Ma stepped close to me, and raised her hand. Stupidly – horrifyingly – I flinched; but she ran her fingers down my cheek, very gently, as if I was a child. ‘Don’t you understand, Emmett? We’ll forgive you. We’re giving you another chance. Take it. Please.’ Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat. ‘You’re getting one more chance to be our son.’
I stumbled upstairs. I couldn’t judge the right place to put my limbs. When I stubbed my toe on the top stair, or knocked my elbow against the newel post, I didn’t feel anything except a vague impact, as though something had happened a long way away.
Alta’s bedroom door was closed. I walked past it without pausing; but something made me stop and look back. The shadow under the door moved, and I knew she was there.
‘Alta?’
Nothing. But she was there all right; the shadow slid imperceptibly sideways, as though she was creeping away from the door.
I wrenched it open. She gasped; but before I could speak she’d caught her breath, drawn herself up to her full height, and smacked my face.
The world fizzed and sparkled, dancing with red and black spots. My ear rang, like a glass about to shatter.
Alta was shouting at me. Bloody, I heard, disgusting bastard. Dirty shit … And more words, words I didn’t know she knew, words that didn’t hurt me now but would fester and throb like splinters.
I hit her back.
It shut her up. She stared at me, wide-eyed, the blood rising to the surface of her skin. I could see the mark of my fingers along her cheekbone. For the first time in my life I didn’t care that I’d hurt her; and I didn’t care that I didn’t care.
I heard myself ask, ‘How did they know?’
‘I followed you. Once you came back with a rose in your shirt, so I knew you went to the ruins. I knew where to go. And I saw you.’ She swallowed. I had never seen her look at anyone the way she was looking at me: her face trembling with hatred and misery, and a strange, adult indifference to whether I saw how she felt … ‘Do you want me to spell it out for you?’ she said. ‘I saw you together. Fucking.’
I shut my eyes.
‘I know you hid my boot, Emmett. You left me behind on purpose. I looked for it for ages, and then I put on my good shoes and came after you. I wanted to see Lucian.’ She swallowed. ‘But when I found you both, I heard you talking. You talked about me. About how I didn’t matter.’
‘I never said—’
‘And about how he couldn’t bear to pretend he loved me.’
‘Alta.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t care, do you? You were laughing with him.’ Her voice rose and cracked, but after a moment she went on again. ‘So I came home. I tried not to tell Ma and Pa, but then you stayed away all night – and I couldn’t not.’
I squashed down the thought of how it must have felt. Alta had no right to feel like that. She’d known what damage it would do to tell them.
‘They thought I was mistaken, at first. And then I told them that you’d kept the egg Lucian gave you at Wakening Fair—’
‘You’ve been through my stuff?’
‘And I told them that he has those freckles on his back. And what I saw you doing.’ Silence. Was I imagining a tiny tremble of triumph in her voice? She tilted her chin. ‘Then they believed me.’
I put my hands up to my face. I wanted to stop existing.
‘Pa wrote to Lucian’s family in Castleford. He wanted to make sure you never saw him again.’
‘You shouldn’t have told them,’ I said, and I sounded like a stranger. ‘It was none of your business, Alta.’
‘I love him.’ A pause. ‘I – loved him.’
Of course. The trump card. The words that, if I said them … I didn’t let myself finish the thought. I looked her straight in the eye, and put every ounce of disdain into my voice that I could. ‘It’s a pity that you told on us, then,’ I said. ‘If you hadn’t, he would have married you.’
She stared at me. ‘That’s a lie.’
‘It doesn’t make any difference now, does it?’ It was a sick, horrible satisfaction to see her face whiten and whiten, until at last she blinked and the tears spilt down her cheeks. Then the spark of gladness died, and all that was left was ash.
I turned to leave. Something in the corner of the room drew my eyes. Alta’s dancing shoes – ivory silk slippers, her pride and joy – lay against the wall as if she’d kicked them across the floor without caring where they landed. I could remember her face lighting up when she unwrapped them from their tissue paper, two birthdays ago; she’d made such a fuss when she wore them to last year’s Harvest Supper that I’d had to carry her over the muddiest part of the road to keep them spotless. Later someone had said, ‘You dance like a fairy in those.’ I’d nudged her and murmured, ‘More like a goblin,’ and we’d got the giggles so badly we had to go outside. Even then she’d demanded that I put my cloak on the ground for her to tread on. Now they were tide-marked with grass stains and flecked with mud.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
‘Just go, Emmett.’
I hesitated. Somehow I expected her to relent, like when she was small and throwing a tantrum; but she stared at me until I left.
I found myself in my own room without knowing how I’d got there. I curled up on my bed as if the smaller I made myself the less it would hurt. For a long time all I could do was keep breathing, trying not to think; then I heard Splotch bark at someone riding past, and I started to cry.
I missed Lucian so much it was like a wound. I could feel the outline of it, a desperate fiery ache that started under my sternum and ended somewhere in my groin. If I moved, or spoke, or inhaled too deeply, it hurt more. I’d never thought I could want to die: but it was like drowning over and over again, except that the final blackness never came.
Lucian had gone away. I would have given anything to catch a glimpse of him or hear his voice, and he wasn’t here. That was all I knew, all that mattered. But slowly the other things began to take shape, too: Ma and Pa would never forgive me, Alta hated me, I had ruined their lives as well as my own. Alta had seen us together, watched us.
And Lucian. His father would know about us, now. If Lucian was punished, that would be my fault too. The thought made me catch my breath and knot myself tighter: Lucian suffering because of me, Lucian despising me as much as Alta did … I clung to the memories I had – of us laughing together, touching each other, the words we’d said – but with every heartbeat they receded further. I needed to remember so badly that I couldn’t be sure any more. Either he’d hate me now, or worse – what if he’d never really cared about me? What if he wasn’t thinking of me at all? What if he was relieved to be rid of me?
I wasn’t hungry. I’d never be hungry again. The only thing that made me move was Splotch whining outside in the yard; but the effort of getting up to feed her made me giddy, and as soon as I’d done it I came back to bed. A minute later I heard her scratching at my door. Dogs weren’t allowed upstairs but I couldn’t be in any more disgrace than I already was, so I let her in. She nosed about, settled into the space next to me, and I put my arms around her; her warmth didn’t fill the emptiness inside me, but her quiet breath and the weight of her chin on my shoulder calmed the ache. Finally I drowsed, exhausted.
When I jolted awake it was nearly dark. Splotch leapt to the floor and scampered away, her claws skittering on the wood. My heart was thumping as if I’d had a nightmare, but it was the real world that had woken me, sharp as a whiplash. I sat up, trembling, pushing the sweaty hair out of my face.
The parlour door shut. I heard the creak of footsteps and a muffled voice. It was a man, but it wasn’t Pa; although a few seconds later Pa replied, with a low murmur that might be deferential.
I took Splotch downstairs and let her into the yard. The evening air was warm and sweet after the fustiness of my room, but I shut the front door again and walked along the hall to the parlour door. That voice … I paused, li
stening.
‘I understand your disappointment, Mr Farmer.’
For a juddering, overwhelming moment I thought it was Lucian. Then the buzzing in my ears faded, and I knew that it wasn’t: the accent was the same, but the voice was deeper, hollow-sounding and bloodless.
‘All right,’ Pa said. ‘I’ll get him.’ I stumbled backwards, but not fast enough: when Pa opened the door and saw me there his eyes narrowed. But he didn’t say anything except, ‘You’d better come in, lad.’
I followed him into the parlour. There was a man sitting in the armchair, his legs crossed, his head resting indolently against the back of the chair. He was oldish, with thick sandy-grey whiskers but no moustache, so that his mouth sat in the middle of his face like an overripe fruit. He looked me up and down, and his lips broadened into a fleshy pink smile.
He knew. It was in the way he looked at me. ‘Emmett?’
‘Yes,’ I said. My shirt was rumpled, and I stank of sweat and dog. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘My name is Acre. I am an employee of Mr Darnay. Mr Darnay senior,’ he added, as if anyone could have imagined he meant Lucian. ‘Please, sit down.’
‘This isn’t your house.’
‘Sit down, Emmett,’ Pa said. He was standing close to the lamp, and his hairline was glinting with moisture.
I sat down. My ankle started to tremble, and I ground my heel into the floor, trying to get it to stop.
‘Thank you, Mr Farmer,’ Acre said. He smiled up at Pa, and gestured towards the door. Pa swallowed, looked at me, then turned and left without a word.
‘So, Emmett,’ Acre said. ‘This is all rather regrettable, isn’t it? I feel for you. Lucian can sweep people off their feet and he tends to forget about the consequences, I’m afraid. I expect you feel very bruised at the moment. But I’m here to help.’
I bit the tip of my tongue, and said nothing.
‘I understand if you feel resentful at my interference. It must seem impertinent. But you must realise that we have long experience of dealing with these sorts of … problems. And we’re on your side. Lucian is a good boy but he’s young, and he leaves a trail of destruction for other people to clean up. So—’
‘A trail of destruction?’
‘He has inflicted great hurt on you and your sister. I can see that you’re suffering. No’ – he shook his head – ‘I’m not asking you to tell me. I know how … violated you must feel already. But I want you to know that I sympathise. And I’m here to offer you a solution.’
A wild hope leapt inside me. ‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, Emmett. What happened shouldn’t have happened. Lucian was cruel— thoughtless, to let you think …’ He cleared his throat. ‘What I can do is to make it all go away. You can go back to your old life – just as you were. You were content before you met him, I assume?’
I hesitated. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Good. Then let me make you an offer. We will cover all expenses – transport, and so on – to allow you to visit a binder. As a gesture of apology and goodwill, we will also give you and your family a small financial gift. These occasions can be very upsetting. You’d be surprised how important it is for close relatives to feel that something positive has come out of this sort of mistake.’
‘Wait.’ I tried to think. He had such a plausible, resonant voice, like a singer lulling me to sleep. ‘You want me to go to a binder? To put myself into a book? To forget it all?’ I thought I heard the faint music of Wakening Fair, throbbing distantly in my ears.
‘There is a lot of prejudice around binding, Emmett. Let me set your mind at rest. It’s a safe, painless process, and at the end of it you would be exactly as you were before. No memory of Lucian, no memory of your family’s disappointment, no memory of heartbreak. You would be, as it were’ – he leant forward, one plump hand cupped as if he were begging – ‘whole again.’
‘And you’d pay me to do it. Why?’
‘Because Lucian is our responsibility. And when he takes advantage of someone impressionable, like you, we feel that it would simply be wrong to let it destroy lives. Your life, for example, or your family’s.’
‘You said …’ I swallowed. ‘You say, when he does this. Do you mean …?’
He shifted a little in the chair as if it had suddenly become too small for him. ‘You know, Emmett, we think we know someone very well, and often we don’t. Lucian can be very charming. He made you think that you were the only person in the world, I expect. And he probably wasn’t exactly … lying.’
‘Not exactly lying?’ But I could hear his voice: I’m sorry. I’m a coward.
‘He is rather prone to love affairs. Did you think you were the first?’
I turned my head, but whatever I was looking at was blurred.
‘He was sent away from Castleford because he’d become involved with someone unsuitable. A scullery maid, who was rather – ah – young, as it happens; perhaps that’s why he chose you over your sister. But please don’t feel a fool. He is quite ruthless in some ways; he sees it all as a form of venery. Hunting, that is.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Well, never mind. It hardly matters now, does it? Let’s think about the future. Suppose I come with a carriage tomorrow morning. We’ll take you out to the bindery in the marshes. It’s better to keep this sort of thing discreet. And when it’s done I will give your father twenty guineas – gold or banker’s note, whichever you would prefer. Does that sound acceptable?’
My heart was beating so hard that I could feel Lucian’s ring bumping against my breastbone.
I said, ‘No.’
His face changed. There was another silence.
‘I see,’ he said at last. ‘How much?’
‘What?’
‘Twenty guineas isn’t enough. So what would be?’
‘It’s not the money.’
‘It’s always the money. Name your price. Thirty? Fifty?’
‘No.’ I stood up. ‘You don’t understand, do you? I don’t care that Lucian’s had other lovers.’ My voice wobbled on the word but I didn’t care. ‘I want to remember. That’s all I’ve got, now.’
‘Your fond memories of an arrogant, manipulative palone?’
I hadn’t heard the word before, but I could guess what it meant. ‘Yes.’
‘Emmett.’ My name sounded heavy in his mouth, like a warning. ‘Be reasonable. Reconsider. Let’s call it seventy-five, and that’s generous.’
‘I’d rather die.’
‘Be careful what you wish for.’
I glared at him, hating every inch of his pudgy, obscene face, and finally he shrugged and stood up. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘A pity. We were only thinking of you.’ He dug in the recesses of his coat – a huge, sagging thing, much too warm for a summer evening – and brought out a parcel. ‘Apparently this is yours. A shirt you lent him. He didn’t want you to have any excuse to contact him again.’
I took it.
‘If you need my help,’ he said, ‘your father will know where to find me. And if you lie awake tonight wishing the pain would go away … there’s no shame in changing your mind.’
‘I won’t change my mind.’
He gave me a quick, unfriendly quirk of a smile. Then he bowed and left.
When I looked up, my mother was in the doorway. I held on to the shirt Acre had given me; but it was mine, she had no excuse to take it away. She didn’t say anything.
‘I’m not going,’ I said.
She gave a long, heavy blink, as if it was an effort to keep her eyes open. ‘We can put the money towards Alta’s dowry.’
‘Ma …’
‘We tried so hard to keep you away from books. That evil magic … But Mr Dar— your friend told you, didn’t he? I should have known. We should have seen what sort of man he was.’
‘You mean—’
‘We thought we’d protected you. We were so careful …’ She leant against the doorway, twisting her apron into a slow knot. ‘My mother always
said it was a disgusting, unnatural kind of magic. Sucking out memories, shame and pain and sorrow … She said that’s why some binders live so long. Because they feed off every drop of life.’ She glanced down at the smudges of flour and soot she’d left on her skirt without seeming to see them. ‘But – if you could only come back as you were, before …’
Something caught in my throat. ‘Ma, listen. Lucian and I were—’
‘Go,’ she said. ‘Please, just go. There’s nothing more you can do, to shame us.’
I pushed past her and up the stairs to my room. My heart was drumming in my ears, and I was shaking. I sat down on the bed, clutching my old shirt to me, fighting the ache in my throat. I bent my head and pressed my face into the linen. I would have given anything to feel Lucian’s arms round me, smell his skin under the faint scent of lavender water.
Something crackled in the cloth.
A note, sewn into the collar. It took an eternity to pick the seam apart with the point of my knife; but then at last I could unfold it.
Meet me at sunrise at the crossroads between the marsh road and the Littlewater road.
I love you.
XIX
If I’d had to speak to anyone that night, they would have seen how I felt. I could feel it blazing on my skin as if I was drunk. I was lucky that I’d already missed dinner, and I could stay in my room on my own: not sleeping, cradling my happiness.
Once, when I came back from getting a drink of water, I crossed Alta on the stairs. As I pushed past her our eyes met. There was moonlight spilling in a wedge from the open door on the landing above, and the top steps were cut into triangles of black and white; but down here the light was dim, elusive, clinging like cobwebs to the planes of her cheek and temple. She might have been any age – maiden, mother, crone – but her eyes were her own, steady and dark.
‘Emmett?’ she said.
There was a softness in the way she’d spoken that made a wild hope leap inside me: she’d forgiven me, she’d never really loved him at all—
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
An owl called, distant and then closer; something scuttled in the corner of the yard. I imagined the owl circling, silent now, waiting for the glint of tiny eyes, the twitch of a tail. A death like that, you wouldn’t hear it coming.
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