‘I don’t blame him.’ Alison was concentrating on putting each foot squarely on the uneven treads so that she didn’t miss her step and fall on top of Adam. If she did she was sure he would imagine it had been deliberate.
‘Did you find what you came for?’ she added. Then, when he threw her a quick, questioning look: ‘You said you’d come back to check something.’
‘Oh.’ Adam stopped. They had reached the ground floor. Above them another huge stained glass window was dark, its colours and patterns hidden by the night. So was Adam’s expression. She could not read it in the torchlight.
‘I’m not really sure exactly what I was looking for,’ he said, after a moment. ‘I wanted to see the place that the box had been hidden. Something about it has always bothered me.’ He frowned. ‘It’s the weirdest thing, like an instinct, if you know what I mean?’
Alison nodded, and he carried on:
‘At first I thought it had been hidden there by someone who planned to come back to retrieve it, a bit like buried treasure.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘But the more I thought about it the more convinced I was that it was deliberately concealed and never intended to be found.’ His eyes met Alison’s. ‘Don’t ask me how I know,’ he said, ‘but I think it was hidden to cover up a crime.’
Chapter 13
Mary, 1566
I had thought that life at Middlecote would be different from Wolf Hall. I was correct, but not in the ways I had expected. Both were gentleman’s households but there the similarities ended. At Wolf Hall, we had all been a bundle of discarded children, abandoned there because there was nowhere else. We had to work to earn our keep. At Middlecote, I was Miss Eleanor Fenner’s companion, a poor dependent, but a gentlewoman none the less. There were no trips to market; there was no churning of the butter, or sweeping of the floors, or making scented soap with the garden herbs. Instead, there was a soulless round of reading, needlework, walking in the grounds on fine days and conversing with the neighbours. Even our prayers were soulless. Lady Fenner insisted we attend church daily, but I quickly perceived that this she did for the same reason as everything else. She wished to be seen to observe propriety.
Lady Fenner had been somewhat scathing of my lack of accomplishments when I had first come to Middlecote: the fact that I had no skill in other languages, my sad lack of proficiency at the virginals. She had considered my upbringing at Wolf Hall a ramshackle one and she only knew the half of it.
‘This is what happens when there is no gentlewoman in charge of the household,’ she had lamented, ignoring the fact that my mother herself, a most pious and learned woman, had appointed Liz Aiglonby to teach me. The lack was in me and not my education, but I did make great strides under Lady Fenner’s tutelage, as there was no other option. If I wanted to escape into the fresh air and the possibilities offered outdoors, I had to do my indoor learning.
Eleanor and I had become firm friends. She was docile and kind, as sweet as Alison had been sharp. Yet too much sweetness could be cloying and I missed Alison’s astringent presence. I wondered frequently what had become of her. We got very little news at Middlecote other than sporadic reports from friends and relatives in London, and family news from elsewhere. Alison’s name was never uttered; it was as though her very existence had been wiped out yet it was almost as though with each passing month her presence became more real to me, not less. One day, when I had been at Middlecote a month, I was in my chamber reading and looked up to see Alison standing beside the hearth. She was so vivid to me, she looked so real, that my heart leaped with pleasure to see her and I opened my mouth to welcome her. Then I looked again, and she was gone.
One constant in my life was Darrell. There were times when I did not speak to him for a few months and he felt oddly distant from me, as though we were separated by time as well as place. Once, I asked him where it was he went but he parried my questions with affection and humour, telling me that he was a man and had gone away to fight. I was quite angry with him; I felt like the insignificant woman left behind, dropped when something more exciting happened, or worse, a child of no consequence to him. I sulked, just like a child. Yet I could not be angry with him for very long. It felt impossible. He was knit into my life, my soul. He was a part of me.
One day when I was out walking with Eleanor, Darrell had a terrible accident. I knew as soon as he had done it; an agonising pain shot through my arm before he had the control to shut me out of his mind. I think I screamed, which was foolish and unhelpful, because a savage bolt of thought from him silenced me. Eleanor screamed too, simply because I had screamed and scared her, and servants came running and all was confusion.
‘It is no matter,’ I reassured them, winded and afraid, still dealing with the shock and the sensation of Darrell’s pain. ‘I thought I saw a snake, that is all.’
After that there was more screaming and running around, which only made matters worse and of course no snake was found. Eleanor retired to her room with a headache. I sought mine also.
‘Darrell.’
No reply. I tried again, gentle, coaxing, hiding the fear that was growing inside me all the time.
‘Cat.’
I had never sensed such weakness in him before, or experienced such pain. I knew he was trying to hide it from me but he could not. It was too great and it devoured him, and when his mind was open to me I was swallowed by it too. I thought he must be dying. I fought the fear but he must have felt it because, despite everything, I felt him smile: reassurance and love and comfort reached me sweetly and softly, edged with exhaustion.
‘Cat. Don’t fret. I’ll live.’
He was gone then, with apology, too tired to speak to me.
I was in an agony of not knowing for days, weeks after. Each day I called out to him, fearful of losing him, sending my love and consolation, looking for it in return. Gradually, I sensed he was recovering; slowly the spark in him returned and my fears eased, but every so often I would feel the same agonising pain in my arm again and sense frustration coming from him, perhaps because he was not as strong as he wanted to be.
I kept Darrell a secret, of course. I had no wish for the taint of witchcraft to follow me to Middlecote as it had to Wolf Hall. I had had so few visions at Middlecote that I was able to dismiss them as nothing more than vivid dreams. Here I could be as close to ordinary as it was possible for me to be and I welcomed that even whilst I knew that I could never be like other people. But it was only a matter of time. I could try to fool myself, but my gift would find me out. It would not be repressed.
One day, Eleanor and I were in the parlour together sewing our samplers whilst Lady Fenner composed letters in the library. It was pleasant to be without her brooding presence for a space and we had been chatting idly about nothing at all when suddenly my vision clouded without warning and I was drawn into a spiral of darkness. Out of it came a tall dark man on a towering black stallion, galloping up the wide tree-lined avenue towards Middlecote as though all the devils in hell were at his heels.
‘Someone is coming,’ I said. I was cold, shaking. My sampler tumbled from my lap. ‘Someone is here.’
The vision grew, filling my entire sight. The parlour vanished. There was such darkness, such grief. It lapped like a destructive tide. All I knew was that this man brought danger and unhappiness with him and I wanted to run and hide.
There was a loud rapping at the front door followed by a babble of male voices and laughter.
‘What’s this? No welcome for the master of the house?’
Eleanor, who had been staring at me in consternation, leaped to her feet, her face lighting up and all anxieties forgotten.
‘Will!’ She ran to the parlour door. ‘Mama! Mama! Will is home!’
‘So I hear.’ Lady Fenner was already on the threshold, drawn no doubt from her letters by the cacophony. She was a cold woman at the best of times but now I sensed something else in her. I could not pin it down. She did not seem glad that her son was returned. There was a wary edg
e to her smile.
‘You had better show your brother how much you have grown in decorum in the past half-dozen years,’ she said, but Eleanor had already gone running into the hall, leaving the door swinging open behind her.
Lady Fenner sighed. Her gaze travelled thoughtfully over me, then she nodded slowly as though reassured of something. ‘Come, Mary,’ she said, ‘you must meet my son William.’
It was just as it had been with my cousin Edward, I thought. Here were we, three women, who had lived at Middlecote for the last six years, quietly, efficiently and with little fuss. Lady Fenner ordered the household, received guests and oversaw the lives of her servants and made not the least commotion about it.
Now, though, Middlecote’s master was returned and the whole house had taken on a different mood in a matter of moments. It was abuzz. Servants ran and called out to each other as they fetched food and drink. There was noise and activity and a sense of urgency. What manner of man was Will Fenner, I wondered sourly, to stay away for six long years, running up debts in London if the servants’ gossip was to be credited, and only now returning to see his family? A bankrupt one, I concluded. A wastrel, a neglectful son, a selfish ne’er-do-well. Was he also a man who trailed evil in his wake, the evil I had felt a moment ago? My vision had steadied now and the parlour was bright with sun. I felt nothing sinister at all.
Lady Fenner was waiting for me. I preceded her through the door, walking slowly and most demurely, as Eleanor most singularly had not. I could hear her voice in the hall upraised in excitement and joy and could not blame her, but Lady Fenner had a face like thunder.
I will never forget how I felt when first I set eyes on William Fenner. He was standing directly in a ray of sunshine from the high windows. It gilded him like an angel. Quite simply, I was dazzled.
He was tall; so tall he would need to stoop to pass beneath all the lintels of the doors in the house, and broad-shouldered with it. He had removed his velvet cap and held it carelessly in one hand. I saw the flash of jewels in the band. A white feather curled jauntily from the brim. Eleanor hung on his other arm, chattering ten to the dozen whilst he inclined his head towards her, an indulgent smile on his lips. Everything about him seemed fine, from his thick dark hair to the rich crimson lining of his cloak. It made me wonder whether under the Queen’s laws he was entitled to wear crimson or if he had no care for the law. I know that answer to that question now but at the time it was swept from my head by the look he bent on me and by the smile in his dark eyes.
‘Lady Mary.’ He dropped to one knee before me for which I was completely unprepared, having always been treated like an encumbrance before rather than an honoured guest. He took my hand and pressed a kiss on it and the touch of his lips made me shiver pleasurably. It was an entirely new sensation for me.
‘Sir William…’ I made an effort not to sound gauche and thought I probably failed. An insane urge possessed me to touch his springy dark hair. I wanted to feel it against my fingers. I turned hot. I had no notion what was happening to me, only that it was heady and powerful, like taking sweet wine on a summer day.
‘Please stand up,’ I whispered, and he leaped to his feet, his eyes sparkling, and swept me a courtier’s bow.
‘When you have a moment to spare for your mother, William…’ Lady Fenner’s voice was dry and Will spun around and folded her into a bear hug, releasing her all pink and ruffled. His men were standing around grinning; this then was William’s customary behaviour.
‘Forgive me, Mama.’ He sounded contrite but his eyes were still alight with amusement. He held her at arm’s length. ‘You look well and not a day older than when I last saw you.’
‘Which is all too long,’ Lady Fenner said sharply. ‘William, what are you doing here? Lord Kingston wrote from London—’
‘Later, madam, if you please.’ Will’s voice had hardened though his lips were still smiling. ‘The men are sharp set, as am I. I know you keep the house well stocked. Let us dine and then perhaps this afternoon—’ he turned back to include both Eleanor and me in the warmth of his smile ‘—we may go riding and the ladies can show me the estate.’
Eleanor bounced with excitement. I just about managed not to do the same. It felt as though the sun was shining for me alone, for little Mary Seymour who had never in her life commanded the admiration of any gentleman. How dismissive I had been of love, how scathing of Alison’s folly. How little I had understood.
Later, as I was preparing for bed after a day packed full of pleasures and delights, Eleanor slid into my chamber and curled up on the bed as she was wont to do. Her expression was troubled but I, brushing my hair before the mirror, was full of nothing but joy.
‘How merry it is to have your brother home,’ I said.
She nodded, but her expression did not change. I carried on brushing. She fidgeted with the embroidered cover on the bed.
‘How did you know Will was on his way?’ she demanded all of a sudden. ‘You said he was coming and then he arrived. You cannot see the drive from the parlour, so how did you know?’
I felt a pang of annoyance that she had reminded me when I had succeeded in teaching myself to forget it, and a second spike of anger that she had spoiled the warmth and pleasure I had taken in the day. I was not going to dwell on my visions now. They were nothing to the reality of knowing Will.
‘I heard him,’ I lied easily. ‘I heard the sound of hoof beats. And I did not know it was Sir William. I just said that somebody was coming.’
Eleanor’s expression eased slightly although she still looked a little distressed. ‘You seemed so odd,’ she complained. ‘You spoke in a whisper and your eyes were blind.’
I turned away from her to hide the wave of fury that possessed me. I could not afford to upset Eleanor and lose her friendship.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said carelessly. ‘I heard horses and told you someone was coming. That is all it was.’
‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘you seem so strange. What of the time you screamed aloud? I heard you call out the name Darrell.’
I felt chilled. I had had no idea that I had done that and the thought scared me. What else might I give away unknowing? I felt guilty too. I had not thought of Darrell all day. His existence had been quite eclipsed by Will’s arrival. With a slight sense of shock, I realised I did not want to talk to him. Life was exciting now. His appeal seemed to have faded.
‘I don’t remember that,’ I said slowly. ‘I don’t know anyone of that name. You must have misheard.’
I blew out the candle and left her to find her way back to her own chamber in the dark.
*
We went out riding every day that followed. The weather was dry so Lady Fenner could not object and if she had I believe that Will would have overruled her anyway. He was not a man who took direction from anyone, least of all a woman. His confidence frequently slid into arrogance but I admired him for it in those days, fool that I was.
Sometimes, Eleanor accompanied us but sometimes she stayed at home and Will and I rode out together with a retinue of servants in attendance like a king and queen. For the first time in my life I enjoyed being on horseback and was glad that I had learned to ride. We ambled along the dusty lanes, the earth baked hard by the heat of summer, beneath overhanging beech, alder and elm where I was shielded from the glare of the sun. Will was an attentive companion. He showed me all the places he had roamed as a boy, the dam he had built across the stream, the tree house in the woods, the tumble of mosaics and walls that was all that was left of a Roman villa built back in the mists of time. We rode west, where there were great grey stones lying in the open fields as though tossed there by giants, and south, where the river ran lazily through drowsy fields and coppices. We never rode north, over the Downs, or into the little town of Hungerford.
‘Sir Walter dislikes us,’ Eleanor confided, when I asked. ‘Sir Walter Hungerford,’ she added, seeing my blank expression. ‘He is a great knight whose family derive from the
se parts.’
‘I see,’ I said, not really seeing at all. I found it surprising that anyone shunned Lady Fenner socially. She was from a great family herself, that of Essex, and she made sure that everyone was cognisant of the fact. ‘Why—’ I began, but Eleanor shook her head, pressing a finger to her lips.
‘We do not speak of it,’ she said, blurting out almost immediately: ‘They say that Will seduced Sir Walter’s wife.’
That, I thought, seemed both entirely possible and a good enough reason to explain Sir Walter’s animosity. Even though Will’s charm bowled me over I was not stupid enough to imagine I was the only woman who had ever been the recipient of it. He was a man of seven and twenty. Hearing of his worldly experience only added to the allure, though.
‘Anne Hungerford was a great beauty once,’ Eleanor said, ‘but she is old now, at least thirty years.’
At that point I was almost able to feel sorry for poor, faded Lady Hungerford. I was nineteen myself.
It rained that afternoon and so Lady Fenner decreed we should stay inside. Eleanor was writing poetry. She had never shown any of it to me, being so modest about her own work that she would blush if I asked after it and smother it against her bodice in case I tried to snatch it and read it. She was curled up on the window seat, a pot of ink at her side, whilst I sat listlessly at the virginals, picking out a tune with little enthusiasm and no talent. I watched the raindrops run down the windows and wondered how it was possible to have been so happy only the day before and now to feel so out of humour.
The clatter of voices and footsteps in the corridor outside roused me from my torpor, although Eleanor was so engrossed, she did not even glance up. It had to be Will; no one else made so much noise.
The door swung open.
‘Eleanor.’ Will nodded to me then strode across to his sister. ‘Mama wishes to speak with you,’ he said. ‘She deems it urgent.’
The Phantom Tree Page 14