Shadows at Stonewylde

2



Leveret was up long before dawn and out of the cottage before Maizie awoke; she needed to get the mushrooms safely stored before her mother could interfere. The October morning was cool and damp and there was no light whatsoever; the changes at Stonewylde had not included street lights. All Villagers knew the streets blindfolded and Leveret could’ve stood under any of the massive trees on the Green and said exactly where she was just by the feel of the bark. So finding her way to Mother Heggy’s home in complete darkness was no problem at all.

Thirteen years had taken their toll on the ancient cottage. After his sad discovery on the morning of that Winter Solstice, Yul had removed a few keepsakes and closed it up. Occasionally he’d brought his little sister up to the cottage, unbeknown to Maizie. He’d told the little girl of the wise old crone who’d lived there with her crow, the same bird that now lived with them. Leveret had been enthralled, sitting in the battered rocking chair with her little leather boots barely reaching the edge of the seat and gazing around the hovel in wonderment. She’d confided to him, when she was about six, that one day she’d be the Wise Woman of Stonewylde. Yul had laughed and said it was a brave ambition.

Yul never visited the old cottage now, having no time for such nostalgia. He never gazed, as he’d first done, at the empty wooden rocking chair, or the battered table, or the filthy old range and fireplace where no cauldron would ever bubble again. The place had been left to the elements and stood forlorn and deserted. But Leveret had continued to visit, coming here alone as soon as she was old enough to slip away unnoticed. This was her place of refuge, and where she longed to live one day.

Leveret opened the door silently and slipped in. She found the matches and candle on the shelf and soon the tiny cottage flickered to life. Leveret sighed with relief – she felt safe now. She opened the dresser cupboards and found the things she needed, then began to carefully thread her basketful of mushrooms onto twine. When she’d finished she hung them from a rafter along with the many other strings of fungi, all in various stages of desiccation. She made a small label and attached it to the end of the new string, then sat back in the chair and closed her eyes, rocking gently. She longed for a creature to join her, remembering Mother Heggy’s old crow. Leveret had grown up with that crow, which had lived a further eight cantankerous years before finally succumbing to old age and a cold winter. This cottage needed an animal or bird, but Leveret knew that whatever belonged here would find the place when it was ready.

She considered lighting a fire and brewing some tea but she didn’t really have time. The most important thing was to record these latest mushrooms. As with all the fungi she collected, and many of the herbs and plants too, she wasn’t completely sure she had the right ones. There was nobody apart from Old Violet who really knew all the species, and Leveret certainly wasn’t going to ask that wicked crone for advice. So she had to rely on the Book and that wasn’t easy. The drawings and writing had been done many years before and were faded and in places almost illegible. Much of her harvesting was therefore guesswork.

Leveret took the school exercise book entitled ‘Mushrooms’ from its secret hiding place and found a pencil in the dresser drawer. She then wrote about the fungus in careful detail, describing not only the mushrooms themselves but also their exact location in the woods and the date they’d been picked. She’d leave the illustration for Magpie as his drawing skills were so much better than hers. When she’d finished, she leafed back through the book reading some of the entries. It was almost full now and she longed for the day when she could get hold of a big, beautiful book bound in soft black leather and filled with thick sheets of parchment. She wanted to write her descriptions in proper ink that she’d made herself, and Magpie to paint the illustrations in soft watercolours. Leveret sighed again. She knew it would happen one day. Her own Book was what she wanted most in the world.

Her green eyes flew open from their drowsing as the door swung open and the candle guttered, but of course it was only Magpie. Nobody else ever bothered with the place. She noticed, before he shut the door, that the sky was lightening outside and she knew she must get home very soon. But Magpie put paid to that. He lurched across the tiny room and placed a hand on her hair, stroking the silky curls. His lips curled in his twisted smile and his beautiful eyes, usually blank and devoid of any focus, shone at her.

‘Blessings, Magpie,’ she laughed. ‘What a lovely surprise. I’ve just recorded the mushrooms. Do you want to draw them now before they start to dry up?’

He shook his head and fished in the voluminous pockets of his large and disgusting coat. Magpie’s coat was infamous; he wore it in all weathers, clinging to it even in the heat of the summer. It was ancient and filthy but he refused to part with it. From the pocket he drew a hunk of loaf and a handful of roasted chestnuts, and then a small metal can on a handle. He fetched two mugs from the dresser and clumsily poured milk for them both and shared out the food. She smiled gratefully and sank her sharp teeth into the stale bread as Magpie sat down on the floor to eat his breakfast. Magpie always sat on the floor to eat. Leveret finished quickly and brushed the crumbs from her lap.

‘I must get back now, Magpie,’ she said. ‘Mother was furious last night. I’m in such trouble so if you don’t see me around for a few days you know why. But look for me at school and hopefully we can walk home to the Village together each day.’

She started to get up but Magpie, still on the floor, shook his head and laid it on her knee, holding her calves tight.

‘What is it, Mag?’ she asked softly, knowing she must get home quickly. Even now it was probably too late. Magpie started to sob, the horrible guttering noise that she knew so well. Poor Magpie had a lot to cry about and it was one of the few ways he could express himself. Leveret stroked the hair, matted and lank, away from his face. He was always dirty unless Maizie or someone else involved in Welfare intervened and insisted that he have a bath. Maybe she should start helping him herself, taking him to the Bath House every week and ensuring that he went in and cleaned himself up. It’d never really bothered her before, as she’d grown up with a filthy Magpie by her side, but lately he’d started to smell horrible. She realised that even someone as different and backward as Magpie had finally reached adolescence.

He must have sensed her thoughts for he looked up at her with sad eyes. Magpie’s eyes were his best feature – large, clear and a beautiful turquoise. When he washed his long hair it was lovely too, a rich butterscotch colour, but usually it was several shades darker and duller with dirt.

‘Magpie hurts.’

‘Where does it hurt?’ she asked.

He pulled back the hair from his temple and she saw a small blue lump. Then he rolled up a dirty trouser leg and she saw another blue lump, much bigger, on his shin. He looked like a kicked puppy and her heart went out to him as always. He led such a miserable life, neglected by his mother, grandmother and great aunt, and badly bullied by his cousin Jay and anyone else who could be roped in to have a go.

‘Who did it, Magpie?’ she whispered, gently touching the bruise on his temple. ‘Was it Jay?’

He nodded and tears trickled down his dirty cheeks. His cousin Jay was the torment of his life. The abuse had started at an early age in the strange household where they grew up together, little Magpie neglected whilst young Jay ruled the roost. Eventually it had become clear that Magpie wasn’t developing normally but despite Hazel’s tests, the cause was never really clear. Old Violet had delivered the baby herself and Hazel suspected there’d been oxygen starvation; whatever the cause of his slowness, Magpie never spoke but remained silent and unfocused, living in his own private world. Leveret had always been his only friend and she hated Jay who was a few years older than her and went around in a gang with her brothers Sweyn and Gefrin. All three were bullies, unchecked by fathers.

Leveret found a bottle on the dresser and tipped some of the astringent contents onto a piece of rag, holding it against the blue swelling on Magpie’s leg.

‘Witch-hazel, Magpie,’ she said. ‘It’ll help the bruising. He didn’t hurt you for taking the milk and bread, did he?’

Magpie shook his head and started the complex communication he’d developed with Leveret to explain the train of events. She sensed images of Jay returning at night, with the full moon shining, and kicking Magpie. She felt the boy’s pain and bewilderment and clearly saw Jay’s face contorted with sadistic glee.

‘He’s horrible, isn’t he? I expect he’d been turned down by a girl – not surprising really. Next Moon Fullness you must stay out of his way. Thank you for the breakfast, Magpie. It was lovely but now I must get home. You can draw the mushrooms next time but don’t leave it too long or they’ll dry up completely. I think they’re the right ones but so many of them look the same. Don’t touch the Book of Shadows when I’m not here, will you Magpie? You’re never, ever to do that.’

He shook his head solemnly. She’d tried to impress this on him so many times, for the Book was the most precious thing in her life. She knew she’d have to find a new hiding place for it soon, one which Magpie knew nothing about. He just couldn’t be trusted not to touch it or give its presence away if forced. She smiled at him and bent to kiss his cheek. He stood up quickly and engulfed her in a hug. He really did need a bath.

A thin-lipped Maizie was waiting back at the cottage. Leveret could think of no good reason for her early morning absence so remained obstinately silent, which made her mother even angrier.

‘I’m now late for my meeting at the Hall! Yul will wonder where on earth I am and you’re late for school. If we hurry now ‘twon’t be so bad but there’s no time for breakfast so don’t even think about it.’

Leveret wasn’t. She was plotting how to get hold of some more empty bottles for her potions; there were ways, but she had to be careful. Everything at Stonewylde was used thoughtfully and bottles were a precious commodity.

‘Leveret! Come on! You’re day-dreaming again and I haven’t finished with you yet. We’ll talk about it on the way.’

They left the house and the girl trudged along beside her mother, their two dark curly heads so alike. Maizie’s, greying around the temples now, bobbed and shook as she launched into another tirade about last night’s lateness. Leveret’s remained bowed as the words washed over her. She was grateful that all the younger children were safely tucked up at the Village School, whilst the older ones would already be in assembly in the Galleried Hall, so nobody would see her mother working herself up to a fine lather. A few women at the water pump greeted them as they walked briskly through the cobbled streets of the Village. Mother and daughter hurried on past the Green with its blanket of fallen autumn leaves, past the Jack in the Green pub and the Great Barn and towards the track out of the Village.

They heard singing coming across from the Village School and Leveret recognised the Samhain songs she’d sung when she was younger. She knew the children would be busy making their papier-mâché crows and skulls ready to hang in the Great Barn in two weeks’ time, and practising their dances and drama to perform to the magus and the rest of the community. Soon each Stonewylder would go down to the beach and choose their handful of white stones ready to mark out the labyrinth on the Green. Leveret loved Samhain and this one should be really special, with the Dark Moon falling as it did on the night of the festival. She was ready to cast her first spell. She smiled to herself at the thought and let Maizie’s scolding pour over her unheeded.

They continued out of the Village and onto the paved track that led to the Hall. The sun had risen higher and now gilded the trees all around them in soft October hues. The air was fresh and pure and Leveret sniffed appreciatively, not hearing any of Maizie’s words. Instead she heard the bright music of blackbirds and the mew of a buzzard overhead, and in the distance the drone of a tractor as the sound of children’s singing receded.

Leveret walked where the fallen leaves were thickest, delighting in the noisy scrunching her feet made amongst the brown, curled leaves, kicking them up to make even more noise. All around her more leaves fell gently from the branches in the slight breeze. She watched in wonder as many of the golden flakes were carried upwards, defying gravity to whirl about overhead. She noticed a jay flying fast through the trees, the distinctive flash of black and white on its rump a contrast to the pink-brown body. A group of magpies screamed and squabbled in the branches, and she thought how inappropriate it was that Magpie was named after such an aggressive and noisy bird. The shy jay would’ve been far more fitting.

‘Stop shuffling in the leaves, Leveret!’ said Maizie sharply. ‘You’ll scuff your boots.’

‘Mother, why don’t you do something to help Magpie?’

‘What? Have you been listening to anything I’ve said? You and Magpie are to stop seeing each other, and—’

‘Jay’s been hurting him again and I can’t bear it.’

She stopped, remembering she mustn’t let on that she’d seen Magpie earlier that morning. Maizie might start wondering where they’d met and it was vital that her visits to Mother Heggy’s cottage remain secret.

‘I’m sorry to hear it, and goddess knows how many times I’ve tried to get them all to show the boy a little more care. But you know as well as I do, Leveret – that family are a law unto themselves.’

‘But they shouldn’t be! Jay shouldn’t get away with hurting poor Magpie and you could stop it.’

‘No I couldn’t. Do you think Old Violet would listen to me?’

‘It’s not his grandmother, it’s Jay. He makes Magpie’s life a misery.’

‘I can’t just march in there and tell Jay off. That’s up to Magpie’s awful mother, Starling. And Magpie’s an adult now, even though he’s so soft in the head. ‘Tis not my place to interfere with what goes on there.’

‘Yes it is, Mother! You’re in charge of Village Welfare, aren’t you? You could say something to the women, even if you don’t want to speak to Jay. Or are you too scared of them?’

‘Don’t be so cheeky! O’ course I’m not scared. ‘Tis just that … well, they do as they wish in that cottage and me going barging in now and telling them how to run their lives would do no good. ‘Twould most likely make things worse, getting ’em all riled up again as it’s done many a time in the past when I’ve tried to put things straight there. You know they’ve never liked me and besides, Magpie’s alright – or as alright as he ever is, being so dirty and simple. The boy is strange and he’s no fit company for you, my girl, as I’ve been telling you for years.’

Leveret kicked angrily at the drifts of leaves, disappointed that as always her mother, the one person in the Village who should intervene, failed to understand what went on in Magpie’s home. She knew her mother was scared of the three women but would never admit it, preferring to turn a blind eye to Magpie’s suffering. She was very good at turning a blind eye to what went on right under her nose, as Leveret knew only too well. She’d respect her mother far more if she did something about Magpie’s awful situation, which had been going on for far too long.

‘Besides, Jay lives up at the Hall now,’ said Maizie. ‘You’d do well to concentrate on your own behaviour rather than telling tales about his. You’ve always been too fond of moaning on about others’ wrongdoings. Your brothers, for instance. The number of times you’ve come to me complaining about a whole cloud of nothing! ‘Tis one of your shortcomings, Leveret, being a little tell-tale-tit, and I’m sick of it. I always— Oh look, there’s Sylvie!’

Up ahead where the paved track turned into the gravel drive to the Hall they saw a tall, slim figure walking in the same direction. Leveret’s heart sank.

‘Blessings!’ called Maizie, quickening her step. Sylvie stopped and turned, her pale face slipping into a smile as she waited for them to catch up. Leveret watched her, noting the droop of her shoulders and the shadows under her eyes. The morning after the Moon Fullness was often an anti-climax, a first step towards the waning of the moon and the Dark Moon two weeks later. But she sensed that there was something more than that bothering her sister-in-law.

She was as beautiful as ever, her hair like polished silk and her skin as flawless as alabaster. Her eyes were like a wolf’s, silver with darker edges to the irises. Every feature was exquisitely perfect and refined. Two children hadn’t spoiled her slim body; she moved with the grace and elegance of a dancer. Yet something was not right. Leveret stared from beneath her dark curls, knowing that as ever Sylvie would barely notice her. It was one of several reasons why she disliked her brother’s wife.

‘Good morning, Mother Maizie. Leveret. You’re late today!’ she said brightly as they all fell into step together. ‘I’ve just taken Celandine and Bluebell to the Nursery and they’re all off to the woods in a minute to search for cobnuts and squirrels and giant puffballs. I wish I’d joined them. They were so happy and excited.’

‘Bless them! Just like Yul at their age, always wanting to play in the woods. How’s my son today?’

A shadow passed over Sylvie’s face.

‘I haven’t seen him yet. He went for an early morning ride I think, and wasn’t back in time for breakfast with us. The girls weren’t impressed but he often misses joining us for breakfast. It’s just the wrong time to fit in with his day, and the girls can take so long in the mornings. But I’m hoping to see him when I get back.’

‘You know there’s a meeting this morning? I’m late,’ said Maizie, ‘and I hope he won’t be annoyed. We’ve a visitor from the Outside World today, coming to talk to us about the Nursery. Put us right, I suppose! Hasn’t Yul asked you to come? I know Miranda’ll be there.’

Sylvie looked a little non-plussed but smiled anyway. Leveret noticed the small lines around her mouth.

‘Oh, I expect he mentioned it but you know how forgetful I am. Why are you so late this morning? It’s not like you to oversleep.’

Maizie jerked her head angrily at her daughter.

‘This young maid’s fault! Not only was she out gallivanting in the woods till close on midnight last night, but then she disappeared this morning as well. She’s out of hand and I’m going to ask Yul to deal with her.’

Sylvie flicked a glance at her young sister-in-law but quickly looked away. The sullen girl with dark curls and fathomless green eyes disturbed her. She’d always felt uncomfortable with Leveret who’d openly disliked her from a very young age.

‘Oh no – is that really necessary, Maizie?’ she said quickly. ‘He’s exhausted as usual although he won’t admit it, and he’s so very busy at the moment.’

‘Well, I’ll see, but something must be done. This girl shows no respect for me at all and I can’t trust her alone for a second. I don’t know what to do with her.’

‘Couldn’t she go to Rosie when you’re busy?’

‘Aye, but Rosie’s got her own family to think about and Robin won’t want this darkling sitting under his nose every night upsetting his little ones, will he?’

‘What about your younger boys? Maybe they could babysit for you?’

The look Leveret gave her was pure venom.

‘That’s not such a bad idea,’ said Maizie slowly. ‘’Tis only since Sweyn and Gefrin’ve started boarding at the Hall that she’s got so bad. They always did keep her in check. Yes, I’ll speak to them today. Thank you, Sylvie.’

They left the canopy of golden beech trees overhanging the gravel drive and approached the great turning circle in front of the Hall. The vast building sat as it had done for so many hundreds of years, an imposing edifice of pale stone all quarried at Stonewylde. It seemed to grow out of the land, its thousands of diamond-shaped panes of glass glinting and reflecting light. The Hall was irregular and almost organic in design, as if parts of it had sprouted from the enormous main block of their own accord; as if the very stone itself had grown and developed extra limbs and dimensions to accommodate those who lived there. Every period of history was represented, from the early mediaeval era when the present structure was first begun, to Edwardian. Inside, meanwhile, the technological effects and improvements of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries were evident.

It was a true stately home, but it was also a working one, a place used daily by the people of Stonewylde as a home, a school and an office. No longer the luxurious preserve of a privileged few, it had become the property of everyone at Stonewylde. The Hall was used by all and lived in by many. Maizie and Leveret approached it with as much confidence as Sylvie, entering the enormous porch and going through into the stone-flagged entrance hall. The place exuded an atmosphere of busyness, with voices audible from many directions and people moving about purposefully.

‘Go to your lessons right now,’ said Maizie to Leveret. ‘You’ve missed assembly but make sure you say sorry for being so late. What’ve you got first?’

‘Geography,’ mumbled Leveret from behind her curls.

‘You need a haircut, my girl,’ said her mother sharply. ‘I’ll do it tonight. Wait for me here after school and we’ll walk home together. Do you understand, Leveret?’

‘Yes. And I don’t want my hair cut. I like it how it is.’

‘You’ll do as I say, Leveret – it’s a mess. Do you understand? This wildness and disrespect is going to stop right now. Sylvie’s right – your brothers will help me. Maybe you’ll toe the line for them if you won’t for me, and if that don’t work, I’ll speak to Yul.’

‘I wouldn’t mind speaking to Yul either,’ said Leveret softly. ‘There’s something I could tell him, isn’t there, Mother?’

Sylvie looked at the girl, surprised at her tone and Maizie’s reaction. She didn’t envy Maizie her role and hoped that her own daughters would be easier to handle when they were fourteen. At least they had a father around, unlike Leveret whose father had died thirteen years ago this Samhain. Maybe that was why the girl was being so difficult; perhaps the anniversary of her father’s death upset her. She must suggest it discreetly to Maizie in case it was a factor in Leveret’s behaviour.

‘Don’t you dare threaten me, Leveret! I’ll be telling Yul myself. Now get yourself off to your lessons.’

The girl swung around and stormed off down one of the many corridors. Sylvie grimaced in sympathy and Maizie shook her head.

‘She’s awful! What did I ever do to deserve her – and when life should be so much easier and calmer now? You raise six children and think you know it all, and then the seventh turns out to be worse than all o’ the brood put together.’

‘What’s she threatening you with?’ asked Sylvie. ‘What happened?’

Maizie’s face darkened.

‘For goddess’ sake don’t you tell Yul, will you? I lost my temper last night and I slapped her.’

Sylvie gasped.

‘Maizie! You must be feeling awful about that! Will she tell Yul?’

‘So she says. I’m calling her bluff, saying I’ll tell him myself, but I hope it don’t come to that. He’d never understand, would he?’

‘I doubt it. You know how he’s so adamantly against any sort of violence towards children. Though it’s understandable after what he went through, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes,’ nodded Maizie, images flashing through her mind of a bruised and bloody boy lying crumpled on the floor at his stepfather’s feet. ‘Yul has good reason to feel that way. But honestly, this were only a little slap, nothing like he suffered, and nothing meant by it. Well, I must get to this meeting, Sylvie. Are you coming?’

Sylvie shook her head. She hadn’t even known about the meeting and was sure she hadn’t been invited. The Nursery wasn’t her domain, although both Celandine and Bluebell went there every day. She’d thought about helping but it was well run by others, with Rowan in charge, and she thought her presence might hinder some of the women there. Although there were no social distinctions at Stonewylde anymore, nevertheless as Clip’s daughter and Yul’s wife, Sylvie occupied a position of authority. People watched what they said in front of her. She belonged to Stonewylde, would one day be the owner of the estate, and yet at times she still felt like an Outsider. Unlike Miranda, who’d devoted herself to remodelling the education system since her son was born, and now ran the Senior School at the Hall along with much of the adult education in the Great Barn. Miranda was completely integrated into Stonewylde and had become a key figure, while Sylvie still seemed to be on the outside looking in.

She sighed and bent to kiss Maizie’s plump cheek and give her a hug. She was very fond of her mother-in-law and had often considered confiding in her. But although Maizie was the first to point out Yul’s shortcomings, her loyalty towards her first-born was intense and Sylvie wasn’t sure she’d be the best person to hear about their problems. And now she knew that Maizie had such a difficult time with the wayward Leveret, she couldn’t burden her any further.

So, with a small smile, Sylvie left the hall and slowly climbed the great wide-stepped staircase, gazing up at the glorious stained-glass window on the half-landing ahead. She remembered Magus bounding up these stairs in his riding clothes, the red and purple light from the glass shining onto his handsome face and transforming him into a royal deity. She remembered the scent of him with a sharp thrill, the energy that blazed from him. Her hand caressed the ancient polished wood of the banister rail as she climbed the stairs, and she thought of how many times over the course of his life that Magus’ hand must have run along the smooth oak. She stopped and closed her eyes.

‘Are you alright?’

Her eyes flew open and she saw a figure coming down the stairs, silhouetted against the bright wall of coloured light. The body was tall and well-built, the hair pale.

‘I’m fine thanks, Martin,’ she smiled. ‘Just besieged by memories.’

She drew level with him at the landing halfway up, under the stained glass. Martin looked down at her, concern in his eyes.

‘Memories? Yes, I feel them too, all the time,’ he said quietly. ‘Some things just don’t go away, do they?’

Sylvie looked at him more carefully. Martin definitely had Hallfolk blood and she was sure he was closely related to Clip. She’d heard rumours that they shared the same father, Basil, and it didn’t surprise her; the two of them were very alike. Over the years, since the events of that terrible Winter Solstice, she’d tried hard to accept Martin. It had been difficult in the early days as he’d been hostile towards her when Magus was alive and had made no secret of where his loyalties really lay. But Clip had insisted that Martin remain as major-domo. In a period of complete chaos, Stonewylde needed all the stability it could muster and Martin had always done an excellent job of running the Hall.

Clip and Martin had apparently buried their differences, although every time Sylvie saw the horrible scar on Martin’s temple and eyebrow she was reminded of Clip in his swirling crow-feather cloak with that lethal staff in his hands. And sometimes she caught Martin looking at her in such a strange way that made her feel quite spooked. But past troubles had to be put firmly aside and she always tried hard to get on with him. Nobody else seemed to have any trouble doing so. She smiled at him ruefully as they stood on the half-landing.

‘I sometimes feel the past sitting on my shoulder, peering over and breathing in my ear. It’s hard to shake off.’

Martin looked gravely into her eyes; they reminded him so strongly of the wild woman Raven, whom he remembered from his childhood. His mother and aunt had hated her with a vengeance and he knew that Sylvie aroused similar emotions in them. But Martin must work diligently and treat the present magus and his wife with deference and respect, whatever history had gone before. He had a major role to play and personal issues would never jeopardise that.

‘You see the past as a crow on your shoulder, but to me the past is a cloak to be worn,’ he said, still gazing into her strange eyes and noticing how the light shining through the coloured glass was staining her silver hair and white skin a deep blood red. ‘If you discard it completely you’ll reveal the nakedness of your future.’

She frowned at him.

‘That’s very deep, Martin. Where does it come from? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.’

He tapped the side of his head and smiled faintly.

‘Must get on, Miss Sylvie – there’s lots of work to be done and I can’t stand chatting all day. The girls should’ve finished cleaning your chambers by now if you need to go and sit down.’

‘Thank you, Martin. I’ve got lots to do too.’

She carried on up the stairs knowing Martin was well aware how untrue that was – she had absolutely nothing to do. Stonewylde was running like clockwork, thanks to the efforts of Yul, Clip and the Council of Elders. Everyone worked really hard but she herself had no responsibilities. She opened the heavy door to their apartments and sniffed appreciatively at the smell of beeswax polish. A great vase of bronze chrysanthemums now stood on the table and everything was clean and very tidy. Cherry, in charge of organising the work duties for all the older teenagers who boarded at the Hall, always checked their chambers herself and ensured they’d been cleaned to perfection.

Sylvie wandered down through the rooms but there was nothing that needed doing. The beds were made and someone had lined up all the girls’ little knitted animals on the windowsill. They’d like that. She thought of them now, running and playing in the autumn woods with all the other under-eights. No chanting of times-tables for little Stonewylders, she thought gladly. Maybe she should’ve stayed and helped with the Nursery children this morning, especially if Rowan was up here at a meeting. She frowned, imagining Miranda, Maizie, Rowan and probably Dawn all at this meeting with her husband discussing the nursery education at Stonewylde, whilst she was twiddling her thumbs. Why hadn’t he told her about it?

She sat down on Celandine’s bed, with its pretty patchwork quilt and embroidered pillow-cases. She hadn’t even made these herself, still finding fine sewing a challenge after all these years. She preferred working at the loom, although they didn’t have one up here in their private rooms. Yul had said no to that, trying as ever to shield her from the simple duties every other woman at Stonewylde performed. She should’ve insisted as she enjoyed weaving, and remembered the hours she’d spent with Rosie in the early days learning the ancient skill.

Sylvie gazed at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror and realised just how pale and shadow-eyed she looked. No wonder Yul thought her fragile and in need of protection … but it simply wasn’t true. She had been ill – really very ill – when Bluebell was born four years ago. She’d suffered from severe post-natal depression, which was common enough, but this had turned into something more serious. Sylvie had developed puerperal psychosis, and she knew it was why Yul had become so ridiculously over-protective.

But the spell in the private nursing home, well away from Stonewylde and her babies, Yul and all the triggers, had sorted her out. Now she couldn’t bear to think about that period of her life, and the horrible treatment she’d undergone, without a shudder. It had been a very dark phase, but one that she’d firmly put behind her. It was just a shame that Yul seemed unable to do the same, treating her as if she were made of glass. Like every woman at Stonewylde of child-bearing age who’d either had her children or didn’t yet want any, Sylvie was fitted with a contraceptive implant. Hazel said it had the added bonus of keeping her hormones steady. She was in good health physically and there was no reason at all why she shouldn’t be working as hard as everyone else at Stonewylde.

Pulling on her cloak and determined to enjoy a brisk walk to clear these dusty old cobwebs away, Sylvie resolved to confront Yul and start the process of improving things between them. Miranda had been right last night – Yul was neglecting her whilst he worked too hard, refusing to allow her to share the burden in any way. They needed to return to a relationship based on equality. For they were the darkness and the brightness of Stonewylde, the balance that held everything together in harmony. Together, they were the very heart of Stonewylde.