The Puzzle Ring (9 page)

‘She's right, my lamb.' Linnet was standing in the shadows, her face creased with concern. ‘That hill is not a safe place at the best of times, but certainly not at dusk or dawn or midnight. You mustn't go round it, or climb it, and you must never, ever go inside the cave. Will you promise me?'

Hannah had no intention of promising any such thing. She glared at her mother. ‘I was just exploring. I didn't go very far. It's not my fault I didn't hear you. It's a big garden!'

Roz gave her a little shake. ‘Just stay where I can see you, all right?'

Hannah wrenched herself free. ‘Oh, don't fuss, Mum! I'm not a little kid any more. Nothing's going to happen to me.'

‘Your father was a grown man,' Roz said through stiff lips, her hand clenched about the ring beneath her shirt. ‘Yet something happened to him, didn't it?'

‘That doesn't mean I have to spend my whole life being treated like a little kid,' Hannah flashed back. ‘It's not fair!'

Roz took a deep breath. ‘Just don't go wandering off with any more strange boys. Please!'

‘Not up the fairy hill,' Linnet murmured from the shadows. ‘It's a wicked place now, that green hill.'

Hannah rolled her eyes as her mother stalked away.

‘Come, my chick,' Linnet said. ‘I've given you your father's old room, the tower room. It's only tiny, but I think you'll like it. There's not a child alive who would not like to sleep in that tower room. I've made up the bed for you, and put a hot-water bottle in it, 'cause you'll not be used to the cold. It was your father's hot-water bottle and you'll smile when you see it, for I knitted him a puppy dog cover for it because he so badly wanted a dog when he was a boy . . .'

Talking softly, the old woman led Hannah through a bewildering sequence of oak-panelled staircases, echoing corridors, and empty halls with faded tapestries and vast stone fireplaces, through which the icy wind whistled in a most mournful way. Hannah thought that she would never be able to find her way back down to the warm comfort of her great-grandmother's drawing room, with its gold velvet drapes and gilded mirror.

‘Don't you worry,' Linnet said. ‘Give you a week and you'll know the place better than I do.'

They came to a long hallway, hung with massive portraits. The faces were all grim and stern and sad. ‘Are these all my ancestors? They look utterly miserable.'

‘A lot of sorrowing at Wintersloe,' Linnet said. ‘It's the curse, you know.'

‘So there really is a curse? It's not just an old tale?'

‘I wish it were,' Linnet said. ‘But the curse is all too real. It was all due to him, the first of the Black Roses.' She nodded her curly white head at the portrait of a tall, dark man with a pointed beard, a curled moustache and a sardonic expression.

‘Who's he? And what's a Black Rose?'

‘That's Lord Montgomery Rose, the first Earl of Wintersloe. Up till then, the Roses all had red hair, like you do yourself. But his mother was a Spanish lady. Lord Montgomery inherited her black looks and her black temper, and since then, it's said there's a Black Rose every few generations, all with a devilish temper.'

‘I always thought it was redheads who had bad tempers,' Hannah said ruefully, tugging at her wild copper-coloured curls.

‘Oh, yes, but with the Red Roses it's quickly lost and quickly regained. The Black Roses, though, they can brood over something for years.'

Hannah stared up at the portrait. The young man was dressed in a doublet and ruff, with a wild rose in one hand. In the background was a castle with a hill behind it crowned with a flowering thorn.

‘What did he do?'

‘He lost his temper,' Linnet said. ‘Then when he got it back again, he was too proud to admit he was in the wrong. It's a bad combination, temper and pride. He caused a lot of harm.'

‘I mean, what did he do to get himself cursed?'

Linnet sighed. ‘He married a lady from under the hill, one of the Fair Folk, but he didn't trust her. His jealousy drove him half mad, and he cast her out of the castle. The local folk burnt her as a witch.'

Hannah felt a chill. She rubbed her arms. ‘So she cursed him?'

Linnet nodded.

‘What happened to him?'

‘Lord Montgomery had fought for Mary, Queen of Scots, and she made him an earl in thanks. But then when she fled to England—a few months after Lord Montgomery's wife was burnt as a witch—those who had supported the queen were all punished by the rebel lords. Lord Montgomery died defending the castle, and it was burnt down around his ears. It was what his wife had predicted. “By fever, fire, storm and sword,” she said, and indeed we've had them all here at Wintersloe.'

There was a long pause, and Hannah heard the wind moaning through the vast cold chimney. The curtains at the window stirred, and somewhere a board creaked.

‘They say that one day a Red Rose will save a Black Rose and solve the puzzle ring, and break the curse,' Linnet said softly, tweaking one of Hannah's long red curls. ‘Who's to say it won't be you?'

Hannah nodded. ‘I mean to break it,' she answered.

‘But that's enough talk about curses and witches.' Linnet smiled rather sadly. ‘We don't want you having nightmares
your first night at Wintersloe. Come and I'll show you your room.'

Linnet led Hannah up another staircase, so narrow and steep and twisty that only a child or a very small old woman could walk up it without having to go sideways. At the top was a low arched doorway of oak so old it was almost black. A star made of twigs hung above it.

‘Rowan,' Linnet said, pointing one gnarled finger. ‘Protect you from all harm. In we go. There's your things, all safe and sound, and look, I've hung your pyjamas on the radiator so they'll be nice and warm. I'll let you get settled, then I'll come back by and by to show you the way to the dining room. Och, but it's a feast I've cooked for you tonight!'

Hannah woke slowly. She lay for a moment, conscious of the warmth of her bed, listening to birdsong that was quite different to the hectic, mocking laughter of the kookaburras greeting the dawn in Australia. She opened her eyes and looked around, curling her toes in joy.

Linnet was right. It was only a small room, but quite big enough for a skinny almost-thirteen year old girl. It had eight narrow walls, with the door taking up one side, and the windows another four. This left room for a tiny fireplace; a long, thin wardrobe painted blue with cream wheat-sheaves on the doors; and a tiny dressing table with six shallow drawers. A plump stool covered in faded red velvet was just the right height for Hannah to sit down and look at her face in the mirror. A painting of a stag and a loch and a castle hung above the fireplace. To Hannah's disappointment, the fireplace had been bricked up and a radiator put in. She
would have liked to lie in bed and watch flames flickering on the hearth.

Hannah leapt out of bed and ran to one diamond-paned window after another, looking out across the chimneys and gables towards Ben Lomond, at the sparkling loch, at the wych elm tree tossing its bright golden leaves in the wind, and over the garden to the ruined castle, Fairknowe Hill rising behind. Its crown of blackthorn looked more tangled and misshapen than ever in the early morning sunshine.

Leaning out of the window to look at the view to the north, Hannah noticed there was a gargoyle perched below her windowsill. Hanging over the sill, she saw it had fronds of leaves curling from his brow. So at each window she bent over to see, and sure enough, there was a gargoyle for each direction of the compass. Westwards was a scaly merman with a triton shell to his mouth. South was a dragon with spread wings and snarling mouth. Facing east, towards Fairknowe Hill, was a horned imp with wings and a wicked face.

A painted chest stood at the foot of the bed. Opening it, Hannah discovered it was full of old toys and books. She sat on the floor and looked through the books. Most of them had the name
Robert Rose
inscribed in them in a dashing, impatient hand, with a strange symbol drawn underneath. It looked like a heart on three legs, one straight and two curling. It was formed by two capital Rs, drawn back to back, facing in either direction like Janus, the two-faced god who looked to both the past and the future.

The books were mainly Biggles and Hardy Boys, but there was one thick old volume called
A Child's Treasury of Verse
which Hannah picked up, for she loved songs and poetry and often tried to write her own. Opening the book, Hannah
was most surprised to find that all the pages in the book had been glued together and a hole had been cut in the centre of the book. Inside was an old ornate iron key, red with rust.

Hannah stared in amazement. Who could have hidden the key? And what did the key open? Her mind flashed to the gate in the old yew tree, but that was a modern padlock and this key looked very old. Thoughtfully she weighed it in her hand, then, feeling shivery with cold, skipped back to bed and pulled out the hag-stone from under her pillow. It lay in her palm, rough and grey and ordinary, except for the hole worn through the centre. She lifted it to her left eye, but the room looked just the same. So she held it to her ear. She could hear the piteous sound of a dog howling. When she took it away from her ear, the howling stopped. Each time she held it to her ear, she heard the dog again.

Pondering this, Hannah tried slipping her fingers through the hole, as if the stone were a ring. It fitted perfectly on the ring finger of her left hand. She twisted it round and round her finger, wondering how she could find out more about the hag-stone.
I'll visit the Fäerie Knowe
, she thought.
Though I won't tell Miss Underhill I've got it
.

A soft knock came on the door. Hannah took the stone off her finger—to her relief, it came off without any trouble—and thrust it and the rusty old key under her pillow, just as Linnet came in, stooped over a heavy tray.

‘Morning, my lamb! I thought you'd like breakfast in bed, your first day here. I know you don't like porridge, so I made you some cinnamon rolls. I know you like cinnamon.'

How
? Hannah thought.
How could she possibly know
?

Linnet put the tray down on the end of Hannah's bed. It had four little legs that folded down so Hannah could sit up
in bed and eat as if at a tiny table. A crimson rose was tucked into her napkin. Hannah smelt the rose, then unfolded her napkin. She had never had breakfast in bed before.

Linnet smiled when Hannah told her. ‘Many new things happening to you now. Oh, but it's good to see you, my chick.' She surprised Hannah by seizing her face and kissing her warmly on both cheeks.

‘I need you to tell me more about the curse,' Hannah said, breaking a piece of warm cinnamon roll and tasting it cautiously. It was delicious, and she ate some more.

Linnet's face sobered. She sat down heavily on the red velvet stool, her feet dangling centimetres above the floor. ‘Did you have nightmares?' she asked anxiously. ‘My lady said I shouldn't have told you so soon.'

‘Why not? I need to know all about the curse if I'm going to break it.'

‘Yes . . .' Linnet said doubtfully. ‘But you're still so young . . . and my lady is so happy to have you here. She's afraid your mother will want to leave if she realises how very bad things are.'

‘So how bad are things? I mean, what does the curse
do
?' Hannah asked.

Linnet began to chant:

By fever, fire, storm and sword,
your blood shall suffer this bane.
No joy or peace for Wintersloe's lord,
till the puzzle ring is whole again
.

She was silent a moment, then went on: ‘That's what she said, and so it's been. Year after year, generation after
generation, no peace and no joy, no matter how deeply in love they are, no matter how fiercely they swear to resist the curse.'

Hannah put down the cinnamon roll. Suddenly it tasted like cardboard in her mouth.

‘Your great-grandmother now,' Linnet said. ‘My lady was a young thing in the Second World War. Fell in love and married, but her husband died fighting the Nazis and she was left to raise a child alone, as her mother had done. Then her son and his wife—that's your grandparents—they were killed in a car crash, and she was left to bring up your father too. Then one night he goes missing and is never heard of again . . .'

Linnet sighed and pressed her gnarled fingers against her eyes. ‘So it's been, ever since the time of Lord Montgomery. It's been very hard to stand by and watch it happen.'

Hannah felt as if a heavy cat was crouched on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. ‘What . . . what's the puzzle ring?'

Linnet stared at her in surprise, then suddenly smiled. ‘I keep forgetting you don't know all about it already. Sometimes the past seems so much clearer to me than the present.' She saw Hannah's roll lying in pieces and jumped nimbly to her feet. ‘But you're not eating! Breakfast time is no time to be talking about such sad things, and you'll need to keep up your strength. Eat up, my lamb, and we'll talk later, hey?' The little old lady trotted out the door, leaving Hannah to tear her utterly delicious breakfast to pieces and worry.