Black Spring

by Alison Croggon

  XXXIV

  Clouds gathered during the night, and by the time the sun rose it was raining steadily. Before I began my morning tasks I checked on Lina, who was still sleeping. My mother had sat with her, and she told me that Lina had suffered some bouts of restlessness. I noticed there was a flush in her cheeks, and returned to the kitchen feeling troubled. I looked outside to see if Damek was still there. He had gone, but underneath the tree where he had stood the grass was flattened and churned from his pacing about. It looked as if cattle had stood there.

  The events of the previous day had left me with a heavy weariness in my body and a melancholy in my soul. The rain, which continued all day, grey and unremitting, matched my mood: I felt dull and slow, and wished I was back at the palace, where my duties were clear and undemanding. I missed Zef, and out of sheer loneliness considered writing him a letter. I thought better of it; he had not spoken, and it would have been a forward act. I was not Lina, after all.

  With all this in my mind, I was glad of my mother’s quiet, practical help. It lifted a weight of responsibility off my shoulders. After a brief visit to his wife, Tibor spent most of the day in the kitchen cleaning his guns. He got under our feet, but no one complained, since he so clearly needed the comfort of womanly bustle. Not one of us said a word about the sudden transformation in Lina’s eyes, but we all knew about it, in the way that knowledge is mysteriously transmitted without any visible conversation. I was sure that it must have reached the village by now, and lived in hourly dread of a visit from the Wizard Ezra.

  The doctor arrived as he had promised, checked her temperature and looked serious. By then Lina was awake, demanding something to drink and refusing, against all our persuasion, to eat any food, although she had scarcely eaten the day before. We forbore to press her when she became agitated. She complained that her breasts were hot and painful. It was because she was not suckling the baby, and the doctor showed me how to ease her, which was difficult because she flinched at my touch. It was the worst of several unpleasant tasks I now had beyond my usual duties. The doctor said her milk should dry in a few days, and that we had to watch for milk fever.

  Lina slept most of the day, and deigned to take some broth for supper. That evening she seemed merely tired, and her skin remained cool, but there were moments of irrationality that disturbed me. I had to change her sheets again, and sat her carefully on the chair by the bed. She made no protest, and at first seemed quite herself, but then she turned to me, her eyes shining.

  “Anna, how beautiful the birds are!”

  I answered that birds were indeed beautiful, and she smiled radiantly and reached out her arms. “See, they even perch on my hand! Oh, I never knew their feathers were so bright!”

  I stared at her in alarm, but in the next moment her eyes had clouded, and she seemed to have forgotten that she had seen any birds at all. She then asked irritably where Damek was. Grateful that Tibor wasn’t present, I said that Damek could not come, and tears welled in her eyes, just as they do in a small child denied a sweetmeat.

  “He cannot come! But he promised! And he never breaks his promises. He said he’d come to me even if I were at the ends of the earth, even to hell!”

  I made soothing noises, and helped her back into her bed, saying that I was sure that Damek would be along presently. She lay down obediently, and then started up, as if an ugly thought had struck her.

  “Anna, is it that I am in heaven and the angels won’t let him in? He is too black-hearted, Anna; he has too many mortal sins on his head and he says that God has cursed him – but surely he could come to get me, if I was in heaven? I’m sure it’s a mistake—”

  I told her that she was not in heaven, but in her own bedroom at the manse, and at last that seemed to calm her, and after a while she was speaking rationally again. I gave her a dose of laudanum, and at last she drifted off to sleep. I watched her eyelashes fluttering on her cheek and reflected that not once during the whole day had she asked after her baby, or Tibor.

  The following day she seemed much improved, and even managed to be pleasant to her husband. We judged that she was well enough for my mother to return to the Red House; but by evening her wits began to splinter again. For a short time she thought she was in her childhood bedroom at the Red House, waiting for Damek to come and play with her. I dealt with each incident as it arose, pressing down my fears. I suspect that I was protected by my ignorance; Lina’s mental disorder was not so different, after all, from some of her ravings when she was a young girl, and I treated her as I had then. Their difference in quality I put aside from my thoughts, just as I did not permit myself to believe that her illness might be fatal.

  You can guess the pattern of the following days. Our hopes rose and fell with each hour: at one moment, she would seem to be recovering, while the next would bring a relapse. Most of the care fell on me, in part from my own inclination, but also because I was the best at soothing her deliriums. We set up a bed in her chamber so I could sleep there, in case of any emergency during the night hours. Although she asked for Damek every day, she didn’t insist: it was enough for me to say that he would come later. I think even Lina knew she was too ill for such a meeting. Sometimes I glimpsed Damek outside when dark fell, keeping his vigil in the freezing wind, although no one else saw him. I didn’t attempt to speak to him, and he never accosted me. I assumed he had his own means of obtaining news.

  After that first day, Tibor scarcely spoke about his wife at all. He would make a brief formal visit in the morning, and then leave the house to supervise the building of his outsheds, which he was anxious to finish before the snows came. Certainly, Lina gave him little incentive to stay with her; once, she had made so plain her disappointment that he was not Damek that he turned pale with anger and stalked out of the bedchamber. It seemed to me that, aside from the disturbances caused by Damek, he was repulsed that she appeared to be, after all, the witch that rumour had claimed. I confess a small part of me despised him for it, and thought less meanly of Damek as a result.

  Tibor’s mother arrived two days after the birth, and my mother then returned to the Red House, although out of her anxiety for Lina she visited almost every day. The presence of Mistress Alcahil meant an extra pair of hands in the household and cheered Tibor, which gave me one less person to worry about. Understandably, she was curt with Lina, even though her actions were always benign; I think word had reached her of Lina’s indiscretions. Once, after she heard Lina speaking of Damek, she went so far as to observe to me that it would be no bad thing if Lina died. She crossed herself as she said it, and apologized after; but she was angry on behalf of her son, and I could not blame her for that. I was sorry, because I liked her, and knew her to be a generous soul. It was neither her fault nor Tibor’s that they found themselves in their present distress.

  A week passed in this way, seeing neither an improvement nor decline in Lina’s health. Most of the time she was lucid, although she regarded her physical incapacity with impatience. Sometimes she would struggle out of bed, claiming she was well enough to go for a walk, only to find that she could barely reach the door without her knees buckling. Her lucidity was punctuated by periods of delirium during which she lost the sense of her surroundings, but these always passed swiftly. The doctor was concerned by her lack of improvement, but counselled patience. I think he was puzzled, as against all expectations she had developed no fever and he could find little explanation for her mental distraction.

  As the days passed, my thoughts kept turning to the Wizard Ezra’s words to me on the morning of the birth. I couldn’t but wonder whether he had placed a curse on her. I said my thoughts to no one, but clearly my mother feared likewise. Without saying anything to me, she had placed fresh sprigs of rowan above all the windows as soon as she arrived in the house and sprinkled the thresholds with salt, and I saw her checking the cold iron that was routinely set over all Plateau doors, to ensure that a wizard could not enter without invitation. She also placed a silver t
easpoon beneath Lina’s pillow, as silver is commonly supposed to be a means of warding off the evil eye. From my time at the palace, I knew that silver is in fact useless unless smelted by a wizard; but I felt strangely moved when I saw this humble piece of cutlery and left it there, as a talisman to hope.

  XXXV

  On Sunday, after a few days of clear skies, the snows started. When I opened the shutters, the house filled with a diffuse golden light, so dull it scarce illuminated anything, and I saw heavy yellowish clouds lowering over the plains. At noon the first flakes spiralled down, and by evening a cover of snow had turned the world white. It was a light fall, but the first of many to come. Mistress Alcahil had now to decide whether to return home to her village, a distance of some ten miles; if she did not leave soon, she would be forced to stay with us for the winter. I didn’t know whether I would prefer her to leave or stay. On the one hand, my duties in caring for Lina took up much of my time, and more help in the house was very welcome; on the other, since her arrival I could not but notice that Tibor’s attitude to Lina had changed from confusion to hostility, a transformation I attributed as much to his mother as to Lina’s own behaviour. Mistress Alcahil now regarded her son’s marriage as an unambiguous disaster.

  I still, perhaps foolishly, held out hope for the couple. I was troubled that neither Lina nor Tibor had shown the smallest interest in their daughter. Lina’s condition argued some excuse, but I urged Tibor to go down to the village to see Young Lina. I had made two visits myself and saw that she was a bonny babe, with a shock of black hair and dark, surprised eyes. I think I was the only one of that household to feel any motherly inclinations towards the poor little mite. I thought she was beautiful and hoped that the sight of his child would reignite Tibor’s affection for his wife. Perhaps fearing the same thing, Mistress Alcahil always found an excuse not to go.

  However, the coming snows forced the question. The following day dawned clear, and Mistress Alcahil decided to return home while she still could. I assessed the household staff, and decided that if we employed a cook there would be sufficient help for winter: all the autumn bottling and preserving and smoking had been completed, and our cellars and storehouses were well provisioned for the coming cold. Thus it was that Mistress Alcahil, myself and Tibor found ourselves in her carriage to the village, to forward our various ambitions: we would look in on the babe (whom I was careful always to refer to as Tibor’s daughter); I would engage a cook, since I knew of a widow who would be glad of the work; and Mistress Alcahil would continue her journey home.

  Even Tibor’s mother was not proof against the charms of a newborn, and despite herself dandled the babe and exclaimed over its likeness to its father. As I said, she was a generous woman, if soured by circumstance. To my disappointment, however, Tibor remained stolidly indifferent: he regarded the child almost with dislike, and barely concealed his impatience to get away. We left the wet nurse’s house and walked along a small alley back to the carriage, which was waiting in the square. By bad chance, as we exited the alley Damek and Tibor almost collided. Neither said a word to the other, merely stepping back in surprise, but the glance of hatred between the two fairly crackled the air. I don’t think Mistress Alcahil even noticed the encounter: she didn’t know Damek from Adam, and was in any case already hurrying towards her carriage, exclaiming against the cold. Once the farewells had been made, and the carriage rumbled off, Tibor sighed heavily.

  “Well, Annie,” he said to me, with unaccustomed directness, “my life is a bad joke. My mother says that if I had any honour, I should kill my wife.” He stood in black abstraction, twisting his hands. “I am not sure I have that much honour,” he said at last. “How could I kill Lina, even knowing what she is? I pray every morning that she will be dead, and save me the trouble. If she does not die, what then? Do I let that black-hearted thief take her away? Will that wizard curse me, for being married to a witch? What shall I do?”

  I was so taken aback that at first I had no idea how to answer him; yet he demanded an answer, as he spoke from the fullness of his heart.

  “Mr Tibor, I don’t know how to advise you,” I said. “But surely there has been enough death in this village already, without you adding to it.”

  “I know you are on Lina’s side,” he said. “But even you must acknowledge that she is a faithless whore. She has deceived me in every way, and I cannot forgive her. And yet I still think of her with a soft heart, and wish that she might love me. My mother says she has bewitched me.”

  He looked so forlorn that I forgot myself and took his hand. “God save you, sir,” I said. “You have a good heart. Let’s have no more talk of killing! I’m sure things will work out for the best.”

  “God moves in mysterious ways, eh, Annie?” He squinted up into the sky. “I wonder what I’ve done, that I should be so punished.”

  Again I had no answer, and there was a short silence. “Well, there’s one comfort,” he said, and laughed bleakly. “And I can find that at the bottom of a glass.”

  He went off towards the tavern, and I followed him with my eyes, feeling sorry for the whole mess. In truth, I could see no way out either, although I could not hope as he did for Lina’s death. I began to wonder if it would not be best, after all, if Lina went away south with Damek. If Tibor would not kill her to save the honour of the Alcahils, his father might. And even should the Alcahils decide to spare her, there was the threat of the Wizard Ezra, whose ill intentions I didn’t doubt and didn’t dare to guess. Yet Lina could not travel south in her present condition, even if she agreed to leave (which was doubtful), and in any case soon the roads would be impassable. Winter was on our heels, and I did not know how we would survive it.

  I made my errand, engaged the cook, and walked back to the manse with a heavy heart. When I arrived, I found that Lina was out of bed, and with Irli’s help had bathed and dressed. She was seated on her window seat, looking down over the snow-clad path that led to the house. She looked up as I entered her room and smiled cheerfully.

  “So, has that bitch gone at last?” she said.

  I demurred at her expression, and she laughed at me. “You know whom I mean, Anna. Don’t get all prim with me. I thought I should burst if that woman were here any longer. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a thousand times! I swear she has been all but pulling the iron down from the doors.”

  I didn’t answer, except to confirm that Mistress Alcahil had, indeed, left for her own house. “On her way, she and Mr Tibor went to see your daughter,” I said pointedly. After my gloomy thoughts that morning, her mood was grating. “I wonder that you haven’t asked after the poor child.”

  “You’d tell me if she fared poorly,” said Lina. “How strange, to think I am a mother now! If it weren’t for how bad I’ve been feeling, I’d swear it was a dream.”

  “It’s not a dream, Lina, and it were well you woke up,” I said. “If you are feeling as well as you look today, you might give some thought to what you should do now. Your husband tells me he ought to kill you, since you and Damek have so smirched his family honour, and the Wizard Ezra is out for your blood, and Damek is stalking about Elbasa looking like murder. I swear, I do not know which way to turn.”

  “Kill me?” Lina stared at me with the purest astonishment. I could have slapped her. “How could Tibor think to kill me?”

  “If you don’t know, Mistress Lina, then I do not know how to tell you.”

  “You are in a bad mood, Anna!” She contemplated me for a moment, and then turned back to watching the pathway. “Are you jealous?”

  “Jealous?” said I. “Jealous of what?”

  “I suppose you wish you had men fighting over you?”

  The pure cattiness of this remark took my breath away. I addressed the back of her head – I knew she could feel my gaze, although she would not turn to face me – and let her know that envy was the least of my complaints. I was weary to the bone. Not only did I have to attend to the running of the house; I had spent nearly al
l my waking hours nursing her, worried sick about her health, and on top of that had been dealing with Tibor and his mother and with Damek, not to mention the wizard. And this, I said, is the thanks I get for my trouble.

  I would have gone on, but Lina silenced me. Her voice was cool: she seemed not in the least agitated, and there was something in her posture that made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

  “Listen to me, Anna,” she said. “I am well. I am tired, but I think I am recovering. The birth was nothing to what I have suffered before. I feel clearer in my head today than I have for, oh, for months and months. Maybe for years. Since that first moment the pains started, I understood that my body has always been at war with itself, that I have always been at war with myself; but at last this morning I am at peace. And all these days I have been thinking. I am not a fool, whatever you think; I know perfectly well that bitch wants me dead. Tibor couldn’t kill me, even if that woman poisons him against me; but now she is gone, perhaps he will think of me gently again.”

  “He says that you have betrayed him in every way, and that he cannot forgive you!” I said.

  She made an impatient gesture, continuing her contemplation of the view outside her window. “Oh, that,” she said. “Of course he will forgive me.”

  I feared, rather than wished, that she was right: the complacency with which she spoke of her husband angered me. “But what about Damek?”

  “Damek will learn to respect me,” she said. “I have not had the strength to deal with him these past days, and I am glad he did not come, no matter how I long to see him! He speaks so easily of betrayal, he who abandoned me and left me alone for so many years! And he knows I am married in the sight of God; and he also knows that nothing I can do can betray the friendship between us.”