Life was good, and Tristan thought he had it all worked out, but it was on a crisp winter’s morning in 1693 that his life took an unexpected turn.
Tristan had come home late from the last round of deliveries the night before and slept a little later than usual. Sounds of loud laughter coming from the kitchen finally woke him from his slumber. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and stumbled sleepily down the hallway to see what the fuss was all about.
Sissy watched him enter. Her adopted son had grown into a big boy. His long blond hair with a slight red tint had started to curl at the back of his head. He had his mother’s piercing blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. She sighed silently. She had avoided this day for a long time, probably because it suited her, but she had always known the inevitable had to happen. She had talked it over with Lucy the night before and together, they had decided that Lucy would be the best person to share with him another aspect of his life.
Sissy went back to stirring the big cauldron that hung over the open fire, and her thoughts drifted off to that dreadful night when fate had brought the two of them together. Every time the question about his father had come up, she had tiptoed around it, but she knew he was getting older and that he would find out sooner or later. It was for the best.
As Tristan walked into the kitchen, he looked at everyone who had gathered there. Sissy, Lucy and Anne were joined by four more ladies who were all instrumental in his upbringing. What was Finn doing here so early? All of the women were sitting around the large kitchen table, which was laden with plates of sweet pastries. Finn already had something stuffed in his gob and was standing next to the table with babbling ladies, leaning against the wall. The women stopped talking when they saw him enter.
‘Come sit here, Tristan,’ said Lucy and signalled for him to take the open seat between her and Anne.
He was a little unsure of what was happening, so it was with a bit of reluctance that he took the seat on the bench, squeezing in between the two women.
Sissy came over to join them.
‘It’s your birthday, son.’ Her voice was heartfelt yet distant. ‘We thought we’d treat you to something nice. I’ve arranged with Mr Sullivan for Finn to have the day off.’
He suddenly remembered. My birthday. Tristan heard what she was saying, but something was amiss, and he struggled to figure out what it was. He had had birthdays before but nothing as festive as this before. He looked over to Finn who was still munching away on a lemon curd tart, the lard in the crust gave his cheeks and hands a glistening shine. Right then Finn looked up and smiled at him, raising his leftover tart in a congratulatory gesture.
The women carried on with their conversation and Tristan helped himself to some of the delicious treats that Sissy had prepared. Sissy gave him and Finn a glass of warm creamy milk laced with cinnamon and sweetened with sugar. After they had had their fill of food and drink, it was Lucy who spoke to him first.
‘I think it’s time,’ she said, then looked over to Sissy.
Sissy did not say anything. She just nodded and went back to stirring the pot. A lonesome tear ran down her right cheek, and she quickly wiped it off.
‘Blasted smoke!’ She took the fire iron and gave the wood fire a good poke.
Lucy stood up from the table and held her hand out to Tristan. ‘Come with me,’ she said.
‘Ma?’ For once, Tristan was uncertain as Lucy grabbed his hand.
‘It’s alright, son. Everything will be alright.’ Without looking away from the fire, Sissy signalled for him to go with Lucy.
Tristan had no other choice but to do as Lucy had asked and followed her out the kitchen and up the stairs while she clutched his small hand in a firm grip. Finn stretched his neck as he tried to look where they were going. He knew what sort of place this was. Tristan had told him what he had witnessed with his own eyes, and while he was not sure what was about to happen, he was almost certain that his friend’s life would never be the same again. He sat down on the corner of the bench and waited.
Lucy led Tristan to her room. By now the boy was slightly shaken and she could feel his hand trembling in hers.
‘Everything will be fine,’ she said and closed the door behind them. ‘Sit down on the bed.’
Tristan did as he was told, hands folded in his lap. He knew what happened in rooms like this. He had seen it. He had seen what she looked like down there, and he was not sure if he was ready for what was about to follow. Lucy took off the shawl that was draped around her shoulders. She walked over to him and sat down beside him.
‘Don’t be scared.’
Blood was rushing to his head, and he heard a loud thumping sound in his ears like his heart was looking for a place to escape.
Lucy reached over to the bedside table, picked up a long rectangular tin box and put it down onto her lap. The box was decorated with carved lacquer and appeared to be of Eastern origin. She carefully lifted the lid and began folding open the red velvet cloth that covered its contents.
Tristan started to regain his senses and fear of the unknown was slowly replaced by curiosity as he tried to get a view of the items inside the box. Finally, Lucy finished unravelling the bundle.
‘Give me your hands,’ she said and again, Tristan did as he was told.
In the left, she placed a stiletto, a beautifully crafted knife with a triangular steel blade tapered down into a needlelike point. The guard, grip and pommel were all chiselled with foliage and flowers. The hilt and the blade were polished, smooth to the touch and in the faint light that entered the room it shimmered ominously. Tristan’s fist closed around the hilt, and while he sat, mesmerised by the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, Lucy placed another object in his right hand.
Compared to the stiletto, the rudimentary necklace consisting of a cross and chain was not much to look at, except it was gold. Tristan looked at the necklace and studied the stiletto again.
‘It was your mother’s.’
Tristan looked up at Lucy, his face contorted in a mixed bag of emotions amplified by a question mark.
‘I’ll start at the beginning,’ said Lucy. She took both items, put them back in the box and closed the lid. Then she told him.
It was a pale-faced Tristan who, in an unbodied state of mind, made his way down the stairs an hour later, tin box clutched underneath his arm, blanket still around his shoulders. The kitchen was quiet. While her maids had been asked to occupy themselves elsewhere, Sissy sat alone on a wooden chair, peeling turnips for the stew that was cooking away on the fire, the rabbit meat courtesy of Mr Sullivan. When she saw him, she dropped the turnip and knife in the pale, water splashing everywhere. Sissy stood up and dried her hands on her apron while she waited for him to say or do something.
Tristan ran straight to her. She opened her arms and enveloped him, blanket, tin box and all.
‘Did she tell you?’ asked Sissy softly as she stroked his hair with a soggy hand.
He nodded.
‘Everything?’
He nodded again.
‘Oh, my dear boy, now you know. I never wanted to keep a secret from you, but it was for your own good. I know what Lucy has told you is a lot to take in, but you’re old enough now to know the truth. We owe it to your mother. She was a great lady, Tristan. Not like some of the others in this house. No, she had virtues.’ She hugged him tightly to her. ‘And while she’s no longer with us, remember one thing. I’ve raised you as if you were my own blood and I will always love you, no matter what. Do you understand? Always!’ Tears were streaming down her face as she clutched him in her arms, afraid to let him go.
Tristan just tried to let everything sink in. There was a numbness inside that he could not describe. He did not know what to feel or what to say. Emotions that he had never felt before were coursing through his veins, his clever young mind not knowing how to deal with what it had learned, so instead, he relied on the familiar – the two strong arms around him, the same two arms that had always been there ever si
nce his earliest memory.
‘I love you, ma.’ It felt the right thing to say, most importantly, because he meant it. Nothing else made sense anyway.
Sissy held him at arm’s length and wiped the tears from her face. ‘Look at what you’ve made an old woman do,’ she said, smiling at him through the sobs. ‘I know there’s a lot that you may not understand, child, but if you have any questions about your mother, or if there’s anything that troubles your heart, then you come and speak to me…or Lucy, no matter the time or place. Alright?’ She hugged him tightly one last time and felt him nod. He is strong now, but the pain and blame will come, Sissy thought. It was inevitable. ‘Now get dressed. Finn’s waiting outside. You two do whatever you feel like today, and when you get back, there’ll be sweets and lemonade waiting.’
Tristan had already started walking to his room when Sissy spoke up once more. ‘Wait!’ He stopped in his tracks. ‘Did you open the box?’
‘Yes, Lucy showed me.’
‘Good. Then I don’t have to tell you, but I will. Please take good care of it. It meant a lot to your mo— It was Sara’s wish that those be passed on to you.’
‘I will, ma.’
Outside it was a cold but bright sunny day. He found Finn and Miles at the back of the shed. Finn was busy teaching Miles how to use a sling and Tristan was just in time to see another stone disappear over the fence followed by a loud shout from the other side. The real target, a round wooden disc, was still standing propped up against a tree only a couple of yards away.
Finn took the sling from Miles, loaded it with a round stone, swung it twice and sent the stone with a loud crack crashing into the disc. ‘’Tis all in the wrist. See?’ Finn showed Miles what he meant, but when he heard Tristan approach, he immediately stopped. ‘What happened? What did she do to you? How did it feel? What’s in the box?’ Finn blurted it all out without thinking.
‘What’s going on?’ Miles interjected curiously.
‘Come, Finn,’ said Tristan and hinted towards the front gate with his head.
‘Goodbye, Miles,’ said Finn and quickly bundled the sling into his pocket before he ran to join Tristan who was already halfway to the gate.
They left behind a confused Miles, who was scratching his head for if he had heard right, his young friend had just become a man.
The two boys made their way down to the river to one of their favourite spots close to the Horseshoe Alley Stairs. Here they used to watch what the flooding river would bring – mostly trees or sometimes if they were lucky, a dead cow or part of a house. One time they had even seen a horse and rider both thrashing about as they headed out to sea while people on the shore could only look on helplessly. It was like the river used these floods to clean itself, ridding itself of those things that she did not want or need.
‘So, what happened?’ Finn tried for a second time.
Around the Horseshoe Inn, in the little makeshift sanctuary, cut off from the world around them, Tristan told him everything.
‘Sissy’s not my real mother. My real mother worked at La Boutique. Her name was Sara Conway and she was one of them, a…a whore. Anyway, she fell ill and died. Sissy adopted me and has raised me since I was a baby. They named me Tristan Conway, with my real mother’s surname. They think my father’s a man that goes by the name of James Kilmister, a naval captain who visited my mother at La Boutique whenever his ship docked in the harbour. He hasn’t been back since she died and they don’t know much about him except his name. He gave my mother this.’
Tristan opened the tin box and carefully unfolded the cloth, showing him the contents. Finn gave a long whistle when he saw the knife.
‘She’s a beauty, alright!’ Even though he was still reeling from everything Tristan had just blurted out, Finn could not hide his admiration as he took the stiletto out of the box.
Tristan carried on. ‘He gave these to my mother. The stiletto, so she could protect herself in case another man messed with her and the golden cross to protect her from evil. What little did that help.’ He shook his head. ‘Lucy said that according to my mother, he was a very religious man, different from the other people that normally come to La Boutique. She said he talked about taking my mother away from that place but that he never returned from his last journey to some country on the other side of the world. Three nights before she died, she asked Lucy to give these to me when I was old enough. Lucy told me that Madam blamed my mother for falling pregnant, and she blamed me for my mother’s death.
‘That’s why Madam has always treated me like a piece of shit! That’s why she’s always called me a bastard. And she’s right, Finn. I’m no different than those other fatherless sons of bitches with whom we play games in the street. I’m one up on them for I’m motherless too!’ Tristan paused, immediately regretting his last words. He tried collecting his thoughts, confused about where the outburst had come from.
And so too was Finn. While at first he was taken aback by Tristan’s sudden outpouring, he soon realised his friend had enough reason to do so. Hell, I don’t know what I would do if someone told me all of this on the same day, he thought reflectively. His head spun, and he was not even the one who had received the dreadful news.
‘You know what, I don’t care about any of this, Finn. Sissy is my mother. And you are my brother. What else do I need?’ said Tristan with feigned defiance.
Finn still had the knife in his hand, feeling its weight and balance. ‘You’re right. Nothing else matters.’ But even Finn knew that some things were easier said than done. ‘Besides, no one else needs to know,’ he added, trying to bring some comfort.
They continued to sit there in silence, backs against the wall. Finn kept his friend company. He knew there was nothing he could further say or do to change what had already been said and done. His presence was all he could give for he had no words.
Next to him, Tristan’s mind raced. Foreign emotions he had never had to deal with before took him on a journey of highs and lows as he tried to reason through what all of this meant to him. It changed nothing, yet it changed everything. One moment his heart fluttered anxiously and the next, calmness descended once more as he remembered Finn’s words. Nothing else matters.
By midday, as the two walked back to La Boutique, those raging emotions had mostly subsided, cast into the river, drifting downstream, out of sight and out of mind but no doubt waiting for the next incoming tide.
Over the two days that followed, Sissy and Lucy kept a close eye on Tristan for he was in a dark place. Sometimes they found him pacing the hallways like a waif who did not know where it belonged. Other times he just lay in his room, staring at the ceiling for hours. Through his lacklustre demeanour, they could see him struggle with all the pent-up rage, confusion and sorrow that churned deep inside of him. Whenever he needed to talk, they listened patiently, suffering with him as he tried to explain how he felt only to find it impossible and therefore choosing to keep quiet instead.
‘If only the boy were true to his age,’ said Lucy one morning.
‘Don’t think I’ve not wondered about that myself,’ said Sissy irritably. ‘A child still young of mind can easily forgive and forget, but not my boy. So you’re right, and for that, I’ll most certainly take the blame but if I had another chance, I wouldn’t raise him any differently.’
‘That’s not what I meant, Sissy. You fostered a fine child like no other in this house could ever have done. Even our dearest doctor, Mr Pynsent, surely knew that when he placed the little bub in your arms that night, and what about Sara? She wouldn’t have asked you had she thought you were incapable of raising her unborn child. Sara knew you were the only one who had raised children of her own. She experienced your endearment and friendship for herself and knew that it was exactly the type of unconditional love that she wanted for her child. So don’t you go and blame yourself, Frances Sanderson. Let any regret you may harbour go for you have done a splendid job with that boy and have set a foundation so solid only God can pluc
k him from there.’
Though Lucy had made her feel better, it did not help with the dilemma Sissy was still facing. Later that night, after doing much reflection of her own, she decided to try a different tack. Come morning, she would sit Tristan down and speak to him as one would do to an adult.
It was during one of his quiet moments that Sissy found him at the bottom steps outside the front door, throwing pebbles at one of the trees in the yard. The affection she had for the child and seeing him suffer like this almost overwhelmed her. She walked down and stood still beside him.
‘You remind me so much of your mother,’ said Sissy softly.
It was the first time he had heard her say those words, and it took him by surprise. ‘Please tell me why,’ he said, throwing another pebble that hit its mark with a dull thud.
‘She was different.’
‘Different?’ He looked up at her large frame next to him. ‘What exactly do you mean, ma?’
‘It was as if she didn’t belong here, child…like she had never belonged here. Different to the others in this place. Almost like she was above it, but not in a…an ostentatious way. No, she never deemed herself better than the others who reside here.’ Sissy struggled to find the right words. Tristan kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts and forfeit the chance of learning more about his mother. All this time, he had been sure that they had only ever told him what he wanted to hear, but Sissy was about to change all that.
Sissy reached down and grabbed his arm, giving it an affectionate squeeze. ‘I will tell you everything there is to know about your mother and father. At least, everything I know. I’m only doing it because’ – she sighed – ‘I owe it to her, and you.’
Tristan put his hand on top of hers and simply nodded, but deep inside, he yearned to hear more. He wanted, no, he needed to hear everything.
‘Come, ‘tis cold outside.’ She led him to the kitchen, made them each a cup of tea and then took him to the infirmary, away from all the noise in the house, to a place she knew no one would bother them. Lowering her tired body onto the bed, Sissy took a deep breath to prepare herself for the emotional whirlpool they were both about to enter. Tristan was already seated, twiddling his fingers in anticipation and hoping that Sissy could bring to an end his turbulent state of mind.
The Fire Within Page 6