by Sharon Booth
'We know little about her,' I admitted. 'We know she was born in 1599 in Glastonbury and jilted a farmer at the altar. Did she ever marry?'
He shook his head. 'Never. Poor Mary.' He turned to face me and it saddened me to see his eyes glistening with tears.
'What's wrong?' I coaxed.
'I don't know. I just feel very sad about her. She was a good woman. I see you've not mentioned her death here?' A tear escaped his eye, and he brushed it away fiercely. 'Perhaps that's for the best. I don't think I want to know.'
My heart ached for him. 'We don't know when she died. There are no records of her death at all, and we've never been able to discover what happened to her. It's strange really, and so unfair. She was so special, and it's sad her story ends with no explanation.'
We stood in silence for a moment and he stared up at the ceiling. 'I'm so sorry, Mary,' he said. 'You deserved so much better.'
'Oh, don't!' I stifled a sob, and he came to stand by my side. I saw the pain in his eyes and put my arms around him, unable to stop myself.
He kissed my forehead. 'You have such a kind heart, Celeste. You never met Mary, and yet here you are, shedding tears for her. It's more than many people would have done back in her own time, I assure you. Some people were deeply suspicious of her and her unusual gifts. I don't think many, outside the family, would have grieved for her loss.'
'That's awful,' I said, sniffing.
'It is. I can't believe I ever forgot her. Forgive me, Mary.'
'It's not your fault,' I told him. 'I'm sure she understands. You did so much for her when she was alive, that's the main thing. You can be proud of yourself for that.'
'If you say so,' he said. 'It hardly feels as if I should congratulate myself.'
'She—' I stopped, not sure whether I should continue. Then I realised that, no matter what, if he could shed any light on Trinity, I had to know. 'She made a particular prophecy about the St Clair family,' I said. 'The one about the two ravens?'
He frowned. 'The two ravens?'
'Yes, you know. The one that starts, "Two ravens on the castle wall". It's okay,' I added, 'I know I'm not supposed to know about it, being a woman, but Castor told us. You don't have to worry. I won't tell anyone else. Did you ever speak to her about it? I know she told it to your father.'
'My father?' He shook his head, looking baffled. 'I have no idea what you're talking about. I've heard no such prophecy.'
'But you must have! The prophecy was supposed to always be passed down to the eldest son.'
'I'm sorry, Celeste. I don't know what you mean.'
I nibbled my thumbnail, deep in thought. 'I suppose,' I said at last, 'your memories of Mother Clipson aren't as complete as we thought. Maybe it will come back to you in time.'
'Maybe.' He wiped away my tears and said, 'I suppose I'd better look at the rest of the exhibits.'
'Blaise,' I said, unable to bear the suspense any longer, 'haven't you noticed the portraits?'
'Portraits?'
'Over there!' I pointed to the far wall. 'I don't know how you've missed them, to be honest. Look.'
He spun round and stared at the wall, while I waited, feeling ever-so-slightly terrified.
'That's Hepworth's portrait of me!'
'Yes, it says Hepworth,' I said. 'We know little about him either. He's not one of the more well-known artists of the time, is he?'
'He was a friend of my father's,' he explained. 'I remember sitting for this. It's a fine portrait, isn't it? My father loved it and I must admit, I was always rather proud of it myself.'
'Yes, but ...' I trailed off, wondering when he would notice the other two paintings.
'Is that ...' He hurried away from me and headed over to the far wall, standing opposite the portrait of Bevil. 'It is. I know him. This is my dear brother.'
'Yes,' I said. 'That's Bevil St Clair. Our ancestor.'
He spun round. 'You're descended from Bevil! I keep forgetting. It explains your kindness and good heart.' He turned back to examine the portrait again. 'My wonderful, funny, kind, gentle brother.'
Wow, just how mixed up were his memories? How to break it to him that Bevil had been anything but?
'So, this, this must be his wife?'
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. 'Yes,' I said, realising my legs were shaking. 'That's his wife. My twelve times great grandmother. Jennet St Clair.'
'Jennet ...' He stared at the portrait for what felt like forever, then turned to face me, puzzled. 'You know, I have a feeling I met her.'
'You — yes, I believe you did.'
'It's funny, I don't remember Bevil getting married, yet she seems familiar to me.' He let out a cry and rushed back to my side. 'It's you! You look so much like her. No wonder she seems familiar.'
'But, but don't you remember her at all? Think about it, Blaise. Her name was Jennet Wade. It's believed your father took her in as his ward. She had no family of her own as they'd been killed during the war, and your father more-or-less brought her up as his own.'
He wrinkled his nose. 'Are you sure?'
'Well, yes. At least, that's what we've always thought. The few records we have from that time — and I'll admit, there aren't many — all say the same thing.'
'Strange. She means nothing to me, nothing at all.'
'Really? Try to remember.'
'I am trying,' he insisted. 'She's only familiar to me because she looks like you. What else do you want me to say?'
'I'm sorry,' I soothed. 'That's more than enough for now. Let's go home.'
'I think I'd like that,' he admitted. 'I've had my fill for today. I feel strange, to be honest.'
'It's the shock,' I said. 'All that stuff with Mother Clipson for a start, then seeing Bevil like that.'
He nodded. 'I think I would like to say goodbye to my brother if you don't mind,' he said. 'I know it sounds stupid, but ...'
'I completely understand. I'll wait outside. Just turn out the light and close the door when you leave, okay?'
'Thank you, Celeste.'
I left him to it and hurried outside, glad to be in the fresh air again, however cold and blustery it may be. There was so much to think about, so much to process. I was still reeling from his revelations about Mother Clipson. How strange he hadn't yet remembered the prophecy. Maybe it would come back to him in a day or two.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as the door banged, and he practically threw himself at me.
'Blaise! What is it? What's wrong?'
'All that in there,' he cried. 'All that's wrong! I just read it and it's a lie, a cruel lie.'
'What's a lie?' I put my hands on his arms to steady him and kept my voice quiet, hoping to calm him down.
'All that about Bevil,' he said. 'Bevil would never betray me! Never. He loved me as much as I loved him. Stop telling such terrible stories.'
'You don't know for sure,' I breathed. 'And the legend says—'
'I don't care what the legend says,' he said angrily. 'I'm telling you now. Bevil was a good, kind man. He would rather die than betray me. If someone informed a witchfinder about my powers, it wasn't him. Believe me.'
'I do,' I said tearfully. 'Honestly, I do.'
But if it hadn't been Bevil who betrayed Blaise, who had?
Chapter Nineteen
It was a sombre meal that night. What he'd seen at the museum had deeply affected Blaise, which made me feel I'd done the wrong thing by taking him there. On the other hand, it had proved to be a revelation. Blaise's conviction that Bevil would never harm him had totally thrown me. It went against everything I'd been told and threw the entire legend into doubt. I had to tell my family.
We had Father and Aurora staying the night, so, once they'd safely fed Aither and tucked him upstairs in his cot, and we were all sitting in the living room, I hesitantly told them what Blaise and I had learned that day. Needless to say, they were shocked. Castor, in particular, seemed deeply affected by the news.
'Are you certain about this, Blaise?' Mother asked, her t
one gentle. 'The memory is a funny thing, you know. It can play tricks on you.'
'Maybe,' Aurora suggested, 'you're remembering what you want to believe. You were clearly jolly fond of your brother and I can't blame you for wanting to think the best of him.'
Blaise's chin jutted out in defiance, and his eyes sparked with anger. 'I'm not making this up! I'm telling you all, here and now, Bevil would never betray me. I don't understand why you're so keen to believe the worst of him. He's your direct ancestor! If not for him, you wouldn't be here. Surely, it's better for you he was no traitor? You must have felt the shame of living under the cloud of his so-called betrayal?'
None of us could deny that.
'Well,' Father said, 'if that's true, it's quite a weight off my mind. It was always rather humiliating, being descended from the traitor, I admit.'
'Congratulations,' Castor growled. 'Seems you're the first embarrassment in your line of the family, after all.'
'Oh, Castor, that's terribly harsh,' Aurora said. 'I think you're being rather mean there.'
Sirius nodded. 'That was uncalled for, Castor. It doesn't affect you as it affects us. Your line of the family didn't descend from Bevil. It's not a burden you've been carrying, so you can't imagine how much this changes everything.'
Castor gave a mirthless laugh. 'Can I not? If you say so. I'm going out.'
'Going out?' Mother looked at him curiously. 'Going out where?'
'Do I have to clock on and off?' he demanded. 'I've spent most of me life running around after this family, being at your beck and call, doing what I can to make your lives easier. Now you're telling me none of this affects me 'cos I'm not family. In that case, it don't matter where I go, does it?'
'Oh, Castor!' It horrified me he'd felt so neglected. 'That's not what we meant at all. Please don't upset yourself.'
He grabbed his coat and stalked out of the room and, moments later, we heard the front door bang shut.
'Well!' Aurora let out a long breath then reached for an apple from the fruit bowl nearby. 'That was all a bit odd, wasn't it?'
'Rather an overreaction,' Father agreed.
'We must talk to him when he gets back,' Sirius decided. 'Castor has been so good to us, and he's definitely part of this family. I never want him to think otherwise.'
'To get back to the subject, though,' Mother said, 'it throws everything we know up in the air. First you tell us Bevil had no magic, and yet we'd always thought there'd been magical battles between you and he over—' She stopped, and we all froze as we realised her mistake.
Blaise narrowed his eyes. 'Magical battles? Between Bevil and me? Over what, exactly?'
We all looked at each other.
'Go on,' he said angrily. 'I can see you all know. What does the legend say?'
'It's not for us to say,' Mother said, but Blaise was having none of it.
'The time for dodging questions is over,' he said. 'You must see this has gone far enough? My memories are returning, but I need you to fill in the gaps. How can I remember the things that never happened? We need to compare notes so I can tell you how wrong this so-called legend is.'
He had a point and I think we all realised it.
'Very well,' Father said. 'If you must know, I'll tell you.' He gave me an apologetic look. 'I'm sorry, Celeste. The thing is, Blaise, legend says you and Bevil were fighting over Jennet Wade. That you both wanted her for yourselves. You,' he explained kindly, 'were supposed to be marrying her, but it seems your brother wasn't happy about it, and that's what you fell out over.'
Blaise looked round at us all, his expression revealing his amazement. 'Is this true?' he asked me.
I nodded miserably. 'That's why I took you to the museum. I wanted you to see Jennet's portrait, to remember how you felt about her. I thought, if we were to have any future together, you needed to remember what you'd lost and deal with that before you started a new relationship with me.'
He rubbed his forehead, dazed. 'I don't know what to say,' he admitted finally.
'Can you remember Jennet properly?' Sirius asked. 'Does any of what we've told you sound familiar?'
'Not really,' he admitted. 'I don't remember being engaged to anyone. I have a vague memory of Jennet, I think. Times we spent together. Although, I always see Bevil with us. There's nothing to suggest we were ...' His voice trailed off, and he looked at me. 'Sorry, Celeste. This must be so hard for you. You've been through a lot, keeping this from me, I can understand that. I wish I could be clearer for you, but the only thing I know for sure is Bevil would never have tried to destroy my happiness. If I loved Jennet — and that's uncertain — he would have been happy for me and supported me.'
'Even if he had feelings for her himself?' Mother ventured doubtfully.
'Even then. Bevil is—' He swallowed hard, and I noticed the tears in his eyes again, as they'd been when he recalled Mary Clipson, 'Bevil was a good man, a true friend and a loyal brother. I didn't deserve such good fortune to have a brother like him. I never deserved him. If history recalls anyone as a good person, it should be him, not me.'
'Oh, Blaise.' I moved across to sit with him and put my arms around him. 'This must be so awful for you. I'm so sorry.'
'Seems to me,' Sirius said, 'the only thing we can do is try to get to the truth of the matter. We've all accepted the legend as fact all our lives, and it seems generation upon generation of our family has done the same. We must dig deeper, try to find out what happened that night.'
'And who started those awful rumours,' Mother added. 'Whoever it was, they have a lot to answer for.'
'History is written by the winners,' I breathed.
They all looked at me.
'Sorry?' Aurora asked.
I cleared my throat. 'History is written by the winners,' I repeated.
Blaise straightened. 'You're right, Celeste. That's what you told me all those weeks ago.'
'So the question is,' Sirius said, 'Who came out the winner in this little episode?'
There was a silence as we all concentrated on the legend and each came to one startling conclusion.
'I suppose I'll say it if no one else will,' Mother said at last. 'The winner in this story was Jennet.'
Chapter Twenty
I couldn't sleep. I lay in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything we'd learned. Was it possible that, all these years, the people of Castle Clair, and particularly our family, had been deluded about what had happened that night?
For so long I'd believed fully in the legend of the two brothers. But what if we were right, and the villain in the piece wasn't Bevil at all, but Jennet?
I lay there, picturing her portrait in my mind. She was beautiful and elegant, and I'd always understood why two brothers could fall out over her. But was it possible there were other clues to her true personality in that face? Trinity had noticed, I remembered with a start. She'd specifically drawn my attention to the fact that Jennet appeared proud and clever; that she'd known her own worth. She'd even, I remembered sadly, pointed out Bevil was nothing like Jennet and Blaise. He was clearly quieter, lacking in confidence. He had kind eyes, I thought suddenly, and guilt overwhelmed me. All these years my ancestor had been falsely accused of being a traitor. We'd been ashamed of him, not wanting to admit to being descended from him. If Blaise was remembering everything correctly — and it certainly seemed as if he was — then we'd done him a terrible disservice. I had no idea how we could go about making amends.
As I tried to think of ways to somehow change the legend and clear Bevil's name, when we had no historical proof whatsoever, I heard a gentle knock on my bedroom door. I barely had time to ask who was there before it was pushed open, and I made out a black shape in the darkness.
'Who is it?' I demanded, feeling a sudden panic.
'It's okay, Celeste, it's just me.'
'Blaise!' I sat up in bed and switched the bedside lamp on. 'What's wrong?'
He looked distraught. I held out my arms to him and
he sat on the edge of my bed and let me embrace him.
'What is it?' I murmured, not wanting to disturb other members of my family. 'What's happened?'
'A nightmare,' he said, shivering. 'Except not a nightmare. I only wish it had been ...'
'You're cold,' I said. I threw back the duvet. 'Here, get in beside me. Get warm while you tell me all about it.'
He hesitated, clearly unsure.
'It's okay,' I said. 'Don't worry about it.'
'If you're certain,' he whispered.
'It's just to get warm and calm you down,' I said, my heart going out to him as I saw him trembling. Whatever nightmare he'd had had certainly affected him badly.
He climbed in beside me and I pulled the duvet over him and held him close, stroking his hair. 'Tell me,' I said, trying to keep my voice steady, despite the unfamiliar sensation of Blaise's body so close to mine.
'It was horrible,' he told me. 'There was a raven.'
It was my turn to shiver. 'A raven? You mean Nightwing?'
He shook his head. 'Not Nightwing, no. Oh, Celeste, this is so bad.'
I pulled him tighter. 'It's okay,' I soothed. 'You're safe now. Whatever happened is in the past. It all happened a long time ago.'
'Not to me,' he reminded me.
'But to them,' I said. 'Whoever else was there, I mean. They're long gone. They can't harm you now.'
He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. 'It was Merle.'
'Merle? Who's Merle?'
'Jennet's familiar. Her raven.'
'Jennet had a raven?' I could feel a prickling sensation running up and down my spine. 'But I thought only male witches had ravens?'
He peered up at me. 'Why would you think that?'
'Well ...' I thought about it. 'I suppose because all the male St Clairs have had ravens, for as long as I can remember. I don't recall any of the women having them. Although,' I added, 'to be fair, we don't know much about the women of the family. All the portraits we have of the male St Clairs had ravens on them, so I suppose we just assumed.'
'You told me yourself, women were airbrushed out of history,' he reminded me. 'You've misunderstood. Ravens don't attach themselves to the male heir. Ravens attach themselves to power. Jennet had great power.' He shuddered. 'Unbelievable power.'