The Pure Heart

by Trudi Tweedie

  When I looked back up at Maria, she was staring at a fixed point just below my neck. At the bulge in the silk of my dress, covering up the pearl.

  ‘Only tameable by a maiden, pure of heart,’ she added with a sly smile before slamming the compendium closed.

  ‘I wasn’t brought here to be your companion?’ I said, stunned, tugging at the leather twine so that the pearl popped out from my bodice. I felt the anger rising in my chest. ‘You believe in the powers of this pearl too. The real reason why I was chosen. You’ve known about this all along!’ I cried out.

  Maria bit her top lip, as if wondering how much to give away.

  ‘Well, I don’t take kindly to being tricked,’ I spat, ‘and whatever your father wants from that poor creature, I’ll not help take it!’

  Suddenly Maria looked bereft. ‘Don’t say that,’ she pleaded, reaching over for my hand. ‘Papa was desperate, that’s all. He wants to complete his potion so that we can return to Venice. Please, Iseabail, the creature trusts you, you must help us.’ She looked up at me, eyes glassy with tears as I snatched my hand away.

  ‘I’m nothing special,’ I said. ‘The unicorn just likes me because I’m good with animals. This stone – it’s just a sea-pearl.’

  ‘No,’ said Maria, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘No, that’s not true.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand why he has gone to such lengths to find a cure for the plague?’ I said, though I stopped short of bringing up the subject of her dead mother this time.

  ‘If the potion is a success, it will have the ability to heal anything,’ said Maria, her eyes imploring me. ‘So I’ll no longer need to take the waters here. I’ll be able to go home. To Venice. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘And I’ll be able to go home too?’ I said steadily, though the merchant’s warning about returning to the islands invaded my thoughts.

  Maria nodded, her eyes fixed on mine. ‘After you have helped us with the unicorn, you will be free to return to your island.’

  But just then an image flashed into my mind – Mammy, Eilidh and Artair turning away from me, their faces hard as stone. Whatever love Artair used to hold for me in his eyes turned to repulsion. My new self too changed from the island girl they remembered.

  ‘But what if I decided not to return home?’ I whispered. ‘What if your Papa asked me to Venice instead?’

  A ripple of horror crossed over Maria’s face. ‘My God!’ she cried out, her voice rising in hysteria. ‘Maybe he does not intend to take me back with him at all?’

  I looked at her in confusion.

  ‘If the potion does not work,’ she blurted on, ‘maybe he will take you back to Venice instead of me!’

  ‘What an awful thing to say, Maria! If he asked me to go back to Venice with the household, we would all leave together. No one is getting left behind.’

  I spoke gently now, my own anger forgotten – but Maria would not be consoled.

  ‘I knew it – he’s in love with you – with your beautiful skin and teeth. And now he’s found out that you are clever too. That you can help him with the unicorn. He must think I’m a lost cause!’

  ‘You mean to say that you really think that your own father would leave you here behind? All alone?’

  The wide-eyed look on her face confirmed that she did.

  ‘Maria . . . he wouldn’t—’ I began.

  But her features had become contorted, the red spots rising on her face and neck worse than ever before. ‘You mustn’t go to him any more!’ she screamed. ‘I know that you’ve been sneaking off to his tower! Trying to turn his head. Stay away from my papa!’

  I leant over the table in an attempt to comfort her but she picked up a glass paperweight from the table and struck me hard across my temple.

  By the time I had recovered myself, Maria had long since run out of the room.

  Slightly dazed but furious once more, I followed her up the stairs only to find the door to our shared bedchamber bolted from the inside.

  Even worse, a familiar-looking animal skull was placed outside on the bare floorboards. It was the sheep skull, packed by my mother into the trunk over three months ago.

  ‘Go away, you stinky fish girl,’ she shouted at me through the door. ‘Why, when you arrived at this house you smelt rotten – and I wanted to gag!’

  ‘Well, aren’t you clever, finding my trunk,’ I retorted, banging on the door. ‘You had no right to look through my things!’

  ‘I found it because of its repulsive odour!’ said Maria, opening the door to sneer at me. Her flecked brown eyes were burning fiercely and two red dots remained, livid, on her cheeks.

  ‘What about you!’ I retorted. ‘All that awful perfume you wear. Like you’re covering up something bad!’

  ‘Well, I’ve had Sylvia throw your festering trunk away!’ she spat, tears welling in her eyes at my insult. ‘You should never have brought a thing like that into this house.’

  ‘You threw it away?’ The rage drained from me, leaving me weak. Suddenly I remembered how carefully my mother had packed up my belongings and my heart lurched as I thought of how I’d hidden them away, how I’d been ashamed of them. I had been embarrassed by my own people, every last one of them. I felt a pang of guilt as I thought about my handsome, noble Artair. Still on the island, waiting for me. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to see my trunk again. Be reminded of home.

  I tore down the landing and up the tiny staircase, my eyes stinging. Maria was right, I must have smelt rank when I arrived, but the world was a very different place outside of the scrubbed cleanliness of the merchant’s house. Peasants like me went about their daily grind without the luxury of soap and hot water! They took on the smells of their labour – fishy seabirds, sweat and animal dung. And that was real life. That was what I had to hold on to.

  To my relief, I found the trunk still wedged under the eaves exactly where I had left it – Maria had been lying. Though when I knelt beside it, I realized the fastenings were loose. I sniffed the sealskin, surprised by the lack of strong odours.

  I shuddered with emotion as I pulled open the straps, wondering why the smell wasn’t more overwhelming, especially as the contents had been shut up there for so long. I wanted to inhale the trapped smells of the island, be reminded of home. Be reminded of who I really was.

  Surely the dried puffin had grown gammy by now – and the gannet shoes, well, they always had an atmosphere all of their own. But on opening it, these two items, along with the sheep’s skull, were no longer present, and what had been left in there appeared to have been washed. A rough island smock smartly pressed and folded, smelling vaguely of vinegar, the Soay sheepskin neatly rolled reeking of camphor. Any remaining island aromas were emitted only by the trunk itself. This sanitization must have been carried out on my arrival before the trunk was brought upstairs, but I had been too ashamed about my belongings to check on them properly, stuffing them quickly into their hiding place.

  ‘Now the stinky fish girl tries to steal my papa’s affections? Well, you can go and sleep with the servants – where you belong!’ called the girl’s sinister voice behind me. ‘Like he’d pick a common thing like you to be my companion if he’d had the choice.’

  ‘Where are the rest of my things?’ I demanded. Although I was glad that I hadn’t been faced with the things that would rot away, I was furious that they had been disposed of without my consent.

  ‘Gone,’ she spat.

  But she’d lied to me once already, and I didn’t believe her. ‘Give me back the skull,’ I said, turning to face her. Mammy had been right to pack it – it was the thing that reminded me most of home. There was hundreds of them littered across the islands, picked clean by seabirds and bleached white by extremes of weather. Eilidh and I used to line them up and play a game where we tried to throw seashells into their eye sockets. The memory of two sisters running free as the wind across the clifftops, barefoot, poor and happy, stung like a jellyfish. It was the life that I wished for m
y own children. ‘It does not belong to you.’

  ‘Why do you need it?’ she went on, a rash rising in pinpricks across her forehead. ‘What use do you have for any of your things right now? Not thinking of running off with the stable boy, are you? Well, wouldn’t that be a scandal?’

  The girl was making no sense. One moment she was accusing me of seducing her father, the next moment I was eloping with William. She’s sick, I reminded myself. ‘I’ll not be running away,’ I said, standing up to face her. ‘I’ll leave this house with dignity. When your papa has arranged my passage home.’

  I said this last bit with conviction, my mind still warm with the memories of the island. How could I have ever entertained the thought of going to Venice? I would be going back to marry Artair. Back to my old simple life. Back to who I really was.

  Maria’s rage faltered. But now she looked faint, dropping down on her knees.

  And although I hated her right then, was it really her fault that the merchant had brought me here under false pretences? She was only a child, prone to bouts of rage and weakness, a malaise brought on by the death of her mother.

  ‘Let’s just forget our quarrel, shall we?’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘I was just angry with you for taking my things, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ve already arranged for you to go sleep with the servants,’ Maria said sharply. But her colour was starting to return to normal and I knew the worst was over.

  ‘As you wish,’ I said.

  She stood unsteadily and staggered back down the corridor into the bedroom, slamming the door closed.

  In the kitchens, Sylvia was expecting me.

  The beds down there were simple mattresses of straw, pulled out for the night and stored away in the daytime, but the kitchens at night were pleasantly warm rather than stifling like the rooms above. As I lay down, pulling the rough-spun covers over me, I thought my new sleeping quarters really weren’t so bad.

  Even so, the events of the day played over and over in my mind as I tried to fall asleep. The unicorn in the forest – its implicit trust in me as I’d slipped the chain around its neck. My discovery of my true purpose here: a girl to tame the unicorn, not a companion to a rich girl. The way Maria’s face had contorted with rage as she’d hit me with the paperweight – my temple still throbbed with pain. My trunk, its contents washed of my former life. The endless, bitter argument.

  Eventually I fell asleep to the sound of the other servants’ snores and I woke at dawn, feeling calm and refreshed and full of purpose. I hoped the kitchens might become my permanent quarters until I left this house for ever – which I intended to do as soon as I possibly could: the very moment the merchant’s supplies had reached my home shores.

  But that was not to be.

  ‘Good morning, Iseabail,’ said the merchant, leading his daughter by the arm into the kitchens, where I was eating my morning meal. ‘I do hope that you have slept well.’

  ‘Indeed I have, sir,’ I said, cautious. Maria’s eyes were fixed on the floor, red as cherries.

  ‘Sylvia came to the tower to inform me of your squabble,’ he explained. ‘I think my daughter owes you an apology.’

  Squabble? Such a trivial word. Did he realize that his daughter had whacked me with a paperweight? I touched my finger to my temple, where the child had struck me. If there was a bruise there, it would be conveniently covered by my hair.

  ‘Maria,’ said Plaustrell, his arm draped over his daughter’s shoulder. ‘What did we discuss?’

  ‘I’m sorry that you had to spend the night down here,’ said Maria, though her expression showed none of the remorse of her words. She had not, I notice, apologized for any of her other behaviour.

  The merchant looked at me expectantly.

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said to the child, although I knew now that Maria and I would never recover what friendship we had managed to build. The argument had changed everything.

  ‘Very good. Now that’s settled, might I have a word with you, Iseabail?’ the merchant added. ‘In the library.’

  Maria shot me a warning look before being ushered into my vacated seat by Sylvia who fussed and gave her a warm custard tart. She was very pale, and didn’t respond in her usual way to Sylvia’s attentions, pushing away the tart disconsolately. I trailed behind the merchant to the library.

  ‘Maria is convinced that you intend to run away,’ he began, urging me to sit on the library’s settee whilst he leant casually on the sideboard. The fire was not yet lit for the day and the room was still pleasantly cool. ‘Understandably, she is upset.’

  I sat on the edge of the settee, my hands steepled in my lap. Had Maria told him that I’d figured out why I was really here? That I was not a companion, but a part of his secret cure?

  ‘And is she upset because she will miss me?’ I said, my voice controlled. ‘Or that I will no longer be able to help with the unicorn?’

  At this the merchant smiled, but the tendons in his neck tightened. ‘Does it matter,’ he said with false gentleness, ‘that you were brought here for a different reason to that which you were expecting?’

  He was a devious scoundrel all right, but now I knew that he needed me. Only I could help him tame the unicorn. Surely the power was in my hands now.

  ‘I suppose not,’ I said, looking up at him. ‘As long as you fulfil the promises that were made in your letter. How are things progressing with the supplies?’

  Plaustrell stood up straight and fixed me with a grave expression. ‘They reached your island’s shores safely.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful news!’ I said, standing, my heart leaping for joy. I walked to the window, leaning my skirted thighs against the cold sill. Soon, I would leave this place and never think of it again. I took a deep breath and turned to face him with conviction. ‘You told me I was here to be a companion to your daughter. You lied. I see no reason for you to keep me in this house. I do not wish to harm the creature you are keeping captive. So, now that you have fulfilled your obligation to my people, I wish to go home.’

  ‘Don’t you remember what we discussed?’ he said calmly. ‘This fantasy of returning to your island – I must warn you, it is foolish.’

  ‘I listened to you in the tower that day, really I did, sir,’ I said as genteelly as I could, making my way back across the carpet. ‘But all the riches in Venice will not stop me from going home. And my people will accept me back with open arms, I know it!’

  ‘You really think that, don’t you, Iseabail?’ he sighed whilst resting his hands heavily on his hips. ‘And I really didn’t want to have to do this. But you have forced my hand.’

  I regarded him steadily; what on earth was he up to now?

  ‘I’m afraid I have more news about the delivery of the supplies,’ he said, meeting my gaze. But his voice was so grave it made my bravery falter.

  ‘Go on,’ I said valiantly. ‘Please, I must know.’

  ‘It’s your chief,’ he said with a sad shake of his head. ‘I’m afraid that he is dead.’

  ‘Innes Ferguson is dead!’ I cried. At this my legs buckled along with my determination, causing me to sit back down on the settee. ‘But how?’

  ‘He fell from the cliffs,’ said the merchant. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘The cliffs?’

  ‘I believe that is a common death for a man from your islands?’

  ‘Not in winter . . .’ I said, wringing my hands which were numb with shock. ‘And the chief, why he hardly ever harvested birds any more. Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. And the new chief refused to accept a single box of the supplies on to his shores,’ said Plaustrell.

  ‘The new chief?’ I said slowly. ‘So Artair must have taken his place. But why would he refuse the supplies?’ A brief brimming of pride in my chest was replaced by something dreadful. Artair becoming chief could only mean one thing. ‘A man cannot rule without a wife on my islands,’ I said, dumbfounded.

  Plaustrell had by now walked over to sit on the
settee beside me. ‘That is the tradition of your people?’ he said softly. ‘That a man cannot rule without being wed?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, with a voice now no more than a whisper. ‘Artair . . . he must have married Eilidh.’ The betrayal was so physically painful that it felt like a knife in my heart.

  ‘That is your sister?’ said the merchant pensively. ‘Well, you do not know that for sure.’

  ‘She was the only eligible replacement,’ I said. Then I rested my head in my hands in despair. ‘That must be why he refused the supplies! They don’t want me to come back now!’

  The merchant laid a gentle hand on my back as the sobs rose within me.

  The decision had been taken out of my hands; I couldn’t go home after all. I would be trapped with the merchant and his daughter for ever.

  Eventually, Plaustrell left me alone in the library to return to his scrolls in the tower. Latin wasn’t until this afternoon and I couldn’t just sit among the books, torturing myself about Artair marrying Eilidh – and the meaning behind him rejecting the supplies. Every time I allowed my mind to wander back to the island, it was as if I’d been hit afresh with a boulder in the chest. I dragged myself to the kitchens to offer my services there, but the kitchen maids looked mortified at my gesture of help, Sylvia ushering me out of the room as if I was completely mad.

  As another wave of emotion overwhelmed me, I ran to the stables, bereft when William was nowhere to be found. But in all likelihood, I realized, he would be in the tower, tending to the unicorn. I prayed to God that Plaustrell wasn’t in there too. How I ached for William’s silent, sympathetic company.

  I dodged the branches of the sinister tree, its branches sprung up and grabby without the weight of snow, and ran up the steps. I pressed my ear to the door.

  The walls to the tower were thick but the door wasn’t as substantial. I held my breath to bring complete silence. But after a few minutes of hearing not so much as a scrape of a chair, I concluded that the unicorn must be asleep and neither the merchant nor his stable boy were present in the lower chamber.