Mariana (32 page)

The running shadow was much closer now, and spurred to action I dragged my leaden feet from the spot before the window, flying with a speed unnatural down the stairs and through the darkened passage.

The silence in the Great Hall should have warned me. The wind wailed still against the tall windows, but there was no other sound, and my running feet had carried me well into the room before I perceived my error.

Caroline and the maid still sat before the fire. They sat like pokers, stiffly wary, eyes fixed upon the man who stood upon the hearth rug with his hands outstretched toward the blaze. Beyond him lay the door to the outside, and beyond that lay Richard—helpless, perhaps dying, on the lawn. But my uncle blocked my way to both.

He turned his head, still with his back to me, and addressed me over one shoulder. 'Well, Mariana. This is a pretty welcome. And what have you to say for yourself?'

I said nothing in reply. From somewhere in my stunned and reeling mind, I noted that my uncle had removed his belt and gloves, though he yet wore his sword. My flailing
gaze lit upon the belt where he had thrown it across a chair, and dimly I registered that his dagger yet rested in its scabbard. It was a lethal enough weapon for my purpose.

Jabez Howard followed my gaze, his brows lowering ominously, and I moved. My lunge was quick, but not quick enough. I had but crossed the floor and closed my fingers round the dagger's handle when he was upon me, grabbing the blade from my hand and sending it clattering to the floor, his eyes contemptuous.

'Would you play me for a fool?' he demanded, his hand closing painfully round my wrist. 'Did you think I would not learn of your sins? You are the devil's harlot, Mariana Farr, deny it not.'

I set my jaw and met his eyes. 'I am no harlot,' I denied the charge. 'And Richard de Mornay is no devil. He is to be my husband.'

Again I saw that evil, twisted smile, and hated it.

'You cannot marry a corpse, I think,' my uncle said.

'He is not dead!'

'What matter? If he is not now, he
soon will
be.' The smile faded beneath those mad and piercing eyes. 'And you may wish yourself so, when I have finished with you. You are a wanton sinner, Mariana, like your mother before you, and the Lord will shower vengeance upon your head.'

I saw the blow coming and flinched from it, but his hand against my jaw had none of its original force. Instead I felt him shudder, felt the convulsive tightening of his hand around the fragile bones of my wrist, and even as I cried out from the pain his fingers loosened and fell away. He reeled sideways, his eyes rolling backward in their sockets, and fell without a sound.

I stared a moment at the creeping stain between his shoulder blades, where the handle of the dagger still protruded, then raised my eyes to look at Caroline. She stood close by the body of my uncle, her hands held stiffly in front of her body, fingers half-clenched. Her features yet showed
no trace of expression, but in her eyes there gleamed a faint glimmer of triumph.

I heard the running footsteps approaching, and turned in a daze to face the returning steward.

'The stable lad thought he saw a man enter by the scullery door,' he warned us breathlessly, then halted at the sight of the tableau before him.

I cleared my throat. 'My uncle has met with an accident, sir.'

The steward's eyes met mine above Caroline's shoulder, and a flash of understanding passed between us. He nodded tactfully. 'It shall be attended to, mistress.' Then, almost as an afterthought: 'His lordship has returned.'

I swallowed painfully. 'Is he ... is he ... ?'

'We carried him into the church, not knowing whether the house was safe, you understand.' His eyes were guarded. 'I am sent to ride to Marlborough, to fetch the surgeon there.'

'Then he is ... ?'

'He is alive, and asks for you.'

It was all that I needed to hear. I forgot about the body slumped at my feet, about Caroline, about everything. I thought only of Richard, and his need for me, and my feet scarce touched the ground as I raced over lawn and garden toward the church, its tower looming tall and black against the dawning sky.

Thirty-two

‘You are not to grieve.’

He was awake, and watching me. I lifted my chin and met his eyes squarely. 'I've no intention of grieving,' I said, with a calmness I did not feel. 'You're going to get well. The surgeon will be here presently.'

'Mariana.' It was a gentle admonition, rumbling low in his shattered chest. His eyes slid away from mine and focused on a dimly lit corner of the church, where the torchlight could not reach.

He had heard the talk, of course, as well as I—the vaguely conspiratorial whispers of the servants who had carried him here, and who now stood watch outside the door. It was a mortal wound, they had told me, if ever they had seen one, and they had seen some wounds in their time ... not safe to move him, best let him lie in peace ... and they had shaken their heads sadly, their faces lined with the grief of old men who must watch a young man die.

I found I could not take my eyes from his face. Each nuance of expression, each flutter of an eyelid, seemed more precious to me now than life itself. There had been several long moments when he had scarce seemed to breathe at all, but I fancied he looked stronger now.
It had been a terrible shock to see him stretched long and gray upon his cloak, on the cold stone floor of the narrow alcove beneath the tower, his head resting against the base of the ancient baptismal font, his chin lolling awkwardly against his shoulder. I hadn't seen the blood at first—it did not show upon the black cloth of his coat—but his shirt was stiff with it, and the smell of it clung sickly to my nostrils.

His were brave wounds, and bravely won. The king, I'd heard, had been warned in time, and with Richard had faced and scattered the traitors in my uncle's charge. Four men lay dead upon the downs, the king was safely on his way to Oxford, and Richard ... I dared not finish the thought. Some might have called it a fair exchange, for a king's life. I did not.

Above our heads, glass saints gazed down impassively upon us from the arched stone tracery of the window. The church felt somehow different in the dead of night, and it was not the cold alone that made me shiver. Richard felt it, too, and smiled faintly in the flickering light.

'When I was a lad,' he mused, 'I feared this place after sunset. I thought the tombs might open up beneath my feet, if I did step upon them. And the chancel seemed alive with the ghosts of monks and priests long dead. If I screw my eyes up I can see them still, come to visit with me. Perhaps they would have me join them.'

'Don't talk foolish,' I said. His voice was coming from very far away, and it frightened me.

' 'Tis only talk,' he assured me, grinning. 'And I'd think it unlikely that the priests would welcome a heathen like myself into their number. Besides, my ghost will be busy enough, watching over you.'

'Do you mean to haunt me, then?'

'Ay.' His eyes were very warm on mine. 'You'll not be rid of me so easily.' His gaze slid away again, this time beyond my shoulder to the altar. 'What a mystery is death,' he said, slowly. ' "The undiscovered country," Shakespeare
called it, and we do fear to travel to new lands. But surely foreign shores are filled with possibilities?' He frowned. 'I met a man once, at the French king's court, who claimed he'd lived in Roman times, and dined at Caesar's table. I thought him mad,' he recalled, vaguely, 'and like as not he was. But what if he were not?'

I shivered again. 'Must we speak of death?'

'If it is true that men have souls that do survive them,' he went on, ignoring me, 'and if those souls are born again to life, you need not worry that my ghost will haunt you. I'll haunt you in the flesh, instead.'

My eyes were gently skeptical. 'And how would I know you, pray, in another body?'

' 'Tis simple.' He brought his hand up with an effort, turning his fingers round to show me the heavy crested ring he wore. 'Look you here, and remember. 'Tis the hooded hawk of the de Mornays. The hood may blind it, and yet it sees more clearly than the sighted.'

'You mean that I should trust my heart.'

'More than your heart. Your soul.' His hand lifted higher, and clasped mine strongly. 'Feel that, love. There's nothing can break that. We are two parts of the one whole, you and I. The hawk mates for life, and our lives are but beginning. Faith,' he said, smiling, 'd'you think I'd let a little thing like the grave come between us?'

'I'll not lose you.' My voice wavered.

His large hand loosed its grip on mine. 'Take this ring from my finger.'

'Richard ...'

'Take you my ring,' he repeated, 'and keep it with you.'

His tone was stubborn, and so I obeyed, sliding the great ring from his outstretched finger. The ring was cold, as his hands were cold, and I held it tenderly in my palm, blinking back the rising wetness of my eyes.

'Remember that hawk, Mariana Farr,' he told me gently, 'and seek me not with your eyes, but with your soul. The soul sees what truly matters.'
A single tear spilled hotly from my eye and trailed a path down my cheek, and he caught it with one finger. I tried
to
smile at him but could not, and as my mouth began to tremble a flash of pain burned briefly in his eyes and he slid his hand behind my head, drawing me down to him.

I tasted the salt on my own lips, and the bitter taste of blood on his. It was a desperate kiss, the sort of kiss that marks a lovers' parting, a kiss of sorrow and regret and a kind of blind and wordless promise. I would have risen up when it was finished, but he held me close, his hand stroking my hair.

'I'll hurt your chest,' I protested, but he shook his head.

'I am past pain,' he lied, 'and I've always had a fancy to die in my lover's arms. 'Tis most romantic' His words slurred ever so slightly, and after a few minutes the movement of his hand on my hair slowed, then stopped altogether.

My own chest tightened. 'Don't leave me.' The plea broke from me in a tortured whisper that I could not stop. 'Oh, please, Richard ... please stay....'

'Don't be afraid,' he told me, brushing my hair with a kiss. 'I am indestructible, remember? I do but sleep a little while.'

I raised my head and looked at him. Even in that poor light, I could see the truth that I had dreaded. 'No,' I whispered painfully. 'Oh, please God, no. Richard ...'

'Another time,' he promised. He smiled and closed his eyes.

After a long moment I turned my face against his shoulder and let the sorrow claim me in great racking sobs, feeling nothing save the hollow ache of grief. I tried desperately to hold him, but he would not stay. The fine thick coat beneath my cheek stiffened, grew colder, and finally turned to flat, unyielding stone. I clenched my hand more tightly round his ring, but that, too, dissolved into emptiness. Behind my closed eyelids, the light changed subtly and I felt the first faint touch of sunlight warm upon my skin. I was alone in the church.

*-*-*-*

I don't know how long I lay there, with my face upon the damp stone floor, grieving against the wishes of a man who had been dead for more than three centuries. At length I pushed myself, slowly, to my feet, brushing the lingering tears from my face with an absent hand and lifting my eyes to the sad-eyed saints in the glowing window above me.

'Julia.' The voice, coming from the shadowed porch behind me, made me jump. 'Julia,' Mrs. Hutherson said again, quietly authoritative, 'it's time for us to go.'

I turned round, confused.

'There'll be Holy Communion at eight o'clock,' she explained, 'and it's nearly seven, now.'

Of course, I thought. Sunday morning. I did not think to question Alfreda Hutherson's presence in the church—it seemed quite logical that she should be mere, waiting. I had no urge to question anything. The open wound of grief had numbed my mind. Blankly, I nodded at her, and took a few dragging steps along the nave toward the altar, reading the worn names beneath my feet. 'Where is he?' I asked.

'There.' She pointed. 'Beside his father.'

'There is no name.'

'Yes, well.' She smiled faintly, stepping forward. 'There is an explanation. It was the plague, you see. A month from Richard's death the plague came to Exbury, and the village mason was among the many who died. It was more than a year before they found another mason, and by that time Richard's nephew Arthur was installed at the manor house, and did not wish to spend his money to have the stone carved.'

'The plague came here?'

'Oh, yes. It was quite devastating. One out of every three
people died of it, I believe. Nearly wiped the village from the map.'

'But Mariana lived.' I smiled humorlessly at the cold stone slab beneath my feet.

'Yes. Of course,' she qualified, 'she was not here, then. She went away, with Caroline, for several months.'

'I see.' I was only half listening. 'What happened to the ring?'

'Which ring?'

'Richard's silver ring, with the crest upon it. He gave it to Mariana, to remember him by.'

'Oh, that.' She nodded. 'Come, and I'll show you.'

I followed her out of the stale, silent church, and into the clear morning sunlight. The rain had stopped at last, and the world was fresh and clean and sweetly scented. High overhead the hawk was sailing, shrill-voiced and graceful, feathers spread to catch the rising currents in the air. By the churchyard wall, Mrs. Hutherson stopped walking and pointed downward. 'There,' she said. 'That's where the ring is, now.'

We were standing on Mariana's grave.

'She wore it always,' she continued. 'On a chain around her neck. John Howard found it when she died, and had her buried with it.'

'John ..." I shook my head slightly, trying to clear my muddled thoughts. 'But John Howard died in infancy. Jabez killed him. I saw it happen.'

'Yes.' She slanted an odd look at me. 'Curious, isn't it? Come along, now. It's time you had a cup of good, strong tea, and something to cat.'

I obeyed mechanically, without really thinking, and a short while later found myself once again ensconced in my chair in the manor-house kitchen, facing Mrs. Hutherson across the familiar teapot. The breakfast she made me was large and appetizing, but I chewed my food without tasting it, my mind drifting stubbornly back to that single point.

'John Howard died,' I said again. And yet, John Howard
had lived to bury Mariana, some sixty years later. And John Howard had once owned the lap desk that I had bought at the estate sale, the desk that had held the gilt bracelet ringed with blue-eyed birds of paradise....

'Five people knew of the child's death,' she pointed out, counting them off on her fingers. 'Jabez Howard, who also died that night. Mariana and Caroline, who concealed it. And Richard de Mornay's two servants, the steward and the maid, both of whom kept the secret.'

I shook my head. 'But why? Why would anyone bother to ...' The answer struck me suddenly, and I lifted my eyes, startled. 'Oh, Lord.'

Mrs. Hutherson refilled my teacup. 'Could you not feel the child, inside you?'

'No. I mean, I didn't pay much attention to it.'

'Caroline knew.' Her tone was firm. 'She even helped in her own way. She went away with Mariana, into the country, just the two of them. And when they returned to Exbury in the spring, to Greywethers, they brought with them a baby called John. There was hardly anyone left who could remember the child, or judge with certainty his age. So Mariana kept Richard's baby, and her reputation, and Caroline—Caroline kept her Johnnie.'

I stared silently into my untouched cup of tea. 'I'd love to have seen him,' I said, finally. 'Richard's child.'

'You can see him, if you want to.'

'How?'

'My dear'—her eyes were kind—'you are not stuck in time, though it may seem that way. It's true your recollections have all followed a chronological order—what happened in September then, will happen in September now, that's true. But you have already skipped ahead, on one occasion.'

I blinked at her. 'I have?'

'The stables,' she said. 'Remember? You went inside the stables once, and saw Richard's horse. Well, that was a memory out of order. It happened in May, as I recall, but at
that time in 1665 Mariana hadn't even arrived in Exbury.' She looked at me to make certain I was following along. 'The scene that you remembered was a later one, from the following year.'

I tried to remember the exact incident. I had gone inside the stables, and I had seen Navarre standing in his stall. That much I remembered. And then ...

'Someone was whistling,' I recalled suddenly. 'Outside. It sounded like Evan Gilroy.'

'Anyhow,' she went on, 'it is possible to see episodes from different times in your life as Mariana Farr, if you want to. Just try it, and you'll see. But,' she warned, 'you haven't much time left."

'What do you mean?'

She leveled her gaze on mine. 'You remember I told you that your journey was a circle?'

'Yes.' I nodded. 'You said that I had to go all the way round before I'd understand the purpose of it all.'

'Right. Well, the circle is almost closed. And in a short while, perhaps a very short while, you won't be able to live Mariana's life anymore.'

I stared at her. 'You mean I'll forget what happened?'