Part 40 (1/2)

”Firstly, Summerhill, or whatever your name is-I should like to thank you on behalf of us all for the refreshments.” Everyone murmured their approval.

”We have already agreed to attend to the burial of the-the lady, your mother, and to defray all costs.” He cleared his throat again. ”Now we come to the distribution of the a.s.sets. . . .”

”My hens,” said the butcher.

”My goat,” said the tailor.

”My bees,” said the clerk.

”The clothes chest-”

”The hangings-”

And suddenly they were all shouting against each other, pointing at our belongings, even gesturing towards the padded quilt on which Mama lay and touching the gown she wore.

I was horrified, but as they quietened down it became obvious that everything I had thought we owned, Mama and I, belonged in some way or other to her clients. They were just loans. If I had ever thought about it at all, which I hadn't, I should have guessed that the finely carved bed, the elaborate hangings, some of the fine clothes, could not have been gifts, like the flour, meat and pulses.

Now the butcher was on his feet. He was the man I had always liked least of Mama's clients, not only because he sometimes tried to put his hands down my front.

”Comrades . . . Quiet! I know what we all have at stake here, but we cannot leave the new wh.o.r.e entirely without.”

Surely they couldn't mean that I- But the mayor took over, with an uneasy glance in my direction.

”Normally, of course, we could have left all this for a day or two until everything settled down,” he said. ”But under the circ.u.mstances-”

”With her losing her job and all-” said the butcher.

”-we shall have to make a quick decision,” continued the mayor.

My heart gave a sudden lurch of thankfulness. They hadn't been thinking of me as a replacement after all. But the mayor's next words hurt. ”Normally we might have offered young Summer-Solstice here the job, as her mother's daughter, but under the circ.u.mstances I don't believe she would attract the same sort of custom. . . .”

”Oh, come on!” said the miller, always ready with a kind word. ”She's not that bad! A nice smile, all her teeth, small hands and feet, a fine head of hair . . .”

Even he couldn't think of anything else.

”Mama wished me to become a wife, not a wh.o.r.e,” I said stiffly. Wh.o.r.es were special, but wives came in all shapes and sizes, so I had a better chance as the latter, especially with my learning and dowry-come to that, where was it?

Mama had never said. And when I found the coins, how did I set about finding this elusive husband I had been promised? With winter coming on, it would be better to leave it until New Year. If what they had said about the furniture going to the next wh.o.r.e was true, the cottage would seem very bare. I had a few coins left of Mama's, and perhaps if they let me keep a couple of the hens and I could persuade the carpenter to knock me up a truckle bed, I could manage with what was laid aside. But I should have to buy some salted pork- ” . . . so, if it is convenient, shall we say noon tomorrow?” asked the mayor.

”Although your brothers are not here now, they will attend the interment in the morning, and your eldest brother let it be known his wife would not be averse to the dresses. . . .”

I had lost something in his speechifying, but that pinched-nosed sister-in-law of mine was not going to wear my mother's dresses, and I told him so.

”Why not? They're of no use to you. Your ma was tall and thin.”

”I still would not like to see another in her dresses-”

”Nonsense! Why waste them? The new wh.o.r.e, Agnes-from-the-Inn, would fit into them nicely, too. No point in wasting them.”

So that sandy-haired, big-bosomed wench was to be the next village wh.o.r.e!

”No,” I said.

”As she's getting everything else,” said the butcher, ”including this cottage, why not chuck the dresses in as well? Not yours to dispose of, anyway.”

”This place? But it's ours-mine, surely?”

The mayor shook his head. ”Goes with the job. So, as I said a moment or two back, I can expect you out by midday tomorrow?”

”I can't! I've nowhere to go!” This just couldn't be happening. All in one day to lose my mother, the shreds of my father's reputation and also find I possessed a ridiculous name, then to be turned out into an unknown world with nothing to my name and nowhere to go- I burst into tears; angry, snuffly, hurt, uncontrollable, ugly tears. Now Mama had always taught me that tears were a woman's finest weapon. She had also tried to teach me how to weep gently and affectingly, without reddening the eyes or s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up the face, but all my tears produced were embarra.s.sment, red faces and a rush for the door, just as if I had been found with plague spots.

”Back at dawn,” called out the mayor. ”We'll bring a hurdle for the body. . . .”

The priest was the last to leave. ”Not even one coin for the Ma.s.ses?” I shook my head.

I heard their footsteps retreating, then one set returning. The miller poked his head round the door.

”Just wanted to say-will miss your Ma. She was a lady. Sorry I can't take you in like your brother, but the wife wouldn't stand for it.” He turned to go, then stopped. ”Thought you might like to know; years after your dad-died- someone else confessed to planting those stolen goods. Said he was jealous.

Dead and gone, now . . . Hey there: no more tears! Could never abide to see a la.s.s cry. Here, there's a couple of coins for your journey. And don't worry, you'll do fine. I'll see the grave's kept nice,” He sidled out through the door.

”Sorry I can't do more, but you know how it is. . . .”

”Yes,” I said. ”I know how it is. . . .”

Alone, I sank to my knees beside the dying fire, my mind a muddle. Shock and grief had filled my mind to such an extent I was incapable of thinking clearly.

All I wanted was for Mama to be back to tell me what to do, for I felt an itching between my shoulder blades that told me I had forgotten something, and could not rest till it was seen to.

A log crashed in the hearth and I started up. Mustn't let the fire die down, tonight of all nights-But why? Of course: tonight was All Hallows' Eve, the eve of Samhain. Tonight was the night when the unshriven dead rode the skies with the witches and warlocks and the Court of Faery roamed the earth.

. . . Tonight was the night that, every year, Mama and I closed and locked the shutters and doors early, stoked up the fire and roasted chestnuts and melted cheese over toasted bread, thumbing our noses at those spirits who moaned and cursed outside, wanting to take our places and live again. But it was the fire that kept them away, so Mama said, that and the songs we sang: ”There is a time for everything,” or ”After Winter cometh Spring,” and ”Curst be all who ride abroad this night.”

I rushed outside and brought in all the wood I could gather. Why bother to save any for the new wh.o.r.e? Let her seek her own. And she had no daughter to fetch and carry as Mama had done: they would soon be sick of her. I even emptied the lean-to of our emergency supply, running back and forth under an uneasy moon, till the room was overflowing with f.a.ggots and logs. Tonight we would have the biggest blaze ever, Mama and I.

By the time I had finished I was quite light-headed, even addressing the still figure on the bed. ”There you are, Mama! Enough to set the chimney alight!”

”And everything else . . .” came a voice in my head. ”Everything must go with me. . . . Nothing left.”

Was that what she wanted? Everything burned? But wasn't that what her people, the Travelers, did? Hadn't she told me once that when a chief died his van was piled with his belongings, his dogs and horses were sacrificed and all consumed in a great pyre? Then if that was what she wanted, that was what she should have.

I approached the bed again. ”You shall have a bonfire fit for a queen,” I told the silent figure. ”They shall not have your bed, your dresses, your chair; I promise.”

”Open . . . Fly . . .”

I frowned; what did that little voice mean: Fly? What was to fly? There was a moth doing a crazy dance round one of the guttering candles and I moved my hand to bat it away, upon which it swerved over my head and made for the shuttered window, beating frantically against the wood. Then I understood.