Beck: a fairy tale

by Nina Clare

  Kat announced she would do all of Red Harry’s morning jobs, except for killing the chickens. That she could not do. Kat received the worst episode of ear boxing that she had ever received in all her years at Foxeby Manor for her recalcitrance. Knowing that she had already forfeited dinner for the whole of the week, Kat concluded that she had nothing more to lose and stood her ground. Catchpole was furious and would have taken the iron skillet to her if Cook had not stood between them with tears and pleadings for mercy on behalf on the battered, but resolute Kat.

  Catchpole put the skillet down with dark threats of seeing Kat dismissed for her rebellion.

  Kat would have rather died than let Catchpole see her cry. The worst of her ordeal that morning was that it had been in front of all the staff who were passing through the kitchens after breakfast. Some of the stares were of sympathy. But there were a few gleams in the eyes of those who were delighted to see someone else get the worst of it for a change. She had seen the look of amusement on some of the housemaids’ faces at this bit of morning entertainment. Anything that brightened up the dullness of the day’s routine was a welcome diversion. But the look of grief on Penny’s face was far worse than the public humiliation she had just suffered. She did not check her hot tears as she hauled the water up from the well and filled pail after pail, for it took many pailfuls to fill one bath.

  On her second trip out to the well she heard the sound of horse hooves entering the stable yard beyond. She looked up idly, not really caring who it was. The physician? Someone for the steward? A courier? What was it to her? It was a man in a brown riding cloak and hood, a stranger who lived and moved far outside the miserable world that Kat was trapped in.

  If only she could get away for a morning, she could seek out the old herb-woman who lived in the woods, could ask her for another charm to replace the one she had lost. Life had been so much better when she had the charm – so much better.

  She almost didn’t go in to the hall for dinner. What was the point? She would only find acorns on her trencher and have to sit there under the sniggers of the under-maids until the end of the meal. But there would be further repercussions if she did not go, and the thought of Penny’s pale, anxious face mattered more than all the smirks of those silly girls.

  There was a flurry of whisperings as she took her seat on the bench in the dining hall. She refused to look at anyone, aware that the whispering paused when she appeared, and aware that everyone seemed to be staring at her, for she could see them out of the corner of her eye. She could feel their glances upon her, and feel that the words hanging in the air were about her. She could also hear Penny’s voice in her head telling her that they only acted as they did because their own lives were as small and confined as her own. That she should try not to despise them. Feeling forgiveness and kindness came easily to Penny, it was in her gentle soul, and always had been. But Kat felt anger and resentment. Except that today she felt almost too tired to really care.

  As the meal progressed she noticed through her fog of wretchedness and gnawing hunger that the furtive looks and curious glances were not just at her as she had first thought. They were also directed at Penny. Penny did not seem to notice, she was too preoccupied in trying to drop morsels of bread onto her lap unseen so she could wrap them in her apron and give them to Kat after dinner. But Kat noticed both.

  She also noticed that Old Catchpole looked uncomfortable. Especially when she stood up at the end of the meal and said, “Penny, Kat, go to the hall. The mistress wants you.”

  It was not an unusual order for her to give, thought Kat. So why did she look so unhappy about it? Not that she cared. She was just glad that a moment alone with Penny would enable her to eat the bit of bread she had hidden for her, though she would scold Penny, as she always did, for skimping on her own meagre meal. But she was so ravenous after undertaking all Red Harry’s chores that morning, she was grateful for something to ease the feeling of faintness.

  “What was everyone whispering about at dinner?” she asked Penny as they crossed the courtyard from the servant wing to the manor house.

  “I don’t know. Something about the man who rode here this morning. He was waited on in the butler’s chamber, and I think he got talking to the butler who’s been speaking to the others, but I was the last to get to dinner, except for you, and they were being told to hush when I came in.”

  If the visitor had been served dinner in the butler’s chamber then he was a servant, and not fit to be served at the mistresses’ table, but he must be a very senior servant, too far above the common household staff to eat with them.

  “Do you think he’s a courier, sent with news about Master Percy?” said Kat.

  “If he is, I hope he brought good news.”

  “If it’s good news then why would no one be allowed to speak of it?” Kat wondered aloud.

  Lady Beck was seated in her favourite chair, positioned so she could see through the leaded glass window at the climbing roses that were trained around the window arch.

  Lady Cicely Rose sat close by. Lord Orlan was not present. He had left early that morning to make arrangements for the burial, but the stranger in the brown travelling cloak Kat had seen arriving that morning was stood with his arms behind his back and his gaze fixed upon the entrance of the two maids.

  Kat and Penny curtsied to their mistresses and the stranger, and kept their eyes demurely on the floor.

  “Come here,” Lady Beck said to them. She spoke quietly, as though subdued by the shock of Lord Arthur’s death. Lady Cicely looked pale and fragile, but still as pretty as a fairy-tale princess, Kat thought, with her golden hair and her clear, blue eyes.

  The man stepped forward as though he wanted to see Kat and Penny more closely.

  “This gentleman wishes to speak a few words with you,” Lady Beck told them.

  Kat glanced up at the man. He was well dressed, not as a nobleman, but as a high-ranking servant. Had he come to offer them a new position in a new household? Had Catchpole complained to the mistresses about her and now they were being sent away?

  The stranger cleared his throat. “Tell me,” he began, “where were you born and who were your parents?”

  Kat forgot her manners and stared at him in surprise. Whatever did he want to know such a thing for? But he must be answered.

  “We were born in Little Saxeby, sir. Our parents were John and Margaret Hooper.”

  “Were your parents natives of Little Saxeby?” he asked.

  Kat thought for a moment; she did not know many details of her parents, she had only been five years of age when they died, and Penny had been no more than three. But there was no Grandfather or Grandmother Hooper when they were growing up, no aunts or uncles, no family in the village.

  “No, sir,” she said. “I believe they came from another part of the kingdom. But I don’t know where.”

  She wanted to ask him a question, ask him why he was asking her such things? But she could not.

  “Can you describe your parents? Their age, their looks?”

  Kat looked at Penny who stared back and shook her head to say that she knew nothing; she could not remember her parents at all.

  “I cannot, sir,” said Kat. “Only, that mother had black hair.”

  She saw the man glancing at the strands of light brown hair peeking out from beneath her own cap and that of Penny’s.

  “Can you remember any possessions that your parents had? Any unusual possessions, not everyday items? Anything uncommon?”

  It seemed another odd question. But something did come to Kat’s mind.

  “Mother had a gold comb and mirror,” she told him hesitantly. It sounded such a foolish thing to say, she almost blushed. But it was the one abiding memory of her mother she had. She recalled sitting near her mother, though she could not remember her face; she recalled her mother taking out a box made of dark wood with an inlaid lid. The inlaid picture was made of very pale wood shaped as a swan. Mother had been very proud of the box; sh
e called it her treasure chest. Inside lay some jewellery, a pendant and a brooch, and also a comb and mirror – golden and shiny, and etched with flowers.

  “A gold comb and mirror?” said the stranger, straightening up a little at this news. “Anything else?”

  “They were kept in a box, with some jewellery. The box had a swan on its lid.” Kat shook her head, “that’s all I can remember. Mother showed it to me often, that’s why I remember it, sir”

  “A swan on its lid,” said the stranger. He shared a glance with Lady Beck.

  “Do you know what happened to the box?” asked Lady Beck.

  “No, milady. I believe everything was sold when mother and father died.”

  “Sold by whom?” asked the stranger.

  “By the nuns, sir. When our parents died of the sweat, people took us to the abbey, and everything we had was given to the abbess. When they take people in they sell everything except their clothes to pay toward their keep. We have nothing of our parents’ things.”

  “And it was definitely a swan, on the lid of the box?” asked the stranger.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you think?” Lady Beck asked the stranger.

  “The likeness is uncanny,” he replied. “Particularly in the younger one. The eyes, the shape of the face. Let me see your hair, miss,” he said abruptly. He was addressing Penny.

  Penny looked startled, her wide, grey eyes looked first to her sister and then to her mistresses. No man had the right to make a maiden show her hair.

  “Just remove your cap for a moment, Penny,” said Lady Cicely gently. “It is for a very good reason, I assure you.”

  Penny slowly and reluctantly untied the strings of her linen cap and removed it. Her coiled up hair tumbled down around her shoulders in light brown waves.

  “Come to the light,” said the stranger.

  Penny moved as directed, and stood beneath the window near to Lady Beck. The summer sunlight fell upon her and the golden highlights in her long hair glowed.

  “The likeness truly is uncanny,” said the man. “Take away the maid’s garb and put a velvet gown on her and it is my Lady Arabella at that age.” He looked a little choked.

  “May I put my cap back on?” Penny said in a small voice.

  “Of course,” said Lady Beck.

  Penny hurried back to her sister’s side, bundling her hair back under her cap.

  Kat was bursting with curiosity, longing to ask whatever this strange man in the fustian doublet and clipped grey beard could mean by all these questions. And who was Lady Arabella?

  “What do you propose next?” Lady Beck asked the man.

  “If it would be acceptable to you, my lady, I would wish to make further enquiries at the abbey and in the village to confirm my notions. And then relay all I have learned to my mistress.”

  “And if you find confirmation of what you believe…” said Lady Cicely, “you shall want to take them away with you?”

  “I would, my lady.”

  Kat felt fit to burst – what were they talking of? Was Lady Cicely referring to him taking her and Penny away? Surely someone would tell them what was happening?

  “You may go now,” Lady Beck said to the sisters. Penny curtseyed, grateful to be released from such an uncomfortable scene. But Kat did not move. She wanted an explanation, but she could not speak out, it would not be fitting for her to question her mistresses. She felt Penny tugging on her sleeve to call her away.

  Lady Cicely saw Kat’s hesitation. “I know this is all very mysterious,” she told Kat, “but we cannot reveal all until Master Massey has finished his enquiries. We would not have your hopes raised only to be dashed by premature knowledge.”

  But Kat was not hearing Lady Cicely’s words. And Lady Cicely’s face was beginning to grow strangely dim, for the lack of food and the overwork that Kat was suffering from mingled with the sad childhood memories that had just been aroused, and now this strange, peculiar questioning that seemed to be opening the door to a mystery – it was all too much for Kat’s overwrought body and mind, and as Lady Cicely’s face was eclipsed by a fast falling darkness, Kat dropped to the floor in a faint.

  Revelations

  Everyone wanted to know what happened – Penny was inundated with questions. Why had Kat been carried to the housekeeper’s chamber by the man Lady Cicely had called Master Massey? Who was he? What were Kat and Penny called into the hall for? Was it true, as the butler had told the head footman who had told the upstairs housemaid that the man called Massey was asking about two orphan girls who might be the daughters of some lord or lady? And why had Catchpole been ordered from her own chamber when Kat had been brought in?

  Lady Beck had given Catchpole such a look when she ordered her out, and said such words that sounded as though Catchpole would be leaving the manor before the day was out, that Catchpole had had an attack of wheezing in the kitchen so bad that Cook thought she was going to gasp out her last breath and drop down where she stood.

  Penny had no answers to most of these questions. She could only say that Kat had fainted, and that when the mistresses ran to help her and had loosened her stay to help her breathe, and rolled back her sleeves to rub her hands and arms, they had been shocked to see the bruises on Kat’s skin. They had made Penny tell them how she had come by them, and it had all spilled out, the beatings Catchpole gave her, the dinners that were denied her, the extra chores she was made to do. There was much exulting among the staff at this news, for surely Old Catchpole would get her comeuppance now. The youngest scullery maid who had recently come from the abbey orphanage wept copious tears of joy into the coppers she was scrubbing at this news, for she had been suffering greatly under Mistress Catchpole since her arrival. She wondered if the stranger would want to call her before the mistresses to find out if she were the daughter of a lord or lady?

  Penny paced outside the housekeeper’s chamber waiting for word of her sister. Lady Cicely came out and said that Kat was well, but in need of food and rest. Penny must go and ask Cook for bread and broth, and be her sister’s nurse until she was strong again. They could remain in the housekeeper’s comfortable chamber, for Mistress Catchpole would not be needing it from this day forward.

  Lord Arthur”s funeral took place at Foxeby Church, where he was placed beside his mother and father.

  The days that followed at Foxeby Manor were made heavy and pregnant with the slow and languorous hours of waiting. Waiting for news of the search of Lord Percy. Waiting for news of the well being of Felix. Waiting for news of the mystery surrounding Kat and Penny. Waiting to know who would be managing the estate, and who would replace the disgraced housekeeper.

  Lady Beck had received word from her brother that disturbed her peace of mind; he had sent to say that they were making an extended journey into the kingdoms of Ifrika. Felix wanted to study trade routes and the business of merchant trading, as well as travelling into a new part of the world. She discussed the letter over and over with her ama – why would Felix want to learn trade routes? She thought the purpose of his travels was to learn the craft of an ambassador. Whatever was Lopo thinking of taking her boy into the little known kingdoms of Ifrika? What dangers did such a journey threaten? She was deeply unhappy. Judging by the date of Lopo’s letter, they would not have received her letter telling them of the death of Arthur before they left.

  Lady Cicely was half in hope that Percy would be found, and found to be well, and half in fear of what it would mean if he returned to claim his inheritance, which included claiming herself as his wife. She had just been severed from one unwanted marriage; the shock of Arthur’s unexpected death was too terrible for her to feel anything of relief. And it would seem wicked of her to do so. It also seemed wicked to her that even now she still was haunted by the voice and face and the kiss of Myles. Where was he now? Did he know of Arthur’s death? His father would know of it, for he had returned to the employment of her father’s house when Arthur had dismissed him. Was Myles at Fovers
ham with his father? Her own father had not mentioned his name.

  Penny and Kat discussed over and over the strange words of Master Massey and Lady Beck, and wondered what it could all mean. They had not long to wonder, for before the sultry month of August had finished – the month that had begun with the death of Arthur – ended with the new birth of Kat and Penny. Reborn as Lady Katherine and Lady Penelope. The nieces of Lady de la Zouche of Courtenay Manor who came to claim them as her kin and heirs.

  “Tell us all that Master Massey told you – don’t leave a thing out!” cried Cook to the butler when he took his place at the head of the dinner table.

  The butler puffed out his cheeks, pleased with the importance of having news that everyone was salivating over more than the steaming stew in their bowls.

  “Lady de la Zouche,” began the butler slowly, “is the aunt of our former maids.”

  He took a spoonful of stew.

  “But why has the aunt been looking for them, and not the mother?” asked Cook.

  “Or the father?” added the under-cook.

  The butler slowly chewed his mouthful.

  “Lady de la Zouche’s younger sister, the Lady Arabella, was the mother of our housemaids.”

  “And who was Lady Arabella’s husband? Who was Kat and Penny’s father?” asked Cook.

  “Well...” said the butler, scooping another spoonful up. “That is where the story gets interesting...”

  Cook felt like snatching away the butler’s dinner and not giving it back until he had finished the tale.

  “Lady Arabella was married to Lord Herbert, the Earl of Hartwood. But the Earl of Hartwood was not the father of our housemaids.”

  “So who was?” demanded the head-housemaid, tapping her impatience on the table.