The Posy Ring Episode 46

He would have a dreadful sense of unreality, as though the world had changed, magically, altered in some way

They drink coffee, eat toast and home-made marmalade from the shop at Scoull. Then he drives her back to Auchenblae. To what they have begun to call her “crumbling castle”.

“Do you want to borrow Hector?” he asks. “I’m serious. I’m quite happy to lend him to you. And I’m sure he’d be happy to stay with you till you get used to it.” “Will you be here next week?” “Should be. I’m away this weekend. There’s a big house sale near Oban. But I’ll be back on Monday or Tuesday. I’m working on a bit of restoration – a nice old Scottish dresser. I should have shown you.”

“Well, I’ll maybe take you up on the offer of Hector as house guest for a little while. But I think I might just head for home today. My dad’s going off on tour for a few weeks and I want to see him before he goes, make sure he’s organised. And I have things to sort out in Glasgow. I could come back on Tuesday, though, and stay for as long as it takes.”

As long as what takes? she thinks. But she doesn’t know the answer to that one, not yet, and he doesn’t seem prepared to ask the question either.

“Well, I’ll see you next week, Daisy.” He pauses, just before she gets out of the car.

“What are you going to do about the picture? The portrait? Lilias.”

“I don’t know. Why? Should I be doing anything about it?”

He frowns. “I know you think I have ulterior motives in all this. I know you don’t really trust me. But it’s potentially a valuable piece of work, you know. It’s been safe because it’s been so hidden away. Now we’ve brought it out into the light. Don’t just leave it sitting on a table. I know this is a low crime area, but it does kind of leap out at you as soon as you see it.”

“Would anybody else think that? I mean, it doesn’t seem to be signed.”

“No, it doesn’t. And if you decide you want somebody to look at it with an expert eye, then my mother would be the person. I don’t know half enough. She does. But I’m not twisting your arm. Just – make sure you put her away, eh? Lilias? While you’re not here. Hide her somewhere. Just in case.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“I don’t mean to. I’m certain it’ll all be fine. But there’s something about her. I don’t know what it is. And it may have nothing to do with value at all. Or not monetary value.”

“I know what you mean.”

She gets out of the car, waits by the door to wave him off. Hector jumps into the passenger seat and pokes his head through the open window, his tongue lolling. Cal has wound down the window on his own side too and, as he pulls away, he blows her a kiss. She returns it. She can’t help herself.

1588

Mateo recovered his physical strength quite quickly. He was, however, beset by persistent nightmares and an occasional sense of disorientation. Sometimes he would wake up in the night with a feeling of panic, an apprehension of danger so intense that he would sit bolt upright, staring into the grey light of early morning, filtering into the room from the single high window, his heart pounding.

Once or twice it happened in the dead of night, and the suffocating darkness made it much worse. At such times, he would find it hard even to catch his breath, his whole chest feeling constricted, his head buzzing with a peculiar sound, like insects dancing in there.

He would have a dreadful sense of unreality, as though the world had changed, magically, becoming altered in some terrible way. Then his eyes would find the glowing remnants of the fire, banked up with ashes to keep it smouldering for morning, and the feelings would subside.

The first time this happened, he realised at last that in his panic, he had filled his chest with air and was holding his breath, rigid with fright. He managed to persuade himself to force the air out and, slowly but surely, the feelings subsided and he became properly aware of his surroundings, leaving only a sort of general anxiety, with very little obvious cause.

The house was quiet enough at night, with only distant snoring from the other inhabitants, the whine of a dog, and the occasional footstep as somebody passed by to relieve himself. He was aware too that a couple of men always stayed on watch in the great hall, taking it in turns to sleep, making sure that the big fire was stoked and the house was safe from unwanted intrusion, although such things were rare in this enclosed world of the island.

Mateo had been a vigorous man and his strength returned with good food, activity and a certain amount of personal security. He was aware that the people living and working in and around the house were deeply suspicious of both of them, but they obeyed McNeill unquestioningly.

It was their custom and their habit and though they might occasionally look askance at the Spaniards, or make remarks in their own tongue that he knew were less than complimentary, they would not translate any of that suspicion into physical abuse. Not yet, anyway. McNeill had spoken. They dared not go against him.

Francisco took longer to recover. During the weeks following their arrival on the island, he became very ill. Beathag came to their small chamber, felt his forehead and said that, although her inclination was to give him one of the higher rooms with more light and air, he had better stay where he was.

If it was some sort of contagion he should be kept well away from the rest of the household. He burned like a torch in the night, and Mateo, sleeping beside him, would have to move away from him as his poor body radiated heat. He feared greatly for his cousin, believed that one morning he might wake to find that Francisco had not survived the night. But he lingered on.

One day, not long after their arrival, Lilias came to their room with Beathag. The women consulted together about the young man’s condition and then left for a while. When the two of them came back, some time later, it was with a little threefooted pipkin of some fragrant liquid and a stone jug of plain water.

Mateo sniffed at the medicine. “I didn’t know physic could be so palatable!” he said. It had a faint scent of honey, along with green and growing things. A grassy scent with something of springtime in it.

More tomorrow.

The Posy Ring, first in the series The Annals of Flowerfield, is written by Catherine Czerkawska and published by Saraband. It is priced at £8.99.