My mother – uncle? – is waiting in the breakfast room the next day, wearing what must be one of Luther’s finest dove-grey suits and a blue waistcoat so icy it’s almost silver, an azure cravat tied expertly; it was an art she learned for clients. But she’s not alone; when I open the door it’s to see Luned – out of her bed sooner than I’d thought – backed against the sideboard, serving utensils half-forgotten in her hands, a look of disbelief on her face. Heloise-Luther is smiling and the expression is one I recognise: amused cruelty. I think about Luther banging on the door of Luned’s room yesterday, demanding to be let in. How much does Heloise know of Luther’s memories? What still lives inside that body she’s so recently inhabited? What can she access?
I clear my throat, and Heloise-Luther says, ‘We shall continue this discussion later,’ while Luned looks as if it’s the last thing she wants to do in her life.
‘Good morning, M – Mr Morwood.’ I almost say Mother. ‘I trust you had a fine journey, Mr Morwood, and Mrs Morwood is safely settled.’
Heloise-Luther’s head tilts, and I can only imagine my mother is digging around any memories left in her brother’s brain. There’s a brilliant smile, an Aha! in her mind, and a tone of triumph as she says, ‘Yes indeed. Both she and Mrs Charlton were well when I left. The nuns of St Dane’s welcomed them and assured me that Jessamine will receive the best care.’
‘What good news,’ I say evenly. ‘Luned. Are you feeling better?’
She flashes me a glance that’s hard to interpret at first, then I realise it’s fearful. ‘I thought I was alright, but—’
‘Don’t worry about things here. Go back to your room and lie down. I’ll take care of it.’
She thrusts the ladle and a stack of bowls at me then hurries out. Before the others arrive, I serve porridge into one of the bowls and put it in front of my mother. In a low voice I ask, ‘How much can you see, Mother? In there? Of his remembrances? His thoughts?’
‘Bits and pieces,’ she replies with a frown as if sorting through a basket of odds and ends. ‘If I concentrate, things are clearer, but hard to tell when events happened – whether sooner or later. With time I’m sure it will be easier.’
‘With time,’ I say as if I will still be here. As if I don’t want her to find answers for me at speed. ‘What did you say to Luned?’
And he gives me a look that is pure Heloise, all innocence and wonder. Before he can answer, the door opens and the children rush in. I don’t believe they saw him yesterday afternoon, and at the sight of their father they freeze, stricken. Luther’s mouth splits into a genuine smile. He rises, arms held wide. ‘My babies!’
In all my time here, I’ve never seen him greet his offspring with such delight. Heloise, however, always did have a fondness for children not her own. If she does not remember how he acts – if she does not wish to act as he is – she must at least remember to be careful. To change Luther too much, too soon, would be unwise.
‘Welcome your father home, children,’ I say quietly and smile to encourage them. Sarai goes first (she has the least to fear, or rather has had fewer lessons), Albertine next, and finally Connell, though the boy gives me a reproachful look. Heloise-Luther enfolds each of them in a hug, kissing the top of their heads, patting their cheeks, all the things she would do when she was in a mood to love me. There’s a tiny stab inside; I recognise it as jealousy. Idiot, I think, but in my heart I’m still a child, still broken. I clear my throat.
When Leonora walks in, there’s almost a stumble in her step as she sees the tableau before her. She gives me a sideways look and all I can do is shrug How could I possibly understand?
‘Luther. Returned rather earlier than expected, I see,’ she observes, her tone leaving no doubt that this turn of events displeases her. He did not come down to dine with us last night, not after our confrontation in the surgery, not after my threat. I suspect Leonora had more things to put in place before this moment – she did not expect a petty rebellion from Luther. She stares: Luther’s affection appears genuine; the older children seem uncomfortable, nonplussed, although Sarai looks as though she could become used to it. She might yet be young enough to forget some things.
Heloise-Luther stares at her – his – mother for long moments. So many years since they last laid eyes upon each other, and every time Heloise recounted for me that terrible scene, she added some new detail, some fresh hurt. That her mother threw something, said something, turned away when begged not to, herded her only daughter out of the house and into the dusk, then the night, then the rain, then the breath of winter. Worse with every retelling. Embellished each time until it was impossible to tell lie from truth – except the hurt. The hurt was always the truth.
But now… she – he – smiles. My mother-uncle smiles and it’s as bright as the sun, a child seeing its mother, recognising her after a separation. All that joy, the expansion of the heart – just as I’d experienced last night when I saw Heloise staring at me from her brother’s eyes – the moment when one is all hope of a relationship being what one wants so desperately for it to be. The brief, flashing, flaring shiny possibility. Before the hurt is remembered, the ache rushes back in and the moment is dead.
‘Mother. I have missed you so.’
He’s across the room in a few long strides – there’s an ungainliness to the movement for Heloise isn’t used to being in this body, to controlling it – and his arms are thrown around a startled Leonora. Heloise-Luther holds tight. Leonora’s hands flutter in the air behind him, but do not land. She’ll not be so easily won over. At last her daughter-son pulls away, seemingly without resentment. ‘Mother. I know we’ve been at odds. And I have been unkind. But during the journey I considered many things – part of my reason for returning so early – and I wish us to be reconciled. For the hurts of the past to be salved. I know they cannot be forgotten, but I will do my very best to make up for all of my shortcomings. I understand it will take a while for you to believe in my sincerity, for me to demonstrate it adequately, but with time, dear Mother, I hope we will reach a much better place. That Morwood with both of us at the helm will become a great inheritance for the children.’
Leonora looks taken aback. There’s nothing to fault my mother-uncle’s earnestness. I doubt Luther could ever have managed to be so convincing. The elder Mrs Morwood gives a sort of a nod – it’s mixed with a shake of the head – and moves towards her seat at the breakfast table (the far one, ousted however briefly from the head). Without Luned here, I serve everyone, a decided shift downward in my status.
I wonder how Jessamine will like her new husband. There are things I must explain to my mother about this place, this family – it’s not the family she was born into, grew in, and from which she was then expelled. I must tell her these things before I make my departure. I’ve kept my promise to Heloise, she has her brother’s life, and soon I will slip away to try and find my own existence now that this is done. She won’t miss me; she must make her own way in this world I’ve handed to her.
* * *
Mid-morning, having left the children practising their letters, I go looking for Heloise-Luther. I find him at the stables, mounted on Luther’s newest horse, face alight with joy. I gave you that, I think, I gave you this chance to start anew. And I’m so proud of myself that I can barely stop smiling. Mother sees me, thinks the smile is for her, and returns it hundredfold. Light might be spilling from the both of us.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask, somewhat breathless. Without thinking I put my hand on hers – his – clutched about the reins. Heloise-Luther places her fingers over the top, squeezes just as she used to when I was small and we would walk through the markets together, her head held high no matter what they whispered about us.
‘Everywhere!’ he says and gives a girlish laugh. ‘It’s been so long, Asher, since I’ve been home. I will ride from one boundary to the next, greet every tree and hillock, stream and fence.’
I press down my misgivings. ‘Ride safely. Be home before dark. We must talk. There are things I must tell you, questions I must ask.’
‘Of course, my Asher. Of course. But we have all the time in the world!’ Then he releases me and I step back as the stallion surges forward, out of the yard, takes the house fence at a gallop and is up and over with a shout. My heart’s in my throat until they land, the hard impact of the hooves like punches in my gut.
We really must talk. I clasp my hands in front of me, turn back and discover Eli Bligh is watching me with suspicion. I don’t hesitate, walk straight up to him and kiss him on the lips. ‘It’s not what it seems,’ I say and then leave before he can reply. All I know is that it’s important he believe that, though he’ll never get the truth.
As I’m heading along the corridor to return to the classroom, I hear Leonora’s voice coming from the library, calling me to heel. Presenting myself at the door, I raise a brow. ‘Yes, Mrs Morwood?’
‘My son certainly seems in a good mood.’ She’s sitting with what looks like an account book open on her lap.
‘Yes, Mrs Morwood. Perhaps some self-reflection has been beneficial.’
‘You don’t believe that any more than I do, Asher Todd. He’s just trying a new ruse.’
I shrug. ‘Only time will tell.’
‘Indeed,’ she says. ‘The tenancy agreements are coming up for renewal. Make appointments for them all to see me by the end of the next month.’
‘That’s not my job, Mrs Morwood. Eli would be the person to do that.’
‘I don’t want Eli to do it. He answers to my son.’
‘Eli Bligh will answer to whoever is running the estate to its best,’ I say, unsure why I’m so determined to defend Eli. Or the boundaries of my position. Perhaps, having served porridge, I will never again have a chance to refuse a task. ‘He is a good and honest man, Mrs Morwood.’
‘Don’t think I haven’t seen you sneaking to his cottage.’
I can feel my face warming. ‘That makes no difference to his character. Indeed the fact that I trust him should be reason enough for you to do so.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Mrs Morwood,’ I draw myself up, ‘you have trusted me with your grandchildren, your health and your secrets. Is this such a great leap? I keep to myself, I am discreet, I do not place my confidence lightly.’
‘Asher, my darling girl, one day you’ll be old enough to realise that fucking doesn’t require faith.’ She sighs. ‘Be so good as to go into the Tarn and deliver that letter to the solicitor. I’m sure Zaria must be back by now.’
‘Mrs Morwood,’ I say, exasperated. ‘You hired me to educate your grandchildren. A critical part of education is regularity and routine, yet you are wilfully interrupting my schedule. If you wish those children to grow up with more respect for others than your son has thus displayed, I suggest you cease and desist.’
She gives me a look like a snake almost trod upon and I think perhaps I’ve gone too far. Yet I stand my ground, hands folded in front of me, chin lifted, meeting her eyes calmly. Anyone would think me an actual governess.
‘Oh, Asher Todd, some days I dislike you!’ she exclaims at last.
‘No, you don’t,’ I reply, and after a moment we both laugh.
‘Get you gone,’ she says, waving her hands towards the door. But when I reach it, her voice stops me. ‘Asher?’
‘Yes, Mrs Morwood?’
‘That other matter. The matter of moving,’ she says quietly and I know what she means. I wish she’d forgotten it. I wish I had too. I nod at her to go on. ‘I would like to discuss a… schedule for that. You’re so fond of such things, that should please you.’
‘Yes, Mrs Morwood. But there are certain items I will need that are not easily available.’
‘Such as?’
‘Things that I shall acquire.’ I lie to buy myself time.
She puts a hand to her cheek, feels the plumping which cannot entirely disguise the wrinkles carved there. Isn’t this enough? Surely for another person it would be. But not my grandmother. She will take everything from her granddaughter – and then what? Shall I put Albertine’s soul into Leonora’s decrepit body? And when she tries to tell the truth, everyone will simply think she’s the old woman become deranged. Will they lock her in the rooms above? Truly does Leonora think me capable of this? Then I recall what I have done to my own uncle. Perhaps Leonora Morwood knows me better than she realises; somehow blood recognises blood.
I clear my throat. ‘When the time comes, we will make arrangements. I will take the letter to Zaria this afternoon when you are instructing Albertine. Will you tell Luned to look after Connell and Sarai? I believe she may be well enough.’
She nods, waves again in dismissal.
* * *
A few hours later I walk into the Tarn. The air is brisk yet my pace slow; I enjoy the last of the fugitive warmth of the winter sun. Soon enough the snow will begin and there’ll be no leaving this place, not without leaving a trail. When I flee, I’ll be wearing my true face; I’ll leave the Grange, discard Meliora’s ring – perhaps into the well with her husband – take the coach from the village to the next town, then the next, and the next—
No. A horse. I’ll take a horse, make my own way so no one can see me, track me, ask anyone else if they’ve seen me. I’ll ride until I find somewhere that feels safe. Like it might make a home. I’ve fulfilled my promise to Heloise. When I’m gone, Leonora Morwood will have no one to make her dark dreams come true. She’ll never find another like me. The Witches said only one other had ever asked for the same spell, Selke of the red hair and terrible abilities – and she was surely dead by now. Without me, there will be no new life for Leonora Morwood.
And I have but one thing left to do, one promise left to keep, one I’ve neglected far too long while pursuing my own interests – or rather, my mother’s.
In the village, I go to the store that sells pens and papers and art supplies, and browse the shelves. I leave with only a blank-paged journal. Perhaps I will write recipes inside, the little things that don’t look like spells, that can’t be held against you in a trial. I go to the bakery and buy a pastry filled with cream and fresh fruit. I go to the apothecary and stock up on the things I’ve used the most of at the surgery; things that are light and easy to travel with when I depart, things that will easily fit in a satchel when I leave everything else behind.
I do not go to Taverell & Daughter.
I turn around and walk home once more.
When I return to the Grange, I go straight to my room and lay a fire. For a few seconds I waver, then I grin, concentrate, whisper and blow. The kindling bursts into bright flame, hot and burning fast. I pull out Leonora’s letter to Zaria Taverell and snap the wax seal in two – I’m almost proud of my neatness – and I sit on the floor to read the contents. Everything is to be bestowed upon Albertine in the event of Leonora’s death; Luther is to be given an allowance, the right to continue living in the house or to purchase another in town should he wish. A small inheritance for Connell; a dowry for Sarai. Jessamine to act as Albertine’s trustee until the girl reaches her majority – because Jessamine will be easy for Leonora to boss around once she’s inside the child’s body. Tidy bequests for the servants. A generous one for me and the doctor’s living and the surgery until my death.
I watch the old woman’s wishes and wants turn into cinders and ash, watch all those desires and plots become smoke and disappear up the chimney.
I’ll tell her it was delivered, that Zaria said she would have it returned in a sennight. By the time Leonora asks after it, by the time she goes to the solicitor’s office in high dudgeon to demand where her new will is, I will be long gone and all her plots in disarray. It is the best I can do for Heloise – the last thing I will do – from hereon in she will be the one to manage her mother’s schemes. They deserve each other.
After dinner, my mother begs off chatting, claiming weariness, and I find I do not have the strength to insist. When the house is quiet and dark, I go to Eli Bligh’s bed, and I do not sneak.