The Magicians and Mrs. Quent (44 page)

On my first few visits to Cairnbridge, I found the local people to be courteous if not quite friendly. That they evinced some surprise at seeing me could not be hidden. Still, they knew who I was and that I was employed up at Heathcrest Hall.

I soon began to see that Mr. Quent’s serious demeanor was not entirely out of character for this region of Altania. While I would not call the people I met grim, there was all the same a general want of cheer wherever I went. People spoke, but in lowered voices. They smiled, but fleetingly. The folk I saw looked prosperous enough, yet they went about in a furtive way.

Often, when I went into the inn to make a purchase, there were several country squires talking around one of the tables. While I made no effort to eavesdrop, it was generally impossible not to overhear their conversation. When men gathered over a cup, it was either to make merry or to complain, and these men seemed to have little cause for celebration. On several occasions I heard them talk about how the roads had grown thick with brigands. These days the mail had to go with a rifleman on the bench next to the driver, and each of them knew someone who had sent a wagonload of wool or grain to Abbendon (the nearest large town) only to learn it had never arrived.

Nor, given what I overheard one day, was the king doing enough about it.

“The only soldiers we ever see are those passing through,” one of the men grumbled over his cup. “They’re leaving the outland garrisons and heading back to the city. I suppose the king is more worried about the rebels in Assembly than the ones on the Torland border. But I say there’ll be rebels everywhere before long if they don’t do something about the roads. The king won’t find it very easy to defend his crown against Huntley Morden’s men, not if he finds all his own men have left him.”

These words were quickly hushed. The cup was pulled from the speaker’s hand and glances cast my way. I hurried from the inn, package in hand.

The next time I went for a ride, my mare had the bad luck to throw a shoe. However, I could not count my misfortune very great, for I was close to Cairnbridge when the mishap occurred, and almost immediately a boy came upon me on the road. He was about twelve, towheaded, and introduced himself as the son of one of the local landed families. He offered to walk the horse to the farrier a mile south, and if I would wait at the village, he would return her to me there in two hours.

I could not refuse such a kind offer—especially when I was not likely to get any other. My return to Heathcrest would be delayed, but there could be no helping it. Besides, the children would not rise for several hours yet. I enjoyed my walk to the village, observing the many wildflowers along the road and listening to the birdsong.

In Cairnbridge I hoped to sit at the inn and have a cup of tea. However, I found the dining room empty that day; all were taking a rest in the middle of the long lumenal. I realized I had been lucky to encounter the boy, and I wondered if he would have to rouse the farrier from his bed.

To pass the time, I walked around the stone wall that bordered the common green. However, there was no shade, and after making a circuit I was hot and went back to the inn to stand in the shadow of its eaves.

I gazed at the field beyond the low stone wall and saw the stump of the tree that had once stood there. It would have been cool had that grand old tree still stood; it would have shaded the entire center of the village. Why had no one thought to plant a replacement for it?

I let my gaze wander farther afield, seeing if I could spot any type of shade. But there were no trees within view. There was a dark smudge atop a hill several furlongs to the north, but it was ash gray, not cool green. I retreated back inside the inn and sat in the silence alone.

“Miss Lockwell?” said a voice.

I started in my seat. Away from the sun in the dim and quiet of the inn, I had begun to doze; it appeared sleep was something I needed after all. I saw a man I did not recognize standing above me. He was only a bit more than my age, though his face was tanned and already somewhat weathered, and his hand, when I accepted it in introduction, was very rough. His speech and manner, in contrast, were gentle—even soft, I would say. I learned that he was none other than the farrier and that his name was Mr. Samonds.

“Thank you!” I said when I discovered he had brought my horse with him and that she had been reshod. “But surely you did not need to come all this way yourself. What happened to…?”

“Young Mr. Graydon went home,” he said. “But do not think ill of him. He was intent upon keeping his promise to you. However, I knew he had been sent on an errand for his father—who is also my cousin, you see—and so I released him from his duty.”

“I certainly do not think ill of him!” I said. “I am much in his debt, and in yours.”

He gave a short bow, then offered me his arm. I was not aware that country farriers were usually so gallant as Mr. Samonds. However, being still a bit dazed from my unexpected nap, I gratefully accepted his assistance and walked with him outside to where my mare stood placidly before the inn.

“Oh, but you must be paid!” I said aloud, realizing I had no money. I had not planned to come to the village, so I had taken nothing from the household fund. As for my own wages, at my request Mr. Quent had been sending them by note to an account he had arranged for me at his bank in Invarel.

“You must send a bill to Heathcrest Hall,” I said to Mr. Samonds. “That is where I am employed. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, I know it very well. I used to go there often when I was a boy.”

“You used to go there?” I could not conceal my surprise.

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “You are shocked at the idea of a tradesman’s son being invited to such a fine house.”

He had misread the source of my astonishment. “Not at all, Mr. Samonds. It is only that…we do not ever receive guests at Heathcrest. It is a very quiet place.”

“Is that so? I suppose it must be. But it was different then.”

“I am sure” was all I could say.

He helped me into the saddle. However, as I arranged myself, an idea occurred to me. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Samonds, how long ago did you used to go to Heathcrest?”

“A long time ago, Miss Lockwell. I was younger than Mr. Graydon is now. It was thirteen or fourteen years ago.”

“Was Mr. Quent the master of the house then?”

“He was.”

“So you knew him?”

He grinned up at me. “Everyone in the county knew him. The house had been empty for several years, you see; but when Mr. Quent came back and took a wife, it became a bright and happy place. Such parties and balls were thrown there—I wish you could have seen them! I am sure they rivaled anything in the Grand City.”

Now I was astonished anew. “Parties and balls? At Heathcrest?”

“Yes, and there were always guests there. Gentlemen friends of Mr. Quent’s mostly. They came often from the city—for hunting parties, I suppose. Though, come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing them out on the moors much. Well, it’s often the case that hunting parties involve more parties and fewer hunts. Nor were the local folk forgotten, for we were invited up to the house on occasion. My mother was often called to dine there, for Mrs. Quent was her cousin, and that is how I came to visit there myself.”

“You knew Mrs. Quent?”

“I did,” he said, only then his smile faded.

He looked away, and I knew the conversation had turned to a topic that troubled him. Nor could I wonder why. Mrs. Quent had passed, and with her had passed the balls and parties and guests.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Heathcrest,” he said at last, looking back at me.

I did not know how to reply; I was sorry my words had saddened him. However, he shook his head and asked me then if I wanted company for my ride back to the house. I thanked him but assured him I knew the way very well.

“I’m sure you do,” he said. “I’ve seen you out riding before. I helped Mr. Quent pick this mare and shod her myself. She’s a pretty thing, and you sit her well. Have you been enjoying riding?”

“Very much,” I said.

“Good. I’m glad she is being put to such good use.” His expression grew serious again. “But Miss Lockwell—forgive me for being so forward—you do not ride out late in the day, do you? And you do not stray far from either Heathcrest or Cairnbridge, do you?”

I assured him that I always went out in daylight and that no matter where I went I could always see either Heathcrest’s gables or the roofs of the village. This answer seemed to please him, and he stroked the mare’s nose. I thanked him again for all his assistance and reminded him to send his bill to Heathcrest.

I took the reins of the mare. However, just as I was about to urge her into a walk, I turned in the saddle. He had been raised here; it occurred to me he might know. “The tree in the common field over there,” I said. “It must have been very beautiful once. I was curious how it perished. Do you know what happened to it?”

“It burned,” he said, and the words, so unlike everything else he had uttered, were hard. He took a step back. “Ride directly to the house, Miss Lockwell. I am sure you are wanted.”

I nodded, and as there was nothing more I could say, I urged the gray mare onward.

W
HEN I REACHED Heathcrest, I found Mr. Quent just mounting his horse in front of the house. I assumed that his business had called him away once again. In my surprise, I forgot myself and asked where he was going.

“To look for you, Miss Lockwell,” he said with a glower as he helped me down from the gray mare.

A horror spread through me. I had not thought my absence would cause the master himself to put aside his usual occupations and come looking for me.

“Mr. Quent, I am so sorry to have troubled you!” I said, and quickly explained what had happened.

He appeared visibly relieved at my explanation—indeed, so relieved that I could only wonder at what he had imagined had happened to me. I did not ask him; instead, I apologized once more for causing concern.

He gave a curt nod and mounted his horse.

“But you are still going somewhere?” I asked in surprise. He wore a broad-brimmed hat and a wool coat with a short cape about his shoulders.

“I am called away by my work. I should have been away an hour ago.”

Shame and horror filled me anew. Had I known my actions would in any way affect his duties, I would have run back to Heathcrest on foot! I wanted to tell him these things, but he looked so imposing upon the massive horse that I could not speak.

The gelding pranced, eager to be off. He controlled it with a flick of a gloved hand. It seemed he wanted to say something, for he opened his mouth; only then he shut it again.

“When will you be back?” I said at last, breathless.

But at the same moment he tipped his hat and said, “Remember our agreement, Miss Lockwell.”

He whirled the beast around and in a clatter of hooves was gone. Jance came to take the mare to the stable. Feeling very weary of a sudden, I entered the house.

I went to the kitchen to fix the cup of tea I had not gotten in the village and made some for the children as well, as it was nearly time to rouse them for their second breakfast of the long lumenal. Mrs. Darendal was there.

“I met Mr. Samonds, the farrier, in the village,” I said as I fixed a tray for the children.

Mrs. Darendal kept peeling apples.

“He was very kind to assist me,” I said, determined to be cheerful. “He told me how he used to come to Heathcrest as a boy.”

“Many people used to come here,” she said.

“His mother and Mrs. Quent were cousins, I understand.”

This received no disagreement, so I could only assume it to be true.

“I wonder,” I said, then paused, choosing my words carefully. “That is, it is regretful that those who enjoyed this house once are no longer able to do so. And it is such a remarkable place. I wonder if it might be possible—if sometime we might invite someone to supper. Mr. Samonds perhaps, and his wife if he is married.”

“I am sure
he
will never marry,” Mrs. Darendal said. She spoke this with what I thought was a hard little smile. She sliced another apple into a bowl. “You should wake the children.”

I said nothing more and took my tray upstairs. The children were already awake when I entered. Chambley threw his arms around me in an embrace, which I gladly returned.

“Good morning,” I told him.

“It’s the middle of the day,” he said, rubbing bleary eyes.

“I know,” I said. “But we must pretend it’s morning, mustn’t we? For it’s twelve more hours until dusk. Now drink your tea. Here’s a cup for you, Clarette.”

She did not move from the window. As always I wanted to ask what she was looking at and if she had seen the figure in white again; instead, I went to her with a cup.

“Drink it before it gets cold,” I told her.

Clarette set it down without taking a sip, then turned back to the window.

“What are we going to study today?” Chambley asked.

“We should work on our reading. We can read anything we want.”

“Can we read about dragons?”