A Shadowed Evil

by Alys Clare

  Helewise sank down on to the low steps before the altar, her skirts billowing around her. Aloud she said, ‘Well!’

  Then – for the encounter with Cyrille had deeply unnerved her – she turned round to face the simple cross, knelt, folded her hands and closed her eyes. Something bad had intruded here, she thought. Despite dear Josse’s bracing words about the house, some evil element seemed to have evaded its benign, protective spirit and slithered inside, and, whatever it was, it had begun to affect poor Cyrille. Either that, or …

  No. There was no or, she told herself firmly.

  ‘I do not know why, dear Lord,’ Helewise whispered, ‘but I am uneasy. No, it is worse than that –’ she forced herself to be honest – ‘I am afraid.’

  Bowing her head over her clasped hands, she tried to find the words to ask for help with an undefined problem she hadn’t even begun to understand.

  The long hours of the day slowly passed. The snow went on falling. Late in the afternoon, a messenger fought his way up from the town, bringing word – by some complicated, involved route – from Jenna’s husband, Gilbert. As had been expected, he would not be home before the snow melted; he had dispatched his message while the roads and tracks were just passable, but he had not then been able to leave the coast himself because his business there was not yet complete. Anticipating being stranded, he had had the foresight to warn his family that his return would be delayed indefinitely.

  Jenna took the news badly. Watching her from her seat by the fire, Helewise had the sudden thought that Jenna, too, felt the presence of something sinister within the beleaguered walls of Southfire House.

  Isabelle came into the Old Hall, spotted her daughter and went over to her. ‘Peter Southey needs tending,’ she said brusquely. ‘Everyone else, including me, has their hands full, so will you see to him, please?’

  Helewise, sitting nearby, overheard. ‘Jenna has only just sat down,’ she said. ‘I will go.’ Mother and daughter both turned to her. Isabelle’s expression was harassed, Jenna’s grateful. ‘I should be glad of something to do,’ Helewise added, getting to her feet. Josse had been with his uncle for much of the afternoon, and she had found that time dragged, although it wouldn’t have been polite to say so.

  ‘Very well,’ Isabelle agreed. ‘Thank you, Helewise.’

  ‘How is he?’ Helewise asked as she and Isabelle walked out of the hall.

  Isabelle frowned. ‘His injuries appear to be mending, and he says he is not in much pain, yet, when I asked if he didn’t find the days very long, alone in his room, and suggested he might like to come and join the household, he said it was out of the question.’ Slowly she shook her head, smiling ruefully. ‘It did cross my mind that perhaps he wishes to remain isolated until the swelling and bruising of his face improves. He is, I am sure, normally rather a handsome young man, and such men are often vain.’

  ‘I will see if I can persuade him,’ Helewise said. ‘I agree that he would surely be happier amid other people, and that might hasten his convalescence.’

  Isabelle gave a dismissive snort. ‘Even if he were fully well, he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. It’s still snowing, and very soon we shall be totally cut off.’

  A faint tremor of alarm ran through Helewise, although she could not have said why. Wealthy, substantial houses such as Southfire could tolerate many days, if not weeks, of isolation, for the household would have filled the storerooms and cellars back in the autumn, when nature had produced her bounty and there were meats, vegetables, fruits and cereals in plenty for those to buy who had the means. No doubt the buttery was full of fine wine, mead and ale, and, failing all else, there would undoubtedly be a well somewhere at hand for a family of this size living in a place that had been occupied for generations.

  Helewise’s moment of apprehension had nothing to do with fears of running out of food and drink …

  Peter Southey looked considerably better. His face was still swollen and discoloured, but the hot flush of fever had left his skin, and his expression was alert. Having seen to his needs – food, drink, a cold compress on his nose and a fresh chemise – Helewise pulled a stool up beside the bed and sat down.

  ‘Why not come and join us in the hall this evening?’ she said without preamble. ‘The company is jolly enough, and, after the wine has been passed around, there are often songs and sometimes a story or two.’

  Peter eyed her solemnly for a few moments. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I know you mean it kindly, but I will stay here.’

  ‘You will soon have regained your good looks,’ Helewise said, with a smile to take any sting out of her words. ‘Besides, everyone knows how you got yourself in such a state, and are far more likely to sympathize than to jeer.’

  ‘That is not why—’ Peter began. Then, lowering his eyes, he muttered, ‘I would rather not.’

  ‘Why?’ Helewise persisted. ‘It would do you good, I believe.’

  ‘You have all been more than kind enough to me already,’ Peter replied, still staring down at his hands, twisting together in his lap. ‘Far more than I deserve,’ he whispered.

  Or that was what Helewise thought she heard; surely not? ‘The household have only done what it is to be hoped all good Christian people would do,’ she said gently. ‘We are taught, are we not, to help our fellow man?’

  ‘Yes, we are, but not when that man has come to—’ Again, he stopped; this time, as abruptly as if he had bitten his own tongue. Then, with a change of subject that clearly cost him quite an effort, he looked up at Helewise and said, ‘Tell me about the family, my lady. You can be my entertainment, if it would not tire you.’

  ‘Very well.’ There was much here, Helewise reflected, to puzzle her, but she did not think Peter was going to offer any explanations just because she asked for them. She gathered her thoughts, then began to describe the various members of the Southfire family and how they related to each other, giving brief description of each one, finishing with Cyrille’s young son.

  ‘And I can’t tell you much about him,’ she concluded, ‘because I’ve barely spoken to him.’

  Peter was watching her. ‘I heard a child screaming in the night,’ he said softly. ‘Was it him?’

  Helewise wondered fleetingly why Peter should assume it had been Olivar rather than one of the little girls. ‘It was.’

  ‘He sounded terrified.’

  ‘He’d had a bad dream.’

  Peter was still watching her, eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it not,’ Peter murmured, ‘that he saw a dark shape, which seemed to flow into his room, reaching out with sharp, silvery claws?’

  Helewise looked at him in amazement. ‘How did you – has someone been talking to you about it?’

  Slowly Peter shook his head. ‘Nobody has mentioned anything.’

  She didn’t know what to do. Should she tell him that he’d just described virtually word for word what Josse reported little Olivar said he saw? Oh, but what if Peter’s fever was rising again, and, by confirming the accuracy of his guess, she contrived to make him worse?

  For it had to have been a guess. There was no other explanation.

  ‘I—’ she began.

  But he put out a hand, taking hold of hers. His flesh felt quite cool; there was no fever in his blood. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I meant neither to upset nor embarrass you.’

  She shook her head. She had no idea how to respond.

  ‘The lad is this Cyrille’s son, you told me?’ Peter said after a pause.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Helewise, glad of the invitation to talk about something else, hurried on. ‘She was the widow of Young Herbert’s childhood friend, William Crowburgh. She bore him a son, Olivar, six years ago. Now the boy is being adopted as Herbert’s ward and his heir.’

  ‘And you said, I believe, that all the other children in the family are female.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right – there’s Herbert, of course, Isabelle’s son, but no m
ale child has been born since.’

  Peter did not reply. The room was growing dark and, wondering if he had fallen asleep, Helewise quietly got up and lit a couple of lamps.

  Peter wasn’t asleep. He had drawn out the little leather bag he wore around his neck, and he was turning it over between his fingers, running his thumb around the outline of whatever was within. His expression had turned inwards, and Helewise realized his thoughts were far away from the small, cosy room.

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. ‘You are missing your home and your loved ones, I dare say,’ she said kindly. ‘Since you were heading away from home, on your way to Lewes, nobody will be anxious about you yet, but, if you like, as soon as the snow begins to clear, word can be sent to reassure them.’ He did not respond. ‘Why,’ she added brightly, trying to cheer him, ‘news that you are safe might well reach them before they have even begun to be concerned!’

  He turned to her, his eyes full of sadness in his battered face. ‘You have a kind heart, my lady,’ he said, his voice not quite steady, ‘and I thank you for your concern. You need not trouble yourself to send any message, however. I am quite alone in the world.’

  With that, he turned on to his side, away from her, and, still clutching the little leather bag, closed his eyes.

  ‘He looked so very sad,’ Helewise said to Josse as they prepared for bed. ‘He said he was quite alone in the world, and, to judge by his grief-stricken expression, I’d guess he has lost someone he loved very much.’

  Josse went to sit beside her, taking her hand. ‘I am sorry for him, but I confess that, just at the moment, I am more concerned with the fact that, from what you’ve just told me, he seems to have seen the same apparition that so terrified poor little Olivar.’

  Helewise rested her head on his shoulder. ‘What’s going on, Josse?’ He could hear the edge of fear in her voice. ‘You keep telling me this is a good place, and that the house has a strong protective spirit, yet two people beneath its roof have now seen something quite dreadful.’

  Josse held her close. ‘Aye, there’s no denying that a – a darkness has crept in,’ he agreed. ‘But the house will fight back. I know it will.’

  She looked up at him, and he read the scepticism in her eyes. ‘It’s a house, Josse,’ she said gently. ‘Just stone, wood and mortar.’

  There was no arguing with that, and he didn’t try.

  Presently he got up. ‘I’ll go and speak to Peter Southey,’ he announced. ‘I would like to hear more of this dark shape that flows from room to room.’

  She must have heard some different tone in his voice, for she gave him a quick look. ‘You suspect someone may be playing a trick?’

  ‘I hope very much that they’re not,’ he replied shortly, ‘since it’s a particularly heartless trick to reduce a small boy to abject terror. But the alternative—’ He had been going to say the alternative, that some evil had entered the beloved ancient home of his maternal kin, was even worse. But he found he couldn’t utter the words.

  Helewise seemed to understand. ‘Be careful,’ she said.

  Peter lay on his back, his head sunk in the pillows. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily through his open mouth. Josse called out very softly, ‘Peter? Are you awake?’

  There was no reply.

  Josse was about to tiptoe away – even his rudimentary knowledge of nursing told him you didn’t wake up a convalescent without good reason – when a log collapsed in the small hearth, sending up a tongue of bright flame which briefly illuminated the room. Turning back to make sure Peter slept on undisturbed, Josse noticed the man’s hands.

  They were clutched over his chest – over his heart – and they held a small object, which was all but concealed within the clasped fingers. The little leather bag lay empty, tucked just inside the open chemise.

  Josse leaned forward.

  Memories were firing off inside his head, for, although he had no idea why, the object was familiar. Without pausing to think how, why or where, he knew he had seen it before.

  It was carved out of ivory, or perhaps some sort of bone, and it was in the form of a seated woman, crowned and dressed in flowing robes. She supported her right elbow with her left hand, and the fingers of her right hand were pressed to her cheek.

  Pity her, poor woman! She’s got toothache for all eternity! said the laughing, irrepressible voice in Josse’s memory.

  It was the queen out of a chess set.

  SEVEN

  Josse made his way back to the Old Hall. The fire had burned very low, but the glowing embers still gave out heat. He went to sit on one of the settles drawn up beside the great hearth. The past had come vividly into focus, and his mind was filled with its echoes. He dropped his face in his hands, giving himself up to it.

  After some time – he wasn’t sure how long – he became aware that he was no longer alone. Someone had quietly approached, and sat down beside him.

  ‘I didn’t realize that you, too, are a night owl,’ said his cousin Isabelle.

  ‘I’m not, usually,’ he replied. ‘These are, however, unusual circumstances.’

  ‘You feel it too, then?’

  He met her anxious eyes. ‘Aye, I do.’ And how much more, he thought, must she, who had lived here all her life. ‘Something has changed,’ he added in a whisper.

  Isabelle nodded. Then, fiercely, she hissed, ‘The house will go on protecting us. This – whatever it is – will pass. It will!’ She thumped a fist against her thigh for emphasis.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then she said, in a very different tone, ‘I’m glad you’re here, dear Josse. You are so much a part of Southfire and its past, and it’s right that you are with us at this time.’

  The past … It just kept cropping up this evening.

  He said, ‘Isabelle, tell me about Aeleis.’

  She sighed. ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask.’

  ‘Just because I haven’t mentioned her before doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about her,’ he said quickly.

  Isabelle smiled. ‘I know, Josse. You were always such friends, when we were all young. Of course she would be in your thoughts.’ She paused. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, but, I warn you, you may not like it.’

  ‘I’ll hear it anyway.’

  She laughed softly. ‘Never one to hide from the truth, were you?’ She took a deep breath, then said, ‘Aeleis didn’t much like being married to old Godric, and I dare say you remember how she didn’t bother to hide her relief when he died, and her joy at being free from his fussing and his everlasting attempts to clip her wings and shut her in her cage.’

  ‘She always resented being told what to do,’ he remarked.

  ‘Very true. Well, she stayed on here with the family for a while, but Father and Mother made it plain that they thought she should marry again. They thought they were doing the right thing, and they truly believed Aeleis would only be happy once she had another husband and a few children.’ She sounded as if she were defending them, Josse thought, but he hadn’t been going to criticize their actions. It was always the way of it, he recalled sadly. Neither Hugh nor Ysabel had understood their strong-minded, independent youngest daughter, and although he had no doubt they loved her, they had tried to turn her into somebody else.

  ‘They actually chose a second husband for her,’ Isabelle went on. ‘He, too, was many years older than her, and probably wouldn’t have long survived being married to her.’ She shot Josse a sidelong glance. ‘I don’t doubt that he’d have died a very happy man,’ she said with a grin. ‘But, anyway, Aeleis refused him. Father told her she was a fool, for Lothar – that was his name – was a wealthy man with no heirs, but she said she had enough money and certainly wasn’t prepared to marry another old man just to acquire more.’

  ‘Did she?’ Josse asked. ‘Have money, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Isabelle replied with a wry face. ‘Godric had plenty, and left all he had to her.’

  ‘
She would have been an attractive prospect for many a man,’ Josse observed.

  ‘And many a man agreed with you, and wore a path to her door,’ Isabelle said tartly. ‘Mother and Father were deeply distressed. There was a great deal of gossip, and people said Aeleis was acting very immorally, entertaining people – men – when she wasn’t married to them, or, indeed, to anybody.’ She shot a quick glance at Josse. ‘Single women and widows are meant to be purer than pure, and they certainly aren’t supposed to enjoy male company, but Aeleis simply refused to obey the rules.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Oh, you could understand her point of view,’ she conceded. ‘She’d already endured marriage to a tremulous old man, more because other people wanted and expected it than through any desire of her own. Do you know, Josse –’ she turned to look at him – ‘I don’t believe she’d have taken a husband at all had she not wanted to please our parents.’

  Remembering vividly the child and the girl Aeleis had been, Josse thought she was probably right. ‘What happened next?’

  Isabelle looked away, and Josse thought he saw a faint flush stain her face. ‘Aeleis got more and more tired of the arguments and the pressure, and the constant parade of men deemed suitable for the role of her second husband. Then one day poor Father really made her angry. He meant well, bless him, and he said what he said because he genuinely believes a woman hasn’t the brains or the sense to manage her own affairs. He told her she must marry again, and soon, so that “some decent, sensible man” – honestly, Josse, those were his exact words! – could start controlling her wealth and making her decisions for her.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Josse said with a quiet smile.

  ‘Oh, dear, indeed!’ But Isabelle wasn’t smiling. ‘Aeleis was incandescent with rage, Josse. She yelled at poor dear Father, telling him he had never understood her, that he had no idea that women could manage their own lives without being told what to do and kept under control by men, and she swore at him and said she wasn’t going to spend another moment under his roof. Then she packed up her bags, stormed off back to the modest manor she’d inherited from Godric, where, with swift efficiency and a certain amount of ruthlessness, she made the arrangements for it to be managed and the land tenanted, with the incomes accruing to her. Then she disappeared.’