Page 51 of Burying Venus

Even in the dark of the night, the path before them brought unpleasantness. Foremost in his mind was his leaving for employment at the castle, which had been secured by his father and resulted in considerable gossip. His childhood brought about nothing but shame, his schooling having been worse than Béchard’s shenanigans. His peers had no ambition to speak of, owing to their poorness of living, and entertained themselves through man’s ancient pastime, the torture of the weakest. Due to his father’s foreignness and his own unique circumstance, he had been the delight of his fellows.

‘Dermot?’ Aubrey said, voice so sweet and altogether innocent that any man would’ve mistaken him for a girl.

‘Yes,’ Dermot said, cursing his memories. Now this merchant, trader in all things, knew his name. ‘This is the place. Thank you.’

‘My pleasure,’ the cart master said. ‘Out now, the both of you. I’ve a boat in the morning.’

Lethargic and uncomfortable, Dermot stumbled down. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, uncaring for how they’d look in the light. His mother would know him well enough.

Seeing Aubrey hesitate, Dermot grasped his hips again, using the last of his strength to pull him from the cart. The merchant, thinking them husband and wife, could say nothing in protest.How pleasant it must’ve been to exist without fear of provoking violence, simply to kiss Aubrey’s cheek and not suffer a hanging.

‘Dermot?’ Aubrey murmured. The wind was so strong that it teased his veil, revealing the beauty underneath. They stood together in the dark, the cart master having departed what must’ve been a few minutes ago.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dermot said, conscious that Aubrey endured more than he. For all his efforts to free them, they stood outside what rightly should’ve been called the underworld, brimming with souls wandering to-and-fro without destination. Their education left them ill-equipped to question the intense labour that made up their days.

‘Don’t apologise,’ Aubrey said. ‘It’s not as though I wanted to stay.’

He could not safely discern Aubrey’s expression, but his words were enough. The company of the jailer, his own brother, must’ve been a worse torment than this.

‘I will take you to my home,’ Dermot said. Never had he imagined such words gracing his lips, a pretty young man being in his company. But no great lust spurred him. Robert’s pursuit was as inevitable as daybreak, and the rest of the castle would follow as swiftly as the dirt beneath his heel.

Dermot strained to move his body. Tall and cumbersome as he was, he did not have the strength to enter. Aubrey was all that urged him forward; the aristocrat stolen from his own bed. Perhaps he would’ve faced the elements alone and borne the consequences, but he would not have Aubrey catching chill.

The road itself was muddy. Dermot’s insides twisted, each miserable fleshy piece of him coiling together as he discerned footprints. He simply wanted to see his mother and flee, but with that came the inevitably of discovery. The phantoms of his childhood lurked here still, the boys who tormented him so.Never would he forget their sharp eyes, nor the smirks upon their lips.

Drawing closer, daring not look at the direction he’d taken with the hunting party, Dermot startled at what must’ve been the beating of rainwater upon a leaf. His shoes squelched in a blend of water, mud, and filth as he hurried forward. Even the trees he imagined recognising him, having been separated for so long.

‘Which is your mother’s?’ Aubrey said.

He needed no direction. Their dwellings, if they could be given so lofty a title, were strewn about without much forethought. Made for friends and neighbours, homes were sturdy enough to weather most storms, though their rooves were made of straw and the walls of simple stone. With what little resources they had, the results were better than homes in town intended to accommodate workers. His mother’s house was of a sturdier make due to his father’s concern for them in winter. Even the boys who teased him had been too cowed to throw muck at it, owing to the fable of Dermot’s father, a mainlander who might one day return to collect his son. This, of course, had not transpired.

‘Here,’ Dermot said. He yearned to wrap his arms around Aubrey as though they were truly espoused, that his mother might readily accept he had won a diamond while the rest of the men contented themselves with lesser prizes. There was no telling what she might say to them now, especially after the performance in the courtroom.

He didn’t dare knock on the door, instead going to the window. This was situated in the room reserved for his mother, having been commissioned by his father. They were the only family with a window of proper glass.

He tapped on it for a moment before his knuckles rapped with more force. He did not know what his mother would think, but this meeting, perhaps their last, was something he owed her.

Darting back to where Aubrey stood, he eyed the door with apprehension. He did not wish for a lecture, to be treated like a man newly come of age. When footsteps thundered closer, he instinctively leaned towards the boy, brushing their fingers together.

As the locks his father installed unbolted, only the sharp spasming of his chest could be felt. His heart twisted and unfurled in tandem with every beat, palms sweating as he made a grab for Aubrey’s hand to feel cool flesh against his own.

‘Dermot!’ Breesha said, shouting before sense calmed her. ‘What on earth are you doing? Get inside, and who’s this?’

Daring say nothing until they were safely indoors, Dermot squoze Aubrey’s hand and led him into their home. The pleasant chill was too soothing to part with.

‘Mother,’ Dermot began, the door having shut soundly behind them. Breesha had run to place a candle on the mantlepiece. This task was all that she did with care; fearful of a fire.

‘You’ve nerve saying that! Where was love for your neighbours when you sent poor Aunt Kinnish to her grave? No, don’t think I’m ignorant of that! And poor little Colyn as well. I don’t suppose you remember seeing him as a babe, that you held him in your own arms.’ Breesha’s black, coarse hair fanned about her in wisps. She was a woman of great size and strength. Much had been said about their family, his mother being of such a make and disposition, and himself having no father.

‘And what was I supposed to do?’ Dermot burst out, faltering only when he recalled Aubrey’s presence. Mrs Kinnish was of no relation to their family but, as was practised by this particular group of women, they referred to one another as either aunt or sister. ‘Ever since going to that place, I’ve been at the mercy ofmen like Lord Robert. Do you know the danger I faced every day when cooking the food, scrubbing the floors, even taking out the buckets we…’ Here he stopped, Aubrey’s hand still clasped in his own, and continued, ‘What would’ve happened had I refused? Accused of being a witch myself and carted off to the dungeons, I think!’ It was all too easy to fall back into the heated exchanges he’d had with his mother in childhood; bringing back a boy long since dead.

Breesha scoffed and threw her arms into the air. ‘They’d bloody well have me to deal with first, had something happened to you!’ Her face flushed crimson and, having said but one nicety since their time apart, went on, ‘I won’t have you complaining neither. Imagine being holed up in a castle and talking about your lot. There’s some young men here who are out in all seasons, and they have womenfolk, wives and the like, to support.’ Her great log of a neck turned to Aubrey as if trying to discern a face through the black of the veil.

‘The time will come,’ Dermot began, riled up from their chatter, ‘when you women are expected to work as well. No more cosy days inside, you’ll be out and as miserable as us.’

‘Nonsense!’ Breesha shouted. ‘A woman works harder than any, and she does it with a babe in arm! Just because you’ve no wife doesn’t mean womenkind are at fault. I dare say there’ll be no babes born at all if you have your way. Then who’ll Lord Stanley have working his land?’ She made no secret of her keen, beady eyes scrutinising Aubrey’s form. ‘And to say all this with a girl here. Now, why…’

Her investigation was swiftly axed as knuckles rapped at the door.