to restore the power soon. It isn't usually off for very long.'

  'I can't even make us a hot drink,' Rowan mourned, unfolding the blanket and putting it round Sybilla's thin shoulders ..

  'You've done quite enough for me. Now you must go and get out of your own wet things-yes, I insist. Unlatch the front door so that Doctor Mortimer can let himself in when he comes. I shall be quite all right.'

  Rowan wasn't sorry to obey. In spite of the sheltering raincoat the rain had penetrated right through to her skin, . and she felt chilled and clammy. It was good to strip off her wet clothes and underwear in her room, and towel her body briskly until her circulation started to move more normally. She pulled on dry cord pants in olive green, topping them with a matching rollneck Shetland sweater. She was just making her way downstairs when the doctor's car arrived.

  He was a middle-aged man, very calm and practical, and he praised Rowan for her prompt action. He ex­amined Sybilla's ankle and diagnosed a sprain, and in spite of her protests, announced his intention of calling an ambulance.

  'I'm taking her to Heatonbank for observation,' he told Rowan, deftly popping a thermometer between Sybilla's indignant lips. 'It's a private clinic and nursing home, where she can have a couple o(days' cosseting. I suppose you'd like to accompany her, Miss Winslow. I'll leave a note for Carne explaining exactly what's happened.'

  'This is ridiculous, George,' Sybilla said roundly when she could speak again. 'This child doesn't want to go to a nursing home.'

  'Nothing very childish about her behaviour this even­ing,' the doctor said drily. 'Now, tell her what you want her to pack in an overnight bag for you.'

  Rowan was returning with the bag, when he stopped her.

  'It's her heart that I'm really worried about,' he said briefly. 'She had a couple of slight attacks about a year ago, and I had to warn her about over-exertion then, but she's proud and .stubborn and doesn't relinquish her re­sponsibilities easily, as I probably don't have to tell you. I'd hoped this idea of getting Carne's cousin here as house­keeper might help, but . . .'

  He shrugged, and Rowan said slowly, 'I think it has. She has her own flat to look after, and 1 don't think we could ever charge that. But she and my stepmother are not very friendly, I'm afraid. There isn't much contact between them.'

  He frowned slightly. 'Yet she seems very fond of you.' Rowan said with some constraint, 'She doesn't really know me very well, but she's always been very kind.' He nodded. 'So you'll go with her. 1 want her to be caused as little agitation as possible, and a familiar face . . .' 'Yes, of course,' she assured him.

  The ambulance was soon there, and Sybilla was put carefully into it by two cheerful men.

  'I am not ill,' she announced, looking very frail. But she was almost asleep when the journey was over, although she opened her eyes and looked at Rowan as -she was being lifted out of the ambulance. 'Dear-girl, what would I have done without you?' she muttered drowsily, and Rowan guessed that Dr Mortimer who was following in his own car had administered some sort of sedative.

  While Sybilla was being put to bed in a comfortable room, a young nurse took Rowan along to a waiting room furnished with easy chairs.

  'The rain's easing off,' she commented, swishing chintz curtains across the windows. 'And the power's back on, thank heavens. We've been operating off our emergency generator.

  'Oh, hell!' Rowan's hand went to her mouth. 'I left all sorts of things on back at the house.'

  'Well, I don't expect anyone will complain,' the nurse said comfortingly. 'This was rather an emergency, you know. We had Miss Maitland in here some time ago for tests, so it's lucky you were around when this happened.'

  'Yes,' Rowan agreed soberly.

  She was left alone for a while, then someone brought her a cup of tea, rather too milky for her taste. She had finished it, and was wondering, rather forlornly, whether Dr Mor­timer had gone, and how she was going to get back to Raven's Crag, when the door opened and Carne walked in.

  Rowan said ridiculously, 'Oh, it's you,' and flushed. 'How is Sybilla?' he demanded sharply.

  'She was nearly asleep when they brought her in. They haven't told me anything yet.'

  'God, what a thing to happen,' he muttered in an angry undertone. 'What was she doing in the garden, for heaven's sake?'

  'She'd gone out to look at your lawn. She goes for a stroll every evening, you know she does. Apparently her bad hip collapsed in some way, and she fell.'

  His mouth twisted. 'Then from now on, she takes her stroll in company-which she'll love,' he added sar­donically. He paused, then said in a slightly altered tone, 'It was a good thing you were there, Rowan.'

  She made a little defensive gesture. 'You speak as if! had any real choice.'

  'And you speak as if you were being kept a prisoner.' His mouth twisted. 'I thought that was Antonia's view of the situation. 'I didn't realise you felt the same. Of course, it must be a rather circumscribed life for you. You must miss the bright lights of London.'

  'I didn't have a great deal of time for enjoying bright lights, even if I'd wanted to.' Rowan couldn't keep a slight snap out of her voice, remembering the hours at college, the endless essays and studying, the shopping and the house­work. 'But you really don't have to worry about me. I've made a life for myself here.'

  'Yes, you have,' he said in an odd tone. 'Perhaps I haven't given you sufficient credit for that-among other things.'

  She was on guard instantly. It was safer when he thought badly of her; she was less vulnerable then.

  'Let's not have any misunderstandings,' she said tightly. 'I didn't take the job at the pottery to win your good opinion, but to make some money so that I can get away as soon as possible. I don't need charity, or a surrogate father either.'

  'I wasn't aware you were being offered either.' His eyes and voice were cold again. 'However, while you're under my roof there seems no reason why you can't enjoy a normal social life. At the moment you seem either to be working or mooning around the house, quarrelling with your stepmother. Not a satisfactory situation from anyone's point of view.'

  'But not one that really need concern you. And I'm quite capable of organising my own social life.'

  'Then I hope it's David Lister and not Jeff Wainwright that you're including in your plans,' he said caustically .. 'David's a young idiot, but there's no real harm in him. You'll be reasonably safe practising your feminine wiles on him.'

  'I don't need your advice or your permission!' she hit back. 'Why can't you leave me alone?'

  'I wish to God I would,' he said savagely. 'But I'm responsible for you Rowan, and I can't forget it, even if you seem determined to. I'm not used to girls of your age ­the way you're a siren one moment and a hooligan the next.'

  For a moment their eyes locked in challenge, and it was Rowan who looked away first, even turned away, moving over to the window, touching the curtains with nervous fingers. Even when they were at odds with each other his proximity had the power to disturb her almost un­endurably, recalling to her mind and her body just how it had felt to be in his arms, to feel his mouth bruising hers. 'Siren', he had said. Well, her song was muted now, de­liberately so, because wanting him could only bring her pain.

  Standing with her back to him, she said with difficulty, 'I'm sorry, I don't know why I behave as I do. I-I'm not used to
men of your age either.'

  She heard Carne give a sharp sigh. He said, 'Then, on that note of guarded truce, I'll go and find Sybilla's room and see if there's anything she wants. Do you want to come with me?'

  'Not-not if you want to speak to her privately.' 'There's nothing I wish to say that you can't hear, Rowan. Besides, she'll want to see you. I imagine she's probably quite well aware that she owes you her life.'

  'That's an exaggeration.' Rowan moved uncomfortably.

  'Not according to the note George Mortimer left,' he said drily. 'According to him you're the heroine of the hour.'

  'That's very kind of him,' she said stiltedly. 'But I only did what anyone else would have done.'

  'Did you?' His brows rose. 'Somehow I doubt that, Rowan. You give an impression of total fragility, and yet I suspect it's false-like other impressions you give.'

  She, stood motionless, her brain working frantically as she assimilated his words. If he suspected-if he knew the truth, then all Antonia's carefully laid plans could come crashing down round her ears like a house of cards.

  She said falteringly, '1-1 don't understand.'

  'Of course you don't.' There was a mocking note underlying the urbanity in his tone and now let's go and see Sybilla.'

  On the way down the corridor they met the Sister in charge coming in search of them. Miss Maitland was still awake, and asking for them, she told them a little re­proachfully, her keen eyes taking in Rowan's flushed cheeks and the strain in her expression.

  'You've had a trying time, child,' she said briskly. 'A glass of warm milk and an early night wouldn't come amiss.'

  Sybilla looked very small in the bed, her white hair subdued into two neat plaits. The style made her look oddly youthful without robbing her of any of her dignity, Rowan thought.

  Sybilla reached out a hand to her, and she took it. 'I'm so glad you're still here, my dear.' Her voice was a thread of sound. 'I wish to ask a favour. My flat-my plants-will you look after them? I don't want . . .' She paused as if through breathlessness, but Rowan guessed she didn't want Carne to hear her say aloud that-she didn't want Antonia in her flat, among her treasures. She would know he wouldn't want to be reminded that the two women he loved shared a mutual antagonism-and yet, Rowan thought, it was something that would have to be faced eventually by all three of them.