by R N Merle
‘You look beautiful. John will be so proud to show you off.’
Darklin felt her cheeks burn.
‘See for yourself.’ Darklin looked at her reflection in the window. She did not know herself. In this dress she was a new person; as if, when she had cast off her black smock, she had cast off her past with it. She was no longer a creeping shadow, but a young woman of flesh and blood, with hopes and dreams. She stroked the soft white fabric of the dress.
‘Splash your face with some cold water.’ Bess instructed.
Darklin washed away the last traces of her tears, and splashed the cold water over her cheeks, until they were rosy. Bess tied half of Darklin’s hair up with a white ribbon, and placed a few last daisies of the summer, amongst Darklin’s black curls.
‘Perfect.’
Darklin looked Bess in the eye. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ said Bess, smiling widely back. There was a knock at the door. Mrs Day nudged the door open, carrying a tray clinking with tea cups. ‘Here we are, my dears. Darklin, I made this one very strong.’ she said pointedly, as she handed Darklin the cup. ‘You both look prettier than a tree full of apple blossom. John said to take all the time you need, he and the boys have everything in hand.’
They sat on the bed, sipping their tea in silence. Darklin felt a drowsiness calming her senses, disconcertingly at odds with the turmoil in her heart.
Soon Bess sighed and said. ‘We have hidden long enough, time to join the party.’
16
The Gathering
Darklin’s heels dragged as she followed Bess down the garden path to join the guests. She found her new, upright posture went against her natural instincts to make herself as small as possible. She felt vulnerable and on display, as they neared the meadow. A few people had begun to congregate in front of the barn, taking refreshment from tables, which had been hauled outside for the occasion, and were loaded with jugs of apple juice and cider, and wooden platters of bread, cheese, pies and fruit.
Children ran around the trees, and the adults separated into small groups of men and women. When she and Bess came into view, many of them smiled and waved. Darklin hung back behind Bess, trying to be inconspicuous. Bess walked calmly up to the first group of women, all of middle age. They looked excited and proud to be wearing their finest clothes, smoothing down their skirts, and patting their bonnets into place. One woman was holding a brown haired baby in her arms, and all three smiled broadly as Bess approached. Darklin didn’t know if it was Mrs Day’s tea, or pure nerves, but she could hardly feel her legs.
‘Welcome, how lovely to see you all.’ said Bess.
‘Thank you kindly for inviting us, Bess.’ said one of them.
‘You couldn’t have picked a nicer day for it.’ said the woman with the baby.
‘Indeed we couldn’t. Ladies, may I introduce our distant cousin, Miss Somerborne, to you. Cousin, this is Mrs Daw, Mrs West and Mrs Bride.’ Bess said, gesturing to each of the women in turn. As they turned towards her, Darklin could feel their eyes looking her over. It was unpleasant. Although Bess had instructed her to meet people’s eyes and smile, Darklin could not raise her eyes above the height of their necks.
‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Somerborne. What brings you to these parts?’ asked Mrs Daw.
Her tone was friendly, and Darklin tried to reply, but her mouth was parched, and she couldn’t make a sound.
‘She’s staying with us for a while. She’s been helping me with the house and the children.’ Bess filled in.
‘If we had known, we’d have come and paid a visit sooner, welcomed you to our bit of the country. And where are you from, Miss Somerborne?’
‘Dorset.’ Darklin spluttered.
‘Dorset, I see. Live near the sea, do you?’
Darklin thought of her family, in the cottage near the sand, and remembered the noise of the thundering surf.
‘I do.’ replied Darklin, distantly.
‘Well, you must excuse us, ladies. I must say hello to everyone and introduce Miss Somerborne around.’ Bess said, with a slight curtsey, and took Darklin’s arm to lead her away.
Bess and Darklin made their way toward the barn. ‘There,’ said Bess, ‘That wasn’t so bad.’
‘It was horrible, I couldn’t speak.’
‘It’ll get better with a bit of practice.’
Darklin wanted to run away there and then, but she considered that Bess might be right, it might get better once she got used to it. Perhaps she was giving up too easily.
‘Why do you keep calling me ‘Miss Somerborne’, why don’t you say my name?’ Darklin said to change the subject.
Bess looked uncomfortable, ‘I meant to say something before. ‘Darklin’ is not a Christian name. I don’t know how they would take it, it’s not a name people would call their child. I did tell the boys not to call you ‘Darklin’ in front of people.’
‘What if someone asks me what my name is?’
Bess stopped walking. ‘Think, think! You could choose a name. Mary? Ann? Jane?’
Darklin wished she could remember the name her parents had given her. She was sure it was not Darklin. She hoped that if Bess kept saying names long enough, one of them might sound like it belonged to her.
‘Fanny, Charlotte, Susan?’
Darklin shook her head. ‘I don’t know what my name should be.’
Bess sighed. ‘We’ll just have to keep calling you ‘Miss Somerborne’ and hope nobody asks.’
Darklin nodded.
As they stepped into the barn, Darklin was surprised to see the changes. A large space had been cleared in case of rain, and seats had been brought from the house, for the older folk to sit on. On the walls, lanterns had been strategically placed for when it grew dark, and late flowers had been cut, and bunched at intervals around the room. Darklin was not sure she didn’t prefer the flowers outside; inside, she couldn’t help but think they would be wilted and dead by morning.
At the far end of the barn, more strangers had gathered. Darklin felt their curious eyes latch onto her, and a wave of fear spread over her. The collective sound of their voices reached her ears, and she was unpleasantly reminded of the Squire’s banqueting hall. She couldn’t pick up any distinct conversation, but she thought uneasily that they might be talking about her; how she stood out, how she was not one of them.
Her eyes swept the room, purposely avoiding their looks, and caught sight of John. She found him staring back at her, looking a little dazed. It was a true comfort to see his face. She smiled tentatively, waiting for him to acknowledge her with a smile or a wave, but John just stared. His face had the same bewildered expression she had seen in Rosamund’s tower. Her heart sped, but she did not know whether to be hopeful or wary. Before she could look away, Bess tugged on her arm.
‘Dar…’ she stopped herself in time, rolling her eyes at Darklin apologetically, ‘I would like you to meet an old friend of the family. This is Mr Jesty.’
Darklin slowly turned to see an old man, with a brown, weather beaten face, smiling at her.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you Miss…’ He waited to be informed of her last name.
‘She’s a Somerborne,’ Bess said quickly. ‘A distant relation of our father’s, come for a visit.’
‘I am glad to know you, Miss Somerborne. How long are you staying for?’
Bess cut in quickly. ‘It has not been decided on yet.’
‘Well, I hope it will be a good long while. It’s always nice to have a pretty face nearby.’ he said grinning.
Darklin looked quizzically at Bess, but a strange expression had come over Bess’s face, and she had turned quite pink.
‘Excuse us, Mr Jesty, I must introduce Miss Somerborne to our other guests.’ Bess said in a distant voice. Darklin tracked her gaze across the room. At the entrance stood a tall, chestnut haired, handsome lad, gazing straight back at Bess.
‘Of course, I will be asking you both for a dance later on. I’m just
as spry as your young men.’ Mr Jesty teased.
Bess laughed, a little falsely, and took Darklin by the arm, and led her up to the newcomer. ‘It’s Joseph.’ Bess explained needlessly.
Darklin watched Joseph take Bess’ hand, and hold it reverentially between his own.
‘Joseph, this is our relative, Miss Somerborne. She’s been helping us at the farm all summer.’
‘Good to know you.’ Joseph barely looked at Darklin. His eyes flashed over to her, and back to Bess in an instant.
Tom skipped over to them. ‘Bess loves Joseph, Bess loves Joseph!’ he chanted obnoxiously.
‘Tom, I will tan your hide!’ Bess hissed at him, blushing scarlet. Joseph tousled Tom’s hair affectionately, and laughed.
When Bess had torn herself away from her fiancée, she took Darklin around to meet the remaining guests. After Darklin had been introduced, she and Bess did not linger in conversation, as Bess was able to give the excuse that she must tend to her guests. When Darklin got stuck, Bess answered for her, and soon Darklin was relieved to find she had greeted all the guests.
‘You can do what you like now. They all know who you are, and where you’ve come from. They have no reason in the world to suspect you in any way. You can meet them all on a level footing, and look them straight in the eye. No more hiding.’ Bess insisted.
Darklin sighed, somewhat reassured. She had survived the polite questions, and calmly tolerated being looked over by the many pairs of enquiring eyes. The worst part of it was over, she said to herself. As Bess walked away, Darklin let out a deep breath. Before she could be accosted by a guest, she walked across the barn to join Mrs Day, who was sitting in a corner, holding Grace on her knee. Darklin pulled up a chair, and flopped down onto it, grateful for some time to think about what she would say to Gressyl that night.
‘Don’t let her get the better of you.’ Mrs Day told her, ‘Think carefully and be patient. We’ll trick it out of her if there’s a way. I will come with you, if needs be.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Day. But I would not want to take you to that dark place.’
‘As you wish. But there’s a thing or two I should dearly like to say to that woman.’
‘I rather doubt she would hear you.’ Darklin said.
After a while, Darklin dashed outside to the refreshment table and fetched drinks and slices of apple pie, for the three of them. As she ate, Darklin couldn’t help wondering what would happen if she did get the information she needed about her family from Gressyl. If she was reunited with her family, what would they say to her, after all these years? If they knew what she had become, would she be welcomed back? Did they live nearby or far away? Would they want her to live with them, and would she have to say goodbye to Shadows End? Darklin rubbed her forehead wearily. Her head had begun to ache.
The time passed slowly. Darklin’s one consolation was that she frequently looked up to find that John’s eyes met hers, time and again. He looked princely, and more beautiful than ever in a soft white linen shirt, and dark green waistcoat. His eyes had lost their far-off expression. They were communicating something different now, something urgent and warm. Just as Darklin was beginning to feel dangerously optimistic, a group of latecomers entered the barn.
Darklin’s eyes instantly pinned on a tall, curvaceous girl with bright copper hair, ruby lips and violet eyes. She strode through the doors, and straight over to John. Darklin stiffened when she saw the possessive, familiar way the girl claimed John, with plump white arms reaching to take his hands in her own. To Darklin’s dismay, John greeted her with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek. Darklin felt sick. John was obviously delighted to see her.
Darklin did not like the girl. She was desperate to ask Bess who she was, but Bess was across the barn talking to Joseph. She looked for the boys, but could not see them. Her heart sank as she watched John guide the girl outside to the dancing. His eyes did not seek hers now. She was forgotten; nothing more than a shadow hiding in the corner. Darklin was rapidly overwhelmed. The voices and sounds were deafening, the room an inferno.
‘Excuse me, I need some fresh air.’ she said to Mrs Day, and darted from her seat, weaving and cutting through the gathered crowd, and out of the barn.
Darklin ran for the nearest tree, not far from the tables of refreshment. She leaned against the smooth bark, trying to catch her breath. Peeping round the trunk, she watched John leading the girl by the hand over to the dancing, and put his arm around her waist. They moved in perfect synchronicity, and as they span around, Darklin could see them laughing.
Two women were approaching. They stopped at the refreshments, and then positioned themselves close enough that Darklin could hear what they were saying. One of them was Mrs Daw, the other had arrived with the late comers.
‘Who is that dark haired girl I saw in the barn? All skin and bone, funny looking thing she was.’ Darklin instantly knew they were talking about her, and felt her ears burn.
‘A distant cousin, come to stay. Hair blacker than a gypsy’s.’ said Mrs Daw.
‘Hasn’t she got a family of her own?’
‘She didn’t say very much.’
‘That is just like John, he always was taking in waifs and strays. Injured birds and lost dogs.’ she sniffed
‘He has a soft heart, that boy.’ said Mrs Daw.
‘A little too soft, if you ask me. He’s a dreamer. Off with the fairies half the time. He’ll have to prove himself if he wants our Lizzie. They have been in love since they were children. He’ll ask for her hand soon enough, I’m sure of it.’
‘He’s a fine young man. Not one for talking, though.’
‘She can talk enough for both of them.’
‘There you have it, made and meant for each other. I wonder if the babe’s hair will be red or gold?’
Darklin had heard enough. She took off, running behind the barn and down to the river. She would hide by the willow trees, where no one would find her. When she was composed enough, she would go back and quickly say goodbye to the Somerbornes. Perhaps for the last time. She crawled under a drooping branch of willow. The reflection of the evening sky burned the river red. Darklin stared at the movement of the gilded water, as it distorted and blurred through her tears. This was the sting in the tail that she had been waiting for all summer. It was such perfect misery, she wondered if Gressyl had devised it herself.
She couldn’t stop seeing John with the red haired Lizzie, and the way he had smiled at her. How bright and vital she seemed. Darklin thought of her own appearance. That girl was like one of the paintings she had seen at the castle; delicately painted in vivid colours. In comparison, she was a sketch drawn in black ink, in the crumpled corner of a page.
“He will ask for her hand.” The evil words repeated in her head. John would belong to Lizzie, and there would be no place for her. This was what Bess had tried to warn her about. For the first time since she had put John in the cage, she felt a desire to do harm with her magic. Hope was slipping through her fingers. If she didn’t take care, the darkness would drift into her soul like Mrs Day had warned. Even now she could feel it’s presence twitching inside her.
How could she conjure hope, when John was her light and her hope. What would she do without him?
‘Darklin…Darklin?’
His voice drifted through the stillness. She froze. She heard the rustle of dry grass, and a second later, Willow waddled up, swinging his tail. He pressed his nose against hers. She softly pushed him off. But it was too late, he had already given her away. John squeezed through the tangled branches.
‘Darklin? Is something wrong?’ said John, peering through the semi darkness. ‘Why did you leave the party?’
Darklin shook her head, unable to speak.
‘Tell me.’ John coaxed, sitting down next to her.
‘I don’t belong there.’ she said, trying to mislead him, but as she said the words, she knew that they were true. Never had she felt so out of place than in that barn, where John only had ey
es for the red haired girl.
‘I know it must be difficult, but you will get used to meeting and being around new people, that is, if you want to.’
‘I don’t want to.’ she muttered.
‘Did someone upset you?’
Darklin looked down, tears streaked her cheeks. John moved closer, and smoothed the tears away with his warm hand; an instinctive, natural gesture that she had seen him use to soothe his brothers and sisters.
‘There, there, lass. What has made you so upset?’
It was the same tone he used to calm one of his frightened lambs. She didn’t want to be another one of his strays, some poor creature to pity. She felt his arm go around her hunched shoulders. She stiffened and let out a long breath.
‘I won’t come to Shadow’s End anymore.’ She couldn’t go on seeing him now that she knew he would never be hers. She would leave them, she would find her own family.
‘But why? You are like one of our family now. Why did you say that? I thought you liked being here.’
Darklin had been happier at Shadow’s End than she ever imagined she could be. They were her family in place of the one she lost, and with the idea of their absence from her life, came the realisation of how deeply she loved them all. Leaving them, never to return, would be pure agony.
‘I do love being here.’ she replied. ‘So much. But I keep waiting for it to be over, for something to happen, and I think it has.’
‘What has happened?’ John asked urgently. ‘Has your mother found out what you’ve been doing?’
‘No, not that. I mean when you and her…’ Darklin couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘Me and who? I don’t understand.’
‘The girl with the red hair.’ Darklin said as she sobbed, ‘Marry,’ was all she could say.
Darklin gave way to the tears, defeated and humiliated. John rubbed her arm as she cried inconsolably.
‘I am not going to be married.’ he said slowly. ‘At least, not yet. Where did you get an idea like that?’
Darklin’s sob caught in her throat. ‘They said that you and her were to be married.’ What did he mean ‘not yet’? she thought wildly.
