by Mary Corran
She considered a moment, the old resistance resurfacing, but the sensation was too uncomfortable to ignore; finally, she agreed. ‘All right.’
He looked relieved, and pleased, and she suspected he had bargained on more argument from her. ‘Thank you.’
A distant figure drew her attention away from him; there was something very familiar about the walk, the stoop of the narrow shoulders, that took her instantly back to her childhood. Mallory, too, recognized the man.
‘He can’t see you, just keep your hood over your face,’ he advised calmly.
It was not so easy for her to comply; Kerr had been her father’s right-hand man on the farm as far back as she could remember, and she had known him all her life. Not to be able to talk to him, to let him see her, amounted almost to torment.
Now, every field they passed was familiar. To her left lay the pasture belonging to — what was his name? Helm? — where she had been given her first kiss, when she was only fifteen. She had not enjoyed it much, and been glad when her father came looking for her after the harvest-festival supper. The young man — not Lewes — had shown himself eager to progress beyond a few kisses, and he had frightened her.
Ahead lay Harrows, the home of her childhood, a large cluster of buildings standing a little way outside the village. A glance relieved her of the worst of her fears, for Mallory’s steward was doing his job well; the fences and stone walls were in good repair, and the huge Oak Field was planted with wheat. But it was hard to picture the farmhouse standing empty, without her parents, without the familiar trail of wood-smoke rising from the chimneys. No one lived there now; Mallory had told her a caretaker kept watch over it.
Home. There was a lump in her throat.
‘My steward deals with everything; all taxes and so on are up to date,’ Mallory observed. ‘He tells me yields have been fair.’
‘It looks almost the same.’
She turned away, seeing Carling’s across the fields, the farm where she had lived with Lewes during their brief marriage; it was too far away to see if there had been changes, but the sight brought with it far less welcome memories. Her stomach contracted in self-disgust and hatred, remembering the days and nights with him, and the last night, the shame of knowing him a traitor. And he continued to do harm, for it was because of him she was in disguise, because of him she must steal through these old loved places like a thief. But she refused to allow resentment to destroy her moment of pleasure, and she looked back again at Harrows in the distance.
‘It’s good to be back,’ she said softly.
Mallory smiled, but made no answer. They had reached the point where the main trail diverged, a narrow track leading west to the village proper, a small cluster of cottages centred round the inn, and another heading south to Kepesake, the wall surrounding the great house now visible. Gates at the centre of each section of wall gave access to stables, the farm office, the house and the gardens, for the partition was intended only to demarcate the private portion of the estate from the farmlands.
They passed through the gate in the north wall, facing the house. Asher swallowed; little had changed. The oak trees to either side of the avenue still stood, and the great house itself, perhaps smaller than she remembered, had the same welcoming appearance — perhaps by design, for two matching circular windows on the eastern and western extremes could easily be mistaken for a pair of friendly eyes. Built by the founder of the clan, the original Kelham, over one hundred and fifty years before with the spoils of his first successful trading voyage to Petormin, the long, three-storey stone building glowed pale gold in the late afternoon sun. Double doors stood wide, as always, in open invitation, above which the leopard that was the clan’s symbol was incised, a regal figure. As primary landlords in the district, the estate office of Kepesake was the hub of the village in all matters regarding land disputes, taxes and other legal matters.
To the right, hidden from the house by a high wall, lay the stables; to the left, the formal gardens reserved for the ladies of the house. Asher caught her breath, remembering; she and Callith had spent many happy hours there, lying on their stomachs in the grass trying to catch the small pink fish that swam along the muddy bottom of the ornamental pool. It had been a matter of pride between them to be able to stay perfectly still and silent, waiting for the moment to pounce; they had always thrown the fish back, but the challenge lay in the catching.
Their arrival seemed to have come at an awkward moment; instead of any sign of welcome, there was a commotion by the stable wall, and people were running towards a boy hanging on to the bridle of a horse that resisted restraint strongly, rearing high, the boy too light to hold his head. On the ground Asher caught sight of the prone figure of a man, and as they drew closer she could see his leg was bent at an awkward angle. Several men stood by, watching rather than helping; a black-gowned woman hurried forward.
‘What an intriguing scene.’ Mallory looked amused but Ish scowled, as if at a deliberate slight to his master.
The woman knelt by the prone figure, but looked up at the approach of Mallory and his party; Asher hastily lowered her head.
‘What’s happened here?’
‘Master Mallory! I’m that sorry you should have such a welcome!’ She rose clumsily to her feet, smiling her pleasure. She was plump and grey-haired, and there was a jangling sound as she moved, the heavy bunch of keys hanging from her belt swinging against her long skirts. Tilda had been housekeeper at Kepesake in Asher’s own childhood, but although she seemed to have shrunk in stature, in every other way she looked exactly the same.
Mallory signed one of the men to help the boy with the horse. ‘Has there been an accident?’
Tilda shook her head. ‘It’s Griffin here.’ She pointed to the stricken man. ‘The horse kicked him, and looks to have broken his leg in two places.’ Her voice was filled with disapproval, but it was aimed at the man, not the horse. ‘Not that it doesn’t serve him right; he’s no business to go courting another man’s wife, and no cause for complaint if he’s ill-wished!’ But it’s downright inconvenient, and that’s a fact!’
Mallory dismounted, handing his reins to Ish. ‘Have you summoned the healer?’
‘Oh, yes, Master Mallory. But he’s away at a confinement.’ She shot a contemptuous glare at the prone Griffin, then turned her ire on the boy holding the horse. Take that great beast away before he does worse!’ she snapped impatiently.
‘I’m trying to.’ The boy glared back.
Mallory knelt to see to Griffin, who was groaning loudly. ‘Keep still,’ he advised. ‘I can set this, but not if you keep thrashing around.’ He looked up. ‘One of you men, fetch wood for a splint and some long pieces of rag. I can bind this and relieve the pain until the healer arrives.’
A fair young man peeled off and disappeared in the direction of the stables. Asher continued to sit her horse, feeling terribly in the way. Mallory, however, had not forgotten her.
‘Tilda,’ he said, looking up and indicating Asher, ‘this lady will be staying here for a few days, as my guest. Will you show her to her room, and see she has everything she needs?’
‘Very well, sir.’ The housekeeper drew herself up stiffly, looking less than pleased; she gave Asher a frigid smile. ‘If you will come with me?’
It was plain Tilda assumed her to be Mallory’s mistress. Amused at her old friend’s distaste, Asher dismounted, keeping the hood of her cloak low; it seemed everyone in the house had come to see Griffin’s broken leg.
Tilda led her into the house by the main entrance. They passed through into a large half-panelled room, the walls covered with portraits of members of the clan, living and deceased, the furnishings covered with dust-sheets. She did not look back to see whether Asher followed. ‘This is the hall,’ she said coldly. She opened a door to her left and went through. ‘This is the library.’ Shelf on shelf of books made the explanation unnecessary; Asher was hard pressed not to laugh at the sight of Tilda’s affronted back. Glancing to h
er left at the layers of thick leather-bound volumes, she found herself remembering the time she had climbed up to the top shelf in response to a dare from Callith. She had managed it, but been unable to get down again. Callith, only eleven then, had screamed, thinking she was going to fall, and Mallory had come in. Asher had fallen, on top of him, knocking the breath from them both, and she could still see the resigned look on Tilda’s face as she rushed in to find them lying in a heap on the floor, Callith shrieking that they were both dead.
It had been Tilda who had sewn up the long rent in her skirts, too, though Asher’s keen-eyed mother had seen it at once and inquired at the necessity. Yet another speech on the virtues of common sense had been the result, if she remembered correctly.
They emerged into a dark, stone-floored passage and climbed the main stairway. The house was uncomfortably empty and silent; Asher, remembering it filled with the noisy games of Mallory’s siblings and other kindred, felt the emptiness keenly as a physical loss. The place felt dead, or in mourning. She climbed meekly in Tilda’s footsteps and followed her across the landing and down a long passage to a door at the far end.
‘I hope this will suit you,’ the housekeeper said, her tone suggesting the reverse. Asher knew herself to be in the guest quarters, as remote as possible from the rooms of members of the family; clearly, Tilda meant to make the supposed liaison as difficult as possible. ‘I will send a maid with hot water for you.’
‘That would be most kind.’ Asher brushed past her and went in, finding herself in a south-facing room of pleasant proportions. She went across to the window and stared out over the fields. Home. I can see my home, she thought, with a rush of happiness, as she looked at the distant but familiar shapes of the house and outbuildings. She threw back the hood of her cloak, eyes blurring with unshed tears.
‘Is there anything else you require, madam?’
Asher turned back to the housekeeper. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
The sight of her face gave the older woman pause, for she had been about to leave the room. She frowned, peering at Asher; the blue eyes that had been hard grew suddenly soft.
‘Why, it’s young Asher!’ A beaming smile lit up her face and she came forwards, arms held wide. Asher accepted the embrace gladly, returning it, her eyes burning again; someone, at least, was glad to see her. Tilda stood back, demanding forthrightly: ‘And what are you doing back here, I’d like to know!’
‘Not what you were thinking, Tilda,’ Asher said wickedly. The housekeeper shook her head at such foolishness. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ It was always Tilda who had slipped forbidden cakes to herself and Callith and Mallory, who could be relied on to bandage knees and mend holes, and even sometimes make excuses for Asher to her mother, when she went home yet again with muddy skirts.
‘Have you come home, then? Did Master Mallory find you and bring you back to that no-good husband of yours?’ Tilda did not wait for an answer, going on: ‘Because he’s taken up with another girl — that Dora, from Penger’s Farm.’
‘Really?’ For a moment, Asher was disconcerted, then she shrugged. ‘She always liked him. But no, I’ve not come back to him, Tilda. In fact, please ask the servants not to mention I’m here to anyone outside the house.’
‘Of course, what do you take me for?’ Asher realized it would be impossible to keep her identity secret within Kepesake itself during her visit; too many of the servants had known her, and would recognize her. She was intensely grateful Tilda’s long-held dislike of Lewes was still at full force.
‘You look well.’ The housekeeper surveyed her critically. ‘A bit too thin, mind, but well. So tell me, what happened to the man you ran off with?’
‘There was no man.’ Asher took off her cloak and threw it over a stool. ‘I’ll tell you the story another time, Tilda. But have you seen Callith and her children? How are they?’
She could not have chosen a better change of subject. ‘She comes here every summer,’ the housekeeper said importantly, picking up Asher’s cloak and folding it neatly. Callith had always been her favourite. ‘She brings her boys with her; fine young lads, the pair of them, one four years old, the other only two. The little one’s the spit of Master Mallory!’
‘I’m glad.’
‘You’ve no children, I suppose?’
Asher smiled. ‘No.’
This was received with a sniff of approval. ‘And so I should hope.’ The blue eyes looked carefully at her face and sharpened. ‘And what are you going to do with yourself, if you’ve not come back to your lawful husband? You know he’s looked for you?’
‘I know.’
Tilda’s expression softened. ‘Don’t fret yourself,’ she said gently. ‘I’d not tell him you were here, and nor will the others; he’s a bad man, and that’s the truth. You’re well out of it.’ Asher found herself close to tears again at the warmth of her welcome but the housekeeper’s next words rallied her and put her firmly in her place. ‘And now, young woman,’ Tilda said wrathfully. ‘Just what have you done to your hair?’
Chapter Nine
Late-afternoon sunlight streamed in through tall windows in the long attic, which was furnished in somewhat haphazard fashion. Floor-to-ceiling shelves housed assorted books, a mass of specimen jars, vials of powders and odd-coloured liquids, as well as a variety of incomprehensible devices whose purposes it was impossible to define with any accuracy.
‘Wait one moment.’
The old man waved a hand, but did not turn round; all his visitor could see of him was a purple-robed back and a mass of silver-white hair. His hands returned to their occupation, busy with a glass vial into which a steaming substance emitting sinister clouds of smoke was being poured; when it was done, the old man stoppered the vial and placed it in a wooden rack, only then turning to greet the newcomer.
‘Young Mallory, a surprise and a pleasure!’ Sharp eyes flickered to the visitor’s face. ‘I am glad you have spared the time to visit Kepesake. We have not seen you since last summer, unless I mistake.’
‘Omond.’ Mallory inclined his head, laughing. ‘No, your memory is as keen as ever: I have been neglectful. But I find you well occupied.’
‘This?’ The diviner looked vaguely at the well-filled shelves. ‘Perhaps, perhaps.’ He was old, with the frailty of advanced years; a thick white beard and moustaches covered the lower half of his face, hiding a lower lip that sometimes shook, but watery eyes, deep-sunken hazel flecked with green, were still bright with a formidable intelligence. ‘Is this a casual visit or have you some specific purpose in mind in coming here?’
‘Both.’ Mallory glanced back to the doorway, but there was no one there; he lowered his voice. ‘I need your help, Omond. Do you remember a girl named Asher, Erward’s daughter? She was here often as a child. I believe someone is using the sight against her.’
‘Where is she?’
‘In this house; she came with me from Venture. I sent for her to come here to you, but I wanted a word before she arrives. I should explain — she has always scorned the use of charms and protections, and would refuse your help, if she could. But it’s not only the sight, there’s more ... ’
Omond held up a hand restrainingly. ‘Slowly, slowly, young Mallory, if you please. Of course I remember the child. She was the one whose twin brother died at their birth — hardly surprising; female children are far stronger than their male counterparts in the early years. Tell me why, first, you believe her to be overlooked by one of my calling.’
Mallory described Asher’s sensations as accurately as he could at second hand, and Omond nodded.
‘Then your guess may be correct. Have you any notion why it should be so?’
‘No.’ Mallory sounded frustrated. ‘Unless it has something to do with our reason for coming to Kepesake.’
‘Which is?’
He hesitated. ‘We are searching for Vallis; having summoned us, the Oracle of Venture suggested we may both have some share in discovering her whereabouts, and there is a
girl who just might be Vallis in the internment camp in the Vale. Asher and I met before the Oracle itself, Omond. It must be more than a coincidence, after six years.’
‘Interesting, and certainly it must be more.’ He turned the idea round in his mind. ‘Fate. It is possible you were brought together for this purpose, and this may indeed be the reason for your concern. But who is keeping the girl under observation?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘That is not very helpful,’ Omond observed dryly. ‘No matter. Your second request, if you please? It sounded as if you were disturbed for the child’s safety for more than one reason?’
‘I am.’ Mallory sighed. ‘She was married here, seven years ago, to a man named Lewes — from Carling’s Farm, you might know it? — but ran away after only a year. It’s not safe for her to have returned.’
‘Of course I know it, and him — a most unsavoury character,’ the diviner said crisply; it annoyed him that his advanced age seemed to give others licence to imagine him forgetful.
‘While she’s at Kepesake I want some watch kept over her, in case he learns she’s here. I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust her to have enough sense to keep out of his way.’
‘I see.’ Omond considered the request. ‘This is a difficult question from the ethical viewpoint. You wish me to place some watch over her without her knowledge — in effect, to spy on her yourself!’
‘Yes,’ Mallory admitted bluntly. ‘There’s no other way.’
‘I cannot like it.’ Omond frowned. ‘It is, of course, perfectly possible, although my range is limited in these days. But I cannot agree until I have seen the girl for myself; it may be she has no need of this protection.’
‘That’s all I ask. But I warn you, Omond, she’s not very amenable to your craft.’ Mallory sighed. ‘In fact, I think she resents it.’
But the diviner was looking beyond him towards the open door, and Mallory turned to find Asher coming towards them, fortunately displaying no sign of having overheard their discussion.
