Lavender Blue

by Sandra Heath

  He relaxed his hold upon her but did not answer, and she knew how much her accusations had hurt him. Then he made himself go on.

  “I have already mentioned that everything is connected with the myth of Demeter, Persephone, and Hades, which story you are bound to know already but which I will outline again anyway, so there is no misunderstanding. Hades, god of the nether world—signifying barrenness and death, the part played by Lethe—falls in love with Persephone, goddess of young crops, spring and new growth, who is now Corinna. By handing her mistletoe in the form of a narcissus, he renders her helpless to protest as he takes her down into the nether world to be his bride.

  "Her grieving mother, Demeter, goddess of the ripe crops and fruitful earth—also identified as the Lavender Lady and you, my darling—sorrowfully creates perpetual winter. Mankind suffers dreadfully and implores Zeus—me, I fear—to force his brother Hades to give up Persephone. Zeus fears that mankind will starve and become extinct, leaving no one to serve the gods, so he makes Hades surrender his bride. Before letting Persephone go, however, Hades gives her pomegranate in some form or other, some say the seeds, others the juice. This binds her to the nether world and her husband, but she is allowed to return to Demeter for six months of the year. In return for this concession, Demeter relents and permits the resumption of the four seasons.

  "To this day many believe that, at the end of every harvest, Persephone returns to the bowels of the earth to be with Hades, and rites are performed annually that imitate this, but every nineteenth year it ceases to be a pretense. Persephone, in the form of a Harvest Maiden, is really sacrificed. That is the truth, Anthea, and on your journey to Cathness, you witnessed at least one other instance of the same rites that take place here.”

  Anthea responded slowly. “Yes, in the field when Sir Erebus halted our carriage, and ... he tried to give Aunt Letty some mistletoe disguised as honeysuckle.”

  Jovian nodded. "To discover if she, like you, was protected by my—drunken, of course—interference. But that is of no consequence, merely an idle investigation on his part that has no bearing upon the reenactment of the myth, which is what these rites really are.”

  “So Sir Erebus is Hades, and you are Zeus. Corinna, the Harvest Maiden, and Persephone are all one and the same, and Demeter, the Lavender Lady, and I are too?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  Anthea was close to tears. “But why Corinna? What is there about her that makes her their choice?”

  Jovian breathed out and leaned his head back again. “Corinna has been chosen because in this part of Gloucestershire, the Pranton family has always provided the Harvest Maiden. The name Pranton is nothing more than a corruption of printemps, the French word for spring. The Harvest Maiden is always nineteen at the right time, has golden hair in recognition of the ripe harvest, and green eyes for the lush grass.” He paused. “And Zeus is her father.”

  Startled, Anthea pulled away to look at him. “What are you saying?”

  “Not that I am Corinna’s sire, for I was only eleven when she was born. What I’m saying is that my father and Corinna’s are one and the same. She is your stepsister but my half-sister.”

  Anthea was so thunderstruck she took a moment to recover. All sorts of things began to fall into place. “So Corinna’s mother, Chloe Pranton, was the unsuitable woman with whom your father was in love in 1795? Aunt Letty told me about her. She also said that this woman was suspected of having his child?”

  “Yes. The year of Corinna’s birth was also the year that her aunt, Chloe’s twin sister Flora, was the Harvest Maiden. By the way, the hair in Corinna’s locket doesn’t belong to her grandmother, as Abigail told her, nor indeed to her mother, but to her aunt, Flora Pranton. A lock of hair from one Harvest Maiden is always given to the next, although for some reason at the rites it is the Lavender Lady who wears it to the field, then it is given back to the Harvest Maiden.”

  Anthea shivered. “I must wear it?”

  “Yes. Anyway, we digress. I know now, from a letter he left in Huw’s keeping, to be given to me only when it was clear I would not follow in the ritual footsteps of previous dukes of Chavanage, that my father had come to realize how very wrong the ceremonies were. When he fell in love with Chloe, the only way he could help her and his unborn child, who was almost certain to be a girl and therefore the next Harvest Maiden, was to conceal her somewhere safe. He confided in his brother-in-law, my uncle Lisnerne, who had nothing whatsoever to do with the rites. My uncle agreed to take her to his estate in County Fermanagh. Thus, Chloe Pranton and the child disappeared. Everything possible was done to make sure Corinna would not suffer Flora’s fate when the nineteen years came around again, but Lethe found her anyway.”

  “Did his finding of her have something to do with Chloe’s sudden death?” Anthea asked.

  “Yes. Lethe had her poisoned. She was designated the next Lavender Lady, a true mother Demeter to her child Persephone, but she was too wily for him, avoiding every attempt to administer either mistletoe or pomegranate. Lethe soon realized she was expendable because you could take her place, so he had her done away with.”

  Salt stung Anthea’s eyes. “Poor Papa, he was ecstatic to have her in his life and so grief-stricken to lose her again.” She loved her father very much and hated to think of his sorrow.

  Jovian drew a long breath. “And now Lethe is set to bring the cycle to a close once more, and in spite of her parents’ efforts, Corinna has become the Harvest Maiden.”

  “Who was the Lavender Lady in 1795?” Anthea asked, curious about her predecessor.

  “A young woman by the name of Jocasta Frost, who now lives in Scotland, I believe. She has no recollection of what went on here, and the only thing—apart from the locket— that is passed from Lavender Lady to Lavender Lady is the gown of flowers, which is now two hundred years old.”

  “That is a venerable age,” Anthea observed.

  “And the garment is becoming rather fragile, but it is assiduously repaired and stored each time it is worn. The belief is that something must be preserved from cycle to cycle, the gown for the Lavender Lady, a lock of hair in a locket for the Harvest Maiden. By the same token corn dollies are made from the last of the harvest and kept in houses until the following year. Such things do not apply only to harvest beliefs, for at Christmas there is a strong tradition of keeping a fragment of yule log each year to burn upon its successor, and so on.”

  “I can understand that, but what I cannot understand is how I can become Lavender Lady in Chloe’s place. Clearly the same family does not always have to be involved, for as far as I know the Wintours have nothing to do with the Prantons or Frosts, yet it seems the Lavender Lady can come from all three. Or aren’t they three separate families after all?” An awful thought occurred to her. “I-I mean, if your father was Corinna’s father ... ?”

  He knew what she was thinking before she spoke. “Please do not fear that you and I are half siblings too, for I assure you, we are not,” he said with a quick laugh.

  “It’s not funny, Jovian!”

  “Forgive me.” He made himself become serious again.

  “So, how have I been chosen?” she asked.

  “Well, as a general rule, the same few families are always involved, but not always, although the Harvest Maiden always comes from the Prantons. What really matters is the first name but not necessarily the surname too. In my case the name Jovian, which is always given to the males of my family, is a tradition based upon the rites. Jovian is another term for the Roman god Jove, more usually known as Jupiter, and whom the Greeks knew as—”

  “Surely you aren’t telling me that you really are Zeus? Because if so—”

  “—you will rightly think me fit for bedlam,” he finished for her. “No, Anthea, I am merely the latest Duke of Chavanage to be cast in the role of Zeus in the myth, which is rather different than being Zeus himself. Supernatural powers and the name Jovian have always been in my family, but that does not make me Jove
, Jupiter, or Zeus, any more than calling you Regina would make you royal and place you upon a throne. As it happens you are called Anthea, which means ‘lady of the flowers,’ and you were given that name because my father was induced by the then Hades—a distant cousin of Lethe’s surnamed Acheron, after the River of Woe—to badger your father until he gave in.”

  Anthea was dismayed anew. “Please don’t tell me Papa condones any of this ...”

  “Have no fear of that, although in the past there were members of your family caught up in it, but no one who is alive now and certainly no one you have ever known. Your surname, Wintour, indicates the barren season that Demeter brought to the land until Persephone’s fate was resolved. Thus the Lavender Lady—Demeter—has sometimes come from your family and sometimes from others whose name denotes some aspect of the goddess, as in the case of Jocasta Frost.”

  “So it is simply a matter of chance?” Anthea asked.

  “For you, yes, but not for Corinna. She was destined for the role of Harvest Maiden. The name Corinna is one of Persephone’s titles; her mother’s name, Chloe, refers to Demeter.”

  “Perhaps that is why I have been chosen!” Anthea broke in. “I am Anthea Chloe Wintour!”

  “Then in all likelihood that is indeed the reason. Flora Pranton was named for the Roman goddess of springtime and flowers. Cathness is a corruption of Chthonysis, which is Zeus’s title in his capacity as god of earth and fertility. Obed Dennis means servant of Dionysis, which befits an innkeeper. Jocasta Frost is easy enough to understand, for the surname equates with winter, but Jocasta means shining moon. Sebbriz is Cerberus, guardian of Hades. The two maids you encountered on arriving here, Phoebe and Cynthia, are named for the moon. Abigail Wheatley is—”

  “The servant of the wheat field,” Anthea interposed, for he had already explained. “What of Huw Gadarn?”

  “Ah. Well, the first Huw Gadarn was a Celtic leader, probably mythical, who brought his people safely to Britain and taught them how to grow crops without resorting to magical means. The present Huw Gadarn is a fine gardener too, the finest I have ever come across, and he abhors these bloodthirsty harvest ceremonies. He and I both know the crops flourish hereabouts in spite of the rites, rather than because of them.” Jovian looked at her. “Have I frightened you too much with all this?” he inquired gently.

  “Only a fool would not be frightened,” she replied, “but I have no choice but to do what is necessary to stop all this and save Corinna.”

  “Is there anything I’ve said so far that you do not understand?”

  She nodded. “I have never heard of a Lavender Lady before, although there are all sorts of other ladies, ghostly gray, white, and black ones, and so on.”

  He smiled. “Most harvest traditions have a White Lady, to represent the snow and frost caused by Demeter, and there was a White Lady here too until one strange year about two hundred years ago when the seasons were confused by an unusual period of very warm, wet weather. The White Lady always walks to the rites through the lavender field, which bloomed very late that year, and on impulse, she picked some and tucked it into her bodice before continuing to the ceremonies. The following summer was the most bounteous the area had ever known, and the people believed the lavender had added some potency to their rituals. From then on lavender was pinned all over the White Lady’s gown, until eventually it was so covered with flowers that it seemed made of them. Naturally enough the White Lady was called the Lavender Lady after that, and it so happens that the lavender here has flowered late ever since. Every nineteenth year it is in bloom for the whole twelve months. That is a mystery I cannot explain.”

  "There is another mystery I think you can explain,” Anthea said after a moment, the glaring question at last springing into her mind.

  “Name it.”

  “If your father and Corinna’s are the same, will the Harvest Maiden of”—Anthea counted—"1833 be your daughter? If so, for her to be nineteen in that year she must already have been born or at least conceived. Therefore, I presume you must know who she is, or at least who the mother is?”

  Jovian seemed a little disturbed and made her get up from his lap. Then he got up as well and ran his hand agitatedly over his hair.

  Anthea watched him. “Jovian, surely you know whether or not you have—?”

  “No, I don’t! A healthy virile man cannot be a monk all the time, and you must understand that when I really was continuously intoxicated, there were periods I could not recollect afterward. Corinna cannot possibly be the only surviving member of the Pranton family, which at one time was known to be very large and scattered across the kingdom. If I fell by the wayside, I have no idea what the woman concerned looked like, let alone whether she was named Pranton or had Pranton blood in her veins. Fondness does not have to enter into the union, you know. My father and Chloe Pranton happened to be lovers, too, but my grandfather certainly went about it as a means to an end. So did most of the other dukes before him. If I am guilty of fathering the next Harvest Maiden after Corinna, it was while I was too drunk to know what I was doing.”

  Anthea did not know what to say. She could not bear to think of him with anyone else, and the fact that he pleaded drunkenness did not lessen the pain that ran through her now. Unreasonable as it was, she felt as if he had been deliberately unfaithful.

  He turned to her again. “Please believe me, Anthea, for I would not—could not—willingly betray my love for you.”

  “I believe you,” she whispered, and it was the truth. Looking into his eyes now and hearing the unhappiness in his voice, she could not possibly blame him for something that might or might not have happened. Her hand stretched out and his fingers curled strongly around hers.

  He pulled her close. “Lethe knows the truth of it and taunted me tonight. That was why I struck him.”

  “Oh, Jovian ...” She clung to him. “Jovian, if something did happen, and somewhere there is an unfortunate baby girl destined to be Harvest Maiden in 1833, we must more than ever do everything in our power to stop this horrible thing now.”

  “You will need all your courage and initiative,” he warned.

  “I have both in plenty,” she replied.

  “I know,” he said tenderly, then began to tell her how he hoped to overthrow Sir Erebus Lethe and the gruesome harvest ceremonies that were the bane of Cathness’s beautiful countryside.

  At first the plan seemed too audacious by far, and Anthea doubted its feasibility, but by the time Jovian had explained in full, she knew it might—just might—succeed. They spent much of the night going over and over the details, trying to think of anything and everything that could possibly go wrong. Outside, clouds began to obscure the moon, banishing the ominous blue and returning the night to some semblance of normality.

  As dawn approached, and a breeze rustled the trees in the park, Jovian returned to his own apartment by way of the secret passage. The plan had been laid, and they both knew exactly what to do. All that was needed now was luck.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Dawn had broken and the birds were singing when Anthea at last managed to fall asleep. She was exhausted and slept very soundly, so that it was midafternoon when Cynthia roused her to say she must get up, because Sir Erebus was soon to visit the castle. The maid evidently knew of that gentleman’s marital aspirations and assumed that his intended bride would hasten to please him. It did not seem to occur to her that the groom might be the only one who desired the marriage.

  Very mindful of Jovian’s instruction to appear submissive, Anthea did not show the maid the utter abhorrence with which she regarded the prospect of Sir Erebus Lethe as her husband. Nor did she display her nervousness that in a short time now the first part of Jovian’s plan would be put into practice. Sir Erebus’s visit was prearranged and would be put to good use, but come the evening, when he had departed again, Anthea would be put to the test in her first public appearance as the Lavender Lady. She did not know which of the two ordeals alarmed her mor
e.

  The carriage had been brought to the castle during the morning, and while she was asleep, her luggage had been carried up to her rooms, unpacked, and put away. She permitted Cynthia to select a yellow gingham gown and dress her, and was agreeably surprised with the way the maid combed and pinned her hair, but it was not really possible to take pleasure in anything. For all her brave smiles, Anthea’s true mood was one of fear and trepidation.

  Cynthia brought a light breakfast of tea, toast, butter, and marmalade, but hungry as she was, Anthea feared to touch anything because it might contain pomegranate. Jovian’s voice soon put her right. “Everything is all right except the tea, which has been tampered with. Ask for the milk on its own.”

  So she waved the tea away. “Just the milk, if you please.”

  Cynthia was put out. “Oh, but—"

  Anthea gave the maid an innocuous smile. “I have no fancy for tea because I fear I drank too much of the kykeon that was brought last night.”

  Reassured, Cynthia poured the milk into the cup and then busied herself with little tasks around the rooms, singing softly as she worked. “Lavender blue, dilly, dilly...” She had a pleasant voice, and under other circumstances Anthea would have appreciated her singing, but here at Cathness the old song was eerie.

  The maid was looping the curtains neatly back into place when she remembered something and broke off from her singing. “Oh, Lady Anthea, Lady Letitia begs to inform you that when you go down, you will find her in the library.”

  “I will see her directly.”

  “You must finish your breakfast quickly, so you’ll be ready and waiting when Sir Erebus arrives.”

  A sharp retort burned on Anthea’s tongue, but she managed to overcome it and remain complaisant. “Of course, for it is my earnest wish to be with him.”

  Cynthia nodded as if this were not only understandable but fully expected.

  When the maid had gone, Anthea waited a few minutes before going down to seek Aunt Letty in the library. The yellow gingham gown was very bright and fresh, and the castle was quiet as she descended the grand staircase, but halfway down she came face-to-face with Sebbriz.