The Beauty of the Wolf. Wray Delaney

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      ‘At the inquest my apprentice was asked where he had been the day his mistress died. He trembled on being questioned and appeared to be an idiot with little understanding. He stammered, tripped, fell and faltered over his words to such a degree that he was found to be incomprehensible and his testimony disregarded. But John is a wise soul. He knew I hoped to find peace at the Tyburn Tree. But it was not to be. The landlord of the Unicorn alehouse swore that I had been with him all morning until the time of the accident and no man, as far as he knew, could be in two places at one time. The charge of wizardry was unproven, the case against me dismissed. There was no relief. I have lived in torment ever since.’ Thomas paused then said, ‘Let me see you, mistress.’

      She does. Abruptly, he sits, startled by the sight of her. She, the sorceress who time does not age, neither does her beauty fade. Her resources are various and plentiful and she will not be tied to any man, nor be his footstool or wishing bowl, to come hither, go thither. Now she will offer Thomas a way out of his troubles. If he accepts but fails to keep his end of the bargain she will bring such sorrow to him that his days will be unbearable. She smiles, feels light coming from her, her feet rooted once more to the ground. She will be glorious. Thomas is in awe of her. She takes pleasure in his surprise and watches his confusion turn to bare-faced desire.

      ‘Promise to give me back my hem,’ she says, ‘and I will have you home.’

      She bends and kisses his lips, tastes his hunger. He puts his arms round her, holds her buttocks and softly weeps.

      ‘You do wish to return home, do you not?’ she says.

      ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes . . .’ And then as if remembering the reason he is locked up he turns to look at the sleeping lord. ‘But how? Tell me how.’

      ‘I will return Francis Rodermere’s missing years. Then the question of where he has been will be his own to answer, not yours. Sir Percival will claim that he lost his memory and has only recently recalled where he lived or who he was, but, alas, has no idea where he’s been.’

      ‘You would do all that?’

      She pulls back his gown, lifts his night shift, his cock already hard and of a goodly shape and her hand slips up and down the length of it, peeling back the skin.

      He groans with pleasure. She stops. He opens his eyes, tries to take her hand.

      ‘I promise,’ he says. ‘I promise that when we are in London . . . I promise on my child’s life . . . I will return your hem.’

      She lifts her silken gown above her belly and lowers her cunny onto his weapon, wet at the point.

XXIV

      She enjoys such carnal acts and Thomas’s desperation has a tenderness to it. He is not, as she would have supposed, a greedy lover. But she is in control, not he and her mind is elsewhere.

      She is thinking it would be wise to trust the power of her curse and let it work its fatal magic. And yet she cannot for a maggot of a thought niggles at her: she fears the boy was faerie-blessed.

      Lady Clare’s deep love for her brother goes back to infancy. Her memories trouble the sorceress. She had willed Lady Clare to return to them but she did not, her mind flooded with thoughts of being so soon parted from her brother. Has the sorceress been too quick in her judgment? For it appears from the affection Lady Clare holds him in that he possesses a true beauty: he has kindness, love, intelligence. Not one ounce of his bastard of a father shows in him at all. When Beau smiles, it is a smile that would bring a queen to her knees. That is as it should but not the rest. Could it be that he as yet has no knowledge of his power? Lady Clare is not in one small part envious of his looks. The sorceress had imagined that she would loathe her brother, resent his beauty. Surely that is the pattern of human nature: to be shaped by jealousy, to be broken by envy. It shivers her to think she had been so unwise as to believe that her powers were incorruptible. She comforts herself with this thought: Lord Beaumont has many chambers of his soul yet to grow into. If he is not corrupted now there are years enough for him to become so.

      No one interferes with her curses.

      ‘Where are you going?’ says Thomas Finglas. ‘Stay, I beg you.’

      Invisible once more, she is gone.

XXV

      Mistress Eleanor Goodwin, still dressed in her bridal gown, was seated staring into the embers of the fire. Her husband Gilbert stood opposite her.

      He was silent, immovable. It appeared that both had said all the words they had to say.

      But Eleanor returned to the round. ‘I will not leave, not without him.’

      ‘My love, Lord Beaumont is right,’ said Gilbert. ‘If you stay, what will become of you? Of us? Remember what Lord Rodermere did to you? Think what he might do to Lady Clare.’ Gilbert’s voice softened. ‘If Beau is seen to leave with us and Lord Rodermere decides he wants his son then our fates are sealed – he will come after us.’

      ‘But to go abroad, to leave him here to that monster’s mercy, how could you think of such a thing? You who love him as a son.’

      ‘He will follow. You and Lady Clare must have time to escape and when you are safe, I will send a message and then he will be with us again.’

      ‘Could we not stay in London and be closer to him?’

      Eleanor looked up to see her son and daughter in the doorway.

      ‘Is the the carriage ready?’ Beau asked and his voice had a note of calm authority to it.

      Gilbert nodded as if saying the words might reawaken the argument that had occupied their wedding night.

      Beau knelt beside his mother.

      ‘My lady, to stay here would be folly. You are married to Master Gilbert. Best by far you leave today and go abroad. Take my sister away from here. It is what you have long wanted. Sir Percival has advised you to do as much.’

      ‘Only if you come too,’ she said.

      The sorceress has to admit surprise at this young man’s elegance of language, his careful argument. She can see his speech holds weight. And she is wondering how she might make them stay here a while longer until the deed is done. But one look at Master Goodwin tells her it would be his knife, not Beau’s, that would pierce the earl’s heart and that would never do.

      The wind whirled, the chamber door flew open and in the sudden breeze the fire flared.

      Beau glanced up to where she stood as if to say, ‘You are still here?’

      Beau’s words seemed to shake Mistress Goodwin into action. Her husband called for a servant.

      ‘Bring the carriage and my horse to the front of the house,’ he said, and he helped his wife to her feet.

      This parting causes each of them great sorrow and it appears as genuine in Beau as it does in the others. Surely, thinks the sorceress, this is an actor playing his part, nothing more.

      ‘How will I find СКАЧАТЬ