Alchemist's Apprentice (17 page)

Adam Corbett did his best to curb the destruction, but Jack was beyond control. His strong-box was filling rapidly and, despite the fact that the increased wealth brought him neither happiness nor security, he continued in his determination to make more of it.

Nothing was denied him. He became whimsical in his demands, making life difficult for his domestic staff, who were kept on the run constantly, bringing him this and that. The more tyrannical he grew, the more certain he became that there was nothing on earth that he couldn't have if he desired it. And it was this belief that finally brought an end to the destruction.

One morning in May, Jack sent a messenger to the manor to say that he intended to meet with Mistress Eleanor and would arrive in the early afternoon. For what remained of the morning, he preened himself in front of his mirror, trying one wig, one top-coat after another, tormenting his manservant with capricious demands for powder and beauty-spots which never quite succeeded in pleasing him. Time, rather than satisfaction, eventually brought the process to an end, and Jack set out in the landau to meet his bride to be and to finalise the matter of their wedding day.

Neither Lord nor Lady Gordon were in evidence, but Jack attributed no significance to the fact. He followed the housekeeper to the drawing room and sat down to wait until Eleanor arrived. It never occurred to him that she wouldn't and he happened to be right. Within five minutes she appeared in the doorway and came into the room.

Jack rose to his feet and dipped his head in a formal bow. Eleanor had matured since he had last seen her and the pale blue, almost white gown that she wore hung gracefully around curves that had not been there before. With complete self-assurance she crossed the room and sat down, to Jack's surprise, in the chair nearest to his. Her eyes were still the same, delicate blue, but the expression in them was quite different from the one they had worn on the last occasion.

Jack's hopes were resurrected. More than ever, Eleanor resembled the White Queen, and the impoverished images that he had worked so hard to preserve filled out and became substantial again. But Eleanor's feelings were not in accord with his own.

‘Poor James,' she said. ‘I'm afraid that you are an innocent victim in all of this mess.'

Her kindness disarmed Jack more thoroughly than any hostility could have done. His confident manner evaporated. He was as shy before her as he had been on their first meeting. And that old, small Jack could not bear to hear the contrived name on her lips. In his dreams, she had never used it.

‘It's not James, Eleanor,' he found himself saying. ‘It's Jack.'

‘Is it? Jack, then. I like that better than James. It suits you. But it makes no difference.'

‘I suppose it doesn't.'

‘No. You see, this conflict doesn't really concern you at all. I don't even know you, so how can I say whether or not I want to marry you?'

Jack felt hopeful. ‘That can be mended,' he said. ‘We can meet as often as you like.'

‘I'm afraid not. This argument is between me and my father. I'm sorry if it causes you suffering, but it can't be helped. I will not marry you, James, not because of what you may or may not be, but because I will not allow my father to give me away in exchange for a horse.'

‘It's not like that,' said Jack, but Eleanor continued speaking.

‘If and when I marry, I shall marry the man of my choice and not one chosen for me, whatever reason might be given.'

‘Choose me, then,' said Jack. ‘You could find plenty of men with worse prospects after all.'

A silence fell between them which Jack found himself unable to breach. The flames made occasional gigantic leaps for the chimney as though they were trying to escape the solemn atmosphere, but the Red King's fire was out, and Jack was lost for inspiration. A small, black beetle wandered aimlessly around the floor. Jack watched it, wishing he could think of something to say; it wouldn't matter what, as long as it relieved the appalling tension. But his mind and his heart were both quite empty. It was Eleanor who eventually spoke.

‘I really am sorry, James.'

‘Jack.'

‘Jack. I have nothing against you at all. But I'll never marry you.'

In a sudden tide of anger, Jack's spoilt nature got the upper hand. In the imperious tones he had taken to using with his domestic staff, he said, ‘You'll have to marry me, Eleanor. The fact of the matter is that you have no choice. It's an arrangement that your father and I have. You will become my wife, whether you want to or not.'

But if Jack expected the kind of response he generally got from his browbeaten servants, he was badly disappointed. Eleanor didn't even flinch, but looked steadily into his eyes.

‘I will not be forced into this, by you or my father. If I have to, I shall end up like my aunt.'

‘Your aunt? What aunt?'

Eleanor looked amazed. ‘But surely you know about my aunt,' she said. ‘It's her house you are living in, after all.'

‘I thought it was yours,' he said.

‘Well it is, in a way. At least it would be if I married you. But strictly speaking it still belongs to my aunt. She ran off with some farm boy or something, just as I will if I have to, because she wouldn't submit to the marriage my grandfather had arranged for her. When he died he left Musgrave House in trust for her in case she came back. But she never did. My father decided that it was time to give up on her. He says that she must surely be dead by now. And that's how her estate came to be set aside for me and whoever I should marry.' A shrewd grin came over her face as she spoke. ‘But he should have known better than to give me her name.'

‘Her name?' said Jack. ‘She had the same name as you?'

Eleanor nodded, still smiling. ‘She did. Although everyone knew her as Nell.'

The shock that ran through Jack's heart drove the last of his arrogance underground. Around him the air seemed to wobble, and without knowing what he was doing he stood up, grasping the arm of his chair for balance. How had she given it up? How could anyone choose to live in a miserable, damp cottage in a dreary little town when they could have all this? Why should it matter who you were married to?

‘Are you all right?' There was genuine concern on Eleanor's lovely face. ‘Should I ring for someone?'

‘No,' said Jack, straightening himself up. ‘But I have taken up quite enough of your time. I must get home before nightfall.'

‘But it's not late, yet. You have plenty of time. Are you sure you're not ill?'

‘Yes, I'm quite sure. Perhaps we might meet again some time?'

Before Eleanor had time to reply he had gone, crossing the room with improper haste and blundering through the kitchen to the stable yard where his solid little cob was patiently waiting. As he rode down the avenue, Jack tried to revive some last vestige of hope but it was no good. There was no denying the truth. The reminder of Nell's circumstances had finalised the matter in Jack's mind. There would be no wedding to Eleanor.

B
ACK AT MUSGRAVE HALL
, Jack rampaged through the house, dragging the servants and stable boys from their work or waking them from their naps, frightening the wits out of Marley who was reading beside the fire in the study.

‘Out!' Jack yelled at them. ‘I want you all out, now!'

Any of them that dared to ask questions were ignored or berated. Within minutes the house and buildings were empty and Jack was alone in the house that had once belonged, still belonged, to one of the only people in his life who had befriended him.

He ate his way through the larger part of a fruit cake and drank half a bottle of wine but they did nothing to comfort him. Life was putrid. There was no sense in expecting it to be otherwise. He had been foolish enough to believe that he might find acceptance in the world, but it wasn't so. They were all using him in one way or another; Lord Gordon, his wife, his daughter; not one of them cared about him in the slightest. Even Keithly, he reflected bitterly, had only delivered him to Gordon as a way of getting his revenge. He was still a frog. He would never be anything else. But he would not play along with their games. And no other innocent victim would ever be put through a similar torment. Not if he could help it.

He was haunted by Eleanor's face and the anguish of his rejected feelings for her. How could she treat him like that, after all he had been through for her? Life was rotten at the heart, like the egg that should have saved Matty.

The egg. He saw it again in his mother's hand. A plain, brown egg. It looked so innocent and full of promise, yet it contained only foulness. He knew it wasn't rational, but he held Barnstable directly responsible for all that had happened and he cursed the mad old fool and regretted the day he first met him.

It was past feeding time. A dozen eager heads appeared over their half doors when Jack walked into the stable yard. But the horses were to get no feeds that night. Instead, Jack went round the yard and opened the stable doors. The hunters, the brood mares, the carriage horses came out one by one and shifted around on the cobbles, touching noses enquiringly. The stallion watched, tossing his head and whickering with impatience, affronted at not being included in the mass liberation. Jack ignored him, and quietly shooed the whole herd out through the gate into the parkland. For a while he stood and watched them. He would miss them all, particularly the little cob. He might have stayed there even longer, taking that quiet leave, if the smell of burning timbers hadn't wafted through the night air and reminded him of what he was doing. But his movements were still unhurried as he closed the paddock gate and crossed the yard to open the ones which led on to the avenue.

The colt pricked his ears and sniffed the night with curiosity as Jack tacked him up and led him out into the yard. He was restless with excitement and wouldn't stand still, but it didn't matter to Jack who, despite the considerable extra weight of his full pockets and his money bags, sprang up on to his back as he was moving. The colt froze at the unaccustomed load, then dropped his head and propped a few strides on stiff legs. Jack sat tight and spoke to him calmly until he came to a halt, then dug his heels in hard and hissed as loud as he could. The colt sprang forward, propped again, then shot off through the open gates and into the darkness.

Behind them, the fire that Jack had set in Musgrave Hall was already sending flames leaping towards the stars.

J
ACK RODE QUIETLY, GOING
with the movements of the horse as naturally as possible. The night parted before them and flowed in their wake like dark water. To his surprise, Jack began to enjoy himself. He had never ridden the Arab at top speed, preferring always to keep him quiet and steady. Now he discovered that the colt's gait was not only faster than any he had experienced; it was smoother as well. He seemed to glide over the ground as though it offered him no resistance and despite the darkness he never once faltered or stumbled. One or two people, walking home late, scattered out of their path with expressions of terror. Jack grinned with delight and goaded the colt on, thrilled by the reckless race through the darkness. The only interference he made in their progress was to pull on the left rein occasionally, turning the horse's head towards the uplands and the moors beyond.

But it could not go on for long. The young horse was strong and healthy, but he was not fit. By the time they had covered two or three miles he slowed to a canter and finally, blowing hard, stopped. Jack slipped off him and led him onwards, up the steepening tracks. The higher they climbed, the smaller the fields became and the poorer the land they contained. After another mile or so, they rose over the lip of the horizon and Jack saw ahead of them, on the other side of the next vale, the grim expanse of the moors. If the colt saw them, too, he gave no sign, but followed Jack with a trust he was not sure he deserved.

They carried on across the mean, hungry land, where cottages which had once looked cosy and inviting to Jack now spoke of remembered poverty. In their dark interiors, children cried and coughed. More than once he thought of changing his mind, of trying to reclaim the oblivious comfort of the last two years. But he had burned his bridges along with his belongings and there was no turning back.

Throughout the night Jack and the colt walked across the moors. All kinds of sombre thoughts troubled Jack's mind, but it wasn't until dawn began to break that he realised just how rash and foolish his action had been. He had no regrets about setting fire to the house. It was a fitting end to the whole sorry mess of forced marriages and unhappy lives. But what he had not considered well enough was his escape. Jack owned the house, and could do what he liked with it. But he did not own the horse, and the word would soon be out that he had been stolen. With his fine bones and striking Arab features he would stand out like an escaped pachyderm, and there would be no way in the world to hide or disguise him.

So, as the sun rose above the skyline, Jack came to a decision. In every direction, the moors stretched relentlessly on. There wasn't a house or a wall to be seen. It was perfect. He put his arms around the colt's taut neck and clung to him for a moment. Then he slipped off the tack and swung the bridle around his head. The horse wheeled around in surprise, and Jack aimed a stinging blow at his rump, sending him bounding away across the rough ground. He did not, however, go far, but soon stopped and looked back.

Tears threatened Jack's resolve. He had more affinity with the colt than with any other living being, yet now, he realised, he was betraying him, using him as he himself had been used, to get revenge upon someone else. Three times he chased the horse off and walked away. Three times he followed and caught up with him again, but at last, the colt grew tired of the game. He wandered off with his nose to the ground, looking for something decent to eat among the rough vegetation. By the time he was ready to play again, Jack was long gone.