Magus of Stonewylde Book One (2 page)

‘I wish I could take you with me to Stonewylde,’ said Hazel, squeezing her hand. ‘It’d be perfect for you.’

‘Stonewylde? Is that your next hospital when you leave here?’

‘No, it’s a country estate in Dorset,’ laughed Hazel. ‘My father was born there and I visit every year. It’s a really huge place and so beautiful.’

‘It sounds romantic – Stonewylde.’

‘It is! Everything’s done in the old-fashioned way, the food’s organic and the religion is … different. There are woods, hills, a beach, cliffs – oh, it’s impossible to describe just how special Stonewylde is. When I go back every summer I always feel whole again, at peace with Mother Earth.’

‘How wonderful,’ said Sylvie wistfully. ‘A place of healing.’

‘Exactly! Healing for the soul as well as the body. You’d love it, Sylvie. It’s strange – when I first saw you in here I thought maybe you were Hallfolk.’

‘Hallfolk?’

‘The people who live in the Hall at Stonewylde. You look so similar. Your silvery hair … lots of us Hallfolk have very blond hair, and there’s something about your face. I don’t know … it made me wonder. I’ve seen your mum’s red hair. Do you get your blondeness from your father?’

‘I don’t know anything about my father. Mum refuses to discuss him. She had me very young and there’s some dark secret she won’t talk about. My grandparents chucked her out before I was born so I can’t even ask them.’

‘That’s terrible! Well, whatever your parentage you do look remarkably like one of us. I wonder if it would be possible to arrange a stay for you …’

When she saw Sylvie’s face light up, Hazel knew she shouldn’t have mentioned the idea.

‘Hold on, Sylvie. I can’t promise anything. Outsiders are never allowed into Stonewylde. But Magus is in town and I’ll speak to him. Please don’t get too excited about it though. He’ll most likely say no.’

‘Is Magus the owner?’

‘Actually no, the estate belongs to his half-brother. But Magus is … well, the kind of lord of the manor, the master. He’s the most amazing man.’

Sylvie noticed the sparkle in her eyes.

‘Are you in love with him, Hazel?’ she teased.

Hazel smiled dreamily and patted her hand.

‘If you met him you’d understand. Everyone loves Magus and I’m no exception. I’m so excited about the summer.’

‘For your next visit?’

‘It’s more than that. I’ll be qualified then. I’m to be the doctor at Stonewylde for a year.’

‘That’s wonderful! Oh please, Hazel, please try to persuade him to let me visit, even if it’s only for a weekend. I’d love to go there and escape from all this dirt and noise. Stonewylde sounds like heaven on earth.’

Miranda, Sylvie’s mother, was not impressed when her daughter related this conversation at visiting time. She was exhausted. She’d travelled halfway across London from school, and now faced another long, cold journey back home to the empty flat after this visit. Although she was pleased to see an improvement in Sylvie, she surveyed the girl’s excited face with dismay.

‘You mustn’t get your hopes up, Sylvie. It’ll probably come to nothing. And I doubt I could even manage the cost of train tickets all the way to Dorset. I don’t think the doctor should’ve been talking to you like this anyway. It’s very unprofessional.’

‘She’s not unprofessional! She’s the only nice person here. I’m not raising my hopes, Mum, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to visit a country estate? I’d love to be out in the fresh air, with the sea and the hills all around. Maybe we could go in the Easter holidays?’

‘We’ll see. Let’s wait till the doctor has spoken to this man – Magus was it? Such a strange name. It all feels a little odd to me, Sylvie. We don’t want to get involved in some sort of cult thing, do we? Cut off from society in darkest Dorset, old farming methods, a weird religion too, you said? I don’t like the sound of it at all.’

‘Oh Mum! You’ve always told me to keep an open mind. And Hazel asked about my father. She said …’

‘That’s none of her business!’ snapped Miranda, her cheeks flaming. ‘How dare she?’

‘No, not like that, Mum. Why are you always so defensive about it? It’s my blond hair. She thought I might come from this place, Stonewylde. She just wondered if—’

‘It’s not her place to speculate on your background. That’s put me off the whole idea, if people there are going to start asking questions about your father.’

‘Why are you always so prickly about it?’

‘It’s a closed subject, Sylvie. You know that.’

‘But why? Surely I have a right to know who my father is. I’m old enough now, aren’t I?’

‘I don’t talk about it because it’s sordid and unpleasant. It’s all in the past which is where I want it to stay. And as to having a right to know who he was – I’d like to know that myself. I never did catch his name.’

Yul leant his forehead against the softness of the stallion’s coat, breathing in the sweet smell. He was almost asleep on his feet. Nightwing snickered and turned his head to pluck at the boy with gentle lips. Yul wearily opened his eyes and resumed grooming. This was the one highlight of his punishment; nobody got this close to Magus’ horse unless they were an experienced stable hand.

‘Come on, lad. You’ve done enough for tonight. Go on home to your bed now.’

Tom, the head ostler, stood outside the half door. He shook his head.

‘Never seen anything like it afore. That horse is usually evil but he’s taken a real shine to you.’

Yul nodded, proud of his affinity with the stallion. It was wonderful to groom such a beautiful horse, but he wished he could ride Nightwing too. Tom watched as the boy put away the grooming brushes and newly polished tack. He was strong and willing despite having done a full day’s work in the woods, and Tom would be sorry to see the back of him now that the week was up. He still didn’t understand why Yul had been sent here every evening. When he’d asked the boy what misdemeanour
he’d committed, Yul had merely shrugged and mumbled something about not showing enough respect.

Tom knew the boy’s reputation – surly and rebellious. He’d seen the cut on Yul’s cheek, which was Magus’ style. The master could be a little free with his riding whip and had marked the boy quite severely. But Tom also knew the boy’s father. The bruise on Yul’s other cheek and the way he winced as he moved – that was surely Alwyn’s doing.

‘You’ve worked hard here, lad, and I’ll make sure Magus hears about it. I don’t know how you got yourself into this trouble but mind you don’t do it again.’

Yul gazed at the older man through his dark curls and nodded, too exhausted to speak. He didn’t know how he got into such trouble either. He seemed to have a death wish at times.

‘Well, mind my words, Yul. And come up to the stables again to see us. But keep out of the master’s way, eh? And your father’s too.’

Yul grinned at him, raised a dirty hand in farewell and trudged off into the night, melting into the darkness. The ostler shook his head and began to shut the horses up for the night. He was surprised to see the gleam of blond hair in the lantern light as Magus appeared in the stable courtyard.

‘Has the boy gone already?’

‘Aye, sir. He was asleep on his feet.’

‘A pity you let him go. I wanted a final word with him.’

‘The lad was worn out, sir.’

‘Hard work never hurt anyone, Tom, as we both know. I hope he’s learnt his lesson. Can you believe I found the boy lying about in the fields watching hares? He was supposed to be clearing undergrowth in the woods!’

‘Yul worked well whilst he was here, sir. He has a way with the horses, right enough.’

‘Yes, too much of a way. While I was reprimanding him, he actually had the cheek to stroke Nightwing! Nobody touches my horse – everyone knows that. The boy’s lucky I let him off so lightly.’

Tom thought it best not to mention that he’d allowed Yul to groom Nightwing.

‘Aye, sir. I’m sure he’s been put in his place now. I reckon his father’s had a go at him too.’

‘Good! There’s something in that boy that needs taming – a look in his eye I don’t like. He’d better not overstep the mark again.’

Yul flung himself onto his narrow bed, too tired to wash or even undress. He kicked off his boots as he lay on the worn bedcovers, the sharp slope of the ceiling preventing him from sitting upright. The tiny attic room was unlit as his mother didn’t like having lanterns right under the thatch. He breathed deeply of the night air that poured in through the small window by his head, listening to the owls calling across the darkness.

The pub down the lane began to disgorge men. Their voices seemed loud in the silent, starry night as they went home to their cottages. He heard his father whistling as he stomped up the lane. Yul shuddered, his body instinctively curling up. The front door opened and closed and he heard his mother’s soft voice. His father’s voice was only a low murmur so she must have persuaded him to sit down for a bit of bread and cheese.

Yul imagined his father stretched out in his armchair, feet warming by the fire. The cider could make him magnanimous but more often he became irritable and even aggressive. Alwyn very rarely hit his wife or the other children; their fear usually mollified him. But it had always been a different matter with his eldest son, and lately had become worse. Yul longed for the day when he could stand up to his father. He fell asleep thinking about it, and dreamed that he and Nightwing were flying through the black sky, the moonlight on their faces and the wind in their hair.

Miranda’s relief at Sylvie’s slight improvement during her stay in hospital was marred by a new worry. Sylvie talked incessantly of Hazel’s country home and how she longed to escape the city to
walk in the hills and woods of Stonewylde. Miranda wished that the proposed visit to Dorset had never been mentioned. The last thing she needed was an expensive trip, which, in her weakened state, might only make her daughter worse. But her hopes that it would all come to nothing were dashed when she collected Sylvie from hospital a few days later.

‘Thank goodness I caught you before you left,’ cried the young doctor, approaching breathlessly. ‘Good news! Magus is in London, I’ve talked to him, and he wants to meet you both!’

Sylvie, clinging on to her mother’s arm for support, beamed at this.

‘Can we come to Stonewylde for a visit then? Is it okay?’

‘I don’t know, Sylvie, but it sounds promising. I thought he’d reject the idea out of hand.’ Hazel turned to Miranda, her face glowing with excitement. ‘I’m sorry, I know this must seem terribly unorthodox but I honestly believe that a stay at Stonewylde could help Sylvie. We’ve run all the tests. We’ve tried all the drugs and creams, the medicines and treatments. Nothing seems to cure her because I think the illness goes deeper than simple physical allergies. Sylvie needs spiritual healing more than anything else. Please give this a try – I’m sure you won’t regret it.’

The look on Miranda’s face was almost comical. Spiritual healing! But she shrugged in resignation, not wanting to be the one to wipe the animation from Sylvie’s thin face.

‘Thank you, Doctor. We’ll meet him at least, and take it from there. Maybe, as you say, a nice weekend of fresh country air would help Sylvie.’

The meeting was not at all how Miranda imagined. Hazel picked them up a few days later and drove them to Magus’ offices in the heart of the City. The building was very grand and they were ushered in by an immaculately groomed woman. Behind a mask of professional welcome, she hid any curiosity the bedraggled pair may have aroused. Magus’ office was luxurious and the man himself was a complete shock to both of them.

Instead of the crusty old landed-gentry type in tweeds and brogues whom Sylvie had envisaged, or the bearded weirdo in ethnic clothing, crystals and sandals of Miranda’s imaginings, Magus was the most attractive man either of them had ever seen. In his late thirties, with ash-blond hair and velvety dark eyes, he was tall and long-limbed and wore an expensive business suit with effortless style. His face was strong and chiselled; his manner charming and quietly powerful. Miranda rapidly changed her opinion of the whole venture and wished she’d worn lipstick. This was no sinister cult leader bent on brain-washing them for his evil ends, but a cultured and successful man. Maybe Stonewylde would be a similarly attractive proposition.

He put Miranda and Sylvie at ease, for both were flustered and shy. Like Hazel, whom he thanked and dismissed once she’d introduced them, he was fascinated by Sylvie’s likeness to the residents of Stonewylde. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and apologised for his curiosity with a smile. He was concerned to hear of Sylvie’s illness and allergies and questioned her sensitively. His dark eyes glowed with sympathy when she hesitatingly explained her awful medical problems. She felt genuine warmth in his smile and liked the way he listened so carefully, his eyes kind and voice gentle. There was an aura of strength and security about him that she found very comforting, and she loved the smell of his rather exotic cologne.

Magus also wanted to know about Miranda’s teaching career and her hopes for the future. When he learned that they didn’t extend beyond finding a cure for Sylvie, he nodded.

‘Your ideals would fit in well with our philosophy at Stonewylde,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘We too put health and well-being before material gain. Forgive me for asking, but what about Sylvie’s father? I assume he’s not part of your lives?’