Sons of the Wolf (7 page)

"Your grandmother was the one who kept up the feud, not our branch of the family." There was a touch of annoyance in his voice. "I know all about her-and you; it was my responsibility to watch out for her, though she never realized it."

"Please go on," I said meekly.

"Yes . . . Warwick the Kingmaker. He is, to my mind, one of the greatest names in our history. Only imagine it, Harriet-for a few years he did make and break kings, two of them. If he had not been killed at Barnet-"

"In battle with King Edward, to whom he had sworn his oath of loyalty before God."

"Those were rough and barbarous times. An oath meant less than it does today."

"Loyalty is a pure virtue, not a local custom. Oh, I can see why a man might admire our revered ancestor, but to me there is something horrifying in such arrogance and pride. He made a bloody battlefield of England-not because he felt he was right, but just because he wanted power."

"I forget you are a woman, however intelligent," Mr. Wolfson said coldly. "You will never understand ambition. I suppose the second owner of the castle will be no more to your delicate tastes. He was Richard of Gloucester, later Richard the Third."

"Crouchback? Hardly! I remember weeping for the poor little princes in the tower when our governess told us about their murder by their uncle."

"You have heard only the standard pap taught by semi-literate females," said Mr. Wolfson irritably. "Richard was not a hunchback; the contemporary portraits and descriptions show him without a trace of deformity. Nor is there any proof that he murdered his nephews or anyone else. These were slanders spread by Henry Tudor, later Henry the Seventh, after he defeated Richard at Bosworth. But I suppose you won't take my word for that, either."

"I will take your word on any fact. It is only in interpreting motives that we differ."

"Read Buck's defense of Richard-I have it in my library-and then we will have a good satisfying argument. And take a word of advice-don't call Richard of Gloucester 'Crouchback' here in Middleham."

"Why not, for goodness' sake?"

"He was governor of the North, with his capital in York, for years. After Bosworth, do you know what they wrote in the official archives here? After the battle, understand, when Henry Tudor was in control. 'This day was our good King Richard piteously slain and murdered, to the great heaviness of this city.' "

The words lingered in air, echoing like some ancient dirge. Mr. Wolfson has, as I have mentioned, a beautiful speaking voice.

"I never knew that. But, heavens, it has been four hundred years since Bosworth Field. Do you mean to say that Yorkshiremen, like elephants, never forget?"

"Precisely. In fact," he added, with a curl of his lip, "if you mention your Neville ancestry, you will have them fawning at your feet. The Nevilles too were lords of the North."

Lords of the North. What a ring the phrase has-like bronze trumpeting. It kept sounding in my inner ear as I stood on the dry slopes of the old moat and looked up at the overhanging gray bulk of the ragged battlements. I could almost feel a call of the blood, as if I had stood here once before-seeing not abused and battered stones but the bustling life of a long-vanished age.

The wind soon blew that fancy away. It tossed my skirts about, tugged at my cloak and poked inquisitive tendrils under my bonnet. With the aid of my guide, a silent weatherbeaten man, I scrambled across the ditch and passed under the frowning portal.

Dodds is as taciturn as all the other true Yorkshiremen I have met. I was grateful for his silence, since it gave me a chance to meditate in peace. Inside the walls the wind was not so strong. I visited the remains of what had been the chapel and stood in the vast but empty enclosure of the keep. The floors had fallen long since, and dried weeds and mud floored the lower chambers.

The place was not ghostly, not in daylight, but as I prowled, dragging my skirts through damp patches and catching them on ragged projections of stone, a feeling of depression crept over me. Ada would say it is a dismal place. Physically, I suppose any ruin must be dismal, but this had an atmosphere of tragedy that had never quite passed away. One could call it an unlucky site; its most famous owners had met violent death and the destruction of their hopes.

At last the brooding silence grew too much for me. I turned to my silent guide and tried to make conversation. But the weather, the castle, and the beauties of Yorkshire all failed; I drew no more than an "Ah" or "Aye" out of the man. His lack of response was challenging. I decided to see if Mr. Wolfson was right about the long memories of Yorkshiremen.

" 'Neville,' " he repeated, and a spark of life animated his rock-hewn face. "Ah. 'Twas tha grandmother that lived here in ma father's time."

That is a rough indication of his speech; at the time I found it hard to follow.

"Yes," I said, after I had puzzled out his meaning. "My grandmother's mother was a Neville. She herself was born a Wolfson. Her father married twice, and Mr. Wolfson of Abbey Manor is the descendant of the second wife."

I feared this might be too complicated for the man to follow, but Yorkshiremen, as I discovered, are fascinated by family history. He nodded.

"That was how it come abaht. How long will tha be visiting, miss, at the Abbey?"

"Until I find a home of my own. Mr. Wolfson is my guardian and the guardian of my cousin."

"Gardeen . . . Tha's living at the Abbey?"

"Why, yes."

An extraordinary spasm crossed his face. If it had been summer, I would have thought some insect had stung him. Then his harsh features subsided into their customary blankness.

"We'd best be going back."

Without waiting for a response he stumped heavily back toward the gateway. I followed, in a state of mingled amusement and annoyance.

He waited for me just inside the gate. I hesitated, expecting him to assist me over the fallen stones that littered the portal, and once again I saw the struggle of some emotion on features which were unaccustomed to demonstrate feeling. After a few heavy breaths, he spoke.

"Ma grandsire was groom to tha grandmother."

"Oh, I see."

Another facial contortion followed, worse than the previous ones. I became convinced that the man was subject to fits and was about to shout for help, when, abruptly, he plunged his hand into his pocket, extracted some object, and thrust it at me. I recoiled a few steps.

"Take un," he said in a hoarse whisper, and with an air of such terrified conspiracy that I glanced involuntarily over my shoulder to see who might be spying on us. There was not another living thing in sight, not even a rabbit or a fly.

"Take un," Dodds repeated, wriggling his fingers.

The object lay on his horny palm, almost lost in the vast plain of it. It was a sprig of dried foliage, carefully folded in a bit of cloth.

I took the sprig. It was surely harmless and, at that instant, I was afraid Dodds was not.

When it was in my grasp, his massive shoulders relaxed. He nodded with dour satisfaction.

"Aye, take un and keep un abaht thee. At night, too. Most particalar at night."

I was naturally agog with curiosity, but he gave me no chance to question him; he lifted me down into the moat and propelled me up the farther bank so quickly I had no breath to use for speech. Then he ambled on ahead of me as fast as he could go.

When we reached the inn, Mr. Wolfson was already in the carriage, impatient to be off. He threw Dodds a coin and tugged at the reins, all in the same moment. Big clumsy man that he is, Dodds moved his hand awkwardly and missed the coin entirely. He was still staring down at the dirt trying to locate it when we drove away.

This is a mercilessly long entry. No wonder my fingers are stiff. Perhaps I will become an authoress, like the lady who published that scandalous book under a man's name. Now that I think of it, she lived in Yorkshire, with her sisters. I must ask Mr. Wolfson about her. The idea is attractive. If I could live by my pen, I could be independent of Ada's charity-or that of some unknown gentleman. I will try writing some little sketches and make my diary entries more novel-like. Not that there will be much to write about; we have no such wild adventures as that poor governess who fell in love with a married man.

Mr. Wolfson said very little on the journey home, except to ask how I had enjoyed my visit to the castle. He seemed amused by my description of Dodds's strange behavior. I meant to show him the little withered plant, but when I looked in the pocket of my skirt I couldn't find it. I suppose I must have dropped it somewhere.

Once a hare bounded across the road in front of the carriage. One of the dogs sat up. He did not bark, but I was rather touched by this sign of-caninity, would one say? Poor creatures, I am getting quite accustomed to them now. I wonder how they exercise those great limbs, shut up all day in the house with their master.

I have yawned four times in the last minute. It is time for bed.

Midnight

The mystery of the dogs' exercise is solved. I have seen them at it.

Tonight was one of my bad nights. I have them, rarely, after a day of unusual fatigue or mental stimulation, and today was full of both. Long after Ada lay breathing deeply-one can hardly use the word "snoring" of such a gentle girl-I lay flat on my back, staring up at the canopy of my bed.

Finally I got up and walked about the room trying to tire myself. It didn't help; I was already tired. After what seemed like hours, I was aching with fatigue and no nearer to sleep, so I went into Ada's room to look for her sleeping drops. She bought the laudanum months ago, just because it was fashionable and because Grandmother would have disapproved. She, of all healthy souls, has no need for such aids to sleep.

Ada's is one of the large front rooms overlooking the entrance to the house, whereas my own windows face the courtyard and stables. She is a creature of light and air; her curtains were flung wide apart and the moonlight spilled in like water overflowing a bowl. I went to the window and looked out.

The moon was full-small at this season, but perfect as a polished silver shilling. Under its light the landscape was an etching in black and white; the shadows of the trees, the tiny branches of shrubs, were as sharp as if they had been outlined by the finest pointed pen. At first nothing stirred to break the illusion of a drawing. Then something walked out from behind a tree toward the steps of the manor.

It was one of the dogs-I can't tell them apart, even now. Its gray coat seemed shaggier than usual; with its pointed nose and pricked ears it looked like nothing on earth except a wolf, but it was as big as a yearling calf. As I watched, scarcely breathing, it stopped and lifted its head toward the window, almost as if it could see me. That was nonsense and I knew it, but I shrank back behind the draperies, clutching them with damp hands. By some trick of the light the beast's eyes looked luminously green-the only spots of color in that gray-hued landscape. Another shadow moved; the second dog came out to join the first. For a long time they both stood staring fixedly at the window where I crouched. Then they wheeled together, like sentries, and walked slowly in step across the front of the house, disappearing behind the far wing.

Of course the poor creatures must get exercise somehow. Many great houses have such watchdogs; they come of a breed which is famous for its devotion to mankind. ... I cannot imagine why I am so afraid of them!

I will not take the laudanum after all. They say it causes fantastic dreams and visions; heaven knows mine are wild enough already!

May 21

Imagine my surprise when I found on Ada's dressing table this morning a sprig of the same dried plant which Dodds had given me in Middleham! At least I think it was the same plant; it was dried and brown, but the little withered flowers might once have been yellow.

When I asked Ada where it had come from, she looked bewildered.

"Ah, I remember," she said at last. "Elspeth gave it to me."

Elspeth is our maid-a hearty, pretty girl who seems constantly in danger of bursting her stays. She is really a parlormaid of sorts, but she makes up in willingness and good humor what she lacks in the finer skills of the boudoir. Since she overcame her first shyness, she talks constantly; but I confess with shame that, since I can't understand her easily, I simply don't listen.

Ada, her brow puckered, had returned to her sewing. She was trying to mend a rent in a cashmere shawl. Of course this was properly Elspeth's work, but Elspeth's sewing is of the coarse-hemming variety. Not that Ada and I are any more skilled. I have consistently and ostentatiously ignored dear Grandmother's ebony workbox; if I had had any inclination toward needlework, that hateful gift would have destroyed it forever.

"Why did Elspeth give it to you?" I persisted.

"Oh-I don't know. She said it was for good luck or good health or some such thing."

"For goodness' sake, Ada, do listen to me! When did she give it to you?"

Ada gave a little shriek.

"Now I've stuck myself," she said reproachfully. "How you do fuss, Harriet! Let me think. It was yesterday-no, Thursday-oh, me, I can't remember."

She put her pricked finger in her mouth and looked at me wistfully. I laughed and stroked her hair.