Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) (32 page)

“Now you should go, and be swift. Time runs through its glass for us all,” said the first. “And as I’ve said, you’ve looked better.”

“I’m fine,” said Silas, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“For the moment. Take care, Silas Umber.”

Wanting to ask more about his mom, but knowing it was pointless to press them, Silas said, “Most reverend ladies of the cloth, I thank you.” He bowed low, encouraging Lars to do likewise as they exited, walking backward out of the long gallery.

“Such polite young men,” said the first and second as one as they returned to embroidering the image of a bull-headed man in bronze-colored thread.

“They just don’t make them like that anymore,” replied the third as she ripped some stitches from the tapestry a little farther along its length.

S
ILAS BARELY GESTURED WITH HIS
HAND
and the great doors of Arvale opened, groaning upon their massive ornate hinges but obedient. He and Lars walked quickly out into the courtyard. The gray light afforded a better view of the surroundings, but the path to Lichport was still indiscernible. The trees had woven their branches into an impregnable thicket, and about the ground at their trunks, briars twisted in thorny spirals. Beyond the trees, there was only darkness. Until he settled this business, there would be no going home.

Lars led Silas to the north, staying close to the sheltering walls of the house. As they walked beneath scorched and blackened portions of the battlements, they had to pick their way around chunks of masonry, broken bricks, and shards of glass, all cast down by the assault of the nameless spirit the night before. Passing under an arch covered with roses, they soon came to a gravel path. On both sides, wild topiaries suggested the forms of animals now grown feral, subsumed below the unattended vegetation. Somewhere beyond, Silas could just hear the soft, distant roaring of the sea.

“It gets nicer just up there,” Lars said, walking faster. He led Silas to the top of the path, but then refused to go any farther. Below them, the garden spread out in surprising beauty. Silas had expected something more overgrown, but this part of the estate seemed well-kept and thriving. Everywhere Silas looked, bright flowers spattered the plots with color. Running along the far side of the beds, between it and the forest, a wide green field lay, opulent with tall, swaying asphodel. Lars eyed the landscape nervously.

“Why so spooked?” Silas asked him.

“Do you see that field?” asked Lars.

Silas nodded.

“There have been great battles there, or so I’ve heard. Just below the sod, there is a deep layer of bones.”

“So all it takes is an old battlefield to scare you?”

“No.
They
scare me.”

“Lars, you expect me to believe that you wander around Arvale all day long and never bat an eye, but a little visit to the summer house in the garden and you’re quaking? You’re not seriously staying behind?” Silas asked.

“They frighten me, Silas. I said I’m not going and I’m not.” Lars paused; he was breathing hard. “You remember when we spoke about the folk of the house, and how we’re not like them?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, we are not like these people either. We are
really
not like them. They are not ghosts. They are . . . I don’t know, Silas. . . . They are something else, something
older
.”

“They are my cousins, Lars. Our cousins. Everyone says they’re lovely.”

“Then everyone is being polite. I’ve seen them hunting. They are not lovely, they’re terrifying.”

“If they’re so terrible, why are you letting me go?”

Lars looked guilty, but said, “You’ll be fine. They’ll receive
you
. They’re gentry. Act like a gentleman and you’ll be all right. Do not be rude. About anything. You’re one of them after all, a man of the manor. You’ll fit in. You’re
someone
. I will wait for you here.”

Silas wasn’t sure whether he’d been complimented or insulted. But he hugged Lars quickly, said he’d see him later, and continued down through the garden, passing fountains and shaped hedges. Silas realized to his surprise that the farther he went, the warmer the day became. When he’d left Lichport, it was the bitter cold of February. And Arvale’s rooms were cold at any time of day unless a fire was lit. Here, flowers bloomed as though it were early summer.

He arrived at the bottom of the garden, where a tall ornamental stone arch stood, overgrown with wild roses, their petals red as blood. The smell was intoxicating, and Silas breathed in heavily. Somewhere before him, the sound of chimes softly drifted on the air.

Beyond the arch in front of him rose a low hill crowned with gray-skinned, ancient beech trees. All about the base of the hill, primroses thrived. Among the flowers was bright green lawn, and in the midst of that stood the summer house, its many shining windows and front door wide open. An old victrola was playing, the words floating gaily over the grass. . . .

Hold your hand out, naughty boy!

Hold your hand out, naughty boy!

Last night in the pale moonlight,

I saw you! I saw you!

With a nice girl in the park,

You were strollin’, full of joy,

And you told her you’d never kissed a girl before!

Hold your hand out, naughty boy!

On the lawn, some of the cousins were playing badminton. Small tables bearing refreshments of the daintiest sort were scattered across the grass. Wooden and wicker chairs were placed here and there, all filled with smartly dressed people.

“What-ho!” cried a tall woman, throwing up her hand and waving. She wore a long velvet dress with a great swinging strand of garnet beads that glowed bloodred against her pale skin as they caught the light. Her enormous hat was tied to her head by what looked like a silk bandage wrapped over the hat and under her chin. She wore a lengthy diaphanous scarf that flowed like two gauzy pennants behind her as she walked. “This is never cousin Silas! I didn’t believe it when I heard you’d come . . . and didn’t you take your time to come and pay a call. Shame on you! But, my! How handsome you are. Lord! He’s done the family proud, hasn’t he? Come here immediately and embrace me, silly Silas! I’m your cousin Ottoline, quite the best person you know, I am sure of it!”

She waltzed across the lawn and took Silas in her arms and whispered in his ear, “You’re not really dressed for a lawn party, you know. But we shall forgive you, just this once.” She pulled Silas along behind her and called out to the rest of the party.

“Aggie! Monty! Rupert! Percy! Freddie! Vita! Puffy! Fruity! Ricky! Tipton! Mustard! LuLu! Can you guess who’s here? Cousin Silas!”

Everyone set down their drinks and rackets and welcomed Silas to the party. They were the handsomest people Silas had ever seen. They all greeted him warmly but distantly. Ottoline pulled him away, wanting to keep him to herself, for a little family gossip.

Her skin was flawless and bore not a single wrinkle or any evidence of the passage of time.

“Goodness, but you look tired. How dreadful! Is it the awful screaming we’ve heard up at the house? What
is
all that commotion? There’s been no word from the manor and all the servants are off, and here we are with only poor old Nursey to keep us in line. Isn’t that so?” she shouted toward an elderly woman dressed all in white who was standing by a perambulator. Nursey was reaching down to give the baby inside a little toy, but looked up wearily at the sound of Ottoline’s voice.

“Isn’t that right, Nursey?” Ottoline’s voice rose to a shout. “Only you here to keep us in line?”

The old woman rolled her eyes.

Ottoline leaned over and whispered to Silas, “She must hate us. Still, the child adores her and it’s so hard to find good help in the country. The household staff are positively useless.”

Silas followed Ottoline over to the chairs and sat down with her to watch the badminton. “Woodhouse?” she called. “Do be a darling and bring Silas a G and T, will you? There’s a dear!”

A man in a long-tailed coat covered in gold braid, and with a back so straight it seemed he had never once bent over in his life, walked briskly back into the summer house. When he returned a few moments later, he was holding a neat little silver tray of glasses that all clinked together like bells.

When they had their drinks, the badminton resumed. Never taking her eyes off the game, Ottoline said to Silas, “Now, little cousin, perhaps you can tell me what all the noise is about. It’s quite shattering my poor nerves every time that air-siren goes off over Arvale.”

“It’s no air-siren—”

“Yes. I
know
,” Ottoline said, drawing out the last syllable. “The screaming, dear. Where is it coming from?”

Silas told her the story of his time in the catacombs and the nameless spirit’s attack upon the house. With every word, Ottoline nodded, then began to look more and more impatient and increasingly annoyed. Her face seemed to come under a shadow, and she lifted one dark eyebrow up as if she was about to ask a question to which she already knew the answer.

“Silas, dear,” she said, “why don’t you simply ask her father to tell her to close her little mouth? Goodness, give the child a glass of milk or something. A spanking. A new doll. Whatever it takes to quiet the brat.”

“I don’t know who her father is.”

“Don’t you? I’d be happy to tell you if you promise to do something about the noise. I don’t recommend spending much time with
those
sorts, however. We don’t care for the father very much, I can tell you. But, if her own father doesn’t remember her name, no one does.”

“How do you know him?”

“We once shared an interest.”

“May I ask . . . ?”

“Hunting. We used to come across him on the deer paths of the forest. In his day, he was more centaur than man, always on a horse, charging after boar, or deer, or whatever he could spear or shoot or catch. And never a word of thanks. Never. That did not sit well. Not tickety-boo. So, as he took from
us
, we took from
him
.”

“Do you mean—”

“The daughter? The loud one? Silas, do follow along!” Ottoline pointed up toward the chimneys of the house in the distance. “Really, it was an honor, she never would have married well with a father like that. So one of our own little princes paid her court. Where’s Robby?” she shouted back toward the summer house.

In front of the hill, the two badminton players—perhaps arguing over which side of the line the bird had fallen—had thrown aside their rackets and drawn thin, wicked-looking swords. They fought with such grace and speed that Silas could barely see the blades cutting this way and that through the air. “Ha!” one of the men shouted, taking a step back as the other raised his fingers to touch a thin, bloody line now running across his cheek. He smiled, and the onlookers all began to laugh.

“Well, I doubt he’d remember anyway,” Ottoline continued. “. . . So many parties, so many paramours. And she loved him. Oh, my, didn’t she? And he was so very amused, for a time. Little came of it in the end. Well, summer romance-arinos never last, do they? But the father was furious, and truly, we enjoyed goading him. How he would charge through the forest screaming for her. And she, with her paramour, holed up in some green bower beyond his reach, laughing through soft kisses and . . . more. I adore a good
chanson d’amour
! How strange to even remember such a thing. Still, it was good sport, back in the day.”

“Do you remember her name?”

“Certainly not. I am sure no one knew her name even then. She was ‘that sweet little thing from the house.’ She was a darling, though. Anyway, if you want to know more, you should make enquiries with the father. It will be little trouble to find him, for he lived in a very great tower; there’s only one place like it among all the halls and manses of Arvale. But like the man, the tower is a little . . . unfashionable.”

“You mean old? Another part of the house?”

“No, I mean to say, it’s cursed. He was a terrible chap and grew ever so much worse. Well, what could you expect? His hobbies had turned decidedly dark. Who knows what awful names he summoned by? Certainly by the end of his days he had not been himself for some time. And now, well, whatever state you find him in, I assure you he will be much more and much worse than he seems, so do have a care, little cousin.”