by R N Merle
Darklin bit her tongue to stop herself from declaring that she did not want to meet Bess, realising it would sound rude and ungracious. She was not prepared for this, yet the sensation of John’s warm hand covering her cold, bony fingers won over her natural instinct to dig her heels into the ground to stop them progressing any further.
When they entered the kitchen, John shook the raindrops from his hair and then looked at her strangely.
‘I have a feeling Bess will want to see your face. Would it be safe to remove your disguise?’
Darklin suddenly remembered she had blackened her face. She closed her eyes, embarrassed, realising that she must look like a monster.
‘Yes.’ she said. She normally washed her face in the water pool before she returned, Gressyl would not know any different. She began rubbing at her face with her sleeve.
‘I’ll get you some water.’ John disappeared then returned with a large bowl and a square of white cloth. He filled the bowl with water from a copper kettle, and put the bowl and cloth down on the kitchen table, along with a bar of soap.
‘I’ll tell Bess that you are here.’ he said, then left the room again.
Darklin stood rigid by the doorway looking into the room. Dried herbs and flowers hung from the beams, and a poesy of garden flowers sat in the blue vase on the window sill. There was a doorway off to one side, leading to a pantry, Darklin could see jars and pots, and rounds of cheese neatly lining the shelves. The stone floor was swept spotless, and the table that stood in the centre of the room had been scrupulously scrubbed.
Seeing the dresser against one wall, with the clay pots on the top shelf, Darklin couldn’t help thinking of the last time she had been there, feverishly determined to destroy their lives, and was struck by the incongruity of now being their guest. It felt wrong. She did not belong in that room, any more than the creatures she had not long ago summoned there.
Conflict raged in her mind. She could follow the urge to head for the door and run. Becoming entangled with the family was dangerous. She would have to trust implicitly every person who knew her story; faithfully believe that they would not under any circumstances reveal her truth, not now, nor evermore.
But what would she gain by running out into the darkness? It would certainly not help her answer the questions that had been preying on her mind for weeks. How was she ever to understand the true nature of living among others if she hid away from them?
Darklin looked behind her through the open doorway that led back to the garden. The night was pitch dark, the cold rain falling hard enough to make her shiver at the very idea of going back outside. Was the decision really so hard to make, she wondered.
Darklin stepped over the threshold, and crossed the room to stand in front of the steaming bowl. She rolled up her sleeves, and plunged her hands into the water. At first the heat stung her hands and turned them red, but slowly the warmth seeped into her, and she felt herself relax. She was not used to washing in hot water, and found it pleasantly luxurious. She scrubbed her face with her open palms, leaving untouched the floral smelling soap that she was not familiar with using. She rinsed her face with an abundance of warm water, enjoying the sensation of it spilling over her skin.
When John returned, Darklin became a statue of nerves.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
Darklin shook her head, overcome with apprehension. What was she going to say to John’s sister, and what would Bess say to her? She did not know if the girl would be angry with her, or afraid. She must surely hate her for all that she had done.
John walked over to her, and put a hand on her shoulder. Darklin stiffened, unused to being touched.
‘I think it would be good for you to meet Bess. Heaven knows, she wants to meet you.’ he said.
‘Does she know…..everything?’ Darklin asked in a tremulous voice.
‘Yes, I told her.’
‘Was she…is she angry?’
‘Not anymore, just very curious. Come, nothing bad will happen,’ he coaxed and took her hand again. ‘Wait, you missed a bit.’ John picked up the cloth and softly wiped it over the edge of her temple, he looked over her face, lightly and swiftly daubing at any runaway droplets of water. Darklin felt like she was turning into liquid, as her eyes found the floor and her cheeks flushed with a new warmth.
‘There,’ John said, tossing the cloth back in the bowl. ‘Now you are ready.’
He led Darklin into the parlour, where Bess stood by the fire. Bess took a step forward and smiled widely. 'I’m so pleased to meet you, Darklin. Come and sit by the fire, you must be cold.’
Bess put her arm around Darklin’s waist and guided her to the settle. Darklin moved as if her legs were weighted with lead.
‘Your cloak is drenched, let me dry it by the fire.’
‘Oh, no, it is not necessary…’ Darklin began to say, but Bess’s nimble fingers had already untied the string at Darklin’s neck.
‘I’ll make us some tea.’ Bess said excitedly, and bustled out of the room.
‘Please, sit down.’ John said, dropping down onto the settle.
Darklin sat at the other end, stiffly at the edge of the seat, afraid of making the cushions damp. She looked around the room. The furniture was simple, and comfortable. Two armchairs were placed either side of the fire, Darklin realised in all the times she had looked in at the window, she had never seen anyone sat in them. There was a round table by the window, where Bess had left a white shirt pinned with a needle and thread, beside a lit candle. A basket of cut logs full to the brim rested in one corner, and there were framed embroideries of flowers and trees hanging on the walls. There were handmade flourishes everywhere she looked; stuffed embroidered cushions and small circular willow mats underneath the candlesticks. The fireplace was not as large as in Gressyl’s house, but gave out twice as much heat; the cauldron must take so much of it, Darklin mused. The room had an atmosphere of warmth and cheeriness. She had seen it as she looked from the outside in, but never thought she would feel it for herself. Had she not been so nervous, Darklin was sure it would have been the most comfortable she had been in her life.
‘Have you been sitting in the rain all night?’ John asked.
‘From past nightfall. It is no matter, I am used to it.’ said Darklin.
‘You must be hardy. How long are you supposed to be in Fallenoak?’ said John, frowning.
‘I am to be back just before sunrise.’
Just then, Bess returned with a tray, loaded with cups of tea, and a platter of thick, buttered bread and honey. As Bess passed her a cup, Darklin recognised the fragrance of camomile rising from the steam. She couldn’t remember Gressyl giving it to her in that form. The plant was said to have soothing properties, and was not one that was much used in Gressyl’s potions. The taste was pleasing, and she wrapped her hands around the cup, glad of the heat.
Bess drew up a wooden chair and sat facing Darklin. Darklin looked quickly at her face, to see if she could read her expression. She suspected that Bess must feel some hostility towards her, in spite of what John had said. Bess caught her eye and smiled, and Darklin looked quickly back down into her cup. No one seemed to know what to say. Bess and John each took a slice of bread.
‘Won’t you have something to eat, Darklin?’ said Bess.
Darklin lifted a slice from the platter, not wanting to appear anymore different than she felt. She bit into the thick bread, surprised and delighted at the soft texture of it, the creaminess of the butter and the sweetness of the honey. She ate the slice ravenously, and licked the honey from her fingers.
The rain suddenly intensified, pounding on the window as though demanding to be noticed.
‘I do wish this rain would stop.’ sighed Bess.
‘The crops could do with it after all that heat.’ replied John.
‘I suppose so.’ said Bess. ‘Though it will bring out the slugs. My vegetables will suffer for it.’
‘Boil up some fruit peel and honeysuckle flowers.’ said D
arklin quietly. ‘Leave the liquid out in a pot. It will draw away the slugs.’
‘How do you…’ Bess started to say but didn’t finish.
John drained his cup, put it back down on the tray and leaned back in his seat, resting the side of his head on his knuckles. Out of the corner of her eye, Darklin saw him trying to stifle a yawn. His eyelids looked heavy, and Bess looked tired. It had long passed the hour they usually went to bed, Darklin realised. She rose to her feet. At the same moment, a distinctive scratching sound was heard at the kitchen door.
‘That’s just Willow,’ John said, getting up to let the dog in.
‘I must go now.’ said Darklin.
‘Oh no, you must stay, it is pouring down.’ said Bess.
‘I remembered that there is something I must do, before I go home.’ Darklin looked directly at John, hoping that he might understand. She was worried that they might sit up with her all night if she did not leave now.
John frowned, seeming to be deciding.
‘I’ll come and help you.’ he offered.
‘No,’ said Darklin, horrified. ‘We might be seen.’ She edged toward the kitchen door, and was about to let herself out, when Bess called out, ‘Wait, you forgot your cloak.’
John opened the door and the dog rushed in, wagging his tail until he saw Darklin. He stopped and shook the rain from his fur over Darklin and John, then trotted over to the fire.
‘Willow!’ John exclaimed. ‘I am sorry, Darklin.’
‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll get wet anyway.’
‘Here you are,’ said Bess, returning with the cloak. ‘I’m afraid it hasn’t dried much.’
‘It’s fine, really.’ said Darklin, awkwardly putting on the cloak as Bess held it up for her.
‘You will come again, won’t you?’ asked Bess, looking Darklin straight in the eye.
The visit had unsettled Darklin and she wanted to get away. She had not thought about returning, but she instinctively felt that she should say yes.
‘I will.’ she said, inching out the door.
‘How about the day after next?’ Bess asked
‘Very well.’ called back Darklin, as she hurried for the cover of the trees.
‘’Til then!’ Darklin heard Bess cry out as she disappeared into the woods.
Two days later, Darklin hovered amongst the trees overlooking Shadow’s End. She had been there for most of the afternoon, trying to decide if it was right to call. She relived the last visit, realising how John and Bess had tried to make her welcome, but she had felt so out of place there, sinister and strange in the wholesome setting of their home. Yet, something made her want to go back.
Finally out of frustration, she leaned over and picked a daisy from the scrubby grass, and began to delicately pull off its petals one by one. ‘I will go, I won’t go.’ she murmured, as she removed each petal. Soon there were only two petals left. ‘I won’t go…I will go.’ She stared at the denuded yellow centre for a few minutes, then tossed it into the wind. She got to her feet and slowly approached the house.
She knocked quietly on the front door, hoping that no one would hear her. She fidgeted with her cloak, then took it off and draped it over her arm. When no one answered immediately, Darklin let out a long breath, turned and began to walk away. Suddenly, she heard the latch being lifted. She turned back, and saw Bess’ face peering out from the doorway.
‘Darklin!’ Bess smiled, as she opened the door wide. ‘I was expecting you this evening.’
‘I’ll come later,’ said Darklin, turning to leave again.
‘Nonsense, its perfect timing. The boys are out in the fields, and I’ve just put Grace down for a nap. Please, come in!’
‘I did not want to call in the night, in the time you usually sleep.’ stammered Darklin.
‘That is thoughtful, though you would be welcome at any time. Come and sit in the kitchen while I make some tea. I hope you didn’t catch cold sitting out in the rain?’
As Darklin stepped into the house, the familiar discomfort returned, and she began to understand why. She had attacked this family and this house. The ugly truth of all she had done was known by them both, and yet Bess welcomed her as though she was someone important, someone to be treated warmly. It was not right or natural, and it made Darklin uneasy.
She followed Bess into the kitchen, and took a seat at the table while Bess made tea, and sliced and buttered some bread for them. Darklin had been longing for the taste of it ever since her last visit, so took a slice gratefully when Bess offered it. She ate the bread in nervous haste, and it formed a dry lump in her throat that made it hard for her to swallow.
Bess sat down opposite Darklin at the table. Darklin looked down at her hands, her uneasiness rendering her almost silent. Bess filled the quiet, chattering easily as they had their tea, telling Darklin about what she had done that morning, and what she had left to do that afternoon. Bess could not have been more friendly, and soon Darklin could not bear it.
‘Hasn’t John told you what I’ve done? What I am?’ Darklin blurted out. ‘Why are you being so kind to me?’
Bess looked into her cup, and then straight into Darklin’s eyes. ‘John told me what you did.’ she said carefully. ‘At first I was very angry and upset. But John explained all that you had told him about your life, and it seems to me like you were only doing what you were taught, that you didn’t know any better, and we can’t really blame you for that. You understand now what you did was wrong, don’t you?’ Bess asked hesitantly.
Darklin thought of the awful things the torment had driven her to; how she had threatened their home and family, had almost destroyed John’s life. She grimaced at the trouble she had caused, knowing there were no arguments she could make to defend her actions.
‘I caused you a great deal of suffering.’ Darklin said. ‘I am sorry for it.’ she added tentatively, not used to the word, but feeling like she meant it.
‘Good,’ said Bess brightly, ‘we will say no more about it. I have a feeling we will be good friends, you and I.’ Bess held her tea cup out toward Darklin. Darklin just stared.
‘Hold up your cup,’ Bess told her. Darklin did as Bess asked, and Bess clinked the cups together, spilling liquid over the side. Bess gave out a carefree laugh, and though Darklin didn’t know why, it made her want to laugh too.
Bess poured herself some more tea, and just as Darklin was beginning to relax, she heard running footsteps approach the house. She got to her feet in alarm, freezing where she stood as Tom and James burst through the kitchen door.
‘Bess, we’re very hungry!’ called out Tom, then he gasped in surprise when he saw Darklin. James moved behind his brother, grabbing hold of Tom’s shirttails with both hands. ‘It’s the witch I saw in the woods!’ he whispered, not quietly enough.
‘Tom, James, I would like to introduce you to our new friend, Miss Darklin.’ said Bess.
Tom gaped at her wide eyed. ‘How’d you do, Miss Darklin.’ he said, breathlessly.
Darklin grabbed her cloak from the back of her chair and started backing out of the room. She looked at Bess, then at James who was still tugging on his brother’s shirt.
‘I must go.’ she said, fleeing from the house.
‘Darklin, wait!’ Bess called after her.
Darklin halted on the far side of the garden, she could not pretend that she hadn’t heard her. She slowed and turned, and waited for Bess to reach her.
‘I am sorry that they startled you. Please, come back and finish your tea.’
‘No one must know that I have been here. If the children were to tell someone that I am a witch….’
‘You need not worry, John and I will speak to them. They know how to keep a secret. And they seldom see anyone but Mrs Day, and you would have nothing to fear from her, I promise you. Please come back.’
Darklin thought for a moment, placed again in the position of choosing safety or risk. She was becoming careless, she could see that plainly. But would it matter if she
went back now, the boys had already seen her, clear as day, would it matter if they saw her again? Darklin hoped that it would not. She thought again of their startled faces. The smallest one knew exactly what she was.
‘The little one, James, he is afraid of me.’
‘Little children are always shy at first. Come and let them get used to you, and you to them. Show him there is nothing to be afraid of. That way you will not be uneasy when you come again.’ Bess took hold of Darklin’s sleeve and tugged her toward the house. Slowly, Darklin followed.
Darklin stayed until the light began to fade. Following a great deal of staring, the two boys quickly lost interest in her, and after they had wolfed down some bread and milk, went back to playing outside. Bess would not let Darklin leave until she had promised that she would come back again the next day.
The next afternoon, Darklin fulfilled her promise, staying for an hour while Bess sat in the garden weaving her baskets. Bess again coaxed her into promising to come the next day, and again after that, and soon Darklin was persuaded to visit the house almost every day.
At first, Darklin was baffled as to why she allowed herself to keep going back. She knew it would be wiser to stay away. She was taking risks that she could ill afford to spend time with the Somerbornes, trusting that they would not accidentally betray her.
And it was not easy suffering the pains of being a stranger. She felt so awkward, being unfamiliar with their customs, and having almost nothing to say, and being fearful that what she did say might be disturbing to them. She spent much of the time sitting with them, answering when they spoke to her, watching them, but not knowing how to join in.
Darklin found it unnerving to be around so many people. The house was loud and busy. The children seemed to run everywhere rather than walk, and had a way of suddenly calling out loudly, that made her jump and set the dog barking. It was the opposite of what she was used to; she had spent her life trying to make as little noise as possible, to remain unnoticed.
Darklin quickly learned that life at Shadows End was not as peaceful nor as joyful as she had once believed. The three small children craved the attention of the two older siblings, often leading to squabbles and tantrums. When John was not there, most of the trouble was caused by Tom, who if he was not given something to do, was asking questions, up to mischief, or annoying one of his siblings. Tom persistenly tried to get the better of Bess, who was overwhelmed with work, often making her impatient at Tom’s exuberance.