Murkmere (30 page)

Air moved through the undergrowth. Leaves shivered, shadows spun and flickered, dark on dark, drawing nearer. He was so close
now that I could feel his damp breath on my face.

It was only the breeze, a little night breeze finding its way around the dips and hollows of the copse. The undergrowth was
alive with secret movement.

A tiny creature ran out of the bracken close to where I stood trembling, a stoat perhaps; I could see only the shine of its
eyes. But there would be other creatures about, not humans, but animals going about their business in the night, moving over
leaves and twigs, making noises of their own.

I went on cautiously, and my hand felt for my amber again.

Then, very quickly, the ground opened out and the tower was above me. I could sense its mass rising up into the sky, and as
my shoes trod smooth grass again, there it was, blocking out the clouds and stars.

What if the Master were not up there after all? The thought of negotiating those stairs to the top in enclosed darkness and
then finding empty rooms — I stopped myself imagining further.

On the ground the black bones of the pulley stuck up untidily. The dark circle that enclosed the chain was stationary and
silent, no grating of links to tell me the lift was still on the
move. But when I looked up I could see the black shape of the lift hauled up against the top window. There was no light shining
out; they must have taken their lamps to the bookroom.

So I needn’t have worried. The Master was already up there.

T
he walls of the tower were gritty and damp under my fingers. I felt my way around like a blind man, until I reached the oak
door and fumbled to find the latch. It lifted smoothly, and I stepped into the ground-floor room. Either Jukes or Pegg had
lit the candles in the wall brackets, but beneath the arch the stairs looked shadowy and steep.

I scrambled up to the landing, trying not to trip over my skirts; my soft slippers were soundless on the oak stairs. The black
block of the lift hung against the landing window, shadowing the floorboards, and the door to the bookroom was open, the three
men in the lamplight inside with their backs to me. Unnoticed in the darkness, I watched them.

My first feeling was one of relief that the Master was doing nothing more dangerous than sitting before the desk, his body
humped awkwardly forward in the wheelchair, a footman standing on either side of him. He was clutching a quill
pen in his hand, and the papers spread in front of him in a pool of candlelight were covered with close black handwriting.
A fire had been lit, and also the candelabra on the mantel, but at night the room was cheerless with its shadowy brick walls
and long black window.

The pen scratched across the yellowed parchment. The two men stood silently, exchanging a glance over the Master’s bent head:
Jukes, lanky-limbed; Pegg, shorter, but barrel-chested and strong. Though his strength was needed for the lift winches, I’d
never warmed to Pegg. I didn’t want either of them there when I gave the Master the swanskin.

The Master stopped writing and handed the pen to Jukes. “Bring up a chair. You can’t write standing.”

Jukes fetched a chair obediently and, having seated himself, wrote something briefly, while Pegg fetched another chair from
against the wall. Then Pegg took the pen, the chair creaking as he sat down. The sheets were passed to him, and he gave them
a cursory glance before he scrawled something, using much sand for blotting.

“Good,” said the Master. “Thank you both for coming out at such an hour. This had to be done tonight, you understand.”

He tried to collect the sheets together, but his fingers fumbled.

“Sir,” I said quickly, coming into the room, “Sir, it’s Agnes Cotter. I need to speak with you on an urgent matter.”

The footmen rose to their feet, startled. The Master looked up from the parchment with an effort; I saw with a shock how ill
he looked. The flesh of his face had sunk and his eyes,
large and glistening, swam in their sockets. With difficulty he fixed them on me. “Agnes? What are you doing here? Has Leah
sent you?”

“I’ve not seen Leah, Sir. I’ve brought you something.” I held the laundry bag out to him.

His gaze flickered. “What is it?”

I looked at the footmen: Pegg glaring suspiciously, Jukes expressionless as ever. “Sir, I beg a word with you alone.”

“It’s not possible, Agnes. I must finish here before the Protector catches up with me.”

“Sir,” I said urgently, not caring now whether the footmen heard. “I have something in this bag, something that was your wife’s
and now endangers Leah. Please, let me tell you —”

“You’d best leave us,” he said curtly to the footmen. “Stay close. I’ll call you.” As they left the room reluctantly, closing
the door behind them, he rubbed his hand across his brow with the utmost weariness. “Quickly, Agnes.”

I went to him, holding the bag out before me. “I’ve tried to destroy it once,” I said in a low voice. “Now you must do it.”

But I feared he no longer had the strength.

I thrust its softness at him and he took it involuntarily. I saw him turn paler still. He knew what it was. He made no move
to loosen the drawstring, but sat motionless with the bag on his knees.

“Sir, this is what Leah has been keeping in her room. They know about it, Lord Grouted and Silas. I’ve heard them say things
tonight that threaten her.”

He took the bag and flung it from him with surprising
power. The wrapped scissors inside made a soft thud as it landed against the far wall. “Leah will be Mistress of Murkmere!
She must be!”

I shook my head. “Sir, all these years Silas has been spying for the Protector. They mean to prevent Leah from inheriting
the estate. They want to steal the swanskin as proof that she’s unsuitable.”

“Silas?” He interrupted me, his face working. “What are you talking about — spying?” It was as if he had taken in only one
piece of what I’d said. I’d said it too fast for a sick man; I hadn’t explained properly.

“Silas has been spying for Lord Grouted,” I said patiently. “Silas wants to take over the estate in Leah’s place, and Lord
Grouted will back him.”

“Silas?” he repeated, as if confused. “Silas wants this?”

“I overheard their plans only an hour ago. Sir …” I leaned closer, “Sir, you must decide what to do. You’re still Master here.
You must dismiss Silas immediately.”

He reared up in his chair. “How dare you tell me what to do? You tell me lies about Silas….” He fell back, put his hand to
his left arm and grimaced.

“When have you known me tell lies, Sir? There’s more. Let me start at the beginning. I was in the library and hid when they
came in, Silas with Lord Grouted. I overheard everything.”

“Has he betrayed me then?” He sounded confused, pathetic, his fire gone. “But he’ll not take Murkmere. I’ve other
plans. If Leah …” He looked at me, his voice tailing away as if he’d forgotten what he wanted to say next.

“Sir, if they have the swanskin, they have Leah in their power,” I said desperately, willing him to grasp it. “They plan to
put her in a cage with the skin and wait for her to change shape. But we can destroy it now. Without it she’ll remain as she
is. She can escape from them tonight.”

I went over and picked up the laundry bag, offering it to him again. “I implore you, destroy it now, Sir.”

He was frowning at me as if trying to focus, or perhaps he’d understood the danger at last; but he didn’t take the bag.

“Please, Sir, we must hurry. I must go back and tell Leah what I heard, help her leave secretly”

He looked at me in astonishment, as if I’d gone mad. “But she is to be Mistress of Murkmere,” he said, outraged. “She can’t
leave.”

Then abruptly he called for the footmen, as if there were nothing more to say.

Jukes loomed behind me. His hand fell on my shoulder. “You must go, Miss,” he said quietly. “The Master’s tired, and should
be in his bed. We’ll tidy the business away, then Pegg and I will get the lift working.”

I stood hopelessly on the landing with the bag as Jukes closed the door to the bookroom against me. I looked at the rough
brick walls, the dark shapes of the lift machinery; beneath me were unreachable wood joists supporting the floor,
and the struts and props that held the structure of the tower secure. I couldn’t bear to destroy the swanskin again myself;
the best I could do was hide it. But there was nowhere here.

A creaking sound came from inside the bookroom; a cool dampness drifted under the door, the smell of the night. They must
have opened the long window. Was the Master faint? But the next moment I heard his voice, loud and hoarse, though I couldn’t
make out what he said.

Suddenly there was the grind of the chair’s iron wheels, as if it were being moved, then the rasp of feet dragging over the
floorboards with sickening slowness. I scarcely understood what I was hearing, yet suspected I did all too well.

But even as I went to open the door, there was the thud of something heavy falling as if felled by a tremendous blow, followed
by absolute silence.

The two footmen were standing frozen, and between them on the floor lay the Master. His body was crumpled and seemed oddly
small out of his chair, his legs twisted sideways.

I must have cried aloud, for Jukes turned an ashen face toward me.

“What have you done? Have you killed him?” I said, and felt my eyes start from my head in horror.

I knelt down and saw his face was gray, his eyes closed. His wig had fallen off and lay beside him pathetically, like a bundle
of knitting wool. I put down the laundry bag and tried to straighten him.

The empty seat of the chair would be too vast for such a
little, stunted body.
How can I fit him back in?
I thought, pulling vainly at the dead limbs.
He’ll roll around
.

“I tried to stop him … ,” gasped Jukes. “I refused …”

My mouth was dry. “What?”

“I refused to bring out the flying machine,” he whispered, and he buried his face in his hands, great grown man that he was,
and started to shake.

I looked over sharply, and saw a gap of darkness between the double doors. “Who opened those doors?”

Jukes looked up, his eyes wet. “It was Pegg, before I stopped him.”

Pegg started back. “Not I.”

“It was indeed!” said Jukes bitterly. “You wished the Master to harm himself! Why didn’t you hold him down, as I tried to
do?”

Pegg looked sullen. “He was set on it, weren’t he? He wanted to rejoin his wife, he said, and when we stopped his chair, he
upped himself and went to walk.”

Beside me the Master gave a groan.

Pegg jumped back, his cocksure manner gone. “He never lives?”

“He does,” I said, and relief made my knees tremble, so that I shook like a sapling in the wind.

The Master was breathing painfully; we could all hear it. His eyes were still shut; he was unconscious.

“Go!” I said. “Don’t dally here!”

“What should we do, Miss?” said Jukes weakly.

“Get help, of course,” I said. “Bring the nurse and her
medicines. Tell Miss Leah to come. Fetch more men and a pallet. He must be carried back to the house.” I reached up and grasped
Jukes’s tailcoat. “And Jukes, be careful whom you tell. Not Lord Grouted or Mr. Silas, you understand.”

“But shouldn’t Mr. Silas —“

“No!” I cried frantically.

“I understand, Miss,” he said, subdued. “Shall Pegg stay with you?”

I shook my head, for I did not trust Pegg, now even less than before. “It will take two of you to do all that. But hurry!”

“The papers, Miss. Should we cover them?”

“Just go!”

They left, Jukes unwillingly, with a gray-faced look, first at the desk and the sheets of parchment, then at his master. They
took the lamps with them, and as they went the room flickered in the light of the few candles left. I heard their boots clatter
down the stairs.

I lifted the Master’s head onto my lap and cradled him, so that he should be more comfortable, but I knew it would make little
difference to him now. I thought briefly of the rooks of Murkmere, those harbingers of doom, but then dismissed them. Over
the past months I’d grown to realize that no bird can influence man’s death. Men go when their time is done, and the Master’s
time was sifting away as I held him.

A breeze drifted in through the open window and lifted my hair and the hair that had fallen across his forehead. A strand
was tickling his closed eyelids and I smoothed it away.
His breath was dry and crackling in his chest. Behind us the double doors closed and clicked shut in the draft. I didn’t think
they would ever be opened again.

I’d never sat with a dying man before, but I know when men are dead, and so I knew the very moment the Master died. I sat
in the silence and I felt him going from his body, going away through the open window into the sky. I had such a sense of
it that I even looked to see if I could see a shape, flying.

But I could see nothing. Souls are invisible, anyway. But when I looked back at his face I saw that it looked joyful. He was
happy to be going out into the sky to find his wife.

In the end he hadn’t needed a flying machine.

I laid him back on the floor and put my lace shawl over him. I pulled it over his face, in case his eyelids should shrink
back, and then down over as much of his body as I could, as I’d seen the Elders do with our village dead.

I’d scarcely finished when I heard the first feet climbing the stairs outside, but only one pair, and soft-soled, so I knew
it must be a woman.

It was Leah. Her breathing was hard and quick as if she’d run all the way, and her chest heaved with it so that the silver
dress shimmered in the candlelight. The hem was marked darkly with grass and dew. I thought stupidly that Doggett would have
a hard time getting the stains out.

When she saw that my shawl covered the Master’s face,
she gave one great sob that might have been a gasp, and no more. Then she sank down beside him, her eyes like stones. Her
shoulders heaved as she caught her breath back.