Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘I’m glad for him,’ said Sylvie. ‘Please send him my best wishes. I’m sure he’ll make a success of his life and it’s good to know you’re taking care of him. Do thank your wife from me, and all of us at Stonewylde.’

  The tea arrived and Sylvie poured, feeling Buzz’s eyes watching her like a hawk.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear of all those horrible deaths – Jay, Martin and Clip, and Leveret’s accident too,’ he said. ‘I’m particularly sorry, of course, for the loss of your father.’

  Sylvie nodded and sipped her tea, wanting now only to be finished and off to the station. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this; Buzz could have told her about Swift on the hotel steps.

  ‘Sylvie, I realised something when I visited back in the autumn and it all went so horribly wrong . . . I made a mistake and I won’t ever return to Stonewylde again. It’s not the golden place I remember and I simply don’t belong there any more.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘I never thought I’d be saying that either. But it’s true. I remember Stonewylde as a rich man’s paradise. Magus was more than a father – he was a god to me. Since he sent me away all those years ago, I’ve spent my adult life dreaming and scheming about how I’d return one day, as the glorious new magus . . .’

  He stopped and looked down at his hands, then up again to meet her eye.

  ‘I think you’ve all actually done a pretty good job of running the place,’ he said. ‘And your Internet business – before the crash – was destined to be a success.’

  ‘Was that—’ she gasped.

  ‘ ’Fraid so! Martin constantly fed me information and allowed me access into the system. It wasn’t hard to infect it with that bespoke virus. Poor Harold didn’t know what he was letting in to the network. Harold’s a good fellow, by the way – very loyal to Stonewylde in case you’re wondering, and very bright for a bloody Villager!’

  ‘I always thought Harold wasn’t to blame,’ mused Sylvie.

  Buzz poured them both another cup and gazed around the smart room. Wealthy people sat making discreet conversation and indulging in that most civilised of pastimes, the taking of afternoon tea.

  ‘What I really wanted to say to you, before you disappear again into the green depths of Stonewylde, is that I won’t bother you any more, so don’t worry about that. I realise I’ve messed things up between you and Yul with my remarks – deliberately, I admit – and also that Rainbow stuck the knife in too with that picture. She’s a nasty bitch. She hadn’t actually told any of us about what happened between her and Yul at the Summer Solstice. I guess she was angry about it, and—’

  Sylvie felt her cheeks stinging at the mention of Rainbow and Yul, and the reference to the Solstice cut like a scalpel, as she hadn’t known that snippet of information. But she stopped him there.

  ‘Hold on – why was she angry? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Rainbow’s a gorgeous woman and accustomed to men worshipping her, especially once they’ve had a taste of her. But she said that Yul used her simply as a means of venting his frustration and anger, and nothing more. He certainly didn’t want her for herself and neither did he appreciate her charms. Afterwards he told her she disgusted him, which isn’t the sort of post-coital conversation she’s used to – it really infuriated her. She’d imagined that once she’d seduced him, they’d embark on a wild and passionate affair. But instead he threw her out of Stonewylde and refused to allow her back. So she told us nothing about it – felt humiliated I guess.’

  ‘So how do you know all this now?’

  ‘When she heard I was planning a surprise visit in the autumn, she begged to be allowed to tag along too. Perhaps she wanted to exact some sort of revenge on Yul for treating her like that. She’d been pestering him to allow her back and he’d ignored her repeatedly. When we came to stay in the autumn, Rainbow and I had both hoped to remain at Stonewylde, obviously, but Clip put paid to that plan. She realised then that it was hopeless and we’d never be able to return. So she planted that picture out of spite, wanting to mess things up between you both. That’s when she finally told me that she’d accomplished her mission to entrap Yul, but with only very limited success. Until then, none of us had known anything about it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Sylvie quietly. ‘Well, leaving the drawing certainly was a spiteful thing to do.’

  ‘I know, and I told her not to be a fool. As if he’d change his mind and want her after all! She is beautiful and bloody sexy too, but she’s not a patch on you, Sylvie. Why on earth would Yul ever choose her over you? Who could settle for cheap fizz when they’re accustomed to the finest champagne?’

  ‘Buzz, please don’t—’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t come on strong. I can see what you and Yul have going together. I’d hoped all along that maybe it was just a teenage thing – that maybe your feelings for each other would’ve faded over the years. I’d thought maybe now I’d stand a chance of winning you. But as soon as I saw you together, I realised how wrong I’d been.’

  Sylvie bit back her reply; the last thing she wanted was to give Buzz any encouragement.

  ‘I do have a train to catch,’ she said, ‘but thank you for putting my mind at rest about any future attempts to return to Stonewylde. I’m glad you can see now that it’s not the place for you.’

  Buzz sighed and looked strangely deflated.

  ‘Sylvie, if you ever change your mind about me . . .’

  She frowned at him and shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think so, Buzz. Let’s leave it at that and part on polite and civilised terms, shall we?’

  ‘But I’m still here, if you’d like to keep your options open. I may have given up on Stonewylde but I could never completely give up on you. With Leveret and Rufus’ shares in the company, there’d be opportunities for you to legitimately visit London. And—’

  She leant down to pick up her bag but Buzz placed his thick, warm hand over hers on the table. She stared at it.

  ‘Sylvie, please don’t go yet! I wanted—’

  ‘Take your hand off me,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Oh, come on, Sylvie, I just—’

  ‘TAKE YOUR HAND OFF ME!’ she shouted in a piercing voice that brought the whole restaurant to abrupt, shocked silence.

  Buzz flushed scarlet and his eyes darted around in embarrassment as he snatched his hand away. Calmly, as conversations slowly resumed and a waiter hurried over, Sylvie picked up her bag and gave him a tight smile.

  ‘Good bye, Buzz. Bright blessings to you.’

  Christopher ordered the wine and then sat back to admire the woman opposite him. Miranda had been out to buy some clothes, realising that her Stonewylde wear was inappropriate for a smart London restaurant. She looked very attractive in black velvet and chiffon, her deep red hair piled up with the silver at her temples only adding further elegance. She’d visited the hotel beauty salon to have her hair, nails and make-up done, and now felt like a young girl on a date, not a grandmother past her mid-forties. The wine was poured and Christopher raised his glass, his eyes drinking her in.

  ‘Miranda, you’re stunning,’ he said, a small smile on his lips. ‘The most beautiful woman in the room.’

  Their first course arrived and they began to eat, discussing the events of the day and the large turnout at the funeral.

  ‘Did you recognise anyone there?’ he asked. ‘You must have seen some of them before, when you were a girl.’

  Miranda shook her head, savouring the smoked salmon and shrimp terrine and wafer thin bread. She loved the Stonewylde food but this was so refined compared to the hearty fare that Marigold provided.

  ‘I never took much notice of any of them, either then or today,’ she replied.

  ‘There were several people present today who’d attended that charity ball,’ he said quietly. She looked up into his wide-spaced, twinkly blue eyes that now seemed sad. ‘The one where you came dressed as a fairy and were led off into the woo
ds.’

  ‘How—’

  ‘I was there at the party too, Miranda,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but it seems deceitful not to.’

  She’d flushed but then turned pale. She took a sip of the expensive wine and stared at him.

  ‘That’s extraordinary!’

  ‘I know. I remember it so clearly, although I must have been in my mid-twenties then. I was a newly-qualified lawyer and I went there with my father and grandfather who were both partners in the family law firm. They dragged me along saying I should attend this type of event for business contacts – we didn’t have the term “networking” in those days – and I recall that I really didn’t want to go. I thought I’d be bored silly.’

  ‘What were you dressed as?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘Believe it or not, a knight!’ he chuckled. ‘In plastic chain-mail with a great tabard and a ridiculous helmet. It was all they had left that fitted me in the fancy dress hire place. I remember seeing you standing there with your parents, looking so pretty in that pink fairy outfit. As children, my sisters had loved the Flower Fairies and you looked exactly like one of those, so fresh and delicate.’

  ‘How bizarre,’ she said, ‘to think we almost met!’

  ‘I actually spoke to Clip,’ he said. ‘We were both watching you, two young men amazed to discover such an unexpected jewel at such a dull middle-aged party, and I remarked on your beautiful hair. He said it was as red as the Harvest Moon, which would soon be rising. I’ve always remembered that because it seemed such a very odd thing to say.’

  ‘Not for Clip, and not when you know Stonewylde!’ Miranda laughed.

  ‘Then we saw you leave your parents’ side and go outside alone, onto the lawns. The chap in the feathered hawk mask said he was going to talk to you and I actually wished him good luck! My God, Miranda – if I’d only realised what he intended to do . . .’

  Miranda smiled up at the waiter as he took away her plate. She laid her hand on Christopher’s where it rested on the table.

  ‘He never intended to do anything,’ she said softly, her eyes sad. ‘Clip really wasn’t like that. Magus yes, but not Clip. I can say this now that he’s gone: he told me that he only made love – his words, not mine – once in his life, and it was on that night with me. He was just carried away by the sight of the Harvest Moon and the beauty and poetry of the moment. I remember his gentleness, his reverence . . . And truthfully, much as it caused me many years of upset and hardship, I’d never wish it hadn’t happened.’

  Christopher gazed into her eyes and felt himself falling deeper and deeper.

  ‘Well, I must say when I met him again this time round, Clip seemed like a decent and very wise chap.’

  ‘He was – decent and wise sums him up perfectly. He gave me Sylvie, and consequently my whole life at Stonewylde, which then resulted in Rufus too. I’d never wish that away.’

  ‘You haven’t had an easy life, though. Now both your parents are deceased, I feel able to speak more freely, and I must say I’ve always been appalled at their treatment of you.’

  Miranda stared into the candle-flame flickering between them.

  ‘I can’t say it didn’t hurt. Bringing up Sylvie in such awful conditions – that was the worst thing. I always felt I was failing her, however hard I tried. When she was a girl, her allergies were terrible and she was so very sick. Her body reacted severely to so many things and more than once I was convinced she’d die. And then there was her behaviour at the full moon . . . of course now we’re at Stonewylde and I understand about moongaziness, it all makes sense.’

  Christopher looked mildly embarrassed and she chuckled.

  ‘I know, I know – that’s how I felt at first. But really, it’s as if Stonewylde was always calling to her, even as a child. She’d try to get out on the balcony of our flat at the full moon and I feared for her life. Once we were at Stonewylde and she discovered that great stone on the hill, everything fell into place. It was as if she’d finally found the place she belonged, the place that had always called to her.’

  ‘But your son Rufus isn’t like that?’

  ‘No, he’s practical and rather intellectual, as Magus was. Sylvie’s like her father – mystical and gentle.’ She took a sip of wine and shook her head. ‘Honestly, it’s the strangest thing you were at the ball too and it could have been you I met rather than Clip. Life is so peculiar, isn’t it? I mean the twists and turns and how your destiny can hinge on one tiny thing.’

  ‘Funnily enough that same night at the ball I met the woman I ended up marrying,’ mused Christopher. ‘She was dressed as a marionette of all things.’

  ‘How strange! What happened? You’ve never really said . . .’

  ‘Not much to say. We met, similar backgrounds, liked each other, parental encouragement on both sides, conventional wedding, two children, expensive lifestyle, drifted apart, divorce.’

  ‘How very tidy!’

  ‘Well, perhaps not quite as bloodless as that, but it was all fairly amicable. The children are both grown up of course, though younger than Sylvie. She kept the house in the shires and I have the London flat.’

  ‘And now you’re about to retire? You don’t seem old enough.’

  The waiter bought their main course and Miranda closed her eyes in delight at the fragrant Thai curry and jasmine rice, something they never ate at Stonewylde.

  ‘I can afford to go into semi-retirement at least,’ he explained, ‘and I’ll keep my hand in at the family firm and oversee my daughter as she becomes a partner. But quality of life is what I really care about now, not climbing career ladders and making money. What I’d love is to live deep in the country, go walking every day and keep bees.’

  ‘Really? You wouldn’t get bored?’

  ‘I also plan to write a crime thriller. I’ve always wanted to have a bash at that. But Miranda, without wishing to . . . overstep the mark in any way, I’m keen to take my responsibilities as Administrator of the Board of Trustees at Stonewylde very seriously. It’s a truly marvellous project, this healing centre, and I knew as soon as Clip told me of the plans that it was something I’d like to help with. So . . . I wished to ask if you think there’s any possibility of me retiring down to Stonewylde? Perhaps renting or buying a cottage in the grounds somewhere? I wouldn’t want to tread on—’

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea!’ said Miranda, her heart singing with sudden joy. ‘You can use the library there – it’s a good one – and we can walk together in the hills, and . . . oh yes, I’m sure the Board will approve that, Christopher. I’d really love you to come to Stonewylde!’

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, his eyes soft and very blue in the twinkling candlelight. Gently he took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Because I rather think I’ve fallen for you, Miranda. You’ve abandoned the fairy wings I know, but for me, you’ll always be the most beautiful girl in the room.’

  30

  As she stood in the queue at the Bakery, Mallow – for no obvious reason – snapped. She placed her basket on the floor and announced loudly that she was never setting foot inside Old Violet’s cottage again. Those around her, wrapped up in thick coats and shawls against the bitter January wind that moaned outside, stared in amazement. The small woman, so like a field-mouse with her brown shawl, brown hair and brown eyes, began to scream quietly. Even in the midst of a breakdown in the Bakery, she was timid.

  Hazel was called and Mallow was eventually sedated and put to bed in the hospital wing, where all manner of previous cruelties to her skinny little body were revealed. She needed rest and nurture more than anything, and permission, after the death of her tyrannical husband and the departure of her uncaring son, to start her life again. Nobody had quite appreciated what she’d endured visiting Old Violet twice a day, and she hadn’t dared to end the visits even after Hunter’s Moon when Martin died.

  Maizie was asked to call on the dreaded cottage at the end of the lane and also visit Starling to see what c
ould be done for the old woman. But Maizie really didn’t feel able to cope, having suffered her own set-back since Meadowsweet’s terrible revelation at Yule. Maizie’s comfortable take on life had been redefined, and everything she’d held true about the unity of her family was shown to be a sham. The shock of this was exacerbated by her guilt, for it wasn’t as if Leveret had kept quiet about it over the years. Since she’d learnt to talk, Leveret had tried to tell her mother of the abuse her brothers subjected her to on a daily basis. Maizie knew she was very firmly to blame for refusing to listen and turning a blind eye. And now, despite the girl’s assurances of forgiveness, Maizie was in torment over her failure to protect her youngest child, whom she’d always loved so dearly.

  So Sylvie offered to do the visits in Maizie’s place, even though she was busy with Christopher and all the work taking place up at the Hall. A team specialising in the architectural refurbishment and renovation of old buildings was looking at ethical ways of bringing the place up to date and making it suitable for visitors who might not be mobile. But Sylvie knew she could spare an hour or so to do the calls and make a report, and she was keen to help poor Maizie who’d been so kind to her.

  First she visited the cottage where Starling now lived with her new partner Cledwyn and his old mother. It wasn’t a pleasant cottage – a far cry from Maizie’s beautifully clean and welcoming place – and the sour smell that greeted her was matched by the sour face of the old woman. Although she’d only seen Alwyn a few times, and those many years ago, Sylvie immediately recognised this brawny lump of a woman as his mother. Her hair was white but still showed some signs of ginger, and her belligerent underbite and porcine face were unmistakeable. She was reluctant to let Sylvie in, clutching her shawl to her meaty bosom and glaring, but after a while Sylvie found herself seated in the cluttered parlour surrounded by heavy leather furniture and ugly wood carvings.