Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SILAS EMbrACED Charlie, holding on tight while the lad regaled him with talk of the tastiness of the cockle soup Jacquetta had arranged.

‘Astonishing, Silas you must have some. The saltiness is heaven-sent.' Charlie laughed, giving Silas another squeeze before letting go. ‘Oh, I am so glad Tobias wasn't here to hear that said. You know he'd make something vile of it. Where is he?'

The lad wore fresh clothes, as did Edward: simple fare of white linen shirts with unbuttoned, dark green and burgundy vests respectively, and with loose-fitting, chestnut brown trousers tied at the waist. They looked enviably comfortable.

Charlie peered around Silas to the doors which had shut firmly behind him once he entered the wood-panelled parlour; a warm and inviting room with its plentiful settee and armchairs, heavy curtains of a sunlight gold, a modest rounded dining table that held a multitude of platters and covered bowls.

‘He's with you, is he not, Silas?' Edward had a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth, his plate already scraped half clean by a pleasing return of appetite.

‘No. Not yet. He will join us eventually.' Silas adjusted his collar, finding it too tight suddenly. He'd agreed to this separation with an ill-feeling. ‘He wished time with Seraphiel alone. They must investigate the soundness of the simurgh.'

He kept his reply measured, but something in Pitch's manner bothered him, and he certainly wasn't happy with him being alone in the company of the angel and daemon: one of whom seemed barely sane, the other in a shockingly poor state. Silas would never fully trust Lucifer–he'd not be so foolish–but even if the king had fully sided with Pitch and sought to keep him from harm, he barely had the strength to lift his own eyelashes; let alone fend off a Seraph.

Edward swallowed his mouthful. ‘Simurgh? Ah, you mean the fire he carries.' He nodded. ‘I felt something of it when I touched him as I recovered after the Fulbourn. If I recall, I ended up being thrown out of bed with the force. And nearly punched in the mouth by Tobias, because of it.'

‘Do you remember much of the Fulbourn, of all that followed?' Silas asked. ‘You were so very unwell.'

Edward's smile was grim. ‘Indeed, I was. I remember small things. Just fragments, really. Mostly there was light, just light. Golden, and not so terrible. But what struck me most was the loneliness.' He glanced at Charlie. ‘I knew you all to be so close. I could hear you speaking to me, tending me, caring for me… but I was…well, I was truly a world away.' He smiled, but it was rather downcast. He set down his fork. ‘Will he be all right, Silas? I know he is strong, but do they place too much upon his shoulders?'

Silas let his hand fall from his collar. He adjusted the set of the jerkin. ‘They have always done that, and he has always met their challenge. He will see this through. And I, with him.'

Charlie took Silas's hand. ‘And what a formidable union it is. Now come, have something to eat with us. Whatever lays ahead, best it's not done on an empty stomach.'

‘I'm not much hungry.' He frowned. ‘Where is Scarlet?'

‘They insisted I open the window, and promptly flew off. I think they rather enjoy hiding in those enormous roses.'

Silas eyed the window, but they were several levels up, and there was no sign of the bountiful gardens. An odd irritation found him at Scarlet's frivolity. This was hardly time for play. ‘Mr Mercer, will you stop with all that frowning?' Charlie adopted the curt admonishment a nanny might give a protesting child. ‘Come on, quickly now and have some food before it cools further. I won't hear another word said. Look at you, you are fairly fading away, skin and bone.' He winked, letting it be known he thought his own words utter nonsense.

Edward joined in the charade of lightheartedness. ‘Trust me, my dear fellow, you are best to do as you're told here. Charlie will make a frighteningly stern father one day.'

Silas had barely taken his seat when the door opened and Jacquetta entered, pushing a large trolley where something lay covered beneath a white cloth.

‘Everything to your liking?' she asked.

‘Very much so,' Charlie replied. ‘But I don't suppose there shall be any dessert? Not for me, mind, but I have a friend who would cheer to see a strawberry tart or sponge cake with all the cream you can whip.'

‘The prince, you mean? Already underway. He's always had a penchant for sweeter things.' Jacquetta sent a sidelong look Silas's way. ‘They'll be ready for him as soon as he's able.'

As soon as he's able.

What a sour feeling those words pushed through Silas. He was one breath away from demanding to be taken to Pitch that instant, when Jacquetta pulled away the cloth, revealing an ornate dressing-table mirror beneath. It was triple-panelled, with the centrepiece largest, and smaller at the wings.

‘I thought this may help you while away the time, distract you, perhaps.' She lifted it, and it was evident the piece was heavy, with its thick plasterwork edges that scrolled like faded gold parchment, and curled feet at the base of each panel. The glass was onyx black. Silas's thoughts went immediately to the obsidian in the ashmen's eyes.

‘This is a scrying mirror?' He abandoned the serving of food Charlie had just delivered and moved to assist.

‘Out of my way now.' Jacquetta scowled until he stepped back. ‘Don't think I'd be as levelheaded as I am, if I hadn't been able to take a peek at how the world was living.' She set the mirror down with a grunt, fussing at it until it was set to her satisfaction upon a sideboard of whitewashed wood and sparkling crystal handles.

The blackness of the glass seemed viscous. As though to touch it was to dip your finger into tar. Silas stared at his reflection. His beard needed trimming, and he looked as troubled as he felt.

‘Why have you brought it here? Has the angel found us?' His stomach turned, the rich smells of the food now nauseating.

‘The one who killed your horse?'

Charlie let loose a brief cry. ‘Is there a need to be so blunt?'

But Silas gave the Child a steely glare. He could not afford the ache that came with thinking of Lalassu. The hurt was bottled up tight, for now. ‘Yes. That one.'

‘No. The Ferryman brings no word of his return. But we are watching.' Jacquetta adjusted the side panel of the mirror, bringing the angle in sharper, so the display sat curved like a fire screen. ‘And your mare was a fine djinn. Her defence of the cave continues, even if she does not. The Red Horse grows herself strong from the White Horse's roots. Noble steeds.'

It was a peace offering for her bluntness. ‘They are the noblest,' he said, clearing the thickness from his throat. ‘Now what of this mirror?'

‘A distraction. Charlie tells me you both share a connection to the loch, and the residence on its shores. I thought perhaps you may like to study them more closely.' She kissed the tips of her fingers, then touched them to each of the panes of glass.

The surfaces swirled; like colours produced by the hint of oil in water.

Rossdhu House appeared in the distance, from a viewpoint out upon the loch. Charlie let out a choked cry.

‘Edward, come and see.' But the scrape of chair legs was already underway, the quick thump of feet on floorboards as Edward joined them.

‘It shall not last long.' Jacquetta stepped back. ‘And you can go no further or wider than the house. It takes too much of my magick for that, and I'll be needing to reinforce the Sanctuary boundaries now you're all in. Just touch the glass to show it where you want to go, and two taps to draw you in closer. Think of it like a flat out telescope. Alright then?'

Silas mumbled a reply, fixated on the mirrors. Charlie pulled Edward in closer. And Jacquetta left them with a subtle rattling of the trolley.

‘I haven't used a telescope,' Charlie said. ‘What does it do?'

‘Makes the world smaller and closer.' Edward nudged Charlie. ‘Go on then. Show me your favourite place in that wonderful garden. Your gardener is truly talented.'

Charlie lifted his hand, hovering his finger above the glass. But did not move to touch it.

‘Is something wrong?' Edward asked.

‘The garden is lovely, our family's pride and joy…and I know I said I'd like you to visit…but…' Charlie's throat bobbed as he swallowed.

‘You fled your home for good reason,' Silas said, softly. ‘You were not happy there. If it troubles you, we need not look at all.'

He did not know which way he hoped the lad's choice would go. Silas himself was torn about what a closer study of the estate would do to his own state of mind; already punched full of holes of worry and trepidation. And this was, as Jacquetta had said, a mere distraction. But he wasn't sure he wished to be distracted from the thought of what Pitch endured in that moment.

Charlie shook his shoulders, a firmly exaggerated motion, and blew out a breath. ‘Bloody hell, I'm being ridiculous. After all we've been through, and I'm frightened I might lay eyes upon my father?'

Edward settled a hand on Charlie's shoulder. ‘I'm not sure it's foolish at all. If this were my mother's home, I'd have this mirror turned to the wall in a heartbeat.' He shook his head. ‘She'd have a row of potential brides lined up for my return, and my trunks packed for the blasted honeymoon.'

Charlie laughed, and Silas smiled, but he'd never felt less amused. He'd spotted the long length of the jetty in the mirror's right-hand pane, reaching like a long grey finger to point towards him. As though it sensed him there. Of all he had forgotten, he wished the memory of his death at that jetty–his last, he presumed–was not among them.

‘Well, she shall have to keep waiting, and you do not have need of a bride,' Charlie said, firmly, returned to his more robust self. ‘Perhaps if we flatter her cooking enough, Jacquetta will let us stay here.' He glanced up at the lieutenant. ‘How does that sound?'

Their shared glance felt a very private thing, and Silas looked away. Back to where the loch and all its hidden history taunted.

‘That sounds bloody marvellous,' Edward said. ‘I'm not sure how I feel about that world out there anymore. Or where my place in it is.'

Not an unreasonable statement, but Silas shook his head.

‘You have a place there, Edward. You too, Charlie,' he said. ‘And as soon as I am able, I'll see that you find it. Once you do, relish every moment that life affords you.'

He touched the mirror and ran his finger over the jetty; where his moments had once ended.

The focus drew in. Like they watched from the back of a seabird gliding over the water; soaring over the slight turbulence in the waves and stretching up and over the jetty.

Such a simple thing. A coat of white paint was evidenced only by the patchwork of flakes that remained. There was some rot along the edges at the end, and a pile of fishing nets, tangled and long past their days of being used. Peeking from beneath them was the flattened end of an oar.

Silas drew in his breath, the horrific memory striking like a hot poker. When Nemain had held him down in the greensward, much had been forced to the surface; none of it pleasant.

He'd met one of his ends here. Upon this very jetty: struck with an oar, his brother screaming at him. Cain. That had been brother's name, in the beginning at least. Perhaps endless lives had seen it changed, but Cain's rage never altered.

You've ruined us all, you bastard. He had been livid, drunk beyond measure, beating Silas until he could barely stand. Accusing him of causing their family's undoing. An affair. With a son of Rossdhu House. I told you it would ruin our family to bend for the likes of him. Too busy thinking with your prick. Now the lord's son is dead, and he has lost his mind with the grief. You've made our family homeless, you selfish cunt. We are to be cast out.

Terrible accusations made all the worse for Silas not being able to remember a single moment. Had he loved the lord's son as he loved Pitch? Had his grief at the man's loss brought wails of anguish and unending rage that terrified even the most vile monsters of the world, as it would if he lost Pitch?

On that jetty, Silas had faced yet another demise at the hands of his sibling, and another hopeless attempt by a young man to save him. He'd not seen the lad's eyes, but he knew them blue; another from the long line of would-be saviours and guardians of the bandalore, from whence Charlie came.

‘Silas?' Charlie stirred him from his deepness of thought. ‘You look terribly sad. Is there something you recall from your time at Rossdhu?'

Silas scratched at his beard, bringing himself back to the most important of places. Here and now.

‘I don't suppose you ever heard tell of a death…a drowning, perhaps…by that jetty?'

Silas readied for a rejection.

‘Yes. But not just a simple drowning. There have always been whispers of a murder.'

His pulses skipped faster. ‘Is that so?' The woman's lavender dress held a firm place in Silas's mind; as if its bright colour secured the memory, whilst all else about that horrid evening was blurred and dark. But the design of the dress was not entirely foreign to the fashion of his current day; the memory was not terribly old. ‘How long ago was this terrible event?'

‘Early in the century, at least fifty years past, I'd say. A long time ago, but murder takes hold of people's imaginations and sticks there. They make for fascinating gossip. The kitchen staff enjoy a tattle.' Charlie shrugged. ‘And I enjoy listening to all their tales. Far better than being berated for refusing to wear a gown.'

Silas gave him a sympathetic smile, but his heart was still racing. ‘I dare say. Who was murdered?'

‘The gardener, I believe he was.'

Silas nodded, his gaze once more upon the grounds of the estate. ‘Yes,' he whispered. ‘ I believe he was.'

One piece of the enormous puzzle of his life slipped quietly into place; he was certainly a man of the earth.

‘What was that?' Charlie asked.

‘Nothing. Do you know what his name was, this unfortunate fellow?'

‘I don't. Sorry.'

More of the puzzle seemed set to elude him. But it did not bother Silas too greatly. He preferred the name Pitch knew him by.

‘But,' Charlie continued. ‘I know he likely died because of a scandalous affair he had with my grandfather's older brother, Gilbert.'

‘Gilbert?' Silas held the name, turned it over in his mind, searched for some hint of recognition; emotion that might bring forth deeper memory.

There was nothing.

‘That's positively awful.' Edward winced. ‘Did they catch the culprit?'

Charlie shook his head. ‘No, though can you believe there is some talk it was a member of his own family?' Silas stayed silent, and waited for him to go on. ‘They lived in a cottage on the estate grounds. It's been torn down now, but they were forced out after Gilbert died at sea.'

‘At sea?'

‘He ran off to war when he was forced to forgo his lover. He'd rather have faced Napoleon's army than wed.' Charlie's face shone with marvel. ‘From the moment Kirsty, my lady's maid, told me the story, I knew I would leave Rossdhu, whether or not I had permission. I intended to be just as brave as he, and run as far as I could from my father, and the shackles of that place.' His defiant mood subdued. ‘Rather strange to have come full circle, and be just a loch away from the one place I was running from. But I suspect you are feeling the same, Silas?'

‘Quite.' Silas ran his finger over the crystal handle on the sideboard drawer. ‘But you have been very brave indeed, Charlie. Being alone is not easy.'

Charlie kept watching him. ‘No. It's not.'

‘I wonder if you know who found the body?'

‘I heard it was my grandaunt, and her son. Elizabeth tended to be remembered, as she had a passion for the colour lavender. Not a day went by when she did not wear it, much to her family's annoyance.' Charlie grinned.

‘Lavender?' Another, smaller piece of Silas's puzzle finally found its place. ‘I imagine she looked quite lovely.'

‘So do I. And all the more because it clearly made her happy to wear it.'

‘And her son was with her, you say?' Silas prompted.

‘Yes. Phillip. He was just a young child, it must have been awful for him. I was always told how much I looked like him. Our eyes. The exact same blue apparently.'

Silas's finger stilled against the crystal. ‘It is a striking colour.'

‘And rarely shows, apparently. Phillip had died a year before I was born, found dead in his bed at a ripe old age, after a life well lived, by all accounts. There was quite the fuss over me when it was clear my blue eyes would not change after my newborn days were done. Some even said I was Phillip come back to life. But I know I am my own person. Silas, what did you say you did at Rossdhu House, when you worked there?'

‘I didn't.'

‘Let me guess? You were a gardener.' Charlie made the leap with great confidence. ‘You were the gardener that they found. Weren't you my friend? That is why you are so terrified of the water.'

‘Hang on there,' Edward laughed, a nervous twinge to it. ‘Did you not just say the chap was murdered, and in the early years of this century?'

‘I did. But that does not mean it was not Silas.'

Silas's laughter was not much more sure than Edward's. ‘Come now, I know you have seen some strange things, but that's quite a deduction.'

‘Are you seriously going to try to convince me I'm being unreasonable? After I've seen Edward possessed by an angel who has been resurrected before my very eyes, and is now chin-wagging with Tobias, who is a daemon himself, and Lucifer,' Charlie flinched at that, ‘who is the King of all daemons. Do you truly think I've put my own miraculous strength down to a decent few meals and fresh air? And if you think I could wipe the event of the Fulbourn from my mind, you are not so sensible as I imagined. I saw you command…' he searched for the words, ‘Ghosts…the undead, spectres or ghouls. Whatever I name them, it is not human. But above all else, I cannot ignore the deep sense of connection I have with you, Silas. The feeling that our meeting was inevitable.' The red flecks in his hair were prominent in the gold-stained light of the Sanctuary. It had grown long, tangled at its ends, giving Charlie something of a wild-man's look. It suited him. ‘I'm not certain what you are, Silas, and it doesn't really matter, because I know who you are. I've known since the moment I came across you, trying to fish so terribly in Wyre Forest. I know you , Silas. The moment I stepped into your company, it was like…' He bit his lip, clamping back the words.

‘Home,' Edward whispered. ‘You told me, while we waited in that cave, that Silas felt like the home you wished for.'

Charlie nodded, his cheeks flushing pink as he looked to Silas. ‘It's terribly sentimental, but you are strong, and constant and so terribly kind. Who would not find sanctuary with you? I understand perfectly why even Tobias could not help but fall for you, and am glad that with him, you do not seem so lonely anymore.'

Silas opened his arms, and the lad did not hesitate to move in to embrace him; the brave young boy whose ancestor had always sought to save Silas. No, who had saved Silas; rescued him from believing the world entirely cruel and ugly.

‘Thank you, Charlie.'

‘For a hug? Happy to oblige anytime, so long as you keep Tobias from glaring me into oblivion.'

Silas grew serious, relaxing his hold. ‘I need to go to him.'

Charlie was grim-faced, but nodded. ‘I'm surprised you lasted this long, to be honest. Go, Silas. We are fine, as you can see, and will take care of one another. It is not us who need you most right now, no matter how Tobias tries to convince you otherwise.'

‘Good luck to you, Silas.' Edward offered his hand. ‘You're a damned good chap. A hearty thanks for all you've done for me, and for Tobias. I'm bloody glad he's got you on his side.'

Silas gripped the lieutenant's hand. They shook with a warm and painful finality. ‘You're a fine fellow, Edward.'

The lieutenant ducked his head. ‘Go on now, so it's all the sooner we see you both again.'

Silas took a last look at the mirror, at the distant shore where his past lay. Lives long since lived. All of them were untouchable, unchangeable.

But not so the present.

He turned, and walked away.