A Witch Alone (The Winter Witch Trilogy #3)

by Ruth Warburton

  At last the third bell went and she disentangled her arms from mine and wiped her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’ She pulled her heavy bag to her shoulder. ‘I know you have to do what you have to do. When will you go?’

  ‘Soon.’ I looked out of the window at the flawless sky and imagined the blood-soaked Thames beneath that same insouciant blue. ‘As soon as I’ve been to London.’

  I skived my last lesson and went straight to the station, leaving an answerphone message for Dad about a fictitious revision session with Emmaline.

  On the train up to London I tried phone after phone – my grandmother’s office, her home, her mobile, Marcus’ mobile, my grandmother’s home again – and in between I ran over and over what could have happened, imagining worse and worse scenarios. If Vauxhall Bridge had gone, did that mean the Effra was free too? Had another Chair … ? My mind flinched away, refusing to complete the sentence. But the question lurked, dark and unspoken.

  As the train drew into London I got up and stood by the door, tensed and ready, not certain what I would find. I had my hand on the ‘open’ button, and my bag on my shoulder. I don’t know what I expected – I’d lived in London through terrorist attacks and crises, but this was something different.

  Whatever I expected, it wasn’t what I found: Marcus, facing me exactly as the train slid to a halt, his black overcoat flapping in the wind, his face framed in the grimy window.

  ‘Your grandmother’s alive,’ he said as the doors opened.

  ‘Oh thank God.’ I jumped on to the platform. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. I wanted to kiss him for being alive and for having come to tell me about my grandmother. But instead I took a deep breath, trying to control my suddenly racing heart. ‘Th-thank you. How did you…?’

  ‘I got your message. I tried to call back, but you must have been in a tunnel.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Edward Throgmorton has died; natural causes or not, no one seems to know. But the Fleet and the Effra have broken free. The Chairs fought – fought hard. It was …’ he stopped and for the first time he looked shaken, groping for words. ‘Anna – your grandmother …’

  ‘You said she’s OK?’ I grabbed his arm hard, harder than I’d meant, and he winced.

  ‘I said she’s alive. She’s not OK.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘She’s hurt. Badly.’

  ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ve got a taxi waiting.’

  I heaved my bag on to my shoulder and followed him.

  The cab was slow and Marcus sat, biting his thumbnail and staring out of the window. I could see the muscles moving in his jaw as he clenched his teeth with each delay. I wanted to ask him what had happened, but I didn’t dare, with the cab driver just inches away and only thin plexi-glass between us.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ the taxi driver said over his shoulder as we waited in yet another jam. ‘It’s gridlock – all these bombs or whatever it’s supposed to be. They’ve shut all the bloody roads round Hyde Park and what with the underground being down … Oh here we go. Moving again.’

  Marcus said nothing, only nodded without speaking, but as the taxi drew to yet another halt at a set of red lights I saw a vein tick in his temple. He looked at me and bit his lip, and then at the taxi driver, who was staring furiously out of the windscreen. With great caution, Marcus lifted his finger to the window, pointed at the closest set of lights and whispered a word under his breath.

  The light turned green.

  Marcus glanced at me and gave a slightly guilty shrug, but I didn’t care. At this point I would have jumped on a broomstick if it got me there faster.

  At last, after what seemed like an interminable crawl through Kensington, the cab turned into the broad terraced crescent where my grandmother lived and I jumped out and knocked at the gleaming black front door. It swung open to reveal Miss Vane.

  ‘Is she here?’ I asked. Miss Vane nodded. ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stood aside and Marcus and I walked past her into the hall. ‘She’s in her bedroom.’

  My heart started to thud again as we climbed the carpeted stairs. It wasn’t just Miss Vane’s expression, her worried look. It was the wrongness of it all – my grandmother, my indomitable grandmother, in bed in the day. I’d never seen her ill, never seen her succumb to tiredness or pain. And now …

  At the landing I faced her tall, white-painted bedroom door and took a deep breath. Then I knocked.

  ‘Caaah …’ it was a harsh croak.

  ‘Go in,’ Miss Vane said.

  My grandmother was lying on top of the high, white bed, her head lolling against the pillows. And she looked as if she were dying. That was my immediate, crippling thought. Her black hair was loosed from its rigid chignon and straggled across the pillow. And there was something wrong with her face: her expression was strange, lopsided. Her dark eyes watched me with quiet intensity, following me as I crept across the room to kneel by her side, but her head did not turn.

  ‘Grandmother?’

  ‘A-aaah.’

  ‘Wh-what’s happened?’ I tried to speak normally, but I found myself taking great gulping breaths between my teeth, forcing back my panic.

  ‘She’s had a stroke, I think.’ Marcus’ voice was level and dead. ‘Is that right, ma’am?’

  ‘Essss.’ It was a hiss, no more. Accompanied by the faintest of lolling nods.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I pressed my hands to my mouth. My breath shuddered through my nose, before I could trust myself to speak. ‘P-please, you should be in hospital.’

  ‘No.’ That word at least was intelligible and her eyes flashed fire as she said it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Anna.’ It was Miss Vane’s quiet voice behind my shoulder. ‘I did take her in, but she discharged herself.’

  ‘But the doctors,’ I cried, ‘how could they let her go? Couldn’t they declare her unfit – unsound – something?’

  ‘She persuaded them.’ Miss Vane held out her hands helplessly. ‘She – she can be very persuasive.’

  ‘Get back in there,’ I said fiercely, ignoring Miss Vane, ignoring Marcus. I knelt by the bed and took my grandmother’s thin, ringed hand in mine. ‘Get back in hospital. You have to get well, do you hear me? You have to get well. I will not … You can’t – another person can’t die. You can’t!’

  Send them away … The voice spoke in my head, a thread, a whisper, so quiet I had to still everything, even my heart, to hear it. Miss Vane. Marcus. I have something to say.

  I looked up.

  ‘Can you give us a moment alone?’

  They both nodded and turned to go, their feet silent on the thick carpet. I heard the door click shut and then the thin whisper filled my head.

  We all die. I hope my time has not come yet. But if it has—

  ‘No!’ I shouted. I put my hands over my ears, knowing what was coming. But nothing could shut out my grandmother’s insistence.

  If it has, you must seize the Chair. Please, Anna. Please.

  ‘No! You will not die! I won’t let you.’ Tears were running down my face, hot and angry. I pulled her limp, unresisting hand to my cheek and gripped it there, the stones of her rings cutting into my cheek. ‘You can’t. I’m going to stop this.’

  Stop what?

  ‘The traitor – the person who’s doing this.’ I put her hand very carefully back on the white linen cover and then stood, wiping my cheeks with my sleeve. ‘Whoever’s done this to you. Grandmother – you said the traitor could have been acting for another country.’

  Yes … She closed her eyes. The voice in my head was almost gone, it was so faint.

  ‘Which country? Which?’

  No answer.

  ‘Did you think –’ I swiped my face fiercely and then pushed back my hair ‘– did you think it could be … Russia? The Others?’

  No answer. I waited, watching the rise and fall of her chest beneath her nightgown and
the restless movement of her eyes beneath the thin lavender lids.

  ‘Grandmother?’

  No answer.

  I knelt again, resting my face on the covers, feeling the cool softness of the linen against my hot forehead.

  ‘Grandmother …’ I reached out with all my magic, reaching for her across the dark void where she’d retreated. ‘Please … don’t go. Did you ever think the spy might be – Isabella? Is that what you thought?’

  It was like a cool sighing breath in my head, a relief, a surrender, a handing over of her burden of dark suspicions.

  Yes, she said, inside my skull. And then she turned her face slowly to the wall. The only sound was the whisper of her breath on the pillow, and my footsteps on the carpet as I turned to go.

  Outside the bedroom I stood with my back to the wall, struggling to keep a hold of myself. A fierce black wave broke over my head, drowning me, and I turned and pressed my cheek against the wall, digging my nails into the wallpaper as if it could anchor me to reality.

  If you’d asked me the day before if I loved my grandmother I probably would have said yes. But only because it seemed like what you should say. How could you not love your grandmother? In reality, I wouldn’t have known. My fierce, indomitable, iron-souled grandmother – how could you love something made of iron?

  Marcus came up the stairs, his face full of concern, and he put his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said.

  He took it away and stood watching me for a moment. Then he walked quietly back down the stairs towards the kitchen and I was alone.

  I opened the kitchen door at the foot of the stairs and Marcus raised his head from where he was sitting at the table.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘For before. I didn’t mean …’

  ‘Hey. It’s fine. Truly.’ He pushed a full jug of coffee towards me. ‘Here. You look like you need something. Or would something stronger … ?’ He nodded towards the door of the wine cellar and I shook my head.

  ‘No, coffee’s fine. Coffee’s good.’ I pushed back my tangled hair and suddenly realized how tired I was. ‘It feels a bit early for wine. What time is it, anyway?’

  ‘Only half-four. You can get back to Winter for supper, if you leave now.’

  Leave? How could I leave, with my grandmother like this? But how could I stay knowing what I knew …

  ‘Marcus,’ I said. Then I stopped.

  ‘Yes?’ He looked at me over the rim of his cup, his eyes soft and liquid like melted chocolate, the lamplight glinting off his chestnut hair.

  Was this stupid? Was I mad to go to Russia, plunge into the unknown? What could I do – one inexperienced girl against a swirling, shifting, malignant uncertainty?

  ‘I …’ I began again, then my courage failed me and I sighed. ‘Nothing. Do – do you think she’ll be OK? Elizabeth?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to make you false promises – you know the reality as well as I do. But she’s as tough as they come and she’s still holding the Falconbrook, which is pretty phenomenal, considering.’

  ‘What about the other rivers?’

  ‘The Tyburn was looking dicey at one stage, but it’s calmed down a bit. Margot and Knyvet are doing what they can with the Fleet. The Neckinger and the Effra are still free. We’re holding on.’ For now, was the unspoken coda. Until the next explosion, the next disaster. Until the spy struck again.

  ‘What do you think they’re trying to do?’ I asked. He sighed.

  ‘I don’t know. They’ve made no demands, so I can only think – they want to destroy us. Destroy the Ealdwitan. Take over. If that happens – well, it won’t be pretty.’

  There was silence and I stared down into the muddy depths of my cup. I swirled the last mouthful and the sooty dregs from the cafetiere rose up, like a cloud of tiny starlings swirling in a small dark sky.

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ I said at last.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I won’t be here to help. I’m – I’m going to … Russia.’

  For a minute he said nothing at all – the kitchen was completely still with astonishment. The only sound I could hear was the inexorable tick, tick of the clock, ticking down the time I had left. At last, as the silence stretched, I said, ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Russia?’ His voice burst out, loud in the quiet room. ‘With all this happening at home? Why?’

  ‘Because I’m starting to think …’ I ground to a halt, then forced myself on. ‘I think that I may know the identity of the spy.’

  Marcus leaned across the table, his fingers clenched around his cup. I could almost feel his shock reverberating through the wooden table top. Then he spoke and his voice was harsh with urgency.

  ‘Who? For God’s sake, tell me! Who?’

  I swallowed. Could I really do this? Could I really voice this horrible, disloyal, poisonous suspicion to Marcus?

  ‘Who?’ he shouted suddenly, so loud that I jumped and almost dropped my cup. ‘My father was killed by that damn spy! Doesn’t that give me some kind of right to your suspicions?’

  He was right. Of course he was right. I gripped the cup hard, my fingers damp and clammy, slipping on the china.

  ‘My … my mother.’

  ‘What?’ I don’t know what he’d been expecting – but that threw him. There was no faking the blank astonishment on his face. Then his expression turned to outrage. ‘No! Not Isabella – she loved … She’d never …’

  He trailed off, his face blank with a shock too great to process all at once. I could almost see his thoughts whirring furiously, trying to piece together the missing parts of the past.

  ‘I’m sorry, Marcus,’ I said. ‘I know you loved her – but she didn’t kill herself, you know that. It was too planned, too calculated. She did everything she could to protect me and I think she went too far. I think she gave herself up to the Others. If I can track her down—’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I have to try. It’s better than sitting here waiting for the axe to fall, waiting for another death.’

  He said nothing, just sat opposite, staring down at his hands, his face like a mask. What was he thinking? I found Marcus so hard to read – he had the smooth inscrutability of all the Ealdwitan: a smooth, shining surface with fast currents beneath.

  ‘I’m going,’ I said. ‘One way or another, I’m going. I’m fed up with waiting and looking over my shoulder. I’m taking control. Do you understand? If I go out to meet this – whatever it is – it’s better, anything’s better than being hunted down like an animal.’

  ‘So you’re really set on this?’ he said. There was something odd in his voice: resignation perhaps. Defeat. ‘There’s nothing I can say?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m going.’

  ‘Good luck,’ he said at last. He raised his gaze from the table, his brown eyes dark and troubled. ‘You’ll need it.’

  The train drew into Winter station at dusk and I sat on the bench by the road, waiting for the bus in the rain. It was hard to believe it was almost summer, with the drizzling clouds shutting out the sky. I watched the drips pattering off the station canopy and the image of my grandmother’s bleached, lopsided face rose up before me like a ghost. I shut my eyes – but it was still there, haunting me. And her voice in my head saying, You must seize the Chair. Please Anna. Please.

  ‘Anna,’ said a voice. ‘Anna.’

  It took me a moment to realize it was a real voice, not in my head – then I opened my eyes abruptly and found Caroline Flint standing in front of me.

  ‘C-Caroline!’ I was so surprised that my voice stammered and I wanted to kick myself. I didn’t have to be afraid of her, not any more.

  ‘Can I sit down?’ she asked. I nodded and she sat, chewing a tress of golden hair. I realized, to my surprise, that she was as nervous as me, maybe more. She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, drawing the smoke down deep and exhaling it with a shuddery nervous breath.


  ‘Sorry, you don’t smoke. Do you – d’you mind?’ she asked, her mouth lopsided around the cigarette.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, but what I really wanted to ask was, Why are you here?

  Caroline stared into the rain in a way that looked as if she was asking herself the same question. She took another long shaky drag and then spoke.

  ‘Look, I heard what you said – to Emmaline in the canteen. I wasn’t listening, I promise. I mean I wasn’t trying to, but…’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. My voice was level but my heart was sinking. I should have learned my damn lesson by now. What had we said? Anything compromising? I ran back over the conversation in my head but all I could remember was talking about Russia.

  ‘You’re leaving.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anna …’ She stopped and then said in a rush, ‘It’s not because of me, is it? Because, if you knew how bad I feel about what I did to you – shopping you to those men, to the Malleus … I’m so, so sorry. If I’d known how they’d treat you, I’d never have done it – I was just so angry, about you and Seth.’

  Oh. I shook my head.

  ‘It’s not because of you. It’s lots of things: school, home – other stuff …’ I trailed off and the last reason hung unspoken. Caroline knew though.

  ‘We’ve both lost him now,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I swallowed. ‘I’m – I’m sorry I came between you. I hope you know that.’

  ‘I think I loved him,’ she said slowly. ‘I think I really did – but it was never like it was between the two of you. He … he’d die for you, even I can see that.’

  I fought back the urge to snap that I didn’t want him to die for me. What good would that do anyone?

  ‘He still loves you,’ she said. ‘I saw you both at Bran’s funeral. He looked … bad, didn’t he?’

  He looked broken, I thought. But I kept silent.

  ‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘No.’ I said. ‘There’s nothing either of us can do. We’re …’ Bran’s harsh voice came suddenly into my head, as clear as if he was speaking over my shoulder. ‘We’re oil and water. We were never meant to be together.’