Second Night (36 page)

CHAPTER 61

John reported to the study after an unsatisfactory morning in the garden trying to cram a full workday into a few miserable hours. Sir Jonas chose to ignore his old retainer's injured air as he issued his new orders.

‘You are to patrol the eastern boundary, Mister John, while I maintain vigilance here at the house.
The wolf that lies idle shall win little meat, or the sleeping man success.
We cannot afford to let our surveillance lapse for a moment. Take particular note of any new animal trails as we may have to consider culling the deer.'

John shouldered his gun and set off into the raw November afternoon. He trudged across the copse behind the lake, grumbling to himself. ‘After all these years, he still thinks the garden's a summer job. How's old Dark-eyes going to manage without her winter salad and her herbs? How's she supposed to be out in the weather digging her own turnips? Culling the deer! What ever kind of a notion is that?'

The leaves were slippery underfoot. The ground was muddy and flooded in places from an overnight downpour of rain. Once he reached the boundary wall, it was machete work with a thankless uphill scramble through the mess of undergrowth that was encouraged to flourish wherever the boundary adjoined the public road. The wall hugged the eastern flank below the viewpoint, running due north until it left the road just after the northeast gate, and disappeared into the woodlands dividing the manor fief from the adjoining estate.

The cloud descended and a persistent drizzle set the bare branches dripping overhead, soaking into the seams of his coat as he hacked and slashed his way up the hill. Sir Saxon had ordered the walls doubled in height at this remote part of the estate where the boundary was considered to be vulnerable, and ditches dug between the walls and the road where the verges were wide enough. The gates were high, solid metal and spiked, and recently converted to be operated by remote control. Surveillance eyes hidden among the boughs high up in the beech trees on either side of the stone pillars kept constant vigil over this exposed point in the wall.

John smelled wood smoke as he reached the bridleway that connected the northeast gate to the viewpoint on the hills. He put away the machete and hurried on, eager for a cup of tea and a bit of company. Alan had lit a fire beside the service track. The kettle was hung on its chain over the flames. An old enamelled teapot was set up, next to his tin mug, on an upturned log. Both gates were wide open. The tractor and trailer were parked across the entrance. Orderly heaps of wet leaves lined the narrow verge between the ditch at the foot of the wall and the road. Alan had been labouring all day to reinforce a weak point in the foundations where the wall had subsided and cracked.

Blue put his head out from under the tarpaulin in the trailer and barked when he heard John coming through the copse. Alan climbed out of the ditch and looked through the gates in surprise. ‘What are you doing up here at the back end of an afternoon, John?'

‘I'm sent off patrolling, aren't I?'

‘But he knows I'm working this corner. What's to do?'

John put down his gun beside the fire and warmed his hands. ‘I tell you he's getting more jumpy as the days do pass. Old Dark-eyes is scared to leave him at night. She's talking about us staying up to the house until things settle down again. If they ever do,' he added gloomily.

‘There's no need for that with Caz moving in there now.' Alan wiped his hands and attended to the kettle. The steaming water spluttered into the pot. He stirred the tea with a chisel. ‘I'm in and out, and young Jem's volunteered herself as well, hasn't she?'

‘She's coming in tonight and poor old Dais had a dickens of a job persuading the Master not to get her to have a gun in her room, I can tell you.' John fished in his old canvas workbag for his tin mug and the slab of cake Daisy had pressed into his hands as he left. ‘I brought us a bit of sustenance.'

‘Jem's got no need of a gun,' said Alan. ‘She's another pair of eyes when Caz and me must be elsewhere, and that's good enough. There's no need for you and Dais to go displacing yourselves, not until there's no other help for it, at any rate.'

A chainsaw started up in the adjacent woods. John looked out of the gates. Smoke trailed out of one of the chimneys above the distinctly-tiled red roof of a substantial house, partially hidden among the trees, further along on the other side of the road.

‘It looks like old Edwin Seton's boy must be thinking about putting that old place back together at last,' he remarked. ‘It's too bad about him losing that young lass of his back in the summer. That's another one of Lady Mattie's blood gone untimely.' He shook his head. ‘But these old families cling on one way or another. There's fewer of them every generation and fewer of us, but somehow we cling on beside them, although on days like today I'm sure I don't know why. Who's working the place, do you know?'

Alan collected his tools from the verge and began packing them in the trailer. ‘It's Dan Newman, Pete's brother. He's clearing the tracks and putting the old hut back in order in the copse. It seems the Setons have signed him up for the winter to sort out the land and get the gardens going again. He's a good worker. They could do a lot worse.'

John nodded. ‘They could at that,' he agreed. He went back to the fire and poured the tea. ‘Talking of workers, I've been thinking. We can both have a use for those two mates of young Jasper's now it seems they could become a permanent fixture on the payroll. Young Loz is a handy lad. He don't seem too broken-hearted, and between us we could get a tidy lot done in the garden over a weekend. It'll make up for all this time-wasting we're having to put up with during the week.'

‘The same thought occurred to me too,' said Alan. ‘They're both trustworthy lads and young Tris isn't so daft as he likes to make out either. Jas can be foreman and they could start clearing up in the coppices. There's plenty that needs doing and it'll give me more time to be getting our other business finished up with.'

‘That was a tidy bit of work getting the back of that old shed sorted,' murmured John quietly, as though he feared being overheard. ‘Can all be made safe enough down there before Hag Night, do you think? Something tells me we'll be in need of the old Guardians' path this time around, and old Dark-eyes holds a similar view. The Master being so jumpy has made her more edgy than ever, especially since what happened last full moon. She's scared too much has been put on to you, and what she fears for young Caz is worse than all the telling put together. She won't listen to me any more.'

‘Then she'll have to listen to me, won't she?' said Alan. ‘I'll have a word with the Master too, while I'm about it. There's no need for anyone to be wasting time and good energy panicking about nothing, when everything's in hand. All will be done and ready well before Hag Night's upon us.'

Involuntarily, John looked over his shoulder down the track towards the dark eaves of the forest forever vigilant around Thunderslea. ‘As it will be all too soon, and what will be the outcome of that night's work, I wonder?'

‘We can only know when it's done,' replied Alan.

He started up the tractor and switched on the lights while John kicked over the fire and emptied the kettle and the teapot. A thick dark mist had crept down over the hills as they were talking. A cold, persistent rain set in for the night. John climbed up into the cab, grateful for the warm air creeping up around his knees. Alan backed the tractor out on to the road. The heavy gates swung shut silently behind them.

CHAPTER 62

Jemima stood breathless with her back to the wall at the east end of the gallery outside the tower bedroom. Sir Jonas and Alan had come into the study just as she was shutting the door.

She had lit the fire in her room before supper. Sir Jonas had joined them in the kitchen to discuss the day's work with John and Alan while they were eating. He had refused to take off his sword for the meal, leaving it in its scabbard sticking out from the back of the chair at the head of the table.

‘You must understand it is a question of security, my dear Madame Marguerite,' he had explained when Daisy had offered to prop it up against the dresser until he had eaten.

Jemima had been horrified by his macabre recounting of the tale of the invasion and shared his fear for the consequences, in particular for the future of Kyri and the colt.
My ceremony didn't work
, she thought panic-stricken.
I must have got it all wrong!

Caz had excused himself as soon as the meal was finished. When the others were lingering over a last glass of wine and showing no sign of being in a hurry to leave the table, Jemima seized the opportunity.

‘I'll be back in a couple of minutes to do the washing up, Daisy,' she said.

Daisy shook her head, contented now that John was back and Alan had told Sir Jonas in no uncertain terms that he and Caz were best left to patrol the boundaries themselves.

‘Take your time, girl,' she replied. ‘John and me'll have it done in a jiffy. You go upstairs and get yourself settled. Don't worry about us.'

Jemima went to the library to search through the books, but Sara had been rearranging the shelves and there was nothing under
F
for
Freyja
or
R
for
ritual
that might be of any use. The study was the only place left to look, and for once the door had been left wide open.

‘Sir Jonas won't mind
,'
she told herself guiltily as she crept, uninvited and unsupervised, into forbidden territory.

She scanned the titles on the cabinets. It was no easy task, particularly under pressure. The books were not organised in any way that she could understand. Some were written in French, there were many German titles and others that she took to be academic tomes in the old languages.

There was only one shelf where the authors were uniformly listed. All the books under
P
for
Pring
were handwritten and beautifully bound in green or red leather with gold lettering. Some had been written by Sir Jonas and many more were attributed to Sir Saxon. The only one that called out to her was bound in blue and gold and stamped with the title,
The Role of the Seeress in the Rite of Frija
, by Lady Christina Pring.

Her heart thumping, she tucked the slender volume under her sweater and hurried upstairs, listening over the balustrade for any sign that supper was finally finished in the kitchen, or that Caz might discover her and ask awkward questions. The distant voices murmured, quiet and comfortable, and no light shone under the door in the master's suite. For the moment she was safe.

Knowing she had little time, she went to her room and worked quickly with her new camera, but it was impossible not to be distracted by the beautifully crafted pages. She lingered over a chapter about the importance of the phases of the moon in ritual.
Maybe that's why everything went wrong,
she thought.
I'm sure it wasn't full moon last time.

A door closing somewhere in the house brought her up with a start.
They're finished and I'm not done yet!
She photographed the last pages and closed the book. The leather cover was smooth and fine under her fingers. She was reluctant to part with it.
Would it be missed if I kept it just for tonight?
she wondered. But she knew her father would not have been happy with her and Sir Jonas would never trust her again if he found out.

She took off her slippers and tiptoed back down the stairs. Alan and Sir Jonas were talking quietly together in the passageway. The old man's stick was tapping on the parquet. They were close, but she was committed.
I don't dare get caught now!

She ran through the library and put the book back in the cabinet, trying to remember whether the glass door had been left open or not, but it was too late to worry about fine details. They were already in the library. The door to the tower staircase had been left ajar. She ran all the way to the top, thinking it would come out into the gallery, but she found herself on a narrow landing facing the choice of two more doors. One turned out to be a broom cupboard. The other was locked. She guessed she must be outside the observatory.

Trying desperately not to panic, she ran back down to the door that she had missed at the half-way point, just as she heard Sir Jonas cheerfully inviting Alan to join him for a glass of port in the study. With the utmost care not to make any whisper of sound that Alan's quick ears might pick up, she let herself into the bedroom and made her escape into the gallery. Her heart was thumping madly. She had to stop to catch her breath, reminded of something her father used to say that she had never forgotten:
‘If something's got to be sneaked at to be done, it's not worth doing.'

This time she was sure it had been worth it. She crept along the gallery to her room, locked the door and sat on the rug beside the fire with her laptop on her knees, downloading the files.

CHAPTER 63

Jasper swept open the back door at the lodge, saying genially, ‘Munchies at the pub, my children! Why aren't we poised and ready, waiting only upon my illustrious presence? More to the point, why are you still here Ma? You should be polishing the platters.'

Maddie massaged her throbbing temples. ‘Simon knows I'll be late. I can't go anywhere until we've got this sorted out first.'

With the exception of Caz, the entire family was crowded around Jemima's laptop set up on the kitchen table. Sara raised worried eyebrows. Tristan was glowering. Melanie sat on his lap looking glum.

‘Do I detect tension in the air?' asked Jasper.

Sara nodded. ‘The school just called.'

‘They want Caz and me to see the headmistress on Monday morning,' said Maddie.

‘Someone left a load of incense sticks burning in the corridor when he was in the gym,' said Jemima. ‘It set all the alarms off.'