The Curse of Becton Manor

by Patricia Ayling

  That afternoon, in the girl’s schoolroom, Anne found herself unusually challenged. Mary could not concentrate, was fractious, and at times drowsy. She noticed that Ruth had been pestering her to help find some hidden treasures, but Mary was so irritable that she snapped at her alarmingly. ‘Find them yourself. You just want to be rich from what belongs to me.’

  ‘Mary… that is enough. What has become of you? You never used to speak this way,’ Anne said.

  The following morning, when Anne saw Lady Charlotte in the garden, she approached her and asked to speak with her. She thought her ladyship looked very tired and didn’t want bothering. Perhaps she was expecting to hear more complaints about Edward Griffin. Lady Charlotte’s response showed her irritation.

  ‘Oh Anne, I hope this does not regard Master Griffin? I am weary of hearing about how strict a master he is. The man has had his warnings now and I find gossip tiresome.’

  ‘Oh no ma’am, it’s not about Master Griffin. I wish to speak with you about Mary.’

  ‘Should I be concerned about my daughter’s progress?’

  ‘No, ma’am, she is doing well, although more tired of late.’

  ‘Then what seems so urgent, as I read in your face?’

  ‘The white face mixture and cinnabar on her lips. Some are saying that this is dangerous.’

  Lady Charlotte smiled and shook her head. ‘As I have said before, Anne, these worries are unfounded. The Queen recovered well: there was no substance to the rumour that the lead powders can do any harm.’

  ‘Her lips are very sore, ma’am, and I think it is better if she at least stops colouring her lips.’

  Lady Charlotte sighed deeply and shook her head.

  ‘Very well, I agree. No more lip colour and we will see if her lips heal. Now go along with you.’

  Anne briefly curtseyed and returned to the house, where she planned the afternoon’s lessons for the girls.

  It was her intention for them to translate some Latin phrases into English. She welcomed these opportunities to improve her own knowledge, being aware that her status was not as high as that of Master Griffin. However, she tried very hard to keep one step ahead of her charges.

  *

  She decided it was best to dismiss the girls early and, seeing Master Griffin in the hall, could not resist confiding in him, including details of the girls’ conversation. He reassured her that she had done the right thing, to tell Lady Charlotte of her concerns.

  Smiling, he said, ‘You look quite beautiful, my dear, when you are deep in thought. Won’t you walk with me later when I have finished with the boys? We can talk some more.’

  She nodded and returned his smile.

  *

  Later, Anne wrapped a woollen shawl tightly around her shoulders before walking out to meet with Griffin. He stood calmly waiting for her near the stables. They walked along the hedgerows in the cold dusky air.

  ‘Tell me my dear. Do you enjoy working at the manor?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No particular reason, my dear. Of late, it has come to my attention that secrets lay hidden in the house. Ruth said something to Mary and, when they saw me, Mary hushed her.’ It has just made me think, my dear that’s all. Are you of the opinion the house has secrets?’

  Anne laughed. ‘No.’

  Griffin smiled and they walked in silence for a few minutes

  ‘I cannot deny, Anne, that Mary licking all that lead ceruse is of concern to me as well as you. Howbeit that the herb woman would not know the actual harm this substance may cause? Lead can poison the system and play tricks on the mind. You have noticed strange behaviour. I have noticed strange talk.’

  Anne stopped walking and looked at him.

  ‘She tells me of lots of treasures from the old priest, but surely not. The priest does not strike me as a wealthy man, So you see, I suspect Mary’s mind is muddled, perhaps even verging on lunacy.’

  ‘I don’t know why she should mention treasures, except for the spoils of the monasteries from the old king’s ruination of them all, but I wouldn’t know if the earl has any. Father Peters was a shrewd man and knew many of the Abbots who maintained the chapels. He would be the one most likely to have treasures, I would well think.’

  Griffin nodded.

  The path grew dark ahead of them as dusk fell. Griffin sensed a slight nervousness in his companion.

  ‘Are you afraid of the dark?’

  ‘No,’ she hesitantly replied, laughing nervously.

  ‘You are with me; you have no need to fear the dark.’

  He stepped closer to her, holding her hand. With a sudden gesture that startled her, he drew her near to him, pushing her back against a tree. She gasped and felt his warm breath on her cheeks as he gently pinned her against the bark. He lifted her chin so her gaze could not escape his.

  ‘Dear Anne,’ he whispered, bending lower to kiss her lips, softly at first, then with increasing passion. His breathing was heavier, his warm body was pressing even more closely to hers and his hand gently caressed her left breast.

  ‘What are you doing?’ It was a young voice in the near vicinity.

  They broke apart hastily, embarrassed to see Mary staring at them.

  ‘You should not be here, Anne. I have been looking for you, everywhere.’ Mary’s gaze swiftly focused on Griffin. ‘Master Griffin, I will need to speak with my father about this.’

  Anne stepped forward to protest, ‘No, Mary, there is no need to speak to…’

  Suddenly, Mary’s knees buckled and she slumped to the ground.

  Anne rushed to her ‘We have to take her back, Edward, quickly. She is ill.’

  Griffin swept Mary up into his arms, hoping that Anne did not detect his annoyance at this intrusion.

  As he lowered the girl onto her bed, Anne went to fetch Frances. Mary’s eyes opened and she glared at Edward Griffin.

  ‘You will not keep your post, sir. You are deceitful. I heard what lies you said to Anne. will see to it that you leave in haste.’ The voice was just a croak, but the look was one belonging to a demon, Griffin thought. What was she really thinking? He had been trying to gain her trust to find hidden treasures but now he wondered how long she had been following them. What exactly had she heard? Was it the reference to her weak mind or the hidden jewels? He now recalled her saying that they were a matter of upmost secrecy.. He had no time to seek his answers.

  Footsteps were returning to the room. Griffin feigned concern.

  ‘Mary, you must rest my dear, just rest.’ He glared back at her, his smile demonic.

  Anne and Frances ran to the bedside.

  ‘This is not like Mary. She is very sick.’ Frances dithered, straightening bedclothes while she pondered what to do. She noticed how sunken Mary’s eyes had become, her eyelids red and heavy, the girl fighting to keep them open.

  After a short while she began to utter words in a weak and stunted manner.

  ‘I feel…very tired, so…I think…I must…sleep. Could you…help me? I feel weak…’ She drew in a sharp breath in order to speak again, adding ‘…no strength…’

  Anne brought a bowl of cool water to bathe her, noticing that her skin was clammy and cold but her head was hot. She shivered violently then she cried out, her limbs becoming rigid.

  Oh, Mary…Mary, oh Jesus Christ!’ Anne tried to get a response as she held her, but the rigid body forbade it. The girl’s limbs, now shaking, rejected any interference and her back began to arch disturbingly. Her head rocked, teeth chattering as blood and saliva oozed from her lips, her face turning purple.

  ‘Get the mistress, quickly!’ Frances cried.

  Anne ran out onto the landing. From the top of the stairs, she spotted Henry below, carrying bread. ‘Henry, Henry, fetch the mistress quickly, Lady Mary is ill. Quickly I said!’ Henry gawped up at her, before running at speed, some of the bread rolling across the hall.

  Edward Griffin had slipped into the corner of the room, transfixed by
the sudden seizure but showing no emotion. Then it stopped and Mary lay limp and exhausted.

  Frances mopped her brow, trying to rouse her. She was feeling so helpless when at last Lady Charlotte, the earl and Oliver entered the room.

  ‘Oh, what has happened, what has happened?’ Charlotte and the earl hurried to their daughter’s bedside but then became almost motionless in shock at the sight of her.

  Lady Charlotte told Anne to fetch Kathleen. ‘Send Henry. Tell him to ride Sabre, as quick as he can.’

  With everyone’s attention on Lady Mary, Griffin took the opportunity to edge out of the room; however, Lord Becton caught sight of him.

  ‘Why are you here, Griffin?’

  Anne was entering Mary’s chamber.

  ‘He helped me, my lord. He carried the Lady Mary when she became sick and watched over her, while I went to fetch Frances and then the Lady Charlotte.’

  The earl looked at Griffin pensively but said nothing. Griffin responded, ‘It is true. Anne could not carry her, my lord. The Lady Mary has been lethargic of late, her studies affected by lack of concentration. The white powders are of some consequence, my lord, I am sure. Lady Mary applies it thickly and it easily becomes ingested. In my opinion…’

  ‘I am not interested in your opinion, sir,’ snapped the earl.

  Oliver jumped up from a chair to address Griffin. ‘My sister said you encouraged her to lick her lips.’ He turned to his father. ‘She licked them so much father, that she must have licked the white powders each time.’

  But Lady Charlotte walked forward to face Griffin. ‘If you really believe that they make you ill, why did you encourage this?’

  There was a soft moan from her daughter and Charlotte, turning towards her, no longer seemed interested in Griffin’s reply. As attention was again focused on Mary, Griffin left the room without answering, quickly glancing at Anne, who followed him.

  Oliver saw them depart. ‘Why are you taking your leave, Master Griffin?’

  The earl was losing patience. ‘Let him leave, Oliver. I will deal with him later. Mary, I am sure, has falling sickness. She can be cured of this.’

  Frances watched from the doorway. Anne was spending too much time with Griffin. He would lure her into his web of deceit to get what he wanted from this life. Anything the man did was of noxious intent. Her thoughts were quickly banished by repeated anxious cries from Mary.

  ‘Some water, William. She feels hot. Fetch some water, she must drink.’

  The earl did as his wife commanded and fetched the pitcher of water from the table by the window. But Mary was too unresponsive to drink.

  ‘Mary, you must drink. Try to take some water.’

  She hardly stirred, her body hot, but she muttered something about her head.

  Charlotte turned to her husband. ‘She has a bad headache, and she is not breathing well. We must get some lavender to spread on her pillow, quickly. Oh where are the servants when you need them immediately?’ She was almost crying with frustration. ‘Frances, where are you?’ Frances was looking out of the window, distracted again by the departure of Edward Griffin and Anne.

  ‘I am sorry, my lady,’ she dithered, before quickly composing herself.

  ‘Don’t just dally, girl. Help us, for the love of God.’ Lady Charlotte remained irritated. ‘I need lavender, lots of lavender water. Where is Kathleen? It’s been ages since Henry left.’

  ‘He has taken Sabre, the quickest horse, Charlotte. Try to calm yourself,’ the earl said as he strode across the room to look out of the window. As yet, there was no sign of Kathleen.

  Frances brought the lavender and stood close to Mary’s hot body. As she watched her, Mary began once again to arch her spine, her neck extending further backwards and towards the bed so her body was stretching out as the blade of a scythe. A few wet strands of hair stuck to the waxy hollows of her face.

  She was sweating profusely, her skin marbled red and purple, her thin gown pasted to her like another layer of skin. Her spasmodic shrieks shook the walls of the house, alarming all who were in it. Her eyes occasionally opened wide but then sunk into deep red sockets. There was only inescapable torment, each piercing scream releasing bloodied saliva down her chin and neck, all the while her stiff limbs jerked wildly and uncontrollably. Frances gasped, thinking, This is not Mary but a stranger, a wraith, a demon, perhaps bewitched.

  Oliver touched his mother’s arm. ‘Is she going to die, mother?’

  ‘No, Oliver, she will survive. She has always been a fighter. People recover from the falling sickness.’

  She turned towards Frances to vent her anger. ‘Don’t just stand there, you fool. Fetch more lavender and some cloths. Cool her.’ Frances was startled by her lady’s commands. She had never seen her so frantic, but then this situation was indeed dire and Lady Charlotte knew every second counted if her daughter was to recover.

  They took turns to bathe the now blotchy skin, their urgency causing the water to splash haphazardly on the wooden floor. At last the sound of galloping hooves could be heard, increasing to a clatter on the flagstones in the yard below. Then footsteps, the noise of crunching gravel and lastly the sound of heavy boots on the stairs.

  Kathleen rushed in with her jewelled herb box, followed by Henry carrying further bags of medicines. She studied Mary with wide fearful eyes. She could see there was no time to lose. She felt her brow, looked at her pale fingers and frowned.

  She sent Frances to get feverfew and rose water from her box, also some of the green jade precious stones within a cloth bag under the vials and little herb bags.

  Although her instructions were responded to promptly, Kathleen knew it was probably too late. The girl’s damp skin was a mix of blue and red, with increasing threads of torn blood vessels. Her powers were not sufficient to cure this. She had never performed cupping, which would release some of the blood. She placed the stones around Mary’s neck and in a line down the centre of her body, then dabbed the skin around the stones with rosewater.

  She placed crushed feverfew around the girl’s nostrils and across her forehead. Mary was unable to swallow but Kathleen still applied the feverfew to the insides of her mouth, trying to encourage swallowing by massaging the cheeks and the throat. The child did not protest, breathing was still present but now spasmodic, the spittle gurgling in her throat, until another desperate scream alarmed them all, cutting the air and resonating throughout the entire house and beyond. Charlotte and the earl held each other, fear etched onto weary faces.

  Kathleen turned to them. ‘She has passed the stage where I might have healed her. You must call the physician without delay. She may need to be bled. This is beyond my capability, I am sorry to say this to you.’

  At first they both stared at her with disbelief. They had put their faith in her. The earl came to his senses.

  ‘Where is Henry? He must ride to the physician’s house.’

  Frances shook her head and tried to steady herself.

  ‘I will send him, my lord.’

  All they could do while they waited was to carry on bathing Mary’s skin using fresh, cool water. Margaret had brought fresh water from the kitchen but she was uncomfortable around such profound sickness. She had lost a friend to the dreaded pestilence, remembering only too easily the raw horror when the matrons in their vinegar-soaked garments entered the homes of the sick to check for buboes.

  Anne returned, receiving a stern look from Frances. ‘Where have you been?’ she hissed. Anne glared at her and then introduced the physician who was close on her heels.

  ‘I was helping Henry to fetch him.’ She smiled at Frances.

  Mary’s condition had worsened and her body lay limp and lifeless. The physician didn’t believe that cupping, purging or bloodletting to release the hot blood would help. This, he thought, was the falling sickness: he had seen it before. He said he thought it may be due to poisonous vapours of some sort. He asked Lady Charlotte whether there wasanything different that Mary may have eaten, drank, t
ouched, or perhaps smelled.

  Lady Charlotte, very quiet and thoughtful, stood staring at the floor when suddenly she needed to sit as she felt quite faint. She looked up at Anne, who immediately knew what she was thinking. It was only a few hours since their conversation in the garden that morning and even less since Oliver’s accusation towards Griffin of the dangers of licking the white powders.

  ‘Could it possibly be true?’

  ‘My lady?’ Anne was buying time to think of her response.

  Lady Charlotte rose from the stool. Slow, shaky.

  ‘You remember…this morning, what you had heard about the ceruse?’ It was a cold, accusing stare.

  Anne swallowed hard. ‘Yes, my lady, I remember, but…’

  She was interrupted by the earl ‘My dear Charlotte, this is all mere gossip, we understood from the Queen’s recovery that this powder is not poisonous.’

  The physician listened intently to the conversation, adding further distress to the group when he said that he too was becoming wary of these powders and that, in the last few days, reports had come to his attention that the Queen was once again ill with severe melancholy.

  The earl questioned him further. ‘Why do you heed this talk of poisonous powders? Many women at court thus adorn themselves to no ill doings. They have remained robust. There’s something else wrong with Mary and it is your job, sir, to know what that is and treat her so she becomes well again.’

  The physician shook his head. It might be just hearsay but he believed that over time there was something in the face powder that affected the balance of the four humours: yellow bile, black bile, phlegm and blood. His medical training had taught him that all four should work in balance within the body. He suspected the blood was somehow affected, but knew not how. He chose his words carefully.

  ‘There is a belief, my lord, that these powders block the vapours and the body’s energy is thus sapped. We do not know for certain and usually it is because the powders have been ingested, my lord.’ He fidgeted, uncomfortable at this admission of uncertainty.