I sent Darrell a very small, shamefaced acknowledgement and felt again that rush of love surround me. It was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. I knew he wanted more than I thought I could give; his was a mature love. Suddenly I realised that he had been waiting for me for a long time and that he did not want to wait any longer.
‘When will I see you?’ I asked.
‘Soon.’ It was a promise that sent a skitter of anticipation down my spine, part confusion, part excitement.
Will had a woman in his chambers that night. This was not unusual in itself; whether the woman was a servant girl or a drab from the town or even the lady wife of some local squire, they came and went and Will made no secret of it. Lady Fenner also treated it as of no moment, as though to acknowledge that her son turned Middlecote into a bawdy-house would be beneath her notice.
I stuck my fingers in my ears to block out the noise and fell into a restless sleep full of vivid images of Darrell, whose face I never saw, and Will, who rode hell for leather through my dreams as he had that day he came back to Middlecote. Then the images changed and I dreamed of Alison again, but oh so differently from the vision I had had of her with the falcon. Perhaps everything was confused and jumbled up in my mind, but when I saw her I knew at once she was somewhere far, far from me. She looked different. She even sounded different, as though the Alison I had known was half the same, half transformed. She was standing outside Middlecote but the house was different too, much larger, tumbledown and dark, shuttered in ivy. Alison was sitting on the front steps, her head in her hands. At her side sat a large black dog of a breed I had never seen before.
‘I need you, Mary,’ she said. ‘I’m still waiting. Where are you? Mary, where are you?’
I woke trembling, with Thomas Fenner’s words in my ears.
‘Sir Reginald De Morven saw visions of the future… He passed through time…’
And suddenly I knew where Alison was, and what I had to do in order to find her son and get word to her.
*
Eleanor was appalled when I told her that I wanted her to alter the portrait.
‘I can’t!’ she said, aghast. ‘It was painted by a proper artist!’
‘And you have as much skill,’ I argued. ‘Besides, no one wants it. It is hidden away here, so what’s the harm?’
I saw she was still hesitating and added, with cunning, ‘I only wish for the painting to feature one small angel—and a lion. Religious symbols, Eleanor, to affirm my faith.’
I should have felt guilty using such deception but I did not. Eleanor was very devout and her brow cleared and she smiled at me. She did not even query when I added a magic wand garlanded with flowers to my requirements, so that there was a picture in each corner of my portrait. I thought Alison would like the wand; it was a nod to both of us and to the discussion we had had about my powers as a seer. A portrait, I felt was more durable than a letter or some other form of communication. It might last for centuries. Besides, mine already had Alison’s box amongst the background details. I was not sure why the artist had chosen to represent it but perhaps because he had realised how precious it was to me as the place I stored everything that reminded me of my parents, pitifully few as those items were. One day he had come to paint me and seen me poring over my father’s signet ring. I had not known he was there and slammed the box closed fast enough when I saw him but he must have guessed its significance to me. Now it was to be significant to Alison too. It was to be the repository of any information I found about her son. That, and the portrait together would be my message to her.
Of course, I still had the difficulty of discovering what had befallen little Arthur Seymour but I had a very vague plan. I rode out the following afternoon. I did not have permission and no one accompanied me. I slipped into the stables and took one of the mares and rode north over the Downs along the Sugar Way and the Thieves’ Way, until I was lost amidst the green lanes. I saw no one. Eventually, I dismounted and sat in the sun, eyes closed, feeling the warmth on my face. I waited— I suppose I may even have dozed, as the minutes stretched into hours and no one came.
There was movement beside me, sudden and unexpected, and I opened my eyes and made a grab for the knife in my boot.
‘Can you use that?’ Thomas Fenner asked, as I levelled it at his throat.
‘I’ve never tried,’ I said, ‘but how difficult can it be?’
‘Surprisingly difficult to spill blood the first time,’ he said. He moved the blade away from his throat carefully. ‘After that, easier each time, I am sorry to say.’
‘How do you know?’ I asked. I put the knife down between us and it lay, glinting in the sun.
‘I’ve been a soldier.’ He was looking out across the downland, his gaze distant. ‘After my mother died and we lost Middlecote, I went away to fight.’
‘I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘Why did you come back?’
His gaze came back to my face and I felt a flash of emotion that I did not understand, as though I had missed something important, but all he said was, ‘There’s a time for everything. It was time for me to come home.’
‘To live in a ruin, and steal chickens and watch your brother despoil the lands you love?’
He smiled then. ‘Middlecote will never be mine again,’ he said, ‘but this…’ He gestured to the rolling land that encircled us ‘…this William cannot take from me.’ He picked up the knife, where it lay in the grass.
‘This is a fine blade,’ he said. ‘It’s not a woman’s knife, nor is it English. Where did it come from?’
‘It was my father’s,’ I said. ‘I inherited a few—a very few—useful things from him.’
Thomas had the knife resting on his palm now as he admired the balance of it. ‘It looks Swiss to me,’ he said. ‘Does it have a sheath decorated with the dance of death?’
‘Yes, I said. ‘How did you know?’
He looked at me sideways. ‘Your father would have had just such a knife. It’s expensive, high status, possibly the most useful thing you could have inherited from him, apart from your reckless spirit.’
‘I’m not reckless!’ I protested.
‘Of course you are,’ Thomas said. ‘You are here, aren’t you? Alone?’
‘I’m with you,’ I said. ‘How is it that you are here, anyway?’
There was a pause. ‘I ride this way each day,’ he said, ‘waiting for you.’
I stared at him. The sun was in his eyes, lifting the dark brown to golden. A steady light burned in them. That was the difference between Thomas and his brother, I thought suddenly. Will was mercurial, quicksilver, never to be trusted. Thomas was resolute.
‘When will I see you?’
‘Soon…’
The man I had seen in my dream turned around and at last I saw. He had Thomas Fenner’s face.
‘Darrell…’ I don’t know if I said it aloud but he smiled and spoke:
‘Cat…’ Then: ‘Mary.’
He moved so fast then, catching me to him, holding me close. I could feel the material of his jacket against my cheek and the beat of his heart beneath that. It mingled with mine, two hearts beating together as they always had from the very beginning. He kissed me and I clung to him, losing myself in the sensation, coming home. It was a long time before he released me and then it was only to push the tumbled hair back from my face with shaking hands so that he could look at me.
‘I’ve been so slow,’ I said. ‘So stupid.’
His mouth curved into that smile I loved. ‘You have,’ he agreed gravely.
I raised a hand to his cheek and felt the stubble rough beneath my fingers. ‘You,’ I said wonderingly. ‘But how?’
He shook his head. ‘I know not. But you said our families were connected generations back. Perhaps others had the gift and passed it down to us.’
‘When?’ I asked. ‘When did you know it was me?’
He paused. ‘I worked it out years back,’ he said. ‘You gave me lots of clues. Grimsthorp
e, Wolf Hall…’
‘Whereas you told me nothing,’ I reproved.
He looked shamefaced. ‘Secrecy is a way of life for me.’
I thought then of his family history: his illegitimacy, his mother thrown out of Middlecote, hounded by Will, his struggle to survive. I could understand his reticence. He trusted no one.
‘You have me now,’ I said, as I reached up to kiss him again.
‘I always had you,’ he said, against my mouth. ‘You were always mine.’
He kissed me again. It was lighter this time but not careless, gentle yet demanding. Kissing Thomas was not like kissing Will. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting to fly.
I saw the heat flare in his eyes but then, just when I thought I would tumble right down there in the bracken and grass with him, he smiled at me and simply lay back, looking up at the blue sky above our heads.
We have all the time in the world…
I smiled and lay back too. I felt warm and happy and very loved.
‘You did not tell me,’ he said, ‘how you came to be up here alone.’
‘I wanted to escape,’ I said, ‘just for a little.’
He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at me. I could see him out of the corner of my eye but kept staring up at the scudding clouds.
‘Is it very bad?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No one ill treats me, I suppose. It is boring and I feel trapped, and Will is unpredictable and Eleanor is sad and Lady Fenner is…’ I stopped. ‘Dangerous,’ I said, after a moment. ‘Sometimes I think she is more dangerous than Will is.’
‘She is certainly cleverer,’ Thomas said.
‘People lead worse lives than mine,’ I said. ‘Much worse. I do realise that.’
‘And more fulfilling ones,’ Thomas said.
‘I tried to write to the Queen,’ I said, ‘but Lady Fenner stole my letter and burned it. I wanted my lands back. I wanted to build a life for myself elsewhere.’
‘Alone, again?’ Thomas asked.
‘Not now,’ I said. ‘I want to live with you.’ An idea took me.
‘You could go!’ I rolled over and faced Thomas. ‘You could carry a message to London for me!’
When he smiled the lines deepened at the side of his eyes. ‘You want me to be your messenger boy now?’ he asked. ‘You do not ask much, do you, Mary Seymour? It’s a long way to London and it costs. Can you pay me?’
I had spent my last coin on bribing the faithless hall boy. ‘No,’ I said.
Thomas shook his head. ‘Well, then…’
This time it was I who, daring all, leaned forward to kiss him. I took the leap. It was how I imagined flying might be; my stomach dropped, there was a rush of excitement. I felt dizzy.
‘I’m not sure exactly what it is that you are offering,’ Thomas said, a long time later, ‘but perhaps we should stop this, at least until we are wed.’
I sat up, feeling hot and dishevelled and wonderfully wanton. My hair had come loose from its hood and lay about my shoulders. A part of me was mortified at my behaviour whilst the other half of me wished I had taken matters a great deal further. I started to straighten my clothes, picked up the knife and tucked it back in my boot.
‘My parents left me a dowry,’ I said, not meeting Thomas’s eyes. ‘A golden ring, a quantity of other jewellery, a psalter, a few small items. But if we were to regain my father’s lands I would be an heiress—’
Thomas caught my wrist and tumbled me back down into the grass beneath him, disarranging my carefully tidied hair so that it spread about me again. There was a fierce expression on his face.
‘When I take you, Mary Seymour,’ he said, ‘it will not be for the money.’
He kissed me again. It was fierce this time, catching alight, like a wildfire, but he released me with a groan before it had barely started.
‘I’ll ride to London for you,’ he said. ‘Damn it, you must know I would do anything for you.’
I had known it, in my heart of hearts, that he and I were inextricably linked, destined from the first. That feeling surged in me now, growing and expanding inside me all energy and excitement. I pressed a hand to his cheek, revelling in the touch, the warmth and roughness of it. The sensations were all new to me, and glorious.
‘I do know,’ I whispered, ‘and I feel the same.’
There was a shadow in his eyes. He shook his head and moved back, putting space between us. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you,’ he said, ‘whilst I am there?’
I remembered then, through the haze of my happiness and my new-found feelings.
Alison. Only that morning, I had hatched the plan of asking Thomas to seek word of her.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, please. You can make enquiries after a Mistress Alison Banestre. And you can ask after her son by Lord Hertford. He is called Arthur. I need to know what happened to him.’
Thomas nodded. He seemed unsurprised. ‘Whom should I address?’
‘Go first to Mistress Elizabeth Aiglonby,’ I said. ‘She is in the service of the Queen. I will give you a letter, and a token for her.’
He gave me a glimmer of smile. ‘That means that I shall need to see you again before I go.’
‘Alas,’ I said, ‘it does.’ I looked at him from beneath my lashes. ‘Tomorrow?’
Thomas nodded. ‘Meet me at the Phantom Tree.’
I shuddered at the name. ‘Where?’
‘It is the huge oak that stands on the track just to the south of Middlecote Hall,’ Thomas said.
‘I know the one.’ I had ridden that way with Will. ‘But why the name? Why so macabre?’
He shrugged. ‘I know not. Some say it was because a dead man walks there. He materialises from nowhere and vanishes as quick. Superstition, I expect.’
A dead man walks there…
I shivered again. I had seen a dead woman on horseback once. I, more than most, should believe in such dark tales. I wished Thomas had not chosen to meet there though.
It felt ill wished.
Chapter 22
‘A cat,’ Alison said. ‘What am I to do with a cat?’
She had rung Adam from the car as she drove slowly back towards the motorway along the country lanes. He had sounded sleepy and warm, as though she had stirred him from falling asleep over the Sunday papers, and she had felt a sudden and terribly strong urge to be there with him, curled up in the flat together, talking and laughing and making love, re-learning each other, as they had done the previous day.
Adam had offered to come down to Wiltshire with her but Alison had wanted to go alone. When she rang, she had told him that Diana was dead and the warmth had fled his voice as he had asked how she was.
‘I’m fine,’ Alison had said. Then: ‘No. I don’t know. I’m shocked. But…’ She had hesitated on the edge of telling Adam everything, but had drawn back.
‘Hector can’t live with me,’ she said now. ‘I can’t have a cat in London. There’s no garden. It’s impossible.’
Hector, asleep on the passenger seat, ignored her. He had woken briefly when she had tried to put the seat belt around him, and had then promptly turned his back on her.
‘Take him to Richard,’ Adam said. ‘He likes cats and the shop has a long back garden that goes down to the river. Hector would like it there.’
‘I thought Richard was looking after Monty,’ Alison said. ‘Dogs and cats don’t go together.’
‘Monty gets on fine with cats,’ Adam said. ‘Marlborough is on your way, isn’t it? I’ll ring Richard and tell him to expect you. He’s always taking in strays. He’d love to have Hector.’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Alison looked dubiously at the cat who was snoring now. ‘It seems an imposition.’
‘I’ll call you back,’ Adam said, ‘but I’m sure it will be fine.’
It only took ten minutes to get to Marlborough and Alison parked directly outside the portrait gallery. There was a yellow line on the road but it was a Sunday and
she thought it unlikely there would be a traffic warden on the prowl. A couple of doors down, the sign of the White Hart jutted out over the pavement. The shop, unlike many others in the High Street, had a closed sign in the window, but when she tried the door it opened.
She rang the bell and stepped inside. Today the bright lights were out and the gallery full of pale shadows rather than colour. It was silent. Adam had said Richard was expecting her but there was no sign of him.
‘Hello?’ Alison walked towards the counter at the back. Behind it, a door opened into what looked like an office. The building was long and thin. Alison could picture it as Adam had described, stretching back from the road like the rambling medieval houses she had once seen, a garden behind it, each tenement plot a small piece of land carved out to support a family.
The office door seemed to sway on its hinges for a moment and it was as though the scene before her changed, dissolving and reforming into a different picture, a room with an earthen floor and a rough wooden table. She could hear the clash of pots and the sound of voices and in her nose was the smell of roasting meat…
‘Ah, Miss Bannister.’ Richard was coming out of the office towards her. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear the bell.’
‘Please, call me Alison,’ Alison said, ‘and I do apologise for simply walking in.’ She gave her head a little shake, trying to clear it. The office looked perfectly normal now, but just for a second she had glimpsed, or thought she had glimpsed, something very different behind that door. No doubt the shocks of the day were making her feel a bit confused. There was a smell of roasting meat though: Richard’s Sunday lunch, she assumed.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting Hector,’ Richard said. ‘Adam said he needed rehoming.’
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