River of Destiny (54 page)

Sam turned and looked at the horse then he turned back to her. ‘I am sorry, my lady, he has cast a shoe. No one can use him until he has been to the farrier.’

‘Then why not take him down there?’

There was a long pause. ‘There is no one there to shoe him, my lady. I understand Mr Henry has advertised for a new farrier and blacksmith for the farm, but until one is found, we have to wait until someone is free to walk him up to the village to see Jo Wicks.’

Emily was staring at him. ‘Where is Daniel?’

Sam pressed his lips together. ‘I understand you will have to ask Mr Henry that, my lady.’

‘But my husband isn’t here.’

‘No, my lady.’ Sam turned away and walked swiftly back down the line of stalls and out into the yard. Pip pushed at his broom, paused to splash some water over the cobbles and swept again, harder.

Emily walked back to the house and in through the front door. There she rang the bell. It was a long time before Beaton appeared.

‘Do you know when my husband is returning?’ she asked.

He inclined his head slightly towards her. ‘I am sorry, my lady. He did not inform me.’

‘Are there no horses I can ride?’

‘That is for Sam to say, my lady, but I understand not.’

‘Who is shoeing the working horses?’

‘I am afraid that is not my department, my lady. I have no idea.’

‘I gather Daniel has left our service.’

She was watching his face closely and she saw the slight wince as he turned away. ‘I oversee the house servants, my lady. I have no idea what happens down on the farm.’

‘But that’s not true, is it?’ she insisted. ‘You all know everything. I am the only one who doesn’t. I have no maid, Mrs Field tells me nothing, I am alone here and now I am a prisoner in my own house!’

‘You are no prisoner, my lady.’ Beaton carefully schooled his features. ‘There is nothing to stop you walking outside.’

‘Then I will. I will walk down to the farm. I cannot believe the Turtills have gone as well.’

‘I am sure not, my lady.’ He paused. ‘Will that be all, my lady?’

Her anger gave her the energy to walk the first half-mile. After that she slowed, regretting her high-heeled boots, but she was determined not to give in. In fact she had no alternative. It was clear there was no other way of either reaching the farm, or of returning home after her visit.

The farmhouse was up a short track some quarter of a mile above the yard and the smithy. She paused at the fork in the drive, looking down towards the barns. From there she could see the yard. It was deserted. The forge and the cottage behind it were closed up, the curtains in the cottage pulled across the windows. There was no sign of anyone in the yard. She could see an empty hay wagon pulled up against the wall of the old barn. One of the wheels was missing; there was a pile of bricks under the axle holding the wagon level.

Jessie Turtill was in the kitchen of the farmhouse talking to Sarah, one of the maids. She turned as Lady Emily appeared at the door and dropped a perfunctory curtsey. ‘My lady, I didn’t know you were coming. Please, go through to the parlour. You shouldn’t come into the kitchen. Fred is in the backhouse, I’ll call him.’

‘No!’ Emily walked into the room and threw her gloves down on the kitchen table. ‘No, it is you I want to talk to. The girl can go.’

Jessie frowned, but she nodded at Sarah, who vanished through a back door into the dairy. Jessie waited. She was a large woman in her mid-forties with work-roughened hands and greying hair under her cap, but for all the hostility in her face, her eyes were kind.

‘I have come to see you, Jessie, because no one else will be honest with me,’ Emily said at last. There was a note of desperation in her voice. ‘My husband has gone away, I’m not sure where; my maid, Molly, has left my service as you know, the servants will not talk to me and I understand there is no horse I can ride.’ She paused. ‘Because Daniel has gone.’ The final words came out in a whisper.

‘And what did you want from me, my lady?’ Jessie asked at last.

‘The truth.’ Emily had been looking down at the table, unconsciously noting how spotlessly clean it was. There was nothing on it but her grey silk gloves. ‘Where has Daniel gone?’

Jessie tightened her lips. For a moment she said nothing, then she nodded as though coming to a decision in her own mind. ‘Your husband gave orders that no one should tell you, my lady,’ she said at last, ‘in case you were upset. But as Mr Henry has remained away so long, I see nothing for it but to tell you. Daniel died, my lady.’

Emily clenched her fists in her skirt, but she said nothing, her eyes on the floor. Jessie waited, watching her. It was several seconds before Emily at last looked up. ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘How did he die?’

‘I understand it was some sort of accident, my lady.’ Jessie was not going to be the one to tell her what had happened. ‘The men are understandably upset.’

‘Was it the wagon? I saw the wheel was missing.’

‘No, my lady. Not the wagon.’

‘What then? Do they think it was my fault?’ she whispered again.

‘As to that, my lady, you would have to ask them,’ Jessie said. ‘Suffice to say that he is with his Susan and the babe in heaven.’

‘Of course.’ Emily picked up the gloves and began shredding the fine silk between her fingers. She took a deep breath. ‘When is the funeral?’ She was finding it hard to speak. ‘My husband said I should represent him when Susan and the baby were buried?’

‘It is on Tuesday, my lady.’ Jessie hesitated. She softened her voice a little. ‘I understand it will be a family affair, my lady. I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to go under the circumstances.’

‘Under the circumstances?’ Emily echoed. ‘And Daniel? He is to be buried with them?’

Jessie looked for the first time disconcerted. ‘I understand not, my lady. He has been buried privately.’

‘Privately?’ Emily looked up again. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It is not for me to say, my lady. I don’t know anything about it –’ Jessie broke off as the door opened and her husband walked in.

‘Lady Emily,’ he said curtly. ‘I am afraid I must ask you to leave. As for the funeral, I understand there will not be any vehicles available to collect anyone from the Hall.’

‘Of course.’ Emily turned towards the outside door. She tried to muster a little dignity as she paused and gave a faint smile. ‘Thank you, Jessie.’ She ignored the woman’s husband completely.

She waited until she was out of sight of the farmhouse before she stopped. She leaned on the fence which bounded the south park of the Hall and stared out at the sheep grazing in the sunshine. She would never see Daniel again. The information was only slowly sinking in, though somewhere deep inside her, she knew she had suspected this, and, a thought not to be faced yet, that his death might have something to do with Henry. What had she expected him to do when she accused Daniel of raping her? In her anger and spite had she considered for a single moment what her husband’s reaction might be? She took a deep breath, aware suddenly of how much her feet were hurting in the boots. She would miss Daniel’s ministrations. She smiled a little, remembering how he had pulled off her riding boots for her, how he had removed all her clothes, the touch of his body on hers and, as it finally dawned on her that he would never touch her again, at last the tears began to flow. There would never be another man save her husband, of that she was certain. Henry would see to that. As she leaned on the fence and sobbed, her sorrow was all for herself. Not once did she give another thought to Susan or the baby, or to Daniel and how he might have died.

The group of walkers had spread sideways outside the wire as the tractor approached. ‘Don’t let him scare you!’ Rosemary cried. ‘He wants to see us run. We won’t give him the satisfaction!’ She stood, hands on hips in front of the rest of the group, glaring at Jackson as he approached. Far behind him, Mike Turtill was running as best he could over the furrows trying to catch up.

Jackson smirked as he focused on the people ahead of him. He was not slowing down. He clutched the steering wheel tightly, leaning forward to peer out of the windscreen, judging the distance carefully. At the very last moment, as he was nearly on them, he swung the wheel sharply to the left. He was close enough to see Rosemary’s face, her mouth open in fury or fear, he wasn’t sure which. He saw the other figures round her and he let out an exultant whoop as the tractor veered violently away from her and he headed up the furrows towards the gate.

Behind him the huge plough swung out to the right. It caught Rosemary only a glancing blow but she went down like a stalk of grass. For a moment no one moved. The tractor hurtled on up the field, Jackson, oblivious to the damage he had done, still at the wheel.

‘Oh God!’ Steve fell on his knees beside his wife. ‘Rosemary?’ He caught her hand, staring down at her in disbelief, seeing only the curtain of blood which had engulfed her head. Behind him the secretary of the walking group, Dave Roberts, had reached for his mobile and was already dialling for an ambulance. Across the field Ken and John had broken into a run with Zoë and Amanda behind them.

Da
ve’s wife, Jan, knelt beside Steve and gently pushed him back. ‘Is she breathing?’ She reached over to feel for a pulse and took her hand away sticky with blood. ‘I can’t feel anything. Here, I’ll start CPR.’ She glanced up at Dave. ‘Tell them it’s bad – a blow to the head – and tell them there’s no vehicular access. Maybe this is one for the air ambulance,’ she commanded, her years as a St John Ambulance volunteer automatically kicking in as the others stood around too stunned to move.

Zoë was staring down at Rosemary as Mike arrived, so out of breath he couldn’t speak. When he did, he was incoherent. ‘I told him not to.’ The words tumbled over each other. ‘He was drunk. He just wanted to frighten her. He didn’t mean to hit her.’ He was looking down at Rosemary lying on the path in a pool of blood, then he turned and gazed up the field. The tractor had disappeared over the line of the horizon but they could still hear the roar of the engine. It went on and on as if it was going to race around the field for ever, then abruptly it stopped. The silence was absolute, broken only by the keening cry of a gull in the wind.

‘Somebody had better ring Bill,’ Ken murmured. He glanced up as Leo appeared to stand behind them, his face grim. On his way back to The Old Forge he had seen what happened from the gate. ‘I will.’ He reached into his pocket for his mobile. ‘I have the number here.’

The rest of the group stood in silence. One woman was crying softly; two others turned their backs and moved away a little, their arms around one another, faces white.

‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Steve whispered. He was still clutching Rosemary’s hand.

‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ Jan said robustly between chest compressions. ‘Cover her up with something to keep her warm. The rest of you stand back. Give me some space.’

It was the sword. She shouldn’t have moved the sword.

Rosemary was vaguely aware that she was lying on the ground; something had hit her; she didn’t know what. It was silent there in the field and the ground was surprisingly comfortable. She was almost floating, but there was danger nearby. She had felt the tension around the burial mound, been aware that she had done something terribly wrong in touching the sword, taking it away. It was protected by special charms, runes of immense power. She could see the man who had put it there, his face strong, weatherbeaten, his cloak of animal furs, a necklace of amber beads round his neck. His eyes were like shards of flint as he looked down at her.

I didn’t mean to take it away. She was repeating the words in her head. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

Ignorance was no defence. The coiling spiral of curses which bound the sword to its owner had been activated. Where was he? Who was he? She was too tired to wonder any more. I could fetch it. Bring it back. I hid it nearby. I wanted the path to go through unhindered. I’m sorry.

There was a strange roaring in her head. She tried to open her eyelids but they wouldn’t obey her. She could feel a sudden wind round the place where she lay and she could see the trees in her mind, bending, sweeping, mourning the loss of the sword.

A great yellow bird had come to collect her, take her to hell, but she wouldn’t go to hell. She was doomed. Cursed. She had meddled in things which didn’t concern her.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched it.

She could hear voices. She was being lifted up now. Her head hurt. The man with the flint eyes was near her, watching, his hands lifted to tighten the curse.

I can tell you where the sword is. I know it’s safe. I didn’t damage it. It was so old. I wrapped it carefully.

They were carrying her away from the wood now. It was a helicopter not a bird; she could hear a police siren, she was safe. But the man with the flint eyes was still there with her. He was following. His curses were circling her like smoke. There was to be no escape. She had touched the sword. She had defiled the grave.

Jade woke suddenly as the yellow helicopter swung low overhead and roared away to the west. She had fallen asleep on The Old Forge doorstep, sitting beside Leo’s abandoned gumboots and his garden fork. She stood up slowly and stretched painfully. Her head hurt from where it had rested against the wood of the doorframe and she was hungry. She looked at her wristwatch. It was lunchtime. So, where was Leo? She squinted up at the vanishing speck in the sky. The air ambulance had been very close and very low. Had there been an accident down on the river? She scowled. It wouldn’t have been him. He was much too careful with his boat.