by Lucy Langton
To Isabel, the dinner prepared was quite elaborate for two people. Sitting at opposite ends of each other, William and Isabel ate their meal. The dining hall was large and quiet, but lavishly decorated. At adjacent corners of the hall were flowerpots; one was filled with daffodils while the other contained a rose plant.
No doubt, the servants took great care in making sure the plants had all the nutrients they needed. There were paintings on the wall. Paintings of battlefields and saints peering down from heaven to grant the soldiers aid.
The paintings looked old and unattended to. Obviously, they were of little interest to the unscrupulous Lord. No one would expect the man that refused to go to church and frequented taverns to take care of such beautiful art.
“How are you enjoying your meal?” William asked.
Isabel had not expected his question. It was probably because she was paying more attention to the paintings than the food.
“The meal tastes nice. Thank you,” Isabel replied, not once taking her eyes off the paintings.
However, the Baron was not done yet.
“You know, those paintings were commissioned nearly two decades ago. They tell the tale of Alfred the Great. Having to battle the Viking army on numerous occasions, he is said to be the first king to defend his kingdom against their army successfully. This feat was said to have only been through the power of the saints who interceded on his behalf. Thus he later went on to become the first true king of England,” William explained.
Isabel simply hummed, making him feel uneasy about his lengthy explanation.
“At least that’s what the records say,” he added at the end.
Dinner went on without any further interruption. William understood that she was not in the mood for small talk. However, he was still in his house, and he would have to introduce her to his sister eventually. Then she would have to talk.
Done with her meal, Isabel thanked her host and excused herself to take a closer look at the paintings. Soon after, the Baron joined her, and together, they watched on in silence. Each person with a separate thought from the other.
The Baron, farther off from the painting than Isabel, admired the lady rather than the paintings. He soon discovered that not only did she spike his interest, but she also troubled his mind. For he constantly battled within himself whether to treat her as he would any outsider or to treat her fairly as his heart wanted.
Nevertheless, the time to decide would come, but for now, they had more pressing matters that needed their attention.
“Come My Lady! It is time to meet my sister, Beatrice,” William ordered and began walking away towards the stairs.
“Wait!” Isabel called back, “I have questions that need answering. It is about your sister. How did she get to be this way? Was she born with this illness, or did something happen to her while she was young to make her so?”
At the last question, the Baron closed his eyes, deep in thought. Isabel waited for what seemed to be hours, and for a moment, she thought the Baron had fallen asleep.
“I am sorry, but that question, I cannot answer,” William replied.
Isabel was taken aback by his statement. Although she had suspected that the Baron might not answer all her personal questions, however, was it unnecessary for her to learn of his sister’s past?
“But you promised to answer any question I asked. Why then do you withhold information I need to familiarise myself with your sister?” Isabel queried.
William knew that what Isabel had said was right. However, he was determined not to say anymore concerning the matter. There were some things even Isabel must never know about.
“You will simply have to find another way to befriend my sister. Otherwise, you foul our agreement, and it will be known that your word has no value,” William replied and continued his walk up the stairs.
Isabel was now certain that whatever had caused his sister’s illness was greatly related to the Baron. There was a great chance that finding out the details of her illness would unlock a certain past or memory the Baron wanted no one to discover.
Nevertheless, the contiguous task was to follow the Baron for the introduction. After that, she would begin her search for answers.
They walked quietly up until the second floor. There was a short pause before William gently knocked on the door three times. After receiving no response, he tried again, and when that failed, he was convinced she was probably asleep.
“It seems my sister is asleep. Do not worry; tomorrow we shall try again. Maybe, then she will be feeling better and ready to accept visitors,” William stated and began heading for his room.
Isabel stood there for quite a while after, wondering what the little Beatrice looked like and how she would gain her confidence. She also noticed that the Baron had neglected to wish her a good night. Nevertheless, the next day already had its activities labelled out.
Her topmost priority would be to gain the confidence of the young girl. Every other thing would come after that. Walking back to her bedchambers, she thought of her brother and Aunt Mariam. And just before she closed her eyes to sleep, the image of her parents smiling down on her passed through her mind.
All the while William and Isabel had been together none had noticed the lone figure hiding within the shadows, watching them with angry eyes.
Chapter 7
Morning came, and Isabel was already on her feet. She had laid out threads and needles, as well as a few pieces of cloth. At breakfast, she noticed the Baron was absent, and when she confronted the housekeeper, she was told he had an early morning engagement that could not wait.
Disappointed and a bit relieved, she ate her meal in silence and returned to her bedchambers. When she thought the time was right, she left her room to seek out the young lady of the house. She knocked thrice, just as Lord William had done the previous night.
There was a long pause, and Isabel wondered if the knock had not been loud enough or the young Beatrice was asleep yet again. There was only one way to know; she was going to try again.
“Come in,” came a small, shrill voice from behind the door, just as she raised her hand to hit it.
Isabel took a deep breath. She was not sure why she felt so nervous. Maybe, it stemmed from the fact that she had not seen the figure behind the door, nor had she heard anything of relevance about her, save her illness.
Pushing the door open, Isabel noticed that it was quite lighter than all the other doors she had seen or touched. The room was nearly covered in total darkness, and it seemed to reach on to no end. It was no wonder the lady felt the way she did. Anyone living in that sort of dark environment was bound to be drawn away from people.
The bedframe was the first thing she noticed once she came in. It was at the centre-left corner of the room, directly facing the windows. The windows were covered with heavy drapes that blocked all light coming from the outside.
The only source of illumination was a dying candle that rested on the drawer closest to her bed. Beside her bed was a large shelf, filled with books and drawings. A book, open at the centre, lay on the girl’s lap. She covered herself with her sheets and only wore her night cloth.
Gradually, Isabel appraised the little girl until their eyes met straight on. Realising her rudeness, she apologised quickly,
“I am sorry for staring, but how did you know it was I at the door and not someone else?”
Beatrice gave a knowing smile,
“William came to me earlier this morning and said you would be coming. And also, you knocked the same way only he does. Three taps.”
Isabel was astonished. She had not been aware that the style she copied was actually a secret knock. She looked at Beatrice once again. She looked very much like her brother, but only in facial resemblance. In every other way, she was different from him entirely.
Her hair was jet black, just like her brother’s. They had similar skin colour, but hers had become lighter due to the lack of sunlight. In other aspects, her face was oval
, and she had almond-shaped eyes. She looked small and frail, in sharp contrast to William’s large and intimidating size.
Regardless, she was beautiful.
“Okay. I am sorry for interrupting, but I was wondering if you could use some company?” Isabel asked.
Without waiting for a response, she went for the huge curtains and slid them partially open. Beatrice shrieked at first but did not complain. Rather she enveloped herself in her bedsheets. Finally illuminated, Isabel could see the room fully for the first time.
The room was large and accommodated two large shelves and wardrobes. The wardrobe was somewhat far from the bed region. The first shelf contained the books and drawings Isabel had first spotted close to the bedframe. The other was further into the room. They were filled with paintings, vases, and other objects, which probably held emotional or financial value.
Some of the paintings were of their family. One contained a man, a woman, and a young boy. Another contained the same set of people but in a different setting. The woman in the previous painting was now lying down on a bed, with a little babe wrapped within her arms. The man and the boy were standing by her at opposite sides of the bed. That baby must have been Beatrice when she was born.
“Your family looks beautiful,” Isabel commented as she held the painting in her hands.
However, she received no response. Beatrice was still tucked underneath the covers. Going from one shelf to the other, Isabel checked the paintings and noticed one distinct fact; out of all the family pictures, there was only one with Beatrice in them.
Suddenly it dawned on her; Beatrice had not spent a long time with her parents. It could only mean that something had happened to them both when she was young. Could that be the source of her nervous disposition?
“Mother died giving birth to me, and after that nothing was ever right with our family,” Beatrice explained, “I believe that’s what you were wondering after seeing those paintings.”
Isabel was surprised she had guessed her thoughts. She was still cooped up under the sheets.
“I am sorry,” Isabel said remorsefully.
She allowed a long pause before asking her the other question that had popped into her head.
“How long did it take before your symptoms started?” Isabel asked, referring to her illness.
“About three years,” came the reply. “At first, the doctors believed it was the flu. However, when it persisted for months, they knew it was something else. I was told that after four years, the medication started working, and I got better.”
Isabel really felt sorry for her. Having to endure all those many doctors and medications must have been anguish for her. Only God knew all the pains she had had to face alone and without a mother to comfort her. Thinking about it alone seemed like torture.
There was a long pause before any of them made a move. Beatrice got out of the covers, and Isabel was relieved that the girl was not in tears.
Encouraged, she took out another picture. It was hidden behind a stack of junk and covered in dust. It only contained Beatrice and her older brother. They were both dressed in fine clothing. Isabel admired the two siblings. William was probably around his early twenties while Beatrice looked like she was ten.
“What about this one? You look beautiful here. Moreover, this is the only time I have ever seen your brother smile. Where was this?” she asked.
“At a ball. I was twelve, and he was about twenty,” Beatrice answered without looking at the painting.
Isabel was beaming with smiles. This was the only painting she had seen where William was an adult. His face was still devoid of the scar, and he looked handsome and elegant. Having seen some of the paintings, Isabel was convinced their family was extremely wealthy.
Not every nobleman could afford to have so many portraits painted, let alone by artists of such quality and talent. She grazed her hand over the painting to feel the texture, stopping at William’s smiling lips.
He was not so bad after all. He looked innocent and charming. Not the vile and cruel man people now knew him to be.
“That was the last time I saw my brother smile,” Beatrice said, breaking her fantasies.
“Why? What happened?” Isabel enquired.
Beatrice made a motion as if to speak and then stopped. She closed her eyes, and her countenance changed.
“I do not want to talk about it. Can we do something else?” she asked.
It was obvious that something had happened that day. Possibly something that had changed the lives of both siblings ever since. Isabel knew that further questions about the matter might only infuriate the young Beatrice and push them further apart.
Whatever the case, it was best to stop there as the younger lady requested, at least for the time being. She dropped the painting and went to sit beside Beatrice on the bed.
“Yes. Maybe we could talk about it some other time,” Isabel replied. “So what do you do in your free time?”
The question seemed funny, but she did all she could to suppress her laughter. Beatrice was usually confined in her bedchambers, so when was she not free?
“I love drawing. However, when I am unable to draw I learn embroidering. I also read poems and poetry,” Beatrice answered pointing to the shelf of books.
Isabel then excused herself and retreated to her room. She brought back the materials she had laid aside earlier in the morning, and together they began knitting.
Isabel spent the rest of the day indoors with Beatrice, occasionally taking breaks. She had both their meals served in the room during lunch, and they talked about nothing in particular.
She got to know she was older than Beatrice by merely two years. They were distant relatives to a previous king, which explained their immense wealth. Their estate extended far into the forests, and her mother was responsible for most of the flowers that grew around.
Isabel studied Beatrice and wondered how this young and beautiful lady could be related to the outlandish Baron. Their attitudes were opposites, and had it not been for the paintings, she would still have had her doubts about their births.
The rest of the day sped swiftly and without much activity. As the sun drew closer to its setting, Isabel excused herself and took her leave. Her encounter with Beatrice had been slightly awkward but enlightening. She had gained a bit more knowledge about their family and most importantly, about the Baron.
There was only one more thing that still bothered her. Whatever had happened on the day of that last painting must be the answer to the Baron’s unruly character and vile disposition. If only she could get more information from someone who knew all the details, then she could understand him better.
It was also possible she could then find the key to fully changing Beatrice’s mood and countenance. It all went back to what happened that day. All the answers she needed, compressed in a single image. An image with a key.
The sooner she could solve the mystery surrounding the Gregory family, the sooner she could fulfil her end of the bargain and return to her brother and Aunt Mariam. However, the thought of returning home was not as intriguing as the thought of solving the secrets of the Gregory family.
In the end, Isabel worked herself into having a headache and had to retire early to bed. Her mission for the day had been accomplished. Another day, another plan.
Chapter 8
The next day, Isabel spent most of her time cooped up with Beatrice, embroidering. She taught Beatrice some of the patterns her mother had shown to her, and Beatrice, in turn, showed Isabel some of her very own patterns. Although they were quite basic, Isabel found a unique style and creativity in the methods Beatrice had created.
