The Magicians And Mrs. Quent Part 27

I hardly knew what to make of this speech; it was more than Mrs. Darendal had said to me at one time since my arrival.

"You are very curious about business that does not concern you, Miss Lockwell." Her eyes flicked toward me, gray as the knife in her hand.

"Forgive me," I said, and leaving my cup I hurried from the kitchen.

I went upstairs to my room, shut the door, and sat on the bed. I was agitated, but I was not certain why. It was not because of Mrs. Darendal's harsh words; I was used to those.

"You are sorry for Mr. Quent, that's all," I said aloud.

Yes, that was the case. How sad for him to have lost Mrs. Quent after only four years of marriage. I wished that he could find another to fill this house with light and life, rather than shadows and silence.

But he was so old! Who could be expected to marry him at forty-three?

True, he was vigorous from all his exercise; there was every reason to expect his life to be a long one. And in his favor he had good teeth, and his hair was untouched by gray. But take away the s.h.a.ggy beard and the weathered lines of his brow, and his face would still not be handsome.

Besides, with whom could he form an acquaintance in this forlorn part of Altania? Who would dwell with him in a remote place such as this, without the benefit of any society? No, I feared Mr. Quent's only companion would be his work; that, and the shadows that dwelled in this house.

These thoughts led my mind to my family in Invarel. I took out Lily's most recent letters and read them again for comfort, though they afforded little enough, being brief as usual and curtly written. I was sure from her tone that Lily imagined me off on some grand adventure while she and Rose remained trapped in a tower by an awful master.

"If only I could show you what it is really like here!" I said aloud. "I cannot think you would envy me then, dearest. It is certainly no adventure, not like in one of your romances."

I would have given much at that moment to be back at Whitward Street with her, and Rose, and with you, Father. Had I seen him at that moment, I think I might have embraced even Mr. Wyble with real warmth. And there was another I would have liked to see, if it was even possible now that he was married (as he surely must be).

But I was not there, and I could not tell Lily these things. I put the letters back in the stand by the bed. Another object inhabited the drawer. I picked up the small box of dark wood and set it on my palm. Again I was struck by how heavy it was for so small a thing. The silvery eye stared up at me.

I had been surprised when I found it in the pocket of my skirt several days ago. Until that moment I had forgotten taking it from the cabinet, for it had happened just before my collapse.

Returning the box was an impossibility-I dared not attempt to enter that room again. I could only hope its disappearance had gone unnoticed. So far no mention had been made of it. I began to wonder if Mr. Quent had even known the box was there; perhaps he had never opened the cabinet himself, not knowing the secret of how it was unlocked.

While it speaks ill of me, I must admit that on several occasions I tried to open the box. I justified these acts with the knowledge that the box belonged to you, Father, and that I might serve as your proxy in your absence-a weak premise, I concede.

However, circ.u.mstance ensured my character when conscience could not, for my efforts to open it were fruitless. There was no hinge, nor even a groove to slide a knife in and pry it open. All the same, I was certain there was something within. As I turned the box in my hands, I could feel the weight inside s.h.i.+fting, though what it might contain was beyond my ability to guess.

He would know, I thought.

The way must not be opened, the man in the dark mask had said, in that voice that seemed to me as my own thoughts. In their arrogance and their desire they will try to open it.... They call themselves the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye....

I touched the silver eye and triangle etched into the surface of the box. It could not be chance. Not when I knew this box had belonged to you, Father. Not after what he had said.

You should listen to me because that is what your father did....

He would know how to open this, I was sure of it. I remembered the way he had moved his hand, how speech had fled me, how the stone lions had licked at his fingers. Only I had not seen him since that day. I could not know if I would ever encounter him again. Besides, perhaps it was as he had said: perhaps some things should not be opened.

T OWARD THE END of my third month at Heathcrest, there came a welcome series of longer days and excellent weather. I had never seen it so clear since coming to Heathcrest; the extended periods of sunlight warmed the air and dried the sodden ground, and the landscape around the house was brightened by the blooms of red campion and laurel.

On long lumenals, it was the custom in the country (even more than in the city, where diversions could be found at any hour of day or night) to take an extended rest in the middle of the day. However, it was to be outdoors that I needed, not to sleep; with all the mist and gloom, I felt I had not been really awake for months.

So, while the children slept during the languorous afternoons, I had Jance saddle the gray mare and I took her out, ranging farther and longer in my rides than I ever had before.

Aware that Mrs. Darendal might find ample cause for criticism in these lengthy excursions, I made a habit of asking before I left what items might be needed for the kitchen. Jance did not go into Cairnbridge every day, and it was common for there to be some item or another wanting when it came time to fix supper. It was simple enough for me to stop at the village on my way back to the house and to return with whatever thing was required. Thus productively employed, and being always sure to don my bonnet, I was able to fend off overt disapproval on the part of Mrs. Darendal.

On my first few visits to Cairnbridge, I found the local people to be courteous if not quite friendly. That they evinced some surprise at seeing me could not be hidden. Still, they knew who I was and that I was employed up at Heathcrest Hall.

I soon began to see that Mr. Quent's serious demeanor was not entirely out of character for this region of Altania. While I would not call the people I met grim, there was all the same a general want of cheer wherever I went. People spoke, but in lowered voices. They smiled, but fleetingly. The folk I saw looked prosperous enough, yet they went about in a furtive way.

Often, when I went into the inn to make a purchase, there were several country squires talking around one of the tables. While I made no effort to eavesdrop, it was generally impossible not to overhear their conversation. When men gathered over a cup, it was either to make merry or to complain, and these men seemed to have little cause for celebration. On several occasions I heard them talk about how the roads had grown thick with brigands. These days the mail had to go with a rifleman on the bench next to the driver, and each of them knew someone who had sent a wagonload of wool or grain to Abbendon (the nearest large town) only to learn it had never arrived.

Nor, given what I overheard one day, was the king doing enough about it.

"The only soldiers we ever see are those pa.s.sing through," one of the men grumbled over his cup. "They're leaving the outland garrisons and heading back to the city. I suppose the king is more worried about the rebels in a.s.sembly than the ones on the Torland border. But I say there'll be rebels everywhere before long if they don't do something about the roads. The king won't find it very easy to defend his crown against Huntley Morden's men, not if he finds all his own men have left him."

These words were quickly hushed. The cup was pulled from the speaker's hand and glances cast my way. I hurried from the inn, package in hand.

The next time I went for a ride, my mare had the bad luck to throw a shoe. However, I could not count my misfortune very great, for I was close to Cairnbridge when the mishap occurred, and almost immediately a boy came upon me on the road. He was about twelve, towheaded, and introduced himself as the son of one of the local landed families. He offered to walk the horse to the farrier a mile south, and if I would wait at the village, he would return her to me there in two hours.

I could not refuse such a kind offer-especially when I was not likely to get any other. My return to Heathcrest would be delayed, but there could be no helping it. Besides, the children would not rise for several hours yet. I enjoyed my walk to the village, observing the many wildflowers along the road and listening to the birdsong.

In Cairnbridge I hoped to sit at the inn and have a cup of tea. However, I found the dining room empty that day; all were taking a rest in the middle of the long lumenal. I realized I had been lucky to encounter the boy, and I wondered if he would have to rouse the farrier from his bed.

To pa.s.s the time, I walked around the stone wall that bordered the common green. However, there was no shade, and after making a circuit I was hot and went back to the inn to stand in the shadow of its eaves.

I gazed at the field beyond the low stone wall and saw the stump of the tree that had once stood there. It would have been cool had that grand old tree still stood; it would have shaded the entire center of the village. Why had no one thought to plant a replacement for it?

I let my gaze wander farther afield, seeing if I could spot any type of shade. But there were no trees within view. There was a dark smudge atop a hill several furlongs to the north, but it was ash gray, not cool green. I retreated back inside the inn and sat in the silence alone.

"Miss Lockwell?" said a voice.

I started in my seat. Away from the sun in the dim and quiet of the inn, I had begun to doze; it appeared sleep was something I needed after all. I saw a man I did not recognize standing above me. He was only a bit more than my age, though his face was tanned and already somewhat weathered, and his hand, when I accepted it in introduction, was very rough. His speech and manner, in contrast, were gentle-even soft, I would say. I learned that he was none other than the farrier and that his name was Mr. Samonds.

"Thank you!" I said when I discovered he had brought my horse with him and that she had been reshod. "But surely you did not need to come all this way yourself. What happened to...?"

"Young Mr. Graydon went home," he said. "But do not think ill of him. He was intent upon keeping his promise to you. However, I knew he had been sent on an errand for his father-who is also my cousin, you see-and so I released him from his duty."

"I certainly do not think ill of him!" I said. "I am much in his debt, and in yours."

He gave a short bow, then offered me his arm. I was not aware that country farriers were usually so gallant as Mr. Samonds. However, being still a bit dazed from my unexpected nap, I gratefully accepted his a.s.sistance and walked with him outside to where my mare stood placidly before the inn.

"Oh, but you must be paid!" I said aloud, realizing I had no money. I had not planned to come to the village, so I had taken nothing from the household fund. As for my own wages, at my request Mr. Quent had been sending them by note to an account he had arranged for me at his bank in Invarel.

"You must send a bill to Heathcrest Hall," I said to Mr. Samonds. "That is where I am employed. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, I know it very well. I used to go there often when I was a boy."

"You used to go there?" I could not conceal my surprise.

"Yes," he said with a smile. "You are shocked at the idea of a tradesman's son being invited to such a fine house."

He had misread the source of my astonishment. "Not at all, Mr. Samonds. It is only that...we do not ever receive guests at Heathcrest. It is a very quiet place."

"Is that so? I suppose it must be. But it was different then."

"I am sure" was all I could say.

He helped me into the saddle. However, as I arranged myself, an idea occurred to me. "If you don't mind, Mr. Samonds, how long ago did you used to go to Heathcrest?"

"A long time ago, Miss Lockwell. I was younger than Mr. Graydon is now. It was thirteen or fourteen years ago."

"Was Mr. Quent the master of the house then?"

"He was."

"So you knew him?"

He grinned up at me. "Everyone in the county knew him. The house had been empty for several years, you see; but when Mr. Quent came back and took a wife, it became a bright and happy place. Such parties and b.a.l.l.s were thrown there-I wish you could have seen them! I am sure they rivaled anything in the Grand City."

Now I was astonished anew. "Parties and b.a.l.l.s? At Heathcrest?"

"Yes, and there were always guests there. Gentlemen friends of Mr. Quent's mostly. They came often from the city-for hunting parties, I suppose. Though, come to think of it, I don't remember seeing them out on the moors much. Well, it's often the case that hunting parties involve more parties and fewer hunts. Nor were the local folk forgotten, for we were invited up to the house on occasion. My mother was often called to dine there, for Mrs. Quent was her cousin, and that is how I came to visit there myself."

"You knew Mrs. Quent?"

"I did," he said, only then his smile faded.

He looked away, and I knew the conversation had turned to a topic that troubled him. Nor could I wonder why. Mrs. Quent had pa.s.sed, and with her had pa.s.sed the b.a.l.l.s and parties and guests.

"It's been a long time since I've been to Heathcrest," he said at last, looking back at me.

I did not know how to reply; I was sorry my words had saddened him. However, he shook his head and asked me then if I wanted company for my ride back to the house. I thanked him but a.s.sured him I knew the way very well.

"I'm sure you do," he said. "I've seen you out riding before. I helped Mr. Quent pick this mare and shod her myself. She's a pretty thing, and you sit her well. Have you been enjoying riding?"

"Very much," I said.

"Good. I'm glad she is being put to such good use." His expression grew serious again. "But Miss Lockwell-forgive me for being so forward-you do not ride out late in the day, do you? And you do not stray far from either Heathcrest or Cairnbridge, do you?"

I a.s.sured him that I always went out in daylight and that no matter where I went I could always see either Heathcrest's gables or the roofs of the village. This answer seemed to please him, and he stroked the mare's nose. I thanked him again for all his a.s.sistance and reminded him to send his bill to Heathcrest.

I took the reins of the mare. However, just as I was about to urge her into a walk, I turned in the saddle. He had been raised here; it occurred to me he might know. "The tree in the common field over there," I said. "It must have been very beautiful once. I was curious how it perished. Do you know what happened to it?"

"It burned," he said, and the words, so unlike everything else he had uttered, were hard. He took a step back. "Ride directly to the house, Miss Lockwell. I am sure you are wanted."

I nodded, and as there was nothing more I could say, I urged the gray mare onward.

W HEN I REACHED Heathcrest, I found Mr. Quent just mounting his horse in front of the house. I a.s.sumed that his business had called him away once again. In my surprise, I forgot myself and asked where he was going.

"To look for you, Miss Lockwell," he said with a glower as he helped me down from the gray mare.

A horror spread through me. I had not thought my absence would cause the master himself to put aside his usual occupations and come looking for me.

"Mr. Quent, I am so sorry to have troubled you!" I said, and quickly explained what had happened.

He appeared visibly relieved at my explanation-indeed, so relieved that I could only wonder at what he had imagined had happened to me. I did not ask him; instead, I apologized once more for causing concern.

He gave a curt nod and mounted his horse.

"But you are still going somewhere?" I asked in surprise. He wore a broad-brimmed hat and a wool coat with a short cape about his shoulders.

"I am called away by my work. I should have been away an hour ago."

Shame and horror filled me anew. Had I known my actions would in any way affect his duties, I would have run back to Heathcrest on foot! I wanted to tell him these things, but he looked so imposing upon the ma.s.sive horse that I could not speak.

The gelding pranced, eager to be off. He controlled it with a flick of a gloved hand. It seemed he wanted to say something, for he opened his mouth; only then he shut it again.

"When will you be back?" I said at last, breathless.

But at the same moment he tipped his hat and said, "Remember our agreement, Miss Lockwell."

He whirled the beast around and in a clatter of hooves was gone. Jance came to take the mare to the stable. Feeling very weary of a sudden, I entered the house.

I went to the kitchen to fix the cup of tea I had not gotten in the village and made some for the children as well, as it was nearly time to rouse them for their second breakfast of the long lumenal. Mrs. Darendal was there.

"I met Mr. Samonds, the farrier, in the village," I said as I fixed a tray for the children.

Mrs. Darendal kept peeling apples.

"He was very kind to a.s.sist me," I said, determined to be cheerful. "He told me how he used to come to Heathcrest as a boy."

"Many people used to come here," she said.

"His mother and Mrs. Quent were cousins, I understand."

This received no disagreement, so I could only a.s.sume it to be true.

"I wonder," I said, then paused, choosing my words carefully. "That is, it is regretful that those who enjoyed this house once are no longer able to do so. And it is such a remarkable place. I wonder if it might be possible-if sometime we might invite someone to supper. Mr. Samonds perhaps, and his wife if he is married."

"I am sure he will never marry," Mrs. Darendal said. She spoke this with what I thought was a hard little smile. She sliced another apple into a bowl. "You should wake the children."

I said nothing more and took my tray upstairs. The children were already awake when I entered. Chambley threw his arms around me in an embrace, which I gladly returned.

"Good morning," I told him.

"It's the middle of the day," he said, rubbing bleary eyes.

"I know," I said. "But we must pretend it's morning, mustn't we? For it's twelve more hours until dusk. Now drink your tea. Here's a cup for you, Clarette."

She did not move from the window. As always I wanted to ask what she was looking at and if she had seen the figure in white again; instead, I went to her with a cup.

"Drink it before it gets cold," I told her.