The Magicians And Mrs. Quent Part 28

Clarette set it down without taking a sip, then turned back to the window.

"What are we going to study today?" Chambley asked.

"We should work on our reading. We can read anything we want."

"Can we read about dragons?"

"There are no such things as dragons," Clarette said, turning from the window.

He scowled at her. "There are in books."

"That's very true," I told him. I smiled at Clarette. "Isn't that so?"

She turned her dark eyes on me. "Mr. Quent is gone again, isn't he?"

"Yes, his business has called him away. Did you see him ride off?"

Even as I said this, I remembered that the window of their room was on the opposite side of the house from the front courtyard, where I had encountered Mr. Quent. The window looked east, out over the empty moor. Toward the Wyrdwood.

Clarette turned again to the window, leaning on the sill and gazing out. Despite the sultry afternoon I felt a chill creep up my arms. I folded them over my chest. "Drink your tea," I said, "and come downstairs when you are dressed."

A FTER THAT DAY, despite the continued fine weather, my spirits fell-further, in truth, than they had since my arrival at Heathcrest. Since Mr. Quent's departure the house seemed more silent than ever. It should have been impossible-he spoke so little-yet it was quieter. The silence was a palpable thing, like dust or cobwebs. It smothered everything.

I began to wish I had not promised the children I would keep their secret; I regretted not telling Mr. Quent about the white figure I had glimpsed running toward the Wyrdwood in the gloaming. I determined I would tell him as soon as he returned. Only there was no way to know when that would be. It could be a few days, or it could be a half month. Until then, I could only be vigilant. I kept watch out the windows, and when we ventured outside I never released the children's hands.

Despite all my observations, I saw nothing unusual as the days pa.s.sed. Yet I was growing increasingly certain-indeed, I was by now utterly convinced-that Clarette had seen something, that even now, though she did not speak of it, she continued to see the being in white.

Several times I came close to asking Clarette if she had seen the intruder-or (as I feared was the case) if the intruder had spoken to her. Always I refrained. Clarette must want to tell me. If I attempted to force the knowledge from her, any hope I had of winning her over was ruined.

My only respite were those long afternoons when I was able to leave the children secured in the house and venture out for a ride. I never felt fear at such times. I was not likely to encounter the intruder; it was clear it had no wish to show itself to me. And I believed that it most likely made itself known to the children during hours of gloom or twilight.

"You will be back before nightfall, won't ye, miss?" Jance would sometimes ask as he helped me into the saddle, even though the umbral was many hours off. By the third or fourth time he said this, I laughed.

"I can only think I look very foolish when I sit on a horse," I said, "for in the village, Mr. Samonds said much the same thing to me. I a.s.sured him he had no cause for worry, and now I say the same to you. I've brought my good sense with me as well as my bonnet."

The groundskeeper squinted up at me. "You ought not make a jest at Mr. Samonds, miss. He has a right to worry about a young lady riding close to dark. That was when his sister went missing."

My mirth perished. What had caused me to laugh like that? I seemed to mock Mr. Samonds when he had been only kind to me.

"His sister!" I said, shocked.

"Aye. It's been over a year now. She went out walking late one day before the fall of a greatnight, and she never came back. They took lanterns with them and covered half the county, staying out all through that long, shivering umbral. But they didn't find her, nor have they since. She were about your age, miss. Looked a bit like you too, fair-headed and all. Halley, that were her name."

How horrible I had been. The sight of me on a horse must have made Mr. Samonds think of his sister, while I had only considered my own pride! I a.s.sured Jance I would be back long before sunset and that I would ride only between the house and Cairnbridge.

"That's good to hear, miss," he said, and handed me the reins.

As I rode, I thought of the farrier and of his sister, Halley Samonds. How selfish I had been to think only of myself. Yet it was strange. The heathland was so open; all one had to do was climb up any of the ridges or hills and one could see for miles. It seemed impossible that she could have gotten lost.

A FTER A MIDDLING night came another long lumenal, and once the children were in their room, I again took the gray out for a ride.

"Didn't you go out yesterday?" Mrs. Darendal said as I put on my bonnet.

"We're nearly out of b.u.t.ter," I said with a smile. Without waiting for her answer (for I knew she tended to worry less about what was missing from the larder when the master was not in residence), I took a napkin in which to wrap my intended purchase and hurried out the door.

The day was not so fine as those that had preceded it; clouds lingered over the ridgetops, as if caught on the stones. All the same, I felt relief as I always did once free of the oppressive quiet of Heathcrest, and I let the mare trot as fast as she wished down the road.

At that pace I reached the inn after no more than half an hour. However, once there I discovered there was no b.u.t.ter to be had; the woman who usually brought it had brought none that morning. One of her cows was dead.

I asked the innkeeper if it had gotten sick, but he told me no, the animal had not fallen ill; rather, it had been killed, and the other cows were so frightened their udders had gone dry.

"But who would do such a thing?" I thought of the reports of highwaymen I had overheard. "Was it brigands?"

"It weren't no kind of man," the innkeeper said. "By the look of it, some beast took the cow down. That's what she told me, at least."

"A pack of dogs, you mean?" I asked, for I could think of nothing else that would attack so large a creature.

The innkeeper shook his head. Not beasts, he told me, but a beast, and he said if I wanted b.u.t.ter I would have to go to Low Sorrell to get it.

As I climbed into the saddle again, my first thought was that I should return to Heathcrest. But I had been gone less than an hour; I was not yet ready to return to the confines of the house. Besides, while I had told Jance I was riding to the village for b.u.t.ter, I had not specified Cairnbridge. If Low Sorrell was the village where the b.u.t.ter was to be found, then that was where I should be expected to go-or so I reasoned.

I had never been to Low Sorrell, but I knew it was only three miles down the road. It would take little more than an hour to ride there and back, and the mare seemed ready to trot as quickly as I wished.

The road wended among several hills and then down into a quaint valley. Ancient stone walls st.i.tched across a patchwork of tilled fields, meadows, and bracken. I pa.s.sed a stand of aspen trees-a copse of New Forest, not bounded by any wall-and lingered for a few minutes beneath their trembling shade. By the time I reached the cl.u.s.ter of stone houses near a small bridge, my mood was greatly improved.

I halted before a building I took to be a public house. The village was not, I was forced to admit despite my good cheer, as charming as Cairnbridge. The gra.s.s in the commons was yellowed, and the houses were stained with soot and patches of moss that gave them a scabrous look.

It was only the damp air that made everything look shabby, I supposed, for the village was close to the bogs. However, the people who went about had the same dilapidated look as the buildings. Nor did any of them greet me, though a few treated me to sidelong glances. These people were not country squires and well-to-do tradesmen, I reminded myself; rather, it was the tenants who dwelled down in the lowlands.

As no one stopped to greet me, I took it upon myself to speak to a gray-haired man pa.s.sing by, inquiring if he knew where I might buy b.u.t.ter. He muttered several harsh-sounding words and made an odd motion with his hand, then turned his back to me.

I had no idea what to make of this reaction, but I decided it best to seek out someone who was used to speaking with a customer. With that in mind, I ventured into the public house. A haze of smoke hung on the air, along with a sour smell. The rumble of conversation filled the room but fell to a hush as I entered. A dozen rough faces turned in my direction. I could only wonder what I looked like. Was I such a fright after my ride?

No, that was not why they stared. My dress, though very simple to me, was of fine black linen, not coa.r.s.e gray homespun. I saw there was not another woman in the place. However, if I had intruded or broken some rule, then the infraction was already committed. I might as well make my inquiry.

"Good day," I said to the bald man who stood at the plank of wood that served as a counter. "I wonder if you might tell me where in the village I could purchase b.u.t.ter."

"There's none you can buy here," he said.

I was taken aback-though at this point not entirely surprised-by his harsh tone. "I was told in Cairnbridge I might do so."

He scowled, as if I had accused him of lying. "There's none here in Sorrell, but cross the bridge and keep going until ye reach the third croft. Ye can talk to them there."

That I could trust these directions I was far from certain; however, I thanked the man. He gave a curt nod without meeting my eyes. At the same time his hand dropped behind the counter, but not before I saw him touch his thumb and middle finger together three times. It was, I thought, the same motion the man outside had made.

"Good day," I said again, and, keeping my chin up, I walked to the door and into the sunlight. I heard a burst of talk behind me, but I kept moving, returning to my horse.

My hands trembled as I took the reins. I did not know what I had done to earn such strange consideration from the men in the public house. Perhaps it was only to be expected that men who were obedient in their landlords' presence might turn surly in their own village with a cup of ale at hand. All the same, their looks, their behavior, had left me unsettled. The day had lost any l.u.s.ter it had held. The air was damp, the clouds dreary. I wanted only to ride as quickly as I could back to Heathcrest.

No, I should not be so easily deterred by a few rude looks. I had come on an errand, and I would see it done. I rode along the muddy street, crossed the bridge, and followed the track.

I soon came to a row of small farms or crofts in the meadows along the stream, and in front of the third I saw several cows grazing, which I took for a hopeful sign. I tied the mare at a post, then followed the footpath up to the croft. It was less a country cottage and more a hovel of gray stones with a wattle-and-daub chimney, but there were nasturtiums blooming in the yard and violets beside the front step; these encouraged me onward when my steps might otherwise have faltered.

As I neared the house, a young man-taller than I, but very thin-came around the corner. When he saw me he stopped short, and his eyes went wide. The bucket he had been carrying slipped from his hand. White liquid flowed over the ground.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, taking a step toward him. "I'm so sorry."

He retreated, and his left hand curled in as he tapped thumb and middle finger together. My cheeks burned, and my eyes stung. To receive another such reaction was more than I could bear that day. I started to turn, to head back down the path.

"I suppose she's come for b.u.t.ter," said a reedy voice from the direction of the house. "Don't just stand there like a lump of peat, Corren. Pick up the bucket and go fill it again. The red cow has been complaining all morning-I've told you she needs milking twice a day."

The young man s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bucket and ran back around the house. A woman stood on the steps of the house. She was wrapped in a gray shawl and leaned on a crooked stick that served for a cane. She gestured to me with a hand that was every bit as bent as the cane.

To leave was still my instinct. But the woman motioned to me again, and as it was the first encouraging gesture I had seen since coming to Low Sorrell, I could not resist.

"There's a girl," the woman said as I approached the steps. "Come in, come in. I'll get you the b.u.t.ter. It's ten pennies a pot. That's robbery, I know; but when robbers roam the roads, even honest folk must resort to thievery to make a living. What times, these are! Come in, my dear, I said come in. And you'll have a cup of tea, of course."

"Tea?" I said, surprised by her words.

She squinted at me. "You aren't simple, are you, dear?"

"Yes," I managed to say. "I mean, yes, I'd like tea very much, thank you."

I followed her into the house. The front room was spare and dim, but it was neatly kept, and there was a bowl of yellow nasturtiums on the table. I felt no fear as I accepted a seat and a cup. The tea was warming-fragrant with rose hips-and I felt myself restored as I sipped it. My host was not, I saw now, so old as I had thought. Her crooked limbs must have been the result of a malady of the bones, not the product of age.

"This chair," I said, noticing the seat I had taken. "It's very like the one in my room at-in the house where I live."

"At Heathcrest Hall, you mean."

So there was no hiding who I was. "Yes, at Heathcrest." I touched the arms of the chair, which had been bent and braided of willow branches.

"My nephew fashioned it. I imagine he made the one you have up at Heathcrest as well."

"It's beautiful," I said, and then realized I had yet to introduce myself, so I set down my cup and did so.

"I am Cathlen Samonds," she said in reply.

"Samonds!" I said. "But your nephew-it isn't Mr. Samonds, is it? The farrier in Cairnbridge, I mean."

"Aye, he's the very one. My brother is his father. Or he was, that is, when he still dwelled with us in this world."

"I'm sorry," I said, but she only shook her head and drank her tea. "I suppose that's how the chair came to be at the house," I went on. "Mr. Samonds-that is, your nephew-said he went there often as a boy. He must have brought the chair there."

"Aye, he made several things for the house-chests, stools, and other things. The chair would have been a gift for Mrs. Quent."

"She was his mother's cousin, I understand."

She nodded, then took a nasturtium from the bowl and ate it, flower, leaf, and stem.

"The young man out there," I said. "Is he your son? I'm sorry I startled him. I will pay for the milk."

"That's my neighbor's son. I've never married. Besides, I like to believe any son of mine would have been a bit less thick." She laughed, and her teeth were as crooked as the rest of her. "But he's a good lad in his way. And you need not worry over the milk. It's good to spill a little now and then, to give back to the ground what we take from it." She took another flower and ate it.

"Thank you," I said, and didn't know what to say after that. I sipped my tea as Miss Samonds ate flowers.

"I imagine they were right wary of you in the village," she said. "To tell the truth, I'm surprised they spoke to you enough to tell you how to find me. You must have had to draw it out of them."

"Indeed, they were very strange to me," I said, setting down my cup. Now that the subject was broached, my curiosity had to be satisfied. "Such looks they gave me-just as the boy out there did-as if I were the most frightful thing, and they would make this peculiar gesture. Why would they do such a thing?"

"Because you have Addysen eyes."

"My eyes? What do you mean?"

"Your eyes are green. It isn't a common color, at least not around here. There's only one family in this county as ever had green eyes in it, and even then it was just the daughters. Not that there were ever many sons of that family."

"The Addysens, you mean."

"Aye, the Addysens. And I'm guessing by your look you want to hear all about them. You'd better take more tea, then."

I hesitated, for I knew I should hasten back to Heathcrest before the children rose. However, by then my curiosity could not be denied. I accepted another cup of tea.

"There's no older family in the county than the Addysens," Miss Samonds said, "though there were the Rylends, who were every bit as old. Earl Rylend dwelled up at Heathcrest Hall, as you must know. Your own Mr. Quent was raised in his household like a son. But the earl had no child of his own who lived to inherit his name. When he was gone, the house, but not the Rylend name, went to Mr. Quent.

"I cannot imagine that he sought it!" I was not certain why I felt it necessary to make so vehement a defense of my employer, but that Mr. Quent was someone who aspired to a t.i.tle out of vanity I could not imagine.

Miss Samonds shrugged, then went on as bees droned in the yard outside the window. The Addysens, she said, had long made their home at their lodge at Willowbridge, some miles to the north. The last Addysen squire to dwell there had been Marwen Addysen. For a time he had served as a captain at a garrison in Torland, but he had been called back when his elder brother was thrown from a horse and broke his neck. This all happened nearly a hundred years ago.

Much to the dismay of his family, Marwen brought a wife back with him, a young woman from one of the Torland clans. However, the deed was accomplished; there was nothing to be done. By then Marwen's father was near to death and indeed soon pa.s.sed. So Marwen became squire at the lodge at Willowbridge, and his wife the lady of the house.

"What was she like, the woman he brought from Torland?" I asked, and took another sip of tea.

Miss Samonds laughed. "Oh, she was a wild thing, Rowan Addysen was! Or at least so the stories say. It was said if there was a ball she would dance every song, and when the musicians stopped playing she would run outside and dash off her shoes and dance in the gra.s.s by the light of the moon. She was lovely too, and generous. All the accounts say she was much liked by all who met her."

"And she had green eyes?"

"Aye, that she did. So did each of her three daughters, and so did all of their daughters. So it was that to have green eyes was to have Addysen eyes. But she never had any son, and she raised her daughters mostly by herself, for Marwen died when Willowbridge Lodge burned to the ground one night when Rowan and her girls were off at a ball."

It seemed the daughters themselves were peculiar in their way. For one thing, none of them took their husband's name when they were married. Not that their husbands liked the idea much, but that was the price of getting Rowan Addysen's approval-and more importantly, a part of her fortune, which was enough to rival that of the Rylends. So it was that her daughters were able to find men who would agree to that peculiar condition and Rowan's daughters kept the name Addysen, and gave it to their own daughters as well.

"But not to the sons?" I asked.

Miss Samonds shrugged. "As I said, there were never many sons that came out of that lineage. My nephew is one of the few. But Rowan Addysen only said her daughters had to keep the name. And maybe that was why the men agreed so quickly when they accepted their portion. For a daughter doesn't have much chance to carry on a man's name, does she? And by the time her granddaughters married, Rowan Addysen was in the grave, and none of them who took a husband kept the Addysen name for their own."

What a strange story! But that Rowan Addysen was a fascinating character could not be denied. "Are there many of them, then? Rowan's granddaughters, I mean."

"Aye, there were near to a dozen. Not all stayed in the county, of course. Some went back west to Torland to take husbands there, and some met an early death, as some do. Yet a number of them stayed here."

"And they all had green eyes."