by Sk Quinn
‘Nobody. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Are you okay?’ Vicky leans out of the serving hatch. ‘You look all wound up. Anything I can do to help?’
I chew a nail. ‘No, I don’t think so. But …’ I lower my voice. ‘Do you know anything about when Bertie stayed with his granddad?’
Vicky frowns. ‘What sort of thing?’
‘Anything at all. How long he stayed there, who stayed there with him …’
Vicky frowned. ‘I know he stayed a good few months.’
‘Oh.’ I chew my nail harder.
‘Seriously, are you okay hen?’ Vicky asks. ‘Something’s got to be wrong. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m … we’ll talk later.’
She puts a plate down. ‘Here. Fish fingers and chips for Bertie. I thought he might appreciate it.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, picking up the plate without looking at it. ‘I’ll take it to him.’
‘And what about you? What would you like?’
‘Oh, nothing today,’ I say.
‘Now I know something’s wrong,’ says Vicky. ‘You’ve cleaned your plate every meal time since you’ve been here.’
‘I don’t really feel like eating,’ I say. ‘Sorry. It’s just … I have a lot on my mind. We’ll …’ I drop my voice again. ‘We’ll talk later okay? Maybe somewhere more private?’
Vicky nods, and whispers back, ‘Okay pet. Whatever you want.’
79
Bertie has barely taken a forkful of fish finger before Margaret Calder appears.
Her face is cold and hard, just like her mother’s, and her black bob looks as sharp and angry as ever.
She’s wearing another fitted black trouser suit, pinched in at the waist, and jutting out at the shoulders.
Her lips are blood red.
‘I’m here for Bertie,’ she announces, clicking up to our table. ‘To start his tuition.’
‘He hasn’t finished his lunch,’ I say.
‘My mother mentioned … I wasn’t sure if it was true.’ I see her throat bulge as she swallows, and her fingers go to her neck. ‘So he’s started eating again. Has he … has he spoken?’ She looks … uncomfortable. Like her clothes are too tight for her, all of a sudden.
‘No. Not yet. Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ she says, far too quickly. ‘My mother said … she said it was important that Bertie was tutored this afternoon. Very important. Come along Bertie.’
I notice Mrs Calder is still watching us from the doorway, her arms crossed.
Bertie doesn’t move.
‘Now, Bertie,’ Margaret snaps. ‘Unless you want to be packed off to granddad’s house this very afternoon.’
I glare at her. ‘Margaret, don’t threaten him.’
‘It’s not a threat,’ says Margaret ‘It’s a promise.’
‘He shouldn’t be tutored this afternoon,’ I insist. ‘He’s not very well.’
‘A little schooling never hurt anyone,’ says Margaret.
‘Please. I can’t leave him.’ Not with you …
‘As if I’d pay any attention to your opinion,’ says Margaret. She lowers her voice. ‘I’ve heard about you and Patrick.’
‘What?’ I feel the blood rush from my face.
‘My mother saw you leaving his bedroom.’ Margaret leans down so her face is near mine. ‘You stay away from him. Stay with your own kind.’
Her words hurt, but right now I’m more concerned about Bertie.
‘Bertie should stay with me this afternoon,’ I say, my voice low.
‘Tough,’ says Margaret. ‘Bertie, you’ll come with me now, or you can pack your things and leave for granddad’s right away.’
I look at Bertie, and he looks back at me with big, sad eyes.
‘How long will the tutoring last?’ I ask, my voice faltering.
‘Just an hour or so. You’ll have Bertie back for the rest of the afternoon after that. You have my word.’
‘But why this sudden urgent need for tuition?’
‘Bertie needs his education. I don’t suppose someone like you would understand that. But in more refined circles, education is important.’
‘Go on Bertie,’ I say, knowing that Margaret will make good on her threat if he doesn’t do as she tells him. ‘It’s just for an hour or so. And then I get you back.’ I lean over and squeeze his hand. ‘I’ll figure this out, Bertie,’ I whisper. ‘I promise I will.’
I straighten and look at Margaret. ‘Where will you be tutoring him?’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Why is it any concern of yours?’
‘I’d just like to know, that’s all,’ I say.
She sighs. ‘The study room in the West Wing. You can collect him from there when we’re finished.’
I nod, feeling a lump in my throat. ‘Okay,’ I croak, as Bertie reluctantly climbs over the bench. ‘I’ll see you soon Bertie, okay?’
As I watch Bertie walk away, every muscle in my body wants to run after him. To grab him and steal him away from Margaret. But she has me between a rock and a hard place. And I’ll have him back soon.
When they leave the hall, Mrs Calder stalks over to me. ‘I’d like a word with you in my office, Seraphina. Right away.’
80
My feet feel like they’re sticking to the ground as I trudge to Agnes Calder’s office. God – she’s the last person I want to talk to right now. What on earth does she want?
Agnes pushes open the oak door, and I follow her into the office. Of course, I have to catch the door to stop it flying into my face.
She sits behind her desk, pushing a narrow pair of glasses onto her nose. There are piles of papers in front of her, and she picks up a pen.
‘Take a seat Miss Harper. Close the door behind you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, closing the door. I have the uneasy feeling of being in the headmistress’s office. And I should know. I was in there enough times when I was at school.
Late again Seraphina?
I had to get my sister ready, miss.
I never told the headmistress what was going on at home. That my mum held drunken parties almost every night, and kept us awake. And I had to clean up the mess before school, while she was moaning and hung-over on the sofa.
‘Why did you want to see me?’ I ask Mrs Calder, taking a seat.
‘I heard you and Bertie talking earlier,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘In the drawing room. Tea?’
‘Um … okay, yes please.’ This is weird. It’s almost like she’s trying to be nice all of a sudden. What does she want?
Agnes stands and walks to a side table by the window. There’s a pot of tea and two cups set out on it, next to a travel kettle. She pours tea into both cups, and hands me one.
‘Thanks,’ I say, staring down at the hot brown liquid. I usually have sugar and milk, but something tells me that those aren’t things Mrs Calder keeps in her office. ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’
I take a sip of tea. It’s kind of cold, and a little tart, and I wince at the bitter flavour.
Mrs Calder walks to the window. ‘There are lots of secrets in this castle,’ she says. ‘Secrets that are best left alone.’
I swallow. ‘Mrs Calder, I don’t know what you heard, but Bertie and I were just messing around.’
‘Mmm,’ says Mrs Calder, raising her eyebrow. ‘I don’t believe you. I think it’s time you stopped nosing into the Mansfield family.’
Well I don’t, I think. I think there’s plenty more I need to find out.
‘I wasn’t nosing,’ I lie. ‘Bertie and I were just playing, that’s all. Honestly, you’ve got it all wrong.’
I take another sip of tea to try and wash away the bitter taste of the first sip. But it doesn’t work. Now my tongue tastes all salty and horrible.
‘Well,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘Whatever you choose to call it, some things are best left alone. Including Patrick Mansfield.’
I stare at her.
‘Oh yes,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘Don’t think I
haven’t noticed what’s going on. It’s shameful. Utterly shameful.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘Patrick should be with my daughter. You’re standing in the way of their happiness.’
I stand up, my legs feeling a little shaky. My hand touches the desk to steady myself, and I feel a thump, thump, thumping in my head.
‘Is that why you asked to see me?’ I say. ‘To talk about Patrick?’ My voice sounds weird. Like I’m talking underwater.
I see my other hand reach out to hold the desk, and my body begins to sway.
Whoa. Something strange is happening.
My stomach feels funny, like it’s being stirred really fast with a big, hot spoon.
By the window, I see Mrs Calder watching me with an odd smile on her face.
‘Mrs Calder,’ I start to say, but before I can finish the sentence, my head begins to spin.
I put a hand to my pounding temple, but as I do I lose balance and feel my knees give way under me.
Then everything goes black.
81
When I come to, I feel my body swaying.
What the …?
It feels like I’m being carried or something.
Wait.
I am being carried.
There are hands under my shoulders and legs.
My breath is hot against my face, and I feel something rough rub against my nose, cheeks and lips.
My body is shivering, and I feel cold sting my hands.
I blink and open my eyes, seeing darkness cut with little squares of daylight.
Oh good god, what’s happening? There’s something over my face. Is this a bad dream? Am I dreaming?
Suddenly I’m dropped like a roll of carpet, and crash against rough ground.
On my head is some sort of sacking material.
‘She’s waking up,’ a voice says.
Agnes Calder’s voice.
‘Good,’ says another voice.
Margaret Calder.
‘She should be awake for this.’
My head is pulled roughly back and forth, and suddenly I see bright daylight as the sacking is ripped from my head.
My eyes water at the bright light, and Mrs Calder and Margaret’s blurry faces come into focus.
I try to say something, but my throat feels like it’s full of cotton wool. No words come out, only creaky, croaky sounds.
‘We should get rid of the sacking,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘There should be no sign.’
‘Is she sedated enough?’
‘Yes. She won’t be able to move. At least, not for a while.’
‘What about the drug you put in her tea? Will it be out of her system by now?’
‘Yes.’
I feel my eyes widen, and bile move up my throat.
Mrs Calder put something in my tea?
I swallow hard, tasting something bitter. I try to cough to clear my throat. But it’s hard. My whole body feels drowsy and soft, and my muscles just won’t work.
‘Where’s … Bertie?’ I manage to say, my words slow.
Mrs Calder laughs. ‘You’ve got a lot more to worry about than Bertie. Believe me.’
‘Where is he?’ I croak.
There’s an awkward silence, and Margaret and Mrs Calder look at one another.
‘He’ll turn up,’ says Margaret.
‘Turn up? What the hell does that mean?’
‘He ran away.’
I feel sick. The thought of Bertie, all alone. There are so many ways he could hurt himself.
‘You have to let me find him,’ I say.
Margaret laughs. ‘You can’t even walk. And besides, you’re never going to leave these woods.’
What?
I try to struggle and move, but I can’t. It’s like there’s something heavy weighing me down, and no matter how hard I try to get to my feet, I can’t do it.
‘You … what have you done to me?’ I say, my words still thick and slow.
‘We’ve sedated you,’ says Margaret. ‘So you won’t be able to run away. You’re going to stay out here in the woods, and then you’re going to get shot by Hawk Turner. By the time anyone finds you, the sedative will have left your body. And all anyone will think is that the stupid, headstrong girl from London wandered into the woods and got herself shot.’
‘Patrick will find me,’ I say, trying once again to get to my feet. But it’s no use.
Mrs Calder laughs. ‘And how will he do that? He’s on his way to London.’
‘London?’
‘Mother told him you ran away,’ says Margaret. ‘Back to the big city. And that you took Bertie with you. So he’s gone chasing after you.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘By the time he comes back you’ll be dead. And I’ll be there to comfort him. Things will be just as they should be. Patrick and I together.’
I shake my head. ‘He doesn’t want you, Margaret. Maybe he doesn’t want me either. In the long run. I don’t know. But he told me himself he wasn’t interested in you.’
Margaret’s nostril’s flare, and she crouches down to look right into my face. ‘If you can have him, so can I.’
‘I wouldn’t count on that.’
Margaret frowns and looks at her mother. ‘Why can some classless little tramp get him and I can’t?’
‘Patience, darling,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘Just have patience.’
‘That’s what you always say,’ says Margaret. ‘Patience, patience. I’m thirty-four, mother. You promised me that if I did what Dirk Mansfield wanted, I’d be married to one of his sons. You promised me. Twenty-one years I’ve waited!’
‘What Dirk Mansfield wanted?’ I say.
Mrs Calder glares at Margaret.
‘Who cares if she knows?’ says Margaret. ‘She’ll be dead soon, anyway.’
I look from Margaret to Mrs Calder.
What Dirk Mansfield wanted …. I’ve waited twenty-one years … and then there’s this big mystery about Anise’s mother …
Anise is twenty-one years old.
And Bertie was trying to tell me something about his mother’s mother. That she was at the castle. That it was a secret …
82
I manage to turn my head to face Margaret. ‘Are you Anise’s mother?’ I say.
Mrs Calder’s eyes widen, and she kneels down and slaps me hard around the face.
I bite my teeth together. The slap makes my head spin and my ears ring.
I shake the slap away. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Margaret is Anise’s mother.’
‘Who told you?’ Agnes hisses.
‘Bertie,’ I say slowly. ‘He knows. Doesn’t he? That you’re Anise’s mother.’
‘Yes he does, the little earwigger,’ says Margaret. ‘He listened in to a conversation he shouldn’t. When he was staying with his granddad. But nobody can know. So Dirk had to do something to stop him talking.’
‘A simple matter of punishment and reward,’ smirks Mrs Calder. ‘If Bertie was silent, he was allowed food. If not, Dirk beat him and didn’t allow him to eat. Or threatened him with poisoned food. I suppose somehow, when he left Dirk’s care, Bertie learned to trust only liquorice and milk. Who knows why.’
‘Why is it such a big secret?’ I say. And then the penny drops. If Anise is twenty-one years old, that would make Margaret very young when Dirk slept with her. Very, very young. Like thirteen.
I turn to Mrs Calder. ‘Did you know about it when it was going on? That Dirk Mansfield had sex with your underage daughter?’
‘I arranged their meetings,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘In a hotel near here. It was for the good of our family.’
‘Margaret, what happened to you … it’s awful,’ I say. ‘You were too young to know what was going on. You can still press charges …’
Margaret looks at me then, her eyes clouding over. ‘We all agreed to it,’ she says. ‘It was a business arrangement.’
‘And it set us up for life,’ says Mrs Calder, folding her arms. ‘When Margaret’s father died, we had nothing. No hopes. No prospects. And now I have a place at t
his castle for the rest of my life.’
‘And I’ll get Patrick,’ says Margaret. ‘Finally. When you’re out of the way.’
Mrs Calder checks her black leather wristwatch. ‘We should go. We don’t want to be caught in the crossfire.’
‘Yes,’ says Margaret.
‘Wait!’ I shout. ‘Please. You don’t have to do this. You don’t want this on your conscience.’
Mrs Calder looks over her shoulder and laughs. ‘Conscience? It’s a dog eat dog world. Eat or be eaten. It’ll be quick. Just be thankful for that.’
‘What if you get caught?’ I say. ‘It’s just not worth it.’
‘We won’t be caught,’ says Margaret. ‘Mother and I thought it through very carefully. You’ll be disposed of, and Bertie will be sent back to his grandfather’s.’
Oh my god.
‘No!’ I call, finding more strength in my throat. ‘Please, no. Dirk tortured him.’
‘So he’d learn not to talk,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘You needn’t sound so upset about it. The lad shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. It was all his own fault. And now it’s time for him to go back to his grandfather’s. This eating business has unsettled us all. If things go on this way he’ll be talking next. It’s made us think that Bertie needs to relearn a few things.’
‘God. You are disgusting people. All of you.’ A bolt of sickness hits my stomach.
‘The secret has to be kept,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘And if that means Bertie has to suffer a little more, then so be it.’
I struggle to sit up, but my body just won’t do it. ‘No!’ I scream. ‘You can’t. Please. Don’t do this …’
‘It’s too late,’ says Mrs Calder, turning away. ‘Plans have been laid. There’s nothing you can do.’ She turns to Margaret. ‘We should go now. He’ll be here soon.’
Mrs Calder and Margaret walk away.
I turn my head to one side and throw up onto the ground.
83
As dusk falls, I get colder and colder.
My body aches against the freezing ground.
The snow carries on falling, and soon I’m covered in it – a white snow woman shivering on the ground.
I try to move, but I just can’t get my muscles to work. It’s like having one of those dreams, where you try to run away, but you can’t move. But this isn’t a dream. It’s real.