Shaman of Stonewylde (39 page)

He looked hopefully at her, his deep grey eyes blazing with want and need. But Sylvie frowned and shook her head.

‘I really don’t like living in those rooms. I’m sorry – I don’t want to be difficult but when you and I get back together again, which we will, I’m not sure that I can go back there. That’s one of the things we need to sort out.’

‘Okay . . . I love you, Sylvie, and I want you to be happy. I’ve changed and I do realise now what a complete bastard I’d become towards you.’

‘That’s maybe a little strong,’ she laughed, ‘but you’ve been incredibly difficult to live with.’

‘So, where do we go from here? I want you to lead this and not be bullied into anything by me this time.’

‘The Aitch lot are leaving tomorrow morning aren’t they?’ she asked.

‘Yes – or maybe tonight. I think it depends on when they finish the bloody photoshoot. I can’t wait to get rid of them, fulfil the contract for the goods they’ve ordered and be done with them.’

‘I’m really sorry about it – it was entirely my fault,’ she said ruefully.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘I’d have fallen for it too – they were pretty cunning. There’s no blame for you – you were only trying to help.’

‘But I feel such a fool. Anyway, what I was going to say was that it’s the Moon Fullness tomorrow night at Lammas Eve, and it’s a Blue Moon too. I’ve already promised Celandine I’ll take her up to Hare Stone to moondance, but I wondered if you’d like to come too?’

The look in his eyes was all the answer she needed.

David and Magpie were standing in Merewen’s studio by the dried up river, drinking tea and looking around with great interest. Merewen herself was perched on a tall stool at her work bench, her smock as filthy as ever with old paint and clay, and her grey hair a wild and wiry halo around her head. Before her she had a number of sketches on pieces of parchment, and several patterned plates were laid out too.

‘You see, Magpie?’ she said in her deep voice. ‘These are some of the original designs, and this is how they ended up on the actual pottery. Take a close look, my lad.’

He picked up a sketch and stared at it, then looked carefully at all the plates.

He smiled at Merewen and nodded enthusiastically.

‘So do you have any ideas, Magpie? We use a new design each year, usually around harvest time. There’s no hurry but I wanted to get you involved this year. David, what do you think?’

David nodded and looked at Magpie.

‘I’m sure Magpie will come up with some excellent designs, Merewen. We both know what a talent he has.’

‘I wanted to come and see this moondance picture he’s done,’ said Merewen. ‘Rainbow told me about it, but now I heard ’tis gone?’

‘That’s right, Yul wanted it taken from public display. But Magpie’s done lots of other work and you’re welcome to come up and take a look.’

‘Aye, I’ll do that,’ she said. ‘You alright with that, boy?’

He grinned and nodded at her.

‘I heard you’re learning to read and write, Magpie. Is that true?’

He nodded again, and picking up a stub of pencil, he pulled one of the old bits of parchment towards him and started to write. His letters were strange; not like a small child’s learning to write. They looked more like hieroglyphics or cuneiform script, neat and carefully written. He wrote “I am Magpie” and when Merewen praised him, he wrote another word “ptri”. This had them stumped for a minute until, with a bit of sign language, Magpie explained he’d written “pottery”. David laughed and clapped him on the back.

‘I remember now – Dawn told me that he has trouble with sounding out words and putting in vowels. She reckons it’s linked to his inability to speak. So he writes the consonants only, unless the vowel is very obvious. But actually, you can see that “ptri” is almost right.’

‘Well I never,’ said Merewen, not entirely sure what David was on about. ‘Who’d have thought it? ’Tis thanks to our Leveret, I heard. She always did have a special link to the lad.’

‘Somehow she understands Magpie better than anyone,’ said David. ‘It’s a pity she’s not here to interpret, because I’d hoped to talk to you and Magpie together about Rainbow – I wanted to ask what you thought of her. I know you remember her from her childhood here, and you were looking forward to seeing her again. So was I, but once she was here . . . I don’t know, I changed my mind a little.’

Merewen nodded at this.

‘Aye, she weren’t quite the person I’d thought she was,’ she said. ‘I were disappointed, to tell the truth. Her art is good, but I don’t think her heart is.’

‘That’s the perfect description!’ said David. ‘Good art, bad heart!’

They both looked round to see Magpie having what appeared to be a kind of fit, and David clutched him in alarm. The boy was bent over and shaking horribly, making a strange choking noise. But when he straightened up and they saw the look on his red face, they realised he’d been laughing.

‘I’ve never seen you laugh before, Magpie!’ said David.

‘Don’t suppose the lad’s had much to laugh about,’ said Merewen.

‘I want to ask your opinion, Merewen, because Rainbow’s keen to help promote Magpie’s work in the Outside World. She wanted to take some of his pieces with her, which I refused. But she also offered to help in any way she could to get him exhibited, and obviously she has a lot of contacts in the art world. What do you think?’

He regarded Merewen’s grizzled old face. She’d recently gained a pair of heavy glasses which helped her no end, but only added to her rather grim demeanour. It occurred to him that she’d know nothing of the art world at all, having as far as he knew, never left Stonewylde.

‘I know Stonewylde is struggling for money,’ she said. ‘If Magpie’s work could help that, I reckon ‘twould be a good thing. The boy loves to draw and paint. If he really understood, I’m sure he’d be happy if the community could do well from his skills.’

‘That’s just what I thought,’ said David. ‘I wondered about limited edition prints maybe – that way his art isn’t being lost, which may upset him, but simply being replicated. Maybe I should ask Marigold?’

‘Aye, that’s best. O’ course, Starling is his mother . . .’

David shuddered.

‘I’m not asking
her
! Not after the way I’ve heard she abused the poor lad.’

Merewen nodded her agreement.

‘Aye, but from all accounts, she’s getting her justice now. Seems she’s cottaged with Big Cledwyn, who’s the brother of Alwyn. He’s the one who treated Yul so bad all those years, and the whole family are a wormy barrel of apples. ’Tis all the talk in the Village, the state o’ Starling.’

She glanced at Magpie, not wanting to distress him, but he was busy sketching a running design of yew slips, decorated with berries and a tiny wren.

‘I’ve heard something of this,’ said David. ‘Dawn tends to get all the gossip.’

‘Aye, they say Starling’s no better than a drudge to Cledwyn and his mother. They work her like a carthorse and barely feed her. The weight’s dropping off her, what with no food and all that hard work. He beats her most evenings out in their woodshed, after he’s had his cider, just for a bit o’ fun.’

David grimaced at this.

‘That isn’t right.’

Merewen shrugged.

‘ ’Tis no more than she deserves. She’s free to leave him but she don’t. When she comes into the Bakery and the Butcher every day she keeps her head down and nobody talks to her for she’s a right old mess, worse than ever before. And she’s left Old Violet and her ma Vetchling to their own ends. Martin’s poor little goodwife has been down there and nobody knows what’s to come o’ them. But nobody likes to visit for they’re nasty crones, the pair of them. For so long, folk feared the three women in that cottage at the end o’ the lane. But now . . . seems they all got what they deserved in the end.’

‘What goes around, comes around – that’s what they say in the Outside World. Oh well, if you think it’s a good idea I’ll go ahead and see if I can arrange for some limited editions of a few of Magpie’s pieces. We’ll see how those sell and then we’ll take it from there. It would be great if our Magpie could earn some money to help Stonewylde, wouldn’t it?’

The men in the Gatehouse watched as the bright red sports car roared up the track towards them. The horn blared loudly and insistently and they grinned at each other, ignoring it. The gates remained shut, and Holly jumped out of the passenger seat and stomped over to the Gatehouse. She banged on the door and yelled at them to open up at once.

‘Sorry, missus,’ said one of them, ambling out to stand on the doorstep. ‘Was you wanting to leave?’

‘Too damn right!’ she snapped. ‘Open the gates immediately! And the minibus and van will be following soon, just as soon as they’ve got everything loaded.’

‘Finished your business at Stonewylde then, have you?’ asked the other man, appearing behind him.

‘Yes we have – not that it’s anything to do with you!’

‘Right enough.’

Holly marched back to where Fennel sat revving the engine.

‘Bloody hell! I never thought I’d say it but I’m pleased to see the back of Stonewylde!’ she said as the gates swung slowly open.

Fennel shot the car through the gap and waited as a couple of other cars whizzed past the turning, going much too fast for the narrow road. He pulled out quickly and slammed up through the gears until he too was roaring along the road, with the very high boundary wall a huge presence by their side. Holly lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, shutting her eyes.

‘Feeling a little stressed, darling?’ asked Fennel, turning up the air conditioning to deal with her tobacco smoke.

‘That was a hellish day!’ said Holly. ‘A nightmare! We should never have gone to Quarrycleave – that girl was absolutely right.’

‘It’s the strangest place I’ve ever seen,’ Fennel said. ‘And I don’t think any of the shots will be remotely usable. A complete bloody waste of time. We’ll just have to use the exteriors from the Village and the Hall.’

‘Was it the lighting? Or the expressions on everyone’s faces?’

He laughed mirthlessly.

‘Both. The light was crap – so much bouncing off the white rock. I should’ve thought of that. No – scrub that – Chelsi and Benjy should’ve done their work properly and checked it out first. Those two are in big trouble.’

‘But it wasn’t just the light?’

‘No, it felt . . . uncomfortable, didn’t it? And that showed on everyone’s faces. What with that damn bird appearing and making all that noise so everybody kept craning their neck round to see it. Was it a crow?’

‘I have no idea. It was huge and I kept thinking it was going to attack us.’

‘And once Minky had seen that bloody snake – forget the whole photoshoot! Nobody would concentrate and they were all over the place.’

‘Did you see it?’

‘A glimpse – it certainly was huge.’

‘I got a good look and it was quite terrifying. Annoying though all the squealing was, I don’t blame them for being so frightened. After that we were all scared to tread anywhere for fear of giant adders rearing up like cobras. As for the rock-fall . . .’

‘Hardly a rock-fall, darling! It was just a few stones falling from above and nobody was hurt.’

‘But they could’ve been. Why did they fall like that? There was absolutely nobody up there. Honestly, Finn – the whole place was profoundly creepy and I really didn’t like it. I was glad when that silly Faun girl fell off the rock and we decided to call it a day.’

‘Didn’t she make a fuss? All the shrieking and dramatics – I thought
I
was a drama queen but she puts me to shame.’

‘Rainbow did warn us about her. But the mother’s loyal – she’s that girl Rowan, the old May Queen – and we need all the Stonewylde friends we can get. So putting up with Fabulous Faun was a necessary evil, and she is a pretty girl. Definitely got Magus’ eyes, hasn’t she? But oh – the state of the collection! Everything’s covered in that beastly rock dust just as I thought it would be.’

‘I’m looking forward to getting back to civilisation again,’ said Fennel, taking a corner far too fast. ‘Stonewylde’s all very well, but unless the old regime were reinstated, I’m not sure that I’d want to spend much time there. It used to be fun as Hallfolk, when we were treated properly, but this time everyone was so hostile towards us. Hostile and plain rude.’

‘And we know whose fault that is!’ said Holly grimly. ‘Yul’s as handsome and Heathcliff-like as ever, and he certainly has his bite!’

Cherry looked in on the grand apartments that ran along the very front of the first storey of the Hall; the best rooms in the entire place. A wave of cloying scent assailed her as soon as the opened the arched door. Body spray, deodorant, hair products, cosmetics – chemicals filled the room with their pungent odour. All traces of clothes had been packed and removed, but as the mini-bus full of people and the loaded van pulled away from the gravel circle outside, Cherry stood shaking her head at the aftermath.

Magazines, dirty tissues, used cups and glasses littered every surface. The spacious sitting room was a complete shambles. She flung open the leaded windows which for some inexplicable reason had been kept shut, and went through to the other rooms. The bathrooms were terrible: plastic bottles abandoned with half their lurid contents unused, spilled cosmetics, soiled tissues, all types of hair, and even some underwear. Cherry’s plump face darkened and she exclaimed out loud at the sheer awfulness of the selfish guests.

But what really made her angry was entering the beautiful master bedroom, and finding a mess on the dressing table mirror. Someone had scrawled, in bright red lipstick, xxx H xxx. Cherry hated the thought of that nasty little woman sleeping in here, in Yul and Sylvie’s bed, and being so bold as to write on their mirror. Cherry understood exactly what was in the woman’s mind as she’d left her mark, and before summoning all the students on work detail to help her clean the apartments, she
picked
up one of the alien tissues and scrubbed off the lipstick. If the dear couple were ever to patch up their differences and make their marriage whole again, the last thing they needed were barbs such as that.