I put her words down to the maudlin effect of drink but I hugged her back nevertheless.
‘Don’t fear for me,’ I said. ‘I am sure I shall lead a life of tedious domesticity.’
In that moment, there was a gust of wind down the chimney and a spiral of flame leaped from the hearth and spun towards us, bright, malevolent, and at its heart, nothing but darkness through which moved formless shadows. I felt such dread then that I could not move. It weighed me down with abject terror. The fire caught the arras and started to burn. The maid was screaming and crossing herself, and the sound broke me from my stupor. I picked up the ewer of water on the table and threw it over the flames. There was a hiss and the acrid smell of burning, and then nothing but the drip of water onto the stone floor.
‘Witchcraft!’ the maid sobbed and I thought mother was going to slap her. I stepped hastily between the two of them.
‘It was nothing,’ I said. ‘A spark, no more.’
But I had seen the shadows in the flame and felt their evil. I thought of the lodestar in its velvet box, and Ginevra’s words about old magic, and I shivered.
It was September when Francis came back from the French wars. The afternoon was fair and I had been in the stables playing with the latest litter of kittens provided by Nala, the half-feral tabby whom we kept for her fearsome ability to rid the place of rats. Generally her kittens seemed to be fathered by one or other of the wildcats that roamed the hills around Ravensworth. They were sly, secretive creatures; if I ever saw one on my rides it would stare at me with its pale eyes before disappearing into the woods at the flick of a whisker. This litter had inherited the thick black banded tail of their father but with some flecks of white and fawn stripes from their mother. They were extremely pretty and at this age, still too small to do much harm with teeth and claws. Nala was not maternal in any way, having abandoned her offspring to be fed by the grooms whilst she preferred hunting. In a number of ways, she reminded me of my mother. After I had done my duty in playing with them and providing a bowl of milk, I wandered down to the lake in the late afternoon sunshine.
Here it was quiet, the bustle of the castle left behind. I saw the fowler with a brace of woodcock for supper; he touched his cap as he passed by. The plop of the fish was loud in the silence. The light spun across the water. It felt a soft and dreamy day with the heat that sometimes came as summer slid into autumn. I sat for a while on a fallen log beneath a curtain of willows and thought about very little, content only in that moment of warmth and brightness. Then a shadow fell across me, a twig snapped, and I realised that I was not alone.
A man was standing by the edge of the water, watching me. My heart jumped into my throat and I reached for my knife in the little scabbard on my belt, but in that same moment he stepped into a band of light and I recognised him.
‘There is no need to greet me at the point of a blade,’ he said. He was smiling.
‘Francis!’ I jumped up, hurrying across to him, putting both my hands into his. He looked different, I thought. It was not simply the spattering of mud on his cloak and boots that showed he had ridden hard and come to find me before he had changed his clothes. There was something else about him, something in his bearing, a new confidence perhaps.
‘How are you, Anne?’ he said. ‘They told me at the castle that I might find you here.’
‘I am well,’ I said, ‘and happy to see you.’ Pleasure burst inside me and I realised it was true. I drew him down to sit beside me. ‘I missed you,’ I said. ‘What happened? Did you fight?’
Francis shook his head. ‘King Louis had no stomach for it,’ he said. ‘He offered us parley; an alliance was brokered and then we feasted together.’
‘How very civilised,’ I proposed. ‘If only all wars were to end that way.’
Francis’ lips twitched. ‘Gloucester was furious at the treaty,’ he said. ‘He considers it dishonourable. He is right, of course, for we were paid to go away and to not cause trouble.’
‘Surely that is preferable to dying in battle,’ I said. Sitting here beside him, feeling the solid presence of him next to me, I couldn’t imagine that it was ever worth trading peace for battle no matter how it was won.
‘There may be valour in dying for a cause you believe in, I suppose,’ I said, ‘but not for the throne of France. It is not worth it, not when we already have England.’
Francis bust out laughing. ‘You are a pragmatist, like King Edward,’ he said.
And unlike his younger brother Richard, I thought to myself, Edward did indeed have his weaknesses – but he was a skilled commander and a ruthless man. More practically, he was capable of compromise, whilst there was a rigidness in Gloucester that scared me sometimes.
‘How long do you stay in Yorkshire this time?’ I asked, aware that my hand still rested in his and that it felt very sweet and right that it did so. It was so pleasant, just the two of us down by the water. I had become accustomed to seeing Francis’ time as rationed and valuing it accordingly. I hoped we would have the chance to go hawking and to ride out across the moors before winter set in.
‘I must be gone within a week,’ Francis said. ‘I came to deal with a matter at my manor at Bainton.’
I felt a thud of disappointment. I had thought he had come to see me; I tried to tug my hand from his but he held on to it.
‘And to see you, of course,’ he said, laughter lurking in his eyes.
Once again, I tried to free myself, annoyed at his teasing. Instead of letting me go, though, he pulled me closer.
‘Anne,’ he said, ‘I do but jest. You know you are by far more important to me than ought else.’
I looked up to see him looking at me. There was a darkness in his eyes I had not seen there before. He raised my hand, spreading out my fingers carefully and linking them between his own. My palm tingled. Suddenly the warm afternoon seemed hotter still, silence wrapped about the two of us, intimate and close.
‘I do not know it,’ I whispered.
‘Then you should,’ Francis said. His expression was very grave. ‘I’ve waited for you,’ he said. ‘I promised I would.’
I understood then, understood why my heart raced and I felt hot and feverish. Exhilaration sparked through me, making me catch my breath. ‘You need not wait any more,’ I said.
Francis drew me close to him, slipping an arm about my waist, and I pressed my cheek against his shoulder. I felt safe there but I could hear the beat of his heart against my palm and that felt exciting, not safe at all. His lips brushed my cheek and I looked up. His face was very close to mine, so close I could see the intense grey of his eyes and count each individual eyelash, which I did a little dreamily. I raised a hand to touch his lean cheek and recoiled with a slight gasp from the roughness of it. He caught my fingers in his free hand.
‘What is it?’ His voice had changed, grown husky.
‘I didn’t realise what it would be like to touch you,’ I said, not really making sense, except in my own head, where this world of new sensation was entirely exciting.
He smiled. ‘You’ve touched me plenty of times in the years we have known each other,’ he said.
‘Not like this,’ I whispered. ‘Only as friends.’
‘And now we are not?’ he asked.
‘Always,’ I said, ‘but now it will be different.’
‘So wise,’ Francis said. His lips were but a hair’s breadth from mine now and I could see from his eyes that he was smiling. I think I had stopped breathing entirely.
His mouth touched mine. It was odd; we had been married for ten years and yet this felt like the beginning, as though we were plighting our troth. The light blurred and faded as I closed my eyes. This was so new to me, and different from any of my imaginings. My mother had yet to instruct me on the duties of a wife, having said that there would be time enough when I was old enough to join Francis at Minster Lovell. It seemed, however, that I was old enough now and did not need her advice after all.
I dared to wrap m
y arms about his neck, to slide my fingers into his hair and kiss him back. He parted my lips with a gentle nudging of his own and suddenly the kiss became very different, full of hunger and tenderness at the same time. I gave myself up to the promise of it and heard Francis groan. We tumbled off the log to lie in the springy grass beneath the sweeping willows, still kissing, entangled in his cloak. Suddenly it seemed to me that he was wearing a deal too many clothes.
Perhaps it was because I had known him so long that I felt no shyness or perhaps my natural curiosity conquered all. I slid my hands beneath the smooth linen of his shirt and ran them over his back, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath his skin. He gasped and drew back, and I wondered if I had hurt him in some way, but then he brushed the hair back from my face with a hand that shook.
‘Anne,’ he said. Then: ‘I had not intended for it to be like this.’
I pressed my lips to the curve of his neck, made reckless by the knowledge that he wanted me. The skin there was soft and warm, and my heart turned over with love for him.
‘How could it be better?’ I whispered, touching his cheek, and he kissed me again and I was lost. When his hand slipped inside my gown and I felt it against my bare breast I think I would have cried out but his kiss captured the sound.
‘The first time,’ Francis said. His voice was not steady. ‘It may hurt you.’
I didn’t care. I cared for nothing but him and when he came into me and it did hurt, I still did not care. I felt nothing but desire, and awe at my own power. And afterwards I rested my head on Francis’ chest and he wrapped the cloak about us, and I was so happy that it felt as though there was the tightest of bands about my heart.
Everything will be different now, I thought. The future can begin.
Chapter 13
Serena
Minster Lovell, Present Day
‘You’ve been shopping!’ Eve popped up from behind the reception desk as Serena pushed open the door of the Minster Inn. She eyed Serena’s bags with delight. ‘Retail therapy. It never fails.’
‘What? Oh…’ Serena had almost forgotten that after she’d left the care home, she’d dropped in to the Woolgate Centre in Witney. There had been so much to think about and she didn’t want to face any of it so instead she had done a bit of shopping. It had taken her mind off things for a little while and now she had a new pair of shoes, a scented candle, three birthday cards, a bottle of her favourite perfume even though she hadn’t finished the last one, and a couple of books.
Eve’s expression shifted to sympathy. ‘I read about your sister on the local online news,’ she said. ‘They’re saying her body was the one found during the archaeology dig at the church. Do they think it’s murder?’
Serena felt a rush of sickness. Eve’s ghoulish enthusiasm was too much to bear. She was holding Serena’s room key just out of reach, as though it would only be handed over when Serena had satisfactorily answered her questions. Serena contemplated snatching it out of her hand and making a bolt for the stairs. ‘They don’t know,’ she said. ‘Could I possibly have my key?’
‘They’re appealing for witnesses,’ Eve said, as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Dangerous, if you ask me. People misremember all sorts of stuff after eleven years. Stirring things up… They’d do better to let it lie.’
Serena remembered all the true-crime books she’d seen on the shelf on the landing outside her room. Eve was probably a connoisseur of stories like this and a real-life investigation so close to home would no doubt be irresistible to her.
‘Serena? Could you spare a moment?’ It was Jack. She turned to find him leaning against the doorway and for once she was almost glad to see him. Luna sat neatly at his side, soft brown eyes fixed on Serena’s face.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Jack said. ‘The bar’s open.’ He turned to Eve. ‘If it’s no trouble…’
‘I’ll send Ross along to serve you.’ Eve was wreathed in smiles now, whether for Jack’s benefit or at the prospect of a customer. She bustled off down the corridor, leaving Serena’s key on the counter. Serena grabbed it.
‘I thought you looked as though you needed some help,’ Jack said. He nodded to the key in her hand. ‘No need to have that drink if you’d rather not.’
‘Thanks,’ Serena said, a little grudgingly. She hesitated. She could see that the bar was empty and it looked cosy and comforting, with a fire leaping in the grate and the lamps lit. She could feel the warmth from where she was standing and suddenly all she wanted to do was sit down and relax, preferably with a dog on her feet.
‘I’d like a drink,’ she said.
Jack’s smile showed such genuine pleasure that she felt as though she had been hit in the solar plexus. She seemed to remember that smile had been her undoing when she’d been a teenager. She’d visited his house one day and his mum had sent her up to his bedroom. The door had been ajar and she’d seen Jack sitting at a desk, completely engrossed in some political biography. He hadn’t looked as though he had wanted to be disturbed and she’d felt so intimidated by his concentration and his evident nerdiness that she had turned to go, but in doing so had caught his eye. He’d looked up and seen her then, and smiled at her…
‘Is everything all right?’ Jack’s attention now made her feel quite ridiculously hot and bothered.
‘Yes, sorry, I was just…um… admiring Luna.’ Serena brushed the moment aside and Jack stood back to let her precede him into the bar.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked.
Serena wanted a huge glass of wine but she knew that wasn’t a good idea. The combination of grief, exhaustion and alcohol would probably have her dozing on the table within minutes, not a good look.
‘I’ll have a cranberry and soda, thanks,’ she said. She took a seat in a secluded corner beside the fire and Luna gave a little sigh indicative of pleasure, and curled up beside her, front paws outstretched, head resting on them so she could watch Jack.
Serena watched him too as he stood at the bar in conversation with Ross. Serena watched him chat easily whilst Ross pulled him a pint and topped up the glass of cranberry juice with soda. She supposed it was Jack’s stock in trade to be able to talk to everyone but still she envied him that easy confidence. In her work she had little difficulty in building a strong relationship with her clients. It was part of her success. Right now, though, she felt raw and unsociable. It was no surprise, perhaps, but still she resented it.
‘So, I wanted to thank you for not bawling me out at the care home,’ Jack said. He put the glasses down on the table and slid into the seat opposite. ‘I realise it must have been a nasty surprise for you, especially after our meeting this morning.’
Serena slid a hand over Luna’s silky head. ‘I wanted to spare Luna a scene if I could,’ she said, smiling. ‘It wouldn’t have been pleasant for her.’
Jack’s answering smile was rueful. ‘You’re more than generous, even if it was only for Luna’s sake,’ he said. ‘I do realise,’ he added, ‘that you could have reported Zoe this morning. It was kind of you not to, so I’m doubly grateful.’
‘I did think about it,’ Serena admitted wryly. She took a mouthful of the drink enjoying the sharpness of the cranberry flavour. ‘I couldn’t see that it would help the situation,’ she said. ‘Things are bad enough as they are without making it worse.’
Jack grimaced. ‘Yeah, they are,’ he said. ‘And I’m very sorry that Zoe and I inadvertently added to that for you.’ He shook his head. ‘She was totally terrified,’ he said. ‘She knew she’d lose her job if you lodged an official complaint. She asked me to go after you to persuade you not to do it.’
Serena drew circles with her glass on the table. ‘And yet you didn’t,’ she said. She looked up at him. ‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t think it would help,’ Jack said ruefully. He took a mouthful of beer. ‘I knew we were out of order. There are no excuses. You were within your rights to report both of us for professional misconduct. I just hoped you’d remember…’
He stopped, shrugged, as though there was so much more but he wasn’t going there. ‘Well, as I say, thank you. Zoe loves her work. She was very reluctant to help me in the first place and I’d have been gutted if she had lost her job through my stupidity.’
There was quiet apart from the hiss and crackle of the fire and the faint drone of the piped music. Luna was already asleep and snoring softly. Serena waited for Jack to raise the subject of Caitlin, to press her to talk about her, but he said nothing. She wondered if that was part of his journalistic skill, to let the silence lengthen until she found it so uncomfortable that she started to chatter to fill it. Then she felt ashamed of herself for being so mistrustful. Jack had been her friend years back. There hadn’t been any duplicity about him then and she doubted that there was any now.
‘When I saw you talking to my grandfather today, I thought you might have told him that Caitlin was dead,’ she said. She had no idea why she felt she needed to be so honest with him, only that it felt important to clear the air.
She saw a flash of expression in Jack’s eyes that looked almost like pain. ‘You really thought I’d do that?’ he said. He pushed his pint away as though repudiating her words through the abrupt gesture. ‘Well, hell.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Serena said. She realised she’d hurt him – and that she cared. ‘I realise now that you wouldn’t have done it,’ she said. ‘It was just that I couldn’t see why else you would be there. I didn’t know that you knew him. Didn’t remember, I mean.’ She pulled a face. ‘My memories of that time are… somewhat hazy. I’m sorry.’
There was a taut silence then Jack’s expression relaxed slightly. ‘I heard that you developed dissociative amnesia after Caitlin vanished,’ he said. ‘That can’t be easy.’
The Last Daughter Page 15
