Chapter 2
2
As she was carried back up the dirt track that ran alongside the winding banks of the river Bran, a large, whitewashed house loomed into view – tall yet crooked, like an old man bending over a cane. Separate from the village she’d run from, it stood alone in the landscape. There had been no other dwellings for over a mile, and it was entirely possible this one was uninhabited. Surely this was not where he was taking her?
To her surprise, Mr Greybourne paused at the gate. The property had a neglected look about it, despite the beautiful meadow of waist-high spring flowers that stretched between the house and the river. Tiny dots of colour bobbed in the breeze and a freshly scythed path cut through the long grasses to the front door, where a solitary clump of butter-coloured daffodils drew the eye. But the building was in a poor state; black mould ran from the corners of the windowsills like tears, and paint peeled from the pretty fascias and gables. Beyond its angular silhouette was the thick backdrop of dense woodland. It was as though the house had crawled from the darkness of the trees and collapsed as soon as it had ventured into the daylight .
Something black shifted in the corner of her peripheral vision and she looked across to the letter box mounted on the opposite gatepost. Her head jerked back in horror. The dead body of a raven, almost the size of a small cat, hung by its feet, nails through both legs and each wing fanned out to the side, catching the breeze like lacy black sails. The creature had a broken neck, its head at a strange angle, as a steady drip of tiny pearls fell from the glistening corpse. As Mr Greybourne pushed the heavy gate open with his good shoulder and took them both through, she leaned closer out of morbid curiosity and then pulled back in shock when she realised that the glistening pearls were maggots. They were writhing around in the nearly empty chest cavity and falling to the ground in search of further food. Had she anything in her stomach, she might have been sick, but she hadn’t eaten for two days.
He followed her eyes and his face set into a severe frown.
‘Apologies. I haven’t had the chance to deal with that yet.’
Had he killed the poor creature? she wondered, and displayed the corpse in such an abhorrent manner? Was it a deterrent to others of his kind? A warning to stay away? And then she noticed the house name carved along the top rail of the gate – Ravenswood. The dead bird and the thick web of trees behind the house almost made the sign superfluous, but the realisation that this was their intended destination made the fine hairs on her arms ripple in alarm. She had been warned about this place the previous evening, when she’d spoken briefly to a tinker in the nearby village of Little Doubton. He’d been sitting outside his caravan and hammering a pot into shape on his large steel anvil when she’d asked how best to cross the river.
‘The ferry is just past Ravenswood,’ the old man had said. ‘But don’t you be going anywhere near that house and take care to steer well clear of those woods, too. ’Specially at night,’ he’d stressed. ‘You don’t want to be coming across the Ravenswood Witch. Evil, she is. She cursed old Mother Selwood and the poor woman was only able to utter gibberish, her mind completely deranged, until she died three weeks later.’
Dead ravens and witch-inhabited woods. The thought of some evil old crone wandering about casting spells just a short distance away made her shudder in the stranger’s wide arms as he strode up the path, carrying her as though she weighed nothing.
Instead of entering through the main door, he took her to the back of the house and into an ill-lit and surprisingly empty kitchen. There were very few pots or utensils about, the dresser was almost bare of crockery and there was sparse furniture for such a big room. In the shadow of the oppressive woods behind the house, it was a gloomy space, but she could feel the heat of the range and there was the comforting aroma of baking bread.
‘I think her ankle is broken,’ Mr Greybourne said. ‘I need your help.’
A middle-aged woman jumped to her feet, holding a half-plucked duck. Tiny downy feathers floated in the air, dancing in the shafts of low light that cut across the lofty room, as she lumped the bird onto a thick wooden board and wiped her hands on her stained apron. Her face was round and ruddy, and when she began to speak, it was apparent that she was missing several teeth.
‘Who is she?’ the woman asked, hastening towards the dresser cupboard and taking out a small wooden box, which, when opened, contained an assortment of lotions and potions.
‘If anyone asks, you will say that this is Luna, returned to us in time for tomorrow’s visit. Is that not fortuitous? After all those days hiding out in the woods.’
‘Luna, be damned,’ a gruff voice came from a dark corner, but the newcomer could not see who had spoken.
There was a prolonged silence as Mr Greybourne and the older lady looked at each other, almost as if they, too, were having a telepathic conversation.
‘Luna. Of course. Very good, sir,’ the woman concurred. ‘And how did this regrettable injury happen?’
‘I was washing my hands down by the river and she collided with me as I mounted the bank, entangling herself in my long limbs on the way down. Unfortunately, I landed across her ankle.’
‘I’m certain that it’s broken,’ the injured girl said, wincing from the pain as Mr Greybourne lowered her gently into the older lady’s recently vacated chair. He immediately flexed his sore shoulder, before fetching a small pine footstool and lifting her damaged foot onto it.
‘Our trusted housekeeper, Mrs Webber, will know what needs to be done.’
He has kind eyes, she thought, as he spoke – dark, and definitely troubled, but kind.
‘If the bone is broken then you’ll need to send for Doctor Gardener.’ Mrs Webber approached Luna and knelt on the floor beside her to assess the damage.
‘I’d rather not. We no longer have a good relationship with him, as you know.’ He began to pace up and down in front of them both, rubbing his chin with his hand. ‘You’ve always managed Luna’s injuries so well in the past, without the need for outside interference or intrusive questions. Can you not tend to it yourself?’
‘Yes,’ the false Luna hastily agreed, wondering if she could hide out here until she had recovered enough to be on her way again, despite the tinker’s warnings. For the moment, she was safe and being cared for. These people might even see their way to feed her. ‘It would be best not to involve the doctor if you think we could manage the break.’
And then she wondered what ailments and injuries had previously befallen Mrs Greybourne that required such ongoing attentions. More confusingly, where was the woman whom she’d so unexpectedly replaced? Still hiding in the woods? Perhaps she’d also been cursed by the Ravenswood Witch and was lying under a tree, mumbling nonsense and unable to move.
The housekeeper carefully removed the young woman’s soggy, mud-encrusted boot and began to feel the ankle, but the pain was so intense that the stranger thought she might pass out.
‘A clean break, I think. Jed – cut me a piece of stiff leather and I’ll bind it up. And grab the brandy bottle, for goodness’ sake, sir. I think she’s about to faint.’
There was a grumble from the shadows, undoubtedly Jed, followed by the scrape of chair legs across the wide flagstones. Moments later, there was the sound of a distant door being slammed.
The older woman handed Mr Greybourne a large bunch of keys. He strode over to a padlocked corner cupboard and took out a thick green stoppered bottle, pouring a small measure into a glass tumbler and passing it to his housekeeper. She put it to the younger woman’s lips and persuaded her to take a sip. It was unpleasant and made her cough, but she felt the warmth of it slide down her chest and further dull her already woolly senses. The kindly lady rubbed her back and gave her a largely toothless smile.
‘The leather splint will hopefully stop her moving the ankle whilst it heals. I’ll wrap a bandage around the injury, and then we’ll need to keep the foot elevated, but this is going to require a substantial period of bed rest. Where shall we put the poor mite?’
‘I shall take her to my bedroom.’
The older woman gave a little gasp.
‘We currently have no other rooms that are habitable,’ he pointed out. ‘Although, I will of course sleep on the chair so as not to disturb her or risk jarring the injury.’
‘Very well, sir. Do I need to lock her in? ’
The surprise nature of this question alarmed the imposter. Was she to be kept prisoner here? What had she allowed herself to become part of? All at once, she had the weirdest sensation that she was falling – her stomach was plummeting and her chest rolling, even though she was securely seated on the chair. Her vision started to cloud over and she couldn’t keep her head upright.
‘All the colour has drained from her face and her eyes have gone mighty strange, sir,’ the housekeeper said. ‘What do I call her? Madam? Miss?’
‘I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear. If anyone asks, most especially our imminent visitor, she is your mistress. They are similar enough. I have no other name for her so I suggest we consider her as such for the time being. Oh dear, I think she’s going… Luna? Luna? Luna?’
She felt her head get heavy and thought for a moment she might be about to bring the brandy back up, but as she finally succumbed to the fainting that had hovered around her since her injury, she echoed the name out loud.
‘Luna,’ she affirmed. Mr Greybourne had suggested she bore a similarity to his absent wife and had resolutely stated to the constable that it was Luna he held in his arms. With nothing to lose, she decided to let it be so. It was as good a name as any and she would happily claim it if it meant these people would tend to her and conceal her from the police. The thought of a real bed alone was worth the pain, and almost enough to dispel her disquiet regarding the nearby witch. She had not slept properly since the nightmare of two days ago, but she could remain at Ravenswood as Luna Greybourne – he had promised her that, if only until her injury had healed.
And as she slipped into unconsciousness, she let her old life slip away, too.