Macbeth's Niece (9 page)

Auntie Madeline had some of her eldest
brother’s disapproving outer manner but was not unkind at heart.
After a moment of shocked silence, she gave Tessa a rather formal
hug, enfolding her in bony arms, and welcomed her to the family.
The three cousins were a little surprised that Tessa was now on
equal footing with them but did not seem upset. Being poor
relatives sent to Brixton, much as Tessa herself had been sent off
to Macbeth’s household, none of them had much expectation for the
future. They would have deluded themselves to suppose Sir William
would settle more than a tiny dowry on them, so there was not much
to be jealous about. And in truth all three were kind-hearted girls
with no rancor in them.

The weeks that followed were a whirl of
constant activity. Tessa must be taught English dances. Luckily
Alice, the cousin who was sister to Cecilia, was a very patient
teacher. Next she must walk like a lady, not on her heels, and she
must watch her table manners. For example, it was important for a
lady to dip her meat gracefully just halfway into the gravy bowl so
as not to soil her fingers, and then bring the portion to her lips
quickly so the liquid didn’t run down her arm and onto her sleeve.
In London, she was told, people ate from metal plates, not the
wooden trenchers used at Brixton Manor. Ladies carried on their
belts jeweled knives of intricate design with which to cut their
portions and carry the pieces to their mouths. She was given one of
these, modest but well made, as a gift from Eleanor.

Bolts of fabric were found in the storeroom
with which to make new dresses. Cecilia was good with a needle and
helped Tessa cut two basic shapes and sew them together. In the
front of one dress they cut a squared neckline and edged it with
braid salvaged from an old curtain. The other they rounded and
edged with embroidery. Over these plain shapes the girls wore
tunics of various colors and styles. Tessa made herself a pair of
soft velvet shoes, and a leather worker on the manor made her boots
for foul weather. The old gray cloak she’d worn from Scotland was
cleaned and mended neatly, and clever Cecilia embroidered it with
red designs that changed it from plain to majestic.

Tessa had a basic knowledge of music and a
good singing voice. Eleanor taught her some English ballads,
tactfully leaving out those that dealt with Scotland, and
encouraged her to accompany herself on the lute. “Nothing melts a
man’s heart as does a woman who sings and plays the songs he
loves,” she told the girls, “unless it’s a woman who cooks and
serves his favorite foods.” And so there were cooking lessons.
Tessa could clean fish and fowl, but she’d never taken much
interest in cooking them. The English way, not known as the best of
the world’s cuisine, was still better than Scottish food, which was
plainly prepared to say the least.

“And haggis, my dear,” Eleanor said. “I’ve
heard of it, but I can’t imagine anyone actually eating it.”

“Then you probably wouldn’t like black
pudding, either,” Tessa told them. “You start with twelve cups of
pig’s blood—” The other women squealed, but they all laughed
together. Tessa thought of her own sisters, and wished their lives
could have been more like this, with laughter and joy rather than
the peevish carping that was all the littler ones had ever known of
their mother. She at least remembered her father’s kindness as he
had attempted to ease Kenna’s sharpness. “Now, lass,” he often said
to his wife, “don’t let the world make you sad or mad, for it’s
only yourself you’re listenin’ to.”

Tessa reminded herself it was she, and she
alone, who could make herself sad or mad. Despite recent
misfortune, she had found kindness in England and had begun to
understand that her own behavior had contributed to her downfall.
If she hadn’t insulted Jeffrey Brixton the night she met him and
been sent from the hall in disgrace, she’d have been sleeping
peacefully in her bed when he left Scotland the next morning. Had
the crones seen that angry streak in her and in their odd way tried
to warn her of it?

Barely two months after her arrival Tessa
said goodbye to Brixton Hall and set off for London. Even so, she
went as a quite different person than the one who’d arrived, well
dressed and so full of advice on proper behavior that she feared
her eyes would cross with the strain of remembering it. They
journeyed to London in a two-wheeled cart so loaded with female
accoutrements that there was hardly room for the six of them:
Eleanor, Tessa, Cecilia, Alice, Mary, and Blanche, whom they shared
as lady’s maid. Aunt Madeline had stayed behind to see to the
house, having no desire to go to London. “Been there once,” was her
disdainful comment. Two sturdy peasants walked behind the cart and
two armed bondmen rode before on horseback to protect the party
from outlaws and wild animals. They slept on the ground, making
nests in the tall grass beside the road and washing in brooks and
rivulets still icy cold despite summer’s arrival. Inns were scarce
and usually unclean, and Eleanor preferred to avoid them
altogether.

The journey passed quickly with stories and
songs, and they arrived at the outskirts of London on the fourth
afternoon. As they walked behind the wagon for a while to stretch
their legs, Eleanor confessed privately to Tessa the trick she’d
used to assure they would be able to make the visit. “William will
not be pleased to see us, since he says London is much too
expensive for a gaggle of women. If he’d had a day’s notice, he’d
undoubtedly have sent someone to order us to stay home.” Eleanor
paused, enjoying her own boldness. “Therefore, I sent a messenger
ahead just a few hours, telling him of our arrival on an important
matter. There won’t be time for him to frame a negative response
before we’re there, and then what can he do but let us in?”

“But won’t he be angry with you? What
important business do you have that requires all this?” Tessa
indicated the wagon brimming with women and their finery.

“Once I’m there, I’ll convince him to let us
stay. I will relate the story about your background and explain to
him you must find a husband or he’ll be saddled with another mouth
to feed next winter.” Eleanor said with a chuckle. “I may have to
make you sound quite ravenous. He’ll want to let you all be seen in
order to get offers of marriage, so he’ll cooperate, if you have
learned well the game that must be played.”

“To smile and say sweet things even when men
bore me to tears?” Tessa said sardonically. “I believe I can.”

“Good. I have in mind several men with large
fortunes who will fall so in love at the sight of you that offers
will pour in despite your lack of a dowry.” With that, Eleanor
hopped back up onto the wagon. A quick flash of pain crossed her
face, but she conquered it and held out a hand to help Tessa in
beside her.

The house William kept in London was smaller
than Brixton Hall but much grander. Here William entertained
important people, so his concern was the impression it made. The
house was made of wood, as were most in London, despite the town
fathers’ pleas for brick or stone to lessen fire danger.

Tessa and Mary shared a bedroom in the upper
story, small but comfortable, with a slanted ceiling and a rug on
the floor instead of the rushes used at Brixton. Mary was ecstatic
over the windows, which had real glass in them. Looking out was
difficult because the thick, bubble-pocked glass made things wavy
and distorted, but it was better than the greased hides that
covered the narrow slits of Brixton Hall in winter. There was even
a small charcoal brazier that could be lit on cold nights.

Tessa had grown fond of Mary, an orphan
whose father had been William’s cousin. He had taken her in, albeit
reluctantly, when both her parents died within a year of each
other. Although no great beauty, Mary was sweet-faced and pleasant
to be around. Her best feature was her round, luminous eyes. The
rest of her face lacked proportion, her chin being too small, but
the eyes dominated when she was happy, transforming her into an
attractive young woman. The other cousins, Cecilia and Alice, were
friendly enough, but as sisters they were closest to each other. It
was natural Mary and Tessa sought each other’s company.

Tessa never heard how William Brixton took
their arrival. He was out when the party of excited females
arrived, and Eleanor sent them up to unpack, urging them to be at
their best for dinner. When the two girls came down the stairs,
William stood at the landing, framed in the heavy oaken doorway to
the great room. Behind him on the wall a painting hung depicting a
martyr’s gruesome death, and William and the martyr wore the same
glum expression. Tessa saw a resemblance to Jeffrey, but where the
youngest brother had a strong bone structure and a clear, direct
gaze, William had the same features with less substance. His face
sagged into itself, leaving pouchy eyes and a heavily jowled chin.
The eyes seemed to judge everything they saw and find it wanting.
He was dressed well, with a robe of deep blue and a close-fitting
cap that showed only a few graying hairs below its edge.

Lord Brixton greeted the two girls tersely,
looking hard at Tessa before remarking in a casual tone, “You don’t
much look like a sister to Eleanor, Mistress macFindlaech.”

“I’m told I favor my mother, sir, God rest
her,” Tessa replied, keeping her eyes downcast and trying to appear
both demure and marriageable.

“Ah, then,” was the reply. “Go along to
dinner.”

He indicated a direction, and Tessa took
Mary’s arm and went off with relief. At least she wasn’t to be set
out on the street tonight. Mary whispered encouragement as they
went: “He’s always like that—quite stern is William.”

Stern indeed, Tessa thought. She could feel
those cold blue eyes at her back, the color of Jeffrey’s, but much
less human.

The party at the dinner table consisted of
the five women, Lord Brixton, a local priest, a businessman who
spoke of nothing but linen prices, and Aidan, the brother closest
in age to Jeffrey. Aidan was something of a surprise. With
Eleanor’s remark that he was treated badly and the notation in
Jeffrey’s diary he would drink himself to an early death, Tessa had
expected a pathetic little man with a red-veined nose and slurred
speech.

Instead, Aidan was quite handsome. He wore a
red and black tunic with black hose that showed off well-muscled
legs. His long face was rounded somewhat by a neatly trimmed beard.
Aidan resembled his brothers very little, having brown hair and
eyes, but they were nice eyes. With an engaging manner, he teased
the other girls about their foibles, having known them from
childhood. To Tessa he was charming and attentive, listening to her
half-true, half-concocted story of how Jeffrey had found her,
realized who she was, and brought her to Eleanor.

“How clever of Jeffrey to find a beautiful
addition to the family in Scotland of all places,” Aidan remarked.
Tessa bristled, but remembered her role in time to bite back a
response to the slur on her native land. Aidan had seen it, though;
she could tell by his look and the raised eyebrow that brought
Jeffrey to mind. They shared, she thought, a quick understanding of
the feelings of others, betrayed by that eyebrow’s arch.

“I’m sorry, Mistress macFindlaech—May I call
you Tessa? Your name is quite a trial for my poor tongue.” Tessa
had already heard Englishmen refer to Scotland’s tongue as half
cough and half speech. Eleanor had explained that Tessa was known
by her stepfather’s name, macFindlaech, which required the Scottish
glottals used less and less in English these days.

Tessa was gracious. “Of course, Master
Brixton.”

“I am most grateful, Tessa. And grateful to
Jeffrey, for bringing you among us.” He smiled at her directly, and
she decided brown eyes were very nice indeed.

As the meal progressed, Tessa could not help
but notice William Brixton’s sour personality and demanding manner.
At one point a very young serving boy spilled a few drops of wine
in his anxiousness to keep the glasses full, and William barked to
the housekeeper, “Get that lout out of here and find someone who
knows how to properly serve at table!” The boy fled in disgrace,
and William turned to Master Conklin, the linen merchant. “I
apologize. It is impossible to find people of the standard I
require in servants.”

“I understand,” the merchant hurried to
agree, flattered to be invited to dinner at the house of a
nobleman. “We find also in my trade that good help is hard to find.
It’s what drives the prices up—” and he was back on his favorite
subject.

Later in the meal, Master Conklin mentioned
his approval of the roast fowl they were served. William, in a
generous mood because the man was about to make him even wealthier
with the deal they had concluded that afternoon, smiled. “I raise
them on the manor,” he told Conklin. “I will see you have a brace
for dinner some evening.” Without looking at his brother, William
said curtly, “Aidan, see to the matter. And mind, don’t be slow
about it.” The tone was peremptory, not a request but an order to
one clearly regarded as subordinate.

While the other ladies at the table pondered
their plates, Tessa glanced at Aidan, whose face showed no emotion.
He simply replied, “Of course,” and made a slight nod of his head
to the merchant. So this was how William treated his brothers. No
wonder he was regarded with disdain by his wife.

Up in their room after dinner, Mary told
Tessa a family secret. “Master Aidan is only half-brother to the
rest, which is why he’s so different looking,” she said with the
air of one who knows her news will bring surprise. “You see, the
old Lord Brixton had himself a leman, an Irish woman he met on
campaign. He kept her in a little house just the other side of the
wood at the manor house. She had Aidan then sickened and died. The
old man brought him home and told Lady Brixton she would raise him
as one of her own, and bless her, she did it. No one’s allowed to
speak of it, though, by her own wish. Eleanor says Lady Brixton was
truly a great woman, and when she took the boy in, she made him her
own.