Dance with the Fae

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A fter the toasts, the floor was commandeered by the older generation who demanded waltzes. Kit and Adelaide moved through the room talking to guests eager to offer their congratulations.

‘Odd isn’t it,’ Kit remarked to his future bride as they left the doctor and her elderly sister and headed towards Oliver and his mother. ‘Nearly everyone here has already congratulated us, but they’re compelled to do it again now in something like an official capacity. It’s as if the engagement wasn’t official until the Elders had done the speeches.’

‘Rituals are important. They consecrate the ordinary and elevate it into something with higher meaning,’ Adelaide murmured, stepping forward to hug Aunt Josephine Vane.

Kit stared at her in astonishment. The words sounded like they came from someone entirely different. She saw his bewilderment and gave him an airy smile.

‘It’ll be good practise for the wedding breakfast.’

Kit grimaced, anticipating another event where he would be the centre of attention.

‘Can’t we just elope to Gretna and do things on the quiet?’ he murmured.

‘Scotland!’ Adelaide gave him a horrified look. ‘If we elope anywhere, let it be somewhere hot and glamorous. The French Riviera or the Italian Lakes. I need to be somewhere dazzling again.’

She tossed her head back, the teardrop gems in her ears swaying back and forth. She looked far too glamorous for the antiquated hall, with its faded tapestries and portraits of long-dead ancestors. When she’d adopted Adelaide, Aunt Sarah had wanted an accessory or travelling companion as much as she’d wanted a daughter. From childhood, Adelaide had spent her time visiting fashionable spa towns and travelling down to London with her mother, attending theatres, galleries and restaurants.

Even before the war had left him averse to crowded places, Kit had been happier walking or riding across the Yorkshire Moors or absorbed in a book. How would Adelaide adapt to the quiet life they would inevitably end up living, on an estate equidistant between two market towns with barely anything to entertain them? A little worm of doubt began to wriggle in his lower belly. The whole marriage might be a dreadful mistake.

‘I’ll go and find us a bottle of champagne and we can head outside,’ he said, before the worm bred and he became incapable of thinking clearly.

Adelaide was already waving at a fashionably dressed couple that Kit didn’t recognise. He watched her sashay away, effortlessly picking her way through the dancers to reach them, then headed back to where the drinks were being served. Adelaide’s earlier mysterious dance partner was now gracefully waltzing with a short, slight woman in a moss-green gown with a purple ribbon in her hair. The man caught Kit’s eye and inclined his head an almost indiscernible degree. Kit nodded back before the couple were swept off into the melee of dancers. His partner gave Kit an initial haughty look, but followed it with a smile of such gentleness that he was unable to take offence.

His grandparents were lingering by the long oak table where the Meadwell staff were handing out refreshments. Sybil Price was on her second flute of champagne, while Christopher was nursing a large whisky in his claw-like hands. A couple of Adelaide’s young cousins on her father’s side were being ushered off to the nursery in the company of a rather frazzled looking governess. Kit checked his watch. It was almost nine. Far too early for him to turn in.

Sybil gazed after them fondly.

‘It’s lovely that the nursery wing is occupied again.’ She gave him a mischievous look. ‘Of course, within a year or two I expect it will be filled with the fond cries of babes in arms who’ll occupy it more permanently.’

She spoke in such a convoluted way that it took Kit a couple of minutes to work out what she meant.

‘Oh, you mean mine?’ he said.

‘Of course, dear.’ She patted his arm. ‘Oh, I know Adelaide pretends to be a modern young thing, with all this dancing and smoking and that new-fangled way of dressing her hair, but I firmly believe that a woman is only truly happy when she is nursing a babe or two. I know I was. Do you think you’ll want three or four?’

Kit was saved from admitting that at the moment he had no plans for even one babe in arms, by Adelaide’s arrival, accompanied by Sybil’s sister, Great-aunt Merelda.

‘Three or four what?’ Adelaide asked, sweeping towards them. ‘If you mean cocktails, then yes, please, the more the better, don’t you think, Merelda.’

The old woman gave a high-pitched giggle then covered her mouth and glanced around with mischievous eyes. She let go of Adelaide’s arm and drifted over to the table.

‘Children, dear,’ Sybil said. ‘We were discussing how nice it will be to have the nursery filled with Prices again.

‘Were you indeed?’ Adelaide arched her eyebrow at Kit.

‘Not exactly,’ he said hastily, ‘And I was about to tell Grandmother that we are in no hurry.’

‘Absolutely right,’ Adelaide said, clapping her hands. ‘Babies can wait. We have lots to think about, such as how we’re going to improve Meadwell, and I can’t be swelling to the size of a zeppelin while I’m trying to organise plumbers and decorators. Every bathroom in the house will have hot running water if I have anything to do with it.’

‘I had a baby once, you know.’

Great-aunt Merelda had spoken. She tipped her head to the side and her bright hazel eyes glinted like a bird’s. A robin or a blue tit, or something equally small. Great-aunt Merelda lived in the grounds of Meadwell Hall. She had never married and was described by kind people as extremely eccentric. Kit’s mother described her as being ‘away with the fairies’ or ‘slightly touched’. She dressed in the clothes of her youth, when she had presumably been a great beauty. Even at the age of sixty, Kit could see the traces of a beautiful woman etched on the paper-thin skin and the white hair, which she wore in thick curls down her back.

‘Merelda, dear, you never had a baby,’ Sybil said, taking her sister’s hand and smoothly removing the bright green cocktail she had acquired. ‘You were ill, but it was only a fever from being caught in that dreadful rainstorm.’

‘I’m sure you would have made a wonderful mother, Great-aunt Merelda,’ Adelaide said. ‘I remember how you used to sing to me and play hide-and-seek in the maze whenever I visited as a child. Do you remember, Kit?’

‘Of course. We used to make marzipan flowers and leave them on the stepping stones near the bridge. They were always gone by morning, and you told us the fairies had taken them.’ He grinned at the long-forgotten throb of childhood disappointment. ‘It took me years to realise it was probably hedgehogs or foxes.’

Merelda smiled wistfully. ‘Everyone liked the songs. They promised me I’d be able to charm the birds from the trees but the birds never came. The guns scared them all away. Only the crows liked it when I danced.’

She held out her skirts. Kit and Adelaide exchanged a glance. Merelda had a club foot and had walked with a stick since the age of fifteen as a result of the illness Sybil had referred to. Dance partners had probably been few and far between.

‘Merelda, would you like me to fetch you a glass of punch?’ Kit offered. ‘There’s lots left over now the children have gone to bed.’

She fixed him with a hostile stare. ‘I don’t want the stuff the children are drinking, young man. I’ll have the one with gin in it. Walk with me.’

She held her arm out and Kit obliged by slipping his through it. Looking over his shoulder, Kit saw Adelaide helping herself to a bottle of champagne. ‘I’ll go and find Oliver,’ she mouthed to him.

Kit nodded.

‘I did have a baby,’ Merelda repeated as he escorted her to a chair. ‘Only they took it back and left a stone instead. One day I shall have words with the gentleman.’

Kit poured her the punch without gin. She was behaving very strangely tonight. He wondered where her companion, Enid, was. He left Merelda with her punch, humming along with the music and went in search of Enid but couldn’t find her, and when he returned to the chair, Merelda had gone. Feeling his obligation was behind him, Kit walked outside.

The night was warmer than usual for early May. The Long Hall had been filled with myriad colognes and perfumes and the air smelled of night-scented stock, mingling with freshly mown lawns. He took a deep breath and walked halfway to the maze before he looked back at the house that would one day be his. His heart swelled at the sight of the structure cast into shadows beneath the waxing moon. The damage to his right eye; the result of concussion, meant that the silhouette was slightly blurred at the edges, giving it a green tinge. He doubted he’d ever become accustomed to seeing people and objects with a touch of double vision and he blinked, trying to resolve the aura into one outline.

‘It’s an odd-looking house isn’t it.’

Kit jumped in surprise. He’d thought he was alone. The voice was deep and husky and in his mind he imagined someone of his parents’ age, but his eyes settled on a young woman leaning against one of the statues that lined the long path. The statue was of a woman carrying an urn on her shoulder. Her Greek chiton fell in carved drapes to the plinth and the live woman was leaning in such a manner that she appeared to be a continuation of the sculpture. Her hair was sandy blonde and her dress was pale green, which was why Kit almost hadn’t seen her in the shadows.

He scowled, not liking the thought he was being spied upon, before allowing his more reasonable side to admit that she must have been there before he had arrived and he had simply failed to notice her.

‘It is rather odd,’ he admitted, turning to look back at the building.

Meadwell Hall had started life in late Tudor times as a simple, rectangular building and home to a wool merchant. In the late sixteenth century, it was extended by Robart Tessincham, an influential businessman who had grown tired of waiting to be given a title. Since then, it had been passed down through generations of the same family, each adding their own touch of splendour and elegance to the structure in accordance with current taste, or developments in engineering or technology. The result was an odd amalgam of architectural styles, from Gothic to Georgian.

‘You’re Kit and it’s going to be yours one day,’ the woman said, walking to his side. He recognised her then as the waltz partner of the enigmatic man. She sounded as if she might be Scottish, or perhaps from Northumbria. ‘But you aren’t happy about it.’

She sounded Irish now. Kit looked properly at her, surprised and unnerved at how she had gleaned the information. It couldn’t be from reading his expression, because the shadows were deepening, and besides, she was standing at the side of his face that wasn’t capable of showing much expression. He had a horrible thought that his reticence might be common knowledge and the subject of gossip.

‘It’s a lot of responsibility,’ he admitted grudgingly, in what he considered to be a grave understatement. Meadwell Hall had been an integral part of the local landscape and economy for centuries, and if the Price and Arton-Price families had their way, it would remain so for generations to come. The prospect of taking the reins from his father weighed heavily on Kit’s shoulders. At least with Adelaide by his side, it might stand a chance of surviving for the next decade or two.

‘I would like to congratulate you on your engagement.’

She looked downcast. Was she yet another poor soul who had lost a husband or lover in the war? Kit’s heart throbbed.

‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’ he asked.

She smiled. ‘An offer so ill-defined can be a dangerous thing!’

‘I just meant… I don’t know what I mean really,’ Kit said.

She pursed her lips. ‘My homeland isn’t free, and I need it to be. Will you help me?’

‘I meant more along the lines of if you need me to fetch a friend, or if you want a drink of water.’

‘I think my friend is busy,’ she said, ‘but I appreciate your kindness. A heart as good as yours gives me hope.’

‘I’d better go, I’m meeting someone,’ Kit said, feeling her words were slightly excessive. ‘You should probably go back inside the hall. These gardens are private, after all.’

She tilted her head to one side and gave him a serene smile. ‘We’ve been invited.’

‘Yes of course you have,’ Kit replied. ‘Who asked you, by the way? I’m afraid I don’t know who half the people here are. I didn’t have much say on the guest list.’

She nodded sagely. ‘Yours is not that role. The consort is there to look pretty.’

Whoever the woman was, she wasn’t close to the family if she thought Adelaide was the daughter of the house he was marrying into.

‘I’m not the consort,’ he said, leaving unsaid the fact that he could never be described as pretty. ‘Well, it’s been nice talking to you, but I have to go. I’m sure I shall meet you again,’ he said.

‘Yes. Soon.’ She looked up at him. ‘May I have your permission to go down to the water for a minute? The moon looks especially beautiful at this time of year.’

‘Of course. Though it’s getting rather dark so watch where you put your feet. The edge is a bit crumbly when you go along from the bridge and the river is faster than it looks.’

He walked off and by the time he looked back again she had vanished. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled towards the maze, hoping Oliver and Adelaide had left him something to drink.

The maze had been planted at some point in the early days of the house, though no one was quite sure which ancestor had been responsible. It was hardly challenging, given that the hedges were only six feet high but when they had been too small to peer over the top, Kit and the other children had spent hours at a time squealing with mock (and sometimes genuine) fear at being unable to find the centre.

Now Kit was the same height as the laurels and yews that formed the walls, and if he were to raise himself onto his toes he would be able to peer over the top. Not that he needed to, given that he had a perfect memory of the route through the winding pathways that curved, spiralled and twisted around themselves. He could have walked to the heart whilst wearing a blindfold and not missed a turn.

At the centre was a grove containing a small pergola with five slender columns, up which roses had been trained to climb. Inside the structure was a low bench and as he walked into the gravelled area of the heart, Kit saw that Adelaide was not alone. Her companion was the gentleman she had been dancing with earlier. Kit’s skin fluttered with annoyance. Dancing with a stranger was one thing, but inviting him to join the champagne party was entirely another. Kit began to whistle the tune of ‘The British Grenadiers’ as he stuck his hands back into his pockets and strolled into the clearing, determined not to show his irritation.

The occupants of the bench both turned, and Kit stopped whistling. The woman was Great-aunt Merelda. There was a resemblance between her and Adelaide in terms of height and build, but it was probably the hair that had deceived him. Adelaide was wearing hers so that it cascaded down her back in the same way that Merelda’s did every day. Adelaide’s hair was pale blonde and Merelda’s was white, so in the moonlight the shade appeared the same.

‘And here, of course, is my great-nephew,’ Merelda said in her sing-song voice.

‘I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?’ Kit asked.

‘We were discussing the old times,’ said Merelda.

‘The old times and the old ways,’ the stranger said. His eyes settled on Kit as he spoke. They were deep pools of a green that was extremely rare. Most people who claimed to have green eyes had a sort of brownish, mossy colour, but these were quite startlingly green with no trace of hazel in them.

He was exceedingly handsome, with an angular chin, sharp cheekbones and black, glossy hair, which was slightly longer than was fashionable but framed his face in a way that meant Kit couldn’t imagine him with any other cut. Why a man who looked barely thirty was sitting alone with a woman of Merelda’s age was highly suspicious. She wasn’t wealthy, so if he was hoping to take advantage, he had picked the wrong woman.

‘Old ways of what?’ Kit asked, strolling a little closer and trying to keep the misgivings out of his voice.

‘The old ways of being. The old ways of doing,’ answered the man, bestowing a wide smile on Kit that positively brimmed with charm. His silhouette glimmered but when Kit blinked, it resolved itself.

It wasn’t even close to an answer.

‘We haven’t been introduced,’ Kit said curtly.

The man rose to his feet, demonstrating the same smooth movements he had when he had been dancing.

‘Isn’t the customary phrase “I don’t believe we have been introduced”?’

His voice was very soft and deep. There was a touch of accent to it that Kit wasn’t able to place.

‘In this case, I know we haven’t.’

The stranger laughed. ‘I appreciate your directness. You are a truth teller, I see.’

Kit blanched. Adelaide had called him a poor liar already that evening and now someone else was making claims about his relationship with the truth. It felt rather odd to have his character remarked on, so to hide his feelings of unease, he held out a hand.

‘Christopher Arton-Price.’

‘Yes. Kit, I believe.’

‘To my friends,’ Kit answered, giving a not-quite smile that he hoped suggested he didn’t count this man as one of them.

The stranger’s eyes gleamed as if he understood perfectly. He took Kit’s outstretched hand in one that was very warm. It came as something of a surprise to Kit who had, for some reason he couldn’t explain, expected it to be ice cold.

‘Silas Wilde.’

It was a very English-sounding name and contrasted with his distinct accent. Kit looked at him with more interest. In his time in France and Belgium he had encountered men from the lowland countries as well as a few from eastern Europe, and of course Britain was still teaming with displaced persons whose homes had been destroyed. It would have been too rude to ask who had invited him and where he was from in the same breath, so he just smiled.

‘I saw you dancing with my fiancée,’ he remarked. ‘You’re exceedingly good.’

‘Yes, I hope you didn’t mind me stealing her away.’ Mr Wilde gave a vulpine smile.

‘Not at all. It was a pleasure to watch you dancing. I’m afraid I have two left feet myself.’

Mr Wilde glanced down as if expecting to see evidence of such a claim, adding to Kit’s conviction that English might not be his first language.

‘I did dance once,’ Merelda said with such longing in her voice that Kit’s heart ached.

‘I’ll ask you to dance at the next opportunity, Merelda, and damn anyone who might laugh at the pair of us,’ he said.

‘A gallant offer.’ Mr Wilde raised his eyebrows at Kit, then nodded with apparent satisfaction.

Merelda rapped her cane on the floor sharply.

‘Mr Wilde, I am growing tired and we should leave Kit to wait for Adelaide, shouldn’t we. Will you escort me back to my house?’ she said firmly, making it clear that refusal would be looked upon most unfavourably.

‘Oh yes, the young lovers.’ Mr Wilde smiled at Kit. ‘We shall leave you to your assignation. Thank you again for giving your blessing to my dancing with Miss Wyndham. You must tell me if you have any objections to me stealing her away in the future.’

‘Not at all,’ Kit said, feeling it was the only polite response.

Merelda started to speak but was interrupted by a cough. Kit darted forward but Mr Wilde had already struck her between the shoulder blades.

‘Miss Tersingham, you have a toad on your tongue it appears,’ he said with concern.

He’d got the expression wrong – another suggestion that he was from foreign parts – but it did indeed sound like the elderly woman was croaking rather than choking. Her watery eyes gazed at Kit and she looked as if she was still trying to speak. Mr Wilde reached out a hand and plucked a white rose from one of the columns.

‘I say, some of those bushes are older than I am,’ Kit exclaimed, eyeing the partially closed bloom.

‘But not older than I am,’ Wilde said, holding the flower to Merelda’s nose. ‘Breathe deeply, Miss Tersingham, and the toad will return to sleep.’

Merelda did as instructed. Against Kit’s expectation, but to his relief, her wheezing began to fade.

‘I believe fair Adelaide is approaching,’ Mr Wilde said, tilting his head. ‘Come along, Miss Tersingham. A little walk will help you recover fully.’

The maze had a trick exit that led straight out from the left-hand corner of the grove. From most angles it looked like an unbroken hedge, but on approaching it obliquely, the walker would see it was in fact two overlapping hedges, with a gap that was only visible at the correct angle. Watching visitors puzzle over how to leave without returning the same way had been one of the things Kit had most enjoyed growing up here. He expected Mr Wilde to look around in confusion, but he simply guided Merelda gently, one arm under her elbow, and they left that way as if he knew exactly where he was going.