Beck: a fairy tale

by Nina Clare

  Cicely gave a wry smile. “Felix, you are like a child, sometimes. You cannot just cast all the rules and traditions of society aside when they displease you. It does matter what people think. It matters to me that my father would be mortified at his only daughter marrying his steward’s son. How would he show his face in society, in court? He would be a laughing stock.” She shook her head. “No. It can never be.”

  “They do make a handsome pair,” commented Cook, who had stepped out to the dairy and was walking back to the kitchens with the under-cook at her side. They were watching Lord Felix and Lady Cicely trotting down the cobbled path to the gatehouse for their morning ride.

  It had been eight months since Felix had returned home, and he had regained most of his strength, resuming his fencing and wrestling with Bellchior, and enjoying a morning ride with Cicely. Though he still limped on one leg.

  Outwardly he had recovered much of his humour and spirits, though not all. Only Cicely knew how difficult each day was for him, how stretched out he felt with waiting for the arrival of Shula-Jane.

  “I don’t know why they haven’t got wed,” continued Cook. “They seem so fond of one another. And Master Felix is a real gent, not like them two brothers of his. Lady Cicely would do well to have such a husband. And he’s nice to look at.”

  “I know why they haven’t wed,” said the under-cook collusively. “Patience told me something this morning.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  The under-cook dropped her voice, though no one was around to hear them. “She says there’s talk of another girl.”

  “What other girl? Who says so?”

  “Patience heard my lady and Lady Cicely yesterday – talking about Felix and another girl.”

  “What girl? Master Felix doesn’t know any other girls!”

  “It’s a secret. They were talking of it when they thought no one was there.”

  “You mean Patience was listening in on them?” said Cook in a disapproving tone.

  “Well, if you don’t want to hear about it...” said the under-cook.

  Cook elbowed her. “What girl?”

  “Some girl he met when he was away. Some girl he’s promised to marry. She’s supposed to be coming here some time, but they don’t know when, and my lady is not happy about it, not happy at all.”

  “And what about Lady Cicely? She must be put out that he wants to marry someone else?”

  “Patience said she was sticking up for him. Said he should marry who he loves.”

  “So that’s why Master Felix has said no to my lady and Lord Orlan,” said Cook. “That’s why he won’t marry and get his inheritance. And what will come of us when the place goes out of the family?”

  The under-cook shrugged, and Cook sighed heavily. It was hanging over all the servants. Lady Cicely’s new ladies’ maid, Patience, would be alright, even if Lady Cicely went back to her father’s house, she would still be needing a maid. Lady Beck would take Madame Labelle with her wherever she went. But the rest of them – what would happen to them? Madame Labelle was not the only one praying these days.

  Felix enjoyed spending time with Master Digby, learning the management of the estate. He would catch himself idly regretting that he could not inherit it and take up the management full time. He had no heart for diplomatic work any more. He was unclear as to what line of work he would take up in the future. But he would have to work at something. His mother would have her dowry inheritance of Beck House and an allowance enabling her to live there in relative comfort, but he would lose his right of inheritance by not marrying Cicely. But there was no wealth or title or land he would not forsake for Shula-Jane. They would have to live simple lives. It was unlikely he could afford to keep her dressed in silk, but he was certain she would feel the same as he did; he was certain they were as two halves of one soul.

  The winter was well advanced, if all had gone well then the envoy he had sent must be soon arriving in Angliana. Must soon be bringing her to him. He watched daily; he rode to the top of Barrow Hill every morning on his ride with Cicely, and from there he would look down on the winding road that led from Endslow through Foxeby village and up to the manor. And every afternoon, after the work of the day, he would ride up there again, sit there alone, astride Duco, searching the landscape for the longed for travellers.

  But long awaited visitors most often come unseen. And this one did so.

  Felix was out with Master Digby, checking the estate boundaries to determine what fencing needed replacing in the spring. It was a cold day. So cold it was sure to snow soon. He dismounted from Duco at the stables and let Ned lead him away.

  “Whose horse is that?” asked Felix, looking at an unfamiliar roan.

  “I didn’t see who rode him, sir,” said Ned.

  Felix hurried to the manor, telling himself not to get his hopes up. It was not a valuable looking horse, so most likely it belonged to someone coming to see the steward or a representative from Foxeby on business.

  Red Harry met him at the door. “A gentleman is waiting to see you, milord,” he told him, taking Felix’s cloak from his shoulders.

  “Who is it?” Felix was struggling to pull his boots off; his hands were numb from the cold.

  “Said his name was Berto, or something like it. Foreign man. Didn’t understand his accent well. My lady said to put him by the fire in the hall to wait for you. Are you well, milord?”

  Felix had staggered back at Red Harry’s news. The man he had commissioned to bring back Shula-Jane was of the name of Senhor Norberto.

  “Are you unwell, milord? Can I help you?” Red Harry was startled at the apparent faintness that had suddenly overwhelmed his young master.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. Tell me...is the man...alone?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Felix still felt shaky as he opened the door to the hall. Senhor Norberto jumped to his feet.

  “Lord Beck,” he greeted him, “I have returned, as you see.”

  “Where is she?” Felix had to sit down quickly; he was flooded with fear at what the answer might be. “Is she resting at Endslow? Will she follow on?”

  Senhor Norberto sat back down. “I am sorry, sir. She has not come.”

  “Not come? Is she well? Did you find her? Did you see her?”

  “I found the house known as that of the name of Abu Sabri, as you directed. And I spoke to the young lady of the house. I took your counsel, I posed as a merchant of silk. She came out to look at my wares.”

  “Are you sure it was the young lady of the house? It might have been her aunt – Rashida – Shula-Jane is young, she is my age. Or it might have been one of the servants you spoke to?”

  “It was without doubt the lady of the house. And she was a young lady. Of about your age, sir.”

  “And what did she say? Did she refuse to come? Did she understand you had come for her?”

  “She said, sir. She said that her husband did not like her to wear silk.”

  Felix stared at the man. “Her husband? Her husband? She married him...? No!”

  Senhor Norberto squirmed on his seat. He was a seasoned sailor, traveller, and merchant. He had no time for affairs of the heart. He surveyed the young man before him who looked utterly broken.

  “Ahem,” he said, trying to regain Felix’s attention. “It will be growing dark soon, I would be on my way so I can find shelter in the town tonight.”

  Felix stared uncomprehendingly at him.

  “If I might trouble you, sir, for the remainder of my fee...”

  For three days Felix moved in a fog of despair, barely sleeping, refusing all food, and speaking to no one as he sought to come to terms with the news of Shula-Jane’s marriage to Toufik.

  The first day he was in shock. He could not believe it. He did not want to believe it. He had built all his hopes for future happiness on being reunited with her. Now those hopes and dreams were like an obliterated landscape, and he could see no other path to take.

  On t
he second day he felt anger. Anger at that monster Toufik who had most likely forced her into marriage. Who would have defended her had she resisted him? At times he felt anger towards her, for not trusting that he would send for her and for not waiting for him. But then he felt ashamed of thinking badly of her.

  On the third day he decided he could not continue causing his mother and Rosie to suffer on his behalf any longer. He made a decision. He was quite certain he would carry the grief of his loss for the rest of his life. But for the sake of those who were also dear to him, he had to get on with living. No matter what the pain. Was that not what Rosie had been doing these past years? Was that not what Bellchior had done since the day he had been taken from his home and family and carried off to a foreign land to serve the will of others? He had to find the strength to do likewise.

  Lord Orlan and Lady Beck were deep in discussion all of the afternoon of his arrival. When Felix joined them and Cicely at dinner that evening, the tension in the air was so heavy it pierced even the thick wall of self absorption that had enclosed him since the news of Shula-Jane’s marriage. He greeted Lord Orlan, and kissed his mother before taking his seat.

  “What is wrong, Mama?” he asked, seeing the unhappiness on everyone’s faces.

  “I have had bad news this day,” said his mother. He abstractedly noted how well dressed she looked that evening. She was dressed in a gown of red damask he had not seen before, and she wore her rubies in her ears and about her throat. She seemed to always look especially nice when Lord Orlan was visiting.

  “What news have you had, Mama?”

  Lady Beck motioned to the servers to leave the hall.

  “Lord Orlan was at court this week,” she began. “It seems the king has settled a date on our legal position.”

  Felix flinched. He hated hearing his mother talk of their legal position in such a sad voice. He hated that he was the cause of her sorrow.

  “If the conditions are not satisfied by the end of this month, the Beck estates will be forfeit.”

  “And you will leave for Beck House?” said Felix.

  Lady Beck shook her head, her ruby earrings flashed red stars with the movement. “No,” she said in a strange voice, as though she were holding back much emotion. “The king desires to take Beck House also.”

  “What?” said Felix, looking from his mother to Lord Orlan. “He can’t have Beck House – it was willed to you as your dowry!”

  “The king can do as he pleases,” said Lady Beck bitterly.

  “He can’t take Beck House! Can he?” he said to Lord Orlan.

  “He has taken a fancy to it,” said Lord Orlan. “Wants it for his new favourite. It being in the city, and on the waterfront, it’s a very desirable property.”

  “But he can’t take what doesn’t belong to him – it was left to my mother!”

  “But it was left to her by a man marked as a traitor. He is the king. We can appeal, can go to the lawyers, spend every penny we have on them, but if the king wants it, he’ll find a way to make the forfeiture of the estates include Beck House. We would be fighting a lost cause.”

  Felix threw down his knife and slumped against his chair back. “How is it the world is full of bullies who take anything they want and get away with it?”

  Felix looked across the table at Cicely. She looked pale and unhappy. He held her gaze. He was communicating something to her. She looked steadily back at him. She understood him.

  “Very well,” Felix announced. “If Cicely consents, we will do it.”

  “Do what?” asked Lady Beck.

  “Get married. Before the month is out.”

  Wedding Day

  “Felix, you do not have to do this,” Cicely said. They were at the top of Barrow Hill. Their breath and the breath of their horses made small clouds in the cold, morning air. It was the first time they had spoken of what had been decided the night before.

  “I can’t marry Shula-Jane. And you won’t marry Myles. We’re good friends, Rosie. If I have to spend the rest of my life with anyone, I’d choose you. I know you don’t love me as a husband, but we can build a marriage on kindness and friendship, can’t we? And we’ll please our parents. And we’ll save the estates, and all the servants will keep their positions. Mama won’t be left poor. We have no choice. Do we?”

  “No,” said Cicely quietly. “We must make the best of it.”

  There were not many days to arrange the wedding. Lord Orlan wished to heed his daughter’s wishes for a quiet, discreet affair; she still felt exposed to the talk and speculation that would be stirred up again by her third wedding. But Lady Beck was not going to be cheated out of watching her only son marry and secure his inheritance and title. She desired that all the nobility of the shire should be witnesses to her son’s accession. She wanted no further trouble from the avaricious young king trying to take her son’s lands – she would ensure that there were witnesses of notable standing at Foxeby Manor on the last day of February.

  Cook had as many extra hands from the village as she chose to prepare the feast; young maids in linen caps appeared in every chamber to undertake the cleaning; seamstresses stitched away at new furnishings; pine cones and holly branches were the only seasonal foliage to be found in such a bitterly cold February, but they were gathered in abundance to decorate the hall. It was remarkable what degree of transformation Lady Beck was able to accomplish in so short a time.

  “Shall my brother come, do you think?” Felix asked his mother on the morning of the wedding. He had come in from his early ride and looked into her chamber to greet her good morning.

  “He sent no word back in reply,” said Lady Beck. “We do not know for sure if he is still in the village he returned to with his wife and child. The settlement Lord Orlan gave him would enable him to establish a home and business anywhere. They may have moved. It is a sad affair when a family is so divided,” she said sadly.

  “We have not seen the last of Lord Percy,” said Madame Labelle, shaking out her lady’s new golden satin gown to be worn on this special day. “The likes of Lord Percy will show their face when their pockets are empty, have no fear.”

  “I should like to see his child again,” said Lady Beck.

  Madame Labelle gave a snort of disapproval. She did not consider the children of a wastrel and his fisherman’s daughter of a wife worthy of her lady’s attentions.

  “You must go and change out of your riding clothes,” Lady Beck admonished her son. “You look pierced through with cold.”

  “I think it’s going to snow,” said Felix.

  “I hope it does not,” said Lady Beck anxiously. “It will make the roads bad for travelling. The guests will be arriving in a few hours.”

  “I saw the musicians journeying along the road from the top of Barrow Hill. They will be here shortly.” He turned to leave.

  “Stay away from Cicely”s chamber,” Lady Beck called after him. “You are not to see her before the ceremony, it is unlucky.”

  Red Harry took his new promotion from general houseboy to under-footman very seriously. His rise in status was due to his success in finding Lord Percy. He kept his livery spotlessly clean. He took no heed to the ribbing at the servants’ dinner table when he tucked cloths into his surcoat, and laid them over his britches to protect his clothing from stew or small beer. He did not mind the joking at his expense, for he could see that in spite of it, Meg, the pretty new maid, was impressed by his well-groomed appearance.

  His job that afternoon was to open the door to the guests who were hurrying in out of the bitter cold. The wedding was about to start, and he opened the door one last time to see if any last minute arrivals were travelling up from the gatehouse. He peered down at the road and satisfied himself that no one was coming. He could shut the heavy door and join the assembled party in the hall to watch the ceremony.

  Just as he was turning away, glad to get back to the warmth of the manor, a movement near the gatehouse caught his eye. He turned back, narrowing his eye
s to see if he had truly seen something. Two dark shapes were indeed emerging from the gatehouse. Two horses and riders. He shivered and stamped his feet to keep them from numbness. He would have to wait for these last guests. A drop of something cold and damp touched his face. He looked up and a soft, white flake fell into his eye causing him to blink.

  He willed the last two guests to hurry up. It was too cold to be standing outside.

  Red Harry could no longer feel his fingers or toes by the time the guests had dismounted in the yard. They were well wrapped up against the weather in full-length cloaks and hoods. Despite the bulky shapes their wrappings made, Harry could see it was a man and a woman. As they neared him the man threw back his hood, and Harry looked into the face of man with skin as black as the ebony wood chest in the gallery.

  The woman was huddled tightly into her cloak as though she felt the cold very deeply. He could not see her face, it was near covered by her hood, but she had turned her head toward the sky as though she were transfixed by the sight of the snow flakes which softly settled on her dark grey travelling cloak and melted away.

  “This way, milord, milady,” said Harry, ushering them into the entrance hall. “The wedding is about to start, you’ve just made it in time.”

  “Wedding?” said the voice of the woman, from beneath the hood. “Who is getting married?”

  “Why, the young master. Is that not why you are here? For the wedding?”

  The woman lifted back her hood. Harry almost dropped open his mouth at the sight of her. He had never seen such a beautiful woman. She was young, about the age of young master. Her skin was dark, not as dark as Bellchior’s, but darker than Lady Beck’s, but she had not the near black eyes of Lady Beck’s – her eyes were blue – the bluest eyes he had ever seen, they looked the colour of the stones of the necklace Lord Orlan had given his daughter at New Year last month – sapphire stones they were called. Sapphire eyes ringed with long, black lashes.