River of Destiny (37 page)

For a moment they were looking at each other rather too hard and the moment had stretched out too long. Zoë broke the gaze and looked away from him. ‘No. Come to think of it, definitely not. I’m not ready for that. No way. I haven’t been a wild child myself yet. You’re right. What I need is adventure. Shall we sail some more? The tide is turning. You see, I do know something about the river. But I don’t want to be out here when the mist comes. That might be an adventure too far.’

Henry Crosby was sitting in a waterfront alehouse in Ipswich. It was somewhere men went sometimes to find work on the barges or in the docks. It had taken several days for his informant to find the whereabouts of Zephaniah Fry and another to set up this meeting and come down on the train. He was seated at a corner table in the darkest area of the bar, two tankards of ale in front of him on the table. When the man appeared he seemed to hesitate for several seconds as he peered round the room, then he walked over. Henry pointed at the stool opposite him and the man sat down. He was young, strong, his clothes worn, his neckerchief a dirty red above the threadbare shirt. ‘I have a job for you,’ Henry said. ‘No questions asked or answered. You do it and then you leave for London with the next tide. I have a contact in Rotherhithe who will give you a job there.’

Zeph reached for the tankard opposite him and drank half of the contents down in one swill. He had not so far said a word.

‘I want a man killed.’ Henry’s eyes were fixed on his face.

Zeph made no sign at all.

‘The man who was to blame for your dismissal. Daniel Smith. I want it done quickly and quietly. I want people to think that he killed himself, do you understand? I want no fuss and I want no recriminations. But,’ he held up his hand as Zeph was about to drain the second half of his drink, ‘I want Daniel to know why he is dying. I want him to know and to regret and to go to hell aware that he dies by my orders. Is that clear?’

Zeph drank. He rubbed his sleeve across his mouth and then he nodded.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me what you have to say to him?’

Zeph gave an unpleasant leer. ‘I presume this is something to do with him bedding your wife.’

Henry flushed a deep uncomfortable red. ‘Is there no one who doesn’t know about it?’

Zeph shook his head. ‘She wasn’t too fussy who knew.’

‘Well, I shall deal with her myself. Your job is to finish off her lover. Can you do it?’

The nod was instant. ‘I’ve got no reason to like Dan Smith. I can do it. How much?’

Henry reached into an inner pocket and produced a small bag of coins. He put it on the table. ‘Half now and half when the job is done, plus your passage to London.’

Zeph slid the bag into the front of his shirt and gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘I’ll take another pint of that ale, if it’s all the same to you, Mr Henry, and then I will be on my way.’ He beckoned the pot boy and pointed at the empty tankard. After he had drunk it he stood up and without a word he left the bar, effortlessly blending with the crowds around him and disappearing into the street outside.

Henry sat at the table for a while longer, staring down into the drink before him. Eventually he stood up, leaving it all but untouched, and walked slowly towards the door. A woman standing near the fire had been watching him. She seized the tankard and drained it down. She belched loudly and raised it in salute towards his retreating back. ‘Thanks, mister,’ she called. He didn’t hear her.

It was nearly dark when the
Curlew
nosed up to her buoy and drifted to a stop. Smoothly and efficiently Leo stowed the sails, tidied the decks and lowered his bag down into the dinghy. ‘OK. Ready?’ he said.

Zoë had been watching him as she sat languidly in the corner of the cockpit. It was cold now, and she had put on his jacket over hers at his insistence, but she made no offer of help. She was enjoying the quiet competence of the man. The
Curlew
had no engine, but she had come up to her mooring under sail as easily and accurately as ever the
Lady Grace
did with the full noise and fuss and smell of a diesel engine. In the silence, she could hear the ripple of the water against the hull, and somewhere nearby the echoing call of a redshank.

She had had plenty of time to think that afternoon and to realise that she had fallen deeply in love with Leo Logan. She had also realised that almost certainly he was not in love with her. If she wanted to be with him on any level she would have to settle for what he offered, the excitement of an affair, fantastic sex and a new and very different outlook on life, but would that be enough for her? She wasn’t sure. And what about Ken?

She stood up and taking his hand let him help her over the side and down into the small dinghy which had been waiting attached to the buoy. They had timed it just right. In another half an hour the water would be too low to reach the landing stage with any dignity. Leo paddled them across the intervening strip of water, again so silently she could barely hear the drip of water from the oar. ‘You are used to doing everything quietly,’ she commented at last. Her own voice seemed strident against the night.

He grinned. ‘No need for noise.’ He spun the boat round and brought it in close so all she had to do was reach up and cling to the rungs of the short ladder.

Climbing up, she stood upright and glanced round. Was Jade there, waiting for them? The place seemed deserted. Below her Leo tied up the dinghy and followed her onto the bank. ‘No sign of her?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Do you want to go up ahead of me?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve no problem about where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing, perhaps.’

They emerged from the woods and began to walk across the parkland towards the barns which lay as black shadows in the dusk. As they drew closer the security lights of The Threshing Barn came on. The curtains were open and Zoë could clearly see Rosemary and Steve standing in the room. Both had turned and looked out as the gardens outside were flooded suddenly with light. Zoë raised a hand in greeting. ‘I think she should draw the curtains,’ she said. ‘If there was someone out here who wanted to take pot shots at them they are sitting targets like that.’

The Old Barn, she realised was in darkness. Obviously Ken had not yet returned from wherever it was he had gone.

‘I don’t think those boys were intending to murder her.’ Leo stopped. ‘But it is a point worth making to her next time you see her. She’s an arrogant woman. I don’t think she realises how much local opinion is against her on this one.’ He gave her a quick smile and turned away across the grass towards The Old Forge without any further goodbyes. She watched him fade out of the range of the lights and out of sight in the darkness. She stood still, undecided for a few moments, then she turned towards The Threshing Barn. Rosemary had seen her. There was no point in denying where she had been and it might be a good moment to make her point about the lights. Besides, she didn’t feel like going home to an empty building. Not yet.

Rosemary opened the door to her with a warm smile. ‘We saw you with Leo,’ she said.

‘I went sailing with him,’ Zoë said, following her in. ‘He is giving me some lessons so I am not so scared when I go with Ken. Ken is too competitive for me. Everything has to be pushed to the limit. With Leo we just drift around. He is letting me get my sea legs slowly.’

She saw Rosemary glance at Steve and ignored the look, accepting the glass of wine which Steve pressed on her. ‘So where is Ken?’ Rosemary asked as they were all seated in front of the TV. The sound had been lowered and no one seemed to be watching it.

‘God knows! He’s involved in some contract, I think.’ Zoë glanced over her shoulder at the window. ‘You know Ken was telling you about our curtain problem. Leo and I were just saying how exposed these barns are at night. You can see every detail of this room from outside.’ She hesitated. ‘I know it seems crazy to even think it, but after what happened about the footpath, do you think it might be sensible to draw yours?’

Steve leaped to his feet. ‘She’s right! We’ve got so used to the long summer evenings we haven’t realised how quickly the nights are drawing in.’ They all looked round at the blackness outside the windows. The lights outside had gone off and all was dark. Steve went over to the curtains and reached for the pull cords. In a moment the whole area was hidden by a swathe of bright red poppies. Zoë thought of her discussion with Ken about curtain material and hid a smile. It didn’t matter what the curtains looked like, and in fact they were rather jolly, and the room was cosy and warm and safe.

Outside, Jackson and Mike were walking across the grass towards the cart sheds where Mike had left his bike, careful to keep out of range of the movement detectors which set off the lights. They saw the curtains shut across the window.

‘All set for tomorrow?’ Jackson said jubilantly.

‘All set!’ Both boys laughed and, heading away from the barns into the darkness, they exchanged a high five.

‘Say a word of what has happened between us and Eric will die.’ Hrotgar had murmured the words so close to her ear she had felt the heat of his breath on her hair. ‘This is between you and me, and you were willing, do not deny it.’ He sat up and pulled on his trousers. ‘I know he stole the sword. If he returns it, then he may survive the anger of the old gods. I don’t know how they function, but the sorcerer saw at once what had happened. He cast the runes and divined who had taken it and he called out curses on Eric’s head. His eyes sent out shafts of fire and his lips spewed poison.’ He drew on his tunic and climbed off the bed. He stood looking down at her. ‘He said that the sisters of wyrd will decide whether Eric lives or dies – but to my mind your husband’s fate is in your hands. Remember that well, Edith.’

He swung towards the door and disappeared, leaving her cowering on the bed. Her body was covered in bruises; she had fought him with every ounce of her strength. Eric would know what had happened as soon as he saw her. With a murmur of fear she huddled into the corner of the bed cradling her belly, praying that her child had not been harmed, and at last the tears came.

It was a long time before she got up and went outside to find a bucket of water to wash herself. She pulled her clothes on over her wet and shivering body and realised that her gown was torn and her mantle had ripped away from the brooch that had held it closed, the brooch that Eric had made her. She fumbled with the material, trying to find it, but it was missing. She spent a long time groping around in the dark of the bed, and then on the floor, and retrieved it at last from the basket of logs beside the hearth. She held it against her cheek, pressing the intricate silver knotwork into her skin as though it would heal the bruises which had spread over one side of her face. Later she would make a salve from some of the herbs which hung above her head, plantain, meadowsweet, agrimony, vervain, comfrey. Until then the silver would suffice. Almost silently she began to recite the words of the healing charm to herself. It comforted her a little.

When the door opened she turned half-afraid, half-eager. ‘Eric!’ She needed him so badly to hold her.