The Silent Touch of Shadows

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘Lady Maude. It’s so good to see you again.’ Sibell had to bite her lip to prevent herself from bursting into tears. Maude had been a friend of Sibell’s mother and when the latter died, Maude had insisted Sibell must come and live at Idenhurst. Saddled with a ten-year-old girl he didn’t really want, her father had agreed readily enough. He’d been even more pleased when at the age of sixteen Sibell married Maude’s only son, Roland. During the years she spent in the Presseille household the two women had become very close. Sibell wished for at least the hundredth time that she could have stayed at Idenhurst forever, but now Roland was dead she was once again her father’s pawn.

  Maude de Presseille was not noted for her beauty, but her intelligent gaze missed nothing. Sibell saw that the lady’s eyes immediately went to the tall knight who had escorted her. Maude stepped around Sibell to greet Sir Roger, craning her neck to obtain a better view of him.

  ‘I am Lady Presseille. Welcome to Idenhurst, sir.’

  ‘Sir Roger of Langford at your service, my lady.’ He executed a perfect bow to Lady Maude.

  She frowned slightly and studied him, her head to one side. ‘Have we met before?’

  He gave her his lazy smile, which made Sibell’s insides flutter even though it wasn’t directed at her. ‘I hardly think so, my lady. I would have remembered you, of that I am certain.’ The implied compliment flustered Maude and she cleared her throat.

  ‘Well, umm, just so. Thank you for escorting my daughter-in-law. It was most kind of you.’ Turning towards Sibell she chided gently, ‘I cannot think why you didn’t at least bring a groom, my dear. Traipsing around all alone! Why, the very thought of it makes me tremble.’

  Sibell knew why Maude looked so worried. There had been rumours of outlaws roaming the forests close by, some reputedly vicious. Anyone alone and on foot would be an easy target. Sibell murmured something about the grooms all being unavailable that morning, then turned to Sir Roger and added her thanks to those of Maude for his assistance. Sir Roger smiled politely.

  ‘You’re welcome, Mistress Sibell. Any time I can be of assistance, just let me know.’ He looked her in the eyes as he spoke, and Sibell had the feeling he wasn’t just talking about mundane tasks such as escorting her. His gaze told her he’d defend her against anyone, should she wish it. She almost gave way to the threatening tears at the thought that there was someone who could help her. If only I had the right to call upon his assistance. She was in sore need of a champion.

  ‘Come into the hall, you must have some refreshment after your journey.’ Lady Maude ushered her guests towards the main entrance of the manor house. ‘I assume you are here to see my husband, Sir Roger?’

  ‘Indeed, my lady, if he can spare the time.’

  They entered the great hall, a room of splendid proportions designed to impress, yet not overly ostentatious. Maude led the way towards the dais at one end and asked a serving maid to bring wine.

  ‘Please be seated, Sir Roger, while I send someone to fetch my husband. He shouldn’t be too long.’

  Maude issued orders to another servant to this effect, then made small talk until heavy steps heralded the arrival of Sir Gilbert. Sibell looked up as her former father-in-law came striding towards them, tall and loose-limbed, with corn-coloured hair cut just below his ears and covered by a slightly floppy hat which he removed just before he reached the dais.

  ‘Sibell, my dear, how lovely to see you. I trust you are well?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, Sir Gilbert.’

  ‘Good, good. And here is another visitor. Welcome to Idenhurst.’ He greeted his unexpected guest politely, as good manners dictated. ‘Sir Roger, was it? I’m told you wish to speak to me?’ Sir Gilbert frowned slightly as he studied his guest closely, but the young knight appeared to take this perusal in his stride. Indeed, Sibell didn’t think Sir Gilbert would glean anything from his study. The man was dressed without extravagance. His blue cloak and matching tunic were of good-quality cloth, but apart from an embroidered edge to the tunic, there was no decoration, nothing to show whether he was wealthy or not. Even his sword, although undoubtedly of good craftsmanship, was curiously unadorned, with a plain handle. She wondered if this was done on purpose.

  ‘Yes, Sir Gilbert. Thank you for taking the time to see me.’ Sir Roger’s deep voice washed over Sibell and kept her rooted to the spot, but a nudge from Maude recalled her to the present.

  ‘We had better be off then. Come, my dear.’ Maude towed Sibell towards a door in the far corner.

  Risking a further peek, she saw the two men sit down in the huge carved oak chairs on the dais while a servant poured them wine. They began to speak as soon as they had a cup each and Sibell strained to catch their words. She desperately wanted to know why Sir Roger had come, but Maude pulled the door shut behind them.

  ‘Stop eavesdropping,’ she admonished with a smile. ‘Gilbert will tell me everything in good time and you know I’ll pass on any interesting gossip to you.’

  Despite being consumed with curiosity, Sibell had to be content with that.

  ‘… to have and to hold, till death do us part, according to God’s holy law, and this is my solemn vow.’

  The words reverberated around the old stone church, but as soon as Steve had repeated them after the vicar, Melissa knew they were a lie. A promise he would never keep. She could hear the deceit in his voice, as clearly as if he had spelled it out for her, and she imagined it was almost possible to taste his fear of commitment. It surrounded him like an aura and she’d been a fool to think she could change him.

  There would be no happy-ever-after for her.

  With panic churning in her gut, she turned to stare at the man she was marrying, the man she loved, hoping he would deny her premonition of doom. But predictably he couldn’t look her in the eye. He just shook his head, taking away the last trace of hope.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ he mouthed, giving her one quick, guilty glance, before fading slowly into a shadowy world where she couldn’t reach him. Huge sobs welled up inside her as she stretched out both hands, trying to pull him back.

  ‘No, you’re mine, I won’t let you go,’ she cried, but it was no use. He had disappeared from view completely.

  A collective gasp of horror went up from the congregation, but in the next instant it changed into a buzz of excitement as another man stepped forward to take Steve’s place.

  ‘I do,’ he said solemnly, as if answering the vicar’s earlier question, and held out a gauntlet-clad hand in invitation.

  Melissa’s breath caught in her throat as she realised who he was – her medieval knight, complete with deadly sword, spurs and a long cloak of finest, deep-blue wool. She stared up at him, confused, afraid and exhilarated at the same time. She felt instinctively his was a voice she could trust. And, although she had no idea how she knew, she was sure he would never lie. His blue gaze penetrated hers with not a shadow of guile in it.

  She hesitated only a moment before placing her hand in his. As soon as she did so, however, warning bells began to ring all around her, penetrating every nook and cranny of the little church until the sound became too painful to endure. Filled with panic, she snatched her hand away, lifted up her skirts and ran full tilt towards the door …

  Melissa sat up in bed, her heart beating so hard she thought it would surely burst, her nightdress drenched in perspiration and her mind in turmoil. The last misty images of the dream hovered on the periphery of her vision. She blinked, trying to focus on the here and now in order to banish the strange scene in the little church. The leathery smell of the knight’s outstretched gauntlet lingered in her nostrils and she could still hear the clanging of a bell. It was unbearable and she was just about to put her hands up over her ears when she realised the noise had nothing to do with weddings.

  She was back in London and someone was ringing her doorbell.

  Hurrying out of bed, she stuck her feet into a pair of worn slippers and snatched up her dressing gown. Yawning hu
gely, she rushed down the hall and peered through the spy hole, sighing when she saw who was outside.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ she muttered and drew in a steadying breath before opening the door.

  ‘It’s about bloody time, I haven’t got all day, you know. You deaf or something?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Melissa stifled another yawn and tried to focus on her apparently angry landlord, Mr Donne. He glared at her, two red spots highlighting his pasty cheeks, but she pretended not to notice. He had dragged her out of a well-deserved Saturday morning lie-in, and she wasn’t in the mood for his histrionics.

  ‘I’ve been standing here for ages. A man has better things to do,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Yes, quite.’ Like sleep, she wanted to add, but didn’t. She was so tired it was an effort just to keep her eyes open. It had been a long, hard week and she desperately needed a rest. Thoughts of Ashleigh and her great-aunt’s kind offer had kept her awake most nights, as had a backlog of genealogical charts and ongoing research projects which had forced her to stay up long past her usual bedtime. The last thing she wanted was a conversation with Mr Donne. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

  ‘For starters, you can tell that brat of yours to turn the TV down. It’s so loud a person can’t hear themselves think downstairs. I’ve told you before, I won’t stand for it.’

  ‘It can’t be as bad as all that, I can barely hear it from here.’ Melissa tried not to show the irritation rising rapidly inside her. Jolie did have a tendency to turn the sound up too much, but today it was at a perfectly reasonable level for most people.

  ‘Then you need your hearing tested, Ms Grantham.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said curtly, ‘I’ll ask Jolie to turn it down. Perhaps you could do something for me in return? The heating doesn’t seem to be working and as I believe it was supposed to be included in the rent, I’d be grateful if you could fix it as soon as possible.’ She shivered, despite wearing the thick bathrobe and slippers. The little flat was perpetually damp and cold, no matter what the weather was like outside.

  The landlord puffed out his chest in indignation, his beetle brows almost meeting in the middle as he fixed her with a malevolent look. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the heating, Ms Grantham, it’s working perfectly downstairs. If you’ve broken any radiators, it’s up to you to have them seen to.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘And if you don’t like it here, you’re welcome to leave at any time. In fact, that’s what I came to say. I want you gone by next week because my son needs a place to kip for a while. You’re nothing but trouble anyhow. You and that noisy kid of yours.’

  ‘What? You can’t do that. The contract said we have rented this flat until the end of this month. If you wanted to change it you’d have to give one month’s notice in writing.’

  ‘Well maybe I did write to you. Perhaps the letter got lost?’ He smirked, looking pleased with himself for coming up with that little lie. ‘I’ll give you a copy.’

  Melissa narrowed her eyes at him, anger finally getting the better of her. ‘Now you listen to me, Mr Donne. I’ll be very happy to leave this disgusting hovel, but I’m not going for another three weeks and if you try anything, I’ll get on to my solicitor.’ She slammed the door in his face, restraining the urge to shove the self-important little man down the stairs.

  ‘The nerve of the man!’ Righteous indignation sustained her as far as the kitchen, then despair hit her with full force. ‘Shit, shit, shit …’ She banged a fist into the nearest cupboard door, but regretted it the instant pain streaked up her arm. She sank onto one of the two rickety bar stools which served as kitchen chairs and slumped over the counter, her head cradled on top of her arms. What am I going to do?

  This was the third flat she’d rented in two years and something always seemed to go wrong. It was difficult to find properties within walking distance of Jolie’s school. She didn’t have much hope of finding another, especially at such short notice. In fact, it would be downright impossible. If they were staying in London, they needed to be close enough so that Jolie could walk back on her own on the days Melissa worked away from home.

  But were they staying in London? Melissa still couldn’t make up her mind.

  Heaving a sigh, she stared out of the grimy window, which overlooked a railway track and the back of a windowless building. Filthy bricks, covered with graffiti, stretched as far as the eye could see; a thoroughly depressing sight and one she definitely wouldn’t miss. She thought she must be mad to hesitate for even a fraction of a second, but she still felt there was something strange about her great-aunt’s sudden offer. Not to mention her timely appearance in Melissa’s life. It was simply too good to be true.

  A train rumbled by, causing the house to shake as if in an earthquake, but she barely noticed any longer. Instead she wondered idly how the graffiti-artists managed to get up so high to do their paintings. Surely it wasn’t possible to bring a ladder onto a busy railway and paint away without anyone noticing?

  Trying her best to put all thoughts of her problems firmly out of her mind for the moment, she thought that now she was awake, she might as well stay up and get on with some work. She’d had a breakthrough on one of the family trees yesterday and needed to write up her notes. First things first, though. She went to ask Jolie what she’d like for breakfast.

  ‘Shh, I’ll miss the end of the programme,’ was the reply.

  Melissa opened her mouth to tell Jolie off for being so rude, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. She didn’t want to start the weekend on bad terms and lately Jolie had become very difficult and moody, even more so since the visit to Ashleigh. Melissa supposed it was the onset of puberty, but it was definitely another thing she could do without right now. ‘Fine, get your own breakfast then,’ was all she said.

  She headed back towards the kitchen and wished that she could start the day all over again. She barely made it as far as the hall before the doorbell rang once more, however. As she reached for the handle, she realised she’d forgotten to tell Jolie to turn the sound down. This made her even more cross and she yanked the door open.

  ‘Yes, I was just about to tell her,’ she started to say in a belligerent voice, only to stop mid-sentence. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  Steve was the last person she’d expected to see and the impact was therefore doubly devastating. Although her brain had accepted the fact that he’d left her for someone else, her body had not. It was always a struggle not to show him that a part of her still wanted him back. Normally, when she knew a meeting was inevitable, she had time to steel herself beforehand and retreat behind a carefully constructed shell of indifference. Not so this morning. His rugged good looks had the sort of effect they’d always had on her and she fought hard to regain her composure. Clenching her fist inside the pocket of her bathrobe, she felt the nails digging into the palm of her hand. She concentrated on the pain it caused rather than the wave of longing that swept through her.

  ‘Nice to see you, too.’ Steve looked almost as irritated as she herself had been only a moment before. ‘Is she ready?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Jolie, of course. Who d’you think?’

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you? Had a heavy night last night or something? I said I was coming to pick her up at ten and you said that was fine.’

  ‘Oh, for your mother’s birthday lunch.’ Melissa’s brain, which had temporarily stopped working, crunched into gear. She frowned. ‘But you said Sunday. Surely, her birthday is tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, yes, but I said we were having lunch today, Saturday, because I’ve got something else on tomorrow. Don’t tell me she isn’t ready? We’re going to be late as it is.’ He groaned and ran a hand through the silky dark hair Melissa remembered so well. It brought back memories she didn’t want to dwell on and she shivered with the effort to keep them suppressed.

  ‘I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. Just give me ten minutes and she’ll be ready, okay
?’

  ‘Ten minutes, not a second more.’ Without so much as a ‘goodbye’, he stomped off down the stairs and slammed the door to the street, making Melissa wince. She expected Mr Donne to come charging out to complain yet again, and shut her own door hurriedly.

  ‘Jolie, come on, quickly, you’ve got to get dressed,’ she shouted, springing into action.

  They managed it, but only just. Melissa thanked her lucky stars she had at least bought and wrapped her former mother-in-law’s present, a silk scarf in the exact shade of green that was Beatrice’s favourite colour. She shoved the parcel into Jolie’s hands, gave her a quick hug and waved her off. ‘Behave yourself now, you know what your gran is like.’

  She wasn’t really worried, however. Beatrice was strict, but Melissa also knew that Steve’s mother had a soft spot for Jolie and the two of them had always enjoyed each other’s company. Once you got to know her, Beatrice wasn’t half as scary as she seemed on first acquaintance and Melissa still had a good relationship with her, despite the divorce.

  She stood for a moment by the window, watching as the car sped away down the street with an angry roar. Apart from Jolie and her father, it also contained Daisy, the woman who had lured Steve away, and a toddler who was apparently Jolie’s half-sister. The thought of that child, conceived while Melissa and Steve were still married, was like a knife-edge of pain slicing through her and Melissa quickly pulled away from the window.

  She stood in the silent flat, battling the feelings of resentment, depression and heartache that always followed a meeting with Steve.