Shadows at Stonewylde - By Kit Berry Page 0,24

your brothers. Sweyn’s a fine young man and I’m proud o’ him. That sounds like him now.’

The front door crashed open and Sweyn barged in. It was as if Alwyn had been reincarnated for his youngest son was the image of him, right down to the gingery bristles on his sausage fingers and the brutish under-bite of his pugnacious lower jaw. He even wore an enormous brown leather coat as his father had done, and he looked older than sixteen. The stink of the tannery came with him into the cottage.

‘Sweyn! Just in time!’

Maizie went over to peck his ruddy cheek and he hugged her gruffly.

‘Alright, Mother?’

‘I am now. I’ve left you cake and some nice cheese in the pantry, and there’s cider too if you fancy it. Take what you want, son.’

‘I will, Mother – you know how I miss my home comforts. Gefrin said he might come by too.’

‘Good. Thank you, Sweyn – I’m grateful for this. She shouldn’t need looking after at her age but there you are – she’s let me down once again.’

‘Has she upset you tonight? You’re looking like a rosy apple.’

Maizie bobbed her head, curls shaking, and patted his arm as he hung up his coat.

‘I should be used to it by now. But never mind that – I don’t want to think about it. She’s been told to weave tonight so you make sure she does. No sloping off to her room in a sulk – she’s got work to do.

Sweyn smiled and nodded.

‘Don’t you worry, Mother, I’ll sort her out.’

As soon as Maizie had gone, Leveret sat on the stool before the loom and started to organise the shuttles. She kept her head down so her hair hung over her face, hoping Sweyn would be distracted by the thought of food and drink in the pantry. He was as greedy as their father had been – not that Leveret remembered him, for she’d only been a year old when he’d collapsed in his chair. But she’d heard about him from Rosie, Geoffrey and Gregory, who remembered Alwyn with fear and loathing. Yet even now Maizie rarely spoke out against him. He was their father, after all. Yul never, ever mentioned him.

Sweyn had sat down comfortably in the great armchair by the fire; the late October nights were getting chilly. He relaxed into the old, soft leather and surveyed his younger sister. Far from resenting his mother’s request, he was delighted. He’d moved up to the Hall last year along with the others in their final year at school, and had been missing his favourite pastime – tormenting Leveret. Over the years he and his older brother Gefrin had developed it into a fine art. Although neither of them was very bright, they were inventive in their torture and clever at avoiding detection.

Leveret had never known anything but their constant bullying, and if something were ever noticed, it was always put down to the rough and tumble of growing up in a large family. A small girl with older brothers, so Maizie had always said airily, should expect some teasing and Leveret was the youngest of seven. Since they’d left home she’d generally been able to avoid them and was no longer bruised by their casual violence or intimidated by their constant tormenting. But by asking them to keep an eye on her, Maizie had given them the perfect opportunity to resume their cruelty.

‘Go and get me the food she’s left,’ commanded Sweyn, watching Leveret fiddling with the loom. She decided not to protest and went into the pantry to fetch the cake and cheese. She was sure he’d already have eaten a good meal in the great Dining Hall tonight, but Sweyn could always find room for more. He took the plate from her without a word and began to eat. The moment she sat down he spoke again, through a mouthful of food.

‘Get me some cider too.’

She stood up once more and poured him a tankard of cider from the small barrel in the pantry. She hoped he wouldn’t drink too much because he never held his drink well. But he downed it in one long, noisy draught and demanded another. It was when she sat down again and was commanded once more to get up and stoke the fire that Leveret realised he didn’t plan to let her do any weaving at all.

The door opened and Gefrin stood at the threshold grinning. At seventeen he was a year older

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