The Mistresses of Wistmere: A Neo-Gothic Novel

by Rachel Secor

  Guilty and embarrassed, like a child who had been caught stealing, Katherine dropped the coat and slipped beneath the covers on the far side of the bed. “No. I was simply looking at the seams,” she lied, not wanting to admit that she had admired it. “I make my own clothing.” Katherine bit her lip as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She cringed, awaiting the putdown that would follow.

  “Of course you do,” came the expected remark.

  Katherine was sorry she had spoken and expected silence to ensue, but May-Jewel continued speaking.

  “I had that outfit made in Boston. I wasn’t born there though. I was born in Florida. We moved to New England when I was twelve.”

  Katherine lay motionless. Oh, for once will you just be quiet, and she tried to block May-Jewel’s babbling with her pillow.

  But May-Jewel couldn’t stop talking. It was as if needles were pricking her scalp, and her head started to throb. “I have a lot more dresses at home. Robbie and Jeremy bought most of them for me as gifts.” She didn’t want to say that. She didn’t want to say anything at all. But her legs were quivering as if they didn’t want to support her. Her heart beat faster, and her hands were shaking. Why was she still talking? She only knew that if she didn’t talk, she might explode. “Mother visited Florida many times,” she continued, her voice slightly strained, “but the last time that she went, she didn’t return home. Three days after she arrived at Aunt Constance’s house, there was a fire and Mother… Mother didn’t make her way out of the bedroom. She was the only one that died in the blaze. They said it was an accident, but I lost my mother regardless of the cause.”

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” Katherine replied. For the first time she listened to what was being said and was saddened by May-Jewel’s loss.

  May-Jewel seemed deaf to Katherine. She became overwhelmed by a sudden loneliness and rambled on even more, comforted by the sound of her own voice. “Boston is nice this time of year. One is never truly alone there. Spring is warmer on our north-eastern coast than it is here. I don’t think that I brought enough clothing to keep-”.

  “Enough clothing!” Katherine sat up and glared at her, anger surging forth. “You brought enough clothing to clothe every woman in Scotland! It took fifteen minutes for the coachman to retrieve my small case from beneath your pile of luggage, and all the while I was forced to wait in that horrible smelly dining room filled with drunkards!” It wasn’t the fifteen minutes nor was it the amount of baggage that her half-sister traveled with that made Katherine so angry. It was the correlation between herself and May-Jewel that she hated. Her mother had died the same tragic way, in a fire, and she, too, was alone. And they even shared the same blood. But Katherine didn’t want to have these things in common with the vain trollop from Boston. It was just one more reason to hate her. She detested having to share the same miseries with the spoiled, pampered woman.

  Katherine’s violent retort shook May-Jewel free of her near hysteria. “You know,” she spat through clenched teeth, “I’ve had just about enough of you!”

  “You’ve had enough of me!” Katherine shrieked.

  “Yes! Ever since we’ve met, it’s been nothing but sulk, sulk, sulk, and it isn’t my clothing that’s bothering you.”

  “You are correct! It’s not your clothing.” Katherine shot out of the bed. “It’s the fact that you’re a fraud. You’re a besom, a slut, the daughter of a rich harlot, fathered by accident by a bloody Scotsman who didn’t have enough sense to leave his trousers on! You’re a bastard and you’re no better than anyone else even though you certainly pretend to be!”

  “Why you sullen bitch!” May-Jewel moved toward Katherin, her violet eyes becoming black slits. “If anyone’s a bastard, it’s you! If anyone’s a slut, it was your mother! Not only a slut, but an enslaved slut, bought and sold, and used to satisfy Robbie’s lust, then tossed away like a fetid piece of meat!”

  “That may well be! But it only took one man to satisfy her need for love. How many men did it take to satisfy your mother?”

  The slap resounded throughout the room as Katherine was knocked to the floor. Stunned into silence, she stared up at May-Jewel, her hand on her cheek. Years of torment and restrained anguish were then released in the tears that rushed forth. She sat pressed against the wall, her legs tight against her chest. The confrontation purged Katherine’s heart and laid bare its secret pain.

  May-Jewel, shocked by her own violent action, stood aghast with her hands held over her mouth. As she stared down at her half-sister, compassion instantly overcame her anger.

  Katherine started speaking in low weepy tones and through broken sobs. “All those years, my mother pined away for that vile man and willingly existed in that horrible little cottage instead of living in Wistmere where she really belonged. Why? Because of her difference… because of her race. And I hated her for that difference!” She covered her face and cried. “I hated her for giving birth to me and giving me her skin.” The truth had finally been spoken. This was the crux of what Katherine had carried within her. This was what had tormented her every time she looked into a mirror, and what she thought she saw reflected in the faces of those she met. This perception was what had prevented her from opening herself to love as she was forever critical of those she met before they could become critical of her.

  The room seemed to hold its breath as a brooding silence crushed the spirit of the fight in the two women. Katherine rose and sought the bed, weakened by the emotional release. She hadn’t been aware of all the anguish that had been buried within her for just being the daughter of Cora St. Pierre.

  “That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?” May-Jewel whispered, herself in tears, “our mothers!”

  “If Sir Robert had had the decency to let her return to her own people, my mother would still be alive,” Katherine lamented. “When I was eight, he gave me a handful of hard candies and a few shillings and sent me away from my mother. I wasn’t even with her when she died. She burned to death in the carriage house. I wanted to tell her so much, and I never got the chance.”

  “I wasn’t with my mother either.” In the stillness, May-Jewel blew out the lantern and slipped beneath the coarse woolen blanket. “You’re wrong, Katherine, about your skin,” she said softly, “it really isn’t as dark as you yourself see it. Actually your skin is far fairer than my Hispanic nanny’s. I’d call your skin color rather golden.”

  But Katherine made no reply.

  “And… and,” May-Jewel continued, “I’m… I’m sorry for what I called you a little while ago.”

  Katherine’s sobbing ceased. “I, too, am sorry. I realize that we’re both under a great deal of stress. All these revelations are difficult to accept.”

  “Yes, and as for our mothers, we already buried them once,” May-Jewel said, wiping away the traces of emotion. “The past is gone… now it’s our turn to live.”

  Our turn to live, Katherine repeated to herself, her eyes on the ceiling. I’ve yet to live at all. All this time I’ve hated my mother for giving me life. I’ve hated Sir Robert for giving us an existence at the foot of his grand manor. But the problem was and is in me. Once she admitted this, she felt the weight of a lifetime of anger and resentment starting to lift from her. I must make of myself all that I can regardless of my birth. But was she strong enough to do that? She wondered where her mother had gotten the strength to go on every day, to face those who spurned her. She looked over at May-Jewel and prayed, Oh, Lord grant us the strength we need to face what comes tomorrow, for tomorrow we will be at Wistmere.

  Chapter Four

  Alexander Fleming gripped the hand strap to maintain his balance on the seat as the carriage raced over the deep rutted road. It had been a week since Neal had notified Robert Craig’s young partner of the impending arrival of the heiresses to Wistmere.

  It would be easier to reopen and ready the manor if I didn’t have to work with that cantankerous old fool, Charles. But there’s no way of bypassing him in the pr
eparations. Fifty years of service to the Craig family does entitle him to live the rest of his life on the estate, but I wish he would retire and leave me to handle things myself.

  The carriage bounced sideways, throwing Alex against the door, and he silently fumed, At least by now the manor should be in readiness, aired and cleaned. His eyes turned toward the window and he pondered about Wistmere. It had once been a stately manor and it could be again, of that he was sure. But what had Robert known of stateliness? The whole country knew that his only interests were in comely women, drink and dice. Robert, you old fool! Your gambling has cost the line three of its best ships and the near ruination of a business that’s part mine. How stupid to settle your debts with our ships! And what of your daughters? Now their inheritance is only a neglected manor and a decreasing amount of money left in trust. If I could get control of their money, I’d make the shipping line the envy it once was and make Wistmere grand again. Not to mention my own small estate and Rome. He crossed himself and whispered again, “And Rome.”

  Alex had put up with his partner’s philandering and gallivanting for the sake of the shipping business and for the hope of finding the fortune that lay hidden somewhere within the crumbling estate. For over twenty years, the gems had been missing, and it was Alex’s intention to find them. Edith, where did you hide them that not even Robbie could find them?

  He smiled derisively. Oh, well in recompense for the monies you died owing me, Robbie-boy, for keeping the business afloat, and for my legal portion of Craig & Company, I shall have Wistmere and her fortune. He leaned back, pleased with his decision.

  His mind drifted to the heiresses. Imagine the courts allowing Wistmere to go to two women, to two illegitimate daughters at that! You sure had a good lawyer there, Robbie-boy. He stiffened with indignation of not being at the actual will reading. But Neal said Alex’s duty lay in getting Wistmere ready for the women. What kind of women were they? For the rest of the journey he envisioned the meeting between them and himself. He knew that they’d be duly impressed by his bearing and importance, but he also knew that he’d not be impressed with them at all.

  * * *

  Jiggling the oversized key, Alexander opened the massive door into Wistmere.

  “Charles!” His deep voice thundered through the great hall, echoing in its emptiness. The old man didn’t answer. “Perchance he’s dead,” Alex hoped as he entered, agitated and losing patience. As he looked about, he realized that the chances of making a good first impression with Robert’s daughters was lost in the dust and cobwebs he found there.

  “Charles!” He yelled. “The heiresses are expected this afternoon, and the manor isn’t ready!” But there was still no reply from the old man. Picking up his bags and cursing under his breath, Alexander crossed the empty hall and continued up the stairs. As he moved up, he was conscious of the reverberating sound of his own footsteps. A twang of guilt ran through his mind but was quickly pushed aside. Then he admitted to himself, I suppose that furniture would absorb the noise and make the manor look a little more lived in. Perhaps I should have left those cumbersome pieces here after all. But who would have wanted such outdated furnishings? They weren’t even worth the selling. They brought such a poor price.

  Leaning out the door of his quarters, he called out into the hall again for the old servant. Charles’ appearance was sudden and silent. There was no familiarity or greeting between the two men.

  “Did you hire the cook?”

  “Aye,” Charles mumbled, entering the bed chamber.

  “Good. The place is a mess!” Alex snapped, pulling a shirt from his bag. “How can I receive the new owners of the manor if the manor looks as unlived in and as uncared for as the moor? What have you been doing all this time?”

  “’Tis a lot for an old man alone ta be do’n sir. The lack of furnishin’s gives the manor a drear’ look.” Charles eyed Alex in accusation, and Alex glared back, daring the old man to continue. Charles chose not to, and simply asked, “Will I be hirin’ lassies fro’ the clachan for a daily wage ta get the place in order?”

  That’ll mean spending more money, Alex deduced before answering. But he had to make a good first impression. If the heiresses considered him dependable in his handling of the manor, they might leave all things as they were in the shipping business… in his hands.

  “Go,” he replied with urgency, “fetch the help you need. The women will be arriving late this afternoon, and if you don’t want to sleep in the barn, all better be made ready real soon.”

  Wordlessly, Charles retreated down the hall, his light steps making little noise.

  “And get my bed chamber cleaned up!” Alex called after him. “It looks like rats live here!”

  “They do,” the servant snipped in a hoarse whisper and continued his retreat.

  * * *

  Wistmere could be seen long before the carriage rolled past its brier-covered stone walls and through its rusted gates. Katherine’s dream of the “castle” that lay beyond the cottage she lived in as a child faded with each stride of the horses. She hadn’t expected a magnificent citadel, yet she was unprepared for the sight that greeted her. It had been more than a dozen years since she had been here. The immense structure stood lifeless and unwelcoming. Its merlons were broken and chipped, and resembled a hideous mouth frozen in time. The walls and even the windows were cloaked with ancient ivy. She wondered how much sunlight could get through to brighten the inside of the manor. She looked at the grounds. Thickset bushes, now too old to f1ower, crowded the walkways, and decayed branches fallen from unpruned trees lay entombed in what was once a lush and well-kept lawn. Katherine viewed Wistmere with dismay.

  “Let me see!” Gripping the hand strap, May-Jewel leaned her head out the window to get her first look at her new home. She couldn’t believe that she was the mistress of such a great house! She considered her new dwelling as a seat of power, one of grandeur and of stately grace. She smiled to herself, imagining magnificent balls and formal teas given there in her honor. She saw the same decay and disrepair that Katherine saw but, in her naiveté, she viewed it all as romantic and full of potential.

  The matching grey horses guided the carriage up the driveway, into the courtyard, and stopped before the manor house.

  Opening the carriage’s door, he said, “Welcome to Wistmere. I’m Alexander Fleming, Robert’s… your father’s partner.”

  A rebellious lock of sandy hair fell forward as he executed a bow. Then he stood proud, straight, and proper. He stared at the new owners of the manor and smiled, pleased over their youthfulness. Neal hadn’t informed him of their ages. How fortunate! Half-grown women are much easier to handle. For a moment he looked at Katherine’s stern features as she exited the couch. He saw in her green eyes a flash of challenge and found her almost alluring. Then he reminded himself that she was only half Scottish. He knew all about her foreign mother. Dealing with foreigners were a part of his work as a partner in the shipping lines, lines that greedily stretched to tropic islands, rich in spices and exotic women. But for Sir Robert to bring a foreigner to the estate and to have a child by her but not marry her seemed a strange act for an aristocrat. No, Alexander thought not for the first time, not strange, but somewhat unholy. He quickly nodded at Miss St. Pierre.

  It was this man’s only greeting to Katherine. She was usually annoyed by the polite coldness of people when she first met them. Too many times she heard their proper words of greeting but would see in their eyes a contempt for her. But in Alexander Fleming’s case, she made the instant decision to ignore his restrained acknowledgment of her.

  With expressed pleasure, Alexander beheld the other woman as she stepped out of the carriage. He mused that here, indeed, was one who had the look of refinement. Deeply gazing at his own narcissistic image in May-Jewel’s eyes, he noted a trace of avariciousness and vanity that made him smile. Yes, he decided, my dealings will be with this one. Such femininity should be rewarded with trinkets, bobbles and words of flatte
ry. It’s the proven way to earn a woman’s loyalty, no matter what age. He smiled as the woman artfully moistened her lips, making them look fuller. She returned his smile as if she was unable to hide her delight at Alexander’s blue-grey eyes and his neat appearance.

  Katherine frowned at the exchange. Just like a man! He’s unable to see beyond his nose when a pretty, empty head is before him. He looks at her as if he’s eyeing a ripe plum. And he might well be. Her half-sister’s light, silvery voice broke the silence.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mister Fleming.” May-Jewel slipped her gloved hand into his extended one. “How clever you must be to shoulder so much responsibility at such a young age! Imagine controlling ships and manors and all.”

  “You flatter me,” he replied, laughing, “I’m not that young. However, you are most perceptive concerning my responsibilities in handling the ships, the office details, and the keeping of the accounts. They are, indeed, challenging. I must say that Sir Robert had the better part of the arrangement as the adventurer, having all the joys of travel and none of the tedium that goes along with any business venture.”

  Not releasing her hand as he spoke, Alexander turned his attention to the man, standing on the landing. “Charles, see to the ladies’ luggage.”

  Katherine gazed up at the old man, who looked like a charred shepherd’s crook in his black jacket, and a flicker of recognition swept through her. But like a wisp of smoke, she couldn’t grasp it.

  Eyeing the mound of luggage that the driver was unloading, Charles mumbled his displeasure. The thin servant, however, nodded in compliance. He slyly studied Katherine as the women and Alex walked passed him. Then taking the smaller bags and leaving the heavier ones for the stableman and the coachman, he followed them into the manor.

  “There isn’t a staff of servants yet,” Alex informed the women. “The estate is in need of many things and servants have been the least important element until now.”