The front door was unlocked. Switching on the lights she drew the curtains. ‘Mrs Royland?’ she called, suddenly nervous.
Quick footsteps crossed the landing and Casta ran down the stairs, tail wagging. The sight of the dog reassured her.
‘Where’s your mistress?’ She bent and patted the thick fur.
Deep down inside, she knew. She glanced around again uncertainly, and then she made her way into the drawing room. Closing the full-length curtains over the dark windows she put a match to the ready-laid fire. She would put on the kettle and then she would go upstairs.
Casta followed her up, keeping close at her heels. On the broad galleried landing Sarah hesitated. The dog had stopped, hackles raised. She growled slightly and Sarah looked down. She swallowed nervously. At the end of the hall Clare’s door was standing ajar. From where she stood on the landing Sarah could see the pale glow of the candlelight.
The pain grew in waves, flowing through Isobel’s body, carrying her to the edge of unconsciousness and then drawing her back. The room was hot; sweat poured from her and grew chill as she began to shiver. She was conscious of people all round her; hushed voices, hands holding hers, cool scented cloths on her face. Mairi was there, and Alice. Someone was piling more wood on the fire. She clutched at a hand, moaning as the pain came again.
Mairi was bending over her, her lips moving. ‘A Mhuire mhathair! It’s what you wanted, eudail. Be brave. It’s nearly over. The child is dead. You’re losing it now. It’s what you wanted, Iseabail, eudail … It’s what you wanted!’
When it was over she slept. The bleeding had not stopped. Around her the women glanced at one another with pale faces. Nearby the tiny body, wrapped in the silk standard of the Earl of Buchan lay in a basket. With the soil frozen they could not bury it; no one dared to throw it on the fire. No one as yet had dared to tell the earl. The foetus had been male.
When at last he was informed of what had happened Lord Buchan, white with fury, made his way back up to his wife’s bed chamber.
‘Murderess! Sorceress! You killed my child!’ He bent over the bed, his face twisted with rage.
‘No!’ Isobel stared up at him in terror. ‘It was you –’
‘This entire household knows what you’ve been doing, my lady. Riding at all hours, swallowing potions to rid yourself of it.’ He towered over her, his eyes blazing. ‘In this very room you flaunted what you intended to do! And now you have achieved it. You have murdered my son. By right, you should die.’
She shook her head desperately, too weak to rise from the pillows. ‘I didn’t … I didn’t kill him … I didn’t …’
‘Brother –’ Sir Alexander had followed the earl up the winding stair. He put his hand on Lord Buchan’s shoulder. ‘Leave it now. Nothing will mend the harm that’s done.’ He eyed the vicious bruises on Isobel’s temple and cheek grimly. ‘There will be other sons. I’m sure your wife will take better care of herself next time.’
Lord Buchan was breathing deeply, the heavy blue mantle he wore falling across the bed. The brooch on his shoulder caught the candlelight in a cold glitter.
Weak from loss of blood Isobel was barely conscious. Around her the room was full of shadows. Dimly she knew that Mairi was there. She felt herself raised and feebly sipped the decoction of bramble, acrimony and horsetail in wine which was held to her mouth, then slowly, as another wave of pain overwhelmed her, the darkness closed over her again.
Mairi stared up at the earl, her expression carefully veiled. ‘She must sleep now, my lord. She has lost much blood.’
‘Please, father.’ Alice appeared out of the shadows. ‘Take my uncle away. If we are to save Aunt Isobel’s life she must have quiet.’
Lord Buchan moved back from the high bed. His face was grim. With one last glance down at his wife’s pale, bruised face he turned on his heel and strode towards the door, his spurs ringing on the stone flags beneath the dried heather.
Sir Alexander followed him and the two women were left alone with Isobel.
Alice glanced at Mairi. ‘Will she live?’
Mairi was fumbling in the bodice of her gown. She produced a necklace of dried rowan berries strung on a red thread. Carefully she bound it around Isobel’s throat. ‘St Bride and the Blessed Virgin willing,’ she said. ‘She bleeds still. Look.’ She indicated the stain, spreading on the sheet below the covers.
‘She did want to get rid of the child, didn’t she?’ Alice gently took hold of Isobel’s hand. ‘That is mortal sin.’
‘Sin against the earl, perhaps,’ Mairi pushed the pewter wine jug back into the embers to warm it. ‘My mistress deserves better than him.’
Alice looked shocked. ‘My uncle is one of the greatest earls in Scotland.’
‘He’s too old for her.’ Mairi was unrepentant. ‘And too hard. She’s like a wild bird, my little lady. She needs gentle handling. A true mate for her would be proud of her spirit, not try and crush it. Here, let me change her linen –’
Sickened at the sight of the blood Alice turned away to the fire. She shivered. ‘Is it true she loved Lord Carrick, do you think?’
Mairi frowned. Deftly packing the moss-filled strips of linen beneath her mistress’s hips she glanced up at Alice suspiciously. ‘She’s been faithful to her husband. That I know.’
‘That’s because he’s had her watched.’ Alice squatted in front of the fire, holding out her hands to it. ‘He brought me here to watch her, too. He’s afraid of her, Mairi. I saw that just now. He can’t understand her, or control her, save by force.’
Mairi was pulling the covers over Isobel once more. ‘She needs friends, not people to spy on her,’ she commented tartly.
‘And I am her friend.’ Climbing back to her feet Alice came back to the bed. ‘But how can I make her realise it?’
‘Friendship has to be earned.’ Mairi tightened her lips. ‘And proved. I’ll sit with her now, mistress, if you wish to go and rest.’
Alice hesitated. ‘You’ll call me if anything happens?’
‘Aye. I’ll call you.’
Mairi sat unmoving for a long time in the silent, empty chamber, her eyes not leaving Isobel’s face. Only when the candles on the coffer near her began to smoke and gutter into pools of grease did she stir. Stiffly she rose and went to sit on a stool before the fire, her eyes fixed on the flames.
Macduff visited Isobel later, sitting at her bedside, holding her hands in his. She moved a little, recognising him in the light of the single candle which burned on the table at the far side of the room.
He smiled. ‘Courage, lass.’ His deeply lined face was gentle.
‘Lord Buchan will kill me,’ she whispered.
He shook his head slowly. ‘He knows he shouldn’t have struck you, and there will be other babies soon enough. You must submit to him, lass. No more arguments in the great hall; no more political statements in front of his men. You deserved to be chastised for that.’
‘Chastised!’ She raised her hand painfully to her face. ‘Is that what you call it?’
‘Aye. Chastised.’ He sighed. ‘You’ll have time to recover, Isobel. We’ll be away as soon as the weather breaks. There is much to discuss with the lords of Scotland.’ He looked down at her, and the name of Lord Carrick hung for a moment in the air between them, unspoken.
‘Just so long as you take my husband away,’ she whispered at last.
He smiled. ‘We’ll take him away, lass. Never fear.’
But the snow did not relax its grip. Weeks passed. Slowly Isobel’s young body mended and once more Lord Buchan began to think about his young wife.
9
The hand on her shoulder was hesitant. ‘Mrs Royland? I’m sorry to disturb you –’
Around her the room was dark save for the candlelight. The undrawn curtains showed a starless night, opaque with fog.
Clare stared up at Sarah blankly.
‘I’m sorry, but Lady Royland is downstairs.’ Sarah glanced round nervously, then switching on the table
lamp she went automatically to close the curtains. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt your meditation. I hope you don’t mind, only she’s been here half an hour …’ She was aware of the dog sitting, ears flattened, in the doorway. Abruptly Casta bounded into the room, tail wagging. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. The atmosphere had cleared.
Slowly Clare stood up. She looked dazed. For a moment she stood staring down at the candle, then she stooped and, picking it up, blew out the flame. ‘Who did you say was here?’ she asked hesitantly, turning to Sarah at last. In the lamplight her face was pale.
‘Lady Royland.’ Sarah was watching her surreptitiously. ‘I’ve given her a glass of sherry and settled her in the drawing room.’
Gillian was dressed in voluminous fuchsia-coloured dungarees. She came straight to the point. ‘I think it is downright dishonest of Paul to try and break the children’s trust. I couldn’t believe it when David told me what was going on.’
Clare sat down opposite her. She felt strangely dissociated. Gillian’s sudden energy did not impress her. ‘I didn’t know about it, either,’ she said wearily. ‘But it is fair, if you think about it. If we can never have children.’
‘Fair!’ Gillian exclaimed. ‘Paul had his share! This is for the kids!’ She moved sideways on the sofa, easing her weight with a groan. ‘Don’t tell me now that Paul is not worried about money. He must be if he’s prepared to take the cash from a baby’s piggy bank!’
Clare smiled. ‘Hardly that, Gill.’
‘As good as.’ Gillian was breathing heavily. ‘So, if he’s not worried, why does he want the money? And don’t tell me it’s just a principle, because I don’t believe it.’
Clare gave a deep sigh. She stood up restlessly. ‘To be absolutely honest I think he must need the money. He wants me to sell Duncairn too.’
‘And are you going to?’
Clare shook her head. ‘No.’ She paused uncomfortably. ‘I’m not being disloyal, it’s just that he demands I sell it, without telling me why he wants the money, and Duncairn isn’t just another asset to be bought and sold like so many shares. It’s part of me.’ She gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Does that sound very sentimental?’
‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t be sentimental.’ Gillian sounded comfortably practical. ‘I think Paul has been having things too much his way. It’s time we all said no. I take it you and he had a row last week, and that’s why you didn’t come to the party?’
Clare nodded ruefully. ‘I’m sorry. I just couldn’t face a whole weekend with him.’
Gillian sighed. ‘I can’t say I blame you. Impossible man! I can’t think how you can stay married to him.’ She laughed. ‘No, don’t tell me. No doubt he has hidden charms.’ She reached for her sherry glass. ‘But seriously, Clare. David is worried about him. You don’t think he’s done anything silly in the City, do you? He hasn’t been speculating and losing millions?’
‘I am sure we’d have heard if it was anything like that.’ Clare smiled unhappily.
Gillian sniffed. ‘Well, you’d better warn him. David can’t have the Royland name involved in any scandals.’
‘I thought our dear Member of Parliament was involved with environmental issues. He’s got no interests in the City, surely.’ Clare stooped and threw a log on the fire.
‘Only his father’s shares which they all got. Nothing else. And of course he’s declared his interests there. But his reputation has to be protected. If there were the slightest whiff of dishonesty in the family it could be disastrous for his career.’
‘Well there isn’t.’ Clare flared up suddenly. ‘So stop being so bloody self-righteous! Why doesn’t he stop worrying about Paul and worry about the environment instead? Places like Duncairn, for instance. I’ve had an offer to buy it from an oil company. They want to destroy that beautiful place!’
‘You’ve actually had an offer?’ Gillian echoed. ‘You mean there’s oil there? No wonder Paul wants you to sell it!’
‘I told them there was no question of selling, ever.’ Clare hesitated. ‘They can’t make me, can they?’
‘I don’t think so. But I have an awful feeling that the oil isn’t yours. The government can take it any time they like, can’t they?’ Gillian grimaced. ‘I’ll ask David if you like. He’ll know.’
‘They never wrote back after I turned down their offer, so I hoped the matter was closed.’
Gillian stood up with a groan and put her hand to her back. ‘Well, I hope for your sake it is. I must go. I’m terrified I’m going to drop this child on someone’s carpet. It’s due any second, and they come so quickly …’ She smiled smugly. ‘Take care of yourself, Clare. Don’t let Paul bully you. And tell him to forget about the trust. OK?’
Geoffrey Royland arrived at ten o’clock the following morning at the wheel of a dusty Audi estate. He was wearing his dog collar, with a rumpled rust-coloured sweater. Following Clare into the cold drawing room he stared around as she set the tray of coffee on the table.
‘I’m sorry the fire’s not lit. Sarah went shopping for me early and she must have forgotten. It’ll soon warm up in here.’ She handed him a cup, then, glancing out of the windows at the garden which was still swathed in damp mist, she reached for the matches and knelt before the fire. ‘I suppose you’ve come about the trust as well. I had Gillian here yesterday.’ She sat back and watched as the flame flared on the firelighter and spread to the rest of the kindling, licking along the twigs and across the bark of the apple logs. Behind her, her brother-in-law stood, coffee cup in hand, and stared down at her thoughtfully.
‘I was passing on my way up to Norwich actually,’ he said after a pause. ‘I thought it would be nice to look in and see how you were. I’m not here about the trust.’
‘Good, because it’s nothing to do with me. You and David and Paul can fight it out between you.’
He studied her for a moment. She was looking particularly attractive in a flared emerald-green skirt and green and black sweater. He had always thought her a good-looking woman, particularly her eyes. There was something especially appealing about her eyes. But he was shocked to see how tired and strained she was looking.
‘I was so sorry, Clare, to hear about the results of the tests.’ He sat down and balanced his cup on his knee. ‘Chloe told me. I hope you don’t mind.’ He saw her knuckles whiten on the poker as she stirred the fire and he paused for a moment waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t he went on gently, ‘Have you and Paul discussed adoption?’
‘We haven’t discussed anything much lately.’ She put the poker down, but she stayed where she was, staring into the fire with her back to him. ‘I’m just glad all the tests and things are over.’
‘You’re not going to seek a second opinion then?’
‘No.’ She tightened her lips.
‘I see.’ He paused again, then he went on, choosing his words with care. ‘And are you going to go on with your study of yoga?’
‘How did you know I was studying yoga?’ Slowly Clare stood up. When she turned to face him she had remembered Chloe’s call and she was smiling impishly. ‘Of course. Emma told you, didn’t she?’
‘She mentioned it, yes.’ Geoffrey looked down at his cup. ‘My dear, I don’t want you to think I’m interfering, but I was a little concerned when I heard what you were doing. Can we talk about it?’
‘That sounds very portentous, Geoffrey.’ She sat down opposite him. ‘Does the Church of England disapprove of yoga?’
‘Yoga is often misunderstood, Clare. Practitioners of it tend to emphasise the fact that it is just a method of exercising and relaxing one’s body. They play down the fact, either intentionally or because they do not know it, that it is also a spiritual exercise, designed to bring about changes in one’s whole psyche, and that if one does it properly it can open and expose one’s mind and soul, and leave them very vulnerable.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Does that sound very pompous?’
She nodded. ‘I’m afraid it does rather. A far cry fr
om the classes they give in the village hall here.’
‘But you didn’t learn it in the village hall, did you?’ He put down his coffee cup. ‘I gather that the man who taught you has also taught you something about meditation.’
‘Which again comes highly recommended in every book you pick up these days. It’s the panacea of the eighties.’ She frowned. ‘It’s not dangerous, Geoffrey.’
He scowled. ‘Tell me about these visions you see.’
‘You mean the one with the horns and the cloven hooves and the tail with a point on the end?’
Outside the sun was fighting its way out of the mist. A ray of sunlight crept slowly across the carpet and stopped at her feet.
He didn’t laugh. For a long moment he watched her intently, then at last he looked away. ‘You think it all a joke?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not a joke. Not to me – but it is when you take it so seriously.’ She refused to allow herself to think about what Zak had said.
‘I take it seriously because it’s a serious matter, Clare.’
‘You’re talking about the witchcraft now, of course.’ She looked at him solemnly. ‘I didn’t think I’d told Emma about that. There are a lot of covens in East Anglia – but there are waiting lists. One would be lucky to get into one.’ She walked over the window and stared out, so he couldn’t see her face. ‘I’m getting very good at it.’
Behind her Geoffrey swallowed. ‘Clare –’
‘It was frightening at first, of course – especially the first time I raised the devil. It’s hard to remember the ceremonies; the incantations – but when it works …’ She turned to face him. ‘Don’t you believe me? You should ask Sarah. She’ll tell you. She caught me at it last night. She was almost terrified to death.’