Realm of Darkness

by C F Dunn

  “Did you find it interesting, Professor?”

  “Uh, yes – yes I did. Thank you,” I added, because it seemed the polite thing to say. I was desperate to get a move on before I dropped the journal and gave the game away. The door to the library opened, but she didn’t go to her desk nor did she look away from my face.

  “Timeless,” she said.

  “I’m sorry?” I queried.

  “Knowledge is timeless. It unlocks many secrets we thought were forgotten and some we would choose to forget.” I looked doubtfully at the woman whose skin was the colour of dry oak leaves and as ancient as a living wood. Her flimsy, moss-green blouse rippled briefly in the breeze from the doors. “Men will go to any length to protect the knowledge contained in these books, and any length to obtain it. Any lengths.” Her hand rested over Guy, stroking the silky cover as she talked, the only movement in her otherwise still body.

  Why did she feel the need to tell me this? Did she want me to agree – or did she know what I had done? In any other circumstance I would have gladly enjoined a lively debate on the power of knowledge and how the pursuit and acquisition of it had shaped the world in which we lived, but now I could only offer “Yes” for want of something more insightful to say, because I knew only too well the lengths to which I had been prepared to go.

  “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get on. I’ll put this back for you.” Tilting her head, she assessed the photograph. “An intelligent face, but there’s something else – ruthless, perhaps, and subtle. Honesty cannot be hidden, but then neither can vice. You can see it in the eyes – he hides what he truly is, but then I expect you already know that.” She looked at me directly and I flinched from the canyons of her pupils.

  “Um…”

  “It must be clear in the way he writes. Do you remember the code or would you like me to remind you of it?”

  “The c-code?” I stuttered.

  “For the security door downstairs. You are going downstairs, aren’t you? For Richardson’s journal. That is why you’re here, isn’t it, Professor?”

  Bluff or not to bluff? If she’d sussed Guy in seconds from a photograph, what lie had she detected in me? And then it struck me that I didn’t have to lie or complicate; I had to tell the absolute truth, so I did. “Yes, that is precisely why I’m here. And thank you, I remember the code perfectly well.”

  She nodded, smiled, showing tiny teeth as blunt as tree stumps and brilliantly white, and turned back to her desk, leaving me standing there like an idiot. I remembered to move.

  Once beyond the coded door in the secluded vacuum of the vault, I came back to life. I let my heart rate subside to a steady beat and went to find the archive box in which the journal belonged. Yes, belonged, or at any rate resided. It had never been mine to take in the first place; I was not its heir. If any, Matthew might claim it, and, until we knew what to do with it, his secret would be safest here, hidden from the world as conspicuously as he lived in it.

  I replaced the lid and slid the box back into place and the weight – the burden of trespass – lifted and I felt free of it.

  Sometime later, when I emerged from the bowels of the library, the librarian looked up as I passed her desk. “Did you achieve what you came for, Professor?”

  I didn’t hesitate to answer this time. “Yes, thank you, I did.”

  She closed the book she had been reading, her hand partially obscuring Guy’s face. “Congratulations on your engagement. ‘May happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth.’” It sounded like a blessing.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking at my ringless finger, smiling in return. I didn’t ask her how she knew, nor did she offer an explanation.

  At the end of April, Matthew drove us to the courthouse to sign the documents giving me Power of Attorney over his estate and equal access to all that he owned. As out of place in his city suit as a courtier in a Quaker meeting, George Redgrave took him to one side and none too discreetly tried to persuade him to change his mind. I couldn’t hear Matthew’s reply, but no doubt it ran along similar lines to the one he had given me when I attempted to do the same earlier, except Matthew’s answer left me glowing with pleasure, not subdued and thwarted as Redgrave now was.

  I took the opportunity to make an appointment to seek Duffy’s advice. A week later, and barely hours before my family arrived, I was again in my defending attorney’s office surveying the all-too-familiar scene from the window as she drew up a chair. “I didn’t think to see you back here anytime soon. What can I do you for now, honey?”

  I put my bag on the floor next to me. “I didn’t know who to ask, Duffy, but I need some advice. Do you remember the prostitute who was killed back in October?”

  She flicked her hair back from her shoulder. “The one you thought Staahl killed after that time he followed you to the diner?”

  Golly, she had a good memory. “Yes. She had a little girl. I think she’s living with an aunt now. I would like to set up a trust fund, or something like it, to help provide for a college education when she’s older.”

  Duffy laced her fingers together in a way I felt sure lawyers were specifically taught. “Well, now, that’s a mighty fine thing to do and you can afford it.”

  “No, I don’t want to touch Matthew’s money.”

  She held up a hand, rings glinting. “It’s yours too, Emma; you’re going to be a very wealthy woman. That sure was a sudden turnaround from being good friends.” She laughed. “Now why am I not surprised you two are getting wed, huh? You just tell me that.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, we were – we are – the best of friends; isn’t that the basis for a good relationship?”

  “Sure is, although I’m not sure the court would have accepted your definition of it. Still, justice was done and you’re looking very well for it, I must say. Now, this child – it’s an education fund you want? It’s not something I know much about, but I have a friend who does. Would you like me to contact him for you?” I nodded. “OK, so this fund’ll be in your name alone?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want her to know who it’s from. Can it be anonymous?”

  Duffy’s thin, dark eyebrows rose. “It can, I believe. You’ll need to give me your banking details, how much you want to give, that sort of thing.”

  I handed her a brown, sealed envelope. I’d been taking lessons from Matthew with his meticulous organization. “I think this is everything you need.”

  She opened the envelope and scanned the single sheet of A4. “Can I ask why you’re doing this, honey?”

  “The little girl lost everything to that man, Duffy; call it natural justice.”

  She gave a slight shrug and put the sheet of paper back in the envelope. “I’ll see what I can do and get back to you. In the meantime, good luck – you’re deserving of it.”

  That had been the morning. I raced back to my apartment to find Matthew waiting for me.

  “I’m not late, am I?” I asked, dashing past him to the bedroom, already taking off my jacket. “I’ve left the car in the car park – here’s the keys.” I chucked them vaguely in his direction, hearing him catch them as I pulled my long-sleeved top over my head, dropped it on my bed, and began to rootle for a clean shirt in my chest of drawers.

  He came to watch me, an amused expression on his face. “Successful?”

  “Mmm?” Bother, the shirt needed ironing. I found my espresso-coloured top instead.

  “Your appointment – was it successful?”

  I stuck an arm through and pulled the slim-fitting sleeve over my wrist. “Oh, yes, I think so, thanks.”

  “Good.” He hadn’t asked why I needed the car, and I hadn’t told him. “Dan’s just called to say they’ll be here in about twenty minutes. There were no problems; it was a smooth flight.”

  “Twenty minutes! That’s sooner than I expected.” I struggled to find the polo neck. Matthew located it and I pulled it over my head, emerging feeling scruffy.

>   “No, that’s precisely the time we said. Here…” He smoothed my hair and freed my ponytail from the confines of the tight neck. “Emma, before your family arrive, I wanted to tell you…”

  I cast around me, barely listening; there was so much to do. “Have you seen my hairbrush?” He picked it off the end of the bed where I’d left it that morning. “Thanks. You were saying?” I dragged the brush through my hair; it stuck stubbornly in some knots.

  “Emma, listen – you need to know that Maggie’s back at work and she’s coming to the wedding.”

  My heart sank. “You told her?”

  “Henry saw her last week. He gave her the choice of whether to come – we thought it better that way – and she took some time to think about it, but yes, she’ll be there.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It was what I wanted and why I’d said we should marry in the States after all, but part of me had secretly hoped that she wouldn’t come so that I didn’t have to face her and feign an affection she wouldn’t want, and I didn’t feel.

  “OK,” I nodded slowly, “that’s good.”

  “It’s a first step,” he said. “I know it won’t be easy for either of you.”

  “For any of us,” I acknowledged.

  “I think perhaps you should meet before the day, just in case.” Just in case she went bananas at the very sight of me. Despite trying to sound positive, little pucker marks running across his brow said otherwise. I reached up and kissed the telltale lines.

  “I think that’s a very good idea. She’s your granddaughter and she needs to be there.”

  His forehead smoothed. “I won’t let anything happen, I promise.” But we both knew that Maggie’s resentment of me went back further than our first meeting, deep into her childhood from which her recent breakdown stemmed, and nothing – or no one – could begin to guess how she might react.

  My future home remained out of bounds to me until the wedding, but not the Barn. Having greeted my family and seen them settled into the house they were borrowing for the week, the following morning I was already under siege with Pat on one side and Ellie on the other.

  Pat had a selection of blooms on the table awaiting my decision. A last-minute hitch with the flowers meant I had to select an alternative at short notice. Unfortunately, I was also trying to get some work completed before the wedding, and the two things were mutually incompatible, but equally demanding.

  “Perhaps the orchids then, Emma; they will last and go well with your dress.” She held a piece of silk next to the creamy orchid.

  “That’s lovely,” I agreed, with half an eye on the computer screen.

  “But peonies are more romantic.” Ellie thrust a blush peony between the laptop and my nose.

  “They are; I like peonies,” I concurred, peeking around the blowsy flower-head looking for the shift key. “I just need to send this e-mail and I’ll be with you.” I clicked send and waited for the sent confirmation message.

  “Emma, this is for your wedding,” Pat said in exasperation, “and it’s a rush order.”

  I closed the lid and looked attentive. “Sorry, Josh needed his work back ASAP.”

  Pat adopted her best schoolmarm voice. “Well, Josh isn’t getting married.”

  “Yes, sorry,” I apologized again. “I like the peony best – it’s more British and sort of pallid and fluffy around the edges.”

  Ellie laughed and Pat tried not to smile in case it encouraged me. “Right, I’ll get these ordered for the tables. So, you’re happy with your bridal bouquet?” Roses and peonies and tiny, sweet-smelling flowers in creams and apricot with little green tongues of unfurling ferns. Yum. I nodded with enthusiasm. “Now, seating arrangements for the church,” Pat said firmly, placing a list in front of me.

  “Golly Moses, Em,” Beth said, looking up at the expanse of the Barn as she scooped Archie from the baby seat. “You’re going to live here?”

  I kissed Archie and for once was rewarded with a smile. “Er, no, we’re around the corner.” Archie grabbed my finger. “Hello, Archie.” We shook fingers.

  “The big house? The b-i-g white house?” She used her free hand to exaggerate. “So, who lives here?” I wrinkled my nose at the baby and he tried to wrench it off. Beth prodded my arm.

  “Oh, Matthew’s er… his parents.”

  “You don’t sound very sure.”

  “Of course I’m sure; I’m just stunned by my nephew’s sudden acceptance of me. He cried yesterday.” I blew a raspberry at him.

  Beth reached inside the car for her bag. “He was tired from the flight, Em, and I think it’s more likely to be the other way round. Rob!” she called to her husband in conversation with Dan. He looked up. “Can you bring Emma’s dress in for me, love?” She closed the car door. “Hey, Em, you’ve caught the sun.” My hand went instinctively to my face, visualizing skin as speckled as a thrush. “You should get out more; it suits you – you look quite glowing. Unless it’s the sex of course.”

  “Beth!” I hissed, glancing around, relieved to see we were out of earshot. “We better get inside before you totally embarrass me in front of the family.”

  She grasped my arm. “Look, before we go in, what are Matthew’s parents like? I can’t help thinking… you know.”

  I was at a total loss. “No – what?”

  “Well, Matthew is so… so I don’t know…”

  “Handsome, kind, intelligent?”

  She gurgled, sounding like her son. “He is too. No, I mean he’s very proper, very correct, old-fashioned, I suppose you could say, though I don’t suppose you’d notice, Em – you belong in another era. I was just wondering, are his parents very patrician? Only,” she went on hurriedly, “the twins can be a bit of a handful and they might forget their Ps and Qs. Alex gets so shy he won’t say boo to a goose let alone look at one, and Flora – well, you know what Flora’s like – I never know what she’s going to come out with next. And they’ve been squabbling more recently, which can get embarrassing. We were in the café the other day and they started up this ridiculous argument about nothing and they were at it hammer and tongs. I swear we won’t see those customers again.” Archie patted her mouth and she kissed his little fat hand.

  “I wouldn’t worry; there’s nothing intimidating about Pat and Henry.”

  Pat had plied the children with food before they’d stepped through the door. She had even managed to overcome Alex’s natural reserve and he was chatting away happily with a glass in one hand and what looked like a muffin in the other. Flora had shown Joel her new tooth and was now finding his crewcut entertaining. She kept bouncing the flat of her hand on the straw stubble as he squatted in front of her beaming, and she threw her head back laughing. I had been momentarily stunned when I learned he had taken the jet to the UK to collect my family. When I said as much to Matthew, he had shaken his head and smiled as if every twenty-three-year-old could fly a private jet. Mum, on the other hand, stood awkwardly to one side watching them, seemingly unsure whether to intervene.

  “We’d better rescue Mum,” I said to my sister. “She’s looking very formal and British.”

  As I watched the two families relax, I began to appreciate how accomplished the Lynes were at projecting the image of a conventional family, and how adept they had become, adopting – like a mantle – the illusion of normality. So, by the time Matthew joined us, I could almost believe it to be true. Almost.

  Later that afternoon, as the children exhausted their quota of “being good” and their tempers, and those of their parents, began to fray, Matthew and I took them down to the paddock to meet the horses. Ollie lifted his head when he heard Matthew’s voice and trotted over to greet us, thrusting his nose into my outstretched hand as an awestruck Flora gaped at him. She shoved past Alex to touch Ollie’s mane. Alex hung back.

  “Carefully, Flora – no sudden movements or you might startle him,” I told her, but Ollie nuzzled her hair in return and she giggled.

  “I’m going to have ri
ding lessons in the summer, Mummy said,” Flora announced with a degree of self-importance, now stroking Ollie’s nose, but more carefully, despite the eagerness in her face. “I wanted to before but she said I was too little and I’m not now because now I’m bigger.”

  “Yeah, you’d bounce if you fell off, chunky monkey, chunky monkey…”

  Flora scowled at her brother. “You’re jealous because you’re not having lessons like me.”

  “No, I’m not! Riding is for sissy girls. I’m learning to fence, like Emma did.”

  “Emma’s a girl.”

  “No, she’s not, she’s grown up, it’s different.” Friction crept like sea-mist, chilling the air. This went beyond simple sibling rivalry and jet lag. As Alex and I watched Matthew show Flora how to saddle Lizzie – helping her tighten the girth straps of the glossy saddle under the horse’s belly, praising her all the while so that she grew with it, and blossomed – I asked him about his fencing lessons. All the time we chatted, he didn’t take his eyes off his sister, and it seemed to me that he tensed inside where a knot of envy bound him. I remembered all too well the rancour it had caused in Beth and me, and the years it had taken before we found friendship and parity. I didn’t want the children to go through what we endured, but neither did I know what could be done about it.

  “Is she going to be safe?” Beth asked as she joined us, and Matthew lifted Flora high enough so that she could swing her leg over Lizzie’s back and settle into the saddle.

  “Don’t be daft; you know he wouldn’t take any risks with her,” I carefully chided to drive away her doubt. I had to admit – albeit silently – that my niece looked awfully small on the animal’s back as Matthew led her away into a slow, wide circle, a beam of delight across her shining face.