Shadows at Stonewylde

10



Sylvie was unaware of the commotion in Yul’s office. She was busy supervising the girls’ tea and keeping an eye on the clock. It was the Moon Fullness tonight and she could feel faint pulses of excitement in her fingertips; she intended to walk up to Hare Stone before the sun set and watch the Owl Moon rise. It was quite a while since she’d seen it.

‘Eat your boiled egg nicely,’ she said to Bluebell, who was getting into a mess as usual. ‘I’m just going to see if Granny Maizie would like to bath you both tonight and put you to bed.’

‘Why Granny Maizie?’ asked Bluebell. ‘Why not you?’

‘I’m going for a walk,’ she replied. ‘It’s the Moon Fullness and I want to watch the moon rise. I won’t be very long.’

‘Can I come?’ asked Celandine.

Sylvie regarded her elder daughter, who was such a serious little girl.

‘Not this time, darling. Maybe in the spring when it’s warmer, I’ll take you up to Hare Stone and we can watch together.’

‘I’d rather dance.’

Sylvie looked sharply at the girl. Was this moongaziness coming out? Or merely the fact that Celandine was devoted to dancing and danced all the time.

‘Dancing at the Moon Fullness is something I used to do,’ she said quietly. ‘With my moon wings and a magical silver dress.’

‘Like a faerie?’ asked Bluebell. ‘Were you sparkly, Mummy?’

‘I expect you were beautiful,’ said Celandine.

‘I certainly felt beautiful, and yes, I was sparkly, Bluebell. It was the best thing ever – the moongazy hares and the barn-owl would join me, and your father would, too. He’d sit with his back to the stone and watch me dance.’

The girls stared at their mother in fascination, awed by her tone of wistfulness. Sylvie’s eyes were faraway, remembering moonlit landscapes and magical spirals and Yul’s adoration.

‘Why did you stop, Mum?’ asked Celandine. ‘If it was the best thing ever, why did you stop?’

There was a silence as Sylvie thought about this, then she sighed deeply.

‘So we’ll go no more a-roving, so late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving, the moon be yet as bright.’

‘Mummy?’ cried Bluebell in consternation at this strangeness. She jumped down from her chair and ran round to Sylvie, burying her eggy face in her mother’s skirt.

‘It’s alright, Blue,’ said Celandine. ‘I understand, Mum.’

‘Do you? It’s strange – I don’t know why I feel this need to go tonight but somehow …’

‘When did you last dance for the beautiful Moon Goddess, Mum?’

Sylvie thought about this, shocked at just how long ago it was.

‘I stopped going every month when I was expecting you, Celandine, during the winter when it was cold and icy and Father said I may slip and fall. I started again after you were born but only for a while, and then I was expecting Bluebell, and then …’

‘Why not after I was borned, Mummy?’

‘Because I was ill, darling. Remember I’ve told you about this? I was very ill for a while and I had to go to a special hospital in the Outside World to get better again. But after I came home, somehow I never moondanced again. I never felt the need to, not until tonight …’

‘You should go tonight – go quickly. You need to go,’ said Celandine, her deep grey eyes full of concern and love.

Sylvie smiled across at the dear little girl, touched by her instinctive understanding.

‘I will, darling. I’ll just see if Granny Maizie’s still up here or if she’s gone home to the Village already. If she has, maybe one of the big girls from school will sit with you until I get back.’

The light was fading as she walked swiftly towards the woods and the hill. It felt so good to be out in the open, alone in the evening. There were a few clouds clustered around the setting sun but the night was clear and fresh. Sylvie wore her beautiful green cloak, decorated with tiny glass beads. It had been a birthday present sewn for her by Maizie. She breathed deeply and smiled – why had she left it so long, when she was born to moondance? She almost broke into a run as she reached the woods leading up to the hillside. They seemed dark but she entered without fear, knowing the path well – it wasn’t like those early days when Yul had worried for her safety. Nor was she in a trance like she used to be, unaware of anything except the overriding compulsion to honour the rising moon – although there was no doubt that she did feel an echo of it. Her heart raced and her fingers tingled strongly. Surely it wasn’t just from the exertion of hurrying?

The wood was full of noises in the twilight; flapping wood-pigeons that made her jump with their sudden panic, the cry of a jay, noisy rustling from squirrels in the dead leaves that carpeted the ground. She smelled wood-smoke and knew the charcoal burners had been nearby that day. Twigs brushed her and several times she had to duck suddenly or lose an eye. Once she heard the unmistakable grunting bark of deer and was reminded of so many things she’d forgotten about Stonewylde. Cocooned in the Hall, she’d lost touch with the wildness and the greenness of life.

Then Sylvie was out of the wood and climbing up through the long, damp grass towards the stone at the top. She passed several rocky outcrops and felt a stirring of memory from that night so long ago, when the three hags had huddled here in wait for her, determined to mark and taint her. She’d never been able to pass this spot without remembering them and their horrible, evil intentions. She’d been up here many a time in daylight to look for the little pouch that Mother Heggy had given her for protection. It had snapped that night on Winter Solstice Eve, when the crones had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground. Try as she might, Sylvie had never found the little leather bag and had given up her search eventually, assuming the crones had found it and kept it for themselves.

The sun had already set, the sky glowing golden blue to mark the point of its departure, and Sylvie thrust all nasty thoughts of the crones aside. She reached the stone, a little out of breath, and placed a hand on its ancient skin. She felt a stream of comfort emanating from it. Then she turned to where the moon would rise, the point opposite the setting sun, and realised that she was just in time for here was the pink rim just peering over the horizon. She felt a wild elation in her heart, an echo of her moongaziness, and began a few tentative steps moon-wise around the stone. She sensed the hares in the gathering darkness and greeted them. Her spirit rose in her body giving her wings and, for the first time in years, Sylvie began to dance.

Just as the full moon cleared the tree tops around the Village Green, Kestrel and his mates were thrown out of the Jack in the Green. George told them they’d all had quite enough and as he ran the pub and was a beefy man, they left without too much protest. They settled themselves on a couple of benches and watched the moon rise higher.

‘Aren’t you meant to be meeting Sorrel tonight?’ asked Jay. ‘You said you’d arranged it all for tonight.’

‘Yeah, that’s right – hayloft after moonrise.’ Kestrel produced a bottle of mead from his jacket and took a swig. ‘No harm in keeping her waiting a little though.’

Swift watched Kestrel carefully, as always learning and storing away the knowledge for possible future use. Kestrel was very good-looking and in his second year at college, destined to be one of the few Stonewylders so far to go on and study at university. Edward, his father, had very high hopes for him. Kestrel’s smile was ready and charming, his features perfect, and he treated the Stonewylde girls as a list to be worked through.

‘She’s had her implant then?’

‘Of course! I’m not going to risk anything, am I? How about you lot, then? Got any little honeypots lined up for the Moon Fullness?’

They all shook their heads.

‘Though that Becky at college – she’d be up for it if she was here,’ said Jay. ‘Pity we can’t bring Outside girls back here. She’s gagging for me.’

Kestrel laughed at this.

‘Yeah, gagging would be the best thing for her, mate, with the mouth on her. Or better still, a paper bag over her head.’ He ducked as Jay made a half-hearted swing at him. ‘Only joking! She’s alright. Maybe we could arrange for some girls to visit. Not that I’ve noticed a shortage of home-grown ones, mind you. That little Sorrel … phew! She’s so keen. And there’s Daisy too, all ready to be picked. I’ve got my work cut out for me. I can’t understand what’s wrong with the rest of you.’

Kestrel knew perfectly well that the others in his gang didn’t share his success with girls. Jay was too aggressive, too quick to fly off the handle. Gefrin was a fool, though Kestrel knew he was keen on some gormless girl at the farm where he now worked every day. Sweyn was probably terrified of girls and wouldn’t know where to begin, which he hid behind a great show of indifference. And Swift … Kestrel wasn’t sure about him. Swift was a bit of a dark horse and he was far too clever for his own good. The older boy decided he’d have to watch Swift in case he turned out to be a rival. He’d noticed girls giving the blond-haired boy the eye, despite his slight build. Kestrel, being tall and muscular, couldn’t understand what any girl would see in a slim, smaller lad. But Swift wasn’t quite an adult yet, in the Stonewylde sense, so Kestrel dismissed any threat from him. He took another gulp of mead and gazed up at the bright moon. Sorrel could wait another ten minutes or so – do her good.

‘Have you heard what happened with that sister of yours?’ Swift asked Gefrin and Sweyn.

‘Stupid bitch, what’s she done now? Apart from making an idiot of herself this morning in assembly,’ said Sweyn. ‘I was bloody embarrassed, I can tell you.’

‘Yeah, and that half-wit cousin of mine,’ agreed Jay, cracking his knuckles. ‘Thank goddess I wasn’t there to see it. Is he going to get it tonight when I drop by at the cottage later on for a smoke!’

Gefrin giggled at this.

‘So what happened with Leveret then?’ asked Kestrel. ‘I heard she was rude to Miranda, wasn’t she?’

‘That’s right – flicked her in front of everyone. So Miranda told her she was on work detail for two weeks,’ said Swift.

‘Hah! No less than the old cow deserves,’ said Jay. ‘I’d have liked to give her the flick myself many a time.’

‘Yeah, miserable old bitch,’ agreed Gefrin. ‘But two weeks’ work detail just for flicking?’

‘Seems a bit steep,’ said Kestrel.

‘Then Yul started having a go at Leveret as well,’ said Swift.

‘Good,’ grunted Sweyn. ‘About time he did something useful. He ought to bring back whipping like they used in the old days and start with her.’

‘No chance of that,’ said Swift. ‘But she did try to snitch on you two. Screamed at Yul about some of the things you’ve done to her.’

‘Little bitch!’ hissed Gefrin. ‘So now we’re in for it!’

‘No, not at all. Maizie stuck up for you both and then Yul joined in. He told Leveret he didn’t believe her.’

Both brothers burst out laughing at this.

‘Did you really stuff her into a tiny cupboard?’

‘Too right! Didn’t think we’d get the door shut, but we did. She weren’t very happy in there.’

‘Well, when Yul said he didn’t believe her she totally flipped and he had to get Hazel in to deal with her.’

‘Hazel? Was Lev ill then?’

‘She went crazy and passed out – all very dramatic.’

Jay whistled.

‘She really is mental, ain’t she? They should put her in a straitjacket and lock her in a padded cell. Just like they did to Sylvie.’

They all laughed at this.

‘So where is she now?’

‘In the hospital wing. She’ll go to Yul’s rooms when she’s better.’

‘I bet Mother’s upset – the little cow always upsets her. Just wait till I get my hands on her!’ said Sweyn grimly. ‘Especially now nobody believes her.’

‘Well you’ll have to wait until she’s allowed home. Yul said he’ll be watching her closely for the next two weeks while she’s on work detail and staying at the Hall,’ said Swift.

Kestrel looked speculatively at Swift, whose blond hair was gleaming in the moonlight.

‘How come you know all this?’ he asked. ‘How come you heard everything?’

Swift smiled and winked.

‘Just in the right place at the right time,’ he said. ‘Are you going to share that mead or what?’

Kestrel laughed at this.

‘No chance! I need something to keep my strength up – I’ve a long night ahead of me.’

Sylvie finished her dance, feeling full of energy and magic. For the first time at this sacred place she’d been fully conscious of the rising moon and its beauty, and was glad that her days of going into a complete trance were over. As she danced around the great stone she’d felt a glimmer of the spirals that swirled on the site. They weren’t exactly under the ground – it was more complex than that. She was part of the spirals herself and felt them gyrating inside her, and yet they were also outside, weaving around the stone, marking strange patterns into the earth and the air. The barn owl had visited – surely not the same one that joined her all those years ago – and its ghostly white wings had whispered through the night as it floated towards the stone. Perching there, it had raised its exquisite heart-shaped face towards the silver moon and stared, black eyes fathomless in the dark night.

Now Sylvie leaned against the stone soaking up its energy. She tingled with life, with excitement – this was how it should be, what she was born for. She felt that a new era was beginning and she could put the past behind her. She’d forget that terrible experience in bed with Yul, when she’d genuinely believed that Magus had returned to haunt her. She felt strong now, ready to take on the challenge of the year ahead; ready to work with her powerful husband, not against him. And ready to guide Stonewylde through the difficult months as Clip prepared to leave.

Sylvie raised her arms to the moon and poured out her soul, receiving an equal measure of quicksilver magic in return. Then remembering her two little girls who may still be awake and wondering where she’d got to, she began to make her way down through the wet grass towards the woods. She was just skirting a group of boulders that protruded from the hillside when she stopped in her tracks, heart beating erratically. She’d caught the faintest whiff of scent.

And then the voice, soft and deep, filled her head.

‘Sylvie, Sylvie, my moongazy girl …’

She sank onto a boulder, her eyes wild with panic.

‘I love to watch you dance. You’re as beautiful now as you ever were.’

She looked around frantically. Where was he? This was real, this wasn’t just in her head. He was really here, and close by.

‘But Sylvie, you should be at the stone on the cliffs. I’m hungry for your moon magic.’

Her eyes swivelled desperately, catching the moonlight in their silver irises. She peered all around, then up at the stars glittering like scattered diamonds in the cold night air.

‘I’ve come back for you, my moongazy girl, and this time you’ll be mine.’

Her chest heaved in panic and her hands trembled violently. Where was he hiding? Then she heard a low chuckle from behind a boulder and she sprang to her feet screaming, clutching at her head to block out the terrible laughter. Her feet moved of their own accord; she was off, running down the hillside, stumbling in the tangled grass, crying at the nightmare to go away and leave her alone.

Sylvie almost missed the entrance into the wood where the path began, but at the last minute spotted the dark archway amongst the trees and swerved into the shelter of the trees. She raced along the path, sobbing in terror, oblivious to the birds that squawked out of their roosts at the unwelcome intrusion. Several times she tripped over tree roots, once falling flat on her face on the soft earth and pushing herself up desperately to continue her headlong flight. She thought she heard a deep voice calling her name, again and again, which spurred her on even more. Then she felt strong arms around her holding her tight, twisting her round so she could run no further. She screamed and screamed, shaking her head from side to side, long silver hair rippling in a wild halo.

‘Sylvie, Sylvie it’s me! Stop it! STOP IT!’

Gradually she ceased her struggles and frantic efforts to escape, held fast in the strong grip of his arms. She dissolved into heartbreaking sobs, all control and reason lost. Yul stroked her hair, whispering soothing words, holding her close now rather than restraining her.

‘It’s alright, my love, everything’s alright. You’re safe now, you’re safe, Sylvie.’

Her wild sobs slowly subsided and became normal crying, though she still trembled like a captured bird. He bent and kissed her forehead tenderly.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain her terror.

By the time they got back to the Hall she’d stopped crying. They managed to cross the entrance hall without being questioned by anyone, although halfway up the stairs they met Martin coming down.

‘Good evening,’ he said politely. ‘Did you have a good walk?’

‘Not now, Martin,’ said Yul curtly. ‘Sylvie’s had a bit of a shock and she needs to get to bed. Send up some brandy, would you?’

‘Brandy? Yes, of course. Should I find the doctor too? Is she injured?’

‘Yes … no, don’t send Hazel, although you could ask her to be ready if I need her.’

‘I don’t need Hazel,’ whispered Sylvie. ‘Yul, I’m fine.’

Yul nodded over her head at Martin, who smiled his understanding.

‘I’ll send the brandy up in the dumb-waiter so as not to disturb you. Goodnight, Miss Sylvie. I hope you sleep well and make a quick recovery.’

‘I’m not ill,’ she muttered. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

Martin merely raised his eyebrows and continued down the stairs, the polite smile still on his lips.

Despite Sylvie’s protests and refusal to drink any brandy, Hazel did visit their rooms and insisted on something to calm her. Sylvie became very distressed at the sight of the syringe but Yul brooked no argument. Hazel administered the drug grimly, trying to soothe her at the same time, repeating again and again that it was just to help her relax so she could sleep. When she’d left, Yul helped his wife undress and carefully tucked her into bed, sitting on the edge next to her and stroking her hair back from her face in a gentle, rhythmic movement. Sylvie’s eyes became cloudy and her body lost its tenseness as the drug kicked in.

She gazed up at her husband whose handsome dark face was full of love and concern. She could see it in his beautiful grey eyes and it made her feel safe and cherished. But as she gazed into his eyes she saw something else that made her shrink. Yul hadn’t come near her since that awful night and she’d been dreading the first time he did, terrified there’d be a repeat of the previous events. She’d tried to steel herself for the inevitable advance he must make, for Yul could never go very long without making love with her. But not tonight, not after what had happened up at Hare Stone.

‘No, Yul. Please no,’ she mumbled.

‘What?’ he asked gently, still caressing her forehead and temples, running his long fingers very slowly through the silky hair that flowed onto the pillows.

‘I can’t make love with you tonight. I’m sorry, I can’t.’

She saw him flinch, rejection darkening his eyes.

‘That’s okay, my darling, I wasn’t intending to. I just want you to feel calm and safe, and then you can tell me what happened up at Hare Stone.’

‘I don’t know … I just want to sleep.’

Her eyelids were heavy and her body felt like a lead weight on a bed of clouds.

‘We’ll talk in the morning then,’ he said softly, aching with longing for her. She looked so beautiful as she drifted off to sleep, so serene and defenceless. Tonight he couldn’t sleep in his office as he’d done since that night, waiting until she said she wanted him again. It would be torture lying next to her all night, but he must sleep by her side and take care of her.

He slipped into the bathroom and then, anxious not to disturb her, climbed carefully into the great bed, the scene of such passion in the past. Yul smiled bitterly in the darkness. He ached with frustration and need for her and just for a second, the terrible notion swam through his head – she was heavily drugged and would never remember anything in the morning. He took a deep, shuddering breath. What’d gone wrong between them? How had this estrangement happened? And the thought occurred to him again, as it had done several times since her outburst in this very bed nearly two weeks ago – was Sylvie falling ill again? Was her psychosis beginning all over again?

That night Sylvie had the familiar dream that had haunted her for so long. She lay in her private room, the patch of blue sky and tree tops visible through the barred window. Soothing smells drifted in the air, aromatherapy being part of her treatment. She was floating somewhere above her bed in a state of disassociation, her body no longer her own. There were so many strange hands invading her privacy – regular shots, soothing baths, deep massage, gentle exercise on toning tables, but worst of all, the electro-convulsive therapy in the special room downstairs. All this was standard treatment for her severe puerperal psychosis – not that she was aware of that.

Most of the time Sylvie wasn’t aware of anything much. She was docile and hovered just above her body, but occasionally she’d slip back into herself and understand. Then she’d cry for her little Celandine and tiny baby Bluebell, her beloved husband and her life at Stonewylde. Sometimes she’d remember the last time she saw them all. She’d recall the horror of being forcibly wrenched from her screaming children, the hidden knife clattering to the ground, the voices from Quarrycleave calling her name, begging her to come quickly with her little girls. Hazel and Yul, Miranda and Clip, the grim-faced nurses in the private ambulance, faces, faces, all shocked and frightened … and then she’d forget again.

Sylvie entered the recurring dream at the usual place. She was floating over her bed watching the young woman who lay there, pale and weak as a wraith. Her thin wrists and ankles were strapped into the restraints to prevent her from harming herself and she’d been sedated after her earlier thrashing about. The door opened and a visitor walked in, strange in normal clothes. It was a man, tall and well-built, with short blond hair and bright blue eyes the colour of robins’ eggs. He moved with the controlled tread of a heavy man who worked hard to keep in shape. His suit was beautifully cut and he smelt of expensive cologne; she noticed every detail, down to the heavy gold wedding band on the thick fìnger of his well-manicured hands.

The man approached the bed and gazed down at the figure strapped helplessly there. Her eyes stared up at him, unfocused and blank. A smile stretched his full mouth. She knew this man – he was from the past and she should remember who he was. He took one of her fragile hands, then noticed the resistance as the restraint prevented him from raising it.

‘Sylvie,’ he said softly, his gaze brushing over her body purposefully. ‘Finally, after all this time. You know who I am, don’t you?’

She couldn’t respond. Her tongue was heavy and numb and her lips parted with an effort but no speech came forth.

‘Oh, Sylvie, what have they done to you? I never thought our reunion would be like this, in such a place.’

He stood silently for a moment, drinking in every detail of her whilst she gazed up at him like a life-size doll. He traced the sharp planes of her face with a heavy finger and even in her drugged state, she felt a prickle of revulsion crawl over her skin. She stirred ever so slightly but could manage no more movement than this as slowly, deliberately, his hands explored her.

‘I had to see for myself,’ he said thickly. ‘I wonder if you’ll remember this visit? I’ve so much to tell you but it’ll have to wait until you’re better. I’ll be back for you one day, Sylvie, even if it takes years. You’re in my mind constantly, in my dreams and my fantasies. I’ve never forgotten you and one day you’ll be by my side, where you belong.’

He bent to plant his lips on hers. She felt their smoothness and the taste of mint, with only the slightest moist pressure. But then, shockingly, he carefully licked her mouth, coating her lips with his saliva which remained long after he’d left the room.

Bluebell had finally stopped wailing and was once more asleep, along with Celandine who’d been disturbed by her sister’s noise. Sylvie’s restlessness and whimpering seemed to have passed and she now breathed peacefully under the soft quilt. Yul found the brandy sent up earlier and, sitting by the window in their shadowy bedroom, poured himself a generous shot. What a night – what a day, in fact.

He looked out at the bright moon. First his sister having hysterics and then his wife – what was the matter with everyone? Sylvie’s behaviour had really alarmed him and tomorrow he’d have a proper consultation with Hazel. This time there’d be no delay; if Sylvie was becoming ill again they’d nip it in the bud and get help now, before it could spiral out of control.

As for Leveret … he thought back to the morning’s violent scene in his office, her face scarlet and her breath ragged. And suddenly he had a clear flash of memory – tiny Leveret red-faced and screaming in his arms whilst two little boys looked guiltily at their feet and refused to own up. It was Lammas all those years ago and they’d not watched the cricket match because of it. Was he missing something here? Despite Maizie’s assurances that Leveret was lying about her brothers, Yul resolved to speak to the pair of them soon. Leveret was rude and insolent and she constantly disobeyed Maizie and avoided her tasks. But maybe she wasn’t a liar. And as for the fit … was it serious? Did she need treatment too?

Sighing, Yul swirled the remains of his brandy in the glass before tossing it down his throat. Owl Moon – and with it the memories of tree cages and rope. Why couldn’t life ever be easy, he wondered gloomily, climbing back into his cold marital bed next to his forbidden wife.