The Wilding by Maria McCann

your uncle’s wits were wandering; he was bedevilled by fears and bugaboos. When a husband grows impotent in his mind, a wife must assume his authority.’
    ‘But my father was glad to have that message,’ I said. ‘I can’t think it did any harm.’
    ‘I would’ve written to Mathew myself, but the end came on faster than expected,’ she replied. She looked around to make sure that Tamar was not present, then, lowering her voice, continued: ‘Robin’s fingers were so stiff he could scarcely move them. And yet he managed to write, or get someone to write it for him, and have it carried out of this house in defiance of me. It’s that girl, I’m sure. She had a hold over him.’ It had never occurred to me that Uncle Robin had not wen the letter himself. My father had found nothing unusual in the writing – or had he? I could think of no suitable reply.

    ‘The boy who brought it – would you know him again?’
    ‘I don’t know, Aunt.’
    ‘We shall see.’ She picked up a bell from the table and rang it. Tamar appeared at the door.
    ‘Fetch Paulie’s son,’ Aunt Harriet barked at her.
    Tamar vanished. After a few minutes, during which neither of us ate anything, she was back at the door with a young boy who gaped to see the supper table and all the good things on it.
    ‘Come here, Billy,’ my aunt said, beckoning. ‘Tamar, you may go to the kitchen.’ She waited for Tamar to get far enough off. ‘Now, Jonathan. Is this the boy you saw at Spadboro?’
    ‘I don’t know, Aunt. May I hear him speak?’
    ‘Say something, child.’
    ‘Mistress …’ the boy began, only to trail off.
    My aunt tutted. ‘Say the Lord’s Prayer. I suppose you know the Lord’s Prayer?’
    Awkwardly, as if he had only just learnt it, the boy stammered through the sacred words until at last he came to ‘the power and the glory’ and faltered again into silence.
    ‘Well, Jonathan?’ said my aunt.
    ‘I don’t know.’
    She gave me a look so sharp that her eyes could have sliced through my bones; but supposing they had done so, she would have found no deceit lurking in my marrow. Even after hearing the boy speak, I did not know if he was the one I had seen at Spadboro. I really could not tell.
    * * *

    A fine big apple log stood at the door of the cider shed.
    ‘There,’ I said. ‘If my aunt objects, tell her this is the one Geoffrey cut yesterday. I’ve only given you what would have come to me.’

    ‘Then I thank you, Sir, from the bottom of my heart.’
    ‘I’ve plenty more,’ I said. ‘I can spare you this.’
    ‘We won’t forget your kindness.’ She blushed as she spoke; I thought it made her almost pretty.
    ‘How will you get it to your – old woman?’ I asked. She had no cart or barrow to carry the log away; I wondered what my aunt would say if I lent my own cart to a servant girl.
    Tamar laughed, the first time I had seen her do so. at’s no trouble at all, Master Jonathan! I’ll take it with me next time I go to her.’
    ‘But it’s heavy.’
    ‘No, no!’ and she bent and lifted it with ease. ‘I’ve carried more than this many a time.’
    We left it propped up outside the shed so that she could fetch it whenever she chose.
    ‘I’ll come with you one day,’ I said, ‘and cut you some wood. We can borrow an axe and saw from Geoffrey.’
    ‘He won’t lend them, Sir.’
    ‘He will to me.’
    Tamar hugged herself with pleasure and I decided to take my chance.
    ‘Tamar?’
    ‘Sir?’
    I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘Did Mr Robin ever ask you to take a letter for him? Or send a letter to anyone?’
    Her face, that had been bright and exultant, now grew wary.
    ‘I’ll not get you into trouble, Tamar. No matter what you say to me, my aunt won’t hear of it, I swear.’
    After a little hesitation she said, ‘He did, Sir.’
    ‘Do you know who it was for?’
    ‘No. He asked me to give it to a man in the village, and the man was to pass it on again.’
    ‘You were a good servant