Secret Of The Manor (11 page)

Alex stiffened, and James soothed him with a rub of his arm. “We’ve heard the gossip about Salem, the evil bird, and people’s relief when they say he’s only around for the breeding season. Maybe if he was around more than that, people would start asking questions? As it is they don’t notice the lack of a breeding pair—they’re just relieved he’s not there anymore.”

He took a breath and continued. “There’s no set date for the transformation. What we do know is that for the last twelve years, before spring, Alex transforms into a swan and stays that way until at least the end of summer. It is one of the reasons for the delay in our gathering. After our meeting at the manor, I had to wait for Alex to become human before I could bring him here.”

All the time James was sharing his thoughts, Warren was unable to rip his eyes away from the blue ones that haunted his slumber. Alex’s chiselled features were contorted with grief and frustration. His eyes darted here and there, never focusing on anything, and his mouth moved as though he was speaking, yet nothing came out. From that moment, Warren knew Alex meant every word he said. He knew the man’s actions were a desperate attempt to convey the truth of the matter and to make Warren believe.

Was Warren prepared to believe? Did he believe? What was the alternative?

From the questions that assaulted him, and the agony of the man before him, the persuasiveness of the facts was getting harder to deny. After all, everyone was at the cottage because Warren believed the joust happened and he wanted answers. He believed enough to ask questions. If the joust was real, why couldn’t Alex’s transformation be real, too? He could no longer deny the building evidence. Carl’s stories. The lack of birds in the Saxon burial ground. The pull of the church. His dreams. The joust. And, most of all, the man before him. Warren had seen many a fraud in the boardroom over the years, and although he wasn’t infallible, he knew the signs to look for in the face of a pretender.

If Warren believed,
what
did he believe? He believed there were forces that he could not explain, and those forces had done something to the family of the men sitting with him. He needed to know more. He needed to know why he was caught up in the middle of it. He needed to show the man before him some faith and compassion.

Warren leaned forward in his seat and tilted his head to get Alexander’s attention. “I saw your despair in my dreams. It was you in my dreams, wasn’t it?”

Alexander held onto the hem of his brother’s jumper. “Yes. At first I saw you in my night’s eye and didn’t know who you were. Then, after the standoff in the valley, when your horse stood his ground, you got my attention. In the years I’ve been a swan, no equine has ever done that. When I saw your face, I knew you were involved somehow. I backed off and haven’t given you trouble since. Instead, I kept track of you while you were out riding. Even at night, when I can’t see you, I can sense you. But you fight everything you see with logic. There is nothing about this that your brand of reason will account for.”

Alexander’s testimony was further evidence. Unless the manor had cameras in the area, or James was camped in a hideout, no one else had witnessed the standoff between Argo and Salem.

“Why me? What’s my connection to you? All I know is that I ended up in the middle of an ancient scene with no reason as to why. I’m no knight in shining armour or champion of the joust.”

“The young man seems to believe differently,” James countered.

Warren cussed. “If I hadn’t gone out for that bloody ride, I wouldn’t be here now.”

It was Alex’s turn to catch Warren’s eye. “Maybe not now, or in this way. I am sure something would have happened at some time in the future. Even if it wasn’t the joust.”

“Why?”

“Because of the dreams.”

Alexander seemed to be getting calmer. Other than brief outbursts, Carl and James remained as levelheaded as when the discussion began. Warren’s emotions were veering in the opposite direction. He was steadily becoming more worked up as reality set in. Everything inside him trembled; even his teeth chattered at the stark reality that everything he’d experienced was no hallucination. The look on Alexander’s face told Warren he hadn’t been hit on the head. His bruises
were
the result of falling from his horse, in armour, and his dream in the graveyard was a view into the past, not his imagination.

Without conscious thought, Warren massaged his shoulder. “Would anyone like a drink? I know I would.”

Mumbles of affirmation reached Warren’s ears, and he moved to the kitchen in a bewildered state. His weak, unsteady legs barely carried him there, and he clung to the counter like it was a lifeline. He forgot to ask who wanted what, he didn’t remember dealing with the kettle, and he didn’t remember setting up a tray of coffee with something a little stronger. He did remember the rattle of the cups and spoons as his hands shook on his way back to the lounge.

When he sat, Carl’s grounding hand gripped his wrist. “You alright, lad?”

“I have no idea.” Warren’s words were honest. He truly didn’t have any idea how he felt. But with the passion of Alexander’s words in his head, it was time for him to man up and start accepting events rather than denying them. “How about you, Carl?”

“I’ve heard a lot more than you in my time. But it’s still a lot to take in. Feels like a trip to the picture house at the moment. Dare say it’ll hit me later.”

Alexander interrupted. “I must apologise for my earlier actions, Mr. Blake.”

“Call me Warren,” he absentmindedly replied.

“Thank you, Warren. Please call us James and Alex. Again, I apologise. My anxiety overran my manners and decorum.”

“Uh, what? Yes, yes, I understand. I’d probably have done the same in your position.” A few seconds passed before Warren added, “What is your position?”

Alexander looked to James for support and received a smile and a nod of approval. “The year I came of age was the first time it happened. It was James who found me, on the morning of my eighteenth birthday. We were supposed to celebrate with a party. He walked into my room and, instead of me, found a swan flapping about on the bedcovers. It wasn’t until he ran to Father and insisted I’d been kidnapped that either of us was aware of anything untoward in our family. The party was cancelled. I was captured in a sack and locked in a stable while there was a family conference. I was the first this had happened to in four generations, and father had hoped the curse had disappeared. Since then, for the last twelve years, I’ve transformed into a swan.”

“Bloody hell,” Carl mumbled before continuing more clearly. “The villagers believe you’re in France with Miss Philippa.”

“Yes, and I’d like it to stay that way, please. Philippa is a sweetheart, but she got away as soon as she could and refuses to come back. It’s convenient for us that the villagers think that, and no one asks questions. It became too much for her after a huge family row. She wanted to bring in an army of occult specialists, but Father wouldn’t have it. Like the lords before him, he insisted everything be kept secret and is resigned to eventually burying me in the family crypt... in whatever form I die in.”

Warren saw Carl about to say something, most likely about Oliver being an arse. Not wanting to antagonise the boys by insulting their father, Warren gave Carl a warning look. Carl hunched his shoulders and grumbled, “I’m right,” but relaxed into his seat and focused on Alex.

“Father’s position is the main reason James asked to meet here. Immediately after my third change Father had a heart attack. Since then, he thought it best I leave. I think a part of him hoped that the curse would only happen while I stayed on manor land. That’s been proven wrong. Regardless, I haven’t been back to the main house. Between transformations, I stay at a small cottage James has on the outskirts of Malvern. There I can at least have some sort of life, albeit a sheltered one.”

Warren was captivated by the sound of Alexander’s voice. It had changed from anger to gentle sadness. Its tone had the beautiful deep melody of a cello. The accent wasn’t local. Neither did it have the plum-in-the-mouth intonation so often associated with lords and ladies; rather it was a pleasant melding somewhere between the two.

Alex’s face reflected every emotion, from sadness over his predicament to the small joy he had while staying in Malvern. There were similarities in features between Alex and the man at the joust; most notably the eyes and plump lips. It seemed, though, that the eyes and nose were the things inherited by the current Walmsley bloodline. With the angular features of Alex’s jaw and eyes, Warren could easily imagine him as a swan.

There were elements of Alex’s account that had Warren’s blood boiling: mainly, the part about Oliver banishing Alex from the family home. Then again, Warren knew from experience, there was nothing more complicated than the family dynamic. At least Alex wasn’t entirely alone, and James had supplied him with a home.

No matter how vehemently Alex insisted Warren’s logic had no place in the situation, he couldn’t help trying to order the elements for analysis. He had so many questions, and he had to ask some. “Do you have any idea why I’m connected to you and this other entity? Or why I ended up as Milady’s failed champion at the joust? Has this happened before?”

Alex nodded to his brother to take over the story. “Your questions are rather loaded, I’m afraid,” James said. “In short, the answer is yes and no. Yes, this has happened before. Not in this particular way, though. As far as Alex is concerned, it hasn’t happened to this degree. We have many theories and few facts. When Alex was twenty-two, there was a man he thought might help, but within a few nights of contact via dreams, whoever it was disappeared. We don’t know how or why Alex makes contact with certain individuals, and the man was gone before we discovered his identity.”

Carl offered a wry explanation. “He probably thought he was going mad, like my lad here did.”

James looked at Carl with a patient eye. “Possibly.” He then returned his attention to Warren. “There are records under lock and key in the family archives, the majority of which I’ve pawed through. I have found a few things relating to Alex’s situation, which I’ll share with you. But you came to us at the manor asking for information on the joust.”

“Yes.” Warren was anxious to hear all he could, and was thankful James was finally giving him information on his time-warp experience.

“Much of what I found relates to housekeeping records for various centuries. But there’re also a number of private family journals. A handful of them have been revealing. One particular chronicle is written in the form of a story, where a knight is sent back in time to fight a joust. The man was found dead the following morning. The account was told from the point of view of a family member in whom the man had earlier confided. The knight apparently told his comrade that he had to help a friend and it was paramount that he won. There is more to the story that corresponds with the details you told us at the manor. Unfortunately, this is the only detailed report. There are other accounts of jousts, but they are from a time when such events were the norm. If others kept similar diaries, I haven’t been able to find them. The story is too similar to that of yours, Warren, to discount. I have no idea what would happen if the knight had won. I would say it is convincing, though, that winning the joust is a significant part of the mystery; possibly the key to breaking the spell. I know it was Milady who gave you her favour, but the story suggests the knight was helping a young man, not a lady. And regrettably, the only conclusion I can draw from the report is that this has happened before, and none have lived that we know of.”

“That bodes well, doesn’t it?” Warren commented with an undertone of irony.

“There are many variables that could account for their failure, Warren. Commitment and outside forces are only two of a long list. When Father intimated he knew more about your orientation, it was that element in the equation that gave me hope.”

“Why?”

“From what I’ve read, I have evidence enough to develop a timeline and theory. I believe all this started after these lands were taken over by my ancestors following the Peasants’ Revolt at the end of the fourteenth century. The House of Lancaster had replaced the Plantagenets, and the Walmsleys were trying to keep in favour with the ruling house, which was a difficult task given the unrest at the time. If one wasn’t in favour with the Crown, a family could easily lose their estate. Anyhow, the original Lord and Lady Walmsley had several children, but I’m sure the Lord wasn’t father to all—the timing of two births coincidentally followed royal visits.”

Warren, although interested in history, didn’t want to get bogged down in it, and preferred to have the facts. “So, how’s the grave involved?”

“I’m coming to that. One of the children, Nicholas, wrote in his journal—and I’m giving you a basic translation here from the English of the time....” James retrieved a small black book from his pocket and thumbed through the pages.

“‘My father wishes me pledged to the fair maiden, Ann. I am bound by family to follow my father’s order, but my heart sings for another. Sadly, I shall never have him, for such a union is forbidden by the church and my kin. Perhaps in time to come, when I am of age, I will be more willing do my duty. Until then I despair.’

“In a later book of his, I found, ‘My knight, my beautiful knight, the light in my life, rides for me tonight on the brave Ebony Air. The arena may roar for him, but he wears my mark on his hip.’ That was one of the last entries in his log. That isn’t all. I found an entry in the mother’s diary:

“‘I yield to my husband and master’s will, yet I bleed for Nicholas. He is not of his father’s blood—a heart born to another by my master’s order. A boy of a house losing lordship, who can never be claimed as their own. His refusal to ally with the fair Ann has also fared him ill. He has been stripped of privilege and name. My Lord has been kind and allowed me to have him as my servant, and I hope that one day my Nicholas may find the happiness in the after that he will not in life.’”