House Of Shadows: Discover the thrilling untold story of the Winter Queen

Now, though, she felt on edge, adrift, rocked by uncertainty. She told herself that in ten minutes she would be back at her grandparents’ house and they would be bursting to tell her that they had had a message from Ben. He would be safe, he would be on the way home to Tasha and all would be well. Later, when all the fuss had died down, she would ask him about the pearl and Espen Shurmer, and he would explain that it had just been a casual enquiry as a result of something he had stumbled across in the family history …

Holly turned left into the Woodstock Road, heading for Summertown, walking briskly even though she was so tired. It was raining a little, the pavements slick, the raindrops running down the car windows and stinging Holly’s face, blurring the city lights to an endless string of pearls that was finally swallowed in darkness.

Chapter 7

Palace of Rhenen, June 1632

William Craven had kept quiet about the soothsaying. Elizabeth was grateful he had held his tongue. At the same time she was ashamed he had seen her weakness. She owed him no apology for believing in the power of the mirror and the pearl, but she did regret revealing to him, however tacitly, her doubts in Frederick’s ability to lead, to fight, to win back his lands. She had been weak and had shown too little faith. Time had revealed her mistake. Frederick’s letters to her were full of joy and good news; Gustavus Adolphus had received him with all the ceremony due to a king and included him in his military councils. Plans were advancing for the retaking of the Palatine lands. Kreuznach had been reclaimed. Soon he would be sending for her to take their rightful place in Heidelberg once more.

Craven was Frederick’s squire now and had been his

constant messenger, carrying the news from the campaign in Germany and taking Elizabeth’s more domestic correspondence back to the King. He had ridden in just as she had been about to set out from the palace that morning to hunt in the woods above Rhenen. Elizabeth had insisted that he accompany the party and give her the news as they rode. It had perhaps been unkind of her given that he was weary and travel-stained, and only three months before had been injured in the taking of the castle at Kreuznach. Frederick had commended him for his bravery, saying that Craven had been first through the breached walls and that the King of Sweden himself had praised him for being a fine soldier.

Elizabeth glanced at him now as they rode side by side through the dappled shade. They had outrun the rest of the hunting party who even now were crashing through the woods below, calling out, frightening away any deer in earshot. She had allowed her elder sons to join her that morning, but sometimes she despaired that they would ever learn the cunning and guile of the true hunter. Yet they were young still, and eager for the chase. She supposed she would reproach them more had they been timorous creatures who stayed at home whilst she rode out.

Craven’s face was, as always, quite severe in repose. He made no attempt to entertain her or to chatter inconsequentially as so many courtiers did. Elizabeth wondered what it felt like to be him; to be so reckless of his personal safety that he would fight without reserve, without fear. It was no wonder that her sons admired him as a hero. They were uncomplicated boys, fired with the zeal to regain their inheritance. They wanted to be soldiers, understood nothing of politics and cared even less. A man of such straightforward convictions as William Craven commanded their loyalty.

‘You have not yet told me the news from Munich,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I heard that my husband supped with the Duke of Bavaria.’

‘And wished you present, madam, to add beauty to the proceedings,’ Craven said.

Elizabeth laughed. ‘Frederick’s words, I’ll wager, not yours, Lord Craven. You are not known for your courtly address.’

‘As to that, madam,’ Craven said, ‘I can vouch that there are no beauties in Bavaria other than the scenery.’

They were still laughing when the first of the hunting party broke through the trees into the dappled clearing. Elizabeth felt a wilful urge to wheel her horse around and dig her heels into its flanks, leaving them standing. Then she saw Charles Louis, his expression hovering on the edge of mutiny at the prospect of his mother outrunning him again, so instead she reined back and allowed them to surround her, chattering, and rode forwards decorously out of the shadows and onto the open hill.

From here there was a beautiful view of the little town of Rhenen, clinging to the hillside, and the curl of the river to the east. The sunlight twinkled on the gables of the hunting lodge Frederick had built, finished only the previous year. They’d had so little time to enjoy this place together before war had come again. Elizabeth felt a chill premonition that they never would.

The servants were spreading out a meal on a plateau in the shade of the trees. They scurried around unpacking boxes, setting rugs and cushions. There was glazed ham and pastries, roasted meats and red wine. Craven had gone to fetch a glass for her. She was about to dismount – Billingsley, her Master of the Horse, had come forwards to help her.

‘Why such a long face?’ she asked him, knowing full well it was because she had chosen to ride ahead with Craven leaving him to watch over the princes.

Billingsley flushed. He did not have Craven’s easy way of responding to her comments, whether they were teasing or serious. He was too stiff and formal, conscious of his status and of hers too. She supposed William Craven ought to show a similar deference but he never did and she had given up expecting it of him. Besides, something about Craven’s uncomplicated approach was refreshing. He told her the truth as he saw it. He could be blunt, but he was never disrespectful.

There was a sudden crashing sound of a branch falling and shouts from across the clearing where the Princes were playing hide and seek, climbing trees, their irrepressible high spirits toppling over into dangerous risk-taking. Elizabeth spun around in the saddle.

‘Don’t let them—’ she said to Billingsley, but it was too late, one of the trees was rotten. The falling branch had been a precursor and now the whole trunk shook and with a roaring sound like the tide rushing in it fell, the branches clashing together. Some fool screamed. Elizabeth’s horse took fright, rearing and taking her by surprise. She lost the reins and made a grab for the mane as the horse bolted, plunging back into the trees the way they had come.

Elizabeth saw a jumbled vision of images flash past: Craven, running for his horse, Billingsley, his mouth hanging open in shock, the servants frozen to the spot, the boys pausing in their shrieks of excitement to stare after her in horror. Then all hell broke loose behind her with screams and shouts, but all she could do was cling on for dear life, crouched low as the trees whipped overhead and the horse ran and ran, propelled onwards by its own panic until at last it slowed and then stopped.

She slid down to the ground and sat for a moment half-lying, half-tumbled whilst she caught her breath. Her first sensation was relief and her second, following swiftly, was anger. She was the best female equestrian at court, one of the best riders there was. Yes, the horse was skittish and high-spirited – even now she was shying at her own shadow, ears flat as she blew out her breath in great heaving pants – but Elizabeth had prided herself on the fact that she was one of the few who could ride her. Her pride had been richly served now.

There was no sound, no one calling for her, no noise of men or carts, nothing but the wind in the trees and the chirps of the birds, so loud they seemed to fill her ears. She reached for the reins and started to stroke the horse’s nose, speaking softly to her, calming her until she too felt calmer. Soon she would be able to remount and try to follow her tracks back to the edge of the wood. It could not be difficult. She would find her way back to Rhenen. Besides, had she not always said she wanted to be alone? Now, unexpectedly, she had as much solitude as she could deal with.

The bushes rustled on her right, but it was only a bird foraging in the undergrowth. She got to her feet stiffly and, leading the horse, started to walk in what she hoped was the right direction. There was little sunlight through the thick canopy and the branches sprouted low, tangling with the thick and thorny bushes. Within a few minutes Elizabeth was hot and scratched and dirty, hungry too, and resenting the picnic left so far behind. Being alone was not as enjoyable as she had thought it would be. There was something unfriendly about the wood, its darkness and silence. It felt as though someone was watching her.

The horse picked up on her nervousness, flicking her ears, whisking her tail. When a noisy bird crashed through the leaves above and flew off with a startled alarm call Elizabeth thought she would bolt again and gripped the reins more tightly, but the horse was too tired. They both were.

The bird had been warning of an approach. Elizabeth could hear footsteps and turned sharply just as a man stepped onto the path in front of her. The sun was behind him and for a moment she could not see his face, then she realised it was William Craven.

‘Craven!’ she said. Her voice wobbled, betraying her. She wondered if he was going to berate her for poor horsemanship or make light of her headlong flight, but he did neither. His face was white and he looked afraid. He dropped to one knee and took her hand, kissing it.

‘Madam! You are safe?’

‘As you see,’ Elizabeth said. She felt shock and something more intimate that shocked her all the more. She resisted the urge to touch his bent head.

‘Thank God.’ His voice had strengthened. He scrambled to his feet. ‘I was afraid for you.’ He corrected himself. ‘We were all afraid, for she set off at such a mad gallop with you. Everyone has been searching the forest.’

‘Then you had better lead me back to them,’ Elizabeth said. She looked about her. ‘I have no notion where we are. It was lucky you found me.’

‘You are almost at the edge of the trees.’ Craven had taken the horse’s bridle, leading her between the trees, at the same time holding back the brambles and briars that snatched at Elizabeth’s skirt. ‘You would doubtless have found your way back safely before too long.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Elizabeth said, ‘it was you who found me. I owe you a debt of gratitude, Lord Craven. Another one. As does my husband.’

‘Your husband?’ Craven paused. They were on the edge of the wood. ‘Yes, of course.’ His voice changed. ‘His Majesty would be distraught to know of your accident.’

‘There is no harm done,’ Elizabeth said. She looked closely at his face as she stepped past him, out into the sunshine and light and fresh air. ‘You, though,’ she said, noting the lines etched deep on his face, ‘you look as though you need a physician. I had forgotten you were wounded lately. Are you in pain?

A smile lightened his expression, lifting the lines of anxiety from about his eyes. ‘I am quite well, thank you, madam.’ He came up to her and set his hands on her waist to lift her up into the saddle. They were very close together. Elizabeth looked up into his face, the strong line of his jaw, the cleft in his chin, the light in his hazel eyes. Something shifted inside her and warmed and she caught her breath on a wave of longing.

He looked down then, catching her desire, and suddenly he was close enough to kiss and she saw the heat in his eyes and for one long moment they stared at one another. Then he took a step back and lifted her, very gently, into the saddle and turned his back as he led the horse out onto the open hillside towards home.

Chapter 8

Hester was waiting for Holly when she got back to Summertown. The house was warm and light. The smell of a casserole cooking reached her from the kitchen and made Holly’s stomach rumble. Bonnie was waiting too, waving her feathery tail with the sort of enthusiasm she showed whether Holly had been away for an hour or a day. Holly felt her cold unhappiness thaw a little as she bent down to give the dog a cuddle.

‘Hello, Gran,’ she said, smiling. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Darling …’ Her grandmother planted a firm kiss on Holly’s cheek, one each side, and hugged her. She felt frail to Holly, her bones brittle beneath the cashmere jumper she wore. ‘I’m doing all right,’ she said, ‘but how are you? How did your meeting go with Ben’s friend?’

‘It was fine,’ Holly said lightly. She brushed her lips against her grandmother’s cheek. It was dusted with pink and felt marshmallow soft.

‘He hadn’t heard from Ben, had he?’ Hester asked, and Holly could hear the lift of hope in her voice.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. She wasn’t going to tell her grandmother about Espen Shurmer and the bizarre suggestions that Ben had been connected, however vaguely, to some sort of occult society. It was all just too strange to consider.

She watched her grandmother as she walked across the kitchen to reach for the kettle and turn it on. Tall, thin and ineffably elegant, Hester’s shoulders were square and her back as straight as a rod. Army discipline, Holly thought. There was a picture of the Brigadier, Holly’s great-grandfather, in one of the bedrooms upstairs. In it, he was whippet thin and the expression in his eyes suggested that he would not tolerate insubordination in the ranks or slumping in small girls. Holly wondered how much that discipline was helping her grandmother to deal with Ben’s disappearance. She had had so much to bear over the years, losing her daughter and son-in-law and taking on their two children, and now having to deal with Ben going missing.

‘Tasha rang,’ Hester said now, over the sound of the kettle boiling. ‘She hasn’t heard anything from Ben either. His practice is in a complete tizzy. They’ve had to get a locum in.’

‘Of course,’ Holly said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ She realised for the first time that the ripples from Ben’s disappearance would spread out much further than his family and immediate friends. She had rung round as many people as she knew, hoping someone would have had word from him, but she realised with a pang that she didn’t know half of Ben’s acquaintances. Trying to find him seemed a hopeless task.

‘Tasha seems very angry and convinced he’s gone on purpose to punish her for something.’ Her grandmother spoke without inflection but Holly could see the effort it cost her; her hands shook a little as she filled the teapot. Holly went across and put an arm about her and for a moment they stood close, their heads resting against each other.

‘Do you suppose Tasha’s right?’ Hester asked suddenly. ‘That Ben was having an affair and has gone off with another woman?’ She took two blue and white patterned mugs from the cupboard and warmed them with the spare water from the kettle. ‘I don’t want to believe it, but I suppose it could be true.’

‘Gran, no!’ Holly said. She felt shocked that her grandmother would even countenance the idea. ‘You know Ben wouldn’t do something like that.’

She saw her grandmother’s brows lift slightly but she let the subject go.

‘This is all Tasha’s fault,’ Holly said, suddenly fierce. ‘Suggesting Ben was unfaithful. I’m so angry with her!’ She had tried never to criticise Tasha to her grandparents because she knew that they’d had as delicate a relationship with her as Holly, but now she’d had enough. ‘Ben wasn’t like that,’ she said. ‘He was very loyal. He would never run off without a word. Abandoning Florence and his work responsibilities … That’s just not in character.’

She saw her grandmother’s shoulders slump and she gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sure you’re right, darling.’ Hester said. ‘This whole business makes me doubt my own sanity.’

Holly nodded. ‘The trouble is that Tasha has told the police they were having relationship difficulties and so they don’t think he is missing in the true sense,’ she said, fighting to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘So they won’t do anything to look for him.’ She spread her hands wide. ‘It makes me feel so helpless,’ she said. ‘I’m angry and frustrated and I don’t know what to do.’

Hester poured the tea and passed one of the mugs to Holly. ‘If it weren’t relationship problems they would imply he had run away because of something else,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘Financial worries, depression. They would suggest he might have taken his own life …’ She looked up and Holly saw the fear in her eyes. It was so stark that she felt her heart miss a beat. ‘I do worry that might be true,’ Hester said simply. ‘I can’t help myself.’

‘Gran …’ Holly said. She was even more horrified now. ‘No. Ben wouldn’t …’ She stopped because she couldn’t even form the words.

‘Oh, well …’ Hester’s voice strengthened. ‘I’m sure I’m just being negative. We can’t give up hope, especially so soon.’ She squeezed Holly’s hand. ‘He’ll be back soon, I’m sure of it.’

Holly wondered if the words sounded a little more hollow each time someone said them and perhaps her grandmother felt the same because she turned away as though to shield her expression from Holly, like she was ashamed.

‘Your grandfather is dining at Balliol tonight, so it’s just us,’ she said brightly. ‘I hope you don’t mind, darling? I think perhaps he doesn’t know what to do with himself so he’s trying to stick to some sort of routine.’

‘That’s OK.’ There was a lump in Holly’s throat. For so many years she had thought her grandparents invincible. It was frightening to think her grandfather was feeling as lost and confused as she was and that her grandmother was putting on a brave face. ‘I’ll see him again tomorrow,’ she said.

‘Lovely,’ her grandmother said. She opened the Aga and took out a battered-looking casserole pot. ‘It’s lamb hot pot and beans.’

‘My favourite.’ Holly smiled at her.

They ate supper in the living room, with trays on their knees. The room was grand, but made smaller by the lamplight and the fire and the heavy curtains that blotted out the twilight.

‘You don’t mind a fire, do you, darling?’ Hester asked. ‘I know it’s been a hot day but I always feel the chill when night falls.’

‘As long as you don’t mind me falling asleep,’ Holly said, stifling a yawn.

‘Of course not,’ Hester said. ‘You must be exhausted. I don’t suppose any of us have slept since …’ Her voice trailed away. ‘We wondered if you wanted to stay for a few days?’ she added. ‘Guy as well, if he’s coming down …’ There was an unspoken question in the words. ‘Or do you have to get back to London?’

‘I’m not going back to London,’ Holly said. ‘Or rather I will, but only to arrange to have everything sent down to Ashdown. I’m going to live at the mill for a while.’

Hester dropped her fork with a clatter. ‘Darling!’ She looked appalled. ‘Is it really a good idea to uproot yourself from home like this? It could all be for nothing.’

‘I realise that,’ Holly said, ‘but I feel I need to be there.’

‘But …’ It was unusual for Holly to see her grandmother lost for words. Before her retirement Hester had been a professor of mathematics; incisive, objective and able to pinpoint an issue and dissect it with forensic skill. ‘Please don’t misunderstand me,’ Hester said now, very carefully. ‘I realise that you may want to be at Ashdown in order to try to find Ben. You want to be on the spot; perhaps it will help you to feel closer to him. But is this really wise?’

Holly sighed. She had been expecting a reaction like this but it was difficult to explain, especially when she didn’t really understand the impulse herself. All she knew was that she had to be there. It felt right. It felt like the only place to be.

‘I only know that I want to be at Ashdown at the moment,’ Holly said. ‘Guy and I are over.’ She met her grandmother’s eyes. ‘We were over long before this, if I’m honest. I just needed a jolt to make me see the truth.’

‘Again,’ Hester said, ‘not the best time to be making life-changing decisions.’

Holly sighed. ‘Trust me. Please. Sometimes it’s exactly the right time to see what is important and what isn’t.’

Now it was her grandmother’s turn to sigh. ‘Oh Holly.’

‘Don’t tell me that you never thought I’d made a mistake,’ Holly said.

Hester looked reproachful. ‘Now you’re putting me on the spot. But yes …’ She shook her head, somewhere between exasperation and indulgence. ‘I did wonder. You’re so self-contained I never thought you would marry anyone. I was very surprised when you got engaged. And I was even more surprised you chose Guy.’

Holly demolished the last of the hotpot. She was astonished to find she had such an appetite. She hadn’t eaten at all, hadn’t felt like eating, for several days

‘I’ve wondered about that myself more than once since we split,’ she admitted. ‘Guy was nice.’ She winced. ‘Okay, that’s not a good reason. He was funny, and charming, and we had a good time together. And that was all I wanted.’

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