Parliament of Rooks

by Karen Perkins

‘Harder than it looks,’ Lara said. ‘Right, Hans, are you coming with me or staying here with Auntie Verity?’

  Hannah cast a disdainful look over her mother’s dust-laden and generally grimy appearance and stuck her nose back into her book. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  Lara and I grinned at each other, then went our separate ways in search of cleanliness.

  ‘Meet you in the Black Bull?’

  ‘Half an hour.’

  As it transpired, Hannah and I passed the Old White Lion just as Lara emerged.

  ‘You look like a new woman,’ I said.

  ‘Good job too. You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.’

  Giggling at Hannah’s eye roll, we linked arms and followed Hannah to the Black Bull and lunch.

  I stopped dead as soon as I stepped through the interior door.

  ‘Is that ... ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s the painting man,’ Hannah exclaimed and ran over to him. ‘Hello, have you painted my picture yet?’

  William Sutcliffe glanced down at her, stared a moment, then raised his eyes to mine. He lifted his hand to his flat cap and tweaked it, then regarded Hannah once more, tilting his head first one way then the other.

  ‘Not yet, lassie, but one day. Setting has to be right, though.’

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, he’s going to paint me!’

  ‘That’s lovely, Hans.’ She raised her eyebrow at William, and he shrugged.

  ‘She’s persuasive, that one.’

  Lara relaxed. ‘Yes, she certainly can be.’

  He turned his attention to me. ‘Ms Earnshaw.’ He touched his cap again.

  ‘Mr Sutcliffe.’

  ‘I’ll be seeing you later as agreed?’

  I nodded, then followed Lara and Hannah to a table.

  ‘Seeing him later?’ Lara asked.

  ‘He wants to come and see The Rookery,’ I reminded her. ‘To get an idea of where his pictures will hang.’

  ‘It seems a bit early for that.’ Lara pursed her lips, but amusement shone in her eyes.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Lara,’ I said, ‘can I ask you a serious question?’

  ‘Of course, what is it?’

  ‘How can he be a ghost if he’s flesh and blood?’

  ‘Why, Verity,’ Lara laughed, ‘he can’t be. You must have seen him on one of your trips here before you moved in, he’s made an impression on your subconscious and that’s why he’s popping up in your dreams.’

  ‘No. No, that’s not it, it’s more than that. Besides, if I’d seen him, I’d have remembered.’ I blushed at the lifting of Lara’s eyebrows, then recovered myself.

  ‘There are at least three ghosts, right? The Grey Lady and the two orbs.’

  Lara nodded.

  ‘Because of the dreams and what else has happened – Jayne being pushed, Christmas Eve when Antony was here, last night ...’ I tailed off then gathered my thoughts, grateful that Lara had the patience to wait for me. ‘Well, how can he be a ghost if he’s standing right there?’

  ‘He can’t.’

  ‘So what is he?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Lara said, and reached over to grasp my hand. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t. We don’t even know that the man you’ve been dreaming of is one of the orbs. At least we know the Grey Lady and the orbs don’t mean you harm.’

  ‘How do we know that?’

  ‘They still appeared after we’d cleansed and protected The Rookery. They’re not evil or demonic.’

  I stared at her in shock.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Verity. Those orbs were white light, and the sense around the Grey Lady was one of peace. They’re beings of light.’

  ‘But what do they want?’

  Lara opened her mouth then shut it again. She had no answer.

  I looked up in time to see William tip his cap to me again and leave the pub.

  7.

  William Sutcliffe eyed me from head to toe, then frowned at the birds overhead and pushed past me into The Rookery.

  ‘I’m going to dinner with Lara and Hannah when we’ve finished here,’ I said, then mentally berated myself. Why on earth was I explaining my outfit to this man? Although, I had to admit, I hadn’t chosen my V-neck dress for Lara ...

  ‘Uh huh,’ he said, scanning me once more, then he lifted his eyes to take in the building site that was still my foyer. ‘Still got a bit of work to be getting on with.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They’re getting the en-suites sorted at the moment, then the plasterers and decorators can take over.’

  ‘It’ll take time for the plaster to dry.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s all in hand, the schedule’s been devised for an Easter opening.’

  He nodded. ‘Are you going to give me the tour then?’

  I bit my lip, wondering if he was being deliberately rude or if this was his habitual manner. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

  ‘These will be the public rooms,’ I began. ‘Lounge area there, reception desk, then breakfast room through there.’

  ‘And will you have pictures on all the walls?’

  ‘All but that one and the corner.’ I pointed. ‘Those will be covered with book shelves.’

  ‘I see.’ He looked at me expectantly.

  He was older than the man in my dreams, I suddenly realised, his skin more weathered and tanned. The eyes and the shock of curly dark hair were the same, though – apart from the threads of grey at his temples.

  He still hadn’t shaved, and the stubble was nearly long enough to be called a beard. I wondered if my dream man had the same need to shave so often, then realised I was staring.

  I tried to hide my blush by rushing towards the stairway. His smirk told me he had noticed my colour.

  ‘There will be one bedroom through here.’ I placed my hand on the wall. ‘They’ll knock through and partition it off from the existing kitchen, but it’s a bit of a mess at the moment.’

  ‘Double or single?’

  ‘Double with wetroom, and accessible for a wheelchair.’

  He nodded, then pushed past me to the stairs.

  ‘What will be down here?’ he asked, indicating the first corridor.

  ‘Housekeeping cupboards, then a single room at the end. Branwell’s Room.’

  He cocked an eyebrow in question.

  ‘I’m calling each room by the name of a Brontë sibling. Charlotte’s will be the room downstairs, Emily’s and Anne’s will be doubles on the next landing, then Elizabeth and Maria’s at the top.’

  ‘I thought you said five bedrooms.’

  ‘Yes, Elizabeth and Maria’s will be a twin.’

  He said nothing, but opened the door to Branwell’s Room and crossed to the window.

  We were at the front of the building, away from the parsonage, and looking out over the rolling, green hills of the Worth Valley.

  ‘You’ll be able to see at least six mills from here when it’s light,’ William said. ‘An image of the mill race and waterwheel would look well there, then a study of the mill floor on that wall.’

  ‘I was thinking more of Brontë landscapes.’

  ‘You can’t have the Brontës without the mills,’ he said. ‘The mills were a major part of life here when they lived. The whole village depended on them. It would add a bit more interest too, rather than the same old images you see everywhere. England’s dark satanic mills,’ he quoted. ‘William Blake, Jerusalem.’

  ‘Well, I suppose so – you’re the expert.’

  He nodded, pointed to the door, then brushed at his face, cursing cobwebs. He pushed up his sleeves: he meant business now, and I led the way to the next rooms, listening to his suggestions, not only on subject matter and placement, but lighting too.

  My initial shock at meeting him yesterday had morphed into a combination of suspicion, trepidation and ... fascination. Yes, that w
as the word; he fascinated me. Why was I dreaming about him? Or a version of him, anyway.

  ‘You know the place is haunted, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘What? Well, yes, I do as a matter of fact.’ I laughed.

  He held out his arm for me to inspect before I could elaborate.

  Cautiously, I stepped closer and gasped when I saw every hair on his arm was standing on end. I stretched out a finger to stroke the strands and was rooted to the spot by a rush of electricity.

  More energy lifted my chin – his finger, I dimly realised – and our eyes met.

  ‘That’s not static,’ he said, his voice hoarse and gruff.

  ‘No,’ I said – or tried to; my own voice was misbehaving and it came out as a whisper. ‘I don’t think it is.’

  His head lowered and my breathing accelerated. Very slowly, his lips inched closer, until his breathing was mine and mine his.

  My phone rang, startling us both, and I pulled away and fumbled it out of my pocket; partly with relief that the spell, whatever it had been, was broken, and partly with exasperation at the loss.

  Crestfallen, I hung up.

  ‘Not going to dinner then?’

  ‘No. It was Lara, Hannah’s poorly – only the sniffles and a headache, but she’s running a temperature and Lara’s put her to bed.’

  ‘Guess you’re on your own then.’

  I frowned at him, my patience running out and my mind whirling with confusion. Then my heart lurched as a smile transformed his gruff, whiskery, taciturn features.

  ‘Sorry, that was rude. What I mean to say is, I’m dining alone as well, will you join me? Only at the Black Bull like,’ he added, ‘but they do a mean curry.’

  I heard myself agree before I was aware I’d decided. I didn’t feel as if I had any choice; not one inch of me wanted to depart from his company.

  8.

  The noise was tremendous, a surreal cacophony that shut out the world and exhausted the senses. Five floors of wheels, gear levers, travellers, carriages, and row upon row upon row of spinning bobbins created a rhythm more urgent and regular than her own heartbeat.

  It took over everything; every movement was made to the percussion of the spinning frames. Those working the cap frames walked to a different beat to those at the ring spinners, who were out of step with the mule spinners, their wooden clogs – no hobnails allowed in here for fear of sparks – reinforcing the beat of the iron machines they tended.

  The only thing out of rhythm was the staccato coughing of the women and children in attendance on these marvellous monsters of modern ingenuity. Throats dried within seconds of walking on to the spinning floor, and lungs breathed in the fine wool fibres flying off the machines like spider silk.

  Even kerchiefs tied around mouths and noses couldn’t keep the stuff out, and most didn’t bother. For some, it filled their bellies, driving away the hunger pains, despite providing no sustenance.

  Martha doubled over with the violence of her coughing fit. She had been drifting, standing with her mouth hanging open like an old clodhopper. Sarah grabbed hold of her and yanked, then pointed to forestall Martha’s swinging hand; a verbal protest had no power in this place.

  Instead, Martha mouthed, ‘thank you’, knowing Sarah would understand. Even the five-year-olds could read lips in this place.

  The carriage of the spinning mule thumped into position at the end of its traverse, gears changed, and it trundled back to reunite with the rack of bobbins. Had Sarah not acted as she had, Martha would have gone with it, screaming at the top of her lungs and unheard.

  Pull yourself together, lass, she scolded herself. No point worrying unduly. What shall be, shall be. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it as another coughing fit racked her body. She clutched a protective hand to her belly, just in case, and her mind wandered back to her growing concern.

  With her mam so poorly, and Harry’s passed, there was no one at home to look after a bairn; all her sisters and Harry’s were on this mill floor. She’d have to stop working and stay at home and they’d never manage without her few shillings a week.

  Harry seemed not to be bothered, but Martha couldn’t believe Mr Barraclough would up his wages by that much, even if he was a married man now. She’d have to see about doing some weaving, Old Dan Walker was struggling to grasp the shuttles now his fingers were so crooked. Maybe she could do the weaving and him take a cut for the use of his loom? The money wouldn’t be as regular, but better than nowt.

  Dan worked in the weaver’s gallery over the row of cottages she lived in with Harry and his family. She could easily keep the bairn in a basket by her stool. No one would hear it cry over the noise of the looms, and the rhythmic whooshing of the shuttles soothed bairns. It would be perfect.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Sarah’s voice penetrated the ringing in Martha’s ears, and she startled back into the present. The machines weren’t moving.

  She’d never known the machines to still in the middle of a shift.

  Martha met Sarah’s eyes, wide with fright. Martha knew her own betrayed a similar emotion.

  Bartholomew Grange, the overlooker, stood by the door, silent and unmoving. More confused now than scared, the women and children gathered together to hear the news. Whatever had happened was serious to bring the mill to a halt.

  Baalzephon Rook, his son Zemeraim, and even the youngest, Jehdeiah – rarely seen on the mill floor – entered amidst the sound of shuffling feet and constant coughing. Now the overpowering noise had stopped, Martha noticed the smell for the first time: lanolin and grease; a sickly combination.

  Suddenly she missed the unholy racket that had been the overwhelming signature of her days for as long as she could remember.

  ‘Silence,’ Grange roared, slapping his dreaded alley-strap, the one he liked to call ‘The Dasher’, against the door frame. It made a completely different sound against wood than skin, Martha mused. Even she could hear that.

  The mass of shuffling wooden-soled clogs against wooden floorboards stilled, but not even the threat of the overlooker’s leather paddle could silence the coughing.

  The Rooks, at least, understood that, despite Grange’s scowl.

  Baalzephon Rook stepped forward and cleared his throat against the fine wool fibres still dancing in the air. ‘The king is dead,’ he announced. ‘His niece, Victoria, has taken the throne.’ He just managed to utter the final word before a coughing fit overtook him.

  ‘Long live the queen,’ Zemeraim finished his father’s speech.

  Martha and the other spinners, piecers and mule rats stared at him in silence. A girl of eighteen their queen? No king? How could a young lass be their queen?

  9.

  ‘She’s recovered quickly.’ I indicated Hannah, who was chasing rabbits across the heather, squealing in delight as their white tails flashed.

  ‘Resilience of youth,’ Lara said.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘Was she even ill or was it just an excuse so you could play Cupid?’

  ‘Verity! How could you suggest such a thing? You really think I’d lie about my child being ill?’

  I said nothing, but stared pointedly at Hannah, who was standing, hands on hips, searching for her next four-legged victim in her game of hoppity tag.

  Lara sighed. ‘It turns out I may have been a little over-cautious,’ she allowed. ‘But you can’t be too careful – especially with kids. You just don’t know what will be a temporary sniffle and what will knock them on their backs for a fortnight.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness she’s okay,’ I said, and Lara grinned at me.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me? What happened last night?’

  I shot another glance at Hannah to make sure she was out of earshot, then returned Lara’s grin.

  ‘It was ... interesting.’

  ‘Interesting? In a Chinese curse kind of way or an, I met the man of my dreams kind of way?’

  I laughed. ‘I�
�m not sure – could be either, or both, I suppose.’

  Lara grimaced, then brightened again. ‘Come on, stop stalling, spill.’

  ‘Well, after you interrupted our first kiss—’

  ‘What? How did I interrupt anything?’

  ‘When you rang to cancel dinner.’

  ‘But that was early on! Are you telling me you were already snogging?’

  ‘No. Well, not quite, but I think he was about to kiss me.’

  ‘Fast mover,’ Lara remarked. ‘Or was something else going on?’

  I quirked one corner of my mouth. ‘Something else. All the hair on his arm was standing on end, and it was like we were being pulled together; caught in an energy tow or something.’

  ‘An energy tow?’

  ‘Yes, electricity was literally shooting through me and I couldn’t step away from him. Even if I’d wanted to.’

  ‘The arrows of love,’ Lara whispered. ‘So then what happened?’

  ‘You rang and broke the spell.’ I laughed. ‘Then we finished the tour and talked about the pictures – he has some really good ideas, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, get on with the juicy bits.’

  I gave a snort of laughter, then pulled my expression into one of seriousness. ‘And then we went out for dinner.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Lara said. ‘Things aren’t as serious as I thought. There’s life in you yet!’

  I gave her a playful shove, then grinned at her.

  ‘And it looks like you lived very well,’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘We just couldn’t stop talking. Once the shock of seeing him wore off, it was like we’d known each other for years. Although I can’t remember what we were talking about now!’

  ‘Hmm. Both of you did look shocked when we walked into that gallery.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s weird, he’s not quite the guy I’ve been dreaming about. He’s older for a start.’

  Lara shrugged. ‘That doesn’t mean very much, it could still be the same man.’

  ‘No, there’s something in his face – the jawline. It’s subtle, but it’s not the same.’