Solstice at Stonewylde Page 9

  ‘Please, Mum, I’m really full and I’ve eaten loads. I need to do this research tonight and I don’t want to be too late to bed as Hazel said I must get plenty of sleep.’

  ‘Alright then, but where are you going – library or computer room?’

  Sylvie thought quickly.

  ‘I don’t know yet, it depends which is quieter and what resources I need. Probably both.’

  By giving two locations she’d buy herself a little more time should Miranda or anyone come looking for her.

  ‘Okay, Sylvie, see you later. Make sure you work hard and don’t be late for bed.’

  Sylvie left the great Dining Hall and had no choice but to walk down alongside the table where Holly sat. She steeled herself to pass the large group, feeling her cheeks burn as everyone stopped talking and turned to stare at her in hostile silence. It was as intimidating as if they’d insulted her. She nearly bumped into Martin in her headlong determination to get to the double doors without tripping over or embarrassing herself. He stood deferentially to one side to let her pass, holding a door open for her and watching as she hurried down the corridor out of this wing.

  Sylvie sped across the stone-flagged entrance hall with its enormous antique ginger jars full of beautiful bronze-red chrysanthemums. She almost skidded into the great dinner gong and grabbed the carved newel post of the staircase. Swinging round it, Sylvie dashed up the first flight of stairs, wide enough for several people standing abreast. Huge paintings, banners and shields hung on the grand walls, so very high here, and at the half-landing, facing the gigantic stained glass window, Sylvie paused to catch her breath. She despised her lack of strength and tried to steady herself and calm her drumming heart, which she knew pounded as much from terror as lack of stamina.

  Then she climbed the second half-flight of stairs and reached the first-floor landing. A wide oak-panelled corridor ran all along this main block of the Tudor mansion. This was where Magus had his apartments, in the centre of the south-facing front of the Hall, occupying the position of dominance over the vast stately home. Sylvie had looked up at these chambers many a time as she walked up the tree-lined drive, for the long series of windows were directly over the huge entrance porch.

  She stood now at the top of the main staircase and looked up and down the corridor stretching darkly away to either side. There were many other rooms further on which she knew nothing about, but she did know the enormous oak door under the stone arch before her led into Magus’ apartments. Despite all the Hallfolk downstairs finishing dinner in the Dining Hall and the many servants dashing about to serve them, it was very quiet up here. The carpet along the corridor was thick and the wood solid, and but for a distant hum from downstairs, Sylvie almost felt as if she were alone in the building.

  Her heart was once again pounding and her hands trembled. She also had the dull nagging ache that told of her imminent period, and her head throbbed. She took a deep breath and approached the heavy door ahead. She was terrified but thought of Yul, telling herself this was to help save his precious life and she must be brave. She opened the door and stepped in quickly, shutting it silently behind her. Now she was safely inside, Sylvie knew she wouldn’t be disturbed – nobody would come in here with Magus away.

  5

  The sliver of light disappeared as the heavy door fell shut behind her, and thick, soft darkness wrapped around Sylvie. In the silent blackness, she stood with her back to the safety of the door, heart knocking fast in her chest. Her instinct was to turn and run, escape this dark lair and find light and safety downstairs, to seek the security of familiar people around her. But Sylvie knew what had to be done tonight, which she alone could do, and she steeled herself, willing her hands to stop their violent trembling and her heartbeat to steady.

  The air was strange inside the chambers; antique and woody, aromatic with incense and the exotic scent that Magus favoured. Sylvie breathed deeply to calm herself and felt his essence enter her lungs and infiltrate her body. She shook with nervousness, imagining his reaction if he were to suddenly appear and discover her purpose here. Although Sylvie’s eyes were becoming adjusted to the blanket of darkness, she was still blind. It was totally black inside the room; no moon as it was almost Dark Moon, and a cloudy night anyway. There were no street lights at Stonewylde and the rooms downstairs were shuttered to the night. The darkness was absolute.

  Realising that she needed to hurry up with her task, for time was of the essence, Sylvie forced herself to leave the safety of the door and felt all around the walls behind her for a light switch. She found nothing, so tentatively stepped out into the unchartered territory before her, feet shuffling in tiny steps, arms and hands flailing like a blind person’s white stick. Her feet were silent on the thick carpet as she edged across the expanse. Without any warning she bumped suddenly into something hard, and groped at it frantically. It was a small table and with relief, Sylvie located a large electric lamp on it. Her patting, fumbling fingers found the switch and with a sharp click, the room sprang into vision around her. She gasped in utter amazement, looking around in wonder at the grandeur of the beautiful room. Its sheer size dwarfed Sylvie completely, frozen by the little table on the ocean of carpet. She felt like Alice stumbling into a world where she was tiny and everything around her far too large.

  Set in the oak panelled inner wall was a vast stone fireplace, and a great mantelpiece ran above it. Over this hung a mirror of huge proportions, making the room seem even larger and deeper. An enormous leather sofa stood before the unlit fire, and over against another far wall was an antique desk, with a leather chair and computer. There were more sofas, chairs and occasional tables positioned around the room, a large television screen, a dining table and two chairs in a recessed alcove, and paintings and sculptures everywhere. Everything in the room was beautiful, a reflection of Magus’ knowledgeable and refined tastes.

  Along the outer wall in front of the diamond-paned mullioned windows was a long window seat covered with cushions, set behind a huge stone arch. This must jut out above the entrance porch below, Sylvie guessed, and made a slightly private area in the huge chamber. The massive wooden shutters hadn’t been closed against the darkness, but Sylvie imagined that when Magus was in residence, with the great fire lit and the shutters drawn, it would be very comfortable and even intimate in this luxurious apartment.

  Sylvie dragged herself out of her awed reverie, knowing she urgently had to find a piece of hair or nail. If they were to be anywhere it would be in his bedroom or bathroom, so she crept across the expanse of the room towards the door at the far end. She guessed that as with hers and Miranda’s rooms, situated in one of the lesser Tudor wings, the grand chambers here would all connect with each other. The next room was a dressing room, bigger than the entire floor space of the flat she’d lived in all her life before moving to Stonewylde. Sylvie’s jaw dropped at the magnitude of a room that existed solely to contain one person’s clothes and shoes. The walls were lined with panelled wardrobes, tallboys, chests of drawers and glass-fronted cabinets. She had a quick look inside some of the cupboards and closets, noting how everything was immaculately stored and carefully organised, rows upon rows of ties, handkerchiefs, shoes, belts, riding clothes, shirts, cuff-links, suits … the inventory was extensive. She couldn’t begin to imagine how much his clothes and shoes must be worth, for he was a man of expensive tastes. She decided she’d look in here if she had no luck elsewhere, as there was a very slim chance there could be a hair on one of his jackets.

  The next door led into his bathroom, almost Roman in its masculine opulence. She pulled the light cord, and soft, concealed lighting flooded the room, even larger than his dressing room. The huge bathroom suite was of rich black marble, with onyx and jade accessories and gold fittings, and a thick white carpet softened the hard lines. Luxurious white towels lay piled on every surface and bottles of priceless toiletries gleamed on shelves. Many large gold-framed mirrors twinkled the reflected lights and Sylvie could see herse
lf everywhere in the bathroom, mirrored many times over like a mathematical multiplication puzzle. The walk-in shower was roomy enough for several people and the spa-bath huge and circular. Sylvie had a flash of a naked, tanned Magus emerging from his bath like a god from the pool of immortality, and quickly banished the thought.

  She hurried over to the two adjacent wash basins and looked for his personal things: a razor, hairbrush, anything he may have left behind when he went away. There was a carved jade set – hairbrush, comb and clothes brush – on the black marble top, but all were immaculately clean. She couldn’t imagine Magus tolerating any untidiness and pitied the servants responsible for looking after his rooms and clothes. She opened the cabinets one by one looking for nail clippers or a stray comb. Rows and rows of expensive products were arranged with spotless precision, everything a well-groomed man who took care with his appearance and personal hygiene could possible need. But not a hair or nail clipping in sight.

  Feeling a rising sense of desperation, Sylvie closed the cabinet doors and moved into the next room – the bedroom. She found a switch on the wall and then this room also glowed with intimate lighting. She gasped again; how much luxury could one person command? Or even need? This room was also massive, a lair of crimson silk-lined walls and deep carpet smooth as velvet. The bed was antique, a great carved four poster large enough to sleep several people. The trimmings and covers were of exquisite Chinese silk, embroidered gold and scarlet on black, and the mound of pillows was sumptuous. The posts themselves were of a rich, dark wood carved with writhing vines of flowers and leaves. Sylvie had a Goldilocks-like urge to lie down on the great Daddy-Bear bed just to see what it felt like, for the extravagance and lavishness of such a grand piece of furniture was very inviting.

  She looked carefully at the pillows, but of course the fine Stonewylde linen would’ve been changed since he left. Knowing Magus and his taste for luxury, he probably had the linen changed daily. She went over to the enormous carved dressing table and examined that minutely, but there was nothing. She slumped down on an embroidered stool in misery. This was impossible – she’d never find the hair or nails Mother Heggy needed, the spell wouldn’t work and Yul may die. Sylvie’s heart was heavy with disappointment and she felt close to tears at her failure. She gazed gloomily at her own dejected face in the ornate mirror before her, wondering what on earth to do now.

  She sensed the movement rather than saw it. Reflected in the mirror, the door behind her, which had swung closed as she’d entered, was slowly and silently opening. Sylvie was already in a state of nervous fear; she now broke into a sweat, her heart drumming frantically in her ribcage. She looked around desperately for a place to hide and for a split-second considered dashing over to the bed and throwing herself underneath it. But there was no time as she was in direct view of the door, which was creeping open further and further by the second …

  The face that peered at her in the reflection, as pale and anxious as her own, wasn’t that of the autocratic master of Stonewylde, but Cherry!

  ‘Sacred Mother, you scared me to death, Miss Sylvie!’ she squawked, coming into the room. ‘What in Goddess’ name are you doing in here?’

  Sylvie swivelled around, waves of relief flooding through her, and suddenly felt very dizzy. She grabbed hold of the dressing table to steady herself.

  ‘I … I …’

  ‘Hold on, miss!’ cried Cherry, bustling across the room. She put one arm around the girl to support her. ‘Are you faint? You’re white as a linen sheet. Put your head down between your knees, my dear. There, that’s better.’

  She stood holding Sylvie, clucking and fussing, and after a minute or so Sylvie sat upright. She felt a little better but had no idea what to say.

  ‘Don’t look so rabbit-scared, miss! You won’t be the first maid to come in here unbidden,’ said Cherry, shaking her plump jowls. ‘I seen it all afore, and even known the more brazen ones creep in there,’ she nodded towards the massive bed, ‘and wait for him.’

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Sylvie in disgust. ‘Oh no, Cherry! I’d never, ever do that!’

  As soon as she spoke she realised what a good excuse that would’ve been to explain her presence here, but too late. Cherry smiled at her genuine horror.

  ‘Aye, well … I was wondering, seeing as how I heard that you and our Yul were sweethearts,’ she said. ‘I know you go up to Mooncliffe with Magus at the Moon Fullness, but I heard that he forces you to go and ‘tisn’t the usual thing he wants from you up there neither. He saves that for afterwards with someone else. He uses you up there for moon magic, I heard. Is that right?’

  Sylvie nodded, her eyes round and nervous. Cherry patted her shoulder kindly.

  ‘So you didn’t come here to get into his bed, or rub your cheek against his clothes, or splash about in his bath, or any o’ the other daft things I’ve seen girls do when he’s got ’em in his thrall. So I wonder why you did come? You must hate the man if he’s made you suffer up at Mooncliffe, and for what he done to Yul.’

  Sylvie nodded again. She was useless at lying and racked her brains for a plausible reason why she’d sneaked in here. Cherry regarded her steadily, lips pursed as Sylvie sat on the embroidered stool in an obvious dilemma.

  ‘Have you heard of Lily? About what happened to her?’ asked Cherry eventually.

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘She’s the poor maid who were handfasted to that brute Jackdaw. You’ve come across him?’

  ‘Oh yes, and Yul’s told me about him too. He murdered his wife, didn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, that were our Lily, and Jackdaw was banished for it right and proper. But now he’s back! And why? Magus is mocking us, treating us like fools, like we have no feelings, thinking he can do exactly what he likes and we’ll just take it. Lily was my sister Marigold’s girl, my little niece – apple of my sister’s eye, Lily was. ‘Twas bad enough at the time, but now that Jackdaw’s back, ‘tis like Lily’s murder never mattered at all. So don’t you worry about me knowing you hate Magus. Never thought I’d say this, but I find that I hate the man too, as does my sister.’

  Sylvie looked up at her in relief.

  ‘But you still haven’t told me – why are you in Magus’ bedroom, Sylvie?’

  She noticed that the ‘miss’ had been dropped.

  ‘I … I came looking for something,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Something that somebody sent me to find.’

  ‘’Twouldn’t be a certain old woman who lives outside the Village up on the hill, would it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And would you be searching for something of Magus for a banishing spell, by any chance?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Cherry roared with laughter and clapped Sylvie on the back in a gesture that Villagers didn’t normally use on Hallfolk. Together they searched carefully, looking everywhere in Magus’ apartments, but despite the huge area it wasn’t long before both realised the futility of their hunt.

  ‘I’m in charge o’ these rooms,’ apologised Cherry, ‘and ’tis more than my life’s worth to allow any mess or dirt here. We’ll never find anything and we’d better get out now afore someone realises we’re in here. That Martin is always wandering and creeping about like a ghost. Come on, my girl.’

  They turned off all the lights and left the chambers, but instead of going back down the main stairs they carried on further along the corridor, past several more closed doors. Eventually they reached the far end of the great block which formed the huge front face of the Hall, and went quietly down some narrow back stairs leading straight into the warren of corridors that were part of the servants’ quarters.

  ‘We’ll talk to my sister Marigold. She may have an idea.’

  Marigold, so like Cherry in looks, size and temperament, hugged Sylvie to her generous bosom once the details were explained. The three of them sat cosily in the cook’s parlour, a small room next to the kitchens, and were quite private here. All notions
of Hallfolk and Villager seemed forgotten in their united purpose of helping Mother Heggy with her banishing spell.

  ‘Many of us feel the same,’ said Marigold, ‘but we have to be careful. ‘Twouldn’t do if some little weasel went and told Magus that people were gathering against him, would it?’

  The three of them talked for a while, trying to think how they could get some of his hair or a piece of nail before the next night. Magus was due back any day but nobody knew exactly when. Sylvie was thinking along the lines of DNA, and wondered if Hazel would have any samples in her office, maybe some of his blood. But she quickly dismissed the idea, because even if the doctor did, it would probably be under lock and key. Then Marigold shrieked and slapped her great thigh so hard it quivered.

  ‘I know, I know! Cherry, remember the album? The album old Rosemary used to keep of the boys?’

  ‘Oh my stars – of course! Are you thinking o’ the locks?’

  ‘That I am, dear sister, that I am! I’m sure there’s locks of hair in there.’

  ‘What?’ squeaked Sylvie in excitement. ‘What album? Where?’

  ‘Well, my dear, when the two little boys, Sol and Clip, were growing up they had their own nurse called Rosemary. Poor old thing, she were, doted on them boys but they treated her terrible, especially young Sol. See, their mother had nothing to do with ‘em.’

  ‘Raven?’

  ‘That’s right – Raven.’

  The women exchanged glances.

  ‘You’re thinking I look just like her, aren’t you?’ said Sylvie.

  ‘Well yes, my dear, you do. Peas in the pod.’

  ‘Why did they have a nursemaid? Why didn’t Raven care for her sons?’ asked Sylvie.

  ‘Oh no, she couldn’t do that! They were kept away from her out of harm’s reach,’ said Marigold. ‘Raven lived with Mother Heggy, and sometimes she lived wild in the woods, especially in the summer. I reckon she would’ve killed them boys if she could. She hated ’em as much as she hated their fathers. She were ill-used, the poor girl, first by old Basil, and then Elm. No reason to love the children she were forced to bear, especially not Sol.’