Beck: a fairy tale

by Nina Clare

  He returned her gaze.

  “To marry when my heart is lost to another would not be fair. She deserves to loved by her husband, and I can’t. I don’t agree with you about marriage being only for duty.”

  “Who is it your heart is lost to?” whispered Cicely, frightened of the answer.

  Myles held her gaze a moment longer, as if asking her soul a question. When he saw in her eyes the answer he sought he slowly bent his head and met Cicely’s upturned mouth with his own.

  Percy took a short cut through the meadow adjoining the woodland copse near to the manor. He was weary from his long trudge home. Stupid of him to have gambled and lost his horse over dice last night. No doubt Arthur would claim it was his horse and would take the cost of it out of his allowance. He saw the two figures emerging from the trees. He squinted against the setting sun to see who it was, cursing the sunlight that hurt his eyes and head, for he was still suffering from last night’s cheap wine.

  There was no mistaking the tall, broad shouldered form of Myles, and the slender figure of Cicely. But were his bleary eyes deceiving him, or were they holding hands as they walked? As they came into view of the manor, there was no mistaking the silhouetted form of Myles against the setting sun, bending down his head and kissing Cicely long and deeply. And then they separated, Cicely running ahead to the manor, Myles watching her go for a few moments before turning back into the woodland.

  Percy felt a mixture of anger and revulsion swirling in his stomach, heightening the feeling of nausea and self-loathing he already felt after the wild abandonment of the night before.

  Cicely – who was as an angel to Percy’s mind – unattainable, pure, and set apart for his darned, undeserving elder brother. Cicely – whom he had adored and admired in vain since she was six years old. And here she was, no better than last night’s harlot – conniving and trysting with that loon of a steward’s son. A steward’s son – and she the daughter of an earl! She had told him she could never belong to him because she had to be faithful to her betrothal to Arthur – but she could throw herself on a common barn rat of a steward’s son! He spat his disgust repeatedly into the grass as he walked unsteadily home.

  ”Have you ever seen a bride-to-be so forlorn?” said Cook sadly.

  “Hardly surprising, seeing as who she’s marrying,” replied the head-housemaid.

  “The seamstress has had to come back and take in her bridal gown, is that not so, Kat?” said Cook, setting yesterday’s bread down on the table. Lord Arthur had insisted that the servants were not to have fresh bread each dinnertime; they would have whatever was left over, rather than throwing the stale bread to the pigs and goats. And they were not to expect meat in their stews; they could have the cockerel meat and no more. Yesterday’s bread was not so bad, thought Kat, taking the piece held out to her by Cook, it was when you had three day old bread that was hard as baked mud-bricks that was hard to swallow. You had to soak it in the small beer to soften it; and the small beer was now further diluted on Lord Arthur’s orders.

  “That is so,” answered Kat, looking dolefully at the small portions of vegetable stew now being ladled out. Lord Arthur had charged Mistress Catchpole with ensuring that the food portions he had allotted were adhered to, and Catchpole took her responsibility seriously.

  “Because she’s gotten so thin?” asked Penny. Kat nodded.

  Cook shook her head. “ ‘Tis a shame.”

  “We’ll all be getting thin,” grumbled Red Harry, looking at his bowl.

  “Hush, Catchpole’s coming!” hissed Kat. Old Catchpole not only reported to Lord Arthur regarding the servants' meals, but also reported their conversations. Kat had overheard them talking in the hall when she had been passing by in the upstairs gallery. Lord Arthur had said to Catchpole that he wanted to hear anything spoken by anyone that was disrespectful or mutinous. And she had heard Catchpole promising that she would.

  “What are you speaking of?” demanded Catchpole, taking her place at the foot of the table opposite the butler.

  “Just commenting on what a fair bride Lady Cicely will make,” said Cook. The table fell silent for the remainder of the meal.

  Kat and Penny laboured hard in the days leading up to the wedding. Women from the village had been drafted in to help Cook prepare the banquet food. The hall was decorated with countless candles and garlands of evergreen and flowers. Every chamber was whitewashed and swept and made ready for the ceremony and the feasting that would follow.

  Lady Beck and Madame Labelle were busy directing the slow process of packing. They would leave for the royal city shortly after the wedding. Foxeby Manor would have a new mistress. The dowager marchioness would make her home in Beck House, her inheritance from her marriage.

  Cicely wandered into Lady Beck’s chamber and sat on the bed to watch Kat and Penny carefully folding and wrapping and laying items in chests, as directed. Lady Beck came and sat beside her, putting a motherly arm about her thin shoulders.

  “I wish you were not leaving,” said Cicely quietly.

  “I wish with all my heart and soul that I were not leaving you also, meu querido cora.”

  “You would not have to leave if Arthur did not insist upon it,” said Cicely bitterly.

  Lady Beck patted Cicely’s back comfortingly. “I would have to leave sometime.”

  Cicely wiped her eyes and looked away toward the window, not wishing her mama to see her weeping yet again. She was weary of weeping.

  “You will come to stay with me in the city soon,” Lady Beck said.

  “Only if Arthur permits it.”

  “Uncle Lopo!” cried Felix, reigning in Duco and dismounting in a bound.

  “Beck, my boy!” called back the Viscount of Arcado, crossing the stable courtyard to greet his godson with a back slapping that almost winded Felix. “Look at you! A man!”

  Felix grinned with the same broad smile as his Uncle’s.

  Bellchior came to take Duco to the stables.

  “What do you think, Bellchior?” said the viscount, putting an arm about Felix’s shoulders. “Does not this lanky, dark-eyed rascal remind you of someone?”

  Bellchior nodded as he took hold of Duco. “Yes, master. He reminds me of you when you were a lanky young man of fourteen.”

  Lord Amando laughed. “And I was a rascal, was I not, Bellchior?”

  “Oh, yes, master. Oh, yes.”

  “Bellchior saved my hide many a time when I was a boy,” Lord Amando told Felix. “He saved me a broken head and bones, pulling me out of fights, and covered for me to my father when I had gone off riding his favourite horse, which was strictly forbidden. Bellchior told him the horse had gone to the blacksmith for shoes, or was being exercised by the groom. I sorely missed you when you left with Magdalena,” he told Bellchior.

  “Bellchior saved me a broken head too,” said Felix, as he and his uncle walked to the manor. “He pulled me out of a fight with Arthur a fortnight ago.”

  “What were you and Arthur fighting over?”

  “He was treating Duco badly.”

  “Hm. I think you should take care when dealing with your eldest brother, young Beck. I have seen him at court since he took his oath of fealty, he has the temperament of his father.”

  “Hotspur-Arty, I call him,” said Felix, with an impish grin.

  “I would not let him hear you call him that,” said Lord Amando, moving his hand from Felix’s shoulder to his head and putting him in a headlock and pretending to pummel him.

  “Let us see how Hotspur-Beck handles himself!” A tussling ensued which ended in them almost charging into Lady Beck and Madame Labelle as they came to meet their eagerly awaited guest.

  “Magdalena!” cried Lord Amando, releasing the laughing Felix, and smoothing down his rumpled cap and doublet to greet his sister with a kiss to each cheek. “Madame Labelle!”

  “I am so happy to see you, Lopo. Come and speak to dear Cicely Rose, she is in need of cheer.”

  “In need of cheer? Is
she not to become a wife and marchioness tomorrow?”

  “That is why she is in need of cheer,” said Madame Labelle drily.

  Lord Orlan and his party arrived soon after Lord Amando. The following morning the notables of Foxeby, and the noblemen of Stoneyshire would attend the wedding of the new lord of the manor. The banquet feast was almost completed; the hall was beautifully decorated; the guest chambers were prepared. Arthur strutted about, and Cicely did her utmost to play the gracious bride-to-be, determined not to fail her father in his long hoped for plans.

  Wedding Day

  “Where is Percival?” shouted Arthur, stalking through the manor. “Where is he?” he bawled at the butler, who was finishing the arrangements on the great dining table in the hall.

  The butler bowed and kept his eyes to the floor. “He has not been seen this morning, milord.” He tensed, half expecting to be physically shoved aside or to have a barrage of insults heaped upon him, either action becoming the usual consequences of the new marquess’s bad tempers. The butler relaxed his body and breathed a sigh when Lord Arthur stomped past him out of the hall.

  Arthur bellowed at the stable-hands, demanding to know if his brother had taken any of the horses that morning. Ned reluctantly informed him that Lord Percival had taken one of the palfreys after dinner yesterday, and had not yet returned. Arthur marched through the stables, checking each stall. “Which one did he take?”

  “Minerva, milord.”

  “Where’s Phoenix?”

  Ned bit his lip. He did not want to say. But the marquess looked about to strike him. He had the same look as the old marquess used to have when he was in a fury – shoulders hunched up and stony grey eyes slightly bulging with the inward force of anger.

  “Lord Percival took Phoenix some days ago. And...he did not bring him back, milord.”

  Ned felt relieved that the marquess’s kick was directed at the wooden pail of water close by, and not at him.

  Arthur emerged into the courtyard just as Lord Orlan was riding in from his early morning canter.

  “Good wedding-day to you, Arthur, my son!” called Lord Orlan cheerfully from the saddle. “I have just passed your brother, he is coming through the gatehouse as we speak.”

  Percy groaned inwardly when he saw Arthur waiting for him outside the stables. He was supposed to have been in attendance upon him this morning, and it was clear that Arthur had already dressed himself for his wedding ceremony. Then a wave of resentment rose up in him as he drew closer. He could see the stormy look on Arthur’s face. All his days he was going to be subject to that indomitable will. He would never have his own way, his own life, the future of his choosing, or the bride of his choice.

  “Where have you been?” said Arthur in a dangerous tone. Lord Orlan looked over in surprise.

  “Good morning, dear brother,” said Percy in a sarcastic voice. He slid down unsteadily from his mount.

  “You’re drunk,” snarled Arthur. “Out all night again. Drinking and gambling away my money. Where’s my horse?”

  “Horse?” said Percy innocently.

  “Where’s Phoenix?”

  “Have you mislaid him?” Percy gave a shrill laugh.

  Arthur grabbed Percy by the collar. “You little varmint beggar!”

  “Get off me!” yelled Percy, shaking himself free.

  “Hey!” called out Lord Orlan, striding over to the brothers. “What is all this? There should be no trouble on such a day!”

  “He’s gambled away my horse,” said Arthur. “He’s a wastrel and a drunkard! From this day you’ll not receive one farthing unless you manage the estate and do your duty!”

  “Do my duty!” yelled back Percy. “Do your darned will and be a slave to you, you mean! I’ll not be your lackey!”

  “Then you’ll leave my estate this morning and you’ll not show your face again!”

  “Leave is what I will do!” shouted Percy, and he attempted to remount his horse, but could not place his foot in the stirrup in his partially drunk state.

  “Percy, do not be in haste,” called Lord Orlan. “Let us discuss these things after the wedding, don’t let this day be spoiled by a quarrel.”

  “Oh, let’s not spoil the wedding!” Percy said mockingly, stepping back from the horse. “The brave knight Lord Arthur and his plucked Cicely Rose!”

  “What did you say?” said Arthur, stepping forward to take hold of Percy again. Lord Orlan held Arthur back.

  “A plucked rose!” said Percy. “Plucked by the hand of the steward’s son!” He felt a surge of satisfaction at Arthur’s stunned expression. “It would not be fitting for her to wear the colour of purity on her wedding-day, that much I can pledge to!”

  “You had better retract your words, Percy,” Lord Orlan said in a grim tone. “No man shall dishonour my daughter’s name in my presence.” He let go of Arthur, putting a hand out towards him to warn him not to attack. “Retract your words,” he ordered.

  “I speak truth,” Percy hissed. “I have seen them together.” He took advantage of the momentary pause, as the two men stood in shocked silence, to mount his horse. He kicked the horse and it sprang forward, forcing Lord Orlan and Arthur to move back.

  “You filthy liar!” shouted Arthur.

  “I do hope she won’t be wearing blue,” mocked Percy, feeling a delightful sense of power. “Fare thee well, Brother! I hope never to see your face again.” And he kicked the horse into a canter, manoeuvred it to face the gatehouse, and left.

  “He was not speaking truth,” said Lord Orlan firmly. “My daughter is unblemished as the day she was born. I demand that you never repeat those drunken lies of your brother’s. Never.” He took hold of one of Arthur’s shoulders and made him look him in the eye. “Never!”

  The news of Percy’s departure quickly spread through the household. When one of the guests asked after Lord Percy they were told that he had been called away on urgent business. Lady Beck did her best to quell her anxiety throughout the wedding ceremony and the boisterous banqueting that followed.

  “He will return soon, my lady,” Madame Labelle assured her. “It is just a jostling of power between the boys, they will settle down, and all will be well.”

  But Lady Beck was not so sure. She had seen Percy’s looks of cold hatred towards his brother in the weeks since Arthur returned. And she had seen Arthur’s heavy-handed treatment of all around him. Something had changed in Percy recently, he had grown bitter, even towards Cicely, whom he had always doted on. She was very uneasy.

  Cicely did not notice that Percy was absent from her wedding. She existed in a haze of numbness, moving woodenly, smiling with effort when required, and summoning all her strength to speak with those who addressed her with the air of a happy bride. Her thoughts kept drifting to Myles, who had left the manor the day after they had declared their love to one another in the willow bothy. He had told her he would have to leave, he could not bear to see her married, see her day after day and know that she was lost to him. He would leave and make his own way in the kingdom. Cicely’s numbness had settled upon her the day he left. Recalling the feel of his arms about her, the scent of his skin, his kiss – it only reminded her that the worst of the long day was yet to come.

  The wedding night.

  Kat put the finishing touches to the bedchamber. The new marchioness would share her husband’s chamber and bed. When Lady Beck left for Beck House in a few days, her chamber would become Lady Cicely’s.

  Kat turned back the covers on the bed and sprinkled rose water upon the sheets. She lit the fire and watched it crackle and smoulder and burst into life. She was lighting the last of the candles when Lady Cicely entered, looking pale and wan.

  Kat felt moved by her obvious misery. For the first time in her life she did not wish to change places with Lady Cicely. How often she had coveted the silk gowns, the warm, scented baths, the jewels, the abundance of food. But seeing that, in the end, even a great lady as Lady Cicely Rose, the daughter of an earl, and no
w the wife of a marquess, had no more rights over her own person and course of life than Kat and Penny did. And at least they could go to sleep at night with only each other’s quiet breathing to bear; Lady Cicely would have to sleep beside the dreadful Lord Arthur.

  She helped Cicely to remove her beautiful skirt and bodice of deep blue, and then her stays and petticoats. Standing barefoot in just her shift she looked pitifully thin, like a little girl. Kat wanted to hug her and comfort her as she would a child, but she did not dare to take such liberty.

  “You may leave me now,” Cicely said quietly. And Kat left her, standing in the middle of the bedchamber looking a sad ghostly figure in her white shift and her long, pale hair.

  Cicely jumped when the chamber door opened. Arthur stood in the doorway for a moment looking at her, then he came in, closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

  She tried hard not to shudder when he approached her, putting his hand to the nape of her neck, and brushing away her hair. He smelt strongly of wine.

  “Well, here we are, my wife,” he said, one hand still on her neck, the other taking up one of her cold hands. “Bound together, till death do us part.”

  She closed her eyes, quelling the urge to push him away and run from the chamber back to her own little bed in what used to be the nursery.

  “I have one question I would like to ask my wife.”

  She waited for him to speak. His speech was slow and a little slurred from his drinking.

  “You are my little woman, now, aren’t you?”

  She gave a little shake of her head, not understanding the question.

  “You have never given yourself to another?”

  She turned her head to look at him, wondering what he could mean.

  “No man has ever touched my wife, has he?”

  Her mind jolted from its numbness into a flurry of anxious thoughts. What was he referring to? Did he mean Myles, or was this just drunken rambling?