Moon Cutters

by Janet Woods

  ‘There’s a possibility that we’re related.’

  ‘How much of one?’

  ‘Enough for me to think you’re entitled to have my fortune. There will be no further discussion on this. Shut the door when you go out, would you, lad?’ And Silas turned on his side and began to snore.

  Three

  Deep in the heart of the house, a clock struck the twelfth hour in a regular baritone. It penetrated Miranda’s slumber and brought her awake.

  The fire had burned low and the room was filled with a pale, eerie light. Getting out of bed, she scrunched the bottom part of the nightgown into her hand so she wouldn’t trip over it, and moved to the window.

  The wound on her head was a constant drumbeat under the bandaging, and the muscle on her thigh ached where the dogs’ teeth had penetrated below the skin.

  There had been a fresh fall of snow while she slept. The sky was low and heavy, threatening more. The air in the room was cool, and the nightlight on its saucer fluttered like a frenzied moth trapped in a pool of molten wax.

  Anna was asleep on the daybed, but Miranda didn’t wake her. The woman had to work all day and needed her rest. She settled a couple of medium-sized logs on the fire and replaced the spark guard.

  Her sister’s breathing was laboured and harsh, the sound reaching her from the room next door. Now and again, a rattling cough disturbed its rhythm. Miranda lit a candle from the nightlight to guide her to where Lucy slept. She placed the back of her hand against her sister’s heated skin.

  ‘Mama … I’m thirsty,’ Lucy whispered.

  Mama! Tears sprang to Miranda’s eyes as she filled a glass with water from a flower-patterned white china jug. The image that came to her mind, of her poor mother lying under the snow in the cold with just the dead infant for company, saddened her.

  Lucy tried to gulp the water down and then began to cough.

  Propping her sister’s head against her shoulder, Miranda said, ‘Sip it slowly, my love.’

  ‘I’m hot. I can’t breathe and everything itches.’

  ‘You’ll feel a little better in a day or two. Sir James left me something to help stop the itch. He said that, however hard it irritates, you mustn’t scratch the spots; otherwise they’ll leave scars.

  She gazed at the pot of salve Sir James had left on the table. What had he said? It had killed the dogs’ fleas and taken the itch from their bites. He’d laughed when she’d asked him if fleas breathed.

  Removing the lid, she inhaled its fragrance. It didn’t smell in the least bit sinister, but seemed to consist of aloe juice with lavender mixed in. She spread the concoction on Lucy’s skin. ‘There, does that feel better?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘It feels nice and cool. Miranda … I thought I saw our mother standing at the end of my bed.’

  The hairs prickled up Miranda’s arms and into her neck. ‘It would have been the maid checking on you, I expect. She’s asleep on the day bed now.’

  ‘Do you think that man will let us stay here?’

  ‘I don’t know. He seems nice, but he can’t take in everyone who is homeless. Perhaps he’ll give us a job. Or he might decide we must go into an institution for the poor. Our mother was taking us all to the workhouse. She had no choice.’

  Lucy’s nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t want to go into a workhouse.’

  ‘I know. But it might be the only thing we can do to survive. We can’t wander around the countryside in winter without shelter or food. We probably wouldn’t have to stay there for long. I might fall in love and get married, and then we would have a home.’

  ‘Perhaps you could marry Sir James.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Lucy. He’s old enough to be my grandfather.’

  ‘No, he’s not. He’s only fifty-four. I asked the maid.’

  She shrugged. ‘If you don’t think that’s too old, you can marry him. Now, settle down to sleep. Sir James might want to talk to me tomorrow, so I want to make a good impression and remain alert.’

  ‘What will you tell him?’

  ‘I’ll answer any question he asks with the truth. He’s already indicated that he’s not the type of man who would tolerate a liar. He’s also a magistrate, so would not allow one to stay undetected for long, either. Then where would we be?’ She kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘Go to sleep now. Goodnight.’

  The logs had begun to burn and sparks flew up the chimney as they snapped and cracked. Firelight caused the shadows to leap like puppets dancing on the wall.

  When she was settled in bed again, Miranda’s glance was drawn to the portrait of the young man. His face was in shadow, but his greenish eyes glittered in the firelight. She smiled at him and whispered, ‘Perhaps I’ll marry you.’

  A log cracked and then flared up. Something shifted in a corner. There was a moaning sound and she caught a glimpse of a pale gown.

  Heart bumping, she gazed at it. ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’

  The maid sat up. ‘Is everything all right, miss? Do you need anything?’

  ‘I’ve just got back from making my sister comfortable and thought I heard someone groan.’

  ‘It’s the draught blowing under the door. Usually it happens when one of the outside doors is opened. I expect the master has let the dogs out before he retires for the night.’

  As if on cue, there came a bark from outside, and the gruff voice of Sir James calling them back. Miranda relaxed back on to her pillow with a sigh of relief.

  ‘You get used to the ways of this house after a while, miss. You go back to sleep now, and your body will soon mend.’

  Miranda did, but not for long. Just as she was about to drift into sleep, she heard a snuffling, panting sound along the bottom of the door. Suddenly wide awake, her heart began to pound again.

  A soft whistle from the depths of the house was followed by a whining yawn and the scrabble of feet on floorboards.

  One of the dogs, thank goodness. Heart returning to its usual rhythm, she sighed when the maid began to snore, and pulled the covers over her ears to block out the noise.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed a good night’s sleep,’ Sir James said the next morning.

  Did he? Did he indeed, when he’d recently woken her up from it? Her head felt as though it was full of feathers. She managed to contain a sharp retort; even managed to release a polite smile to accompany her lie. ‘Yes, thank you, Sir James.’

  ‘I want to examine that head of yours again. Does it still ache?’ He leaned forward and parted her hair, his fingers gentle against her scalp.

  ‘Just a little.’

  ‘You were lucky, Miss Jarvis. Focus on my finger, would you?’

  His face was a few inches beyond the end of her nose, and her gaze wandered away from the slowly moving finger. His dark, guarded eyes were fascinating, flecked with little streaks of brown and grey on the surface and with nothing but darkness in their depths.

  ‘You’re supposed to be looking at my finger,’ he said, and he sat back. ‘You know, young lady, if you look into a man’s eyes like that when you grow up, you’ll be in serious trouble. Another day in bed for you, I think. It will keep you out of mischief. I’ll have your sister brought through to keep you company.’

  ‘Lucy was thirsty during the night.’

  ‘So she told me. She still has a fever, but I think its heat has reduced somewhat. I’ll send up a dose of willow-bark, which will help reduce it further. I can make you a dose to help ease your headache, too. By tomorrow, all of your sister’s spots will have emerged and she will feel much better. Having a warm bed to sleep in has helped. My housekeeper is going to make you both some ginger cordial. It’s a cure-all.’

  ‘Like your aloe and lavender salve? It soothed Lucy’s itches very quickly. Are you a doctor?’

  ‘You could say that I doctor people sometimes. I’m interested in the healing qualities of plants, and I record my findings when I get the time.’

  The door opened and the three dogs pushed their way in, tails wagging. Placing his head on t
he bed, Caesar lifted first one brow and then the other, his glance going back and forth.

  ‘So, you’ve managed to reach the door knob and open doors now,’ Sir James said to the dog. ‘I hope you’ve all come to apologize to the young lady for the fright you gave her yesterday.’

  Caesar whined, and when Miranda cautiously stroked his head, he licked her hand. Sir James smiled. ‘There. Now it’s your turn, Roma. Do your pretty parlour trick.’ The bitch sat up on her haunches and waved her front legs in the air. ‘Good girl.’ Sir James patted her. ‘Nero, you can shake hands like the gentleman you are.’ Nero seemed to grin when he held a paw up to be shaken.

  She laughed. ‘They’re nice dogs.’

  He sent them packing. ‘They’re trained to guard the house and roam free in the place at night. Make no mistake: they would tear the throat out of an intruder if I ordered it. Caesar settled himself down outside your door last night. Perhaps he intended to eat you for supper. I hope he didn’t wake you.’

  ‘I was already awake. I thought it was a ghost at the door.’ Her glance wandered to the corner of the room and she grinned. There was a gown draped over the back of a chair and a needlework box on the table. The hem was tacked up ready to be stitched into position. ‘Is it still snowing?’

  ‘Off and on, but the wind is coming off the sea and the snow isn’t heavy enough to form into drifts. It will clear by mid-morning.’

  ‘There’s something I must tell you, Sir James. Our mother died in the woods, near the road, giving birth to a stillborn baby four days ago. She is still there, I think.’

  ‘I see. Did nobody stop to help her?’

  ‘A man and woman stopped, supposedly to help us, then helped themselves to everything of value our mother had on her. They took us to the village church and left us there, but we were turned away. The gypsies gave us a bowl of rabbit stew to eat, and somewhere to sleep. But they left in the morning. The smell of food led us to your kitchen. That is why I stole the bread.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘I’ll make enquiries about your mother. Do you have a father?’

  ‘He was estate manager to the Earl of Parbrook. Our father died after a fall from a horse and we had to leave our accommodation to make room for the incoming manager.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘I can’t bear the thought of our mother left there in the woods. She and the baby need to be buried.’

  His forehead crinkled in a frown and, awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. ‘Which road were you on?’

  ‘I don’t think it had a name. We started out on the main track from the Parbrook Estate, and then left it to take a lesser track. Our mother said there was a barn she knew of where we could shelter, which was a day’s walk by foot away from the Earl’s home. But we couldn’t find it, only a shepherd’s hut. We stayed there for a night. My mother said the barn must be across the fields, and the track took us into the woods. Then the infant started to arrive …’ Tears scalded her eyes at the recollection of what her mother had gone through.

  ‘Can you remember what those people looked like?’

  ‘They were ordinary, except the woman had ginger hair, a rusty colour.’

  His mouth twisted in a smile. ‘She shouldn’t be too hard to find if they’re still in the district. Strangers with red hair will be noticed in these parts.’

  ‘Oh, I remember, too, that the woman took a blanket made of knitted wool squares in different colours. Lucy and I had made it for the baby.’

  ‘All the better.’

  ‘You won’t be too hard on them if you find them, will you? They were hungry and cold like us, and looking for work. At least they didn’t leave us there.’

  ‘You have a soft heart, Miss Jarvis. Do you have anything that might have your mother’s scent on? My dogs are very good at tracking.’

  She indicated her mother’s shawl. ‘It will have all our scents on; I hope it doesn’t confuse them.’

  ‘It won’t. They already know your scent and where you are. They’ll be looking for the strange scent.’ He stood when a knock came at the door and picked the shawl up. ‘That will be the housekeeper to see what you want for breakfast.’ He smiled at Pridie when she entered. ‘Bring her sister through. The pair of them can sit at that little table by the fire. Miss Lucy might be able to manage some gruel and a glass of milk. We will try them on coddled eggs and a little ham, and some toasted muffins and gooseberry preserve. And send up a jug of hot water so they can wash, if you please.’

  After the woman left, he smoothed his fingers over the shawl. ‘I’m sorry your folk died. That must have been hard. What was your mother’s name in case I need it for the parish register?’

  ‘Anna Louise Jarvis. Her family name was Jefferies. Thank you; you’re very kind, Sir James.’

  Now he looked embarrassed and said gruffly, ‘I wouldn’t turn a starving dog from my door without a meal in its belly, let alone one suffering from a fever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with the pair of you yet.’

  ‘I can work. I’m very accurate with figures and my father taught me to keep the Parbrook Estate ledgers in good order.’

  ‘Did he now? I’ll bear that in mind if I’m ever in need of a clerk. At the moment, our conversation on your futures must be set aside to a later date, as it seems I have other, more urgent business to attend to. We must find your mother’s body and see her decently buried.’ He left, and shortly afterwards there came a faint sound of hammering from the direction of the stables.

  When they’d finished their morning toilette, the maid cleared everything away and breakfast arrived. While they ate, Miranda heard men call to one another and the occasional bark or howl from the dogs. The hammering stopped.

  Afterwards, they knelt on the window seat and watched several men on horses move out, leaving dirty trails through the slush. Sir James was easily recognized by his size.

  A man driving a small cart followed the men on horseback. The cart had a crude box on the back, probably in which to place the bodies of their mother and the infant. That’s what the hammering had been for. Someone had made a burial box.

  ‘Is that box for Mama?’ Lucy began to cry.

  Miranda put an arm around her and cuddled her close. ‘She would want us to be brave.’

  Two men left the main group and went in the opposite direction.

  ‘They’ve gone to look for the body of our mother and those people who stole from us,’ she said, smoothing Lucy’s hair when her sister leaned her head against her shoulder.

  ‘What will they do if they find them?’

  ‘I don’t know. Send them to prison, I suppose.’

  They watched until the men went into the woods. Their breath steamed up the window and Miranda wrote their names in it with her finger. She gazed at her sister’s face and smiled. ‘I’ll put something on your spots to stop them itching. Do you still feel feverish?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not as bad as yesterday. I still feel tired, though.’

  Her sister was far from her usual robust state. ‘Except for breakfast today, you haven’t eaten for several days. You must go back to bed and rest as much as possible.’

  ‘Can’t I lie on the day bed? It’s lonely all by myself. You could read to me.’

  ‘I haven’t got a book. Besides, Sir James wants me to rest, too. The bed’s big enough for two.’

  ‘Do you like Sir James?’

  Miranda had reservations. There was something about him that she didn’t quite trust, but she couldn’t say what. It was just an instinct.

  ‘I don’t know. He said he’s a magistrate, so I think he’ll be strict when we get to know him. I’ll tell you after I’ve talked to him.’ She thought about it while the housekeeper came in to build the fire up. When the woman had gone, Miranda told her sister, ‘I’ve offered to keep Sir James’s books, like I did for our father. If we can be useful, he might allow us to stay.’

  ‘What can I do? I’m not very good at anything.’

  ‘You can play the piano and sing better th
an I can. I saw a piano downstairs when we arrived. Perhaps he would enjoy listening to it.’ Taking up a brush from the dresser, she gently tidied the soft brown length of Lucy’s hair. When her sister’s eyelids began to droop, she laid her back amongst the pillows, then joined her in the bed.

  Her gaze was drawn to the portrait of Fletcher Taunt, and she smiled and said, ‘You resemble your uncle greatly. Are you as tall, I wonder?’

  The cold had kept the woman suspended in rigor mortis. She looked as though she was carved from marble, for the blood had pooled on the underside.

  James moved a wet strand of hair from her face with his forefinger. Like the rest of her hair, it was sodden from slush.

  She’d been a beauty in life, like her two daughters. The infant was in her arms; its skin was dark, as though it had strangled on the cord before it could take a breath.

  They reminded James of his own wife and daughter, taken in the same manner all those years ago, except they hadn’t had to experience the indignity of dying in the open air. He hadn’t mourned that loss too keenly, since the marriage had been an arranged one. His wife had been a little on the dull side and had offered him no companionship of note, and she had been an unwilling partner in bed. James had been left with a son then. Barely five years old, William had died from typhoid six months later, and James had thought his heart would break. How many times could it be broken, though? He wondered. Now it was Fletcher’s turn to break it. He must make matters right between them. The argument had been his fault. He’d said some hard things to Fletcher, and he missed the boy.

  Still, the young must defer to the old, and Fletcher would come to realize it.

  He was tidying the woman’s skirts when he felt something hard along the hem. Taking out a knife, he slit along the fold and removed a heavy gold ring of the type a man would wear. There was a second ring to fit a woman’s hand, with a small, inferior diamond in it, and a couple of golden guineas. He searched the rest of Anna Jarvis’s clothing thoroughly and, finding nothing else, turned to Jack Pridie, the general foreman of the estate and husband of his housekeeper.