Zoë shook her head.
‘And you’re not even remotely interested?’
She gave a wry laugh. ‘I suppose I should be, but if it allows me to do this, then no, I’m not.’
‘You don’t think he has a fancy woman?’
‘I had begun to wonder. But if he has, good luck to him. I’m pretty sure he’s had them before.’
Leo sat up and looked at her. ‘You are a remarkable woman.’
‘I’ve been bewitched by my pirate smith.’
He put his head on one side. ‘That’s how you think of me?’
She nodded. ‘Seriously, Leo, something has happened to me. I was in danger of becoming a middle-aged boring housewife. That was how you saw me, wasn’t it, when we first met? You said so. And you have turned me into someone quite different.’
‘A sexy sea gypsy!’ He grinned.
‘I wish!’
‘It’s true.’ He looked her up and down lazily. ‘I think the next thing is to get rid of some of your respectable clothes and kit you out with bright colours and plunging necklines.’
‘That would shock Ken.’
‘You’re going to have to leave him, you know.’
Zoë froze. ‘That’s not part of the deal, Leo.’
‘Why not?’
She shook her head again. ‘It’s too soon. I am having enough trouble getting my head round what is happening now, today, yesterday. I hardly know you, Leo. Not really.’
‘I don’t think you know yourself,’ he said gently. When she didn’t reply he went on, ‘I wasn’t suggesting you move in with me, Zoë. I am not in the market for any kind of lasting relationship at the moment. I still have too many commitments I can’t sort out yet in my own head. You and me, it’s fun and it’s daring and it’s exciting, but it can’t be for ever. I am sorry if I misled you.’
She was looking out towards the far bank of the river and seemed lost in thought. ‘No,’ she said after a pause. ‘You haven’t misled me.’
‘You will still have to leave him. He is stifling you.’
‘So, what do you suggest I should I do?’
‘Pack a bag, buy a ticket. Head for distant climes. Adventure. You haven’t any kids, have you, so you’ve no ties.’
She bit her lip, suddenly terrified she was going to cry. ‘Supposing I want ties? I would have loved to have kids.’ She gave a small half laugh. ‘I only realised it very recently. Perhaps I could have your kid. A pirate’s baby. No ties, no claims, a wild child who will travel with me.’
For a moment they were looking at each other rather too hard and the moment had stretched out too long. Zoë broke the gaze and looked away from him. ‘No. Come to think of it, definitely not. I’m not ready for that. No way. I haven’t been a wild child myself yet. You’re right. What I need is adventure. Shall we sail some more? The tide is turning. You see, I do know something about the river. But I don’t want to be out here when the mist comes. That might be an adventure too far.’
Henry Crosby was sitting in a waterfront alehouse in Ipswich. It was somewhere men went sometimes to find work on the barges or in the docks. It had taken several days for his informant to find the whereabouts of Zephaniah Fry and another to set up this meeting and come down on the train. He was seated at a corner table in the darkest area of the bar, two tankards of ale in front of him on the table. When the man appeared he seemed to hesitate for several seconds as he peered round the room, then he walked over. Henry pointed at the stool opposite him and the man sat down. He was young, strong, his clothes worn, his neckerchief a dirty red above the threadbare shirt. ‘I have a job for you,’ Henry said. ‘No questions asked or answered. You do it and then you leave for London with the next tide. I have a contact in Rotherhithe who will give you a job there.’
Zeph reached for the tankard opposite him and drank half of the contents down in one swill. He had not so far said a word.
‘I want a man killed.’ Henry’s eyes were fixed on his face.
Zeph made no sign at all.
‘The man who was to blame for your dismissal. Daniel Smith. I want it done quickly and quietly. I want people to think that he killed himself, do you understand? I want no fuss and I want no recriminations. But,’ he held up his hand as Zeph was about to drain the second half of his drink, ‘I want Daniel to know why he is dying. I want him to know and to regret and to go to hell aware that he dies by my orders. Is that clear?’
Zeph drank. He rubbed his sleeve across his mouth and then he nodded.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what you have to say to him?’
Zeph gave an unpleasant leer. ‘I presume this is something to do with him bedding your wife.’
Henry flushed a deep uncomfortable red. ‘Is there no one who doesn’t know about it?’
Zeph shook his head. ‘She wasn’t too fussy who knew.’
‘Well, I shall deal with her myself. Your job is to finish off her lover. Can you do it?’
The nod was instant. ‘I’ve got no reason to like Dan Smith. I can do it. How much?’
Henry reached into an inner pocket and produced a small bag of coins. He put it on the table. ‘Half now and half when the job is done, plus your passage to London.’
Zeph slid the bag into the front of his shirt and gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘I’ll take another pint of that ale, if it’s all the same to you, Mr Henry, and then I will be on my way.’ He beckoned the pot boy and pointed at the empty tankard. After he had drunk it he stood up and without a word he left the bar, effortlessly blending with the crowds around him and disappearing into the street outside.
Henry sat at the table for a while longer, staring down into the drink before him. Eventually he stood up, leaving it all but untouched, and walked slowly towards the door. A woman standing near the fire had been watching him. She seized the tankard and drained it down. She belched loudly and raised it in salute towards his retreating back. ‘Thanks, mister,’ she called. He didn’t hear her.
It was nearly dark when the Curlew nosed up to her buoy and drifted to a stop. Smoothly and efficiently Leo stowed the sails, tidied the decks and lowered his bag down into the dinghy. ‘OK. Ready?’ he said.
Zoë had been watching him as she sat languidly in the corner of the cockpit. It was cold now, and she had put on his jacket over hers at his insistence, but she made no offer of help. She was enjoying the quiet competence of the man. The Curlew had no engine, but she had come up to her mooring under sail as easily and accurately as ever the Lady Grace did with the full noise and fuss and smell of a diesel engine. In the silence, she could hear the ripple of the water against the hull, and somewhere nearby the echoing call of a redshank.
She had had plenty of time to think that afternoon and to realise that she had fallen deeply in love with Leo Logan. She had also realised that almost certainly he was not in love with her. If she wanted to be with him on any level she would have to settle for what he offered, the excitement of an affair, fantastic sex and a new and very different outlook on life, but would that be enough for her? She wasn’t sure. And what about Ken?
She stood up and taking his hand let him help her over the side and down into the small dinghy which had been waiting attached to the buoy. They had timed it just right. In another half an hour the water would be too low to reach the landing stage with any dignity. Leo paddled them across the intervening strip of water, again so silently she could barely hear the drip of water from the oar. ‘You are used to doing everything quietly,’ she commented at last. Her own voice seemed strident against the night.
He grinned. ‘No need for noise.’ He spun the boat round and brought it in close so all she had to do was reach up and cling to the rungs of the short ladder.
Climbing up, she stood upright and glanced round. Was Jade there, waiting for them? The place seemed deserted. Below her Leo tied up the dinghy and followed her onto the bank. ‘No sign of her?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you want to go up ahead of me?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve no problem about where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing, perhaps.’
They emerged from the woods and began to walk across the parkland towards the barns which lay as black shadows in the dusk. As they drew closer the security lights of The Threshing Barn came on. The curtains were open and Zoë could clearly see Rosemary and Steve standing in the room. Both had turned and looked out as the gardens outside were flooded suddenly with light. Zoë raised a hand in greeting. ‘I think she should draw the curtains,’ she said. ‘If there was someone out here who wanted to take pot shots at them they are sitting targets like that.’
The Old Barn, she realised was in darkness. Obviously Ken had not yet returned from wherever it was he had gone.
‘I don’t think those boys were intending to murder her.’ Leo stopped. ‘But it is a point worth making to her next time you see her. She’s an arrogant woman. I don’t think she realises how much local opinion is against her on this one.’ He gave her a quick smile and turned away across the grass towards The Old Forge without any further goodbyes. She watched him fade out of the range of the lights and out of sight in the darkness. She stood still, undecided for a few moments, then she turned towards The Threshing Barn. Rosemary had seen her. There was no point in denying where she had been and it might be a good moment to make her point about the lights. Besides, she didn’t feel like going home to an empty building. Not yet.
Rosemary opened the door to her with a warm smile. ‘We saw you with Leo,’ she said.
‘I went sailing with him,’ Zoë said, following her in. ‘He is giving me some lessons so I am not so scared when I go with Ken. Ken is too competitive for me. Everything has to be pushed to the limit. With Leo we just drift around. He is letting me get my sea legs slowly.’
She saw Rosemary glance at Steve and ignored the look, accepting the glass of wine which Steve pressed on her. ‘So where is Ken?’ Rosemary asked as they were all seated in front of the TV. The sound had been lowered and no one seemed to be watching it.
‘God knows! He’s involved in some contract, I think.’ Zoë glanced over her shoulder at the window. ‘You know Ken was telling you about our curtain problem. Leo and I were just saying how exposed these barns are at night. You can see every detail of this room from outside.’ She hesitated. ‘I know it seems crazy to even think it, but after what happened about the footpath, do you think it might be sensible to draw yours?’
Steve leaped to his feet. ‘She’s right! We’ve got so used to the long summer evenings we haven’t realised how quickly the nights are drawing in.’ They all looked round at the blackness outside the windows. The lights outside had gone off and all was dark. Steve went over to the curtains and reached for the pull cords. In a moment the whole area was hidden by a swathe of bright red poppies. Zoë thought of her discussion with Ken about curtain material and hid a smile. It didn’t matter what the curtains looked like, and in fact they were rather jolly, and the room was cosy and warm and safe.
Outside, Jackson and Mike were walking across the grass towards the cart sheds where Mike had left his bike, careful to keep out of range of the movement detectors which set off the lights. They saw the curtains shut across the window.
‘All set for tomorrow?’ Jackson said jubilantly.
‘All set!’ Both boys laughed and, heading away from the barns into the darkness, they exchanged a high five.
‘Say a word of what has happened between us and Eric will die.’ Hrotgar had murmured the words so close to her ear she had felt the heat of his breath on her hair. ‘This is between you and me, and you were willing, do not deny it.’ He sat up and pulled on his trousers. ‘I know he stole the sword. If he returns it, then he may survive the anger of the old gods. I don’t know how they function, but the sorcerer saw at once what had happened. He cast the runes and divined who had taken it and he called out curses on Eric’s head. His eyes sent out shafts of fire and his lips spewed poison.’ He drew on his tunic and climbed off the bed. He stood looking down at her. ‘He said that the sisters of wyrd will decide whether Eric lives or dies – but to my mind your husband’s fate is in your hands. Remember that well, Edith.’
He swung towards the door and disappeared, leaving her cowering on the bed. Her body was covered in bruises; she had fought him with every ounce of her strength. Eric would know what had happened as soon as he saw her. With a murmur of fear she huddled into the corner of the bed cradling her belly, praying that her child had not been harmed, and at last the tears came.
It was a long time before she got up and went outside to find a bucket of water to wash herself. She pulled her clothes on over her wet and shivering body and realised that her gown was torn and her mantle had ripped away from the brooch that had held it closed, the brooch that Eric had made her. She fumbled with the material, trying to find it, but it was missing. She spent a long time groping around in the dark of the bed, and then on the floor, and retrieved it at last from the basket of logs beside the hearth. She held it against her cheek, pressing the intricate silver knotwork into her skin as though it would heal the bruises which had spread over one side of her face. Later she would make a salve from some of the herbs which hung above her head, plantain, meadowsweet, agrimony, vervain, comfrey. Until then the silver would suffice. Almost silently she began to recite the words of the healing charm to herself. It comforted her a little.
When the door opened she turned half-afraid, half-eager. ‘Eric!’ She needed him so badly to hold her.
The figure that appeared was shorter than her husband, outlined against the first streaks of dawn light.
‘Hrotgar?’ Her anguished whisper made almost no sound.
He walked over to her and stood looking at her for a long moment. ‘I made a mistake,’ he said slowly. ‘I can’t allow you to tell Eric what has happened.’
She tried to run but there was nowhere to go. Stooping, he picked up something heavy from the hearth and raising his hand he brought it crashing down on her head.
Outside it was slowly growing light, and there was still no sign of Eric.
There was no need to spy out the land. Zeph knew every inch of the estate and the farm buildings. He had hitched a lift to Woodbridge with a carter, hiked across the fields, and spent the night in the ruins of the old church out of the worst of the wind. Just before first light he made his way cautiously down towards the barns and hid behind one of the hayricks, grateful for the shelter as he settled down to wait for the farm to spring to life. George brought two of the shire horses out first, harnessed and ready to put in the shafts of the largest wagon; he saw the older man, Robert, emerge to give him a hand, grumbling and easing his coat on more comfortably as he tested the traces and helped back the horses into place. It was full daylight before Ben appeared from his mother’s cottage up the lane, still munching on a wedge of bread. He opened the door into the forge and pushed it wide, allowing the fitful daylight to illuminate the piles of horseshoes, the anvil and the cold fire. His job was to rake out the ashes and start up the furnace. Today was going to be busy. They were going to make hinges for the new gates. There was no sign of Dan.
Zeph settled further into the back of the haystack, trying to find some warmth there. He felt in his pocket for the remains of the pasty he had bought the day before and slowly began to munch. Ben was obviously expecting Dan. His gaze moved lazily to the forge cottage, which showed no signs of life. There was no smoke coming from the chimney and the curtains in the front room were closed. He took another mouthful of the cold greasy pastry and settled back. He was in no hurry.
Dan was rubbing Susan’s back. As soon as Betsy arrived to stay with her he would get to the forge. He was late. He had made his wife a drink of raspberry leaf tea as Betsy had instructed and sat on the bed as she drank it. Her face was white with fatigue and every now and then she groaned a little. She had eaten nothing for two days. ‘There’s another pain coming,’ she whispered, her voice weak with exhaustion.
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sp; ‘Don’t you fret, my girl,’ Dan whispered back. ‘Betsy will be here in a while and she said we’d send Ben for the midwife if nothing happens this morning.’
‘There’s something wrong, Dan, I know there is.’ She reached for the mug of tea. ‘The pains aren’t coming properly. They should be regular by now.’
‘Maybe the babe is just not ready to come yet. Betsy said it was early.’ He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It was clammy and her hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat. He got up and went to the basin on the side table, rinsing out a washcloth to sponge her face and hands.
‘You’re good to me, Dan Smith.’ She smiled up at him. ‘You get you out to the forge. I’ll be fine here for a while.’
‘Are you sure?’ He stood up again with alacrity. ‘Betsy won’t be long, and Mr Turtill said Jessie would look in on you this morning as well. She’s had six of her own so she’ll know how things are with you.’ He reached his coat off the back of the door. ‘You look after yourself, my dear, and I will come in and see you a bit later.’
He walked through into the parlour, noticing how cheerless it was with the curtains still closed and no Susan to put fresh flowers in the little blue jug she kept for the purpose on the windowsill. He pulled back the curtains and looked at the dead daisies with a grimace. The water they were standing in was rank. He pulled open the front door and tossed the contents of the jug out onto the path, then he set the empty jug down on the table. He would pick her some flowers from the hedgerow when he came in to see her later in the morning.