The Magicians And Mrs. Quent Part 21

I got the impression he was young, but I could not see if he was handsome or not, for there was little light inside the coach and he kept his hat on. Nor did it matter. My attempts at conversation were futile, my questions unanswered. I gave up and resigned myself to silence.

Nearly all of that leg of the journey was conducted in the night, so there was no scenery for me to look at out the windows. My head began to ache incessantly, as did my shoulders and spine, and I could feel the force of the night pressing inward, as if the coach were an egg being crushed in a dark hand. It was difficult to breathe.

I must have fallen into a kind of stupor-not sleep, for it had none of sleep's wholesomeness or recuperative properties-for when the coach came to a stop, my head went up and my eyes opened. Red light flickered in through the windows as the coach's lanterns swung without, and the illumination cast sharp shadows across the faces of my fellow travelers. The young man sitting next to me reached a hand inside his coat.

Outside, voices spoke-the deep voices of men. What words they uttered I could not tell, but by their tone they seemed to want something. We all sat motionless, straining to listen.

"Well, I've not time for any sort of inspection," we heard the driver say. "I'm pus.h.i.+ng my timetable as it is."

There was a silence, then again the voices spoke. There were at least three of them. They were pressing for something.

"By G.o.d, the night is too short for this, Captain," the driver said, his voice rising so we heard it clearly. "I've shown you my papers. I've got nothing aboard save the mail and seven travelers. I thought it was the business of brigands to be interfering with the post, not the king's own soldiers. If you want to detain someone on the road, why don't you make it the highwaymen? A good evening to you, Captain!"

The reins snapped, and the coach lurched forward. We all remained frozen, waiting for the sound of hooves pounding after us in pursuit. But there was only the rattle of the wheels and another crack of the reins. After half a mile the man beside me removed his hand from his coat. I glanced at the other travelers, and they glanced at me, and I could see that all of us were making a count, though there was no need.

Our number was eight, as it had been ever since the stop at Morrowset.

After that no one pretended to sleep, and we all sat rigid as the coach rattled onward. What sort of land we traveled through now I could not tell, for the lanterns' illumination reached no more than a few paces from the coach. We were a tiny island of light adrift in a dark sea.

A few more times we stopped at some silent post to deliver the mail. On such occasions we would get out and stretch our legs, and once we took a bit of cold tea and toast that had been set out for us on a table in the deserted public room of an inn, as if left there by ghosts.

It was after one of these stops that we returned to the coach to find our number had been reduced by one. The young man in the fas.h.i.+onable coat who had been sitting next to me was nowhere to be seen. When the driver asked if all were aboard, we told him our number. He nodded, then climbed into his seat and whistled to the horses.

We spoke no more of it. But after that, we slept.

F OR SOME HOURS I must have been unconscious, for when I opened my eyes again, the light of a pale dawn gleamed through the windows of the coach.

It seemed we had pa.s.sed through a door to another world sometime during the night. Gone was the cultivated countryside that surrounded Invarel, with its picturesque villages, broad green fields, and manor houses and well-tended groves nestled behind high walls.

Instead, the land I saw was a wild, half-formed place: all heather hills and ridges of gorse speckled with bog and marsh. The practice of enclosure had not reached out so far into the hinterlands (County Westmorain being closer to Torland than Invarel), and the only walls I saw were rough lines of fieldstone drawn upon the landscape, not to exclude people but merely to prevent cattle and sheep from wandering. A series of low fells glowered in the distance, shreds of mist catching on their tops.

The road dropped into a dell and followed alongside a small river for a mile. Then we crossed a bridge and so came into the village of Cairnbridge: a small collection of solid stone houses with slate roofs. We made our stop at the lone inn, which stood across from the village green. The coach did not linger; its timetable left no time to spare. I was the only one to disembark, and the other pa.s.sengers did not bid me farewell.

I looked around, but at this early hour the village was silent. A gray cat eyed me but ignored my little clucks and coaxings and instead slunk down the alley next to the inn. Mr. Quent had written that I would be met at the station, but I could not detect a living soul in view.

There was nothing to do but wait. However, anxious to move after so many hours of confinement in the coach, I left my bags on the step of the inn and walked across the village's one cobbled street to the common green. I let myself through a gate in the low wall and stepped into the field beyond.

I found myself in the company of a pair of red cows, but they paid me no heed as they chewed a meal of gra.s.s. I walked along the wall, and as I went, I, too, derived sustenance from the little field. The air murmured through the gra.s.s, and a crow let out throaty calls, watching me with bright black eyes from its perch on the wall.

As I walked, I felt a kind of peace such as I had not felt in many days, indeed, not since that terrible day of my mother's pa.s.sing. It was strange that in a place that was in every way alien to me I should feel so comforted. Even the heathland that I glimpsed beyond the village, forlorn as it was, did not dim my spirits. Rather, I felt a sort of muted wonder at its starkness, and in the morning light my eyes attempted to discern all the subtle shadings of russet and gold, of gray-green and loamy brown.

My wandering had taken me around the perimeter of the commons to the far side, and it occurred to me that I was now a good distance from the inn and that someone looking for me might not easily notice where I had gone. I started directly across the field, picking up the hem of my dress as I went, for the gra.s.s was wet with dew.

As I approached the center of the field, I came upon a stump. Its size was remarkable, and I paced around the edge. Given its circ.u.mference, the tree for which it had served as a foundation must have been of an enormous size-indeed, must have dominated the entire field. I attempted to count the rings in the stump, but there were far too many.

As I examined the stump, I noticed the outer bark was blackened and cracked, and the hard soil around it was devoid of gra.s.s. My gaze caught a rusty edge that jutted from the ground. I bent closer; it was the head of an ax, broken in two.

A wind sprang up, and the gra.s.s hissed and tossed. The crow spread sooty wings and sprang off the wall, letting out several harsh calls as it rose into the sky. I clutched my bonnet against the wind and stood.

A hand touched my arm.

I let out a gasp and turned around. A man stood before me. He was short and bandy-legged, dressed in a brown jacket, his head crowned by a shapeless hat. He peered at me with a leathern face.

"I'm supposing ye must be Miss Lockwell," he said, the words so thick and slurred I wondered if he suffered from some impediment.

It took me a moment to find the power to speak. "Are you Mr. Quent?"

"Mr. Quent, she thinks I am! Saints and stones guard me." He shook his head. "Nay, I keep the grounds up at Heathcrest. I was told to come fetch ye. I would've been here sooner, but the mare threw a shoe, and I had to heel it on back an' fetch the old gelding."

I was, I confess, relieved to discover that this was not my employer, though for this feeling I chided myself. What did it matter if Mr. Quent was handsome or homely? Besides, I had no reason to think ill of this fellow. His manner of speech was not a defect, I had determined, but merely a thick west-county accent.

Having recovered my manners, I thanked him for coming and learned that his name was Jance.

"This tree must have been magnificent when it was alive," I said, looking again at the stump. "Do you know what happened to it?"

"Mrs. Darendal will be wondering after us," he said. "I warrant we'd best get going. The carriage is at the inn."

"I just need to retrieve my bags from the steps, and I will be ready to go, Mr. Jance."

"No mister," he said. "It's only Jance."

"Of course," I said, and I followed him across the commons. Above, the crow floated in circles like a bit of ash on the breeze.

T HE CARRIAGE TURNED out to be an old-style surrey, with a seat for two suspended between four large wheels, and the gelding attached to it was far more than old, being an ancient thing I was sure was older than me.

We made our way at a pace I could have easily beaten afoot. Not that I had a wish to proceed faster, feeling some trepidation now that I was so close to meeting my new employer. What if he did not think I had the right look or the proper manner about me?

Only that was foolish. He had not been able to arrange for any other governess, and beggars could not be choosers. No matter what he thought upon our meeting, he would simply have to make do with me.

This thought cheered me, and after that I enjoyed the ride, gazing with interest at all the sights around me. We pa.s.sed several crofts and farms and the ruins of an ancient-looking stone chapel. At last we made a slow ascent up and around the shoulder of a broad hill, and as we neared the top I caught my first view of Heathcrest Hall. As its name suggested, it stood upon the high point, all alone save for a nearby tumble of stones.

I cannot say I found the house welcoming at first sight. It was too stern for that, all broad plinths and thick columns and brooding lintels-features constructed not for grace but rather for strength to withstand fierce elements. It was nothing like the airy houses of the New Quarter. All the same, after some study, I thought it handsome in its way. Old-fas.h.i.+oned, to be sure, even a bit dull. But comforting too. I could imagine that, no matter how the winds might howl, within those walls one would always be protected.

Gamely giving up what seemed its final breaths, the horse pulled the surrey up the hill, and we halted before the house. Jance unloaded my bags and without further words freed the horse from its harness and led the poor creature away. With nothing else to do, I picked up my satchels and went to find Mrs. Darendal.

When several knocks on the front door yielded no response, I let myself in. The front hall was everything I would have expected of a country manor: a room that ran the full length of the house, heavy-beamed and paneled with wood. There were as many heads of stag and boar on the walls as there were ancestral portraits, so that one got the impression all were held in equal regard. I could have made a bedchamber of the fireplace that dominated one end of the hall. Seeing no one about, I started that way to make a closer examination of it.

"You shouldn't have come here," said a low voice.

I turned and saw no one else in the room, though to my left a large stuffed wolf, mounted upon a pedestal, gazed at me with gla.s.sy eyes.

"This is a perilous place," came the gruff voice again. The sound was emanating from the wolf.

"I have no doubt that it is," I said. I made sure to appear properly alarmed, as one should when addressed by such a creature.

"You should go back to the city at once," the wolf said.

"You seem a very clever wolf. How do you know I'm from the city?"

"You smell like government."

"I am sure my nose is not so discerning as yours," I said to the wolf. "All the same, I've traveled very far to reach this place. Why should I leave when I've only just arrived?"

"Because we'll eat you if you don't!" cried a badger that stood on a nearby end table. It proceeded to roar in a manner that was distinctly unbadgerlike.

"Chambley, I told you not to say anything!" the wolf complained, its voice rising several octaves.

"I can say anything I want," the badger replied crossly. "If you're a wolf, then you can't be my sister, and that means you can't tell me what to do." There came another fierce roar.

"Chambley!"

I had played this little game long enough. I stepped around the stuffed wolf and gazed down at the girl crouched behind it.

"Good morning, Clarette," I said.

She frowned and looked up at me. I guessed her to be nine or ten. "You're not supposed to know my name."

"Why is that?"

She scowled, stroking the wolf's fur. It was worn and patchy. "We haven't met. You're not supposed to say my name if we haven't met. Mother says-she said it isn't proper."

I nodded and took a step back. "I am Miss Lockwell," I said, and held out my hand.

She stood and solemnly shook my hand. "I'm Clarette Davish."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Clarette," I said, but she had already released my hand and was stroking the wolf again.

"What about me?" growled the badger. A small hand stuck out from beside the table on which it perched, waving.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Sir Badger," I said, giving the hand a firm shake.

A boy suddenly appeared on the other end, standing up from behind the table. His eyes were very large in a small face. "My name is Chambley Davish. I'm not really a badger, you know."

"I see. Thank you for telling me. I confess, I feel some relief at this revelation."

"You shouldn't pretend like that," he said. "I know you didn't really think I was a badger." He climbed onto a horsehair chair and slouched backward. His feet did not touch the floor.

"She was only being nice," Clarette said. "Adults say all sorts of things that aren't true just to be nice. Don't they?"

Her eyes were dark, like her hair, and very sharp. I could not deny the truth of her words. "I suppose they do."

"Mother said we shouldn't ever lie. But how is saying something that's not true just to be polite any different than lying?"

I considered her words. "It's different because it's not intended to harm or do any sort of wrong. Sometimes one says something that's false in order to avoid saying something that's hurtful. But a lie..." I nodded. "A lie is something you say when you know you should say the truth, only you don't."

Chambley looked at his sister, but she only petted the wolf and said nothing more.

"Well," I said at last, "I have had a long trip, and I believe I'm ready for some tea. Would you two like to join me?"

"Oh, but we can't," Clarette said.

"Why not?"

"Mrs. Darendal says we're not allowed to have tea. She says it's bad for children, that it will make our bones grow crooked and rot out our teeth."

"Does she indeed?" It appeared I was going to have to have another conversation about saying things that weren't true, only this time with Mrs. Darendal. "Well, I'm in grave want of a cup, and it would be rude of me to take tea while you had nothing at all. So we'll just have to not worry about your bones and your teeth this once."

The two children exchanged startled looks.

"Well, then," I said, holding out both hands, "who would like to show me to the kitchen?"

Upon which my hands were seized from either side, and I was tugged across the hall.

T HE KITCHEN WAS a low, rambling room with a fireplace nearly as cavernous as that in the front hall. There was no sign of the housekeeper, though there was a woman-somewhat older than me-scrubbing the table, her face all but lost beneath a large bonnet.

I introduced myself as the new governess and asked if she might fix a kettle for tea for myself and the children. However, my words received no response. Instead, she ceased her work, took up a bucket, and without looking up departed through the kitchen door.

"Her name is Lanna," Clarette said. "She won't speak. She never does. Lanna used to talk and talk, but Mrs. Darendal told her Mr. Quent won't put up with servants who chatter. She said Lanna would be dismissed if she spoke even one more word, and Lanna's family is terrible poor. She hasn't said a thing since that day."

"But that's remarkable!" I said, taken aback. "To never say a word-what sort of person could order such a thing?"

Chambley folded his arms and leaned on a sideboard, staring at a loaf of bread. "Do you think we could have toast with our tea?"

"We're very hungry," Clarette said.

Their faces were thin, and Chambley seemed as much a bird as a boy as he alighted on one of the large chairs at the table. His hair was dark like his sister's, which made his small face look all the paler. I wondered if they were ever fed.

"Yes, you may have toast," I said, and with that I rolled up my sleeves, put on the kettle, and found a knife for the bread.

Though I was tired, our little tea revived me greatly, and I found I was able to use the opportunity to gain some knowledge of my charges before I was officially installed as their governess. It was difficult for me to fathom why Mr. Quent had thought them in such dire need of guidance. True, the little game they had played with me upon my arrival indicated some lack of restraint in their behavior, a bit of willfulness even, and suggested a prior indulgence.

However, given what I knew of their situation-how their mother had died after a long illness, how over a year later their father was still not in any state to be able to care for them, and how they had been transferred among a succession of distant relatives-I could only think they were surprisingly good.

I quickly saw that Clarette was the leader of the pair and that her brother, who was two years her junior, would follow her in anything. She was a clever girl, always thinking up games for them, like their little play in the front hall. Hers was a vivid imagination, if occasionally morose. However, given her experiences over the last year, this could only be understandable. As was Chambley's nature, which was oversensitive. He seemed aware of every little sound or flicker of light and often started in his seat if a creak was heard or the shadow of a bird pa.s.sed outside the window.

In all, I was not displeased. Here were two young minds that I was confident could be engaged if interesting material was presented to them with proper attention and zeal. I poured another cup of tea as the children made a game with the spoons and bread crusts. What its rules were I was not immediately able to grasp, but they played it very intently, and occasionally crusts or spoons were removed or returned to play.

There was a groaning of wood. Chambley jumped in his chair.

"It is only the house settling," I said.

But Clarette had set down her spoon and was staring at something behind me. I turned and could not help a small gasp. A woman stood in the door of the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back in a knot the color-and indeed, by its look, the hardness-of iron. Her dress was the same hue, and without any adornment. Her mouth was a flat line.

The children slouched in their seats and gave the teacups guilty looks. At that moment I felt like slouching as well, as if I were a child myself, caught in an illicit act. But that was absurd! I stood up, willed my shoulders back, and gave a smile as I introduced myself.

"You must be Mrs. Darendal," I said.

She looked at the things on the table, as if cataloging each item. Her eyes were deeply set above high cheeks. She must have been striking in her youth, but age had shown little kindness. What might once have been beautiful had gone sharp. Her glances cut the air.