The Heart of Darkness Page 3

  Rowena started in fright and moved up a few more steps, anxious not to miss any of the drama unfolding above.

  ‘I’ve had enough!’ continued the furious voice, clearly Sir Richard’s. ‘Having that swine Cunningham turning up here yesterday and putting the squeeze on me about his damned money was bad enough, and now this!’

  There was another loud bang, which sounded like the chair being kicked across the room.

  The heart of the breathlessly listening Rowena thudded uncomfortably. The reports about how bad-tempered Sir Richard was had already been confirmed, and she had not even met the man. She desperately wanted to turn around and walk straight back out.

  But no.

  Gripping her satchel tightly in her clammy hands, she started to climb upwards. The thought of giving Lady Sabina the satisfaction of getting the better of her was unbearable.

  As she neared the top, a well-built man of middle age came out the door and began descending the stairs, his sword jangling at each step as it bumped against his chainmail hauberk. With his weather-beaten, battle-scarred face and burly physique, he looked like a veteran of many campaigns. If his face had not looked so good-humoured, he would have been an intimidating sight.

  Her fears that this might be Sir Richard were quickly laid to rest. The sheriff was said to be a younger man of about five and thirty, and his nickname referred not just to his character, but to his appearance also.

  The soldier halted when they came opposite each other. ‘I must warn you, madam,’ he said quietly, ‘Sir Richard’s not in the best of moods this morning. If your business can wait, I’d leave it for another day.’ His voice revealed him to be the man whom the sheriff had been raging at moments before.

  She managed a nervous smile. ‘I’m Rowena Walden. My uncle, Lord Cunningham, sent me over to help Sir Richard until he can find a new clerk.’

  ‘Oh.’ The man looked surprised. ‘Sir said someone might be coming to fill in, but I wasn’t expecting a—a—’

  ‘A girl?’ she suggested quietly.

  ‘Well, to be honest, yes. I’m afraid his language and manners aren’t always quite refined enough to be suitable for the presence of a young lady—or any lady, for that matter.’

  Rowena was sure her eyes were as round as an owl’s by now. ‘Oh.’

  ‘By the way, I’m Sergeant-at-Arms Leofwin Gallagher, an old army comrade of the sheriff’s and his second in command here at the castle.’ He removed his cap, revealing a head of close-cropped, tightly curling brown hair, and bowed. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mistress Rowena.’

  ‘Likewise, sire,’ she replied with a smile, surprised but delighted that the sergeant was so gallant despite his somewhat rough appearance, and curtsied lightly.

  ‘I had better let you on your way now,’ said the warrior. ‘You won’t want to be late.’

  She laughed nervously. ‘No, I don’t think that would be good.’

  He replaced his cap on his head. ‘Well, God be with you.’ And with that, he bid her good day and continued on his way.

  She wistfully watched the delightful sergeant descend the stairs until he disappeared from sight, then, with a shaky sigh, started her slow ascent again.

  Rowena arrived at the top of the stairs to discover the door wide open. She crept up to it as though approaching a wolf’s lair and, with baited breath, paused in its arched stone doorway.

  A broad-shouldered man was seated at a long wooden table at the far side of the round, sparsely furnished room. His head was bent over the parchment in front of him in concentration. In one large hand he held a quill pen, with the other he was counting out the small pile of gold coins lying on the table. Although Sir Richard was facing Rowena, he did not seem to have noticed her arrival.

  She took advantage of the sheriff’s absorption in the task before him to scrutinise his appearance. He was dressed in a doublet of shiny black leather, armoured on the chest and shoulders with metal studs arranged in intricate, swirling patterns. The sleeves were tightly laced from elbow to cuff, and the large hands they ended in were long-fingered and surprisingly refined, their pale blue veins standing out delicately in the muted light flooding through the window behind him. His glossy, raven-black hair was parted on the side and cut to fall softly onto the tops of his shoulders. To her great disappointment, she could not see much of his face, it being partly obscured by the locks of stiff black hair, which had escaped from behind his ear and fallen forward.

  She waited silently for a good while, hoping Sir Richard would notice her presence without her having to risk inciting him with a rude interruption.

  Her hopes went unanswered. The slow, painstaking counting and scratching just went on and on and on. Something would have to be done.

  Rowena braced herself. ‘Ahem’.

  The writing stopped abruptly, and Sir Richard’s head lifted with a start to reveal a pale, broodingly handsome face with sculpted, aquiline features, thin lips and dark eyes whose intense gaze seemed to pierce right through her. ‘What do you want?’ he growled.

  Her courage began to desert her under Sir Richard’s cold, questioning stare. ‘Good day, sir. I—I—am Rowena Walden, my uncle, Lord Cunningham, sent me,’ she managed to stammer. ‘He said that you—needed a clerk.’

  There was a sudden screech of quill on parchment as the hand holding it gave an involuntary jerk. But the stony, thin-lipped expression did not betray any of its wearer’s emotions. ‘Did he indeed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied a little more forcefully, beginning to get annoyed by Sir Richard’s casual insolence.

  He waved his leather-clad arm in the direction of a small table to his right, which was covered with large piles of parchment. ‘There’s your table.’ He swept back the stray locks of hair. ‘My previous clerk was a messy bastard, but he seemed to get the job done.’

  And with that, he returned to counting the money and scratching down the results on the parchment in front of him, taking no further heed of her.

  Rowena went over to the small, rough-looking table and surveyed its piles with dismay. Self-consciously, she took off her cloak and, in the absence of any suitable furniture or hook, was forced to drop it on the floor.

  After much deliberation the previous night, she had finally settled on wearing a long-sleeved bright green (or at least it used to be) gown with a figure-hugging bodice, tightly laced at the front. The style was flattering, if unfashionable, but the condition of it left much to be desired. Despite spending an hour the night before sewing together the tears in it with her smallest, most careful stitches, she was painfully aware of how dowdy she must look to someone as nicely dressed as Sir Richard.

  But never mind. She was wanted for her skills and intelligence, not as a nice ornament. And surely she did not look uglier than his last clerk…

  The castle’s newest clerk sat down on the miserable wooden stool provided and began sifting through the papers in increasing panic. Most of them looked like payment demands, lists of expenses, and account records. Rowena hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with any of them.

  She watched the sheriff out of the corner of her eye whilst trying to look as though she was busily occupied with the papers in front of her. With puzzlement, she noted that Sir Richard seemed to be counting the same pile of money over and over, and each time scratching down the result with a surprisingly shaky hand. Then he would frown blackly at the piece of parchment before beginning the laborious counting all over again. The cautiously watching maiden itched to offer the services of her able mathematical mind to the sheriff, but fear gagged her.

  Finally, he finished counting the money and put it away in the small rosewood chest sitting on his table. Then he took out a number of scrolls and slowly got to his feet.

  Her relief that he was finally doing something was short-lived. Not only did he have an unnerving stare and an insolent manner, which was bad enough, but now that he was standing, he revealed himself to be tall—very tall. She hated the way that nearly e
veryone was able to look down on her. And Sir Richard would tower, absolutely tower, over her.

  As the sheriff strode over to his new clerk, her relief was further tainted by the unnerving sight of an exceedingly large sword protruding from the long, intricately engraved leather and steel scabbard belted to his waist.

  Rowena gave a huff of annoyance. Why in God’s name did a sheriff, or any man for that matter, need to carry around an evil-looking thing like that in peacetime? It might be appropriate for a fully armed knight on the battlefield, but for anyone else to do so really was overkill.

  Sir Richard stopped in front of the seated woman, who looked up at him nervously, desperately hoping he was going to give her a task that she could actually do.

  ‘Read out these letters to me and take down the replies I dictate to you,’ he said sullenly, putting the scrolls down in front of her.

  While she read out the letters, Sir Richard paced up and down the room. From the small window that looked out over the town of Hartfield, across the middle of the room to his writing table and back again, the spurs strapped to his black, leather, mid-thigh length riding boots jingling as he walked.

  The change of position gave Rowena a good view of his side profile. It proved to be just as arresting as the front. The forehead was noble and the long, aquiline nose truly magnificent.

  So far the reports of him had turned out to be most accurate. He was indeed deeply handsome, deeply offensive and disturbingly sinister. His manner, his appearance, his brooding glare; it was as though he was made of fire and ice. And everyone knows what happens when you combine the two: a heck of a lot of steam arises and obscures everything.

  Rowena pulled her eyes off him and forced them back onto the parchment before her. The first few letters were in Latin, but she saw that the remainder were in English. Why did the sheriff not read them himself?

  ‘I have trouble reading and writing, alright! The letters all seem to jumble together on the page,’ he snapped, in response to the look of surprise which she had been unable to conceal. He paused in front of the window for a moment and gazed bleakly out, a faraway look crossing his face. ‘I never was much good at clever or cultured pursuits, as my father never tired of telling me. That bastard he hired to tutor me never did manage to beat much learning into me, hard as he tried,’ he added grimly.

  ‘Oh, I was not passing judgment on you, Sir Richard!’ she said hastily, regretting her reaction.

  ‘I would hope not,’ he growled, suddenly turning away from the window. ‘It’s no business of a clerk to be going around passing judgement on people.’

  He seemed to snap out of his thoughts of the past as if he greatly regretted having brought them to mind, and continued pacing up and down like a caged beast.

  ‘Of course not, Sir Richard,’ she replied meekly, and proceeded to read out the letters dutifully.

  But inside she was quietly fuming at the insult.

  .3.

  Hell, Heaven and

  Uncertainty are Visited

  ROWENA kept close to the walls, anxious to avoid coming as close to ending up as road-kill as she had when passing through the castle gates the first time. She had spent every day for the past two weeks at Eaglestone except for Sundays, and this morning had set off for Eaglestone at sunrise like she usually did.

  For once, they would not be expecting her. She had told Sir Richard she would not be coming this day because Lord Cunningham’s sister and nephew were visiting, and her aunt had insisted Rowena be there. But Rowena had been playing a rough game of tag with her young cousin soon after he and his mother had arrived the previous evening when, right in front of Lady Cunningham and the lad’s very refined mother, the both of them had fallen into the muddy pool at the bottom of the meadow behind Stoatley Manor.

  The watching ladies had been so horrified by the state of their relatives when they emerged from the filthy water that, as soon as Master Eckersley had been scrubbed down by his nurse and smacked around the ear by his mother, he had been sent straight up to bed without his supper. As for Rowena, she had been ordered not to go anywhere near young Eckersley ever again, and Lady Cunningham had told her in no uncertain terms to keep out of sight and hearing for the remainder of her relatives’ two-day visit.

  This was just fine by her. Poor Eckersley seemed a nice lad, but his mother was a mean-spirited woman of very little brain who spent all her time gossiping and preening like a peacock.

  ‘Good day, Rowena,’ called a young soldier as she neared the castle’s main door.

  The garrison of soldiers stationed at the castle seemed to be much taken with their sheriff’s new clerk. Often she was waylaid talking to them when going about her business around the castle.

  ‘Greetings,’ she said brightly. ‘How is everything with you this morning, Will?’

  ‘Good, but all the better for seeing you, as always,’ he replied with a grin.

  She gave him a playful shove. ‘Stop it! I know you are only flattering me because you are hoping I’ll increase the food rations again.’

  ‘How can you be so cruel!’ he cried, dramatically clapping his hand to his breast in anguish. ‘You’re an angel. You know how much we all love you. We worship the very ground you walk on.’ He bowed low with much flourish, his hand still on his chest.

  ‘Your words do me great honour, sire, but your heart is located on the other side,’ she replied laughingly, before continuing on her way up to the sheriff’s office.

  As she neared Sir Richard’s public chamber, the sound of his and Gallagher’s voices drifted out through the open door. ‘That swine is up to something, I’m sure of it,’ Sir Richard was saying. ‘I can’t comprehend any man doing such a thing without a reason. It must be a trap; he’ll be hoping I will singe my wings on the flame he has so carefully placed in my way.’

  ‘But why would he want to do that?’ asked Gallagher.

  ‘So he can squeeze me harder, that’s why!’

  ‘Surely not, sir. I mean, she hardly seems to be the kind.’

  ‘That may well be, but she’s bound to be under his control. She is likely reporting my every move back to that loathsome dog as we speak.’

  ‘Listen to me, sir; you can’t get rid of her. He will see it as an insult, and if he blames her instead it will hardly be fair on the poor maid. You see the way they treat her.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, old friend. God’s bone’s, sometimes I think the Devil is overseeing my torment personally! I wish I could find a way of getting rid of her...’

  Rowena had been listening to this intense exchange as she climbed up towards the open doorway. She had not thought their subject matter sensitive until the last few sentences, when suddenly she realized their subject was almost certainly herself.

  She stopped just as she reached the open door. Things were already awkward enough. Had they noticed? No. Perhaps it would be prudent to just quietly back out…

  But as she took a step back, there was a loud creak as the floorboard her foot pressed onto let out a groan of protest. Four eyes were fixed on her in an instant. Sir Richard could not have looked more horrified if he had been faced by his new clerk’s ghost rather than her living body. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he gasped.

  ‘I—I work here...’

  ‘But you said you could not come in today!’

  ‘Yes, but that was before I tumbled into a stagnant pond with my visiting cousin.’

  Sir Richard’s mouth opened as though he was about to speak, then silently closed again.

  Rowena came into the room and put her satchel down on her table. ‘My aunt changed her mind about my staying home after that, so I’m afraid you are going to be burdened with my presence instead.’

  Her final words made the men exchange tense glances. The sergeant-at-arms’ look was reproachful, while Sir Richard’s was one of raw stress.

  After a tense few moments during which none of the three could decide what to do next, the sheriff suddenly picked up the i
ndigo blue cloak hanging over his chair and started putting it on as he strode towards the doorway. ‘I just saw them bringing in a suspect, so I’m going down to the dungeons to question the felon—and Gallagher, get about your work. The Crown does not pay you to stand around gawping at the castle floorboards.’

  ‘Yes, Sir Richard,’ Gallagher replied with a sigh, moving off after the sheriff.

  As Sir Richard passed Rowena, she almost gagged at the wave of heavy, spicy, musky perfume which engulfed her. ‘Rowena, I will attend to any letters later.’

  ‘Of course, Sir Richard,’ she managed to splutter.

  But he seemed oblivious to her unfavourable reaction, and the sound of his jingling spurs and clattering sword was soon receding down the stairs.

  After the knight and his deputy had left, Rowena sat staring silently at the cold, bare stone wall opposite for a long time.

  So that was how it stood. Even though he was paying her the princely sum of absolutely nothing, her employer wanted rid of her. She had spent endless days scratching away on parchments, making sense of ridiculously chaotic financial records and adding up lengthy expense lists until her head spun and her eyes ached. But she had done it willingly, happy in the belief that she was doing something useful for once instead of merely being the burden her relatives were forever complaining about. The knowledge that Gallagher pitied her was almost more painful than being thought a spy and a nuisance by Sir Richard.

  Rowena smiled grimly. At least Lady Sabina’s spiteful plan had failed. The silly cow had rather underestimated her father’s influence. A poor knight could hardly be expected to send packing an underling personally provided to him by the most wealthy and powerful lord in the shire.

  And the underling was not going to step down willingly. Sir Richard’s efforts to freeze her into submission with his curt, frosty manner and wolfish glare only made her more determined to stay. All of these dust-covered, ink-blotted account records held a mystery, and she was determined to discover it.