by Aline Riva
“Stop it!” she said under her breath, but she knew those words meant nothing, because thoughts just kept creeping in...
By the time she had gone downstairs and caught up with Zack, he was back in the kitchen. And she stood there in the doorway, looking at him as he stood at the sink with his back to her as he did the washing up. He glanced over his shoulder.
“I didn't tell you yesterday...there's an old well in the garden – its behind the summer house. Apparently it's as old as the cottage...but as we both know, there's no date on that, so I'll just have to tell you it's very old...”
He was still talking as he stacked cups and plates to drip dry, and Sarah was trying to hear him but his words faded out as the kitchen darkened and the nets vanished and the man at the sink was now standing over a stove as he turned off the flame and stirred a pot of liquid that gave off strange smelling steam.
“And now for a dash of something medicinal,” said Thornton as he added a generous splash of brandy to the mix, and then he stirred it again and set it aside to cool and turned to face her.
“Most folk don't need magic or charms,” he confided as he smiled and looked into her eyes warmly, “All they need is something they believe will work...I rarely use magic, not real magic. But to tell them their tonic is no more than herbs and alcohol and their own imagination would be unkind and this world is unkind enough – it's better to be kind always, because people need that most of all.”
“And you are a very kind man,” Lillith said, and she stepped closer to him and placed her hand on the shoulder of his dark jacket, “You are uncommonly kind and gentle, Thornton.”
He hesitated, looked to the hand on his jacket and the stepped back, just out of her reach.
“I try to be,” he replied, “I always try to be kind.”
And the vision was gone.
Sarah knew she had said his name, and she had said Zack and not Thornton, and he turned from the sink and looked at her and wondered why she had tears in her eyes.
“Sorry,” she said as her voice trembled, “I need to do this...”
And she walked into his arms and hugged him tightly.
At first Zack stood there feeling bewildered as the woman he had only met in person the day before held on to him, then he held her gently as he realised she was crying.
“I don't know what's wrong but I can't help if you don't explain,” he said softly, and then as he held her he reached up and began to stroke her hair as her tears dampened his shirt and he wondered why.
“I'm sorry...I know this makes no sense,” she said as she fought to hold back her tears, “But I had to do that, I need to hug you...I just looked at you and...”
“Oh please don't upset yourself over me,” he said kindly, and he pulled back from her embrace and looked into her eyes.
“Please,” he said, as the thought struck him that letting go of her had almost been painful and he wasn't sure why, “Don't upset yourself. If you want to know, I'll tell you everything.”
And he missed the confused look in her eyes as he led her over to the kitchen table.
A short while later after he had made tea for both of them, and she had dried her eyes and wondered what he made of her sudden unexplained show of such emotion. Zack felt mildly surprised that he had managed to handle the situation so well – Sarah had calmed down quickly, saying she didn't know what had come over her, and he had made the tea and then sat down with her and now as he looked at her as they sat together, he knew exactly what he felt needed to be said.
“I realise we get along much better and easier than maybe we first expected to,” he began, “And that's a good thing – but we've both been through a lot and I guess neither of us are as strong as we'd like to believe. And I can accept that just like you accepted me when I told you about my past.”
“No but -”
“Let me finish,” he said patiently, and for once he sounded very confident, and so she decided perhaps it would be better not to mention how she had seen him as Thornton in sleeping and waking dreams that felt too real to be imagined...
He pulled up his shirt sleeves and exposed his wrists, showing faded, jagged scarring.
“I used a razor, in the bath, but my wife found my note in the bedroom and broke down the door, stemmed the bleeding and called an ambulance. That's why I'm still here today even though my marriage is gone. I was in a very bad place and I have no plans to go back there. Please don't feel sorry for me over something I did when I was too ill to think clearly. I'm okay now and that's what matters. I really don't want you to cry over my mistakes.”
And then he reached across the table and grasped her hand, and this time, there was no hesitation as he looked into her eyes.
“I think you and me are going get along very well and be very good friends,” he added, “That's enough for me, for now, and I'm sure it's enough for you too. Let's enjoy that and not dwell on the past. But I do want you to know if you ever need to talk about your past, about the bad side of it – I'll always listen.” Then he smiled, and as his dark eyes sparkled with warmth, for a split second she saw Thornton smiling at her, and again that familiar warmth filled her heart. Suddenly it seemed impossible to hold back.
“I had a dream that you were Thornton Ravencroft,” she said quietly, and then as she looked away for a moment and then looked back and met his gaze, he smiled and so did she as amusement danced in his eyes. And he was doing it again, looking just like the cunning man in her dream...
“Well I do own this house now,” he replied, “And he used to own it, so I get the connection. Was it an interesting dream?”
Her smile faded as she wondered why she instantly felt such an ache in her heart.
“I just dreamed that he was you, and he was kind,” she told him.
“Okay,”he replied, and then he dismissed it with a wave of his hand, “Moving on to other things, I was going to take a drive into the village today. Do you want to come with me?”
The drive into the village was a short one – down River Lane and then turning right and crossing over an old bridge, led them to their destination. It was the route she had walked from the train station on arriving, and as they parked in the car park around the back of the supermarket, she looked out the open window to see a blue sky without a single cloud as the sun shone down.
“The village square is quite big” Zack said to her, “And crammed with shops. Some of them are very old, too. I think this supermarket is the only new building they've put up around here for years!” And he switched off the engine and got out of the car and Sarah followed.
As they waked away from the car park and turned a corner on to cobbled streets where a huge market square opened up, she looked about at the many shops crammed together and smiled.
“It's certainly got everything, though – bakery, butcher's, newsagents, sewing shop...Oh, second hand stores too... and there's a pub over there at the end of the square.”
“It's got everything we need,” he replied, “And I do like the tea room. It's this way, very old world style place, lovely to sit in and watch the world go by.”
And he led her across the square and down a street where villagers were out doing their morning shop. The place seemed busy, but was hardly crowded, something she had expected after noticing the lack of cars in the main car park. As they headed for the tea room where the windows were draped in lace and a canopy was hanging over the outside seating area, she looked to the end of the street and saw a narrow alley way, and at the bottom of it, the open gates to a churchyard. The church itself was further back and towered above the shops, its steeple reaching for the sky.
“I'll have to go and check that out,” she said.
“There's a library just around the corner,” he told her, indicating to the other end where the square branched off and there was another narrow street where more shops were close together, “You might find out plenty about local history there.”
“And I think you should come with me,” s
he said.
They exchanged a glance and he smiled.
“Okay, I'll come with you. But you're not dragging me into this vanishing cunning man mystery!”
“Now you're calling it a mystery!” she exclaimed, “I think you're already involved!”
He chuckled.
“No thanks, it's not my kind of thing,” he replied, and then the bell above the door jangled as Zack pushed it open and they went into the tea room.
A short while later they were sat at a small lace covered table and enjoying tea as they watched the world go by.
“This is what I love about this village,” said Zack as he put down his tea cup, “It's so peaceful, so slow, the pace of life here is easy on the mind. I'm toying with the idea of writing a book. “
She looked at him in surprise.
“Really? What's it about? Oh...it's not the mystery of the vanishing warlock, is it?”
Now he knew she was teasing him, and he smiled but thankfully this time he did not feel awkward and blush, because he was getting used to Sarah's ways by now, and those ways of hers were quickly growing on him and he rather liked that.
“No,” he replied, “I'm actually thinking about writing a book on the Brackenby family up at the manor house. Of course, I'll have to meet with them and ask their permission first – but the family has been a great contributor to the building up of this village and for its involvement in many local businesses – everything from farming to pottery - and some of those connections are still working today. The current Lord Brackenby has links to local agriculture and still collects rents on some of the properties that are close to the Manor – a set of cottages up by the other side of the lake, and he's an investor in the new school that was built two years back. So I'd like to see if he wouldn't mind me writing a book on his family's history and their contribution to the local area. It would sell well locally, and it's the kind of book I'd like to write.”
“I thought you said you didn't bother much with history,” she replied.
“Not when its a choice between getting my new home the way I want it or wasting weeks reading about the past when I can do that later,”he told her, “But I do like to do research and I'm interested in the business side of the Brackenby's and how they made this village work so well.”
She sipped her tea and then paused, looking at him thoughtfully.
“So you're sure you're not interested in the mystery of the vanishing warlock?”
He laughed softly.
“I'm interested, as a former business man, in learning how the lord of the manor made this village and its people so prosperous. That's great financial planning and I don't doubt his forefathers had deep insight to look ahead and see how to make it work progressively over time. It would have been some stunning financial planning coming into play.”
She blinked.
“Yeah, you are a bit boring,” she teased, “But that's okay. You be the boring one and I'll be the wacky one who chases after ghosts. That sounds like a plan.”
“For a detective novel?” he suggested.
“Now that's a good idea!” she said to him, “How about... Sterling and Tate...that sounds like a good name for a detective agency.”
He laughed as he set down his cup once more.
“I'm not getting into this ghost hunting stuff! And I'm not a detective. There are no crimes to solve. I just want to speak to Lord Brackenby and see how he feels about the book first.”
“And I'd like to come with you,” she told him.
For a reason he could not explain, he had known she was going to say that, and he smiled again as he knew one look at her was enough to soften his heart too greatly for the word No to come into the conversation.
“Well I called him a couple of days ago and he said he would be happy to speak with me this afternoon.”
“What's he like?” she asked.
“Probably not what you're expecting,” he replied, “I've heard about him...nice bloke, not what you'd expect for landed gentry, either. He's apparently a regular, friendly guy. He sounded okay on the phone when I spoke to him, too. Kyle Brackenby, the last of the Brackenbys. He's married, been married three years. But he's been ill and now they can't have kids, so I don't know if they'll adopt or not - either way, it's the end of the biological family line.”
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
“When I moved in an old lady who lives about a quarter of a mile down from the river called in to poke her nose in and meet the new owner and she told me all about the Brackenbys. His wife's name is Sally. She used to be a topless model,” he paused and laughed, adding, “After all the fuss the Lord Brackenby of old could have kicked up over his daughter and the local warlock, I wonder what he would have thought of his great - great grandson and the glamour model? I bet he'd be spinning in his grave!”
“Times change,” she reminded him, “And as you mentioned the cunning man again, does that mean you are interested in the mystery?”
“No!”
“No even a tiny bit?”
Their eyes met across the table. When she looked at him like that he felt warm inside and she was so hard to turn down.
“Okay,” he admitted, “Maybe I do feel a little bit intrigued. But if you want to investigate it go ahead without me, I've got my own plans!”
She sipped her tea and looked at him over the rim of the bone china as amusement danced in her eyes.
“I bet you get involved.”
“No, I won't.”
“Yeah, you will!”
He laughed again.
“Okay, maybe. And maybe isn't a yes!”
When the afternoon came around, after spending the morning in the village, where Sarah had explored local shops, they took a drive down a long leafy lane, then turned towards a wide gateway, where Zack paused to push a button on the intercom and then spoke into it, and the gates swung open.
Then he took the car down a driveway shaded by trees on either side, and then the trees cleared and at the end of the gravel driveway was a large brick house that stood tall and wide, its windows were many and the doorway was flanked by majestic stone pillars. But it looked more like what Sarah thought of as a typical Victorian mansion house than a typical country manor. As Zack parked the car outside she looked up at the house.
“I was expecting a big old fashioned country manor house.”
“That was burned to the ground in 1926, cause of fire, unknown,” he replied, “So they built this house instead – six bedrooms, huge majestic ballroom, library, study, all the usual you would expect in a fine country home. It's got roaring twenties grandeur stamped all over it, and I hear there's a swimming pool out the back and the tiles on the bottom bear the family coat of arms. “
“I wonder why the other place burned down,” she remarked as she got out of the car. He got out too, closed the door and glanced at her.
“It was an old house. Could have been anything. And don't mention weird mysteries to Lord Brackenby, I'm sure that's the last thing he needs to hear. I've told him the book is about the positive side of his family and their contribution to the local area. He'll be put off by talk of vanishing warlocks and strange fires!”
She nodded.
“I'll keep that to myself,” she assured him, and they went up to the front door together, and Zack rang the bell.
The man who opened the door smiled warmly as he greeted them.
“You must be the writer!” he said, and shook hands with Zack.
“I'm not a writer yet,” he replied, “But I do want to write a book about your family and its contribution to the local area over the centuries.”
“Come in,” the man replied, and he stepped back and opened up the door, and Zack went in first and Sarah followed. As the door closed behind her she looked about the wide hallway, then over to the staircase that led up, it was wide and sweeping and on the walls hung old paintings of those she could only guess to be ancestors of the current Lord Brackenby.
�
�We don't use all the house,” he said, “Just the main part - my wife and I have the main bedroom and there's a couple of guest rooms made up just in case we need them, it's a big house, too big really for just two of us.”
She stared at him, taking in the sight of the man who stood before her in a smart t shirt and designer jeans complete with designer rips in the denim. He was hard to put an age to, perhaps he was thirty five, maybe he was forty, but he looked youthful and he was handsome with it. His hazel eyes sparkled when he smiled and his hair was a shade darker than his eyes, and he ran his fingers through it to push it back as he looked to his visitors.
“You're Lord Brackenby?” Sarah said in surprise, and he laughed.
“Yes, but please call me Kyle. And you are?”
“Sarah Tate,” she replied, “I live with Zack.”
“But were not together!” Zack added as he laughed nervously and his cheeks flushed, “She rents a room at the cottage, Sarah's a friend of mine.”
And Sarah smiled as she wondered why hearing him make that statement so freely about being his friend had warmed her heart.
“Okay, let's go and sit down and talk about your plans for this book,” Kyle said, and he indicated to an open doorway nearby, which led to a large and palatial front room. He led the way and they followed him inside, and Zack and Sarah took a seat on a leather sofa as Kyle sat down on an old padded chair beside the darkened but grand looking fireplace.
At first, Sarah said nothing, recalling this was Zack's project and she didn't want her curiosity about the darker side of the family history to wreck his chances. Then Kyle suddenly got up and apologised for not asking before, and offered refreshments. Moments later Sarah thanked him as he came back from the built in bar in the corner of the room and handed her some iced mineral water, and then he sat down again because Zack had turned down refreshments, being keen to start talking about his plans.
“Good thing you don't mind that I don't drink alcohol,” Kyle said as he looked to Sarah, “I don't put toxins into my body any more. My wife always tries to make sure everything we eat and drink is as safe as it can be...I have to be careful, I was very ill a few years back.”