Midge had decided not to sleep in the tree house that night – glad to be in a proper bed after what had seemed an endless day. And it was so good to have her mum with her, to tuck her in again, like at home. And now this would be home, she thought. This funny room, where she had been born, where she had felt that she belonged, right from the very first day.
The world seemed to have speeded up. Her life had been altered at such a rate that it had been as much as she could do to cling on from one day to the next, coping as best as she had been able. And now here was another huge and unexpected surge forward. She was flying.
‘Everything’s going to change, Mum, isn’t it? For us.’
‘Yes, it is. And it’s going to be a change for the good, darling. It feels right. This is where we should be – you were born here, by the way, did I ever tell you that?
‘I know. Uncle Brian told me the first day I was here. And it was really strange – but I felt like I was home, right from the first day. Like I had been here before. It seems like years ago. What about you and Uncle Brian, though? You’ve never had very nice things to say about him. I like him – but I never thought that you did, much.’
‘Mm. I think that maybe I was always jealous – and a bit cross. This was my home too, you know, as a child, and I loved it. When he got the farm and I got nothing, I was upset. And then when everything he tried seemed to fail, and the place just went down and down – well, that made me crosser still. No, we’ll probably have a few arguments – but we can get along all right. And we wouldn’t be living in each other’s pockets all the time – we’ll be like neighbours. He’s very good with people, you know, in a funny sort of way. Better than me at that side of things, I think. People like him. He’d be great as a front-of-house person, if we got this up and running. And there’s very little wrong with the ideas he has – most of the things he’s thought of for this place could have worked, with the right amount of capital, and a proper business plan. He’s just not good with money that’s all. I am, though, and that’s why it’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. I’ll tell you something else – though you mustn’t breathe a word – I reckon he and Pat will get back together again, someday. They still love each other, I’m certain. It’s just that she couldn’t stand it any longer – one scheme after another going down the pan. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if making a success of this place helped bring them back together again. All she ever wanted was a bit of stability, I think.’
‘He has girlfriends, you know. Well, I think he does.’
‘Hmm. Frankie Seymour, you mean? I don’t believe that that’s a very serious option. Frankie’s got far too much sense.’
‘Would you ever get married again?’
‘Oh, hullo. What’s brought all this on? Well, I don’t know. Anything’s possible, I suppose. Would it bother you?’
‘Depends.’
‘Of course it does. Well . . . I have been seeing someone, a bit. But I don’t think you need worry about it too much. No wedding bells just around the corner, I think I can guarantee that much.’
‘I bet he’s a musician.’
‘Well, yes, as it happens – but no one from the orchestra, if that’s what you mean. Anyway, enough. I’m not going to say another word.’
‘So it’s a secret.’
‘Well, it’s not a secret as such. It’s just that now doesn’t feel like the right time to talk about it.’
‘It’s OK to have secrets though, isn’t it?’
‘Course it is. Why – have you got some?’
‘Might have,’ said Midge, coyly.
‘Well then, you might tell me about them, when you feel like it. Or you might not, if you’d prefer. I shan’t mind.’
‘It was a secret about the flats, wasn’t it? For a long time you kept that a secret. Years. But then you told about it in the end.’
‘Yes – because the time was right. And as I said, if you’ve got something you want to tell me about . . .’
‘Mum, you’ve started to call me Midge.’
‘I know. Do you mind? It seems silly not to, when everyone else does. I’ve sort of got used to it. Like you drinking tea.’
It was still light when her mum kissed her and left the room. Midge could hear the distant cawing of the rooks as they began to settle down for the night, and the evening song of a blackbird, through her open window, clear liquid sounds, joyous on the peaceful summer air. She heard Uncle Brian cross the yard, open and shut the car boot – bringing her mum’s bags in, probably – and the occasional creak of the beams up in the roof, the house cooling down as the long day came to a close. These would be her sounds, now, the sounds that she would hear for years to come. And it was all right to have secrets. Next week, next year, maybe in twenty years when she had babies of her own – someday when the time was right, she would tell. But not today. And not tomorrow. Tomorrow she would . . . she yawned and closed her eyes. Whatever she would do tomorrow, could wait until then.
Chapter Twenty-nine
SHE WAS AWAKE long before anyone else in the morning, and anxious, now, to break her news to Pegs. It was going to be all right, everything was going to be all right. The Various were safe – as safe as they had ever been – and she had to let them know.
The dew had soaked through her trainers by the time she had reached the top of the gully, and she could feel the damp between her toes. The wicker doors were already open, ready and waiting for her.
Once more she stepped into that other world, that world within a world, stood by the little spring, the heady scent of wild garlic in her nostrils, and met with Pegs – the amazing, mysterious, magical Pegs. She reached out her hand to touch the soft silvery mane, let the tips of her fingers brush the velvety texture of the folded wings, and once more she was overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all.
‘This is like a dream,’ she said. ‘It just feels as though I’m dreaming all the time.’
Yes. Comprend. And perhaps there will come a time when you will believe it to have been so. And I too. But for today let us imagine that we are here. Tell me what you have to say.
She had thought that the news she brought – the wonderful news of how the forest was to remain undisturbed, and its secrets undiscovered – would provoke more of a reaction from her friend than it seemed to. Pegs shook back his head, as though releasing a tension in his neck muscles, then turned to look at her. For a long moment he gazed into her eyes, searching, it appeared, puzzled almost.
I too have dreams, my friend. And through them I see ever more clearly. I am flying towards a great light, and as the light grows ever brighter, so does my understanding of what is, and was, and will be.
‘But . . . I had a dream like that!’ cried Midge, astonished. ‘I was flying . . . towards a light . . . and you were there!’
Yes. I was there. Be accepting, maid, accepting of who you are and of what may happen to you. And know this – all that may happen has already happened. Aye, and all that has happened will happen again. Know that there is a circle, unjoined as yet, and that you are a part of it. Know also that you will come to no harm. Have no fear, and you will take no ill from this – I am certain of it.
Midge had expected a little more gratitude for the fact that she had brought a promise of safety for Pegs. She felt a bit peeved, suddenly, that he talked as though it was to be the other way about – that he was promising her own safety. Easy to say, now that all danger seemed to be past, she thought. And those other things he said . . . she simply didn’t understand. They just seemed to be riddles.
‘Well, I very nearly have come to harm, once or twice,’ she said. ‘That time when Scurl tried to shoot me – and he would have done too if it hadn’t been for . . . Maven. And that other time with Benzo. If you hadn’t been there, then, well . . . I don’t know what would have happened.’
Yet I was there. And am there. And will ever be there. As you were there, when I lay broken beneath a cruel wheel, and were ever there. Where else may we be, other than whe
re we were, and are, and will be?
‘What? How do you mean? Do you mean that it’s all . . . I don’t know the word . . . I can’t think of it . . .’ She knew there was a word somewhere, but it had gone. ‘And what about Maven? Who is she, anyway?’
I cannot say. But I begin to see who you are, and what you are . . . and I say again – be accepting, and have no fear. Have no fear, Midge, no matter what may betide. And now, enough – for here are others, eager for your news.
Henty and Little-Marten were making their way along the bank of the little stream. Shy with her at first, they were, tongue-tied, as she was with them. No amount of meetings could ever diminish the strangeness of it all. It would never feel comfortable, normal. She didn’t belong here. But the couple seemed glad to see her, and glad of the excuse to be away for an hour – for they had said nothing to Tadgemole yet, nor to anyone, of their being together. A union between an Ickri and a Tinkler was unheard of – and it was doubtful that either of their fathers would have approved. Eventually, they hoped, it might be accepted – but for the moment it was a secret, and besides, the future of the forest and of all the Various was so uncertain that now was not the time to seek approval.
But here was Midge, the Gorji maid, with news to gladden their hearts, and give them hope. The crisis had passed, they learned. They could not comprehend the details, and nor were they interested – they understood only that the forest was not to be destroyed, and that their peace would remain undisturbed. For the time being, at least, they were safe – and this was news indeed.
‘Nothing will change,’ said Midge. ‘I promise. And nobody will ever come here. Everything will be like it was – better, now that you don’t have to worry any more.’
Little-Marten and Henty were very happy at this, and inwardly planned to launch the announcement of their union on the tide of good news that they would bring to their fathers. Pegs remained thoughtful, though.
I knew in my heart that your coming here was meant to be – and that with your coming the wheel of our story would begin to turn again. Yet, as I have said, the circle remains unjoined, and we are not yet free to come and go as we will. For this is the birthright of all travelling tribes – to travel – and we have stayed here too long. We are but visitors here, maid – we come, and we go. All of us are but visitors, aye, even the Gorji – though few of them know it. For today, and this news, I am glad – and those who wait now for word in Counsel Clearing will be glad also. This will still the unquiet hearts, and bring us peace where all has been upset. Yet the soil remains thin, and the woods are not as fruitful as they were. We have some respite, but cannot stay forever. We shall talk again, maid – you and I – a task remains concerning the Touchstone, and I believe that your part is not yet played entire. There are other times to come – aye, other times to come. Remember that. Briefly parted, then, maid. And soon united, I hope.
‘Yes. Soon united, Pegs – I hope so too. Goodbye, Henty. Goodbye, Little-Marten – you know where I’ll be from now on. Right here.’
The Tinkler maid stepped shyly forward, her beautiful dark eyes shining with pleasure, and she offered some bright object in her outstretched hand. It was the tinsy bowl. ‘A gift,’ she said. ‘And now ’tis mine to give. A gift from my father – a cup of kindness to thee for my safe return.’
‘Well, I’m not to thank for that,’ said Midge. ‘But I’d love to have it, and I shall keep it always, I promise. I never did get the chance to look at it properly.’
‘ ’Twas for Celandine,’ said Henty. ‘She that showed us how to sing. See – ’tis rubbed up now.’
‘Do you really think I should take it?’ Midge was speaking to Henty, but she glanced at Pegs. The white horse bowed his graceful head slightly.
It is for you, as it ever was. You should take it.
Midge took the little bowl, polished and gleaming in the sunlight, and saw the finely engraved figures, tiny people, around the outer rim. And there was the picture of Celandine, standing in their midst. All their mouths were open. They were singing. Of course – now she could see it. And on the inside of the bowl, around the inner rim, was engraved the name Celandine. It was a beautiful, lovely thing.
‘They’re all singing,’ said Midge. ‘It’s gorgeous. Thank you, Henty. You’ll have to tell me the story of this – I shall come and see you, and we’ll sit down together, and you can tell me all about it.’
‘I can do singing,’ said Little-Marten proudly. ‘I be learning.’
The Naiad field workers straightened their backs and looked across the plantation as the white horse appeared among the cedar trees at the corner of the East Wood. They saw him pause there for a few moments with the Woodpecker and the Tinkler maid, then walk on, alone, towards Counsel Clearing. Maglin, they knew, would be waiting there, with the Elders and the tribe leaders – and Ba-Betts, perhaps, if she were up betimes. There had already been a reprieve, or so they had heard when Maglin and Pegs had returned the previous day – the forest might survive for a little longer. Another season, two seasons, maybe more. And now Pegs had met with the Gorji maid once again – she whose arrival would no doubt bring many changes, like the arrival of that other maid, so long ago. Whether those changes would be for good or ill they could not yet tell, but optimism and hope were in their nature – as it must be in the nature of all those whose lives are precarious. Perhaps there would be more news. They laid down their implements, and made their way to Counsel Clearing, to listen to whatever it was that the winged horse had to say.
But the Woodpecker and the Tinkler maid slipped away by themselves. They knew all there was to know, they felt, and more. Had they not faced the worst that the Gorji world could throw at them – certain death? And had they not clung to each other in that moment, prepared to face it together, rather than be separated? What else did they need to know? They would listen to no more speeches, or declarations or wordy arguments. There were other words, and better ways of using them.
Midge carefully parted the brambles at the gates of East Wood and slowly climbed the steep banks of the gully. She remembered the last occasion she had done this – her blind panic, her torn clothes, and her vow never to return. How differently she felt today.
Near the top of the gully she fumbled her footing slightly and put out a hand to steady herself. Her eye fell upon a small yellow flower, nestling in the rough grass, and her fingers seemed to reach out to it as she stumbled forward. It was a celandine, a single late bloom, and she crouched down on the bank to examine it. The moment seemed to have some sort of meaning, and she thought she would pick the flower and carry it home with her. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned round for some reason and looked back towards the brambles at the head of the gully. Standing down below, motionless beside the little stream, was a stooping figure – a fantastic creature, wreathed in trailing strands of ivy, robed in tattered emerald, hair and hands and features daubed in viridian. Midge looked down in shock at the silent figure, feeling that of all the strange things these woods had revealed to her this was surely the strangest – this fey yet deadly woodland spirit, this wild apparition, her guardian angel. Maven-the-Green.
Still as stone at the water’s edge, the crooked figure returned her wondering gaze, but made no sound and gave no sign – a woodland statue, expressionless, unfathomable. She reminded Midge of carvings seen in foreign shrines, there forever, decked in offerings, watching a changing world through changeless eyes.
If there had been a moment when she might have spoken, then that moment had passed. Midge felt calm, and content just to sit and stare – as one might stare at a deer or a fox in a rare and privileged encounter, each aware that the one does not belong in the other’s world, each aware that the one means the other no harm, a mirrored glance of curiosity and acknowledgement, before travelling on.
She picked the celandine after all, held it up for Maven to see, and thought that she detected the ghost of a reaction – the slightest inclination of the head, perhaps, the faintes
t of smiles. Maybe she had been mistaken – at any rate she was reminded, as she held up the flower, of the bunch of celandines that had been laid beside the woodland path, and she thought that she knew whose hand had placed them there for her. She rose to her feet and turned to go. After a few paces it became impossible to resist a last quick glance over her shoulder – even though she knew in advance that the figure would no longer be there.
Back down Howard’s Hill she walked, holding the cup of kindness, feeling the rounded lip of the rim between her fingers. A warm haze hung over the wetlands, softening the colours of the landscape and the rooflines of Mill Farm, down below. The air was alive with the sounds of insects and birds, everything busy doing what it was supposed to be doing. She had done what she was supposed to do, she felt – and soon would be as busy as they. But not today. There would be plans to make, and conversations to have, and a million things to think about. There would be architects and builders and decorators. There would be furniture and wallpaper to choose, schools to visit, clarinet lessons to be organized and everything, everything, everything. And there would be the Various, and other mysteries to unravel. But not today. Today she would lie in the sun.
* * *
She rested on her tummy on top of the low balustrade wall in front of the house, feeling the warmth on her back, and turning the little bowl round and round between her fingers as she gazed at the pictures. She thought, I live here. My name is Margaret Walters, and I live at Mill Farm, near Withney, Somerset.
Margaret Walters – nobody ever called her that, except when they had a supply teacher taking the register at school . . . Thomas Vincent, Margaret Walters, Astral Weekes. Then everyone would laugh, because it was never Margaret and Astral, always Midge and Azzie. She would miss Azzie. But she could come down from London, like Mum had said, and visit. Azzie would love it here.
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