Beck: a fairy tale

by Nina Clare

  “How do you know all this?” said Catchpole, her eyes wide with terror. “This is witchery,” she whispered.

  Mistress Wheedle stood up and shook the piecrust crumbs from her skirts. ““Tisn’t witchery from without,” she said, ““tis witchery that’s in your inners. But there’s a way to be free.”

  “What way?” said Catchpole, still trembling.

  “ ‘Tis only one way to break a curse, no one knows that better than Old Mother Wheedle, only one way to break a curse. You must turn things that is downside, up. Turn your hating into kindliness. That will starve the old serpent. ‘Tis the only way.”

  “Mama wishes you to step into the hall to speak with her,” said Felix, bursting into the kitchens. He looked at the odd sight of Old Catchpole, whom he thought an old sour crab-apple, saw her looking as though she’d seen a ghost, and Cook, who he was very fond of, looking from the old woman by the fire to Old Catchpole as though she too had had a surprise.

  But the old woman gave Felix a partly toothless grin and said, “I’m hurrying on my way, young master, though Old Mother Wheedle’s legs don’t move much faster than a one-legged chicken.”

  Felix led the way to the hall. Before he opened the door to where Mama was seated with Cicely at their language lessons, Mistress Wheedle took hold of his arm. He stopped and looked at her.

  “The day will come, young master, when you will be setting off on your journeying. When that day comes, you come and see Old Mother Wheedle afore you go. She’s something for you at that time.”

  “When I go where?” said Felix. “I only go up to the city in the summer. I’m always here.”

  “The day will come, young master, mark my words. Come and see Old Mother Wheedle on that day. You remember I said this when that day comes.”

  Felix’s dark eyebrows lifted in puzzlement at this strange old woman who smelt so bad. Why-ever would Mama, who always smelt of rose oil and frankincense, want to see this person? But he dutifully opened the heavy oak door to the hall and escorted the old woman in before running off to the stables to see his horse.

  Cicely’s fair eyebrows also lifted in surprise as the old woman shuffled in, lurching from side to side. She had to restrain herself from putting her hand to her nose as the woman neared, for she smelt strongly of boiled vinegar, pungent herbs, and unwashed body odour. She had heard of Mistress Wheedle from Kat. Kat thought she was either a witch or a miracle-worker. Cicely was inclined to think she looked more like a witch, and like Felix, she could not imagine why Lady Beck would wish to have such a person brought into her presence.

  “You may go now, Cicely,” said Lady Beck.

  “Mistress Wheedle, it has been many years since I have seen you,” said Lady Beck. “Do sit down and tell me what I can do for you, for I am greatly indebted to you for the herbs you gave me when I was carrying my precious boy.”

  “Thank ‘ee, your lady-ship, ‘tis but one thing you can do for me this day. You recall the little charm I gave to you, your ladyship?”

  Lady Beck thought for a moment. “Oh, yes. The little bag of petals. You said that they came from a bush that a unicorn had slept beneath.” She smiled at the notion.

  Mistress Wheedle nodded, and rocked to and fro on her wooden seat. “You recall what I gave them to you for?”

  “They were for a daughter. I was to place the bag under her pillow, and she would grow with a pretty face?” said Lady Beck, thinking back to that day and trying to remember.

  “She would sleep sweetly, grow a pretty face and a sweet temper.” said Mistress Wheedle, still rocking back and forth.

  “And something about marrying...?”

  Mistress Wheedle nodded. “That’s a right. Only marry the man she loves.”

  “But I did not have a daughter. I had my son.”

  “But who did Old Mother just see with hair the colour of honeysuckle and eyes as forget-me-nots?”

  “Cicely? She is my ward. She is betrothed to my eldest stepson.”

  “A girl-child of yours then, your lady-ship.”

  “She is certainly like a daughter to me.”

  “So how is it you have not given your honeysuckle girl-child the charm? That is what you can do for Old Mother Wheedle this day. You give your girl-child the charm.”

  “And that is what you came here for? To ask me to give your charm to Cicely?”

  Mistress Wheedle nodded. “That’s what Old Mother Wheedle came for. ‘Tis needful and of importance.”

  “Very well, I will do so.”

  Cicely had placed the little bag of petals under her pillow that night as Lady Beck had bid her. “How did you sleep, Cicely, my dear?” enquired Lady Beck next morning.

  “Very well, my lady. Very well indeed.”

  “You dreamt sweetly, I warrant.”

  “Indeed I did – how is it you can tell?”

  Lady Beck gave a little shrug and a smile.

  “In fact, I was dreaming of you when I awoke.”

  “Oh?”

  “I dreamt I was a babe in arms, and it was you who was carrying me, singing to me in another language. In my dream you were the mother I never knew.”

  Lady Beck smiled again.

  “In fact, my lady, truth be told, when I awoke this morning I had such a strong desire to come and find you, and ask you if I might – from now on – might call you – Mama?”

  Lord Arthur Returns

  Foxebury manor was preparing itself for its new lord and master. At twenty-one years, Arthur had come of age.

  “Look at ‘em all,” said Cook to the head housemaid, who had lived at the manor as long as herself. She was nodding at the family who stood waiting for the appearance of Arthur. The whole household had come out to greet their new lord.

  “She looks like a real beauty, don’t she?” said Cook.

  “Who – the marchioness?”

  “She’s still a beauty, always was, but I meant the little lady. Except she’s not so little now. Remember when she arrived here? Just a little scrap of a girl, now look at her.”

  The head housemaid murmured agreement as they admired the tall, willowy figure of Lady Cicely Rose.

  “Young Master Felix’s a handsome young man too,” said the housemaid. “Don’t seem like yesterday he was tottering about, always getting into mischief, now look at him, taller than milady.”

  “As tall as Master Percy, though Master Percy be a grown man and young master not yet finished growing,” said Cook.

  “He’s the image of his uncle – now there’s a handsome man and a real charmer if ever I met one.”

  “Master Felix will break a few hearts,” said Cook.

  “I think Myles is the best looking,” said Kat, who had been overhearing this conversation.

  “Fancy him, do you?” said the housemaid, nudging her.

  Kat gave a snort of laughter. “As if he’d look at the likes of me. Penny is closer in age to him than me, and she’s far prettier too, but she’s not got a scrap of dowry either. We shall both be old maids.”

  Penny, who was standing next to Kat, did not smile at her sister’s words. She had always liked Myles, and had always thought him very handsome and gallant. When she had listened in on Lady Cecily reading Master Felix his favourite stories, she had always seen Myles in her mind as her favourite character of Sir Lancelot.

  Kat didn’t seem to mind that she would never marry, but Penny shed many an unseen tear at her lot in life. She would never be a bride. Never be loved by anyone, save her sister. Never have a child or a home of her own. It was just the way things were. But it did seem too hard at times.

  Lord Orlan was the first of the riders to appear from under the gatehouse arch. Following him were four young men who were to be Arthur’s men-at-arms at Stoneyshire Castle. And then came Arthur himself with a sandy-coloured beard and eyes the colour of flint, handling his horse with mastery, a sword at his side and clinking spurs on his heels. It was almost more than Percy could bear to see him – a full-trained knight �
�� the very thing Percy had desired and been denied, and he would have turned and slipped away but for the touch of gentle restraint on his arm from Cicely, who knew how Percy must be feeling at the sight of his elder brother in his glory.

  Lady Beck curtseyed gracefully to Lord Orlan. She had demanded especial effort from Madame Labelle with the arranging of her hair and dress that day, knowing that she would see the usual admiration in the earl’s eyes, though she could not quite admit to herself how much she relished it.

  Lord Orlan turned to his daughter, who considered herself too grown up now to run and throw herself into his arms, but instead gave him a carefully practised curtsey, as elegant as her teacher’s – Lady Beck.

  “Why, can this be my little Cicely Rose?” said Lord Orlan. “How you have grown since I saw you last.”

  “I am as tall as Mama now,” said Cicely. Her father blinked in surprise, wondering how she could know how tall her mother had been, Cicely having been a mere babe when her mother died, but Cicely was looking to Lady Beck, and then her father understood.

  “And just as lovely as your – mama,” he replied, casting another admiring glance at the marchioness. “And here is your husband-to-be,” said her father, turning to Arthur who now approached his waiting household.

  A shadow passed across Cicely’s face. She curtseyed to Arthur but she kept her eyes upon the ground. Arthur gave a shallow bow and put his arm out for Cicely to rest her hand upon. They walked towards the manor, the household and estate workers bowing and curtseying as Arthur and his promised bride walked slowly by. When they passed Myles, standing beside his father, Cicely, without meaning to, caught his eye. The look was wordless, but the depth of feeling in that look caused Cicely to feel that the end of the world had come, and she was not walking into a grand manor, soon to become marchioness and mistress over a large estate, but was walking into a prison cell from which she might have to abide in till the end of her days.

  The whole household quickly felt the change that the presence of the new master brought. Percy wore a perpetual scowl and disappeared for days at a time. No one knew where he went; he would return in a dishevelled state, reeking of strong drink. Cicely glided about the manor looking pale and fragile as a lily in a storm. Lady Beck refused all Felix’s entreaties to sing. Kat and Penny moved cautiously about the manor at their duties, for they did not wish to have the new marquess shout at them, or have cups and serving bowls thrown at them as both Red Harry, the butler, and the under-cook had all received in recent days.

  It was a great relief to all that Arthur spent much of his time at the castle. He had announced to Cicely that they would live there when they married in two weeks time.

  Felix arrived at the stables for his morning ride to find the yard in uproar. Arthur was attempting to mount Duco who, at sixteen years, was still strong and feisty and had only allowed Felix to ride him since the old marquess’s death.

  “What are you doing?” shouted Felix, running to the yard, appalled to see Arthur hitting Duco with his crop and pulling hard on his bridle. “Stop that!” He ran to Arthur and yanked him back by his riding cloak.

  Arthur turned with a look of fury on his face. He raised his crop at Felix and struck him across the shoulders. Duco reared up making a noise of fury to match Arthur’s. “You impudent dolt!” he snarled at Felix.

  Duco skittered away, rearing up to prevent Arthur, or anyone, from approaching.

  “Don’t you hit my horse!” yelled back Felix, too angry even to feel the blow across his shoulders. He launched himself at Arthur, trying to grapple the crop from his hands. A wrestling match ensued. Arthur was well trained, but Felix had had a superior teacher in Bellchior, and though Felix was only fourteen years to Arthur’s twenty-one, he was almost of the same height.

  Their shouts and scuffling and the noise of Duco’s furious neighing brought the stable-hands, the maids in the dairy, Myles, and Bellchior running to the yard.

  Felix was sat astride Arthur trying to pin down one arm under his knee so he could twist the whip from his other hand. Then Arthur wrestled free and had Felix pinned down with face to the dirt, and began striking him repeatedly with his crop. Myles and Bellchior rushed forward, Bellchior pulled Arthur from Felix, and Myles pulled Felix to his feet, dragging him away from the frantic hammering of Duco’s hooves, which were perilously close to the two brothers.

  “Get your filthy, black hands off me!” shrieked Arthur, lifting his crop as though to strike Bellchior, but in one swift movement Bellchior disarmed the raging marquess.

  “Master would have been dashed to pieces,” was all he said in reply, pointing to Duco who was still rearing up, his hooves thundering down violently.

  Arthur wiped blood from his nose. He turned to Felix who was even more bloodied from his lip and a wound to his forehead. “I’ll kill you if you strike me again!” he snarled. “And he’s not your horse – everything is mine, and don’t you ever forget it!”

  He strode back to the manor, his face contorted with rage and the humiliation of being seen by his stable-hands and butter-maids to have received a beating by a young loon of a boy.

  Felix shook Myles’s hand from his arm and moved toward Duco, whose eyes were rolling, and his mouth foaming. Bellchior put a hand up to stop Felix approaching the great, black horse. Only he could calm the pounding, frantic animal. Felix had sense enough to obey.

  Cicely came running out of the manor, having seen Arthur come in, shouting curses on half-bloods and foreigners. She rushed to Felix, horrified by his bloodied face and torn clothing.

  “What has happened?” she cried, looking from Felix to Myles, who was trying to persuade Felix to come to the cottage to have his wounds seen to.

  “That great bully was beating my horse!” said Felix, still panting from the exertion of the fight. He happened to catch sight of the dairymaids grouped together, whispering and giggling and looking admiringly at him. That bolstered Felix’s spirits. “I gave him as good a whipping as he gave my horse, though, didn’t I, Myles?”

  “That you did, Master Felix,” said Myles. “But I would not recommend you try it again.”

  “Oh, Felix!” cried Cicely, with tears in her eyes. What will Mama say when she hears?”

  Felix brushed her concern aside with a gesture of his grazed hand. But as his high emotions subsided he began to feel the pain of the blows to his back and shoulders from Arthur’s crop.

  “Perhaps I will come to the cottage,” he said to Myles resignedly. “I don’t want Mama to see me like this.”

  The Kiss

  Arthur and Felix kept out of one another’s way in the days following, though Felix was gratified to see that Arthur did not attempt to ride Duco again.

  Percy roared with sarcastic laughter at the account of the fight and wished he had been there to see Arthur – the brave knight – get wrestled to the ground and sat on.

  But the household was to pay dearly for Arthur’s humiliation. Bellchior was demoted back to stable groom, despite Lady Beck’s entreaties, and was forbidden to continue teaching Felix combat skills. The dairymaids whom Arthur had seen laughing were dismissed, and left the manor in tears and deep disgrace. Duco was taken to market to be sold, but to Felix’s relief, no one would buy a horse they could not approach, and so he was returned to the stables. And Arthur warned Cicely that if she ever took anyone’s side over her husband’s once they were married he would take a riding crop to her. Her rushing out after Felix and being seen coming out of the steward’s cottage with him had infuriated him.

  A subdued and heavy air settled over the manor, reaching out to the cottagers and villagers beyond as Arthur’s influence spread through the estate.

  Myles found Cicely crying bitterly inside the willow den early one evening a few days after the fight. He had heard the sound of sobbing as he walked through the woodlands, checking his father’s traps, and knew immediately who it was, and where she was.

  He crouched down at the entrance to the little cave-li
ke shelter that he, Percy and Cicely had made in their childhood days. She looked up at him, startled at first, for she had not heard his footfall, and then, seeing who it was she let a look of such misery spread across her face that Myles could not restrain himself. He ducked down, crawled to her side, and took her in his arms.

  He held her until her sobbing eased.

  “Can you not speak to your father?” he asked gently, guessing what her tears were for. “Surely he would not hold you to a marriage you did not want.”

  Cicely shook her head. “He has talked of the marriage so many times. It is his wish that the families be united. I cannot fail him. He has already invested so much in the estate since Arthur’s father died.”

  “But to see you so miserable, he would not wish that?”

  She gave a thin smile. “Marriage is not supposed to be for one’s happiness. It is for duty. Surely you know that?”

  She suddenly felt a wave of shame at being seen in such a pitiful state by him. The sudden nearness of him was overwhelming. “You must leave me,” she said, pulling herself from his arms. “You should not be here.”

  Myles looked as miserable as she did. “It may be the last time we ever speak like this,” he said. “Would you send me away so soon?”

  “Should you not be desiring time alone with your red-haired brewer’s daughter, rather than me?” Cicely could not help herself from saying peevishly.

  Myles frowned. “Why would I want to be alone with her?”

  “You are to marry her.”

  “Says who?”

  “Everyone says so.”

  Myles shook his head. “Father wanted me too. But it would not have been fair to her.”

  “Why would it not be fair?” she looked searchingly at him.