Chapter Seven

"I must say, my lady, the country air appears to be doing you a world of good." Old Parson said as he poured some milk into her teacup and then his own. It was two days after the forest incident and Catherine had received a note from him, inviting her to join him for afternoon tea. And so she had tied her hair neatly back with a ribbon and put on a French lace blouse and a long beige skirt. To the lace at her throat she affixed a cameo brooch, given to her by her first and only sweetheart. Tobias Saxon had attended St. Adrian's School for Boys, an orphan, his only family to speak of was a rich distant uncle who paid his school fees and any other expenses. Toby had died of tuberculosis aged just fifteen. The cameo had belonged to his mother Toby had told her, his blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, and he would be honoured if Catherine would accept it. Now, whenever Catherine wore the brooch, she liked to think that she was keeping alive the memory not only of Toby, but of his mother also.

"Thank you, I do feel much happier." Catherine said, adding two spoonfuls of sugar to her tea and stirring, "I think…I think that being home is helping too."

"Yes it will. Undoubtedly."

"It is strange though, I could hardly remember my home when I lived at school. I was eight when I left yet I could hardly remember a thing. When I returned, the whole place felt so new to me, and yet…it felt right."

"You were born there. It is your destiny to be at Moonacre, you're a Merryweather through and through." Old Parson took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes, savouring the taste. The front room of the Parsonage was a large and, apart from the little kitchen leading out of it, there were no other rooms on the ground floor of the house. Bookshelves lined the walls and a fiddle stood upon a chair in the corner, the windows had white and red check curtains and pots of pink geraniums lined the the table in front of them was a set of white and red crockery, honey and jams, currant scones with fresh cream and a sponge cake dusted with icing sugar.

"Sir?" she said, putting down her teacup, "I wonder if you might help me with something?"

"I shall certainly try, Lady Merryweather."

"Benjamin insists that I spend every day out of the Manor so I can get plenty of fresh air. As grateful as I am for the beautiful horse he bought me, I confess, it is becoming a little boring merely riding around the estate every day. I was wondering if there is anything I can do in the village? Some help I could be?"

"As it would happen, my lady, I was just about to ask you the very same thing. I understand in London wealthy young ladies often involve themselves in charitable causes in the community? Would you be willing to undertake such a role in Silverydew?"

"Of course! I'd love to get to know all the inhabitants of the village!"

"Well, let me think." Old Parson wandered over to the window and gazed out, teacup still in hand, "Ah! I have an idea! Mrs. Constance Darvill is an elderly widow who lives in the village. She is cared for by her younger sister and rarely leaves the house due to poor health. Perhaps if you were to visit her, it may do her some good?"

"I'd be happy to. When should I visit?"

"The cottage is just along the lane. Shall I introduce you after tea?"

"Yes please."

The cottage which belonged to the sisters was a quaint little place, though it was in slight disrepair due to the fact that its owners were two very elderly ladies who could hardly be expected to be able to manage its upkeep all the time; the whitewash was peeling on the outer walls, the front garden was overgrown in places with wild flowers and tall grasses, the upstairs windows were somewhat grimy and some of the terracotta tiles on the roof were missing.

The lady who answered the door was possibly the oldest person Catherine had ever laid eyes upon. When she walked, she shuffled with her back bowed and her head down so that her chin rested upon her chest. Her hair was pure white and set in a rather old fashioned style with curls hanging from her temples, the wrinkles on her face were like tree roots spreading all over the skin and she had not a tooth in her head.

"Parson, how very lovely to see you!" the old woman exclaimed by way of greeting.

"And a pleasure to see you as always, Petunia." Old Parson replied, "May I have the pleasure of introducing the Lady Catherine Merryweather? Catherine, this is Miss Petunia Darlyshire, Mrs. Darvill's younger sister."

Catherine had first assumed this ancient lady to be Mrs. Darvill herself – why, she had to be at least eighty! She could scarce believe that the hunched, wrinkled figure before her was the younger of the two. What on Earth would the elder look like?

"It is an honour to make your acquaintance, my lady. A true honour." Miss Darlyshire lowered herself as best she could into a curtsy. Catherine was surprised she could not hear her bones audibly creaking, "If I may say so, my lady, I was awfully sorry to hear of the death of your mother. She was a true lady. Very beautiful."

"I am honoured to meet you too, Miss Darlyshire. Thank you for your kind words." Catherine said, reaching out and touching the lady's pale bony hands.

"I thought perhaps Lady Merryweather could visit your sister once a week. It might do her some good to have some new company, I understand that her health has taken a turn for the worse recently? And of course it will give you yourself an opportunity to rest a while from caring for your sister all day."

"Oh how lovely!" Miss Darlyshire squeaked in girlish enthusiasm, "She'll be delighted, she does love to meet new people and have company. Will you read to her? Connie enjoys being read to and I think she will appreciate having a young lady do so."

Catherine couldn't help but smile at the sisterly nickname by which the old woman had referred to her elder sibling, "I'd love to. I enjoy reading very much myself."

"Well then, you simply must go straight upstairs and introduce yourself to her now! She wouldn't be able to cope with the excitement if I told her about the arrangement and she never got a chance to meet you until next time you visit!" the old woman ushered Catherine past her and into the house, pointing up a staircase behind her which led up to a gloomy landing, "First door you come to, my lady. Will you come in for tea Parson?"

Catherine knocked upon the first door, waited a moment and then entered. The room was a bedroom-cum-living room with a huge four-poster bed at one end and a fireplace at the other. Every available surface was cluttered with bric-a-brac; vases of dried flowers, their crisped petals dripping to the floor; two ceramic spaniel dogs sitting either side of the mantelpiece; silver candlesticks and china plates lined on a sideboard; paintings and daguerreotypes in heavy silver frames; lace doilies and half-finished embroideries; bottles of rosewater and lavender eau de toilette gone stagnant; bundles of letters tied with ribbons, the paper gone yellow with age; dusty leather-bound books packed into a bookcase. The whole place gave off an air of opulence and yet at the same time, decay; like a peach with soft rosy skin but, upon taking a bite, one finds the insides rotting and writhing with maggots. A heavy curtain was drawn across the window, this, coupled with the fact that all of the furniture in the room was made of dark mahogany wood, made Catherine feel as though the darkness itself was looming up to greet her as she entered.

"Who the Devil are you?" a voice squawked, startling her. An old woman was sitting in an armchair beside the crackling fire. She reminded Catherine of a fat toad with her perfectly spherical face and leathery skin. Her eyes, bulging and watery, shone with a kind of spiteful cruelty, which is often seen in the eyes of cantankerous old women, her mouth was small and pinched, as if she were constantly displeased - and to tell the truth, Mrs. Darvill was. Her iron grey hair was wrapped in a hairnet with ringlets framing her face like her sister, her dress was like a black waterfall of silk and lace spilling around her, upon her hands, which rested heavily on the ivory handle of a cane, she wore black lace gloves.

"Catherine Merryweather, Mrs. Darvill. Old Parson thought that I should visit you."

"Merryweather, eh? You'll be the daughter of Sir Tristram Merryweather?" Mrs. Darvill narrowed her eyes and looked Catherine up and down critically.

"Yes."

"My sister Petunia told me that talk in the village is that you're one of the loveliest girls anyone has ever seen. But then, everyone in the village is an empty-headed fool – including my sister. I, however, am not an idiot. I've seen lovelier. My Gwen for one." the old woman sniffed.

"Gwen?"

"My daughter. She is away at the moment, spending the season in London. But she will be back soon. You're mother died very recently did she not?"

"Yes. Yes she did."

"They all said she was a great beauty. But I disagree. No one can compare to my Gwen."

Catherine was shocked by the old woman's bluntness, "I...um...I think..."

"What? Stop mumbling, girl!"

"I think I ought to be on my way now. Goodbye." Mrs. Darvill didn't even reply, she merely gave Catherine a withering look and turned to stare into the flames dancing in the grate. Catherine left the room quickly and pounded downstairs. Old Parson was sitting in the parlour drinking tea with Miss Darlyshire. Compared to stuffy, gloomy upstairs room, the airy parlour with sunlight streaming in its windows seemed like a whole other country, rather than a part of the same house.

"I'd like to leave now." Catherine mumbled. Old Parson immediately put down the teacup he was holding and went to collect his hat and coat. After saying goodbye to Miss Darlyshire, they began walking back to the Parsonage.

"I take it by our swift exit that Mrs. Darvill was her usual feisty self?" Old Parson said, smiling wryly.

"Couldn't you have warned me how beastly she is? The way her sister speaks of her I was expecting to meet a Saint!" Catherine cried.

Old Parson threw back his head and laughed, "I don't think anything I said could have prepared you for an encounter with Mrs. Darvill! And Miss Darlyshire is too kind-hearted to say a bad word against her sister. Will you return?" They had stopped at the gate to the Parsonage.

"I don't think she'd like to have me around."

"Actually, I think you may be rather wrong there, my lady. For all Mrs. Darvill is a little prickly, I think she is rather lonely."

"Well...I suppose I could visit again. You never know! Perhaps with some perseverance she might warm to me!"

"You never know." Old Parson laughed.

"Goodbye, sir. Thank you for inviting me to tea."

"Goodbye, my lady. Please feel free to visit any time."

Catherine hummed happily to herself as she walked back to the Manor. Despite the rather unpleasant experience of meeting Mrs. Darvill, she was in high spirits. It was a beautiful afternoon and the lane she was walking down was particularly lovely, with the fringes of the forest to her left and a spectacular view of a patchwork fields to her right: golden fields of wheat, fields of grass dotted with ponies or sheep, fields filled with wildflowers where the village children would play. She stopped for a moment and admired the view, she basked in the afternoon sunlight and watched the crisp white clouds roll across the blue sky. A sudden loud crack startled her. Catherine swung around and stared into the forest behind her but she could see no one amongst the trees. She became aware for the first time how oddly quiet it had suddenly become, only a moment ago she had heard birds singing, a woodpecker pounding away at a tree somewhere, the wind dancing through the trees. And now there was nothing, it was almost as if the entire forest and all its inhabitants had taken a collective intake of breath. Disconcerted, she began walking again at a much quicker pace, occasionally glancing over her shoulder but the road behind remained deserted.

Quite suddenly, from the forest to her left, a black shape barged out of the undergrowth and straight into her, knocking her to the ground. She didn't even get a chance to see the figure's face for almost immediately a black cloth bag was forced over her head. Catherine kicked and screamed but, upon hearing voices nearby, fell silent, a glimmer of hope flickering. Had someone heard her screams and ran to her aid?

"Watch her arms and legs, she's a feisty one and I wouldn't be surprised if she could aim well whilst blind." someone muttered. Catherine's heart sank, no one had come to rescue her, it was just more kidnappers. A pair of arms slithered around her waist while a pair of hands clamped down on her ankles and so she was hoisted up into the air and carried away. She felt leaves and branches hitting her as whoever was carrying her pushed through them and into the forest. They walked for some time and all the while she squirmed and thrashed but to no avail for her attackers possessed a grip of iron. She heard a horse bray nearby and they finally stopped.

"Look what we found!" one of the people carrying her called. Catherine was sure she recognised his voice as possibly belonging to the smirking blonde boy she had encountered among the group of boys in the forest two days ago.

"Good." a gruff voice replied. She did not recognise this voice as it appeared to belong to a grown man. Clearly with little concern for her wellbeing, the boys carelessly flung her over the back of the horse in front of the rider.

The horse took off galloping immediately, weaving recklessly through the trees, the force would have been enough to throw her from its back had the rider not been firmly holding the material of the back of her blouse. They rode for a long time and gradually she began to feel sick from being jostled around so much – not to mention the saddle was digging painfully into her stomach.

The horse's hooves began to clatter on cobblestones and the sound of chattering voices not long after told Catherine that the long and uncomfortable journey was finally over.

"Got her." the rider said to someone nearby who began cackling in response. The man dismounted from the horse and yanked her down after him. Her legs felt weak after the violent ride and folded under her, thus causing her to fall on her backside and earning her a chorus of hysterical laughter from the unseen people around her. After a moment she was hauled to her feet and dragged alongside someone. She sensed by the changing sounds that she had been walked indoors and, as she stumbled blindly alongside whoever was leading her, tripping over irregular flagstones and reeling as she was yanked abruptly around corners, she reflected that the likelihood of her escaping has dropped to nigh on impossible.

When the bag was tugged from her face, Catherine found herself in a stone dungeon, lit only by flaming torches on the walls and a couple of paltry squares of pale light filtering in from the windows near the ceiling which faced on to the courtyard above at ground level. She was pushed forcefully into one of the cells and the gate was locked behind her.

"What do you think you are doing locking me in this dungeon? It's filthy! How dare you kidnap me! My brother shall hear of this and then you'll be sorry!" she yelled in indignation but the man who had dragged her there merely smirked – revealing a set of rotten teeth – and walked away.

"Don't you walk away from me! I demand to speak to your Master! What right has he to kidnap me?" she shouted after him.

"Ah! I thought I recognised that voice!"

The masked boy had appeared, lounging in the doorway. Judging by his gleeful grin, he was very pleased to observe her current predicament.