Second Night (11 page)

Genista sat down by the dressing table and checked her makeup. ‘Let's go for that one then. Perhaps we'll get the hang of it this time. Will Carl be okay about you going away for New Year?'

Bryony rolled her eyes. ‘It's not up to Carl, or anyone else what I do for New Year.'

‘So how's it going between you and him?'

‘How it always goes with Carl,' Bryony answered tiredly. ‘He's got plans, I haven't. Not for him anyway.'

‘So you won't mind missing out on everything that's going on here then?'

Bryony stared at her mother. ‘What's there to miss? Anywhere's got to be better than this dump. Where do you want to go?'

‘That's up to you. Just make sure they speak English.'

‘I'll need new stuff.'

‘So will I. We'll make a list.'

The laptop screen saver rolled and a blurred image appeared – of someone tall and dark-haired working out in the school gymnasium. Genista sniffed. ‘That doesn't look much like Carl.'

Bryony smiled. ‘I'm keeping my options open.'

‘Carl's a better option. That Wylde boy'll never do you any good.'

‘Carl's boring and he'll never be anything else but a car salesman.'

‘He's doing all right,' said Genista, determined to promote undemanding, honourable Carl, aged twenty-three, who had generously rendered himself subject to most of Bryony's whims since just before Christmas the preceding year. ‘He's got good prospects and he keeps himself fit.'

Mirror Girl sneered. ‘He runs half a mile twice a week in his lunch break and collects karate films so that he'll know what to do when he gets round to taking it up.'

Genista was watching the pictures on the screen. ‘I wouldn't put myself through finding out the hard way, if I was you, Bry.'

‘Well, you're not me and I'm definitely not you. I know exactly what I want and I don't mind waiting to get it. Because I will get it, you can be sure of that.'

‘Money's not everything,' said her mother.

Bryony sniggered contemptuously and waved the brochure in Genista's face. ‘Now who's talking! If money's not everything, how do you plan on taking holidays like this when Granddad's dead? Tell me that!'

Genista went back to the window. ‘I'll be set up by then. You'll see.'

Bryony sniffed. ‘Vicars are poor.'

‘They get promoted, the same as everyone else. How do you think you get bishops?'

‘You, a bishop's wife? And dressed like that? I don't think so.'

‘That's what you think,' said Genista calmly. ‘But I'll prove you wrong one day, my girl, see if I don't.'

‘In your dreams, dear,' said her daughter. ‘In your dreams.'

Mirror Girl laughed.

CHAPTER 17

Lady Christina Pring had ordered the planting of the Beech Walk at the time when the labyrinth was laid out around Thunderslea. The map of the forest showed the broad track as an almost straight line running north to south for a quarter of a mile midway between the old temple site and the manor house. In the early days horses were permitted only to walk there, but lately Sir Jonas had relaxed the ruling. The mares had come to expect to be allowed a fast canter as they hacked up or down the hill.

Alan was checking a series of secret notches he had scored several years previously on the trunks of the trees on the east side of the walk. They joined up with a string of similar markings going south from the labyrinth through the tangled copses to the garden wall next to the butler's pantry at the house. The fleeting, mellow afternoon was surprisingly warm, hinting at a late burst of summer that had arrived, stared around bewildered and left before anyone realised it had gone. The mid-October sun lingered low between the lines of stately beeches raising their interlocking branches to create the raftered illusion of a lofty hall, black-pillared and glowing with red-gold light.

He heard hoofbeats ahead and ducked behind one of the trees, motioning to Blue to lie down. Maddie was exercising Rúna. The mare's pale grey coat and the familiar navy blue of Maddie's jacket and jodhpurs stood out against the golden light. Shining coppery leaves drifted down around them, but Maddie seemed to be oblivious to the beauty of the afternoon. She rode, apparently lost in thought, letting the reins hang loose on Rúna's neck and allowing the mare to set her own pace for home.

Long before Alan thought she would see him, Rúna raised her head and called out. Maddie checked her, looking around into the copses. He stepped out on to the path. Blue barked and Rúna cantered to meet them. Maddie was smiling.

‘Hello, Al,' she said. ‘I thought it must be you two.'

‘It is,' he agreed. ‘We don't often catch you up here these days.'

‘No, I'm practically redundant in the yard now. Caz has got the horses fitter than they have ever been. Even this one's happy to amble along occasionally without needing all my attention.'

Rúna stood with her eyes closed, her nose resting in Alan's hand. Maddie loosened the reins again.

‘She's so incredibly fond of you,' she said.

‘Oh, I don't know why she should be,' he answered modestly.

‘Horses always know good people, Al.'

He shrugged. ‘There's no lack of good people around here.'

‘No, that's true,' she agreed, ‘but not all of them are good in the yard.'

She was referring to the mornings when she came to work to find the mucking out already done, the yard swept and the horses turned out in the field. They both knew that Caz did not always have time to do it alone on the days when he couldn't get out of school.

‘I do what I can and if it helps lift the load then it's worth doing,' he said quietly. Rúna lowered her head for him to stroke her ears.

‘Leaving me to ride purely for pleasure!' she accused him, laughing. ‘Did you also arrange the weather so that I could make the most of beautiful afternoons like this while there is no office to work in?'

‘The weather's not up to me but you'd better enjoy it while you can. You'll be back with your nose to the grindstone soon enough. Young Jas is getting on fast now.'

‘Yes, he is, surprisingly! Who would have thought it?'

Alan grinned. ‘He only drops a couple of brushes a day. It's already looking a lot better than it was. Have you got the furniture sorted out?'

‘Yes, and it's all ordered. We'll be so smart, we won't know ourselves.'

The brittle exchange flagged. Maddie looked down at him, swallowed and looked away. When she could bring herself to speak again she sounded anxious and upset, as though she was forcing herself to articulate what she had been thinking and wished she didn't have to.

‘You're such a good friend to my boys, Alan. It's been hard for them since their dad died. You're just the right kind of steadying influence Jas needs at the moment.'

Alan wondered where this conversation was headed. ‘And young Caz is all right too,' he added warily.

She nodded. ‘He was always the quiet one but…' She opened her mouth and shut it again.

Alan finished the sentence for her. ‘But still waters run deep.'

Her eyes misted. ‘You see, I don't think I know him any more,' she said sadly. ‘He's grown up so quickly, sometimes I have to remind myself that he's younger than Jas. I don't ask any questions because I know he'll only tell me what he thinks I need to hear. Jas got his dad's crazy humour, but Caz inherited his anger and somehow it's worse because he doesn't let it out. I'm afraid for him, Al.'

‘I wouldn't worry too much about him if I were you,' he said. ‘I was a bit that way inclined myself when I was a lad. He won't come to any harm.'

She leaned over the mare's neck, her fingers flattening the thick white mane, pressing each wayward hair into place. ‘I don't mean to pry. I just want him to be happy. I know that you see much more of him than I do.'

‘He's up here a lot with the horses,' agreed Alan, asking himself – not for the first time – what had really happened with their dad.

‘You will look after him for me, won't you?'

‘I will, don't you fret.'

‘You promise?'

Alan looked at her directly. ‘No harm will come while I've got my eye on him. You have my word on it, for what it's worth.'

‘It's worth everything.'

There were tears on her cheeks as she turned the mare away. She was already far down the track when he put his hand in his trouser pocket and took out one of the silver pieces he always kept with him, in a soft leather bag. It was embossed on one side with the image of the old tree and on the other a rune, the Rune of Nyd.

He sighed. ‘Well, I might think I need, but I'll never get, not where she's concerned. An old fella like me should know better.'

He remembered how she had looked when she was talking to the new vicar in the pub.
It was like her face came open,
he thought,
that's what it was
,
like a flower in the sun.
He had only ever known the face that greeted him and smiled and called him friend, but kept her thoughts hidden behind her beautiful dark blue eyes.
Everything, she said, but not enough.
He was surprised at how much it hurt.

CHAPTER 18

Jemima held Nanna back under the trees until her mother was out of sight and Alan had disappeared into the copse.

She'll find Kush in the tack room and know that it's me that's skipped school,
she though irritably.
She'll probably find my phone too.

‘Why can't anyone have any privacy around here?' she said aloud, urging the mare forward on to the path. ‘We'll have to hurry, Nanna, or else Ma will send Caz out to find us and everything will be ruined! It's bad enough that we've lost Delilah. We can't have Andy being shoved off to some stupid eventing yard just because they wouldn't let me do the ceremony properly.'

She had been devastated when she realised that the white-eyed swan was not among the wedge that appeared to have taken up residence once more on the lake. She was not prepared to lose the argument about the colt as well. Nanna obligingly galloped all the way to the narrow bridge leading into the labyrinth, and successfully negotiated the maze of pathways unaided through to the tunnel and the clearing. Jemima had never been there alone before.

She jumped down and loosened the girth, knotting the reins before she shooed the mare away to graze. There were no golden beeches at Thunderslea. Most of the ash trees were already bare, rattling their keys on long, bony twigs. But the old oak wore its winter green proudly, its great boughs clustered with mistletoe budding among the withering brown leaves. She took off her skullcap and gloves and laid a hand against the warm bark on the colossal trunk.

‘I've come to do a ceremony to the Goddess, old tree,' she said solemnly. ‘It's very important that you help me get it right, or else Andy won't be happy and he'll have a horrible life.'

She emptied the contents of her backpack onto the ground and cleared a space for the altar between two of the great bulging roots. John had let her plunder the greenhouses for chrysanthemums. He had given her a box to carry them in and sworn to tell no one what they were for, on pain of dreadful retribution from the Goddess. She cut away the stems and laid the red and yellow flower heads in a circle between four of Daisy's special beeswax candles. The centrepiece was a tiny loaf of glistening honey bread baked in the image of an old fertility goddess she had seen in an archaeology programme on the telly. Daisy had caught her taking it out of the oven the evening before.

‘What have you got there?' she asked, peering at the lopsided figure with uneven breasts.

‘I've got to make a ceremony to the Goddess to help Andy. Sir Jonas said I can do it at Thunderslea.'

‘I see. Which goddess is it supposed to be?'

‘Freyja, the Goddess of Fertility. Sir Jonas said she was the best.' She saw Daisy's eyes twinkling. ‘You mustn't laugh, it's very important. And you mustn't tell anybody either. Swear you won't tell!'

‘When's this ceremony supposed to take place?'

‘Tomorrow afternoon.'

‘Have you got a day off school then?'

‘No! You have to swear you won't tell about that either!'

Daisy had duly sworn her solemn oath, donated the candles and suggested she talked to John about the chrysanthemums.

‘Goddesses are usually reckoned to be more cooperative if there're plenty of flowers,' she said. ‘Old Sir Saxon's wife, Lady Christina, was always fond of Freyja the Golden by all accounts.'

‘I know. Sir Jonas told me. Why do you call her Freyja the Golden?'

Daisy glared. ‘I've lived here all my life and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm neither deaf nor daft, girl! That's what she was always called here in the old days!'

She saw the look of surprise and hurt on the girl's face.
There I go again, giving myself away and regretting it,
she thought remorsefully.

‘Lady Christina had red hair too,' she said, by way of a peace offering. ‘Did he tell you that?'

Jemima forgave her on the spot. ‘No! Was it horribly curly like mine?'

‘We'll have to check. There's a pile of pictures of her hidden around here somewhere. We'll have to fish them out and see.'

‘But not until after the ceremony,' said Jemima. ‘I've got to concentrate or else I won't get it right.'

Buying the incense had been the biggest trial. It had taken a long ten minutes in the cough and choke shop, being accosted by the weird, pasty-faced witch woman and her fat friend. She had come away with a packet of White Jasmine incense sticks and a handful of their horrible gold and purple business cards.

‘Tell Sir Jonas we haven't forgotten about the ballroom,' sang Tairmair Folpham. ‘We're always in need of good venues for our nature spirit conferences. We pay top rates, and if you ever need a tarot reading you know where we are. Or crystal healing. We're very versatile.'