Puritan Bride

by Anne O'Brien

  Now that we have got rid of that spawn of the devil we can be comfortable.’

  Kate obediently turned and walked towards her formidable great-aunt.

  ‘Now. Let me look at you.’

  Kate turned obediently towards the light from the leaded window in her aunt’s parlour. Aunt Gilliver was not what she had expected, but an amalgam of opposites. A small, round, plump lady, but with a sharp face, rosy cheeks, wrinkled like a long-stored apple, but with youthful, mischievous brown eyes that assessed and missed nothing. Kate received the instant impression that old she might be—older than anyone else of her acquaintance—but it would be unwise to stand against this formidable and unknown relative. Her grey hair was untidily scraped back into a knot, her clothes unkempt and dusty, but she was spry and active, her voice full of life, her movements quick and precise like the small bird she resembled. She wore black, from head to foot, but her figure was enveloped in an apron, once white but now grey and well stained from her operations in the kitchen. She smiled at Kate with overt friendliness, encouraging her to respond in kind. No, this was not the vindictive poisonous witch as she had been led to expect, but neither was she a harmless old widow living quietly in retirement. She had seen Marlbrooke off the premises with considerable energy and had enjoyed every minute of it.

  But it was the jewellery that caught Kate’s attention. Aunt Gilliver positively glittered with it. Ropes of pearls and precious stones were looped round her neck, diamond brooches flashed on her ample bosom and a jewelled pin in her sparse hair reflected the light whenever she turned her head. Bracelets hugged her thin wrists and her fingers, although not very clean, were adorned with a fortune in costly rings. Kate found it difficult to take her eyes from the incongruous lady who had clearly acquired—and wore all at the same time—the complete collection of Harley jewels.

  ‘Well, Katherine, you have the look of your father about you. Thank God you do not resemble your mother. A weaker female I never met and I do not suppose she has improved with age. I could not bear to visit her.’

  She walked round her, looking her up and down, Kate flushing under the intense scrutiny, even though she was a good few inches taller than her aunt.

  ‘God’s bones, girl! What made you hack at your hair in that way? And just look at your face. Did Marlbrooke force himself on you for you to receive such bruises? Nothing would surprise me about that family! I think we need to talk. Come and tell me all. Mason!’ She raised her voice and a female of even more advanced years and untidy appearance materialised in the doorway as if summoned from realms of magic. ‘This is Mason.’ Aunt Gilliver dismissed her with a wave of her hand. ‘Build up the fire, Mason, and fetch some wine. My niece and I need to become acquainted.’

  In spite of sitting at her ease with a glass of wine beside her before a comforting fire of apple logs, Kate spent an exhausting afternoon, between intense interrogation and being the recipient of a range of uneasy information. The house, from what she had seen of it, was as eccentric as its present owner and housekeeping was clearly not high on Gilliver’s priorities. The wooden beams were festooned with cobwebs and the plastered walls yellowing and grimy with smoke, which had been layered over many years. A fine film of dust lay over the furniture, masking the heavy carvings, blurring the edges. Kate thought that she could have written her name perfectly legibly on the surface of the oak table at which they sat. Curtains and tapestries were stiff with dust and it was not wise to look too closely at the floor. Mice were evident along the edge of the panelling and Kate closed her eyes against what might have been a rat. They presumably accounted for the presence of a large tabby cat that sat, expression and ears alert, beside the vast fireplace. Even more unnerving were the bunches of herbs and plants that had been allowed to take over every surface. They were everywhere. Dried and fresh. Hanging from the ceiling, stuffed into bottles and jars, spread out to dry before the fire, filling the rooms with sharp or subtle scents of lavender, rosemary, thyme and many of a more pungent nature that Kate could not immediately place. The results were overpowering and made Kate sneeze to Aunt Gilliver’s amusement as she sat amongst the chaos, her jewels rendered even more incongruous in such an unlikely setting.

  Aunt Gilliver’s mind was as lively as her appearance and as unconventional as her name. She had a ready smile, but sharp eyes. Kate had the impression that little escaped her notice. Brought up in the seemly atmosphere of Downham Hall, she was fascinated, shocked and disturbed, all at the same time. Mason sat silent, watchful in a corner, her eyes following the conversation between her mistress and the newcomer. A little like a witch’s familiar, Kate decided with a shiver, as she caught a particularly fierce stare from the elderly retainer, which contained no hint of respect for either guest or employer And whatever her duties in Widemarsh Manor, they were not of a housekeeping nature. She thought longingly of the gleaming wood and vibrant, well-tended hangings of Winteringham Priory.

  ‘Why did Richard not escort you?’ Aunt Gilliver immediately picked up the conversation from where they had left off on the doorstep.

  ‘I did not ask him to.’

  ‘I have not seen him since he was a child. I expect he will be a well set-up young man by now. And how is Simon?’

  ‘Crippled with pain and swelling of the joints. He rarely stirs from home now.’ Kate hesitated. ‘Can I ask—why did you not keep in touch with the rest of the family?’

  The lady shrugged her shoulders and chose not to answer. ‘I am surprised Simon has not approached Sir Henry with an offer of an alliance between you and Richard,’ she continued. ‘Marriage to Richard would be far more suitable for you than that misalliance.’ She nodded in the direction of the Priory and the absent Viscount. ‘I hope you have not formed an attachment there.’ Mistress Adams’s brows twitched together as she remembered the manner of parting that she had just witnessed.

  ‘Of course not.’ Kate kept her voice even, deciding that it would be unwise to reveal to her aunt too much of what had passed between herself and Marlbrooke until she knew this waspish lady better. ‘My uncle Sir Henry sees the advantage of a marriage with Marlbrooke,’ she explained simply. ‘I am contracted to him.’

  ‘I may be old enough to be your grandmother, but I know a handsome man when I see one!’ Aunt Gil liver’s mouth curved with sly intent. ‘You would not be the first girl to lose her heart to a charming smile and a rich pocket. I see that you are wearing a very pretty jewel. Did he give it to you?’

  Kate flushed. ‘Viscount Marlbrooke is Sir Henry’s choice, not mine.’

  ‘We could soon put an end to that!’ The fierce grin sat oddly on the wrinkled face. ‘A little belladonna or a touch of aconitum judicially administered would end all your troubles.’ She raised her brows innocently at the horrified expression on Kate’s face. ‘What’s wrong, miss? You look shocked. What’s the point in knowing about the uses of God’s plants if you are going to be squeamish about using them? We know all about the properties of plants and herbs, do we not, Mason?’

  Mason ignored the question as if it were too obvious to merit an answer. She kept her eyes fixed on Kate, who tried not to fidget under the intense and not very pleasant scrutiny.

  ‘Well, I … I had not thought of it quite like that.’ Kate regarded her aunt with horrified fascination.

  ‘Does your mother still dabble in medicines? Has she taught you the skills?’

  ‘Yes, some, but only to help mild ailments. Nothing dangerous.’ She did not know whether to laugh or frown at her aunt.

  ‘Never mind. I can remedy that while you are here. Do you intend to stay long?’ Such an innocuous enquiry after a suggestion of administering a painful death! It took a moment for Kate to reorganise her wits.

  ‘I do not yet know. In your letter you said you had a will written by my father.’

  ‘Did I say that? Not exactly.’ A crafty, knowing look spread across her aunt’s face, at odds with a cherubic smile. ‘I believe I said that I knew Sir Thomas had written down
his intentions.’

  ‘So you do not have his will? I was pinning all my hopes on that.’ Kate sighed; her heart sank in disappointment.

  Gilliver studied her, head on one side, eyes bright. ‘It is more than likely he hid it at the Priory when he left to go fighting and interfering in matters that were not his concern—typical of a man. He should have stayed at home and minded his own. I doubt he would have entrusted an important document to your mother—only a fool would do that!’

  Kate chose to ignore the underlying criticisms of Lady Philippa. After all, she recognised the truth in the barbed comments. ‘But where?’ she asked. ‘Would it have not been found at any time in the years since the siege?’

  ‘Not necessarily. It is an old house with secret caches and suchlike—I remember loose floorboards and panelling in some of the oldest rooms. And priest holes for sure.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I should search for it?’

  ‘Why not? You have entrée to the house. And I have these.’ She motioned to Mason, who immediately rose and scuttled to a battered chest that stood beside the fireplace. It had been a spice chest with many little drawers, but now apparently contained a range of treasures. Mason opened one drawer after another, searching quickly, before she found what she wanted and returned to lay them on the table before Mistress Adams.

  A bunch of old keys, a little rusty, tied up with twine.

  ‘These open doors at the Priory.’ Aunt Gilliver explained. ‘By rights they belong to you. I brought them with me when I left last year—when the Oxendens drove me from the door with only the clothes I stood up in! You are welcome to make use of them. And if you need help, Verzons will give it.’

  ‘Master Verzons?’

  ‘Well, of course. He was steward for the Harleys long before the Oxendens seized the house by force. Why do you think I know so much about events at the Priory? He keeps me well informed.’ The sly expression slid across her face again. ‘Although I did not realise you were staying there. All Verzons could tell me was that there was a lady who had had an accident.’

  ‘Aunt Gilliver—’ Kate picked up the keys and weighed them in her hand, making her decision ‘—since you are so well informed, what do you know about the spirit at the Priory, the presence?’

  ‘Ah! I had heard.’ She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed. ‘If I am right—and I have no doubt that I am—it is a revenant from our family tree … the Harleys, that is. But I do not know why she is about after all these years.’

  ‘I have felt her presence.’ Kate leaned forward, frowning down at the keys, which she spread out on the table. ‘She filled me with such a sense of sorrow, of betrayal. It touched my heart.’

  ‘Did she now?’ It struck Kate that her aunt never questioned the existence of this unquiet soul. ‘I wonder about her intent. She was once considered to be a dangerous spirit—before my time, of course.’

  Silence fell as Aunt Gilliver ruminated on the possibilities, tapping restless fingers on the table, making little eddies in the dust.

  ‘But who is she?’ Kate had waited with undisguised impatience and finally disturbed the train of thought.

  The old lady sat back in her chair and glanced at Mason, who stared back and gave a brief nod. ‘Did your mother ever tell you about Isolde?’

  ‘No. My mother talked little about the family and never, I am certain, of anyone of that name.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t, of course.’ Gilliver’s lips thinned in distaste. ‘She shut herself off when your father died and she lost the young baby. Well, Isolde was one of the Harley ancestors. A young girl. Way back, in the time of the Old Queen, I think. Is that correct, Mason? When did Isolde live?

  Mason did not speak but nodded again, her eyes darting between Mistress Adams and Kate.

  ‘Whatever. I do not know the reason why—it was all hushed up, as you might believe—but one night she took it into her head to throw herself from the roof of the Priory and died on the front courtyard. She was not buried with the Harleys—not in consecrated ground, you see. And so her spirit did not rest. Or perhaps she did not rest because of the reason why she ended her life, if you take my meaning. She became troublesome, disturbing the villagers, the livestock, and the family of course. And she grew bolder as if she absorbed energy from the fear she engendered. A traveller was killed when his horse threw him on the road across the Common. And there was some story of … Well, at the end the head of the family—I don’t remember who—asked the church for help. The bishop was persuaded—he brought out the clergy en masse and the spirit was reduced and confined for eternity. Not without a struggle, though—Isolde was intent on remaining free to wring her hands and weep sad tears—but it was finally done. I have heard tales that she appeared before them—twelve canting priests in all their finery with their candles and their Latin—in her own form, crowned with light, and then as a black cat, spitting and defiant.’

  ‘So how did they control her for a hundred years?’ ‘Well, my dear, the authority of the church would not be gainsaid and they reduced her spirit to the merest flicker of light, so small that it could be trapped inside a pottery vessel. Something like that one.’ Gilliver gestured with a nod of her head to the simple earthenware jug which stood on the hearth. ‘And they imprisoned her within it with a wax stopper.’ She snorted her disgust. ‘All holy water and ceremonial at the dead of night—just the stuff beloved by the church to keep us mortals in thrall! Rumour said she was kept somewhere in the Priory, but I never knew of its whereabout when I lived there. But now it would seem that she is released again. How she came to be free I have no idea. Or what the end might be.’

  ‘It is a sad story,’ Kate agreed.

  ‘You can see her in the portraits at the house. Did you realise that they are mostly of your family?’

  ‘Why, no.’ Kate’s brows rose as the realisation struck her. ‘But then I did not know who my family were until yesterday when my memory returned.’

  ‘She is buried in the little copse beyond the village, on the edge of the estate.’

  ‘She is certainly not at rest, poor lady. There is a terrible heartbreaking desolation about her. I have felt it—and wept for her—and I know she disturbs Lady Elizabeth.’

  ‘Good. With luck she will frighten them into packing up their belongings and taking themselves back to London. Perhaps we should encourage Isolde.’ There was a wicked light in Gilliver’s eye.

  ‘Encourage her? If you had been touched by her as I have, you would not say that! It would be a sin to make use of such grief. We should pity her.’

  ‘Such a Puritan attitude, my girl! I detect your uncle’s influence here. Sir Henry always was too moral for his own good.’ Gilliver sniffed in disdain. ‘But see, Katherine, if it gets the Oxendens out of the Priory, it will certainly be in your interests to make use of Isolde.’

  ‘No. I cannot agree.’ Kate discovered that her hands were curling into fists. She hid them in her skirts as she fought to regain her composure and her good manners. It would not do to antagonise Gilliver on such a short acquaintance, after all! But nevertheless she continued to argue her point. ‘Lady Elizabeth was more than kind to me, you must understand, Aunt Gilliver. I would rather do something to make life easier for her than bring her any further distress.’

  ‘Easier? Do I hear correctly?’ Gilliver rose to her feet in a swirl of agitation and a glitter of facets. ‘And from a Harley? Did you hear that, Mason? A week at the Priory and she is already thinking like a Royalist!’

  ‘Why not?’ Kate persisted with the determination Aunt Gilliver would have recognised if she had had a longer acquaintance with her niece. ‘Lady Elizabeth is not responsible for the events that led to our loss of the Priory.’

  ‘Hmm! You are more like your father than I realised. Perhaps you will be an uncomfortable guest in my house after all.’

  ‘I hope not, Aunt Gilliver. I would like to stay for a little while. Can we help Elizabeth? I am certain you will have the knowledge. The presence of
Isolde in the house causes her great anxiety.’

  ‘If you wish.’ Gilliver’s scowl, tightening her wrinkles further, expressed her extreme reluctance. ‘But don’t expect me to do more than the basics.’ She changed the subject adroitly before Kate could make any more demands on her. ‘Do your family know you are here?’

  ‘They do now. Marlbrooke informed them.’

  ‘So I suppose we can expect a visit from Richard any day now. That should make life interesting.’

  Kate ignored the twinkle in her aunt’s eye. Before she left the parlour to be shown to her bedchamber by a silent Mason, acknowledging a sense of relief in escaping from such an unsettling influence, she felt compelled to satisfy her curiosity.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Aunt Gilliver? Why speak out now about my father’s will after so many years of silence?’ Marlbrooke’s words about mischief-making echoed in her ears.

  ‘No reason, my dear.’ Gilliver’s smile was bland and innocent. ‘No reason other than that we would not like the Priory to fall permanently into the wrong hands, now would we?’

  Chapter Eight