She was there, leaning out of the window, looking back at me. Her hair was blowing in the slight breeze and her shoulders were bare, milky in the dawn.
‘Good morning!’ I called, my smile betraying my pleasure at seeing her. ‘We seem to be the early birds today. Did you sleep well?’
Ceit tilted her head to one side, as if she was pretending to consider it. Then she nodded in an excited, exaggerated fashion that made me laugh as well.
‘I’m thinking about going into the forest today,’ I said. I realised I was shouting and perhaps it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to wake Bella either. Not that she would be stirring yet. She preferred to regain consciousness slowly, helped along with a cup of hot coffee, brought to her room by the same maid who would have lit her fire ages beforehand. I lowered my voice and leaned further out. Ceit was looking at me curiously, waiting for me to expand on my statement.
‘It’s very close to Christmas, and I would like to gather some greenery to finish decorating the house,’ I said. ‘You are more than welcome to come with me. If you are in no hurry to return to your own home of course.’
Ceit shook her head. She was in no hurry to leave me? Or she didn’t want to come to the forest? Which was it?
‘Do you want to come with me?’ I tried, opting for the more direct response. This time there was no doubt. Her face lit up with pleasure. It seemed she desired that option. Very well.
‘I hoped you would say that,’ I responded. ‘And nobody will be looking for you at home?’
She shook her head. Her dismissal of “home” didn’t strike me as odd. It was natural that she should be here. As natural as breathing.
‘Good. Then may I suggest we breakfast now? After we have done with that, I think you might find something suitable to wear in the large wardrobe in your room. The apparel will not be very stylish, but it will be warm. My Uncle was married once – very briefly – but when she left, she didn’t take all her clothes with her. He banned anyone from touching her clothing, in case she came back.’
My Aunt Amy was someone the family had never talked about. The marriage had lasted all of three months. And after nothing more than twelve weeks of constant arguments, Amy left. I remembered her as a flighty flaxen-haired girl; perhaps taller and a little curvier than Ceit, but no matter. Her clothes, even fifteen years or so out of date, would do for a tramp to the forest this morning.
Ceit seemed to be in agreement with me. With a nod, a smile and a wave, she ducked back inside the room and the window closed again.
I hurried away from the balcony and the glorious blanket of white and made it my business to wait for Ceit in the corridor, just outside the blue bedroom. When the moment came and the door clicked open, she didn’t seem startled to see me. She was running her fingers down the length of her hair, trying, I imagine, to tame it. But oh! How I longed to do that for her. I knew, from my fantasy, what her hair felt like, brushing against my skin and I dropped my face, staring at the floor for fear she should see my guilty blushes.
This time it was she who took my chin in her hands and tilted my face upwards. She looked at me curiously, a half-smile on her lips and her eyebrows raised a little.
‘It’s nothing,’ I lied. ‘I’m not used to waiting outside of bed chambers for young ladies, that’s all.’
Ceit threw her head back and laughed – not loudly, but just as she had done yesterday. It may sound like a terrible cliché, but it was indeed music to my ears. The memory of her voice whispering to me last night, the words she had been speaking – the laughter brought them back to my mind acutely.
I changed the subject. ‘Come,’ I said. ‘Let us see what there is on the breakfast table this morning. Porridge, I’ll warrant.’
Ceit patted my hand then touched her hand to her chest. I wondered if she was trying to tell me that she liked porridge. As she was smiling, I assumed that was the case.
‘Of course, it very much depends on who makes it here, as to whether the porridge is edible or not,’ I said, linking her arm within mine. ‘If we are fortunate, it won’t have very many lumps in it and there may be a jug of fresh cream and sugar for us as well.’
I led her down to the dining room, and as I thought, Bella had not yet arisen. I was glad about this and hoped she would not make an appearance until after we had finished.
The maid was absent too, which was not particularly surprising.
Other than that, it was a pleasant, uneventful meal. I did not eat much. The calibre of the porridge was not so bad, but I was more interested in Ceit. I could not wait to get her out of Howard House and into the forest. I had set my heart on making her a garland of greenery and I would not rest until I had done so. I wanted to see her face as I had imagined it; laughing, free-spirited and her attention only for me.
The thought excited me and once again I revisited my fantasy of last night. Ceit’s eyes locked onto mine as I remembered that sense of almost-completion before she disappeared. She did not shift her gaze as I recalled every detail.
It was as if she knew.
***
Amy had been a woman of great vanity, they said, and as such it did not surprise me that the selection of clothing for Ceit to choose from was beyond anything I had encountered before.
Bella, as I say, enjoyed parties and socialising and dressed up for those. On a day to day basis, however, despite the fact she always looked elegant and neat, she had no real desire for fripperies. She saved that for her ballgowns.
‘If they see me walking down the street looking like a fashion plate, then what have I got left to impress them with at a party?’ she teased when she laid out sensible new purchases of day-wear for me to inspect.
Being a man, I had no particular interest in clothes. I was more concerned with the women who wore them – or did not wear them, as the case may be. I’d had a few lovers and could not, hand on heart, tell you what they were wearing when I met them. I could, however, tell you how they tasted or smelled or felt. I could tell you what words they whispered or shouted as we made love – but I could not tell you what they dressed in to go home.
I could, however, tell you everything about Ceit that morning. I could tell you how, upon our return to her quarters, and after I had emptied the wardrobe for her, she fell to her knees and stroked her hands along the clothing. How she looked up at me, and asked me, silently, whether these were for her to choose from.
I could tell you how I took her hand and helped her to her feet and how we chose, together, a bustled, narrow-skirted walking dress and a warm woollen cloak. I could tell you how the scarlet of the dress matched her lips and the soft black of the cloak complimented her hair. I could tell you how we laughed and tried to find a suitable hat, then finally gave up, throwing them all to the floor. I could tell you how we even found a pair of riding boots which fitted perfectly – after I had run to my room and brought down a pair of thick, knitted socks for her to try on with them.
And I could tell you how, after that, we stepped outside and made blue-white footprints in the fresh snow, all the way to the forest.
***
Chapter Six
I got my wish. I found a perfect clearing in the forest which itself was garlanded with greenery.
There was a holly tree, boughs bending so far under the weight of red berries that they almost brushed the snow. Ivy grew nearby, twined around some ancient looking silver-birches and mistletoe abounded, clinging to the side of a solitary oak tree. Fir trees clustered nearby and they too were inviting us to strip them of some of the bushier branches.
‘This looks ideal,’ I said, drawing to a halt beneath the oak tree. ‘I am certain we can get some festive foliage here. Do you know, this glen has a very special name?’ I turned to Ceit, happy to show off my knowledge. ‘It’s known by the locals as Síthiche Gleann.’ There was a spark of interest in her eyes and I wondered whether I had hit upon the reason for her lack of words - perhaps her native tongue was indeed Gaelic and all I said to her in English
was strange and unfathomable. It bothered me a little, but not enough to worry. I was also satisfied that, even if she did have a hearing impairment, I was making her understand quite comfortably.
But just in case, I paused, waiting for her to repeat my Gaelic words, or at least correct my pronunciation – but there was nothing verbal forthcoming.
I continued. ‘It means Faerie Glen. Although I’ve never seen any faeries around here. Perhaps they favour warmer climes.’ I shivered theatrically, just to amuse her. It worked and she smiled.
She walked over to the mistletoe and stared up at it. She reached towards it and seemed to pause, as if she was calculating something. She dropped her hand and turned towards the west, where an apologetic crescent moon still hung in the sky; a partial, smudged fingerprint, determined not to move until the sun chased it away into hiding.
She turned back to me and held up her hands, spreading her fingers outwards. She fixed me with a determined look and began to curl in first one finger, then another, until six were curled against her palm. She was counting – she was showing me something and I moved closer to her, eager to interpret what she was saying.
‘Six?’ I tried. Her face brightened and she nodded. Then she pointed up towards the sun.
‘Sun?’ I said. She shook her head.
‘Morning?’
She shook her head again. I was wrong.
‘Day?’ I tried.
She nodded and I was rewarded with a smile. This was an odd little game of charades but I was happy to stay there and play it with her.
I laughed and perched on the edge of a large boulder which lay drunkenly beside the holly tree. ‘Tell me more,’ I said. ‘What next?’
Ceit turned and pointed at the moon, then turned back to me, her face eager.
‘Night?’
A shake of the head.
‘Moon then. Is it simply moon?’
It seemed it was. She clapped her hands, childlike and then clasped them together almost as theatrically as I had shivered before. I understood. Of course I did. Now I had to put her words together.
‘Six-day moon?’ I asked.
She tilted her head to one side and pulled a funny little face.
I assumed she meant I was almost correct, so I smiled and leaned forward. ‘Six days to go, then more of the moon? The full moon?’
She laughed and shook her head, then she placed her hands on my cheeks and looked directly into my eyes, almost as if she was willing the solution into my mind.
It came to me like an electric shock, the words fizzing straight into my brain.
I understood her.
Of course I did.
‘The sixth day of the moon,’ I said. ‘The best time to gather the mistletoe. It has to be taken from an oak tree on the sixth day of the moon, because that’s when the Druids performed the Ritual of Oak and Mistletoe. And that’s today.’
I had studied Pliny. His Natural History was there, in my subconscious, and it was these perfectly wonderful circumstances that had brought it all to mind. I jumped off the boulder and somehow my arms were around Ceit’s waist and I swung her up and out of the way, laughing as I hurried over to the oak tree.
‘If it’s so important, you’d best let me do it,’ I called over my shoulder. ‘I’ll do a better job than you.’
She came running up to me, stopping only to scoop up a handful of snow before hurling it at me. Then she weaved away, and took shelter behind the boulder. I left the mistletoe and ran after her and we spent a good few minutes in pursuit of each other, ducking behind trees and aiming snowballs at each other and both laughing just as hard as we could.
I was alive. I was more alive than I had ever been and, at the back of my mind, I began to see a way out of the mess I had written myself into with my novel.
It felt liberating.
And it was thanks to Ceit.
***
We collected armfuls of greenery; so much, that it was difficult to see my feet on the way back to Howard House.
That, however, may have been due, in part, to the fact that I could barely take my eyes off Ceit. I had made her a garland, woven holly and ivy and mistletoe together, heedless of the scratches on my hands or the stickiness of squashed mistletoe berries adhering to everything and the garland shone, glossy green against her black tresses; and with her red dress and black cloak flying open in the wind, she could well have been a Christmas goddess herself.
‘Do you know,’ I had said to her as I fixed the garland in her hair, a bunch of holly hanging jauntily down over her left eye and making her blink in a very comical fashion, ‘that the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe includes counting the berries? You give a kiss for each berry, and pull said berries off as you kiss. You cannot stop kissing until all the berries have gone. Now isn’t that intriguing?’
She kissed me then, once, very quickly, and danced away again. Her lips were surprisingly warm.
‘There are more berries, Ceit!’ I called after her, but she had already vanished into the forest.
We approached Howard House mid-morning, laden with our treasures. The sun was well up in the sky by now and the moon had disappeared, but there was still a promise of a day to come. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I would decorate the hallway, then I would sit down and work on my novel. If Ceit were willing, she could help me with the garlands, or she could rest if she wanted to, because —
The train of thought pulled me up sharply. Ceit didn’t live here. She was a guest. She should probably be leaving today so it was pointless me planning anything involving her.
I felt deflated. I looked up at the house and saw a figure in the doorway. Bella, the perfect person to crush the magic. I sighed.
‘Be prepared,’ I muttered, keeping my eyes on my sister. ‘She doesn’t look happy.’
Ceit lowered her eyes and fell a little behind me, clutching her armfuls of greenery tighter to her body. The poor girl was terrified and I could understand why. Bella did indeed have, as they say, a face like thunder.
We were barely at the steps when Bella came stomping down them, holding her skirts high so they didn’t drag in the slush. For with the sunshine, had begun a thaw. The magic was, truly, disappearing.
‘Bella. Good morning,’ I said and gave her a small bow over my greenery. ‘These are for the Christmas decorations. I thought they would look particularly nice in the hallway. We can wind the foliage around the banisters and drape the family portraits…’ I paused, hoping that Bella would take up the idea and suggest somewhere else to decorate.
Instead, she glared at me. ‘You’ve missed church. They said you had your breakfast very early and then disappeared.’ Bella’s disgusted glance seemed to take in everything about us – my armful of greenery, Ceit’s garland, her loose, flapping cloak, the red, outdated dress and the too-big boots.
Ceit shrank back again, trying desperately, it seemed, to hide behind me.
‘I can see you’ve been out wandering around,’ continued Bella. ‘Next time perhaps you might give some thought to telling someone where you are going, so we don’t worry.’
‘”Am I my brother’s keeper?”’ I murmured. ‘I presume, then, they preached the story of Cain and Abel to you this morning?’
My comment had the desired effect. Bella turned a violent shade of puce and I could see her trying to control herself.
‘Of course not,’ snapped Bella. ‘But I was worried.’
‘Then you’re a silly girl,’ I continued. ‘I’m a grown man. I was simply out,’ I nodded towards Ceit, ‘finding my inspiration.’
There was a strangled sort of noise from Bella. ‘Charles Howard!’ She was, it seemed speechless for once. Her mouth opened and closed whilst she shook her head in horror. I watched her, detached almost, as she grew pinker and pinker and I wondered what Ceit was making of her. ‘Charles!’ Bella managed eventually. ‘Inspiration or not, you are never going to finish that ridiculous novel. I don’t care what you think will help you. You are�
�ridiculous.’
It wasn’t much of a parting shot, but it seemed the best that my sister could do. She turned on her heel and stomped back into the house, shaking her head as she went.
‘We’ll just decorate the hallway ourselves, then, shall we?’ I called after her. But Bella, it seemed, was determined not to answer me.
***
Chapter Seven
Ceit and I worked systematically throughout the hallway, winding greenery through the banisters as I had visualised, all the way to the top landing.
Our ancestors were garlanded with ivy as they stared at us, dead eyed, from their canvas prisons. The small table against the wall was strewn with holly and Ceit laid twigs haphazardly amongst the foliage, tweaking a berry here and there until it was perfect. She also draped the large mirror with festive cheer and soon we had lit candles so they reflected in the mirror and transformed the hallway into a cosy, welcoming space.
Throughout all this, Ceit wore her own garland and flitted around the hallway like a spirit of nature. She had discarded the cloak and was clad only in the berry-coloured dress, her hair loose and her face a picture of absorption; the tip of her tongue pink and sensual as it poked out between her teeth as she sought perfection.
I had never seen anything so beautiful.
I cast a glance towards the drawing room where the charcoal drawings of her were hidden away. Later, I decided, after I had written, I would transfer one of those pictures to canvas and add the vivid colour which would bring her alive.
‘You have worked wonders,’ I said eventually as Ceit and I stood together in the hallway surveying our handiwork. She nodded, her cheeks flushing with pleasure at the compliment. ‘Now,’ I continued, ‘I feel absolutely inspired to continue with my novel. I would like nothing more than to have you beside me in the room as I work, but I understand that you may have other things to do.’ I unhooked my pocket watch and pressed the catch, flipping it open. It was well past lunch. ‘In fact, it seems I have kept you from sustenance. If you wish, you can retire to your room and I will have a tray sent up to you.’
Upon the Solstice Page 3