by R N Merle
‘He ain’t breathing.’
‘Fetch the apothecary!’ someone shouted.
‘No need for that. He’s dead.’
‘The Parson, where is the Parson?’
The crowd leaned over the side of the bridge and looked down.
The sodden occupants of the overturned boat splashed loudly and cursed. The oarsman and Mr Cox managed to grab hold of the upturned boat. Mr Hawkes and the Parson had been swept out of reach. In their panic to keep their heads above water, they floundered and grabbed hold of each other. They wrestled for the upper hand, pulling at clothing and forcing each other under, until they both disappeared beneath the surface.
The Colonel spurred his horse into a frenzied gallop, whipping it with fury. The horse raced along the riverbank, chasing down the rushing wave. As they levelled with Darklin, the Colonel beat the horse again, until they overtook her. He jumped off the horse, mid gallop, and crashed through the line of trees on the bank, waiting with the boathook raised, ready to grasp her.
Darklin drifted, feeling the strong momentum of the water. Completely exhausted, she fought to keep her eyes open. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement on the riverbank, and tried to turn her head. Water cascaded over her face, and she dipped under the surface.
The wave rushed toward the Colonel, bringing Darklin closer. He readied the boathook, but could see it would not reach far enough to catch her. He scrambled onto the trunk of an old gnarled willow that had half fallen, and steadied himself, balancing carefully as he shuffled along a thick branch hanging over the river. Concentrating on the flash of white dress speeding towards him, he held the boathook out, and as the roaring wave arrived, struck down into the turbulence.
Darklin sensed movement as the boathook plunged into the water, swiping within a hair’s breadth of her face.
The wave smashed into the branch the Colonel was standing on, and his feet were swept from under him. As he plummeted into the frothing water, the Colonel heard the creak and crack of the tree as its roots gave way. Looking up, he saw the remainder of the tree falling towards him. The crushing weight of it pinned him under the water. His head flailed from side to side, as the streams of bubbles pouring from his mouth, dwindled and ceased.
Darklin was weakening, she knew she must keep her mouth and nose above the water, but the effort was too great. Leaving Fallenoak far behind, the riverbank passed in a green blur as she travelled downstream. After a while, she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. The wand slipped from her fingertips, and sank like a falling feather, to the riverbed. Her last thought was of John, and the rose-leaf colour of his eyes, before everything went black. The wave diminished, and the current slowed. Dark smoke slithered out of her mouth, and descended into the depths. Her body still at last, drifted like a leaf on the unquiet water.
18
The Morning
‘Make way for Master Somerborne!’
‘Wait there!’ John called back to Darklin as the men hustled him into the barn. As soon as Darklin’s hand had left his, John without knowing the reason, was unsettled by the disconnection. He turned back to her, taking in the expression dawning over her face. Her eyes were starry, and her smile radiant. She bloomed with joy. He inhaled sharply, feeling suddenly light headed, but before he could turn away from her, the crowd boisterously passed him through to the centre of the barn. Somewhere, someone clanged loudly on a pewter mug, causing the crowd to slowly hush. John tried to pull his scattered thoughts together, and cleared his throat. He never liked to give the toast, but knew it was his duty, and could not be neglected.
‘My good ladies and gentleman. I would like to make a toast. I thank the Lord for blessing us with good weather. I thank my fellow men for all their hard work, and we thank our fine ladies, without whom we would all be lost. I give a toast to the good food that we have gathered. May it see us safely through the winter long. To our fine harvest!’
‘The harvest!’ people cried, as clapping and foot stomping echoed throughout the barn. The men shook John by the hand, and slapped him on the back. John smiled graciously, but he was anxious to return to Darklin. He needed to speak to her, make sure she was easy about what had passed between them. As the hubbub surrounding him died away, he made a break for the barn door.
‘John, John!’ Bess called. John sighed, and turned back. Bess approached him, carrying James slumped sleepily over her shoulder.
‘He’s worn himself out,’ she whispered, passing him into John’s outstretched arms. ‘Can you put him to bed?’
‘Of course. Where is Tom? He ought to be in bed too.’
John scanned the barn, catching Tom’s eye as he peeped out mischievously from behind a barrel. John beckoned to him with his index finger. Tom crossed the floor, halting obediently at John’s side. ‘Time for bed.’ John said, putting a firm hand on Tom’s shoulder, to prevent him running away.
‘Oh! Can’t I stay up a while longer, John. Please!’ Tom pleaded.
John gently ruffled Tom’s hair. ‘No. You need to sleep if you want to grow tall and strong.’ John said, repeating the exact words their father used to say to him. ‘Come on, its late.’ Tom took his proffered hand, squeezing it tightly.
John looked around, hoping to see Darklin’s face in the crowd. She would not want to stand in a crowd of strangers, he thought, when he did not find her. As he left the barn, Mrs Day joined them, carrying Grace up to the house. John smiled at her warmly. ‘Have you enjoyed the party, Mrs Day?’
‘That I have, my dear. You and Bess should be real proud of yourselves. I know your mother and father would be.’
John half smiled. ‘Thank you.’ he said.
When John had laid James in his bed, and tucked Tom in, he went back down to the parlour, and found Mrs Day seated by the fire. ‘You go back, my dear, I can sit here with the children. I think I’ve had enough socialising for one day.’
‘You are too kind.’ he said, quickly bending by Mrs Day’s chair, and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
‘Get on with you!’ she laughed.
John hurried for the door. He would be with Darklin soon. Excitement raced through his veins. Just as he was crossing the threshold, Mrs Day called after him.
‘John! Have you seen Darklin? I need to speak with her.’
‘I saw her a few moments ago.’ said John, blushing.
‘Will you ask her to come and find me before she leaves.’ Mrs Day looked out of the window, frowning at the darkening sky.
‘Of course.’ replied John, too focused on getting back to Darklin to notice the concern in Mrs Day’s voice.
John rushed back to the barn. His eyes raked the room for her. He felt a hand slip inside his. His heart quickened until he realised the hand was too plump, too warm.
‘John,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’ve been saving you a dance.’
‘Lizzie,’ said John, trying not to sound disappointed. ‘I’m afraid you must excuse me.’
Her face fell at his rejection. ‘Oh, but you promised me another dance.’
Still searching the room for Darklin, John replied distractedly, ‘I’m sorry, there is someone I must speak to.’
‘Well, come find me after.’ coaxed Lizzie, as John hurried away.
He thought she would be somewhere outside, somewhere away from the others. He wondered what he should say to her when he saw her. He wanted to take her straight back into his arms, but there were things that needed to be said, and there wasn’t much time to say them.
She was not in the meadow, nor the gardens.
‘Darklin?’ he called into the near darkness. There was no answer. He went back to the willows, then back to the barn, but she was not there. He saw Bess standing on her own, and went to join her.
‘Have you seen Darklin?’
‘No, but it is near dark, she would have to get back before nightfall. She must have gone by now. John, where are you going?’
John ran back up to the house, hoping she might be there talki
ng to Mrs Day. He bounded into the parlour. Mrs Day was frowning, her embroidery lay neglected on her knee. She looked up at John expectantly.
‘Did you find her?’ she asked.
John’s heart sank. ‘No.’
He thought Darklin would have waited to say goodnight, but she was not used to social customs. It would seem a long time until tomorrow when she would come again. A feeling of uneasiness rippled through his body, but he had no clear idea why.
For the rest of the evening, John went about his duties as the host in a state of distraction. He was glad and relieved when he and Bess bid the last of the guests farewell. He did not notice the hurt look in Lizzie’s eyes as she said goodbye. Bess and John moved the empty tables back into the barn, and left the rest to do in the morning.
‘I am exhausted!’ sighed Bess as they walked back up to the house. ‘Do you think they all had a nice time?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ said John flatly.
‘What about Darklin? I hope they did not scare her away.’
John was silent.
When they got inside, Mrs Day was dressed in her cloak and bonnet, waiting to leave. ‘The babes are all asleep, my dears, now it’s time I got to bed myself.’
‘Won’t you stop here for the night?
‘Bless you, no. Greylady will be wondering where I am.’
‘I will escort you home, Mrs Day.’
‘Thank you, John, that is very kind. I’ve never much liked being out on my own in the dark.’
They set off together into the woods, taking a lantern to light the way. Willow followed at their heels, sniffing along the ground. John wondered what it was that Mrs Day had wanted to talk to Darklin about, but he did not want to pry. Neither of them said much as they walked, but when John had seen Mrs Day to her door, she turned to him worriedly.
‘Will you ask Darklin to come and find me, as soon as she comes tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I promise.’ said John surprised, ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘No, I hope not. I hope not.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then,’
‘Yes, my lad. Sleep well.’
All the way home, John could not shake the anxious feeling that all was not right, especially as he was sure Mrs Day felt it too. He thought that the unease would not leave him until Darklin was safely within arm’s reach.
When he got back to the house, he still felt restless, so he walked around the farm, checking that all the animals were settled. Reassured, he slowly turned back to the house. He shut the door quietly after him, and tiptoed up the stairs. He lay down on his bed, his eyes wide open.
He knew sleep would not come easily. This evening, after what he had shared with Darklin, he felt more awake, more alive than he ever had been. He was still stunned by how lovely she had looked in Bess’ old dress. More delicate and fair than any of the local girls. He still had an inkling that she was part fairy. He turned his mind back to the spring. The first moment he had seen her; a dark eyed waif amongst the apple blossom, appearing from the mist and moonlight. Even then she had fascinated him.
As he began to get to know her, she had reminded him of a wild creature, always listening for signs of danger, always waiting for some unseen threat to come crashing down on her; warily taking what was offered and bolting away if she got spooked. But slowly she had learned to trust them, and earning her trust had been an honour and a reward.
What pleasure it had given him to watch her come alive over the summer, to watch the darkness fall away from her. To see her health and vitality blossom, nurtured by the sun and wholesome living. To see her innate kindness emerging after years of suppression. Her thoughtful silences, her flickering sense of humour, the tentative smiles when she was not sure if something was supposed to be funny or not.
He couldn’t put his finger on when his feelings had turned into love. He had not realised how strongly he felt about her until the day they had sheltered in Rosamund’s tower, when he had almost been swept away by his attraction to her. But within that fateful moment, he had become acutely aware of how Darklin had once doubted and mistrusted the concept of love, and fearing she would not reciprocate or understand his feelings, he had drawn away. He had been shocked by the depth of his emotions, and scared of damaging her trust in him. So, unsure and overwhelmed, he had fled.
There were many times over the past few weeks he had wanted to tell her, to explain himself. He hated the invisible wall that had grown between them. He was afraid the vehemence of his feelings might scare her away, very like a startled bird.
John pillowed the back of his head on his hands. This evening, walking back from the river with Darklin, he had been unable to suppress his love for her any longer. He thought of her face, and the sensation of her in his arms. It had been a magical night, and John wanted to feel thrilled and excited, to relive the pure pleasure of holding her close; but the nagging sense of unease remained. He closed his eyes, shifting agitatedly on his bed, wondering how long until dawn.
‘What’s wrong with you John? You look a little pale.’ Bess commented, as she handed him a cup of tea early the next morning. ‘Did the party wear you out?’
‘No, Bess.’ said John, hunched over his breakfast of eggs and bread at the kitchen table. He rubbed his gritty eyes, he had only managed to drop off to sleep just before he was due to get up.
‘John!”
John looked up, unaware of what had been said. ‘Sorry, Bess, I didn’t hear you.’
‘Weren’t listening more like. Never mind, perhaps you should keep to light work today, take plenty of rest.’
‘I’m fine, Bess, honest.’ said John, as he rose from the table.
John went outside to feed the animals, and soon began to shiver in the cold morning air. Red and gold leaves rustled under his feet. Away in the wood, the birds sang in a way that made him think they were lamenting, 'the summer’s dead and winter is coming'. Darklin would be struggling to keep warm in her mother’s house; he remembered her saying how cold it was there.
It would be a relief to have her home at Shadow’s End, with all the things of witches and witchcraft safely behind them. He imagined peaceful days, of honest labour and companionship, stretched out before them. Then one day, as natural as breathing, he would ask her for her hand...
The morning dragged endlessly for John as he waited for her. He kept looking up as he chopped wood for the store, expecting her to emerge through the meadow at any moment, but the morning passed without a sign of her. At lunch, John asked Bess if she thought it strange that Darklin had not yet come.
‘No. I’m sure she is well, she’s probably still sleeping, I expect. It was a long day for her yesterday.’
John nodded in partial agreement, though he knew Darklin liked to spend as little time as possible in her mother’s house, even if she was tired.
When she did not come in the afternoon, John knew he had been right to worry. Perhaps their kiss had frightened her away. She scarcely understood customs, or why people acted as they did. She might be confused by it, assigned all the wrong meanings to it. Had it been too much, too soon, more than she could comprehend, or trust in? Maybe he should not have held her so tightly…
Had he been wrong to kiss her? He had not planned it, but he was certainly not sorry it had happened. And it hadn’t felt like he had taken advantage of her. He remembered the look in her eyes, how her slender arms had wrapped around him as tightly as he had held her; he was sure it was what she had wanted too. It felt natural to kiss her, almost strangely familiar, to have her slim frame nestled in his arms. If only he’d had a chance to talk to her afterwards …
By the evening, John felt like he was being tortured. He couldn’t speak. His stomach was tied in worried knots, and he picked at his food distractedly. He had hardly got a thing done all day. As he sat in his place on the settle, he stared into the fire, and trawled the events of the previous evening, trying to pin a reason for her absence. He relived finding her beneath the willows, walki
ng back, and asking her if she would come and live with them….He came to a realisation, and his fretfulness solidified into true fear.
As soon as the boys had been put to bed, he turned to Bess,
‘I think I know why Darklin did not come.’ he said. ‘Last night, I asked her about living with us, and I believe she was in favour of it. I worry that she’s told that mother of hers that she’s leaving, and that woman has done something to keep Darklin there.’
Bess’ face turned pale. ‘I was just in my room, tidying up. John, I found Darklin’s cloak and dress, in a bundle by my chair.’
John’s frown deepened. ‘But that would mean she went home in that white dress. Her mother must have found out.’
‘You don’t think she would hurt Darklin, do you?’ Bess asked, hesitantly.
‘We know she would.’ snapped John. Bess was visibly shaken by his harsh tone. ‘Heaven knows what she’s done to her.’
‘She…It will be alright, John. Darklin told me her mother is frail.’
‘I must find her.’ John said, getting up to leave.
‘Wait. You’ll never find her in the dark. Rest now, and wait for first light.’
John deliberated. Every cell in his body was desperate to act, but he knew that Bess was right. He would have to wait until morning.
‘You are in love with her, aren’t you?’ Bess stated more than she asked.
‘Yes, I love her. I need to know that she is safe.’
‘We could all help you look for her in the morning.’ offered Bess.
‘No, I can’t have you and the boys getting lost. You can be waiting here for her, if she does manage to get away.’
John sank back on the settle, exhausted.
‘We will pray for her. It’ll all work out, John, you’ll see.’
John could sense the doubt in her voice. He nodded. ‘You should go to bed, it is getting late.’
‘So must you. You’ll need your strength tomorrow. Try not to worry, things always seem worse at night.’
‘Yes. Goodnight, Bess.’ he answered hollowly.