The Master of Heathcrest Hall (81 page)

“Look over there,” one of the soldiers said—an ox-necked man with a single black brow that ran above both small eyes. “I can see a light in a window just ahead.”

 … Rose. She was in the manor, no doubt wondering where Ivy was. Perhaps she had determined Ivy had gone outside, and had set a lamp in the window to help lead Ivy home in the storm. But it was other eyes that saw the light now, and were drawn by it.

“Well, then, it looks like someone’s home,” the sandy-bearded man said. He was a small, thin-shouldered fellow with a large nose and a receding jaw. By the corporal’s stripes upon his dirty blue coat, and by his manner, he was the leader of the trio. “Let’s see if
they’re inclined to give us a warm welcome. I suspect they will, if they know what’s good for them.”

A knot of fear welled up in Ivy’s throat. “There are some foodstuffs in the kitchen,” she said. “And a bottle of whiskey. I can fill your packs, and then you can be on your way.”

“Thank you, ma’am, we’ll take the food,” the wiry corporal drawled. “And the whiskey as well, for it’s been long since we’ve seen such stuff. But as for being on our way—well, now, it’s an awful blustery day to be turning a fellow out, don’t you think? No, I think you’ll do like a woman should, and fix us up that food and bring it to us, hot on a plate.”

A shudder passed through Ivy, though which chilled her more—the rain or the words the corporal spoke—she could scarcely tell. Knowing there was nothing she could say or do to alter the intent of the men, she kept her jaw clamped shut as they walked. The small point of light grew brighter, and the shadow of the house loomed out of the mist.

As they walked up the steps, Ivy quickened her pace a little, so that she was the first through the front door—though the three men were right behind her.

“Rose!” she called out upon entering the front hall. She pushed wet coils of hair from her face. “Rose, we have unexpected visitors.”

She did not want Rose to be surprised by the appearance of the men. And she had half-hoped that, with such an announcement, Rose’s meek nature might cause her to withdraw and hide away in some room. Instead, at once Rose emerged from the little parlor.

“Ivy, there you are!” she cried, rushing into the front hall with a hurricane lamp in hand. “Is it Mr. Samonds you’ve brought, and his aunt? I was so worried when I couldn’t find you anywhere in the—oh!” She stopped short, and her brown eyes grew large as she took in the sight of Ivy’s rain-soaked gown and the three bedraggled soldiers.

Ivy took a step toward her sister, forcing herself to speak in a
calm, reassuring tone. “Rose, we have visitors, as you can see. They are damp from the rain and hungry. We’ll light a fire here. You go to the kitchen and put on a pot for tea. And set out the ham. When I’m done, I’ll come to cut it and make the biscuits.”

Rose stood frozen, clutching the lamp, staring at the soldiers. Thunder shook the windows as the rain began to sheet down outside.

“It’s all right, Rose,” Ivy said slowly. “Go on now.”

A flash of lightning, and another peal of thunder, seemed to jolt Rose out of her paralysis. Without a word, she turned and departed the hall.

The corporal gave a low whistle. “She seems a bit simple, that one. All the same, she’s near as pretty as you are, ma’am. Is that your sister, then? But where are the servants, and where’s the man of the house?”

Ivy kept her chin high, but despite all her best efforts, she could not mask the horror and sorrow that were surely apparent on her face. By his own expression, the corporal saw it.

“I see, so it’s just the two of you,” he said, and grinned.

The thick-browed man was staring in the direction Rose had gone. “I do like ham and biscuits,” he said.

The corporal glared, gripping the rifle slung over his shoulder. “You’ll get powder and lead in your belly, instead of ham and biscuits, if you don’t get to lighting a fire. Durbent, give him some help.”

The third soldier was standing by a window, near the stuffed wolf. He had said nothing up to that point, but now he turned around and spoke. “I’m not cold.”

His words were slurring and indistinct. Ivy would have thought he was drunk, except the corporal had mentioned them having no whiskey in some time. Perhaps the soldier had some speech impediment. Ivy could not get a good look at him, for his hat was pulled low, casting his face in shadow.

Next to her, she heard the corporal grumble some complaint under his breath. Perhaps he was not their leader after all. The
thick-necked one clearly followed the corporal’s lead, but not the other. Based upon this, Ivy made a sudden, perhaps hazardous decision.

“I would not think you would tolerate such an impudent answer,” she said to the corporal, keeping her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I do not see stripes on their coats. Are you not their commander?”

The corporal gave a grunt, as if she had prodded some sore spot. “He’s not himself, that’s all. He went missing in the rain the other night. He was gone until the following umbral. We thought rebels had gotten him, or he’d skipped out on us. By the time we found him, he was wandering about like his brain was addled. I think he’s caught a fever, or some ague or such.”

Suddenly the wiry man scowled at her, as if realizing she had induced him to confide too much. “You should keep your opinions to yourself, ma’am. Preswyn!” He barked this last to the ox-necked man. “Get that fire going. I’ll keep the ladies company while they fix our dinner.”

I
VY MOVED STIFFLY to the kitchen while the corporal followed behind her, his hand still on his rifle. As they entered the kitchen, Rose gazed at them with a white face, standing frozen by the table. She had done as Ivy had instructed, and had set out the ham while a kettle steamed on the stove. Once again, Ivy was struck by Rose’s bravery.

“Thank you, dearest,” she said to Rose as she went to the table.

“Ivy, I’m frightened,” Rose whispered. “Who are these men?”

“They are soldiers,” Ivy said more loudly, knowing the corporal was listening. “Soldiers from Lord Valhaine’s army.”

Rose shook her head. “But what are they doing here?”

That was a good question. Ivy glanced at the corporal.

Again the wiry little man scowled. “We got separated from our company in a skirmish. It was as fierce a battle as you can conceive. There were rebel dogs around us, and they cut us off from
the rest. We’re lucky to have our lives, but we’re behind the lines now. So we’re keeping low until we can get out of … that is, until we can join up with our company again.”

Ivy suspected there was some truth to the corporal’s tale. That there had been a skirmish with rebels, she was sure. Just as she was sure that the three soldiers had not gotten cut off from their company, but rather had seized the opportunity to flee in the chaos of battle. They were deserters.

She made no answer, and only looked at him. By his grimace, he could see in her expression that she knew the truth of it.

“Get those biscuits cooking,” he said. “We’re half to starving.”

He sat in a chair by the wall with his rifle across his knees and kept his gaze on the two sisters. Under these awful circumstances, Ivy prepared the meal. She cut slices from the ham and put them in a pan to fry, and mixed the flour for biscuits. When things were nearly ready, she instructed Rose to put cups on a tray. Rose did this, though the porcelain clattered for the way her hands were shaking.

“You can bring all that to the front hall and serve us,” the corporal said when the trays of tea and food were ready. “I’ll take the whiskey myself.”

“Rose, please hand the corporal the whiskey bottle,” Ivy said.

Rose took the bottle from the shelf and brought it to the corporal. At the same moment, Ivy bent to pick up one of the trays, then paused as a flash of metal caught her eye. It was the sharp knife she had used to carve the ham, lying on the table.

She cast a quick glance up. The corporal was uncorking the whiskey. As he tilted the bottle back to take a swig, Ivy made a swift motion. By the time he lowered the bottle, she had picked up the tray of ham and biscuits.

The knife was no longer on the table.

“Carry the tea tray, Rose,” Ivy said, and started from the kitchen. Rose followed after, moving slowly so as not to spill anything, and the corporal came behind them.

They entered the front hall just as another clap of thunder rattled
the windowpanes. Preswyn was warming his hands before the fire that now roared on the hearth. The thick-necked man had built it up to what Ivy thought was a dangerous height, and sparks leaped out into the room. The other, Durbent, still stood by a window, gazing out into the rain. His head was cocked to one side, as if he were listening to something—though what could be heard above the storm, Ivy could not imagine. She set the tray of food down on an end table, and Rose did likewise with the tea things.

“Go on and fix up some plates for us, then,” the corporal said, sitting down near the fire.

Aware of the rifle he had propped by his chair, Ivy prepared three plates, and brought them to each of the men. The corporal and Preswyn both snatched the plates from her, and at once began to wolf down their food. But the other man, Durbent, did not even turn to look at Ivy as she approached. She set the plate on the window ledge by him. As she did, she caught an unpleasant odor, like the scent of spoiled meat.

Hastily, she retreated. In the meantime, Rose had poured three cups of tea.

“Put some of this in those cups,” the corporal said, holding out the whiskey bottle.

Rose only stared, so Ivy hurriedly went to him and took the bottle.

“And don’t be stingy with it!”

Ivy followed these orders, giving each cup a generous pour. Rose took a cup to Preswyn and the corporal, moving with exceeding care so as not to spill a drop. When she approached Durbent, though, she gave a sudden cry. The cup fell from her hands and shattered against the floor with a loud noise that made all of them jump.

All except for Durbent, who continued to gaze out the window, his head still tilted to one side.

“She’s pretty enough, but she’s a clumsy one,” the corporal said with a snort. “Well, Durbent doesn’t seem to care that his cup is
gone. Don’t waste any more whiskey on him. Now sit while we eat.”

Ivy and Rose did as they were told, sitting on a horsehair sofa while the fire crackled on the grate, and Preswyn and the corporal ate ham and biscuits with great energy.

“Ivy,” Rose whispered faintly beside her.

Ivy kept staring forward, her hands on her knees, trying to do nothing to divert the corporal’s attention from his dinner.

“What is it, dearest?” she whispered in return.

“There’s something wrong with him—the man over by the window. I can see it all around his edges.”

Alarm surged up in Ivy’s throat. “You mean you see a light around him?”

“No, it’s not light.”

Ivy’s dread ebbed a fraction. She had feared perhaps the man was a magician—one who served the Ashen. “Then what do you see, dearest?” she whispered as the men continued to eat.

“It’s like a shadow around him. I can hardly see him for it, like he’s all wrapped in a cloak. Only it’s more than that.” A shiver passed through her. “It eats the firelight.”

Now fear flooded through Ivy again, even though she didn’t know exactly what Rose meant. Or didn’t she? She felt a crawling on the back of her neck. An image flashed through her mind, a fragment of a dream—two figures on a sandy shoreline, struggling. One struck another’s head with a stone. But it was not blood that flowed forth.…

Before she even thought what she was doing, Ivy stood and went to the tray of food. She took up the plate of ham, as well as the object that had been hidden underneath.

It was the carving knife.

Keeping the knife concealed beneath the plate, Ivy went to the corporal and Preswyn, offering them more meat, which they readily accepted. Then she approached the third soldier by the window.

“Do you have enough to eat?”

He did not acknowledge her, but kept his face turned toward
the rain-speckled glass. Was he looking for something out in the gloom? One of his hands rested on the window ledge, next to the plate of uneaten food. It was filthy with grime, and his fingernails were ragged and torn.

Beneath the plate she carried, Ivy gripped the knife. Slowly, she extended it outward, until the tip was but inches from his hand. Her heart was laboring in her chest. She took in a breath, and again caught the foul odor of something rotting. Then, before she could lose her will, she made a quick motion, flicking out with the knife.

The soldier, Durbent, did not flinch or move. Ivy watched as the skin pulled back from either side of the small cut the knife had made upon the back of his hand, like a lipless mouth opening. For a moment, nothing at all issued from the gap in his skin.

Then, slowly, a thin trickle of grayish fluid welled forth.

Ivy staggered backward, retreating toward the fire, only belatedly thinking to hide the knife again under the plate. The other men seemed not to notice, for they were still busily eating. The flesh upon Ivy’s neck was crawling, and she felt a sickness in her stomach. She set the plate and knife back down with a clatter.

The corporal looked up with a frown. “I guess being clumsy runs in the family. Since you’re there, bring me that whiskey.”

Ivy took up the bottle and brought it to the wiry man. She doubted she would be able to pour it for the way she was shaking, but the corporal grabbed the bottle himself and filled his cup from it. He did not ask for more tea.

Ivy returned to the sofa and sat. Rose’s hand groped for hers, and their fingers twined together.

“But you’re shivering so!” Rose said quietly. “What is it, Ivy?”

What was it indeed, Ivy wondered, that was standing over there next to the window? What had happened to Durbent in those hours he had been separated from his companions? She thought of the things that Mr. Rafferdy had told her once, of the hideous transformations that had been wrought upon some young magicians, including Lord Eubrey.

Beside the fire, the corporal let out a great belch, then put his
empty plate on the floor. Ivy had never seen a small, thin man eat so much. He drained his cup, then sloshed more whiskey into it from the bottle.