Relative Strangers - Chapter Four
Author: Polly Spencer
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies - please see part one for full disclaimer and summary.
Author's note: I know, I humbly confess and apologise that this has taken me so long to continue but I'd like to thank everyone who's been kind enough to review this story and everyone who emailed me to give encouragement! You guys are really kind and have inspired me to keep going. I only hope it's been worth the wait and that I haven't let you down at the end. Anyway, on with show :)
***
Cedric had run back to his room and sunk heavily down onto his bed. He held his hands
tightly between his knees, willing them to stop shaking. 'I'm being irrational,' he told himself. 'You could have lost that cross anywhere and even if Charles DID find it, what's to say that he didn't think it was his own? Or this...Edward's? Or maybe even a previous guest's? After all he could only have had a brief glance of it earlier in the journey?' Even as he reasoned the words in his mind, his thumping heart was telling him otherwise. With a wave of cold air, he recalled the events of the previous night - did this mean his uncle was a murderer? No, he thought - this Edward had actually done the deed - whatever that deed was? He still knew next to nothing about the details, and despite his observations, he still had no proof of anything.
"Cedric?"
It had been William, calling from downstairs. He jumped at the intrusion. "What is it?" he called down, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Are you joining us or not - it's getting pretty late, you know?"
He thought frantically for a moment. It was doing him no good remaining where he was. He may as well go and join his brothers - perhaps he could find a way of telling them what he had seen? "Uh...yes - I overslept. I'll be down now."
Quickly he assembled his things together, finished dressing, then went downstairs.
When he finally emerged in front of his family, he saw that breakfast was well and truly over. It must be later than he had thought. "I'm afraid you're too late for breakfast Cedric," Charles greeted him, lightly, "but I've saved you a half loaf. You may eat it in the coach - just don't tell your father I encouraged such bad habits. Come now, children! Cedric I see that you are packed - our bags are already dealt with so let us depart promptly." He rose from the table and Richard and William did the same.
Cedric simply stood where he was, his mouth hanging slightly open, unsure of what to make of the scene around him. Charles was jovial but by now, Cedric knew that counted for very little. But William and Richard were there and everything appeared to be very business-like and ordinary. He decided to comply. At the nearest opportunity, he would discuss his concerns with his brothers. For now though, he must board the coach and hope for the best.
A short, balding man came from behind him and gathered up his bags, taking them outside to the waiting vehicle. Cedric followed him out and clambered aboard as Charles entered from the other door. The driver had already been waiting in his seat and now Charles leaned forward to give him further instructions. Shifting slightly in his seat, Cedric leaned out the window to see his brothers milling up to the side of the coach. "Be good, Cedric," Richard said lightly, as he stood by his window. "What do you mean?" Cedric demanded, alarm sounding in his voice. His brothers should have boarded the coach by now, surely.
No one answered him. Instead, Charles leant over him to speak with William and Richard. "Now you haven't forgotten what you have to do, have you? I've left the documents with Richard and the man you're looking for should be in the Shire Courts this morn at eleven."
"We know what to do, uncle," they both assured him. At this, Cedric found his voice again,
"What's going on?" he repeated, "where are you two going?"
"It's all right Cedric," Richard assured him. "Uncle Charles has made some enquiries about purchasing some land here. We're meeting with the current owner today and riding up to join you tomorrow."
"There's no need to worry," William added, seeing the colour slowly draining from Cedric's cheeks.
"Right then! Drive on!" Charles called out. With a crack of the whip, the horses whinnied into action and started off at a canter. Cedric sat back heavily in his seat, trying hard not to look at Charles seated across from him. This had all happened so quickly that he was hardly sure what to make of it. He glanced down at the rough road, speeding by along side them. For the second time that journey, he felt the urge to leap from the carriage and make a run for it. But this time, where would he run, to? Covington Cross could not be further away and his brothers had also gone their own ways. Above all else, what he had feared most, had now come to pass: they were alone together at last.
***
The day wore on and as much as it surprised him, it wore on too quickly for Cedric. He had thought the hours in the carriage would drag - that one minute would seem like an hour. But they did not. Before he knew it, night was falling.
Charles had been thoughtful, silent for most of the journey. They had stopped without incident at a roadside inn and enjoyed a seemingly pleasant meal before continuing to Christledon.
Charles spoke lightly of the men he remembered from his last trip to Christledon and of the money owed to him from investors. He prepared Cedric for the likely scenes of court and informed him of the small role he was to play, taking notes, bearing witness and so on. Cedric merely nodded, his jaw set but his eyes wavering. Neither one spoke of last night or of crosses or of suspicions. Cedric could almost have willed himself to give in to his desire to believe Charles to be completely ignorant of his little unauthorised visit that night: almost.
They had arrived in Christledon shortly after noon and proceeded straight to the town court.
Despite his anxiety Cedric could not help but glean a slither of interest at the pomp and ceremony. The landed deeds were read out in Charles' name and witnesses were brought forward to confirm his identity.
"And who shall bear witness to this testimony?" the Lord had asked.
At a nod from Charles, Cedric had stepped forward. "I do, My Lord, Cedric Grey." The lord had nodded his assent and then the parchment was handed to him. "You will swear before Almighty God who knows all the secrets of our hearts and then make your mark upon the page."
Cedric did as he was bid and when all was satisfactorily concluded, Charles made light talk with some before leading Cedric from the court.
"Is the business done then, Uncle?" Cedric had asked, tentatively.
"Aye lad, it is." They were walking slowly, side by side along the riverbank. The sun beat a weary stream on their heads and Cedric longed for the comfort of shade - perhaps a meal and drink as well. They had not been the first order of business in the courts, and as such the evening had drawn on whilst they had been inside. "Then we are to return to the others? And to Covington Cross?"
Charles had looked at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Of course, boy. Or would you rather have us stay here?"
"No!" he had agreed, perhaps a little too quickly than he should have.
"We'll ride back then?"
"Certainly. At first light - you cannot expect us to journey at night? No," he had continued, without giving Cedric time to answer, "there is a public house up the way - it will suit us fine. Your brothers must be finishing their business by now."
***
Their conversation by the riverside had been a scant two hours ago and now the dark gloom had fallen all around them, covering them all in a thick blanket of night. It was a close fit as well. As Cedric lay in his bed, watching the moon slowly passing across his window, he could feel the heat cocooning him securely yet unwontedly.
His thoughts darted hither and thither around his mind. In the morning they would ride out, back to his brothers, to his father and Eleanor: back home. He never thought that simple word would mean so much to him - could cause him so much grief and joy at the same time. For a brief moment, his mind turned to his mysterious, estranged brother Armus. He'd never seen the man, possibly he never would though his family constantly prayed for Good Fortune. But at that moment, Cedric thought he felt closer to Armus than any of his family could ever appreciate. They were both away from home, both uncertain of return, both alone.
Though he strove to continue his contemplation, Cedric could feel his eyelids getting heavy. They had dined well that night - in celebration apparently and Charles had been very generous with the spiced wine. Thomas always regulated the young man, afraid of his endurance levels. Charles had no such concerns and allowed the young man the same freedom that he often envied his brothers for. As such, he was feeling pleasantly drowsy and mellow, almost melting into the mattress, the passing of the moon and clouds taking on the tranquil ebb and flow of the sea. A warm breeze ruffled his hair and shirt and his gently resting eyelids grew gradually heavier and heavier till sleep finally sealed them tightly and securely shut.
***
The sleep was deep, and filled with dreams, pleasant and light but nonetheless, at the stroke of three, he awoke drenched in a cold sweat, shivers coursing through his body.
At once his dreams escaped him, but not the remnants of sleep. His body remained stubbornly attached to the thin mattress as if he were lying on the clouds themselves, despite the chills of the night. With a small groan, he rolled himself over to face the open window. Suddenly the sheet that had provided amply warmth before, was now found severely lacking. A decision had to be made: he was tired and comfortable but that would not last long once the chill set in. Best to remedy the situation now, he decided. That way the rest of the night could pass undisturbed.
Swinging his legs over the bed, he recoiled slightly as his feet hit the floor: it was icy cold to
the touch as if the dead of winter had suddenly set up camp in his room in direct defiance of the surrounding summer night. Now he wished he had his travelling cloak closer to hand. He reached down to the end of his bed and felt for the clothes he had left there earlier. Ah yes, there they were - trousers, over shirt and, down on the floor, his boots. Slipping all the garments quickly on, he once again stood up, this time padding softly over to the window.
However as he reached it and drew the wooden shutters closed, he began to notice that, despite his earlier assumptions, there had been no breeze coming from that window. The air was dead and still. Yet still the chill remained, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck in sharp punctuated tugs.
His breathing a little quicker now, he turned on the spot, his back pressed against the now shuttered window. Without the moonlight the room was suddenly that much darker and scanning the blackness, he saw nothing. The chair stood where it always had, by the foot of the bed, the table too where he had left it - everything perfectly undisturbed.
Deciding he was being silly, he made his way back into bed. Still, nothing could prevent the mad dash to be back under the covers as opposed to the dignified walk of an adult. He didn't even bother to undress as he threw the blanket around him and snugly tucked in the edges underneath him. His brothers would doubtless laugh at him, his father might even be ashamed, but Cedric didn't care. That night, he had never felt so childish or been so keenly aware of how far away he was from becoming a man.
He buried his head under the pillow and screwed his eyes shut, willing his thumping heart beat to slow down - the noise was almost deafening. Through sheer will power the drumming ceased. As the minutes passed and nothing happened, ever so slowly his tensed muscles began to relax. Cedric allowed a sliver of air to pass through a gap in the blankets and as he did this, he realised how much his lungs could actually do with some oxygen. Carefully, the young man extricated himself from under the blanket and once more, surveyed his surroundings.
The air did seem warmer this time but still his nerves remained on edge. Though he could see nothing in the darkness, there was something else nagging him: he could hear - no, sense something near by. It was close, calling him whispering all around him, rattling the shutters on the windows. His palms began to sweat and his gaze darted furiously about the room. He propped himself up on his elbows, backing himself as tightly against the wall behind his head as he could.
He dared not close his eyes though he dearly wished that he could. With a knife sharp jolt of certainty, Cedric understood that at that very moment, he was no longer alone.
"Hello?" Came the throaty whisper. A moment later he realised it had come from his own mouth though what had given him the courage to speak, he knew not. Silenced answered him, jarring his senses more loudly than a thousand screams could have. His heart stopped. Was that movement? By the window? No - his eyes followed the movement, amazingly well given the lack of light. Something seemed to be radiating its own light source though his brain did not stop to contemplate that at that precise moment. There it was again! A sound this time - a rustling moving from the window now and towards the bed. This time, the blood pounding in Cedric's ears could not be so easily ignored. He could no longer speak, no longer move, no longer breathe. All he could do was wait, paralysed, sweat pouring in rivulets down his neck and back and soaking into the rugged mattress beneath him. Outside in the night sky, the clouds must have shifted for striking through the gaps in the shutters came a single shaft of bright, white moonlight, cutting an arc across the path to Cedric's bed. He did not know how long this illumination would last for, but whoever was coming closer to the bed would have to pass through it if they wished to reach his upper body. His vision began to swim with fright and the thudding in his ears had now turned to a high pitched ringing.
The shadows lightened on the outskirts of the moonbeam and Cedric could make out the silent rustle and crease of fabric. His gaze had locked further up however, towards the face. 'Another step', his mind cried out, 'Just one more step...'
The figure stepped forward.
The light did its job admirably. Out of the darkness appeared the figure Cedric had been preparing himself for - the inevitability of fear and attack - the eyes, cold and demonic; the lips, curled in anger and hate: evil in every pore. So when his intruder's face was finally illuminated in blinding clarity and Cedric took in the pale gentle face, soft curling hair and alert frightened, but kindly eyes, he let out a soft, strangled cry.
"Nan!" he breathed.
With a tangle of arms and legs, Cedric managed to stumble out of bed. He scoured the room frantically but it seemed that the darkness had reclaimed her. Cursing, he fumbled on the wall for the candles but try as he might, he could not locate them. "Nan?" he called.
There was no answer. Moving to the window, he tried to throw back the shutters but he found them to be stubbornly sealed shut and unrelenting. By now however his eyes had adjusted to the pitch blackness and he took in his surroundings more easily. To his surprise and dismay, he saw that she had vanished. The door to his room rested slightly open and so he made for it in haste. His mind whirled: what was she doing here? She must have followed him, all the way from Covington Cross - but why? The door was heavy and as he passed through, he heard it swing gently shut behind him.
The corridor outside of his room was deserted but Cedric raced to the end of it anyway to look out onto the grounds below. She couldn't have come this far, this fast, he told himself. 'If you even saw her', he reminded himself. 'After all, it was dark and your mind was playing tricks on you. Perhaps you just imagined it out of longing to be back home?'
It was then that he spotted the staircase. Of course! The first place he should have gone to, he mentally chastised himself. He moved surprisingly silently given his present state of agitation and remarkably quickly. Taking the stairs two at a time at a speed that normally earned him lecture or two back home, Cedric reached the bottom and hastily began to search the tavern. "Nan?" he whispered again.
Suddenly, he stopped. A creaking noise had caught his attention. Cedric had turned to see where it was coming from but just as he did so, the noise stopped. He held his breath: a moment passed.
Wait! There it was again - softly creaking in a steady, slow rhythm. "Is that you?" he whispered, tentatively suddenly wishing he had taken the time to bring a light after all. As the noise sounded again this time the youth's gaze cast upwards. Somebody was up there, moving around - creaking the old floorboards.
His pulse began to quicken. He must have missed her. Was that her up there now, looking for him? Unconsciously, Cedric ran a hand through his dark tousled hair, now clinging to the back of his neck in sweat. His eyes darted to the top of the staircase, still shrouded in darkness. With one steadying hand on the banister he made his way carefully up the stairs. Gone was the frantic haste of earlier - now, caution ruled his pace.
As he reached the top, he paused. His breath caught in his throat. Someone was coming down the passageway, but he knew in an instant that it wasn't Nan. Instinctively, he drew back into the staircase, hugging the shadows and blending into the night. The figure was that of a man, fully cloaked. The build and gait was familiar - too familiar. Perhaps Cedric should have said something, called out? But he did not. He simply stood, transfixed - in utter astonishment.
He watched as the man stopped outside of his closed door. Cedric sincerely hoped that his pounding pulse was not audible to the strange visitor to his room or else his hiding place would be quickly given up. With a swift glance behind him, the man placed one hand on the door handle and with the other, withdrew something from the folds of his cloak. Cedric leaned in, craning his neck as far as he dared but despite his best efforts, he could not make the object out. It was small however, sleek and light and for the briefest of instants, it glinted bright silver. Though Cedric could not make out the clothes, nor the facial features, he knew without a doubt that this man was Charles. But what in God's name was he doing, sneaking into Cedric's room in the dead of night? he wondered. Charles silently pushed open the door and stepped inside. As usual, the heavy door swung back behind him but this time it did not close fully. Through the crack Cedric could make out the scene before him. Charles stood just inside the doorway, by his bed. He had obviously expected the shutters to be open for he had brought no other light with him. He hovered for a moment, obviously unsure of whether to risk disturbing the occupant by opening the shutters. After a moment's hesitation he decided to risk it. Feeling his way round the side and back wall of the room, almost knocking into the table and chair, Charles made his way to the window. Finding the latch, Cedric gazed intently as the small wooden catch was lifted up and only one window was quietly pushed open. Immediately moonlight flooded one half of the room casting the bottom half of the bed into light.
Charles turned to the bed and stepped forward, into the pale beam. The hood was drawn up over his face though Cedric could now see his expression - cold and stony, eyes dark and fixed with the slightest creasing of a frown hooding his brow. And in his hand - if Cedric hadn't been sure before, there was no trace of doubt in his mind now: in his hand, Charles clutched a small, bejewelled dagger as he slunk closer to the bed like a cat moving in to its prey.
Cedric could not prevent the strangled scream that escaped his lips. He barely had time to glance at Charles as the man's head shot up in surprise and his gaze fell upon the young man on the stairs. After stumbling backwards a few steps, Cedric turned on the spot and flew down the stairs. He didn't even recall his feet making contact with the ground. All he knew was that he had to get out of there - get away from his uncle.
Out, through the tavern doors and into the night he ran, never stopping once to look back. His chest heaved in pain and he was amazed that his legs were even co-operating as they seemed to have been replaced with either iron or lead. Images of knighthood, of manhood, of bravery and glory were banished from his mind. It was all he could manage to keep from giving in to his urge to scream and cry. As it was he could feel tears begin to course down his face.
There was movement from behind him - he presumed from Charles as he realised his nephew had left the building. Cedric paid him no heed and instead continued to run, his feet slapping on the dirt beneath him. 'God!' he thought, frantically. Where would he go? Who could he turn to for help? He realised that he barely even knew where he was - he was utterly friendless and alone. Ahead of him a noise brought him out of his thoughts though he never slowed down, not for a second. His first instinct was that it was somehow either Charles or perhaps the man he had seen at their last stop?
Whoever it was, was mounted - one...no, maybe more and making for his spot with great speed. Cedric barely dared to hope. Could they be allies? Could they be friends? If he called out, would that alert them to his aid, or Charles to his location? His dilemma was short-lived however as the mounted strangers appeared to be making directly for him. He could see a light from one of them so they must be carrying lanterns.
The horses slowed from their canter and came to a trotting halt shortly ahead of him. He had not heard them speak but Cedric decided that they were most likely a damn site safer than Charles was. He increased his speed until he came to a sudden halt by their horses, holding onto the reins of the front horse for support until he could catch his breath:
"Please!" he rasped, gasping for air all the while, "Got to...help me! Need...get...away." He managed a glance up at the men. He could see now that there were two of them, though he could not make out the face of the one he was talking to now - this man did not have the lantern. Just then, the figure on the other horse raised his lantern and spoke to him, his voice laden with surprise of his own:
"Cedric?!"
It was only from his grip on the reins, that Cedric prevented himself from collapsing.
Noticing his brother's distress, Richard leapt down of his horse and took Cedric securely round the waist, supporting him as the boy leaned heavily into his older brother. William too, swung down off his horse, before retrieving the lantern from the saddle and holding it up next to the assembled group.
"Cedric?" he asked again, "What on Earth are you doing? What's happened?"
Cedric didn't answer. Instead, nothing could have shocked William and Richard more than what he did next. Far from shrugging off the support Richard was offering him (as he had though the would-be knight would be desperate to do), Cedric flung his arms about Richard's waist and clung on for dear life, weeping bitterly as fear, exhaustion and adrenaline finally caught up with him in a torrent of emotion. Shock clearly registered on each brother's face as they stared, open-mouthed at their baby brother. However, Richard regained his composure and instinctively hugged his brother back, leading them over to a place where they could all sit down.
William swiftly located a mound of turf and set the lantern down on the ground in front of it before seating himself. Richard's decent was a little more awkward given that he still held onto Cedric but it was obvious to all that the young cleric was unwilling to release his hold.
"Now, Cedric," Richard began, "you must tell us, slowly and clearly what has happened. Where's Uncle Charles?"
"Charles," Cedric explained through heaving breaths: "He...he was in my room!"
"In your room?" William repeated. "When?"
"Tonight! S...sneaking around - didn't know I wasn't there."
"Where were you?" Richard wondered.
"Downstairs."
"Why?"
Cedric hiccuped, "Thought I heard something..." he stammered.
"What was he doing in your room?" William pressed gently.
At this, Cedric began to panic again. "Had a knife!" he explained, his voice rising. "He came into my room and he had a knife - he was looking for me! You can't let him find me."
William exchanged a startled and suspicious look with Richard.
"Cedric," Richard began, calmly, "Think about this. Are you absolutely sure? After all, it was dark and you were already panicked from this noise you thought you heard." Even as he spoke, he could feel his brother vehemently shaking his head against his chest.
"Cedric? Where are you boy?"
All three boys spun around at the sound of the call. Cedric recoiled visibly. Despite his doubts, William instinctively found himself moving slightly in front of their youngest sibling. He didn't really believe the child - after all, Cedric had been jumpy about Charles practically since they met him - but it just wasn't like Cedric to be this upset for no reason. Until he knew what that reason was, he wouldn't dismiss a threat to his family out of hand and he knew that Richard would do the same. Charles spotted them and ran over. He appeared flustered. Concern and annoyance were clearly etched on his face.
"There you are!" he exclaimed. Then he identified William and Richard. His eyebrows rose in surprise (and perhaps in more than a little alarm). However he quickly concealed this. "Richard, William! What in Heaven's name are you both doing here? And at this time of night?"
Richard glanced over Cedric's head at his brother. "When we finished our business, we decided to ride up tonight and ride out with you both at first light. We had discovered that the route back was quicker if one doesn't have to ride back the way we came in. I'm not sure why we rode out when we did," he added thoughtfully, "it just seemed the right thing to do at the time."
"What's going on, Uncle?" William cut in.
"That's what I'd like to know," Charles insisted. "Cedric, what on Earth is the matter?"
"Cedric says you were in his room tonight," Richard explained, quietly and calmly.
To Cedric's surprise, Charles did not seem alarmed at this. "Yes, of course I was," he exclaimed as if the reason why should have been obvious. Despite himself, Cedric pulled away from his brother and turned, incredulously to face his uncle full on.
Charles smoothly continued. "Cedric, I thought I heard noises coming from your room - running and scraping and then I heard someone moving about downstairs! I was worried for you - I thought perhaps something had happened so I went in to check on you. You can imagine my alarm when I found your bed empty and then when you ran without a word! I declare you have given me the fright of my life, Boy!"
"And the knife?" William asked, carefully. Charles never missed a beat though he did appear surprised at the mention. "As I said, I worried the lad was in trouble. You are all in my care this journey - how could I ever have faced your father again if one of you were to be hurt? I only wish I had had my sword to hand but the knife was the first thing I found."
William and Richard seemed to be considering the explanation closely. It did seem plausible and, though both would admit that their uncle could be both strict and strange at times, neither one wanted to believe him capable of murder - especially not of their little brother. It was far more comforting to believe that the danger to Cedric had not been real but had been merely a part of his over-active imagination.
"What do you think, Cedric?" Richard asked, quietly. "Do you think it could have happened that way?" Cedric ignored his brother for the moment and instead directed his words at Charles. "If you awoke in the middle of the night," he asked quietly, "then why are you fully clothed?" Richard and William both bore curious expressions.
"Why are you?" Charles returned, lightly.
Cedric appeared uncomfortable. "I was cold," he explained, "it was suddenly very cold."
"Well there you are then," Charles continued, "just as it was with me."
"What do you think?" Richard pressed again. Cedric had heard all the words but his heart could not believe them. He hated Charles Grey and more than anything else he wanted to be back home. Despite all that he had seen and heard it appeared that he still had nothing solid to accuse his uncle of. He could scarcely believe it. But his brothers were here now, weren't they? That meant that he was safe. And they would be going home - back to Father, back to his protection. Suddenly he was very tired, mentally and physically. Drained and exhausted would have been more apt a description. Though the anger remained, fatigue washed over and controlled his body and mind. He just wanted all of this to be over - the journey, the threats, the argument.
"I suppose so," he agreed finally in a weak, weary voice. Charles nodded his approval but William and Richard barely noticed. Their attention was fixed on the care of their brother.
"Then let us return to our beds..." Charles began to say but he never got a chance to finish.
"No!" Cedric cut in, the panic beginning to return to his voice. "I want to go home now!"
"Now?" Charles repeated. "It is still the middle of the night."
"He's right, Cedric," William pointed out, "in only a few hours it will be dawn."
"No!" he cried, "I want to leave now! I don't want to go back in there. Please," he cried addressing his two brothers, "please can we leave now! It is almost dawn - it'll be light soon. I can't go back in there, I can't!" Richard shared a concerned glance with William. That talk that the three of them had shared two nights ago had not entirely fallen on deaf ears. The seeds of doubt had taken enough roots in their minds to justify caution now. In any event, despite the innocent explanation of the night's events it still did not alter the fact that Cedric had genuinely believed his life to be in danger. It must have been a harrowing experience for him, regardless of the outcome. Both brothers silently agreed that it would be kinder to appease their brother on this point.
"I can see Cedric's point, Uncle", Richard began. "I think it would be best if we rode out tonight." Charles did not appear happy at the suggestion.
"This is foolishness!" he exclaimed, angrily. "It is too dangerous, not to mention pointless to ride at night! I say we shall all stay."
Richard stood up, drawing Cedric up with him and lightly placing a protective arm around his shoulders. "Cedric has had a shock tonight, Uncle. William and I are going to take him back now - respectfully," he added though his posture and manner suggested otherwise. Charles regarded all three of them carefully, his jaw squared and hard. Finally he relented.
"As you wish, boy." Richard nodded almost imperceptibly then glanced at William.
"William, why don't you go and get Cedric's bag? I'll stay here with him - keep him company. We wouldn't want him to run off again now, would we?"
Charles smiled tightly as William moved off into the inn. "I'll show you to his room and collect my own bags," Charles called after him before following William inside.
"Thank-you," Cedric said quietly, once Charles was out of earshot. Richard's only response was to lightly hug the boy to him quickly before releasing him. Then they turned wordlessly to the task of unsaddling the two horses and loading the boys travelling bags into the coach.
***
The journey home took just over a week and a half. They seemed to stop far less on the way back than they did on the outward journey and it turned out that Richard and William's short-cut had been most productive. There were no arguments, no fights, no debates: barely any one spoke a word to each other.
Charles showed no signs of suspicious behaviour, Richard and William appeared to have forgotten their earlier unease but above all, Cedric never left the side of either of his brothers - even slept in the same room as them. They thought nothing more of it than childish nightmares and tolerated it without a further word of explanation.
It was a slowly darkening day when they all finally arrived back at Covington Cross and watched the grand gates drawing nearer and nearer. It was all Cedric could do to keep from leaping out of the carriage and running like a mad man for his own front door. Suddenly the coach moved far too slowly. Charles had sent messengers ahead several towns ago that they were to be expected any day now and it was with great delight that three of the weary travellers, saw their father and sister standing at the main entrance way, wide grins on their welcoming faces.
Barely had the wheels come to a halt on the carriage, then Cedric, followed closely by his brothers, had leapt from it. If Thomas was a little surprised at the affection his youngest son was showing, he didn't appear to show it, or mind it. Instead he gathered the young man up in his waiting arms, giving him a half-swing around, as he was wont to do when the boy was a young child. Finally he set him down again.
"I see you are glad to be back, young man!" he exclaimed. "Did you have a productive time in Chester?" Suddenly Cedric seemed to regain his awareness. Mumbling an answer that he hoped sounded satisfactory he pulled away from his father but was immediately engulfed by his sister's hug.
After all the party had exchanged greetings, Thomas sent the boys upstairs to unpack and freshen up while he and Charles discussed the trip together. As he made his way upstairs, Eleanor going with them, Cedric began to wonder just how much of the trip Charles would tell Thomas about. His mind began to whirl with implications. He would have to speak to his father about his fears, but by God - if it were hard enough to discuss that with his brothers, how on Earth could he tell his Father what he suspected Charles of? He hadn't even been able to convince William and Richard though it was safe to say that their suspicions had been aroused somewhat. Thomas would never believe him: he was Cedric after all - no one ever listened to him.
Then his mind switched to another possibility. Suppose Thomas did believe him? What then? Charles would be arrested - tried in the King's Court. If he were found guilty the penalty could be death though he supposed his father could plead for leniency. Thomas was well acquainted with the King - it was possible Edward would be merciful if asked. But what then - Cedric would be held responsible for the death or imprisonment of his own uncle. Eleanor was besotted with him and though wary, Richard and William still enjoyed having an uncle around. As for Thomas...this was his brother - a man he thought he had lost fifteen years ago. If he were in his father's shoes, he thought. If it were Richard, or William or even Eleanor instead of Charles? Could he bear it if a future son accused them of murder, with no real evidence - if he caused the death of those he loved most in the world? He felt suddenly sick to the stomach at the idea. He knew the answer immediately - it was stabbing at his gut: he would hate them. He could never forgive the person who harmed his family.
His trunk had been laid out on his bed. As he stood by the wash basin, he allowed his epiphany to wash through his mind. His brow felt as though it was on fire and he quickly splashed the clear cold water over his face. It helped ease a little of his physical discomfort but inside his mind still raged. Anger - at the injustice of his unavenged attack; grief - at the sadness of Mary's plight; and fear - fear of what might be still to come: all fought for supremacy, bubbling to get to the surface and burst through. The Friar would have been proud of him though: with an iron fist, he silenced them all.
From the sounds downstairs, he presumed that supper had just been announced and life at Covington Cross was to carry on as normal.
***
Supper was a grand affair. Roasted pork, pheasant, venison - Eleanor had outdone herself. Though they had eaten well en route, Richard and William nonetheless attacked the luscious spread as though they had not seen food in weeks. Thomas had smiled at their fervour: "Those boys - always did have the appetite of an ox!" Then he had turned to address Cedric, seated as far away from the others as he could be without arousing suspicion. "Well then, Cedric - tuck in, you must be famished!" Cedric had come down to supper politely but so far, Thomas had been unable to extract more than a few curt but polite responses out of him.
He seemed distant, distracted, intensely withdrawn and his appetite had waned almost into oblivion. Thomas leaned forward and examined his youngest intently. "Are you feeling ill, Cedric?" he asked, concern lacing his words. Cedric's eyes darted up to meet his father's but only for a second. Next to his father sat Charles watching him with the appearance of feigned disinterest, but Cedric knew better. Charles was in fact watching him like a hawk - those dark eyes never wavered from his target.
"Our little Cedric is not a good traveller, I'm afraid Thomas," he explained lightly. "I'm sure he must be near exhausted."
Thomas regarded him kindly. "Is that so, Cedric?" he asked sympathetically. Very slowly, his eyes downcast, Cedric simply nodded wordlessly.
"I'm sure you shall grow out of it with experience," Thomas assured him. "This was after all, your very first journey - there will doubtless be many more to come."
"Not if he joins a monastery," Richard pointed out. William elbowed him in the ribs but had to cover a smirk himself.
Cedric pointedly ignored him, his jaw hardening. "Well Father," he continued, "perhaps not all journeys shall be like this one - it was most unusual after all."
William and Richard put down their knives. From his seat next to Thomas, Charles halted the wine cup at his lips and just for a moment, brought it down to rest on the table, gaze fixed on Cedric. However, after a brief pause, resumed his drinking but his eyes remained locked.
"Really?" Thomas asked in interest. "How so?"
"Yes," Charles added, "Do tell us in what way."
The young man looked from his father to Charles and then back again. He could feel his brothers' questioning, slightly nervous expressions upon him. Charles said nothing more - he knew he didn't have to.
"Well?" Thomas prompted.
Cedric looked away. "It was quite arduous," he finally muttered.
"Yes - quite so!" Richard agreed quickly.
Cedric didn't even bother to watch Charles' expression change - he knew exactly what it would be. "Well then!" Thomas exclaimed. "Perhaps it is best after all if you do all get an early night." Cedric didn't answer and was grateful when the conversation turned to other topics.
Though he spoke no more, inwardly his anger consumed him. His vow of silence burned and ate away at his insides. Images, words, feelings - trappings of his recent journey entered his mind unbidden and bombarded his senses.
I have killed for you, Charles - never forget that!
And what of Mary!
In God's honest truth, when your aunt left the castle something truly evil took residence in her place
She talked not of marriage
not of marriage
There was love there...but it did not flow equally
'He could not persuade her to stay. He coveted her but she would not listen - would not listen!'
'He loved her but he let her go. Why? Why so? He covets what he sees and he takes what he covets.'
On and on his mind raged as those around him chatted and laughed amongst themselves.
"I couldn't believe it!" Eleanor was complaining. "I spoke to him in the forest for almost a full hour while I was hunting and he was actually interesting me. We spoke of culling techniques and crossbows and of skinning pigs - it turns out that all he was trying to do was woo me! The cheek of that man."
"There's another word I could think of to describe him," Richard smirked but silenced himself at a look from Thomas.
"Eleanor," Thomas was saying, "Suitable...well, suitors do not attempt to entice a young lady with talk of hunting and killing."
"No?" she asked, resting her chin on her palm.
"No," Thomas affirmed. "They sing ballads and play the lyre - they recite loving poetry."
"Well I'm not!" William said gravely.
"Then you'll not have much success with women, William," Thomas warned. "It is an art you must learn to perfect in this life." William and Richard both appeared a little uncomfortable at the prospect. To them, boasting about their own achievements seemed to be a sure way of attracting the maidens. Thomas saw this and grinned at them.
"Not to worry, boys. I'm sure I can help you out. I do remember a few lines from my own youth you know. Your mother used to love to receive poetry. I'm sure I must still have them somewhere though I confess where alludes me for the moment. Do you remember you used to write some for Mary as well, Charles? Do you know what you may have done with them?"
Charles shifted slightly in his chair and took another swig of his wine. "I am sure Mary took them with her when she left," he answered, smiling. "They were too priceless to leave behind!" The little group chuckled.
"Liar."
They stopped and five faces turned to the voice. Cedric's head had snapped up at the mention of her name. His eyes were dark and still but the rest of him was shaking in silent rage.
Thomas was puzzled. "Pardon, Cedric?" he asked, not quite sure if he had heard correctly.
Cedric fixed his stony glare on Charles though his words were addressed to Thomas.
"I said", he replied emphatically, "that he is a liar."
"Cedric!" Thomas admonished, sitting straighter in his chair and frowning heavily at the boy. "Apologise this instant."
Charles leant forward, attempting to glare the boy down, but Cedric was past caring - anger was taking over. Ignoring his father he went on, the words coming out in a rush:
"I've seen the poems that you speak of. Aunt Mary never took them because they are in your possession and you know it..."
"Cedric, enough! You will..."
"I will NOT! That man is a LIAR!" he screamed, standing up and slamming a fist heavily down onto the table so the table wear shook. His eyes welled up with tears of anger and frustration. "Mary never took the papers with her because HE HAS THEM - she never took anything with her because she NEVER LEFT COVINGTON CROSS!!!"
His breath caught in his throat the moment the words spilled out. He didn't know where they had come from but in that instant, he knew them to be true. At that instant he knew a lot things that he would never quite come to understand how.
Charles said and did nothing. Richard, William and Eleanor just sat and stared at each other in shock. Thomas leapt to his feet, his face red with fury. "Cedric," he began, his voice shaking in rage, "it is too late for apologies now. Leave this table at once and go upstairs to your room. I shall be joining you presently. GO!" he bellowed as Cedric remained for a moment where he stood, hands clenched into fists by his side, expressions of anger and hurt lining his face. All at once, he turned and fled from the room, banging the door behind him as he ran.
***
Cedric had left the table as instructed, but by the time he looked at where his feet were hurrying him to, his mind realised that he was not headed up to his room.
Instead, he found himself where he never would have expected - traversing the gloom and dank of the dungeons. What possessed him he still knew not but he found himself placing an uneasy trust in his bizarre instincts.
The walls, the cells, the low ceiling - it all still seemed oppressing, but now there was something else there too: an explanation - an explanation for his fear. 'But what could this have to do with Mary?' his mind cried out. No one came down here - for as long as he could remember, the dungeons had never been touched!
They aren't all in such bad condition- see, this one's even been repaired
It hit him like a slingshot.
His heart was racing, he could only imagine how wild his expression must have been. Scouring the darkness ahead, he found it. The cell - dark, decaying, foreboding and the only one repaired, the lighter patch now almost fading in with the rest of the wall.
"M master Cedric?" He spun to see one of the servant women standing nervously behind him, "Can I help you, sir?"
Immediately he fixed his intense gaze on her. "When was this wall repaired?" he demanded, indicating the cell with a waving arm. She took a couple of steps back. It was clear that he was frightening her a little with his demeanour but he didn't care.
"I...I don't know, Sir," she admitted.
"You don't know or you can't remember?"
"Not in my time here, young Sir," she answered timidly. His mind raced.
"When did you come here?" he demanded.
"I, I replaced Abigail sir."
Cedric froze. "Who?", he asked carefully.
"Abigail", she repeated. "It must be nigh on fifteen years now, sir and there's been nothing done since I did arrive."
Oddly enough, he found his breathing slowing down. "Thank-you," he murmured, turning away from her and back towards the cell. She gave a hasty bob before gladly scurrying away.
With steady strides he approached the cell. The gate was unlocked so he pushed it open with one hand and crept inside. He should have been afraid - he was afraid, but somehow...none of that mattered. Not right then.
Cedric slowly and carefully approached the wall. With tentative movements, he ran his hands lightly over the light patch, then over the wall surrounding it. Something felt different - this part was cold, almost icy to the touch. He hadn't felt that kind of chill since...
He shuddered for a second before forcing himself to shrug it away. He tore his gaze frantically around the room. It came to rest on the basket outside the cell: swords - perfect. He retrieved the sturdiest one and then brought it back inside. Standing back from the wall, he raised the sword high above his head and then brought it down in a wide, strong arc. It reverberated against the patch and almost wrung his shoulder out of its socket - but not without reward. A large crack appeared, blighting the surface like a scar. For the briefest of instants, Cedric wondered just what on Earth he thought he was doing. Then he raised the sword and struck again. The crack grew larger and chunks began to fall away. Who ever constructed this had done so in great haste - the workmanship was poor and the materials weak. As if in a frenzy, Cedric raised the sword and struck out over and over again, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arms and back. Again and again he slashed away at the crumbling wall as the hole gaped larger and larger and the sweat poured down his back.
And then he stopped.
Just like that, the passion ended and the driving force left him. He dropped the sword, damaged beyond use, to the floor where it clanked in protest. With his hands, he easily pulled away the last of the filling. It crumbled pitifully to the ground, laying about his feet like witnesses to a massacre. As the rubble fell, the dust had risen and now swirled around Cedric almost like a wreath, choking the air in his lungs. He coughed and raised his hand to cover his face for a moment until the cloud had settled. It seemed to take both too long and not long enough all at once.
When he felt however, that it had subsided, he drew his hand away from his face and looked.
He couldn't scream. It just wasn't in him: he couldn't even cry out. He felt the tears though, hot and heavy, welling up as grief flooded his senses even before his mind knew the truth.
She stood there, encased in the wall, fragments of a dress still clinging loosely to her frame, a spark of silver lighting the dullness of her bones.
With careful, reverent hands, he reached out to the silver about her neck and rested it lightly between his fingers. Perhaps out of a last sign of respect, he felt the need to whisper the name, spelled out in the five letters on the chain: MARIA.
He could not at that moment feel fear, or anger, or disgust. All that overwhelmed him as he gazed at her face was pity, and love and for once an understanding - that just by knowing, he was somehow helping her.
He should tell someone, his brain told him - you should call for help. But he could not leave her, not yet - she had been alone down here long enough. His eyes travelled down from her face and over her tattered dress and body. The deep blue still showed through in some patches of fabric. He wondered for a moment how beautiful Mary must have been. She even appeared graceful in death, he mused.
As his gaze fell, he noticed a fragment of the wall that still remained, imprisoning her left hand behind it. Anger over took him again as the cause of her death sprung back to his thoughts. Hastily he tore the remaining wall from in front of her and eased her hand away. As he did so, however, something caught his eye. Her right hand was flat open, but this left one was loosely curled up. Gently he prised her fingers open and jumped in surprise as something small and golden slipped out and fell to the floor.
Kneeling down, he picked it up off the floor and dusted it off. It was a ring - expensive by the looks of it and familiar, he realised. It took only a second to place it - his father had one just like it: a signature ring given to him when he came of age. He held it closer to his face. Though the lighting was dim, the engraving was sure enough: C.G.
A small smile played his lips. Even in death, Mary would not be cheated.
Slipping the ring into his pocket he went to rise. Letting out a startled scream, he jerked as he felt the blow to the back of his head. Cedric fell forwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thud but rolled over onto his back nevertheless. Fear gripped his heart as Charles stood over him. He said nothing - he did not need to. His face, hard, cold, calm - it spoke volumes.
Quicker than Charles would have expected, Cedric leapt to his feet and made a mad dash to get past his uncle. Charles however, was faster. He reached out a gloved hand and grabbed the young man around the throat, pushing him back and forcing him against the wall. Cedric tried to call for help but Charles had placed both hands around the boy's neck and was now squeezing for all he was worth. Never once did he speak to him, never once did he look away from his nephew's pleading eyes. Cedric tugged and tugged at his uncle's hands in a desperate attempt to dislodge them but to no avail.
'Think Cedric, think!' his mind screamed. He didn't want to die down here - alone, lost - bricked into history like Mary had been. His vision was swimming and his lungs heaved for air as his heart beat hard against his chest. Still, Charles' grip did not waver. Cedric used his feet to slam hard into Charles' leg. He heard a satisfying crack and was pleased to see the man's neutral expression flash with pain and rage. He raised his leg to try again but Charles was ready, lifting the boy off the floor and slamming him into the wall behind till Cedric heard the distant crack of his head against the stones. Dimly he was aware of the flow of blood as it ran down his neck and mingled with the sweat and dirt.
His lungs could no longer stand it - his heart was slowing and a strange part of him was almost grateful. His vision receded, getting smaller and smaller, fading at the edges until only a pinprick of sight remained. And then he fell, crumpling to the floor in a heap.
'Dear God,' he thought, 'so this is actually it? It isn't exactly as I imagined it would be. Curious.' It took a few moments more for it to dawn on him. If he was still forming thoughts, then he was still alive. In a panic, his mind leapt to Charles and he struggled to sit up and see what had happened to him - was he readying for the final blow, preparing his own entombment? Try as he might, however his body would not respond. Lack of air and two head wounds ran their natural course and Cedric simply passed out into peacefulness, missing the unfolding scene completely as his uncle lay, metres away from him on the ground, reeling from the blow just dealt by his father.
Thomas stood, surveying the scene before him. Behind him he could hear the approaching sounds of his sons and the servants, including the same serving woman who had told him of the encounter with Cedric only minutes earlier. His son was alive! Through the bubbling, raw anger that fact soothed the waters. Everything else - everything, shocked and sickened him to the core. Leaving his brother's inert form for the moment, he hurried to his son's side and knelt down next to him, cradling his head in his lap. His boy he would see to first. Charles - by God, he thought, Charles could and would come later.
***
OK - that's it for right now folks! Epilogue is already under way and should be with you in a day or so. I hope all's alright so far and thanks for reading.
Author: Polly Spencer
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies - please see part one for full disclaimer and summary.
Author's note: I know, I humbly confess and apologise that this has taken me so long to continue but I'd like to thank everyone who's been kind enough to review this story and everyone who emailed me to give encouragement! You guys are really kind and have inspired me to keep going. I only hope it's been worth the wait and that I haven't let you down at the end. Anyway, on with show :)
***
Cedric had run back to his room and sunk heavily down onto his bed. He held his hands
tightly between his knees, willing them to stop shaking. 'I'm being irrational,' he told himself. 'You could have lost that cross anywhere and even if Charles DID find it, what's to say that he didn't think it was his own? Or this...Edward's? Or maybe even a previous guest's? After all he could only have had a brief glance of it earlier in the journey?' Even as he reasoned the words in his mind, his thumping heart was telling him otherwise. With a wave of cold air, he recalled the events of the previous night - did this mean his uncle was a murderer? No, he thought - this Edward had actually done the deed - whatever that deed was? He still knew next to nothing about the details, and despite his observations, he still had no proof of anything.
"Cedric?"
It had been William, calling from downstairs. He jumped at the intrusion. "What is it?" he called down, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Are you joining us or not - it's getting pretty late, you know?"
He thought frantically for a moment. It was doing him no good remaining where he was. He may as well go and join his brothers - perhaps he could find a way of telling them what he had seen? "Uh...yes - I overslept. I'll be down now."
Quickly he assembled his things together, finished dressing, then went downstairs.
When he finally emerged in front of his family, he saw that breakfast was well and truly over. It must be later than he had thought. "I'm afraid you're too late for breakfast Cedric," Charles greeted him, lightly, "but I've saved you a half loaf. You may eat it in the coach - just don't tell your father I encouraged such bad habits. Come now, children! Cedric I see that you are packed - our bags are already dealt with so let us depart promptly." He rose from the table and Richard and William did the same.
Cedric simply stood where he was, his mouth hanging slightly open, unsure of what to make of the scene around him. Charles was jovial but by now, Cedric knew that counted for very little. But William and Richard were there and everything appeared to be very business-like and ordinary. He decided to comply. At the nearest opportunity, he would discuss his concerns with his brothers. For now though, he must board the coach and hope for the best.
A short, balding man came from behind him and gathered up his bags, taking them outside to the waiting vehicle. Cedric followed him out and clambered aboard as Charles entered from the other door. The driver had already been waiting in his seat and now Charles leaned forward to give him further instructions. Shifting slightly in his seat, Cedric leaned out the window to see his brothers milling up to the side of the coach. "Be good, Cedric," Richard said lightly, as he stood by his window. "What do you mean?" Cedric demanded, alarm sounding in his voice. His brothers should have boarded the coach by now, surely.
No one answered him. Instead, Charles leant over him to speak with William and Richard. "Now you haven't forgotten what you have to do, have you? I've left the documents with Richard and the man you're looking for should be in the Shire Courts this morn at eleven."
"We know what to do, uncle," they both assured him. At this, Cedric found his voice again,
"What's going on?" he repeated, "where are you two going?"
"It's all right Cedric," Richard assured him. "Uncle Charles has made some enquiries about purchasing some land here. We're meeting with the current owner today and riding up to join you tomorrow."
"There's no need to worry," William added, seeing the colour slowly draining from Cedric's cheeks.
"Right then! Drive on!" Charles called out. With a crack of the whip, the horses whinnied into action and started off at a canter. Cedric sat back heavily in his seat, trying hard not to look at Charles seated across from him. This had all happened so quickly that he was hardly sure what to make of it. He glanced down at the rough road, speeding by along side them. For the second time that journey, he felt the urge to leap from the carriage and make a run for it. But this time, where would he run, to? Covington Cross could not be further away and his brothers had also gone their own ways. Above all else, what he had feared most, had now come to pass: they were alone together at last.
***
The day wore on and as much as it surprised him, it wore on too quickly for Cedric. He had thought the hours in the carriage would drag - that one minute would seem like an hour. But they did not. Before he knew it, night was falling.
Charles had been thoughtful, silent for most of the journey. They had stopped without incident at a roadside inn and enjoyed a seemingly pleasant meal before continuing to Christledon.
Charles spoke lightly of the men he remembered from his last trip to Christledon and of the money owed to him from investors. He prepared Cedric for the likely scenes of court and informed him of the small role he was to play, taking notes, bearing witness and so on. Cedric merely nodded, his jaw set but his eyes wavering. Neither one spoke of last night or of crosses or of suspicions. Cedric could almost have willed himself to give in to his desire to believe Charles to be completely ignorant of his little unauthorised visit that night: almost.
They had arrived in Christledon shortly after noon and proceeded straight to the town court.
Despite his anxiety Cedric could not help but glean a slither of interest at the pomp and ceremony. The landed deeds were read out in Charles' name and witnesses were brought forward to confirm his identity.
"And who shall bear witness to this testimony?" the Lord had asked.
At a nod from Charles, Cedric had stepped forward. "I do, My Lord, Cedric Grey." The lord had nodded his assent and then the parchment was handed to him. "You will swear before Almighty God who knows all the secrets of our hearts and then make your mark upon the page."
Cedric did as he was bid and when all was satisfactorily concluded, Charles made light talk with some before leading Cedric from the court.
"Is the business done then, Uncle?" Cedric had asked, tentatively.
"Aye lad, it is." They were walking slowly, side by side along the riverbank. The sun beat a weary stream on their heads and Cedric longed for the comfort of shade - perhaps a meal and drink as well. They had not been the first order of business in the courts, and as such the evening had drawn on whilst they had been inside. "Then we are to return to the others? And to Covington Cross?"
Charles had looked at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Of course, boy. Or would you rather have us stay here?"
"No!" he had agreed, perhaps a little too quickly than he should have.
"We'll ride back then?"
"Certainly. At first light - you cannot expect us to journey at night? No," he had continued, without giving Cedric time to answer, "there is a public house up the way - it will suit us fine. Your brothers must be finishing their business by now."
***
Their conversation by the riverside had been a scant two hours ago and now the dark gloom had fallen all around them, covering them all in a thick blanket of night. It was a close fit as well. As Cedric lay in his bed, watching the moon slowly passing across his window, he could feel the heat cocooning him securely yet unwontedly.
His thoughts darted hither and thither around his mind. In the morning they would ride out, back to his brothers, to his father and Eleanor: back home. He never thought that simple word would mean so much to him - could cause him so much grief and joy at the same time. For a brief moment, his mind turned to his mysterious, estranged brother Armus. He'd never seen the man, possibly he never would though his family constantly prayed for Good Fortune. But at that moment, Cedric thought he felt closer to Armus than any of his family could ever appreciate. They were both away from home, both uncertain of return, both alone.
Though he strove to continue his contemplation, Cedric could feel his eyelids getting heavy. They had dined well that night - in celebration apparently and Charles had been very generous with the spiced wine. Thomas always regulated the young man, afraid of his endurance levels. Charles had no such concerns and allowed the young man the same freedom that he often envied his brothers for. As such, he was feeling pleasantly drowsy and mellow, almost melting into the mattress, the passing of the moon and clouds taking on the tranquil ebb and flow of the sea. A warm breeze ruffled his hair and shirt and his gently resting eyelids grew gradually heavier and heavier till sleep finally sealed them tightly and securely shut.
***
The sleep was deep, and filled with dreams, pleasant and light but nonetheless, at the stroke of three, he awoke drenched in a cold sweat, shivers coursing through his body.
At once his dreams escaped him, but not the remnants of sleep. His body remained stubbornly attached to the thin mattress as if he were lying on the clouds themselves, despite the chills of the night. With a small groan, he rolled himself over to face the open window. Suddenly the sheet that had provided amply warmth before, was now found severely lacking. A decision had to be made: he was tired and comfortable but that would not last long once the chill set in. Best to remedy the situation now, he decided. That way the rest of the night could pass undisturbed.
Swinging his legs over the bed, he recoiled slightly as his feet hit the floor: it was icy cold to
the touch as if the dead of winter had suddenly set up camp in his room in direct defiance of the surrounding summer night. Now he wished he had his travelling cloak closer to hand. He reached down to the end of his bed and felt for the clothes he had left there earlier. Ah yes, there they were - trousers, over shirt and, down on the floor, his boots. Slipping all the garments quickly on, he once again stood up, this time padding softly over to the window.
However as he reached it and drew the wooden shutters closed, he began to notice that, despite his earlier assumptions, there had been no breeze coming from that window. The air was dead and still. Yet still the chill remained, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck in sharp punctuated tugs.
His breathing a little quicker now, he turned on the spot, his back pressed against the now shuttered window. Without the moonlight the room was suddenly that much darker and scanning the blackness, he saw nothing. The chair stood where it always had, by the foot of the bed, the table too where he had left it - everything perfectly undisturbed.
Deciding he was being silly, he made his way back into bed. Still, nothing could prevent the mad dash to be back under the covers as opposed to the dignified walk of an adult. He didn't even bother to undress as he threw the blanket around him and snugly tucked in the edges underneath him. His brothers would doubtless laugh at him, his father might even be ashamed, but Cedric didn't care. That night, he had never felt so childish or been so keenly aware of how far away he was from becoming a man.
He buried his head under the pillow and screwed his eyes shut, willing his thumping heart beat to slow down - the noise was almost deafening. Through sheer will power the drumming ceased. As the minutes passed and nothing happened, ever so slowly his tensed muscles began to relax. Cedric allowed a sliver of air to pass through a gap in the blankets and as he did this, he realised how much his lungs could actually do with some oxygen. Carefully, the young man extricated himself from under the blanket and once more, surveyed his surroundings.
The air did seem warmer this time but still his nerves remained on edge. Though he could see nothing in the darkness, there was something else nagging him: he could hear - no, sense something near by. It was close, calling him whispering all around him, rattling the shutters on the windows. His palms began to sweat and his gaze darted furiously about the room. He propped himself up on his elbows, backing himself as tightly against the wall behind his head as he could.
He dared not close his eyes though he dearly wished that he could. With a knife sharp jolt of certainty, Cedric understood that at that very moment, he was no longer alone.
"Hello?" Came the throaty whisper. A moment later he realised it had come from his own mouth though what had given him the courage to speak, he knew not. Silenced answered him, jarring his senses more loudly than a thousand screams could have. His heart stopped. Was that movement? By the window? No - his eyes followed the movement, amazingly well given the lack of light. Something seemed to be radiating its own light source though his brain did not stop to contemplate that at that precise moment. There it was again! A sound this time - a rustling moving from the window now and towards the bed. This time, the blood pounding in Cedric's ears could not be so easily ignored. He could no longer speak, no longer move, no longer breathe. All he could do was wait, paralysed, sweat pouring in rivulets down his neck and back and soaking into the rugged mattress beneath him. Outside in the night sky, the clouds must have shifted for striking through the gaps in the shutters came a single shaft of bright, white moonlight, cutting an arc across the path to Cedric's bed. He did not know how long this illumination would last for, but whoever was coming closer to the bed would have to pass through it if they wished to reach his upper body. His vision began to swim with fright and the thudding in his ears had now turned to a high pitched ringing.
The shadows lightened on the outskirts of the moonbeam and Cedric could make out the silent rustle and crease of fabric. His gaze had locked further up however, towards the face. 'Another step', his mind cried out, 'Just one more step...'
The figure stepped forward.
The light did its job admirably. Out of the darkness appeared the figure Cedric had been preparing himself for - the inevitability of fear and attack - the eyes, cold and demonic; the lips, curled in anger and hate: evil in every pore. So when his intruder's face was finally illuminated in blinding clarity and Cedric took in the pale gentle face, soft curling hair and alert frightened, but kindly eyes, he let out a soft, strangled cry.
"Nan!" he breathed.
With a tangle of arms and legs, Cedric managed to stumble out of bed. He scoured the room frantically but it seemed that the darkness had reclaimed her. Cursing, he fumbled on the wall for the candles but try as he might, he could not locate them. "Nan?" he called.
There was no answer. Moving to the window, he tried to throw back the shutters but he found them to be stubbornly sealed shut and unrelenting. By now however his eyes had adjusted to the pitch blackness and he took in his surroundings more easily. To his surprise and dismay, he saw that she had vanished. The door to his room rested slightly open and so he made for it in haste. His mind whirled: what was she doing here? She must have followed him, all the way from Covington Cross - but why? The door was heavy and as he passed through, he heard it swing gently shut behind him.
The corridor outside of his room was deserted but Cedric raced to the end of it anyway to look out onto the grounds below. She couldn't have come this far, this fast, he told himself. 'If you even saw her', he reminded himself. 'After all, it was dark and your mind was playing tricks on you. Perhaps you just imagined it out of longing to be back home?'
It was then that he spotted the staircase. Of course! The first place he should have gone to, he mentally chastised himself. He moved surprisingly silently given his present state of agitation and remarkably quickly. Taking the stairs two at a time at a speed that normally earned him lecture or two back home, Cedric reached the bottom and hastily began to search the tavern. "Nan?" he whispered again.
Suddenly, he stopped. A creaking noise had caught his attention. Cedric had turned to see where it was coming from but just as he did so, the noise stopped. He held his breath: a moment passed.
Wait! There it was again - softly creaking in a steady, slow rhythm. "Is that you?" he whispered, tentatively suddenly wishing he had taken the time to bring a light after all. As the noise sounded again this time the youth's gaze cast upwards. Somebody was up there, moving around - creaking the old floorboards.
His pulse began to quicken. He must have missed her. Was that her up there now, looking for him? Unconsciously, Cedric ran a hand through his dark tousled hair, now clinging to the back of his neck in sweat. His eyes darted to the top of the staircase, still shrouded in darkness. With one steadying hand on the banister he made his way carefully up the stairs. Gone was the frantic haste of earlier - now, caution ruled his pace.
As he reached the top, he paused. His breath caught in his throat. Someone was coming down the passageway, but he knew in an instant that it wasn't Nan. Instinctively, he drew back into the staircase, hugging the shadows and blending into the night. The figure was that of a man, fully cloaked. The build and gait was familiar - too familiar. Perhaps Cedric should have said something, called out? But he did not. He simply stood, transfixed - in utter astonishment.
He watched as the man stopped outside of his closed door. Cedric sincerely hoped that his pounding pulse was not audible to the strange visitor to his room or else his hiding place would be quickly given up. With a swift glance behind him, the man placed one hand on the door handle and with the other, withdrew something from the folds of his cloak. Cedric leaned in, craning his neck as far as he dared but despite his best efforts, he could not make the object out. It was small however, sleek and light and for the briefest of instants, it glinted bright silver. Though Cedric could not make out the clothes, nor the facial features, he knew without a doubt that this man was Charles. But what in God's name was he doing, sneaking into Cedric's room in the dead of night? he wondered. Charles silently pushed open the door and stepped inside. As usual, the heavy door swung back behind him but this time it did not close fully. Through the crack Cedric could make out the scene before him. Charles stood just inside the doorway, by his bed. He had obviously expected the shutters to be open for he had brought no other light with him. He hovered for a moment, obviously unsure of whether to risk disturbing the occupant by opening the shutters. After a moment's hesitation he decided to risk it. Feeling his way round the side and back wall of the room, almost knocking into the table and chair, Charles made his way to the window. Finding the latch, Cedric gazed intently as the small wooden catch was lifted up and only one window was quietly pushed open. Immediately moonlight flooded one half of the room casting the bottom half of the bed into light.
Charles turned to the bed and stepped forward, into the pale beam. The hood was drawn up over his face though Cedric could now see his expression - cold and stony, eyes dark and fixed with the slightest creasing of a frown hooding his brow. And in his hand - if Cedric hadn't been sure before, there was no trace of doubt in his mind now: in his hand, Charles clutched a small, bejewelled dagger as he slunk closer to the bed like a cat moving in to its prey.
Cedric could not prevent the strangled scream that escaped his lips. He barely had time to glance at Charles as the man's head shot up in surprise and his gaze fell upon the young man on the stairs. After stumbling backwards a few steps, Cedric turned on the spot and flew down the stairs. He didn't even recall his feet making contact with the ground. All he knew was that he had to get out of there - get away from his uncle.
Out, through the tavern doors and into the night he ran, never stopping once to look back. His chest heaved in pain and he was amazed that his legs were even co-operating as they seemed to have been replaced with either iron or lead. Images of knighthood, of manhood, of bravery and glory were banished from his mind. It was all he could manage to keep from giving in to his urge to scream and cry. As it was he could feel tears begin to course down his face.
There was movement from behind him - he presumed from Charles as he realised his nephew had left the building. Cedric paid him no heed and instead continued to run, his feet slapping on the dirt beneath him. 'God!' he thought, frantically. Where would he go? Who could he turn to for help? He realised that he barely even knew where he was - he was utterly friendless and alone. Ahead of him a noise brought him out of his thoughts though he never slowed down, not for a second. His first instinct was that it was somehow either Charles or perhaps the man he had seen at their last stop?
Whoever it was, was mounted - one...no, maybe more and making for his spot with great speed. Cedric barely dared to hope. Could they be allies? Could they be friends? If he called out, would that alert them to his aid, or Charles to his location? His dilemma was short-lived however as the mounted strangers appeared to be making directly for him. He could see a light from one of them so they must be carrying lanterns.
The horses slowed from their canter and came to a trotting halt shortly ahead of him. He had not heard them speak but Cedric decided that they were most likely a damn site safer than Charles was. He increased his speed until he came to a sudden halt by their horses, holding onto the reins of the front horse for support until he could catch his breath:
"Please!" he rasped, gasping for air all the while, "Got to...help me! Need...get...away." He managed a glance up at the men. He could see now that there were two of them, though he could not make out the face of the one he was talking to now - this man did not have the lantern. Just then, the figure on the other horse raised his lantern and spoke to him, his voice laden with surprise of his own:
"Cedric?!"
It was only from his grip on the reins, that Cedric prevented himself from collapsing.
Noticing his brother's distress, Richard leapt down of his horse and took Cedric securely round the waist, supporting him as the boy leaned heavily into his older brother. William too, swung down off his horse, before retrieving the lantern from the saddle and holding it up next to the assembled group.
"Cedric?" he asked again, "What on Earth are you doing? What's happened?"
Cedric didn't answer. Instead, nothing could have shocked William and Richard more than what he did next. Far from shrugging off the support Richard was offering him (as he had though the would-be knight would be desperate to do), Cedric flung his arms about Richard's waist and clung on for dear life, weeping bitterly as fear, exhaustion and adrenaline finally caught up with him in a torrent of emotion. Shock clearly registered on each brother's face as they stared, open-mouthed at their baby brother. However, Richard regained his composure and instinctively hugged his brother back, leading them over to a place where they could all sit down.
William swiftly located a mound of turf and set the lantern down on the ground in front of it before seating himself. Richard's decent was a little more awkward given that he still held onto Cedric but it was obvious to all that the young cleric was unwilling to release his hold.
"Now, Cedric," Richard began, "you must tell us, slowly and clearly what has happened. Where's Uncle Charles?"
"Charles," Cedric explained through heaving breaths: "He...he was in my room!"
"In your room?" William repeated. "When?"
"Tonight! S...sneaking around - didn't know I wasn't there."
"Where were you?" Richard wondered.
"Downstairs."
"Why?"
Cedric hiccuped, "Thought I heard something..." he stammered.
"What was he doing in your room?" William pressed gently.
At this, Cedric began to panic again. "Had a knife!" he explained, his voice rising. "He came into my room and he had a knife - he was looking for me! You can't let him find me."
William exchanged a startled and suspicious look with Richard.
"Cedric," Richard began, calmly, "Think about this. Are you absolutely sure? After all, it was dark and you were already panicked from this noise you thought you heard." Even as he spoke, he could feel his brother vehemently shaking his head against his chest.
"Cedric? Where are you boy?"
All three boys spun around at the sound of the call. Cedric recoiled visibly. Despite his doubts, William instinctively found himself moving slightly in front of their youngest sibling. He didn't really believe the child - after all, Cedric had been jumpy about Charles practically since they met him - but it just wasn't like Cedric to be this upset for no reason. Until he knew what that reason was, he wouldn't dismiss a threat to his family out of hand and he knew that Richard would do the same. Charles spotted them and ran over. He appeared flustered. Concern and annoyance were clearly etched on his face.
"There you are!" he exclaimed. Then he identified William and Richard. His eyebrows rose in surprise (and perhaps in more than a little alarm). However he quickly concealed this. "Richard, William! What in Heaven's name are you both doing here? And at this time of night?"
Richard glanced over Cedric's head at his brother. "When we finished our business, we decided to ride up tonight and ride out with you both at first light. We had discovered that the route back was quicker if one doesn't have to ride back the way we came in. I'm not sure why we rode out when we did," he added thoughtfully, "it just seemed the right thing to do at the time."
"What's going on, Uncle?" William cut in.
"That's what I'd like to know," Charles insisted. "Cedric, what on Earth is the matter?"
"Cedric says you were in his room tonight," Richard explained, quietly and calmly.
To Cedric's surprise, Charles did not seem alarmed at this. "Yes, of course I was," he exclaimed as if the reason why should have been obvious. Despite himself, Cedric pulled away from his brother and turned, incredulously to face his uncle full on.
Charles smoothly continued. "Cedric, I thought I heard noises coming from your room - running and scraping and then I heard someone moving about downstairs! I was worried for you - I thought perhaps something had happened so I went in to check on you. You can imagine my alarm when I found your bed empty and then when you ran without a word! I declare you have given me the fright of my life, Boy!"
"And the knife?" William asked, carefully. Charles never missed a beat though he did appear surprised at the mention. "As I said, I worried the lad was in trouble. You are all in my care this journey - how could I ever have faced your father again if one of you were to be hurt? I only wish I had had my sword to hand but the knife was the first thing I found."
William and Richard seemed to be considering the explanation closely. It did seem plausible and, though both would admit that their uncle could be both strict and strange at times, neither one wanted to believe him capable of murder - especially not of their little brother. It was far more comforting to believe that the danger to Cedric had not been real but had been merely a part of his over-active imagination.
"What do you think, Cedric?" Richard asked, quietly. "Do you think it could have happened that way?" Cedric ignored his brother for the moment and instead directed his words at Charles. "If you awoke in the middle of the night," he asked quietly, "then why are you fully clothed?" Richard and William both bore curious expressions.
"Why are you?" Charles returned, lightly.
Cedric appeared uncomfortable. "I was cold," he explained, "it was suddenly very cold."
"Well there you are then," Charles continued, "just as it was with me."
"What do you think?" Richard pressed again. Cedric had heard all the words but his heart could not believe them. He hated Charles Grey and more than anything else he wanted to be back home. Despite all that he had seen and heard it appeared that he still had nothing solid to accuse his uncle of. He could scarcely believe it. But his brothers were here now, weren't they? That meant that he was safe. And they would be going home - back to Father, back to his protection. Suddenly he was very tired, mentally and physically. Drained and exhausted would have been more apt a description. Though the anger remained, fatigue washed over and controlled his body and mind. He just wanted all of this to be over - the journey, the threats, the argument.
"I suppose so," he agreed finally in a weak, weary voice. Charles nodded his approval but William and Richard barely noticed. Their attention was fixed on the care of their brother.
"Then let us return to our beds..." Charles began to say but he never got a chance to finish.
"No!" Cedric cut in, the panic beginning to return to his voice. "I want to go home now!"
"Now?" Charles repeated. "It is still the middle of the night."
"He's right, Cedric," William pointed out, "in only a few hours it will be dawn."
"No!" he cried, "I want to leave now! I don't want to go back in there. Please," he cried addressing his two brothers, "please can we leave now! It is almost dawn - it'll be light soon. I can't go back in there, I can't!" Richard shared a concerned glance with William. That talk that the three of them had shared two nights ago had not entirely fallen on deaf ears. The seeds of doubt had taken enough roots in their minds to justify caution now. In any event, despite the innocent explanation of the night's events it still did not alter the fact that Cedric had genuinely believed his life to be in danger. It must have been a harrowing experience for him, regardless of the outcome. Both brothers silently agreed that it would be kinder to appease their brother on this point.
"I can see Cedric's point, Uncle", Richard began. "I think it would be best if we rode out tonight." Charles did not appear happy at the suggestion.
"This is foolishness!" he exclaimed, angrily. "It is too dangerous, not to mention pointless to ride at night! I say we shall all stay."
Richard stood up, drawing Cedric up with him and lightly placing a protective arm around his shoulders. "Cedric has had a shock tonight, Uncle. William and I are going to take him back now - respectfully," he added though his posture and manner suggested otherwise. Charles regarded all three of them carefully, his jaw squared and hard. Finally he relented.
"As you wish, boy." Richard nodded almost imperceptibly then glanced at William.
"William, why don't you go and get Cedric's bag? I'll stay here with him - keep him company. We wouldn't want him to run off again now, would we?"
Charles smiled tightly as William moved off into the inn. "I'll show you to his room and collect my own bags," Charles called after him before following William inside.
"Thank-you," Cedric said quietly, once Charles was out of earshot. Richard's only response was to lightly hug the boy to him quickly before releasing him. Then they turned wordlessly to the task of unsaddling the two horses and loading the boys travelling bags into the coach.
***
The journey home took just over a week and a half. They seemed to stop far less on the way back than they did on the outward journey and it turned out that Richard and William's short-cut had been most productive. There were no arguments, no fights, no debates: barely any one spoke a word to each other.
Charles showed no signs of suspicious behaviour, Richard and William appeared to have forgotten their earlier unease but above all, Cedric never left the side of either of his brothers - even slept in the same room as them. They thought nothing more of it than childish nightmares and tolerated it without a further word of explanation.
It was a slowly darkening day when they all finally arrived back at Covington Cross and watched the grand gates drawing nearer and nearer. It was all Cedric could do to keep from leaping out of the carriage and running like a mad man for his own front door. Suddenly the coach moved far too slowly. Charles had sent messengers ahead several towns ago that they were to be expected any day now and it was with great delight that three of the weary travellers, saw their father and sister standing at the main entrance way, wide grins on their welcoming faces.
Barely had the wheels come to a halt on the carriage, then Cedric, followed closely by his brothers, had leapt from it. If Thomas was a little surprised at the affection his youngest son was showing, he didn't appear to show it, or mind it. Instead he gathered the young man up in his waiting arms, giving him a half-swing around, as he was wont to do when the boy was a young child. Finally he set him down again.
"I see you are glad to be back, young man!" he exclaimed. "Did you have a productive time in Chester?" Suddenly Cedric seemed to regain his awareness. Mumbling an answer that he hoped sounded satisfactory he pulled away from his father but was immediately engulfed by his sister's hug.
After all the party had exchanged greetings, Thomas sent the boys upstairs to unpack and freshen up while he and Charles discussed the trip together. As he made his way upstairs, Eleanor going with them, Cedric began to wonder just how much of the trip Charles would tell Thomas about. His mind began to whirl with implications. He would have to speak to his father about his fears, but by God - if it were hard enough to discuss that with his brothers, how on Earth could he tell his Father what he suspected Charles of? He hadn't even been able to convince William and Richard though it was safe to say that their suspicions had been aroused somewhat. Thomas would never believe him: he was Cedric after all - no one ever listened to him.
Then his mind switched to another possibility. Suppose Thomas did believe him? What then? Charles would be arrested - tried in the King's Court. If he were found guilty the penalty could be death though he supposed his father could plead for leniency. Thomas was well acquainted with the King - it was possible Edward would be merciful if asked. But what then - Cedric would be held responsible for the death or imprisonment of his own uncle. Eleanor was besotted with him and though wary, Richard and William still enjoyed having an uncle around. As for Thomas...this was his brother - a man he thought he had lost fifteen years ago. If he were in his father's shoes, he thought. If it were Richard, or William or even Eleanor instead of Charles? Could he bear it if a future son accused them of murder, with no real evidence - if he caused the death of those he loved most in the world? He felt suddenly sick to the stomach at the idea. He knew the answer immediately - it was stabbing at his gut: he would hate them. He could never forgive the person who harmed his family.
His trunk had been laid out on his bed. As he stood by the wash basin, he allowed his epiphany to wash through his mind. His brow felt as though it was on fire and he quickly splashed the clear cold water over his face. It helped ease a little of his physical discomfort but inside his mind still raged. Anger - at the injustice of his unavenged attack; grief - at the sadness of Mary's plight; and fear - fear of what might be still to come: all fought for supremacy, bubbling to get to the surface and burst through. The Friar would have been proud of him though: with an iron fist, he silenced them all.
From the sounds downstairs, he presumed that supper had just been announced and life at Covington Cross was to carry on as normal.
***
Supper was a grand affair. Roasted pork, pheasant, venison - Eleanor had outdone herself. Though they had eaten well en route, Richard and William nonetheless attacked the luscious spread as though they had not seen food in weeks. Thomas had smiled at their fervour: "Those boys - always did have the appetite of an ox!" Then he had turned to address Cedric, seated as far away from the others as he could be without arousing suspicion. "Well then, Cedric - tuck in, you must be famished!" Cedric had come down to supper politely but so far, Thomas had been unable to extract more than a few curt but polite responses out of him.
He seemed distant, distracted, intensely withdrawn and his appetite had waned almost into oblivion. Thomas leaned forward and examined his youngest intently. "Are you feeling ill, Cedric?" he asked, concern lacing his words. Cedric's eyes darted up to meet his father's but only for a second. Next to his father sat Charles watching him with the appearance of feigned disinterest, but Cedric knew better. Charles was in fact watching him like a hawk - those dark eyes never wavered from his target.
"Our little Cedric is not a good traveller, I'm afraid Thomas," he explained lightly. "I'm sure he must be near exhausted."
Thomas regarded him kindly. "Is that so, Cedric?" he asked sympathetically. Very slowly, his eyes downcast, Cedric simply nodded wordlessly.
"I'm sure you shall grow out of it with experience," Thomas assured him. "This was after all, your very first journey - there will doubtless be many more to come."
"Not if he joins a monastery," Richard pointed out. William elbowed him in the ribs but had to cover a smirk himself.
Cedric pointedly ignored him, his jaw hardening. "Well Father," he continued, "perhaps not all journeys shall be like this one - it was most unusual after all."
William and Richard put down their knives. From his seat next to Thomas, Charles halted the wine cup at his lips and just for a moment, brought it down to rest on the table, gaze fixed on Cedric. However, after a brief pause, resumed his drinking but his eyes remained locked.
"Really?" Thomas asked in interest. "How so?"
"Yes," Charles added, "Do tell us in what way."
The young man looked from his father to Charles and then back again. He could feel his brothers' questioning, slightly nervous expressions upon him. Charles said nothing more - he knew he didn't have to.
"Well?" Thomas prompted.
Cedric looked away. "It was quite arduous," he finally muttered.
"Yes - quite so!" Richard agreed quickly.
Cedric didn't even bother to watch Charles' expression change - he knew exactly what it would be. "Well then!" Thomas exclaimed. "Perhaps it is best after all if you do all get an early night." Cedric didn't answer and was grateful when the conversation turned to other topics.
Though he spoke no more, inwardly his anger consumed him. His vow of silence burned and ate away at his insides. Images, words, feelings - trappings of his recent journey entered his mind unbidden and bombarded his senses.
I have killed for you, Charles - never forget that!
And what of Mary!
In God's honest truth, when your aunt left the castle something truly evil took residence in her place
She talked not of marriage
not of marriage
There was love there...but it did not flow equally
'He could not persuade her to stay. He coveted her but she would not listen - would not listen!'
'He loved her but he let her go. Why? Why so? He covets what he sees and he takes what he covets.'
On and on his mind raged as those around him chatted and laughed amongst themselves.
"I couldn't believe it!" Eleanor was complaining. "I spoke to him in the forest for almost a full hour while I was hunting and he was actually interesting me. We spoke of culling techniques and crossbows and of skinning pigs - it turns out that all he was trying to do was woo me! The cheek of that man."
"There's another word I could think of to describe him," Richard smirked but silenced himself at a look from Thomas.
"Eleanor," Thomas was saying, "Suitable...well, suitors do not attempt to entice a young lady with talk of hunting and killing."
"No?" she asked, resting her chin on her palm.
"No," Thomas affirmed. "They sing ballads and play the lyre - they recite loving poetry."
"Well I'm not!" William said gravely.
"Then you'll not have much success with women, William," Thomas warned. "It is an art you must learn to perfect in this life." William and Richard both appeared a little uncomfortable at the prospect. To them, boasting about their own achievements seemed to be a sure way of attracting the maidens. Thomas saw this and grinned at them.
"Not to worry, boys. I'm sure I can help you out. I do remember a few lines from my own youth you know. Your mother used to love to receive poetry. I'm sure I must still have them somewhere though I confess where alludes me for the moment. Do you remember you used to write some for Mary as well, Charles? Do you know what you may have done with them?"
Charles shifted slightly in his chair and took another swig of his wine. "I am sure Mary took them with her when she left," he answered, smiling. "They were too priceless to leave behind!" The little group chuckled.
"Liar."
They stopped and five faces turned to the voice. Cedric's head had snapped up at the mention of her name. His eyes were dark and still but the rest of him was shaking in silent rage.
Thomas was puzzled. "Pardon, Cedric?" he asked, not quite sure if he had heard correctly.
Cedric fixed his stony glare on Charles though his words were addressed to Thomas.
"I said", he replied emphatically, "that he is a liar."
"Cedric!" Thomas admonished, sitting straighter in his chair and frowning heavily at the boy. "Apologise this instant."
Charles leant forward, attempting to glare the boy down, but Cedric was past caring - anger was taking over. Ignoring his father he went on, the words coming out in a rush:
"I've seen the poems that you speak of. Aunt Mary never took them because they are in your possession and you know it..."
"Cedric, enough! You will..."
"I will NOT! That man is a LIAR!" he screamed, standing up and slamming a fist heavily down onto the table so the table wear shook. His eyes welled up with tears of anger and frustration. "Mary never took the papers with her because HE HAS THEM - she never took anything with her because she NEVER LEFT COVINGTON CROSS!!!"
His breath caught in his throat the moment the words spilled out. He didn't know where they had come from but in that instant, he knew them to be true. At that instant he knew a lot things that he would never quite come to understand how.
Charles said and did nothing. Richard, William and Eleanor just sat and stared at each other in shock. Thomas leapt to his feet, his face red with fury. "Cedric," he began, his voice shaking in rage, "it is too late for apologies now. Leave this table at once and go upstairs to your room. I shall be joining you presently. GO!" he bellowed as Cedric remained for a moment where he stood, hands clenched into fists by his side, expressions of anger and hurt lining his face. All at once, he turned and fled from the room, banging the door behind him as he ran.
***
Cedric had left the table as instructed, but by the time he looked at where his feet were hurrying him to, his mind realised that he was not headed up to his room.
Instead, he found himself where he never would have expected - traversing the gloom and dank of the dungeons. What possessed him he still knew not but he found himself placing an uneasy trust in his bizarre instincts.
The walls, the cells, the low ceiling - it all still seemed oppressing, but now there was something else there too: an explanation - an explanation for his fear. 'But what could this have to do with Mary?' his mind cried out. No one came down here - for as long as he could remember, the dungeons had never been touched!
They aren't all in such bad condition- see, this one's even been repaired
It hit him like a slingshot.
His heart was racing, he could only imagine how wild his expression must have been. Scouring the darkness ahead, he found it. The cell - dark, decaying, foreboding and the only one repaired, the lighter patch now almost fading in with the rest of the wall.
"M master Cedric?" He spun to see one of the servant women standing nervously behind him, "Can I help you, sir?"
Immediately he fixed his intense gaze on her. "When was this wall repaired?" he demanded, indicating the cell with a waving arm. She took a couple of steps back. It was clear that he was frightening her a little with his demeanour but he didn't care.
"I...I don't know, Sir," she admitted.
"You don't know or you can't remember?"
"Not in my time here, young Sir," she answered timidly. His mind raced.
"When did you come here?" he demanded.
"I, I replaced Abigail sir."
Cedric froze. "Who?", he asked carefully.
"Abigail", she repeated. "It must be nigh on fifteen years now, sir and there's been nothing done since I did arrive."
Oddly enough, he found his breathing slowing down. "Thank-you," he murmured, turning away from her and back towards the cell. She gave a hasty bob before gladly scurrying away.
With steady strides he approached the cell. The gate was unlocked so he pushed it open with one hand and crept inside. He should have been afraid - he was afraid, but somehow...none of that mattered. Not right then.
Cedric slowly and carefully approached the wall. With tentative movements, he ran his hands lightly over the light patch, then over the wall surrounding it. Something felt different - this part was cold, almost icy to the touch. He hadn't felt that kind of chill since...
He shuddered for a second before forcing himself to shrug it away. He tore his gaze frantically around the room. It came to rest on the basket outside the cell: swords - perfect. He retrieved the sturdiest one and then brought it back inside. Standing back from the wall, he raised the sword high above his head and then brought it down in a wide, strong arc. It reverberated against the patch and almost wrung his shoulder out of its socket - but not without reward. A large crack appeared, blighting the surface like a scar. For the briefest of instants, Cedric wondered just what on Earth he thought he was doing. Then he raised the sword and struck again. The crack grew larger and chunks began to fall away. Who ever constructed this had done so in great haste - the workmanship was poor and the materials weak. As if in a frenzy, Cedric raised the sword and struck out over and over again, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arms and back. Again and again he slashed away at the crumbling wall as the hole gaped larger and larger and the sweat poured down his back.
And then he stopped.
Just like that, the passion ended and the driving force left him. He dropped the sword, damaged beyond use, to the floor where it clanked in protest. With his hands, he easily pulled away the last of the filling. It crumbled pitifully to the ground, laying about his feet like witnesses to a massacre. As the rubble fell, the dust had risen and now swirled around Cedric almost like a wreath, choking the air in his lungs. He coughed and raised his hand to cover his face for a moment until the cloud had settled. It seemed to take both too long and not long enough all at once.
When he felt however, that it had subsided, he drew his hand away from his face and looked.
He couldn't scream. It just wasn't in him: he couldn't even cry out. He felt the tears though, hot and heavy, welling up as grief flooded his senses even before his mind knew the truth.
She stood there, encased in the wall, fragments of a dress still clinging loosely to her frame, a spark of silver lighting the dullness of her bones.
With careful, reverent hands, he reached out to the silver about her neck and rested it lightly between his fingers. Perhaps out of a last sign of respect, he felt the need to whisper the name, spelled out in the five letters on the chain: MARIA.
He could not at that moment feel fear, or anger, or disgust. All that overwhelmed him as he gazed at her face was pity, and love and for once an understanding - that just by knowing, he was somehow helping her.
He should tell someone, his brain told him - you should call for help. But he could not leave her, not yet - she had been alone down here long enough. His eyes travelled down from her face and over her tattered dress and body. The deep blue still showed through in some patches of fabric. He wondered for a moment how beautiful Mary must have been. She even appeared graceful in death, he mused.
As his gaze fell, he noticed a fragment of the wall that still remained, imprisoning her left hand behind it. Anger over took him again as the cause of her death sprung back to his thoughts. Hastily he tore the remaining wall from in front of her and eased her hand away. As he did so, however, something caught his eye. Her right hand was flat open, but this left one was loosely curled up. Gently he prised her fingers open and jumped in surprise as something small and golden slipped out and fell to the floor.
Kneeling down, he picked it up off the floor and dusted it off. It was a ring - expensive by the looks of it and familiar, he realised. It took only a second to place it - his father had one just like it: a signature ring given to him when he came of age. He held it closer to his face. Though the lighting was dim, the engraving was sure enough: C.G.
A small smile played his lips. Even in death, Mary would not be cheated.
Slipping the ring into his pocket he went to rise. Letting out a startled scream, he jerked as he felt the blow to the back of his head. Cedric fell forwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thud but rolled over onto his back nevertheless. Fear gripped his heart as Charles stood over him. He said nothing - he did not need to. His face, hard, cold, calm - it spoke volumes.
Quicker than Charles would have expected, Cedric leapt to his feet and made a mad dash to get past his uncle. Charles however, was faster. He reached out a gloved hand and grabbed the young man around the throat, pushing him back and forcing him against the wall. Cedric tried to call for help but Charles had placed both hands around the boy's neck and was now squeezing for all he was worth. Never once did he speak to him, never once did he look away from his nephew's pleading eyes. Cedric tugged and tugged at his uncle's hands in a desperate attempt to dislodge them but to no avail.
'Think Cedric, think!' his mind screamed. He didn't want to die down here - alone, lost - bricked into history like Mary had been. His vision was swimming and his lungs heaved for air as his heart beat hard against his chest. Still, Charles' grip did not waver. Cedric used his feet to slam hard into Charles' leg. He heard a satisfying crack and was pleased to see the man's neutral expression flash with pain and rage. He raised his leg to try again but Charles was ready, lifting the boy off the floor and slamming him into the wall behind till Cedric heard the distant crack of his head against the stones. Dimly he was aware of the flow of blood as it ran down his neck and mingled with the sweat and dirt.
His lungs could no longer stand it - his heart was slowing and a strange part of him was almost grateful. His vision receded, getting smaller and smaller, fading at the edges until only a pinprick of sight remained. And then he fell, crumpling to the floor in a heap.
'Dear God,' he thought, 'so this is actually it? It isn't exactly as I imagined it would be. Curious.' It took a few moments more for it to dawn on him. If he was still forming thoughts, then he was still alive. In a panic, his mind leapt to Charles and he struggled to sit up and see what had happened to him - was he readying for the final blow, preparing his own entombment? Try as he might, however his body would not respond. Lack of air and two head wounds ran their natural course and Cedric simply passed out into peacefulness, missing the unfolding scene completely as his uncle lay, metres away from him on the ground, reeling from the blow just dealt by his father.
Thomas stood, surveying the scene before him. Behind him he could hear the approaching sounds of his sons and the servants, including the same serving woman who had told him of the encounter with Cedric only minutes earlier. His son was alive! Through the bubbling, raw anger that fact soothed the waters. Everything else - everything, shocked and sickened him to the core. Leaving his brother's inert form for the moment, he hurried to his son's side and knelt down next to him, cradling his head in his lap. His boy he would see to first. Charles - by God, he thought, Charles could and would come later.
***
OK - that's it for right now folks! Epilogue is already under way and should be with you in a day or so. I hope all's alright so far and thanks for reading.