Beck: a fairy tale

by Nina Clare

  “Welcome, my lords,” greeted the marquess. “And my young lady. Rest yourselves,” he said awkwardly to the little girl and her attendant. “Show them to some place fitting for them to rest,” he ordered Sir Ambrose.

  “Did you receive the letter I sent?” Lord Orlan asked.

  “Indeed,” replied the marquess. “I understand you must leave early in the morning, so I have prepared arrangements for this evening. When you have refreshed yourself at supper we will begin.”

  “Very good,” answered Lord Orlan. “And who is your guest?” he said, espying Lord Amando hovering in the background, waiting to be introduced.

  Lord Amando stepped forward, a wide smile on his handsome, deep-olive skinned face. “Lord Amando at your service, my lord,” he said, making a sweeping bow with his feathered cap in hand. “Brother to my noble Lord Beck.”

  “Brother?” said Lord Orlan, looking surprised.

  “By marriage,” said the marquess gruffly.

  “Ah, so you are brother to the beautiful marchioness?”

  “I have that honour, my lord,” said Lord Amando, his smile widening and his dark wavy hair bouncing as he bowed his head at the compliment to his sister. “And I have just had another honour bestowed on me this very day,” he announced. “I have had the honour of being made godfather to my noble brother’s new son!”

  “Indeed!” said the marquess in surprise.

  “New son?” said Lord Orlan.

  “Born this very morning,” said Lord Amando.

  “My heartiest congratulations!” said Lord Orlan to his host.

  “And as godfather I have the great honour of giving my name to the new young lord,” announced Lord Amando.

  The marquess made an explosive sound at this declaration, as he choked on his mouthful of wine.

  “Name my son Lopo!” sputtered the marquess.

  Lord Amando laughed and struck the marquess playfully on the shoulder. “Lopo is but a family pet name,” he reassured him. “Felix is my given name.”

  “Lord Felix Beck,” announced Lord Orlan, raising his goblet. “Every blessing of health and wealth to the fine sons of my lord!” he toasted.

  “Here here!” agreed Lord Amando raising his goblet.

  And so it came to pass that Lord Felix Beck was born on Harvest Moon day. Though the marquess did insist on adding the family names of Chidiock and Throckmorton to his new son’s title, much to the marchioness’s displeasure.

  Cicely Rose

  “Who is she?” whispered Percy, squinting through the gap in the door.

  “How should I know?” said Arthur, his sandy-haired head above his little brother’s as he also peered in at the party dining in the great hall.

  At the end of the table, sitting separately from the marquess and his guests, sat the little girl with what looked to be her nurse. She was so small that she had been placed on a stack of cushions so she could reach the table. Her nurse appeared to be encouraging her young charge to eat, but the little girl looked anxious and unwilling. She picked daintily at Maestro Martino’s almondo biscottini and looked about her with apprehension.

  “My good lord and host, I do believe you have set spies upon me this evening,” cried Lord Orlan.

  “Spies?” said the marquess, with a mouthful of chicken. “Spies?”

  Lord Orlan nodded his head at the doorway between the great hall and the north gallery. The marquess turned just in time to see a flash of two sandy-coloured heads vanishing from the doorway.

  Lord Orlan laughed. “Bring them in to greet us,” he said, waving his hand to the server who stood near. The serving boy hesitated, looking to his master. The marquess grunted and gestured to the boy to obey.

  Red Harry found the two young lords hiding behind an ornate chest in the gallery.

  “Your father orders you to the hall,” he told them.

  The boys looked up at him in dismay.

  “Are we going to get whipped for being spies?” said Percy.

  Red Harry shrugged.

  “Whipped in front of Lord Orlan?” said Arthur, the horror of such a deep humiliation gripping him.

  Red Harry took some pleasure in seeing Lord Arthur afraid. Served the little varlet right for all the times he had thrown pebbles at him from the nursery window at Foxeby when he had to walk past to-ing and fro-ing with loads from the woodpile.

  “Better go and find out,” said Red Harry. “Your father’s waiting, and he looks sharp enough to skin a polecat.”

  He turned away so Arthur could not see his grin.

  “Ah, here he is!” called Lord Orlan, seeing Arthur enter the hall, his younger brother hiding behind him.

  Arthur came forward, filled with apprehension and not daring to look at his father.

  “My new page,” said Lord Orlan. “Are you prepared for tomorrow’s journey, lad?”

  Arthur nodded. And then remembering to speak so his father would not be angered, said, “Yes, my lord,” in a small voice.

  “Good, good!” said Lord Orlan. “It will be a long ride, but a page must learn to keep up with his master. Have you told the boy about our arrangements?” Lord Orlan asked the marquess.

  “Haven’t told a soul,” said the marquess. “You said secrecy was paramount, so I’ve taken you at your word.”

  “Very wise,” said Lord Orlan. “My men here are among my most loyal knights, and they can be trusted. And you have brought a witness yourself,” he noted, nodding at Lord Amando, whose curiosity was now piqued by this cryptic conversation.

  “Indeed,” answered the marquess. “Invited him to supper on purpose to be a witness. Being family, he’s to be trusted. One would hope.”

  Lord Armando’s dark eyebrows lifted. “May I enquire as to your meaning, Brother?” he said cordially.

  The marquess and Lord Orlan shared a glance.

  “You are to be a witness,” said Lord Orlan, “to a betrothal.”

  “Oh?” said Lord Amando. “And who is to be betrothed?”

  Lord Orlan gave a nod in the direction of Arthur, who was stood trying hard not to fidget; now that the imminent threat of a public whipping had passed he was wondering if there was any chance of him getting a plate of biscottini.

  “Young Arthur?” said Lord Amando in surprise, expecting the betrothal to be between one of Lord Orlan’s knights, or perhaps even the widowed Lord Orlan himself. “Arthur? Betrothed to whom?”

  Arthur looked up at hearing his name.

  “What’s be-trofed?” whispered Percy, tugging on the back of Arthur’s tunic. Arthur jerked his brother’s hand away and looked fixedly at Lord Orlan, waiting to hear from him what he meant by that unknown word.

  “To my daughter,” said Lord Orlan with a broad smile. He looked over the top of his companion’s head to see his daughter perched on her chair at the far end of the table. “My little Lady Cicely Rose. And a fine match it is,” he said jovially. “Uniting the estates and loyalties of Stoneyshire and Osmond will be most advantageous to our family lines.”

  “And what is the reason for the secrecy?” enquired Lord Amando.

  Lord Orlan looked a little troubled. “The king has not approved the match,” he said.

  “Has not been able to approve it,” said the marquess. “Too ill. But I have the word of the duke that it will be approved when...” he hesitated, speaking of the death of the king was treason, “...when circumstances have changed.”

  “Then all will be well,” said Lord Orlan. He raised his goblet in the air, and the marquess raised his likewise. “To the union of the houses of Beck and Orlan!”

  “Hear, hear!” called out his companions, raising their goblets. Lord Amando, recovering from his surprise, quickly raised his too.

  “Bring in the priest then,” said Lord Orlan. “And let us proceed!”

  The priest had arrived at the hour of sunset, just as instructed. Sir Ambrose ushered the long-gowned, bald-headed cleric to the waiting party in the great hall.

  Arthur was now aware t
hat something unusual was happening, and it involved him. He had been made to stand near to the fireplace, for darkness was falling. The butler was hurrying to light the many candles about the hall to dispel the evening gloom. Opposite Arthur stood the little girl whose much-coveted plate of biscottini remained largely untouched. He barely glanced at her. Girls were of no interest to him; they were no good for anything.

  Percy, however, was very interested in the new arrival. He edged his way closer to her, step by step, till he was very near. She saw him approaching and looked at him with her big, light blue eyes. He thought she looked afraid.

  Percy wanted to say something to her, but he was overcome with shyness. He had never met anyone nearly the same size as himself, and he had never seen a girl his own age before. He gazed at her, studying her fair hair, which fell down past her shoulders, her little pink mouth, her light blue eyes that looked round and wide. He wished she would look at him again, or speak to him. But she did not.

  Something odd was happening now to his brother and the girl. The man in the long, brown gown with the shiny head had made his brother and the girl stand before him. Then the man in the gown had made Arthur and the girl put one hand out, and then he wrapped a piece of blue cloth around their hands, tying them together.

  Then Lord Orlan and his father had said something about contracts and had shown scrolls with red wax seals to his new Uncle Lopo, and to the men who had come with Lord Orlan. They had all looked at the scrolls and then had written something on them.

  Then the man in the gown had asked Arthur if he would take Lady Cicely Rose to be his future wife, and Arthur had looked as if he were being asked to eat rhubarb, which he hated, but Father and Lord Orlan had told him he was supposed to say “I will” and so he said it in a grumpy voice.

  And then the man in the gown asked the girl if she would take Lord Arthur to be her future husband, and she looked even more frightened than she already had, but she said in a tiny voice, “I will.”

  And then the man in the gown had said lots of other words about sickness and death, and then he waved his hands over them and said things in another language, and finally he untied the cloth from Arthur and the girl’s hands.

  Then Father gave Arthur something, and Lord Orlan gave the girl something, and they told them that they had to give the things to each other, so they did. Percy could see they had been given rings, and they had to put each other’s ring on, but the rings were too big, so Lord Orlan laughed and gave the rings to Father to hold.

  Then Father and Lord Orlan were very loud and shouty and happy, and Father called for more wine, and then he gave some money to the man in the gown who was taken out by Sir Ambrose.

  “I think my daughter ought to rest now for the night,” said Lord Orlan, when his goblet had been refilled. “Will you kindly arrange for her to be shown to her chambers?” he requested politely.

  “Nurse will show the way,” said the marquess. Nurse had been sent for and now appeared to lead the boys to bed. She looked in surprise at the new child; no one had told her to expect a new charge. The little girl clung to her own nurse, who assured her that she would put her to bed herself, she would not be leaving her that night. Not until the morning.

  “I am sorry that your good lady is indisposed this evening,” said Lord Orlan to the marquess. “I assume she has been forewarned of my daughter’s arrival?”

  The marquess shook his greying head. He swallowed his mouthful of wine, and said, “Haven’t told a soul. You said secrecy was of the utmost.”

  “So she knows nothing of our arrangements?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Do you consider that she should now be made aware of my daughter’s presence?”

  The marquess shrugged, but seeing the serious look on Lord Orlan’s face, he put his drained goblet down on the table with a bang and got to his feet.

  “I shall take the girl to her,” he said. “Make sure the wine keeps flowing,” he ordered in parting to his butler.

  Lady Beck was drifting off to sleep when the door to her chamber flew open. Madame Labelle gave a start, and Lady Beck lifted her head to peer sleepily at the doorway.

  The marquess strode in, and behind him trailed a strange woman and a little child.

  “Madam,” said the marquess, standing at the foot of the bed. “Being indisposed, you were not able to witness this evening the betrothal of Arthur to the daughter of Lord Orlan.”

  “Betrothal?” said Lady Beck, struggling into a sitting position. “Arthur? To whom?”

  The marquess beckoned impatiently to the nurse who shuffled her young charge forward.

  Madame Labelle and Lady Beck stared in surprise at the frightened looking girl.

  “The arrangement is that Arthur will be trained up at Foversham, and his wife-to-be will be trained as a lady under your care, madam.”

  Lady Beck turned her stare of surprise from the child to her husband. “She is to live here?”

  “Did I not just say so?”

  “For how long?”

  “Till she’s of marriageable age. I would have it twelve years, but her father insists on waiting till Arthur has his spurs.”

  Lady Beck turned her gaze back to the little girl.

  “She looks very tired,” she said gently.

  The girl gave her a shy look.

  “Welcome to Beck House, Lady...?” she looked to the girl’s nurse.

  “Cicely,” said the nurse. “Cicely Rose.”

  “Lady Cicely Rose,” said Lady Beck. “I hope you will be happy here.”

  The marquess made an impatient sound; he was keen to get back to the wine, he was hoping for some good dice that night.

  “Well, madam, I have introduced you to your new daughter, and now I bid you goodnight.”

  Lady Beck had stalled her return to Stoneyshire for as long as she could, but in late spring the marquess insisted that it was time for his wife and children to return to his estate. The king was buried, and the Duke of Glosner was Lord Protector to his nephew, the twelve-year-old prince who would soon be crowned king.

  The marquess considered that his own infant son, Lord Felix, was now old enough and stout enough in health to make the journey north to his ancestral home.

  Kat was even more disappointed than her mistress at having to leave Beck House. But she comforted herself with the hope that her charm from the wise-woman would not fail her, even with the return to the rule of Old Catchpole. She did not relish the thought of going back to sleeping on the scullery floor at Foxebury. She had spent just over a year sleeping on the luxury of a straw pallet in the nursery antechamber at Beck House.

  She had already had to say a sorrowful goodbye to Maestro Martino, to whom she and Penny could thank for the new pinkness and roundness to their previously thin, pale cheeks. The early goodbye was thanks to the Duke of Glosner, for when he had deigned to dine at Beck House one evening, he had admired the maccaroni coppiette and the stroffolini with such verbosity that the marquess, keen to assure the Protector’s seal of approval on his son’s marriage, insisted on giving the duke his Etaliano cook, much to the private grief and bitter tears of the marchioness.

  Return to Foxebury Manor

  Cook had made cinnamon buns, spice cake and apple tart from the last of the stored apples in honour of Lady Beck’s return. There was also the excitement of the new baby arriving, as well as the relief of not having to endure the return of Lord Arthur, who had made Cook’s life very difficult with his pilfering of her pies and preserves, and his way of upsetting the cows so they would not settle at milking time.

  When the travel-weary procession wound its way past the gatehouse of Foxebury Manor late in the afternoon, all of the household of the manor and the workers of the estate were gathered in two formal lines to greet their master and mistress home.

  “My how everyone’s grown!” exclaimed Cook. “Lord Percy will soon be in britches, and little Penny’s never looked so hale and hearty, and even you’ve grown a couple of inc
hes and put some flesh on your bones,” said Cook to Kat at supper that evening. “Now tell us all about the little lady, what’s she like?”

  “Lady Cicely’s a sweet girl,” said Kat.

  “But is it true that the master has married her to Lord Arthur?” said the head butter-maid, leaning forward to hear Kat over the clatter of the table.

  “They’re betrothed,” said Kat. “They’ll be married when they’re older.”

  “And you say she’s a sweet girl?” said Cook.

  Kat nodded, spooning stew into her mouth. How plain the food seemed after the flavourful cooking of Maestro Martino.

  “Poor lamb,” said Cook. “I wouldn’t wish Lord Arthur as husband on any woman.”

  “Percy adores her,” said Kat. “He follows her around like a puppy. And she adores the baby.”

  “Ah, the baby,” said Cook, “image of his mother!”

  “He looks like his uncle,” said Kat, swallowing down the stodgy stew. “Lady Beck’s brother, Lord Amando. He visited a lot. He’s gone back to Portgua now, but he said he’d come and visit soon, he’s the godfather.”

  “And tell us all about the city,” clamoured the maids. “Is it true the Duke of Glosner rides round the streets wearing a crown?”

  “And is it true that no-one has seen the young king since his father died, and no one knows where he is?”

  “What are all the ladies wearing?”

  “Did you see the king’s funeral procession?”

  “How do the ladies wear their hair?”

  “Do they all wear hoops?”

  And the questions flowed on, until Mistress Catchpole ordered them to stop chattering like squirrels unless they wanted to eat like squirrels.

  Percy took great delight in showing Cicely Rose around Foxebury Manor; it made him feel important that he knew everyone and everything in the house and could look all knowing in her eyes.

  “This is where Father sleeps,” he told her, opening the door to the dark oak-panelled chamber. “You can see the stables from his window – look.”