“You ought to see them do it in a gale,” Father said, grinning.
Suddenly a chill ran through me—a gale! I did not wish to imagine them being tossed about by a howling wind and crashing waves—but once he had spoken of it, I could not drive the image out of my thoughts. And from that moment on, the ship lost all its charms and came to seem horrid and dangerous to me. Father’s little cabin became a death hole; I saw him trapped there, terrified, as water filled the room. I imagined the stout masts crashing down and splintering the deck below. Then I saw the hull crack open and men fall to their deaths into the boiling sea.
And I picture it still, every night, in my dreams. I wish I had never seen that ship.
Marianne
As soon as Father returned, I was to be wed.
A girl cannot always count on liking the man she is to marry, but I did. Richard was tall and fair and near to my own age. He could just as easily have been sixty or twelve, foul breathed or snot nosed. I know that. But Father was content in his own marriage and desired that I might feel the same about mine. Besides, we were in a good bargaining position. Though Father was of the merchant estate, he was as rich as a lord, and Mother was the daughter of a knight. Even more to the point, Mother had not borne a living child in twelve years. Her chances of producing a son and heir were fast fading. It was likely that Alice and I would inherit everything.
Richard’s eyes were a bit too close together, that is true, and his face a little prone to red spots—the sort of blemishes boys so often suffer from in their youth. But he would outgrow them in time, and aside from those minor flaws, he was as goodly a man as any girl could want. He still had a full head of hair and most of his teeth.
At the time of our marriage, Richard would dower me with a manor house and a village of more than five hundred souls—also the cattle and sheep and pigs, as well as the income from the mill, the bridge crossing, and the communal oven. This was more than acceptable, and I hoped through good management and wise investment to increase my holdings over time.
For my part, I would bring a dowry that was as exotic as it was splendid, and of this I was exceedingly proud. Though I had hemmed and embroidered the sheets myself, the bed hangings were of silk and gold brocade. I doubted even the king had anything so fine! And the saltcellar was of gold, studded with emeralds. My dresses were so beautifully made and of such rare fabrics that I believe I could have worn them at the king’s court, and the greatest ladies in the land would have looked upon me with envy.
Our father traveled the world, and each time he returned he brought us wonderful gifts—oh, what an eye for quality he had! Such jewels and ornaments of gold and embroidered silks and silver candlesticks of cunning design and rosewood boxes inlaid with ebony and ivory! And aromatic spices, too, and receipts for how to use them in exotic dishes. He entertained us with stories about the pashas and sultans of foreign lands. And so, by way of Father’s travels, we grew far more worldly than our neighbors.
It was only natural, then, that my wedding feast should be a truly splendid affair, so lavish and elegant that for years thereafter people would still speak of it in hushed voices! Oh, the fancy dishes we would have the cooks prepare—rich delicacies never tasted before in our town! And our guests would not eat from trenchers like common folk, but from dishes of pure silver—one for each person, so they would not have to share. And all the guests would drink their wine from goblets of fine Venetian crystal!
Already our hall was decorated with beautiful tapestries and hangings, but Father promised to bring us yet more, in time for the wedding. We would drape swags and garlands of aromatic leaves and flowers upon the walls, and the floor would be strewn with rose petals instead of rushes.
Once Father’s ship sailed, early in the spring, Mother and I set to work planning the great event. The days passed quickly, as so often they do when one is much occupied. By the time the apples were ripe and the air was chill at night, we had already been expecting him home for some time. But the wind does its own bidding—Father had often told us so. It might blow you far off course or cease blowing altogether, leaving you stranded for weeks. Such things had happened to him before, and so we did not worry overmuch. My thoughts were still upon the wedding and how much I regretted the need to postpone it. Already there were no rose petals to be had anywhere.
Then the snow began to fall and the sewers in the road iced over, and we truly became afraid. We did not talk of it much—Mother and Alice and I—for we wished to be hopeful and keep our spirits up. But we were all plagued by the same terrible fears—except that Alice’s were worse than ours, for she had seen Father’s ship, and it had frightened her and given her bad dreams.
One morning there came a knock upon our door. It was gray and windy out, I remember, and we had closed all the shutters against the cold. We sat together by the fire, sewing in silence. When the rapping came, Mother did not wait for the housemaid Liddy to answer the door but leaped up with such haste that she dropped her embroidery into the coals. I quickly fished it out.
But it was not Father at the door. To our astonishment, it was Mortran Greatbeard—my Richard’s father. This was most unexpected, for he had not been to our house since the days of our marriage negotiations. His manner now was exceedingly sober. I thought he seemed ill at ease.
“Madam,” he said, “I have hard news for you.”
Matilda
The voyage was to have been his last. After all those years of trading in trinkets, building our fortune little by little, my husband made a bold move. He put everything we had—and still more, which he borrowed—into financing one final journey. He bought a ship and filled its hold with the very finest—truly the best—of paintings and wines and glassware and tapestries. These would not be traded with merchants along the coast as before. These were goods for sultans and pashas.
If all went well (and why should it not?), we would be fabulously wealthy. He would become the lord of many estates, and I his lady.
He was in high spirits when he left—hungry for the adventure, sure of his success. I think, in truth, he cared more for the triumph of his enterprise than the money and lands he would gain from it. My husband was actually proud that he had begun his life a poor man and had made himself a rich one. “Any fool can inherit a fortune,” he liked to say. “It takes wit and hard work to make one.” I thought this sentiment very odd, for to inherit wealth is so much more respectable. Indeed, he always was a strange man—but I would not have another.
We were accustomed to waiting, Marianne and Alice and I. Always he went away and always he came back—richer than before and bearing wonderful gifts. But we never knew when to expect him, for it is the nature of ships to be ever at the mercy of the winds.
One time he dressed himself as a peasant—dirtied his face and pulled a cowl over his head, so we would not know him—and knocked upon our door. Liddy would not allow him into the house, but did agree to “give the mistress this package.”
I was busy with our accounts when she came in, most apologetically, and handed me a wad of rags, saying a filthy beggar had insisted she deliver it. I took it in my hand with some reluctance, for the cloth was soiled and reeked of garlic. But then I felt the weight of it, and became most curious, so that I began unwrapping it in haste. Inside there was a gold necklace—and I knew my husband was home! Ah, whoever had such a man!
So we waited with good patience, long past the time he might be expected. Then we waited still a month more. The cold came early that year, with one storm after another moving across the land. I comforted myself by imagining that he had been forced to take shelter in some harbor along the way. But another month passed, and still he did not come. Now the snow was falling, and though I tried to train my thoughts to be hopeful, I began to fear the worst.
One morning there came a knock upon the door. I could think of nothing but that he had finally returned. I would not have Liddy delay him a moment longer, and so I ran to open it myself.
But i
t was not my husband. It was Mortran Greatbeard, father of Marianne’s betrothed. His mien was grim, and he wasted no time on pretty words. My husband had been declared lost at sea, he said. Our creditors would demand full payment of all we owed, most likely that very day. Mortran had come to give us fair warning, for it was being much talked of all over town.
“You understand, of course,” Mortran said—and I think I saw a flash of shame cross his face as he said it—“that the arrangement between my son and your daughter is now invalid, as your circumstances have changed.”
Oh, such nice wording that was—“your circumstances have changed.” Meaning, of course, that we would soon lose our home, our horses, our furnishings, our dresses and jewels, the candlesticks and the saltcellar and the glassware, the bed hangings and sheets and the silver platters and the goblets and the cunning little carvings from the Far East. My husband’s things, too—his books and clothes. I could not bear the thought of it!
According to the laws, our creditors should not have been allowed to take my dower lands, and that would have saved us. But no—I had been bold, too. “Borrow against my dower lands,” I had said. “The more you have to spend on cargo, the greater the riches in the end!”
Now the greater the ruin.
Mortran, having said his piece, bowed curtly to us all and left. Marianne managed to keep her composure until the door was shut, then ran screaming to her chamber. I did not go after her, for my legs were trembling, and I felt so light-headed I feared I might faint. I went over and sat down on the bench beside Alice, though she seemed not to notice I was there. She sat, unmoving, her hands crossed over her lips and her eyes very wide.
“Mistress?” It was Liddy. I had not heard her approach, and so her voice startled me. “Mistress,” she said again, “pardon that I overheard.”
“So then you know everything,” I said, not turning to look at her, but staring dejectedly into the fire. “That is just as well. I will pay your wages now, while I still have something left. Obviously, then, you must go. Cook, too. All of you.”
“But Mistress,” she said, “just a little thought . . .”
I turned around now. She was wringing her hands nervously, but her face was eager.
“Do they know—do your creditors know everything you have? Every dress, every silk shawl or ivory comb?”
“Well . . . ,” I said, trying to imagine what path her thoughts were taking. “Not every single thing in this house is itemized. Only those things of greatest value.”
“So then, that’s good.”
“Liddy, please make your point.”
“I will, Mistress. See, when I go home in the evenings, from time to time I take a basket of stale bread or the like. It is common practice enough.” I had long suspected that more than stale bread went home with Liddy, but I was prepared to hear her out.
“So what if, instead, I took home a few gold bracelets or silver spoons or a diamond clasp? Whatever would fit in a basket and isn’t—what’s the word? Itemized? And then after all the wicked men have come and took all you have, why then you come by my house and pick them up. They’d be none the wiser, now, would they? And you’d have a bit of seed money so to speak—to start over with. You might reward me in some small way, I’d think, for doing you that little service?”
Then she folded her arms and smiled and waited for my reaction.
Marianne
Was it not hard enough already that Father was dead and we were ruined? Must we also have old garlic-breathed Mortran Greatbeard come to our house and announce that he would not allow that pimple-faced, pig-eyed son of his to marry me, now that I am penniless?
One minute I was about to be wed in grand style to a wealthy man—then suddenly I am rejected, thrown onto the ash heap, into the gutter—no longer good enough for toothless, dim-witted Richard! Oh, it was too much! Can you wonder that I took to my bed and wept over it? Was that not the natural thing to do?
Well, Mother did not seem to think so, for she proceeded to give me a tongue-lashing over it, demanding I control myself and attend to the matter at hand. Oh, how she prattled on, till I thought I would scream, saying we must “rise to the occasion” and “control our own destiny” and many other such commonplace remarks. She must be made of ice, that woman, that she could be so sensible, with Father dead and my engagement broken!
My sister, Alice, did not “rise to the occasion,” either—she just sat there upon the bench as still as a stone, and did not utter a single word after smelly old Crumbs-in-His-Greatbeard left our house. Mother seemed to find Alice’s silence just as annoying as my wails and moans. She slapped my sister on the cheek to get her to stop sulking. Then she slapped me, too.
And so we had little choice but to set our grief aside and go help Mother find as many small, precious things as we could, so that Liddy might carry them away from the house before the creditors came. And I must admit, it was a good plan. Not two hours later a pair of grim-faced men arrived at our door—just as flatulent old Mortran Grossbelly said they might.
Mother had told us to change into our finest gowns before the creditors came. This was not a matter of pride. She said they were bound to take our jewels—but she was sure they would never stoop so low as to strip us of our dresses and send us naked into the street. Nor did she think they would have the nerve to tear the seed pearls from my bodice or cut the marten collar off her mantle. So why not let them take the everyday gowns and walk out in our best?
Of course, they were not fooled by this strategy. “You count upon our chivalry, I see,” said one, lowering his eyelids in a suggestive manner. I will not repeat what the other man said, for it was most offensive and very cruel.
On the whole they were a vile, coldhearted pair. They did not seem the least bit sorry for us. They rejoiced over our beautiful things most shamelessly, as though we were not standing right there to hear every word they said. It revolted me to see them pawing through our treasures with their coarse, dirty hands and sitting in the very chair where once my father sat! Oh, it was horrible!
But we did not have to endure their company for long. Once the contents of our house and stable were inspected and all the papers signed, they turned us out.
It was a cold day, but shutters were open all along the street. I saw the faces of our neighbors peering down at us from their windows. Not one of them thought to offer us shelter, or even bothered to come out and tell us good-bye. How that chilled me! I had thought them our friends. I had planned to invite those people to my wedding!
I looked back only once, but then I began to weep again and Mother took firm hold of my arm. “Be as dignified as you can, Marianne,” she said. “Hold your head high and walk away like the lady you are.”
And so we did. Dressed in our finest gowns and wearing our stylish little pointed shoes, we paraded out of that lovely neighborhood and headed for the working-class district where Liddy dwelt. Mother said we would find a room to rent there, something clean but modest. Then, once she had collected our trinkets and sold a few, we would find something better.
I noticed, as we made our way, how the buildings grew ever shabbier and the lanes narrower and more crowded. There was a ripe smell of filth in the air. These common folk emptied their chamber pots right outside their doors, each house with its own revolting little pile! And the people were vulgar and discourteous; they pushed and shoved us as we walked and shouted at us to get out of the way of carts and horses.
Though we took great care not to walk in the gutters and navigated as best we could around horse droppings and garbage and other refuse, still our shoes were soon wet and stained. Nor was it easy to walk on cobblestones in those dainty slippers. Twice I turned my ankles, and was soon hobbling along like a cripple.
As the afternoon wore on, it became clear that finding “clean but modest” lodgings would not be as easy as Mother had imagined. People were suspicious of us—three ladies dressed so grandly, inquiring after a furnished room in such a humble part of town. W
ho were we? Trollops? Thieves? Certainly, they did not want the likes of us living in their God-fearing houses!
By the time the curfew bell rang for closing time, matters were desperate. It was growing colder, and we were hungry and exhausted. Though I knew Mother would scold me for weeping, I could not help it. I feared we would have to sleep out on the street!
Seeing how things were, Mother entered a nearby tavern. It did not meet her standards of “clean but modest”; indeed, she would never have set foot in such a place had we not been so very wretched. But a boy selling meat pies said he thought room and board might be had there, though he did not know the price.
I felt a stab of hope when I saw the proprietress. She was a bit unkempt, but she had a kindly face. And she showed she had a good heart, too, when Mother told her the truth: that we were ladies of high estate who had been thrown into poverty of a sudden, and had no protector. Our fine clothes were all we had in the world—those and a few trinkets. All we asked was a roof, a bed, and a meal.
She looked at me, my face still wet with tears, then at Alice, who stood there trembling with cold and numb with sorrow. Then she looked at Mother with genuine sympathy and said she would take us in.
She gave us a room near the kitchen. It was dirty, and it smelled of fish and onions. Instead of the featherbeds with silk hangings we were accustomed to, we would have to sleep on a single straw pallet upon the floor—no doubt infested with fleas or lice. It was most disgustingly stained, too, and there were no bedclothes and no blanket. All else the room contained were two stools, a cracked chamber pot, and a tiny window with no glass and a broken shutter. This was to be our home for the night.
As it was growing dark, Mother hurried off to find Liddy while the landlady led Alice and me into the kitchen for some supper (she did not think it proper for us to eat in the main hall of the tavern with all those rowdy men).
Bella at Midnight Page 7