by Rachel Secor
“Are there no servants?” May-Jewel questioned. This wasn’t at all what she expected. “Then who will attend me? Who will see to my needs?”
“At the moment, there are three to see to your needs,” Alex assured her, smiling. “Charles oversees the manor, and there is the cook, and Brice, the stableman, who also tends the grounds. I’ve told Charles to hire a maid as soon as possible.”
Ignoring the implications that there was a shortage of funds, May-Jewel made a mental note to hire at least a dozen more servants when she got the chance. How could she be the mistress of a grand manor without servants? If she was to be the envy of the countryside, she would have to have a servant for each room and at least two personal maids.
Alex walked further into the great hall and explained, “For the time being, you’ll have to overlook the state of things. Robert’s first concern was always for the ships and their cargo, he…”
Katherine wandered away from May-Jewel and Alex, their voices becoming a dull hum. A sense of satisfaction of finally being at Wistmere came over her as she paced the patterned floor. For her entire life she wondered how it would be to stand in the great hall, what it would even look like. But now as she glanced around the huge room, a cryptic chill shrouded the small feeling of victory. The spacious square hall was a stagnant monument to time. Ancient tapestries, void of color, sagged from broken stays. Their designs, as they hung in grotesque folds, were no longer even conceivable. A rodent swiftly scurried from a darkened corner and slid under a lone wadded horsehair settee sitting against the outer wall. Katherine shivered as the rat disappeared. Moving back to the small group that stood dwarfed in the hall’s vastness, she silently regretted the manor’s lost glamour, for at one time it had been glamorous.
There was no apparent beauty in the cold hall for May-Jewel either. She thought it dim and depressing. “How unlike Robbie,” she exclaimed with dismay, glancing about. “I expected his home to be brimming with rare and priceless objects from around the world. But the emptiness of it…”
Alexander turned to hide a flush of guilt and quickly said, “Never fear, it is only that I’ve had the outdated furnishings carted away. I was sure that you would want to fill the manor with articles and furnishings of your own choice!” He offered no other defense in his decision to sell everything and pocket the proceeds
In other words, Katherine thought bitterly, you’ve pillaged the manor and lined your own purse. She decided that this would be the last decision young Mister Fleming would make on her behalf.
Trying to draw the women’s attention away from the lack of furniture, Alexander hastened to continue the tour. “The room with the double doors on your left is the sitting room. The one next to it is the dining hall and then the back parlor. And that corridor leads to the back of the manor which holds the servant’s quarters and the kitchen. To the right is the formal parlor. Down that corridor, you’ll find the library, observatory, and a rather artless art gallery. Robert wasn’t really into the master painters so there’s little to see there. Straight ahead, through those arches, is the ballroom. But tomorrow is soon enough for you to explore your new home. Right now you must be anxious to get settled in.”
On the east and west sides of the great hall, winding gracefully up from its center, were two wide staircases, intricately carved by the adroit hands of an artisan long since dead. It was up the east staircase that Alexander led the two women while he spoke further of the estate.
“Wistmere, unlike other great estates of Scotland, survived the English takeover.” His brogue was suddenly apparent above his adopted English accent. “It was started by Robert’s great grandfather, Sir John. In the beginning, it was a glorious place for providing solace to battle-weary chieftains or for hosting banquets. Ah, what a grand time it must have been to see how, at the first skirl of a bagpipe or the twang of a lute, the ballrooms were filled with swirling dancers.” His tone suddenly became somber. “But like everything else grand, it takes money to keep it so. I’m afraid that Robert, unlike his ancestors, had been rather lax there. And I think his time away from here made it easy to forget the need for upkeep.”
Neither woman commented as they surveyed the empty hall from atop the stairs. Then they followed Alexander along the dark paneled corridor paralleled to the front of the manor. Huge arched doorways and narrow oblong paintings alternately lined the hallway. May-Jewel’s glance fell over the proud Scots. The pictures boasted of men, less than handsome in her opinion, dressed in flowing tartans and ancient breacan feile with their scroll butted pistols and hilted swords strapped to their sides. She envisioned them in battle. My ancestors no doubt. How grim-faced and pampered by heritage they were. Well, I guess there’s nothing wrong with having a heritage nor being pampered. She tilted her small pointed chin at the pictures in an approving manner. How could she have ignored the Craig blood that beat wildly in her heart all her life? Perhaps its pulse was strangled by Boston’s starched society. Whatever it was, she couldn’t deny the ancestral calling that surged through her the first moment that she set foot on Scottish soil. With her eyes, she had made love to the cool mountains, had mentally hugged the wind-swept lakes that wandered like lazy yawning kittens through the valleys to join their sea mother. The purple pink heather wasn’t even in full bloom, yet May-Jewel couldn’t resist its addicting fragrance as it fused with the sun-sweetened mist to perfume the lowlands.
“I’m home,” she whispered, smiling up at the somber portraits.
Katherine, agitated with May-Jewel’s delight in Wistmere and its ancient portraits, walked past the paintings. With a renewed rigidity, she mentally denounced the ancestors who gave birth to the one who had all but ignored her. As the trio drew closer to the end of the corridor, Katherine focused her gaze on Alexander’s broad back.
“Mister Fleming,” she said.
“Alex, if you will,” he responded, turning toward her.
Ignoring the attempted familiarity he offered, she repeated, “Mister Fleming, how long had you been with Sir Robert?”
“Before I answer that, or any of the hundreds of questions you might have, I suggest that you allow yourselves a moment to rest from your long journey. Perhaps you would like to nap before we dine? That will give us all plenty of time to gather our thoughts.”
Or think up other excuses for the sad state of affairs here, Katherine thought bitterly.
He stopped before a mahogany door and pushed it open. “This is your room, Mistress Belwood. May I call you May-Jewel and,” he turned to Katherine, “you Katherine?”
The women exchanged glances. May-Jewel smiled, saying, “Of course.” Although Katherine thought better of it, she acquiesced and nodded.
Alex smiled, and thought, One wall removed, even though a small one. “Hot water will be brought up shortly.”
May-Jewel stepped into the chamber and stopped short as she looked about it. “Oh, my! This room is even drearier than the room we had at the inn last night.”
Katherine peered past her half-sister and held her nose. The bedroom reeked of mold and disuse, as if the heavy, crimson drapes and windows hadn’t been opened to let sunlight and air in for years. The dark and cumbersome archaic furnishings had been designed to host the forms of overly frocked women in a more garish time. The bed was even bare of a mattress which made its towering headboard look as if it were about to topple over.
May-Jewel retreated into the hall unable to breathe the stagnant air.
Alex, having followed her into the room, stood flustered. “Oh, I’m–I’m sorry. I had only arrived at the manor a few hours before you. I trusted Charles to see to these preparations days ago.” He crossed the room and impatiently jerked the cord near the bed to summon the servant. “I’ll personally see to it that this room is made ready as soon as possible.”
Nervously raking his hand through a fallen tuft of hair, he made a silent vow that there would be no more errors to jeopardize his plans of winning the women over to him. So much had already gone wrong. He, too, had
seen the wretched little creature that sought shelter in the tattered sofa, and that alone was unforgivable. But how does one prevent vermin from finding their way inside? On top of that, he now saw that this bed chamber was unprepared and smelled vile. He cursed himself for he knew that he should have gotten to the manor sooner and shouldn’t have left such important preparations to a useless old man.
Charles quietly entered the room, closing the door behind him. May-Jewel, still in the hall with Katherine, leaned against the thick door to listen as Alex verbosely chastised the servant in a language that she hadn’t heard before.
Admonishingly raising her eyebrows at May-Jewel’s lack of propriety, Katherine said, “Why not simply ask Mister Fleming what he said when he comes out?”
Before May-Jewel could reply, Charles exited the room and shuffled down the hall. Alex approached the women.
“It seems Charles had prepared another bedchamber which you both will have to share for the time being. Seems we have a shortage of bed linen.” An anxious smile darted across his mouth, then disappeared. “I’m told that the other room is in a better state. This way please.”
The second chamber was only half way down the hall. Alex opened the door slowly.
“Ah,” he uttered with relief, “this is much better.”
Although this room was also furnished with ancient furniture, like that of the previous chamber, at least the maroon drapes were pulled open to allow the sun’s afternoon rays to enter, giving the chamber a pleasant glow. A huge bed, with a thick mattress and crown-shaped headboard, stood against the wall. A blazing fire in the fireplace aided further in cheering up the room.
Standing motionless, Katherine scanned the bedchamber. For years she had envisioned a luxurious bedchamber with soft velvet covered furniture, brightly patterned quilts, plush carpeting and gold tasseled drapes. Her depression deepened. She saw with further irritation that May-Jewel seemed to accept the condition of the chamber. She knew that if her half-sister didn’t see the flaws of Wistmere, they would never get anything fixed. Then she and May-Jewel would be standing on a divided front with Mister Fleming and the monies needed for repairs.
Alexander’s voice disrupted her silent survey. “I’ve taken the liberty of having dinner served at seven in the large dining hall. Until then, ladies.” He bowed and strode from the room, seemingly impressed with this one small success.
May-Jewel softly chuckled. “Rather nervous fellow, isn’t he?” She moved to stand before the floor-length mirror and repositioned the hair pins that had worked loose in her coiffure. She sighed contentedly, “So, this is Wistmere!”
The cheerfulness in May-Jewel’s voice aggravated Katherine. Her words were terse. “Yes, and a dreadful place it is, too.”
“Oh? You think so? Mind you, it’s a little dreary downstairs but I think it’s charming, absolutely charming.”
“Charming is hardly the word I’d use to describe it. Just look about you. The whole place is in a state of decay.” She flung her arms wide.
“Oh, well, we’ll change that, I’m sure. It takes money to keep estates in repair, just as Alexander said.”
Katherine raised her eyebrows in question. She looked about her again and took note of the wardrobe. It wasn’t large enough for all of May-Jewel’s clothing but she was contented that it was large enough for her apparel. Behind a floral printed screen next to the wardrobe, she spotted a large copper tub.
Uncomfortable in her sister’s silence, May-Jewel slowly moved over the thin carpet that barely covered the wide planked floor and shook her head at the bed and the two armchairs. “Why,” she asked, giving voice to a criticism, “do they have such massive chairs in this country? In Boston, peoples’ derriere’s fit what they sit upon. One could use these chairs for beds.” She frowned as she poked her finger in a tiny moth hole of a cushion.
Katherine said, “I shall never get used to the freedom of your tongue and your loose vernacular.” Then she sighed and added, “The whole place is almost unlivable. If Sir Robert had spent more time here instead of in some pub across the sea, he might have seen to the affairs of the estate. I can’t understand how a man of his breeding and position could allow his ancestral home to fall to pieces. He certainly had his priorities misplaced.”
May-Jewel snapped in Robbie’s defense. “We weren’t conversing about Robbie’s priorities. He’s dead. Don’t you think it’s time for you to stop hating him?”
“We weren’t conversing at all!” Katherine retorted. “And I shall never stop hating him.”
“Love thy neighbor as thyself,” May-Jewel said, sing-songy to admonish her sister.
Katherine ignored the sentiment and said, “Where did that come from? I wouldn’t have thought that you would know anything written in the Bible.”
May-Jewel glared at her. “And what gave you that impression?”
“Well, if I rightly understood Mr. Jameson, your mother was a-”
“Never mind my mother,” May-Jewel snapped. “For your information I know a lot about the Bible and religion. Many ministers came to visit Mama and me. They always tried to convert us like we were pagans or something.”
Katherine muttered, “I bet they did.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Ignoring Katherine, May-Jewel changed the course of the conversation. “Well, it’s our ancestral home and just imagine what I will do with this place now that I’m an owner.”
“Yes, half owner,” Katherine voice was toneless as she turned toward the window. She agreed with her sister, however. The manor needed a lot of attention. Folding her arms in front of her, her long fingers nervously pinching pleats in the sleeves of her blouse, she looked past the garden to the fields. Beyond the yellow and green patches of budding earth, stood a small thatched cottage, barely keeping itself from the wealth of weeds that pushed against it.
May-Jewel looked over at her sister’s back. “If Wistmere is too much for you,” she began saying softly, “and you’d rather be elsewhere, I could probably buy your share. Then you’d have enough money to set yourself up in a sweet little cottage in whatever county or country you chose.”
Katherine stiffened but remained silent.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” May-Jewel said, moving closer to her and following her gaze across the field. Then suddenly feeling presumptuous, she continued, “I suppose, this isn’t the time to suggest…”
“No,” Katherine broke in sharply, “and it never shall be!”
May-Jewel bit her lip, and trying to repair the damage she may have caused, she asked, “Was that your cottage over there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think anyone lives in it now?”
“You know, it isn’t necessary to converse just because we’re stuck sharing a room. I suppose we can be civil-tongued, but I see no need to feign a real friendship.”
“Well!” May-Jewel retreated across the room and, like a scolded child, lost herself in the large chair by the fireplace.
Suddenly the knock of a hefty fist on the door cracked through the silence. Pushing the door open, a tall, massive man unceremoniously carried a trunk in and dropped it in the middle of the floor. His glance fell on them in wordless greeting before leaving. Two wordless trips with baggage followed.
“My, but he’s not a bit friendly,” May-Jewel observed when he finally left for good.
“Why should he be? He knows who we are.”
A tiny frown settled between May-Jewel’s finely arched eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”
“How naïve you are. We’re Sir Robert’s illegitimate daughters. If this were a few years ago, we wouldn’t be inheriting any of this property.” Katherine selected a gown from her travelling bag and shook the wrinkles free. She then opened one of her smaller cases and started to lay her toilet articles out on the vanity. “And not only will we have to battle the decay of this decrepit manor, but we’ll have to fight the staunch traditional minds of the people who live on and
around it. Surely you don’t believe that the people around here will accept your mother’s past any more than they’ll accept my mother’s origins?” From the corner of her eye, she watched May-Jewel’s diminutive smirk of superiority fade.
“Well, maybe you’re one thing, but I’m another.” May-Jewel squared her shoulders. But could Katherine be right, she wondered. Then she admitted out loud, “It never occurred to me that I’d be the one under scrutiny. I suppose that I was too engrossed with being the mistress of this magnificent manor to even consider such a thing as that. What about my dances and my teas? Would no one come?”
“You can invite them, but I doubt if anyone would show up.” Katherine said, unable to understand her sister’s limited scope of thinking. “Are things so very different in America? With all your raising and your background, you aren’t very knowledgeable about how people and things work in other places are you?”
“It isn’t going to be easy, is it, for one whose background is a tad imperfect,” May-Jewel proclaimed with a pout, “let alone someone with your background!”
Ignoring May-Jewel’s comment, Katherine stretched out on one side of the bed and closed her eyes. To be a woman in a time and a place where women had little to say and naught to command was difficult, but to be an extrinsic daughter of Scotland claiming a part of its fruit could be a struggle, not only with the tenants but with the gentry, and with May-Jewel as well. A second knock on the door produced the grizzled old servant and the massive stableman delivering the first pails of bath water.
* * *
After separating her trunks and bags from Katherine’s, May-Jewel selected a yellow dress from her trunk and then located her toiletries. As her sister napped, May-Jewel stepped behind the flowered panels of the screen and disrobed to bathe. The tub of steaming water received her tired limbs and freed her of the last remnants of the long journey. As she rested her head against the tub’s high back, images of Alexander Fleming pushed into her mind. She pictured his broad forehead half covered with flaxen hair, and attempted to imagine his face without his close-clipped, darker beard, but could not. A soft sigh escaped her wet lips.
