Raven and Rue // Lindensea 1

Chapter 5: Among the Yew Trees

Pip Lenoir had gone from thinking he must be the happiest boy in the world to thinking he must be the saddest boy in all the kingdom. Although it was now clear they weren't going to starve, they had entered the cold months, and while poverty may be worn lightly in the summer, and autumn only shines it brighter, it is nothing but a burden in winter. Pip and Mrs Bennett were forced to spend nearly all their time in the warmth of a kitchen that never felt quite warm enough, jealously feeding and guarding their little fire, and occasionally getting on each other's nerves.

Pip's father had given him a fur coat for Yuletide. It didn't look new, and Pip guessed it was one that his father had worn when he was a boy, but he was grateful for its warmth. He felt guilty seeing Mrs Bennett with nothing but an old jumper and cardigan worn over her long tartan skirt, so he took one of the woollen blankets off his bed, and made it into a heavy winter coat for her.

"Ah, thank you laddie, you have the good heart in you," Mrs Bennett said. "This will be grand for going out to find firewood, or into the garden, now." She placed a dry kiss on his cheek that felt like being brushed with an autumn leaf.

Pip had gone looking for a spare blanket, for they had carved wooden chests filled with linen and rugs, packed with lavender, rosemary, and cloves to keep out the moths. He couldn't find anything, and it seemed to him that all through the winter, things kept disappearing from the house.

It was always the pretty things, the valuable things that went missing, never anything ugly and useful, and Pip was forced to see that his father was selling off all the linen, blankets, vases, clocks, mirrors, carpets, rugs, ornaments, tapestries, and paintings in the house, bit by bit. What happened to the money, he did not know, but he feared his father took it to the inns, taverns, and gaming houses in the district. He hoped nothing worse than that.

Then one grey day in early spring, Pip's father sold Finn. He didn't tell Pip anything about it, a man just arrived ready to take Finn with him. Pip had been cleaning out the stables, and when he realised what was happening, he let out a long, despairing shriek.

"Please Papa, please .... no, you can't do this ... please, not Finn!" he babbled, incoherent with shock, and tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

He lay on the ground, holding onto his father's ankles in supplication as he begged to be allowed to keep his pony.

"You spoilt little bastard," Pip's father said in disgust. "You didn't cry like this when your mother died."

He whipped at Pip's hands to make him take them off his ankles, and finally lost his temper, and slashed the whip over Pip's face until he had two lines of blood over his cheekbones.

"I hate you, and I wish you were dead!" Pip shouted at his father, still sobbing. At this time, no child had ever before said these words to a parent, so it was devastating in its originality.

Pip's father looked down at his son, and said coolly, "Well, it will happen one day. And when it does, all this shall be yours, son." He gestured ironically at the empty stables, the miserable cold house, and the dead garden.

"I can see it's time for me to take your education in hand, if this is what comes of a boy being brought up by women," he continued. "First your mother petted you as if you were a babe still at her teat, now the old crone is making you cook and sew like a maiden. From now on, you'll be spending your days and nights with me, and I'll teach you how to grow up to be a gentleman."

Pip gave one horrified sob, and ran to the place where his mother was buried in a grove of yew trees. He lay on her grave, crying his heart out, more miserable than he had ever thought possible. The loss of Finn was a severe one, for the pony had been his best friend, and the only one he had been able to talk to about his problems. Mrs Bennett was kind and sensible, but she wasn't very good at talking about feelings, or poetry, or hopes and dreams.