The Pure Heart

by Trudi Tweedie

  I refrained from mentioning that I had seen a crate arriving last night and that Whitefoot was probably guarding her new pet in the stables.

  Whitefoot did look fine, better in fact. Like he’d been given a purpose in life. I felt sorry for him being back in the confines of the house. The creature whined, desperate to be let back out.

  ‘I swear that wretched boy has set him against me,’ said Maria venomously as she clipped the lace on to my sleeves, and I fretted that the great dog would split the door in two. ‘Just like he has done with Velvet.’

  I was incredulous that she didn’t realize that neither Whitefoot nor Velvet had ever cared for her in the first place.

  ‘Is William invited to the feast today?’ I enquired casually as she was fastening me into my dress. She had chosen for me a gaudy green gown that she said was most fitting for the celebrations. But my desire for the presence of the stable boy was not lost on the girl.

  ‘Why do you keep asking about him?’ she said peevishly, pulling the ribbon cords around the wrist too tight. ‘Anyone would think that you were in love with him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said, pulling my arm away and loosening the ribbon with my free hand. There was a friction mark where it had burnt into the skin just below my left wrist, skirting the scar where Eilidh had stabbed me. The friction mark faded within seconds leaving just the old scar, ugly and proud.

  ‘I’ve seen how you look at him,’ Maria went on, whilst I traced the scar with my finger, suddenly drawn back to the day Artair had balanced on the Maiden’s Rock. ‘Gawping like a cod-fish.’

  ‘I do nothing of the sort,’ I said, covering my wrist up again with my sleeve. How badly did I want to tell her that I was betrothed to Artair! That I would be returning home to him sometime soon. It took great resolve to bite my tongue. ‘And I was merely asking if he would be joining the rest of the household. Now please, fasten me in more gently.’

  ‘Well, stay still, will you?’ said Maria, taking back my arm firmly. ‘Or we’ll miss out on all of the good bits.’

  After dressing we descended the stair to a household already embroiled in euphoric chaos.

  The first shock of the day was that the servants were all dressed as lords and ladies. I recognized several of the outfits on the women being paraded around, though I couldn’t claim any of them really belonged to me.

  ‘Don’t they look ridiculous?’ giggled Maria as I struggled to identify some of the wearers as they also wore heavy make-up.

  Father Ronan was dressed in a servant’s attire, but the red pantaloons were far too tight, making his stout legs look like sausages. Needless to say, he was already blind drunk.

  ‘I wonder who Papa has in mind for Lord of Misrule,’ snickered Maria as we helped ourselves to sweet orange loaves topped with cider-soaked figs. ‘I do hope it’s not the priest.’

  Suddenly a horn sounded, and everyone pushed into the hall. There must have been twenty or so people packed in there, all jostling and elbowing for position. At the front of everyone, at the foot of the stairs stood William. He was dressed as himself in plain old breeches, his hair lit gold by a battalion of festive candles. In his hand was the curved lizard horn he’d used to summon the entire household. And like the rest of the servants, he looked tired, no doubt not getting to bed last night for attending to the merchant’s newly arrived beast.

  Our eyes met over the top of the crowd, but fearing more accusations from Maria I looked away quickly.

  Then Sylvia busied herself to the front and William disappeared into the crowd.

  ‘Signore e signori,’ she said in a silly falsetto. She was wearing a red dress with an enormous ruff strangling her scraggy neck. ‘Permettetemi di presentarvi il nostro Grande Spettacolo!’

  Three of the servants each took up an instrument – a flute, a harp and a drum and began to play a dramatic march.

  ‘That means that Papa is coming!’ Maria shouted over the din into my ear. ‘Just wait until you see!’

  Everyone began to sing what I assumed to be an Italian carol as a tall spectre dressed in a multicoloured outfit appeared on the landing. As the figure began to descend the stair, its face was revealed to be a featureless mask.

  Everyone began to clap voraciously as the spectre swept around the curve of the stair to begin his final descent into the hall. Of course, it was unmistakably the merchant but the crowd went berserk with the theatre of it all.

  ‘Benvenuti!’ cried Sylvia. ‘Vi presento . . . Harlequin!’

  ‘Not Harlequin again,’ said Maria, puffing out her cheeks with dissatisfaction. ‘He wore that last year – I mean, he could have made more of an effort!’

  The servants, it would seem, did not share her disappointment.

  When the figure reached the last few steps, it halted dramatically, sending the musicians’ instruments screeching to a halt. The mask stared out blankly across the hall.

  A hush descended as Harlequin made to remove his mask. With a flourish it dropped clattering to the floor like a bird shot through the heart. And there he stood in all his glory: Alexander Plaustrell, the supposed master of this house, dressed head to toe as a court jester.

  ‘Signore e signori,’ began Plaustrell. Beneath his mask, he wore no make-up and his eyes looked red. Like he too had been up all night.

  ‘I’ll translate for you,’ whispered Maria, craning up to my ear.

  Her papa proceeded to address the entire household, thanking each of them for their unswerving loyalty in his absence especially in the face of the evils currently sweeping the country.

  I tried to locate William again but Maria held on to my shoulder. She was now up on tiptoes, translating every word her father said directly into my ear.

  ‘Now he’s saying that we are safe here away from Venice,’ she went on, her spittle finding my cheek. ‘Here, we can all flourish, away from the clutches of death – though he feels he is close to finding a potion which will keep them all safe on their eventual return.’

  This gave rise to further cheering, though all I could think was that if the Protestants came knocking right now, we would all be hung, drawn and quartered in the village square before sunrise.

  Discreetly, I wiped my cheek, noticing that Maria’s breath smelt bad.

  ‘E ora,’ said Plaustrell finally, smiling wildly.

  ‘Here it comes!’ squeaked Maria excitedly.

  Sylvia moved to the front of the crowd and presented a cushion of scarlet velvet to her master, on top of which sat a silver crown. Plaustrell clomped down the remaining stairs and on to the black and white tiles, where he lifted the crown ceremonially from its cushion and Sylvia melted back into the crowd.

  ‘I give you this year’s . . . Lord of Misrule!’ he said loudly and, very unexpectedly, in Gaelic.

  But just then I spotted glimpses of ginger hair between the wigs and paraphernalia of the baying crowd. William emerged at the front holding a golden cage, partly draped in red cloth. It was a struggle for him to hold the cage aloft.

  Whispering began amongst the crowd. What on earth was the master up to?

  Suddenly Plaustrell stepped forward and whipped away the cover dramatically. A gasp circulated the room. Inside the cage sat a monkey. A monkey dressed in white frilly attire. I blinked. My stomach twisted. Nell? The monkey from the boat . . .

  ‘Behold! Your Lord of Misrule!’

  Plaustrell basked in the shocked silence whilst the monkey sat at the bottom of its cage crunching nuts.

  After an uncomfortable pause, Plaustrell started laughing. ‘Come, come,’ he implored, leading the crowd into the Great Hall. ‘There is nothing to fear – just a little joke, that’s all. This year, there will be no Lord of Misrule. Instead, I beg you to enjoy the festivities with no other breathing down your neck.’

  ‘Curse you, Papa!’ piped up Maria, enraged. ‘What a rotten trick!’

  But a relieved cheer rose up as the cage was put down on the long table and the room filled up with chatter and laughter
. I frowned as I watched Plaustrell fiddle with the catch of the cage. Once the door was open, the creature took her chance to flee.

  Cries went up around the hall as the monkey swiped a toffee apple from a silver platter.

  ‘I know that monkey,’ I said, under my breath.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Maria. ‘How can you know a monkey?’

  I frowned. She was right: how could I tell? It must be another creature of the same species. ‘I mean, I know of a monkey – which looked just the same,’ I explained, colouring slightly as Plaustrell returned to Maria’s side. Looking closer now, I could see that the monkey was dressed as a baby.

  ‘You see! Even a peasant from nowhere has seen a monkey before!’ she told her father bitterly, not caring that she was insulting me. ‘Is this my gift, Papa? If so, it is very disappointing.’

  ‘Now now, Maria, she’s not your main present. And I’m sure that you will find the little creature quite amusing,’ said Plaustrell, stroking her hair as she buried her face in his chest. ‘Why don’t you think of a name for her?’

  It was then that I noticed that the merchant was staring right at me. And although his eyes were rimmed red with fatigue, something sparked behind them. He held my gaze. I looked at the monkey, and back at him, my heart pounding. The sailor had been bearded, his hair long – and he had kept his eyes averted. His accent had been thick too, and his manner almost subservient. Out of context, he and Plaustrell were nothing alike . . . but now, with the creature cavorting over the dinner table . . .

  I clasped my hand over my mouth.

  Marcus Amanza.

  No wonder I had thought his face familiar! And now it was so clear, especially as fresh whiskers darkened the lower half of his fine-boned jaw. Just as they had when he was dressed as a sailor. But why on earth . . .

  Maria spun round to face me and I quickly rearranged my expression into something neutral, even as the world reeled around me.

  ‘You name it, Iseabail.’ she said impatiently. ‘Quickly now, so we can get some cake.’

  The merchant looked at me expectantly.

  ‘How about Nell?’ I said, not dropping my gaze.

  And then the real celebrations began. By noon I could no longer stomach the self-replenishing mountains of food, nor the endless stream of outrageous party games. Plaustrell – or ‘Marcus Amanza’, I thought bitterly – was nowhere to be seen and Maria was giddy with excitement, playing games with the servants. She assured me that her father would return before the day was done.

  To suppress my shock, embarrassment and confusion about the merchant’s revelation, I had drunk far more than my usual few glasses of ale throughout the day, indulging in French wine and the honey mead the priest had ordered from the priory.

  The party went on all day, but as day turned to evening and yet another round of blind man’s bluff was instigated, a wave of anger engulfed me; I could not bear it if the merchant returned to his party. How could I watch him parading around playing the fool after he had tricked me so cruelly? Was he my host, or my captor? Grabbing a fur cape, I fled out unseen through the back of the house.

  I stumbled through the snow, inhaling deep breaths of cold air. How good it was to be out here, away from their drunken cheer.

  My boots slipped on the icy steps down into the sunken garden, the silence soothing after the cacophony of the Great Hall. The snow started up again, but as there was no wind it fell softly from the grey sky, each flake taking an age to whirl noiselessly to the ground.

  To my left loomed Plaustrell’s tower, caked white like a candle and, next to it, the Devil’s tree, looking just like an ordinary fir beneath its cape of snow. The world felt unsteady beneath my feet.

  I raised my face, capturing a heap of refreshing flakes in my mouth, my mind speculating about winter storms besetting the islands. Were the men watching the shores desperate for the hope of supplies? Or had they never believed a word of the letter, meeting its demands in return for nothing more than being rid of the strange sailor?

  What if they were to learn that that very same sailor was now my master? Would they be so keen to welcome me back knowing that I had spent a year under the influence of his household?

  Of course, I would not even burden Artair with the merchant’s dual identity. But this thought stung me deepest of all. I had never before withheld information from Artair – neither of us had kept secrets from each other. But now, would there always be a wedge between us? God, how I missed Artair – and my island home with all its certainties.

  I rounded the corner past the buried sundial and took a right past the arbour so that I could negotiate a footpath through the snow. Maria wouldn’t miss me out here for an hour or so, especially as I hadn’t proved the most willing of party guests.

  However, as the path curved round the frozen twigs of a mulberry bush, I thought that I heard a sound. I pulled up my cap and listened.

  At first there was nothing – just the occasional disembodied cheer from the party dulled behind the thick walls of the manor house. But as I tuned into the silence, my ears picked out the sound of snow falling. Imperceptible as one feather brushing another, a sensation quickly to slip from one’s grasp.

  I made to replace my cap, but then my ears detected something else. A faint cooing.

  There was a dovecote built into the outer perimeter of the kitchen garden where the birds were kept for game and eggs, though the doves themselves were free to come and go as they pleased. But just as I thought I’d fixed the source of the cooing, the tone of it became woeful. Now it reminded me more of the seals back at home, calling to each other out on the rocks.

  But we were too far from the sea for seals and there was no wind on which such an unlikely call could be carried. And anyway, the strange sound seemed to be coming from the stables.

  Aware that Whitefoot might be on duty, I stole behind a frozen hedge bordering the gardens where I might sneak a view. Suddenly I was excited at the prospect of seeing William. In the Great Hall I had been too wound up in myself to seek him out and hadn’t even noticed when he had slipped out from the celebrations.

  But as I approached the stable I began to think that I had imagined the noise, that it was just the frozen silence playing tricks on me. If I was to come across William now, what excuse would I give him for being outside of the stables alone?

  I peeped out from behind the snow-moulded privet. The stables were in clear sight but although a light shone from within, the doors were fastened.

  And there it was again. The noise. And it was definitely coming from the stables.

  It struck me then that it might be the sound of a mare about to give birth, though Maria had not informed me that one was in such a situation. Then again, hadn’t the merchant mentioned he’d bring back a creature that would be kept in the stables?

  Nell’s cage was only small – the monkey had no need for the large reinforced crate that I had witnessed being delivered last night. The crate had contained something else.

  My teeth began to chatter now I was stationary and I longed to be let into the warm stables. So what if I could not have a conversation with William? I wanted to see him anyway. Wanted to see someone who wasn’t deceitful Plaustrell, or his fickle daughter, or the servants who could understand nothing I said. Besides, maybe he would show me Maria’s new pet.

  I slipped out from behind the bush, the alcohol giving me bravado, but just as I did so, a noise pieced the air.

  ‘Whhaarroooooooo!’

  It was the bark of a dog. In seconds a great bulk was upon me, knocking me breathless to the ground. White-foot pinned my shoulders with his paws.

  ‘It’s me, it’s me,’ is all I could say, but then the hound’s weight was suddenly lifted and someone had me beneath the arms, wrenching me to my feet.

  It was William. With a gesture of one hand, he commanded Whitefoot to retreat. The dog slunk off back to his post, the stable door now gaping ajar. William put one finger to his lips, then pointed it towar
ds the house.

  ‘I was just taking a walk,’ I said, unsure if he could understand me. ‘And now I’m completely soaked.’

  It was true. Instead of falling into powdery snow that I could brush off, I had ended up in icy slush. The snow around the stables appeared to be melting.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I said, my eyes drawn to the stable doors which, in his haste, William had left open. Through the gap could be gleaned several oil lanterns hung from the posts of the stalls, all blazing with light. One of the stalls was sealed off with a blanket. ‘Has the merchant brought Maria a new horse?’ I said, trying to see past him.

  William shook his head.

  ‘Please,’ I said, laying a hand on his sleeve. ‘I would very much like to see.’

  William looked anxiously back towards the house. I could tell that he desperately wanted to close the stable doors.

  I tightened the grip on his arm. ‘Just a little look – and I’ll leave you in peace. I promise.’

  After one more anxious look across the gardens, he took my arm and led me straight into the stables.

  In the main space of the paddock stood the steeds with which I was now familiar along with Velvet and the merchant’s grey mare. But the animals seemed on edge, causing William to administer clicks from his tongue.

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ I asked, knowing this was how he communicated with the horses in the absence of a voice.

  William pointed to the covered stall and made a cradle with his arms.

  ‘So it is a foal,’ I said, puzzled. ‘But why are the other horses unsettled?’

  William shook his head, for a moment looking unsure what to do next.

  I took matters into my own hands. Striding over to the stall, I pulled back the cover.

  ‘It can’t be,’ I said staring at the little animal straining madly at its tether in the corner as William tried to reseal the stall with the blanket. ‘Maria’s present is . . . a goat?’

  The animal was small, creamy-white with a tufty beard beneath its chin. It had been harnessed with a leather hood covering its ears and shackled to the stall with a silver chain.