Kingdom of Shadows

He smiled. ‘Courage, lass.’ His deeply lined face was gentle.

‘Lord Buchan will kill me,’ she whispered.

He shook his head slowly. ‘He knows he shouldn’t have struck you, and there will be other babies soon enough. You must submit to him, lass. No more arguments in the great hall; no more political statements in front of his men. You deserved to be chastised for that.’

‘Chastised!’ She raised her hand painfully to her face. ‘Is that what you call it?’

‘Aye. Chastised.’ He sighed. ‘You’ll have time to recover, Isobel. We’ll be away as soon as the weather breaks. There is much to discuss with the lords of Scotland.’ He looked down at her, and the name of Lord Carrick hung for a moment in the air between them, unspoken.

‘Just so long as you take my husband away,’ she whispered at last.

He smiled. ‘We’ll take him away, lass. Never fear.’

But the snow did not relax its grip. Weeks passed. Slowly Isobel’s young body mended and once more Lord Buchan began to think about his young wife.

9

The hand on her shoulder was hesitant. ‘Mrs Royland? I’m sorry to disturb you –’

Around her the room was dark save for the candlelight. The undrawn curtains showed a starless night, opaque with fog.

Clare stared up at Sarah blankly.

‘I’m sorry, but Lady Royland is downstairs.’ Sarah glanced round nervously, then switching on the table lamp she went automatically to close the curtains. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt your meditation. I hope you don’t mind, only she’s been here half an hour …’ She was aware of the dog sitting, ears flattened, in the doorway. Abruptly Casta bounded into the room, tail wagging. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. The atmosphere had cleared.

Slowly Clare stood up. She looked dazed. For a moment she stood staring down at the candle, then she stooped and, picking it up, blew out the flame. ‘Who did you say was here?’ she asked hesitantly, turning to Sarah at last. In the lamplight her face was pale.

‘Lady Royland.’ Sarah was watching her surreptitiously. ‘I’ve given her a glass of sherry and settled her in the drawing room.’

Gillian was dressed in voluminous fuchsia-coloured dungarees. She came straight to the point. ‘I think it is downright dishonest of Paul to try and break the children’s trust. I couldn’t believe it when David told me what was going on.’

Clare sat down opposite her. She felt strangely dissociated. Gillian’s sudden energy did not impress her. ‘I didn’t know about it, either,’ she said wearily. ‘But it is fair, if you think about it. If we can never have children.’

‘Fair!’ Gillian exclaimed. ‘Paul had his share! This is for the kids!’ She moved sideways on the sofa, easing her weight with a groan. ‘Don’t tell me now that Paul is not worried about money. He must be if he’s prepared to take the cash from a baby’s piggy bank!’

Clare smiled. ‘Hardly that, Gill.’

‘As good as.’ Gillian was breathing heavily. ‘So, if he’s not worried, why does he want the money? And don’t tell me it’s just a principle, because I don’t believe it.’

Clare gave a deep sigh. She stood up restlessly. ‘To be absolutely honest I think he must need the money. He wants me to sell Duncairn too.’

‘And are you going to?’

Clare shook her head. ‘No.’ She paused uncomfortably. ‘I’m not being disloyal, it’s just that he demands I sell it, without telling me why he wants the money, and Duncairn isn’t just another asset to be bought and sold like so many shares. It’s part of me.’ She gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Does that sound very sentimental?’

‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t be sentimental.’ Gillian sounded comfortably practical. ‘I think Paul has been having things too much his way. It’s time we all said no. I take it you and he had a row last week, and that’s why you didn’t come to the party?’

Clare nodded ruefully. ‘I’m sorry. I just couldn’t face a whole weekend with him.’

Gillian sighed. ‘I can’t say I blame you. Impossible man! I can’t think how you can stay married to him.’ She laughed. ‘No, don’t tell me. No doubt he has hidden charms.’ She reached for her sherry glass. ‘But seriously, Clare. David is worried about him. You don’t think he’s done anything silly in the City, do you? He hasn’t been speculating and losing millions?’

‘I am sure we’d have heard if it was anything like that.’ Clare smiled unhappily.

Gillian sniffed. ‘Well, you’d better warn him. David can’t have the Royland name involved in any scandals.’

‘I thought our dear Member of Parliament was involved with environmental issues. He’s got no interests in the City, surely.’ Clare stooped and threw a log on the fire.

‘Only his father’s shares which they all got. Nothing else. And of course he’s declared his interests there. But his reputation has to be protected. If there were the slightest whiff of dishonesty in the family it could be disastrous for his career.’

‘Well there isn’t.’ Clare flared up suddenly. ‘So stop being so bloody self-righteous! Why doesn’t he stop worrying about Paul and worry about the environment instead? Places like Duncairn, for instance. I’ve had an offer to buy it from an oil company. They want to destroy that beautiful place!’

‘You’ve actually had an offer?’ Gillian echoed. ‘You mean there’s oil there? No wonder Paul wants you to sell it!’

‘I told them there was no question of selling, ever.’ Clare hesitated. ‘They can’t make me, can they?’

‘I don’t think so. But I have an awful feeling that the oil isn’t yours. The government can take it any time they like, can’t they?’ Gillian grimaced. ‘I’ll ask David if you like. He’ll know.’

‘They never wrote back after I turned down their offer, so I hoped the matter was closed.’

Gillian stood up with a groan and put her hand to her back. ‘Well, I hope for your sake it is. I must go. I’m terrified I’m going to drop this child on someone’s carpet. It’s due any second, and they come so quickly …’ She smiled smugly. ‘Take care of yourself, Clare. Don’t let Paul bully you. And tell him to forget about the trust. OK?’

Geoffrey Royland arrived at ten o’clock the following morning at the wheel of a dusty Audi estate. He was wearing his dog collar, with a rumpled rust-coloured sweater. Following Clare into the cold drawing room he stared around as she set the tray of coffee on the table.

‘I’m sorry the fire’s not lit. Sarah went shopping for me early and she must have forgotten. It’ll soon warm up in here.’ She handed him a cup, then, glancing out of the windows at the garden which was still swathed in damp mist, she reached for the matches and knelt before the fire. ‘I suppose you’ve come about the trust as well. I had Gillian here yesterday.’ She sat back and watched as the flame flared on the firelighter and spread to the rest of the kindling, licking along the twigs and across the bark of the apple logs. Behind her, her brother-in-law stood, coffee cup in hand, and stared down at her thoughtfully.

‘I was passing on my way up to Norwich actually,’ he said after a pause. ‘I thought it would be nice to look in and see how you were. I’m not here about the trust.’

‘Good, because it’s nothing to do with me. You and David and Paul can fight it out between you.’

He studied her for a moment. She was looking particularly attractive in a flared emerald-green skirt and green and black sweater. He had always thought her a good-looking woman, particularly her eyes. There was something especially appealing about her eyes. But he was shocked to see how tired and strained she was looking.

‘I was so sorry, Clare, to hear about the results of the tests.’ He sat down and balanced his cup on his knee. ‘Chloe told me. I hope you don’t mind.’ He saw her knuckles whiten on the poker as she stirred the fire and he paused for a moment waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t he went on gently, ‘Have you and Paul discussed adoption?’

‘We haven’t discussed anything much lately.’ She put the poker down, but she stayed where she was, staring into the fire with her back to him. ‘I’m just glad all the tests and things are over.’

‘You’re not going to seek a second opinion then?’

‘No.’ She tightened her lips.

‘I see.’ He paused again, then he went on, choosing his words with care. ‘And are you going to go on with your study of yoga?’

‘How did you know I was studying yoga?’ Slowly Clare stood up. When she turned to face him she had remembered Chloe’s call and she was smiling impishly. ‘Of course. Emma told you, didn’t she?’

‘She mentioned it, yes.’ Geoffrey looked down at his cup. ‘My dear, I don’t want you to think I’m interfering, but I was a little concerned when I heard what you were doing. Can we talk about it?’

‘That sounds very portentous, Geoffrey.’ She sat down opposite him. ‘Does the Church of England disapprove of yoga?’

‘Yoga is often misunderstood, Clare. Practitioners of it tend to emphasise the fact that it is just a method of exercising and relaxing one’s body. They play down the fact, either intentionally or because they do not know it, that it is also a spiritual exercise, designed to bring about changes in one’s whole psyche, and that if one does it properly it can open and expose one’s mind and soul, and leave them very vulnerable.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Does that sound very pompous?’

She nodded. ‘I’m afraid it does rather. A far cry from the classes they give in the village hall here.’

‘But you didn’t learn it in the village hall, did you?’ He put down his coffee cup. ‘I gather that the man who taught you has also taught you something about meditation.’

‘Which again comes highly recommended in every book you pick up these days. It’s the panacea of the eighties.’ She frowned. ‘It’s not dangerous, Geoffrey.’

He scowled. ‘Tell me about these visions you see.’

‘You mean the one with the horns and the cloven hooves and the tail with a point on the end?’

Outside the sun was fighting its way out of the mist. A ray of sunlight crept slowly across the carpet and stopped at her feet.

He didn’t laugh. For a long moment he watched her intently, then at last he looked away. ‘You think it all a joke?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not a joke. Not to me – but it is when you take it so seriously.’ She refused to allow herself to think about what Zak had said.

‘I take it seriously because it’s a serious matter, Clare.’

‘You’re talking about the witchcraft now, of course.’ She looked at him solemnly. ‘I didn’t think I’d told Emma about that. There are a lot of covens in East Anglia – but there are waiting lists. One would be lucky to get into one.’ She walked over the window and stared out, so he couldn’t see her face. ‘I’m getting very good at it.’

Behind her Geoffrey swallowed. ‘Clare –’

‘It was frightening at first, of course – especially the first time I raised the devil. It’s hard to remember the ceremonies; the incantations – but when it works …’ She turned to face him. ‘Don’t you believe me? You should ask Sarah. She’ll tell you. She caught me at it last night. She was almost terrified to death.’

‘Clare –’

‘The Church of England is boring, Geoffrey.’ She was speaking very fast. ‘It hasn’t reassured me, or comforted me. It leaves me cold. I’m sorry. But it’s true. And if it’s concerned about my soul I’m grateful – but I don’t need its concern. I’d rather go on my own way.’

‘Will you tell me what you do?’

‘The ceremonies are secret. You know better than to ask that.’ She was swinging from humour to seriousness so quickly he was not sure which was which.

‘Then tell me what happens. Do these people appear to you as apparitions?’

‘They appear as people; in my head. They are daydreams. Imaginary. Nothing to do with you.’

‘But they are not daydreams, are they? You are summoning them.’

‘Imagining, summoning. What’s the difference? It is not as though any one else can see them. At least …’ She stopped in mid sentence. She was staring at the dog who was lying head on paws near the door. Casta had sensed them. And so had Zak. She shivered suddenly.

Geoffrey was watching her closely. He frowned. ‘Please let me help you, Clare,’ he said. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. ‘Please. I can get rid of them for you.’

She stared at him. ‘Get rid of them?’

‘These people who are tormenting you.’

‘They are not tormenting me! And I don’t want to get rid of them!’ Her indignation flared again. ‘I care about them, Geoff. Isobel is like another me. I want to know all about her. I want to dream about her, or conjure up her shade or whatever it is I’m doing. She belongs at Duncairn. She’s part of my history; she’s part of me. She’s living again through me. And I intend to go on summoning her to me, even if it does put my soul in jeopardy!’ She took a deep breath. ‘What sort of life do you think I lead here, Geoff? What do you think I do all day?’ She sat down near him. ‘I’m young; I’m energetic; I’m intelligent. I can’t have children, so I’m not spending my time with my family. I have a housekeeper to look after the house. My husband doesn’t want me to work – and up to now I haven’t been able to face the hassle of fighting with him about it. He doesn’t want me with him all the time either. I spent a lot of time raising money for charity when we were first married – but he resented even that time I wasn’t with him. I have no friends around here. A lot of acquaintances, but no one I could call a friend. I wanted to go up to Scotland to see my mother and to go to Duncairn – but he wouldn’t even let me do that! So, what the hell am I supposed to do all day?’ Her voice had risen passionately. ‘I took up yoga, Geoffrey, to try to learn calmness, to reduce stress, to try to have a baby. That, it appears, is never going to happen, but I have grown to enjoy yoga and meditation, to rely on it, if you like. It makes me feel good and it gives me a prop when I need one. I am beginning to fight my way out of this morass of boredom and indecision. I am beginning to question what the point of it all is. And because of that, I am beginning to make sense of my life.’ She paused and smiled at him. ‘I’ve always had dreams, Geoff. I’ve always been haunted by the past. That is nothing new. What is new is that I’ve learned to call it up at will, and learn from it.’

‘I appreciate that you have problems with your marriage, Clare.’ Geoffrey rubbed his cheek with his hand. ‘But they can be faced in other ways.’ He hesitated. ‘You must see, my dear, that what we are talking about has gone beyond daydreaming. You are not some sort of female Walter Mitty. You are lighting candles and invoking the spirits of the dead. And they are, as you have found, only too eager to communicate. It is dangerous, Clare.’

In the long silence that followed as they stared at each other they both heard the scrunch of car tyres on the gravel outside the house.

Clare shivered again. She swallowed. ‘That will be Sarah coming back. I think you’d better go, Geoff.’

Slowly Geoffrey stood up. ‘Of course.’ He reached out and took her hands. ‘Please think about what I’ve said, Clare, I beg you. And feel you can ring me at any time. If you’re lonely, come and see us. Chloe is very fond of you. We both are. And I’ll have a chat with Paul. He must be made to realise that you need something to occupy you –’

‘Don’t you say a word to Paul!’ She was angry suddenly. ‘I am quite capable of talking to my own husband. Keep out of it, Geoffrey. I’m working things out my own way.’ In the distance the doorbell pealed. ‘Now, go. Please go. Sarah must have forgotten her key –’ She almost ran into the hall.

Outside there was a florist’s van. There was no sign of Sarah or her car. A young woman was standing on the gravel, staring up at the house front, a cellophane sheaf of flowers in her arms.

‘Mrs Royland?’

Clare carried the flowers back into the drawing room where Geoffrey was still standing awkwardly in front of the fire. He smiled as she laid the flowers down on the coffee table. ‘It looks as though someone loves you after all.’ He watched as she unpinned the note which came with them.

Tearing open the envelope Clare read the carefully written message and her face went white.

‘So sorry to hear you are unwell, but delighted you have reconsidered the sale of Duncairn. Look forward to meeting you when you are recovered. Very Best Wishes. Rex Cummin.’

The sea was churning restlessly over the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. Neil walked to the place where the wall had fallen and peered down into the dark. A gentle south wind touched his cheek with cold fingers. Above, the sky was ablaze with stars.

‘It’s very quiet, isn’t it?’ Behind him Kathleen glanced nervously down over his shoulder towards the white luminescence which was the sea curdling on the rocks far below. She turned and walked back towards the keep, feeling the chill of the dew soaking into her shoes. ‘What a spooky place. Where is the oil? Right under the castle?’

Neil hadn’t moved. Hands in pockets, he hunched his shoulders. ‘It’s very deep. It would cost a lot to drill here.’

‘But not a fraction as much as it costs to drill under the North Sea, presumably.’ She paused. ‘I like your Mr Grant at the hotel. You’ve got an ally there.’ Walking back to him, she took his arm. ‘We didn’t need to come up here, Neil.’

‘I needed to.’ He turned to go with her. ‘This place is special, Kath. Can’t you feel it? It represents everything that Scotland stands for. A castle high on a cliff; a castle which has stood here for eight hundred years; a place where they fought for Scotland’s independence. A place where men and women died to save Scotland’s resources for herself.’

Kathleen shivered. In spite of herself she glanced over her shoulder. Ever since they had walked out into the darkness after dinner she had had the feeling they were being watched. ‘Scotland didn’t have many resources. Not until the oil came,’ she said gently.

‘Scotland has always had resources. Her people; her learning; her pride and independence …’

Kathleen grinned ruefully. ‘So, do I gather that if it were a Scots’ oil company you wouldn’t feel so bad about their bid?’

‘No. Even then we would fight. The environmental threat is too great. Imagine it, Kath. A hundred-foot drilling rig here, on the cliffs. It would be sacrilege!’ He pushed his hands deep in his pockets. ‘But an American oil company – run by people who know nothing of Scotland – who have never even been here! That is scandalous.’

‘Jack Grant said they’d been up here at the weekend.’

‘Oh yes, another surveyor, no doubt. I don’t expect Cummin has ever been here, or his US directors. The people in charge of wrecking places invariably live thousands of miles away.’

High above them the tower rose black against the luminous sky, the broken walls jagged and irregular in front of the stars. Where was Clare Royland? Why wasn’t she here, fighting?

‘Neil –’ Kathleen was beside him again.

‘Go back to the hotel, Kath, please. I need to think.’ There was a long silence. He could feel her eyes on his face in the darkness. Then she shrugged. ‘OK. I’ll see you later. Don’t fall over the edge, now.’

He watched as her figure faded into the darkness, then he turned back towards the castle. How could Clare Royland even contemplate selling? How could she betray her roots, her heredity like this? Couldn’t she feel it when she came here? The pull? The tie which held the sons and daughters of Scotland to the land. He pictured her yet again with her expensive car and her rich, beautiful clothes and he frowned as somewhere a bird let out a long mournful cry. He and Clare Royland were going to have to meet …

‘So, how are you enjoying working in a man’s world, honey?’ Rex smiled at Diane Warboys as she sat opposite him in the pink alcove at Corney and Barrow. ‘As challenging as you hoped?’

‘It’s not strictly a man’s world any more, Rex. But it is challenging, yes, and I’m enjoying it enormously.’ She leaned back in her chair and looked at him hard. It had been nearly ten years since she had last seen her godfather. Then he had been based in Houston, and she had called in to see them one vacation when she was at school. He was still an extraordinarily handsome man, tanned, silver-haired, with a smile which could charm a bird out of a tree, but he was tired – she could see it in his eyes. ‘How are you and Mary?’ She smiled at him fondly. ‘I had no idea you were based in London now.’

‘We’re just fine.’ Rex sighed. ‘Getting older. But that’s to be expected, I suppose.’

She laughed. ‘You old fraud. You don’t look a day over forty.’

‘Well, I’m quite a bit older than that, honey.’ His face was sober for a moment. ‘A lot more than that. But let’s talk about you. What is it like, working for BCWP? Are they good people?’

‘The best. Well almost. We were number two, last year.’

Rex frowned. ‘So, there’s no truth in the rumours that they’re undercapitalised.’

Diane raised an eyebrow. ‘My, we have been doing our homework.’ She grinned. ‘No truth at all. The firm is solid. There were one or two shaky moments when they first set up, but not any more.’

‘I came across the name of one of your directors the other day.’ He glanced up at her under his eyebrows. ‘Paul Royland.’ He noticed the slight colouring of her cheeks and he frowned. ‘Do you know him at all well?’

‘I had dinner with him and his wife last weekend, actually.’ Diane eyed him cautiously. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Just curious to know what kind of people my goddaughter is working for.’ He grinned. ‘Is he a good business man, do you reckon?’

‘I don’t know.’ She glanced away. ‘He’s on the banking side, so I don’t see a lot of him.’

‘You just said you had dinner with him, Diane,’ his voice was softly wheedling. ‘You must know him quite well to have done that.’

‘I was taken, by one of his co-directors. Henry Firbank. We go out from time to time.’

‘I see.’ Rex leaned forward and steepled his fingers over his glass. ‘I see. So tell me, from what you know of him, would you say Paul Royland would be a good man to do business with?’

Diane frowned. ‘Is that what you’re thinking of doing? Raising money through BCWP?’

‘Possibly. But I was thinking on a more personal level. I want to know if he’s sound.’ His voice had sharpened.

She looked down. ‘So. This isn’t just a social lunch. You’ve asked me here for a reason. I might have guessed, you old fraud. You don’t change, do you? Well, the answer is I don’t know. There have been rumours.’ She glanced up at him, uncomfortable now with his questions. ‘I shouldn’t tell you any of this, Rex.’

‘It won’t go any further, honey.’ He reached over the table and took her hand. ‘But I need to know.’

‘Well,’ she hesitated again. ‘Henry would never say anything, he’s too loyal, but I know Paul’s sister, Emma, quite well, and she’s let slip a few things. Her husband is on the Far East desk, and she has no idea of how to keep tactful silence about things he’s told her about the office.’ She smiled fondly. ‘And of course, Peter only tells her because she is Paul’s sister! Peter thinks that there may have been trouble about the Hannington takeover, when the price dropped when they had the strike. Do you remember? The shares shot up and there were screams of insider dealing. Then the takeover fell through. I suspect Paul lost a lot of money over that deal. I think he can be less than shrewd sometimes.’

‘But you like him anyway.’ Rex raised an eyebrow.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Only to me. I’ve known you too long. So, what about his wife?’

Diane sighed. ‘She is rich and stunningly beautiful. I would never stand a chance.’

‘You too are stunningly beautiful, my Diane.’ He smiled at her, raising his glass. ‘Do you like her?’

Diane shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. She’s strange. A bit vague.’

‘And what is his sister like, apart from garrulous?’

‘Nice. You’d get on well with her.’

‘And is she close to her brother?’ He made the question casual.