Wild Wood (46 page)

Rory swallows. “Who are you?”

Slowly, the mask over Jesse’s face turns to look at him. “The messenger.”

Rory cannot meet that glance.

“What I say is for the child to know.”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

“This is hard for you.” The voice warms.

Rory looks up. “Yes. It is very hard.” Conflict strangles his breathing.

“You are honest. She needs that honesty, having been lied to.”

“I need to understand what you are saying.”

“Accept.”

“I am not used to . . . accepting. I am trained to question. That is what scientists do.”

The voice is kind. “Be at peace. Let her hear this. The child must return the mother.”

Rory’s puzzled. “What do you mean? Jesse’s mother is dead.”

“Her family will tell her the meaning of what I say.”

“Her family? But—”

“She will find the child who was lost.”

As if a light has been flicked off, something changes. The mask is just a mask, not a face.

“Jesse?” Sweating, Rory lifts the mask away.

Jesse’s asleep, deeply asleep.

42

E
LIZABETH HUMBOLDT
is a surprise. She’s young—somewhere in her thirties—and charming. Optimistic, sunny, delightful: each word fits like a glove.

Opening the front door, Alicia is immediately wary. If she decides she wants to back away, that open face, those bright eyes, will make it harder. “Thanks very much for coming at such short notice.” She holds out her hand.

Elizabeth takes it between both of her own. “This is an honor and a privilege for us, Lady Alicia. When you called me yesterday, I was so very glad.” Elizabeth ignores the bandage; the two black eyes are more difficult.

“Alicia. Please.” She extracts her hand from the oddly intimate grip of the other woman.

“Hundredfield is such a remarkable building—Alicia—a
collection
of remarkable buildings. And so important to the history of the country. This is a wonderful thing you’re doing.” Elizabeth leads Alicia a pace or two into the hall, as if she were the hostess. “But where are my manners?” A pretty laugh. “May I present my colleague? Dr. Brian Curlewis is a consultant expert to the trust for Norman-era buildings in the English border region.”

Brian Curlewis coughs.

“Oh,
and
of course he’s also acknowledged for his expertise in medieval architecture.” Elizabeth beams at Alicia. Determined kindness spreads like a prewarmed blanket.

Alicia tries not to clench her teeth. “So, what is the actual . . .”

“Procedure?” An encouraging nod from Elizabeth.

“Thank you. Yes, that’s what I meant. When we chatted—you’ll have to forgive me—I just, that is . . .” Alicia is finding it hard to control her voice.

Elizabeth has large, soft eyes. They grow softer still. “Oh, this is all very, very preliminary, I do assure you. Today is only the first step. Think of it as a briefing on how we might approach the various options that could exist for Hundredfield within the work of the trust. If you’re agreeable, Brian and I would welcome an opportunity to see more of the buildings. We can discuss any questions you might have as we go. Before we leave, we’ll provide you with a pro forma contract—just to read through and discuss with your lawyers, of course.”

Alicia murmurs, “Of course.”

Ignoring the interruption, Elizabeth continues. “Brian and I will make a preliminary report to the regional office in the next few days. It will only be a very broad assessment, the first of a number if all goes well. And it goes on from there. Our lawyers come in later as the contract is refined to embrace Hundredfield’s actual requirements and condition.” She sounds apologetic.
Lawyers
. There it is again. That word always punctures the mood.

“I see.” Alicia swallows. “There’s rather a lot to see at Hundredfield in one day, but we could start with the New Range, since that’s where we are. We have a number of state rooms in this building.”

“What do you think, Elizabeth? I, for one, would be particularly keen to see the Tudor dining room. It’s almost a legend, Lady Alicia, and so few people have ever actually seen it.” Brian Curlewis looks quite excited.

Alicia takes a deep breath. “Perhaps we can remedy that in the future.”

Unprompted, Elizabeth clutches one of Alicia’s hands. “Oh, I hope so. I do so very much hope so.”

“This way.” Alicia extracts her hand with grace.

Small talk lasts just about the distance from the front door to the great staircase, and Alicia gets through by pinning a smile to her face. “There are so many eras represented in this part of the castle alone—as you would know. The Normans built the keep, of course, and the later medieval buildings—although quite a few are ruined, as you would have seen—were built anywhere from the twelfth century on.” She steers them up the left-hand flight and throws the doors open to a long room; morning light fills the space with dazzled gold.

Brian stares around with bright, bright eyes. “And so much that is untouched. Original condition, I mean.” He thinks he’s being tactful.

Elizabeth stops with an intake of breath. “And these must be the famous Hundredfield nixies. The water spirits?” She’s smitten.

A pair of double-height doors faces the little group. Framed by sinuous lines of apparently female figures carved deep into the reveals, there’s a riot of forms to interpret.

“Yes. Though no one’s ever been able to say with any certainty just what they represent. There’s some sense that they’re linked with our local legends.”

“So very
mystical
, this part of the world.” Elizabeth nods enthusiastically. “The Wild Hunt, for instance. I hear Hundredfield has its own?”

Her offside gently interrupts, “May I?” Brian Curlewis is punctilious. He absolutely will not inspect these tantalizing forms until given permission.

“Of course.” Alicia stands to one side.

“They seem to have fins on their shoulders. That might support the nixie hypothesis.” Brian makes room for Elizabeth.

“Exquisite. And such bold carving too. Unique.”

Alicia clears her throat. “Not fins. Wings, I think you’ll find—like dragonflies. And if you look, you’ll see they don’t really have faces, just eyes. Someone came up with the nixie idea, since that’s as plausible as any of the other explanations, and it stuck. The palmprints are a puzzle, of course. No one knows what they mean.” Alicia produces a long black key.

“They are indeed unusual.” Brian leans in to inspect a ribbon of half-size human hands, forming a pattern around the central figures.

The wards in the lock click and the nixies spring apart as the doors open. “So, here it is.”

A burnished surface as long as a short jetty stretches away into the room.

Elizabeth is startled. “This must be quite the largest oak table I’ve ever seen. Tudor, of course, as you’d expect.” A quick smile for Alicia. “Brian?”

“Well, Tudor is not quite my era, but I’d have to agree.” His eyes glint with the avarice of the scholar.

Touching the top, Alicia says, “It’s hard to imagine this was ever a living tree.”

Brian twinkles. “Do you think it knew, as it grew, that fate would turn it into a table?”

“If a tree actually ever thinks. Please, do sit.” Alicia gestures to her guests. “The oak was cut on the estate. The family got wind of a visit from Queen Elizabeth one summer in the 1570s, and a frenzy of improvements began. This had been destined as a shipbuilder’s oak for Deptford, but it was sacrificed for her. And all for just two days and one night.” Alicia drops into a tapestry-seated chair at one end of the table—a massive thing of black oak and gilded studwork. “
Sic transit gloria mundi
. ‘So passes the glory of the world.’ ”

Elizabeth and Brian exchange a glance.

Brian says, “Did she actually come?”

Alicia stares at him. “No. She didn’t. And it’s fair to say that all those ‘improvements’ to Hundredfield for the visit that never happened began the process that, in the end, beggared my family.” Her voice falters. “And here we are today, as you see. Poorer but not wiser. Definitely not that.”

With some sympathy, Elizabeth says, “But this room will certainly bring visitors, Alicia, especially with all of the original furniture. You are so fortunate the collection has remained intact. So many are broken up for the money. And of course, the connection with Good Queen Bess is a guaranteed crowd-pleaser.”

Alicia smiles politely.

“ ‘Good’? I think you may find that’s open for debate considering contemporary research.” Brian doesn’t quite sniff.

Elizabeth ignores him. “And just think, if she’d come, she might have sat in your actual chair, Alicia. It’s certainly grand enough.”

“And they’d have hung the monarch’s cloth of estate from a canopy above, nothing surer.” Brian gestures. “Do you know if it still exists? Restoration could still be possible.”

“Possibly. We’ve never really gone through the attics or the cellars in a systematic way.”

Elizabeth Humboldt clears her throat. “Alicia, perhaps now is as good a time as any to walk you through how surrendering this property to the trust could actually work; you should know our requirements and your potential undertakings and obligations. Brian?”

“Yes, indeed.” Brian extracts a number of folders from his briefcase. He passes one to Alicia, another to Elizabeth. “All very straightforward and expressed in plain English. We find people appreciate that.”

He smiles, Elizabeth smiles, and two pairs of bright eyes settle on Alicia’s face as she opens the document.

Like crows,
she thinks,
waiting for something to die.

Jesse speaks up over the noise of the Saab’s engine. “ ‘She must return the mother’? What does that
mean
?”

Rory flicks Jesse a glance. “I don’t know. The message was for you. You heard her.” He’s deeply, deeply uncomfortable talking about
her.

“ ‘Some people can believe ten impossible things before breakfast. I can’t.’ Alicia said that. You and she are so alike.”

Rory shifts down rather than comment. But Jesse’s right. A night’s sleep and the questions begin; this whole situation could be career suicide if he pursues it. “What time did you make the appointment for?”

“I didn’t.”

Rory switches attention from the road. “He might not be able to see you. Mornings are rush hour in any doctor’s surgery.”

“How well do you know Alistair Nicholls?”

A signpost flashes past. Five miles to Newton Prior. “Very well. And I owe him a lot. When I went for the scholarship to Edinburgh, he was one of my referees.”

“He was here when you grew up?”

Rory nods. “But he practiced in Edinburgh as a gynecologist before he came to Newton Prior. That’s why I asked him.”

“He’s a GP now, though?”

“Being a specialist can be stressful.”

Jesse murmurs, “ ‘He said with feeling.’ ”

The sound of the engine fills up the silence.

A glance at Jesse’s wan face and Rory says, “I’m still not happy about this.”

“I’m not physically ill, Rory.”

“I’m not talking about your body.”

They’re in the outskirts of the village; the square’s not far.

“Where will I find you?”

“I’ll meet you at the Hunt.”

“When?”

Jesse snaps, “You are not my brother.”

“No, I’m your doctor.” Rory can be just as stubborn. He guides the Saab into a parking space. Turns the engine off. “Let me come with you, Jesse. It might be safer.”

“Nothing’s safe. Or certain. I’ll find you when I’ve done what I have to do.” Jesse gets out and walks away.

“I need to ask you a question.”

The little Madonna in St, Michael’s Church is smiling at Jesse. She’s smiled for hundreds and hundreds of years.

“Is it you? Did she mean you?”

“I’m so glad you like her.” Fred materializes from the side aisle of St. Michael’s.

Jesse jumps. “You’re just like a ghost. Has anyone ever said that?”

“It’s the black clothes. I tend to blend in. May I join you?”

The murmur of prayer comes from near the main altar. “Who’s on the bridge?”