Macbeth's Niece

by Peg Herring

  Chapter Eight

  Eleanor wasted no time beginning Tessa’s transformation. The first thing she did, though daring, effectively ended any question of Tessa’s stature in the house. At dinner one evening, Eleanor declared Jeffrey had brought Tessa from Scotland after discovering the two were half sisters. It was true, Eleanor informed Tessa privately, that eighteen years before her father had gone to Scotland as the king’s agent and later died there of a sudden illness. The story she invented was that he’d married a Scottish woman and fathered a daughter before his death. Eleanor had kept it to herself until she was sure, but Tessa was in fact her younger sister, and they were all going to London for her introduction to William.

  Auntie Madeline had some of her eldest brother’s disapproving outer manner but was not unkind at heart. After a moment of shocked silence, she gave Tessa a rather formal hug, enfolding her in bony arms, and welcomed her to the family. The three cousins were a little surprised that Tessa was now on equal footing with them but did not seem upset. Being poor relatives sent to Brixton, much as Tessa herself had been sent off to Macbeth’s household, none of them had much expectation for the future. They would have deluded themselves to suppose Sir William would settle more than a tiny dowry on them, so there was not much to be jealous about. And in truth all three were kind-hearted girls with no rancor in them.

  The weeks that followed were a whirl of constant activity. Tessa must be taught English dances. Luckily Alice, the cousin who was sister to Cecilia, was a very patient teacher. Next she must walk like a lady, not on her heels, and she must watch her table manners. For example, it was important for a lady to dip her meat gracefully just halfway into the gravy bowl so as not to soil her fingers, and then bring the portion to her lips quickly so the liquid didn’t run down her arm and onto her sleeve. In London, she was told, people ate from metal plates, not the wooden trenchers used at Brixton Manor. Ladies carried on their belts jeweled knives of intricate design with which to cut their portions and carry the pieces to their mouths. She was given one of these, modest but well made, as a gift from Eleanor.

  Bolts of fabric were found in the storeroom with which to make new dresses. Cecilia was good with a needle and helped Tessa cut two basic shapes and sew them together. In the front of one dress they cut a squared neckline and edged it with braid salvaged from an old curtain. The other they rounded and edged with embroidery. Over these plain shapes the girls wore tunics of various colors and styles. Tessa made herself a pair of soft velvet shoes, and a leather worker on the manor made her boots for foul weather. The old gray cloak she’d worn from Scotland was cleaned and mended neatly, and clever Cecilia embroidered it with red designs that changed it from plain to majestic.

  Tessa had a basic knowledge of music and a good singing voice. Eleanor taught her some English ballads, tactfully leaving out those that dealt with Scotland, and encouraged her to accompany herself on the lute. “Nothing melts a man’s heart as does a woman who sings and plays the songs he loves,” she told the girls, “unless it’s a woman who cooks and serves his favorite foods.” And so there were cooking lessons. Tessa could clean fish and fowl, but she’d never taken much interest in cooking them. The English way, not known as the best of the world’s cuisine, was still better than Scottish food, which was plainly prepared to say the least.

  “And haggis, my dear,” Eleanor said. “I’ve heard of it, but I can’t imagine anyone actually eating it.”

  “Then you probably wouldn’t like black pudding, either,” Tessa told them. “You start with twelve cups of pig’s blood—” The other women squealed, but they all laughed together. Tessa thought of her own sisters, and wished their lives could have been more like this, with laughter and joy rather than the peevish carping that was all the littler ones had ever known of their mother. She at least remembered her father’s kindness as he had attempted to ease Kenna’s sharpness. “Now, lass,” he often said to his wife, “don’t let the world make you sad or mad, for it’s only yourself you’re listenin’ to.”

  Tessa reminded herself it was she, and she alone, who could make herself sad or mad. Despite recent misfortune, she had found kindness in England and had begun to understand that her own behavior had contributed to her downfall. If she hadn’t insulted Jeffrey Brixton the night she met him and been sent from the hall in disgrace, she’d have been sleeping peacefully in her bed when he left Scotland the next morning. Had the crones seen that angry streak in her and in their odd way tried to warn her of it?

  Barely two months after her arrival Tessa said goodbye to Brixton Hall and set off for London. Even so, she went as a quite different person than the one who’d arrived, well dressed and so full of advice on proper behavior that she feared her eyes would cross with the strain of remembering it. They journeyed to London in a two-wheeled cart so loaded with female accoutrements that there was hardly room for the six of them: Eleanor, Tessa, Cecilia, Alice, Mary, and Blanche, whom they shared as lady’s maid. Aunt Madeline had stayed behind to see to the house, having no desire to go to London. “Been there once,” was her disdainful comment. Two sturdy peasants walked behind the cart and two armed bondmen rode before on horseback to protect the party from outlaws and wild animals. They slept on the ground, making nests in the tall grass beside the road and washing in brooks and rivulets still icy cold despite summer’s arrival. Inns were scarce and usually unclean, and Eleanor preferred to avoid them altogether.

  The journey passed quickly with stories and songs, and they arrived at the outskirts of London on the fourth afternoon. As they walked behind the wagon for a while to stretch their legs, Eleanor confessed privately to Tessa the trick she’d used to assure they would be able to make the visit. “William will not be pleased to see us, since he says London is much too expensive for a gaggle of women. If he’d had a day’s notice, he’d undoubtedly have sent someone to order us to stay home.” Eleanor paused, enjoying her own boldness. “Therefore, I sent a messenger ahead just a few hours, telling him of our arrival on an important matter. There won’t be time for him to frame a negative response before we’re there, and then what can he do but let us in?”

  “But won’t he be angry with you? What important business do you have that requires all this?” Tessa indicated the wagon brimming with women and their finery.

  “Once I’m there, I’ll convince him to let us stay. I will relate the story about your background and explain to him you must find a husband or he’ll be saddled with another mouth to feed next winter.” Eleanor said with a chuckle. “I may have to make you sound quite ravenous. He’ll want to let you all be seen in order to get offers of marriage, so he’ll cooperate, if you have learned well the game that must be played.”

  “To smile and say sweet things even when men bore me to tears?” Tessa said sardonically. “I believe I can.”

  “Good. I have in mind several men with large fortunes who will fall so in love at the sight of you that offers will pour in despite your lack of a dowry.” With that, Eleanor hopped back up onto the wagon. A quick flash of pain crossed her face, but she conquered it and held out a hand to help Tessa in beside her.

  The house William kept in London was smaller than Brixton Hall but much grander. Here William entertained important people, so his concern was the impression it made. The house was made of wood, as were most in London, despite the town fathers’ pleas for brick or stone to lessen fire danger.

  Tessa and Mary shared a bedroom in the upper story, small but comfortable, with a slanted ceiling and a rug on the floor instead of the rushes used at Brixton. Mary was ecstatic over the windows, which had real glass in them. Looking out was difficult because the thick, bubble-pocked glass made things wavy and distorted, but it was better than the greased hides that covered the narrow slits of Brixton Hall in winter. There was even a small charcoal brazier that could be lit on cold nights.

  Tessa had grown fond of Mary, an orphan whose father had been William’s cousin. He had taken her in, albeit reluctantly, when both
her parents died within a year of each other. Although no great beauty, Mary was sweet-faced and pleasant to be around. Her best feature was her round, luminous eyes. The rest of her face lacked proportion, her chin being too small, but the eyes dominated when she was happy, transforming her into an attractive young woman. The other cousins, Cecilia and Alice, were friendly enough, but as sisters they were closest to each other. It was natural Mary and Tessa sought each other’s company.

  Tessa never heard how William Brixton took their arrival. He was out when the party of excited females arrived, and Eleanor sent them up to unpack, urging them to be at their best for dinner. When the two girls came down the stairs, William stood at the landing, framed in the heavy oaken doorway to the great room. Behind him on the wall a painting hung depicting a martyr’s gruesome death, and William and the martyr wore the same glum expression. Tessa saw a resemblance to Jeffrey, but where the youngest brother had a strong bone structure and a clear, direct gaze, William had the same features with less substance. His face sagged into itself, leaving pouchy eyes and a heavily jowled chin. The eyes seemed to judge everything they saw and find it wanting. He was dressed well, with a robe of deep blue and a close-fitting cap that showed only a few graying hairs below its edge.

  Lord Brixton greeted the two girls tersely, looking hard at Tessa before remarking in a casual tone, “You don’t much look like a sister to Eleanor, Mistress macFindlaech.”

  “I’m told I favor my mother, sir, God rest her,” Tessa replied, keeping her eyes downcast and trying to appear both demure and marriageable.

  “Ah, then,” was the reply. “Go along to dinner.”

  He indicated a direction, and Tessa took Mary’s arm and went off with relief. At least she wasn’t to be set out on the street tonight. Mary whispered encouragement as they went: “He’s always like that—quite stern is William.”

  Stern indeed, Tessa thought. She could feel those cold blue eyes at her back, the color of Jeffrey’s, but much less human.

  The party at the dinner table consisted of the five women, Lord Brixton, a local priest, a businessman who spoke of nothing but linen prices, and Aidan, the brother closest in age to Jeffrey. Aidan was something of a surprise. With Eleanor’s remark that he was treated badly and the notation in Jeffrey’s diary he would drink himself to an early death, Tessa had expected a pathetic little man with a red-veined nose and slurred speech.

  Instead, Aidan was quite handsome. He wore a red and black tunic with black hose that showed off well-muscled legs. His long face was rounded somewhat by a neatly trimmed beard. Aidan resembled his brothers very little, having brown hair and eyes, but they were nice eyes. With an engaging manner, he teased the other girls about their foibles, having known them from childhood. To Tessa he was charming and attentive, listening to her half-true, half-concocted story of how Jeffrey had found her, realized who she was, and brought her to Eleanor.

  “How clever of Jeffrey to find a beautiful addition to the family in Scotland of all places,” Aidan remarked. Tessa bristled, but remembered her role in time to bite back a response to the slur on her native land. Aidan had seen it, though; she could tell by his look and the raised eyebrow that brought Jeffrey to mind. They shared, she thought, a quick understanding of the feelings of others, betrayed by that eyebrow’s arch.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress macFindlaech—May I call you Tessa? Your name is quite a trial for my poor tongue.” Tessa had already heard Englishmen refer to Scotland’s tongue as half cough and half speech. Eleanor had explained that Tessa was known by her stepfather’s name, macFindlaech, which required the Scottish glottals used less and less in English these days.

  Tessa was gracious. “Of course, Master Brixton.”

  “I am most grateful, Tessa. And grateful to Jeffrey, for bringing you among us.” He smiled at her directly, and she decided brown eyes were very nice indeed.

  As the meal progressed, Tessa could not help but notice William Brixton’s sour personality and demanding manner. At one point a very young serving boy spilled a few drops of wine in his anxiousness to keep the glasses full, and William barked to the housekeeper, “Get that lout out of here and find someone who knows how to properly serve at table!” The boy fled in disgrace, and William turned to Master Conklin, the linen merchant. “I apologize. It is impossible to find people of the standard I require in servants.”

  “I understand,” the merchant hurried to agree, flattered to be invited to dinner at the house of a nobleman. “We find also in my trade that good help is hard to find. It’s what drives the prices up—” and he was back on his favorite subject.

  Later in the meal, Master Conklin mentioned his approval of the roast fowl they were served. William, in a generous mood because the man was about to make him even wealthier with the deal they had concluded that afternoon, smiled. “I raise them on the manor,” he told Conklin. “I will see you have a brace for dinner some evening.” Without looking at his brother, William said curtly, “Aidan, see to the matter. And mind, don’t be slow about it.” The tone was peremptory, not a request but an order to one clearly regarded as subordinate.

  While the other ladies at the table pondered their plates, Tessa glanced at Aidan, whose face showed no emotion. He simply replied, “Of course,” and made a slight nod of his head to the merchant. So this was how William treated his brothers. No wonder he was regarded with disdain by his wife.

  Up in their room after dinner, Mary told Tessa a family secret. “Master Aidan is only half-brother to the rest, which is why he’s so different looking,” she said with the air of one who knows her news will bring surprise. “You see, the old Lord Brixton had himself a leman, an Irish woman he met on campaign. He kept her in a little house just the other side of the wood at the manor house. She had Aidan then sickened and died. The old man brought him home and told Lady Brixton she would raise him as one of her own, and bless her, she did it. No one’s allowed to speak of it, though, by her own wish. Eleanor says Lady Brixton was truly a great woman, and when she took the boy in, she made him her own.

  “And the present Lord Brixton? What does he think?”

  “I daresay he finds it convenient having someone to do his errands. To his credit, he never calls Master Aidan anything but brother.”

  Tessa was glad, for Aidan’s sake, that William accepted him. It was not much, since he treated all three brothers badly, but at least they were equals. Remembering a comment from Jeffrey’s journal, she asked Mary, “Does Aidan drink overmuch? I heard somewhere he did.”

  Mary nodded, her eyes round. “Well, he did in the past. I believe William spoke to him about it, and he’s thought to be mending his ways. He were an awful one when he were in his cups, I can tell you.”

  “Is that why Jeffrey is your favorite then? A miser, a monk and a drunkard. I suppose even young Master Brixton must appear well next to those three.”

  Mary was instantly defensive. “Jeffrey is superior to all men, not just his brothers.”

  “And how many men do you know?” Tessa teased.

  “As many as you, I’ll wager,” was Mary’s laughing response, but then her face sobered. “It’s true, though. I think poor Eleanor would have gone mad except for Jeffrey. He’s always stood between her and Sir William, making the old stick ashamed when he deprived his wife of small things while he lived in London in this fine house. Not that Eleanor cares for finery. She’d as lief plant a garden as attend a feast. Still, William was cruel to her in small ways once he found he’d get no son from her. Jeffrey has always protected her and been good to us, too, the poor cousins.”

  Tessa had an idea of what it must be like for the three Brixton girls with little hope for a bright future. William’s penny-pinching might leave them old maids, or at best wives to younger sons of poor noblemen, working themselves to death on five acres.

  “Mary, this is our chance to see what London offers in the way of husbands.”

  “I’m not such a beauty as you—” Mary began, touching her thi
n, mousy brown hair, but Tessa interrupted.

  “Don’t be silly! You’re as pretty as one of your English daisies, and men differ in their tastes in women. After Eleanor’s instruction, I’m sure we will each succeed.” She turned impish, taking on a lecturing tone. “You must get the attention of two or three young men, and then set them each thinking you might be interested in another. Nothing makes a man more ardent than the thought you mightn’t want him.”

  “Are you certain?” Mary said, wide-eyed.

  Tessa wasn’t sure how she knew it to be true, but she did. She’d seen men in the hills of Scotland who chased only after the girls who ran away, or appeared to, and figured men were the same in England despite fine clothes and manners. The girls practiced flirting with their eyes until it became too dark in the room to see. They pinched out the tallow candle and went to sleep, each dreaming of the days to come and the men they would conquer.