“Haweshead Force,” Nephril said as he pointed over Prescinda’s shoulder. “’Tis what gave the dale its name apparently, and the Mudark’s house its own - Haweshead Manor - although it has long been much more than a mere manor.”
The valley into which they’d begun to drop lay broad across its woodland- and copse-laced floor, down which the river lazily flowed. Further south, though, the valley narrowed where a shallow ridge reached across and through which the river had cut a deep gorge. It made Hawesdale into something of a bowl, the wealcan bound upon its sole way in.
Even looking down into the palm of its patchwork fields, they could see no sign of a house, nor the buildings expected of such a large estate.
“So, where’s Haweshead Manor then?” Prescinda asked.
“According to the filed plan, the house itself be close in against this side of the dale, perhaps through that woodland down there,” to which he pointed.
Prescinda could see the lane skirt to the right of it, dropping steeply beside its northern edge. Only when they’d reached that same spot, though, did she notice a tall chimney stack peeping above the trees.
“There,” she said, pointing herself, but by which time it had already become obscured again as they fast descended the lane.
It swung down at a slant across the remaining valley side, soon cutting through the woodland itself. It wasn’t long before a moss-covered gateway rose ahead, darkly beneath the trees where the lane turned sharply.
“This must be it,” Nephril said, soon slowing them to a halt before its heavy wooden gates. He stepped off the wealcan, pushed at one of them and it smoothly swung open. As it clunked against its stop, a voice called out.
“Oi! You?”
“Perhaps not an unexpected welcome,” Nephril said as a tall man stepped from the driveway’s border and marched towards them, a long staff in hand.
“It’s private property this. Private, I say,” and as he drew near, “What business do you think you ‘ave here then? Eh? What you up to?”
His commanding voice surprised Prescinda, considering how few teeth he had in his head. His leather jerkin and rough woven breeches seemed less intimidating somehow, as though he’d broken off from coppicing or hoeing or the like. She liked his hat, though, a small tricorn set at a rather rakish angle.
“I am Lord Nephril,” Nephril said in his most imperious tone, “Master of Ceremonies to the many kings of Dica.”
The man seemed unimpressed.
“I wish to speak with your lord,” Nephril intoned, now holding the man with a very firm stare.
Prescinda noticed one of the fellow’s eyes fluttered, as though he was trying hard to make a decision.
“I’ll go check with Lady Charlotte,” he finally but sullenly conceded. “His lordship ain’t ‘ere today.”
“Whatever thou say,” Nephril said with a dismissive wave of his hand, at which the gate resoundingly slammed shut in his face. Footsteps could now be heard striding away up the gravel drive beyond, the tap of a staff limping along beside.
55 An Unexpected Affinity
Nephril and Prescinda had kicked their heels for a good hour before the gate opened again. They’d been invited in by the same previously surly chap who’d then introduced himself as Gristmender. This time, though, he’d seemed somewhat more effacing.
Led swiftly up the driveway, they’d soon come out from beneath the shade of the trees onto a gravelled terrace, cutting across a steep slope that rose to their left. A glance to their right, however, revealed a captivating view across Hawesdale.
By the time Prescinda had dragged her eyes away, Gristmender had got a little ahead, climbing half way up a broad, stone stairway before realising he was alone. He now stood at the midst of a rise of long terraces, but Prescinda’s gaze soon drifted higher. Just visible beyond the uppermost terrace rose a forest of tall chimneys.
Haweshead Manor, as she soon saw when they came to the top of the stairway, did indeed turn out to be more than its name implied. If the original baronial hall still existed then it must have been buried deep within the grand old pile now facing her. Such splendour would have kept her gazing longer had Gristmender not quickly led them across to its lofty portico, and through it into a large entrance hall.
And what a hall; airy, light, tall - shockingly tall. It boasted a wide yet delicate staircase, as though offering a way to the very stars above. Silent too, as silent as those stars would have been on a cold winter’s night, pin-clatteringly so until Gristmender filled the space with his solid voice.
“If you’d follow me, I’ll take you to her ladyship. She’s in the Long Withdrawing Room so make sure you’ve no mud on your boots.”
Prescinda looked down at her feet, relieved.
The room, just off the hall, had been aptly named in the sense of it being long - maybe twenty large windows in length. Its musty smell and somewhat dusty appearance, however, argued against it having recently been host to any withdrawing folk.
Five sets of sofas and chairs ran down its centre, their sun-faded fabrics giving the room a threadbare look. Prescinda hardly noticed Lady Charlotte, so alike was she to the sad state of the room, standing, stooped, before a large, unlit fireplace.
Gristmender announced them but then quickly withdrew himself, leaving Nephril and Prescinda to make their own way into the room. The lady stared only at Nephril as he stepped ahead, leading Prescinda repeatedly from shadow into each window’s sun-kissed light.
Only when they’d stopped before her did Lady Charlotte speak, but not before closely studying Nephril’s face. Prescinda had been expecting the usual High Dican haughty disdain, for her ladyship to peer down her nose with an assumed superiority, but it wasn’t to be. When it came, her voice could almost have been that of an acquaintance, natural and easy although perhaps a little guarded.
“Welcome to Haweshead Manor, Lord Nephril,” she said, offering her hand. “I must say, however, that I am somewhat taken aback by your unexpected arrival.”
Nephril smiled and took her hand. “Mine apologies, Lady Charlotte, but thou see, our haste precluded sending word.”
“Haste?” she queried as she turned to Prescinda. “I’m afraid Grist’ couldn’t quite remember your name, my dear, not by the time he’d found me.”
“Prescinda, m’lady.”
“Prescinda Sodbuster,” Nephril added, “of Blisteraising, Lady Charlotte. Mine assistant.”
“Indeed,” and she raised an eyebrow, “then may I also offer you my welcome, Mistress Prescinda?”
“Pleased to meet you, my lady.”
“Well, do take a seat,” she said, “and then maybe you might explain your haste more fully over some tea and biscuits.”
A tray set with such already lay on an ornate but sadly faded table, its flaking legs and stained surface conveniently beside the nearest sofa and chairs. The fine porcelain tea service had also seen better days. At least the tea proved fresher.
As they sat, Prescinda volunteered to pour, which she did whilst Nephril traded pleasantries with the lady. There seemed to be a wary impatience behind Lady Charlotte’s words, one that quickly brought her to ask, “Pray, but what haste should bring you all the way out here, my good Lord Nephril?”
Prescinda noticed Nephril’s eyes narrow and his voice become sharper, more business-like. “I would like to return to the castle before the day be out, Lady Charlotte, so I shall crave thine indulgence and come straight to the point. We be in earnest to learn something of a relative of thine.”
“A relative, my lord?”
“One Melkin Mudark.”
Prescinda saw a tick flicker at the corner of the lady’s eye, her mouth setting firm. She placed her cup and saucer back on the table, spilling a little of its tea.
“I know nothing of such a relative I’m afraid,” she said, a brittle edge to her voice. “Are you sure you have the right name?” She wouldn’t look Nephril in the eye but kept her gaze upon her hands as they began to fidget, her fing
ers playing with her wedding ring.
Nephril put his own cup down and straightened his back. “My lady, I must inform you that I am aware of your family’s unfortunate history,” at which Prescinda saw alarm widen the lady’s eyes.
“Our...” but she then drew a difficult breath. “Our history is our own affair, Lord Nephril. I do not see...”
“I have no wish to rake over old coals, I assure thee, Lady Charlotte. But thou see, our need is most urgent. One that impinges upon the realm’s very surety, otherwise I would not trouble thee so.”
The lady’s breathing became shallow, her knuckles white, fear plainly stabbing at her eyes. Prescinda’s heart began to ache, a sympathy she’d never before felt for any High Dican. Unexpectedly, she wanted to reach out to the woman.
At the lady’s silence, though, Nephril noticeably stiffened. “I had hoped we could talk openly,” he said, “in all confidence of course. That I would therefore not have need to present the written evidence I carry.”
“Evidence?” Lady Charlotte murmured, “what possible...” but something in her seemed to break. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave shortly, my lord. It is a busy time of the year for the estate you understand, and there’s much I need...”
Nephril had by now reached into his robes and withdrawn a roll of parchment which he unfurled across his lap, lifting it so the lady could see. “This be the court-leet copy of a defeasance, made out in the family names of Styblower and...”
Lady Charlotte’s wailing startled them.
“Put it away, Nephril,” Prescinda hissed. “In Leiyatel’s name, stop this cruelty now do you hear?”
Nephril stared at her, saw the anger in her eyes and so quickly rolled the sheet of vellum and held it close to his chest. Only when he again looked at Lady Charlotte, now sobbing, did he seem to understand.
“My lady,” he said, but Prescinda stayed him.
“I think it might be a good idea to go and get yourself some fresh air, Nephril. Maybe take a good long look at the view, eh?”
He opened his mouth but thought better of it, looked down at the parchment and slid it back into his robes. When he began to open his mouth again, though, Prescinda almost growled, “Now, Nephril. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Men,” she finally said when Nephril had quietly closed the door behind him, although she didn’t yet look at Lady Charlotte. She busied herself pouring each of them a fresh cup of tea.
“He means well,” Prescinda said as she mopped Lady Charlotte’s saucer with a napkin, settled the teacup back and passed it to her. Only now did Prescinda look into the lady’s face and see how puffy her eyes had become, a little red around their rims.
Prescinda leant in towards her. “I don’t know how much you see of what’s going on in the realm, my lady, or what reports you get - stuck out here so far from everything - but Lord Nephril’s worried sick for Dica’s future.”
Lady Charlotte reached out a shaky hand, resting it on Prescinda’s own. The lady looked lost but attempted a smile. “Thank you,” she said, quietly.
“The thing is, Lady Charlotte, we really do need to know more about Melkin. For the good of Dica.” She felt Lady Charlotte’s hand tense on her own, saw the look of despair in her eyes, the confusion that stymied her tongue.
“He is a relative, isn’t he?” Prescinda carefully asked.
Lady Charlotte abruptly withdrew her hand, but a deep breath finally firmed her voice. “He was a difficult child.” She sighed. “Always a handful. Forever up to no good. Nothing wilful, mind. He was just far too inquisitive, never content.”
“Melkin is your son, isn’t he?”
The lady froze for a moment, staring deep into Prescinda’s eyes. “You’ve never had children have you?”
“No ... no, I haven’t. Life always seemed to conspire against it. Maybe for the better, I don’t know.”
“Children are a joy and a worry,” and she paused. “Nathaniel, my youngest, well, chalk and cheese. He was the sweetest of boys. Never a problem. A true Mudark. Happy to keep himself to himself. His own best friend.”
She looked wistful.
“Not Melkin, though?”
Lady Charlotte seemed to drift back from the embrace of old memories, only then to say. “Sounds silly now, I know, but we always felt he was something other. History ... history has conspired against my family, Mistress Prescinda, as you clearly know already. We have long chosen isolation in preference to being shunned.”
“In what way did you see Melkin as other?”
The lady became guarded. “Other? Oh, well,” but turned her head away and stared though one of the windows. Prescinda followed her gaze and saw Nephril strolling along the terrace outside.
“Look, Lady Charlotte,” she said, turning back to her, “if I promise that Lord Nephril will turn his copy of the defeasance over to you, would you be prepared to tell me all?”
The lady stared at Nephril’s pacing figure for a long time before flicking her eyes back to Prescinda, who then said, “Its existence clearly alarmed you. I take it you thought all copies had long been destroyed.”
“You could promise me that could you? That he’d turn the defeasance over to my keeping?”
“I swear to it, Lady Charlotte. You have my word.”
The lady rose and stood by the mantelpiece, her hand resting firmly on its cold, bare stone, her back to Prescinda. “My lord husband will be home before long. I could not bear his hurt.”
She turned, abruptly. “Very well. I will tell you all.”
56 A Tale of Yore
“You never told me you were going to threaten the poor woman,” Prescinda fumed over her shoulder at Nephril. He winced, the wealcan wobbling towards the verge of the lane.
“But it was the only leverage we had,” Nephril argued, his voice wavering as they rumbled along the edge of the grass.
“Well, you didn’t give her much chance to listen to reasoned argument, now did you? Weighed straight in with a bloody sledgehammer. Sometimes I despair of you, Nephril, I really do.”
Spots of rain began to pepper the wealcan, a tattered wisp of grey cloud now staining the snatches of sky seen through the darkened canopy above. The fork to Ufflangcoss swept by and the lane straightened out for a while towards the east. It clearly gave Nephril time to think.
“Thou must keep in mind that I have dealt with High Dicans for a very long time, Prescinda – I am one mine self after all - and so knew full well what I was doing. Subtlety and reason be not their strengths, I assure thee.”
“Well, you got it wrong with Lady Charlotte. She was mortified when she realised you’d got a copy of their defeasance.”
The lane began to meander again, dropping them into a heavily wooded clough, its thicker canopy fortunately defeating the growing raindrops. The subdued embrace of the trees and the glint and gurgle of the stream beneath both cooled Prescinda’s temper somewhat.
“So, mine dear,” Nephril eventually broached, “what did thou learn that was worth my having so unwillingly to hand over the defeasance?”
“And that’s something else you were wrong about.”
“Wrong?”
“The Mudark family wasn’t embarrassed by an ancestor’s one-eyed wanderer, as you rather flippantly put it. The corrody came about by virtue or otherwise of one Lady Lipswell.”
“A lady of the family?”
“And it didn’t come to light until the issue had grown to become Lord Catchflagon, by which time he’d already sired three boys of his own.”
Nephril whistled, long and hard, and brought the wealcan to a halt where the lane briefly dipped alongside the stream. He stepped off and strolled to a large rock at its edge and there sat down. Prescinda joined him, but stood, dropping pebbles in the water.
“So,” Nephril at long last said, “the blood-stain has stayed with the family to this day, even unto Melkin Mudark. Of course. We should have realised. A bastard leaf be one thing, but a bastard bole another entirely.”
Prescinda absently gathered more pebbles, but then asked, “I take it that keeping a pure bloodline is important to you High Dicans?” before again dropping them one by one into the stream, watching their ripples being whisked away and ruined by the flow.
“Important?”
“To warrant the Mudarks becoming recluses?”
When he didn’t answer, she turned to find him staring at the ground, frowning.
“Well, Nephril? Is it?”
He looked up at her, his head on one side. “Did she say who the father had been, the one who had bedded this Lady whatever-her-name-was?”
“Lady Lipswell? I did ask, but she said she didn’t know, said it had been lost to the mists of time.”
“Damn.” Nephril stood and kicked an arc of stones into the stream. “I am not surprised. Not really. She would hath denied all knowledge whether she knew or no. And it be pointless returning to pursue it now. The Mudarks, I warrant, will no longer appear to be in residence. We will be told they have gone away for some time.”
“And no doubt your leverage will already have been destroyed. Oh, I am sorry, Nephril. Maybe you were right after all. Maybe we should have done it your way. It was just, well, when I saw Lady Charlotte’s pain, it tore at my heart, you know, seeing her so fearful.”
Nephril shrugged and turned her a grim smile. “Thou didst what thou thought best, Prescinda, although I reckon in this case thine heart has likely been the poorer guide.”
The silence between them soon grew heavy, and so Prescinda hurried it on its way. “At least I found out more about the steward, although how much use it’s going to be I don’t know.”
“Well,” Nephril said as he came beside her, took some of her pebbles and began tossing them into the water. “Perchance, if we think carefully between her words, we might see that the Lady Charlotte has given away more than she knows,” and at last he found a genuine smile. “However, thou wilt have to tell me as we travel for the afternoon is now growing old.”
An Artist's Eye (Dica Series Book 5) Page 24