House of Shadows (21 page)

Behind him, Craven could hear the sounds of Von Rusdorf retching and Simmern praying under his breath.

Averting his gaze from the corpse, Craven looked for the items he had been charged with retrieving. He ignored the sword clasped in Frederick’s hands. The poor bastard had been no soldier in life, his sword stood for nothing in death.
Instead he took out a soft velvet bag. The nap of the material was disintegrating. He could feel the hard lines of the golden cross through the velvet.

Elizabeth had asked that all the regalia of the Knights of the Rosy Cross be returned to her. All except for the diamond-studded mirror. That he was to destroy.

There was a sapphire ring on Frederick’s finger. This, the sign that he was of the highest rank of the order of knights, was also the token by which some said that the brethren summoned the devil to their aid. Well, Craven thought, let Beelzebub put in an appearance now. It might give Von Rusdorf such a shock that it stopped him throwing up.

The ring was difficult to remove. Frederick’s cold dead hand felt waxy in a way that Craven did not wish to define. The ring stuck and he did not want to pull too hard for fear of what might happen. Eventually he succeeded in drawing the gem from Frederick’s finger. The enormous sapphire winked at him with cold fire. He shoved it into the bag with the cross.

That left the mirror. It rested face down on Frederick’s chest, the carved wooden frame giving no hint of the dazzling splendour of the reverse.

Craven hesitated. He had seen Elizabeth’s face when she had spoken of the mirror as accursed. He had heard the ripple of fear in her voice. She was afraid that the desire to see the future would tempt any man who laid eyes on it, that if they had the mirror and the pearl as well they would take the power of foretelling and use it for evil. The scrying mirror had ruined Elizabeth’s life and her family’s future. Driven by its power of prophecy, Frederick had risked all
and lost. Elizabeth believed it the tool of the devil and decreed that it should never see the light of day again. That was why she did not want it back, why the mirror had to be destroyed. The mirror and the pearl could never be united for their dark power would be too great.

It was superstitious nonsense, of course. Craven reassured himself of that. Even though he remembered the vision of death he had glimpsed in the mirror he convinced himself he had been mistaken. Neither God nor the devil had been on Frederick’s side. He had simply been unequal to the task before him. Elizabeth had deserved better.

Craven took the mirror in his right hand and turned it over. The glass was dull, barely reflecting his image in the faint light of the crypt. Then, just as he was about to stow it away, something moved in the heart of the crystal, something formless as mist that struck chill through his entire body. It happened so fast and the cold was so killing he almost dropped the mirror on the stone floor of the crypt.

‘Hurry up, man!’

Simmern spoke impatiently but there was the shadow of fear in his voice.

As Craven turned to close the lid on the coffin, the mirror caught a beam of sunlight from the window. There was a flash: tongues of flame. Craven could have sworn they were blue, like lighting. He heard Simmern shout. Frederick’s clothing was already smouldering, the material, laden with embalming oils, flaring into a blaze that leapt towards the stone ceiling of the crypt in an inferno of heat and light. There was a sweet smell that stuck in the throat, making Craven want to retch. The sound of fire was all around.

‘God in heaven!’

Simmern ran. Craven could hear his footsteps on the stone floor.

He slammed the coffin lid down. It was wood; he expected it only to add to the conflagration. Yet instantly there was silence. No sound. No light. After a moment he put out a hand and touched the wood. It was cold. He glanced down at the mirror in his hand. There was no flicker of a reflection from its milky surface.

The cold sweat was rolling down his face. He wiped it away with his sleeve and walked slowly toward the crypt steps. When he reached them he glanced back. The coffin lay where he had left it, no sign of burning, no scent of smoke, nothing.

‘Christ Almighty, man! What happened?’

Simmern was at the top of the steps, Von Rusdorf, ashen grey, at his side.

‘Nothing,’ Craven said. ‘Nothing happened at all.’

‘There was fire,’ Simmern said. ‘I saw it myself—’

‘You saw nothing,’ Craven corrected. He stepped aside, gesturing to the coffin, shrouded in shadow at the base of the steps. ‘The light from the windows reflected off the mirror and created the illusion of a fire. That was all.’

There was silence. Both men looked as though they wanted to call him a liar. Neither spoke.

‘Here.’ Craven took a bag of coins from his pocket and held it out it to Von Rusdorf. ‘For the carpenter to nail down the lid. See that he does the job well and that he holds his tongue.’

After a moment Von Rusdorf took the bag. The coins
clinked softly. Simmern was still staring at the coffin as though transfixed by a ghost.

Craven pushed the bag with the sapphire ring, the crucifix and the mirror inside his jacket.

‘You’re leaving at once?’ Simmern straightened, turning away from the crypt and its macabre contents. He did not trouble to disguise his eagerness and Craven smiled a little grimly.

‘I am.’

‘Godspeed, then.’ Simmern held out his hand with grudging respect. ‘Pray assure Her Majesty of my most humble and devoted regard.’

With the closing of the crypt door, Von Rusdorf too had recovered some of his composure. ‘I shall send Her Majesty word when the king is safely interred at Sedan,’ he said.

Craven drew on his gloves. ‘Gentlemen. A pleasure.’

He left Metz amongst the afternoon crowds of soldiers and merchants and travellers, crossing the bridge over the river Moselle unnoticed in the throng. In the centre he paused for a moment to look down into the water below. It ran sluggishly beneath the arches, grey green and deep, and he thought of throwing the mirror into the depths and being rid of it immediately. This would be a foolish place to dispose of it, though. Someone would see him throw it in and go scrambling after. Or there would be a drought and it would be found in the mud when the waters receded. No, he would have to wait for a better opportunity.

For a moment he remembered the inferno in the crypt, the flash of fire from the mirror, the way that Frederick’s
corpse had burned as though it was on a pyre. He knew what he had seen.

He rode west with the sun in his eyes and the rosy cross heavy against his chest, and the mirror in his pocket seeming to weigh nothing at all.

Ashdown Park, 23rd February 1801

I
have changed my mind about Mr Verity. He may be a little serious but he is also a good man, a kind man, and God knows, I find kindness so rarely in the world.

This is what happened.

Today I was obliged to leave the house and take some exercise in the grounds. There is nothing else left to do here or you may be sure I would not have resorted to anything so dull as walking. However I found it a curiously pleasant experience. The day was fine – the snows have gone and tiny white flowers are piercing the ground. Mr Verity tells me they are snowdrops. They are extremely pretty.

But I get ahead of myself. What happened was this. My lord had ridden over to Newbury to visit his mama (he is tied to her apron strings by the need for money, if nothing else) so I decided to venture from the house and take a walk in the woods. Mr Verity had mentioned at breakfast that he would be surveying in the lower
wood today but I did not seek him out. Well, perhaps I did just a little, for it is melancholy to be so much in my own company.

I came across Mr Verity in a clearing in the forest. There was a fountain there, a charming little thing that splashed and played amongst the frosty ferns and long grasses. Mr Verity told me that the first Earl of Craven had created it as part of the original pleasure grounds. He seemed a little reluctant to talk at first but I soon drew him out – I think I have mentioned that I am renowned for my charm and since we were alone Mr Verity was less stiff and formal. He seemed nervous though, perhaps expecting my lord to leap out from behind a tree and challenge him to a duel for speaking to me, but after a while we were chatting like old friends and he told me all about the First Earl and his designs for the house and grounds. It was surprisingly interesting, though I confess some of my interest did spring from the way that the sun shone on Mr Verity’s hair and turned it a very rich chestnut indeed, and the way it lit his hazel eyes. I had not noticed before quite what a handsome man he is.

I asked him then directly what it was that he and my lord were looking for in the woods but he turned my question aside with some answer about mapping the whole estate, which I know is falsehood. I did not wish to embarrass him, so I did not mention my wild idea that Lord Evershot was seeking treasure but turned the conversation to Mr Verity himself. He comes from an old family, sadly impoverished now, which was why he entered the Army. It did not sound very interesting work, walking miles each day on reconnaissance missions and poring over a peculiar instrument that gives angles for some process called triangulation. I pretended to be fascinated however, and shortly after that Mr Verity shared his lunch of pork pie with me and asked me very kindly about myself, though he did blush when I spoke openly of my life as a courtesan.

Why pretend? I am as I am. And I do believe that after a little while Mr Verity did forget that I sell myself for profit for we chatted another twenty or thirty minutes about all manner of things from his mother’s favourite recipe for whelks, which sounded unpleasant, to my maid’s advice on how to treat a sunburned complexion, which I doubt he will find helpful. Finally I stood up to leave, realising that I was keeping him from his work.

Alas, at that point I had a most unfortunate accident.

As I was exiting the clearing I put my foot down what I assume was a rabbit hole and tumbled over in the most ungainly manner imaginable. I lay there, quite winded and utterly embarrassed. Mr Verity, in his kindness, was all thought and concern. He leaped across the clearing to help me, swung me up in his arms and carried me back towards the house. I did struggle – a little – and protested that he should allow me to walk, but he pointed out that I had lost a shoe and must be quite overcome by shock, which of course I was quite prepared to be since it meant that he held me tightly against his chest. What a wicked creature I am! But Mr Verity was so devoted and strong and protective whilst I cannot but imagine that if such an accident had happened to me whilst I was out walking with Lord Evershot, he would have left me floundering on the ground or barked at me to quicken my pace.

I slid my arms about Mr Verity’s neck and clung to him, pressing myself tightly against him and burying my face in his coat. He smelled quite delicious and manly, and it was a great shame that he had to put me down before we reached the house in case the servants saw us and gossiped to Evershot. Mr Verity seemed quite breathless and red in the face when I slid out of his arms. He recovered swiftly enough and gave me a very creditable bow and said formally that he hoped I would feel much better soon. He hurried away back to his
instruments and I saw Evershot’s carriage approaching up the drive so I scuttled indoors before he could see me.

After that I contrived to spend time with Mr Verity whenever I could. I would seek him out in the woods or in the gardens or the library or wherever I might find him, purely for the pleasure of his conversation, of course. He is a fine artist and has taught me to sketch in pencil and paint in watercolours. The flowers in this diary are designs I have taken from the books in the library, snowdrops and ragged robin (so curious a name!) and the water violets that in the summer grow by the millstream on the edge of the wood. How I would love to see the summer flowers but I think I shall be long gone by then. Either my lord will have found whatever it is he seeks here at Ashdown Park or he will have tired of the country, or he will have tired of me.

I wish I had learned to ride, so that I might go out with Mr Verity on his explorations about the estate. There is so much I would wish him to show me. Coming from the city I do believe I have had my eyes closed to the beauties of nature until now, but Mr Verity can always make me see things anew. Alas it cannot be. In the first instance I detest horses. They have an uncertain temperament and they frighten me. Besides, although Mr Verity is a great deal more cordial with me now he is still as closed as a clam when it comes to discussing whatever it is he searches for. And if Evershot knew how much time I spend with Mr Verity, innocent as our association is, he would fly into a jealous rage.

‘I
t doesn’t sound very innocent to me,’ Fran said. ‘Lavinia is a minx. She knows she’s leading him on.’

‘On the other hand I think she really does like him,’ Holly said, stirring her coffee thoughtfully. ‘Imagine you were stuck with an arrogant bastard like Evershot who treats you like dirt. Wouldn’t you appreciate someone who was sincere and courteous? I think Lavinia likes Robert Verity more than she’s letting on.’

Holly had taken to discussing the latest chapter of Lavinia’s diary with Fran whenever she dropped into the deli, which was turning out to be most days, morning or afternoon, or both. Working on her own, Holly found she needed the contact and it seemed that most of the rest of the village did too. Almost everyone dropped in at one point in the day or another, which was, Holly realised, how Fran maintained her impeccable flow of information.

‘And I think our Mr Verity has a crush on Lavinia,’ Fran said, with a giggle. ‘Blushing like a schoolboy when she snuggled up to him. I bet he’d never met anyone like her before.’ She started to un-stack the dishwasher. The smell of hot, squeaky-clean plates slid into the café.

‘It must have been very difficult for him,’ Holly said. ‘What would it be like to be playing the gooseberry alongside Lord Evershot and his mistress? It sounds as though Evershot was a very possessive lover and if Robert Verity had a soft spot for Lavinia, witnessing her being abused and beaten must have been awful.’

‘There must have been a very weird atmosphere in that house,’ Fran agreed. ‘All those servants running around as well, watching, listening at keyholes, gossiping … it’s all a bit creepy.’

‘Very claustrophobic,’ Holly agreed, ‘especially in the winter, miles from anywhere—’

‘With no broadband or mobile phones,’ Fran finished.

Holly smiled. ‘I bet Lavinia would have loved the Internet.’

‘Perhaps if they’d had a mobile they could have summoned help quicker when the house caught fire,’ Fran said. She shuddered. ‘Ghastly about Lord Evershot.’

‘Don’t waste your sympathy,’ Holly said. ‘It couldn’t have happened to a more appropriate guy.’

Fran stared. ‘It’s not like you to be so harsh.’

‘I hate Evershot,’ Holly said. ‘He got what he deserved.’ As she said it she realised that it was true. There was a sharp, primitive anger lodged in her chest whenever she thought of Lavinia’s lover.

There was a clatter of noise. Mark and some of his
colleagues from the drawing office had come in and were milling around the counter trying to choose between chocolate brownies and vanilla cupcakes. Paula bustled out of the kitchen to serve them.

‘She’s trying to win him over with sprinkles on his coffee,’ Fran hissed at Holly across the table.

Holly smiled as Paula passed Mark a big takeaway cup she had clearly prepared in anticipation. ‘Best of luck to her,’ she said. She got up. ‘You’re very busy today. I think you need this table. Great cake, by the way.’

‘My own recipe.’ Fran looked smug. ‘It’s all home-baked stuff here.’

‘Holly?’ Mark caught up with her by the door and held it open for her. ‘Can I have a word?’ he said.

Through the melee of people at the counter Holly caught both Fran and Paula staring at her. Fran’s mouth had formed a little ‘o’ of speculation. Paula was looking very grumpy. Holly wondered if she was going to come over and snatch the coffee back. Fran had already asked her about her visit to Mark’s offices the previous day. Naturally someone had seen her going in and probably timed when she had come out as well. This would stoke the gossip.

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘It’s about Flick,’ Mark said.

Holly’s stomach did a little flip. She had been wondering if Flick had come clean about the glass bowl. She looked up at Mark but the sun was in her eyes and she could not read his expression.

‘Right,’ she said.

‘She told me she broke one of my trophies,’ Mark said, as
they stepped out into the sun-filled courtyard, ‘and that she asked you to forge a replacement.’

‘Almost,’ Holly said. ‘She told me your brother Joe broke the trophy and she asked me to forge a replacement. I’m sorry if that drops Joe in it, but I don’t think Flick should take responsibility for something someone else did.’

Mark let his breath out on a sharp sigh. There was a tight frown between his brows. ‘No. Bloody Joe. He always lets someone else take the blame, and Flick’s a soft touch. She’s been covering for him since they were kids.’ He squared his shoulders; glanced sideways at her, an unsmiling look. ‘Flick said that you said you could have done it. Produced a replacement, I mean, and no one would have known.’

‘Technically, yes,’ Holly said. ‘Ethically, no.’ She groped in her hair for her sunglasses and slid them on. That was better. She had felt too exposed before under Mark’s perceptive gaze.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I know you may think that I have no moral compass, and I can’t really blame you for that, but—’

Mark put a hand on her arm and she stopped abruptly. ‘That hardly describes my opinion of you,’ he said. ‘Far from it.’

‘Oh.’ Holly blushed.

Mark drove his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Look, can we leave us out of it for a minute? I was hoping you’d let me explain about my dysfunctional family. I …’ He hesitated. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think badly of Flick.’

‘I don’t,’ Holly said. ‘I think Flick was terrified she’d upset you for whatever reason and so she thought I might help her out of a tricky situation.’

‘And you put her straight.’

Holly shrugged. ‘Well, yes.’ She met his eyes. ‘I admit I was tempted to help. Your sister is very persuasive. But the thought of your devastating disapproval if you ever found out was enough to make me suggest to her that she tell you the truth.’

There was an odd expression in Mark’s eyes. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘About honesty being the best policy? Yes, generally speaking.’

‘I meant about my devastating disapproval.’

‘Oh.’ Holly paused. ‘Well …’

The day seemed very quiet, only the sounds of the wood; the caw of the rooks, the soft hush of the breeze through the leaves, the trickle of the stream under the bridge. Holly had been flippant but now she realised that there had been more than a core of truth in her words. Just as Mark had not wanted her to think badly of his family so she wanted his good opinion too. Which was more than a little disconcerting.

‘Sorry.’ Mark looked at her, then quickly away. ‘Forget it. I wanted to tell you about Flick. She lives with me at the moment because she had a major falling out with our mother a few years ago. They don’t get on.’ He slowed his long stride to Holly’s slightly shorter one, pausing to wait for Bonnie, who was sniffing curiously around the base of an oak tree. ‘Flick had problems in her early teens, shoplifting, that sort of thing. Dad travels a lot so he wasn’t around much to help sort stuff out. I was in Afghanistan. Mum sent Flick to boarding school after she stole some of her jewellery. She
said it was to help give structure to her life but really I think she just didn’t know what to do with her.’

‘God, I’m sorry.’ Holly was appalled. ‘What a terrible thing to do—’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I don’t mean to criticise your mother when I don’t know the full story but surely Flick needed help, not punishment?’

Mark nodded. ‘Yes, and of course it didn’t work. Flick was even more unhappy, she took more stuff, so she was expelled from school and was sent somewhere else …’ He shrugged. ‘I’d left the army by then but it was complicated.’ Holly looked at him. His gaze was shuttered, inward looking, the line of his jaw hard. ‘I couldn’t help myself for a while,’ he said, ‘let alone anyone else.’

‘You’re being very hard on yourself,’ Holly said.

Mark shot her a startled look. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose I am. PTSD is a hell of a thing to deal with, as I know now, but I couldn’t shake the idea that I was just being weak.’

Their gazes collided and Holly felt the impact of it all the way through her. To mask her reaction she walked on a little faster but she was very aware of him beside her now, his arm brushing hers.

‘You did a lot of charity work,’ she said, to cover a silence that felt alive. ‘Was that before the PTSD kicked in?’

Mark shook his head. ‘I had it from the start. I’d dream in flashbacks and wake in the night shaking and in a blind panic but I tried to ignore it. Eventually that became impossible so I started to drink to blot it out.’ He shrugged. ‘I was a bloody awful mess. My marriage broke down because Carol got sick of the moods and the drinking. She had no idea what
she would find when she came home from work. I can’t blame her. PTSD and relationships don’t mix. And all the time I was pretending everything was fine until finally it was so badly broken I couldn’t pretend any longer.’

Holly reached out a hand then let it fall back to her side. It startled her how much she wanted to touch him, offer comfort.

‘When we had tea at the café that day I sensed there was stuff you were holding back,’ she said. ‘You talked about working in Norway but nothing about the army, or the building project.’

‘That wasn’t intentional,’ Mark said. He corrected himself. ‘Well, it was in the sense that I never normally talk about this stuff.’ He gave her a glimmer of a smile. ‘Not even Fran could get it out of me. But I didn’t mean to mislead you. When I got sober I did go to Norway. I have another sister, Kirsten, who’s married to a Norwegian fisherman. I did some work with him for a while and then decided to come back here and set up my own company. The redevelopment is our first major project.’

‘Which enabled you to offer Flick somewhere to live,’ Holly said.

‘That’s right.’

‘No wonder she didn’t want to tell you about this latest thing,’ Holly said. ‘After so much upheaval in her life the last thing she would have wanted would have been to upset or disappoint you.’

The sun was bright and the air gentle and Bonnie scampered past, pressing her damp nose briefly to Holly’s palm.

‘Flick’s been so much better living here,’ Mark said, ‘although she does relapse every so often. But yes, she’s a bit fragile and I don’t want things to go back to how they were.’

‘I’m sure they won’t,’ Holly said. ‘Flick gave me the impression that she loves living here with you but I don’t suppose the problems she’s wrestling with are linear, if you know what I mean?’ She was thinking over the past few weeks and how her feelings about Ben’s disappearance had changed from day to day, plunging her from hope to despair in a breath sometimes. ‘If you are dealing with big issues then some days you’re going to feel better than others.’

‘And some days you’re going to feel very bad indeed,’ Mark said quietly, and Holly knew he was thinking of the day they had met. She drew in a breath but then realised she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to apologise. That made it sound as though she regretted what had happened and she didn’t, not really, at least not in the sense of wishing it undone.

‘Poor Flick is desperate to please everyone,’ Mark said, after a moment. ‘That’s why she lets Joe take advantage.’

‘I’ve never met your brother,’ Holly said, ‘but he sounds as though he needs to grow up.’

Mark shot her an amused glance. ‘Joe’s only twenty. He’s still finding his way. It doesn’t help that he’s insanely good looking and has women falling all over him.’

‘You must find that a problem too,’ Holly said, deadpan.

Mark smiled, a sudden warm smile that made Holly catch her breath. Suddenly she felt very hot indeed. They
reached the edge of the wood. It was a relief to step into the shade. The air was still warm and heavy but the sunlight, filtering through the leaves, was less fierce here. It was a path Holly had not taken before and it led along the old park pale of the mediaeval hunting ground. They didn’t talk now and the silence prickled with all the things that were unspoken.

‘This was the old icehouse,’ Mark said as they reached a clearing where the brambles and bracken beside the path had died back through lack of water, revealing a tumble of red brick. Holly paused to look at it. One corner was still standing to roof height and had an arched doorway leading to a set of mossy steps. The area was fenced off with rusty iron railings canted at a drunken angle, with cow parsley and grass sprouting between them. An ugly ‘Keep Out’ sign hung from the rails.

‘What was an icehouse?’ Holly asked. ‘Sounds a rather nice idea on a day like this.’

‘They stored the ice here for the big house,’ Mark said. ‘No freezers in the seventeenth century.’

‘I suppose not.’ Holly hadn’t ever considered it. ‘Where did they get the ice from?’

‘They cut it from ponds in the winter, packed it in straw and stored it underground,’ Mark said. ‘Then they brought it out to make desserts and ice cream and to put in drinks.’

‘That sounds very unhygienic.’ Holly peered through the railings. ‘I assume that’s not a seventeenth-century sign?’

‘The council fenced it off when they took the site on in the 1950s,’ Mark said. ‘Kids used to play down there in the ice chamber.’

‘Health and safety,’ Holly said. ‘I wonder if the police have searched—’ She stopped then, aware of the implications of her words. As each day passed it became more difficult to keep out the thoughts that Ben might be dead. They lurked at the corner of her mind like shadows and she had to work hard to stop that darkness rushing in. Now, looking into the dark entrance to the icehouse, she shuddered.