by Sy Walker
Rubbing her arm she realized it was aching and rolling up her white cotton sleeve she noticed a large red and purple bruise. She thought she had a memory of falling, of hitting the hard ground beneath her; something had certainly happened last night and she shuddered to think of it. What if the vision had been real after all?
Climbing out of the vast bed she looked around her. The room was much larger than hers back home, but the furniture made it seem cold; unloved. A patterned rug and dark wood paneling kept out some of the cold although she still shivered in the chill air. Great purple velvet drapes adorned the large wooden bed, and there was an intricately carved, dark wooden tall chest in one corner. In front stood her bags; all of which had been unpacked –some of her items lay neatly on a small round table –the others she presumed had been placed in the chest.
But who had done this? She fingered the pearl handled brush and small hand mirror that her mother had given to her; the memory made her suddenly homesick and she began to cry. Looking out of the window she gazed across the morning mist and drizzle. The countryside looked harsh and cruel and she wondered what on earth she had let herself in for.
There was a gentle knock at her door and she froze. What if it was Lord Selkirk? Wrapping a woolen shawl around her shoulders she opened the door.
It was a young girl in a simple blue dress and wearing a white mop cap. She curtsied as the door was opened and she walked into the room. Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief; she wasn’t ready for seeing Thomas Selkirk just yet.
“I’m here to help ye Ma’am, and I’m to tell ye that the master is already out and aboot and there’s food set out for ye d’oon stairs”
The girl looked half frightened; she must only be about 12 years of age and Beatrice smiled at her. It was nice to know that she wasn’t the only one afraid.
Becoming bolder the young girl smiled back.
“Will there be anything else my Lady?”
Beatrice wondered if the girl knew anything about the previous night.
“Did you unpack my things for me last night?”
The girl looked wide eyed and shook her head. “Och no Ma’m, I mean yer Ladyship. That would have been Mistress Selkirk –I’m only the scullery maid”. And with a final curtsey she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Well at least the mystery of her undressing and the unpacking was clear, but who on earth was Mistress Selkirk?
Putting on her gown from the previous day she tidied her hair as she looked in the small mirror. Was she still the same girl as yesterday? The same electric blue eyes looked back at her, yet she looked weary, older somehow and she frowned at her own reflection. Would the same young woman ever return?
Stepping into the hallway she wandered towards the great stone staircase. She hadn’t seen much of the house last night and it appeared much bigger than she had first thought. Lord Selkirk was a rich man; much richer than her father and owned a great deal of land.
At the bottom of the staircase she looked around helplessly; wondering which way to turn. Heading for the door directly in front of her she stopped quickly, there was the sound of footsteps behind her.
“If you’re looking for food it’s set out in the Great Hall; I’m afraid Thomas is already up and out today”.
Beatrice turned around to meet an extraordinary looking woman. She was taller and thinner than Lady Ciri and although handsome, one would not have called her beautiful. She was dressed simply in a black dress and looked cold and stern; frowning as she spoke.
“The Great Hall is to your right –I’ll show you” and moving briskly down the hallway, led the way.
The hall was much larger and grander than the cozy room she had eaten in yesterday and there was no welcoming fire in the grate this morning to warm her. The air was chill and she felt uncomfortable under the imposing eye of the woman before her who surely must be the housekeeper. A wooden bowl filled with thick looking porridge had been set out alongside a hunk of bread and cheese, and a goblet of light colored ale.
Dipping a spoon into the lumpy porridge she sampled it on her lips; it was cold and stuck in her mouth.
“We eat early here and don’t have enough servants to make anything fresh. If you want your porridge hot then you will have to rise earlier in the morning”.
Beatrice had no recollection of time.
“What time is it?”
“There’s a clock in the hall, it’s just past 11 of the clock”
The woman was matter of fact and brusque in her manner and turned to leave. On reaching the door she turned back.
“I’m Gertrude Selkirk, sister of Sir Thomas”.
Trying to hide the shock on her face, Beatrice put down the spoon. This woman would be her sister in law and she had hoped for some warmth.
“I do hope we can be friends?”
Gertrude glared at the young woman before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
It seemed unlikely. She hoped Thomas would be friendlier and more welcoming than his sister.
Suddenly she didn’t seem to have an appetite, and rising from her seat she walked around the room. Along one wall hung a line of portraits, men and women looking down at her from across the ages. Their eyes seemed to follow her footsteps and as she walked she felt that they were mocking her. How dare this young girl from the Lowlands expect to become Mistress of this great house? The thought suddenly struck her; Gertrude had been the Mistress of the house before her intrusion; when she married Thomas she would naturally step into that role. No wonder Gertrude was cold towards her. She must make it plain that she had no thoughts of interfering and there would be no change once she was Lady Selkirk.
The paintings gave her the shivers; there was something about the eyes of the portraits that was almost animal like, a wildness that seemed to have prevailed down through the centuries.
Stepping to the window she sat on the little box seat. The day was brightening at last and the sun glimmered its weak light across the moorland. There seemed no garden to speak of; the house built straight into the heathery landscape. On the horizon she could see an expanse of dark green; one of the thick pine forests no doubt. In the absence of Thomas and no-one to direct her she mused that a little walk could do no harm. She could do with some air and wouldn’t stray far. Rushing back up the stairs she pulled on her patterns –thick wooden platforms to keep her dainty slippers dry and free of damp and mud. Fastening her travelling cloak around her she headed quickly back down the stairs and scooping up Henry into her arms, she ran out through the main door before anyone could see her.
Although bright the air was still chill and Beatrice wrapped the hood of her cloak over her head before walking steadily across the patchy grass to the edge of the moorlands. The air smelled of fresh pine and sweet heather and she breathed deeply. It was good to be outdoors. There was nothing but the vast sweeping moors whichever way she turned and she decided to walk along the back of the house to get the full view.
As walked she discovered a small copse of Hazel trees behind the house; the afternoon sun catching the burnished leaves and spinning them to gold. Her father had often told her and her twin brother Michael folk stories of the wise old Hazel tree, and how it protected the Fairy folk of the forest against evil. Standing beneath the boughs she could almost feel their magic and leaning against a trunk she closed her eyes to the sunshine. Nature always restored her and it wasn’t long before she was smiling.
Hearing a horse approaching she moved further under the cover of the leafy canopy so as not to be discovered. Henry on the other hand had other ideas, and leaping from her arms, ran chasing towards the horse which was galloping towards him at full speed.
Fearing for her little dog’s life Beatrice ran from her hiding place and launched herself between the animal and her beloved pet.
The horse reared its front legs, causing her to stumble and fall backwards onto the ground, as the little dog ran away unscathed. The animal continued to paw at the ground, snorting furi
ously and its eyes wild with fear.
The rider clung on to reigns , patting the great black head tenderly until the beast was calm, the heaving flanks wet with perspiration as it frisked its tail back and forth; the only sign of the former agitation.
“What on earth are ye playing at yer stupid little fool?” The owner jumped down from his saddle; his red and green tartan great kilt swathed around him as he stormed across to where she was laying in the grass. His voice was harsh and cold and she sat in silence, her hood protecting her identity.
“Well”. Storming over he removed her hood and was taken aback when the face of his beloved Beatrice was revealed.
“Lady Ciri, what on earth?”
He looked just like his miniature; in fact that was incorrect, he was more handsome than his portrait. She felt herself blush as his dark brooding eyes played into hers. His hair was ruffled over his forehead and his full lips red and generous as he glowered over her.
It took him a while to regain his composure. The last time he had seen Lady Ciri was four years ago. If she had been beautiful then, she was stunning now. Her dark black hair tumbled around her small heart shaped face; her lips a perfect bow and those brilliant eyes; staring back out at him like two perfect sapphires. He had sounded harsh and now she was recoiling away from him in fear. He had lived too long alone and his manners could be gruff and hard, but his heart was bowled over by the beautiful young woman before him.
Holding out his hand to help her up she winced in pain. She had cut her arm when falling and the blood was trickling down, making a scarlet river across her white flesh.
Reaching into the folds of his tartan kilt, Lord Selkirk brought out a great white handkerchief; embroidered in blue silk with the initials TS intertwined. As he wrapped it tenderly around her arm she wondered who had so neatly made the stitches –surely not Gertrude Selkirk?
The display of tenderness made her feel embarrassed and she withdrew her arm suddenly, feeling flustered by the sight of this great man tying a handkerchief so delicately around her arm. A wave of tenderness washed over her but she was too young, too inexperienced to know what to do or to say.
He tried to show her kindness but she still seemed to withdraw from him. Had he been a fool to think such a young and attractive woman could love him?
The forthcoming marriage between the two seemed to set them apart rather than bring them together and neither felt comfortable in mentioning the subject. The sound of Henry barking in the distance broke her thoughts and she rushed up to find her noisy companion.
She was glad to have the dog to pet as they both walked back to the house in silence; she talking animatedly to her puppy whilst Thomas followed slightly behind; brooding.
Back at the house Gertrude was waiting at the door; watching out for the return of Thomas. She seemed brighter than when Beatrice had last seen her; two tiny spots of red had appeared on her bloodless cheeks and there was a spark to her eye. On any other woman it might have looked charming; on Gertrude Selkirk it looked almost ghoulish.
Fussing over her brother she took his arm; only for him to shrug it away. His emotions were confused and he was already in a foul temper. Heading into the house and up the stone staircase he left the two women alone together.
Gertrude was no longer smiling and her face was now deathly pale, in stark contrast with the flushed cheeks of Beatrice. She stared harshly at the younger woman: her mouth twitching as if wanting to speak but could not find the words. The little dog let forth a low growl in warning and the woman went back into the house.
Stroking Henry to calm him she waited a few minutes to settle her emotions, before entering the house and going straight to her chamber. At least she had now met Thomas, but what a strange and awkward first meeting for two people who were to share the rest of their life together.
The wedding was going to be a low key affair by even modest standards. The new red and gold colored velvet dress she was to wear had been unwrapped and was now hanging over a screen in her bed chamber. She knew nothing of the arrangements and the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t bode well.
Feeling restless and not bearing to sit looking at the dress any longer Beatrice decided to explore the house a little; after all one day it would be her home. Stepping out of her bed chamber she looked cautiously around before crossing over the landing to the opposite side. On the wall above one of the doors was a plaque, a coat of arms - crossed swords with what looked like the moon and stars with some sort of creature standing on its hind legs, waving its arms at the golden terrestrial bodies above. Underneath was the inscription ‘ab homine usque ad pecus’. “Both man and beast”, she spoke the Latin words out slowly. It was a strange phrase. Her own family motto was ‘cum honore ac virtute’ ‘With honour and valor’ and was much more straightforward in meaning. Still man was in part a beast and maybe the motto was just paying homage to that fact. Trying the latch carefully on the door before her, Beatrice pushed against it; taking care that no-one would hear her. Although this time tomorrow she would be mistress of the house, she still felt as though she was an intruder and as such not particularly welcome. She always found herself moving around the house on tiptoe lest she disturbed the occupants; her new family. Opening the door she was shocked to see a sparsely furnished bed chamber, yet hung about the walls, the floor and every available surface were artefacts from nature. Birds feathers hung on the wall; some as large as Eagles and some so tiny that they must have been from a wren’s wing. The skulls of birds and animals were scattered here and there, and bunches of twigs and dried herbs and flowers sat in jars or were scattered across the floor. An ancient book lay open on the table, its pages yellow with age and scrawled with black spidery writing that was barely legible. The origin of the words was foreign to her, probably some long forgotten and ancient language. Gently turning the delicate pages she saw sketches of strange beasts; some half man and half beast in seemingly various stages of transformation. Sketched around the pages in a newer and bolder hand there had been scribbled the symbols of the zodiac and phases of the moon throughout the seasons, each one linked to a stage of the man-beasts progression.
So absorbed was she in the book that she did not notice a dark shadow fall across the book. As she moved to turn the page, a steely hand grabbed at her own, stopping her in the act. It was a woman’s hand.
Gertrude had entered the room as silent as the grave and she had caught Beatrice red handed.
“What are ye doing in my room?” Gertrude’s eyes were hard and blank as they looked at her, unblinking.
Her voice was thin with fear.
“I’m sorry Gertrude, I didn’t know this was your room. I thought I would explore the house and this was the first room I opened. I was intrigued by this book and I wondered what it was for?” The younger woman tried to sound un-phased by her sister in law, yet her hand shook as she moved it down to her side.
Quickly snapping the book closed Gertrude held it close to her breast, eyeing the girl cautiously, wondering how much she had seen and how much she had understood.
Narrowing her cruel eyes she smiled unconvincingly. “These are my private studies and hobbies. I am interested in nature and the healing properties of various plants that is all. I would appreciate it in future if you would stay away from my chamber”. She stared until Beatrice lowered her eyes to the floor. The conversation was over and she moved quickly out of the room.
What would Thomas think of her going through his sister’s possessions? Gertrude would surely tell him and that would only serve to make things even more distant between them.
At least they would be eating together that night, and she hoped that it would give her chance to get to know Thomas a little better; at least it would give her the chance to explain. Going back to her own chamber she lay on the bed and closed her eyes. After a sleep she felt a little better and tidying her hair ventured out of her room and down the stone staircase to the dining room. A great fire had been lit in the grate an
d two places had been set for dinner, a large candelabra set down on the table to provide light. Despite the size of the room it would be an intimate supper and the first time she would spend any quality time alone with her husband to be. Her heart started to beat a little faster as she thought of him, even though their first interaction was awkward, he was quite handsome. Something about the way he looked at her caused her body to quiver in anticipation. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight as she waited for him.
On hearing footsteps sounding up the hallway she sat up ready to greet him but was disappointed when Gertrude opened the door and sat down at the table.
Sensing the girl’s disappointment she smiled cruelly.
"My brother is eating in his rooms this evening and doesn't want to be disturbed."
Beatrice shifted uneasily in her seat. She hadn't expected to be sharing her supper with Gertrude; the woman did not make her feel welcome and she could feel herself shrink away from her.
"I was hoping that we would be able to talk about the wedding?"
"My brother is a man of few words. I will tell ye everything ye need to know". She stared coldly at the girl.
"Well?"
"I would rather discuss the matter with Lord Selkirk. After all he is to be my future husband"
Gertrude leaned over the table and gave a low, cruel laugh.
