Near the Halfpenny Bridge, they took the steps down to the water’s edge and followed the river east, through the cattle-filled meadow and beyond St John’s Lock. By the time they reached the rim of the woods, the sun, though still providing light, had surrendered its heat. Edward was always talking about light and Lucy knew he would say that it had ‘lost its yellow’. The effect was one that Lucy liked. Without the sheen of yellow, the rest of the world seemed blue.
The house, Edward told them, lay on the other side of the woods. He insisted that this was the best way to approach it for the first time, for only when one arrived from the river could the building’s true proportions be glimpsed. The explanation was reasonable and the others didn’t question it, but Lucy knew that there was more to his thinking than he’d admitted. Inside the woods was the clearing from the Night of the Following. Edward was leading them along the very path he’d taken that night, when he fled through the trees and fields, beneath the watchful silver stars, and finally spotted the light in the attic calling to him.
Within the woods, everyone walked in silent single file. Lucy was aware of the sounds of twigs cracking underfoot and leaves rustling, and odd noises at times in the profuse greenery along the secluded track. The branches of the trees in this pocket were not straight. They grew towards the canopy in wavy ribbons and their trunks were covered in ferns and lichens; they were oaks, she thought, with hazel and birch among them. The light fell spangled in places and the air seemed alive with anticipation.
When they finally reached the clearing, Lucy could almost hear the leaves breathing.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine how frightening this place might become in the dead of night.
Lucy would never forget how Edward had looked all those years ago when he finally made it back to their grandparents’ house after the Night of the Following. She glanced ahead, curious to see how he was reacting to being back here now, and was surprised when she saw him reach out to take Lily Millington’s hand.
They all continued across the clearing and then wended their way through the woods on the other side.
Finally, the air began to lighten, and with a last scramble up the overgrown bank they emerged into the open.
A wildflower meadow spilled out before them, and beyond it sat a house with twin gables and a splendid display of chimneys.
Edward turned around, a look of joyous triumph on his face, and Lucy found herself smiling, too.
The strange enchantment of the woods had lifted and the others now began to talk excitedly, as if, having seen the house, the thrilling promise of the summer ahead could finally be tasted.
Was it true that there was a rowing boat? they asked. Yes, Edward said, it was inside the field barn over there. He’d had a jetty built especially, down at the river.
How much of the land was his? All of it, he said, as far as the eye could see.
Were there bedrooms overlooking the river? Many – the whole first storey was room upon room, and the attic above held more besides.
With a loud call to arms, Thurston began to run and Felix fell in quickly beside him, racing; Clare and Adele linked arms as they started across the meadow. Edward caught Lucy’s gaze and winked at her. ‘Hurry, little sister,’ he said. ‘Go and claim the best room for yourself!’
Lucy grinned and nodded and started bounding after the others. She felt free and more alive than usual, aware of the country air on her face and the lingering warmth of the afternoon sun, the joy of sharing this most important moment with Edward. In such spirit, as she reached the other side of the meadow, she turned back to beckon him.
But he wasn’t watching after her. He and Lily Millington were walking slowly towards the house, their heads bent close together in deep conversation. Lucy waited to catch his eye; she waved her arm to attract his attention but all to no avail.
At length, she turned around and continued, disappointed, towards the house.
And for the first time since they’d set off from Paddington station early that morning, it occurred to Lucy to wonder where Edward’s fiancée, Fanny Brown, was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Birchwood Manor was one of those places in which the threads of time slackened and came unstrung. Lucy noticed how quickly the others all slipped into a routine, as if they had been at the house forever, and she wondered whether it was a function of the weather – the stretch of summer days that seemed to go on and on – the particular collection of people that Edward had gathered, or maybe even something intrinsic to the house itself. She knew what Edward would say to that. Ever since he’d learned the tale of the Eldritch Children as a boy, he had been convinced that the land within this bend of the river held special properties. Lucy prided herself on being of a rational persuasion, but she had to admit that there was something unusual about the house.
Edward had written ahead to engage a young woman from the village, Emma Stearnes, as a maid of all work, to come in early each morning and then to leave after the evening meal had been prepared. On the first night, when they arrived from the railway, traipsing across the wildflower meadow towards the house, Emma had been waiting for them. She had followed Edward’s instructions to the letter and the large iron table in the garden had been covered with a white linen cloth, a tremendous spread laid out upon it. Glass lanterns had been suspended from the lowest branches of the chestnut tree, and as dusk fell, the wicks were lit and the candles began to flicker. Their illumination strengthened with the darkening night, and as the wine flowed, Felix took out his guitar. Adele started to dance while a chorus of robins sang away the last of the day’s light, and eventually Edward stood upon the table to recite Keats’s ‘Bright Star’.
The house slept like the dead that night, and everyone woke late the next morning in high spirits. They had all been too tired the evening before to investigate properly and now ran from room to room exclaiming over this view or that detail. The house had been built by a master craftsman, Edward said proudly, looking on, delighted, as his friends explored; every feature had been knowingly included. In Edward’s view, such attention to detail made the house ‘truthful’ and he loved everything about it: every piece of furniture, every curtain, every whorl in every floorboard, hewn from the nearby woods. His favourite aspect was an engraving above the door in a room with mulberry fruit-and-leaf wallpaper; the room was on the ground floor with large windows set into the back wall that made it seem almost part of the garden it overlooked. The engraving read, ‘Truth, Beauty, Light’, and Edward could not stop staring at it in wonder and saying, ‘You see, this house was meant for me.’
Over the coming days, Edward sketched the house relentlessly. He went everywhere with his new leather satchel across his shoulder, and could often be seen sitting amongst the long grasses of the meadow, hat upon his head, staring up at the house with an expression of deep contentment, before returning his attention to his work. Lily Millington, Lucy noted, was always by his side.
Lucy had asked Edward about Fanny’s whereabouts. He had taken her on the first morning, leading her along the halls by the hand, to show her the Birchwood Manor library. ‘I thought of you especially when I saw these shelves,’ he told her. ‘Look at this collection, Lucy. Books on every subject you could care to mention. It is up to you now to fill your mind with all of the knowledge that the world and its brightest scholars have acquired and published. There will come a time, I know, when women will have the same opportunities afforded men. How can it not come to pass when women are the smarter and more numerous? Until then, you must take control of your own destiny. Read, remember, think.’
Edward did not make such declarations insincerely, and Lucy promised that she would do as he said. ‘You can trust me,’ she’d replied solemnly. ‘I will read every book on every shelf before this summer is over.’
He laughed when she said it. ‘Well, perhaps there’s no need to work quite so quickly as that. There’ll be other summers. Make sure you leave enough time to enjoy the river and the gardens.’