Illusion

by Stephanie Elmas

  ‘Go on Tamara, you heard what I said,’ came his voice. He was standing right behind her. She could feel his warm breath on the nape of her neck.

  She clumsily reached for the reins but jumped back in fear when Briar jerked her head in response. More tears flooded into her eyes now so that for a moment everything blurred queasily. Cecil took the reins instead. She tried to focus on the thick, white gloves he was wearing.

  ‘You have to own a horse, Tamara. Take control of it. You are its mistress, make it obey you. Don’t give it any room for control or fear. Do you understand?’

  She hung her head down and murmured a response.

  The ride was long and arduous. Cecil rode in front of her on his own horse: a great, docile beast named Anselm. Tamara and Briar followed. Briar seemed bored. She was young and energetic and snorted discontentedly at the slow pace set by Anselm. Sometimes she would charge forward in a bid to overtake. Tamara did everything in her power to clutch on and control her, but it was as if Briar could feel the echo of her pounding heart and she only became friskier in response.

  By the time they got back to the stable, Tamara’s body felt as if it had been stamped on. Cecil smiled as she landed shakily to the ground.

  ‘The same again tomorrow?’ he asked in a wry voice.

  ‘No thank you. I don’t feel well. Please excuse me.’

  Despite the hollow feeling in her legs, she almost ran back to the house. In the corner of her eye she saw Daniel sitting by the drawing room window, a blanket wrapped around his legs. Something about the huddled sight of him made her want to scream. She gasped the tears back and carried on, through the house and up into the north tower.

  *

  ‘Time for your bath,’ announced Stella, marching into her bedroom. Tamara opened her eyes and peered drowsily at the maid.

  ‘What? Have I missed lunch?’

  ‘That you have. Slept right through it.’

  Tamara raised herself up onto her elbows; she was still in her riding things. She could smell the sweaty scent of Briar on her and instantly felt a twinge of guilt about the horse, as if she were a mother who had failed to love her own child enough. Briar really deserved better.

  She had returned from her ride and buried herself in sleep. It had seemed the most natural thing to do. But now she felt dazed and woolly. She wondered what had happened to her lunch. Stella raised her up from the bed and undressed her for her bath.

  ‘All this country air isn’t doing me any good,’ she joked, ‘I’m so tired all the time. Perhaps I need a little London smog to liven me up.’

  The maid didn’t reply. Her hands were cold and uncaring as she undid Tamara’s buttons.

  The bathwater felt kinder on her skin. She lowered herself into it as far as she could, until her chin rested on the surface of the water. Her eyelids fell shut. She let the steam rise up her nostrils and into all the small channels and rivulets inside her face.

  The door of the room clicked open, but she kept her eyes closed. It would only be Stella, back to collect her clothes, or to bring in fresh towels. Footsteps approached the bath and then paused. She breathed the steam in deeply again. It circulated around her teeth, stroked the back of her throat. It felt cleansing, purifying. All the sweat and tears of the morning were slowly diminishing in the glorious hot water around her.

  And then she felt something that suddenly sent chills up her ribs and spine. A presence. It felt like a shadow falling over her, just like a cloud passing over the sun on an otherwise beautiful day. Those footsteps: had they not retreated back again? Where was Stella now?

  She opened her eyes and there, looking down through the water at her, was Cecil.

  She shrieked, violently, at the same time as lurching up in the water to hug her knees into her chest. She could feel her face burning scarlet under his watch. Cecil lowered himself down to the bath’s edge. The neck of his shirt was open, revealing a firm and surprisingly muscular body beneath it.

  ‘You seem shocked, Tamara dear,’ said Cecil, a perplexed look on his face. ‘Is it so strange for a husband to see his wife like this?’

  Tamara lowered her chin to her knees; she couldn’t bear to look him in the face. Instead she peered at her feet: white and bony in the water below her. Cecil put his hand into the bath. It brushed against her thigh.

  ‘The water’s a fine temperature. Nice and hot,’ he said. He shook the water free from his hand and began to roll up his sleeves. ‘You must be positively filthy after that ride. My wife should be clean. I’m quite certain that you’ve never been cleaned properly before. Come on, sit up. I’m going to clean you.’

  He dipped a flannel into the bath water, squeezed it out and then rubbed it briskly with soap. She could see the tendons flexing in his arms as he did so. Again, his arms were strangely muscular. She had never realised that this strong body existed beneath the neatly groomed exterior she was familiar with. But then she remembered how he had held her back in St Paul’s, even though she’d fought like a wild animal. No, she didn’t have a chance against that sort of strength. One scream and those hands could break her.

  He started at her neck; rubbing away at it until she winced. Then he slowly moved down her arms, rinsing and wringing out the flannel over and over again and ensuring that not one part of her skin remained untouched. He moved across to the thin, delicate skin over her breast bone, scraping away at it as if years of thick dirt had been embedded there. She cringed with pain and embarrassment as he moved down her body, but he barely blinked. His face was rigid, fixed in an almost trance-like state of concentration.

  Down and down he went, hacking at the skin over the bony parts of her hips. He made her stand, legs apart, and the water slid hotly off the raw grazes that now criss-crossed all over her flesh. She whimpered quietly at first, smarting at the pain. And then gradually she went numb. She chose a point in the wall, a small crack to stare at as he scoured her legs, rubbing invisible stains off her skin.

  At last, when he was finished, he fell back, panting on the floor. He was dripping with sweat and seemed almost disorientated by the rigour of his actions. Finally he rose to his feet, took a step back and surveyed her with a critical eye. She stood still as a statue, every inch of her skin burning like hot needles.

  He breathed out a long sigh. ‘Well, clean at last!’ he announced, beaming with satisfaction.

  He came to her that night, in the dark. She expected it; he’d prepared her for it after all. She hardly noticed the pain as her entire body was already throbbing with agony. He didn’t speak to her. He didn’t look at her. He certainly didn’t try to kiss her. And when it was over he left in the dark, just as quietly as he’d arrived.

  Chapter 15

  Tamara stayed alone in her room for three days. Every time she thought she was ready to leave, she somehow couldn’t bring herself to open the door. Cecil didn’t bother her; he’d left his mark. Food was brought in by Stella, who clearly thought it better not to ask her mistress why she was in such a sorry state.

  The skin on her ankles and between her thighs wept with particular vigour. As the hours ticked by it finally settled into a yellow crust. Her mind remained curiously empty for almost all of the time. It was as if Cecil’s cleansing really had purified her in some way, and she was now floating in empty, emotion free air. For most of the time she simply lay on her bed, still as stone, listening to the sound of her skin throbbing.

  On the third day there was a loud rapping at the door. When she opened it, Daniel was standing in the corridor, breathless and slumped over two walking sticks. She was startled to see him there; she didn’t think he would be able to climb the north tower stairs. He looked equally surprised at the sight of her. His eyes travelled across her injured skin and dishevelled hair.

  For a moment he didn’t seem to know what to say and then suddenly he blurted, ‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.’

  He sounded like a sulky child.

  ‘I…I haven’t been very well. Sorr
y Daniel.’

  ‘My brother is away for two days. Business. I’m stuck with a nurse until then.’

  ‘I see.’

  He deliberated, as if he wanted to say something more, but then started to back away towards the stairs instead.

  ‘Is everything alright?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, suddenly stopping dead still. ‘I just thought I’d warn you that I plan to become extremely ill very soon, just as you suggested.’

  *

  Tamara woke early the next morning with a new sense of energy coursing through her. She stretched her fingers and toes as if she were feeling the motion of them for the first time. Her skin still stung in places but was far less painful than before. With Cecil gone for the time being, she was finally ready to leave her room. More than that. She was going to make an excursion.

  Briar flicked her head up at her when she entered the stable. It was a cool but bright day and the horse seemed just as keen as Tamara to escape Dovestead for a while. Her heart beat faster at the prospect of riding on her own but she also felt more confident without Cecil holding court over her. She stuck her chin out determinedly and clasped hold of the horse’s bridle.

  ‘How do I find the farm owned by Mr Peters?’ she asked the stable boy.

  He scratched his head and pointed towards the road. ‘Head up north there. You’ll meet a bridge crossing the river. That’s the divide between the two lands. The farm’s just beyond that.’

  Tamara tried to keep Briar at a steady pace, but the horse clearly had other ideas. She cantered and whinnied in the sunshine and shook her head delightedly in the breeze. At first Tamara gripped the reins with white knuckles, convinced that at any moment she would be hurled into the mud. But gradually she felt her body relaxing into the horse’s pace and, as she did so, Briar seemed to calm down with her and fall into a gentler, more rhythmic trot.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other Briar,’ she said.

  The horse’s ears bent back, as if she really was taking in Tamara’s words.

  ‘I’ll try and be a good mistress to you, but only if you promise to slow down just a little until I get used to all of this.’

  They met no one on the journey. The road was narrow and winding and at some points the branches of the trees above kissed and entwined with those on the other side. Eventually they came across the bridge that the boy had mentioned. It was a narrow stone arch and the water sparkled beneath it. The land began to rise up after this, quite steeply in places. Briar slowed down a little, less excited by the hill than the flat.

  At last they came across a pair of white gates guarding a wide path. There was a name painted on them: ‘Rise Farm’. Tamara and Briar followed it up to a low red-brick house that jutted out in all sorts of unexpected directions. It actually looked as if it had once been a much taller house that had been flattened and subsequently squashed outwards. No one appeared to be around apart from chickens and a few ducks running loose. Tamara led Briar to a trough and tied her up. It was quiet and pleasant here. The sun was shining and she felt elated at the small victory of having arrived uninjured at her intended destination, on a horse.

  She skirted around the house until she found the kitchen. A woman was in there: a slight lady of about her mother’s age, with a mass of wiry red hair. She looked up when Tamara knocked at the glass in the door and came to open it for her.

  ‘You’ll have a cup of tea and a slice of bread straight out of the oven?’ where the first words she said to her.

  Tamara grinned. ‘Yes, thank you. Are you Mrs Peters?’

  The woman nodded and turned to make the tea. There was a comfortable looking chair by the fire. Tamara wandered over to it and perched on the edge.

  ‘I’m your new neighbour, Mrs…,’

  ‘Hearst. Yes I know,’ Mrs Peters said mildly. ‘You’re the talk of the area.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Are you settling down? Into your new home?’

  ‘Yes, well enough. Your husband told me a little about Marshstead Tower. It’s very old, isn’t it? No one uses it very much now I’m afraid.’

  Mrs Peters brought the tea over with some large hunks of fresh, floury bed. ‘It’s as ancient as the countryside around it. Old Mrs Hearst wanted it I think. But old things aren’t always so easy to live with, like my husband,’ she winked.

  Tamara broke into a laugh and, almost on cue, Mr Peters walked in.

  ‘I smell bread!’ he announced and then turned in surprise at the sight of Tamara. His face looked full of fresh air and his eyes twinkled with delight.

  ‘So, you came to visit us! I wondered what that horse was doing in the yard.’

  He scooped up a piece of bread into a great hand, still grubby from outdoors, and wolfed it down. What would Cecil have thought of that? Just the thought of it made her adore Mr and Mrs Peters instantly.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you my wife was an excellent baker?’

  ‘You did, and you were right,’ Tamara replied. ‘Hello Mr Peters, pleased to see you again.’

  The farmer collapsed into a chair. It was only mid-morning but the man had about him the air of someone who’d already done a full day of work.

  ‘How are you finding Dovestead?’ he asked.

  Both husband and wife looked at her rather earnestly.

  ‘It’s a very pleasant place. Such a change from my life in London,’ she smiled. ‘I like to roam about, the river is particularly pretty.’

  ‘Now that’s The Ash. It’s a small tributary but has a strong current to it. Very susceptible to flooding.’

  ‘But I noticed that there was a canal. Wouldn’t that channel off any flood waters?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not nearly enough. The old Mr Hearst had that there canal built by some London know-it-all. Brought him all the way from the city to show us the workings of our land. I told them at the time that it wouldn’t suffice and that it was badly engineered…,’

  ‘Now John…,’ interjected him wife.

  ‘I know, I know. Look now,’ said Mr Peters, sitting forward. ‘Let me tell you something Mrs Hearst. Your husband’s family and I have never seen eye to eye on that canal, nor on most other things to do with this land around us. But that’s nothing to do with you, young lady. You are most welcome in this house whenever you care to come. I’d say it’s a pleasure to have you here, isn’t it Martha?’

  ‘Of course John,’ replied Mrs Peters, and she smiled at her in such a maternal way that Tamara felt as if she’d melt into her chair.

  ‘That’s a fine horse,’ said Mr Peters, when he walked her back out into the sunshine.

  ‘Hmm. I’m afraid I’m not very good at riding her. I’m ashamed to say that I’m rather scared of horses.’

  ‘Do you talk to her?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Well then, that’s where you need to start! Talk to her, sing to her if you like,’ he said, catching Briar’s muzzle in his large hands. ‘She’ll be your best friend soon enough. Have you any other company?’

  ‘Not really. There’s my brother-in-law. He’s ill.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I’m not sure exactly. No one really knows.’

  On their journey home along the narrow, empty road, Tamara tried talking to Briar properly. Once she started, and the horse invitingly pricked up her ears in response, the words suddenly began to pour out of her quite naturally. She told her about Tom Winter and St Paul’s and Cecil. She thought back to the way Mr and Mrs Peters had looked at her, their faces earnest and concerned.

  ‘They don’t like my husband, do they Briar?’ she said. The horse neighed softly. ‘It looks like Cecil doesn’t know much more about this land than I do.’

  *

  Cecil’s return to Dovestead was closely followed by a visit from Mama.

  ‘Dear Cecil,’ she said, as he handed her down from the carriage. He smiled thinly back at her.

  Tamara found herself inching back as her mother entered the house. As alw
ays, Mama seemed to fill the air instantly with her formidable elegance. Although this was Tamara’s home now, she couldn’t help but feel as if she were somehow the visitor and Mama its rightful mistress. And yet, in the short space of time since the wedding, she noticed that her mother had lost weight. On closer inspection she seemed older as well: the skin around her mouth looked lined and a little sunken.

  ‘I hear Tamara has a horse now,’ she said, looking at Tamara but addressing Cecil.

  ‘Yes. A fine chestnut. Cost me a fortune.’

  ‘She won’t ride it.’

  Tamara nearly responded to this. She could have told her mother that she rode Briar all the way to Rise Farm and back again on her own, and that she’d taken her out for a trot only this morning. She could have told her that Briar was getting used to her voice, and that she had the most beautiful chocolate eyes she’d ever seen. But something made Tamara stop. Something made her want to keep this marvellous secret entirely to herself.

  ‘And how is your brother?’ Mama asked.

  Cecil shook his head. ‘Not well. He refused to leave his bed this morning I’m afraid. I don’t know what plagues him now. I’m considering calling for the local doctor, although I’m sure he’s quite useless.’

  She took his arm and they wandered towards the drawing room together. ‘Dear me, poor thing! Thank goodness that he has you to care for him.’

  Tamara followed a little way behind. Poor Daniel, indeed. She thought of him groaning and sweating in his bed and tried her utmost not to smirk.

  *

  The day passed like the waters of a stagnant lake. Lunch was arduous. Her mother barely registered her presence throughout the meal, which left Tamara wondering how long this policy of avoidance would last. Immediately afterwards, Cecil was called away to his brother’s bedside and Mama also retired to her room to recover from her journey. Outside, the clouds unleashed themselves and let down a torrent of rain, which made leaving the house impossible.