Parliament of Rooks

by Karen Perkins

Jayne and Lara shared another glance, and I remembered the way they’d looked at me when I’d told them to relax and go to the museum or something, and that I’d see them tonight.

  ‘Don’t forget my team,’ Vikram said, sounding wounded. ‘We’ve worked ruddy hard to get your new kitchen installed and ready for tonight.’

  ‘Aye, you have that, mate,’ William said. ‘It’s appreciated, and why you’ve been invited to the inaugural dinner party.’

  Vikram took the beer his childhood friend proffered, but didn’t say anything.

  Lara and Jayne exchanged yet another look, and I sighed inwardly. What’s their problem?

  I relieved them of the bottles of wine they’d brought, checked the labels and deposited them in the fridge, before removing one already chilled. I opened it and poured three glasses.

  William opened his can of bitter and raised it in a toast.

  ‘To Verity and The Rookery.’

  I smiled at William as the others repeated the toast and drank.

  ‘How’s that meat coming on, love?’

  ‘Oh.’ I’d forgotten about it. I set down my glass and rushed to my new oven – this was its first use and I really had no idea how efficient it was.

  I basted beef and turned potatoes and veg in the roasting pan, then replaced it in the oven, along with an empty Yorkshire pudding tin.

  Then back to the fridge and out with a plate of smoked salmon on Ritz crackers with lemon wedges.

  I realised the room was silent and caught yet another look between Jayne and Lara.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘There’s definitely something.’

  ‘Well, I was just reminded of when you were with Antony,’ Lara said. ‘You hated the focus on the food rather than the people in the room.’

  ‘And tonight you seem to be embracing it,’ Jayne added, with a glance at William, who was focused on me, helping me with the meal.

  Don’t they realise how much work we’ve put into this for them? I swallowed my ire, and said, ‘Sorry, the whole day’s been a mad panic.’

  ‘You’ve definitely been busy this week, Vikram,’ Jayne said, lightening the mood. ‘You’ve done a great job in here.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, visibly relaxing. ‘The guts of the job are mostly done, now it’s everything else.’ He laughed. ‘We’re going from the top down now, getting Verity’s accommodation sorted, then each guest room, then the ground floor. Should be a decent place when it’s all finished.’

  ‘Oh!’ Jayne exclaimed, spinning around on one foot as Lara grabbed her arm – to steady herself as well as her friend.

  ‘It’s the CDs we strung up to deter those damned birds,’ Vikram said, having rushed to the window to determine the source of the clatter that had startled everyone, then swiping at his face. ‘The string’s failed.’

  ‘Failed or pecked through?’ Lara whispered to Jayne.

  Vikram recoiled as a bird landed on the windowsill, opened its beak, and – it seemed – tried to bite the glass with a clack audible in the room.

  ‘Like that’s not going to get annoying,’ Jayne said as the feathered beast did it again, her nervous laugh betraying the confidence of her words.

  ‘The pigeon spikes are due Tuesday,’ Vikram said.

  ‘Will pigeon spikes be enough?’ Lara asked. ‘Those rooks are twice the size.’

  Vikram laughed. ‘Not quite that big, but the principle’s the same. They’ll stop roosting here once we’ve got them all in place.’

  He jumped as another beak clawed one of the nine small glass panes that made up each window. ‘Can’t come soon enough.’ His following laugh did nothing to ease the nerves of the others.

  ‘Maybe curtains should go to the top of your shopping list, Verity,’ Jayne suggested.

  I pouted. ‘We’re on the third floor, and uphill of the other houses on the other side of the street. I have no intention of blocking any of my view – not considering what I’ve gone through to get it.’

  Jayne’s mouth opened, then shut without making a sound.

  ‘These look lovely, Verity,’ Lara said to break the tension. She helped herself to one of the smoked-salmon canapés. ‘You’re really treating us.’

  ‘Then it’s sirloin of beef from the local butcher,’ William said with pride. ‘I could even tell you the colouring of the cow it came from.’

  Vikram grinned. ‘Old Ed Stockdale,’ he said, wiping his face. ‘He loves telling people that – picks his beasts out personally he does.’

  Lara and Jayne stayed silent, seeming almost grateful for the thump from the window from yet another bird. It meant they didn’t have to reply.

  ‘Time to get the Yorkshires in,’ I said. ‘William, would you help me?’

  Vikram squeezed on to the sofa next to Jayne, forcing her and Lara to shift up, then he rubbed his face again.

  ‘Why do you keep doing that?’ Lara asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wiping your face. I’ve seen you do it a few times tonight, but can’t remember seeing you do it before when we’ve met.’

  ‘Oh.’ Vikram looked surprised, then regarded his hand before lifting it to his cheek once more. ‘It’s weird, I keep feeling like I’ve walked into a cobweb.’

  ‘Really?’ Lara glanced at Jayne, who looked confused.

  Another rook trying to bite its way through the glass distracted them and conversation stopped for a while.

  I gave Lara a quick smile as I caught her eye and poured batter into the piping hot Yorkshire pudding tin, whilst William basted the meat again, then glanced at Jayne who was smiling shyly at Vikram.

  Lara sighed, rose, walked to the fridge, extracted a bottle and took it back to the sofa.

  ‘Thanks, Lara,’ Jayne said as she topped up the glasses.

  Lara’s answering smile was small. She looked like she’d made her mind up about something. Something unpleasant.

  ‘I hope you’re all hungry,’ I said as William and I rejoined our friends in the lounge area. ‘Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.’

  20.

  ‘That was absolutely delicious, Verity,’ Lara said, pushing her cleared cheesecake plate away. ‘You must have been flat out all day.’

  ‘Pretty much,’ I said, pleased that the atmosphere seemed to have lightened from earlier. I rested my hand on William’s arm, ‘But I had a lot of help and I really wanted to treat you after the way you’ve both helped and supported me through the move and everything.’

  ‘Any time, Verity,’ Jayne said.

  ‘We’re always here for you, you know that,’ Lara added.

  Vikram thrust his chair away from the table, startling the others, and swiped his hand over his face.

  ‘Seriously, mate, what’s wrong with you?’ William demanded.

  ‘It’s this place, Will. Something keeps touching my face. It’s freaking me out.’

  Jayne and Lara exchanged one of their silent glances that expressed so much.

  ‘You okay, Vikram?’ Jayne asked.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s gone,’ he said and pulled his chair back to the table.

  ‘Has anything else been happening, Verity?’ Lara asked.

  I shrugged, but could not stay my glance towards the window and the bird that was still snapping at the glass. I leaned into William as he grasped my hand. I didn’t need to say anything for my friends to understand.

  ‘We need to find out what’s going on here,’ Lara said.

  ‘You’ve been saying that since I moved in. So far, nothing’s worked.’

  ‘Cleansing and blessing the house hasn’t worked,’ Lara qualified. ‘I think it’s time we tried something else and found out exactly what or who we’re dealing with and what they want.’

  ‘And how do you propose to do that?’ Vikram asked, his scepticism clear in his voice, yet belied as he wiped at his face once again.

  ‘We ask them,’ Lara said. ‘We hol
d another séance. Properly this time, and we don’t stop until we get answers.’

  ‘What, table tipping and ectoplasm out of your nostrils, all that nonsense?’ William asked.

  Lara laughed. ‘Not quite, but whatever is here does seem to be trying to interact with us – or Verity at least.’

  ‘And William,’ I said. ‘He’s been dreaming too, like me.’

  ‘Of the same man?’

  ‘No, of a woman who looks like me.’

  ‘Okay.’ Lara drew the word out as she absorbed this. ‘So it does seem there are two of them and they’re trying to get through to the two of you.’

  ‘Let’s see if we can help them,’ Jayne said.

  ‘You’re on board with this?’ I asked her in surprise.

  ‘Yep. She’s quantified the problem and accepts this as the most effective solution,’ Lara answered for our friend.

  We laughed while both men scowled, not understanding the joke.

  ‘Let’s give it a go,’ William said, to Vikram’s obvious surprise. ‘What, mate? Something’s going on—’ He broke off at another interruption from the window and an opaque crack snaked across another small pane of glass.

  He looked back at his friend. ‘This ain’t normal, and I can’t think of anything else to do.’

  Vikram didn’t remove his stare from the destructive avian, which seemed to gaze back at him – the light from the streetlamps reflecting in its one visible eye. He nodded.

  Jayne and William helped me clear the table, and Lara flung her scarf over the standard lamp.

  ‘What?’ she asked in response to Vikram’s raised eyebrow. ‘It adds to the atmosphere.’

  He didn’t reply.

  Lara pulled three pillar candles from her large handbag and set them on the table.

  ‘You came prepared,’ Vikram said.

  ‘Always,’ Jayne answered for Lara, and gave Vikram’s arm a friendly squeeze. ‘You haven’t done anything like this before, have you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Shouldn’t mess with things you don’t understand.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Lara knows what she’s doing.’

  ‘I hope so,’ he said, then flicked off the overhead light at Lara’s instruction.

  The room seemed to glow; the pink of Lara’s floral scarf complementing the candlelight, and all five of us jumped as a rook pecked again at the cracked pane.

  Vikram twisted suddenly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I thought I saw something.’

  Silence for a moment – even from the birds.

  ‘I think we should get started,’ Lara said.

  We took our seats and joined hands.

  Lara took a deep breath.

  ‘Is anybody there?’

  Nothing happened.

  ‘Please come forward, we would like to help you.’

  I gasped as the candle flames flickered.

  ‘If you would like to talk to us, please knock or rap the table.’

  The candles flickered again.

  ‘It’s just the draught from the window,’ Vikram said as a second bird cracked another of the small panes.

  ‘One tap for no, two for yes.’

  ‘You’ll have no sound windows left at this rate,’ Vikram said as a third pane split. ‘Mind you, you could probably claim on the insurance if the birds are doing it.’

  ‘Shh,’ Jayne said and squeezed his hand.

  ‘One tap for yes, two for no,’ Lara repeated. ‘Please talk to us.’

  Another pane broke.

  ‘It’s the birds,’ Jayne blurted out. ‘They’re tapping –answering.’

  I screamed as glass showered to the floor, and hung on to William’s hand as the others jumped to their feet. The table juddered and thumped against my new rug, and all three candles extinguished as one.

  More smashing from the windows and the room was suddenly full of beating wings and outstretched talons.

  I heard Jayne shriek as she dived under the table and Lara jumped out of the way as Vikram swung his chair at the invading birds.

  ‘Out, out, out!’ he shouted, and I screamed as a bird pecked at my hand.

  William threw himself at me, and I fell from the chair to the floor, William’s bulk landing on top of me. I welcomed the dark as it rushed to embrace me. I did not want to be inside The Rookery a moment longer.

  Part Three

  1830-1848

  “Terror made me cruel”

  Wuthering Heights

  Emily Brontë, 1847

  Haworth, West Yorkshire

  1.

  Martha used the foot-treadle to shift the warps then sent the shuttle flying through the resultant gap between the two rows of woollen yarn. Weft picked, she beat the new pick up against the fell of the woven piece, ensuring the new weft was snug against the one before, then worked the treadle and flicked the shuttle back with the next pick. Then repeated. Endlessly.

  She had been at this near a year now, and could match most of the men for speed, now that she’d built up the strength needed for beating-up. Though she was still waiting for the day when Old Man Barraclough dropped his chisels for good and Harry could take over the mason’s shop.

  She wouldn’t need to work at all then. She could stay at home, or swan about on the moors like that Brontë lass. She avoided even thinking her name these days, and was furious that Harry still gave her the time of day.

  ‘Her father’s the parson,’ he’d say. ‘They’re important in the village. And if I’m to take over from Mr Barraclough one day, I need to keep in with ’em. Most of our trade’s memorials. Thee kens that, Martha. Where would we be without the church?’

  Martha had no answer.

  A cough interrupted her thoughts and she brought her attention back to the piece she was weaving, checked the let off and take up to ensure everything was regular, then glanced down at Edna who was in her basket, playing with her poppet and a couple of bobbins. Happy enough.

  She was finding her feet quickly now and Martha did her best to tire the child out throughout the morning, so that when she took over the loom from Old Dan after dinner, Edna would stay in the basket where she put her. The rhythm of the looms seemed to calm the child, but then she’d heard it all her life.

  Martha smiled at her daughter, then checked her piece and picked the shuttle. This was the only machine Edna would know, Martha was determined to it. No mill for Edna Sutcliffe, not if she could help it. As the daughter of a master stonemason, she’d be in line for a decent husband who’d keep her in a fine house.

  She coughed, adjusted the take up a little on the loom and worked the treadle. That’s better.

  Aye, mebbe it is worth putting up with the Brontë girl if it means Edna and whoever comes next have a decent chance at life.

  She caressed her belly, certain more life was growing there, then returned her hand to the loom.

  She thought back to that wonderful day in the bluebell woods, certain that was when the child had started. Aye, she was a lucky one to have snared Harry Sutcliffe, though it had taken long enough to get him to the altar. Sarah was green with envy when she told her.

  Martha smiled again then glanced down to check on Edna. The basket was empty.

  Sighing, Martha scanned the floor of the weaving gallery for her independence-seeking offspring, then a shout alerted her. ‘Ower ’ere!’

  ‘Thanks, Alf,’ she called and halted the loom to retrieve Edna. Crawling around the way she did, she could easily get trapped under a working foot treadle.

  Standing, Martha stretched, then put her hand to her mouth as a more violent cough shook her. She looked around in alarm at the gallery of weavers mesmerised by the rhythm of their looms, recognising a smell that every textile worker dreaded.

  Smoke.

  ‘Edna! Edna! Where is she?’

  A couple of weavers looked up at her, recognising the note of alarm in her voice.

  ‘Sm
oke!’ she cried. ‘There’s a fire! Where’s my baby?’

  2.

  ‘Fire!’

  Harry heard the shout, dropped his chisel and mallet – mindless of the memorial stone for Richard Smith’s second wife – and dashed outside.

  ‘That’s Weaver’s Row,’ he shouted. ‘Martha! Edna!’ He ran downhill to his family.

  Men flocked to West Lane: slaughtermen, innkeepers, cloggers, druggist; every trader on Main Street. No one from the mills though, they were too far away. It would be up to the village tradesmen to save the cottages; home to near a dozen families, including the Sutcliffes.

  ‘The gallery, is the gallery afire?’ Harry cried as he pushed his way through the throng of men.

  ‘Nay, ’tis woolcombing shed. Gallery’s safe for now.’

  ‘Where are the weavers?’

  No one answered him, and Harry could do naught about Martha as a full bucket was pressed into his hands. A line of men already stretched from the well to the wooden woolcombing shed attached to Weaver’s Row, and Harry was one of the closest.

  He threw the water at the flames that were singeing the whiskers on his jaw. He didn’t notice.

  Despite his panic, he knew he had to fight the fire, however much he wanted to find his wife and daughter. Controlling the flames would give them the best chance of getting out.

  ‘There’s good men up in that gallery,’ Harry muttered to the next man in line as he swapped his empty bucket for a full one. ‘They’ll get ’em out.’

  The man, Edward Stutterghyll, the proprietor of Haworth’s largest ironmongery, nodded, and shouted, ‘Happen it’ll be all right.’ He couldn’t have heard Harry’s mutter, but didn’t need to, to understand the mason’s distress.

  Everyone in the village knew of Martha’s deal with Old Dan Walker, and whilst few approved, no one could argue it didn’t make sense for them to share the loom, it was too much for either Dan or Martha to work at for a full day. Besides, fool be the man who denied Martha Sutcliffe anything she’d set her mind on. Including her husband.