Beck: a fairy tale

by Nina Clare

  The day of the wedding dawned mizzly and grey. The sun did not even try to pierce the heavy clouds or warm the earth. Cicely considered it appropriate weather. The ceremony was to take place in the hall at midday. Midday at midwinter.

  Red Harry was carrying in more wood to keep the fire in the hall bright and strong. Heat and light were much needed on such a gloomy, cold day. He alone noticed the two figures coming into the courtyard. A man and a young woman, looking damp and weary, and dressed in drab colours. He paused near the kitchen door, his arms full of logs, watching the couple. They seemed uncertain; perhaps they had lost their way. More likely they were from one of the villages, hoping for alms on the lord of the manor’s wedding day. He saw Master Digby’s heavy, woollen brown cloak and hood emerge from the grey mizzle and turned away with his load. Master Digby would deal with them and send them on their way in his usual efficient manner.

  So Red Harry was surprised when he came into the servants’ hall, to tend to the fire, to see the two figures stood before the fireplace, vapour rising from their sodden cloaks as they tried to dry themselves.

  The man was broad and burly, with a full beard. The young woman, now that Red Harry could see her more closely, was a very young woman. She looked weary, faint even, and when she turned at Red Harry’s entrance he saw that under her cloak she held a babe wrapped in shawls.

  Remembering his own mother, who had always had a babe in arms, he took up a stool and brought it to the girl. She sat down with a look of relief. She was a pretty girl, he decided. But why had Master Digby brought her here?

  “I thank ‘ee, young sir,” said the man. He must be the girl’s husband, thought Harry, though he was many years older than her.

  There was the sound of a raised voice, and of someone approaching with hurried footsteps.

  “You should have sent them away!” said the voice. It was Lord Percival, with Master Digby at his heels. Lord Percival stood in the doorway, a look of dismay on his face as he saw the two strangers.

  The girl stood up. “Percy!” she cried in a piteous voice. “Percy, why? Why did you leave us so?”

  “What are you doing here?” said Percy.

  Red Harry thought he looked very strange. At first he looked red-faced, as his father used to when he was in a temper, but then, at the sound of the girl’s voice, all the colour drained from him, and now he looked as pale as a new cheese, and as hollow as an emptied grain sack.

  “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

  “What are we doing here?” echoed the burly man, stepping forward. “You ask us that? You abandon my daughter, who’s born you a child, and we never have sight nor word of you till yester week, when some lordly fellow staying at the inn mentioned you was to be wed? Wed? He’s already wed! Wed to my daughter, who’s born him a child, and thought he must be dead, and the child with no father, or why else would we have no sight or word of him? And here we find you – rich as a king while your own wife and child live on the charity of my house as widow and fatherless child – and here you are – and you ask what it is we’re doing here!”

  Married! Lord Percy married! And with a child! Red Harry and Master Digby exchanged stares of amazement.

  Percy sank down onto a bench and put his head in his hands and made a moaning sound.

  “Don’t you want to see your little child, Percy,” said the young woman, coming forward. She held out the baby, pulling the damp shawl from the child’s face. “ ‘Tis a girl. I called her Elizabeth, ‘cause you once said that was your mother’s name. Little Lisbeth, we call her, and she’s a fine girl, got your eyes and hair and all.”

  Percy raised his head from his hands and looked at the proffered bundle. She did not have much hair, being about half a year of age, but what she had was unmistakably sandy in colour and unruly in form. A pair of soft grey eyes met his own.

  “You don’t know what you’ve done,” he said to the young woman. “I would have sent you money. Plenty of money, when I came into my inheritance. But now – now I’ve lost it all!”

  “But, my lord,” said Master Digby. “You could not have lawfully wed Lady Cicely when you already have a wife. Your inheritance would be forfeit when the truth were known.”

  “And how would it be known?” snapped Percy. “Who would know?”

  “How dare you, sir – how dare you call yoursel’ a gentleman and marry when you’ve wed my daughter an’ she’s born your child!”

  The sound of shouting caused the baby to whimper. The girl hushed her child, jigging her up and down. “Father, you promised you wouldn’t lose your temper,” she pleaded.

  “How can a man stand by and not lose his temper when a man weds his daughter and abandons her and is planning on wedding another!” shouted the man.

  “Please, sir, I beg you would lower your voice,” said Master Digby, mindful of the servants passing up and down the corridors to the kitchens next door.

  “I have witnesses!” said the man. “And ‘tis written in the parish books! This ‘ere scoundrel who calls himsel’ a gentleman has wed my daughter lawfully and she’s born his child – I’ll call the law on him if he don’t do his duty and take care of his wife and child and not try to wed another! I’ll call the law!”

  “Alright, alright!” said Percy, throwing up his hands. “No need to talk of calling the law!

  “There’ll be no wedding this day.”

  Homeward

  Five pale, wintry new moons passed after Percy’s disgrace, and Cicely’s humiliation on her wedding day. She was quite certain that she was cursed. What bride had ever been the centre of such scandal and gossip as herself? She would give all that she had to live a quiet life, away from prying eyes and gossiping mouths. She would gladly forsake all the lands of Foxeby Manor, the luxury of Beck House, and the prestige of Stoneyshire Castle for a quiet and humble home. Always there came the image of a pretty house, with chickens in the garden, roses on the walls, a pair of fair-haired children – why fair-haired? She knew why. Because the man she saw smiling at her as they stood together with their children about them was as fair as herself. That man was Myles.

  Cicely pushed the picture from her mind. She folded it up and locked it back inside the treasure chest in her heart. It did her no good to dwell on it. It seemed to comfort her, such dreams, but then reality intruded, and the comfort turned to pain.

  There was some comfort to be had that day by all the ladies of the manor, however. A courier brought a letter. A letter written in Lord Armando’s flourishing hand. Lady Beck caught her breath at the sight of it, and felt she could not breathe with fear of what words it held.

  Madame Labelle broke the seal, and read – haltingly, for Portguan was not her native language – read the news – that Lopo and Felix had returned safely to Portgua. They would spend some weeks there, for Felix had not been well. As soon as he recovered strength for the journey home, then they would come. Lady Beck was so elated that every servant in the manor, and on the estate, was granted a holiday, and every family given a silver mark because her son, their new lord, was alive and would come home, God willing, by harvest time!

  It was late spring when Felix felt strong enough to travel. He was beginning to feel stifled by his grandmama’s zealous care of him. He began preparing his recovering body by going out for horse rides with Bellchior. They cantered through his grandmama’s vineyards in the relative cool of the early mornings, and then ambled back along the edges of the fields where the lavender grew.

  Felix talked often of home and wondered what life would be like for him on his return. He had heard the news of Arthur’s death and of Cicely’s marriage to Percy. He felt sorry for Cicely, and longed to see her, his dear Rosie. He felt sorry for Arthur too, though he had never really known him. Arthur had always been a stranger to him as a child, appearing not more than twice a year, each time older and taller and always disinterested in his little half-brother. But he felt sorry for him dying at such a young age. Perhaps being married to sweet-temp
ered Rosie would have softened him in time. Perhaps when their children had come he would change. But now no one would ever know.

  The news had arrived a few months past. Cicely would be married to Percy now. What a strange business it had all been, this dissolving of Cicely’s first marriage. No doubt it had engendered much talk and scandal. Poor Rosie. All that mattered was being with those you loved, and who loved you, that was what his time away had taught him. What did it matter what people thought? What good did wealth and position give a man, or woman, if they could not spend their lives with those they loved? And so his sorrow for Cicely was born of the knowledge that she did not love Percy. But they had been close playmates in their youth. Perhaps love would grow in her for him.

  As for himself, and the love of his own heart, he had one thing that he had pledged his soul to do. Before he left Portgua, he would hire a man whose worthy character could be confirmed. He would seek for such a man at the docks. A man who was experienced in travelling the trade route. He would pay him handsomely; Uncle Lopo had agreed to lend him the money. He would pay him to send for Shula-Jane as he had promised. He would pay the man more handsomely a second time, when he brought her safely to him at Foxeby Manor. And she would be his wife. This thought sustained him during his weeks of recovery. His healing in mind and body would only be complete when his brave, beautiful Shula-Jane could be called by the name of Lady Beck.

  The morning ride had ended; Bellchior went to take Felix’s horse to stable him, but Felix kept hold of the reins.

  “How do you feel about going home to Foxeby tomorrow?” Felix asked.

  Bellchior almost showed surprise on his usually expressionless face – surprise that his master should be asking him how he felt.

  “Before we leave,” Felix continued, though Bellchior had not answered, “there is something I would say to you. It seems to me that it is not a good thing for one man to own another. I have decided, Bellchior, that as soon as we reach home I am going to have the papers drawn up to make you a freeman.”

  Bellchior still said nothing.

  “Of course, you may not want to travel to Angliana. You may want to live elsewhere as a freeman. We could delay our journey, I could have the papers drawn up before we go?”

  There was still no answer.

  “I will pay you a release fee,” Felix added. “So you will have money. You could set yourself up in a trade, be your own master. Or you could travel. You might want to find your family...?”

  Still silence.

  “Well?” said Felix, a little perturbed by Bellchior’s lack of response. He had expected a little gratitude. A show of pleasure. A smile at least...

  “Young master, and young master’s lady mother – they are the only family I know.”

  The two men stood facing each other, their horses growing restless for their breakfast.

  “So you would wish to come home tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  Felix smiled. It was the nearest he had come to looking like the carefree boy he had been before his suffering of the past year. The boy Bellchior had taught to wrestle and fence and ride. The boy Bellchior had watched grow up, who had always sought him out as a favourite companion from the age he could first walk and speak.

  “I am glad,” said Felix. “Really glad. But you will be a freeman, Bellchior. You shall have a wage. And you would be free to leave if ever you chose to.”

  “Yes, young master. Freedom is a good thing.”

  “You can be my man, my valet.”

  “If it does not displease young master, I should prefer to work with the horses.”

  Felix grinned. “I don’t blame you, I’d rather groom a horse than dress up a lord. You shall have the positions of master of the horse, and chief man-at-arms.”

  “Thank you, young master. I accept.”

  Waiting

  Lady Beck almost did not care that Felix looked thin and faded, and in Madame Labelle’s words – Terrible! Mauvais! Lady Beck only cared that he was alive, and he was home at last.

  Felix had hated all the women’s tears when he had left the manor almost two years ago, but they did not trouble him that day. In fact, he shed a few of his own.

  A year ago he had almost given up all hope of ever seeing his home again. Only one thing had sustained him during those dark months under the fierce, unforgiving sun of the Ifrikan sky. The words of an old woman spoken to him on the morning he had left Angliana, the peculiar words of Old Mistress Wheedle: I’m telling you that bitterness will come, and you’re to recall that Old Mother Wheedle said you would come back one day and find it turned sweet as honey. Those strange words had come back to him as though someone were speaking them to his soul in the darkest hours. They had given him hope, for they said that he would come back one day. He had doubted how long that day would take to come, doubted that he would have strength and heart to see it. But it had come. Just as the old woman had said. Now, if only Shula-Jane could make the journey to him, then he would ask nothing more. If she did not come, then part of his heart would be lost.

  “Tell me about her again,” Cicely Rose said to Felix. They were sitting companionably in the hall before the fire. Though it was early summer, and warm enough not to need a fire, Felix felt cold; he had not yet readjusted to the climate of Angliana.

  “Aren’t you fed up of me talking about her yet?”

  “No. I like to hear about it. It takes me away from my own thoughts.”

  Cicely was the only person Felix had told his entire tale to. He did not like to talk of his time in Ifrika. He brushed the subject aside when his mother tried to speak of it. But it did him good to talk to Cicely. She listened in her gentle way, sympathising with his hopes and fears for Shula-Jane.

  “The man I hired to send for her would have left Portgua by now. He will be on his way. It seems like a lifetime to wait.”

  “Felix,” said Cicely tentatively. “Did my father speak to you about the royal edict for our family when he was here?”

  “He did.”

  “Felix, I consider you to be committed to her now. To Shula-Jane.”

  “I am committed. And I told your father that. He talked of Anglianese laws and witnesses and legalities and such, but I don’t care about laws and legalities. I have committed myself to her before God. He is my witness. I know I will likely end up a poor man, but I will not give her up for wealth and estates.”

  “I am glad,” said Cicely. “I agree with you with all my heart. I am grieved that my father’s wishes, and Mama’s hopes, are disappointed. But we cannot do it, can we? We cannot marry to fulfill their wishes if it is not right. I submitted to marrying Arthur, then Percy, and I did not love them or want to be married to either of them. I do love you, Felix, but as a friend. You are the closest I have to a brother. I want you to marry Shula-Jane as you have promised.”

  “And what about you, Rosie? What about what you want?”

  She laughed, but there was a touch of irony in her voice. “What does it matter what I want? I do my duty. As women do.”

  “Your father would want you to be happy. He will keep his own estates, though the Beck estates will be lost to the crown. You will still be eligible for a good marriage.”

  Cicely shook her head. “I hope my father will not attempt to make any further match for me. He feels as keenly as I do the aspersion that has been cast upon my name with two failed marriages. I imagine it is said that I am cursed.” She gave another ironic laugh. “And I think I am. I have no heart to marry. I would plead with my father against it if he should speak of it. I would sooner enter an abbey than go through another attempt at marriage.”

  “I don’t like to hear you talk like this, Rosie. It doesn’t sound like you. You mustn’t give up hope of happiness. I wish you could find someone that you love as I have. It seems to me that everything else somehow doesn’t seem to matter as much as being with those with we love. Money, land, titles. I would rather be a poor man with a wife I loved.”

  �
�I feel exactly as you do, Felix. In fact...” she hesitated.

  Felix watched the emotions flitting and chasing across her face and in her eyes.

  “...in fact...” her voice had dropped almost to a whisper, “...there is someone I love. Have loved a long time. And I know how you feel about Shula-Jane, because I feel the same about him. That I would rather never marry anyone if I could not marry him.”

  Felix leaned forward with a smile. “But that’s wonderful, Rosie, I’m so glad. But why can’t you marry him?”

  She shook her head again, and looked tearful. “It would never be permitted. And he is gone. I will never see him again.”

  “Why would it not be permitted? He’s not already married is he?” That was a terrible thought. He did not want her to lose her heart to someone unattainable.

  “No. He is not married. At least, he was not when I knew him. He may be now.”

  “So where is he? And why would it not be permitted?”

  “I do not know where he is. It would not be permitted because he is not of the same rank.”

  “He is considered above you?”

  “No. Beneath me.”

  “How far beneath you?”

  “He is...the son of...a steward.”

  Felix stared at her. “Myles?”

  Cicely flinched at the pain of hearing his name spoken aloud.

  Felix knew he had guessed right at her lack of denial. “He’s a good man. Honest. Hard working. I don’t see why traditions and societal rules should keep you apart.”