‘We’re low on wood,’ she says, and I notice that she’s got the fire roaring hot and high behind the grate. ‘Fetch in a couple of armloads.’
‘Marn says there’s none but the big splitting logs left, and he’ll deal with them this evening,’ I tell her, but that’s not good enough for Tilda.
‘And I’m telling you to do it now,’ she snaps, backing me out into the rain that’s shifted from a promise to a steady drizzle.
Splitting is Marn’s work. With an effort I heft the heavy axe as the rain wriggles down my neck. On the third swing the axe twists in my hands, locking itself into a knot in the gnarled round of pine. I put my boot up to wedge it free, slipping backwards when it comes loose in a rush.
A curse I heard once from Marn jumps quick and ugly from my tongue as I pick myself up off the ground, wiping at the mud that’s clotted on my skirt. I’ll not stay here to be Tilda’s slave, nor Marn’s bargaining chip in his ambition to enlarge the farm. An angry tear trickles down the side of my nose and I wipe it away crossly with my sleeve. If only Mama hadn’t eaten poisoned fish and died, or Pa joined her a few years later, coughing and gasping for breath like so many across Dunnett that long winter. If only the cut on Bella’s arm hadn’t got infected, but since it did and she died as a result, maybe Marn could have married someone with a little more softness than Tilda. If only.
I thunk the axe down into the log.
No matter which way I look at it I can’t see any way out. Dunnett is small enough that you can walk the full way round the island in less time than it takes the moon to slip from full orb to fanciful sliver – leastways Marn says it’s so. I’ve never been further than Tarbet, where I was born, and I’m not fool enough to think I’d find a welcome there. I recall too clearly how Mama’s family treated Pa. They’d never liked him, an outsider, and they were quick to blame him for her death. They needn’t have bothered, for Pa blamed himself bad enough. It was Bella who told me it was nobody’s fault; that death mostly took whosoever it fancied, but that folk found it easier, sometimes, to hold someone to account. I guess there’s none to blame for Bella’s death either, or for Pa’s – though Mama’s family could be asked to carry a little of the blame of that, for it was them that turned us out. Maybe I should blame them all, for leaving me here like this: trapped. Trapped in just the way the pigs in the sty are trapped, with their future all laid out before them right up to their meeting with the butcher’s knife and chopping block.
A second tear slithers past the first and I lean on the axe feeling as sorry for myself as I feel for the pigs when they’re fatted and ready. Enjoying the taste of a bacon bone doesn’t make me any less sorry for the pig that contributes it.
The pig doesn’t like it much either, with all its fighting and squealing, and I wonder if they’ll have to take me kicking and squalling the same way, when the time comes. If it’s marriage to Jed that Marn’s fixed on, then I’m thinking that they might. But then into my head comes a picture that makes no sense at all amidst the muddle of my thoughts. I turn it about so I can look at it every which way, but I still can’t see how it has any relevance. Sometimes, though, you don’t see straight off the pattern of things, and I feel a flicker of hope despite myself. The picture that’s in my head is Devdan.
Chapter 10
Tilda suspects we’re up to something and you can see how it goads her. She can’t abide not knowing everything that’s going on, just in case she’s missing out somehow. Her suspicion falls mainly on me, so – much as I long to go myself – Sophie and Ty take turns checking on Devdan. Ty has decided we should shorten his name because Devdan feels so awkward on our tongues. We can’t ask what Dev thinks: he’s been lost within his fever since the day he told me his name.
Ty has no patience with illness and leaves Sophie to clean and dress Devdan’s wound. According to Ty it’s ‘women’s work’. The more time he spends with Marn, the more he starts to sound like him. Pa would never have spoken that way. But Sophie has always been good with the sick and injured, nursing lambs and goats, once even a wild hare that she found half dead in a bog – though as soon as it was well Tilda wrung its neck for the pot. Sophie refused to eat for three days, till Marn went out and found her a rabbit kit to keep for a pet. The rabbit went missing a few months later, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Tilda had something to do with that as well.
Today, at last, I’ve a chance to see Devdan – Dev – for myself, for Tilda has sent me to Shehans with a parcel of clothes that Sophie’s long outgrown. Jannie Shehan has a baby due this month and three older ones besides. It’s not a kindness, for I’ve to ask if Jannie has any felting wool to spare. Tilda reckons everything she does by what she stands to gain. For once her meanness suits my purpose. If she and Jannie were truly friends, Tilda would be the one to go visiting and I’d not have the hours to myself that her errand gives me – hours enough, if I’m quick, for calling on Merryn and Dev as well.
With each step away from Leewood my spirits rise. It’s the type of day that promises summer to come – clear-skied and fresh-made, as if the world is just discovering itself. In my pocket a handful of barley sways against my thigh with each step – with some herbs from the verge it’ll make a broth for Dev – and the sun warms my skin as I follow the twists of the road.
Leewood lies north of Skellap Bay, cut off from our neighbours’ farms by the forbidding bulk of Cullin Hill. The hill land is too poor to be farmed, except on its eastern flanks where Barritts’ fields meet ours. Their farmyard lies further south along the Wester road, with Shehans’ farm, called Hollows for its rolling fields, beyond.
I walk swift as I can till I’m past Barritts’ land. Marn’s words on my future marriage seem to be swelling up inside me, so that it feels I might burst if they’re not soon let out. Merryn will surely have some hope to offer – she might even talk to Marn on my behalf.
I’m lost in my thoughts when a voice startles me to a standstill, one hand flying to my mouth in fright.
‘You’re in an awful hurry, Ness.’
Jed Barritt is leaning across the wall. ‘You as good as walked right by me,’ he adds. ‘I hope it was me you were dreaming of.’
It was Jed I was thinking about, though I doubt he’d look so smug if he knew my thoughts exactly. ‘No,’ I mutter, willing the sudden flare of colour in my cheeks to subside. ‘I had matters on my mind, is all. I haven’t time for dreaming.’
‘But I often dream of you,’ Jed counters. I have a sudden fear that he’s been spying on me, perhaps even following me. When he swings himself over the wall I take a step backwards, regretting it as soon as I see that he’s noticed. His grin spreads.
‘I’m on an errand for Aunt Tilda,’ I say, rearranging the parcel I’m carrying from one arm to the other. It puts a barrier, though a slight one, between us. ‘I’ve no time to talk,’ I add.
‘It wasn’t talk I had in mind,’ Jed replies. He’s thinking of the woodshed, I can tell by the twist of his smile, and red heat creeps back up my neck.
‘Tilda wants me back as quick as I can. I’ve no time to waste, even if you have,’ I tell him.
‘I’ve time,’ he announces coming forward. Though he’s crowding me, I refuse to let myself step back again. ‘I’ll always have time for you,’ he adds, reaching a hand towards my cheek.
I flinch away from his touch. I don’t trust Jed, and not just since the woodshed. Even as a youngster he had a dark streak, setting traps to catch creatures for nothing more than the pleasure he took in killing them. With him standing tall and grinning in my path I have a sudden sense of myself as an animal standing at the brink of just such a trap – only it seems this one is being made for me by Marn.
‘Is it Jannie Shehan you’re going to see?’ Jed asks.
‘That’s my business,’ I snap, but he can see what’s in my bundle.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ he answers, his fingers creeping like a bunch of fat worms around my shoulder.
I wrench myself away. ‘I�
�ll walk on my own!’ I tell him.
Jed’s face shifts then so that I have a glimpse of the boy who’s been spoiled by his mother into thinking whatever he wants should be his. ‘You’ve too much arrogance in you, Ness,’ he says. ‘It’ll do you harm.’
Anger that he has the power to scare me rises like a tide in my belly. ‘Leave me be, Jed,’ I say, ‘or I’ll tell Marn that you’ve been pestering me.’
A flicker crosses Jed’s face. ‘Marn likes me,’ he says. His doubt sounds sweet as salvation.
‘Are you so sure, Jed?’ I demand, forcing my voice to hold firm. ‘Because there are things I could tell him!’ I toss my chin and turn away then, praying my lie will work. If Jed knew that I’ve already told Marn how I feel, and what his answer had been, I’d have no defence at all.
I’m five paces gone before Jed’s voice reaches out to catch me.
‘Hey, Ness.’
Not wanting to, I look back. Jed’s smile is ugly. ‘Maybe I’ll catch you a rabbit,’ he calls. ‘You like rabbits, don’t you?’
I try to look puzzled, as if I don’t remember the time that Ty and I found Jed torturing a rabbit kit in the wood. He laughed when I shouted at him to stop, then he flung it, limp and bloody, its little heart still beating, though barely, in my face.
Jed’s grin doesn’t budge so I shrug and walk off, making sure to keep my feet slow so he won’t see how badly I want to get away.
The morning’s been spoiled for me. I do my business with Jannie Shehan but I can’t find any pleasure in her chatter. As my feet carry me on towards Merryn’s, the knowledge that Jed is waiting somewhere in my future seems to press down on me, settling at last cold and heavy in my stomach.
Chapter 11
Merryn’s door is closed and there’s no response to my knock. When I call a greeting there’s only silence to answer. The potting shed is empty, and the hen house. Inside the barn I’m startled by the sight of a horse. It turns its head and whickers as I run a hand along its flank. We’ve no horses at Leewood. There are farms that can afford them but they’re sturdy ploughing animals, not fine-boned like this one. It likely belongs to someone wanting one of Merryn’s tonics, come all the way from Tarbet or Dunn – but if that’s so, surely they’d be at the house?
Reluctant to give up after coming all this way, I start along the path that leads behind the barn and through the hedge to Merryn’s orchard. The trees in their regimented rows are bare, with only the faintest hint of the blossoms to come swelling at their tips. There’s no one in sight.
Frustrated, I turn back towards the barn. A sudden crash, like breaking crockery, spins me round. The noise came from beyond the fruit trees. Crossing back through the hedge I follow it along till I reach the end of the orchard. A stack of wintered hives stands in the lee of the trees, with the shed where Merryn stores tools and makes her honey a little further on.
There are no windows on this side of the shed. Giving her sleeping bees a wide berth, just in case, I circle around and approach from behind. The wooden slats of the rear window stand far enough open that I can hear a low murmur of voices.
‘No!’ Merryn’s voice, suddenly loud, propels me forward. Bent double I cross beneath the slatted window and peer around the corner. The door to the shed stands open.
‘It’s a reasonable proposition,’ a man says. ‘You’d be a fool to turn it down.’
‘Call me a fool then,’ Merryn says.
‘You’ll be called worse,’ comes the belligerent reply. ‘I can promise it!’
I know the voice then, for its bullying. It’s Colm. I hesitate, reluctant to be caught snooping.
‘So you’re threatening me now?’ Merryn asks, measured and slow.
I take a step forward. Through the doorway I can see the corner of a bench and a row of shelves beyond. There’s a mess of broken jars on the floor.
‘I’m warning you, Merryn. You’d be wise to think well before you make a decision.’
I creep forward till Colm’s broad back comes into view. His feet are planted firmly, his hands on his hips, elbows out as if he means to block the door. I can’t see beyond him into the dim interior. Merryn’s voice comes past him. ‘I’ve no need to think further, Colm. You’ve had my answer. Now, if you’d please let me pass.’
Colm takes a step inwards, out of my line of sight. Merryn gives a muffled cry and there’s a sudden clatter as something is knocked to the floor.
I jump at the sound and stare frantically around me. I have to help Merryn, but…
In a moment I turn and run, back around the shed and up the path. When I reach the hedge I stop and spin about, one hand on my chest to steady my racing heart. Levelling my voice as best I can, I call. ‘Merryn? Are you there?’
There’s another clatter within the shed. ‘Merryn?’ My voice sounds more normal now.
I walk towards the front of the shed as if I’ve just arrived. As I come close the door flings back and Colm steps into view. The look on his face tells me I’m far from welcome.
I stop, my throat painfully dry. ‘I’m looking for Merryn,’ I say, ignoring his narrow stare. ‘Is she there? I couldn’t find her at the house, and…’
‘I’m here,’ Merryn says, appearing behind him. Her hair is coming loose from its plait and her cheeks flare with two bright spots of colour. ‘One of my shelves collapsed,’ she says lightly, pushing a strand of loose hair from her face. ‘I must have overtaxed it.’
Colm clears his throat. His hands are like hams and his waistline declares he does more than his share of eating, but his bulk is solid rather than soft. He has the look of someone used to getting his way. Maybe that’s why he’s head of the Council, and why his voice weighs so loud.
‘You’re Marn’s niece,’ he announces, eyes assessing. ‘Ness.’
I nod.
‘What brings you here?’ His neck is flushed a deep red from his collar to his jowls.
‘Tilda sent me,’ I say.
‘Tilda,’ Colm echoes. ‘On what business?’
I don’t like the way he’s turned the tables so that it seems as if I’m the one in the wrong. ‘Ours,’ I answer bluntly.
Colm’s face flushes to match his neck and Merryn steps quickly in front of him, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘Colm’s come for some honey but I think my best jars are up at the house,’ she says, turning me about. ‘We’ll fetch one now.’
As we walk in tense silence up the path, I wonder if I imagined the slight shake in her hand.
‘Tilda will be wanting a tonic for her headaches, I don’t doubt,’ Merryn says, once we’re all inside her kitchen. The room feels crowded with Colm standing square in the middle of the small space, but Merryn manoeuvres around him to reach her pantry without comment. Colm’s not to know it was only last week I fetched a fresh bottle and it’s still more than three quarters full.
‘Your tonics have quite a reputation,’ Colm says slowly. ‘You’ve a secret ingredient perhaps?’
Merryn’s voice sounds slightly strained as she answers, but perhaps it’s just because she has her back to us and her head in the pantry. ‘They all have a little honey, and beyond that they’re mostly herbs. Anyone could make them,’ she adds.
‘Others do,’ Colm agrees, ‘but yours are said to be better than most.’ His words seem harmless enough but there’s a threat hidden somewhere. ‘I wonder why,’ he adds.
Merryn turns. My eyes run back and forth between them as I try to judge what’s going on. Marn’s warning, that he asked me to pass on to Merryn, suddenly comes back to me. Teck! Colm is hinting that Merryn has been breaking the bans and using teck!
Two years ago a rumour began about a widow who lived north of Wester. It was said she had books hidden, and other teck besides. People began to eye her warily when she came into the village, then, as the rumours built, they refused to buy her goods – felt and weaving as well as her scraggly goats – and refused to sell to her as well. Eventually a group took it into their heads to turn her out of the small-
holding she leased from Colm Brewster. They’d hardly have done it without Colm’s approval, but he was careful to be elsewhere the day they drove her off.
She was found dead two days later. No one ever owned to knowing anything about her death and no evidence was found of the rumours that had gone before. The Council ruled that she’d brought her fate upon herself. I can’t remember how she was said to have done that – aside from by getting on the wrong side of Colm Brewster.
‘Are you here for one of Merryn’s tonics?’ I ask, staring boldly at Colm.
‘Colm’s business is nothing to do with you,’ Merryn says sharply. ‘Aside from which, we’ve dealt with it now.’ She hands Colm a jar of honey. He holds it as though he doesn’t know what to do with it. ‘Ness, you must stop and give me your news, but we won’t trouble Colm with our gossip,’ Merryn adds.
‘Yes,’ I gabble, clutching at her cue. ‘Jannie’s baby is due soon. I’ve been to see her this morning.’
Colm’s eyes shift from Merryn to me and back again, the honey almost vanished within his meaty hand. I know full well it wasn’t honey he was wanting, or a tonic. What happened in the shed was something different altogether. An image of Jed standing before me in the road suddenly pops up in my head and I find myself tongue-tied.
‘I’ll leave you then,’ Colm says, finally. He turns at the door to stare at Merryn. ‘We’ll speak again on the matter I raised,’ he says, ignoring me. ‘Soon,’ he adds, his heavy jaw set firm.
Merryn inclines her head, her lips drawn tight.
Once Colm is safely out of the yard she turns to me. ‘Ness, I’ve a headache myself. I think I’d best lie down for a while. Was there something in particular you needed?’
There was, but I shake my head. If Merryn doesn’t want to confide her troubles, I’ll not burden her with mine.
She rewards me with a smile. ‘Thank you, Ness. For more than you realise.’
The Sea-wreck Stranger Page 5