Shadows at Stonewylde (24 page)

‘Sylvie, Sylvie it’s me! Stop it! STOP IT!’

Gradually she ceased her struggles and frantic efforts to escape, held fast in the strong grip of his arms. She dissolved into heartbreaking sobs, all control and reason lost. Yul stroked her hair, whispering soothing words, holding her close now rather than restraining her.

‘It’s alright, my love, everything’s alright. You’re safe now, you’re safe, Sylvie.’

Her wild sobs slowly subsided and became normal crying, though she still trembled like a captured bird. He bent and kissed her forehead tenderly.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain her terror.

By the time they got back to the Hall she’d stopped crying. They managed to cross the entrance hall without being questioned by anyone, although halfway up the stairs they met Martin coming down.

‘Good evening,’ he said politely. ‘Did you have a good walk?’

‘Not now, Martin,’ said Yul curtly. ‘Sylvie’s had a bit of a shock and she needs to get to bed. Send up some brandy, would you?’

‘Brandy? Yes, of course. Should I find the doctor too? Is she injured?’

‘Yes … no, don’t send Hazel, although you could ask her to be ready if I need her.’

‘I don’t need Hazel,’ whispered Sylvie. ‘Yul, I’m fine.’

Yul nodded over her head at Martin, who smiled his understanding.

‘I’ll send the brandy up in the dumb-waiter so as not to disturb you. Goodnight, Miss Sylvie. I hope you sleep well and make a quick recovery.’

‘I’m not ill,’ she muttered. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

Martin merely raised his eyebrows and continued down the stairs, the polite smile still on his lips.

Despite Sylvie’s protests and refusal to drink any brandy, Hazel did visit their rooms and insisted on something to calm her. Sylvie became very distressed at the sight of the syringe but Yul brooked no argument. Hazel administered the drug grimly, trying to soothe her at the same time, repeating again and again that it was just to help her relax so she could sleep. When she’d left, Yul helped his wife undress and carefully tucked her into bed, sitting on the edge next to her and stroking her hair back from her face in a gentle, rhythmic movement. Sylvie’s eyes became cloudy and her body lost its tenseness as the drug kicked in.

She gazed up at her husband whose handsome dark face was full of love and concern. She could see it in his beautiful grey eyes and it made her feel safe and cherished. But as she gazed into his eyes she saw something else that made her shrink. Yul hadn’t come near her since that awful night and she’d been dreading the first time he did, terrified there’d be a repeat of the previous events. She’d tried to steel herself for the inevitable advance he must make, for Yul could never go very long without making love with her. But not tonight, not after what had happened up at Hare Stone.

‘No, Yul. Please no,’ she mumbled.

‘What?’ he asked gently, still caressing her forehead and temples, running his long fingers very slowly through the silky hair that flowed onto the pillows.

‘I can’t make love with you tonight. I’m sorry, I can’t.’

She saw him flinch, rejection darkening his eyes.

‘That’s okay, my darling, I wasn’t intending to. I just want you to feel calm and safe, and then you can tell me what happened up at Hare Stone.’

‘I don’t know … I just want to sleep.’

Her eyelids were heavy and her body felt like a lead weight on a bed of clouds.

‘We’ll talk in the morning then,’ he said softly, aching with longing for her. She looked so beautiful as she drifted off to sleep, so serene and defenceless. Tonight he couldn’t sleep in his office as he’d done since that night, waiting until she said she wanted him again. It would be torture lying next to her all night, but he must sleep by her side and take care of her.

He slipped into the bathroom and then, anxious not to disturb her, climbed carefully into the great bed, the scene of such passion in the past. Yul smiled bitterly in the darkness. He ached with frustration and need for her and just for a second, the terrible notion swam through his head – she was heavily drugged and would never remember anything in the morning. He took a deep, shuddering breath. What’d gone wrong between them? How had this estrangement happened? And the thought occurred to him again, as it had done several times since her outburst in this very bed nearly two weeks ago – was Sylvie falling ill again? Was her psychosis beginning all over again?

That night Sylvie had the familiar dream that had haunted her for so long. She lay in her private room, the patch of blue sky and tree tops visible through the barred window. Soothing smells drifted in the air, aromatherapy being part of her treatment. She was floating somewhere above her bed in a state of disassociation, her body no longer her own. There were so many strange hands invading her privacy – regular shots, soothing baths, deep massage, gentle exercise on toning tables, but worst of all, the electro-convulsive therapy in the special room downstairs. All this was standard treatment for her severe puerperal psychosis – not that she was aware of that.

Most of the time Sylvie wasn’t aware of anything much. She was docile and hovered just above her body, but occasionally she’d slip back into herself and understand. Then she’d cry for her little Celandine and tiny baby Bluebell, her beloved husband and her life at Stonewylde. Sometimes she’d remember the last time she saw them all. She’d recall the horror of being forcibly wrenched from her screaming children, the hidden knife clattering to the ground, the voices from Quarrycleave calling her name, begging her to come quickly with her little girls. Hazel and Yul, Miranda and Clip, the grim-faced nurses in the private ambulance, faces, faces, all shocked and frightened … and then she’d forget again.

Sylvie entered the recurring dream at the usual place. She was floating over her bed watching the young woman who lay there, pale and weak as a wraith. Her thin wrists and ankles were strapped into the restraints to prevent her from harming herself and she’d been sedated after her earlier thrashing about. The door opened and a visitor walked in, strange in normal clothes. It was a man, tall and well-built, with short blond hair and bright blue eyes the colour of robins’ eggs. He moved with the controlled tread of a heavy man who worked hard to keep in shape. His suit was beautifully cut and he smelt of expensive cologne; she noticed every detail, down to the heavy gold wedding band on the thick fìnger of his well-manicured hands.

The man approached the bed and gazed down at the figure strapped helplessly there. Her eyes stared up at him, unfocused and blank. A smile stretched his full mouth. She knew this man – he was from the past and she should remember who he was. He took one of her fragile hands, then noticed the resistance as the restraint prevented him from raising it.

‘Sylvie,’ he said softly, his gaze brushing over her body purposefully. ‘Finally, after all this time. You know who I am, don’t you?’

She couldn’t respond. Her tongue was heavy and numb and her lips parted with an effort but no speech came forth.

‘Oh, Sylvie, what have they done to you? I never thought our reunion would be like this, in such a place.’

He stood silently for a moment, drinking in every detail of her whilst she gazed up at him like a life-size doll. He traced the sharp planes of her face with a heavy finger and even in her drugged state, she felt a prickle of revulsion crawl over her skin. She stirred ever so slightly but could manage no more movement than this as slowly, deliberately, his hands explored her.

‘I had to see for myself,’ he said thickly. ‘I wonder if you’ll remember this visit? I’ve so much to tell you but it’ll have to wait until you’re better. I’ll be back for you one day, Sylvie, even if it takes years. You’re in my mind constantly, in my dreams and my fantasies. I’ve never forgotten you and one day you’ll be by my side, where you belong.’

He bent to plant his lips on hers. She felt their smoothness and the taste of mint, with only the slightest moist pressure. But then, shockingly, he carefully licked her mouth, coating her lips with his saliva which remained long after he’d left the room.

Bluebell had finally stopped wailing and was once more asleep, along with Celandine who’d been disturbed by her sister’s noise. Sylvie’s restlessness and whimpering seemed to have passed and she now breathed peacefully under the soft quilt. Yul found the brandy sent up earlier and, sitting by the window in their shadowy bedroom, poured himself a generous shot. What a night – what a day, in fact.

He looked out at the bright moon. First his sister having hysterics and then his wife – what was the matter with everyone? Sylvie’s behaviour had really alarmed him and tomorrow he’d have a proper consultation with Hazel. This time there’d be no delay; if Sylvie was becoming ill again they’d nip it in the bud and get help now, before it could spiral out of control.

As for Leveret … he thought back to the morning’s violent scene in his office, her face scarlet and her breath ragged. And suddenly he had a clear flash of memory – tiny Leveret red-faced and screaming in his arms whilst two little boys looked guiltily at their feet and refused to own up. It was Lammas all those years ago and they’d not watched the cricket match because of it. Was he missing something here? Despite Maizie’s assurances that Leveret was lying about her brothers, Yul resolved to speak to the pair of them soon. Leveret was rude and insolent and she constantly disobeyed Maizie and avoided her tasks. But maybe she wasn’t a liar. And as for the fit … was it serious? Did she need treatment too?

Sighing, Yul swirled the remains of his brandy in the glass before tossing it down his throat. Owl Moon – and with it the memories of tree cages and rope. Why couldn’t life ever be easy, he wondered gloomily, climbing back into his cold marital bed next to his forbidden wife.

Y
ul decided to make his announcement just before the Frost Moon, which fell in mid-December this year. He chose dinner time in the Dining Hall to do this; all the boarders would be there, including the college students.

‘If I can have your attention please!’ he called, standing at the head of the huge room. It was as noisy and crowded as ever, teeming with all the youngsters and many adults who lived at the Hall. Slowly the voices died down as people noticed Yul standing. It was unusual for him to be there at all – he generally ate privately with his family in the evenings.

‘Following a request from Kestrel,’ he began, scanning the eager faces before him, ‘I’ve decided that we’ll throw a special party just after Yule. It’ll be a Yule dance, different to anything that’s been done at Stonewylde before. The party is just for our young people – everyone who boards at the Hall – and we’ll also include the year group below who’ll be moving up next year.’

There was a huge swell of noise at this. Yul raised a hand for silence.

‘Anyone at college in the Outside World is welcome to invite their Outside friends to come along and if—’

The explosion of voices completely drowned him out. He waited, grinning at the group of teachers who nodded wisely, showing that they already knew all about it.

‘We’ll hire a coach for the evening to bring guests into Stonewylde and then return them afterwards,’ Yul continued. ‘The dance will be held in the Great Barn, and for the first time we’ll hire a sound system and lighting to make the evening special for you all. This is an experiment, so don’t mess it up. If you have any questions then ask Miranda or one of the Senior School teachers, and give them any names for the invitations. Let’s hope the dance goes really well!’

Yul sat down again and sipped his water, scanning the horde of excited faces before him. Martin approached and murmured discreetly in his ear. Yul frowned.

‘No, I didn’t put it before the Council of Elders first! You know Clip is handing Stonewylde over to me and this was my decision to make.’ He glared at the older man, who looked back stonily. ‘I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet with your approval, Martin, but times move on. Could you locate my youngest brothers please, Gefrin and Sweyn, and tell them to come and see me in my office when dinner’s over.’

‘Bloody hell – we’re really going to get it now!’ groaned Gefrin as they made their way slowly to the office.

‘Just don’t panic and blurt anything out,’ said Sweyn. ‘Remember what Swift said – they didn’t believe her. If we deny everything it’ll be alright.’

‘Yeah, but what—’

‘Let me do the talking,’ said Sweyn. ‘I ain’t scared of Yul.’

‘Yeah but—’

‘If he were that bothered he’d have said something ages ago when she had that fit in his office. Just agree with everything I say and don’t admit nothing.’

Yul was having a discussion with Harold when they knocked on the door.

‘Good, I need to talk to the two of you. Sit down and I’ll be with you in minute.’

They sat on a sofa, staring at their feet. Yul and Harold resumed their conversation at one of the desks, both looking at a screen.

‘So what exactly do you need?’

Harold tapped at the keyboard, his serious face intent. His fingers flew as he concentrated.

‘We need more labour every day this week up at the warehouse,’ he said after a minute. ‘See all these orders? We just can’t pack and despatch them in time with the people available. I’m trying to get these smaller orders out before next week and the Christmas post deadlines. The big ones’ll be couriered but even then there’s a cut-off date if they’re to be with our customers in time for Christmas.’