North Side of the Tree. Maggie Prince

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СКАЧАТЬ talks to his horse softly, asking in seductive tones why the animal is making such a fuss, and I feel like making a fuss myself, just to be spoken to in such a way. Universe’s round flanks graze the rock sides; he flicks his tail and snorts. Stones clatter down, hitting me. Finally, we all reach the bottom.

      John pats his horse’s neck, and waits for the animal to calm down. He looks at me and says, “Well, Beatrice.” My heart jolts. I pull my hood further forward over my head, even though the rain is easing. John pushes his whip down his boot and scratches his leg. He asks, “Did you love him… your Scot?”

      I shiver as a gust of wind is funnelled down through the rift in the rock. I don’t feel capable of talking about Robert out here in the woods, where his ghost shrieks at me from every tree.

      “I cared about him,” I answer stiffly. “Care about him… But love? I think that is another matter. What are you asking me exactly? Whether Robert and I were lovers?”

      “Robert? Ah, I never knew his name.”

      “There’s no reason why you should have.”

      “No, I wasn’t asking whether you were lovers. I couldn’t care less if you’d had every man in the valley.”

      I give a snort of laughter, but he is being serious, and instantly I feel childish. I ask him, “How old are you, John?”

      “Twenty-five.”

      “I’m sixteen.”

      “I know, but older than your years, I think. Look, we don’t have to talk about this now. I was going to wait for you to get over the Scot, but since you half-drowned, I’m so afraid of losing you…”

      I interrupt him. “John, I shall always be grateful to you for saving me…”

      “Don’t! I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to trade on having fished you out of the ocean. There was something between us before that, wasn’t there?”

      I look back at the rockface. Dazzling streaks of light are stabbing through the clouds above it. John looks too, and for a moment we are both immobilised by the beauty of it. “Yes,” I answer. “Yes, there was.”

      John takes hold of my hand and kisses the palm. “So, can you just tell me it isn’t impossible?”

      I touch his hair. It is wet from the rain, and still uncombed. I answer, “No, I can’t tell you that. It is impossible. Verity will be leaving Barrowbeck to farm with James at Low Back. Who will run the farm if I go too? I have to marry Hugh and stay.”

      For what seems a long time we stare at one another. When we do speak, it is simultaneously, and reduced to politeness. “I should get back, John.”

      “Have you started your lessons with Cedric yet?” He releases my hand and steadies the horse so that I can remount.

      “Not yet. I’m still busy with the winter planting, and stocking the root cellar. There’s time enough.” Cedric, also known as the Cockleshell Man, is our local healer, a close friend of my mother, and soon to be my teacher in the arts of healing and herbalism.

      John and I ride together in silence down through the woods, across a stream, up a steep bank where ferns and tree roots coil out of the earth. I wish we had not had this conversation. Before, I could imagine all sorts of unspoken impossibilities. Now I have been forced to face reality.

      Where the trees thin out, Barrowbeck Tower comes into view in its clearing. I glance back at John. “Now I really do want to go on alone, John. It would be better if you were to see Father about Verity and James when the paying-off is over. Let him calm down a bit after handing out all that money. You must be careful of his temper. It’s getting more violent than ever.”

      “I know.” John halts the horse and dismounts, and helps me down. He remains with his hands on my waist. Around us, the woods are quiet. Damp spiderwebs show up on the bushes. A flurry of rainwater splatters down on to our faces. He says, “I’ll come over this afternoon to speak to your father about Verity.”

      “It won’t be easy.”

      “I know. He doesn’t like me.”

      “You’re always reprimanding him.”

      “He deserves it.”

      I kiss him on the cheek. “Goodbye John.”

      “Goodbye Beatrice.” He kisses me on the mouth. Caught unawares, I put my arms round him and kiss him back.

      A twig snaps nearby. We both jump. Universe is pricking his ears and glaring into the undergrowth. The bushes rustle and a voice says, “Good morrow, parson. Greetings, mistress.” It is Leo, our cowman.

      I step back, speechless. John replies, “Good morrow, Leo. How pleasant to see you.” Leo is giving us an astounded look. I can see through his eyes my untidied hair and flushed face. I wonder how much he has seen. I try to imagine the repercussions if it reaches my father that his daughter has been seen kissing the parson.

      “I must get back.” I pull my cloak round me.

      John says calmly, as if we had merely been on a nature walk, “Go carefully, Beatrice. I’ll watch you as far as the tower,” but I hurry away, taking another path which leads me out of their line of vision.

      “I’ll walk along with you if you’re heading back to the rockface, parson,” I can hear Leo saying behind me. “There’s a sight too many strangers in t’valley today for my liking. I’m just checking a few little snares I’ve set…” Their voices fade as I rush as far away from them as possible.

      I am almost out into the lea now, thinking wildly about what I can say to Leo to ask for his silence. I dawdle at the edge of the trees, and decide to wait for him to come back this way from emptying his snares. The rain is heavier again now, and the wind is rising. Grey planks of rain come skimming over the Pike from the sea. I can see the watchman on the battlements of the tower pulling his hood up. I decide to shelter here and rehearse what I shall say. Leo will surely understand. Everyone employed at Barrowbeck Tower knows the necessity of avoiding my father’s temper. I clutch my own hood under my chin to keep the rain out, and this is how I do not see them coming.

      “Ha!”

      The voice, hands, body all come at once. A massive lout in dark, dirty clothing leaps from the bushes and knocks me to the ground. Another, shorter man follows him. I see a flash of brown jerkin and blue breeches. As I draw in my breath to scream, a stone is rammed into my mouth, crashing against my teeth. Grit and soil choke my voice. A knife flashes before my eyes.

      “Back from seeing your fancy man, eh? Let’s have your money, lady.” The first man pinions my arms whilst the second grapples at my waist to see if I have a purse. I writhe and try to scream, but my throat is full of gravel, and all I can do is cough. I struggle to reach my knife, but the first man finds it before I can and rips it from my belt in triumph. “She’s no gold or silver, but I’ll have this pretty bit of ironmongery instead.” He hooks it into his own greasy green belt, then mutters, “Now what else can we tek off her, eh?”

      I lash out, sick with terror. Then suddenly it is as if the first man has flown away. He is lifted off me bodily by a pair of strong, brown hands. “Get away, lady,” snaps Leo. “Run for it.”

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