Chapter 17
17
‘I’ve been catching up with Mrs Webber, and she says only good things.’
Marcus sat back in an upholstered chair and casually threw one wide leg across the other. He looked so content, younger even, in contrast to the troubled man who had left her only a few weeks ago. The housekeeper’s cooking had been passable that evening, and the glassless clock struck nine.
‘And I can see for myself the improvements you have made to the house,’ he continued. ‘This room is infinitely more pleasant, without the clutter of so much furniture.’
There was a cooling breeze circling the room, offering some respite from the heat of earlier in the day. The sun was barely visible, just a fiery strip of orange across the hilltops to their right, and the distant chatter of working men returning on the last ferry drifted in from the open window.
‘I think Mr Webber is heartily sick of me issuing instructions to him,’ Luna said. ‘I’m sure he had hoped that in your absence he would not be worked so hard, and I’m afraid I have given him the work of ten men. ’
Marcus’s delight at the small improvements she’d organised lifted her own spirits. It was a further thank-you gift to him. Her way of giving something back for letting her stay. And with her ankle now nearly back to normal, perhaps her parting gift also.
‘Mr Webber, I think you’ll find, is grateful to have a job at all, seeing as no one else hereabouts would employ him, and I needed staff. The arrangement suited us both.’ Suddenly Marcus’s open face became shuttered. A flicker of irritation darted across his brow, and she detected the temper that Mr Findlay had talked of.
She looked across at him and frowned, but he did not elaborate. It was only because of Mr Findlay that she knew of the manservant’s criminal past.
‘I appreciate that you have had issues finding servants willing to work here with all the accusations of witchcraft.’ It was obvious that the dwindling staff over recent years had been because of his wife’s behaviour.
‘Indeed.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I know you understand how difficult it has been.’
‘And your trip was successful?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘Relatively so.’ The furrows that had formed momentarily across his brow smoothed out. ‘I had hoped to call in on my Great-Aunt Elspeth whilst I was in London, but she was away.’
‘I didn’t know you had any family remaining.’
‘Very little, and that is why she’s so precious. She was my grandfather’s sister. An opinionated woman who never married. My father said it was because there was not a man brave enough in the whole of England prepared to take her on, but she’s long had a soft spot for me and we were quite close when I was a boy. We share a love of the outdoors, and it is she who gave me an appreciation for flowers.’
Luna turned her head towards him, trying not to smile. So, this was where his passion for the garden had come from .
‘I was, however, able to invest some of the money that was released and reconnect with fellows I had long since neglected. I feel cautiously optimistic that my fortunes could be on the up, even though I suspect our overly superstitious cook believes that the death of our ravens will spell my downfall.’
‘About that…’ she began, but Bran, whose timing on this occasion was impeccable, flew down to the open window ledge behind Marcus, his black silhouette outlined against the still-vibrant apricots and crimsons of the glorious sunset. The bird cast a shadow across the faded rug on the floor between them.
Alerted by the flapping wings, Marcus turned, and immediately leapt from his seat. ‘My God! One survived.’ He turned back to her, his face a curious mixture of shock and delight. ‘A raven has survived!’
Bran spread his feather-cloaked wings wide and swept across the room to land on the jardinière stand next to Luna. He tipped his head to meet hers, kissing her in his raven-like way, and Marcus followed his flight, open-mouthed.
‘Darling Bran,’ she said. ‘Where have you been? Look who has come home.’ Her eyes returned to the stunned man before her.
‘You didn’t mention this in your letters,’ Marcus said, staring at the bird. ‘There is a silly legend that my mother took particularly seriously that says that if the ravens leave the woods, the Greybourne family will fall. I spent so much of my childhood climbing those mighty oaks and losing myself in the mystery of such a magical place – and all the while, knowing those wise birds were standing guard, generation after generation, keeping my birthright safe. I thought they had all been killed, but this is a favourable omen, indeed. My future may yet be secure.’
‘I thought you weren’t superstitious, so the survival of a raven surely has no bearing on your fortunes or those of the Ravenswood legacy.’ Part of her spoke earnestly, but part of her was teasing him, and she felt the tiniest flicker of amusement cross her face.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, acknowledging that he’d been caught out. ‘Ah, but many of the superstitions we give credence to originate for eminently logical reasons. Saying “bless you” after a sneeze, when such a symptom might indicate an illness that will take your life. Not walking under a ladder so that you are less likely to have something land on you from above…’
‘But a legend predicting the possible fall of your family cannot seriously be tied with such logic to the loyalty of a flock of birds.’
‘Ravens are intelligent creatures, and if they leave the woods, it’s for a sensible reason. Perhaps plague, pestilence or famine are imminent and the Greybourne family is better off elsewhere.’
Or there is a madwoman frequenting them, with murderous intentions , she considered.
‘They didn’t choose to leave on this occasion,’ she pointed out.
‘No,’ he agreed, his face solemn. ‘They did not. So, where did you find this extraordinary fellow?’
Bran hopped over to the small stoneware pot and tried to prise open the lid with his beak, eventually succeeding and helping himself to the juicy currants within. Worried he would overindulge, she sprinkled a few on the hearth and then replaced the lid, but more securely this time. She then told Marcus of the bird’s discovery and subsequent recovery, as his face grew increasingly serious.
‘Trapped at the back of the barn?’ He looked distressed. ‘He must have been there for several days. I’ll ensure Mrs Webber leaves scraps out for him. We don’t want to encourage him into the house.’
Luna said nothing. He would soon realise that they had little choice in the matter .
Bran hopped onto her chair arm and was grumpily pecking at her hand in an attempt to persuade her to feed him further treats.
‘He appears to be extremely attached to you,’ Marcus noted. ‘But please be wary – they are dangerous birds. Highly intelligent but incredibly aggressive at times. They steal eggs from nests and attack livestock in the fields, pecking out the soft eyes of the newborn animals when the mother is at her most vulnerable. Not a creature to be domesticated like a household pet.’
Luna shuddered. This was an unpleasant side to ravens that she didn’t want to contemplate.
‘Nice bit of pie? Nice bit of pie?’ Bran repeated, distracting them from dwelling on his darker qualities. He’d clearly spent too much time around the kitchens of late, and they both smiled at the bird’s words.
‘He’s less dependent on me than he was at first. He returns to the woods at intervals and in this clement weather, I leave windows open for him to come and go.’ She was about to speculate as to what they might do to accommodate his visits when autumn came but knew that she would be long gone by then.
There was a moment of awkwardness as they caught each other’s eye. She wanted to tell him how glad she was that he had returned, how handsome he looked in his tailored suit and white starched shirt, and what a pleasant evening she’d had in his company. The two short days they’d spent together before he’d left for London had not been long enough to get to know one another, and yet she already felt as though he was family. Plus, with his return, she was no longer quite so afraid, despite the seed of doubt Findlay had planted.
‘Tomorrow we shall head into Little Doubton and order you a new wardrobe. The villagers have not set eyes on the mistress of Ravenswood for many years and need to be reminded of exactly what she looks like. ’
‘Would that be wise?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think Luna Greybourne is very popular amongst the villagers. I’ve had encounters along the footpath to the ferry, and Mrs Webber must have mentioned the incident we had with the Kellings.’ Added to her unease about how the villagers would treat her, she didn’t want him spending money on her when she would shortly be leaving.
‘Simple folk have simple ideas. One person cries, “wolf” when he sees a stray dog and everyone believes him. But by confronting the gossipmongers and being seen to be so healthy, happy and no longer a threat, we can start to address these silly rumours. Let them meet you and they will soon realise you are no witch. I can’t hide you away in the house forever.’
It seemed she was not to be packed off to London just yet then.
For the remainder of the day, Marcus continued the charade that they were man and wife. Unlike the time before his absence, there was not one unguarded moment, one instance when they were truly alone, that he acted as though she were anything other than the woman he’d been married to for almost ten years. Could it simply be that, after so long, he was enjoying a period of domestic contentment, where life was calm and nothing was demanded of him? Surely he was allowed that after everything he’d been through? And she had willingly agreed to be Luna back in April, wholly and completely, until she was well enough to leave, after all. It was a game – of course it was – but one she had to admit she was quite happy playing.
He was obviously in no hurry to send her on her way, but his plan to take her into the village was foolhardy. Why, she asked herself, would he risk letting her face be seen, allow people to ask questions and study her in close proximity, when it increased the risk of their deception being discovered? Prickles of anxiety surfaced. Was he starting to believe their fantasy?
There were a couple of occasions that evening when Marcus approached Luna – to show her something in a catalogue he wanted her opinion on, or pass her a small glass of sherry – when Bran’s jealous side came to the fore. He flapped his large wings in irritation and placed himself between the pair of them. As delighted as he was that there was still a raven on the Greybourne lands, she sensed her would-be husband’s bubbling irritation.
‘Call off your overeager guardian,’ he said. ‘You are in no danger from me.’ But Luna wondered if the bird knew something she didn’t as she reluctantly ushered him out into the night.
At the end of a long but pleasant day, they mounted the stairs together in candlelight, the flickering flame casting their shadows onto the walls beside them as they walked along the corridor. The Webbers had long since retired, but it was only as they neared Luna’s bedroom that it occurred to her that the sleeping arrangements had not been discussed – Marcus could hardly spend the night on the corner chair. From his correspondence, she had always known he was returning mid-May, although not the exact date. Extra food had been ordered in and his clothes were freshly laundered and pressed in anticipation, but he’d arrived without warning and she’d given no thought to their imminent predicament.
There was only one room on this landing that had a suitable bed, and that was the room Marcus had so generously surrendered to her the day of her fall. She knew from her explorations that there were a couple of broken bed frames at the end of the corridor, but no serviceable mattress, and the only reason his room had survived Luna’s violent rages was because in recent years it had been padlocked in the day and bolted from the inside during the night. Luna, she gathered, had been intent on destroying everything that mattered to Marcus – out of spite or madness, she didn’t know.
They stood opposite each other outside the door of the master bedroom, and she was aware he was studying her face. For the first time, it occurred to her that his reasons for claiming her as his wife might have more carnal motives. He was a healthy, red-blooded male, after all, who she felt it was likely had been denied any form of marital relations in recent times. Did he expect something else in return for sheltering and feeding her these past weeks?
He reached forward and his hand brushed her cheek. She swallowed hard. Men were all the same: kind words and flattery to get what they wanted, and if you didn’t respond to their flowery advances willingly, they would claim their spoils regardless of your cooperation. This she knew.
‘May your dreams be filled with love, laughter and hope,’ he said.
He leaned forward, and she prepared herself for the kiss of a man claiming his wife, but instead he dropped his lips to the top of her head, in the manner her own father had often kissed her as a child.
‘Goodnight, Luna, sweet dreams.’ He passed her the candle. ‘Take this. I am used to roaming about the house in the dark.’
‘Where shall you sleep?’ she asked, as his shadowy figure began to retreat down the landing.
‘Don’t worry about me. These past weeks have afforded me the most peaceful slumbers I’ve had in years. I could curl up on a linen line and be content. I will only be next door so should you need anything in the night, just shout.’
‘But there is no bed. ’
He smiled. ‘Something I must imminently address, but tonight all I want to do is rest. The travelling has quite exhausted me.’
She slipped into her room and pulled the bolt across the top of the door, paused, and then slid it back again.
As she took the pins from her hair and placed them on the dressing table, she was shocked to notice several words written into the light covering of dust that had settled there. The room was not cleaned as frequently as she would have liked because the lack of staff meant the bedroom was not a priority.
Leave this place or die was clearly visible, even by candlelight, and Luna knew the words had not been there that morning. Who was sending her such an unpleasant message? Mr Webber? His wife? Surely not Marcus – he’d seemed pleased that she was still at Ravenswood. Or had someone else entered the house to warn her off? She used her sleeve to wipe the menacing command away.
There was a flutter of wings and Bran appeared at her open window, hopping over the frame.
‘Kiss me?’ she asked, as he flew to her side and made the low gurgling sound of contentment.
The bird obliged and rubbed his feathered head against her own before hopping back to the ledge, where he stood like a sentry guarding the woman who had nursed him back to health, his jet-black eyes occasionally blinking as he stared into the dark night and out across the Greybourne lands.
If the Ravenswood Witch really was still out there, she had done Luna no real harm thus far, but had the reappearance of Marcus changed things? Had she written the words in the dust? Her spite had seemingly always been directed towards him and, now that he was preparing to parade an imposter around as his wife, might it fan the flames of her anger? Luna could only hope that between them, Bran and Marcus would keep her safe if there was a vengeful madwoman lurking in the woods. Both had reason to do so; Marcus had suffered at his wife’s hand for years and was only now rebuilding his life, and Bran had so nearly been a victim of her vicious cull of the ravens.
She lay back on her bed, looking up to the recently sanded canopy, and felt at peace. And, as sleep took possession of her body, she finally acknowledged that there had been the tiniest flash of disappointment when Marcus had only kissed the top of her head.