The Binding

by Bridget Collins

  ‘Fine.’ I strode to the door. ‘Good. You just lie there and think about how stupid you were—’

  ‘I wasn’t stupid! I thought he’d save me, and he d—’

  There was a silence.

  I said, ‘Wait. What?’ She didn’t answer. I crossed the room to the bed in two steps. I grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over, not gently. ‘You did it on purpose? So he’d rescue you?’

  She pulled away from me. ‘Emmett! Sssh – he’s just downstairs—’

  ‘I don’t care! You threw yourself on to a patch of rotten ice so that some supercilious get you’d never met before would – possibly, you didn’t even know he would – pull you out? How could you? What if you’d died? What if—’

  ‘Ssssssh,’ she said, scrambling to her knees on the bed, her eyes wide. ‘Please, Em, please don’t.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I hope you have nightmares about drowning,’ I said. ‘I hope you wake up choking and screaming. Don’t you ever take a risk like that again. You understand? Or I will kill you myself.’

  ‘You don’t understand. You’re just jealous, because Perannon Cooper wouldn’t throw herself into a frozen river for you!’

  I caught her eye. There was a pause; that smile began to creep into her face again, her attention turning to the mysterious music that I couldn’t hear. I turned aside and pulled the curtain sideways to look out into the yard. It was dark, and there was nothing to be seen, but I could hear that the cows were restless in their stalls. Alta hadn’t milked them, of course. A patch of stars blazed coldly over the gable of the threshing barn. When I was sure that I could speak calmly, I said, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell Ma and Pa.’

  I let the curtain drop and strode to the door.

  ‘Emmett? Where are you going?’

  I went out on to the landing and shut the door on her voice. The different strands of my anger tightened into one huge knot, until I had to press my hands against the wall to try and steady myself. In my mind’s eye she stepped on to the ice and fell through, and Darnay swept past me, his dark cloak swirling. Even now, standing on the landing, with warm lamplight spilling up the stairs and Ma rummaging in the blanket chest at the end of the passage, I could feel the cold space around me, the stone walls, a red, tattered sky … I blinked. On the wall opposite me, Great-Aunt Freya’s sampler advised me to Behold the Daughter of Innocence, how beautiful is the Mildness of her Countenance.

  Ma called to me, over an armful of blankets, ‘What are you doing? Did you leave Alta on her own?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ I pounded down the stairs and into the kitchen; and then stopped dead. Darnay was there alone, standing next to the stove and looking idly at one of the prints on the wall. I swallowed, staring at him, taken aback by my own fury: but I couldn’t stop myself thinking of Alta dropping through the ice, and the way my feet had slipped under me as I tried to run. It was his fault. And then he’d swept her up without a second thought, as if he had a right to her. She might have died.

  He looked round, but when he saw that it was me the expression on his face froze over so quickly I wasn’t sure what it had been before. I said, trying to keep the anger out of my voice, ‘What are you still doing here?’

  ‘Your father went to find me a cloak. My clothes are wet.’

  ‘That’s my shirt.’

  ‘Your mother said I could borrow it. Your father’s would’ve come to my knees.’ When I went on staring at him he shrugged and turned back to the stove. He was even thinner than I’d realised; the collar of my shirt hung loose on him, and I could see the top of his spine. He shifted, as if he could feel me looking.

  ‘I see you’ve helped yourself to my trousers, too.’

  He turned round. There was a faint wash of red along his cheekbones, but his eyes were level and steady. ‘Your mother offered. She said you wouldn’t mind. But perhaps you’d rather I took them off?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘If it’s an imposition—’ Abruptly he started to draw the shirt over his head. I caught a glimpse of his hip above his waistband, jutting under bone-white skin.

  ‘Come off it!’ I turned away instinctively. ‘Don’t be grotesque.’

  ‘Thank you.’ A pause, then the rustle of fabric. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll return them at the earliest possible opportunity.’

  At last I thought it would be safe to look at him again. His hair was damp and rumpled and the red had spread across his cheeks. The shirt was even shabbier than I’d thought: it had worn so thin across the ribs that I could see the light through it, and I noticed for the first time that there was a puckered stretch of seam over his shoulder where Alta had cobbled it together. It gave him an air of being in fancy dress.

  I took a long breath. ‘Thank you for rescuing my sister—’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘—but I think it’s time for you to leave.’

  ‘Your father’s just trying to find a cloak for me.’

  ‘Now.’

  He blinked at me, and frowned; then he looked down, tugging at one fraying cuff. I waited for him to move towards the door, but he stayed where he was, rolling the loose threads between his finger and thumb. ‘You don’t seem very pleased that I brought your sister home.’

  I exhaled, slowly. ‘As I said. Thank you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not asking you to thank me.’

  ‘Then what do you want, exactly?’

  ‘Nothing! That’s what I’m saying. All I did was bring her home.’ He added, ‘It’s not as if Alta—’

  ‘What about Alta?’ I tried not to picture her face, a moment ago: flushed, her eyes sparkling, smiling to herself because this man had rescued her.

  ‘Well …’ He hesitated. Then he tilted his head, a glint in his eyes. ‘She didn’t exactly … push me away.’

  He was laughing at her.

  I flung myself at him. He staggered backwards and thumped into the wall, my forearm across his throat, his eyes wide. He tried to wrench himself away, gasping, but I leant all my weight on his larynx. He coughed out, ‘What the—’

  ‘Don’t talk about her like that!’ I put my face a hand’s-breadth from his, so close I could feel his breath on my mouth. ‘She’s a child, all right? Just a stupid child.’

  ‘I never said—’

  ‘I can see what you think of her.’

  ‘Let go of me!’

  ‘Listen.’ I eased the pressure on his throat, but when he tried to pull away I grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back. His head thudded against the wall. ‘You’re going to forget this ever happened, all right? If you come within a mile of Alta, or my parents, or me, I’ll kill you. Or worse. You understand?’

  ‘I think I’ve got the gist.’

  Slowly I let go of him. He straightened his collar – my collar – without breaking my stare; but his fingers were trembling, and I was pleased.

  ‘Good. Then you’d better go,’ I said.

  ‘You’ll want your clothes back, I imagine.’

  ‘No.’ If Ma had heard me, she’d have been furious; but I didn’t want them back, not now. ‘Keep them. Burn them.’ I looked him in the eye again, daring him to be surprised.

  He tilted his head to one side, as if he was conceding a point; then he bowed low to me, with an over-elaborate courtesy that made me feel like a peasant.

  Then he went out into the freezing dark without a backward glance.

  XIII

  The next morning Alta fainted at the top of the stairs and was helped back to bed, delirious, insisting that the floor was about to give way; but there was no time for Pa and me to worry about her, because the snows had arrived in earnest and the sheep were in the Lower Field. All I remember of that day is a howling white blur as we laboured to get them to shelter, the sting of furious wind driving needles of ice into my face, the burn of freezing air in my throat and the thump of blood behind my eyes. The blizzard was so loud we had to shout to be heard: when we’d finally got the flock to safety, and we d
ragged ourselves back to the house and collapsed in the kitchen, I could still hear a high strain keening in my ears. The blood scalded my forehead and cheeks as it made its way back to the surface of my skin. Pa was cursing, too, but in a loose, relieved way that told me how worried he’d been. But we couldn’t stay there for long – just a few minutes, to warm up and eat something; there was more work to be done, not to mention Alta’s chores, now that she was ill.

  The next night, just before dawn, the rotten corner of the woodshed roof gave way under the weight of snow, and after I’d fed the livestock, milked the cows and cleaned the dairy pans, I spent a freezing morning trying to repair it while meltwater ran down my sleeves and rolled down the back of my neck. Then it was the familiar drudgery of mucking out the pigsty and the stalls, chopping wood … all the little bits of work that had to be done, while the cold and the deep snow made every movement an effort. On top of it all we lost a shearling ewe, and when Pa refused to sell the carcass to Alfred Stephens for broxy I had to step between them before Alfred lost his temper. Everyone’s nerves were on edge; even Ma snapped at me, and once, while she was waiting for the doctor to come to listen to Alta’s chest, I found her in furious tears because she’d used salt instead of sugar in a seed cake.

  In all of this, I had so little time to myself that it should have been easy not to think about Darnay. But somehow from time to time I’d look up from whatever I was doing and wonder about him: where he was, where he lived, whether he’d got home in his – my – shirtsleeves without catching a chill. He’d taken me at my word, and hadn’t returned my shirt; I’d had to barter a spare one from Fred Cooper, and hope Ma didn’t notice. It showed he wasn’t as chivalrous as he’d pretended, and I was glad of it; and even more glad, fiercely glad, that I’d managed to warn him off Alta. But at the same time I was on edge, as if I was missing something, as if I was waiting.

  It must have been a week or two before Alta recovered enough to ask about him. It was one evening after dinner, one of those days when the daylight seemed to have lasted an eternity but still not long enough to get everything done. I was exhausted and aching all over, and the sun-bright snow had sown flickering stars in my field of vision. I would have gone to bed, but there was a fire in Alta’s room, and mine was cold and dark and unwelcoming; so I tiptoed in and slumped in the chair beside her. It was warm, lit only by the fire and a single lamp, and the golden half-dark softened everything into a comforting blur: Alta’s sleeping face, the intricate hearts and diamonds of the quilt, faded to a rusty pink, the worn curtains, the solid gleam of the iron bedstead … I stared into the fire, thinking of everything and nothing. I wondered when Springle would drop her litter, whether I could invite Perannon Cooper to Turning dinner, whether the Grove Field would be better for the sheep after all, and whether the tup Pa had insisted on would prove to be worth the money. But in the shadows behind all that, there was a figure – slim, dark-eyed, staring at me with a challenge in his face.

  ‘Did Lucian come to see me?’

  I started. ‘What?’

  Alta rolled over, pushing damp strands of hair off her forehead, and said again, ‘Did Lucian come to see me? Ma said I’d been feverish for ages, and I can’t remember.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not once?’

  ‘No.’

  I could see her heartbeat fluttering in the notch above her collarbone. ‘He said he would.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t.’

  ‘What about his clothes?’

  I shrugged. Ma had said only that day, with an appalled in-breath, ‘Oh my goodness, he didn’t come back for his shirt! And that expensive cloak … He’ll think we’re thieves.’

  I’d slipped out to the stables without a word, and worked myself into a sweat hauling more water for the horses than they needed.

  ‘But that’s awful,’ Alta said, ‘he’ll think you’ve stolen them.’

  ‘He probably doesn’t want them any more.’

  ‘He must do. And he said he’d come to see me. I don’t understand why he hasn’t.’

  ‘I expect he’s forgotten that you exist.’

  She frowned, and huddled herself into a sitting position, the quilt wrapped round her shoulders. The movement made her cough. I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it with a steady, gentle pressure until she managed to breathe properly again. ‘You silly sausage,’ I said. ‘Look at you. You’re like old Jenson’s threshing machine, spluttering and choking all over the place.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to get ill.’

  ‘You did it to yourself,’ I said, keeping my voice as light as I could. ‘And all for nothing. All for some boy who hasn’t even bothered to find out how you were doing. He’s probably gone back to wherever he came from, anyway.’

  ‘He’s Lord Archimbolt’s nephew.’

  ‘What?’

  Alta winced and pulled her hand out of mine; I must have gripped hers too hard suddenly. ‘Cissy Cooper told me. He’s from Castleford, but he’s staying with Lord Archimbolt to help run the estate or something. His family’s awfully rich, Cissy says. Lord Archimbolt’s bailiff told her grandpa’s friend, and he told Cissy’s father, and—’

  I said, ‘So he lives in the New House? How long’s he there for?’

  ‘No one knows. Maybe forever. Maybe he’ll inherit when Lord Archimbolt dies.’

  I got up, but it was a small room, and there was nowhere to go. I crouched down in front of the grate and jabbed the poker deep into the heart of the fire, trying to break the logs apart.

  ‘He said he’d come and see how I was. He said he’d send for fruit from Castleford for me.’

  ‘Well, he clearly didn’t mean it.’ The poker broke the spine of the largest piece of log, and it collapsed in a spurt of sparks.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Emmett? Why do you hate him so much?’

  I sat back on my heels. The draught lifted a fragment of bark and a fiery line crawled across its edge; then it flew upwards, whirling like a flake of grey snow. ‘You’re better off without him,’ I said. ‘He won’t – people like us don’t – you couldn’t … You know what I mean. Forget about him.’

  ‘No, I don’t know what you mean.’ I glanced at her; she was leaning forward, her cheeks scarlet. ‘You don’t know anything about him. Why shouldn’t he care about me?’

  ‘Care about you? Alta – you’re a child he pulled out of a pond. That’s all. Stop thinking about him, for pity’s sake!’ We glared at each other. ‘And in any case,’ I said, more slowly, ‘as you said, he promised to come back and see you, and he didn’t. So draw your own conclusions.’

  Silence. The ashes flared and went pale. If I wasn’t careful the fire would go out completely. I put the poker back and stood up.

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘What?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘You said something to him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I didn’t need to. He was never going to come back and see you, Alta.’

  ‘You beast, Emmett!’ She scrambled out of bed and flung herself at me. I fended her off, as gently as I could; but I was scared of hurting her, and she landed a thump on my shoulder, and then her palm cracked across my ear like a whip.

  ‘Alta, stop it, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘You’re lying! What – did – you – say?’ She punctuated each word with a blow. At last I caught her wrists and swung her on to the bed, not as softly as I should have done. For a few seconds we wrestled, as if we were children again, and then she went limp on the pillows, coughing. Her face was as red and damp as a little girl’s, and her hair stuck darkly to her cheeks.

  I sat down on the bed next to her, smoothing the nearest patch of quilt while she coughed herself to silence. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Yes, I told him to stay away.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I was afraid—’

  ‘How could you?’ She pulled herself upright and stared at me, her eyes fierce. Her voice scra
tched in her throat. ‘Emmett, how could you? I don’t understand. He would have come to see me, he would. And then …’

  ‘Yes, and then?’

  She stared at me silently. Then she dragged the quilt up to cover her face.

  ‘Alta.’

  She said, her voice muffled, ‘You’ve spoilt it! Everything. My whole life.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You don’t understand!’ Her face emerged from under the covers. ‘This was it, Em. I knew, the moment I saw him. I love him.’

  There was a silence. I waited for her to giggle and look away first; but she didn’t. I’d never seen this expression on her face: certain, passionate, feverish. There was a tight, uncomfortable knot in my stomach. ‘Don’t be absurd. You don’t know him. How can you possibly say that?’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I knew the moment I saw him – it was love at first sight.’

  ‘That’s just a fairytale, Alta. You have to know someone before you fall in love.’

  ‘I feel like I’ve known him my whole life! When I saw him— Listen, Cissy says …’ She sat up, her eyes intense. ‘Cissy says that sometimes witches come in the night – no, listen, Em – and they leave you a pile of gold and when you wake up your memories are gone. So what if I already know him, only I’ve forgotten, and we’ve actually been in love before and that’s why—’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ I said. ‘For one thing, don’t you think everyone else would notice if you suddenly lost your memory?’

  ‘She says it happened to her second cousin, and that’s why she’s a bit funny in the head.’

  ‘You’re not that funny in the head.’

  ‘Emmett, I’m serious!’

  ‘Show me the gold, then,’ I said, sitting back and crossing my arms. ‘No? Exactly. Now stop being stupid.’

  ‘What would you know about love, anyway?’ Suddenly she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. She started to sob.

  I stood up. Then I sat down again, reached out and touched her shoulder. She shrugged me off violently and went on crying. I gritted my teeth and tried to muster the strength of will to walk out; but I couldn’t leave her like this, weeping as if her heart was broken. ‘All right, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. Come on, Tally … I’ll make it up to you, I promise. He’s only a boy. Lots more boys in the village.’ But I want this one, her voice retorted in my head. ‘Please stop it. Just stop it, Alta. Please. Please don’t cry. Look,’ I tried to pull her over so that I could see her face, but she went stiff at my touch and I gave up. ‘I’m sorry. I was worried.’