A Curse Dark as Gold (40 page)

I was saved the choosing, for the Millhouse door flew open with a clatter and Rosie burst out, sliding as her feet hit the wet shale. She righted herself and threw herself at me headlong.

"He has William!" she gasped, and I saw with horror that my sister had been crying. I grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

"What? Who has William?" Oh, Lord -- was I too late?
Rosie couldn't catch her breath. "Uncle Wheeler!" she finally managed, and I was so relieved I didn't understand her.

"He came back here? Where are the horses?"

Rosie stared at me. "Mr. Carter took them," she said. "Charlotte -- I didn't know -- it just happened before I could do anything. When he came back here, in your carriage -- by God, Charlotte, I thought he'd killed you!"

"Rosie, slow down. What happened?"

She took a ragged breath, holding fast to my arms. "Uncle Wheeler came back this afternoon -- we didn't know when to expect you, and I had just put William down. He burst into the house like a madman, and when he ran upstairs -- I didn't know what he was doing! I was helping Harte, so I couldn't follow straightaway. I swear, Charlotte -- I was expecting you to come at any moment! And then you
didn't
-- so I went to check on William -- and they were both gone."

"Where was Rachel? Biddy Tom?"

"Josie Lawson's baby came due, and her mam couldn't manage by herself, and I sent Rachel to the Grange to fetch more nappies for William. She never came back."

I looked across the yard to the grey shadow that was Stirwaters. A faint flickering light burned in the spinning room -- not lamplight or the horrible red blaze of fire, but a cold, shadowy glow like moonlight.

"They're in the mill," I said quietly. It seemed so obvious now, I could barely believe I hadn't known it as soon as I heard Uncle Wheeler had abandoned me. Now that Spinner had caught him up at last, Uncle Wheeler thought to make a better bargain with him.

"I know they're in the mill!" Rosie cried. "But I can't get in! Don't you think I've tried? I've
been
trying, all bloody day!"
She was sobbing now, a wild, robust sob of red runny nose and shrill hysterical breathing.

"What do you mean, you can't get in?"

She shook her head. "I just can't, that's all. The doors aren't locked, but they won't budge, nor the windows. I even tried breaking a couple, but rocks just bounce off. I can't explain it ---"

"No," I said, my thoughts far away from my voice. I was watching the shifting moonlight pouring from the spinning room windows. "I'll get in. I'm the Miller he wants."

Altogether too calmly, I took my sister by the elbow and steered her back into the Millhouse, relating all -- well, most -- of what I had learned on my journey.

A voice carried in from the parlor. "Rosie, is that you?" Rosie popped her head around the door.

"George Harte, you put yourself back into that chair this bloody instant! And I mean it this time! Charlotte's back."

"Thank God." With a scrape and shuffle, Harte's curly head appeared in the doorway. He was leaning heavily on a crutch, his face red with effort. "Charlotte -- we were worried. What happened to you?"

"I lost my way a little," I said, "but I've made it now. Let's go get William back. You -- sit back down. You're not fit to be moving about yet."

Harte gave a grunt that may well have been pain. "Forget it," he said. "I'm coming with you."

"The devil you are," Rosie said.

"Harte," I said, "William's half lost already, and Randall... I cannot risk you, too. I want at least one of the men I care about safe at home. Do you hear me?" And there, at last: I was shaking.
Harte reached out to put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't,'' I said. "I won't make it if you do that." I turned away from Harte before I could see the look in his eyes.

What I beheld instead was almost as disturbing -- and as fortifying. Our home looked like Biddy Tom's cottage, bedecked for some harvest festival that only we would observe. Apples and broom arched over the doorways, colored glass balls hung in every window. Great symbols were sketched on the glass and the chimneys, marks drawn out in chalk or soot on the floor before any threshold leading outdoors. An odd, herby effusion burned over the kitchen fire, casting the room in a heady smoke.

Rosie was watching me. "I'm not taking any chances," she said.

I stared at the salt sprinkled on the windowsills, for once not thinking how dear it was. I'd pour out a dozen salt cellars if we made it through this night.

And there was the crux of it all. I probably would make it through the night, alive and intact, and Rosie, too -- but what of William? What of Stirwaters? Could I save either of them? Could I save them both? And if I couldn't --? My breath struggled up through my breast. It didn't bear thinking of. I must save them. I
must.

Suddenly, we heard the front door fling open with a bang. Rosie jumped, and I thought she might come clear out of her skin.

"Charlotte! Rosie! What are you girls playing at?"

I whirled at the sound of the voice, to see Randall framed in the doorway, moonlight silvering his hair and shoulders. All the strength went out of my knees, and I sank against the kitchen table. He strode into the house and threw his hat onto an armchair, slamming the door behind him. "What is this? Charlotte, you look a mess. Where's William?"

"One question at a time, please, brother," Rosie said.

"No," Randall said. His face was hard and lined, the same look he'd worn when I saw him last. "I want all the answers at once. What is this you're doing -- you've got wards on every door in the house -- I couldn't even get
near
the kitchen! Straw dollies and salt and -- is that henbane? Gods, Charlotte, what have you two been messing with?"

And then, before I could answer, he had taken three long strides from the doorway and caught me up in his arms, squeezing me so tightly I couldn't breathe. "What's going on?" he said into my neck. "The Grange is ice cold, and it looks like you haven't been there in days. How's William?" He pulled back and looked likely to bend down to kiss me.

"William's been taken." I blurted it out, just like that. I don't think I could have managed it any other way. In the space of a heartbeat his face went ashen, and he sank to the floor, somehow finding a chair on his way down.

"Taken? You mean
kidnapped?
How -- when?" He could barely shape the words, and his hand reached out, not finding me. I grabbed it and held it close to my beating heart, as if I had any right to do so.

"Looks like the girls' uncle took the lad," Harte broke in gently. "We're not sure why, but there may be some bad debts involved."

Randall stared from one of us to the other. I put his hand to my lips and shook my head at Harte.

"No," I said. "That's not the truth." The time for secrets was long past. I took a deep breath. "Randall, I've made some very poor decisions, and I've put our son's life in danger." He went stiff under my touch, but I forged on. "And I will tell you
everything,
just as soon as I can. But for now, I have to go."

I forced myself to meet his eyes, as I said those words to him, yet again. His gaze was hard and cold and colored of steel. Very well, I could take my strength from that. I squeezed Randall's fingers far too tightly and then dropped his hand. I withdrew the glass jar from my rain-spattered cloak and shook it in the lamplight.

Randall rose and caught my hand, stilling the jar in midair. "What is that?"

"It's earth," I replied as calmly as I could. "I must take it to Stirwaters immediately if I'm to ransom William."

"Earth? What kind of earth -- Charlotte, are you working
magic?"

I was unprepared for the vehemence in his voice -- the surprise, yes, but not the other thing ... what was it? His grip on my wrist was like a vise. "Let me go," I said, twisting in his grasp. His hand loosened but did not free me.

"No. You tell me what this is."

"Please," I said. "You must trust me."

His shoulders slumped, and I thought he might fall. I pulled him closer to me. "Charlotte, of
course
I trust you. Always. But trust me. Is this about that curse?"

I nearly dropped the jar, but Randall saved it. "Charlotte. Did you really think I could live for any time in this village without hearing the rumors? Especially since William was born. You can't take such talk seriously. Whatever danger William is in, I'm sure there's nothing unnatural about it."

I shook my head. "No," I said. "It's very real." And then I spent precious time accounting for the dark deeds of Millers past. It seemed fitting, truly, for if I failed tonight, I should be no better than any of them: The Miller who sold her child to save the mill.

"Ah," he said finally. "Sad business. So many years -- that's a long time for a curse to stand. He must have been quite powerful. Or very angry. If you mean to try and break it, you'll need something that witnessed the laying down of the curse -- this earth, I suppose? And an image of the man himself wouldn't go amiss." He reached a hand toward me and brushed his fingertips against the dolly still pinned to my collar.

We were all staring at him. Incongruously, Randall laughed, but the laughter died on his lips. "Well, I wasn't born under a brick, was I? My grandmother taught me a useful thing or two. I'm no cunning man, but I can cast a circle of protection as well as the next fellow. The one I laid down at our wedding has held up pretty well."

I backed away. "You cast a spell on me?"

He followed, drawing me back in. "Shh. No. I put my arms around you,
like this,
and promised to protect you. I swore no harm would come to you. I've seen you do it, too -- to everyone you love. You have amazing strength, you know, when you put your mind to it."

"No," I said. "No, no, no...." But as I whispered that one word, I knew he spoke the truth. I had felt it, all these months. That sense of peace, that overwhelming security -- the strong wall that pushed all my troubles back a few paces. It was real. And it was at work on me, now. I held his arms tightly and let myself draw in just a bit of that Randall calm.

"I did William, too -- we both did," he was saying. "But sometimes when you have forces working against you even before you're born ..." He shook his head. "You seemed so worried about it all; that's why I hung the charms in his room. But when you reacted the way you did ... I know I should have told you earlier, but I didn't think you'd want to hear it. I've been trying to tell you, Charlotte -- I'm pretty handy to have around."

It was too much. "You are my
husband,
and a banker from Harrowgate. You can't be a -- a --" Not thinking of the word I wanted, I gave up.

Randall held me tighter. "I am the man you married," he said. "I'm William's father. I'm not anything else. But I can help, if you let me."

I still had hold of his arms, and was afraid I might fall if I let go. I closed my eyes, and felt Randall lay his chin atop my head. The warmth from the hollow of his neck was almost enough to chase away the chill of the night and the day and the night before. All the chills, forever.

"I'd move quick if I were you, Miss Charlotte," Harte said. "It's after eleven."

I drew in a shaky breath. "We must go," I said, pulling away from Randall at last. The four of us stepped out into the yard together.

Straight into a crowd. Well, not so much a crowd, exactly, but a smallish gathering of Shearing folk and millfolk, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in an arc around the millhouse. They looked like a makeshift chorus.

"Mrs. Lamb?
Rachel?
What is this?"

Biddy Tom stepped out from where she'd stood among them. "We heard there was a bit o' trouble up at the mill, lass."

I shook my head. "How?"
A sharp bark answered me. "That dog o' yourn,'' came Mr. Mordant's voice from out of the group. "Right strange creature, that-a-one."

"Ah, she's a good pup," said Nathan Smith, his hand on Pilot's head.

Janet Lamb came up to me and put her arm round my shoulders. "Woke up the last lot of us, she did," she said. "My Dan'll have words to say about it on the morning, that's sure. But for now, I think we're needed here."

"Aye, what are the Friendlies for, then?"

"I don't understand," I said, and then I saw that pinned to every collar and cloak was a small badge, monogrammed in blue: the letters
FS,
twining together. The Friendly Society. Of course.

"It's about time someone took on to break that old curse," said Jon Graves, the undertaker.

"Ah, and we knew you'd be just the one to do it, too," Mrs. Lamb added.

"But it concerns us all, too, then, don't it?" And that, believe it, was Lonnie Clayborn.

"An' we just thought you could use what help you could get."

I shook my head. "I must do this alone. I can't ask you to involve yourselves. This is a Miller matter -- Miller and Stirwaters."