‘First the stomacher,’ instructed the Falcon putting away his book and the pretence of reading. This was made of dark blue ribbon and silver lace with a décolleté neckline edged with lace flounces. Already Analee could see the transformation in the mirror, how slender her waist had grown and how full her bust. Everything fitted so beautifully. She exclaimed as Nelly put over her head the damask robe which opened down the front to reveal the fold of the stiff white petticoat and the beribboned stomacher. It had graceful winged cuffs also edged with lace and stood out at either side.
She turned for approval to the Marquess who nodded and smiled.
‘I said you would make a fine lady. Finer than I thought. Always keep your head high.’
‘Now the stockings,’ Nelly said.
‘Stockings!’ exclaimed Analee. ‘I never wore stockings in my life.’
‘Nor a dress like that neither,’ Nelly grunted.
‘The stockings should have been put on first,’ murmured his lordship, ‘first to put on and first to take off. No matter.’
‘But I cannot wear stockings!’
‘Why, my love, you will be a lady in damask and silk but with bare feet? Come.’
‘You see, Analee, you put your foot in this,’ Nelly explained holding out the white silk stocking and looking at it doubtfully. ‘I must say I never saw the like of it myself.’
Analee sat on the bed and, watched approvingly by his lordship, stretched first one long leg and then the other encasing them in the unfamiliar hose, which ended just above her knee.
‘Garters, I believe,’ his lordship said, ‘have been forgotten.’
‘Oh no, sir. Mrs Ardoine remembered these.’ Nelly held up a pair of coloured ribbons with rosettes and proceeded to tie them around Analee’s legs.
‘That will be my privilege when I am well,’ his lordship observed. ‘In fact I feel better already at the sight of the clothes to take off you, my love. ‘Tis part of the attraction of dressing up, to get undressed again. Not that you needed adornment ...’
‘The pumps,’ Nelly said, holding up a pair of elegant high heeled shoes made of the same material as the dress and embroidered with silver braid like the stomacher. ‘We were not sure of the fit ...’
Analee gazed uncertainly, almost with hostility at the shoes as though they symbolized the final surrender of her freedom. Then she tentatively put first one foot in and then the other, held up her rich skirts and gazed at them.
‘You are so much taller!’ his lordship laughed. ‘I wager you will be higher than me. See yourself in the mirror.’
Analee turned slowly and, hands on her waist, gazed at herself, slowly pirouetting and turning her head as she did. Indeed it was a complete transformation from the short bodice she was used to and simple skirt which hung without artificial aids. She felt cramped and stifled in her whalebone corset, tight stomacher and large hoop. She pulled herself up, her eyes on the Falcon, and walked slowly over to him. His eyes glinted with admiration and he reached for her hand and kissed it.
‘My lady ...’ he murmured, ‘I have but one thing left to give you. No, two ...’
His lordship put a hand under his pillow and took from it a small case which he opened to show a huge ring of diamonds and sapphires set in gold. He placed it on Analee’s long slender forefinger and she held out her hand unable to believe her eyes.
She remembered all the gewgaws and baubles she had gazed at on the market stalls, all the silks and brocades she had allowed to run through her hands.
‘It is ... mine?’
‘Forever. It is a gift; but this ... this is more precious to me. It is what you left behind and I want you to wear it for me for as long as we love each other. It is more precious to me than all the diamonds, all the sapphires and jewels I could have given you.’
The Falcon took also from his pillow the massive gold ring at the sight of which Analee hung her head. It had engraved on it the head of the falcon, the bird of prey, and the gold was white as though it had been freshly mined.
She had left it on the table the night she fled – a symbolic gesture that she and the Marquess were no longer bound together as he had wished, no longer one. Now all had changed.
He held it up for her to look at, and then he put it to his eye and peered through it.
‘I see you, Analee, my mistress. Mine. Remember this ring? Made of the purest Falcon gold brought from South America? A ring is round and has no join; that is why it is symbolic between two people – love cannot be broken. You must never take it off again Analee, or at least not leave it as you did before. Well I knew what you meant when I saw that ring gleaming so brightly at me on that dull morning. Now I give it to you again.’
Analee bent her head and he slipped the chain around it, himself settling the object between her breasts, against her heart.
‘Now it is even more precious because I wore it at Falkirk, and perhaps it saved my life; the talisman of our family. People say I resemble the great Beyrick because I am warlike and ruthless with my enemies. Maybe the French knew about him when they dubbed me “Le Faucon” and my troops took it up; or maybe it suited my style. I know not and now it matters not. The ring is yours. No other gold matches Falcon gold. No other woman, in my eyes, can match you. Like it, you are beyond price. And when our son is born and grows to manhood the ring will be his, and I will have a medallion fashioned for you also of this precious gold. But until he is of age, it is yours.’
Analee felt the heavy ring rest on her bosom. Her eyes had filled with tears which she brushed quickly away not wishing her lord to see how much his words had moved her, how grieved she was to have hurt him by leaving it behind. That she meant as much to him as this was proof that he loved her and would not lightly cast her aside. He was even talking of their children, what could more solidly weld together their flesh?
But his lordship saw her tears and put his arm about her shoulder clasping her to him.
‘My Analee. You did not think I loved you so much?’
‘A great lord ...’
‘What you have given me is great, too – life. My doctors say but for you I would be dead; they know not how you did it. But I know. It is not sorcery, not magic. It is love. Pure love, as pure as the Falcon gold ... the white unalloyed gold from South America. Now my love, I am tired. I must rest in order to regain my vigour and provide you with sons. Go with Nelly and play with your fine new clothes. You will soon get used to them; the constriction will not worry you. You will learn how to carry yourself as the daughters of noblemen do. You must be a credit to me in what you wear and what you do – for what you are yourself honours me already.
‘I myself will teach you to read and write for I see you are an adept pupil, and you will be taught to embroider, and the finest of teachers will instruct you in the pianoforte.
‘But the gypsy skirt is gone forever, Analee, and that part of you that was at one with the fields and the meadows and sleeping under the hedgerows. Promise me it is gone?’
Analee turned her face away and looked out of the window to where the bough of a tree, heavy with buds, swayed in the gusty wind of an early spring day. How could she promise him anything else? She loved him so completely that any former love, even the very first, seemed like a childish whim. She had brought the Falcon through death and given him life. Her life had gone into him just as one day his seed would root in her, bringing yet more life. Life renewed itself again and again.
‘I promise,’ she said meeting his gaze and fingering the heavy gold ring at her neck. ‘But your lordship will bear with me if at times I kick off my shoes and run about in the grass, for my gypsy ways are hard to lose, and I was born in the wild. I will find it hard to be a lady.’
The Falcon sank back against his pillows and took her hands between his, kissing the tips of the fingers one by one.
‘Wild lady,’ his lordship murmured. ‘I think it will be an irresistible combination. One that I shall find fascinating forever.’
20
By the month of May all the snows had disappeared from the Cheviot Hills and the trees in the great park of Falcon’s Keep were dressed with tiny green leaves. Angus Falconer, whose arm had been all but severed from his shoulder, still walked with difficulty but under Analee’s care he had grown fit and strong. His recovery had been hastened by the burgeoning of the deep love between them, the understanding of each other’s minds and bodies that the long weeks together had only strengthened.
Angus never ceased to be amazed by the accomplishment and intelligence of Analee who, because of his careful tutelage, could nearly read and write. She had even taken over the running of the household after gladly despatching Mrs Ardoine back to her native Edinburgh.
Dressmakers were sent from Carlisle and a whole wardrobe made for Analee consisting of ornate dresses for evening, simpler gowns for morning, cloaks, a riding habit and the ball dresses which Angus insisted she would need when he took her to London.
At times Analee would slip off her shoes and stockings and relish again the feel of the bare earth under her feet; she would wander in the park far from the house and some little yearning would flutter in her heart for the old life. She would finger the silk of her dress and touch the rings on her fingers looking towards the hills, and some part of her would feel like a trapped bird that yearned to take flight.
But then she remembered the heavy gold ring round her neck, and she clasped it and rubbed it between her fingers. It would remind her of her lover and with it came the realization that her true existence lay in him and the old days were indeed gone forever. She had kept her promise.
The servants at the castle quickly got used to the dominance of one who had once been among their numbers. For Analee did not lord it over them or give herself airs. She was firm and authoritative, but always smiling and gentle. Her commands were softly spoken and accompanied by a smile. It was as though she had been born to it.
One day Analee had slipped away to think, removing first her shoes and stockings and carrying them in her hand; it was a gentle spring day warm enough to be without a cloak. She looked towards the sky and thought of Morella. She wondered if she would ever see her again, and then she remembered what she had just learned and a soft smile illuminated her face. It gave her hope and strength for the future and impulsively she turned towards the house to find Angus and break the news to him.
But his lordship was coming towards her, across the broad lawn between the house and the lake, walking slowly with a stick as he still did, the sleeve of his coat flapping loosely from his left arm which was still inert and strapped to his body. He waved his stick when he saw her and quickened his pace. She waited for him under a tree, her face dappled by the shadows made by the leaves against the sun.
She was so lovely, Angus thought, approaching her slowly so that he could savour the moment of seeing her under the tree, the dark green of her gown merging with the lighter colour of the soft young leaves. He saw the smile on her lips and the light in her eyes and ...
‘Analee! You have still got bare feet!’ he roared.
Analee dug her feet into the grass and curled up her toes in a gesture of stubbornness. Then she tossed her shoes on the ground in front of her and laughed as her lover caught her in his arms and gently moulded his lips against hers.
‘You are incorrigible ...’
‘What means that, my lord?’
‘You will never be a lady. Not a true lady.’
Analee leaned back, flushed from his kiss and smiled enticingly at the Falcon.
‘Will you cast me aside then?’
The Falcon groaned and pushed her gently against the tree. Glancing around and perceiving that they were hidden from the house by the overhanging branches of the willow, his lordship cast his stick to the ground and kissing her, drew her gently to the ground.
There, the shadows of the leaves still providing them with cover, the delightful sward of fresh-smelling tender green grass beneath them, they lay for some time. Analee looked at him and eventually their eyes met. She pushed his hand against her stomach.
‘This is something I must tell you Angus. Here.’ She pointed to her stomach.
He put a hand on hers and understood. ‘You are carrying our child?’
Analee nodded.
‘My dear,’ Angus said proudly, ‘The heir to the Marquess of Falconer is the Earl of Blair ...’
‘It may be a girl,’ Analee said slyly.
‘Oh, Analee, you make me very, very happy. I care not if it is a girl, so long as she resembles you in every respect.’
His lordship kissed her passionately and laid her head on the grass, lying beside her. He put his good arm round her waist, leaning over her. His eyes looked over towards the house, the hooded eyes of the Falcon, the sharp imperious beak sniffing the air.
‘But first you must be Lady Falconer.’
Analee struggled to sit up.
‘I?’
‘Why not? ‘Tis only a name. You cannot bear my children and not be married to me, Analee. ‘Twould not be legal. They could not inherit. I swear I meant to ask you before you told me this. I decided I could not take the risk of you running away again. Every time you are out of my sight I grow anxious. Will you have me?’
His lordship bent his head, his eyes an inch from hers. His expression grave.
‘If I will have your children I will have you,’ Analee said. ‘But I will still not wear shoes when I do not wish it, even though I be a lady. A proper one.’
Analee became the Marchioness of Falconer at a simple ceremony carried out in the chapel a few weeks after the proposal in the park. Although her condition was not so far advanced as to be noticeable his lordship judged it judicious to have the ceremony quickly and, because he was not fully restored to health, a long and elaborate ceremony was thought unwise. His lordship, looking upright and handsome despite the fact that he still used a stick, was married in the scarlet uniform of a lieutenant-general, with gold epaulettes and several rows of medals. Analee wore a gown of gold brocade richly embroidered with silver thread over a large hoop; her slippers were gold, and jewels and diamonds glittered on her fingers.
Her hair was simply dressed without adornment, her natural ringlets falling over her shoulders and she carried a posy of fresh summer flowers in her hands. But on her bosom between her breasts was the solitary ring on the fine gold chain, the symbol of the love of the lordly Falcon for the gypsy girl.
After the final defeat of the Jacobite army at Culloden in April of that year, 1746, the Duke of Cumberland’s affectionate name of ‘Bluff Bill’ was swiftly changed to ‘Butcher Cumberland’. So terrible was the vengeance wreaked on the defeated Highlanders and their allies, that the deeds perpetrated by the government troops on enemy soldiers and civilians alike went down into history, for their perfidy, brutality and inhumanity.
When Lord Falconer subsequently heard the details of the Battle of Culloden, even he was glad he had not been there to share in the doubtful glory of the butchery and savagery that had followed it – Cumberland being determined to put an end to the Rebellion once and for all.
Prince Charles escaped from the field and some of his commanders, incurably optimistic, regrouped to meet in another place and plan to rally. But the Prince was done for. He, with scant thanks for all they had done, bade his supporters disperse while he became a fugitive with a price on his head.
For weeks after Culloden Brent Delamain found it impossible to rid his mind of the sounds of the battle, the screams of the wounded, the savage cries of the Highlanders trying to resist defeat, the relentless sound of gunfire and of steel upon steel. As a special category prisoner Brent had been cast into the dungeons of Edinburgh Castle; special because he had been so close to the Prince, a captain in his Life Guards. Brent had served in all the encounters since Clifton and battle had taken its toll of him; he was a silent man, a man of iron and bitterness. He blamed the undisciplined Highlanders and the personality of the Prince, whose spirits were e
ither up or down but never seemed capable of maintaining that balance, that detachment, that was so essential for a successful military commander. His temperament was too mercurial, too uneven and, in fact, it only flourished at its best when he was hunted as a fugitive although Brent at that time could not know this.
Brent was lucky to be alive. His brother Tom was dead, killed very early in the battle, as the waves of government soldiers bore down upon the tired and grossly outnumbered Jacobite army. Brent had seen the way the wounded were dealt with as he waited to be led away, sabred or shot to death where they lay, just as his men had dealt with the wounded Hanoverians in other engagements.
It was sickening and horrible and now that it was over he was glad to be out of it, although he knew that death inevitably awaited him because of the degree of guilt attributed to him. The majority of prisoners taken at Culloden had been sent to Inverness for shipment to London, and dreadful stories had come back of the conditions in the transport ships in which the men were confined, many of whom died of untreated wounds and disease.
But Brent was incarcerated in Edinburgh Castle along with other gentlemen and members of the nobility including the Earl of Kelly, the Duchess of Perth, Lady Ogilvy and, most important of all, Murray of Broughton who had been so instrumental in bringing the Prince to Scotland. Those who were in prison in Scotland did not expect to remain there long. It was known that the English victors would not attempt to hold trials in Scotland and, uncertain of his fate, Brent nevertheless prepared himself for the end. Whatever happened to him the Cause was lost indeed.
Stewart Allonby, in prison in Carlisle, had waited much longer for his sentence. The lots that had been cast among the ordinary soldiers to stand trial did not apply to officers and Stewart had been sent to London for trial at Southwark. After the vengeance taken on the men of the Manchester Regiment, all of whom had been sentenced to death and barbarously executed on Kennington Common in July, Stewart expected no mercy. But to his surprise his cousin George Delamain, urged on by Emma, spoke for him. It was submitted that he was only a half-hearted supporter of the Young Pretender and that, moreover, he had not drawn sword or fired a gun in battle, which was true, his duties at Carlisle keeping him off the ramparts.
The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) Page 36
