Shadows at Stonewylde

5



Sylvie sat alone in the circle of chairs laid out on the stone-flagged floor of the Galleried Hall. The huge carved wooden chair with boars’ heads on its arms dominated the circle; this was where Clip sat, as leader of the community. Sylvie was the first to arrive for the Council of Elders meeting, looking forward to hearing the annual reports that were always presented at this special meeting the day before Samhain. Earlier Yul had told her that there was really no need to bother herself with what promised to be a long and probably tedious day. But she’d been determined not to miss this meeting.

She gazed up at the Green Man motifs carved on the ceiling bosses of the ancient roof, remembering Professor Siskin and all he’d told her about the history of Stonewylde. He’d been convinced that Yul was the Green Man of Stonewylde, returning to take his rightful place at the heart of the community. Yul – her beloved husband. He’d awoken her early that morning with kisses, before the children could disturb them. She recalled the feel of his skin under her fingertips, how she melted when his mouth found hers. She loved the way his eyes darkened with longing and urgency, and how clear and bright they were afterwards when he lay propped on an elbow gazing down at her.

The years had not caused their hunger for each other to abate, although she wished that they still made love up in the hills or amongst the bracken in the woods as they’d done in the early days. He was always so gentle and careful now, and they never indulged their passion outside the comfort of the bedroom. This morning had been perfect and Yul had seemed so happy, much more like his old self. He’d watched her as she lay drowsy and smiling, his hand tenderly stroking the hair back from her face. He’d told her how much he loved her, that she was his whole world, and how lucky he was to have such a beautiful, loving wife. All her recent feelings of neglect vanished in the warmth of his attention. He’d then made tea for them both and sat talking with her until the girls woke up and came bundling in for their morning cuddle.

Sylvie sighed happily, her body still languid and satiated from love-making despite a brisk shower and the walk down to the Village Nursery with her daughters. She was pleased with herself for getting to this meeting and being the first one here as she felt that Stonewylde was slipping away from her. She needed to get back in touch and today would be her first step in doing so. She’d listen very carefully to everyone’s reports and try to find herself a niche in the running of Stonewylde.

Gradually the members of the Council arrived, greeting one another and taking their places in the circle. There were representatives from every field: Miranda, Dawn and Rowan from the three schools, Martin and Cherry from the Hall, Edward, Hart and Robin from the farms, orchards and dairy, Greenbough from the woods, Tom and Maizie from the Village, Harold from Stonewylde. com, Hazel the doctor, and of course, Clip as the owner, with Sylvie as his heir, and Yul as the magus.

They filed in, taking a seat until all were present except Clip. The great carved chair stood empty at the head of the circle and Yul looked impatiently at his watch. Surely Clip wouldn’t forget the most important meeting of the year, where every member presented the report they’d prepared on their area of the community. Clip had insisted on running the estate as a committee, not wanting a return to the autocracy of Magus’ rule, although he’d long-since delegated the organisation of the meetings to his son-in-law.

Stonewylde did need a leader, someone with the vision and ability to hold the whole thing together. Clip knew that but had been openly worried that, given the freedom, Yul would abuse his power and gradually take over altogether until Stonewylde was run just as it had been in Magus’ day. Yul often became exasperated when the discussions went round in circles with people arguing endlessly over a minor point. He made decisions quickly and intuitively and had no patience with debate and woolliness. It was mainly for this reason – his concerns about Yul’s over-confidence – that Clip had held on for so long.

The fifteen people already present sat chatting easily together as they waited, sipping the coffee and herbal teas served by youngsters on work detail that week. Cherry eyed the three teenagers critically, for they were under her jurisdiction.

‘I still don’t like them silly skirts,’ she muttered, glaring at one of the girls.

‘Oh Cherry!’ laughed Miranda. ‘It’s what everyone’s wearing in the Outside World. You need to take a trip yourself and see what’s in fashion, or at least watch the television occasionally. That skirt is nothing, really.’

‘’Taint decent,’ grumbled Cherry. ‘They’ll catch their death o’ cold when the weather turns.’

‘We all will if something’s not done soon about the boilers,’ agreed Martin. ‘My report will be depressing for some. There’s a lot of work needs doing at the Hall in the year ahead.’

‘Same in the Village,’ said Tom. ‘A whole load o’ work to keep the cottages in repair, and we have to do something soon about the young ’uns wanting their own places. We’ve no room and that’s a fact.’

He shook his grizzled head and slurped at his tea.

‘I’ve got some ideas about that issue,’ said Hazel. ‘But I’ll wait till we give our reports. How’s your arthritis now, Greenbough?’

‘Still playing me up when ‘tis damp, but mustn’t grumble. I think after this year ahead I’ll put myself out to pasture though.

‘Tis all a bit much for me in the woods nowadays and my goodwife keeps on as how I should be biding at home with her in my old age.’

‘You and me both,’ said Hart, who’d taken over from Old Stag in the orchards a few years ago but was advanced in years himself. ‘Reckon I’m about ready to do my last harvest.’

‘And how are the schools getting on with the Samhain preparations?’ Sylvie asked. Yul and Harold were quietly discussing something, excluding themselves from the general chat.

‘Very well,’ smiled Dawn. ‘The crows are all painted now and they look lovely.’

‘The Seniors are finishing carving the Jack o’ Lanterns today,’ said Miranda. ‘They’ll put them up in the Barn tonight.’

‘Celandine and Bluebell were very excited about their Samhain masks,’ Sylvie said to Rowan, trying to draw her into the conversation. At twenty-nine, Rowan was a beauty, tall and statuesque with rich brown hair and skin like cream. As a result of her stint as May Queen all those years ago, she’d given birth to a pretty little girl called Faun, and had then taken advantage of the changes at Stonewylde and continued her education. Rowan was a determined and patient young woman and several years later, having worked in the Nursery as Faun grew up, she eventually took over the running of the place as the older women retired.

Rowan continued the excellent traditions, where the children roamed out of doors for much of the day and played freely. She combined this Stonewylde philosophy with what she’d learnt at college about child development, and did an excellent job as head of the Nursery. She was quiet and reserved, raising her daughter with the help of her family and never looking to be hand-fasted; she made no secret of the fact that Magus was the only man she’d ever loved. Sylvie found her difficult to engage in conversation even though she saw Rowan every day at the Nursery. Rowan nodded, agreeing that the masks had been particularly artistic this year.

‘And they’re really looking forward to the Samhain dance,’ continued Sylvie, determined to get her talking. ‘Celandine told me how pleased you were with it.’

‘It’s hard not to be pleased with Celandine,’ said Rowan. ‘Her dancing is better than anyone else’s. I think she has a rare gift.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sylvie, glowing with pride. ‘And how’s Faun getting on at school? I noticed her in the library the other day. She’s so tall and such a beauty, isn’t she?’

Rowan glanced at Sylvie and looked away quickly. She shuffled her report and replied a little stiffly that Faun seemed to be doing well in her first year at Senior School. Sylvie gave up and spoke to Dawn instead, recalling her recent conversation with Miranda.

‘What do you think of our latest arrivals at the Hall School?’ she asked innocently. She liked Dawn and had been so pleased when the Council of Elders had agreed to her return, after graduating as a teacher. Very few Hallfolk had stayed after Yul took over as magus, but Dawn had always been kind to Sylvie when all the others had ostracised her and Sylvie knew she had a good soul. Dawn, like Rowan, had worked her way up and was now head teacher at the Village School which all children aged seven to twelve attended. Everyone was taught to read and write of course, and Dawn blended sound pedagogy with the Stonewylde way of life.

She noticed Dawn blush slightly and smiled to herself, thinking it was high time that Dawn found herself a partner.

‘They both seem very nice indeed,’ she replied. ‘The art teacher, David, already has some ideas about an art project involving the older students coming into the Village and working with our little ones.’

‘That sounds interesting,’ said Sylvie. ‘Let me know, won’t you Dawn, if there’s anything I can do in the school. I’d love to help out now that the girls are in Nursery full time.’

Just then Clip arrived, apologising for his tardiness. He still wore his cloak and his boots were slightly muddy; he’d obviously been outside and forgotten the time. Yul scowled at him and glanced pointedly at his watch, but nobody else seemed to mind and finally the meeting commenced. It had been a good year for harvest and many of the reports were very positive. The three women who ran the schools spoke first and everyone was pleased to hear that the children were thriving. However Miranda expressed concerns again about the lack of space and facilities for so many teenagers.

‘But we’re coming to the end of the bulge, aren’t we?’ said Yul. ‘This latest year group at Senior School is the last one born in my father’s time. All the younger year groups are much smaller and now we’ve firmly established the two children per family rule, this will be a diminishing issue.’

‘True,’ Miranda agreed, ‘but there’s still the problem of how to cope now. We’re bursting at the seams. And looking ahead, all these present teenagers will be growing up in the next few years and producing their own children, so we’ll have another bulge in a few years’ time.’

‘Aye,’ growled Tom, clearing his throat, ‘I wanted to say something on that matter. ‘Tis sort of part o’ this problem. A whole load of these youngsters are adults now and they’re wanting their own cottages. Wanting to settle down and be handfasted and raise their own families. Me and Maizie been talking about this and we’re worried there ain’t no spare cottages. What’s to be done about that?’

‘’Tis a problem right enough,’ said Edward. ‘My eldest, Iris, is hoping to be handfasted next year but seems they’ll have to live at home with the rest of us.’

‘If I may speak about this?’ asked Hazel. ‘The shortage of cottages may not seem related to my field, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. We haven’t yet heard from Harold, but the way the business is going, more and more women are working almost full-time hours. This is having an impact on the elderly living in the Village. Whereas in the past, the women would be about in their homes for most of the day and able to care for their parents, that’s not always the case nowadays. And if, as I suspect, Harold’s report is going to tell us that more female labour is needed in future, this problem will only get worse.’

She looked around the circle and saw that several people were nodding. All were thinking of a recent incident where a very old woman had fallen and not been found till too late, when her family returned home and visited her in the evening.

‘So although it goes against what’s traditionally been seen as the Stonewylde way, living and dying in your own home, I was wondering if we could move the more frail and less mobile folk up into a separate part of the Hall, into a sort of geriatric wing if you like. We have rooms near the hospital wing which are no good as classrooms for the youngsters, but with a bit of adapting could be made into comfortable accommodation for the elderly. And our medical staff would be close at hand too.’

There was a buzz of comment which Yul cut through.

‘Thanks for coming up with that solution, Hazel. Maybe at our next meeting when I’ve … when we’ve had a chance to think about it, we can talk some more. It could certainly help create some space in the Village. Some of the elderly live alone in cottages which could accommodate a couple or family. It does seem like a good idea.’

‘Just to return to the issue of my Seniors,’ said Miranda, ‘Although they all have a choice to continue their education in an Outside college or remain in Stonewylde and apprentice to a trade, the majority of those who choose to study finish their two years’ further education and then return here. Very few are choosing to move permanently to the Outside World, preferring to live and work at Stonewylde.’

Yul nodded; this had been one of the earlier decisions made. Every person growing up at Stonewylde would have access to further education, even university if they wished, and would then have to choose to either live and work permanently in the Outside World, or return home.

‘So my point is this,’ continued Miranda, ‘I’d like more guidance for them earlier as to what work will be available at Stonewylde. What choices of trade or jobs they’ll have and what opportunities there’ll be if they stay here – particularly for the girls. The traditional roles are quite restrictive and now they’re thinking about their vocations, but there isn’t a proper system in place to give them advice about their options.’

‘That’s largely because Stonewylde.com is still so new and we haven’t really established a careers guidance system,’ said Yul. ‘But I think after Harold’s report in a minute we’ll be clearer on that. Certainly we need to co-ordinate better between the labour available and the jobs to be filled.’

‘I could do that!’ cried Sylvie. Everyone turned to look at her, startled at her excited outburst, and she blushed. ‘I mean, I could liaise with Yul and Harold about what opportunities there are, and which trades are likely to need more apprentices. And I could have a little office where I meet regularly with every teenager to talk about their interests and ambitions, what they’re best at, and—’

‘Very nice idea, Sylvie,’ said Yul, ‘and we’ll talk about it later, though we’ll probably find that sort of role is better suited to one of the teachers.’

‘But—’

‘We’ll discuss it privately,’ he said smoothly. ‘And now I think we need to break for lunch.’

Tables were brought in by students and lunch was served, as it was so noisy and busy in the Dining Hall. Maizie ate her food pensively, recalling what had just been said about further education and vocational training for the youngsters. She thought sadly of the recent row with Leveret. She’d hoped for so long that her youngest child would become a doctor. All the signs had been promising; Leveret was a natural healer and was certainly bright enough for the long years of study involved. But on the night of their fight she’d been so adamantly against it that Maizie now despaired of it ever happening. And Yul would’ve been so proud of his little sister.

Maizie was still angry with her wilful daughter, despite her apparent contrition. Leveret had been very quiet and subdued since that night. When Maizie had returned she’d found the girl sitting on the rug by the fire in a trembling huddle, whilst Sweyn and Gefrin played cards at the table and finished off the barrel of cider. It was lovely to see such a cosy domestic scene – all three of her youngest children together and getting on well. Although Maizie had been furious that Leveret hadn’t done any weaving, Sweyn explained that she’d had one of her funny turns and so they’d let her off. Apparently she’d fallen and was quite shaken up. The boys had wrapped a blanket round her and Maizie was pleased to see them being so considerate towards their sister.

She knew that in the past they’d been like most big brothers and Leveret had put up with quite a bit of teasing. Maizie sympathised for she herself had older brothers and remembered the tricks they’d played on her as a girl. But she hated tale-telling and Leveret had a real tendency to whinge on about Sweyn and Gefrin. Maizie had made it clear from an early age that she wasn’t interested in hearing any tales and Leveret would just have to ignore them until they lost interest. She thought her two youngest boys had grown up lately and it was good to see them acting responsibly and kindly. Sweyn had said they both enjoyed coming home and pointed out what a good thing they’d been there when Leveret came over funny.

Leveret hadn’t said a word, merely sat shivering in the blanket and staring into the flames, her face pinched and white. She’d been peaky ever since and Maizie hadn’t broached the subject of her future again. Leveret had another year at school after this one and hopefully during that time she’d come to her senses and agree to study medicine in the Outside World.

Old Greenbough was thoughtful too during lunch. He still found it difficult to be in Hallfolk territory and he couldn’t relax and enjoy the delicious food. He chuckled to himself as Dawn and Hazel made conversation with him during the meal. Who’d have thought it’d turn out like this? Old Greenbough the Woodsman hob-nobbing with Hallfolk! He remembered waiting here for an audience with Magus, when he was worried about Yul. Magus had dismissed his concerns about Alwyn’s cruelty, blaming the boy for making his brutal father angry – at which point Greenbough had begun to turn against his master.

Looking at the dark young man now, it was impossible to believe that this was the same lad who’d once worked for him in the woods; the boy he used to cuff if there was any slacking or cheek, the one who could shin up trees and the bonfires like a squirrel. He recalled the boy’s dirty face, often sporting a black eye or split lip, and the matted hair that always hung in his eyes. Hard to believe he’d grown up into this determined, powerful man. Hard to believe the wild boy was now the magus, keeper of the magic.

‘Shall we get started again?’ said Yul impatiently, signalling to the waiting students to clear lunch away. ‘We’ve still got a lot to get through.’

Sylvie watched him as the afternoon progressed and he became increasingly restless. Yul found it difficult to sit still for such a long period and his quick mind raced ahead of some of the slower, older ones there. She sympathised with Greenbough and Tom, who stumbled through their reports. They, along with everyone else, had been obliged to attend the adult education classes held every evening in the Great Barn and Village School. Miranda had enjoyed organising them in the early days and prided herself that now nearly every Stonewylder was more or less literate. The two old men preferred to talk from memory than from notes though, and Sylvie felt for them as they groped for words in front of an audience. This must be quite an ordeal and Yul’s barely hidden exasperation was almost tangible, for all the two men were dear to his heart.

Whilst Martin droned on interminably about the boilers, the roofs and chimneys and the state of the floors at the Hall, Yul drummed his long fingers and gazed up at the roof carvings and stained-glass windows with glazed eyes. Sylvie longed to stand behind him and massage his tense shoulders, or sit on his lap and kiss his annoyance away. She understood him so well; the battles he fought with himself, knowing how important it was that the people had their say, but also knowing that he’d run the estate far better without their interference.

‘Alright, Martin, thank you. I think we are now fully aware of the dilapidated state of the Hall. And yes, Tom, of the Village too. I’ll study your reports in detail later. The point is that whilst we do have materials and labour here, we also need hard cash for some of the repairs and renovations needed. The cost for a new heating system in the Hall is astronomical and it’s one of the things we simply cannot do ourselves.’

Yul looked around at the circle of faces, annoyed to see that Clip seemed to have gone off into a trance. Not that he could blame him, really. Sylvie smiled at him encouragingly and he understood her message.

Don’t be hard on them and don’t get angry – they’re all doing their best.

He grimaced at her and raised his eyebrows. These Samhain annual report meetings felt like stirring set honey and it only seemed to get worse each year. He was just grateful that Clip allowed him to chair the meetings, or it’d be even more rambling and tedious.

‘So, we’re going to hear the final report now, which comes from Harold. Before he begins, I want to stress how important it is that everyone—’

‘Oh, Yul – sorry to interrupt, but could I just say something?’ said Dawn. ‘It may be relevant, about the money problem. It’s just that … I had an e-mail the other day from Rainbow. Do you all remember her? She—’

‘I didn’t realise you were in touch with the old Hallfolk,’ said Yul slowly. Sylvie noticed the tightening of his mouth.

‘I’m not, not really. But I think she knows David, the new art teacher, and she got my e-mail address from him. It’s not difficult to work out, is it? Once you know that we’re all to be found at Stonewylde.com. Anyway, she was very nice and it turns out she’s doing really well in the art world. She’s quite a successful painter and she asked if she could come and stay at Stonewylde next summer as a paying guest. She has wonderful memories of the place, she said. She wants to take a sabbatical and spend the summer here relaxing and painting, and she really wants to see Merewen too.’

Sylvie swallowed. Rainbow? At Stonewylde?

‘We’ll have to think about it,’ said Yul. ‘I’m not sure … we always said that we’d never have any of the exiled Hallfolk back. Present company excepted, of course.’

‘I suppose she was only a child,’ said Miranda. ‘What was she … thirteen when Magus died? Not much more than that. She can hardly be tarred with the same brush as everyone else. And if she’s a successful artist, she may be able to do something to help us financially.’

‘But if you let one in, you’ll be letting ’em all in. ‘Specially if she pays,’ said Greenbough, his old face furrowed with concern. ‘Like ants – this girl’s the scout and the others’ll follow on. We’d be overrun with ’em afore we know it.’

‘What do you think, Sylvie?’ asked Dawn, thinking that she’d find an ally. Nobody had a kinder heart than Sylvie.

‘I don’t know. My initial reaction is no, never. As Greenbough says, she could be the thin end of the wedge. But … I remember Rainbow’s art and it was wonderful. She was a talented girl and if she’s become a proper artist now …’

She trailed off, hating the thought of Rainbow breaching the Boundary Walls but despising her meanness of spirit.

‘Clip? Any thoughts on this?’ asked Yul, thinking to catch him out in his day-dreaming.

‘Stonewylde is a magical place,’ Clip replied gently. ‘Impossible for those banished not to dream of it. If her heart is right, we should allow the girl a visit. But let’s find out more about her before we make a decision.’

Everyone nodded at this.

‘Sorry to bring it up now,’ said Dawn, a little flushed. ‘I just thought … what you were saying, Yul, about Stonewylde needing money. I thought maybe Rainbow could help or something.’

‘That’s fine, and we will consider it. So, back to Harold’s report. I was talking about our difficult financial situation. You all know my father subsidised the estate with his own personal wealth earned through his London business. I don’t have access to that and nor would I want to – the only way we can raise any cash is through our efforts at Stonewylde. You all know how well Harold has done in setting up Stonewylde.com to sell our excess produce. He’s also begun certain new ventures, looking into ways to raise money, and he has some exciting ideas for the future. So first let’s hear what we’ve achieved this year, Harold.’

All eyes turned to the thin young man sitting beside Yul. He coughed nervously and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Shuffling his pages of figures, he launched into a rapid recount of the success achieved by the company. He’d worked diligently and was a natural project manager, but he wasn’t a natural speaker and much of what he said went straight over the Council of Elders’ heads.

Although Yul knew the contents of the report, he listened with a smile as Harold spoke of Stonewylde.com. The Internet business had been set up to sell the surpluses produced at Stonewylde; it was the ideal way to make money without having to leave the estate. Their business had evolved from very humble beginnings, when a few jars of honey and bottles of cider had been advertised on a very basic website, to the huge enterprise that it was today. Customers could now browse through many categories and buy all sorts of lovely things: beautiful white nightdresses of finest Stonewylde linen, craftsman-built oak furniture, beeswax candles, handcrafted felt slippers and hats, wines and meads of every flavour, leather goods, patchwork quilts … the list was extensive.

Harold, the young lad who’d got Yul a copy of the key to Sylvie’s room all those years ago, and who’d secretly taught himself to read, write and use the Hallfolks’ computers, had a remarkable gift for retail and marketing. A large barn near the Gatehouse had been converted into a storage warehouse and it was from here that many of the goods were now packaged and despatched. Harold had commissioned a corporate logo and all Stonewylde products were branded; every item sold was of highest quality and aimed at the luxury market. Many people worked in the warehouse, both packaging the products and fulfilling the orders ready for despatch.

Harold gabbled to a finish, his ears burning. There was a silence.

‘Excellent, Harold! I’m sure everyone agrees that Stonewylde. com is a credit to your hard work and business prowess; you’ve demonstrated superb profits. I know you’ve prepared detailed plans for next year and some new lines you’d like to try out. Would you prefer me to tell the Council about this?’

Harold nodded gratefully and looked a little shyly at the circle of faces around him. He’d grown up a Villager, just like Yul, and was immensely proud of his work for Stonewylde. He glowed with pride at Yul’s praise and relaxed a little now his ordeal was over.

‘Harold’s been researching various different markets, to determine what we could sell and what profit we would make. So firstly, we’re going to launch a Stonewylde range of luxury organic toiletries using wild herbs and flowers, and that’s work women can do. We need our men for the heavier farming and production work, so enterprises that’ll employ women are especially welcome. Even the children can get involved, gathering flowers and herbs, and older members of the community can weave the tiny baskets we’ll need. There’s a lot of money in the cosmetic and toiletry market.’

There was a buzz of interest at this. Stonewylde had always made its own soaps and lotions, so this seemed a logical progression. Yul held his hand up for silence and continued.

‘We’re also looking into selling venison on a large scale to one of the quality supermarket chains who’re very keen to take our meat, thanks to Harold’s negotiations. We’re overrun with deer in the Wildwoods, and it’d be the perfect solution to that problem. Wild venison fetches a very good price. The same with our geese, ducks and game birds – we have a guaranteed market for all these. We heard earlier from Robin how well the dairies are doing, with a great demand for Stonewylde cheese. We sell a lot of it and we need to increase milk production to cope with demand. Rosie’s goat herd is doing splendidly as we know, and she’ll be expanding goats’ milk, yoghurt and cheese outputs this coming year when she increases the herd. We’re looking also at breeding a herd of llama for their wool. There are plenty of other excellent ideas, and I’ll make the list available for everyone here. Stonewylde.com is really becoming a—’

Clip sighed loudly and Yul stopped abruptly.

‘Did you want to add anything, Clip?’

‘No, not really,’ the older man replied wearily. ‘I know Harold has worked very hard and is doing his job well. It’s just that … I wonder about the ethics of the whole enterprise.’

‘The ethics? There’s nothing unethical about Stonewylde.com! Our quality control is second to none and customers return again and again—’

‘I meant the ethics of selling Stonewylde produce in this way for such profits. And the ethics of using our people to work in what amounts to a factory warehouse. Surely it goes against all the principles that Stonewylde stands for.’

Yul’s face darkened and he sat up very straight. Sylvie watched with a sinking heart as his eyes flashed; she knew the signs of Yul’s anger and wished that Clip had kept quiet. And yet she also knew that her father was right.

‘You stick to chanting and trances, Clip, and we’ll deal with harsh reality,’ Yul said coldly. ‘We might seem self-sufficient but we most certainly are not. You’ve heard about the extensive repairs needed to maintain the Hall and the Village, and the acute shortage of housing for all our young people. We have to make money somehow and there’s nothing unethical about using our abundant resources.’

Yul continued to glare at the older man, who bowed his head and shrugged. Many of the Council members looked uncomfortable.

‘I realise that,’ said Clip. ‘I only meant—’

‘What my father meant,’ said Sylvie coolly, surprising even herself, ‘is that whilst it’s fine to sell off our surplus produce and use the money for those things we can’t grow or make ourselves, Stonewylde.com has gone beyond that. We’re now actually looking for money-making ideas rather than selling what we don’t need. You’re suggesting that we grow and manufacture things specifically for the Outside market and not for Stonewylde at all, like this llama herd and toiletries all packaged up prettily. Do we really want to slaughter our wild deer and put them on supermarket shelves? Do we really want the folk to become what amounts to factory workers, sitting all day at production lines to churn out stuff for rich Outsiders?’

‘Sylvie, we weren’t—’

‘Hear me out, Yul. Stonewylde.com is great and the profits are very welcome. But we mustn’t forget the principles of Stonewylde itself, our values and our whole philosophy. Mother Earth provides for us, but she’s not there to be exploited and neither are our people.’

There was a stunned silence and then Miranda clapped slowly.

‘Bravo, Sylvie – well put. I agree with you.’

Maizie nodded vigorously.

‘Sylvie’s right! The business is taking over. It comes before us Stonewylders. Just last week I went to get a new pair o’ boots for winter, and Larch the cobbler told me I’d have to wait till after Yule because they were all busy making boots and shoes for the warehouse orders! I can’t wait seven weeks with holes in my boots. I did wonder what were going on.’

‘Aye,’ said Edward. ‘My wife was told we couldn’t replace our old bedstead till Spring Equinox at the earliest as they’re rushed off their feet in the furniture workshop making four-poster beds for the Outside World. I’ve mended our bed as best I can but it’s done for, and we’ve never had to wait so long before when something’s broke. So I agree too – Stonewylde first, then Stonewylde.com. Not the other way round.’

Yul glared at them all, a flush staining his cheeks. Sylvie watched detachedly as he calmed himself down and smiled coldly.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your problems, Mother and Edward. If anything like that ever happens to anyone, let me know and I’ll deal with it personally. Of course our folks’ needs will always come first. Thank you, Sylvie, for so eloquently explaining the point that Clip was attempting to make. In fact this leads me on to the final thing I wished to say. I’m sure we’ve all had enough today and need to conclude this meeting. What I’m about to tell you is of great significance to all of us in the community.’

Everyone sat up and focused on Yul, the ethics of Stonewylde.com now completely forgotten. He smiled again, scanning the faces until he had everyone’s total attention.

‘Yesterday Clip told me that after this Samhain, in the new year, he intends to stand down from leading the community. He’ll be signing everything over to me – and to Sylvie of course – as he feels the need for rest after all these long years.’

There was an instant babble of noise. Sylvie stared across at Clip, a sharp prickle of hurt in her throat. Why hadn’t he told her first instead of letting Yul announce it to the Council? But then she saw Clip’s expression and it was clear this wasn’t what he’d intended. As she wondered what’d been said before, Yul continued.

‘When Clip retires he’ll be leaving Stonewylde for good so he can extend his travels. He told me that he has full confidence that I’m ready to lead the community. With the help of my wife, of course.’

He smiled across at Sylvie, who was surprised by how annoyed she felt.

‘This is not confidential so please feel free to spread the word throughout the community. It is, after all, what Mother Heggy predicted.’

There was a buzz of approval at this.

‘Oh – and one more thing. This’ll be the last time that we build the labyrinth in the Stone Circle. You all know how much I despise the custom, and why. In future any Stonewylders who wish to meet the Dark Angel at Samhain may hold a private ceremony at the Yew of Death. It’s a more appropriate place than the sacred Circle, which is a place of life and energy. Please explain this to the folk.’

‘That’ll be difficult,’ muttered Martin, shaking his silver-grey head. ‘Many of the old ones feel very strongly about the Dance of Death. They hold on for months to die at that special time.’

‘They can still die at that special time,’ replied Yul. ‘Just not in the Stone Circle. That’s all – the meeting is now closed. Bright blessings to you all for Samhain. These are exciting times for Stonewylde and I know it’ll be a very good year ahead.’