The Daughters of Eden Trilogy: The Shadow Catcher, Fever Hill & the Serpent's Tooth (65 page)

‘Oh, Lord,’ said Sophie.

‘Quite,’ said Madeleine. ‘Oh well. I brought it on myself. I usually do. But we’ll get over it.’

Sophie was silent for a moment. ‘I had no idea that things were this bad. I mean, with Eden. Somehow I always thought that Cameron would pull through.’

Madeleine smiled. ‘He can’t work miracles, Sophie.’

‘You do know that you can have Fever Hill, don’t you? Just say the word and I’ll sell it tomorrow, and you can have the money.’

‘My goodness, what an offer! Whatever would Clemency say?’

‘It’s not a joke, Maddy. I mean it.’

Madeleine put a hand on her arm and tried to smile. ‘I know you do. And it’s wonderful of you. But there’s no need to sacrifice your inheritance just yet. Strathnaw will see us through for a good many years. And who knows, the price of sugar may soar, and we’ll all become millionaires!’

Sophie saw that she was determined to make light of it. And perhaps that was the best way of dealing with it.

For a while they walked in silence beneath the tree-ferns. Scout rooted about under the plumbago, and emerged with his muzzle neatly encrusted with a ring of red earth. Among the lime trees, Belle jumped up and down and shouted at Fraser to give her a turn on the swing or she’d tell on him.

Madeleine called to Fraser to let his sister have a go, and not to push her too hard. Then she turned to Sophie as if to say something more, but thought better of it, and moved on.

Walking beside her, Sophie thought about her own behaviour over the past few weeks, and winced. She’d antagonized Madeleine at every opportunity, practically called Alexander a liar to his face, and persecuted Ben – all in an ill-conceived crusade to get at ‘the truth’. And she was supposed to be the clever one of the family.

Thinking of Ben, she felt a twinge of unease. What if that trick she’d pulled yesterday had consequences for him? Or indeed for her? No-one had said a word about it, but it couldn’t have gone unnoticed. And if Sibella had felt constrained to have a ‘quiet word’ about Evie McFarlane, how much more strongly would she feel about a servant?

There was a wail from the lime trees. Belle had fallen off the swing. Then, when nobody came to see what the matter was, she sat up in the grass, grinning at them to show that she was all right.

Madeleine watched her daughter for a moment, then put her arm through Sophie’s and started back across the lawn. ‘There’s something else I need to talk to you about,’ she said in a low voice.

Sophie glanced at her in surprise. ‘Something else?’ She made a face. ‘My goodness, you mean there’s more?’

She’d meant it as a joke, but Madeleine didn’t smile. ‘I’m afraid there is,’ she said. ‘It’s about Ben.’

Sophie braced herself. ‘If it’s about yesterday—’

‘Not exactly. At least, I don’t think it is.’

‘What does that mean?’

Madeleine looked down at her feet and frowned. ‘Susan told me just now. She heard it from Moses.’

‘What did she hear? Is anything wrong?’

‘I’m afraid they sacked him, Sophie.’

Sophie stopped and stared at her.

‘Apparently, Cornelius gave him his notice last night.’

‘But – why?’

‘I don’t know. Something about insolence. But I get the impression that that was just an excuse.’

Sophie cast about in dismay. ‘Of course it’s an excuse! It’s because of us, isn’t it? It’s because I got him to tell me about Montpelier, and somehow Alexander found out, and—’

‘No, that’s just jumping to conclusions.’

‘Well, then, maybe it’s because I kept him talking at Romilly and he was late getting back. Either way, it’s our fault.’

‘Sophie—’

‘Well it is, isn’t it? It’s got to be.’

Madeleine did not reply. But Sophie could see from her face that she thought so too.

‘It’s so unfair,’ said Sophie, nearly in tears. ‘He didn’t want to have anything to do with us, he kept telling me. And he wouldn’t have, if we hadn’t forced things.’ In her anger she included Madeleine as a guilty party, but they both knew who was mostly to blame. ‘He was doing so well at Parnassus. And now we’ve spoilt it for him.’

‘We don’t know that for sure, Sophie.’

‘Yes we do. He’s lost his job, and he’s got nowhere to go. And it’s all our fault.’

Chapter Nine

It takes him a while to work out why he’s got the sack, on account of it all came a bit out of the blue. One minute he was in the tackroom cleaning stirrup irons, and the next thing there was Master Cornelius giving him two weeks’ notice without a character. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Kelly. Disappointed and severely displeased.’

Me too, thought Ben, putting down the stirrup iron on a bale of hay. Sacked? What for? That bit of backchat with Master Alex at the picnic? Coming home late? What?

He watched Master Cornelius walking up and down the tackroom. He’s a short, meaty, good-looking man in his late fifties; the sort of man you take to at first, but never quite trust. There’s too much of the lizard in him for that. Bulgy pale blue eyes, always swivelling about for the next bit of skirt. Red lips that never look dry. Scaly lizard hands.

‘You know, Kelly,’ he said, picking up a jar of paraffin wax and frowning at the label, ‘you brought this on yourself. Perhaps in future you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. Especially when there’s a lady present.’

A lady? What lady? What’s this about?

Two years down the plughole – that’s what it’s about. And without a character there’s precious little chance of another situation, at least not around here. Which means no more accidentally-on-purpose drives up to Eden, and no more bickering with Sophie.

And that’s a
good
thing, he tells himself the next day. You were right when you said it had to stop. You were right when you made her promise. It’s all for the best.

He’s in the loose-box with Trouble, showing Lucius the ropes. He’s still got two weeks’ notice to work, but he wants to make sure that Lucius gets the hang of it. ‘She don’t like being tied up when you’re grooming her,’ he tells him.

As if to make the point, Trouble twists round and nuzzles his neck, to get his attention. It’s like she knows there’s something up.

Lucius nods. He already knows what Ben just told him, but he also knows that Ben needs to say it. He’s all right, is Lucius. Big as a shed and black as pitch, and the lightest hands with a horse you ever saw.

‘And sometimes’, goes Ben, ‘she gets a bit of a swelling in the off hind pastern. Bran poultice’ll sort that out. And don’t work her too hard when it’s hot, or she gets the megrims.’

‘I hear you, Ben.’

Ben strokes her nose for a bit. Then he gives her a slap on the neck, and gets the hell out of the loose-box. All this fuss over a sodding horse.

Just then there’s a clatter of hooves, and in come Miss Sib, Mrs Dampiere and Master Alex back from their ride. Master Cornelius is out in the yard too, smoking a cigar and watching Mrs Dampiere sitting her mare in her tight little habit. As she rides past Ben she glances down and throws him a cool look. He’s used to that. Since the first time up at the lake she’s taken a couple more tumbles with him, and she’s always been specially cool to him after.

But today there’s something more to it, too. She looks – satisfied. Ben glances from her to Master Alex, then to Master Cornelius, and back to her. And suddenly he knows why he got the sack.

Why did it take him so long? It’s obvious. Master Cornelius and Master Alex are both panting for her, but they haven’t been getting any, and recently they’ve worked out why. And maybe she put in a word too, like she said she might.
I shall say you were impertinent, and have you dismissed.

Two years down the plughole, he thinks. And all for a bit of snug that you never even wanted.

Just then, Master Alex jumps down from the saddle and chucks him the reins, and tells him to clean the tack
properly
for a change. And Ben looks down at the reins trailing on the ground, and something inside him just gives, like a worn-out stirrup leather. ‘You know what?’ he goes. ‘Why don’t you do it yourself?’

It’s quite funny, really. Suddenly you can hear a pin drop in that yard.

Master Cornelius takes his cigar out of his mouth, and Master Alex gapes, like he can’t credit what he’s just heard. Miss Sibella’s mouth is open too, but you can tell she’s enjoying it. This’ll give her something to tell the ladies over tea.

Mrs Dampiere is still in the saddle, carefully rearranging her habit and not looking at nobody. In the hayloft, Reeve and Thomas are stopped dead with bales in their arms. Danny’s standing in front of the carriage-house looking grim, and Lucius is leaning over the loose-box door, biting back a grin.

Ben stoops for a bit of straw to wipe off his hands. No time now to go back to the bunk-house for his kit. He’ll have to leave his spare shirt and breeches and that special curry comb he saved up for. Shame about that. And now he definitely won’t be seeing Sophie no more, and it’s a shame about that too. Oh well. Way of the world. ‘So I reckon I’ll be off, then,’ he says.

Master Alex blinks. ‘What?’

‘Leaving. Cutting the lucky. Out of here.’

‘Not so fast, my lad—’

‘You still have two weeks to work,’ says Master Cornelius at the same time.

Ben snorts. ‘Two weeks? You can shove that. Both of you.’

‘
What
did you say?’ says Master Alex.

‘You heard me,’ snaps Ben. ‘Or don’t you got an arse, like everybody else?’

A horrified gasp from Miss Sibella. A choky splutter from Lucius. Poor old Danny rolls his eyes up to heaven, like he always knew it’d come to this.

Why do people always pretend? thinks Ben. Look at them all, pretending to be outraged when they’re loving it, really.

He sweeps off his cap and gives them all a mock bow. Then the devil in him remembers Mrs Dampiere. ‘You know what?’ he goes to Master Alex and Master Cornelius. ‘The funny thing is, I never even wanted her.’ He jerks his head to make sure they know who he means. ‘She made all the running. You can have her and welcome. Besides, she isn’t even that good.’

And that, he tells himself as he shoves his hands in his pockets and starts off down the carriageway, is what you might call burning your boats.

To Sophie’s consternation, Madeleine flatly refused to give Ben a job at Eden. ‘It’s out of the question,’ she said as they drove to Falmouth the following morning. ‘We can’t possibly afford another groom.’

‘But why won’t you even
ask
Cameron to consider it?’ said Sophie.

Madeleine’s nose turned pink. ‘Don’t say a word to him about Ben.’

‘Isn’t it time he got over that? They only met once, and that was years ago when Ben was just a boy.’

‘That’s not the point. No man likes to be reminded that his wife was once acquainted with – with a . . .’

‘A street-Arab,’ Sophie put in. ‘A street-Arab who was a friend to us, and now needs our help. Maddy, these are just excuses. What’s the real reason?’

Madeleine’s lips tightened. ‘I should’ve thought that was obvious. He’s far too good-looking, and he’s a
groom
. The less you see of him the better.’

Sophie felt herself colouring. ‘That’s absolute nonsense.’

‘Then suppose you tell me why you’re so keen to help him?’

‘Because it’s my fault that he got dismissed!’

But even to her, it didn’t sound wholly convincing.

She turned her head and watched the countryside slipping by. They were about three miles north of Romilly. To her left, the cane-pieces of Fever Hill shimmered in the sun; to her right, nightingales and cling-clings chattered in the tall cedars of Greendale Wood. She thought of Ben at Romilly, pacing up and down beneath the giant bamboo.
Forgotten? How could I sodding well forget?

He’d been angry with her, and yet he’d made her feel better. Because he was still the same Ben. But her sister wouldn’t understand about that.

She turned back to Madeleine. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘if not Eden, then Fever Hill. Clemency would give him a job if we asked her.’

‘You never give up, do you? Clemmy doesn’t need a groom. She doesn’t even own a horse.’

‘But Maddy, we can’t just do nothing.’

‘Yes, Sophie, we can.’ Madeleine gave the reins a flick. ‘Besides, you don’t even know where he is. For all you know he could have left the parish by now.’

‘That’s not an argument,’ said Sophie. ‘I can ask Evie. She’s bound to know.’

‘Stay out of it, Sophie,’ said her sister. ‘There’s nothing you can do. And even if there were, you wouldn’t help him by meddling. You’d only make things worse.’

Sophie did not reply. Madeleine was wrong. There was still something she could do. And she intended to do it, too. Why else would she be going to Falmouth?

Her terrible old ancestor, Great-Aunt May, had lived at Fever Hill all her life, but on the death of her nephew Jocelyn she’d astonished everyone by moving to a townhouse in Falmouth.

Here she continued her life of implacable seclusion. Except for a weekly carriage-ride to church, she never left the house. She never made calls, although all Trelawny left their cards on her out of pure fear. She never opened a novel, and periodicals were beneath her contempt – as were gramophone apparatuses, gas lighting, and easy chairs.

Not even her own servants knew how she passed her time, but the pickneys of Duke Street had their ideas. ‘She Ole Higue,’ they would whisper as they darted frightened glances at the blind mahogany louvres of her first-floor gallery. ‘She got raw eyes, and always wear gloves to hide her skinny-bone fingers, and she ride out at night for to suck newborns dead.’ Whenever Sophie heard that story she felt a twinge of guilt. The notion that Great-Aunt May was the old hag of local legend had originated with herself and Evie when they were girls.

Now, as she followed the silent butler Kean to the upstairs drawing-room, she felt oddly apprehensive. She told herself that she had nothing to fear from an old lady of eighty-four, but it wasn’t entirely true. Great-Aunt May possessed a grim talent for exposing weaknesses. She could sniff out vulnerabilities that one didn’t even know one had.