Chapter 24
24
It was with some trepidation that Luna followed Bran back to Ravenswood. She couldn’t forget seeing him in league with Mrs Webber, sitting calmly by, as she’d chanted her spell. But then she wondered if she was crediting him with an understanding that he simply didn’t have. He was just a bird, sitting by the woman’s side as she conducted her ritual.
‘Now you show up,’ she scolded, ‘when I’ve been scared half to death.’ She almost expected him to chase her from the Greybourne lands, as if the housekeeper’s desire to see her gone would be manifested via the bird. But, in the end, she had no choice but to follow him, as she would never escape from the woods alone.
As she trailed behind his black swooping form, anger and fear swirled equally ferociously inside her. Staying at Ravenswood meant she would forever be labelled a witch, and the misguided woman’s actions in the market square last month were only the start. It might be nearly two hundred years since the government had hanged someone accused of witchcraft, but ordinary folk still persecuted those they believed were practising the dark arts. She’d thought herself protected by Bran and Marcus but now she wasn’t so sure. The bird was unreadable, seeking attention on his terms. And the man she called her husband, she knew very little about. It was entirely possible that Luna was buried in the woods and that she had died at his hand. The poor woman could hardly have buried herself.
Marcus found her in the drawing room a little while after she’d returned.
‘Ah, there you are. No one seemed to know where you’d got to, and Mrs Webber is keen to serve luncheon.’ He raised an eyebrow and she wondered if he suspected her of visiting Mr Findlay again. Perhaps the lack of trust went both ways.
They ate together but it was a silent affair, both focused on their own troubles. Afterwards, because a rain shower prevented her from walking about the gardens, she retreated to the library – still a sparse space but she could at least lose herself in one of the few books he’d purchased in his attempts to replace those that his wife had destroyed.
But Luna was in turmoil and found it impossible to concentrate. She was no longer sure she could continue with this farcical and possibly dangerous charade, and was completely out of her depth. Not only was she wearing the uncomfortable shoes of a woman who had completely disappeared but also a woman who was vilified by the whole village. Adding to her worries, was the possibility that the Irish tinker would realise she was the fugitive sought by the Lowbridge constable and raise the alarm.
Marcus seemed happy for her to stay indefinitely, but why? Did he plan to use her to claim the inheritance for years to come? Or was she a convenient cover for the fact he’d killed his wife? There had to be a reason he’d willingly harboured a woman wanted for murder and lied to the police about her identity. And to top it all, he would never talk about the real Luna, or address their sham marriage, as though their pretence would make the lies become real. They both had secrets and it was unrealistic for them to pretend they could continue to live like this forever and ignore their pasts.
Her ankle had healed now, and he had his money. It was time to leave, before the villagers, or the Webbers, did her serious harm. Perhaps even Marcus’s friendship was as fake as their marriage, and when she was no longer of use, he would dispense with her as surely as he’d dispensed with his wife.
There was, however, the one uncomfortable truth that she’d been slow to acknowledge; she was developing feelings for him despite the possibility that he was a bad man who didn’t deserve her love, or even that he was a good man but would never feel the same way about her. She couldn’t possibly stay and face the devastation of either being true. Had he tried to kiss her in the barn, she knew she wouldn’t have stopped him, but her heart had been shattered once and that was enough.
Finding out Mrs Webber and Bran were in league, followed by the discovery of the three graves in the woods that afternoon, reminded her how alone she was at the house. She was still the outsider – the stranger who had arrived frightened and friendless back in April. The only person remaining who she trusted was Mr Findlay, and she’d been forbidden to see him… She’d thought Marcus was the victim of his wife’s outrageous behaviour but now suspected his wife might have been a victim too – of his temper. The poor woman’s only friend had been Mr Findlay, and Marcus had tried to isolate her from him. Why? Had he offered the Ravenswood Witch a means of escape? He’d also offered Luna refuge and she was sorely tempted to take him up on his offer.
She didn’t need any more reasons to flee, but the visitation she had later that night was the final, and most disturbing, of the straws.
It began as a dream. She knew what Luna looked like from the wedding photograph that Marcus had tossed into the flames all those weeks ago. Now those pale eyes stared at her as she slept, condemning her actions. The vision was disturbing enough to wake her from her slumbers, and as she sat up, she felt those judgemental eyes still boring into her. The prickles on her neck intensified and she shuddered, scanning the room, convinced there was someone there with her.
Not daring to move, she froze. Listening for a clue that she was not alone: a rustle or a creak of the floorboards.
There.
Breathing.
She could hear it.
‘Bran?’ she whispered, but the window was only open a couple of inches to allow some fresh air to circulate on that warm summer night. There was not a big enough gap for him to enter, as she had deliberately not wanted the treacherous raven to call on her.
A whisper of something? A mocking laugh?
She slid from her bed and scrabbled about for a match to light the chamberstick on her nightstand. Once she had a flame, she took it to every corner, but all she saw were dancing shadows and moving shapes.
‘ Leave .’ It was almost a sigh but she could detect the definite command in that one word whispered in the air that cavorted about her body. A gentle tug of her nightgown as the half-drawn curtains swayed in the breeze. She walked to the window and the hush and hiss of the trees called her forward, only to tell her she was not wanted there.
‘ Leave ,’ the whisper came again.
And then she saw a reflection in the glass. Her own image stared back at her but behind her shoulder was the undisputable figure of a young woman.
Luna.
Her pale, wide eyes were unblinking, and the curl of her upper lip suggested the satisfaction of someone who had the upper hand. They stared intently at each other for a few moments in the windowpane and then she both saw and felt the reflected figure place an ice-cold hand on her shoulder. She spun around to face the woman she had so recklessly replaced.
But there was no one there.
The room was empty.
There was no rational explanation for what she’d just witnessed. She had not drunk wine that evening, nor was she particularly overtired, but she knew without any doubt that the figure standing behind her had not been a product of her imagination or a trick of the light. Luna’s eyes had met her own, and she could describe the style of her hair, the cut of her dress, and even the rhythm of her breathing. And she had categorically felt her touch.
The two worlds had now collided; her very tangible reality and the spirit world that Marcus was so certain did not exist. The ghost of a bitter woman was haunting her and demanding her departure. She would not remain at Ravenswood a moment longer. It was time for her to go.