by Liz Berry
“You’d better come into the house before the geese get you.”
Vivienne banged the farmyard muck off her boots on the bootscraper next to the door which said 1686 in its ironwork, and thrust her way into a stone-flagged kitchen. She took Clare along a low passage way, with wide boards blackened by age and polish, to a long sitting room with a lattice window set into the wall a metre thick.
Vivienne said,“Visitor for you.” And Clare saw that Mark was stretched out in an armchair, staring at a smouldering log in the great open fireplace. A golden spaniel lying next to him with its nose on its paws got up and came to smell her feet.
Mark said,“Friend, Flossie.” But her tail had already started to wave vigorously. Clare let her smell her fingers and the dog rolled over on her back, paws in the air, to let Clare rub her stomach. Clare tried not to look at Mark. She knew he was staring at her.
“An unexpected pleasure.”
Clare straightened and swallowed.“He wants to see you,” she said baldly, thrusting her hands into the back of her jeans, trying to hide her nervousness and excitement.“Mr Aylward sent me to get you. He wants to see you at the House.”
Two expressionless faces looked back at her.
Vivienne began to smile unpleasantly, then, throwing back her head, broke into laughter.
Mark was on his feet, his shoulders rigid with tension.“No.” The spaniel padded quickly back across the oak boards, and whined up at him, worried and questioning.“No.”
Vivienne punched the air with her fist.“Justice, by God! Justice after all these years.”
“He wants to put things right,” Clare said.
Mark smiled.“You can give him a message from me. Tell him to piss off. I’m no bloody serf. He can’t issue orders to me.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’ve put it badly. It’s a request. He wants to talk to you.”
Vivienne, still laughing, pushed back her mane of red hair.“I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it! It’s a massive climb-down. That stiff-necked old monster has given in. I never believed he would.”
“I’m not going,” said Mark.
Clare said, evenly, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.“My mother says you’re his grandson. Brandon’s son. Why didn’t you tell me, Mark?”
He looked at her impatiently.“It would have done me a lot of good with you, wouldn’t it? You think I’m proud of it? He’s never recognized me. He’s never even spoken to me.”
“He wants to talk to you now.”
“He could have done that any time in the last twenty years. It’s too late.”
“Why do you hate him so much? He’s old and ill. He wants to put things right.”
“He should have thought of that before. Listen, he hounded my mother out of the village. He ruined our grandfather. He bought up our farm and its loss killed grandfather. When we came back three years ago Roger Fletcher came over and told us to get out. Some nasty accidents happened to our horses until my mother brought in the police. And he’s destroyed our business. Warned off the local people, so they’re too frightened to come here.”
Clare said,“But that was Roger Fletcher. Are you sure Mr Aylward sent him?”
“I’m not even supposed to go on Ravensmere land. You heard Fletcher threaten me with a shotgun. He’s tried to keep me out since I used to bike over from Roddy’s place.” He smiled mirthlessly.“You think we’re all going to kiss and make up?”
“Mr Aylward is admitting he’s wrong now.” Clare looked at Vivienne helplessly, and back at Mark.“You’re Brandon’s only son. You’re the next Guardian. You must be. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Suppose he wants you to have Ravensmere? You’ll throw it all away and let Roger Fletcher take over?”
He was furious.“He thinks he’s only got to wave his money and I’ll come running. Wrong. I don’t want that place like some bloody great albatross hanging around my neck all my life. I’m getting out. Starting a life somewhere else, where I can build something new, without all this garbage from the past choking me.”
“You’d let it all go to Roger Fletcher? Turn Ravensmere and Stoke Raven into a nuclear dumping ground?”
“Why should I care? The people here have never done anything for us except shout insults at my mother. Most of the villagers won’t talk to her and they won’t even serve her in the village shop.”
Clare looked desperately at Vivienne.“Can’t you tell him? We’re not playing sulky baby games.”
Vivienne flung herself into an armchair and lit a cigarette. She shrugged.“He makes his own decisions. If he wants to chuck it all away—House, estate, money and girl—that’s his choice. I think he’s out of his mind. But he’s never taken any notice of my opinions in the past so he’s not likely to start now.”
There was a stain of colour across Mark’s cheek bones. He looked at Clare, his green eyes brilliant and reckless. She saw suddenly the likeness to Mr Aylward, wondering how she could have missed it before.
“Is that right, Clare? Am I chucking the girl away too? If I accepted, would you be in it with me?”
There was complete silence. None of them moved, then Clare looked away. She said awkwardly,“I don’t come into this. I’m just a messenger. It’s you he wants to see.”
Her voice sounded false even to her own ears. She couldn’t do it. The responsibility was too heavy, too big. She wouldn’t be blackmailed. She wouldn’t give up her future.
She said stubbornly,“You are the Guardian.”
“So are you. The daughter of the daughter.”
She said desperately,“No. I don’t believe that. There’s been some mistake. It must be someone else. It can’t be me. Anyway, it’s just a story, a myth.”
“Sure,” he said, and smiled grimly.“That’s what I think. It can’t be me.” He got up and opened the door for her with exaggerated courtesy.“They baited the trap nicely, didn’t they? And we took it. But that’s it. We’re off the hook. Goodbye, Rosie. It’s been nice knowing you. Take care of yourself.”
She trailed to the door miserably.“Please, Mark. Please think about it. Please come and see him. Just speak to him. That’s not asking much.”
“Too much. I’m already packed. I’m on my way tomorrow. You came in time to say goodbye.”
Chapter 22
“What happened?” Frances looked up as Care let herself in and slammed the door angrily.
“Nothing. He won’t come.” She kicked off her soaked trainers and threw her wet rain-jacket on a hook.
“You told Mr Aylward?”
“I gave him Mark’s message—Tell him to piss off. I’m no bloody serf.”
“Clare!”
“That’s what he said. Mr Aylward didn’t seem surprised. He gave a snort and that funny laugh of his. Then he said I was to tell Mark he was only making it hard on himself, and that he hadn’t got any choice now. But Mark is going away tomorrow. All he thinks about is getting away.”
Frances said, worried,“He’s the Guardian. He can’t go. It’s his inheritance. The whole future of the valley. He has to stay.”
“You tell him—he might listen to you. He says he doesn’t owe Ravensmere anything. He’s bitter about the way the village treats his mother. He said they won’t speak to her.”
“They have long memories here. They haven’t forgiven her.”
“He called Ravensmere a bloody great albatross.” Clare’s voice cracked.
“What did she say—Vivienne?”
Clare shrugged.“She said he makes his own decisions, but I think she wanted him to stay.”
“Did she look well? Did she say anything about me?”
“Not much. She looked all right. Like you, a bit, but older and she’s got that red hair She was on edge. She smokes a lot and keeps moving about. She laughed when she saw me. When I said that Mr Aylward wanted to see Mark, she said `By God, justice at last!”
“That sounds like Vivienne.” Frances went into the kitchen and started to unload their washing from the mach
ine, folding it quickly and unevenly.
Clare followed her to help with the sheets.“You hate her.”
“Did I say that? If you want to know, I miss her badly. She was my little sister. I always loved her and tried to look after her. She was so lively and full of energy. And courage. She would even stand up to Father. He never could control her. She brought life into that dead house. There was always life where Vivienne was.” She brushed a tear away from her cheek with the back of her hand.
“And Bran was my best friend. It was always Brandon and me, like two parts of one whole. We always knew we would marry. It was like night following day. Bran wanted us to get married when I was sixteen, but Father wouldn’t agree. He said we must wait until I was eighteen, and Bran was twenty-one. It was hard, waiting. We wanted each other so much. We tried to keep things cool and low-key but it was very difficult. Bran was angry and wild—doing all sorts of crazy things.”
“Did they tell you both you were the next Guardians?”
“We just knew, like everybody else. Everyone knew we would take over and be responsible for the Benison.
“I didn’t know what it was, of course. But Bran knew. His father told him about it and what we had to do, but he wouldn’t tell me. He said he’d tell me when we were married.
“I only know that summer he was worried and terribly upset about something. He was completely wild. He rode his motor bike all over the county. Came off and broke his collar bone. I was fed up with his moods and we kept quarrelling, arguing about the least thing. I began to wonder if we were doing the right thing. Mr Aylward started to plan a huge wedding, which neither of us wanted, for the late autumn.”
Frances took a deep breath.“And then Vivienne decided that she had fallen in love with Bran. She was sixteen then, and beautiful. She made a dead set for him.”
Clare said,“Was she jealous about the big wedding? I should think she likes to be the centre of attention.”
Frances shrugged.“Perhaps, a little. But I think she genuinely thought she loved him. And Bran played up to her.
Later, when it was too late he told me that he thought he was losing me, that I was cooling off, and he wanted to make me jealous. Perhaps that was true. I don’t know. Anyway, I went to London to get my wedding dress. It happened then.”
She turned away, stacking the pile of washing in the ironing basket.
“A few weeks later it all came out. There was a dreadful scene in the Library here. Both families. Vivienne said she was pregnant—flaunted it, rather, and said Brandon was the father. She thought he loved her. She was sure he was going - to marry her instead of me.”
“What did Brandon say?”
“He... jeered at her. In front of all of us. He was so cruel It was as though he hated her and wanted to destroy her. I’ve never forgiven him for that.
“I was in deep shock. I couldn’t believe what they’d done. I felt I’d been deep-frozen. Nothing was real. I looked at him and I hardly knew him. I said that of course he must marry her now. That I would leave Ravensmere. Bran went crazy. Demented, like a wasp in a jar. He kept bellowing at me that we were the Guardians. We had to marry. That I couldn’t go away. But I knew that I would never be able to stay while she married Brandon and had the baby that should have been mine.
“I took off my engagement ring and threw it on the library table. I remember it slid right along the length of the table, scratching the polish. It fell off on to the floor and went on sliding. We all watched it. I think it was then that we realized what was happening. I started to feel again, but I was so hurt and angry. And Mr Aylward was … terrifying.”
Frances filled the kettle and began to make tea. Her hands were trembling.
“Vivienne blamed me, you know, for Brandon’s death. They all blamed me. They think he took his bike out and crashed it deliberately—that he committed suicide because we’d broken up.”
“What do you think?”
Frances was silent for a long time. Then she said haltingly,“Yes, I think I was … indirectly ... responsible for his death.
“I think he was leaving Ravensmere for good. Trying to escape from whatever it was that was worrying him. Something about the Benison. But the Guardians can’t leave for good. They can go for a while—provided they intend to come back. If they leave for good they have refused the Trust and they die.”
Clare stared at her.“You really believe that, don’t you? But you went away.”
“That’s right. I went away, but we weren’t married. I didn’t know the secret of the Benison. The Trust hadn’t passed. That saved me.”
“You went to London.”
“I lived in a hostel, and did my nurse training. I loved my work but I was homesick. I couldn’t stop dreaming of Ravensmere. Something was trying to drag me back, I know it was, and I got ... ill. After a while I met your father who was having a heart bypass operation in the hospital. He was quite a bit older than me. I knew our chances weren’t very good. But we got married all the same and when you came along I was very happy.
“Your father was a good man, Clare. Deep thinking. Intelligent. Spiritual. He understood me, and I loved him. Not like Brandon. There are so many different ways of loving. It was a terrible blow to lose him. I’m sorry you grew up not knowing him.”
“I can remember him a bit,” Clare said.“I remember him laughing and reciting something I couldn’t understand.”
“He wrote poetry in Welsh. He was a Bard. A very high honour.” She hesitated.“I ought to tell you, Clare ... He was psychic too, and a spiritual healer.”
“I never stood a chance between the two of you, did I?” Clare said, ruefully.
Frances smiled.“I never told you because you were always so frightened of it.”
“I’m getting used to it now, I suppose. A bit. I-I’d just like to be able to control it more.”
“You were very psychic as a child, always talking about people I couldn’t see and telling me what was going to happen. And then you seemed to switch it off.”
“I think Ravensmere started it up again.”
Frances stood up.“I’d better get back to Mr Aylward. He’ll be exhausted after all the visitors. I’ve no idea what he’s up to.”
Clare said,“You didn’t want me to come here, did you?”
“I thought if I kept you away you wouldn’t get drawn into the old legend. That you’d be free. But you don’t know how difficult it’s been. For a long time I refused to think of Ravensmere or talk about the past. I tried to forget it—become a different person. Then I had to come back for Father’s funeral and after that I began to feel this ... driving power, insisting I had to bring you home. I had trouble sleeping. It got worse and worse and I know I got irritable and distraught.
“I couldn’t concentrate and I thought I was losing my mind. Then I knew that Mr Aylward was very ill and the next day a letter arrived from him, begging me to come back. He said I wouldn’t have to stay in the House—that I’d have my own home.
“I love him, Clare, and I felt so guilty about the way Bran died. I owed Mr Aylward for that. I had to come. I couldn’t put it off any longer. And you insisted on coming too. I thought, I can’t stand up to them, they’re stronger than I am. I was just so tired of it all, and worried. There was a faint hope that you could come for a few weeks and slip away but ...”
“Roger Fletcher changed that, didn’t he?” said Clare.“That day we arrived. You were furious with him.”
“I understood just what it meant for Ravensmere if he took over. I was torn to pieces. Your future—my only child’s future—against the well-being of the whole area and all the people’s lives.”
“It was taken out of your hands anyway. Mr Aylward made sure of that.”
“Yes. He schemes and plans. He knows about the future. He’s too clever for me.” Frances pulled her jacket out of the hall cupboard.“I must go.”
Clare said slowly,“Are you going to speak to Vivienne?”
Frances went still.“
I don’t know. I don’t know if I can face her. I feel so guilty. I should have helped her through her bad time, given her support and love, but I...couldn’t. I was so ashamed at Father’s funeral. And the village people were so rude to her. I couldn’t say anything.”
“She ruined your life,” Clare reminded her.“Brandon’s as well.”
“But she was only sixteen, Clare. Younger than you. She was impulsive. She always did things first and thought about them afterwards. She never considered the consequences. I loved her—I almost brought her up—but I let her down badly. I can’t forgive myself for that. I was too full of pain, thinking only of myself. I left her to fend for herself. She was sixteen and pregnant and Father threw her out. She must have been very frightened.” She brushed her hair back tiredly.“She would have suited Brandon better than me, Clare.”
“But he was in love with you,” said Clare.
“Was he? I’ll never know. That’s what tears at me still, after all these years.
“Clare, the night he died he telephoned me. I don’t know where he was. He didn’t say much. He sounded calm, serious. We decided we had to talk, and he said he’d come to the farm.
“I didn’t tell him then that I’d made up my mind that I would marry him after all. Accept the Guardianship. Start again. I’d worked out that perhaps we could adopt the baby when it came. I knew Vivienne never wanted a baby. She’d planned to go into show jumping. But Bran never came.
“I didn’t tell him, Clare,” Frances said, anguished.“That’s the point. I didn’t tell him. And when he died he wasn’t coming to see and talk to me. He was riding away. If I had told him he might have come back. And maybe he wouldn’t have crashed.”
They were silent. Clare went over and put her arms around her mother and hugged her wordlessly, and they stood together looking out at the gloomy afternoon. Her mother’s reflection in the window glass showed a face looking hardly older than her own.
“You ought to marry again, Mum. You’ve had too much pain. You deserve something better. There’s time to make a new life.”
