by Jo Beverley
Extravagantly, they halted for new horses in an hour, and then again. They would have continued that way till dark if Martha hadn’t prompted him to stop to dine at gone two o'clock. He agreed, but though he smiled and conversed, he hurried them through their meal and out again to the carriage. Even Martha’s mother commented on it.
“Is there urgency, Mr. Loxsleigh? Do you have bad news from home?”
“No, ma’am. I’m merely anxious that we arrive before dark.”
“If it becomes dark,” Martha said, settling into her seat, “we must stop.”
He looked at her with something like rage and she shrank back, wishing there was some way to escape with propriety. He instantly smiled, so that she might have believed she’d imagined the reaction, but she didn’t.
He turned to her mother. "There’s a family legend that might interest you, ma’am, as it concerns the oldest part of Five Oaks. May I relate it to pass the time?”
“By all means, Mr. Loxsleigh.”
"Long, long ago,” he began, “an ancestor, also called Robert Loxsleigh, traveled the land, seeking to do his knightly duty and defend the weak. One night, he became lost in dense woodland despite the fact that it was a full moon. When came into a clearing he saw a beautiful woman being assaulted by a man. He leapt from his horse, drew his sword and rushed between them. The lady fell on his chest in gratitude, but the man was furious. He declared Sir Robert was his prisoner for entering a faery circle under the full moon. The warring couple were Titania and Oberon, Queen and King of Faery."
"As in Shakespeare!" Anne Darby exclaimed. "`Ill met by moonlight.' How interesting."
“Ill met indeed,” Loxsleigh agreed, but when he turned to Martha, that fire of intensity burned. But worse, she felt it in herself now, as if she had urgent need to race to his home, but it fought with a desperate need to turn away from the course.
"Sir Robert sought to escape, but his horse had disappeared, as had his squire and all the woodland except for the five gnarled oaks that circled him. He knew of faery ways, and knew that a mortal who invaded a faery circle at full moon was their prisoner. He believed himself lost to our world, but Titania took him under her protection and declared that he should go free, and would even receive a reward. One wish. “
“What did he wish for?” Anne Darby asked.
“Remember, ma’am, he was a truly noble knight. He asked for some talent that would enable him to help the poor and helpless even more than before."
“Ah, the good man.”
“What talent?” Martha asked, hearing her tension make it harsh.
Loxsleigh looked at her. "The ability to find lost gold."
“Lost?”
"Coins, salvers, jewelry.”
“Such as an earring?”
Their eyes were locked. “Quite possibly.” But then he turned to her mother. “Anything already mined and formed by man. Gold is a mystical metal, valued everywhere. Some believe it also has healing powers. It serves us well and shouldn’t be lost. According to this story, Faery has the task of ensuring that lost gold is found and returned to use. Have you ever heard the story of the gold at the end of a rainbow?"
Martha clung to silence, unable to understand why she felt such threat. Her mother seemed unaffected and asked to know more.
“That legend appears in many places. It says that if a person can find the place where a rainbow touches the ground, they will find gold. Thus it is a way for Faery to put some of their trove back into human hands. Or, sometimes buried gold is brought to the surface to be exposed by the plough, or coins hidden in a wall are revealed when someone is inspired to break it down.”
“I have heard of such cases,” Anne Darby declared, wide-eyed.
“It’s only a legend, mother.”
That caused Loxsleigh to look at her again. “You doubt, Miss Darby, and therein lies the problem. Once, the fey folk lived close to humans, dwelling in the dense woodlands that surrounded every village and manor, interacting with people according to their whim. But much of that woodland has been cut down and the land put to agriculture, and modern thought has made skeptics of us all. Nowadays Faery lives among us only in their mystic havens. To continue the work, Titania made Sir Robert her deputy, enabling him to find lost gold and put it to use to benefit the poor."
“Then why,” Martha asked, “are his descendents so rich?”
"Martha!" her mother protested.
But Loxsleigh smiled. As if she’d opened a door.
"Queen Titania wished Sir Robert to found a line that would continue this work, so she bound him with rules. He must keep a seventh of the value of any trove and use it for his own health and prosperity. He must marry and sire children, so that an eldest son would carry on the work, and so must his heirs for all time. Those with the talent must do the work. If he or his descendents broke these rules there was a penalty -- they would die within the year. Not just the trouvedor, for thus the gold finders are called, but all Robert’s descendants to that day.”
“Over five hundred years?” Anne Darby exclaimed. “That could be a vast number!”
“Faery is not benign, ma’am. We are as moths to them, dead in a moment.”
And that rang deadly true. Martha desperately tried to make sense of this, but she remembered him saying that if she did not marry him, he would die. He could not be claiming that this story was true, that he possessed a fairy gift!
“Those are easy enough conditions, Mr. Loxsleigh,” Martha said with deliberate flippancy. “To live a comfortable life and marry.”
“Martha,” her mother said again, becoming distressed.
Loxsleigh still smiled, but Martha was more and more aware of dark tension all around him. “As you say, Miss Darby. Except that Oberon does his best to thwart his queen.”
The coach lurched into an inn then for a change of horses, breaking the moment. Almost, breaking a spell.
Was that it? Was she under a spell? Was that why she’d agreed to this mad journey?
But that would mean it was all true. Fairies. Gold finders.
He climbed down to inspect the new horses and pay the fees. She watched him, remembering the earring. His bright burning exultation. The way he'd swept her up in that mad whirl, that was so like this mad whirl. But she’d been alive in that moment. Alive as never before.
No, she would have none of this. She was a rational Christian woman. The man was mad, and she could only pray he wasn’t dangerously so.
He climbed back in and the coach moved on.
Martha’s mother said, “You mentioned Oberon, sir. Do tell us more.”
Martha saw that he wanted to tell her, intended to tell her, and could do nothing to prevent it.
“You will remember that Oberon had reason to hate Robert Loxsleigh, but by faery law he could not deny his lady’s gifts. Titania had already imposed rules and a dreadful consequence, however, so he set out to make obedience difficult. He decreed that Robert Loxsleigh and his heirs would not achieve their talent until they married, and that they must marry a woman that he would choose, and before their twenty-fifth birthday.
“Titania insisted that the woman must be healthy, and of a suitable age and station, but she and her husband enjoy their battles, so she made no more attempt than that. Thus --if we are to believe my family lore -- there will always be a destined bride for the Loxsleigh heir, but Oberon will make her hard to find.” He turned to Martha. “When found, however, there will be no doubt. On either side. We call the bride his marrying maid.”
Martha inhaled, clenching her fists.
How old are you?
She would not ask, she would not. She turned away, looking outside, and noticed gathering clouds. Rain often turned the roads to mud and she prayed for it. She didn’t want to reach his house, and with delay perhaps she could escape.
“What a charming story,” Anne Darby said.
Martha turned to her mother. “Charming?”
“Fairies, noble knights, and brides.”
“And threat of death for many if there was any truth in it.”
“But there isn’t, is there, dear?”
Martha forced a smile. “No, of course not. I was swept away by it for a moment. The weather looks ominous, sir. We should stop at the next stage.”
“We can reach Five Oaks today, I promise.”
Martha didn’t argue. If she was any judge, the clouds would do her work for her.
Her mother asked, “Does the name Five Oaks come from that legend? From the oak trees in the glade?”
“It does, ma’am. In fact the legend says that the old part of the house was built in that very glade, as you will see for yourself within hours.” He looked out at the gathering clouds, however, and frowned.
“Do you have any other stories, Mr. Loxsleigh?” her mother asked.
Martha closed her eyes briefly, wondering what more there could be.
“I do have one more, ma’am, which is very whimsical. We left Sir Robert with his faery gift, and once he married his marrying maid, he used his talent but kept the seventh, thus obeying the rules. However, he began to find it hard to distribute the gold to the poor. His generous charities were beginning to cause comment. He tried leaving gold for people to find, as Faery had done, but it offended him when it was found by rascals or the rich.
“He traveled farther to escape attention, and then one day when returning from a benevolent journey he was set upon by outlaws. The leader took his purse and made a play of him having donated the purse to the poor. That gave Sir Robert an idea. He set up a trap, captured that leader and put a proposition to him. If he would give up his thievery, Sir Robert would protect him and his companions and provide money for them to live on. In return, Robin Ahood and his men would pass on the gold, claiming that they’d stolen it from the rich to give to the poor.”
“Robin Hood!” Martha exclaimed. “Now I see you play with us.”
“I did say it was whimsical, Miss Darby.”
“And many people think Robin Hood was real,” her mother said. “Especially around Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire.”
“They think fairies real, too,” Martha scoffed. “And magic wells, and that eleven days were stolen from them when the calendar changed.”
“Oh, I remember that,” said her mother. “Such a furor. Even rioting. There are some still convinced that their lives will be shorter.” She turned to Loxsleigh. “One neighbor in York whose birthday was on the 10th of September that year insists to this day that she’s a year younger than she truly is.”
Loxsleigh didn’t respond. In fact, he looked dumbstruck. He looked outside at the gathering gloom, and then at Martha, eyes wide.
“Robin Hood,” Martha said sharply, hoping to bring him back to reason. “That device could only have lasted a while. Men die.”
He blinked as if her words made no sense, but then said, “No, of course. I mean yes.” He shivered. “A legend can live forever. The Robin Hood stories are spread over centuries and from Nottinghamshire to Yorkshire. To Barnsdale, where Five Oaks lies. One version links to the Loxsleigh name, though spelled differently. It could be true.”
It was a good attempt, but close to babble.
“How interesting,” said Martha’s mother, but he continued to look at Martha. “You disbelieve all?”
“Robin Hood might have existed,” she said, “but fairies certainly do not.”
“Pray God you’re right,” he said and turned again to study the weather as if willpower could change it.
5
Chapter Five
Rob didn’t know how he was presenting a normal appearance. If he was.
The change of calendar! How could he have ignored it? How could his father?
Five years ago the calendar had been corrected by going from the second day of September to the thirteenth. As Mistress Darby said, many of the simple folk believed that eleven days had been stolen from them. There had been riots demanding their return. People with birthdays during the eleven days had fretted about how old they were.
He’d regarded all this with amusement. Why hadn’t he realized?
No one could tell how Faery viewed such human matters as dates and calendars, but if the rules applied to the old date, it would explain the gathering storm – and not the one visible in roiling clouds. At first it had been a dark chanting in his head, but that had turned into the cacophonous chorus that flogged him toward Five Oaks.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Over the past hours he’d become aware of them around him. Gleeful Oberon and furious Titania. No wonder. If the rules kept to the old calendar his birthday wasn’t the twentieth day of June, twelve days away, but the ninth.
Tomorrow.
If he didn’t bed Martha Darby before tomorrow, perhaps before eleven in the morning, his hour of birth, Oberon would be free to finally exact his revenge on the line of Sir Robert Loxsleigh.
That left no time for niceties and wooing. By kind means or cruel, he must have her in the next twenty hours. He tried to compel calm. They would be at Five Oaks in hours, even with the worsening weather. Oberon’s work, he was sure. Once he took Martha to the old hall, where faery energy burned so fiercely, she would have to believe, have to agree to anticipate the wedding. Even she, the prim daughter of a canon of York.
If not?
Unthinkable horror. Oberon had chosen the marrying maid well and done his mightiest, but he could not be allowed to succeed.
But then the rain swept toward them, sheeting down, pounding the rough ground of the road.
“We must stop at the next inn, Mr. Loxsleigh,” Martha said. “We risk becoming stuck in the mud.”
“The road’s sound,” he said desperately, “and it’s not far now. Perhaps only an hour.” The coach had slowed, however, and he could feel the labor of the horses. The postilions would be miserable, but they must press on. Then the wheels sank and the coach stopped.
He opened the door to jump out. “We must lighten the load!”
The coach lurched forward then, the wheels finding new purchase. He fell back into his seat.
"This is folly!” his bride declared. “Look, I see lights ahead. We must stop. We can’t climb out to lighten the load in this weather. My mother could catch her death."
He wanted to rail at her, but every word was true. They could not go on.
"Very well,” he said, desperately seeking solutions. “My apologies."
The lights turned out to be a small inn, but called the Maid Marian. Was that a hopeful sign or a twisted joke? It had two tiny bedchambers for them, but they would have to take their supper in the common room. That didn’t matter. He made his plans.
He ordered supper for them and hot punch, making sure it had plenty of honey and spices. When it arrived he strengthened it with the flask of brandy he had in his valise.
Mistress Darby declared it excellent and drank two glasses. Martha drank well of it, too. He topped up her glass when she wasn’t looking and saw her drain it again.
Mistress Darby began to nod off. She started. "Oh, my, the long journey has tired me out. I'm for bed."
She left the room somewhat unsteadily. Martha rose and he saw her steady herself on the back of her chair. “I, too, am tired. You set too hasty a pace, Mr. Loxsleigh.”
“Perhaps I did. I am simply impatient to see you in my home.”
He watched her struggle to focus. “I am not going to marry you.”
"You must. You know the story now. Remember Oberon’s revenge.”
“Fablesh…” She frowned. “Fables for the credulous.”
He grabbed her and shook her. “Why am I cursed with such an impossible woman!"
She fought him off. "Cursed. Cursed. Because I will not sin in your bed I’m a curse?”
“I want to marry you!”
“I don’t want to marry you!” she yelled, inhibitions shattered by drink. She was magnificent. But adamant. “You’re mad, Mr. Loxsleigh,” she said with the careful precision of the d
runk. “It’s sad, but I will not bind myself to a madman.”
A man laughed, deep and dark.
Martha looked around, almost losing her balance again. “Who was that?”
“Oberon. Anticipating victory. Martha, listen to me. My birthday isn’t twelve days away, it’s tomorrow. We need to go to bed together. Now.”
She blinked at him. “That is a most improper statement, sir.”
“I know. Very well, we need to go on to Five Oaks. Now.”
“Mad, mad, mad.”
“We could ride.”
“I cannot ride.”
“We could share a horse.” He desperately wanted her willing. “Martha, if we don’t… wed by tomorrow I will die. My father will die. All the descendants of Sir Robert Loxsleigh, wherever the may be, will die within the year.”
She swayed slightly. “It is imposhible for us to marry by tomorrow, sir. And I do believe that you have made me drunk.”
He approached again. “Certainly you are affected by the punch, Miss Darby. Permit me to escort you upstairs.”
She swatted at him. “Keep away from me, you… you… horny goat.”
That came so improbably from her lips that he laughed.
A mistake. She backed away, muttering, “Mad, mad, mad. Keep away from me. And I will not go to your home. Not tomorrow. Not ever!”
He watched her steer carefully toward the door. Some were made docile by drink, and some quarrelsome. Clearly Martha Darby was the latter. Some were made lusty, but he’d never trusted to that.
He followed at a distance, ready to save her if she stumbled on the narrow stairs. Half way up her legs betrayed her and she sat down, leaning her head against the wall, muttering, “Drunk. I’m drunk. Oh, the shame….”
Then she slipped into a stupor.
Rob went up to where she slumped and touched her prim cap. “Martha, my love, I wish it had been otherwise. Pray God you forgive me.”
He gathered her into his arms, aware of Titania’s exultance and Oberon’s fury and hating both equally. Titania’s lilting voice approved. But then Oberon changed his tone to coaxing.
