Shaman of Stonewylde (36 page)

He yawned hugely and turned to Sylvie.

‘Shall we ring for tea? I’d like to see a copy of this contract. I’m sure it is watertight, but there may be something Clip’s lawyer missed. Perhaps there’s some loophole meaning we can legally eject these undesirables from the premises at the earliest opportunity.’

‘Why
Yul!
’ squealed Holly, her sinuous pose abandoned. ‘There’s no need to be so aggressive! We—’

‘You were all asked to leave Stonewylde nearly fourteen years ago,’ he said in a voice as cold and hard as black ice. ‘Nothing has changed, Holly. You’re not welcome here and the sooner you leave, the better.’

18

F
ennel was having a tantrum as Yul, still dirty and wild, rode into the Village on his stallion. The models were posed around the water pump wearing Earth Ethics creations: voluminous skirts of woven material, little knitted jackets and Stonewylde felt hats and leather boots. Kestrel and Lapwing, wearing the male version of the new collection, stood behind them as if in deep conversation; both brandished pitch-forks. Rufus held a scythe and was in the centre of the scene, and the three Stonewylde girls stood in the background with wicker baskets on their arms.

Chelsi, Benjy and all the stylists were to hand, darting in and out of the tableau to tweak strands of hair and folds of skirts. Lighting assistants hovered just out of shot with the big white panels carefully angled to bounce light back up from below, and Fennel stood with a large camera getting more and more irate as the afternoon wore on.

‘Why isn’t
anyone
listening?’ he cried. ‘Sabrina – chin up there, towards the Barn. Jojo –
point
that foot, I want to
see
the boot! All to me, to
me
!’

He leapt around, twisting and turning, as the camera shutter whirred continuously. Village folk stood on the sidelines staring in bemusement, although many had grown bored as the shoot had been in progress for some time. Muttering and sniggering could be heard, which made Fennel spin round and glare at the culprits, only to find that someone on set had moved the second his back was turned.

‘For Christ’s sake, let’s
lose
the damned yokels!’ he hissed. ‘Chelsi – sort them out!’

The girl with the fierce glasses and clipboard moved towards the gaggle of Stonewylders who lounged against the stone wall making wry comments. Just as she was about to remonstrate, the Nursery opened its doors and children began to pour out, laughing and shouting.

‘What?’ Chelsi, Benjy – deal with this! I
cannot
work under these conditions!’

Fennel ran a hand through his long, tousled hair and actually stamped a foot in distress. Benjy set off towards the swarm of tiny children heading their way, and two of the models began to sneeze violently.

A large woman in an apron came out from the Barn and walked straight across the set. She stopped in front of Fennel, planting her hands on her hips.

‘Maizie sent me to say that tea’s ready in the Barn,’ she said. ‘So come and get ‘un now.’

The Stonewylde teenagers immediately unfroze from their positions and turned hungrily towards the Barn, causing Fennel to shriek at them all.

‘
Did
I say the shoot is done?
Did
I say anyone could move?’

Into this chaotic scene came Yul. He sat astride Skydancer and held him on a tight rein as the grey stallion clattered over the cobbles. The horse was spooked by the strangers and particularly disliked the reflective panels. Yul had come straight from meeting Holly and was still dishevelled and unwashed, his clothes rough and his boots dusty. None of the Aitch team had seen him before and everyone stared up at the dark man in fascination.

Yul regarded the crowd and located Fennel, still recognisable as the youth of Yul’s memory. His immediate thought was to jump off his horse and punch Fennel on the nose, as he’d always longed to do as a boy. But now . . . he had an example to set, but more to the point – what had Rainbow told her brother and Holly? This was a terrifying thought, but he’d just have to assume that Rainbow had been discreet.

‘Tea in the Barn?’ he said loudly. ‘What are you all waiting for?’

The six Stonewylde teenagers, all bored and tired with standing around for hours on end, gave him grateful looks and immediately trooped off to the Barn. Fennel was furious at having his shoot disbanded like this, but couldn’t take his eyes off Yul. So this was how the Village boy had turned out. He still looked rough and ready, but no less attractive for that. The set emptied until only Fennel and Chelsi remained. She stared at the dark and authoritative man with open admiration.

‘Go and keep an eye on them all, Chelsi,’ said Fennel, putting the camera carefully into its lined bag. ‘Make sure the clothes are covered if they’re stuffing their faces, and don’t let anyone wander off. We’ll be regrouping over by that yew tree in twenty minutes.’

‘Okay, Finn. With the Russet Rustics range?’

He nodded.

‘Yes, but nobody’s to get changed until I’ve come in and spoken to them all. It’s like herding cats today and I need everyone together when I talk to them.’

She smiled up at Yul, who was still engaged in keeping Skydancer under control, and then she walked briskly towards the Barn. Fennel snapped the camera bag shut and then turned to Yul.

‘You haven’t changed much.’

‘Neither have you,’ Yul retorted.

‘Have you seen Holly yet?’

‘Yes, and she’s on her way down with Sylvie.’

‘We were wondering when you’d stop skulking in the shadows and actually make an appearance.’

‘I’d hoped to avoid you altogether, but Sylvie asked me to come.’

‘Why avoid us? You didn’t even know it
was
us, surely?’

‘True – it was a clever ruse. But let me tell you, Fennel – as soon as this photoshoot’s finished, you’re out. Gone – and not coming back again.’

Fennel gazed up at him, his eyes narrow with dislike.

‘Well, we’d better make sure we take our time, hadn’t we?’

Martin looked around in horror, a handkerchief held to his face. He’d grown up here in squalor, but that was many years ago; the scene around him brought back memories of the worst aspects of his childhood and made his heart beat faster in panic.

‘Mother, you must move up with me,’ he said. ‘This is no good.’

‘Never!’

‘And Aunt Vetchling – she needs treatment. She’s not looking well at all.’

‘Are you saying your own mother, the Wise Woman o’ Stonewylde, ain’t good enough to treat her sister?’

Old Violet regarded her son balefully. Despite the heat, she clutched her greasy shawl around herself. Her face was dark with grime, and the smell emanating from her bent-up body was indescribable.

‘No, Mother, ’tis just that—’

‘I want rabbit stew!’ she muttered. ‘Me and Vetch, we ain’t had proper food for a long time. That feckless Starling . . . the girl’s cursed and she’ll get her come uppance, right enough.’

‘When did she last visit? She told me she’d been yesterday and brought you food.’

‘I don’t remember . . . ’Twas a while back. Food – pah! Milk sops is all she brung us, and curdling as soon as she’d gone. We need meat to keep our strength up.’

Martin stared at her in dismay, noting the stringy arms beneath her shawl and the scrawniness of her neck. He could barely force himself to look at Vetchling, who slept in her chair in a grey heap, her emaciated face withered and skull-like. He wondered if it was too late for her altogether, for her breath rattled and bubbled and she’d shrivelled to nothing.

‘I’m going back to my cottage now,’ he said firmly, ‘and I’ll send the goodwife here straight away with food and provisions for you. She can also start to clean the place up.’

Old Violet grumbled a bit at this, rocking in her chair.

‘Aye, but I don’t want her poking into things,’ she muttered. ‘Never did like that woman.’

‘Mallow will do exactly as she’s told, Mother, so don’t fret. But we can’t have this, can we? The flies . . .’

‘I need more baccy and more mead,’ said Violet querulously. ‘Send them down with her. And a nice bit o’ rabbit.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Martin grimly, his face still pale with disgust. ‘When Mallow’s scrubbed the place up a little we’ll decide what’s to be done. I don’t see that you and Aunt Vetchling can look after yourselves any more.’

‘No, we’re old and feeble now!’ said Violet. ‘We need to be coddled. But we ain’t moving and that’s rock-sure, so your Mallow can come down every day, and you can get that Jay to chop wood for us again, lazy lout that he is. Smoked our pipes but never lifted a hand to helping us old ‘uns.’

‘And Swift – my boy can do his bit too,’ said Martin. ‘I’ll not have it said that my son shirked his duty. And Magpie as well – there are three boys who should be down here helping out.’

‘Aye, right enough. You’re a good lad, Martin. I said you’d not let us rot.’

‘No, o’ course not, Mother. I still can’t believe Starling just walked out like that! I never knew.’

‘Starling – pah! She’ll rue the day she cast for a man. Mark my word, son. That Cledwyn’s a nasty piece o’ work and she’ll be sorry, just as I told her. I don’t want her back here no more neither. Look at poor old Vetch! Starling just turned her back on her mother and me and left – never even shut the door, and we all know what
that
means!’

Holly had changed into more casual attire but was still very chic next to Sylvie and the other Stonewylde women.

‘We need an evergreen!’ said Fennel. ‘Everything else screams of summer, and this is the autumn/winter collection.’

Sylvie caught Yul’s eye. He stood with Bluebell in his arms watching the scene with dismay.

‘But you can’t . . .’

Sylvie stopped, not knowing what to say. The yew was there for all to enjoy of course, in full view on the Village Green. But somehow it was their private, special place, and the thought of Aitch invading it was horrible.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Holly in mock concern. ‘Why not the yew? Oh! I’ve just remembered!’

She let out a bray of laughter and her eyes danced with malice.

‘Remembered what?’ asked Fennel irritably. The models and stylists were in the Great Barn changing into a new batch of clothes whilst he and the assistants set up the next location.

‘I saw them kissing under this tree all those years ago! Kissing and God knows what else. Oh, how very sweet! She doesn’t want us using their special tree!’

‘Why is that lady laughing, Father?’ asked Bluebell. She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. ‘
I don’t like her very much
.’

Yul squeezed her tight and chuckled.

‘
Neither do I!
’ he whispered into her soft curls.

‘Please, Holly – our child is here,’ said Sylvie, casting an agonised glance at Yul.

‘Don’t worry, darling – your secret’s safe with me,’ Holly laughed, eyeing them slyly. Yul stared at her, wondering what she meant by that. ‘And what a pretty child she is!’ she added

‘Thank you,’ said Sylvie, edging a little closer to Yul and Bluebell.

‘Could we possible include the three of you in this next set? Purely as extras of course. You all look so wonderfully bucolic.’

‘Absolutely not!’ snapped Yul.

Fennel glanced up from his viewer to look at them.

‘You’re right, Aitch,’ he said. ‘They’d be perfect.’

At that point, the Village School opened its doors and an even larger flock of children poured out through the gate, like a murmuration of starlings.

‘No!’ he cried. ‘This is bloody
ridiculous
!’

Benjy was leading some of the models and extras across the Village Green from the Barn, and they became surrounded by
children
dancing around excitedly on the cobbles and dead grass. The stylists and remaining models emerged, also getting tangled up with children and Fennel groaned, raking his hand through his hair again and looking wildly about him. He lifted the end of a branch of the yew – a massive branch clothed in the dark green barbs – and tried to peer into the gloom under the tree.

‘Aha! This looks interesting in here – and a lot more private.’

Sylvie jerked in horror.

‘Oh Yul, please! Don’t let them take photos under our yew.’

He still had Bluebell in his arms but he turned to look at Sylvie. Their eyes locked into each other’s, pale silver-grey into deep smoky-grey. His guilt still hung heavily in his heart but, stronger than that, his love for his beautiful wife flared brightly. As they stared deep into one another’s souls, the mutual memory shimmered between them. He tore his glance away to move quickly towards Fennel, and Bluebell had to cling on tightly.

‘No!’ he said sharply. ‘You mustn’t take photos under there.’

‘Why ever not?’ asked Fennel, pulling the branch aside even further. ‘Actually, it looks perfect. That trunk is incredible and it looks almost wintry, it’s so dark.’

‘Let me see,’ said Holly, coming forward.

‘You can’t take all those people in there!’ said Yul.

‘Why? We—’

‘Because the yew tree is heavily toxic, and someone might get poisoned,’ came a clear voice, and all turned round to stare at Leveret.

‘Who on earth are
you
?’ asked Fennel, eyeing her speculatively. ‘And why didn’t you audition as an extra?’

Leveret ignored this and stepped forward to join the group, with Celandine by her side.

‘Auntie Leveret!’ cried Bluebell happily.

‘Hello, Celandine!’ said Sylvie, bending to kiss her other daughter.

‘Look, I really don’t have all day,’ snapped Fennel. ‘The light’s changing and I need to get these outfits shot.’

The group of models, extras and stylists were now milling around on the grass waiting to be instructed, and the assistants stood with their panels, umbrellas and lights.

‘Just do it, darling,’ said Holly, lighting a cigarette.

‘No! You mustn’t take these people under the yew tree,’ said Leveret firmly. ‘It’s extremely toxic – not just the berry seeds, leaves and bark, but the air itself can be affected too. Surely you don’t want to risk anyone falling seriously ill?’