The Ravenswood Witch

Chapter 18

18

Bran left Luna in the early hours to do the mysterious things that ravens had to do, and she had struggled to get back to sleep after he’d departed. Marcus’s return had upset her routine and caused her to think of Daniel again. He’d been on her mind a lot over the past few weeks. The horrific nature of his death and her role in it would haunt her until the end of her days. She had woken so many times since arriving at the house with her pillows damp from tears and her chest tight with panic. Would she be caught and made to pay for his death? Jostling for attention with all the other worries that Ravenswood had presented her with, she still had not decided whether staying or going would result in the worst fate.

Daniel had been such a surprising young man, not prepared to compromise and convinced of his mission in life. Her ambling mind wandered along a path she had not visited before and she found herself comparing him with Marcus: both tall men but Daniel slender and wiry, whilst Marcus was what her elderly grandmother might have described as ‘built like a brick privy’. There was something disconcerting about them both, and yet that was part of the attraction. She was in awe of their different strengths. Daniel had excited her; Marcus offered security and protection – but could she trust him?

In the middle of her restlessness, she heard a door slamming somewhere downstairs, so she slipped out of bed to investigate. Illuminated by a full moon and a clear sky, she saw a shadow slink towards the woods. Too slender to be Marcus, she assumed it was Mr Webber going out again. But what was it about the woods that attracted him at such an ungodly hour?

It was then she saw the corpses of a dozen white butterflies scattered across her bedroom floor. She briefly wondered if Bran had brought them in, but suspected he would have eaten them had he been responsible. It felt as though they’d been left as a warning, particularly as she’d strongly identified with the trapped creature of a few days ago. And yet she was certain that no one had entered the bedroom since she’d retired for the night. No one human, at any rate.

Luna clambered back into bed and it wasn’t long before the colours of the day began to seep into the room. The absence of birdsong struck her again. Back at Lowbridge, the robins, blackbirds and thrushes started up the orchestra of twittering voices that announced the dawn. Their cheery chorus was a precursor to the bustle of the household waking up, as they sought out mates and established their hard-won territories. But at Ravenswood, it was as though all the creatures of the earth, save Bran, were giving the woods a wide berth. Was the well a place that drew evil spirits and dark doings? And if so, did the wildlife sense it?

As the daylight slowly filtered into the dark room, she finally drifted off to sleep, eventually waking to the clock on the mantel chiming ten. Embarrassed that Marcus might think she was playing the cosseted mistress of the house, she rose and dressed quickly. Mrs Webber brought a late breakfast into the dining room; she’d recently asked her husband to set up a small drop-leaf table in the window for the mistress, until such time as the room could be furnished properly.

‘If that’s everything, I’ll be off now. The master said I can clear this up later as I’ve been given a few hours off to visit my sister in Manbury.’

‘It’s no trouble for me to take my things through to the kitchen when I’ve finished,’ Luna offered, but the housekeeper was having none of it.

‘Absolutely not. He’d have my guts for garters if he knew the lady of the house was doing the work of the servants, even though he’s doing exactly that as we speak. There was a delivery of paint earlier and he has been in the library since first light.’ Mrs Webber chuckled to herself. ‘My Jed don’t know what’s hit him. Lazy bugger can’t get away with late starts and sloping off to smoke his pipe no more. Had him working on them floors since daybreak.’

The library was the room that required the most attention and, Luna suspected, where the disturbing ritualistic worship had taken place when unpleasant weather made it impossible to venture into the woods. After her breakfast, she wandered down to see how the men were faring. The scorch marks were paler now where Mr Webber was sanding, and the windows were wide open to let in light and wholesome outside air.

Her heart gave a weird little skip as she stood in the doorway observing the man she called her husband, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a smart pair of dark braces on show. He didn’t notice her at first and was totally engrossed in sweeping the paintbrush backwards and forwards in those small areas of wall that were not covered by bookcases. The men were mid-conversation but she only caught the tail end of the exchange.

‘…She was absolutely distraught and told me, in no uncertain terms, that she wouldn’t stay a moment longer if Luna remained.’

Mr Webber’s familiar grunt came from the corner. ‘Pay her no heed, sir. I’ll soon put her straight. We ain’t going nowhere without my say-so.’

Luna felt upset that the housekeeper had kept these feelings hidden from her. Why had the older woman pretended to care, offered her talismans and helped her sort a wardrobe, if she didn’t want her at the house? Had she merely been fulfilling an unpleasant duty until the return of her master? It wasn’t fair to make the Webbers participate in their lies, as it was now obvious that her stay was causing issues. If she remained for much longer, would they also leave, as the other staff had done?

Finally, Marcus saw her lurking in the corridor.

‘Ah, darling, there you are. Have you remembered that we are going into Little Doubton today?’

The ‘darling’ caught her off guard, but then she had addressed him as such in front of Mr Meyer all those weeks ago. She brushed thoughts of Mrs Webber’s threats to one side and smiled, trying to match his cheery demeanour with her own.

She nodded.

‘Our first port of call will be to Mrs Cole, who runs a haberdashery and undertakes some dressmaking on the side. She is one of the more sensible members of our local community. I also want to place an order with the ironmonger, and make some general enquiries for further staff. We will need at least one maid and a strong lad to help with running the household now that your health has improved so dramatically. I’m hoping if the villagers can see that you are no longer afflicted with such melancholy, and I offer an attractive enough wage, we will get some applicants.’

Melancholy was one way of putting it; total delirium was another. But his plans confirmed that he had no intention of asking her to move on – not yet, at least.

He placed the brush across the small tin bucket of paint and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow .

‘Let me freshen up and then we can set off, if you think your ankle is up to it? I found an old walking stick of my grandfather’s that may help. I’m afraid I had to sell the horses several years ago, but will also be making enquiries about purchasing a well-schooled pony to pull the cart. The stables are perfectly serviceable, and the gig only needs a lick of paint. But, today, I’m afraid our legs will be carrying us to the village.’

‘My injury is quite healed,’ she insisted, and it was true; her recovery time had been remarkable.

Marcus nodded in acknowledgement and peered at his pocket watch, which she could see had now been repaired.

‘Goodness, is that the time? Some of us have been up since dawn.’ He gave her a cheeky raise of the eyebrow and she couldn’t help but smile for a second time. He was teasing her and it felt the most natural thing in the world.

They set off a little after ten o’clock. Marcus was full of chatter and high spirits, as they navigated the footpath that followed the gentle curve of the river. Luna, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves, keeping her head low as they walked companionably together in the rising heat of the day. Although she was miles from Lowbridge and all that had happened there, it was not impossible for someone who knew the truth of her identity to be passing this way. And even if no one from her past life was to be found in Little Doubton that day, there was the equally unpalatable possibility that the villagers really would believe she was Luna, and vilify her for everything Marcus’s wife had done and said in the last few years.

Unlike the resigned and world-weary man back at the end of April, her husband was animated and keen to share his detailed plans for restoring the house. It was structurally sound, he stressed, and much of the neglect was superficial; walls could be repapered, floors sanded and possessions replaced. But he was also interested in her opinion. What did she think of Japanese-style furniture? Did she have particular flowers or herbs she wished planted? She gave vague, non-committal answers. It was not her house: not her future.

‘Did your parents only have the one child to continue the Greybourne name?’ she asked, thinking how Ravenswood depended entirely on him. She was also an only child and it had been lonely growing up without brothers or sisters, but she did not carry the huge weight of responsibility that he bore. Was that why he’d so happily claimed the first replacement wife that had barrelled into him without even checking her credentials? So that he was no longer facing everything alone?

He shrugged. ‘What can I say? A miracle child after years of them believing my mother was barren. She was nearly forty when she had me. Although, it is only by luck that I lived to see my seventh birthday.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve never told anyone this, and I mean anyone , but I was larking about in the hayloft, back in the days when we had working stables, and I launched myself onto a pile of hay that the stable hand had thrown down to the floor below. Only the stupid fellow had left an upturned pitchfork on the top, and it had been partially covered by his abandoned jacket…’

Luna gasped.

‘Missed me by a fraction of an inch. I lay there for a long time staring at the four long sharp metal tines, all in a row alongside my body. I wasn’t allowed in there, you see. And I didn’t want the lad getting into trouble; he was always very kind to the lonely little Greybourne heir.’

He put his hand out to help her over a wooden stile and she took it willingly, thrilled that he’d trusted her with information that he’d not told another living soul.

His focus returned to the house.

‘I can’t tell you how much it means not to be undertaking the renovations at Ravenswood alone. Our most pressing need is obviously for a second bed, which I have now ordered from Maple and Co.’ He tapped his jacket pocket, which she knew contained various correspondences, including orders with the seedsmen, and which he intended to post in the village.

‘Longer term, I am keen to employ a full household of staff, but they have to trust that they are safe with us, so our gradual reintroduction of you to the villagers is our first step.’

The truth that had been creeping up behind her since his return hit her then – he didn’t want her to go – as another more important truth presented itself: she was equally content at Ravenswood. Being married to Marcus Greybourne was a much-preferred option to starting a new life in London with little money, no friends and the very real likelihood of spiralling into poverty and abuse. Making this broken man happy was giving her more joy than she’d felt in a long time. It was important to her that he knew she did not take his kindness for granted.

‘I would like to help out more now that my ankle is stronger. I can assist Mrs Webber with simple tasks, like plucking fowl and lighting the range.’ But she’d apparently said the wrong thing as his face clouded over.

‘No.’ He let her hand drop as she stepped onto the dusty path below. ‘I will not have the mistress of the house working like a servant.’

‘But you’ve been stripping wallpapers and sanding floors,’ she pointed out.

‘That’s different. This mess is of my making.’ He set his eyes to the path ahead and groaned. ‘My folly was to fall for a pair of pretty eyes and a beguiling smile.’ He was talking of his wife but he looked sideways at her face as he spoke, as though it was important she understood what he was about to say. ‘I was so infatuated that I did not properly question the trust fund that I signed upon my marriage. Of course the bride’s father would regulate access to his large inheritance, one that required regular monitoring of his daughter. He knew all was not well, and worried that I would abandon her or worse when the illness took a more violent and permanent hold.’ He narrowed his eyes at the memory and she saw the clench of his jaw.

Poor Marcus had been trapped, it seemed, but the visit from the clerk now made sense. By releasing his daughter’s inheritance slowly, Luna’s father ensured her husband wouldn’t treat her cruelly or pack her off to an institution. Yet, now that he had an adequate substitute to enable him to claim the money, there was no one monitoring the real Luna’s care – or lack thereof.

They came to the brow of the hill and she was met with a breathtaking view. The pale stone, foot-high walls that marked the footprint of the long-ruined abbey were clearly visible in the vibrant greens of the flat landscape below. The river continued to their right, meandering through the valley, but a sizeable settlement of houses lay before them. Little Doubton was larger than she had realised, as she’d scurried through its streets in a blind panic nearly two months previously. The scattering of stone cottages was guarded by the tall west tower of the small parish church in the centre – like a mother goose overseeing her goslings.

‘No one would blame the husband of an insane woman for putting her away,’ she whispered, beginning the descent, and wondering if that was what he had indeed done: slipped his deranged wife into some lunatic asylum under an assumed name, and then found a less volatile replacement.

‘That’s not the kind of man I am. I swore an oath before God to love, honour and obey, in sickness and in health. Luna needed… you needed protecting, from the villagers and from yourself, and that has been my responsibility. I have employed several women over the years to help me, but none of them lasted very long, and so I have been forced to manage alone.’

She nodded, uncomfortable that his wife’s past behaviour would now be the mantle she must wear, but as they neared the village, she knew this was the downside of their deceit. If she was Luna Greybourne, then she was not only a witch, but also a violent woman lost to her own mind and an adulteress – according to Mr Findlay. She had no proof of that last accusation though, and wondered who Luna might have been involved with. According to Mrs Webber, her mistress had spent most of the last few years confined to the house and the woods, and they had hardly any visitors.

Perhaps it wasn’t just the casting of spells and brewing of potions that had occupied Luna by the well and under the tree canopies at night.