by Kate Morton
The little girl was forbidden to enter the maze. It was one of the first and sternest rules; both Mamma and Grandmamma were always reminding her that the way was dark and filled with untold dangers. So serious was the decree that even Papa, who could usually be relied upon, dared not disobey.
The lady was still hurrying directly towards them, half walking, half skipping. She had something with her, a brown-paper parcel, under her arm.
Mamma’s own arms tightened around the little girl’s middle so that pleasure slipped towards discomfort.
The lady stopped before them.
‘Hello Rose.’
The little girl knew this was Mamma’s name and yet Mamma said nothing in return.
‘I know I’m not supposed to come.’ A silvery voice, like a spider’s thread, which the little girl would have liked to hold between her fingers.
‘Then why have you?’
The lady held out her parcel, but Mamma did not take it. Her grip tightened again. ‘I want nothing from you.’
‘I don’t bring it for you.’ The lady put the parcel on the seat. ‘It is for your little girl.’
The parcel had contained the book of fairytales, Nell remembered that now. There had been a discussion later, between her mother and father: she had insisted on the book’s banishment, and he had eventually agreed, taken it with him. Only he hadn’t thrown it away. He had put it in his studio, next to the battered copy of Moby-Dick. And he had read it to Nell, when she sat with him, when her mother was ill and unaware.
Thrilled by the memory, Nell stroked the front cover again. The book had been a gift from Eliza. She opened it carefully to the place where the ribbon bookmark had lain for sixty years. It was deep plum, only slightly frayed where the weave had begun to unravel, and it marked the beginning of a story called ‘The Crone’s Eyes’. Nell began to read about the young princess who didn’t know she was a princess, who journeyed across the sea to the land of lost things to bring back the crone’s missing sight. It was distantly familiar, as a favoured tale from childhood ought to be. Nell placed the bookmark in its new spot and closed the book, laid it back on the windowsill.
She frowned and leaned closer. There was still a gap in the spine where the ribbon had been.
Nell opened the book again; the pages fell automatically once more to ‘The Crone’s Eyes’. She ran her finger down the inside of the spine—There were pages missing. Not many, only five or six, barely noticeable, but missing all the same.
The excision was neat. No rough edges, tight up against the binding. Done with a penknife, perhaps?
Nell checked the page numbers. They jumped from fifty-four to sixty-one.
The gap fell perfectly between two stories . . .
THE GOLDEN EGG
By Eliza Makepeace
Along time ago, when seeking was finding, there lived a young maiden in a tiny cottage on the edge of a large and prosperous kingdom. The maiden had few means and her cottage was hidden so deeply within the dark woods as to be obscured from common view. There had been those, long ago, who knew of the little cottage with its stone fireplace, but such folk had long since passed and Mother Time had drawn a veil of forget around the cottage. Aside from the birds who came to sing on her windowsill, and the woodland animals who came in search of her warm hearth, the maiden was alone. Yet was she never lonely or unhappy, for the maiden of the cottage was too busy to pine for company she’d never had.
Deep within the heart of the cottage, behind a special door with a shiny lock, there was a very precious object. A golden egg whose glow was said to be so brilliant, so beautiful, that those whose eyes alit upon it were rendered instantly blind. The Golden Egg was so old that no one could properly remember its age, and for countless generations the maiden’s family had been charged with its protection.
The maiden did not question this responsibility, for she knew it to be her destiny. The egg must be kept safe and well and hidden. Most importantly, the egg’s existence must be kept secret. Many years before, when the kingdom was new, great wars had erupted over the Golden Egg, for legend told that it had magical powers and could grant its possessor his heart’s desire.
So it was the maiden kept her vigil. By day she sat at her little spinning wheel in the cottage window, singing happily with the birds who gathered to watch her work. By night she offered shelter to her animal friends and slept in the warmth of the cottage, heated from within by the glow of the Golden Egg. And she remembered always that there was naught more important than protecting one’s birthright.
Meanwhile, far away across the land, in the kingdom’s grand castle, there lived a young Princess who was good and fair but very unhappy. Her health was poor and no matter that her mother, the Queen, had scoured the land for magic or medicine, nothing could be found to make the Princess well. There were those who whispered that when she was but a babe a wicked apothecary had cursed her to eternal ill health, but no one dared utter such sentiment aloud. For the Queen was a cruel ruler whose wrath her subjects wisely feared.
The Queen’s daughter, however, was the apple of her mother’s eye. Each morning the Queen paid a visit to her bedside but alas, each morning the Princess was the same: pale, weak and weary. ‘It is all I wish, Mother,’ she would whisper, ‘the strength to walk through the castle gardens, to dance at the castle balls, to swim in the castle waters. To be well is my heart’s desire.’
The Queen had a magic looking glass from which she gleaned the comings and goings of the kingdom, and day after day she asked: ‘Mirror of mine, favoured friend, show me the healer who will bring this horror’s end.’
But each day the mirror gave the same answer: ‘There is no one, my Queen, in all the land, who can make her well by his healing hand.’
Now one day it happened that the Queen was so upset by her daughter’s condition that she forgot to ask the looking glass her usual question. Instead she began to sob, crying: ‘Mirror of mine, that I so admire, show me how to grant my daughter’s heart’s desire.’
The mirror was silent for a moment, but within its glassy centre an image began to form, a tiny cottage in the middle of a deep dark wood, smoke pluming from a little stone chimney. Inside the window sat a young maiden, spinning at a wheel and singing with the birds on the sill.
‘What is this you show me?’ gasped the Queen. ‘Is this young woman a healer?’
The mirror’s voice was low and sombre: ‘In the dark woods on the kingdom’s edge lies a cottage. Inside is a golden egg with the power to grant its holder their heart’s desire. The maiden you see is the guardian of the Golden Egg.’
‘How will I get the egg from her?’ said the Queen.
‘She does what she does for the kingdom’s good,’ said the mirror, ‘and will not easily consent.’
‘Then what must I do?’
But the magic looking glass had no more answers, and the image of the cottage faded so that only glass remained. The Queen lifted her chin and stared down her long nose, holding her own gaze until a slight smile formed on her lips.
Early the next morning, the Queen summoned the Princess’s closest handmaiden. A girl who had lived in the kingdom all her life, and who the Queen knew could be counted on to perform whatever task was necessary in order to ensure the Princess’s health and happiness. The Queen instructed the handmaiden to retrieve the Golden Egg.
The handmaiden set off across the kingdom in the direction of the dark woods. For three days and nights she walked east and, as dusk was falling on the third night, she came to the edge of the woods. She stepped over fallen branches and cleared a path through foliage, until finally, standing in a clearing before her, was a tiny cottage with sweetly scented smoke pluming from its chimney.
The handmaiden knocked on the door and waited. When it opened, a young maiden stood on the other side and, although she was surprised to see a visitor on her doorstep, a generous smile spread across her face. She stepped aside and welcomed the handmaiden across the threshold. ‘You are tired,’
said the maiden. ‘You have journeyed far. Come and warm yourself by my hearth.’
The handmaiden followed the maiden inside and sat on a cushion by the fire. The maiden of the cottage brought a bowl of warm broth and sat quietly weaving while her guest ate. The fire crackled on the grate and the warmth in the room made the handmaiden very drowsy. Her desire to slumber was so strong that she would have forgotten her mission had the maiden of the cottage not said, ‘You are very welcome here, stranger, but must forgive me for asking whether there is a purpose to your visit.’
‘I have been sent by the Queen of the land,’ said the handmaiden. ‘She seeks your assistance in healing her daughter’s ill health.’
The birds of the forest sometimes sang of goings-on within the kingdom, thus had the maiden heard tell of the fair and kind princess who lived inside the castle walls. ‘I will do what I can,’ said the maiden, ‘though I cannot think why the Queen has sent for me as I know not how to heal.’
‘The Queen has sent me to seek something that you harbour,’ said the handmaiden. ‘An object with the power to grant its bearer her heart’s desire.’
The maiden understood then that it was the Golden Egg of which the handmaiden spoke. She shook her head sadly. ‘I would do anything to help the Princess, except that which you ask. Protecting the Golden Egg is my birthright, and there is naught more important than that. You may stay here tonight and shelter from the cold and lonely woods, but tomorrow you must return to the kingdom and tell the Queen that I cannot relinquish the Golden Egg.’
Next day, the handmaiden set off for the castle. She journeyed for three days and nights until finally she arrived at the castle walls where the Queen was waiting for her.
‘Where is the Golden Egg?’ said the Queen, looking at the handmaiden’s empty hands.
‘I have failed in my mission,’ said the handmaiden. ‘For alas, the maiden of the cottage would not be parted from her birthright.’
The Queen drew herself to her full height and her face turned red. ‘You must return,’ she said, pointing a long-taloned finger at the handmaiden, ‘and tell the maiden it is her duty to serve her kingdom. If she fails, she will be turned to stone and left to stand in the kingdom courtyard for all eternity.’
So the handmaiden headed east once more, journeyed for three days and nights until she found herself again at the door to the hidden cottage. She knocked and was greeted happily by the maiden, who welcomed her inside and fetched her a bowl of broth. The maiden sat weaving while the handmaiden ate her supper, until finally she said, ‘You are very welcome here, stranger, but must forgive me for asking whether there is a purpose to your visit.’
‘I have been sent once more by the Queen of the land,’ said the handmaiden. ‘She seeks your assistance in healing her daughter’s ill health. Your duty is to serve your kingdom. If you refuse, the Queen says you will be turned to stone and made to stand in the kingdom courtyard for all eternity.’
The maiden smiled sadly. ‘Protecting the Golden Egg is my birthright,’ she said. ‘I cannot relinquish it to you.’
‘Do you wish to be turned to stone?’
‘I do not,’ said the maiden, ‘and neither shall I be. For I serve my kingdom when I watch over the Golden Egg.’
And the handmaiden did not argue, for she saw that what the maiden of the cottage said was true. Next day, the handmaiden set off for the castle and, when she arrived, the Queen was once again waiting for her at the castle walls.
‘Where is the Golden Egg?’ said the Queen, looking at the handmaiden’s empty hands.
‘Again have I failed in my mission,’ said the handmaiden. ‘For alas, the maiden of the cottage would not be parted from her birthright.’
‘Did you not tell the maiden that it was her duty to serve the kingdom?’
‘I did, Your Majesty,’ said the handmaiden, ‘and she said that by guarding the Golden Egg she was serving the kingdom.’
The Queen glowered and her face turned grey. Clouds gathered in the sky and the ravens of the kingdom flew for cover.
The Queen remembered then the mirror’s words—‘she does what she does for the kingdom’s good’—and her lips curled into a grin. ‘You must return once more,’ she said to the handmaiden, ‘and this time you will tell the maiden that if she fails to relinquish the Golden Egg she will be responsible for the Princess’s eternal sorrow, which will cast the kingdom into an endless winter of grief.’
So the handmaiden headed east for a third time, journeying for three days and nights, until she found herself once more at the door to the hidden cottage. She knocked and was greeted happily by the maiden, who welcomed her inside and fetched her a bowl of broth. The maiden sat weaving while the handmaiden ate her supper, until finally she said, ‘You are very welcome here, stranger, but must forgive me for asking whether there is a purpose to your visit.’
‘I have been sent once more by the Queen of the land,’ said the handmaiden. ‘She seeks your assistance in healing her daughter’s ill health. Your duty is to serve your kingdom; if you fail to relinquish the egg, the Queen says you will be responsible for the Princess’s eternal sorrow and the kingdom will be cast into an endless winter of grief.’
The maiden of the cottage sat still and silent for a long time. Then she nodded slowly. ‘To spare the Princess and to spare the kingdom, I will relinquish the Golden Egg.’
The handmaiden shivered as the dark woods grew quiet and an ill wind slipped beneath the door to worry the hearth fire. ‘But there is nothing more important than protecting your birthright,’ she said. ‘It is your duty to the kingdom.’
The maiden smiled. ‘But what use is such duty if my actions sink the kingdom into an endless winter? An endless winter will freeze the land—there will be no birds or animals or crops. It is because of my duty that I now relinquish the Golden Egg.’
The handmaiden looked sadly at the maiden. ‘But there is naught more important than protecting your birthright. The egg is a part of you, yours to protect.’
But the maiden had already taken a large golden key from around her neck and was fitting it in the lock of the special door. As she turned it, there was a groan from deep within the floor of the cottage, a settling of the hearth stones, a sigh from the ceiling rafters. Light faded in the cottage as a glow appeared from inside the secret room. The maiden disappeared then appeared once more, holding in her hands a shrouded object, so precious that the air around it seemed to hum.
The maiden walked the handmaiden out of the cottage and when the two reached the edge of the clearing, she handed over her birthright. When she turned back towards her cottage, she saw that it was darker. Light had disappeared, unable suddenly to penetrate the thick surrounding woods. Inside, the rooms grew cold, no longer warmed from within by the glow of the Golden Egg.
Over time, the animals stopped coming and the birds flew away, and the maiden found that she had no purpose. She forgot how to spin, her voice faded to a whisper and, finally, she felt her limbs grow stiff and heavy, immobile. Until one day she realised that a layer of dust had coated the cottage and her own frozen form. She allowed her eyes to close, and felt herself falling through the cold and the silence.
Some seasons later, the Princess of the kingdom was riding with her handmaiden on the edge of the dark woods. Though once she had been very ill, the Princess had recovered miraculously and was now married to a fine prince. She lived a full and happy life: walked and danced and sang, and enjoyed all the vast riches of health. They had a dear baby girl who was much loved and ate pure honey and drank the dew from rose petals and had beautiful butterflies for playthings.
As the Princess and her handmaiden rode by the dark woods on this day the Princess felt an odd compulsion to enter the woods themselves. She ignored the handmaiden’s protestations and steered her horse across the border and into the cold, dark forest. All was silent in the woods, neither bird nor beast nor breeze stirred the still, cool air. The horses’ hooves made the only sound.
By and by, they came across a clearing in which a tiny cottage had been devoured by foliage. ‘Why, what a dear little house,’ said the Princess. ‘I wonder who lives here.’
The handmaiden turned her face away, shivering against the strange chill of the clearing. ‘No one, my Princess. Not any more. The kingdom thrives, but there is no life in the dark woods.’
45
Cliff Cottage, 1913
Eliza knew she would miss this coastline, this sea, when she left. Though she would come to know another, it would be different. Other birds and other plants, waves whispering their stories in foreign tongues. Yet it was time. She’d waited long enough and with little cause. What was done was done and no matter her present feeling, the remorse that crept upon her in the dark, held sleep at bay while she tossed and turned and cursed her part in the deception, she had little choice but to move forward.
Eliza went the final way down the narrow stone steps to the pier. One fisherman was still loading up for the day’s work, stacking woven baskets and rolls of line into his boat. As she drew closer, the lean, muscular limbs and sun-brushed features came into focus, and Eliza realised it was William, Mary’s brother. Youngest in a long line of Cornish fishermen, he’d distinguished himself amongst a host of the brave and the foolhardy so that tales of his feats spread like sea grass along the coast.
He and Eliza had once enjoyed a friendship and he had kept her in thrall with his wild stories of life on the sea, but a cool distance had grown between them for some years now. Ever since Will had witnessed that which he should not, had challenged Eliza and insisted she explain the inexplicable. It had been a long time since they’d spoken and Eliza had missed his company. Knowledge that she would soon be leaving Tregenna filled her with determination to put the past behind her, and with a steady exhalation she made her approach. ‘You’re late this morning, Will.’