Witchfog

by Isobel Robertson

  Mr Amberson emerged from the stables again, leading his horse, but to my surprise he did not stop to fetch his cart. He vaulted straight up onto the animal - impressive skill for a man probably not raised fox-hunting like a gentleman - and set off towards the road. I noticed that he did not have his bag either. So, he wasn’t leaving without saying farewell. But where was he going?

  Without pausing to think about how ridiculous I looked in my Chinese silk dressing gown (that thought arrived a moment later), I dashed out of my room and half-tumbled down the stairs, through the kitchen, out into the hallway, and onto the drive. Mr Amberson had already disappeared from sight. I ran along the gravel, thankful that the chill of my room had encouraged me to put on my thickest slippers. I reached the end of the drive just as Mr Amberson turned left, guiding his horse off the road and onto a narrow track I hadn’t even noticed before. I could not follow him in my dressing gown and slippers. Where on earth was he going?

  I thought back to his strange appearance outside the house yesterday. He seemed interested in the boundaries of Killston Hall. His current course would lead him on a neat anti-clockwise turn around the edge of Sir Philip’s property boundaries, which extended considerably beyond the Hall’s gardens. But how could Mr Amberson know this without studying the property plans as carefully as I had?

  Perhaps I could watch him better from some spot in the gardens. Mr Amberson evidently had some purpose of his own here, and I intended to discover it.

  Filled with fresh determination, I marched back down the driveway, clutching my Chinese silk about me. Thank goodness the brave explorer had thought to bring me something so respectable. Filmy lace would hardly have been appropriate for an early morning walk. I hoped that any servants who saw me would brush this off as mere city-bred eccentricity.

  Dew still dampened the grass in the gardens, soaking through my slippers in seconds. The bare branches of miniature orchard trees brushed against me, tangling in my hair and stroking the side of my face. Pretty as the garden was, it felt half-wild.

  Here, the hedge grew too densely for me to see out to where I imagined Mr Amberson would be riding. I kept walking right through the orchard and made my way around the garden's edge to a little gate in the hedge. I found myself in a small vegetable garden, obviously not meant for guests to visit. The formal gardens were not as extensive as I had thought. The hedgerow lining this part was much lower, at least, and I could comfortably see over it. To my surprise, I found myself perched on the edge of quite a substantial cliff. From the front, the land around Killston Hall looked flat, but in fact the Hall stood on a sizeable outcrop. None of the plans I had consulted in London indicated anything of the kind.

  That was not my only surprise. Mr Amberson was once again nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had headed off over the moors - although I should still have been able to see him from here; the fog was not so thick, and I occupied an excellent vantage point. He must have somehow found cover in that copse of trees. No matter. I would confront him when he returned to the house and demand a full explanation.

  I turned back towards the formal gardens but decided to explore for a moment longer while I still had the garden to myself. This seemed to be the service area. A variety of vegetables grew here, alongside plants that I recognised as useful for dyeing or medicine. Some I did not recognise and assumed to be local varieties. There were also a few small sheds, no doubt for storing gardening tools.

  One of these little structures drew my eye. Shimmering charms covered it, some of them simple glass balls such as I had seen hanging from a few cottages on my journey north. Others were more complex, shaped in the form of eyes. Drawing close, I leaned in to tap one. It rattled softly, sending a gentle shiver up the entire chain of decorations. Were these charms against witchcraft? What a fanciful gardener Sir Philip must have. Impulsively, I grasped the door handle and pushed. The door shuddered but held firm. Well, it was hardly surprising to find a locked garden shed. No doubt it held nothing but tools.

  Shaking my head over my own foolish fascination with the supernatural, I returned inside to get dressed at last.

  I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Sir Philip, after changing into a proper day dress. Killston Hall had no breakfast room, it emerged, so we ate instead in a small library set in the corner of the house. It could only be entered through the kitchen, which I thought rather an odd arrangement. Sir Philip explained that this was the oldest part of the Hall, and had never been remodelled. It was a pleasant room, even in the gloomy grey light, and I once again found myself struck by the heavy, dark beauty of the house.

  We made polite conversation over the breakfast table. I told him little anecdotes of my elegant life in London, and he told me scraps of news about his tenants. I recognised a few names and places from Mrs Pender’s gossip the day before. My uncle excused himself after finishing the last of the tea, disappearing off to his study and promising to meet me again for lunch. I ensconced myself in a comfortable armchair by the window, casually perusing a book on Yorkshire history until the servants had cleared up all the breakfast dishes and I was alone.

  I dropped the book down onto the table and began pulling books off the shelf one by one, carefully replacing each one after flicking through and shaking it out. I ran my hands along the backs of the shelves, searching for any kind of catch or button. I had seen plenty of secrets hidden in libraries before, and these breakfast arrangements provided the ideal opportunity to explore this room. All the time, I listened for noise from the kitchen, prepared to appear as if I simply browsed for a particular book. I made slow progress, but I was not on too strict a deadline, for once. Sir Philip would let me extend my visit as long as I wished.

  I found nothing. No secrets built into the bookshelves, no maps slipped into books. I would return for a second search later but for now it looked as if the library did not hold what I sought.

  If only I could explain my mission to my cousin. He seemed like a good man, and he was family. I doubted that he would understand, though, and people of lesser understanding often recoiled against the science I practised. I did not want to risk accusations of insanity, or being written out of his will. Admittedly, I would have little use for this property once my mission ended, but I preferred to avoid scandal. I would do this alone. Besides, it was possible he did not know such an item existed.

  The lunch gong sounded, rather closer than I expected, making me jump. I had spent the entire morning in the library - although meals here were much earlier than I would have taken them at home in London. At least I had made my way through all the books.

  I walked back out into the kitchen, and almost crashed straight into Mrs Pender, who stood right outside the door, surveying the two maids who worked at the table.

  “Apologies, ma’am,” she said, quickly getting out of my way. “Didn’t expect you to still be in there.”

  “I rather enjoy spending my mornings with a good book,” I told her, and brushed past her. I would need a few minutes to tidy myself up for lunch.

  We once again took lunch in the strange, stunted hall with the unpleasant tapestry. I wondered if this would be the structure of my entire visit. There certainly seemed to be a lack of local company. Perhaps I would call on the innkeeper again; she was hardly of my class, but she seemed like a respectable woman. Of course, with Mr Amberson gone, there would probably be no one to escort me. Or had he stayed? I realised that I had forgotten to seek him out.

  “Do you know if the man I hired to bring me here has departed yet?” I asked Sir Philip.

  “Theodoric? Oh no, he’ll be here for a while longer. He said he was looking for employment, so I took him on to help with all the work that needs doing on the house before winter. He’s a good, hard-working young man. I knew his grandfather.”

  Well, there went all the mystery of Mr Amberson’s early morning ride. He had probably been carrying out some task at Sir Philip's request.

  “So, he’s a local man, then?”

  “Oh, y
es. He was born just a few miles away from here, as far as I know. Or at least he spent his childhood here. A good family. Poor people, but I believe they once came from better stock who fell on hard times. Theodoric’s parents died when he was quite young, so he grew up following in his grandfather’s footsteps. I remember playing with old Amberson when I was a boy. Theodoric’s father was a groundskeeper here. A good family indeed.”

  Well. Another orphan, like me. I felt almost jealous that he had at least been raised by his grandfather, although it could not, of course, compare to the wealth and privilege I had enjoyed as a child.

  The rest of the meal passed in silence as I reflected on my own childhood. I wonder what Sir Philip thought of - perhaps those distant, sunny days when he had played in the gardens with the groundskeeper’s son.

  My childhood had involved very little play.

  Both my parents had died in a tragic carriage accident when I was only eight years old. I had still been in the schoolroom, safely tucked away from harm’s way in our country home, while my parents died on the road to London. As a young girl, I found myself both an orphan and one of the wealthiest individuals in the country. It was all kept in trust for me, of course.

  My parents’ close friend, Daniel Montague, had been appointed as my guardian. He was lenient, to say the least, and I was making my own decisions by the time I turned fourteen. Girls of my standing did not play, especially not with servants. There had been lessons, and house parties, and horse riding, and educational holidays abroad. Daniel let me pick my own governesses, and I always chose beautiful, sophisticated women who spoke to me in French and helped me to dress like a lady. With hindsight, Daniel probably rather approved of my choices.

  Dark Dreams

  That night, Daniel visited me in my dreams. Not straight away; at first, I wandered through normal enough dreams, strange houses twisting and changing around me. But, gradually, the dream solidified, settling into a familiar hallway. And then I walked the corridor of Daniel’s house, coming to knock on the door of his study. It disappeared under my hand, and I stood before him.

  “Why have you not reported your findings?” he demanded, tapping his fingers on the desk. Daniel always could conjure wonderfully realistic dreams.

  “I have no findings,” I told him, not bothering to hide the bitter twist to my voice. “All my efforts so far have come to nothing. But there are still places left to search.”

  Daniel frowned.

  “This doesn’t seem right, Lily. Why would it be hidden so thoroughly? No one should know what it is. Are you sure your uncle knows nothing?”

  “My cousin. And no, I am not sure. I am not sure of anything. This is a strange place, Daniel.”

  He smiled at me.

  “Little Lily, afraid of the dark?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him in response and felt the dream change again. I was a little girl, dressed in black, looking up at Daniel. And then it changed again, and I was out on the moors, my tiny legs running as fast as they could.

  I fought to control my dream, to return to that warm, safe study, but for once my thoughts slipped from my control. Daniel’s voice still echoed in my mind, but I could not see him. I was in the kitchen at Killston Hall. How had I got there?

  “Find it,” Daniel whispered. “Do not fail me, little blackbird. I need this.”

  I whirled around, but I still could not see him.

  “I promise. It has to be here. I will find it.”

  I could not control the dream. It wriggled from my hands, coming alive. The room was thick with fog, rising all around me. How had I not seen it? Where had it come from?

  “We are always with you, sister.”

  I was alone in the suddenly cavernous kitchen, the fog so thick that I could not even see the door.

  “Come to us, little sister.”

  I knew what I would see before I turned. That black figure, slender and draped in cloth, her elegant white hands stretched out towards me, her nails sharp and white. I recoiled but I knew that they had me surrounded.

  “Don’t fight, sister.”

  I screamed and awoke in a sweat, thrashing against my rough cotton sheets, the night air icy on my burning skin.

  For the first night in a long time, my dreams had got the better of me. Something strange was happening to me in this house.

  Thwarted

  The next day, my third at Killston Hall (if one included the day of my arrival), I decided that the time had come to step up my efforts. First on my list was the disused wing. It seemed the perfect place for a small object to have been forgotten, or perhaps even hidden. I wandered into the hall after breakfast and pretended to admire the wall hangings while I waited for the maid to finish her dusting. Really, it was terribly rude that she hadn’t disappeared as soon as I entered. I didn’t even know what most of my own servants looked like, they were so discreet.

  Once the girl had left the room, I dashed over to the door. The handle was stiff, but I eased it open and -

  “Ah, Lady Lily! There you are. I wondered if you might advise us on a small decorating difficulty.”

  It was Mrs Pender, who had appeared behind me so silently that I jumped. I was not used to people being able to catch me unawares, let alone housekeeping staff.

  “Of course, Mrs Pender,” I said as graciously as I could manage, letting the door drift shut again. “I’m only occupying my time by wandering. How may I be of help?”

  It emerged that some sort of dispute had erupted over what colour curtains should be purchased for a bedroom I had not even realised existed. Frustratingly, it was on the opposite side of the house to the one I wanted to search. We seemed to trail through the entire house; we even passed Sir Philip in his study, and he acknowledged us with a gentle wave.

  As far as I could see, curtains would make rather little difference to this dark, damp, unpleasant room. Its sheer ugliness did not improve my displeasure at being interrupted. Still, I tried my best to be polite.

  “Perhaps a soft green,” I suggested. “It’s a wonderfully soothing colour, especially if you plan to use this as a guest room. Extremely relaxing after a long journey.”

  “Excellent advice,” Mrs Pender said, seizing my hands in excitement. “I will inform Sir Philip right away!”

  To my annoyance, she still showed no sign of leaving the room. I tugged my hands free and stepped back in the corridor.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, Mrs Pender, I find myself in need of some air.”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry for crowding you. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take tea in the kitchen?”

  “The garden would be best,” I said, smiling my sickliest smile. “I often find that the air outside is the only way to ease my… airlessness.”

  I turned around and set off along the corridor before she questioned my odd medical condition. To avoid any extra notice, I did indeed go out into the garden, and took one or two turns around the ornamental lawn. The calm air soothed my frustration a little and the autumn chill seemed to sharpen my mind. I could still see Mrs Pender through the bedroom window, animatedly discussing something with a maid. The curtains, no doubt.

  Deciding I had probably spent long enough outside, I let myself back in through the side door. I made my way through the house, trying to look as if I wandered aimlessly.

  The hall was empty, and I felt my heart lift at this sudden stroke of luck.

  I grasped the door handle once again and pushed.

  It was locked.

  I couldn’t believe it. Mrs Pender had been with me all the time. She could not have locked it, unless she had run from the bedroom to here and back again. It must have been Sir Philip. But why would he leave his office in the middle of the morning just to lock this door? Perhaps it was simple coincidence, a maid locking up again after her cleaning. I whirled round to see if I might still catch the maid, and someone jumped back from the main doorway. I hurried over and chased the figure through the hall - just in time to see Sir Philip di
sappear back into his office. Had he been watching me?

  My resolve would not be so easily shaken. No one except Mr Amberson had yet ordered me away from this area, so I did nothing wrong by exploring. I marched back into the garden, my frustration reaching boiling point. I walked right around the house until I stood before the outside door to the abandoned wing, the one I had exited by on my previous visit.

  “You don’t listen to advice, do you?”

  I turned slowly, more than ready to unleash my irritation on someone.

  “Mr Amberson, you may offer as much advice as you like, but I am not obliged to take it. Do not presume to tell me what to do. I allowed you more liberties than I should have done; it won’t happen again. Now please leave me alone.”

  “No,” he said, leaning in far too close. His eyes burned with a dark, hidden anger that radiated so powerfully it almost heated my skin.

  “I don’t have to do what you tell me,” I said, but it didn’t feel like the truth any more.

  “I’m only trying to protect you, Lady Lily,” he said softly. “As I told you, this wing is not safe. You should stay away. Sir Philip has hired me to protect his property, and so I can’t let you in somewhere so dangerous.”

  He stepped back and politely gestured for me to leave. I stumbled forwards, quickly catching myself and returning to my usual gait.

  “Do not make a habit of giving orders, Mr Amberson,” I warned him, and returned inside, head held high. I may have been frustrated in my aims so far, but I had plenty more options left. I would not fight anyone until I had no further choice - but that did not mean I would accept defeat.