Snow White and Rose Red

by Patricia Wrede

  John’s absence from Faerie was not noticed for some time. Those who missed him thought at first that he was keeping to himself out of prudence; the Queen was not crossed with impunity. It was not until several days after his departure that a message was delivered to Madini in the flower garden where she sat with the Queen’s other ladies.

  The message was brief: “The Queen’s eldest son hath broke the ban.” Madini’s lips curved in a cold smile. She glanced at the message again, and spoke a single word. The writing glittered, then vanished from the page. Madini crumpled the now blank sheet of paper and dropped it in a drift of pinks, then went swiftly to find the Chamberlain and request a private audience with the Queen. A short time later, the Chamberlain escorted Madini into the crystal-walled room where the white-robed Queen of Faerie sat.

  “Madam,” Madini said, sinking into a graceful curtsy as the Chamberlain departed.

  “Madini, my dear,” the Queen said. “Come nearer; sit and tell me what bringeth thee so urgently.”

  “Ill news, I fear, Your Majesty,” Madini said. She rose from her curtsy and came forward as the Queen had bidden her.

  “Then speak it straight, without circumspection,” the Queen said, frowning slightly.

  “As Your Majesty wills,” Madini said. “Your eldest son hath set aside your wise commands and chosen his own counsels in their spite.”

  “Doth this roundaboution of thine mean that John hath left the realm of Faerie?” the Queen demanded. Her fingers lay pale and motionless on the silk-smooth arms of the birchwood throne on which she sat.

  “Even so.”

  The Queen’s calm expression did not alter. “Who gave him aid?”

  “No subject of your own,” Madini said. “More than that, I do not know. Yet if no one of Faerie aided him, some mortal must have been his help. Your son—”

  “Leave us.”

  Madini swallowed the remainder of her sentence, along with a large measure of chagrin. She had counted on a longer conversation to give her time to feign sympathy and to drop a few more hints regarding John. She was not sure what to make of the abrupt dismissal, but she was far too wise to protest it. Hiding her frustration, Madini curtsied and left the royal presence.

  CHAPTER · SEVEN

  “Snow White and Rose Red always kept their mother’s cottage neat and tidy. In summer, Rose Red took care of the house. Every morning she gathered flowers for her mother, and she always included some of the roses from the two rosebushes in the garden. In the winter it was Snow White who lit the fire and hung the copper kettle on the hob. ”

  THE PUZZLING CONFINEMENT OF ROSAMUND AND Blanche in Faerie and their even more puzzling release troubled the Widow Arden more than she could bring herself to admit in the presence of her daughters. The unexpected results of her sorcerous vision only added to her fears. Something was happening in Faerie, and though it had brushed lightly by Rosamund and Blanche thus far, the Widow doubted that they would continue to be so lucky.

  She, therefore, set herself to think out a way of discovering what lay behind these mysterious and intriguing occurrences, that she might be better prepared if the future brought more of them. She could hardly go to Faerie and ask, and she knew better than to make any further use of magic. What she needed more than anything, the Widow felt, was advice.

  So, on the Wednesday following Rosamund and Blanche’s safe return from Faerie, the Widow Arden left the girls to take care of the house while she herself set off for Mortlak. The day was grey, cold and overcast, a foretaste of the rapidly approaching winter. By the time she reached the village the Widow was thoroughly chilled, despite her wool petticoat, and she was glad indeed to reach Mistress Hudson’s house near the edge of the village.

  Mary Hudson was of about the same age as the Widow Arden, but where the Widow was tall, dark-haired, and well-figured, Mary was short, greying, and decidedly plump. Neither woman cared in the slightest for these differences, nor for the more important social discrepancy between a poor widow and the wife of a well-to-do gentleman with a large country house and an equally large income from the thriving trade in wines and wool. At their first meeting, the two women had become fast friends, and they had remained so for as long as the Widow had lived in Mortlak.

  Mistress Hudson was in when the Widow arrived, and soon the Widow was gratefully warming her hands over a large brazier of sea-coal, while her kindhearted hostess fussed over her.

  “Nay, Mary, thou‘rt surely kind, but truly I’ve no need of possets,” the Widow said at last, laughing.

  “No need! Why, in God’s truth thou‘rt chilled to the very bone,” her hostess replied indignantly.

  “I’m not so chilled as that,” the Widow said, though she was indeed quite cold. She had had enough of Mary Hudson’s heated brews to avoid them when she could. “‘Twould take more than a day so mild as this to discomfort me.”

  “Or belike a better flavor to my drinks?” Mistress Hudson said in a mischievous tone. “Well, I’ll not press thee. Thou hast stayed away too long; I’ll not give thee cause for more neglect.”

  “Wouldst have me disregard my autumn work?” the Widow shot back, unabashed.

  “Nay, I did but jest. I know ‘tis a busy time for thee. So now I ask, what brings thee from thy duties to my doorstep this November day?”

  “Great perplexity,” said the Widow, and hesitated. She trusted Mary more than she trusted anyone else in Mortlak, but she had never been able to bring herself to speak of the questionable knowledge of magic that added so much to the virtue of her powders, syrups, and potions.

  Mistress Hudson gave the Widow a sharp look. “So? Come to my chambers above, and we’ll talk; ‘tis warmer there—and private.”

  The Widow nodded, and Mistress Hudson led the way through the long hall and up the staircase with its ornate balusters and carved newel posts. They passed through a maze of interconnecting rooms, some paneled in oak, others hung with tapestries, and came at last to Mistress Hudson’s apartments.

  The anteroom, where the women stopped, was spacious and comfortable-looking. A bay window, filled with small, square panes of glass, let in light and gave a somewhat distorted view of the fields and the road. On the opposite side of the room was a large fireplace. The elaborate chimneypiece above it bore the Hudson arms on one side and those of the Gilberts, Mistress Hudson’s family, on the other. The floor was strewn with sweet herbs that made a pleasant scent as the women’s feet crushed them. Loose cushions stuffed with straw lay atop three large, elaborately carved oak chests.

  Mary Hudson seated herself on one of the chests and looked at the Widow. “Tell me straight,” she said as the Widow took a seat opposite her, “is’t money?”

  “Nay, ‘tis not indeed. I’d never come to thee for such a thing!” the Widow said.

  “Thou‘rt stubborn to say it, when I’ve so often told thee thou might,” Mistress Hudson replied calmly. “Well, and if ’tis not the state of thy purse that brings thee to me, ‘tis thy girls.”

  “I fear thou hast it, at least in part,” the Widow said with a sigh. “Dost thou recall how they roam the woods to gather herbs for me? I have been less than easy about it these two months past, and have kept them close. Yet even so I fear they’ve come on that which may be a danger to them.”

  “An thou would have advice, thou must tell me the whole,” Mistress Hudson said, settling herself more comfortably on her cushion. “Begin two months agone; what cause hadst thou for thy misgiving?”

  So the Widow embarked on a somewhat edited account of her dealings of the previous two months. She began with Mistress Townsend’s visit, and the fear of witchcraft rumors that had led her to bar Rosamund and Blanche from the forest. She did not speak of Rosamund’s encounter with the supposed peddler, nor of Faerie, nor of her private magic-working, but she gave a detailed description of Joan Bowes’s request for a love potion, without actually mentioning the girl’s name. She went on to describe in even greater detail the spell-casting that Rosamund and Bl
anche had watched on the afternoon of All Hallows’ Eve.

  “And now there seems a strangeness in the forest, and I fear that those wizards may, by their arts, have learned my daughters saw them,” the Widow finished. “Nor can I be easy knowing two such men have been at work so near my door. Yet I know not what action I may take, and so I come to thee for thy advice.”

  “I think thou shouldst begin by paying less heed to Mistress Townsend,” Mary said. “Yes, I know ‘tis not the question thou hast asked me, yet I say it still. She’s like to trouble thee more than a thousand wizards, an thou allow her.”

  “Belike I was wrong to take her words so much to heart,” the Widow said. “Yet I do not see how knowing that will help me now.”

  “‘Twill give thee one less thing to fret about,” Mary Hudson replied tartly. “Now, as to the girl who sought a love charm of thee: she’ll have no great liking for thee, but she can do thee little harm. Joan Bowes is not much liked in Mortlak.”

  “How didst thou guess—”

  “That it was Joan who came to thee?” Mistress Hudson smiled. “‘Tis common gossip in the village that she’s smitten with her master. Then, too, I’ve seen such greedy, conscienceless girls before, and had to deal with them. ’Twas not difficult.”

  “So thou sayest,” the Widow said, returning the smile. “For myself, I think thou‘rt uncommon shrewd.”

  “That’s as may be,” Mary said. “Still, now thou mayest leave off worrying at that as well. As to thy wizards—”

  “Hardly mine,” the Widow murmured.

  “Intrude not on my sentences, thou hasty pudding, lest I mislay my thoughts! These wizards, by thy report, I think may be Doctor Dee and his friend Master Kelly, who live beside the river.”

  “So I thought, also,” the Widow said unhappily. “But how may I be certain? More, how may I know they’ll do no ill to me or mine, apurpose or by accident?”

  “Have thy daughters watch for them, that they may tell thee whether Doctor Dee and his friend are indeed the wizards thou dost fear,” Mistress Hudson said impatiently. “Then, when thou‘rt certain of their names, thou mayest find some stratagem to learn the rest.”

  “How?” the Widow asked after a moment. She did not entirely approve of her friend’s proposal, but she could see the sense in it. She needed to learn as much as possible about the two wizards Rosamund and Blanche had seen; to do so, she must begin by learning their identities.

  “I’ll think on‘t,” Mistress Hudson said. “There’s time to spare; Master Kelly goes up to London tomorrow, and from thence to Blakley. He’ll not return inside a fortnight. And until I send to thee, thou must draw a cross i’the lintel of thy door and hang thy house with those herbs that do protect from spells and harm.”

  “I thank thee for thy counsel,” the Widow said, smiling. “I’ll follow thy advice. Though, truth to tell, ‘twas a relief simply to speak of it. I would not share my worry with the girls.”

  “Thou mightest be wiser an thou did,” Mistress Hudson said. “Still, I can understand thy caution. I’ll send to thee within a fortnight to tell thee what’s toward, and how we may discover these wizards. ”

  Much cheered by these reassurances, the Widow returned home, while Mistress Hudson went to her embroidery stand to sit and think.

  In the book-lined study on the second floor of John Dee’s home, Dee and Kelly moved urgently about their business. The study windows had been closed, shuttered, and covered with heavy drapes of green silk, so that not even the smallest ray of light could enter from the outside. The room contained neither candles nor rushlights; the only illumination came from the small brass lamp that Dee and Kelly had taken with them into the forest three weeks before.

  The lamp stood near the middle of a square table, inside a six-pointed star formed from two equilateral triangles which were inscribed on the tabletop. Though it held no oil, nor any sign of a flame, the lamp shed a pure, bright light over the engravings and inscriptions that covered the table. Beside it, in the exact center of the table, was a large globe of polished quartz, dull and milky in the unnatural glow of the lamp.

  Dee and Kelly were engaged in placing four round slabs of wax, each more than two inches thick and carved with mystic diagrams, under the four legs of the table on which the lamp rested. The task required both strength and dexterity, for the table was solidly constructed and therefore heavy, and it stood on the large square of red silk the two men had taken to the forest, making it difficult to locate the wax seals properly without wrinkling the silk.

  “Belike we should have been less hasty to put the lamp and crystal in their places,” Kelly panted. He, being the younger of the two by over twenty-five years, had the job of lifting the table, one side at a time, gently enough to keep from dislodging the lamp or the quartz globe, yet far enough for Dee to slide the seals into place.

  “Nay, they must stand in the diagram from the beginning,” Dee said absently. “Therefore have a care to your work.”

  Kelly grimaced disgustedly at Dee’s unheeding back. “Dispatch your own with speed, else I’ll not answer for the consequences. I am no carrier, to make light of such a load.”

  “Peace, Ned; ‘tis done.” Dee backed carefully away from the table and watched critically as Kelly slowly lowered his side of the table half an inch. The two legs of the table came to rest precisely in the center of the wax seals. Dee smiled and rose to his feet as Kelly, massaging his left shoulder, turned to face him.

  “How much time remains?” Kelly demanded.

  Dee went to the shelves behind him and peered at a clock standing there. “Minutes only. To your place; we must begin at once.”

  The two men took up positions on opposite sides of the table and raised their arms. Dee caught Kelly’s eye and nodded. Together they began to chant in long, sonorous Latin phrases that seemed to wind around each other and echo in the darkened corners of the room.

  At first, the glow of the lamp brightened, but as the chant went on and on the lamp began to dim. No corresponding glow began to grow in the quartz globe, however, and Kelly’s eyes took on a wild expression. A bead of sweat rolled down his nose and fell into his beard. Dee seemed almost unaffected, save for a kind of tightening of the skin over the temples.

  The chant wove on, and the glow of the lamp continued to diminish. As the wizards reached the final line, a single spark was all that could be seen even in the darkened room. On the final word, the lamp’s glow died completely.

  There was a moment’s silence. Kelly’s face twisted, and he opened his mouth to curse. John Dee, standing tall and dignified despite the crushing disappointment, spoke first by the merest instant. “Fiat,” said Dee in a saddened tone. “So be it.”

  Light flared from the quartz globe, blinding the two men’s dark-accustomed eyes. Kelly’s curse changed on his lips to a howl of mingled terror and triumph. Dee’s command of “Silence!” came too late; in another moment they heard footsteps in the hall and someone knocked at the library door.

  “Doctor Dee?” a servant called timidly from outside the room. “Did you call?”

  “Nay, Anne, I’ve no need of thee,” Dee said loudly. “Go thy ways.”

  “Aye, Doctor Dee,” said the voice, and the footsteps retreated with far greater haste than they had come.

  Dee and Kelly looked at each other as the dazzle cleared from their eyes. The quartz globe lay on the table between them, spewing golden light in all directions. “The whole of the household must have heard your cry. You should have greater caution when we work here, Ned,” Dee said.

  “I am sorry for‘t,” Kelly replied. “But a portion of the fault’s yours. I’d made no noise, if you had warned me what was to happen.”

  “I did not know,” Dee said.

  Kelly, who had been reaching for the glowing quartz globe, jerked back. “You did not know we’d seem to fail? That the light would die i‘the lamp ere it blossomed elsewhere?”

  “I did not.”

  “Then how may we
be certain this final step hath been successful?” Kelly eyed the quartz globe uneasily.

  “We must make trial of‘t,” Dee replied. “Pull down the silks and open the shutters; we’ll do better now in the light of day.”

  Kelly gave Dee a long look, then did as he had been told. When he finished, he returned to his place by the table. Dee leaned forward, the end of his long beard brushing the tabletop, and touched the quartz with his left forefinger. “Fiat voluntas nostra,” he said.

  The glow vanished abruptly, as though it had been snuffed out. Kelly gave a gasp of protest, then suddenly leaned forward to examine the quartz more closely. The globe was no longer milky white; it had become clearer than the finest crystal.

  “We have done it,” Dee said with evident satisfaction. “The power of Faerie is imprisoned in the crystal, for as long as we so will it, and we may make what use of it we choose.”

  “Aye, an we discover how,” Kelly said, but he sounded far more cheerful than before.

  “That portion of the task is chiefly yours,” Dee said, smiling.

  “Then I fear it must wait upon my return from Blakley.”

  “Thou needst not scowl so fierce; we’ve time and to spare now that the crystal’s finished,” Dee chided his companion. “And I think ‘twould not be amiss for both of us to rest. These past three weeks have been a grievous effort.”

  “An you’ll have it so,” Kelly said ungraciously, but he did not look unhappy with this resolution. He picked up the dead lamp, leaving the crystal globe in the center of the table. Together, he and John Dee left the library.

  In the realm of Faerie, a grim-faced messenger sped from Hugh’s sickroom toward the Queen’s palace. A short time later, eight strong servants carried a large net to the border of Faerie and firmly thrust its contents across into the mortal world. The half-dazed black bear that had once been John’s younger brother rolled out of the net, roared once, and lumbered into the forest. The servants watched it go, then folded their net and went sadly back to tell their Queen that the unalterable and inexorable law of Faerie had been fulfilled.