“My parents?” For a moment, the word makes no sense. “Oh. My Australian family. No.”
Alicia says hastily, “Not my business, of course.”
No. It isn’t. Jesse says slowly, “It’s hard to know what to say about all this.”
“Tricky.” Alicia swirls the wine in her glass.
“They won’t tell me anything about the past, Alicia. Nothing at all.” Jesse blinks. The wine’s making her too confiding.
“Perhaps it hurts too much to, oh, I don’t know, deal with the truth? They must have thought about it, telling you, I mean. I can’t imagine the mental torture—for them and for you.”
“Torture is right. It’s like being racked.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure we’ve got one of those. In the cellars. Hasn’t been used for a while, but built to last, I’d say.”
Jesse cheers up. “I can think of a few people I’d like to test it on. Rory Brandon for starters.”
They both grin.
Alicia chuckles. “Why not?”
33
RORY PUTS his spoon down. “That was really pretty good.”
Mack snorts. “Damned with faint praise.”
“Just saying. Not everyone knows how to make a crème anglaise.”
“I do.”
“Bet you got the chef to do it.”
“Boys, boys!” Helen’s smiling. They’re play-sparring for her benefit. She enjoys that.
The three are sitting in the family kitchen of the owner’s flat at the back of the Hunt. It’s been a good dinner and the atmosphere is mellow.
“It’s so lovely we’re all together. Doesn’t happen often enough.”
Rory stifles a yawn. “I do my best, Mum.”
Helen passes a bowl of chocolates. “Stay here next time you come. We’d see more of you.”
Rory says nothing, passes the chocolates along to Mack.
“It’s orange dark chocolate, Rory. Your favorite.”
“I’ll have his.” Mack winks at his brother.
Rory murmurs, “What are you, a Labrador?”
Helen’s not deflected. “There’s a spare bedroom now. Plenty of space.”
“You’re not living here?” Rory looks at Mack.
“I’ve bought a house in the village.”
“No. Really? Great idea.”
Helen chimes in, “You see? You’re out of touch with your own family.”
Mack nods, unpeels another chocolate. “Have a look while you’re here. Lots of work, but I’ll enjoy doing that. Dad’s letting me use his tools.” Mack grins.
Rory whistles. “That’s a first.” The grin is shared. Mack’s dad, an engineer in the navy, is famously protective of his workshop tools. “And thanks for the invitation, Mum.”
“You’re my son.” Helen covers Rory’s hand with her own.
“No one else’s, so far as I know.” A sardonic grin.
Something complex alters Helen’s expression. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.” Her voice is suddenly sharp. “And I know why you don’t stay here. It’s Alicia. It can’t just be that drafty old barn you’re staying in.”
“Mum.” Mack looks at her warningly.
“What if I’m fond of that drafty old barn? Hundredfield still feels like home to me.” Rory removes his hand calmly. “Alicia’s having a rough time at the moment. Just needs a bit of support.”
“So, coffee?” Mack gets up. Goes to the galley kitchen. With a flourish, he flips a cupboard open.
“An espresso machine! That’s new. I’ll definitely have one.”
Mack grins. “Straight up or . . .?”
“Cappuccino for me, if you can do it.”
“You’ll have bad dreams, and you won’t sleep, Rory.”
He grins. “One or the other I’d say, Mum. I think you can trust me to know if I’m going to sleep or not.”
The chewing whine of beans being ground interrupts.
Mack shouts, “Sorry.” The whine stops.
“So, how’s your work going? The Australian girl?”
Rory’s certain Helen remembers Jesse’s name. “Yes, Jesse Marley.”
“I got the impression she wouldn’t be here very long.”
“Too early to say.”
Mack starts frothing the milk.
Rory lifts his voice but he’s careful with his words. “When you met Jesse, you seemed a bit offhand, Mum. I didn’t say it at the time, but I was embarrassed.”
“Was I, really?” Helen’s eyes are innocent. “Oh, dear, I am sorry. I do hope she wasn’t offended. But we were very busy just then and . . .”
Rory just looks at her.
Helen subsides into silence.
Mack calls out, “By the way, I should have said earlier, I’ll be taking a day off tomorrow, Mum.”
Helen turns in her chair. “But we’ve got two bus parties booked for lunch.”
Mack comes over to the table, coffees perfectly balanced in one hand. “For you.” He puts the first in front of his brother, sits with the other. “It’s sorted. Tom’ll work the bar and Jewel will do the shift with Rachel.”
“I wish you’d told me, Mack.”
“Mum, it’ll be fine. Tom’s reliable, he’s worked here often enough. You employ me to manage the place. This is me, managing.”
“Yes, but still—”
Rory interrupts, “Something special planned?”
“I’m taking Jesse to Jedburgh.”
“That was who called earlier?” Rory’s eyebrows are raised.
“Yep.” Mack savors the coffee. “Tastes great, don’t you think? So much better than instant. Thinking of putting one in the bar. Novelty value for the tourists.”
“Won’t that be expensive?”
“You sound like Mum.” Mack’s a patient man, but there’s a bit of an edge. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.”
“Why would that girl want to go to Jedburgh?” Helen interrupts.
“It’s a pretty place. I thought that girl and I might have a picnic.” Mack looks pleased at the thought.
“Jesse was born there. Did you know that?” Rory’s staring at his brother.
Mack nods. “She met Fred when she was in town today and he gave her a lead. A nun who might know about her mother; the old lady lives in a nursing home there.”
“A nun.” Helen’s face is expressionless.
Mack looks at Helen. “Yes. She was one of the midwives at Holly House—that’s the actual place Jesse was born. There’s a chance she might remember something.” He says helpfully, “It was a home for unmarried mothers then.”
Rory half stands as Helen gets up. “Are you okay?”
“Excuse me, would you?” Helen’s pale. “So silly. I feel a little . . .” She leaves the room abruptly.
The brothers stare at one another.
“What was that?”
Mack shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s going on. She’s been like this ever since you turned up.”
Rory hesitates. “I’d better stay the night.” He stifles a sigh.
Mack’s relieved. “Great. That’ll get her off my back.” He punches Rory’s arm. “Useful, sometimes, having a big brother.”
34
THE MORNING’S turned humid as Alicia waits on Hundredfield’s river flats. Shading her eyes, she tracks the shooting brake as it stops at the edge of a field. A man gets out to take the chain off the gate and Alicia waves.
It’s some minutes before he arrives beside her. The door opens and green rubber boots descend, followed by their owner, a large, fit man in his forties, wearing a well-used Barbour coat. Though his face is weathered, eyes of a clear, bright gray smile a moment ahead of his mouth as he strolls forward, hand outstretched. “Lady Alicia. Very good to see you. Keeping well, I trust?”
Alicia grasps the offered hand. “I appreciate this, Mr. Windhover.”
“Hugh, please. A preliminary assessment. That’s what Allan D’Acre said.” Hugh Windhover is curious and hopes he’s hiding it
.
“Yes. I need some information about Hundredfield’s market value.”
“You’re considering selling the whole of the estate, or only part?”
“A lot depends on what you tell me.”
He says easily, “I understand. And everything we speak of will, of course, be confidential.”
Alicia nods. “Thank you. So, I thought we might drive around the estate to begin with. Give you a better sense of what we have here.”
Hugh Windhover is used to buying and selling country properties for wealthy clients, but even for him this is a rare event. It will be momentous in the north if Alicia Donne sells Hundredfield, and for his business too. He can understand why she might want to, after the death of her parents; hard to run a place like this when you’ve had no training in estate management. “Your car, or mine?”
Alicia’s old Land Rover, liberally spattered with mud, stands in the middle of the field.
“I’ll drive.” Alicia strides ahead.
Hugh falls in beside her. “London treating you well?”
“Sometimes.”
He nods thoughtfully but doesn’t push. “Where first?”
“I’ll do a circuit of the estate, then take you up to the castle. I wanted you to see this first, however. The river flats are called the Champion Lands on the old estate maps. I like that.” She puts the old car in gear and takes a track beside the river.
Hugh stares out through the window. “This is excellent soil, and a ready water supply, of course.” He’s done his research. He knows that at least half the estate is leased out, but as Alicia drives on, he’s surprised by how rich the prime agricultural land really is, and its extent. Then there are Hundredfield’s woods, remnant tracts of the great forest that once covered so much of the borderlands. He gestures. “These plantings of oak now; this is all valuable timber.”
“My great-great-grandfather went through the woodland systematically, culled and replanted. It hasn’t been maintained properly, but . . .”
“It’s in pretty good shape I’d say, even after, what, a hundred or so years?” Hugh’s calculating. “This is a real asset to the estate, Lady Alicia. You’re lucky to have so much woodland intact.”
“And we still have some truly ancient trees amongst it. The last of the shipbuilder’s oaks were planted in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, for instance. They’re worth seeing. I can show you, if you like. Won’t take long.” The track they’re driving on branches off into the woods.
“I’d like that.” Hugh’s enjoying himself. Pleasure doesn’t always come with business.
Alicia swings the wheel and they bump onto an uneven surface where pools remain from the recent rain; the track, long unused, narrows into the distance, a tunnel of green dark.
Alicia keeps up a stream of bright chatter as they rattle on. “You know, I don’t think I’ve been here for years and years. Looks quite spooky, doesn’t it? So many trees, so little light at this time of year.”
“Very Grimm’s Fairy Tales. But no wicked witches lurking today, I’d say. Or lost children.” Hugh understands how tense Alicia is, but he’s good at putting clients at ease. Somewhere, thunder mutters. “More rain on the way.”
Please, God, no. The drumbeat of worry starts up in Alicia’s head as the Land Rover hits a large puddle. “Sorry. Deeper than it looks.” She drops to a lower gear and plows on. Canted over at an uncomfortable angle, the driver’s side of the car is up to the wheel arches in liquid, and the laboring engine stutters.
“Don’t stall!”
The engine coughs, as if clearing its throat, and settles to its normal note—ancient fishing boat.
“Good girl.” Alicia pats the dash as if the car were a horse. She selects low range and the wheels grind forward, spitting mud. “Some of these estate roads need work, and—”
The crack, when it comes, is very, very loud.
Alicia stamps on the brakes and when the great branch hits the track in front, its canopy of leaves covers the car as the horn screams a warning. Too late.
“Alicia?!” Hugh lunges across from his seat to hers.
Slumped over the wheel, the girl stirs. She sits up, wincing, and the horn stops. “That hurt.”
“When your head hit the wheel, I thought . . . Well, I didn’t want to think that.” Hugh’s appalled.
Alicia touches the egg growing in the center of her forehead; her fingers come away bloody. “Teach me not to wear a seat belt. I’ll be a unicorn soon.”
Hugh produces a handkerchief. “You’re bleeding. Let me drive?”
Pressing the linen to her head, Alicia starts to say, No, I’m fine. And changes her mind. “Would you?”
Hugh hurries around to the driver’s side and helps her navigate the wreck of foliage. It’s a measure of how strange Alicia feels that the branches seem almost like arms and the twigs like fingers that snag and grab as she moves past.
“Up you go.”
Alicia allows Hugh to help her into the passenger side of the car; it’s such a comfort to be taken care of.
Settling the girl in the seat, Hugh buckles the belt—with a moment of shy confusion from Alicia as he reaches across her body—before he sprints around to the other side. The branch was a whole lot bigger than he’d thought—they were lucky. He says, “It’s mostly leaves on the hood, nothing really serious.”
Alicia closes her eyes. She has no idea if he’s right.
Hugh pushes the starter button and the engine fires up, the wheels bite, and the car moves backward, smooth and steady, leaving a tangle of broken tree behind. A glance at the pale girl beside him, and Hugh ventures, “I think we should get you home, Lady Alicia. It’s easy enough for me to come to Hundredfield again when it suits you.”
Home. The word jostles around behind Alicia’s eyes; she doesn’t want to think about home.
“Shit!” Hugh stamps the brakes down and hauls on the hand brake, slewing the car to the right; he never swears in front of a woman.
Alicia’s eyes jolt open as an entire tree falls across the road, a carnage of leaves and shattered living timber. But nothing hits the car.
The two sit in astonished silence. After a moment, Hugh gets out to inspect the damage.
From the safety of the car, Alicia peers out at the trees. They crowd close to the track, a silent army dressed in summer green.
“Hugh!”
He hurries back.
“Did you see?” Alicia winds the window down.
He stares in the direction she’s pointing. “What?”
“There was someone.” Alicia hesitates.
Hugh’s seriously worried. “Have you got a headache? Fuzzy vision?”
She’d laugh, except his concern is so real. “Well, yes, I’ve got a headache. Bit odd if I didn’t have one, wouldn’t you say?”
Hugh’s relieved she’s talking sense. “Best thing you can do is stay here, Lady Alicia. We’re not so far from where I parked. I’ll go for help.”
“No!”
He looks at her, puzzled.
“That is, I’d prefer to come with you. If that’s all right?”
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m certain.” Alicia’s never been so sure of anything in her life.
His expression is dubious. “We’ll go very gently, then. Tell me if it gets too much.”
“Gently. Yes. That would be good.”
He helps her down and they set off together, his arm around her waist, her leaning into his shoulder. “And if we see your friend, we’ll ask him for a hand.” He’s joking.
“Wasn’t a he.”
“What?”
“I saw a woman.”
35
VERY PRETTY country in the borders. I had no idea.” Gaaaargh! He’ll think you’re an idiot!
“If you like flooded fields.” Mack flips Jesse a smile.
“The waterbirds do.” Meadows slip past on either side, and in dips and gullies small flocks cluster on storm-made ponds. “Those are he
rons?” Jesse turns back to look over her good shoulder. “And ducks and, oh, so many others I don’t know.”
“Sedge warblers, hedge buntings, moorhen, grebe.” A glance in the rearview mirror. “Pretty, but not good eating.”
She grins. “You’re just saying that. I can see you in a damp hide with binoculars, the secret twitcher of Newton Prior.”
That grin again. “If I twitch, you’ll be the first to know.”
She laughs. “I love the names, though.” The smile fades. It’s hard not to feel nervous. And not just because Mack’s in touching distance.
The sound of the engine fills the silence, until he says, “Always like this, after a good storm. The world’s washed clean.”
“That’s a lovely way to put it.” She hesitates. “I really do want to thank you for giving me a lift, Mack.”
He grins. “Again? Not such a hardship, I promise.”
And, just when you need to be witty . . . “I know I have, but still . . .”
“Waters run deep?”
“Oh, very funny.” But she’s laughing. And blushing. She can feel it. Look out the window! “She’s very nice, apparently, Sister Mary Joseph. Fred told me that. And even if she doesn’t remember my mother, maybe she’ll know someone who does.”
Remember my mother. The words set up an echo in Jesse’s head. A terrified almost-child. Alone. Lost. “Do you think she was forced to give me up?”
His glance is compassionate. “A powerful force, family shame. Especially then.”
Jesse’s says quietly, “She could have come from anywhere, couldn’t she?”
“But most likely the country.”
“Why do you say that?” Jesse blows her nose. She will not give in.
“Well, there’s always been a high number of unmarried mothers on both sides of the borders. Especially in the southeast. It’s a well-noted anomaly.”
She turns to stare at Mack’s profile. “How do you know?”
“This has always been a turbulent place, and the wars here forced a certain degree of intermingling. Putting it nicely. Still going on. The intermingling, not the wars, obviously.”
Wild Wood Page 27
