The Ice Seduction Page 19

  Bertie nods again, and I beam at him.

  I turn to the serving hatch. ‘Vicky? Can we try a boiled egg and soldiers?’

  74

  I watch with growing happiness as Bertie demolishes a boiled egg and soldiers, then a second round of toast, then a plate of sausages, brown sauce and tomatoes.

  I guess he has a lot of catching up to do.

  ‘That’s just brilliant,’ I say, as he finishes up the plate of sausages. ‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we go for a walk around the woods now? Work off all that breakfast?’

  Bertie nods and puts down his knife and fork.

  He lets out a little burp, and then he does something I’ve never heard him do before.

  He giggles.

  It’s a lovely, light noise, and his face lights up with a cheeky little smile.

  I prop my chin in my hands.

  Bertie grins.

  ‘Well. I guess we should go and work off breakfast, huh? It’s not snowing outside. Let’s go walk in the—’

  My mouth snaps closed as Bertie’s eyes widen and he shakes his head at me, flicking his eyes over my shoulder.

  I glance behind me and see Agnes Calder stalking into the great hall.

  Her hair is pulled so tight back this morning that her pale skin looks like it’s going to snap. Her eyes are stormy and glaring, and her arms are crossed as she walks.

  ‘Seraphina,’ she says, as she draws close. ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘Good morning Mrs Calder. Lovely to see you too.’

  Mrs Calder’s eyes narrow. ‘Not all of us have time for pleasantries. Some of us have work to do.’

  ‘I have work to do.’

  Mrs Calder glances at Bertie. ‘Babysitting a five year old is hardly hard work.’

  ‘Maybe not to you,’ I say lightly. ‘But to me it’s a very important job.’

  ‘Well. Anyway.’ Mrs Calder’s arms tighten across her chest. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’ She attempts to smile, and lines appear all over her cheeks.

  ‘O-kay,’ I say cautiously, wondering what’s coming next. It’s very strange to see Mrs Calder smile.

  ‘You’ve done well with Bertie, but …’ She attempts to smile again. ‘You can’t truly be happy here. I mean, you’re a London girl. This place must be terribly boring for you.’

  She gestures to my clothes – I’m wearing frayed denim shorts with tights today, and a red sweater with crosses on it that I sewed myself.

  ‘Surely you don’t want to be out here in the sticks for much longer. I mean, what is there here for a girl like you? Very little. Don’t you want to return to your family?’

  I bite my lip, thinking of Wila. I miss her so much. But … she’s growing up. She’s doing it all by herself now. She doesn’t need me like she did. A part of me is sorry about that, but Bertie really and truly does need me. I don’t want to leave him now.

  ‘I want to stay here with Bertie,’ I say, putting an arm around his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t think that will be in Bertie’s best interests,’ says Mrs Calder, quickly.

  ‘Well I do.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Dirk. He thinks it’s time the lad was moved on again.’

  ‘Moved on where,’ I say, my words hard and cold.

  ‘Back to granddad’s house. To stay with Dirk again. Now it’s simply a question of persuading Bertie’s mother …’

  I feel my chest begin to burn. ‘You want to send him away anyway? Just as he’s making progress? He doesn’t like his granddad. It’s obvious—’

  ‘Whether the boy stays at the castle or not isn’t for you to decide.’

  ‘And it’s not for Dirk Mansfield to decide either,’ I snap, getting to my feet and putting my hands on my hips. ‘It’s up to Bertie’s mother.’

  ‘Anise will see sense. Right now she seems to have some peculiar idea that as long as you’re here the boy should stay at the castle. But she’ll change her mind once you’ve gone.’

  ‘I told you. I’m not going anywhere,’ I interrupt.

  ‘But wouldn’t you be happier somewhere else?’ says Mrs Calder. ‘I’m willing to write you an excellent reference, and give you a very generous bonus if you agree to leave. Enough to tide you over for at least the rest of the year.’

  I stare at her, open mouthed.

  ‘You want to give me a year’s pay?’

  ‘That’s correct. If you agree to leave tomorrow.’

  Oh my god. That’s enough to pay for all Wila’s school fees until she finishes her course. No more money worries. No more scrimping and saving.

  I think of London. The hustle and bustle. The pubs and the markets, and my old friends. My old life.

  ‘No,’ I say, feeling a lump in my throat. ‘I won’t leave Bertie. Not for any price.’

  And then there’s Patrick …

  Behind me, Bertie turns around on the bench, and slides his little hand into mine. He smiles up at me, and I smile down at him.

  Mrs Calder’s lips thin. ‘Is Patrick Mansfield affecting this decision at all?’

  My mouth drops open again, but I quickly snap it closed. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Because whatever hold you have over him, don’t expect it to last.’

  ‘I … this isn’t about Patrick. It’s about Bertie.’

  ‘Very well,’ says Mrs Calder, her voice like acid. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it, so be it. I’ve offered the carrot, Miss Harper. Now let’s see how you like the stick.’ With that, she stalks away.

  ‘Well,’ I say, putting my arm around Bertie. ‘Looks like I’ve upset Mrs Calder once again. But there aren’t many days when I don’t.’ I sigh. ‘Bertie, I’m not going anywhere. I promise. And I’ll make sure your mum doesn’t listen to your granddad. I’ll keep you at this castle if it’s the last thing I do.’

  75

  When Bertie is all wrapped up for outside, we head into the woods, crunching over icy pathways.

  Bertie has a real glow in his cheeks today – I guess from all that breakfast. It’s good to see.

  We spend a wonderful morning sword fighting with sticks, birdwatching and trying to guess which animals are scurrying around by the noises they make.

  We don’t cross the stream, of course. I make sure I keep Bertie well away from the dangerous part of the woods. But there are still plenty of paths to walk down, and we have a good explore.

  ‘These woods are just huge,’ I tell Bertie, as it gets near lunchtime. ‘I could spend a lifetime out here, and still not know all the twists and turns.’

  ‘You want to spend a lifetime out here, Seraphina Harper?’ says a deep, booming voice, and my heart catches in my throat.

  I turn to see Patrick, a green army sweater hanging over that amazing, hard chest of his and a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  My skin tingles at his closeness, and the sight of his handsome face, with its rugged stubble and scars, makes my heart beat faster.

  It’s good to see him. Images of last night flash before my eyes and make me giddy.

  Patrick kneels down to look into Bertie’s wide eyes. ‘How are you, little man? I heard you ate breakfast today.’

  ‘How did you know that?’ I ask.

  ‘Mrs Calder told me.’ Patrick smiles. ‘Grudgingly.’ He turns back to Bertie. ‘You want Seraphina to stay as much as I do. Am I right?’

  Bertie grins and nods.

  I blush. ‘I’m just happy that Bertie ate something. He’s looking so much better for it. Much healthier.’

  ‘Yes,’ Patrick agrees, standing.

  Our eyes meet.

  ‘Mrs Calder told me she made you an offer today,’ says Patrick, a half smile on his face. ‘But you didn’t take it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She thought you were very foolish,’ says Patrick.

  ‘I know. But there’s no way I’d leave Bertie.’

  ‘Is there anyone else you’re staying for?’ Patrick asks, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Maybe.’ I blush.


  ‘You’re not going back to London then?’

  ‘I miss it there, but … I belong here right now.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Patrick snaps the rifle back over his shoulder. ‘See you tonight, Seraphina. That’s an order.’

  He strides off between the trees, and I feel the red blush sweep right down to my neck and chest.

  Oh, that man. A few well-chosen words from him, and my knees go all shaky. And I’m seeing him tonight. I guess.

  Oh who am I kidding?

  Of course I’m seeing him tonight.

  When Patrick leaves, Bertie stoops down onto the forest floor and starts breaking up twigs and placing them into a pile.

  ‘Bertie?’ I say, kneeling down beside him. ‘Are you all right?’

  Bertie doesn’t pay any attention to me. He’s too focused on finding twigs. After he’s made a little pile of them, he begins to arrange them into shapes.

  ‘Bertie?’ I ask, as he makes the same stick figures he drew in the snow before – two women with pointy skirts, and one little stick boy. But he adds another one this time – a tall man with what looks like a walking stick in his hand. Then he points at the castle in the distance.

  ‘Who’s that, Bertie?’ I ask, gesturing to the tall man.

  Bertie points to the figure again, his finger resting on the thing that looks like a walking stick.

  ‘Is it … is that your granddad?’

  Bertie nods again.

  ‘What do these pictures mean?’ Then I have a thought. ‘Are they anything to do with the words you underlined in your books?’

  Bertie nods, and my heart goes cold.

  ‘Oh Bertie. I need to figure out what you want to tell me. It’s important, isn’t it?’

  He nods again.

  ‘Come on.’ I take his hand. ‘We’re going back to your room, and I’m going to have another look at those words you underlined.’

  76

  I’m still thinking about the shapes Bertie made as we head back into the castle. So much so that I don’t notice Mrs Calder hovering in the castle entrance like a great black spider.

  ‘And where have you been?’ Mrs Calder demands, hands on hips.

  ‘Just out around the lawns,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light.

  ‘I told you that Bertie wasn’t to go outside,’ she barks.

  ‘Oh. Did you? I didn’t realize you meant he couldn’t even walk on the lawns,’ I say innocently. ‘Never mind. We’re back now.’

  I go to move past her, but she blocks my path.

  Get out of my way! I need to get to Bertie’s room.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say, as politely as I can manage.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘I have some news.’

  ‘What kind of news?’ I feel myself stand taller and my hand tighten in Bertie’s.

  ‘Dirk has talked to Anise. She agrees that the lad needs to be sent away sooner rather than later. Bertie will leave tomorrow. For his grandfather’s house.’

  I feel Bertie’s hand tighten in mine.

  ‘He can’t,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘You can’t do this.’

  ‘It’s been decided. There’s nothing you can do about it.’

  I think about the stick figures on the forest floor, and bite my lip.

  Maybe there is. There are plenty of secrets in this castle, I think. And if I figure them out fast enough then maybe, just maybe, I can find a way for Bertie to stay …

  ‘Maybe we can talk about this later,’ I say, pulling Bertie around her and towards the staircase. ‘He … we’re going to his bedroom now. While we were outside I sort of got the feeling he wanted to play on his computer.’

  Mrs Calder’s forehead creases up. ‘Did you indeed?’

  I feel her eyes on us as we reach the staircase, dragging Bertie by the hand. ‘Come on Bertie,’ I say, a little too loudly. ‘Let’s go play Xbox.’

  When we reach Bertie’s room, I rush over to the books on his bedside table.

  I’m still holding his hand tight, and when we get to the bed, I sit down and put him on my lap.

  I begin turning pages, my stomach dropping at the familiar words.

  Poison

  Torture

  Mother …

  My eye catches on that last word.

  It’s different from the rest, I realize. Poison and mother are worlds apart.

  Then I notice two more words that I never noticed before:

  Home

  Secret

  ‘Where did you get these books, Bertie?’ I say, as I turn pages.

  Bertie leaps down from my lap, pulling at my hand.

  ‘You want me to come with you?’ I ask.

  Bertie nods, and drags me out of the room and down the corridor.

  He tugs me around corners and down stairs, until finally we’re in the drawing room where Bertie and I met Patrick’s mother, Daphne.

  I look around the room, wondering why Bertie has brought me here.

  Bertie runs over to the huge oil painting hung over the fire – the picture of Dirk Mansfield.

  He points at it.

  77

  ‘You got the books from your grandfather?’ I ask.

  Bertie nods.

  ‘I … did he give them to you?’

  Bertie shakes his head.

  ‘Did you find them when you were staying with him?’

  Bertie nods.

  ‘Did you underline those words when you were staying with your grandfather?’

  Bertie nods again.

  My heart beats in my ears like a ticking clock. I think of the stick figures Bertie laid out earlier. The women with sticky out skirts …

  ‘Is this something to do with your mother?’

  Bertie frowns, and does a sort of shrug. He picks up a box of matches from a cut crystal bowl on the mantelpiece and shakes the matches onto the floor. Then he starts building more stick people.

  Bertie lays out a girl stick figure with a pointy skirt, and then another, larger girl stick figure above her. Next to the larger girl figure, he puts together the old man figure – the one with the walking stick.

  He looks at me, then points to larger, girl figure.

  I frown. ‘A younger girl. And an older one. And your granddad.’

  Bertie nods, pointing to the smaller girl stick figure. Then he points at another picture on the wall – a picture of Anise, looking young, pale and frightened.

  ‘The little stick girl is your mother?’ I ask.

  Bertie nods very hard then.

  ‘So … who’s the big stick woman then?’

  Bertie stares at me with mournful eyes. But he doesn’t point to any of the paintings.

  ‘I guess … if she’s bigger than Anise … is she Anise’s mother or something?’

  Bertie nods very hard then, and I think back to the words underlined in the books.

  ‘You underlined some pretty scary words in that book Bertie,’ I say. ‘Did something happen to you? While you were staying with granddad?’

  Bertie nods again.

  ‘We need to find Patrick,’ I say, taking Bertie’s hand. ‘Right now.’ I look out the window, seeing the woodlands spread for miles around.

  Oh shit.

  ‘Patrick’s in the woods. Scaring off poachers. I can’t bring you out there, if shots are being fired. We’ll just have to wait until he comes back. We should have lunch. We should …’

  I get a chilly feeling suddenly, and turn.

  Standing in the doorway is Agnes Calder.

  78

  ‘I thought you were playing computer games,’ says Mrs Calder, folding her arms.

  ‘I was … we were. But I couldn’t find the one we wanted,’ I stammer, kicking away matches with my foot.

  Did she hear what we were talking about? Did she see Bertie point at the painting?

  God, I hope not.

  ‘I should have mentioned earlier,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘Bertie has tuition this afternoon. With my daughter.
Right after lunch. So your services won’t be needed until supper time.’

  I swallow. I really don’t like the idea of letting Bertie out of my sight right now. ‘I don’t think Bertie’s feeling all that well,’ I say.

  I turn to him, my eyes telling him to please, please play along.

  ‘He’s a little sick,’ I say. ‘I guess now he’s started eating, his body isn’t quite used to it.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘The boy looks fine.’

  ‘No, he’s very, very sick,’ I say.

  Bertie nods solemnly up and down.

  ‘A little home schooling won’t hurt him, even if he is sick,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘It will help get him prepared for tomorrow. Take him down to lunch, and then Margaret will collect him.’

  ‘Right,’ I say reluctantly, thinking that I’ll do nothing of the sort. Bertie is staying with me this afternoon. We’re going somewhere Mrs Calder can’t find him. Until I figure out what he’s trying to tell me. ‘Come on then Bertie.’

  ‘I’ll accompany you,’ says Mrs Calder.

  Oh shit.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, trying to smile. I don’t want her getting suspicious. ‘Come on then, Bertie.’ I try to sound cheerful as I take his hand. ‘Let’s go to lunch.’

  As Mrs Calder walks us to the great hall, I’m thinking, thinking, thinking. I can’t let Bertie out of my sight. He can’t have that tuition with Margaret. I need to find Patrick. He’ll help us. But how can I find him without Mrs Calder getting suspicious?

  When we reach the great hall, I can’t sit still. I pace around between our table and the serving hatch, chewing my fingernails, my eyes glued to Bertie.

  He got those horror books at his granddad’s house. Which means … what does it mean?

  I’m pretty sure I know. It means that something happened at granddad’s house. Something bad.

  Mrs Calder stands at the door, watching us.

  I hear a pan lid bang as I reach the serving hatch again, and nearly jump out of my skin. Then I see Vicky pass the hatch.

  ‘Oh! Vicky.’ I twiddle my hair like a maniac. ‘It’s only you.’

  ‘Who did you expect it to be hen?’