Bizarre but not impossible. Transmission did not mean the actual physical movement of all the molecules and atoms and electrons which constitute matter. It was the transmission of information only, which was used to reorganise ever so slightly the universe at the point of arrival. As anyone who has ever used a computer knows, there are few simpler tasks than copying data. On transmission, the body is converted into information which the machine stores — a very great deal of it, admittedly, but in principle a simple task. This is then projected outwards into the new destination. A copy is kept, however, for the return, as it is simpler and quicker to modify a given set of information than it is to reproduce it entirely. The machine was set up to reject any body of matter which did not have that copy in store, to prevent people from Anterwold coming through to Henry’s cellar. I’d instructed it to ignore clothes and other insubstantial material, otherwise a bit of fluff might have caused problems, but not anything else. What I suspected was that Rosie, on her return, had confused the machinery because of those rings. It rejected her, and kept her in Anterwold, because it did not recognise her. At the same time, it let her through, because it did.
The result had been a duplication. If I was right, there were now two Rosies, and in that case I had one massive headache. I was concerned and, much to my surprise, the main focus of my concern was for Rosie herself. I should have paid more attention to that. I felt protective. I had enjoyed her company, her questions, her cheek and her criticisms. I was far fonder of her than I should have been, considering that I had only known her for a couple of hours and she had already given me grief.
32
Discovering what must have happened to Rosalind after she disappeared was not that difficult; the path led through the decorative woods, tended and trimmed, which formed the outer part of the Willdon gardens. It twisted and turned so that occasionally the walker was presented with a handsome vista, back towards the house or outwards to the hills beyond. It was very pleasing and carefully thought out; indeed, it was part of a much grander plan which encircled the house entirely, each punctuation point of column, fountain or grotto arranged in a symbolic pattern lauding the resilience of the domain and its necessity to the unfolding of the Story.
Not that Jay had any time or patience for such things, even had he noticed them. As far as he was concerned it was a path, no more nor less, which led past a small tumbledown cottage, on the steps of which was an old man sitting slumped over with his head in his hands.
‘Ho there!’ Jay called. ‘Good morning, sir.’
The man slowly lifted his head and looked at Jay with such a pained expression that Jay wondered whether he was a madman. It was customary for great owners to give room to such people; villages did so as well with hermits like Jaqui. The foolish and the weak-headed deserved charity, and it was a goodness to give them care.
‘It is not a good morning to me,’ he said. ‘I have never known a worse.’
‘You are injured! What has happened to you?’
It was true. The old man — not that old, perhaps, but he had such an air of weariness that it was easy to think him ancient — was naturally cadaverous; his hands bony, his hair lank and greasy. His face had the yellow pallor of ill-health and poor eating, and that, more than anything, set off and highlighted the large purple-black bruise on his left cheek, so prominent and striking that it dominated his face entirely.
‘You need assistance,’ Jay said. ‘Tell me where there is some water and a cloth.’
He didn’t reply, but Jay was not to be deflected. He found a cloth and drew some cold fresh water from the well, then settled down to apply it to the man’s cheek. He winced and gritted his teeth at the pressure, but did not complain.
‘I know you!’ Jay said as he worked. ‘I saw you last night in a boat on the lake. Your name is Rambert, no?’
‘That’s right. I was there, listening to that hell-cat of mine murder music in the way only she can manage.’
‘Do you mean Aliena? She was wonderful, I thought.’
‘No doubt. You have the look of stupidity about you.’
‘What was wrong with it?’ Jay asked, determined not to take offence. In truth, Rambert was no worse than some of the teachers he’d had in the past few years.
‘Oh, it was lovely,’ said Rambert bitterly. ‘They adored her, didn’t they? Such soaring tones, such a beautiful voice. So tender and moving. I imagine a few of the weak-minded were almost in tears.’
‘Well... yes.’
‘She can never resist playing to an audience. As if that mattered. She destroys, ignores tradition. She mangles the beauties of the forms, which reflect the heavens and cannot be changed. She is so full of herself she thinks rules are for other people. She, the great Aliena, can do as she pleases. So she makes her cheap effects, and weak, ill-educated people like you applaud and encourage her, and the great fabric of music is shredded. Every time she opens her mouth it becomes a smaller thing, more like peasant entertainment. But all she wants is the applause and the adoration. She doesn’t care what damage she causes to get it.’
He looked at Jay, one eye closed from the pain of his bruise. ‘You’re a student. How do you feel about people changing a story just because the listeners might like it better? Eh? That’s what she does.’
He was so despairing that Jay could not think of anything cheering to say.
‘How did you get that bruise?’
‘I fell.’
‘I don’t think so. Who attacked you?’
‘That I couldn’t say,’ he replied. He seemed hesitant, shifty even. ‘It was dark, and I was very tired.’
‘It must have been a hefty blow,’ Jay observed. ‘Has anything been stolen?’
‘How would I know? I doubt it. I don’t have anything.’
Jay got up from the step and walked into the little cottage, which was dirty and untidy. All around were piles of music and musical instruments — very valuable for those who could play them — but he could see no signs that anything had been taken. The cottage’s main room had a table and some chairs and a large fireplace for heat and cooking. A small cupboard contained such pots and pans as Rambert possessed. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, although it was so disorganised it was difficult to tell.
A small door led through to a chamber which had on the floor Rambert’s cotton-stuffed mattress. At the foot was another, smaller one which presumably was used by Aliena. Jay felt his skin prickle.
Thrown across the bed was a dress of incomparable beauty and richness, golden blue and glistening in the shards of light cutting through the gaps in the shuttered window. There could be no doubt. It was the dress that Rosalind had worn the night before.
The discovery gave the pursuit a sense of urgency, as the circumstances that Jay related suggested she could be in considerable danger. The young man — still afraid of punishment but knowing that he had at least been of some use now — had run to the house carrying the evidence and found Henary and Lady Catherine deep in conversation. He held the dress out before him.
‘Where did you get that?’ Lady Catherine asked.
‘In a cottage in the woods. Rambert lives there. He was attacked there last night. There’s no sign of Rosalind, though. Someone saw her walking into the woods after the man she had partnered.’