Chapter 38
38
Historically, All Hallows’ Eve marked the start of the winter period – the date when herds returned from pasture and land tenures were renewed. It was also a time for honouring the saints and remembering those who had passed away. The Celts believed the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest on this day, allowing the departed to walk this earth again. These spirits were expected and, in many cases, actively welcomed. Communities set bonfires on hilltops to relight their hearth fires for the winter and to frighten away any who would do them harm – because there were certainly some ghosts you didn’t want visiting. But, unlike the genuine dread that those in Little Doubton felt, most people viewed it as a festival of fun and celebration.
The particularly frivolous saw this night as a favourable time for foretelling the future, and young ladies took the opportunity to divine their marriage prospects with nonsense parlour games. Carved turnip and pumpkin jack-o’-lanterns hung about the villages and towns, where people made merry and danced into the night. Even the queen was known for her extravagant parties in Balmoral, where a witch effigy was carried through the estate and tossed into a bonfire. Little Doubton, however, had lived for generations with the legend telling of the Devil being summoned up through the Ravenswood well and dancing through the streets, gathering the souls of those destined for the underworld. There would be no All Hallows’ Eve parties held there, unlike the coming together for the harvest celebrations. No one of sound mind would be seen outside after dark, even those who claimed not to believe in the legend. Instead, gifts of food were left on the doorsteps for the souls that passed by, and everyone remained behind their firmly bolted doors.
It was rather surprising therefore when Marcus told her that he was going to the well that morning, with all its associations with witchcraft, and asked if Luna would like to accompany him.
‘But you know I find the woods disconcerting.’ She suspected her anxiety was etched across her face.
‘And equally, you know how much I love them. Nature brings me so much joy; from my love of flowers, with their exquisite beauty, fragility and heavenly scents, to my admiration of the sturdy oak, which embodies strength, longevity and renewal. I always find that wandering amongst the ancient trunks of the trees makes me feel calmer and more at peace. Too long have my woods been used for dark practices, and the creatures within it vilified for unjust reasons. My ravens were protectors of the well, and yet are associated with death purely because they are scavengers.’
Luna knew that people were wary of Bran for just this reason; even Great-Aunt Elspeth had not been enamoured of the bird. But he was no omen of ill, instead a loyal friend who guarded against evil. If Marcus could see the good in him, could she revise her opinion of the woods?
‘Bats are similarly feared, frightening us at night with their swooping dives,’ he continued. ‘But they are only after insects attracted by the light. There are always two ways of looking at things; some people choose to see the dark side of our flora and fauna, whereas I choose to see the light. Today, of all days, let me show you the beauty and wonder of our woods, and let us dispel those silly notions that you carry.’
She hesitated. It was the one day she wanted to remain safely within the walls of her home, but she could sense her husband’s building irritation.
He put out his hand. ‘I can’t allow your misguided superstitions to haunt you. Let me show you that there is nothing to be afraid of.’
The low October sun was strong but it had little heat to impart. The ground was dry as they crunched through curled leaves and fallen nuts, and there was a dusty smell in the air, not dissimilar to the hymn books of church. Most of the trees were bare now; a few stubborn leaves remained, clinging on until the next gust of wind took them on their final journey to join the scattered yellows, oranges and reds of the woodland floor. Only the oaks and beech trees clung to their brittle umber leaves.
They stopped at the animal graves and Marcus was silent, kneeling down before every cross and placing a small hand-knotted bunch of teasels on each one, collected from the meadow before their departure. Luna stood back to let him honour his dead and his memories. Perhaps they could consider another dog now, although it would almost certainly put Bran’s beak out of joint.
They wandered in and out of the dappled light, as he told her the names of the various mosses and fungi they encountered. He talked about the harmony of the woodland, and explained how nature dealt so efficiently with the cycles of life and death. Most of these trees had been here before he’d been born, he said, and it was a comfort to know that they would likely be standing long after he had died.
Finally, they came to the clearing and a strange feeling swept over her .
‘It’s sinister here, Marcus. I don’t like it.’
‘That’s because the sun struggles to reach the forest floor for much of the year. You naturally associate it with the dark, and therefore the nonsense practices of those who come out at night. But centuries ago, this was a hallowed and healing place.’ He spread his arms wide and grinned. ‘On such a splendid morning as this, how can you think of it as a place of evil? I have been cursed in these woods a hundred times and yet I stand before you, alive and unharmed. The magic is not real and you have simply been manipulated by storybooks and rumour.’
Perhaps she could see the beauty in the grand oaks: wise and wonderful old men guarding the water source. But the thick carpet of acorns scattered around her feet reminded her that there were no squirrels or other small mammals to feed on them. She walked to the well and trailed her hand around the cold stones of its construction.
‘Do you think it will ever flow again?’
He shrugged. ‘That is down to the vagaries of nature and certainly not dependent on some ridiculous legend proclaiming new life must be created here in order to bring the well back to life – utter hogwash. This is a place of joy, Luna. Be joyous.’ Could she embrace the love that Marcus so clearly had for this place? She walked into a patch of dappled light and lifted her face to the heavens, feeling his eyes upon her.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said. ‘Chosen by the sun.’ He moved to stand in front of her and reached for her cheek. ‘I forget sometimes what you have been through in the last six months, and I don’t think I have always been very understanding.’
‘You have been everything ,’ she replied.
He bent down to find her lips with his own. Still new to their emotions, and both with an inability to rein them in, what started as a gentle kiss became an unstoppable avalanche of longing that neither of them could control. The companionship had come first, and in some ways it had been enough. But now that they had discovered their intense physical connection, they took every opportunity to explore it. Within moments of his kiss, her hands were clawing at his hair and he manoeuvred her backwards until she bumped into the trunk of one of those ancient guardians.
‘Let’s make this place somewhere you associate with happy memories,’ he whispered into her ear. It wasn’t a question, and he fumbled to hitch up her layers of skirts, before lifting her from the ground and supporting her weight. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and draped her arms about his neck.
She nodded her consent.
‘Hold on to me,’ he instructed, as he moved his hands beneath her to deal with his trouser buttons, before returning them to her slender waist.
She tipped her head backwards with that first thrust, looking up through the tracery of thin branches to the blue sky beyond. Only when the intensity of everything overwhelmed her, did she close her eyes and allow all rational thoughts to float to the leaves at his feet.
A few minutes later, she was gently lowered to the ground. Marcus held her close as his racing heart and jagged breaths began to slow, and she considered how utterly reckless they had been to make love in the open air, where anyone could have stumbled across them, but then that had been part of the thrill. Finally, he took a step back and she smoothed down her dress, her legs still trembling but her love for him stronger than ever.
‘There now, we’ve made our own magic,’ he said. ‘How can you not think of the woods fondly after this?’ He smiled and put out his hand to guide her home.
The house was quiet upon their return, partly because Luna had honoured her promise to Hattie that she and her brother need not come to Ravenswood on All Hallows’ Eve. It was surprising how much their youth and bustling presence added to the energy of the house, and now that they were absent it felt empty.
She desperately wanted to talk to Marcus about their impending visit to the magistrate, but how could she ask him what they could do to convince the man of her legitimacy when he would not discuss the truth? He stuck to the fantasy that she was his wife of ten years, and not a fugitive from justice.
Disconcerted by the unusually noiseless house, she called for Bran. He hadn’t come to them in the woods, nor had he eaten the food scraps Mrs Webber had left outside the back door. She searched for him in the gardens and even rattled his treats, but Marcus reminded her that he was a wild bird with an exceedingly strong will, and not her docile pet. He would show up when it suited him and not a moment before.
Later, they walked together with Mrs Webber to the All Hallows’ Eve church service, where the vicar talked of those who had passed away in the community over the past twelve months, and they lit candles to remember the dead. Marcus, she noticed, lit two, but she made no comment. Fully aware of the legend, and the sensitivities of this congregation, the vicar finished the service early enough for people to return to the sanctuary of their homes in daylight.
Once back at Ravenswood, Mrs Webber repeatedly stressed the need for Luna to remain safely inside, and made a big show of bolting all the doors and discreetly slipping sprigs of rosemary where her master wouldn’t notice them. Marcus insisted that his wife took a mug of cocoa upstairs to help her sleep, but it tasted strange and she wondered if he had added a sleeping draught to the drink. In the end, she tipped half of it into the chamber pot under the bed when he wasn’t looking.
‘Sleep tight, little one,’ he said, kissing her on the forehead before blowing out the candle. A part of her had hoped for him to come to her again, but she also knew he’d been distracted since returning from church, and wondered if, despite his denials, there was not a small part of him mourning his great-aunt, or even his wife. Because tonight was dedicated to remembering the dead and she strongly suspected he was doing exactly that.