Through Water and Fire

Illustrations

All images copyright Yaneth Marin 2023

Extract

Chapter 1
The Guest of Lockwood Hall

Grace Somerford clung to the side of the wagon as it lurched into yet another pothole, and wished for the hundredth time that Papa had let her ride Bess instead. She was as good a rider as any boy, and would have felt far more at home on a horse than being flung about in the back of a cart—but Mama had insisted that riding was unladylike, and so here she was, pitching and rolling, as far from a lady as it was possible to be.

Beside her, Hannah hung on just as tightly, her face a comical mask of alarm. Their eyes met; Hannah’s mask cracked as she burst out with something between a laugh and a scream, and in another moment both girls were giggling uncontrollably.

“Quiet back there!”

They stifled their giggles as Alf, the ancient stablemaster, turned to glare at them from his seat at the front of the cart, his grizzled face twisted in a look of intense disapproval.

“Tain’t right,” he growled. “The two of you behavin’ like savages. Hannah, I expect no more of; but you, Miss Grace—you should know better. Think what your lady mother would say, eh?”

Grace lowered her eyes, doing her best to appear contrite. She knew exactly what Mama would say—she had said it all, at great length, several times over the past few months. It would involve the word ‘duty’, repeated at regular intervals, and Mama would stress just how important this opportunity was, and what would happen if Grace was to squander it: embarrassment for her parents, disgrace on the family, and the end of any hope for Grace’s future.

The last of these was the one that gave Mama the most sleepless nights, and even Grace felt uneasy at the thought of it. As the only child of the family, and a girl at that, all her prospects for a happy and comfortable life rested on her making a good marriage. The trouble was, theirs was not the kind of family that wealthy and successful young men married into. Her father had once been a servant of the old king; but then the old king had died, and a new one had been crowned—young and strong and full of his own ideas, with his own friends and his own allies—and as the crown had changed so had Papa’s fortunes. Now there was nothing left but their dilapidated home of Starling Hall and a peeling family crest gathering dust over the fireplace. And who would want to marry into that?

For a long time Mama had fretted over this question—even as Papa had seemed to resign himself to the situation, spending more and more time locked away in his study with his beloved books. Mama had tried once or twice to introduce Grace into society, but to no avail. They had no money and no influence, and all Mama’s tentative enquiries to local families had been quietly and politely rebuffed. So when a letter had arrived from Mama’s sister, Lady Lockwood of Lockwood Hall, it had been received (by Mama at least) as a miracle to rival the resurrection of Lazarus.

The letter had explained that Grace’s cousin—the Lockwood’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth—was in need of a lady’s maid, and could Grace’s parents be persuaded to spare her to take up the position? Of course, one of the benefits of such a position—common for girls of Grace’s age from noble families—was that she would be introduced to polite society, and in due course to certain members of the court. The unspoken suggestion was that it would not then be impossible, in the proper time, for Grace to catch the eye of the son of some minor noble, and perhaps form an attachment that would be of benefit both to her and her parents.

Mama had written back immediately and enthusiastically to accept the offer. Grace had protested, not keen on the idea of leaving everything she had ever known to live with a family of complete strangers and wait on an unknown cousin hand and foot—but Mama had swiftly brushed aside her objections.

“You will never get another opportunity like this,” she had said. “This is your last chance to make something of your life. squander it, and God alone knows what will become of you and us!”

The one concession Mama had made was to allow Hannah to go with grace. Hannah was Grace’s best and only friend, the daughter of their quiet and longsuffering steward. The two of them had been inseparable for as long as they could remember: they ate together, played together and slept together. Grace could no more imagine being separated from Hannah than from her own heart.

So it was that the two of them now found themselves in the back of this cart, rattling and swaying over potholes and puddles, on their way to Lockwood Hall and the beginning of a new future.

Alf glared at the two girls one final time and turned away, satisfied that he had made his point. Hannah immediately pulled a face that threatened to make grace burst into a fresh fit of giggles.

“Don’t,” Grace hissed, elbowing her in the side. “He’s grumpy enough as it is. Don’t go making him any worse.”

“Moany old dog,” Hannah said, though she made sure to keep her voice low so that Alf could not hear. “He’s just miserable ’cause your dad made him drive all this way. D’you reckon we’ll get there today?”

“I hope so.” Grace looked up at the grey sky, which for the past three days had been either drizzling with rain or threatening to. Today there seemed to be more of it than ever; the country had flattened out, and the horizon had receded to a dark line that encompassed them entirely, broken only by occasional stands of trees and the odd gentle hill. Beds of reeds swayed and rustled in the chill breeze, and grace pulled her travelling cloak tighter around her shoulders. “It’ll be nice to be warm again. I don’t think I could take another night at an inn.”

“I swear I ’eard mice in the one we stayed at last night,” Hannah said with a shiver.

“Heard? I woke up with one nibbling at my toe.”

“D’you reckon they’ll ’ave feather beds at this place? An’ proper furs? An’ a fire in every room?”

“Oh, definitely,” Grace said. “And a chest of dresses each, and a roast pig every night, and an Italian to teach us dancing, and a Frenchman to teach us the lute …”

“And an ’andsome cousin or two to write us poetry and bring us favours … P’raps one to set ’is eye on you, even …” Grace elbowed Hannah hard in the ribs again. Hannah snorted with laughter, and Alf half turned to tell them to be quiet again. But before he could speak they crested a low rise, and all three fell silent as they caught their first sight of their destination.

The ground before them fell away into a shallow vale where a patchwork of fields lay spread out, dotted with tiny figures toiling away and horses tramping back and forth. The setting sun had finally broken through the clouds behind them, and it washed the scene in a golden light that lent it an otherworldly air. The fields blazed with autumnal shades of red and gold and brown, and in the distance, rising proudly from the middle of it all, was Lockwood Hall.

Grace’s chest grew tight as she looked at the place she was to call her new home. The hall was vast; hardly a house at all, but more like a small village, with a dozen halls and buildings sprawled over half an acre and a high wall running all the way around. Tall roofs bristled with chimneys, red brick shone ruddy in the sunlight, and rows of glazed windows flashed and gleamed. It was as far from a house as an oak was from an acorn, and it made Starling Hall seem like a hovel by comparison.

“Well that’s grand an’ no mistake,” Hannah breathed. “I reckon it’d take all of five minutes to get yerself properly lost in there.”

Grace said nothing. It was the most beautiful and intimidating structure she had ever seen, and she hardly knew whether to be thrilled or terrified.

Alf sniffed, either unimpressed or doing his best to appear so. Without a word he snapped the reins and clicked his tongue, and they jolted off down the road into the valley.

The road ran like an arrow between the fields, where small figures dug and scraped with hoes and rakes. One or two of the nearer ones looked up as they passed; but their lined faces were empty of interest, and one by one they turned back to their toil.

As the hall loomed larger and larger, so Grace felt herself growing smaller and smaller. It had all been very well to imagine herself in her aunt’s house while they were back at home, surrounded by all the comfortable and familiar things she had grown up with. Now they were here, however, she was beginning to wonder whether this was a place where she really belonged.

Finally they passed the outer wall, thundering through a small orchard and clattering under a stone archway into a broad courtyard surrounded by buildings on all sides. Immediately in front of them was the great hall they had seen from up on the hill, with its tall windows of coloured glass and a steep tiled roof. A few people were standing about: pageboys in orange livery, a blacksmith filing a horseshoe, a group of women carrying linen from one building to another. They looked over with interest as the cart entered, but no-one seemed about to greet them.

Alf brought the cart to a halt, the horses stamping and snorting. He looked around and gave a snort of his own.

“Fine way to welcome guests,” he growled.

As if in answer the great door to the hall in front of them swung open, and a man emerged and strode down the wide stone steps. Grace stared: the man was tall and powerful, and his skin was so dark as to be almost black. His hair and beard were close-cropped and streaked with grey, and his right eye fixed them with a majestic gaze; the left was milky-white, the lid puckered with a deep scar that ran from his hairline down to his cheek. A shiver went through Grace as she looked at that cold, dead eye. It seemed to be watching her just as much as its living companion.

“Welcome to Lockwood Hall,” the man boomed. His voice was thickly accented, and it rolled easily around the courtyard. “We had expected you earlier. My lady is already at table.”

“Aye,” Alf growled, clearly unimpressed. “Well, it’s a long road and a hard one, and this ain’t exactly a chariot, if you get my meaning.”

The man said nothing. He glanced over the two girls sitting in the back.

“My name is Benedict,” he said. “I am the steward of this house. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing as my lady’s niece?”

Grace raised her hand nervously. “That’s me,” she said, and added quickly: “This is Hannah. She’s my friend.”

Benedict fixed his single eye on Hannah and frowned. “We had not expected another guest.”

“She’s with me.” Grace reached out and squeezed Hannah’s hand as she sat in nervous silence beside her.

Benedict looked between them for a moment, then shook his head. “This will not do. She will have to return home.”

Grace’s chest tightened. She felt Hannah’s grip tighten as well.

“She can’t go home,” she said, trying her best to sound braver than she felt. “She’s supposed to stay with me.”

“You will have no need of a maid,” Benedict said. “And my lady gave clear instructions: we are to receive one guest and one guest only. I have prepared room for one. I cannot accommodate more.”

“Well, she ain’t comin’ back wi’ me,” Alf growled. “Been enough bother gettin’ her here in the first place. And what’s me lady gonna say, hmm? What if she turns me around and sends me right back with ’er? Am I to spend from now until Christmas drivin’ up and down the country fer the sake of one girl?”

“Please, can’t she stay?” Grace begged. “She won’t be any trouble, I promise. And she promises too. You do promise, don’t you Hannah?”

Hannah nodded emphatically.

Benedict lowered his eyebrows. “This is most irregular. I must speak to my lady. Perhaps she may stay for tonight at least.”

Hannah squeezed Grace’s hand tightly, and Grace gave her a relieved smile. But Benedict had not finished speaking: “However,” he continued, “she cannot sleep in the family rooms. If she is to remain, it must be in the servants’ quarters.”

Grace opened her mouth to protest, but Benedict held up a stern hand.

“This is the way it must be. I have made this allowance; I can make no more.”

Grace subsided, and Hannah lowered her head and murmured in her ear: “It’ll be all right. Don’t you worry. I can sit tight for one night. We’ll be back together again tomorrow, you’ll see.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Grace replied.

She helped Hannah climb down from the back of the cart, conscious of the eyes watching them from all around. Alf grudgingly volunteered to accompany Hannah and introduce her to the cook, who would find her a place to sleep. Benedict assured them he would speak to Lady Lockwood at the earliest opportunity to confirm Hannah’s place within the house. Grace and Hannah hugged one last time, then Hannah followed Alf across the courtyard towards a narrow door in the far corner.

Grace watched them go, feeling as though a part of her was being taken away. Despite Benedict’s assurances she suddenly felt very cold and very alone. Hannah glanced over her shoulder once or twice, then she and Alf disappeared through the doorway.

“Come.” Benedict’s booming voice sounded from behind her. “My lady awaits your arrival.”

With a heavy heart Grace turned and followed him.

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