The Daughters of Eden Trilogy

by Michelle Paver

  ‘Coward,’ she whispered.

  But the very thought of doing something made her feel sick.

  Quickly she snatched up the envelope and ran to her chest of drawers and wrenched it open.

  She’d opened her underwear drawer. How peculiarly appropriate to hide it in there.

  Lifting a pile of crêpe-de-chine step-ins, she tucked the envelope underneath, then pushed the drawer shut with both hands.

  There, now, she thought. Now you’ve got it under control.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cairngowrie was at its best in May. The hills were ablaze with yellow gorse, the hedges laced with cow parsley and creamy drifts of hawthorn, the woods aglow with wild garlic and bluebells.

  This May it had looked particularly beautiful, for the weather had turned warm, and the days were sunny and fine. The loch, thought Adam as he walked on the shore with Maud and Max and Felicity, looks so blue that it’s almost Caribbean.

  He was aware of all this, but the strange thing was that he couldn’t really feel it. He was merely an observer. All he could feel – all he’d been able to feel since the explosion – was frustration and irritability, and a fiery mistrust. A desperate need to be on his own.

  He watched Max racing over the dunes, pockets rattling with shells, skinny legs already lightly tanned as he tried in vain to surprise the rabbits before they made it back to their burrows. Max adored the rabbits, and he still couldn’t quite believe that such beautiful creatures lived in his dunes, near his house – and could be seen whenever he liked, for free.

  Adam watched him run, and tried to feel glad.

  Over the months, Maud had wrought nothing short of a transformation in the boy. Gone was the sallow, frightened child whose shoulders used to rise up round his ears whenever anyone spoke to him. He now spent much of his time outdoors, and was tentatively making friends with the Reverend’s young son, Clovis. He’d lost all fear of the woods (despite an epic encounter with a patch of stinging nettles), and had recently announced plans for befriending the seals.

  Maud, too, looked happier and more relaxed than Adam had seen her in years. Adam tried to feel glad about that, too.

  He stooped for a pebble and sent it skimming over the water. Things are going as well as you could wish, he told himself. This is what you wanted. Peace. What does it matter if you can’t speak? What does it matter if Belle—

  ‘Cairngowrie is at its best in May,’ said Felicity beside him. ‘Don’t you agree? The mayflowers, the bluebells, the gorse. It’s all so lovely.’

  Adam gave her the expected smile, while repressing a flicker of irritation. These days, Felicity never missed an opportunity to put things into words. Everything, however blindingly obvious, had to be noted and described. Perhaps she fancied that she was giving voice to his feelings, since he couldn’t do so himself. Whatever the reason, it was becoming wearing.

  ‘And the loch looks so blue,’ she remarked. ‘Almost tropical, wouldn’t you say?’

  Again Adam nodded. After all, he reminded himself, it isn’t her fault if she has no imagination.

  To his relief, her father was waiting at the House to drive her back to Kildrochet. After she’d taken her seat in the motor, she unwound the window and put out her head. ‘We shall be seeing you next Thursday, shan’t we? Oh, do say yes.’ Her words were meant for all of them, but she was looking at Adam.

  ‘Of course,’ Maud said crisply. ‘I’ve already replied to your invitation. Or had you forgot?’

  Adam took out his notepad and wrote, We’re looking forward to it. He didn’t like doing it. Somehow, writing a lie felt worse than saying it.

  At some stage, he thought as he watched them drive off, he was going to have to do something about Felicity. He’d been careful not to lead her on, but nevertheless her visits were becoming more frequent, and her father was starting to look upon them fondly.

  After they’d gone, Max helped Maud bring the tea things out into the garden, and Adam forgot about Felicity and tried to lose himself in the sunshine on the loch and the terns wheeling and mewing above the Point.

  ‘I had a letter this morning,’ said Maud as she handed him his cup. She moved the plate of biscuits a fraction to her right. Then she said, ‘It’s from Belle.’

  Adam threw her a glance, but she kept her eyes on the tea tray.

  ‘Is Miss Lawe coming home soon?’ said Max.

  There was a small silence, and he darted a glance at Adam to see if he’d spoken out of turn.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t think so,’ said Maud, studiously addressing the boy instead of Adam.

  ‘Oh,’ said Max, disappointed. ‘But I thought her papa was better.’

  ‘He is,’ said Maud. ‘A great deal better, thank goodness.’

  ‘Then why does she have to stay in Jamaica? It’s not fair.’

  ‘Well, Jamaica is her home,’ said Maud. ‘And you see, she is having such a nice time staying with her aunt and uncle, and helping out at a sanatorium for invalid officers.’ Two spots of colour had appeared on her cheeks. She had the air of a general who has just successfully opened a campaign.

  She’s been planning this, thought Adam. He didn’t know whether to be exasperated or amused.

  ‘In fact,’ Maud went on, still talking only to Max, ‘she seems to be having such a nice time that I shouldn’t wonder if she’ll decide to stay in Jamaica for good.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ cried Max. ‘But then we’ll never see her again!’

  ‘I know,’ said Maud. ‘And wouldn’t that be the most terrible shame?’

  At last she raised her eyes and met Adam’s. ‘I just thought,’ she said calmly, ‘that you ought to know.’

  Adam stood at the library window watching the last blush of the sunset warming Beoch Hill. It was half past ten in the evening, and the day was fading in one of those endless northern twilights which imperceptibly turn the sky from oyster to aquamarine to deepest cobalt.

  A perfect May evening at Cairngowrie. He wondered what Belle would say if she could see it.

  In her first week here, she’d grumbled about the weather. I hate Scotland. It’s so appallingly grey.

  No it isn’t, thought Adam.

  And suddenly, as he stood there at the window, the last rays of the sun caught Beoch Hill, and the gorse blazed a fiery gold.

  Adam caught his breath. In his chest, something shifted. Something rekindled. He felt a moment of pure, exhilarating joy. A moment of rejoicing . . .

  His eyes began to sting.

  Ah, Christ, Belle, I wish you were here to see this! I wish you could see the buttercups in the meadows, and the red campion by the burns, and the rhododendrons in the grounds, and the young ferns unfurling in the woods, and how very blue the loch looks in the sun . . .

  An image of Belle came to him with startling vividness. Not Belle as she’d been when he’d last seen her, but as she’d been at the height of her illness, in the garret in East Street: huge-eyed and chalky-faced, spouting black blood all over him, while she clawed at his hands and raved about yellowsnakes.

  Beautiful, strong, flawed, unpredictable, infuriating Belle.

  He wanted her back.

  But as hope came roaring back, so also did fear. He remembered Maud’s little bombshell at teatime. I shouldn’t wonder if she’ll decide to stay in Jamaica for good.

  My God, he thought, feeling suddenly cold. This is wrong. It’s all wrong. You’ve got to get her back.

  The doctor’s surgery was spartan by comparison with Clive’s comfortable book-lined lair, but somehow Adam found that reassuring. Dr Ayers was said to be the best in Glasgow. Clearly he didn’t need to waste time in dressing up his rooms. Or, for that matter, in reassuring his patients.

  ‘I’ll be blunt with you, Captain Palairet,’ he said as he put his elbows on his desk and fixed Adam with small, startlingly blue eyes. ‘You should not have discharged yourself from Farnborough so soon. The fact that you did makes me question your wish to get better.’


  I need to be able to talk again, Adam wrote in his notebook.

  ‘You didn’t seem to care about that before,’ said Dr Ayers. ‘So why now?’

  Adam hesitated. Before it wasn’t important. Now it is. Just tell me what you can do.

  The doctor studied him for a moment. Then he nodded, as if satisfied. ‘In cases like yours, there are a number of treatments I use. But I have to tell you, Captain Palairet, they all hurt. Some of them a great deal.’

  I don’t care, wrote Adam.

  Again Dr Ayers fixed him with his blue gaze. Then he seemed to decide that Adam meant it, for he gave another nod. ‘I’ll start with bouts of faradism to the neck and throat,’ he said briskly. ‘That’s electricity to you and me. If that doesn’t work, hot plates to the back of the mouth. Then stronger pulses of electricity. And if all else fails,’ he gave a grim smile, ‘my personal favourite. A lighted cigarette to the tip of the tongue.’

  Adam thought about that for a moment. Then he picked up his pen. Try them all, he wrote.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The day of the hurricane dawned windless and hot.

  The tree frogs had been loud all night, and Evie’s sleep had been troubled. Her mother had dreamed to her; and that hadn’t happened since she’d been put in her grave.

  Evie rolled onto her side and watched the steady rise and fall of her husband’s chest. Then she slipped out of bed, tucked the mosquito net around him, and made her way out into the garden, pulling on her peignoir as she went. She didn’t bother with slippers. When one of the dead came visiting, she preferred to feel the earth beneath her feet. It helped her to think.

  Padding down the verandah steps, she went out into the garden. It was still getting light, and mist floated among the giant bamboo. Bluequits chattered in the banana palms. A lizard fled at her approach.

  The rains had been late this year, arriving right at the end of May, but they’d been good, and the trees around the house had burst into flower: scarlet poinciana and mauve June rose; the pale greenish flowers of the wild almond. The air was heavy with the perfume of sweetwood and spider lilies. Evie took a deep breath, but still felt breathless.

  Like most great houses in Trelawny, Arethusa faced north. From where Evie stood, the cane-pieces stretched away to the east, while the steamy darkness of Greendale Wood loomed to the west. Due north, following the course of the Martha Brae, ran the red slash of the Arethusa Road, and far in the distance lay the restless glitter of the sea. Evie sensed that the trouble would come from the north. But that could mean from the river, or Falmouth, or from the sea itself.

  Which?

  In the dream, her mother had walked soundlessly down the Fever Hill Road, her bare feet raising red plumes of dust. She’d been wearing her obeah things: her green print skirt hitched up to the knees to show her gleaming brown calves, her head tied about with the white kerchief she wore for spell-making. The necklace of parrot beaks had clinked softly at her breast.

  As Evie watched, dream-still and silent, her mother had come to a halt, and turned to face her. She was standing at the point in the road where two side roads turn off: one winding north towards Parnassus and the sea, and the other leading south between the gatehouses that guard the Fever Hill estate.

  With arms outstretched, Grace McFarlane had spanned the road, one long-fingered hand casting a shadow over the track to Parnassus, the other tracing the coils of the serpent on the Fever Hill gatehouse. Then a great wind had blown up from the sea. The blast had forced Evie to her knees, but Grace McFarlane had stood unmoving at the eye of the storm: the Mother of Darkness, her face as hard and smooth as carved mahogany.

  What does it mean? thought Evie, as she went to sit on the verandah steps.

  A ground dove alighted by her foot, and stared at her with a bright crimson eye. She waved her hand to chase it away. It fluttered off a few yards, only to waddle back again.

  A duppy bird is not a good sign. Despite the heat, Evie drew her peignoir close about her.

  Her mother had sent a warning. But for whom?

  In her heart, Evie sensed that it must be for Belle. That brown hand caressing the Monroe crest . . .

  And yet – spirits are trickified things. It’s easy to get their message wrong-side, with terrible results. Evie knew that better than most.

  The sun was growing hotter, sucking the breath from her lungs. She thought, but if it’s Belle, then why today? What is special about today?

  Then it came to her. Sophie had mentioned it over tea the other afternoon. ‘Big day on Thursday,’ she’d said, raising her eyebrows. ‘Maddy’s going over to Burntwood to inspect the plans for the new extension. I told you she’s a trustee? That was my idea, to get her closer to Belle. Well, so far it hasn’t exactly worked; they’re still avoiding each other – or not really communicating, which amounts to the same thing. But this Thursday they won’t be able to, as there’s a luncheon. So let’s cross our fingers and hope for the best.’

  Burntwood, thought Evie.

  Jumping to her feet, she ran up the stairs. Then she came to an abrupt halt.

  Across the verandah, a line of red ants was winding its way towards the house. Evie’s belly tightened. Her old uncle Eliphalet had taught her the weather signs before she could read, and now his voice echoed in her mind.

  Red ants moving inna the house, it mean the big blow go come.

  At Eden by mid-morning, a light breeze had sprung up: just enough to lift the pony’s mane as Moses brought the dog cart round from the stables.

  ‘You know, you could take the motor,’ Cameron told his wife as she stood in the hall buttoning her dustcoat.

  ‘I need some air,’ she replied over her shoulder, ‘and so do the twins. It’ll do us good.’ Putting her hands to her temples, she smoothed back her hair. Then she met his eyes in the looking-glass, and smiled. She was nervous. He wished he knew how to reassure her.

  Following her out onto the steps, he glanced at the sky, where a flock of jabbering crows was speeding towards the hills. ‘Looks like we could be in for some weather,’ he murmured. ‘You’d better let Moses drive.’

  ‘I shall be fine,’ said Madeleine. ‘Besides, if you’re concerned, you could always come with us and do the driving yourself.’

  He sighed. ‘I told you, I have some things to see to here first.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said as he helped her into the dog cart. ‘You’re staying behind to give me a chance to be alone with Belle.’

  He laughed. ‘Am I that transparent?’

  She threw him one of her looks.

  ‘Well, my darling, then so are you. You’re only taking the twins along for moral support.’

  ‘What’s moral support?’ said Lachlan.

  ‘It’s what you take with you when you’re nervous,’ said Cameron, scooping him up and tossing him into the dog cart.

  ‘Like a teddy bear?’ said Douglas, waiting for his turn.

  ‘Or a lucky parrot claw,’ said Lachlan as his brother tumbled in beside him.

  As Madeleine gathered the reins, Cameron put his hand over hers. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he told her. ‘You love her, and she loves you. You just need to start talking to each other. It’s that simple.’

  ‘Men,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I shall expect you there for luncheon. Punctually, one o’clock. Promise you won’t think up some excuse not to come.’

  Again he laughed. ‘Come hell or high water, I shall be there. I promise.’

  Belle was pacing the gallery at Burntwood when she heard the dog cart in the carriageway.

  ‘They’re here,’ said Drum, who’d come up for the day to lend moral support. ‘Oh, look,’ he added with a grin. ‘She’s brought the boys. D’you want me to take them off your hands for a while?’

  Belle nodded. ‘But not just yet.’

  It was ridiculous to feel nervous, but she’d scarcely seen her mother for weeks. Every time she went to Eden to visit Papa, Mamma was either out, or busy with the twins. The c
onstraint between them hadn’t lessened. It had grown.

  Pressing her palms together, she was surprised to find them slippery with sweat. And this weather didn’t help. It had been oppressively hot all morning, but now a norther had started to blow, and clouds were beginning to darken the noonday sky.

  ‘Strong weather on the way,’ one of the nurses had told Belle as she was making her way downstairs. ‘Bees staying home, the rain go come. That true to the fact.’

  Already the twins were jumping down from the dog cart.

  Drum turned to Belle. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded. Her hand sought the satchel hanging by her side. Although she felt a little foolish about it, she’d done as Sophie had suggested, and brought along some of her portrait photographs. ‘If things get sticky,’ Sophie had said, ‘just show her your pictures. She’d love to see them. You may not believe me, but she’s awfully proud of you.’

  The satchel contained something else, too. Something that nobody knew about but Belle.

  For days, the sky-blue envelope had lain hidden in her chest of drawers. Only yesterday, after her farewell talk with Margaret Cornwallis, had she felt brave enough to take it out.

  ‘Tell your sister everything,’ she had urged Margaret as they walked in the ruins of the old slave village at Fever Hill. ‘Dodo’s the kindest person I know. She’ll understand. Especially now that my letter has – prepared the ground.’

  ‘I will,’ said Margaret, staring at the ground. Then abruptly she’d raised her head and fixed Belle with a bright, intense stare. ‘It helps so much that you know. That you . . .’ she took a breath that turned into a gulp, ‘that you don’t mind.’

  It had been all Belle could do not to break down. ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said, putting her arm round the girl’s shoulders and giving her a little shake. ‘Why should I mind? None of this is your fault. Remember that, Margaret. It wasn’t – it never was – your fault.’