Tamara reached for a shawl and laid it on top of the small beast, before cupping it in her hands. She could feel the warmth of its galloping heart. She took it to the window and released it back into the night sky. Down in the grounds, below the sloping roof to her left, she spotted Walter. He was standing so still that if it wasn’t for the moonlight glinting on his face, then he might as well have been part of a tree, or a statue, or one of the many other shadows that plunged through the night air.
‘Thank you,’ she mouthed towards him and he nodded his head in response and melted away.
When she turned back into the room, Cecil was raising himself to his feet. His hair now stuck out in a series of unsightly tufts. There was a knock at the door and Mama entered.
‘I heard the commotion,’ she said. Her eyes looked small and pinched. ‘Is everything… alright?’
‘Take charge of your daughter, Catherine,’ growled Cecil, pushing past her and disappearing through the door.
Tamara breathed deeply, savouring the relief of Cecil’s absence. Calm fell softly around her again, like a blanket of snow. She listened to her breathing, for now ignoring the other woman in the room. How strange it was that with each deep breath she could feel something new beginning to flow through her; a feeling of energy entering her blood, like a glimmer of gold, flying through the redness in her veins. Never had she felt stronger.
Her mother stepped towards her, stooped and uneasy.
‘I’m leaving in the morning, Tamara.’
‘Running away?’
‘I have business to attend to in London.’
‘I see. Mr Lakefield will be most disappointed. He seems to know you well.’
‘He is mistaken.’
Mama’s eyes darted across the smashed glass on the floor. She bit her lip for a moment, as if toying with which words to choose next.
‘Perhaps if you gave him a child,’ she began hesitantly. ‘It would make him gentler, more forgiving …,’
Tamara felt her jaw tighten and she was suddenly overwhelmed by a terrible urge to hit the woman before her. She clenched her fists into tight balls.
‘Mama, I have been beaten and humiliated. I have had my skin scoured to shreds. And now that man has tried to poison me. Are you really suggesting that I climb into bed with him and make him a father to my child?’
Her mother’s eyes grew wide and then she covered her face with her hands, releasing a sound like a strangled sob. She wasn’t crying, but when she removed her hands her face looked grey and utterly defeated.
‘You could come back to London with me, for a week or two, so that all of this can settle down,’ she said in a small, cracked voice.
Tamara shook her head. ‘No. I don’t trust you. In some ways I feel that you are even more of a danger than my husband. You forced me to marry him after all. And besides, Mr Balanchine is here now. I feel safer in his care.’
‘Mr Balanchine is not…,’
Her mother clutched her chest.
‘Please leave Mama. I will not bid you farewell in the morning.’
*
She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that night, until the sound of a gentle thud and the brush of cold air awoke her. It was still dark outside, but her window had blown open again. Perhaps a draught had caught it, although this had never happened before. She climbed out of bed to close it and noticed that across the roof of the house, a lone candle was flickering in the window of the south tower. She lit a lamp and left her room.
Downstairs, Daniel’s door was ajar. She looked in and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Kayan was by his side. He raised his young, handsome face at her approach but didn’t look surprised.
‘Master Walter is waiting for you,’ he said.
She left without a word.
Walter was sitting in the rocking chair when she reached the top of the tower. His profile was white and angular in the candlelight. He and Kayan had put thick blankets down on the floor, transforming the room into a warm, tent-like sanctuary.
‘This poor old tower,’ he said, shaking his head slowly. ‘It resents that monstrous pile of bricks they’ve stuck on it. You can feel it, heaving in dismay.’
Tamara lowered herself onto a blanket, feet tucked under her. ‘Do you really believe that buildings have feelings?’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’ he replied, turning his eyes to her. ‘Haven’t you seen the cracks?’
‘No.’
‘Next time you pass through, pull back the tapestry that covers the door to this tower a little further. The ancient stones are pulling away.’
‘Walter, what am I going to do? Can you help me?’
His eyes glistened, ‘I helped you once before.’
‘I know. I think about it every minute of every day.’ She looked down at her hands and gulped. ‘I am haunted by the dream of the life Tom and I could have had together. And now he’s dead because of me. And I am married to Cecil Hearst.’
Walter stood up and walked to the window. He seemed agitated, as if he was churning something over in his mind.
‘Why did you marry him, after the events of that night?’
‘Mama forced me to. She said that if I didn’t then we would be ruined.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
Walter remained silent for a while. He seemed even thinner than she remembered him. His skin was almost translucent. If she hadn’t known him, the sight of him now by the old window would have made her scream, because he really did look as weightless as a ghost.
‘Tell me all you know about your mother,’ he said.
‘Where do I start?
‘Where does she come from?’
‘I’ve never been there. It is a region called Silesia and she grew up speaking German, although I believe they speak several languages there.’
‘Why did she leave?’
‘There was a revolt, against the rich. She grew up in a castle you see. When I was little, I used to dream about seeing it. She told me that it was on a hill and even though it was nowhere near the sea, statues of mermaids guarded it. There were four turrets, one of them painted white, and a well that they called The Witch’s Well, because it was so dark and deep. Her father was killed in the uprising, so she and her mother ran away.’
‘Where did they go?’
‘Paris I believe, for a while. And then London.’
‘And her family name?’
‘Weiss.’
‘Why has she never taken you there?’
‘She says that she doesn’t like to think of it now. It pains her heart. That’s about all I know. My father married her for love; she was very beautiful after all, even though she had nothing. But something tore them apart and then he died.’
‘Do you love your mother?’
For a moment Tamara was lost for words. ‘I’m not sure whether it is possible to love something so indomitable. In all my life I have only ever seen her cry once.’
‘When was that?’
‘I was very young at the time; I only remember snatches of it. We went to a place where lavender grew. Acres upon acres of rich purple, like a giant’s pillow. I ran through it, not much taller than the plants themselves, sniffing in the gorgeous scent and trying to avoid getting stung by all the bees. At one moment I realised that I’d lost her, and then I saw a figure standing in a distant part of the field. It looked like Mama; she was wearing the same white dress. But her head was bent down and she was shaking, terribly. I went to her and saw that her face was red and tears were pouring down her cheeks. It was horrifying. I didn’t know that adults could cry like that and it scared me so much that I ran away from her. That was the only time I ever saw her cry.’
Walter stared at her for a long time after she had finished. She could almost touch the silence. He barely blinked. He barely moved a muscle. His mouth was fixed in a grim line.
‘I cannot stay here for long,’ he said at last. ‘I will tend to Daniel and then the two of you must suppor
t each other with the help of the nurse that I have sent for. You are both stronger than you know. But I will help you, Tamara. I promise that I will help you.’
Chapter 18
There were noticeable absences at the breakfast table the following morning. Cecil was nowhere to be seen and Mama had presumably left for London. Walter and Kayan were with Daniel. This left only Tamara and the Lakefields to nod and smile at each other uncomfortably across the barren table. Mrs Lakefield now made no pretence about feeding titbits to her dogs during the meal, cooing and twittering over them with nervous enthusiasm. Mr Lakefield, on the other hand, was unusually quiet. Tamara noticed that he seemed reluctant to catch her eye.
‘I wonder how Daniel fares today,’ she said to them both.
‘I’m sure Mr Balanchine is doing wonders,’ responded Mrs Lakefield. ‘He has earned his reputation by performing all sorts of miracles. Where…where is your mother this morning, Mrs Hearst?’
‘Oh, forgive me. She has had to leave rather urgently, I’m afraid. She sends her warmest regards to you both, and her apologies. My mother has so many engagements to attend to.’ She paused as Mr Lakefield coughed violently into his hand.
‘I am afraid that we too will be shortening our stay,’ said Mrs Lakefield, with a little trill ringing in her voice. ‘There appear to be some parish squabbles at home and Mr Lakefield really should be there. We all have such busy lives!’
Poor Mrs Lakefield; she really was an appalling liar.
‘Of course, I quite understand. I…,’
At that moment Cecil entered. His hair and clothes were in perfect order once again.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
Mrs Lakefield shifted anxiously in her seat. ‘Good morning, dear Mr Hearst. How is your brother?’
‘I wouldn’t know, I haven’t seen him yet,’ he replied curtly.
‘Well, then please do excuse me,’ said Tamara. ‘I will go and check on Daniel myself and also inform Saunders about your departure, Mrs Lakefield.’
She escaped the room, glad of an excuse to avoid Cecil. When she found Daniel, he was sitting up in bed drinking a cup of tea.
‘Hello,’ he said, his eyes lighting up when he saw her.
‘Hello. You look much improved.’
Walter was standing by his bedside, swathed in brown velvet and a white shirt that had voluminous ruffles down the front. She gazed momentarily at the collection of bottles and charms hanging amongst them.
‘Good morning, Walter.’
He nodded back at her.
‘Daniel seems better today. Is the worst over? Will he recover?’
Walter removed a small pipe from his pocket and lit it, indicating to Kayan to close the door. He then threw himself into a chair and exhaled a giant smoke ring into the air between them.
‘Before your husband arrives, which he undoubtedly soon will,’ he began, ‘let me make one thing clear to both of you. Apart from his very sore ribs, Daniel is a perfectly healthy man. There is nothing wrong with him whatsoever.’
‘But that cannot be!’ Daniel cried. ‘I’ve always had one ailment or another and my legs are useless.’
Walter frowned. ‘When did this problem with your legs begin?’
‘They were always weak. I remember Cecil pushing me around even when we were very young. But things took a turn for the worse when I broke my left leg. I must have been about thirteen.’
‘How did you break it?’
Daniel looked at Tamara and then turned away. ‘I’d rather not say,’ he murmured.
‘How did you break your leg?’ Walter repeated.
‘It was here, at Dovestead,’ he replied reluctantly. ‘There was a young maid called Beth. She was my… friend. We were the same sort of age, but she treated me like her little pet. I knew nothing of girls.’ He paused and Tamara noticed that his face had gone quite pink. ‘We used to meet upstairs in one of the barns. It was old and disused. The floorboards were rough, broken in places. Well, one day, Beth and I were up there and…,’
‘Go on,’ said Walter, his eyebrows now raised in amusement.
‘We weren’t doing anything wrong, just having fun really. But then suddenly the floorboards gave way right beneath me and I fell all the way to the barn floor. My leg was smashed. Cecil was there in, well, seconds! He screamed at poor old Beth and threatened her with his whip. Said she was a disgusting whore and all manner of other things. Said that she had tried to scar me with her filthy ways. I kept on fainting, the pain was so terrible. It was Cecil who carried me back to the house. From that moment on he’s always been my protector. He’s always had this thing about keeping me untouched, clean, like everything else …,’
Just as he spoke these last words, the door opened and Cecil himself marched in. He looked at Walter first, lolling in the chair with his pipe, and an expression of disgust moved across his face. He smoothed his head with his hand.
‘How are you boy?’ he asked quietly, turning to Daniel.
‘Much better, thank you.’
‘I intend to take your brother out into the sunshine this afternoon,’ Walter announced.
Cecil cocked his head at him. ‘Have you not noticed that it is raining outside?’
‘Yes indeed it is,’ Walter smiled. ‘But this afternoon it will be dry and sunny.’
Cecil laughed in wry disbelief. ‘You really do know everything, don’t you Mr Balanchine? Or at least, you think you do,’ he smiled.
‘Quite the contrary. The more I learn about this world, the more I realise how ignorant we all are.’
‘Ignorant. Yes! That is quite the word,’ Cecil replied, eyes narrowing. ‘There are so many secrets yet to discover, are there not? So many unanswered questions.’
There was an unnervingly gleeful tone to Cecil’s voice as he said this, but before Walter could answer, the clatter of footsteps and small paws filled the corridor outside and then the Lakefields entered the room.
‘We came to see how Mr Hearst was faring,’ chattered Mrs Lakefield, rushing to Daniel’s bedside and gripping his hand in hers. ‘Oh! You seem to have worked wonders, Mr Balanchine. Look at this! Sitting up in bed when only yesterday he seemed to be melting away from us.’
Daniel smiled. ‘Walter’s sent for a nurse who will continue caring for me. In a few weeks perhaps I shall be up and about again.’
‘In a few days I imagine,’ said Walter. ‘All you need to do is regain your strength, get used to moving those legs again and let the air in, whatever the weather.’
Daniel laughed nervously. ‘He says I should walk outside, even when it snows!’
‘Snow, rain, hail, sun. It makes no difference,’ said Walter, exhaling a series of small smoke puffs that actually looked like a flurry of snowflakes.
Daniel’s eyes shone with delight.
‘This is preposterous,’ Cecil groaned.
‘But so poetic, don’t you think?’ cried Mrs Lakefield, clutching at her pearls and looking close to tears.
‘The nurse will come soon,’ said Daniel, beaming at everyone. ‘And I will learn to walk in all weathers and I will be well again.’
*
That evening Cecil and Tamara dined alone. But Cecil did not eat. He rested his knife and fork at the sides of his plate and chose instead to stare at his wife. To stare at her relentlessly, until she squirmed beneath the power of his gaze. She tried to eat on, her hands shaking as she lifted her wineglass to take a sip. The lone sound of her knife and fork, scraping against her plate, made her flinch. And the more she showed her frailty, the more he stared, eyes grey as steel, his face a mask of contempt. Finally she could bear it no longer. She put her knife and fork down and went to bed.
Walter and Kayan left the following morning.
‘Do you really have to go?’ she said to Walter.
‘Have faith, small dove,’ he replied warmly, squeezing her arm with his hand.
They refused all modes of transport, preferring to leave by foot along the path instead, their possess
ions wrapped in blankets on their backs like wandering tribesmen. Tamara stood at the doorway and watched them walk away. As soon as the specks of their outlines disappeared from sight, she went to see Briar.
‘I’m alone with him again,’ she whispered into the horse’s rough mane. ‘What do I do now? What do I do?’
She rode over to Rise Farm, enjoying the determined pace of the horse’s stride. Mrs Peters was in the kitchen again and, as soon as she saw Tamara, she prepared tea and cut a wedge of some heavy fruit cake. Tamara gorged on it like a starving child.
‘Mrs Peters?’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how long have you and Mr Peters been married?’
‘Too long for me to remember!’ the farmer’s wife laughed.
Tamara smiled back. ‘And in all that time, all those years, has he always been… kind to you?’
‘I’d say so, more or less. We have our moments, but we generally rattle on together.’
She chewed on the delicious cake, letting its soft sugariness melt over her tongue. ‘If he ever was unkind to you, then what would you do?’
Mrs Peters’ face became very serious. She stared long and hard at Tamara’s cheek. The bruise had finally gone now, or at least she thought it had, but Mrs Peters was staring at the exact place where it had been, as if she could see it quite clearly.
‘I tell you what I’d do, Mrs Hearst,’ she said at last. ‘I’d take that great big poker over there in my hand, and I’d wallop the life out of ‘im.’
*
When Tamara returned to Dovestead, she went straight to the south tower. Although Walter and Kayan had gone now, it seemed reassuring to spend some time in the place where they had stayed. When she reached the top of the stairs, she found herself gasping with delight. The room at the top of the tower had been scrubbed clean and a beautiful rug now lay on the floor. It glimmered with deep reds and silvers and swirls of flowers and patterns that made her eyes dance. She marvelled at how Walter and Kayan could possibly have carried such a thing with them.
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