The Ice Seduction

by Sk Quinn

  I think about Bertie, all alone – and if they find him, god knows what will happen. Then my body is shivering so badly that I’m sick again.

  Oh god. Please god, help him. Don’t let anything bad happen to Bertie.

  I try to send a telepathic message to Patrick.

  Find Bertie. He needs your help

  And then I hear something – the sound of someone moving through trees.

  Oh my god.

  It’s not Patrick. Patrick moves so lightly in these woods that he hardly makes a sound. No, it’s somebody else. A man.

  My whole body feels numb with fear, and I try again to push myself up, but I flop back to the ground.

  Shivering, teeth chattering, I manage to move myself around so I can at least see who’s coming. But then, I wish I hadn’t.

  The man coming through the trees is short and wiry – sort of young, but with a face that looks like it’s seen lots of things. Bad things. He wears a dirty baseball cap, a puffy nylon coat and has a rifle under his arm.

  I guess this must be Hawk Turner.

  The moon lights up his narrow, mean-looking eyes as they scan the trees and the ground.

  He stops and his eyes drift down to where I lay.

  ‘There you are,’ he says, taking off his baseball cap and whacking it against his arm to beat off the snow. He drops the cap back on his head, and crouches down beside me.

  ‘They didn’t mention how pretty you were.’

  He dusts the snow from my face and hair and gives me a horrid wonky smile. ‘I can see why she wants to get rid of you.’ His hand moves down and dusts snow from my legs.

  I shiver and tense up.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ I say, my voice all gargley and afraid. ‘If you get caught, you’ll be in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Who’s going to catch me out here, do you think?’ says Hawk.

  ‘Patrick,’ I say.

  Hawk laughs and lays his rifle on the ground. ‘He left for London hours ago. I saw his Land Rover. It’s just you and me. The two of us.’

  His hands go to my waist.

  84

  I try to twist and turn my body, but Hawk’s hands lock firm against my waist and hold me down.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I scream.

  ‘May as well have a little fun before the big event,’ says Hawk. ‘I mean, who are you going to tell, once you’re dead?’

  ‘Get off me.’

  ‘Keep still and it won’t hurt so much. You might even enjoy it.’

  ‘Get … off me,’ I say, as loud as I can.

  ‘Or else what?’ Hawk says, his fingers stroking back and forth.

  ‘GET AWAY FROM HER!’

  Oh my god.

  I’d know that voice anywhere.

  Patrick.

  A flock of birds takes off from the trees.

  I try to turn my head.

  ‘I said get away from her!’ Patrick booms, stalking into the clearing.

  Hawk falls backwards, stumbling over his feet. He picks up his rifle and takes aim, but Patrick is quicker.

  Patrick fires at Hawk’s chest, and with a mighty CRACK! the poacher goes flying backwards.

  He falls a few feet away, smoke twirling off his chest in the silvery moonlight.

  Patrick crunches across the ground and stands over him.

  ‘Look away, Sera,’ says Patrick.

  ‘Patrick—’

  ‘Look away.’

  BANG! I hear a rifle fire, then smell smoke and something else – like metal.

  ‘Is he dead?’ I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.

  I hear Patrick walk back towards me and crouch down.

  ‘Probably,’ he says.

  I let my eyes flutter open, and find myself staring into Patrick’s beautiful eyes, all silver and icy in the moonlight.

  His rifle rests over his thighs. I notice deer carved onto its silver handle.

  ‘How did you find me?’ I ask.

  ‘Call it hunter’s instinct,’ says Patrick, sliding his rifle into the holder on his back.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘We need to get you warmed up,’ says Patrick, struggling out of his green hunting jacket. He pulls me up and wraps the jacket around me. I shiver and shake against him. Then he lifts me into his arms.

  ‘Bertie …’ I say, my words all wobbly, tears swelling around my eyes. ‘He ran away. Mrs Calder and Margaret are looking for him. If they find him, they’ll take him to your father’s house. Your father hurts him, Patrick. So he won’t talk. So he wouldn’t tell his secret.’

  I see Patrick’s jaw tighten. ‘What secret?’

  ‘That your sister’s mother isn’t really dead. She’s Margaret Calder. Your father slept with her when she was just thirteen, and Anise was the result.’

  Patrick stands up, lifting me with him. ‘God.’ He frowns in disgust. ‘I’ll kill him. But first things first. I need to find Bertie.’

  He begins striding through the trees, carrying me in his arms.

  ‘He … tried to keep Bertie quiet,’ I stammer. ‘Your father did. He starved him so he’d stop talking.’

  Patrick grips me tighter. ‘I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.’

  ‘We have to find Bertie,’ I say.

  ‘You are not finding anyone,’ says Patrick, hopping over the uneven ground, with me bumping around in his arms. ‘I’m taking you somewhere safe, and then I’ll go find him.’

  ‘Please, Patrick. Let me come with you. He must be so frightened. He needs me.’

  Patrick doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the only sound is the soft crunch of his feet over the forest floor.

  ‘No,’ he says eventually. ‘It’s too dangerous. I’ll find Bertie. You’re going somewhere safe.’

  ‘What if … they’ve already taken him to his grandfather’s?’ I say, my words choking with tears.

  85

  ‘They haven’t,’ says Patrick.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘There were no fresh car tracks when I arrived back. Or footprints. Nothing to indicate that anyone has been or gone.’

  ‘They told me you’d gone to London.’

  ‘I did. But I got a feeling on the way. Like I said. Hunter’s instinct. So I turned back.’

  ‘But how did you know I was in the woods?’

  ‘I tracked you.’

  ‘The snow covered everything …’

  ‘I’ve known these woods a long time,’ says Patrick. ‘I know how things should look and when they aren’t right. When a leaf is pointing the wrong way, or the wildlife have been startled.’

  ‘I’m glad you found me,’ I say, with a weak smile.

  ‘So am I.’

  As Patrick carries me across the lawn, I feel blood returning to parts of my body, and my muscles feel lighter.

  ‘I think the sedative is wearing off,’ I tell him.

  ‘It should do. In the next hour or so. Was it Agnes Calder who drugged you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Then she and Margaret carried me into the woods.’ I notice that Patrick is carrying me around the castle, to where the cars are parked. ‘Patrick, where are we going?’

  ‘I told you. I’m taking you somewhere safe. You’re going to stay in my Land Rover until I’ve found Bertie.’

  ‘But … I can help you. I know Bertie. I know where he might hide.’

  ‘Seraphina—’

  ‘Please Patrick.’

  ‘You’re staying in the car with the doors locked,’ says Patrick. ‘For once in your life, do as you’re told.’

  He strides to his green Land Rover and slides a key fob from his pocket. Then he clicks the lock, opens the door and lays me carefully on the back seat. He takes a tartan blanket from the floor and pulls it over me. Then he slots the key fob in the ignition and turns the heater on.

  Warm air begins to swirl around the car.

  ‘Stay here,’ he whispers. ‘When I close the door, the car will be locked. I’ll be back soon. It’s dark out here. No one will see you
. But if anyone comes, beep the horn and flash the lights, and I’ll be out in seconds.’

  He kisses me on the lips and lays a hand on my cheek. ‘I’ll be back,’ he says, slamming the car door closed.

  86

  And so I wait. Little by little, my body begins to warm up and my clothes start to dry.

  The weird, wobbly feeling in my arms and legs fades away, and soon I can move properly.

  I sit up and press my face to the window, pulling the blanket around myself.

  I squint at the castle, looking for any signs of Patrick returning.

  When twenty minutes pass, I begin to feel anxious.

  What if something’s happened to him?

  Mrs Calder is sneaky. She could have set some sort of trap.

  And Bertie … my stomach aches when I think of him, alone somewhere, without me.

  Please, please let him be okay.

  After half an hour, I can’t wait any more. I’m frantic with worry, about both Patrick and Bertie. I can’t just sit here doing nothing.

  I press my feet hard against the car floor to get the blood pumping around them, and then I open the door and stumble out into the darkness.

  It’s freezing outside, and I slip and slide in the snow, but I’m so glad to find my legs are working again. Kind of.

  I head towards the castle, and when I reach the main door, I creak it open.

  Silence.

  I stop and listen for a while longer, but I can’t hear a thing.

  My heart beats hard in my throat.

  Patrick would kill me if he knew I was out of the car. And in my heart, I know this is dangerous. Stupid, even. But if Bertie’s in trouble, I come second. It’s as simple as that.

  I head towards the West Wing. Where could Bertie be? Where would he be hiding?

  I decide to try the most obvious place first – Bertie’s bedroom.

  When I reach Bertie’s bedroom, I open the door as slowly and quietly as I can.

  It makes a juddering, squeaking sound and I wince.

  Shush door!

  I peer through the crack, and scan Bertie’s room. His bed is made and everything is neat and tidy.

  No Bertie in here. Or is there?

  My heart feels like there are stones tied to it.

  I push the door open a little further and squeeze inside the room.

  A huge black spider scuttles along the skirting board, and I catch my breath.

  Calm down, Sera. It’s just a spider.

  I check the ensuite, Bertie’s wardrobe and under his bed, but nothing.

  Think, Sera! Think!

  Where could Bertie be? Where would he go if he were hiding from someone?

  I guess he might have wandered into the woods … oh god, I hope not. It’s freezing out there, now. But no. Patrick would have known if he’d gone out there.

  So. Where next?

  As I head out into the corridor, I think of something.

  Jamie’s room.

  Bertie has gone in there before, to get the music score. And it’s a place no one would think of looking …

  I check the drawer in Bertie’s dresser.

  It’s empty.

  The key to the West Tower is gone.

  He must be up there …

  I creep along the corridor, listening, listening the whole time.

  At one point I think I hear a door creak, but it sounds like a long way away. Still, it makes my heart beat fast. Where are Mrs Calder and Margaret? Are they still in the castle? And where’s Patrick?

  When I reach the West Tower door, I turn the handle and find it locked.

  Of course it is.

  If Bertie’s up there, he would have locked it from the inside.

  I get to my knees again and do my little magic trick with the lock.

  The mechanism snaps open, and I push open the door.

  87

  I climb the stairs very, very slowly.

  It’s dark in the West Tower, but I daren’t flick on the light.

  I reach Jamie’s room and gingerly try the handle.

  God damn it!

  Locked.

  How can it be locked?

  I knock softly on the door. ‘Bertie. Bertie are you in there?’ I whisper.

  No reply.

  I’m about to creep back down the staircase, when I notice something.

  The door at the end of the corridor is open.

  Wide open.

  I see a low light inside.

  ‘Bertie?’ I whisper, creeping forward.

  I reach the doorway, and suddenly remember that flash of white I saw on my first day here. That face in the window …

  My teeth begin to chatter.

  I shouldn’t be here. But if there’s a chance Bertie is up here, I have to find him.

  Finding the last of my courage, I take a big, bold step into the dark doorway.

  As I step into the room, I find myself blinking hard.

  It’s beautiful in here.

  There’s a lovely downy white bed and fresh roses all around.

  Along the walls are rows of china ornaments.

  I see lots of little matchstick models too. They’re really beautifully made.

  And then I have a shock.

  In the bed is an old woman. A really, really old woman, all crinkly and tiny. Her long white hair is coiled into a loose bun.

  ‘Oh!’ I cry out.

  ‘Hello my dear,’ she the woman. ‘I was wondering when you’d find me.’

  ‘Find you?’ I shake my head.

  The woman laughs, and it sounds like eggs cracking. ‘Oh yes. I’ve been watching you, you know. From the very first day you got here. You’re a sparky little thing. Just what this cold old castle needs.’

  ‘I … who are you?’ I stammer, my eyes wide.

  The woman pulls herself up in bed, and I see she’s wearing a flowery dressing gown. She starts coughing suddenly, and I go to her side.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I put a hand on her shoulder.

  She smiles at me, her blue eyes crinkling. ‘I’m dying,’ she says, matter-of-factly. ‘But there’s not much anyone can do about that.’ She gives another smile. ‘But you wanted to know who I am, not my medical history.’

  ‘I … yes,’ I admit.

  ‘I’m Patrick’s grandmother. May Mansfield.’

  ‘Patrick’s grandmother? Didn’t you … everyone said you’d died.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried, my dear,’ May laughs. ‘I’m not a ghost. Yes, I died. Officially. They told everyone I’d passed away, but I never really did. I was hidden away up here so my son Dirk could inherit the castle. He got himself in a bit of money trouble. The little scamp. So we arranged my death.’

  My mouth drops open.

  ‘You’ve been hidden up here?’ I ask. ‘All this time?’

  May nods. ‘I don’t mind it at all. I’m too ill to be out and about anyway. And I have all my matchsticks to make models. Patrick comes to see me. So does Dirk. Sometimes.’ She gives a little smile. ‘Of course, Dirk only comes to try to wheedle some more money out of me. But that’s just how he is.’

  ‘You pretended to be dead so Dirk could inherit?’ I ask.

  May nods.

  I shake my head, trying to make sense of everything. ‘Couldn’t you just give him money?’

  ‘Oh no.’ May shakes her head. ‘My late husband made sure everything was locked up tight so Dirk couldn’t get anything until I passed away. There’s more money too. To be released when I choose to give Dirk the security box details. But that day hasn’t come yet.’ She frowns. ‘Have you come up here looking for my great-grandson?’

  ‘I … yes,’ I say. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘He’s always running away from his nannies,’ says May. ‘And I heard someone go into Jamie’s room, so I’m guessing he’s up here somewhere. He likes to play in there, you know.’

  I turn to the door. Then I frown. ‘Jamie’s room was locked.’

  ‘Maybe Bertie locked himself i
n,’ May suggests. ‘Here.’ She opens a bedside drawer and waves a wrought iron key at me. ‘This is a skeleton key. It will open Jamie’s bedroom door.’

  ‘I … thank you,’ I say.

  ‘I’ve been longing to talk to you,’ says May. ‘Such a bright thing, aren’t you? I could do with some interesting conversation. Lord knows, I’ve heard enough about Dirk’s so-called business ventures.’ She sighs. ‘So much money down the drain. Thank goodness for Patrick. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be out of a home by now. Dirk would have sold the castle and squandered the money. But that’s my son for you. Always a little tearaway.’

  That’s one word for him, I think.

  ‘Thank you for the key,’ I say.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ May waves a hand at me.

  ‘I need to find Bertie now,’ I say, heading towards the door. ‘But I’ll be back. I promise.’

  Please god, let Bertie be okay.

  88

  I run down the corridor and to Jamie’s room, my hand shaking as the key goes in the lock.

  The door creaks open.

  I hear a shuffling sound and freeze.

  ‘Bertie?’ I whisper.

  The shuffling sound stops.

  I push the door open further.

  It’s dark inside the room, but moonlight from the window gives everything a tinge of silver.

  I see a dark, small thing in the corner, shivering and cowering.

  ‘Bertie.’

  I run to the tiny, shaking figure, crouch down and throw my arms around him.

  Bertie doesn’t say anything, of course. He just plunges his little arms around me and holds me tight.

  I hold him back, not letting him go. Not ever wanting to let him go.

  Minutes pass, but Bertie doesn’t stop shaking. I hold him even tighter.

  ‘Thank god I found you,’ I say. ‘Oh thank god.’

  ‘I’m glad you found him too,’ says a thin, creepy voice.

  I turn around.

  Mrs Calder stands in the doorway.

  I stare at Mrs Calder, pale and sinister in the moonlight.

  Bertie grips my arm.

  ‘Get away from us,’ I say.

  She shakes a white finger at me. ‘You’re supposed to be dead by now.’