‘Sure.’ He was still staring out into the dark. ‘I thought it wouldn’t matter not having curtains and blinds in this place,’ he said wistfully. ‘It is supposed to be so private, but it isn’t, is it?’
‘Isolated is a better word,’ Zoë put in. ‘It is just us. This strange community on the edge of the river. Four houses, miles from the world. No village.’ She thought back to Leo’s description of the lost village on the hill and she shivered. There were goosepimples all over her arms and shoulders. ‘I’m cold. I’m going back to bed. We’ll deal with it all in the morning.’
Ken was about to follow her upstairs when he saw a bent horseshoe nail lying on the floor. He stopped dead, looking at it with distaste. After a moment he bent and picking it up between finger and thumb he threw it in the bin with a shiver. Upstairs, he went into the bathroom. When at last he emerged he lay down beside Zoë but he made no move towards her. It was a large bed. There were a least three feet between them. Zoë was lying with her back to him. Her eyes were open and she was staring at the window. There were curtains in their bedroom but they were open and she could see the stars, far away between the swathes of cloud.
Eric pushed his way into the cottage and stood just inside the door, his heart beating furiously. The sword was there, under his cloak. He didn’t think anyone had seen him take it; no one had followed him from the hall, but they would guess it was him as soon as its loss was discovered.
‘Eric?’ Edith was lying in bed in the corner. ‘Where have you been?’
It was pitch dark in the cottage apart from the dull red glow from the hearth where the fire was dying. She couldn’t see his face; he was no more than a dark silhouette as he stood there, but she could sense his unease. She sat up and pulled a heavy rug around her shoulders.
‘Don’t bother yourself with where I’ve been,’ he said gruffly. ‘Go back to sleep.’ He was staring round in the darkness, wondering where to hide it.
He could hear her moving. She was standing up. He could see her outline now, faintly, in the light of the embers, as she moved towards him. ‘What happened?’ She reached out to him. Almost instinctively she touched the sword hilt where it poked out from beneath his arm. ‘Oh, Eric, what have you done?’
‘I have done no more than was right. This sword was not made so it could be buried in the earth.’
‘They will come here.’ He could hear the fear in her voice.
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ He was whispering, his voice harsh. ‘I will hide it. You know nothing. Go back to bed. If they come, say you haven’t seen me; say you have been asleep.’
‘But what are you going to do with it?’
‘I will give it to Oswy. It will be up to him, as Lord Egbert’s eldest son, to keep it or give it to his uncle. It needs to be blooded. It is the Destiny Maker!’ His voice sounded desperate.
Her hand dropped to her side. Without a word she retreated to their bed and stood there, gazing down at it unseeing in the darkness. ‘God go with you, husband mine,’ she murmured.
He waited only another moment, then he turned and made for the door. She stood there a long time without moving, listening to the silence, then she turned towards the fire and squatted in front of it, holding out her hands to the dying warmth. Tears were running down her cheeks.
Leo woke suddenly with a shout of panic. He clutched at the bed covers, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. He had been dreaming. He must have been dreaming, but he couldn’t grasp the dream. It was slipping away even as he tried to hold on to it. It was about a sword. A special sword – but it had gone. He sat up, feeling the sweat cooling on his face, and swung his legs out of bed and standing up staggered to the bathroom. He filled his cupped hands with cold water and splashed his face several times, willing his pulse to steady. Glancing up at his face in the mirror he scowled. It still took him by surprise sometimes, that hideous swathe of scars, that demonic twist to his features.
He turned towards the door, pulled the switch cord to extinguish the light and walked back into his bedroom. Jade was sitting on the end of his bed.
‘My God, Jade, what on earth are you doing here!’
She grinned wanly. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Neither could you, obviously.’
‘You’ve got to go. You’ve got to go now, Jade.’ He reached for his shirt hurriedly and pulled it on, followed by his jeans. Thank Christ he was wearing his boxer shorts. More often than not he slept naked.
‘Why?’ She raised her chin a fraction. ‘You never minded me coming here before.’
‘Well, I do when it’s,’ he glanced at his wristwatch, ‘two thirty in the morning! What are you thinking coming here like this now? Is something wrong?’
She shrugged.
‘Jade?’ He felt better now he was dressed. He looked at her face. There was a swathe of spots across her forehead and another over her chin. She had obviously been scratching them; one or two were bleeding. ‘Have you got calamine for that rash?’
He saw her mouth turn down. ‘I look awful.’
‘It won’t last long. But you mustn’t scratch them. Come on downstairs. I’ll make you a hot drink, then you must go home.’
He led the way towards the stairs. ‘Jade?’
She was standing looking down at his bed. ‘She came up here.’
‘Who?’
‘That Zoë woman. I told you.’
‘Yes. She was looking for me.’ He paused in the doorway.
‘She found you.’ Her voice was listless.
‘Yes, in the end.’ He could hear alarm bells ringing somewhere in the back of his head. ‘Come on Jade. Let’s get a hot drink.’ He walked a few steps down the narrow twisting stairs, but still she didn’t move.
‘I saw you on the boat,’ she said after a pause.
‘Well, I’m often on the boat.’ He had stopped and was looking up and back over his shoulder.
‘With her.’
Bugger! He closed his eyes as a spasm of anxiety and genuine sorrow went through him. ‘Jade, love, that was adult stuff. Her and me. It’s got nothing to do with you. You and me, we’re still best mates.’
She didn’t react.
He considered for a moment wondering what it was best to do, then he turned his back on her and went on downstairs to the kitchen. He switched on all the lights and reached for the kettle. It was a long time before she appeared.
‘OK?’ he grinned at her.
She shook her head. She had been crying and her eyes were red. ‘Does Ken know about what you do with his wife?’ she asked. There was an unpleasant harshness to her voice.
Double bugger! She wasn’t going to leave this alone.
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘So you don’t want me to tell him.’
‘No I don’t.’
She perched on one of the stools and folded her arms. ‘It’ll cost you.’
He gave a rueful grin. ‘I thought it might.’ He switched on the kettle. ‘What’s the going rate for silence?’
‘I haven’t decided yet.’ Again there was a hardness there he didn’t like. ‘I’ll have to think about that one.’
He looked at her sternly and she met his gaze without flinching. ‘The price will be very high,’ she said. She went to the door, pulled it open and went out without saying goodbye.
Leo sat where he was without moving for several minutes, listening to the kettle as it came to the boil. It switched itself off but he made no move towards it. Eventually he stood up, turned out the lights and retraced his steps towards the staircase. He went up with a heavy heart. Whatever had happened between him and Jade had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship and for that he was sorry. She had been a good and loyal mate. He would not have had her hurt for the world.
Emily was pacing up and down the morning room, her hands clenched in the folds of her skirt, her face pinched and white. She reached the far edge of the carpet and turned to walk back towards the window. She was halfway back again when
the door opened and her husband appeared.
‘What is it? Beaton said you wished to see me?’ He turned and closed the door behind him. ‘Emily, what has happened?’
She shook her head, for a moment incapable of speech, and tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She sat down on one of the chairs which flanked the fireplace and shook her head inconsolably.
Henry was looking alarmed. He went to stand beside her and reached down to take her hand. ‘What is it, my darling?’
She sniffed. ‘I’ve been assaulted.’ It was a barely audible whisper. Her hand in his was shaking.
For a moment he didn’t react. He stared down at the top of her head incredulously, then he dropped her hand. ‘What did you say?’
She looked up at last, and her eyes were swimming with tears. ‘I’ve been assaulted, Henry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. What to tell you. I was so afraid. Afraid of you and afraid of,’ her voice broke and for a moment she couldn’t finish the sentence, ‘afraid of him.’
‘Who? Who assaulted you?’ His voice echoed round the room.
‘Daniel Smith.’ Again, it was barely audible.
‘And what,’ he hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘what – exactly – did he do?’
‘He raped me.’
He walked away from her and stood, staring out of the window. She raised her eyes, watching him. ‘He said,’ she added with a pitiful wail, ‘that if I told you he would say I instigated it, that I had been encouraging him.’
‘And had you?’ He swung round, his face hard.
‘No! Of course not. How could you say that?’ She stood up, wringing her hands. ‘Henry, I love you. I had just lost your child. I was vulnerable and ill and miserable.’
‘And where were you when this happened?’
She hesitated. ‘I had been down to the forge to discuss the disposal of my horse. Bella. She had to be put down.’
‘Why?’
‘She broke a leg.’
‘When you were riding her?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t there. I had told Sam I wanted her brought back up here to the stables and she put her foot down a rabbit hole in the park. The undergroom was leading her. Dan came up to see what had happened.’
‘Dan?’
She bit her lip. ‘Daniel.’
‘And why were you alone with him?’
‘Sam turned Zeph off. He blamed him for the accident.’ She glanced up through eyelashes sparkling with tears. ‘Zeph was angry.’ She shook her head. ‘They were all angry. Poor Bella.’
‘Why in God’s name would a groom take a horse anywhere near the rabbit warren? And why has no one told me all this? When did it happen?’
‘A day or so ago.’
‘And when did Daniel Smith,’ he paused, unable to bring himself to say the word for a moment, ‘rape you?’
‘Afterwards. He was angry and upset. We were talking alone.’ She put her hands to her face, aware that her hair was beginning to shake loose from its combs. ‘He has always found me attractive.’
‘There cannot be a man alive who would not find you attractive, my dear,’ he said grimly. ‘That does not give them leave to touch you, never mind –’ he took a deep breath – ‘assault you. Why did you not tell me at once?’
‘I was frightened.’
‘Of me?’
She nodded submissively. ‘I was afraid you would think me in some way – damaged – Henry.’ She clutched her shawl around her tightly. ‘Will you sack him?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Sack him!’ he echoed. ‘I hardly think that sacking would be sufficient. I will see to it that he is punished, have no fear. Leave me now.’
‘But Henry –’
‘Leave me!’ It was a roar of anger.
She ran towards the door and pulled it open. Beaton was standing outside, a handful of letters in his hand. ‘Beaton, is that you?’ Henry called from inside the room. ‘Come in here.’
Beaton glanced sideways at Emily and walked into the morning room, closing the door behind him. ‘You called, sir?’
‘Indeed I did –’
Emily heard no more. She walked slowly upstairs towards her bedroom, her tears already dry. Her anguished expression had been transformed into one of hard satisfaction.
Pushing open the door she found Molly standing by the bed. ‘What are you doing here, girl?’
‘I was checking the fire was laid and the flowers fresh, my lady.’
‘I am sure everything is perfect. Leave me.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Molly shot her a look of acute dislike. It was lost on Emily, who had walked across to the window. Outside, the river was covered in swathes of white mist. Beyond the trees a sail had appeared. She watched it as it moved slowly up-river, at times almost invisible, at others hazily spotlit by the weak sun. On the huge square expanse of sail she could see clearly the head of a dragon.
The cars for all four properties were garaged in a range of converted cart sheds some fifty yards up the drive. There was space for at least ten cars; Rosemary and Steve’s blue Nissan Micra, and Jackson’s black Corsa were there, as was Zoë’s small silver Audi and Leo’s ancient Land Rover, but there were several empty spaces. Zoë was about to climb into her car when Leo appeared round the corner of the garages. He had his own car key in his hand. He glanced round. ‘Ken?’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘He went out early.’
‘I need to talk to you.’ He ducked into the shadows. ‘We have a problem. Jade saw us on the boat.’
‘Oh God!’ She threw her bag onto the passenger seat of the Audi and leaned on the car drumming her fingers on the roof. She was thinking hard. ‘Did she see us doing anything incriminating?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she’s going to tell?’
‘She’s considering her options.’
‘Shit!’
‘As you say.’
‘What do we do?’
‘I shall try and head her off at the pass. But meanwhile we need to deny everything and get our story straight. Yes, you did come on the boat with me. No we didn’t do anything we need be ashamed off. She misconstrued the situation, that’s all. Will Ken believe that?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She sighed.
‘Where is he today?’
‘Ipswich. He won’t be back till late.’ She no longer believed in the business contact in Ipswich, but she found she didn’t mind. Leo was grinning suddenly and she felt her heart begin to thump with excitement.
‘Feel like an assignation? Then we can get our story straight at the same time,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘For some insane reason I seem unable to resist your invitation.’
‘Ditto. I will meet you in an hour at the car park in Woodbridge. Give me five minutes to get away now in case she’s watching.’ He opened the door of the Land Rover and hauled himself in. Raising his hand he drove off in a cloud of blue smoke. Zoë glanced round warily. Was someone watching – Jade? Jackson? The whole place seemed deserted.
The turning area in front of the garages was still cobbled. She walked out, feeling her shoes slipping uncomfortably on the stones, and turned round in a full circle, scanning every bay of the cart shed, every shadowed corner. A spray of sow-thistle nodded against the wall, the seed heads white and fluffy, the flowers a vivid yellow against the old red stone.
There was no one there. When she climbed into the car ten minutes later and drove slowly out onto the driveway through the fields she was fairly certain no one had been watching.
‘Have you ever made a sword?’ Lying in Leo’s arms, Zoë was staring at the clouds racing overhead.
‘Why do you ask?’ He glanced across at her.
‘I don’t know. I just wondered.’
He grimaced. ‘I have, as it happens. Or at least, I helped someone make one, a long time ago. He was an Anglo-Saxon re-enactor, and he was determined to do everything accurately so he brought me the instructions and we made the thing together.
It was a fabulous object.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘I don’t know. As far as I recall he used it in battle – a mock battle, but I suppose the sword wouldn’t have known that. It held up. It was a good sword. That was shortly before …’ His voice trailed away.
‘Shortly before?’
‘Shortly before my accident. My forge was closed. I lost touch with my customers. I moved away.’
‘And now?’ She rolled towards him.
‘Now?’
‘What do you do now? And don’t say, “this and that”.’
She punched him on the shoulder.
He smiled, throwing his arm across his eyes. ‘This and that just about covers it. I illustrate books. I draw things.’
‘Things?’
‘Things.’ He rolled out of reach and climbed to his feet, reaching for his sweater. ‘People contact me. Sometimes publishers; sometimes authors. I work freelance.’
‘It sounds interesting.’
‘It is, I never know what I’ll be doing next.’ He shrugged and grabbing his jacket he pulled it on as he walked away from her.
She dressed quickly. It was cold once she was sitting up. The wind which had seemed negligible when she was lying down pressed tightly against his hot skin was stronger now and there was a breath of autumn to it which had not been there earlier. She pulled on her sweater and then reached for her scarf. The sun went in, and black cloud shadows were racing across the grass throwing jagged templates of the ruined walls at her feet.
Staring up, they both saw a large bird fly overhead. It circled once above them then angled off towards the west.
Outside the wall, hidden in the thicket of brambles, Jackson Watts smiled grimly to himself. He slid his camera into the canvas bag on his shoulder and quietly began to make his way out of the undergrowth, retracing his steps across the scrub and woodland to the lay-by where he had left his car half a mile down the lane. By the time Zoë reached home his Corsa, with its alloy go-faster wheels and souped-up engine, was back in its place; she had no reason to think it had gone out at all.