Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  The old Matthew would have come back with a sarcastic remark. The new one seemed too wounded to try. “Sam said that to me, as well.”

  “You know what? He’s the wisest person I’ve ever met, after Dad. You treat him like an idiot, but he isn’t. He’s worth ten of Alastair.” She was ready to walk out on him, but he caught her elbow.

  “Rosie, please.” He gave a quick sigh. “I need to tell you. This isn’t easy. I knew about Alastair.”

  “Knew what, exactly?”

  Matthew sat on the edge of the bed, head dangling. “That he’d had issues with women in the past. Big chip on his shoulder. That last girlfriend of his—when they broke up, there were things he did in revenge . . . destroying her clothes, having her cat put down . . . that went way beyond normal. And we all had a good laugh at the time, good old Alastair, that’s taught her a lesson—but in my heart I knew it wasn’t right. He went too far. He’d be as placid as anything but when he lost it, he totally lost it.”

  “He had her cat put down?” She nearly shrieked the words. For seconds she couldn’t get her breath properly, thought her heart would explode.

  “I didn’t realize how bad it was until I said it,” Matt answered very quietly. “I remembered that story of his, how hurt his mother was when he accidentally dropped a bike on her dog. He must have decided it was an effective policy. Sick, I know.”

  Rosie looked into his cloudy, troubled eyes. “You knew, and didn’t tell me?”

  “I thought he just needed the right woman.”

  “Maybe he did, but it wasn’t me.”

  “He’d never hurt a person before. I thought it would be all right.”

  “Well, it wasn’t!” she exclaimed. “So you knew he was unstable and decided to keep it quiet? Because that marriage wasn’t about me and Alastair at all, it was all about you. Your way of controlling us.”

  Matt shook his head, baring his teeth. “Nobody made you marry him, Rose!”

  “No, they didn’t. That’s true. And there were warning signs: I knew he had a temper, I knew he would sometimes drink when he was upset, but, god, I never saw him do anything worse than break a plant pot! I should have been paying more attention. But I still wish you’d told me.”

  “Me, too. I’m trying to say I’m sorry.” He groaned. “Don’t you think I’ve been going mad with guilt? I shouldn’t have tried to push you together. But he was everything I wanted to be—normal, human, ordinary—so I thought. Rosie, I’m so sorry.”

  She’d rarely known him apologize sincerely in his life before. To see Matthew, the golden prince, brought low like this was horrifying. His face was webbed with pain. She took his hand. “I’m sorry too, Matty.”

  “Never dreamed it would end like this.”

  “Me neither,” she said. “I screwed up horribly.”

  “Not like I have.” Reaching under a pile of shirts he pulled out a small blue journal. “I found this. It’s Faith’s diary.” He pressed it on her. “I had no idea she was so unhappy.” Rosie turned the book in her hands. She let it fall open, saw a line in Faith’s sloping handwriting, What is love, anyway?, and quickly closed it again. Matthew looked at her, pale and bewildered like a young boy. “Are Faith and Heather truly all right?”

  “Yes, I promise.” She looked at the unkempt room. “It’s like a bachelor pad again,” she said softly. “You can’t tell Faith was ever here.”

  “She’s better off without me,” Matthew replied.

  “Don’t be so defeatist. You’ve been through the worst. Now think about how you’re going to put things right. Auntie Phyll and Comyn are here; won’t you come and say hello?”

  As she spoke, her words were half-drowned by a noise outside; the chugging of a car engine in severe distress, followed by a frantic pounding on the front door. By the time she’d run downstairs to the hallway, Auberon was already opening the door, Jessica beside him.

  Sapphire was on the doorstep, Jon behind her on crutches. They both looked ash-faced and disheveled, as if they’d stumbled out of wreckage. Sapphire’s blue cabriolet was parked crookedly on the side of the lane.

  “I need to call a taxi,” she gasped. “Please.”

  “Oh,” said Jessica, startled. “Come in. But your car’s there. Are you all right?”

  “Flat tires.” As Sapphire stepped over the threshold, her self-control seemed to desert her and she reeled, her shoulder colliding with the wall. “Oh my god.” She stood shaking, one hand pressed to her face.

  Rosie had never seen her fall apart before. It shocked her.

  Jessica touched her arm, concerned. “Sapphire, what ever’s happened?”

  “Lawrence has gone mad. He wrecked the car. He’s completely lost his mind.”

  Sam, after his encounter with Sapphire, had run a few errands, seen a few people. Now he was riding his motorbike back to Stonegate, slowing as he approached Oakholme and thinking, Should I stop? Is it too soon to see Rosie, will I make it worse? Then he saw Sapphire’s car, did a double take and braked hard.

  He left the bike and went to look. The windshield was a shattered hole, the tires in ribbons, bodywork gouged and dented. “Fuck,” he said. The front door was open, Jon on the doorstep apparently about to head inside. Running up the path, Sam turned the startled Jon to face him and said, “What the hell happened?”

  Disheveled hair swung around his face as he swayed on the crutch. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Calm down and tell me.”

  The others had gone inside, leaving them alone. Jon panted for breath. “Sapphire fetched me from hospital, but when we reached Stonegate, I couldn’t go in. First time I’d been back since Dad threw me out. I knew he didn’t want me there. So she got mad and stormed into the house, and I was left sitting there, trying to work up courage to go in. Then Dad shows up in a taxi, but doesn’t see me. About fifteen minutes later, I hear them arguing. I mean, they never argue—it’s all icy silences, right? But they burst out of the house shouting at each other. I mean yelling.

  “Father’s practically foaming at the mouth—demented—and Sapphire’s standing up to him but starting to lose it. He starts roaring at her to get out. Suddenly he dives back inside the porch and Sapphire comes running to the car—I’m trying to wind the window down to ask her what’s going on—and she runs round to the driver’s side and says, ‘He knows everything, we have to go.’ ”

  Sam held his upper arm. “Slow down, it’s okay.”

  He swallowed painfully. “So Sapphire’s in a complete panic, coat and hair flying, trying to start the car and turn it round. Father comes running out and he’s got a fucking ax in his hand! He opens my door and tries to pull me out of the car, and I’m fighting him and I can hear myself pleading that I’m sorry and it’s over and it was her fault, all that. He loses hold of the door, so I manage to close it, and the car’s sliding on gravel and slush. Then I hear him yell and he brings the ax down on the hood—so hard it goes right through to the engine—then starts hacking the tires, literally chasing the car while Sapphire’s turning it. Then the ax hits the windshield, bang.” Jon stiffened at the memory, eyes widening. “Glass explodes all over us. She puts her foot down and we’re gone. I look round and Father’s standing on the drive behind us, staring, with the ax dropping out of his hand . . .”

  Jon leaned against the wall, shuddering. “So we manage to get down the hill on flat tires before the engine seizes up . . . You should have seen his face, Sam. Not just angry, but dead white, completely deranged. I was so scared. He’s going to kill us. I can never go back. I can never look him in the eye again.”

  Sam asked softly, “Did Sapphire say what he’d found out, exactly?”

  “What do you think?” Jon said in anguish.

  “I didn’t tell him!”

  “I know you didn’t. She did. To hurt him like he’d hurt her, she said.”

  “But what started it? Did she mention a photo?”

  Jon frowned though skeins of hair. “What photo?”
>
  “I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly. “I thought you were safe in hospital. Never meant you to get involved.”

  “How could you help it? You could put most things right in my life, but not this. You think I’m scum, right? So whatever Dad thinks, it’s a billion times worse.”

  “I don’t think you’re scum.” Sam sighed. “You’re as dumb as a hatstand, but Sapphire—she knew exactly what she was doing. There’s stuff you don’t know about her. I left Dad a clue and it looks like he found it.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re on about.”

  “Let’s go and see what madam’s got to say for herself, shall we?”

  Jon’s head jerked round and he cannoned off the wall, almost falling over his plastered foot. “Oh my god, there’s Dad’s car. Let’s get inside, lock the door!”

  Sam took a firm grip of his arm and pushed him into the house. “Go in there and keep calm. I’ll speak to him.”

  Sam saw the sleek black roof cruising past the hedge. Reaching the gate, he glimpsed his father’s head turning, the pale face and impassive eyes fixed on Oakholme. The limousine, however, kept going. Sam went out through the gate and saw the vehicle turning farther down, where the lane widened. Then it came back at the same sinister walking pace.

  “Dad!” Sam shouted, waving. He expected his father to stop, meant to intercept him before he went storming into the house. Lawrence’s narrow arctic gaze slid over Oakholme and the wrecked car, over Sam himself. His expression said it all. Utter, freezing contempt.

  Just as Sam thought he was going straight past, he braked. The electric window slid down an inch. “So you’re all here,” he said. “Even you.”

  The air smelled of melted snow. Their breath smoked. “Dad, she was never going to tell you,” Sam said urgently. “I left the photo—to make her confess—I didn’t think you’d—” He pointed at the damaged car.

  “It must have pleased you to uncover the betrayal and reveal to me the depths of my own stupidity,” said Lawrence.

  Sam’s jaw tightened. “No. That wasn’t the idea at all. I warned her to tell you herself. I didn’t expect you to lose it so drastically. Best you don’t come in unless you’ve calmed down.”

  Lawrence looked away. Quietly he said, “I have no interest in speaking to anyone. Tell them all to go to hell.”

  “Did she explain herself?”

  “She said enough. She married me for revenge, and by god, she’s taken it. Persuaded me in the snowstorm to confess that I had shot and killed Barada. Now tells me that she plotted for years to take the mine and the business from me. I answered that there’s nothing to take; the mine is dead, the business sold.”

  “Sold?”

  “So I told her that there is nothing she can do to hurt me, and she answered that there is—and that it is already done.” A spasm of pained disgust crossed Lawrence’s face. “She, with my own son—I can’t even say his name. Barada once said to me that there’s a type of fairy who thieves and steals—but she only does it to those who deserve it, because they are so careless of their possessions. How was I to know he was talking about his daughter? My fault, for taking her at face value.”

  “No—you were lonely—” Sam put his fingertips on the hard edge of the window. He couldn’t keep his father in the dark forever, about the Gates or Ginny. “Dad, we need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” A glaze came over Lawrence’s face, obdurate withdrawal. “Of course she’s part of it—part of Barada, part of Brawth. Of course. The shadow was there in my very bed.” He stared sideways at Sam, his irises circled by white. “My enemy feeds and absorbs everyone and grows ever more powerful. You’re all part of it. I want none of you under my roof anymore. Do you understand? Keep away from me. Damn you all to the Abyss.”

  The window closed, almost trapping Sam’s fingers. “Dad!” he shouted, but the car moved off. Frustrated, he could only watch as it gathered speed, dwindling along the curves of the lane, as sleekly sealed as a coffin.

  Sapphire settled in the middle of the sofa, jaw taut, hands opening and closing. She called on all her inner strength. Lawrence would have to get past seven people—she didn’t count Jon—to attack her. No need to fear him. He was not going to make her flee a second time.

  It was a big room with windows on three sides but she couldn’t bring herself to look out. Lawrence had genuinely terrified her. She hated to lose control, to be stripped raw in front of all these glowing Aetherial eyes. They’d all come in, of course: Jessica and Auberon, Matthew, who frankly looked a bit crazy, even Comyn of the dark Celtic looks and cunning eyes; and Rosie, perched on the arm of a chair, straight-backed and petite with her glossy plum-brown hair, who had nothing to look so prim about. Only in down-to-earth Phyllida had she ever sensed a kindred spirit.

  “He’s gone,” said Rosie.

  Sapphire looked up. A few seconds later, with a waft of cold air from the front door, Sam came in, grim-faced. She saw the way Rosie’s gaze went to him. “Well, he refuses to speak to anyone, unsurprisingly.”

  Auberon, Jessica and Phyll had been hovering defensively between Sapphire and the door. Almost sweet, the way they leapt to protect her, a mere human. Now there was a loosening of the atmosphere. “Hardly appropriate for him to come in, anyway, after what he’s done,” said Auberon.

  “ ‘Damn you all to the Abyss’ were his exact words.” Sam exhaled.

  Sapphire pinned him with wide eyes. “What did you expect, Sam? You couldn’t let matters lie.”

  “You should know all about lying,” he said thinly.

  “Are you proud of what you’ve done?” Everyone looked at Sam. For a few glorious moments she had total control. “Made your father crazy, broken up his family, rendered your brother homeless? A day’s work to be proud of, is it?”

  Sam didn’t like that. His expression darkened. He had an expressive face and couldn’t hide his feelings at all. “Excuse me, I think that was your doing, not mine. I warned you to tell him.”

  “And I warned you that it’s none of your business. You’re nothing but a mischief-maker, Sam. I hope Rosie knows what she sacrificed her husband for.”

  She saw Rosie’s mouth fall open. The girl looked soul-sick. “Don’t drag her into this,” Sam said in a low voice. “This is about you, no one else.”

  “And I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Jessica brought her a cup of coffee. Sapphire sipped at it, letting the warmth of relief steal through her. She sensed the others dying to know what was happening but too polite to ask. Otherworldly they might be, but still so very English in that respect.

  Phyllida said, “Sapphire, if you and Jon have nowhere to go, you’re welcome to stay with us. I’m sure our farmhouse is no draftier than Stonegate.”

  Sapphire was astonished. The offer was made so easily and warmly, as if they were friends. She began to express her thanks. Jon made no objection, only sat sullen and bedraggled in a corner.

  “Hold on,” said Sam, “before you get too cozy, Jon and I are still waiting for an explanation.”

  “Sam,” Jessica said quickly, “Sapphire’s very shaken, and under no obligation to tell us anything.”

  “No, he’s right,” Sapphire said evenly. “I’m happy to explain, and I don’t mind who hears it.” She held Sam’s frosty gaze in unspoken agreement: I won’t mention Jon if you don’t. No one wanted that unsavory matter aired in public.

  “Fine,” said Sam. “We’re listening.”

  Their eyes fairly shone with anticipation. Sapphire rose to her feet, clasping her arms loosely around herself.

  “I’m human; I can’t help that,” she began. “Can’t you forgive me for a certain fascination with Aetherials? I absorbed it from my father, who told me about an ancient race of shining demon-angels who walk in other worlds and gave rise to a thousand myths. I’ve hardly kept my background secret; even Rosie knows.”

  Rosie put in, “You told me your mother was a Brazilian maid, your father a r
ich American who came back for you when your mother died. That’s all.”

  “Ah, I never said he was American. Eugene Michael Barada was from a South African mining dynasty. Many years ago he bought some land in Ecuador, and when he went to explore he stumbled on a hidden valley in the rain forest.” Sapphire smiled, remembering his tales. “He spoke of beings with hair like flame and cloaks or wings of orange fire, an alabaster man with raven hair, dark females who were somehow also lynxes with golden eyes, blue-green mermaids. Fever dreams, he thought. He followed these visions to the source of the creek, and saw them mining a red cleft in the rock. He was entranced.

  “The next he knew, the pale one with raven hair was pointing a rifle at him. Lawrence. He called Barada a trespasser, a thief. He wanted to know how he’d found this secret place. My father quite reasonably pointed out that since he was the legal owner of the land, the mine belonged to him and Lawrence was the trespasser.

  “That was how the feud began, but Lawrence never understood that Barada’s obsession was about more than ownership. It was because he’d fallen in love with the idea of these secret beings.”

  She paused, allowing herself to glance at their faces. Satisfyingly, they appeared spellbound. “He wove such a tapestry for me of Aetherials—and this was a tough white South African without a fey bone in his body. I know he was arrogant. If he couldn’t get his own way, he hung on like a bull terrier—he and Lawrence are very alike in that. He loved and hated Aetherials, and he worshipped and envied them. All the years the feud continued, he visited and wrote to me. Then, seventeen years ago, the letters stopped. I knew he was dead. I knew Lawrence had killed him.”

  “Have you any proof?” asked Auberon.

  She laughed dryly. “He admitted it three days ago.”

  “And it’s tormented him,” said Sam. “If you knew him, you should have realized that.”