Chapter Eight #3
As he shut the door soundly behind him, Dermot closed his eyes, blotting out the earth.
If Will was in pain, he hadn’t the ability to save him, and there was no realisation worse for a man.
A deep foreboding set into him. He hastened away, terrified of hearing anything that would twist the knife in his heart.
‘A good day to you,’ Weston said. They stood next to the portcullis, Dermot having fled there so he could play at leaving. ‘We’ve enjoyed little conversation so far. I thought your handling of the boy quite fine under my instruction.’
Again he ached, cringing as the day was relayed to him and unable to muster any reply.
‘I wanted a pleasant stroll,’ Weston went on, ‘but this garden is quite poor. There is little ground to lay seed on.’ He hummed as he realised Dermot did not intend to reply. ‘You’re a big fellow. I’ve seen you often since I came, skulking about. Tell me, what passes the time here?’
The wind slashed across his face as if in answer.
‘Have you no sweetheart?’ Weston said.
Startled, Dermot’s tooth caught against his lip, prickling until he tasted blood. They could not talk of love while Robert behaved as he did.
‘Where is Mr Thorne?’ Dermot said instead, turning the question back to Weston.
Weston stammered, looking about until he established they were alone. ‘He is quite vexed about the food. His sensibilities are soft and prone to much upset. But I do not think I need to hide from you. I have seen your looking at him.’
Smiling as if in sympathy, Weston said, ‘He is lovely. Such was what I thought when I first saw him. It was I who started the first investigation, a lone witchfinder, but he sought me out and gave me accounts of the witches in the village. He was often troubled by scenes and voices that weren’t there, you see. ’
Strange as that was, Dermot had no interest in listening to Weston recount his acquaintance. ‘What was it you wanted to say?’ he asked.
‘You hope above your station. If I catch you looking at him again, you will be the one floating in the harbour. Find someone who is available. I can assure you, though he is pretty, he is prone to certain episodes that would terrify you,’ Weston said.
Between that and the comment Weston made about delusions, he was incredulous Thorne hadn’t been hanged himself.
Presumably the victims of the noose had made a mistake in being old women, else they too might’ve hoped to be carted around like pets.
Looking about, shivering as he realised Weston still watched him, Dermot said, ‘Lord Robert may need me.’
He hurried away as though being called. Glimpsing a flicker of blond in the courtyard, his heart panged uncomfortably, and he stood shifting weight from one foot to another.
Before so much as one word of his apology was prepared, Robert left the kitchen with Will.
They lingered, exchanging words, until Will’s eyes finally lighted on Dermot’s.
With a smile, Will grasped Robert by the shoulders and brought their lips together as Dermot watched, stupefied.
He’d thought it all rapine but they stood in a passionate embrace.
The scene stabbed at him, wrenching somewhere between his heart and stomach.
‘Dermot, my boy. What news have you, are we raring to go?’ Robert asked. Dermot hadn’t noticed them separate, now standing fixed under the oppressive wall of the portcullis with his eyes closed. ‘Perhaps you enjoy watching me with your friend?’ Robert said.
Dermot shook his head. He dared not check to make sure Will had gone, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.
‘No need to feign it. I myself enjoy watching the act, sometimes more than participating. I mentioned that I wanted to see you with Aubrey. Perhaps a fair exchange is in order?’ Robert said.
Dermot could not disguise his horror. Expression changing so quickly as to imitate a seizure, he dared not speak. Despair racked through him, for who had done this to Robert but him.
‘Are we heading out?’ Weston said. ‘I am most eager to attend the proceedings, and my partner has a great interest in law. We have never seen court outside of the mainland.’
Dermot wagered he would be disappointed.
The Stanleys were the last of the royalists and had little money, and their country was known elsewhere as the ruins of a violent pagan regime.
No one with sense visited due to the weather, and with Thorne being wanted in the mainland, it was clear no respectable man would associate himself with the case.
‘You are in for a rare treat,’ Robert said. They went further into the garden. ‘But first I must apologise for the egregious meal our chef provided. He is foreign and altogether witless. But I have dealt with him.’
‘I found it quite interesting, Lord Robert. Lord Tristan seemed to enjoy it as well, being such a gregarious young man. Do not concern yourself with my partner’s complaints, his father was a preacher of the strictest sort,’ Weston said.
Robert frowned at being gainsaid and said nothing until the rest of their party joined them. ‘Please go to your carriages, gentlemen. I myself am to ride with my father and my brothers. There is one for our witchfinders as well, and even one for Dermot and another witness.’
‘A carriage for the help,’ Weston murmured.
Dermot wondered if the boy would even be dry. It was a small mercy Will wasn’t to join them, but still he could not come to the identity of the other witness.
‘It’s the last one, my boy. I will see you when we get there,’ Robert said, heading off with Tristan. Lord Stanley walked with them as well, though he stumbled often and leaned heavily on Robert, murmuring about where they were going until he was finally pushed into the carriage.
Trying his best to avoid Thorne, Dermot carried on towards the back.
He winced as the soles of his well-worn shoes smacked against the pavement.
The town, usually alive with throngs of people, was almost entirely deserted.
Even the pretty homes opposite the castle, all owned by would-be courtiers and prominent bankers, had their curtains closed.
Grasping the handle and hoisting himself in, he was overcome by relief as his eyes met Amy Ward’s.
‘Dear God,’ she said at once, ‘of course they have brought you too. Lord have mercy on us, I have been shaking with fright. I’ve not had much cause to leave the castle since coming here. Now we are to be whisked away like cattle! Dermot, how do you fare? You look unwell.’
He could scarcely see Amy in the bleakness of the carriage, which was riddled with dust and looked to have been taken out of storage.
Hearing a shout from above, he startled, belatedly realising it was the coachman beating down on the poor horse.
The parade was in motion now, and Dermot watched the grey houses as they passed by.
He hoped those inside saw the congregation for what it was.
‘Do you know anything about the law? I am a maid and a woman, I can’t come to what will go on. Have they told you something of what is to happen?’ Amy said.
For her earlier kindness, Dermot turned to face her. ‘I suppose we will be shown to our seating first,’ he said, relishing the way she nodded and moved forward as if some great knowledge was to be gleaned from him.
‘I pray we are, as I could not find my own way. What if we were to accidentally go to the wrong place? But what else? Will they speak to us, the learned men? For what purpose have they brought us?’ Amy prattled.
‘I know nothing of law,’ Dermot said. Seeing the way Amy cooled and went back to her seat, he went on, ‘I think we will be called up to give our side of the tale. I was already made to relay some of it to Mr Thorne.’
‘The devil!’ Amy spluttered, hands going immediately to her lips. ‘Forgive me! It is just when I think of him hanging all those people, especially the elderly, I feel awfully sick.’
They were going through the fine streets of aspiring wealth, men who hadn’t the spirit to travel further abroad and women who’d been shipped away to marry.
Most of them kept to their homes as to not mix with fishermen and the like, but the windows were such that anyone might peer inside.
Dermot’s gaze caught on a blond young man, his head resting on folded arms, watching idly.
At last, the boy seemed to notice and leapt up to draw the curtains with a flourish.
‘Do we stop? I am afraid!’ Amy said, just as the coachman called out and drew the horse back. The carriage jolted, their heads nearly knocking together.
Amy cried out as if she’d been run through, and Dermot discerned the courthouse just ahead.
‘When do we get out? Should we wait for the door to be opened or go ourselves?’ Amy said, still recovering from the shock.
Seeing Robert on the street, Dermot clutched the handle and wearily made his way out. The ocean lay just beyond, though it was obscured by a railing, no doubt meant to keep drunken businessmen from tumbling into the waves below.
The rest of the party having already congregated, Dermot came to stand under the shadow of the courthouse. Great white pillars surrounded them, allowing only one man through at a time and forcing the rest to queue. Thorne muttered something urgently to Weston about the stained glass window above.
‘You are well on time,’ said a man, coming at them from the left.
His outfit was like that of a preacher, all black and buttoned up with a marvellous white collar at the top, sleeves hanging like a cloak and billowing in the wind.
He bowed to Lord Stanley. ‘I am Mr Grazier, the usher. I shall of course seat you first, my lord. What a rare privilege this is.’