Murkmere

by Patricia Elliott

  I couldn’t make out any words but I noticed a strange thing. She was frightened. She’d lost the flush of drink and her flabby cheeks were gray and damp as clay.

  Eventually I persuaded her to sit down again in the chair, whereupon she threw the apron over her head and made little moaning sounds. The dog woke up again, rolled his eyes at us, and made for the door.

  “Whatever’s the matter, Mistress?” I said.

  “The birds!” she cried in a voice of doom, muffled by the apron. “The birds!”

  “What birds?” I said.

  After a fit of coughing she took the apron away at last and fixed me with watering eyes. “There’s an old nest fallen in the chumney,” she spluttered. “Gossop sent a boy on the roof to see. We daren’t get it out, for all it brings the soot.”

  “Can’t you send for the sweep?” I asked. Chimney sweeps had the Protector’s official pardon to remove bird nests, though our village sweep, Gammy the Soot, was a blasphemous man, who cared more for money than forgiveness. I’d never seen him pray in the Meeting Hall.

  “Mr. Gammy only comes from the village three times a year,” moaned the woman. “Now’s not his time.”

  “But can’t someone be sent for him?”

  “The servants are too sick, and those that aren’t say there’s a curse on this house and the nest confirms it.” Raising herself again, she hissed wetly into my face, “’Tis a rook’s nest, Agnes Cotter!”

  A chill went through me before I pulled myself together. “Rooks don’t nest in chimney stacks, Mistress Crumplin.” It was more likely to be a daw’s nest, though that was as bad. “I know Gammy the Soot and his chimney boy. They’ll come if you pay them.”

  She shook her head adamantly and her chins quivered above the bedraggled lace collar. “There’s not a fit body here who dares go into the village. They’re a dangerous lot, the folk there.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, then suddenly a wonderful idea came to me. “Well, Mistress Crumplin, I’ll convey this to the Master,” I said grandly. “We’ll see what he has to say.”

  With that, I swept up the roast and the cabbage and left her alone with her fears and the smoking fire. And if I hadn’t been laden with food, I would have run all the way back to the dining room, I was so eager to tell the Master my idea.

  When I broke the news that a bird’s nest blocked the chimney, Leah looked dumbfounded. “No one will remove it?” She threw her arms out, and Scuff and the kitchen boy melted back into a corner. “Do we have nitwits for servants?”

  “They think it will bring disaster if they touch it,” I said, not looking at her, but putting the dishes of food on the table.

  “What greater disaster than to die from starvation?” retorted Leah. “You believe such stories too, don’t you? Admit it!”

  I was uneasy about admitting anything of the sort in front of the Master, for I’d a feeling he despised such beliefs even more than she did, though I didn’t know what kind of god all his book learning had brought him. I went back to my place and sat down, watching him from under my eyelashes, waiting for the right moment to mention my idea; and slowly my hopes faded.

  His expression had grown dark and withdrawn. He’d said nothing while I described the scene in the kitchen, but tapped the end of a fork on the table as if in imagination he beat it on someone’s head.

  Now he laid it down and put his hands on his shrunken legs, kneading them viciously. “Look at me,” he growled, “grown so weak I can’t even supervise affairs in my house any longer, but must trust others to do so instead.”

  Leah ran to his side and knelt down by the iron chair, angrily waving Scuff away when she tried to serve the Master. “Let me do what you’d do, Sir,” she said urgently. “Let me rid the place of these useless servants. Why should we be surrounded by strangers from the Capital?”

  “If they go, who’d come?” he said. “You’ll find no villager willing to work here now. Silas told me that when he last looked for a kitchen boy he had to find one from another estate.”

  “Silas!” Leah burst out. “He brings in those who’ve worked for the Ministration! He’s overrun the Hall with people from the Capital, and you let him! No wonder no villager will work here!”

  “You go too far! I am a Minister myself, remember.”

  They glared at each other, then she hung her head. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Silas has worked for me since he was a boy,” he said wearily, his anger gone. “I trust him. He does his best for Murkmere in difficult times. I can’t give his duties to you, you’re still too young.” He took her hand and stroked it. “The time will come, I promise.”

  “So you’ll ask Silas to ride to the village for the sweep, I suppose?” she said, not looking at him. “There’s no one else who’ll go.”

  “Yes, there is,” I said quickly, louder than I meant. “I could go.”

  They both stared up at me as if they had entirely forgotten I was there. Then suddenly the Master smiled, and the melancholy lifted from his face. “Why, I’d forgotten. We’ve someone village born and bred, after all. Our very own Agnes Cotter!”

  I didn’t think he was mocking me, so I smiled back at him, in relief. “I know where Gammy and his chimney boy live, Sir. Their cottage is nearest the water pumps, before you reach the lawman’s dwelling. They’ll come if I ask them, even if it’s not their time. They’ll come for emergency pay.”

  “I’m sure they will,” said the Master dryly. “Well, yes, indeed, you may go tomorrow, and with our heartfelt thanks. I’ll ask Silas to make sure a stable hand rides with you on the Wasteland road.”

  This wasn’t part of my plan at all. How could I escape Murkmere if I was accompanied?

  “But I —,” I began, and then Leah interrupted me. She was still kneeling by the Master’s chair, and now she gripped his arms. Her face was intense, imploring. “If Aggie goes to the village, may I go with her, Sir? I long to see it!”

  My heart sank further. Now there’d be no chance of escape.

  The Master’s face went strangely blank and closed. “No, Leah. I can’t allow that.”

  Her voice rose. “But why?”

  He said patiently, as if he talked to a young child — perhaps, I thought, they were words he often had to repeat — “You know I can never let you beyond the boundary of the estate. You may come to harm. It wouldn’t be fair on the stable hand to guard you both tomorrow.”

  “Send two men, then, one for each of us!”

  But she knew she couldn’t win the battle. The Master’s lips closed in a thin line.

  Leah began to fling herself about the room. Her pale hair fell down in fine strands around her face; her hands slapped at her silk skirts as if they bound her legs. “It’s not fair!” she ranted. “Why should Aggie go? She’s my companion and should be imprisoned here, like me! She should suffer too! It’s not fair!”

  Scuff and the little kitchen boy cowered against the wainscot while I, thinking to restrain Leah for her own safety, tried to hold her arm. At once she threw me off, snarling like a wild creature.

  “Leah,” said the Master helplessly, “Leah.” He bowed his head in his hands as if he couldn’t bear to watch.

  Then something — the two frightened children, my own expression, the Master’s despair — halted her.

  She looked at me with great wounded eyes that had turned dark with emotion. A sob tore through her, then another. As the tears streamed down her face, she went on gazing at me from those drenched, dark eyes as if she implored my help. I stood uselessly, not knowing what I could do, and a lump rose in my throat. I felt my own mouth quiver.

  At last, weeping noisily, she ran from the room.

  In the bleak silence she left behind, I motioned the two white-faced children to leave. “Say nothing, Scuff,” I said in a low voice. “The mistress isn’t well tonight. I can trust you, can’t I?”

  She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together to show me. When we were alone, I turned back to the Master.
“Shall I go after Miss Leah, Sir?”

  He took his hands from his face. I saw with a shock that his eyes were full of unshed tears. “No,” he said quietly. “Leave her. Nothing can be done.” Then he gave a sigh that seemed dredged up from his soul. “What kind of tyrant do you think me, Agnes? My ward accuses me of imprisoning her, and it’s true.”

  I didn’t know how to answer; my heart was wrung at the sight of his tormented eyes. “You love Leah, Sir,” I managed to say. “She knows that.”

  But I wondered if it weren’t the wrong sort of love, when the desire to protect the beloved could cause so much pain to them both.

  At last I persuaded him to eat a little.

  Later, when I carried the used plates through to the kitchen, I found a gaggle of maids sluicing dishes from their own meal in the servants’ dining room. Mistress Crumplin would still be lolling befuddled at the head of the table in there, a full tankard in front of her. Silas Seed’s presence might have controlled her, but I knew he ate in his own room.

  The maids were too busy with their chatter to pay me much attention. I put the remains of our food in the larder and slipped quickly away from the kitchen quarters. I was concerned about Leah, and feeling guilty too. I’d be escaping Murkmere while she remained. A silly softness made me want to see her one last time.

  I expected to find her sobbing still, but there was no sound from her chamber. I lifted the latch quietly and looked in. A single candle burned by her bed and showed me her motionless figure beneath the covers, her sleeping face on the pillow, marked with tears. Even in sleep she wore her frown.

  And she was clutching something.

  It was the swanskin, no longer dripping but wet enough to darken the fresh, white linen.

  I stood, transfixed with horror, until a sound made me start. I turned to see Dog standing in the doorway watching me, a cup of milk in her hand. “So,” she said. “You’re leaving.”

  “How do you know?” I whispered.

  She smiled, and her little eyes glinted in the candlelight. She was too intent on me to notice what her mistress gripped so hard. “Everyone knows. The Master’s sent word to Mr. Silas. At first light tomorrow you’re to have a horse, and a stable hand to ride with you.”

  “I go to fetch Gammy the Soot, nothing more,” I said distractedly.

  She came closer to the bed and put the milk down on the table, still watching me like a cat. “Ah, we’ll see,” she said, not bothering to whisper in spite of her sleeping mistress.

  I saw in her eyes that she knew I planned to escape and was glad I was going. And I feared that if she’d guessed the truth, Silas would as well.

  The first pale light was filling the sky when I crossed the stable yard next morning. The air was crisp, but the cobbles shone in the sun where the frost had already melted. I was dressed in my old clothes again under my cloak, but without any telltale baggage; my only regret was that I was leaving my precious book unfinished. All I had to do now was to work out exactly how I’d lose the stable hand outside the walls of the estate.

  But my luck wasn’t to hold. As I approached the stables to tell the ostlers I was ready, a figure strode toward me from the other side of the yard.

  Silas had found me out.

  He was dressed in riding clothes, his crimson coat swirling around his breeches as he walked, his gleaming boots ringing on the cobbles, and his black-handled whip held lightly between the fingers of his leather gauntlets. I stood still, my heart almost stopped by fright and despair.

  “Good morning, Agnes,” Silas said easily. “The Master’s asked me to find you a good horse.” He nodded to a stable hand, who led out a small chestnut mare from one of the stables. I began to breathe again. Could Silas really be allowing me to leave?

  He had come close and was standing over me, his dark eyes smiling down. I couldn’t raise my eyes. He was too close; now he had taken my hand to help me onto the mounting block. I wanted to protest that I didn’t need his help, but was afraid to speak.

  My hand was imprisoned in his. The scent of languorous evening was suddenly in the clean air. “Good fortune for your mission, Agnes,” he said softly, and his eyes slid over me, trapping me with their power.

  He turned my hand over in his gloved fingers, and slowly he stroked the inside of my wrist with his riding whip. “But if you don’t return, I’ll know where to find you. Won’t I?”

  XIII

  The Wind of Desolation

  We rode past the surly keeper sent to unlock the gates. Above, the rooks were damning my escape. My heart beat fast; I fixed my eyes on the freedom of the road. I didn’t look back at the shuttered windows of the Hall, nor at the mere in its dismal fold. Then the walls of Murkmere were behind us, and I was urging my mare on between the icy ruts as fast as I dared.

  But winter was loosening its grip at last. The mare’s hooves struck up small pebbles that glittered in the sunlight; on either side the snow was shrinking back over the shining marshes of the Wasteland. I was free, and in my exultation it was suddenly beautiful to me, this place I’d known all my life.

  The stable hand was riding silently beside me, a stout stick for our protection across the saddle in front of him, dark green cape bundled up around him. He couldn’t see the promise of spring. Then I looked at him harder.

  “Where did you get that cape?” I said, my voice harsh above birdsong and the soft thud of the horses’ hooves.

  He stared at me as if I were the strangest creature he’d ever seen, and chewed his lip. At last he opened his mouth and growled, “Stables.”

  So the clothes of poor murdered Matt must be in the stables for anyone to take. There was no escape, for all the while I thought I was free, Murkmere’s corrupt shadow rode beside me through the bright morning.

  When we arrived at Gammy the Soot’s cottage, I slid down at once from the mare. She began to graze on the rough grass while I hammered on the door. Somehow I had to lose the stable hand. But now he too had dismounted, and was following me, stick in hand.

  Gammy opened the door. Gray-faced, hand clutched to his chest, he looked frightened at our sudden appearance, more shriveled still than when I’d last called on him for Aunt Jennet six months before.

  “It’s Aggie Cotter, Gammy. I’ve an urgent job for you at the Hall.”

  “Murkmere?” he mumbled, bewildered. “It’s not our time to clean the big house.” He looked at the stable hand, armed for action against the wild folk of the village, and fell back, one hand raised.

  “Don’t be frightened, Mr. Gammy, we mean no harm,” I gabbled. “Please come with us. It’s but one chimney that’s been blocked by a nest.”

  If I can only get Gammy outside, I thought, the stable hand might be distracted for a moment.

  “My chimney boy’s at the pumps. I’m doing naught without him,” said Gammy stubbornly. He shuffled over to the meager fire and sat down, scowling at us both.

  “They have to cook luncheon for the Master by noon,” I said desperately. “If you can clear it by then, you’ll be paid extra.”

  There was the gleam of greed in Gammy’s face. Then he shrugged. “Can’t do naught without my boy, they ladders be too heavy.”

  Biting my lip, I looked around at the brushes and ladders hanging on the dirty walls. Where was the handcart I always saw him out with? Perhaps he kept it out at the back. My heart began to thump. I turned to the stable hand, skulking in the doorway in his stolen cape. “You’ll help him get ready, won’t you, Mister? He needs to carry the ladders out to his handcart. I’ll commend you to the Master if you do.”

  The man turned and spat on the ground behind him as if to show his contempt, whether for me, his Master, or for Gammy, I wasn’t sure, and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t budge.

  “Mr. Silas will be pleased with you if we return in good time,” I said breathlessly, gripping my hands together.

  At this he grunted, shifted himself from the door frame at last, and came into the room.

  As they car
ried a ladder around to the back, I ran from the front of the cottage and took the mare’s reins. Somehow I flung myself across her, my legs astride her glossy back, my skirts bundled up, thanking the heavens she had a calm nature and stood still for me. Then I was away, riding fast back up the track, and the wind was in my hair.

  I couldn’t believe how easy it was.

  I heard nothing behind me, no shouts, no pursuing hooves. Perhaps the stable hand hadn’t yet realized I’d gone; perhaps he was too feckless a rogue to bother to chase me.

  All the same, I avoided the high road to the village where I might be seen by the lawman in his hut. Instead, I rode the mare toward the common. At this hour the milking would be done and the cows left to graze where the snow had melted.

  I thought I might see someone I knew still there, and was relieved yet puzzled to find the common completely deserted: no girls lingering to gossip before going home to their spindles, no children climbing on the sheep pens. Then, as I felt the first trickle of unease, I saw the figures lolling against the wall of the cow shelter, gray uniforms almost indistinguishable from the stone, light glinting on the rifles propped against it.

  The Militia! The soldiers had come while I’d been at Murkmere. The snow hadn’t prevented them marching east. They must have arrived in the village before the first flake had settled on the road. Last summer they had cleared the south of any rebellion. Now they had come to “sweep” the Eastern Edge.

  And my heart filled with the horror of it, for I’d heard what they did.

  The soldiers billeted the best cottages, driving out the owners. They devoured precious food stocks, stole horses and cows for their own use. They dragged away the prettiest girls, forced the healthiest youths to join up. But worst was the sweeping itself. Officers suspicious of rebellion where there was none; villagers interrogated in their own homes. If suspected of disloyalty to the Lord Protector, they were taken prisoner and shackled to the wagons for the long march back to the Capital — even the elderly and sick. Those taken were never heard from again.