through the whorled glass, Sylvie felt Magus close by. She sensed the gleam of his silver hair and the flash of his black eyes just beyond the corner of her vision. She could almost – but not quite – hear his deep voice whispering her name, feel the brush of his fingers on her bare skin. It never happened when she was busy or surrounded by other people; it was always when she was alone. She’d mentioned it to others of course, but she knew from their reactions that they thought her ridiculous, or maybe even displaying something more alarming – a return to her illness. So Sylvie had learnt to keep quiet about her fears, hoping that as the years passed Magus’ spectre would fade until eventually, one day, she’d be free of his presence altogether.
She rose and switched on a table lamp. The room sprang into existence, still luxurious but very different to Magus’ rooms. This was her home and not a shrine. She shouldn’t sit in the darkness like that. It was silly to give memories the chance to smother her, silly to let ghosts from the past find the opportunity to visit. She must be firm with herself and keep her wandering thoughts under control.
Sylvie went through the connecting door into the playroom, formerly Magus’ dressing room, then into the bathroom. This was now decorated with pearly fittings and pale wood rather than dark marble and onyx. She moved on into the bedroom, an airy room with diaphanous drapes and soft turquoise walls, and a far cry from Magus’ lair of scarlet damask and dark mahogany. The next room was a smaller bathroom and then there was the children’s bedroom, tucked away in a room originally put aside for Sylvie and her clothes. Here, Cherry had hidden food for her under the bed and Magus had laced her tightly into a Tudor gown. The room was now bright and colourful, full of the pretty paraphernalia of young girls.
She stepped softly across the floor to stand between the beds and gaze down at her two daughters, Celandine and Bluebell. Two white-blond curly heads lay in tousled sleep, little bodies curled up against the October chill. If her girls were moongazy they didn’t show it for both slept soundly, Bluebell with her thumb in her mouth. Sylvie felt the familiar heart-wrench of love as she watched them in the bright moonlight. They liked to sleep with the curtains open to the moon and the stars, and made up stories about a family of owls who had unlikely adventures, and a tribe of woodland elves who lived in a giant toadstool.
They were beautiful little girls and Sylvie knew Yul loved his daughters dearly, but she found it difficult not to feel a sense of failure in denying him the little boy he’d longed for. It wasn’t so bad when Celandine was born, but with Bluebell’s birth his hopes had been smashed. If Stonewylde were to survive the population explosion that Magus had encouraged, urging people to have enormous families, then there had to be a limit to reproduction now. The quota for every couple was a maximum of two children and neither of theirs was a son. Yul always went to great lengths to show how little it mattered, but Sylvie knew better.
She returned to the sitting-room and contemplated lighting the fire as it had turned very chilly this evening. It seemed a waste of good logs to heat this vast room just for her, so instead she found her woollen shawl and curled up on the sofa, picking up her book. There was a tap on the door and Miranda peered in.
‘All alone? Can I come in for a minute?’
Sylvie was glad of the company and welcomed her mother. Miranda, now in her forties, was an attractive woman. Apart from a few silver threads, her hair still gleamed like newly-shelled conkers and her face showed serenity and purpose. She sat in an armchair and surveyed her daughter, bundled up in the thick shawl.
‘It’s freezing in here! Why don’t you light the fire? Where’s Yul?’
‘In his office I suppose. You know how hard he works.’
‘Yes, but it’s late – he should be with you. I’ll go as soon he comes up I promise.’
Sylvie nodded; she couldn’t tell her mother that some nights he didn’t come to bed at all.
‘Are you alright, darling? You look tired.’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Bluebell’s been a bit disturbed lately at nighttime – she wakes up