Shadows at Stonewylde (2 page)

There’d been so much to do in the early days. The loss of Magus had been deeply felt by everyone and the future of Stonewylde had seemed very shaky. Sheer determination on the part of Clip, Maizie and Miranda, along with others appointed to the Council, had eventually averted the crisis. Together they’d reorganised the great estate in a way that Magus would’ve hated. The longer she did the job, the more grudging respect Maizie felt for him; Magus had single-handedly done what it now took a whole group of people to do. And in her heart she sometimes wondered if the people of Stonewylde were any happier today, with their education and freedom, than they’d been under his rule. Not that she’d ever voice such thoughts, and especially not to her son, who was in his own way as hard and single-minded as his father had been. Such treachery from his own mother would infuriate him.

‘Sit down, Leveret,’ said Maizie tersely, struggling to remain calm and in control. The girl groaned loudly and flung herself down onto one of the wooden chairs. She slumped across the table and gazed moodily at her mother. She knew exactly what was coming now: the lecture about her place in the society of Stonewylde, how as the magus’ sister she must set a good example to other young people, how she let Maizie down with her behaviour, how different she was from her perfect sister Rosie, and finally how, if she didn’t change her ways, Yul would be informed and there’d be a severe punishment.

She rolled her green eyes in boredom as the familiar tirade began, and started to make a mental list of the fungi still to be harvested before the Dark Moon at the end of the month. The fact that the Dark Moon fell on the night of Samhain itself was very exciting indeed. She was planning to try a spell that night, for if ever a spell were to work it’d be at the moment when the Dark Moon coincided with Samhain. She shivered with anticipation and a small smile spread across her mouth.

‘… and Rosie would never have—
Leveret, you’re not even listening!
’

To their mutual astonishment her mother jerked forward and slapped her sharply round the face. Leveret gasped and stared at her in shock, placing a hand on the stinging imprint on her cheek. Maizie gaped in horror too and sank back into her seat, covering her mouth with her hand. She’d broken one of the most fundamental laws of Stonewylde; the first one passed by Yul and the one he cared most passionately about.

Nobody shall ever strike a child
.

‘That was your fault!’ whispered Maizie shakily. ‘I’m sorry I did it, but you are the rudest child I’ve ever met and I’ve had enough of it.’

‘You hit me!’ squeaked Leveret in disbelief, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I can’t believe you hit me.’

‘Oh for goddess’ sake, girl, I hardly touched you. ‘Twas just a little slap.’

‘No it wasn’t – it hurt and I bet there’s a mark on my face.’

‘Not really. And besides, that just shows how you’ve pushed me to the end o’ my rope! Six children I’ve raised before you, five of ’em unruly lads, and I’ve never lifted a hand to any of them. But you …’

‘You
hit
me, Mother.’

Maizie tried to laugh.

‘Rubbish! You’ve no idea what being hit means. Believe me, Leveret, that were nothing. If you could’ve seen what went on in this very cottage in the old days to your poor brother … the beatings that boy took right here in this room. Don’t make a fuss about a silly little thing like that. You know I didn’t mean it.’

Leveret stood up angrily, the tears forgotten and her nostrils flaring as she blazed her fury at her mother.

‘Nothing I say or do or feel ever matters one bit, does it, Mother? Because it’s
nothing
compared to what happened to Yul or Rosie or any of the boys. Whatever it is, however big or small, it’s never anything compared to what
they
did!’

‘Now Leveret, I’m—’

‘No! Let me finish for once! Nobody ever listens to me! I’m sick to death of hearing about Yul all the time. I hate my brother being the magus and I wish he’d never become magus. I wish we had the old magus back because he can’t have been as bad as you all say, and even if he was it’d be better than having my perfect brother held up as some kind of god all the time! I hate you and Yul and Rosie – all of you – and as soon as I’m old enough I’ll leave this stupid Village and go and live by myself somewhere! And if you ever touch me again I’ll tell Yul! We’ll see if he’ll banish his own perfect mother or if he’d bend the rules for you!’

Her tirade finished on a crescendo and she stopped for breath, chest heaving. Maizie had stood up too and faced her daughter across the table.

‘Keep your voice down!’ she hissed. ‘The whole Village’ll hear you!’

‘I don’t care!’ shouted Leveret. ‘I don’t care if they hear me!’

‘Well I do!’

‘Oh yes,
you
do because we can’t have the ordinary Villagers seeing that Yul’s mother isn’t the perfect woman she makes herself out to be! Oh no,
she
hits her daughter! What would they say to that?’

Leveret laughed triumphantly, green eyes still blazing, delighted to gain the upper hand for once. But Maizie was having none of it.

‘Get to your bed, Leveret! I was wrong to slap you, but you’ve shown me no respect at all. Don’t you
dare
speak to me like that!’

‘Or what? What’ll you do?’

‘You’ll see,’ muttered Maizie darkly, feeling quite willing to inflict a deserved punishment on her. ‘Go upstairs. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’ve remembered how to behave towards your mother.’

Knowing the row had gone as far as it could, Leveret marched into the kitchen and snatched her wicker basket off the dresser. If it hadn’t been so late she’d never have risked bringing it here tonight. Chin in the air, she stomped back into the sitting room and headed for the stairs.

‘Leave that basket!’ commanded Maizie.

‘No!’ yelled Leveret and raced up to her room, sliding the wooden bar across the door with a loud and final thump.

Sylvie sat in the window seat, forehead pressed against the cold, latticed glass. As the bright moon rose higher behind the trees, her fingertips tingled and her heart beat faster … but only a little. She smiled wistfully at the memory of her frantic desperation as a young girl. As dear old Professor Siskin had warned, moongaziness wasn’t necessarily a blessing. Even though she’d been released from the bonds of the Stonewylde moon-dance that had claimed her every month, she still felt the pull on her soul. Part of her longed to be with the wild hares up on the hill, dancing like a moon angel in the starry night, singing her ethereal song and marking the magic spirals into the earth with her bare feet.

Curled into the cushions and bathed in silver light, Sylvie gazed up at the brilliant moon riding the shredded clouds. The Hunter’s Moon held dark memories that she found impossible to lay to rest. Even now, thirteen years later, she felt the past close behind her. It was as if the dust had never settled properly but still swirled and danced in the air with a life of its own. The pool of moonlight around her failed to penetrate the shadows of the cavernous sitting-room, and Sylvie peered alone into the darkness.

She’d put up so much resistance when, after their hand-fasting, Yul had wanted to move into these apartments. This was where her final ordeal had taken place, the prison Magus had kept her in for the last weeks of his life. Today, the leather sofa where she’d slept in silk and diamonds was gone, as was the black marble bathroom and all the priceless fittings of his great bedroom. The only way she’d been persuaded to use these chambers was by altering them beyond recognition; by wiping out all traces of the man who’d been so obsessed by her moongaziness but had treated her so cruelly.

Yet still he haunted her as if he’d never truly gone. So red-blooded and commanding when alive, echoes of Magus reverberated all around Stonewylde, particularly in the Hall and especially in these rooms. At moments like this, when the full moon blazed through the whorled glass, Sylvie felt Magus close by. She sensed the gleam of his silver hair and the flash of his black eyes just beyond the corner of her vision. She could almost – but not quite – hear his deep voice whispering her name, feel the brush of his fingers on her bare skin. It never happened when she was busy or surrounded by other people; it was always when she was alone. She’d mentioned it to others of course, but she knew from their reactions that they thought her ridiculous, or maybe even displaying something more alarming – a return to her illness. So Sylvie had learnt to keep quiet about her fears, hoping that as the years passed Magus’ spectre would fade until eventually, one day, she’d be free of his presence altogether.

She rose and switched on a table lamp. The room sprang into existence, still luxurious but very different to Magus’ rooms. This was her home and not a shrine. She shouldn’t sit in the darkness like that. It was silly to give memories the chance to smother her, silly to let ghosts from the past find the opportunity to visit. She must be firm with herself and keep her wandering thoughts under control.

Sylvie went through the connecting door into the playroom, formerly Magus’ dressing room, then into the bathroom. This was now decorated with pearly fittings and pale wood rather than dark marble and onyx. She moved on into the bedroom, an airy room with diaphanous drapes and soft turquoise walls, and a far cry from Magus’ lair of scarlet damask and dark mahogany. The next room was a smaller bathroom and then there was the children’s bedroom, tucked away in a room originally put aside for Sylvie and her clothes. Here, Cherry had hidden food for her under the bed and Magus had laced her tightly into a Tudor gown. The room was now bright and colourful, full of the pretty paraphernalia of young girls.

She stepped softly across the floor to stand between the beds and gaze down at her two daughters, Celandine and Bluebell. Two white-blond curly heads lay in tousled sleep, little bodies curled up against the October chill. If her girls were moongazy they didn’t show it for both slept soundly, Bluebell with her thumb in her mouth. Sylvie felt the familiar heart-wrench of love as she watched them in the bright moonlight. They liked to sleep with the curtains open to the moon and the stars, and made up stories about a family of owls who had unlikely adventures, and a tribe of woodland elves who lived in a giant toadstool.

They were beautiful little girls and Sylvie knew Yul loved his daughters dearly, but she found it difficult not to feel a sense of failure in denying him the little boy he’d longed for. It wasn’t so bad when Celandine was born, but with Bluebell’s birth his hopes had been smashed. If Stonewylde were to survive the population explosion that Magus had encouraged, urging people to have enormous families, then there had to be a limit to reproduction now. The quota for every couple was a maximum of two children and neither of theirs was a son. Yul always went to great lengths to show how little it mattered, but Sylvie knew better.

She returned to the sitting-room and contemplated lighting the fire as it had turned very chilly this evening. It seemed a waste of good logs to heat this vast room just for her, so instead she found her woollen shawl and curled up on the sofa, picking up her book. There was a tap on the door and Miranda peered in.

‘All alone? Can I come in for a minute?’

Sylvie was glad of the company and welcomed her mother. Miranda, now in her forties, was an attractive woman. Apart from a few silver threads, her hair still gleamed like newly-shelled conkers and her face showed serenity and purpose. She sat in an armchair and surveyed her daughter, bundled up in the thick shawl.

‘It’s freezing in here! Why don’t you light the fire? Where’s Yul?’

‘In his office I suppose. You know how hard he works.’

‘Yes, but it’s late – he should be with you. I’ll go as soon he comes up I promise.’

Sylvie nodded; she couldn’t tell her mother that some nights he didn’t come to bed at all.

‘Are you alright, darling? You look tired.’

‘I’m fine, thanks. Bluebell’s been a bit disturbed lately at nighttime – she wakes up with bad dreams. You know how it is.’

‘You were just like that! Up and down all night when you were little. I’ve been very lucky with Rufus – he sleeps like a log.’

Miranda smiled and Sylvie recognised that same echo of mother-love that burned so strongly in her own heart.

‘I was watching him at lunch time,’ she said. ‘He’s grown so much recently – he’s going to be tall.’

‘Like his father, no doubt,’ said Miranda, without any bitterness. ‘It’s becoming more obvious now he’s reaching puberty. I can’t believe he’ll be thirteen at Imbolc and not my little boy any longer. But he only takes after Magus in looks – he’s such a sweet child and I’ve been really blessed with him.’

Sylvie nodded; despite the awful way Magus had treated Miranda and the fact that he’d been born posthumously, Rufus had grown up as a sunny and loving boy, if a little shy.

‘That’s actually what I wanted to ask, Sylvie. I know Yul’s busy, but do you think he’d spend a little time with Rufus this winter? He could really do with a bit of male bonding now he’s growing up. They’re kind of double brothers, aren’t they? The same father and being linked through us as well. Rufus really looks up to Yul, you know. There’s a bit of hero-worship there I think.’

Sylvie grimaced; they’d all like to spend a little time with Yul, his daughters included.

‘I’m sure he’d be happy to, Mum – I’ll mention it. But he’s so busy working and we hardly get to see him ourselves. Celandine was only asking this evening why he doesn’t read their bedtime story any more, and I never seem to have him to myself nowadays.’