Chapter Seven
It was too late to hide. Susan stepped back from the roadside and lifted her hand in a brief greeting, hoping that Mr. Lefay would simply wave back and carry on, but he did not. The van stopped, with a scraping of tyres on gravel, and he leaned across to wind the window down.
For a moment he did not say anything, just looked at her, hard. Susan felt her heart begin to pound and dislike tighten like a knot in her chest. She breathed deeply and forced her face into an expression of polite distance. She wondered briefly if she could simply turn and walk away, but she knew she could not. She could not quite put a shape on her distress, this was, after all, merely a well-meaning neighbour, and yet his gaze made her shudder.
When he spoke his voice was unexpectedly hoarse. He spoke slowly, and blinked furiously as if he were struggling to find the words.
"I'm going into town, ma'am. Can I - can I - pick anything up for you, or perhaps you'd like a lift?"
Susan shook her head firmly. In fact she would have been glad of a trip to town. She had a pair of boots that needed to be left at the cobbler's, and would have liked to call at the haberdasher's for some sewing thread, but the thought of being alone with Mr. Lefay in the closed space of his van made her almost nauseous with fear.
"That's very kind, Mr. Lefay, but I don't think so," she said, keeping her voice as even as she could. "Daniel will be home at weekend, and we will probably go in together. Thank you very much."
He nodded. He hesitated as though he was about to say something more, but then thought better of it. Susan realised his knuckles were clenched white on the steering wheel.
Without speaking, he turned back to the road, and the van accelerated away amid a small spray of gravel. Susan stared at it until it vanished into the distance, and then turned to the cat.
"Well, we don't need to worry about him again today," she said, cheerfully.
The cat glanced up at her with almost a disdainful air. Then it trotted away up the road, turning in through the cottage gate. When Susan reached the garden it was sitting on the front doorstep, washing its paws with an air of complete indifference. It did not look up as she passed, but began to sniff with interest at the mutton.
Susan divided the mushrooms into three piles, one for her, one for Margaret, and one for Josie. Margaret would be coming to clean the bedrooms later that afternoon, so she set her share in the pantry alongside her own, and put Josie's back into the basket. Then she buttoned her coat and went to find her bicycle.
The cat looked up as she pushed it down the path. It watched her go through narrowed eyes, but it did not stir, and eventually it settled back on the doorstep to sleep.
Josie had been cleaning her own bedrooms, but was very pleased to stop and make a pot of tea. She exclaimed happily over the mushrooms, and told Susan that the very best were always to be found in that copse, suggesting that they go out the next day to pick the last of the blackberries, 'before the Devil spits on them'. Then perhaps Susan could make a pie for her husband's return at weekend.
Susan was rather pleased at the idea, it not having occurred to her to cook anything special for Daniel's return. Josie promised her some cream, and when she cycled home Susan was feeling contented with the world.
She explained Josie's plans to Margaret whilst they were doing the bedrooms that afternoon. They had had little more than the most cursory clean since the professor's death, and had been standing empty for many months in the intervening period. Margaret had looked at the skirting boards and had sniffed with disapproval.
"We can't leave it like that. You've had mice in here, look. Fat lot of good that cat is. They'll be in the pantry and everywhere before you know it. We'll get it cleaned up and there's probably still a couple of traps in the shed. Look, they've even been chewing at the rug. There, it's all frayed in that corner, see? You'll need to get rid of them before winter. I expect you've been hearing them running all over the place at nights, haven't you?"
Susan had not, but was prepared to accept her friend's wisdom. Between them they carried the rug downstairs and hung it over the line, where Susan obediently beat it with the carpet beater, and was startled at the clouds of dust that emerged.
She left the carpet hanging on the line, and set off back upstairs.
"You bring that cat up with you," called Margaret, from the bedroom. "Let him have a look to see if there's any still there. We'll soon know where they are if he comes in."
Susan scooped the sleeping cat into her arms and carried him inside. He was startled for a moment, staring around him as though he could not quite decide where he was. Then his claws clenched into Susan's arm, and he seemed to become quite rigid.
"Ow!" Susan protested, gently disengaging the claws. "It's all right. Margaret thinks we might have a mouse. Come and earn your milk."
The cat glared at her, but subsided. Set carefully down on the newly-bared bedroom floorboards, he glanced about himself without much interest. Then he set off to the far corner of the room, below the window, and gazed hard at a small hole in the corner of the floorboards. He scraped at it with his paw once or twice, pushed his nose in and sniffed. Then he turned around with an air of affronted dignity and strolled out of the room without looking back.
They heard him pattering down the stairs.
"Well, I'll be," said Margaret. "For all the world as if he knew what we wanted and didn't give a hoot."
Susan laughed.
"I don't think he likes to be in the house," she explained. "He's never been in before."
As she spoke, she had an odd recollection that the cat had been in before, although she could not recall quite how or why. She shook her head to shake off the confusion, but no memory presented itself. Perhaps she had dreamed it.
"Funny little creature," Margaret said. "Sits on your gatepost like he owns it. Where did he come from?"
Susan was surprised.
"I thought he had been the professor's," she said. "He was just here. I think I saw him first on the morning after we arrived. I imagined he lived here."
Margaret shook her head.
"The professor never had a cat," she said, "and I've never set eyes on that one until you turned up. Might have been a stray, perhaps. On the look out for someone who'd feed him."
"Probably," Susan agreed. "I'd like to keep him, he's a nice little cat. I might take him back to London when we go, except he doesn't really like coming indoors."
"Can't keep a feral cat inside," Margaret told her. "They don't do well. It'd get all upset and start tearing everything apart. Outdoors is where they belong."
She nodded sagely, and turned her attention back to the floor.
"That corner's where the mice are coming in, though," she said. "They'll be under the floor. We'll set a trap. You'll need to check it every morning. Maybe you could get your man to do it if you're not keen."
Susan nodded, although she did not feel quite sure that Daniel would know exactly what to do with a mousetrap either, especially one that contained a dead mouse. She set her jaw.
"You'd better show me how to do it," she said, firmly. "Did you say they were in the shed?"
*
By the time the crunching of tyres in the lane announced Daniel's arrival on Friday evening, the blackberry pie, with neatly trimmed pastry, was browning in the oven, and a jug of cream stood on the stone shelf in the pantry. Susan had added a little of this to the cat's saucer on the step, and it had disappeared quickly. The cat was fast asleep beside it, and barely looked up as Daniel stepped over it to push the door open.
"That door's still scraping badly," he said, as he came into the kitchen. "We might get that looked at, gives the wrong impression. I could get that chap to pop round and take it off its hinges perhaps. Hello, darling. Something smells good."
He seemed to have become taller, filling the little kitchen with an oddly unfamiliar masculine smell of tobacco smoke and aftershave.
Susan put her arms round his neck and kissed him.
"It's so lovely that you're here," she said. "It's been ages. Take your coat off. Come and sit down. Dinner's almost ready."
"Eating in the kitchen, hey?" Daniel remarked, glancing at the neatly laid table. "Well, there's only the two of us, I suppose."
"It's warmer in here," Susan explained. "I haven't been lighting the fire in the parlour in the evenings, although I could if you liked."
Daniel threw his coat over the back of a chair.
"No, no, it's quite all right, I don't mind slumming it for one night. Is there anything to drink? It's been a terrifically long week."
Susan picked up the hat and coat.
"Don't leave them in here. They'll smell of cooking. There's whisky in the parlour cupboard. I'll find it."
Daniel was poking a wooden spoon into the pans on the hob with interest when she returned.
"This all looks good," he said. "You're so clever, Suzie. What is it? I'll pour the drinks, where are the glasses? Come and sit down. I'm dying to tell you all about it."
Susan stirred the bacon and mushrooms and onions which were sizzling gently in the pan.
"It's almost ready."
"We've got time for a drink first. Come and tell me what you've been doing. You're a bit pink, you know, got some colour back in your cheeks. You're looking quite pretty, country living must suit you."
"I think it does," Susan said. "Tell me about work. Is it still going well?"
Daniel launched into a glowing description of consultations held with the younger Mr. Clarkson, of trips to the softly carpeted Head Office hidden high above the gilded portals of the Oxford Street store, of profitable lines and staff economies, of delivery costs and imports. Susan listened, pleased to hear the pride in his voice and the pleasure he evidently felt in his new responsibility.
He talked on as she filled his plate with bacon and crispy potatoes, hardly stopping as he lifted each forkful to his mouth. When he had finished he sat back in his chair with a sigh.
"That was splendid. You're quite a good little cook, aren't you? It looks as though I'm going to be glad I married you."
"There's blackberry pie," Susan said, "with cream. My friend Josie's family has a farm, there's always lots."
"Have you been making friends?" Daniel said, with surprise and interest. "You'd better tell me about it. And what's that on your finger? That ring. I haven't seen that before, where has that come from?"
"It was my brother's," Susan explained. "I don't know why he had it. It was with his things. I just thought it was pretty."
"Let me have a look."
Daniel held his hand out. Susan was suddenly conscious of an intense reluctance to remove the ring. For a moment she clenched her fingers, then obediently she tugged it off. She could not look at him as he examined it, and rose to get the cream and to slide the pie out of the oven.
Daniel turned it over and over in his fingers.
"It's quite unusual. I can't tell what metal it is. Not gold. That green colour, I can't imagine what that might be. Some copper mix, perhaps - or no. I really don't know. I'd better take it with me and get it valued. We might need to get it on the insurance policy if it's worth something."
"Please, no," Susan said, surprising herself with her earnestness. "I'd rather keep it. It - it reminds me of my brother. It's like having a little bit of him still left. And I don't suppose it has any value. It isn't as if he had any money."
Daniel handed it back, a trifle hesitantly. Susan took it with relief and slid it back on to her finger.
"I suppose not," he admitted. "Still, you need to be careful not to lose it. We'll get it looked at when you come home. When are you coming back to London, Suzie? You can't stay hiding here for ever, you know. You'll turn into one of these village women, all flowery overalls and baggy tights. We can't be having that. I need you at home."
"I know," Susan agreed, uncomfortably. "Only - only - I suppose it's the first time since - since it happened that I've been - well - all right. I feel like - well, I don't know. It just seems a nice place to be."
"I'm sure it is, if you're a sheep or something," Daniel said, dismissively, "and I suppose it's fine in its own way. But for goodness' sake, Suzie, you'll die of boredom."
"I won't," Susan said, defensively. "I haven't been at all bored since I've been here. I love the cottage, and the village. It feels like - well - like it's becoming mine. The London house never felt like that."
"I'm sure it would if only you put some effort into it," Daniel said. "It isn't like you ever tried very hard, because we both know you didn't. You just moped about. I'm sure once you got into the swing of things again you'd be fine. You just need to put your mind to it."
He poured the yellow cream over his pie and set the jug down with an air of finality.
Susan said nothing.
They ate in silence, until eventually Daniel put down his spoon with a satisfied air and looked up.
"Need to get that door fixed if the place is going on the market," he said. "First impressions matter, can't have it sticking like that. I'll get that chap - what's his name - Le Something or other - to come round on Monday and take it off its hinges and look at it. Probably just needs a bit taking off it at the bottom."
"Please don't," Susan begged, suddenly alarmed. "I don't want - I don't like him."
"Why on earth's that?" Daniel asked, looking amused. "What's he done?"
"Well, nothing," admitted Susan. "I just - I just don't like him."
"Thought you were digging yourself right into the old country life," Daniel said, a trifle caustically. "If you want a team of engineers to show up and fix things for you you'd better go back to London, old girl. You're in the country now, you'll have to make do with what there is. I don't know of anybody else here. It isn't as if he's likely to do you any harm. And it looks as though he's done a good job with the log pile, I noticed on my way in."
"He has," Susan agreed. "It's just - I don't know. Margaret said it would be better not to invite him into the house."
Daniel laughed.
"I suppose his great grandfather said something unkind to her great-aunt Mildred, or something," he said. "That's how it goes in the countryside, isn't it? I don't see what you find so attractive about the place, Suzie, really I don't. It's a complete desert. Anyway, I can't imagine there's anybody else in twenty miles, so it's going to have to be him, I'm afraid. Why don't you just go out while he does it, if you're so worried about him? I'll have a word with him tomorrow, see if he's got some time next week. Don't look like that. It needs to be done.
"I know," said Susan, wearily. "Please understand, Daniel. I'm not trying to be difficult. I just - don't like him, that's all. I couldn't tell you why."
Daniel laughed.
"Poor old Suzie," he said, pushing his bowl away and taking her hand. "It'll be absolutely all right. I'm sure he's harmless. I tell you what, if he lays a finger on you, how about I came home and punched him on the nose, how would that be?"
Susan made herself return his smile.
"I don't think you'll need to do that," she said. "I suppose you're right. Will you speak to him? I suppose I could ask Josie if she could come over and be here with me when he does it."
*
Unfortunately, when Susan cycled across to Josie's house on Monday morning, to ask if Josie might come and visit the next day, she discovered that Josie had already promised to accompany her mother-in-law on a trip to the hospital to have her varicose veins looked at.
"I'm so sorry," Josie said. "Can't you get him to wait until Wednesday? I could be there all day then, sleeves rolled up for a fight if you need me."
Susan shook her head miserably.
"Daniel spoke to him on Sunday. He always seems to be hanging about the cottage somewhere, but he told Daniel he could only do Tuesday. Something to do with some pheasant pens he's building for the rest of the week. Daniel said that would be fine, and he'll be cross if I cancel it. He wants it put right, and we can't leave it much longer anyway. He's going to have to take the door off, and if we don't get it done soon it's going to be too cold."
Josie nodded sympathetically.
"Well, you'll just have to stand up to him by yourself," she said. "Don't take any nonsense. I don't know what you're worried about, really. He's an odd old fellow, certainly, but I don't think he'd actually do you any harm."
"I don't suppose I think so, either," Susan admitted. "It isn't that. Oh, I don't know. He just makes me uneasy. I don't want him to come into the house."
"Difficult to take the door off without it," Josie observed. "You're just going to have to bite the bullet, old girl. Keep him in his place. Regal backbone and high-and-mighty tone. Just step away from me sir, how dare you lift your eyes in my presence. Kindly touch your cap and curtsey before you talk to me. You can do it."
Susan laughed, but the words were surprisingly reassuring.
"I'll try," she said. "I'll come across on Wednesday and let you know how I've got on."
Chapter Eight
When the sun rose on Tuesday morning it found Susan already awake, staring into the grey morning light and trying to marshal her courage.
Of course it was ridiculous, there could be no reason to be afraid. It was one old man. He might be a bit simple, perhaps, but he was certainly harmless. She was being foolish.
Still, she could not quell her rising anxiety, tightening her throat and making her slightly nauseous. She opened her bedroom window and leaned out to breathe the early air, trying to restore her composure with its chill bite.
Her hands trembled as she washed and dressed. She could not face breakfast, but made tea and went to refill the cat's saucer with milk.
The cat was lying asleep, tightly curled in his usual place on the front step. His coat was becoming thicker as the cold weather began to draw in, and Susan reached down to stroke his warm back.
"I'm afraid we're going to have a visitor today," she told the cat. "We can't do anything about it, so we're just going to have to put up with it. There's no point in getting cross about it. The best thing we can both do is just to keep out of his way until he's finished. The faster he can get it done and go away, the better."
The cat looked up and yawned. Susan took him in her arms and buried her face in his soft fur. He rubbed its head against her, purring appreciation, and she began to feel encouraged. She set him down beside his milk and went back to the kitchen, where she set about emptying the ashes and refilling the stove.
She had hung some clean petticoats on the rack above it to dry, and now tugged them down, feeling uncomfortably exposed at the prospect of a stranger in the house. She had gone back to her bedroom and was folding them on the bed when she heard the rumble of the van's engine in the lane, and sighing, went downstairs to greet him.
The sleeves of his tweed jacket were pushed up to his elbows, although he had discarded his cap. He was unloading a rickety-looking trestle from the van when she reached him. He glanced up and touched his cap.
"Morning, ma'am," he said, setting the trestle on its legs, and looking her up and down with an unexpected curiosity. "I'm going to need to put this by the door, if you wouldn't mind standing aside. Now it's going to get a bit chilly in there, so I'll try and be quick. You don't want the door off for long at this time of year. If I was you I'd go and get that fire good and hot, maybe bake a cake or something, keep the place warm."
Susan retreated.
"You're probably right, Mr. Lefay," she agreed. "I'll do that. I won't get in your way. Would you like a cup of tea before you start?"
He straightened, grimacing at the weight of the trestle.
"Always glad of a cup of tea," he said.
When Susan returned with the cup and saucer, the trestle was standing on the garden path, a triangular wood-chip jammed underneath one of its legs to keep it stable. Mr. Lefay had unloaded a well-polished plane, and was hunting through a large canvas bag for a screwdriver.
"Don't you be hanging about out here, now." His eyes fixed on her pale hands as he accepted the cup of tea, and his brow furrowed. "You'll be getting cold. There's a nip in the air this morning, we'll be having the first frosts in a day or two. I'll get it back on as quick as I can."
"Thank you," Susan said. "I won't be far, just in the kitchen, so you can shout if you need anything. Please don't hesitate to call me if you - if you need any help, or more tea, or anything. It is very kind of you to do this."
Mr. Lefay nodded. He took a noisy mouthful of tea, and turned to the door.
"Won't want much taking off it, I don't suppose," he said. "I'll be in and out for a while, though, while it's off, measuring and that. You won't mind that, will you?"
"Of course not," said Susan, surprised. "I can't imagine how you could do it without."
"Just want to be sure," he said, with a sudden grin. "I don't want us to be in any doubt about these things. I'll be in your house."
His gaze swivelled towards the cat, which was lying on the step, front paws folded under its chest, its gaze keenly fixed on them.
"Another thing," he said. "I can't be doing with that creature under my feet while I'm working. Best get it out of the way. Take it and lock it in the shed till I'm done."
Susan glanced at the cat. It had risen to its feet as he spoke, and a soft, growling noise was coming from its throat.
Mr. Lefay almost smirked.
"See what I mean?" he asked. "Can't be having that sort of carry on all day. I'll never get anything done. You take Pussy and put him in the shed, make sure the window's properly shut, then I can make a start."
Susan hesitated.
She bent towards the cat. Its back was arched now, its fur standing stiffly erect on its shoulders. It sidled away as she reached for it, sidestepping her outstretched hand and growling its low warning.
She stretched her hand towards it, but it sprang away, neatly evading her grasp to bound down the steps. They watched as it fled down the path and away through the gate.
Susan turned to Mr. Lefay.
"I do apologise," she said. "Please tell me if he comes back and starts to be a nuisance, and I'll try and keep him away."
Mr. Lefay was staring after the cat. He made a non-committal noise.
"You best be rid of that animal," he said. "Flea-ridden, I don't doubt, filthy creature."
To their surprise, the cat reappeared on the top of the gatepost. It stretched up a hind paw and scratched its ears ostentatiously, then leaped off hastily as Mr. Lefay started towards it, rushing off along the lane in the direction of the copse.
Mr. Lefay's face wore a sour expression as he turned back towards Susan.
"I'll be getting started, then," he said. "Another cup of tea might be nice."
Susan went back into the kitchen and refilled his cup with shaking hands. He might be right about the cake, she thought as she returned from the front garden for a second time, trying to overcome the unaccustomed thudding of her heart. Something rich with raisins and molasses that would keep well until Daniel came home. Josie had lent her a recipe book for the pastry, and she was sure it had listed fruit cake towards the back. She had plenty of butter, and almost a dozen eggs. It would be perfect.
Once she could hear the rhythmic sound of Mr. Lefay's plane scraping against the wooden door she began to feel calmer. She measured the flour carefully into the large mixing bowl, and took off her rings to rub in the fat, reaching up to slip them inside the largest of the jugs on the shelf so as not to lose them. She washed her hands under the tap and turned her attention back to the recipe.
You will need to grease a large cake tin and line the base with paper, it instructed. Stand the tin in a warm place for a few minutes first. This will help the butter to spread evenly.
Susan knew there were well-used cake tins in the drawer beneath the oven. The professor must have liked cake, she thought.
She knelt on the floor to tug the drawer open. It was stiff, and squealed against its housing. She dragged a tin out. It was gritty with flakes of fallen ash, and an old strand of cobweb hung across it.
She rose to her feet, and had just turned to the sink when she was startled by a sound behind her.
Mr. Lefay stood in the kitchen doorway, empty teacup and saucer in his hands.
"You made me jump," she said, trying to smile. "Thank you. Just leave it on the table there, would you? I'll wash it in a minute."
Mr. Lefay stepped forward to set the cup down on the the table, but he did not leave. He remained motionless, his eyes travelling over Susan.
Unnerved, Susan took an involuntary step backwards, and swallowed hard.
"Did you want something?" she asked, hoping her voice would not tremble.
Mr. Lefay did not reply. Instead he took a pace towards her. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"What you done with it?" he asked. "Where is it?"
Susan shook her head.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Mr. Lefay," she said. ""Are you - are you looking for something?"
Mr. Lefay stepped swiftly around the table, his eyes fixed upon Susan's. His fingers clenched, and his hand made a sudden move behind him, as if groping towards a sharp pain in the small of his back, when he seemed to recollect himself, and he changed his mind. His shoulders straightened, and he seemed to be growing taller.
"Don't know what I mean?" he said, softly, and it seemed to Susan that his voice had become sonorous, almost tender in its tone, like the peaceful chimes of a far-distant churchyard bell. He lifted his hand slowly and twisted it towards Susan, bending and curling his long fingers. Then smoothly and easily he folded his fingers into his palm, pulling her gaze with them, and reached his other hand towards her.
Susan quivered and stood still.
His fingertips glided lightly over her hair, as if soothing her, reassuring her that she need not be afraid. His hand cupped around the back of her head, and with a little pressure, he guided her gently into the chair by the table. After a brief hesitation, Susan settled herself into it with a quiet sigh.
He stepped back from her and regarded her thoughtfully. When he spoke again his voice was low, and seemed almost to be vibrating inside Susan's thoughts.
"Now, missy, you pay good attention to nice Mr. Lefay," he murmured. "Can you hear what I'm saying?"
"Oh yes," Susan breathed. She looked up into his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Lefay, and I want to help you."
"You'll help me, all right," he said. "You'll listen to what I say, and then you'll tell me everything I needs to know."
"Yes, of course," Susan replied, staring at him dreamily. She yawned suddenly. "What do you want to know."
Mr. Lefay pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. He reached across the table and took her hand in both of his. It twitched briefly, registering the smallest shock, and relaxed, becoming limp in his grasp.
He turned her small hand over and examined it. With the tips of his long fingers, he began to trace lines along her palm, running his sharp, pointed nails over the inside of her wrist and the curved base of her thumb.
"You've had hold of it, I can feel it in your skin," he said, almost to himself. "You've been telling me lies, little missy, but you'll not tell me any more. Now, let's have some truth. Where have you hidden it?"
Susan felt as though a mist had begun to collect behind her eyes, making her confused and uncertain. It was becoming difficult to frame words, and she fought to keep a grasp on her thoughts. She was becoming aware of a new, aching longing beginning to glow inside her, a generous warmth towards Mr. Lefay. She wanted to please him, to make him smile, to give him what he wished for. Nothing would be too much. Yet in the wake of the warm glow came an aftertaste, a tiny tang of fear, and she shivered. He would be kind to her, she knew, kind and gentle, if she pleased him, but if she did not…
She shuddered. His anger would be terrible. She must not upset him. She gazed across the table fearfully, anxiously hoping that she might be able to tell him what he needed before her eyes closed of their own accord and the darkness swallowed her. She was so very sleepy.
"I haven't hidden anything, Mr. Lefay?" she promised. "I don't think I know what you mean, and I'm so tired."
A painful jolt in the palm of her hand, almost a burn, as though a wasp had stung her, jerked her back to wakefulness. She jumped, and gasped, fighting the impulse to tug her hand away; but of course this was her friend Mr. Lefay, and she must let him do as he wished. His eyes were fixed on hers, watching her. With a small sigh of relief, she surrendered her hand to him.
"I think you do know," he said. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I want the box. The box what was stolen from my family all them years ago. The box with the ashes. It's no good pretending you don't know. You've had it all the time. I heard it in the lane the other day. You've had your hands in it this very day, I can smell it. I can feel it on your skin. You're a thief just like all the rest, for all your high-and-mighty London ways. Well, I want it back, see, and I wants it now. No more stories. Bad things happen to little girls what tells lies, you know. So you just tell me where it is, and I'll pick it up and be going."
Susan frowned anxiously.
"I don't have a box, Mr. Lefay," she said, shaking her head to try and rid herself of confusion. "I'm so sorry. I can't help you. Perhaps you need to look somewhere else."
Another jolt stung through her hand, slicing across her palm and sending ribbons of pain streaking up her arm. Susan gasped, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Please don't, Mr. Lefay," she begged. "It hurts. Tell me about the box you want and I'll help you find it. But I don't know where it is, really I don't know."
Her fingers tingled, but shivered, and became still, as if another painful shock had been about to spike through them, but been withdrawn before it could take hold. Mr. Lefay was staring hard at her, and she felt her gaze being drawn involuntarily upwards to meet his.
She stared back at him, her heart thudding uncomfortably. She opened her eyes wide, as if he might be able to see her honesty more clearly, and then blinked painfully at the bitterness that seemed to radiate from him.
"Let me see, then." His breath was hot on her cheek. "You just sit very still and let me look."
He was looking into her eyes, and yet he was not. He was looking through her eyes, burrowing behind the heavy, protective veil that she had hardly known was there, but which, she now half-realised, had always served to hide her thoughts, her silent self, from the world.
Without its shelter she was naked, painfully exposed to a leering, mocking spectator. She wanted to close her eyes, to turn her head away, but she could not. Her fingers prickled uncomfortably, warning her that the smallest movement would lead to another razor-slash of pain, and she heard herself begin to whimper, small, helpless sounds escaping her, as if she were a dog expecting to be beaten.
Her mouth became dry, and a sudden wave of nausea washed over her. Roiling memories, tumbling and jostling one another, began to roll around her thoughts, rising and falling as if from nowhere, dizzying and unbalancing her. She gasped, and clutched the side of the table with her free hand.
It was as if everything she had thought lost and forgotten was being torn out into a harsh, unpleasant light, dragged into a cold gaze to be jeered at and spat upon. Images of childhood appeared, her mother, suddenly vivid and ugly, unexpectedly tall again, shouting at Susan's small self, shaking her and slamming a door, leaving Susan weeping and frightened. Her youngest brother pulling her hair and running away, a handful of its strands clutched in his greedy fingers. Her older brother turning to her, pompous and self-important in his almost-grown-up, masculine authority. Her father, white and angry, telling her she must be quiet and not argue. Their parents' voices in the dark, shouting and fearful, whilst she rolled herself tightly in her blankets and tried to make herself small. The pictures rushed towards her with the dreadful implacability of a doomed train, one hardly becoming clear before the next crashed through it, wave upon wave of sickening failure, guilt and dread.
Tears rolled down her face, and she burned with shame.
She felt, rather than heard, the pitiless chuckle, and knew that her thoughts were being seen, and examined. Her tormentor had no great interest in them, it appeared, although he was amused, rather as an adult might be entertained by reading a child's school compositions. He was searching for something, a memory, an answer, and he had not found it.
She tried to shake herself awake, desperate to escape the merciless probing, but she could not, any more than she could have shaken loose a jagged splinter which had buried itself deeply into raw flesh.
Suddenly the tide of memories ceased, extinguished as abruptly as a candle tipped into a bowl of water. In their place there lay a sudden darkness, a black fog which blurred and obscured everything. It lay before Susan's inward gaze like a heavy cloud over a silent landscape, shrouding anything more from her sight.
For a half-second the relief was almost palpable. Then she heard Mr. Lefay catch his breath sharply, and felt his grip on her hand tighten.
"It's in there, is it, missy?" she heard him murmur, almost to himself. "That's where you've buried your secrets. Well, you'll not keep me out now. I'll know what you've done with it if I have to tear you apart to find it."
"Please," Susan heard herself whisper. "Please don't make me."
He was not listening. Inexorably, Susan felt herself being drawn towards the silent blackness, and a wave of terror washed over her. It would swallow her, consume her, she would be lost and never return. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She could not tug her hand free, and sat frozen, paralysed, as she was pulled closer and closer to the darkness.
It was upon her. Swirling tendrils of black fog reached to envelop her. Shapes, menacing and huge, began to loom towards her out of the poisonous cloud. They were reaching out towards her, trying to grab her, and she was slipping, falling, dragged down into the darkness: and then suddenly something shifted.
She cried out, seeing for a heartbeat a flash of brilliant, shimmering light, and then everything was gone.
As if the curtains had been thrown open to admit shafts of glorious sunlight on a summer morning, the darkness had lifted. She withdrew her hand from Mr. Lefay's grasp and sat very still, trembling in the warm kitchen.
Chapter Nine
For a moment she stared at him, unable to speak. He was silent, shaking his head in sudden confusion.
Susan rose unsteadily to her feet.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I think I must have - have fainted. I don't feel very well. I think - I think I'm going to be - "
She rushed to the back door and tugged it open. The fresh air washed over her like a cooling drench, and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes against the watery sunshine. Somewhere in the garden the robin chirped its sharp morning call. Susan stood and listened until the nausea began to pass, leaning against the door frame until her heartbeat gradually slowed.
When she felt recovered, she turned and made her way back into the kitchen. The air inside was heavy with Mr. Lefay's acid smell of earth and dead leaves, of damp tweed and leather. Susan's stomach churned again, and she unlatched the window to swing it open wide.
Mr. Lefay was sitting very still, staring at his cracked boots, his hand resting on the small of his back. He turned his head as she returned. There was no confusion now, no befuddling mist. He spoke clearly and slowly.
"You've got my box. My box. I want to know where it is. I want to know what the old man did with it. I want it back."
Susan took a deep breath and drew herself upright.
"I have no box of yours, Mr. Lefay," she said, coldly. "I do not believe the professor possessed any such thing. I have not found a box, and I would not give it to you if I had. The professor was no thief, on that you have my word of honour. You are mistaken."
Mr Lefay heaved himself to his feet and leaned towards her, resting his balled fists on the table.
"It's been in your hands this very day," he spat. "Your hands reek of it."
Susan took a step backwards.
"I don't know what you mean," she said. "What box are you talking about? I promise you, I haven't found any box. What is it that you are looking for?"
Mr. Lefay clenched his teeth.
"I'll beat the truth out of you if I must," he growled.
He lunged towards her. Susan turned to run, but stumbled across the chair. She flung her arms out to break her fall and collided, heavily, with the shelves, bringing them crashing down about her in a riot of smashing pottery as she tumbled to the floor.
For a moment Mr. Lefay stood over her, his fists raised as if he were going to keep his word and beat her into a confession, but then he hesitated. He stared down at the wreckage of broken bowls and cups and jugs, and began to breathe deeply, as though he had just been running.
"It's here! It's in this room! I can hear it," he breathed, turning his head from side to side as if he were trying to catch the sound.
Susan had fallen awkwardly, and there was an agonising pain in her left wrist. It took her a few seconds to gather her senses. She tried to catch hold of the edge of the table to pull herself up, but the fall had left her hand useless. Mr. Lefay ignored her. He was still staring wildly around him, trying to locate the source of the sound.
"Help me," she said.
It had the tone of a command. His attention caught, Mr. Lefay looked down, seeming almost surprised to see her. Susan stretched her good arm towards him.
"Help me," she said again.
Grudgingly, he reached out and helped her to her feet. Then he bent over and righted the chair. Susan staggered towards it and sat down, but Mr. Lefay was still bending towards the floor.
"What have you done with it?" he hissed. "I can hear it. It's close…so close…it's here somewhere…"
He knelt down, and began searching through the shards of broken pottery on the floor. Susan stood up, shakily.
"Don't…don't," she begged. "You'll cut yourself…let me get a dustpan…"
She was just reaching to the hearth for the brush and shovel when there was a sudden cry.
Mr. Lefay made a dive for something on the floor.
He picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands.
"Well, I'll be," he murmured.
He turned to Susan, his eyes wide.
"Did you do this? No, 'course you didn't. This isn't your workmanship, you've not got an ounce of the old ways about you anywhere, nor that milk-white husband of yours. Someone who knew did this."
He held it up.
It was the green ring.
"Didn't know very much, I reckon. Not a master. Maybe somebody's apprentice, maybe a jobbing man, but they knew enough."
"It's my ring, Mr. Lefay," Susan whispered. "Please. Give it back."
"Your ring?"
He turned to her, his smile mocking.
"Where'd you get it then? Did you make it? Did you earn it? Do you understand the first thing about it? No, 'course you don't. You found it and thought it was pretty and you wanted to keep it. Well you'll not have it. It's mine. Always has been. My birthright. And where there's one, there'll be more. So, little missy, let's be having some answers. Where's the others?"
Susan could not reply. Her mouth opened, and then closed again. Mr. Lefay laughed, without mirth.
"You knows the answer to that one, then, don't you? You didn't know about the box because there wasn't a box, might not have been a box for years, but you know this all right, don't you? So it's rings now, is it? Well, they're not all here. There's more where this one came from. This is only part of it. This is the dark ash, this one. There's others, made from the silver, isn't there?"
His lip curled.
"You had them all along. Full of your smart London ways and your airs and graces and you've been dabbling in magic, like any filthy hedge-witch. Well you can't hide from me. Where's the others? You go and get them, like a good girl, then I'll be going."
Susan drew in her breath.
"I'm not going to give you anything, Mr. Lefay," she said, fighting to hold her voice steady. "If you believe you have a claim on anything from the professor's estate then the right way to approach it is to speak to his solicitor. I can give you his address. But in any case, that ring did not belong to the professor. It was my brother's."
Even as she spoke the last words Mr. Lefay's hand shot towards her. He caught hold of her injured wrist and twisted, hard. The pain was excruciating, and Susan shrieked and lost her balance, tumbling towards him. He caught hold of her other arm and tugged her to her feet.
"I want those rings, or whatever it is you've had fashioned out of my box of ashes. I've heard enough lies. We're going to go and get them together."
He twisted her wrist a little harder, until she cried out.
"There. That's it. Now you lead the way, missy. Don't even think about trying to run anywhere.You be a good girl and let me hold your hand. Stand up properly, now."
White-faced, Susan righted herself, and glared at him.
"Let me go," she gasped. "I will tell the police. My husband will see you jailed for this."
He grinned.
"We both know the police can't touch me where I'm going. Now do what you're told. You'd better remember there's nothing in this world to stop me breaking that little white neck as if you was no more than a rabbit, and going upstairs myself. I'd find them right enough sooner or later, and who'd there be to do anything about it? I'd be long gone out of anybody's reach before that husband of yours turned up to see where his clean shirts had got to. You can think yourself lucky I'm feeling kind today. Now - " accompanied by another twist - "show me."
Something inside Susan gave in. Carefully, so as not to cause any more pain in her throbbing wrist, she edged around the table, the tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. Mr. Lefay took hold of her shoulder and she choked on a sob as he forced her arm upwards and behind her, holding her tightly as she made her way slowly out of the door and along the narrow passageway.
"Good girl," he said approvingly. "I'd get that wrist looked at when I've gone. Feels like you might have broken it."
Susan did not reply. Haltingly, trying not to weep, she led him up the stairs and used her free hand to tug open the professor's bedroom door.
Mr Lefay looked around him with interest.
"This the old fellow's quarters, then?" he asked. "Don't you be getting any ideas now. Nice and carefully. You take me to where you've hid them, and hand them over good and gentle, like."
Unsteadily, Susan crossed the room to the bed.
"They're in here," she said, gesturing at the small bundle on top of the old Bible.
Mr. Lefay glanced down.
"You pick it up," he said, and his voice cracked. "You pick it up and give it me."
Susan reached down and touched the little parcel. It quivered beneath her fingertips, and she felt the tears prickle her eyes anew, suddenly terribly reluctant to deliver something so tiny and vulnerable into the keeping of this dreadful man.
Slowly, she picked it up, curling her fingers protectively around it, feeling rather than hearing its tiny, piping calls. Then she clenched her hand against her chest and straightened up.
"I won't," she said, courage making her voice clear and steady. "You can steal them if you must, Mr. Lefay, but I will not give them to you. They are not yours. They are mine."
Agonising pain lanced through her wrist and she lost her balance, tumbling on to the bed as her captor bellowed with rage. He caught hold of her shoulders and shook her, until her head jerked backward and forward helplessly, her arms flung sideways, causing fresh spasms of pain in her injured wrist. The bundle landed on the bed, its flannel wrapping falling open to reveal its fragile contents, and Mr. Lefay howled in fury, clenching his fist as if he would pound it into her face.
"Give - them - to - me," he panted, "They're mine. Say it. Say it!"
Susan closed her eyes and tried to turn her head away from the blow. Then even as she shrank away, still scrabbling blindly to grasp the rings, the air was torn by an unearthly shriek, and the world seemed to explode around her. She cried out in terror, and a moment later was crushed under the foul-smelling weight of Mr. Lefay, knocking the breath from her lungs, and bawling curses as he rolled and fought, lashing out with his fists and struggling with something Susan could not see.
Suddenly the noise stopped.
It was not merely quiet, but an utter black silence, as dense as if they had been plunged into the depths of the ancient ocean. Susan felt Mr. Lefay, struggling and kicking on top of her, but when she opened her eyes, she could see nothing.
She blinked, and would have pushed him away, but was overcome by a rushing sensation, as if she was being flung high into the air. She opened her mouth to cry out, and tried to clutch a handful of tweed jacket, but instead her fingers closed on fur. They were rolling and twisting together, adrift in some great emptiness which seemed to be dragging them endlessly upward.
Susan could never have said afterwards how long this lasted, whether it had been a matter of moments, or it could even been several hours. Time seemed to have vanished, leaving nothing in its wake but the terrible pressure, propelling them remorselessly higher.
Eventually Susan became aware of a faint change in the air around her, and realised that the darkness was fading. A dim, green light was seeping down towards them, or perhaps they were rising to meet it. Slowly it grew brighter, and then suddenly she was on solid ground.
She was lying on a soft, grassy mound beside a little pool, surrounded by trees so dense that it almost seemed that the air itself was green and alive.
Hardly a couple of feet away from her, two men were tumbling over and over, fighting furiously.
For all the violence of their assault, there was very little sound. They rained blows upon one another with little more than soft grunts. Then one of them rolled off the other and struggled to his feet, and Susan realised, with a vague sense of familiarity, that she knew him. There had been a man in a jacket like that somewhere else, some other place. She searched her mind to remember where it had been, and who he was. Perhaps it didn't matter.
The man cursed, the first real sound she had heard either of them make. It sounded leaden, out of place, and she stared at him in confusion. He turned to her for a moment, glaring as if he might beat her too, and then she knew him.
Mr Lefay.
He did not frighten her now. There was a dream-like quality about him, as if she were seeing him in a picture, or in a very old film, and for a moment her eyes met his and she smiled.
It seemed that whatever he had thought he might do to Susan, he thought better of it. He aimed a savage kick at his opponent's ribs with a heavy, booted foot, and then turned and stumbled away between the trees.
Chapter Ten
Susan lay very still. The place seemed bright, and yet she could see no sunshine. The trees grew closely together, and whatever sunlight there might have been was hidden by their dense canopy of leaves. She felt a glorious warmth on her shoulders, as if it were the sort of summer afternoon where one might choose to read a book in the garden, untroubled by skittering breezes that might snatch at the pages.
She felt no need to move. She pulled herself to a sitting position, leaning back comfortably against the smooth bark of the nearest tree. She yawned, and gazed around herself incuriously. The trees stretched for as far as she could see, with the occasional little pool, like the one at her feet, dotted between them. Nothing moved, and the silence was profound.
She peered downwards the pond. She had a vague feeling that perhaps she had come out of it, but her clothes were dry, so maybe that was wrong. The water was clear and still, and surprisingly dark, as if the bottom were a long way down. No insects skimmed along its surface, and the small rocks visible at its edges bore no moss, but were dry and clean, as if nothing had ever stirred its surface to splash them.
A movement close by caught her attention. The man who had been fighting with Mr. Lefay was moving. Susan had forgotten he was there, and watched him as he staggered to his feet and began to brush the grass from his clothes.
He was a little older than Susan, with a shock of dusty-yellow hair which hung almost to his eyebrows and covered his neck. He was wearing a loose grey shirt underneath what looked to be a woollen jerkin and trousers, and he was barefoot.
He looked across at Susan.
She smiled, vaguely, and yawned again.
He shook his head.
"You can't go to sleep," he said sharply, and the urgency in his tone jolted Susan's eyes open. "If you sleep here you won't wake up." He stretched a hand down and tugged her to her feet. "Come on. Stand up. That's it. Are you all right?"
"Of course," said Susan, a little surprised. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He took hold of her shoulders and shook her, as Mr. Lefay had done only a short time before, but gently, the way you might wake a sleeping child. The gesture sparked a recollection that had been buried in Susan's memory, and she caught her breath.
"Mr. Lefay," she said, wonderingly. "He was here too. He hit you. I saw him. Did he hurt you? Are you all right?"
"There is no pain here," said the man, and he reached to clasp Susan's injured wrist. "Feel. Do you remember?"
Susan stared at him for a moment. Then she bit her lip as the memories began to flood back, loud and disturbing and incongruous in this tranquil place. She shuddered, and put her hand to her temple.
"Of course. He wanted my brother's rings. I think he must have taken them - but I - I don't know. It feels as if I'd been asleep - or - or - did I faint? I don't remember what happened after that. Where did he go? Where are we? Where is this?"
"It's both nowhere and everywhere," the man said. "It's called the Foot of Yggdrasil. It would take too long to explain. Maybe later. Somebody - one of us - must have touched a yellow ring and brought us here. To a different realm. Out of your world. That's what the rings do. The yellow ones. That's why they were hidden, and why Lefay wanted them. I'm sorry for what he did to you. You did very well."
Susan ignored the last remark. She was glancing around anxiously. She might have begun to panic, but there was something about the stillness and the warm, almost liquid quality of the silky air, that made it impossible.
"One of us?" she managed to say. "But you weren't there. Who are you? Where did you come from?"
The man made a small gesture with one hand at a small, dark shape which lay a little way off. Susan followed his glance, and gasped in horror.
"The cat!" she said. "Oh, the poor thing. Is he - is he?"
"It's all right," the man reassured her. "It hasn't been harmed. It's asleep. It's exhausted. It's been a stray for months, and it hasn't got much stamina. Once it got here it just collapsed, poor thing. It'll do it good. Leave it - " because Susan seemed about to pick the limp form up. "It won't wake. Just let it rest. It hasn't been harmed."
"I don't understand," she said. "What do you have to do with the cat?"
"I borrowed him," the man said, simply. "I borrowed him the way the Kvalara borrowed Lefay."
Susan stared at him blankly.
"I used him," he explained. "I couldn't sit on your doorstep day and night looking like this. You'd have rung the police. Anyway, this shape takes a lot of feeding, a lot of looking after. I'd have spent half of my days hunting cups of tea and egg sandwiches. A cat was easier."
"I don't understand," Susan said again, looking puzzled. "I don't understand a thing you're saying. I think perhaps I might be dreaming. It feels like a dream."
"Susan, wake up," he said, sharply, giving her arm a little shake. "We can't stay here. You'll be asleep in no time. Let's go. We need to get away from the trees, out towards where the air's a bit fresher.
"Shouldn't we find Mr. Lefay?" asked Susan, sleepily.
"We'd never catch him now," the man said, a touch grimly. "But there's no need. I know where he's gone. We'll find him again soon enough. Come on. Walking will help. Take your shoes off, you'll find it easier. Leave them here. You won't need them."
Obediently, Susan bent down and removed her shoes and stockings. Then she set off to follow the man, who was already beginning to move away through the trees.
The turf felt cool and springy, and she realised he had been right. Soon she began to take an intense pleasure in the walking, feeling the ground both firm and soft beneath her bare feet, because unlike the woods by the cottage, there were no fallen sticks, or jagged stones, or thistles to spike into bared skin, no hidden branches to trip the unwary. She drifted along behind him, in an almost trance-like state, occasionally glancing upwards to see his broad back still ahead of her, but otherwise lost in a private rapture of contentment.
She never knew how long they walked. Once, between the trees, she saw a furry dark shape, no more than a couple of feet tall, ambling peacefully away on all fours before she had time to see it properly. She had time to catch a glimpse of a friendly, rat-like face adorned with long, twitching whiskers, and a flash of heavy shoulders and hind-quarters before the creature was gone.
"What was it?" she asked. The man shrugged and threw a glance back over his shoulder.
"They're the only creatures that live here. They came from some other world once, I don't know which. They don't hurt anything. They used to be smaller, I think. They're quite harmless, but they like to be left alone. We're nearly there. Just a little way further. Are you tired?"
"No, not at all," Susan replied, and it was true. Apart from the dreamlike trance which dogged the edge of her consciousness, occasionally threatening to rush in and overwhelm her, a new spring had entered her step, and her shoulders had straightened. Indeed, she was beginning to feel as fresh and energetic as she had ever felt.
"Where are we?" she asked, as they set off again. "Where are we going?" He glanced back over his shoulder.
"We're in Vanaholm. I know it doesn't help much to know that, but I'll explain when we stop. You can't stay here for very long. In the end you'll just go to sleep. I'm going to take you to my home, a place called Eyja. We have to keep walking for a while longer."
Susan said no more, but a worry was beginning to shape. It was the smallest, niggling concern, because it seemed almost impossible to feel fear or dread in this place, but she began to realise that she did not have the smallest idea where she was. The cottage seemed to have disappeared, and she could think of no means of getting back to it.
She considered these thoughts as dispassionately as one might consider a bus timetable in a strange town when there are still several hours before sunset and the streets are thronged with chattering people, and eventually subsided into a peaceful resignation. Probably it would be all right.
After a very few more minutes - or it might have been hours - she noticed that the trees were becoming more widely spaced, and here and there shafts of sunlight dipped between them, speckling the grass with a dappled light. The sunlight was moving gently, as if a breeze was ruffling the tops of the trees, although no wind yet reached Susan on the mossy ground.
Still, the air was becoming fresher, and began to have a deliciously cool tang as they walked. A new scent, sweet and strong, was beginning to drift towards them, and after a very little way further Susan began to hear a sound, shocking after the profound quiet of the woods. It began as a faint rustle in the distance, but as they drew closer it became louder and louder, until it was no longer a rustle, but a far-off roar.
She paused to listen, and suddenly became aware of an uncomfortable prickling between her shoulder blades, as though someone stood only a little way off, and was watching her intently. She turned to look back into the wood behind her, and was surprised by how dark it seemed now they had reached the open spaces. She stared into the green darkness they had just left, trying to make out shapes, and then gave a little gasp. For a moment she was sure something had moved. Something seemed to have stepped out between the trees and taken a pace towards them.
She blinked at it for a moment, trying to accustom her eyes to the gloom, but could see nothing. Then the movement came a second time, as if something tall and man-shaped had shifted suddenly, and before she could help herself, a small cry of panic escaped her.
Her companion was at her side in a moment.
"What is it?" he asked. "Is your arm hurting?"
Susan pointed back towards the dense woods with a trembling hand.
"I thought somebody moved," she said. "I think there's somebody there. Over there, just beside those low branches."
Her companion frowned, thoughtfully.
"I've thought once or twice I heard something moving behind us," he said. "Wait there. I'll go back and look. I don't suppose it's anything, and of course, there's no reason we should be the only ones here anyway, but - "
His voice trailed off as he bounded back into the woods. He reached the place where Susan had thought the man-shape stood, and paused for a moment.
"Nothing here," she heard him call. "I can see why you thought it looked like somebody, it's an oddly shaped tree, but that's all it is."
"I thought it moved," Susan said, as he made his way back towards her. He shrugged.
"Probably an animal," he said. "It's gone now, if it was. Come on. We have to cross the river. We're almost there."
Indeed, they had gone hardly a hundred paces further when the trees began to be so widely spaced that they could walk side by side, and shortly afterwards, Susan's companion pointed to a strip of light, shimmering ahead of them.
"There," he said.
They stopped. He turned to Susan and frowned.
"Once we get out of the wood things change," he explained. "The wood has its own enchantment, and it makes your brain work differently, which is why you feel so sleepy if you don't concentrate. Once we're beyond it you'll start to feel the injury to your arm, and I'm afraid it's going to hurt. Probably quite a lot. As soon as we leave the trees we'll have to make the fastest pace we can. You'll have to be brave."
Susan nodded, glancing at her wrist wonderingly. There was no pain, but it had become swollen and purple. Her fingers had a greyish colour to them and were oddly reluctant to flex. The whole hand hung at an unexpected angle. She examined it curiously.
Her companion took it gently between his hands.
"It's a terrible mess," he said. "I haven't even got anything to make a sling. Could you take your jersey off? We might be able to do something with that.
Wordlessly, Susan slipped her woollen jersey over her head and handed it to him.
Carefully, her companion peeled back the sleeve of her blouse and swathed her arm in the jersey, wrapping the sleeves around it and knotting them to form a makeshift sling. He eyed his handiwork without pride.
"It isn't going to help much," he said, "but it will stop it from getting much worse. It's going to hurt quite badly, but you're going to have to bear it. Do you think you can?"
Susan nodded.
Her companion smiled at her. He had a friendly smile, she noticed, and she smiled back.
They set off through the trees, until they clambered up a little ridge where only a very few stood widely apart, outlined like leafy sentinels against the clear sky, and they suddenly found themselves gazing down from the top of a tall hillside which sloped steeply downwards towards the widest river Susan had ever seen. It was bright and flickering and joyful in the sunshine, its breadth seeming to stretch almost to the horizon, although as Susan looked she thought she could make out the faint, purple ridges of distant land even further beyond it, almost too far away for her to be sure.
Her companion pointed.
"It's the river Stychs," he said. "That's where we're going."
He indicated not the distant horizon, to Susan's relief, but a little way upstream. At first Susan thought that she was looking at the point where two rivers joined one another, coming together to make the white-foaming tail of a Y, but when she shaded her eyes to peer at it she realised that she was looking at an island. She could make out tiny trees and red-gold coloured buildings, too far away to be distinguished.
She stared at it for a moment, then turned her gaze downstream. Far beneath them, the distant land and the river seemed to end abruptly, as if they had been trimmed off by a sharp blade. A long, white line marked the spot where the river met the sky, and Susan could see nothing more. She blinked, trying to make it out, and her companion put a hand on her shoulder.
"It's the Great Fall," he said. "The end of the lands. Of Vanaholm itself. We won't go that way today. Come on."
As they set off down the sharply sloping bank she gave a sudden gasp of pain, and her companion turned towards her with concern.
"This is it now," he said. "It's going to get difficult. Do you need to take my arm?"
Susan shook her head wordlessly, pressing her lips together tightly. Indeed, in the course of the very first steps away from the trees, she had become aware of her injured wrist again. A dozen more steps and the pain had become dreadful, pulsing in her hand and arm with shuddering throbs.
A moment or two later the pain could not be borne. It was too much. A small moan escaped her lips. She paused unsteadily, glancing behind her. Her head was beginning to swim, and nausea to rise in her throat. Already they had descended a considerable distance, and the trees were now well above them. For a moment it occurred to her that if perhaps she could just get back to them she could stop the pain again, even if only for long enough just to catch her breath and make herself brave before she faced this ordeal again.
She stared at them, but even the few yards they had come seemed to have made the ridge impossibly distant. She knew the slope was too steep for her even to consider trying, and to no avail anyway. She would only have to venture out again afterwards, to face this for a second time.
She gritted her teeth and began to stagger after her companion.
The next few steps seemed to take for ever, every step jarring her injured wrist. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, and she set her jaw, trying with every step not to stumble, unsteady even on the smooth ground.
Suddenly her companion halted. He turned to Susan and shook his head.
"You mustn't do this," he said. "I can see how much it's hurting you. We've got to go faster. Look, Mrs. Hamilton - Susan - I can help you, but I don't want to frighten you. Can you try and be brave?"
Susan nodded miserably. The pain was so consuming that she was indifferent almost to anything he might suggest, and she found herself longing, dizzily, for oblivion.
As she swayed in front of him, her companion caught her shoulder, steadying her and pulling her upright. He looked into her eyes, the way Mr. Lefay had done only a few hours earlier. As she stared at him through unfocussed eyes he seemed to grow larger and broader, filling and expanding like an inflating balloon, until she was looking up at him from almost a foot below his shoulders.
She took a step backwards. An expression of concern crossed his face.
"It's all right," he said. "I would have done it before, but I didn't want to alarm you. You must be quite frightened enough as it is. I am this size. You just thought I wasn't. I stopped you from seeing it."
He bent down and scooped her into his arms as easily as if she had been a child. She closed her eyes and leaned against his broad chest as his pace lengthened, and he strode steadily and lightly down the hill.
"Try and make your breath slow and deep," he said, glancing down at her. "It will stop the pain from frightening you so much. If you breathe slowly and try and concentrate all your thoughts on that instead of on your arm it will help. The worst of all pain is always caused by fear."
The warmth of his body soothed her. She closed her eyes and breathed as slowly and deeply as she could, and it did seem that the throbbing eased a little. To her surprise she yawned. She felt herself drifting, as if she was being rocked into a dream, and she felt suddenly calm, as if the throbbing in her arm was happening to somebody else, somebody a long way away.
This lasted for only a very few minutes. The man's long, even paces covered the distance quickly, and soon they had reached the shore. Susan's eyes flickered open. Down here the sound of the river leaping and rushing was almost deafening, and she could no longer see the distant land, nor even the island. There was only the great river.
A number of small boats had been pulled up and tied to stumpy posts lining the shore, and the man deposited her gently into the prow of one, settling her injured arm in her lap and propping her as comfortably as he could before pushing it out, wading until his trousers were wet to the knees before climbing aboard. The river was moving so fast that Susan felt a moment of panic, expecting a sharp jerk as they were instantly swept away, but they were not. They bobbed steadily where they were until the huge man grasped the oars, then with long, powerful strokes, began to propel them swiftly upstream.