Analee stared at the portrait for some time, almost spellbound by it. But the sad man bore no resemblance at all to the tall, well built, blond Allonby ancestors.
‘It is Charles the Martyr,’ a gentle voice said behind her. ‘King Charles who died on the scaffold.’
‘Oh.’
Analee knew little about kings and politics, and nothing about Charles the Martyr.
‘We are supporters of the Stuart Kings of England here. It is King Charles’ great-grandson, Prince Charles, who has landed in Scotland to reclaim the throne.’
‘Oh?’ Analee looked at her with the interested expression of one always willing to learn. ‘I know naught about kings, and take care to keep clear of the law.’
‘Well,’ Mary said taking a seat by the window, her eyes looking alternately at Analee and the portrait on the wall, ‘England was ruled for a long time by the House of Stuart after King James VI of Scotland came to be James I of England ...’
‘He was from Scotland?’
‘Yes, but he was related through his mother, Mary Queen of Scots, to Queen Elizabeth I of England who had just died. It was ironical because Queen Elizabeth had Mary beheaded to keep her off the throne. Elizabeth was not married and had no heirs of her own body, or others close enough to succeed her. ‘Twas her aunt, Margaret Tudor, sister of Henry VIII of England, who married King James IV of Scotland and their son James V of Scotland was the father of Mary Queen of Scots.’
Analee was listening intently. Mary, had a very musical voice and her grave expression and earnestness somehow compelled attention.
‘Thus!’ Mary laughed, ‘if you will pardon the history lesson, it was that the Stuarts came to the English throne in 1603. Ever since the Norman conquest our kings have always been succeeded by heirs of the body and so it continued until in 1688 there occurred a revolution in our country and the rightful King, James II of England, brother of Charles II – the merry monarch they called him – and son of our martyr King, fled abroad. I need not trouble you with the reason for the revolution, Analee, for ‘twas complex. King James sympathized with the Catholics, like all the Stuarts, but ever since Henry VIII and the Reformation the Catholics have been persecuted in this country and no monarch was allowed to be a Catholic ...’
Analee looked at the picture on the wall.
‘Oh King Charles I was sympathetic to our faith and they say Charles II converted on his deathbed. But King James was very influenced by his mother Henrietta Maria of France and he openly advocated that the Catholics should have the same rights as everyone else.
‘Well he was succeeded by his daughter Mary, a Protestant, and her husband William of Orange and they in turn by his second daughter Anne. Queen Anne was the last of the Stuarts, for Parliament had passed a law decreeing that only Protestants should ascend the English throne so that the Catholic Stuarts should be excluded, and the nearest heir was a fat old German prince called the Elector of Hanover whose mother had been a daughter of Elizabeth of Bohemia, daughter of James I of England and sister of King Charles I. So you can see how far back it went, how tenuous was the connection. The Prince could neither speak nor understand English and came with all his court to occupy the throne of our country ...’
Mary was near to tears, and Analee moved over to her but feared to show too much familiarity by touching her.
‘’Twas a scandal. King James II had died, but his son who was born here and was openly a Catholic living in France was the rightful heir to the throne of England, and we who supported him call him King James III.’
‘And is he still there?’ To Analee it did not appear right at all; gypsy rules of succession were very strict too.
‘Yes, an old man now, living sadly in Rome because even the French kings who used to support him would do so no longer. He it was who took part in the glorious rebellion of 1715, in which our family suffered so much, and it is his son Prince Charles Edward who has come now to act as regent and fight for his father’s throne!’
‘Oh may he succeed!’ Analee cried clasping her hands. ‘I can see it is so right!’
‘Yes it is, it is! We will drive these odious Germans back to Hanover from whence they came. Oh, Prince Charles is but twenty-four years of age, so bold and handsome, it is said. He came with only seven men and now all Scotland has flocked to him, and so will all England when he crosses the border and marches to London.’
‘Will he not be resisted?’
‘Oh, there will be some resistance,’ Mary said casually, ‘but they say that his charm and skill and also the fact he is undoubtedly the rightful heir will carry the day.’
Analee looked at the picture and suddenly there was a whirring sound in her head and she closed her eyes. She could hear the clash of swords, the sound of musket shot, the rasp of cannonballs. There were screams and cries ... she put her hands to her ears.
‘What is it, Analee?’ Mary grasped her arm, her face pale with concern, ‘are you ill?’
Analee swayed and the sounds abruptly stopped. She was looking steadily at the face of the King, as though nothing had happened. Then she turned to Mary and said gravely: ‘There will be much suffering ...’
‘Because of him? The Prince?’
‘Yes. For a moment I seemed to hear the rage of battle, cries and screams ...’
Mary gazed at her guest with wonder – this tall, strange gypsy woman with the bare feet and proud eyes.
‘Can you see into the future? Can it really be true?’ Analee shook her head.
‘I sometimes can see things, foretell them; but I am not cohani, that is a gypsy witch or woman of magic. But things that I often feel strongly about come true ... in my vision just now I seemed to see much distress for our own people, the gypsies.’
She put her hands to her face and looked at the picture again.
‘He was a good man?’
‘Oh, he was. Some say a foolish one, a stubborn one; but far far better than any Hanoverian.’
Analee smiled at the young girl, noting the set of the mouth, the hint of passion in her eyes. She was beautiful, and the brother was handsome, too. Analee wondered about the brother and sister living apparently with so few servants in this large house.
‘Would you like to walk by the lake?’ Mary said. ‘I can see it fascinates you.’
‘Yes it is very beautiful; and the mountains ...’ Analee looked across the water to Wella Crag. ‘You see I normally see everything from outside, not from the point of view of being inside a house. If you are always out of doors things look very different. That window is like ...’ she pointed to the pictures on the wall, ‘well, as though that scene is framed like one of those.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. Like a picture.’
Mary led Analee into the hall and out of the wide front door. Almost immediately they could see the lake between the firs. It sparkled as though a handful of jewels, diamonds and sapphires, had been thrown carelessly into it and Analee shaded her eyes against the glare. It was a beautiful day; calm, gentle, serene, no cloud in the sky, not like autumn at all.
‘You live here alone with your brother?’
Analee was reluctant to appear curious and glanced at the girl walking beside her.
‘No, we have an elder brother John, who is not here today. He will be back soon. Our father died a few years ago. My mother when I was born ...’
‘Oh.’ Analee stopped and looked directly into Mary’s face. ‘My mother, too, died when I was born. You know I felt a strange harmony with you as soon as I saw you. Now maybe this is the reason. We have never known the love of a mother.’
Mary gazed at her strange companion and clasped her hands.
‘Oh, do you think so? Is it possible? Tell me about yourself, Analee, why you lead this life. There is something about you that is ... unexpected. You are not, for instance, like Nelly.’
‘I am a gypsy,’ Analee said simply, ‘a wandering gypsy woman. I have nothing special or secret about me. Maybe I have travelled more than someon
e like Nelly.’
‘Are you from overseas?’
Analee paused and looked towards the water; it was a question that people often asked her.
‘I? No. I was born here in this country. But as my mother died so young I was brought up by my grandmother and, yes, they came from overseas, from some far distant country – I know not which.’
‘From Spain or Italy. That is why you are so dark-skinned.’
‘Maybe,’ Analee smiled.
‘I have spent all my life by the shores of this lake. I never went further than Carlisle and that only once. I cannot comprehend what it is like to wander. Don’t you feel afraid?’
‘Afraid? No. I feel safer among nature than my own people ...’
Analee’s eyes were tinged with bitterness and her voice faltered. Mary sensed a sadness, but also a withdrawal on the part of Analee, as though she did not want to speak further about herself.
‘It’s something I can’t understand, never having known that life,’ Mary said.
‘And you are happy as you are?’
‘Well, our family has known much hardship. Once we were, well, wealthy and powerful I suppose you’d say, though it was long before my time. Then our father’s brother was in the rebellion in 1715 and was executed. Our mother died when I was born, our uncle died, an exile abroad, and my eldest brother finally managed to find some happiness and married a beautiful girl he had known all his life. They had but ten short months of happiness when she died, too, giving birth to a child ...’
‘And the child?’
‘Dead.’
‘Ah ...’ Analee looked away, not wanting Mary to see the suffering in her own eyes. Then she turned to her again. ‘And you ... what is your future?’
Mary’s face assumed so suddenly a look of happiness, almost ecstasy, that Analee was taken by surprise. The deep blue eyes became almost purple and a becoming blush suffused her cheeks. Analee laughed outright at such a sudden transformation.
‘I see there is someone special for you ...’
‘I am expecting to be married! Any day he could come galloping over those mountains. My brother has gone to fetch him.’
‘Oh, I am so happy for you. Have you known him long?’
‘All my life. He is my cousin; but he never showed any love for me until recently. Last year he was very ill and I nursed him back to health. We fell in love.’
‘Then why did you not marry last year?’
Mary frowned and studied the ground.
‘My family did not fully approve of him. Although he is of noble birth he showed no capacity for settling down, for hard work, and he had no future of his own. Of course I didn’t mind that,’ Mary said hastily, noting the expression on Analee’s face. ‘We have never had money, but he also had a reputation as ... a womanizer.’ Mary’s voice sank to a whisper. ‘My brother thought him too fickle.’
‘But all is changed now?’ Analee’s eyes sparkled at the girl’s shyness.
‘Oh yes. He has worked hard and been faithful ... I think, and I expect him any time.’
Analee looked at the happy open face gazing into hers and knew a sudden moment of unease, foreboding ... there seemed to be a cloud between her and this young girl on the verge of marriage. Was it the intervention of her own unhappiness or was it a foreknowing?
‘I must go upstairs,’ she said quickly, ‘and see to Nelly.’
‘What is it, Analee? Have I said something wrong?’
Mary had observed the change in the gypsy’s eyes and looked concerned. Analee leaned impulsively over to touch her, then decided not to; Mary might consider her gesture too familiar.
‘No, of course not. I was worried that I had neglected Nelly. We cannot stay here long, especially as you are expecting your brother and ... what is his name, your young man?’
‘Mary,’ a voice came from the wood and Stewart appeared through the trees, ‘can you come for a minute? I want to talk about the thinning of the coppice with you.’
‘Ah, I must go,’ Mary said. ‘We dine at five, and go to bed very early in these parts.’
‘I am used to sleeping when it is dark and rising when it is light,’ Analee said turning towards the house. ‘In fact I cannot keep awake in the dark.’
Stewart who had hoped that the beautiful gypsy would come with them looked disconsolate as she walked towards the house. Mary saw his expression and smiled.
‘I think you are smitten,’ she said.
‘A man would not be in his right mind if he were not,’ Stewart replied. ‘I don’t think I ever saw a woman who struck me more in my life.’
‘But she is not for you.’
‘Why?’
‘She is a gypsy. A nomad; would you wander too?’
‘I was teasing,’ Stewart said taking her by the arm. ‘Maybe she will give me a spell to make Emma mine. If she is a real gypsy she. should know about the ways of love.’
‘I am sure she does,’ Mary said, trembling slightly, for what reason she didn’t know. Maybe a chill had sprung up. ‘I am sure she knows all about them.’
13
Stewart was at his best at the dinner table that evening, relaxed and full of laughter. In the company of Analee he seemed to bloom, to lose all his reserve. It was the way she looked at him that made him feel so, well ... manly was the word. Yes manly, and clever as well. She simply had to smile at him and he wanted to open up and puff out his chest like a strutting turkey-cock. He wanted to please her and impress her; above all he wanted to make her go on looking at him like that.
But when she turned to Mary the look was only subtly changed because Mary was a woman and Stewart was a man. Analee wanted to draw Mary out too, and she did this by her smiles of encouragement, the way she nodded her head, seemed completely absorbed by what was being said. Years fell away from the brother and sister as they responded to the impact Analee made on them. She brought out the best in them, caused them to relive childhood memories, remembering when times were not as hard as they were now, so insecure.
It was almost as though ... she had cast a spell on them, Stewart thought watching his sister’s face as she chatted and sparkled, erupting every now and again into long forgotten silvery laughter. Could she cast spells, this beautiful gypsy woman who came from nowhere? Was she, perhaps, a witch? An enchantress?
‘Mary has been telling me she is about to marry,’ Analee said suddenly interrupting the flow of childhood nostalgia. ‘And you, Stewart? Have you no young woman you long to make your bride?’
Stewart looked abashed, less sure of himself. He knew he was blushing, but hoped she did not see it under the brown tan acquired from so many days of chopping trees in the sun.
‘Yes, he does have ...’ Mary began impishly, but he looked imploringly at her and she stopped.
‘It is true,’ he said cautiously. ‘I am enamoured of someone, but she will not spare a glance for me. She is younger than I and different, and ...’
‘Then that augurs well,’ Analee said practically. ‘It would not do if she were older or exactly the same in temperament.’
But she could see that Stewart was not joking; he was not amused. He nursed a hopeless passion for someone who did not love him.
‘No, she does not like me enough. Maybe you could give me a spell,’ Stewart said half in jest, wanting to restore the happy laughing mood of a few moments ago. ‘Why not? Can you cast spells?’
‘No,’ Analee said slowly. ‘I do not have the powers. I told you I am not cohani; but, well ... there are one or two ways I do know of trying to capture someone’s love.’
Stewart leaned forward impressed, despite himself, by her gravity, the sincerity of her tone.
‘Then tell it. I will try it.’
‘Well ... You must pluck three hairs from the neck of the girl you love, better if you do it while she is sleeping. You then put the hairs in the chink of a tree and as it grows her love will grow for you.
‘But,’ Stewart protested amused, though he could see that
Analee did not speak in jest. ‘She is not here. She lives quite far away and I cannot get the hairs from her head.’
‘Ah.’ Analee stared thoughtfully at the table. ‘You really need a drabarni, a drug woman who will give you a potion to put into her food. But there again you need to be with her. To win love from afar, that is more difficult. Look, this will be easy for you. You must go to the lake and pick a leaf from a tree hanging over it. Then with your knife you prick your wrist and smear the leaf with the blood while repeating your name. You then turn the leaf over and smear it on the other side, saying over and over again the name of the girl you want to marry. Her name is ... ?’
‘Emma,’ Stewart said.
‘Then you say “Emma” over and over again. Then you throw the leaf into the lake and watch it flow away.’
She stopped and gazed at Stewart. He was such a handsome, vital young man, looking earnestly at her face. But she did not see happiness for Stewart ... there was something about this family that bred its own disaster. Looking at brother and sister she could see happiness for neither of them. Neither Stewart nor the girl, not for a long time.
She hoped she was wrong. The mood of gaiety had gone and it was partly her fault. She was not bringing happiness to the house and she wanted to. She felt she already loved this family, the two young vulnerable people who had given her, a rough wandering gypsy woman, so much hospitality. She wanted to help them, to do something for them. But what?
‘I must take Nelly some food,’ she said getting up from the table. ‘She will be better tomorrow. We will go, and presume no more on your kindness.’
‘But we like having you here,’ Stewart said. ‘We get so few visitors. Besides, where will you go?’
‘Ah, that I can’t say. We are making for over the mountains, towards the sea. Maybe we will cross the water and go to Ireland.’
‘You mean you just wander on and on?’
‘Yes.’ Analee tilted her head at Stewart. ‘You cannot understand it can you? You have a house and a bed and fresh clothes to put on. You have food at regular times and warmth in your grate. But I, and Nelly, have known nothing else. The earth is our home, the wild hills and forests. We have always done it and it is how we live. I have ... for some months dwelt in a gypsy camp and I could not abide it. I hated being tied down. I cannot explain it, it is how I am. How my people are.’
The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) Page 23