In the third week of Merilee’s stay, Brigida announced that preparations should begin for the Celebration of Summer. ‘It will fall on the eve of the full moon, in just seven days,’ she said when everyone was assembled at dinner in the Green Room. She looked straight at Merilee. ‘The plant we have chosen to celebrate this summer is lavender. So buon estate to you all, and buon lavoro!’ And she made the sign of the Order, directing her gaze at Merilee.
‘It’s the best night of the year,’ Isabella rushed in to Merilee’s apartment later. ‘We have this enormous banquet, and lanterns are put all around the garden. There’s music and dancing, and later, the iron gate is opened and we all wander into the hills with baskets, to gather up the summer flower. It’s so romantic!’
Merilee was lying on her bed, propped up on her elbow. ‘But why do you think she was looking at me?’ ‘Because this will be your night, little sweetmeat, so we’d better get started straightaway!’
Merilee sat up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the celebration is a time for giving thanks to Mother Earth—for nourishing all her children, the plants and flowers . . . You know, Meri, when I’m a mother, I’m going to call my babies after my favourite flowers, that’s if Alessandro agrees, of course. Imagine how lovely—Rose and Jasmine and maybe Violet—’
‘And Mugwort. Isabella, what does this have to do with me in particular?’
‘I’m just getting to that,’ Isabella sniffed. She found that Merilee often cut her off when she was right in the middle of describing something really interesting. Like yesterday, when she was talking about the new doublet Alessandro had bought for himself—scarlet, trimmed with gold lace and he looked—
‘Isabella?’
‘Hmm? Oh, yes, well, this night is particularly important for you because as an Initiate, you will have to conduct the ceremony.’ Isabella giggled at Merilee’s gasp of horror. ‘You’ll have to list all the qualities of the chosen plant, and describe how it is used. That’s the first stage of your training for—’
‘Lavender?’ Merilee was standing up now, pacing the room. ‘We haven’t even started on lavender. I don’t know the first thing about it!’
Isabella watched her pace. She smoothed a wrinkle on the bed. When Merilee came back and sat down she said, ‘You’ll be fine. We’ll start tomorrow. You’re so quick, Merilee, you remember things so well. It must run in the family.’
Merilee looked at her. ‘Beatrice? Oh, don’t say I’m like her!’
Isabella shook her head, but said nothing.
‘You mean Laura? Did you ever meet her?’
Isabella nodded. ‘Beatrice brought her here once, just for a week. She was only young then, but everyone said how it was staggering, the way she picked it all up. She even suggested a new use for marjoram, I remember—“for when you’re lonely”. I took it for a long while after she’d gone. It helped.’
The two girls sat for a while in silence.
‘So,’ Isabella finally stood up. ‘Let’s get our beauty sleep—you’ll need it much more than me, of course.’ She gave Merilee a cheeky grin, mincing across the floor. ‘And we’ll start first thing in the morning. Dream of lavender, my sweet!’
But as Merilee climbed into bed she remembered Leo’s voice at twilight, down by the lake. ‘Lavender,’ he’d said. ‘Say you’re late because you were collecting lavender.’
So she dreamt of Leo that night; Leo and the lake, the dark coming down, and the smell of lavender everywhere.
As the days passed, Merilee felt more confident about the Celebration of Summer. She was almost looking forward to it. Isabella made the evening sound so special, and the rustle of excitement amongst the women—cooking delicious things, making decorations—was contagious. Every time she walked past the kitchen some wonderful smell made her nostrils quiver, but she was never allowed in.
‘It’s a surprise,’ the women would say, barring the door with their apronned bellies.
The servants were sworn to secrecy too. ‘We don’t even have a hint of the menu,’ Consuela complained to Merilee. ‘They won’t let us help!’ Consuela didn’t seem to know whether to be outraged or delighted at having her kitchen kidnapped.
And the studies were going well. Lavender was such a wonderful plant. Soothing, healing—Merilee felt almost affectionate towards it, as if it were a good, reliable friend.
It was strange, she thought, that as her knowledge deepened, she remembered more about Laura, too; what she was like when they were younger, conversations they’d had. She remembered how Laura liked to talk about the forest, her eyes shining when she came back with wild parsley or jasmine. She’d collect the flowers and leaves of plants and press them in her book. When they were dried, she’d sketch them, showing all their parts in brilliant detail. She even listened to Beatrice without fidgeting.
‘How can you stay with Aunt Beatrice?’ she remembered asking Laura when she was only four or five.
‘I like the plants,’ Laura had replied. ‘And Aunty’s a bit nicer to me, Meri. I know it’s not fair, but when you’re older, you’ll find her easier to get along with too.’
Once, when Merilee had got into trouble about something, Laura had cuddled her and said, ‘Aunty’s just an old bumble bee—buzz buzz. But Mamma and Papà love us to the stars and back, and they’re the most important, aren’t they?’ Merilee had gone to sleep in her sister’s bed, warm and safe.
At Fiesole, in just the last few weeks, Merilee felt as if she’d found something of her sister again. But the memories sharpened her loss. ‘Add six drops of marjoram to your soup,’ she imagined Laura saying to her. ‘For when you’re lonely.’
On the Wednesday morning before the Celebration, she was going down to breakfast when Isabella met her in the hall. ‘Come with me,’ she whispered, ‘ssh!’ She tugged Merilee back into her apartment and closed the door.
‘What is it? You know how Beatrice hates us to be late.’
‘Look,’ said Isabella. She pulled off her headband and the false hair fell down her back.
‘I’ve seen it before, Isabella,’ sighed Merilee. ‘It’s growing back, isn’t it?’
‘No, silly!’ Isabella was picking at her headband. From under the threading she pulled a piece of paper. ‘This is for you, sweetness. A man has come, someone you know—Signor Eco. He has a message for you.’
‘For me?’
‘From Leo!’ Isabella’s voice was hushed. ‘The signor gave me the note because we were talking—he’s ancient, of course, but he has very elegant manners—anyway, he decided to take me into his confidence, seeing as you and I are such friends.’
Merilee fingered the seal. She didn’t hear a word Isabella was saying. Her heart was loud in her ears.
‘Here.’ Isabella offered her a knife to cut the seal. ‘This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened,’ she sighed. ‘What does he say? Is he pining to death without you?’
Merilee read the letter. She looked up at Isabella.
‘Oh, Meri, what is it?’ Isabella snatched up the letter and her eyes raced over it. ‘The poor boy,’ she said.
Merilee read the letter again. She touched the ‘W’ that was smudged. She closed her eyes, imagining him all alone in his house, worrying for his father.
‘I must go to him,’ she said to Isabella.
At breakfast, Merilee saw Signor Eco walk in with Beatrice. She had her arm through his, her mouth near his ear, talking without pause as they walked towards a table. Quickly, Merilee steered Isabella in the same direction until they were almost running through the Yellow Room.
‘Ah, young Merilee,’ cried Signor Eco as he pulled out a chair next to him. ‘Sit here with me. It’s nice to see a friendly face from home. Another friendly face, I should say,’ he added hastily as Beatrice frowned at him.
‘I was just telling Signor Eco how well my niece is doing, here at Fiesole,’ Beatrice said loudly.
Brigida, who was sitting opposite, gave one of her vague smiles.
>
Beatrice turned to the apothecary. ‘You must stay for our Celebration of Summer, Alberto,’ Beatrice cried, clapping her hands. ‘It’s a splendid night, and my Merilee will conduct the ceremony.’
Brigida looked up, her brows raised.
‘That is, of course, if our Head is agreeable,’ Beatrice hurried on, growing flustered, ‘and actually, come to think of it, perhaps—’
‘The Celebration of Summer is a ritual of the Wise Women of Fiesole,’ Brigida said quietly. ‘As welcome as Signor Eco is to share our table and buy our wares, the other is a more private matter. I’m surprised you’ve forgotten that, Beatrice,’ and she made a swift sign of the Order.
Beatrice signed back, her face red. ‘Yes indeed, I’m quite carried away with the excitement of it all, do forgive me, what with my niece being the Initiate this year.’ She puffed out her chest and said to Signor Eco in a loud whisper, ‘That’s the first stage to being my assistant, you know.’
Merilee looked at her aunt. She heard the steely confidence under her whisper, saw the determined tilt of her chin. Beatrice wasn’t going to allow anything to get in her way—not Merilee’s wishes, nor Francesca’s pleas. When she was Head she’d probably change all the rules anyway. Merilee could see her itching to start. She’d ask the whole world to the ceremonies, just to show off her power.
Beware of Beatrice, Merilee, Leo had written. She speaks with a forked tongue.
How could she have believed that Beatrice would ever let her go?
‘Ask him now,’ Isabella hissed into her ear.
Merilee glanced at Signor Eco. He was fiddling with his egg, making patterns with the yolk. He looked uncomfortable, as if he would love to be anywhere but at a table where he was being uninvited to a celebration.
Beatrice was tucking into her breakfast with enthusiasm.
Merilee gently tugged at Signor Eco’s gown. As he turned to her she whispered, ‘I want to write a note to Leo. Will you come to Workshop 4 in an hour?’
Signor Eco nodded and returned his gaze to his plate, where the egg had congealed into a sticky yellow crust.
‘Mmm,’ said Beatrice heartily, wiping her mouth, ‘nothing like a robust meal to start the day!’
Back in her apartment, Merilee took a new quill and began her letter. She was shaking with anxiety. Now that she’d decided to do this, it seemed too big, impossible for her to do alone. It would be the most daring thing she’d ever considered.
She sat back in her chair, the quill suspended between her fingers.
‘If you wait for Burrweed to send you home, you’ll be so rickety and old you’ll have forgotten where he lives,’ Isabella said. Her tone was dry but her voice wobbled.
Merilee looked at her. Isabella wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘You’ve got to do it, Meri. It’s just that I’ll miss you so.’ She gave a loud sniff. ‘Remember, the gate will be opened for the Celebration of Summer.’
Needles of alarm raced along Merilee’s skin. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s when I’ll go.’
Isabella nodded. ‘It’s your best chance.’
Dear You, wrote Merilee, taking a deep breath, I hope by the time this reaches you that your father is much better. But I will see you soon, because I’m going to ESCAPE!
Isabella breathed over her shoulder. ‘Tell him neither wolves nor bandits nor ghosts of the night will keep you from him.’
‘Oh, Isabella.’
But now Merilee pictured herself creeping into the dark of the forest, alone, and shuddered. Maybe she’d take her knife with her.
Meet me at our tree on Saturday afternoon. We’ll tell each other everything then.
M.
P.S. Give your father lavender oil, massaged into his skin three times a day.
‘Hmm,’ said Isabella as Merilee folded the letter and sealed it, ‘a short, sensible letter. I, of course, would have written it differently.’
‘Of course,’ Merilee gave her friend a watery grin, and the two girls walked down the stairs with their arms tightly linked, as if they never wanted to let each other go.
On the evening of the Celebration, the garden was drenched in moonlight as the women sat down to eat. It bleached the creamy linen tablecloths white, puddled in the silver bowls. The air was warm, so still that the candles at each table barely flickered. Merilee gazed around at the beauty of it. The loud bursts of chatter, the jugs of wine, the warm glances of the women. She wanted to remember all of it, forever.
She slipped off her clogs and felt the grass crush underfoot. Eve of the full moon, she told herself, marvelling, and don’t I feel like Eve tonight, stepping out into this garden of paradise?
Whenever the thought came of what she had to do later, a little stab of fear dug in, right under her rib cage. But for now, she was hungry.
After two hours of speaking—she had performed the ritual welcome for summer (and all in the right order, thank heaven!) and made her speech about lavender (Brigida had actually said ‘Bravissima!’ and showed her a real smile)—the smell of the young deer roasting on the spit made her stomach growl. On the table there were bowls of steaming rabbit and lamb baked with mushrooms, and small mountains of nuts and fruit.
Merilee grinned at Isabella as she came up with a dish of meat from the spit.
‘You were wonderful tonight,’ said Isabella, forking two slices onto Merilee’s plate. But the skin of her face was tight and drawn.
‘We’ll find a way to see each other again,’ Merilee said softly.
Isabella sat down next to her. ‘I’m losing two people tonight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I just heard that the duke is sending Alessandro away. Tomorrow—at dawn. Maria told me she heard one of his servants ordering the carriage.’
‘Oh, Isabella!’ Merilee put an arm around her shoulders. ‘That’s terrible. Where is he going?’
‘Padua. How many days’ ride is that from here? The duke says Alessandro has to stop frittering his time away—with me of course—and start studying at the university.’ Isabella put her head in her hands.
‘Well, Alessandro just shouldn’t go. He should stand up to his father!’
‘How?’ Isabella said wearily. The energy was gone from her face. ‘The duke would cut him off, stop his allowance. What will he live on?’ She smiled bleakly for a moment. ‘Love is enough for me. But not for a duke’s son, I’m afraid.’
Later, when the women went inside to collect their baskets, Merilee hurried to her apartment and took out her best red velvet dress. She folded it into the bottom of her basket, together with the silk girdle. Hesitating for a moment, she undid the catch of the gold necklace her mother had given her when she was born. Her sister’s had been just the same, with the single pearl like a teardrop. She hid the necklace in the folds of the red dress. Then she placed her recorder in with the clothes and laid a blanket over the whole. The other dresses she would leave for Isabella . . .
As the women filed out through the great gate, into the forest, Merilee looked back. She saw the Academy where she’d lived for nearly four weeks. There was the window of her room, and further along, Isabella’s. It was suddenly very dear to her, this place, where so many things had happened for the first time.
‘Come along, don’t linger,’ Merilee felt a poke in her back. ‘You should be first in line.’
Beatrice urged her along. She gave a lantern to Merilee. ‘You did very well tonight, Merilee. Now see if you can be the one to gather the most lavender—and fill that basket of yours!’
Beatrice gave her a hearty smile. She was trying to be nice, Merilee realised with a shock. There was a sort of plea in her tone. Laura must have seen that smile sometimes. Had she seen how desperate their aunt was, too? How much Beatrice depended on them? Maybe Laura had always known that.
A wave of sadness passed over Merilee then, but whether it was for Laura, or her lonely aunt, or the goodbye she would have to say to her friend, she didn’t know.
Merilee was soon far out in front, gathering distance from the group as she hurried down the hill. The women behind her were stopping every now and then to chat, their lanterns making small pockets of brightness in the black.
Ahead lay the silence of the forest. Merilee wanted to be back in that soft tinkle of women’s talk, dawdling amongst the lavender. For a moment she could hardly breathe with the longing.
‘Psst!’
Merilee peered into the darkness.
‘I just wanted to say goodbye, sweetmeats. It’s so hard to let you go!’
Isabella ran out of a pool of shadows and hugged her. They clung together for a moment, until Isabella wrenched herself free. ‘Be careful, Meri. Walk fast until you’re out of the forest, no matter how tired you are. Here, I brought you the carving knife from tonight. Keep it in your basket.’
Merilee fingered it gingerly. ‘Thanks, Isabella. Ti voglio bene.’
‘Me too,’ whispered Isabella. ‘Good luck!’ And she was gone, darting back into the trees.
Merilee stumbled forward, tears coursing down her face. She clutched her lantern, the basket bumping rhythmically at her hip. Soon she could hear no murmur of voices, nor see any flicker of lights. She was alone in the forest, with just the moonlight making shadows on the ground.
Merilee walked on through clusters of cypress trees, pines and olive groves. She tried to name the plants and vegetation she saw, testing herself on how much she’d learned. It was best not to look further than the bushes and trees just ahead of her.
When she came to a vineyard, she stopped for just a minute. The moon was high in the sky now, and grapes glistened on the vine. She picked a small bunch. It was comforting to see each vine tied so carefully to its stick. Someone had done that right here—watered it and watched it grow. She thought about that as she ate the grapes.
Trees closed in again as she left the vineyard. Only scarce drops of moonlight trickled between the branches. Merilee sang under her breath—silly songs Isabella and she had made up late at night. But her legs ached and she was so tired behind her eyes that her lids stung in the night air.
The Witch in the Lake Page 12