River of Destiny (22 page)

Dragging the cob’s head round she brought the whip down on his rump and set off at a trot. Daniel was left standing staring after her, his mouth open.

He found Susan lying on their bed. Her face was pale in the dim light from the window in the eaves of their small bedroom and he could see she had been crying. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand. ‘It’s over, love,’ he said softly.

‘Really?’ She didn’t need to ask what he meant.

He nodded. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Just you and me now, girl. And the little ’un.’ He put his hand gently on her belly. ‘I will never ever go away from you again, sweetheart, I swear it. Not ever.’

She smiled, then suddenly she grabbed him. She threw her arms round his neck and this time she was sobbing in earnest. ‘I couldn’t bear it, Dan, I’ve been so unhappy.’

‘I know, my love.’

‘She had no right.’

‘I know that too. I had no choice.’

He held her close, his face pressed into her neck. They lay together on top of the bed for a long time as it grew slowly dark outside. Once they heard Benjamin calling Dan, and later, George. Dan didn’t answer. He dozed, then he woke to find that she was at last asleep in his arms. He kissed her gently and smiled to himself, easing his arm from beneath her. He would never give her cause to be unhappy again. Gently he put his hand again on her belly and he felt the baby kick. Susan let out a little moan of protest and Dan smiled. Quietly he got up. There was just time to go and see Bella before he started work.

Eric stood looking down at the man’s face. The shadows of the flickering lights played over his craggy features, turning his head into a gaunt skull. The woman by his bedside, one of Lady Hilda’s attendants, quietly withdrew behind the curtain which hung across the door and he heard the latch clatter as it swung shut behind her.

‘I have your sword,’ he said quietly. ‘As you commanded.’ He laid it on the bed covers, his gaze on the man’s face. Between them the flickering flame of a candle ran up and down the blade, which threw off blue and silver sparks as it lay on the dark rich fur.

Egbert did not move for a moment, then his hand, lying inert on the fur covers, reached out feebly. Eric hesitated, then he took the man’s hand in his own – it was cold and dry and clawlike, the hand of a man prematurely old – and he guided it to the sword. Only then as he touched the blade did the eyes flicker open and a strange smile played for a moment over his lips. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. He moved his fingers gently down the blade then up again over the neck and crosspiece until his hand fitted around the hilt. For a moment Eric thought he was going to try to lift the weapon but he merely held it lightly. ‘You obeyed all my instructions in the making of her?’ he whispered.

Eric nodded, then, noticing that the sick man’s eyes were closed once more, said, ‘Yes, I followed your instructions, my lord. All is as you wished.’

There was a slight nod of satisfaction from the bed. ‘Go now, with my thanks. Your payment is waiting.’ He gestured feebly towards the table beside him.

Eric stepped forward and picked up the leather bag which lay there. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Go now.’

Eric was going to offer to move the sword, to slot it into the ornate scabbard he had spotted lying on a stool by the wall, but the old man’s hands were linked around the hilt and he showed no sign of wanting to give it up. For a moment Eric hesitated. He felt a strangely sharp pang of regret as he saw his masterpiece lying there on a sick man’s bed. The blade was not yet blooded. It should go into battle with a young robust warrior to earn its reputation as a hero’s weapon. He wanted to know what was its destiny, his Destiny Maker.

He heard a click behind him and then the rattle of the curtain rings. The woman had come back into the room. He frowned. This was no place for her; she had come too soon. This was a place for men, a sacred moment when a man was introduced to his weapon, and formed a bond as sacred as marriage. He turned, a frown on his face, and found himself looking at the Lady Hilda.

She smiled at him, coldly, he saw, even angrily. ‘You must leave now, Eric. We thank you for your hard work. I trust you are satisfied with your payment.’

‘I am sure the payment is fair,’ he retorted. ‘I have no need to check.’ He did not even try to hide the anger in his voice. He saw the answering spark of rage in her eyes and it surprised him. ‘It was an honour to be selected to make such a sword,’ he added more gently. ‘This was my greatest work, the one in which I will always have the most pride.’

He gave a small bow, turned to give one last glance at the sword, lying loosely grasped in an old man’s hands, and he turned towards the doorway, ducking through the curtain into the dark.

Susan was lying awake staring up at the ceiling of their small bedroom, listening to the snores of the man beside her. She reached across and rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. It was hard not to picture him with that woman. Whatever he said to the contrary, the differences between them, Lady Emily and her, were so great, so fundamental that she could not but be terribly afraid. He had kissed her and hugged her last night and several times he had rested his hand on the hump of her belly with every appearance of affection and relief, but what had he really been thinking? She bit her lip in the dark. She lay staring at the window watching as the darkness became less dark, as the faintest shapes began to show in the room. Dawn was on its way and with it a new day which for the first time in several weeks should be without fear and resentment and misery. It was several seconds before she noticed the figure in the corner of the room. She held her breath, not daring to move. A woman was standing there, watching them. For one desperate, frantic moment she thought it was Lady Emily but as she turned her head slightly, she saw it was a taller woman, with long fair hair, and almost as she took in those details the woman vanished and she realised that all she had seen was the elongated shadow of something outside the window thrown against the wall. She let out a little sob of relief, her hand closing without her realising it on Dan’s shoulder. He turned towards her and reached out for her in his sleep and she snuggled up against him with relief.

When she woke again the bed was empty and she could hear already the sounds of the farm awakening around the cottage, the heavy clatter of a horse’s hooves, the shouted commands of George and Robert and young Jem as they harnessed the Suffolks and the great shires and backed them between the shafts of the farm wagons and the plough. Betsy must be feeding the hens, she could hear the frenzied excited clucking, and somewhere one of the dogs was barking. By now Benjamin would have lit the forge furnace and Dan would be out there with him sorting through his tools, glancing out of the open forge door into the sunlit yard. She sat up with a groan and swung her legs out of the bed. She had to wash and get dressed and go out to the dairy. She was late.

As she stood a sharp pain gripped her back. She gave another groan, louder this time and put her hand to her stomach. Surely it was too soon? She stood for a moment waiting to see if the pain came again. It didn’t. After a moment she straightened and took a couple of uncertain steps towards the ewer and basin on the chest, and it was as she reached for the washcloth that she saw the figure again in the corner. She swung to face it. The woman was standing where she had the night before, tall, willowy, with long fair hair hanging in a plait over her shoulder. For a moment they looked at each other, then as Susan opened her mouth to scream the woman vanished.

Dan dropped everything and ran at the sound of his wife’s cry. ‘What is it, girl? Is it the baby?’ He had his arm round her shoulder in seconds and helped her to the bed.

She shook her head, sobbing blindly. ‘She was there.’ She pointed with a wavering hand at the corner of the room. ‘The woman. The woman who foretells a death!’

Dan froze. He glanced up at the corner of the room. He knew what she meant; the story was an old one. The ghost would appear only when there was to be a death on the farm, the wraith of a woman, dressed in black, her blonde hair hanging to her waist. He glanced at the doorway and saw a trio of faces peering in, Robbie, George and between them young Jem. He waved them away silently and they vanished, but he knew they had heard her. He knew that the words of her frantic cry would be round the farm in minutes. His father had lived and died in this forge cottage as had his father before him. That was why they were called Smith. As long as time itself his family had lived here and been blacksmiths and farriers on the farm. And for as long as that, as far as he knew, the family legend had been that when one of them was going to die the woman appeared, a harbinger of death.

‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘It’s because you are nervous about the baby. You’ve imagined it. It is easy to do with the shadows in here.’ He cradled her head against his chest, rocking slightly as they sat together on the edge of the bed. ‘You mustn’t be frightened. There is nothing to be frightened of, I promise.’

She was clinging to him, sobbing quietly, not daring to look up in case she saw it again. There was a slight movement by the door and Betsy appeared. ‘It’s all right, Dan. You get back to the forge,’ she said, bustling in. ‘George told me. I’ll deal with this.’

For a moment Susan clung to Dan, then reluctantly she let him go and pushed him away. ‘Go on, love. I’ll be all right.’

The two women watched as he stood up and waited for a moment, watching her, his face twisted with pain, then he turned and walked outside.

Betsy took his place beside Susan on the bed. ‘Tell me what you think you saw,’ she said firmly. ‘Let’s get to the bottom of this.’

Susan shook her head, her face stained with tears. ‘I know what I saw,’ she whispered. ‘It was the ghost. And I felt a pain.’ She touched her stomach lightly. ‘A terrible pain and it’s too soon.’

Betsy shook her head. ‘We all get pains, my love, ahead of time. That’s part of what happens, getting your body used to the feel of what’s to come. I’ve had six so I ought to know. Don’t think anything of that. There is nothing wrong with your little ’un. Nothing at all. It’s your own fear that made you imagine things. You can see that. You’re a sensible woman. A shadow here, a shimmer of light there and you think you see a figure. You know that is superstition, Susan. You know what the parson would say to that.’ She smiled comfortably. ‘Come on, my duck. Get you up and wash your face, then we must get to the dairy.’ With a combination of bustling and bullying and sturdy common sense Betsy eventually got Susan out of the bedroom and out of the cottage into the sunshine. For a moment both women stopped and glanced towards the forge. From inside they could hear the reassuring sound of a hammer, steady and firm. They looked at each other and Betsy smiled comfortingly. ‘Nothing to fear, my dear. Everything is back where it should be.’ She reached out and squeezed Susan’s fingers, then she turned and headed towards the dairy. For a moment Susan hesitated, staring towards the forge doorway, then she too turned away and followed Betsy across the yard.