by Janet Woods
‘Siana . . . Siana . . . Siana.’
The name seemed to come whispering through the grass and was strangely comforting. She turned her face to the growing warmth of the sun, to the slightest kiss of dew against her cheek. When she opened her eyes again, she found the day clothed in a golden light. The grass bowed before the breeze, the long slender stalks were resilient, their ears fire-tipped, as if an army marched through the field holding flaming arrows aloft.
Her stepfather’s trousers bulged fatly with air and flapped about, so they looked as if they might leap off the line and dance. She felt light, reassured, as though someone had taken her under their protection.
She gazed at her mother, saying with a sense of wonder, ‘I think I felt my great-grandmother near.’
Daisy, suddenly discovering herself lost in the forest of whispering, waving stalks, let out a howl of distress.
Siana turned towards her then back to her mother, her eyes appealing to her, for there was something a little frightening about what she’d experienced. ‘Did you hear her call too?’
Megan gave a faint smile, not bothering to pretend her daughter referred to Daisy. ‘What you felt is inherited from her, Siana mine. She believed we were descended from the marcher lords, and they had a mighty powerful way with them.’
‘And are we?’
Their eyes met in complete understanding. ‘So they say, but the knowing of it is one thing, the proving another.’ A kiss landed on her cheek. ‘Tell no one of it, for what people cannot understand they try to destroy.’ When Daisy began to grizzle, Megan said practically, ‘Fetch our Daisy here for a cuddle. I’ll give her the last of the milk and she’ll settle down for a nap whilst you go about your business.’
‘You’ll be all right on your own, Ma?’
‘I’ll be all right. The babby isn’t due for a month.’
Siana watched her mother go into the house before she turned back to the washing tub.
When she checked later, she found her mother asleep, Daisy snuggled against her chest, her thumb in her mouth. It was easy to sleep when hunger drained the energy from you.
2
The rectory was a good two miles from where Siana lived, on the other side of the village of Cheverton Chase.
Siana’s long legs carried her rapidly over the hill and onto the path leading through the woods. The woods and everything in them belonged to the squire. On the left edge was Croxley Farm, tenanted by her stepbrother. Further on was the labourers’ cottage lived in by his sister. Having grown up tormented by the pair’s bullying ways, Siana despised Hannah and feared Tom.
Except for the wind soughing in the branches above her head, it was quiet and peaceful when the shade of the trees enclosed her. She took a careful look around in case either of them was lying in wait for her. Standing quite still for a moment, she listened to the birds and the wind. As she absorbed the earthy odour of dampness into her body, she sensed someone watching her.
Her eyes snapped open in alarm, to discover a squirrel poised for flight on a fallen tree. The creature took her breath away with its polished red coat, bright eyes and bushy tail. For a moment they stared at each other, then she laughed with the sheer joy of the discovery of it. Chattering in alarm, it spiralled up a tree and scolded her soundly from the safety of a branch.
‘Don’t worry. However hungry we get, I’d never let you end up in the cooking pot,’ she whispered, smiling at its nonsense. ‘Just be careful you don’t come across Tom for he’d kill you for the fun of it.’
Beneath her feet, the roots of trees were entwined fingers of mossy greenness. She avoided the boggy patches. Although her boots were stout, they were old army boots passed down through the family. They would have to do Josh a turn after her, so she was careful not to slip or get too much muck on them, which would crack the leather even more.
The rectory was a short way past the church. It was a small church, built from local stone, the square Norman tower dwarfed by yew trees. The church had been built by the Forbes family two centuries earlier, and was carefully distanced from Cheverton Manor so the bells wouldn’t prove disruptive to the landowner.
The village itself consisted of a muddy, narrow lane flanked by low cottages. Most of the dwellings had a sty housing a pig or two, or some chickens scratching in the dirt. There was a handpump for water set in the middle of the lane. A perpetual and unhealthy stench permeated the village. It attracted flies, which swarmed over the children in summer. Cramped as the Skinner family was, Siana was glad she didn’t live in the village.
Up by the quiet woods the world seemed far away, her troubles few.
When she reached the rectory, she straightened her hair, then knocked at the back door and waited to be admitted into the kitchen.
Siana smiled at Mrs Leeman as she slipped her arms through the white apron the woman held out for her. She liked coming to the rectory. The house had an upstairs with five big bedrooms, and the downstairs had a drawing room, a library and a dining room as well as the big kitchen.
Her ma wouldn’t know what to do with such grandness, she thought. Their whole cottage could be swallowed up by the drawing room with spare lengths around the edges for a garden, even though the Skinners’ was a bigger cottage than those in the village proper.
She had come by the job quite by chance. Drawn by the woman’s cries for help, she had come across the reverend’s housekeeper in the woods. Mrs Leeman had been gathering blackberries and had tripped over a root and badly wrenched her ankle.
Siana had supported her, carrying her home on her back. Then, because the woman was upset and in pain, she had completed Mrs Leeman’s tasks for the day before fetching her employer from the church. After a whispered conversation between them, she’d been offered some work until Mrs Leeman recovered. When the woman had, Siana was given a permanent few hours’ work a week.
There was an unexpected bonus. A few weeks later, she’d been discovered laboriously spelling out the words of a book in the library when she should have been dusting. Far from being annoyed, the Reverend Richard White had offered to teach her to read. That had been over six months ago and Siana was making good progress, although she lived in dread of her stepfather finding out she was working. One day he was bound to.
It was Siana’s job to iron all the linen, using heavy, black smoothing irons which were heated on the range top. She was careful not to burn herself, or the linen, and kept the edges straight and neat and the folds sharp, as the housekeeper had taught her.
Mrs Leeman smiled kindly at her. ‘The reverend said he’ll have time to listen to you read after you finish your work.’
Siana’s heart leapt as she eagerly went about her tasks. After the ironing, there was the silver to clean. She polished the little cross her mother had given her as well, admiring it before securing it back inside her skirt. Who would have thought she’d ever own anything so precious and pretty?
After the silver it was the turn of the heavy furniture, brought to a deep glow by an application of beeswax. When it was polished, it seemed as if she’d lit a fire inside the wood for its ruby depths seemed to contain leaping flames. The house smelled lovely as she polished the curving hand rail of the staircase.
Mrs Leeman was baking. Delicious smells wafted through the house, setting Siana’s stomach rumbling. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, and her supper would consist of thin potato soup with cabbage and, if she was lucky, a dumpling floating in it. The last of the mutton would go to her stepfather.
She sat back on her heels, admiring her handiwork and indulging in her favourite daydream. One day she’d live in a house like this, with pretty ornaments on the mantelpiece, lace curtains at the windows and food in the larder. Her daughters would never go hungry, and would go to school like proper little misses in white cotton pinafores over muslin dresses. On Sundays they’d wear ribbon-trimmed straw bonnets to church.
She jumped when somebody gently coughed behind her. Rising, she curtsied to the reverend,
keeping her eyes lowered out of respect and staring at his black, polished shoes. ‘Good day to you, sir.’
‘Good morning, Siana. Join me in my study in ten minutes and we’ll see how your reading has progressed.’
The reverend was a kindly looking, short man with pale cheeks. Middle-aged, he wore round glasses which gradually slipped to the end of his nose as he bent his head. He never thought her questions foolish, but answered them with patience, afterwards asking her if she understood, and explaining again if she didn’t.
The lesson progressed smoothly, she read a passage from the King James bible with hardly a hesitation, before solving some sums he’d set down on a piece of paper. ‘Good, you’ve grasped the concept of fractions,’ he murmured before enquiring, ‘How is your mother keeping, Siana?’
‘She’s very tired, sir. Carrying this babby has fair knocked the wind out of her.’
‘Baby.’
‘Sorry, sir. Baby then.’ She smiled; correcting her pronunciation had become a habit with him.
Mrs Leeman knocked at the door. ‘Master Daniel has arrived, sir. I’ve shown him to his room.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Leeman. Ask him to join us when he’s ready, then bring us some refreshment.’
Mrs Leeman looked uncertainly from one to the other. ‘All of you?’
‘That’s right, Mrs Leeman. I’ve decided to invite my favourite pupil for tea today.’
Mrs Leeman bobbed a curtsy and gave him a faint smile. ‘I’ll make sure there’s plenty of bread and butter on the plate then.’
‘Cake, Mrs Leeman, we shall have cake. I’m sure this young lady would enjoy a slice, wouldn’t you, Siana?’
‘I don’t rightly know, sir. I’ve never eaten cake before.’
‘Then you have a treat in store.’
Had Richard known, it would have been equally a treat for Siana to eat bread baked from milled wheat and spread with butter.
Siana had natural grace, Richard White thought as Daniel Ayres was introduced. If she was shocked by meeting the lad she gave no indication. In fact, she gave every indication she was unaware of the connection between them when she bobbed a swift curtsy.
As for Daniel, he smiled ironically at the gesture and lifted her hand to his lips, not in the least disconcerted by her ragged gown. ‘I’m delighted to meet a relative-by-marriage to my mother.’ The distasteful emphasis was marked.
She gazed blankly at him for a moment, then spots of colour rose to her cheeks as she noted the ironic inflection of his words. In an almost hostile voice she hastened to inform him. ‘Tom Skinner is not my brother; he’s my stepbrother.’
‘My pardon.’ The pair joined glances in a moment of mutual understanding, then Siana withdrew her hand. She stood awkwardly for a moment or two whilst Daniel gazed questioningly at her.
Richard drew her attention with a gentle cough and indicated the chair with a nod of his head. Realizing manners dictated she be seated first, she scrambled to comply, appearing slightly flustered as she folded her hands in her lap.
‘Perhaps you’d pour the tea, Siana. Find a seat, Daniel; you’ve grown so large, you’re blocking the light from the window. How are your studies progressing?’
Daniel looked slightly put out. ‘I’ve reached the levels required, and have been assigned to a local attorney to acquire practical experience, as my father arranged. I should like to travel abroad before I practise at the bar, though.’
The elaborate silver teapot in Siana’s hand hovered in mid-air. ‘How wonderful, Mr Ayres. Which countries will you visit?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘Oh, Italy and Greece, I suppose,’ he said carelessly.
Her eyes began to shine as she said rather formally, ‘I should like to visit Rome and see for myself the artistic works of Michelangelo.’
Daniel’s mouth dropped open for a moment, then his chin assumed a slightly superior tilt. ‘I daresay you would. Do you have a particular favourite?’
Her forehead creased in thought. ‘How can I have a favourite when I’ve only seen drawings of them? Reverend White says The Heroic Captive is very fine, but I’d like to see the Pietà .’ She applied herself once more to her task, handing them each a plate, then offering round a tray containing the neat slices of cake Mrs Leeman had sent in, adding unnecessarily, ‘I’ve been reading a book about Michelangelo. It’s very interesting.’
The reverend smiled at that. So did Daniel. He nodded when Daniel responded to her with a snippet of information about Michelangelo. Before too long Daniel dropped his patronizing tone and Siana her shyness, and there was an interesting conversation generated on the subject.
After her awkward start there was no false pride about Siana. Anything she didn’t know she asked about, storing every detail in her remarkable memory. The three of them passed a pleasant and relaxed hour, chatting and laughing together.
When the clock chimed, Siana’s eyes widened and consternation filled them. ‘I must get home to help my ma . . . mother.’
Daniel rose. ‘I’d like to talk some more. Allow me to escort you home.’
She gazed at the cake she’d forgotten to eat and sighed, saying straightforwardly, ‘Thank you, but it would be better if you didn’t. Someone might see us and tell my stepfather.’
‘Would that matter very much?’ Daniel quizzed.
She nodded and turned away from the young man. Her eyes engaged her employer’s. ‘Do you know anything about the marcher lords, sir?’
Surprise filled Richard. Where had she learned of such ancient people? ‘They were staunch patriots and fierce defenders of the Welsh border. They were very powerful lords indeed. I have a book on the subject somewhere. If you’d like to wait a moment, I’ll find it for you.’
‘I have to finish the one on Michelangelo first. Perhaps next week?’
He wanted to grin at her earnest expression. ‘May one ask why you want to learn about the marcher lords?’
She gave an awkward little shrug that was altogether charming. ‘My mother mentioned them, that’s all. She believes we’re descended from them.’
He recalled that her mother was Welsh-born. For a long time after she’d arrived in the district there had been whispers that Megan Lewis worshipped the old gods. But what those old gods were, nobody seemed to know when questioned, and Richard himself had seen no signs of paganism in her. She attended church, seemed sincere when she prayed and was respectful towards him.
‘Until next time then.’ He saw Siana glance again at the uneaten cake and knew she would be too proud to ask for it, however hungry she was. He placed a couple of slices in a napkin and handed it to her. ‘I can’t let you go without tasting the cake. Take home a slice for your mother, as well. I’m sure she will enjoy it.’
Her smile was that of a happy child as she left, carefully carrying the small parcel.
‘What do you make of her, Daniel?’ he asked when the door closed behind her.
‘The girl’s surprising when you get to know her,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘She’s quick-minded as well as a beauty. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been married off to some peasant to breed his brats. How old is she?’
‘Seventeen, I believe. I was thinking of offering her a position.’
‘As a maid?’
‘She’s already that. As my clerk to start with. She’s good with her letters and figures and has a quick, enquiring mind. I could train her, so eventually she could teach at the parish school or take up an appointment as a governess. As her employer I would be given the opportunity to have some say in her future. I think she deserves to be offered more from life than would otherwise be available to girls of her class.’
‘Can it be you’re intrigued by her supposed connection to the marcher lords?’
Richard gave a faint smile. ‘I have only just heard of it. That she’s a lost princess is a little far-fetched, and the claim would not be provable after the passing of so many generations. However, if the thought gives her some sense of self-worth I’d be the first to enco
urage it.’
Daniel laughed. ‘Always the philanthropist, sir. But my father might have something to say about you hiring a girl for the job. He might also question the morality of such an undertaking.’
‘I cannot see how when the girl wouldn’t reside here. After all, nobody questions my relationship with Mrs Leeman.’
‘Who is old enough to be your mother.’
‘And I’m old enough to be Siana’s father. Perhaps I’d see fit to remind my esteemed cousin about his lack of taste in the man he chose to wed your mother. Tom Skinner is an oaf.’
‘We both know he was chosen for his broad back and farming knowledge rather than any sensibilities he may possess. The marriage was forced on my mother in a fit of pique.’
‘You’re nearly twenty-one, Daniel. The understanding between Sir Edward and your mother was terminated a year ago. Your father has educated and supported you, and will continue doing so until you are able to earn a decent living for yourself. The farm could have been yours too, but since you chose not to accept it he was compelled to make the best arrangement he could for the working of it. And may I remind you, Elizabeth was not obliged to accept the man as a husband.’
‘What else could she do? My father had ruined her reputation. She had very few means of her own for support and nowhere else to go.’ He shrugged. ‘My father knew I wasn’t cut out to be a farmer. If he’d waited a year or so, I’d have been able to look after her myself. Or he could have married her himself. He owed her that after leading her to expect it for all those years.’
And you expected to be made his heir, Richard thought, knowing exactly how much Daniel’s illegitimacy rankled in his mind. As far as Richard was concerned, Elizabeth Skinner had ruined her own reputation. She had entered into a sinful relationship of her own free will, knowing the man was already wed to another.
When Edward Forbes had become a widower, Elizabeth’s expectations of marriage had been disappointed. Although he liked Daniel’s mother, Richard considered it was perfectly reasonable for Squire Forbes to select a partner who was morally sound as well as young and healthy. He tried to get this through to Daniel without causing offence.