THE ENGLISH COUNTRY HOUSE – The Bedchamber

Bedchamber at Eastnor Castle, Herefordshire (Author)

Unless we live in a flat or bungalow, most of us in this modern age go upstairs to bed, but this was not always the case. In earlier centuries, it was customary for the wealthy to conduct their lives pretty much on the one floor, with bedchambers added beyond withdrawing rooms. This can be seen at houses such as Chatsworth, where the State Apartments have a corridor of doors, called an enfilade, stretching in a line from the State Dressing Room through the five other State Rooms and ending in the State Dining Room. This arrangement has evolved from the medieval custom of a chamber which was used for daily activities, for eating and sleeping, for business and the receiving of guests. As greater privacy became important, so this chamber was divided into smaller spaces until separate rooms were incorporated into the design, first introduced at the beginning of the seventeenth century and seen today in Palladian country houses of the Georgian period.

As a sign of rank and wealth, the bedchamber became more public, if less so than those in France. Rows of stools and chairs, covered in rich upholstery, were set against the walls and the room was furnished in a manner befitting a principal salon or reception chamber. The bed itself was hung with fabulous curtains and had the owner’s crest either embroidered or carved on the bed-head. This was, of course, a four-post bed, with a tester (‘ceiling’) or canopy lined with pelmets to keep out draughts (and hide the rails) and embellished with ostrich plumes. Charles II slept in such a bed at Powis Castle in Powys. By 1678 he had issued the directive, ‘Persons of Quality as well our servants as others who come to wait on us are permitted to attend and stay us in the withdrawing room.’ This, then, was the forerunner of the Drawing Rooms held at court during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Although his bedchamber was less accessible, royal princes were admitted by right whenever they chose, whilst privy counsellors and other state officials were required to seek permission to gain access. Following the French custom, Charles caused the royal bedchambers in his palaces to have the bed set back within a balustraded alcove. This arrangement can still be seen in the bedchamber at Powis Castle, which was prepared for him in the style he had adopted from the Continent.

State Bedroom, Eastnor Castle (Author)

Whilst there is no balustrade, a bedchamber at the Brighton Pavilion shows the bed to be set back within an alcove as well as various furnishings to be found in the Regency era, if perhaps more elaborate than would be found in the generality of country houses.

Bedroom in the Brighton Pavilion, old print

At Ragley Hall in Warwickshire, designed circa 1678 by Robert Hooke (for Charles II’s Secretary of State, Lord Conway), the four so-called pavilions each contained a separate apartment, accessed from a central hall and saloon. Each had a drawing or withdrawing room, beyond which lay a bedchamber, a closet, a servant’s chamber and a backstairs to the kitchens &c. To the left and right of the hall respectively lay the chapel and the library. The saloon doubled as the dining room,

By contrast, whilst still possessing the pavilion wings, Hagley Hall in Worcestershire, built circa 1752 for Lord Lyttelton by Sanderson Miller and probably inspired by Croome Court, was designed to have two circuits of rooms which overlapped. To one side of the central hall and saloon lay a suite of private apartments, including the library, and to the other, the public circuit of dining and drawing rooms and the gallery. The bedchambers had by now been settled on the upper floor. With the emphasis changing in the country from high-ranking guests being entertained in a small number of grand apartments to visitors choosing to occupy their time in public saloons and drawing rooms rather than their own chambers, these last became reduced in size and importance. To accommodate this, an increased number of smaller apartments were included in architectural plans, with the average suite having a bedchamber and a dressing room, with perhaps also a closet. Such dressing rooms were often also used as sitting rooms and were handsomely fitted out. At Berrington Hall in Herefordshire, there are two such chambers, known as the White Dressing Room and the Corner Dressing Room, furnished as bedrooms (but about a hundred years after the Regency) and each with a small closet.

At Hanbury Hall, Worcestershire, built around 1701, the main entrance led into the Great Hall, with a Smoking Room and Steward’s Room beyond. From the Great Hall to the right, the visitor might enter either the Great Parlour or the Lobby, through which was reached the Withdrawing Room and the master’s bedchamber and dressing room. The ceiling was later altered to remove the lobby wall and form a drawing room in place of the Great Parlour and amalgamate the Lobby and Withdrawing Room into what is now the Dining Room.

Withdrawing Room (Dining Room) Ceiling, Hanbury Hall (Author)

Following the enclosures of land in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the production of wool had brought a great deal of prosperity to these shores and many early bed-hangings were produced in woollen cloth, some of which have survived to this day. For the wealthy, Spanish merino (introduced to Britain by George III in 1786) offered a warmer and less dear option than the expensive silks and satins which faded and failed to give ‘that clean appearance’ required by the English aristocracy. With the advent of cotton, the heavy moreen (liable to attract moths) and similar fabrics lost favour. Chintz, calico, dimity and muslin became popular for bed-hangings, curtains and upholstery during the Regency, being washable and far cheaper than Jacquard imported from France. A patent for an English version was issued to Stephen Wilton in 1820, allowing the textile industry in Britain to breathe more easily. Just before the start of the Regency proper, in about 1809, the ‘gaudy colours’, as Ackermann described them, of chintz and calico furnishings yielded to ‘a more chaste style’ which required only two colours to create an effect similar to damask.

Regency designers took inspiration from many different periods, and so the country house guest might find their bedchamber decked out with Gothic, Greek or Egyptian influences, in the Chinese style so much vaunted by the Prince of Wales, or in patterns incorporating stripes, trelliswork, architectural or geometric shapes. Curtains for windows were usually of a hue complementary to those on the bed, with linings in a colour to march with that. Quite often, the curtain at the head of the bed was gathered in a semicircular pattern resembling the sun’s rays, to add definition to the design. Bed linen was customarily white or the natural colour of the fabric, and blankets that of the wool from which they were made, although in wealthy households personal whims were no doubt accommodated. The same could be noted for the counterpane. Authors, please note here that the word bedspread is of American origin, dating from 1845.

A State bed of about 1754, part of a suite made by William Linnell for the Chinese Room at Badminton House in Gloucestershire, was decorated in Oriental emblems and japanned in gilt, red and black. It had a pagoda-style top ornamented with feathers, panels on the bed-head decorated in a geometric design reminiscent of brick paving, and (probably) neutrally coloured linen and hangings, but these have been replaced in modern times. Messrs. Gillow of Lancaster designed a canopied bed-head thought to be Egyptian in style, with swags of green and pink fabric caught into bunches above a carved frame that was filled with white material ornamented with rosettes and fringing. The heads of sphinxes which surmount four posts suggest, however, that the original inspiration had come from Classical Greece.

Curtains for windows in aristocratic houses were not always plain but might be printed and fringed, sometimes of cotton and sometimes of silk, and generally reaching to the floor. In 1803, Sheraton noted that whilst festoon curtains, drawn vertically, were still to be found in bedrooms, the French rod curtain had become widely introduced in fashionable houses. On a similar system to that we see today, these curtains hung from a wooden or brass rod and were drawn horizontally, either hidden behind a pelmet or swags of fabric or left on display with rosettes or tassels to show where the material was attached. The rings had strings which connected to a pulley, enabling the curtains to be drawn.

Bedroom furniture of the Regency era included a wash-hand stand, a dressing table and stool with looking-glass, an armoire or wardrobe, tables, chairs, an ottoman or chaise longue and perhaps a cheval mirror. In the early seventeenth century, a matched set of pier glass, pier table and candlesticks was a common facility provided in large houses. These items were principally designed for display rather than practicality and were elaborately fashioned: with marquetry, with lacquered finishes, inlaid with pewter and even made of silver. They were sited against the pier between the windows (hence the name), usually opposite the bed to catch the best daylight in the morning and the best candlelight at night. Gradually, with the increasing use of dressing rooms, the dressing table as we know it today was developed for practical use and placed, with wardrobes and other furniture for the pursuit of dressing, in the secondary room. Sometimes this also contained a truckle bed for the accommodation of a maid or valet.

Wash-hand Stand, Hanbury Hall (Author)

Dressing Table with Stool, Hanbury Hall (Author)

Marquetry Table and Chair, Hanbury Hall (Author)

Chair and Pier Table, Hanbury Hall (Author)

Cabinet or Wardrobe, State Bedroom, Eastnor Castle
(Susana Ellis, with permission)

Chaise Longue, Eastnor Castle (Author)

Pier Table and Glass, Berrington Hall (Author)

As very few Regency hangings have survived the centuries, representations of bedrooms of that era are hard to find, most having long since been redecorated to Victorian or Edwardian taste. At Hartlebury Castle in Worcestershire, however, a bedchamber was prepared by Richard Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, for an impending visit of the Prince of Wales, who had made it known in 1807 that he would like to visit and stop the night. Bishop Hurd was then eight-eight and unfortunately became too frail to welcome His Royal Highness. To a nerdy author’s delight, the room, while not large (it is almost filled by the bed), remains much as it was for that auspicious event.

The Prince Regent's Bed, Hartlebury Castle (Author)

All photographs are the property of the author unless otherwise stated and may not be copied or shared without the owner’s expressed permission.

 © Heather King, 2024

Historic Palaces: Kensington Palace

Queen Victoria's Statue with Kensington Palace in the background.

Mentioned in the Domesday Book as Chenisitun, and in other ancient texts as Kenesitune and Kensintune, Kensington was a village on the Great Western Road, about one and a half miles from Hyde Park Corner. In 1829, the parish was bounded by Chelsea; St. Margaret, Westminster; St. George, Hanover Square; Paddington, Wilsden, Acton and Fulham. The Palace stood in the parish of St. Margaret, while the Gardens were situated in Westminster.

Kensington Palace was not always a Royal residence. Indeed, built as a modest mansion for Sir George Coppin about 1605, it was later sold to physician and diplomat Sir John Finch, who left it to his brother, Sir Heneage Finch, afterwards the Earl of Nottingham and the Lord Chancellor. Thus the property became known as Nottingham House. Then, in June 1689, William III and Queen Mary paid Nottingham £18,000 for the mansion, in order to remove from the grime and smells of the river at the palace of Whitehall. The riverside situation worsened the King’s asthma, while the Queen objected to views of naught but ‘...water or wall’.

Sir Christopher Wren, and his clerk of works, Nicholas Hawksmoor, were commissioned to make hurried extensions to the building, whereupon the Court removed to the fresher air of Kensington just before Christmas. Various other additions were made; first the Clock Court, then the Queen’s Gallery, measuring 84 feet by 21, in 1691 and in 1695-96 the King’s Gallery, measuring 94 feet by 21. With its restful outlook over the gardens, the latter became William’s delight and place of relaxation following Mary’s death from smallpox in 1694, when aged but 33. £11,000 was spent on these gardens by the King, the work carried out by nurserymen and garden designers London and Wise from nearby Brompton Park. At his own command, William was brought to Kensington from Hampton Court after falling from his horse in 1702, a fall which was to prove fatal.

The King's Gallery, W.H. Pyne, 1819

Originally twenty-six acres, Queen Anne added thirty more to the gardens when she came to the throne. London and Wise continued the work started in the previous reign, and this was augmented in 1704 by the construction of a ‘Summer Supper House’, otherwise known as The Orangery, designed by Hawksmoor and Sir John Vanbrugh. An elegant building, the interior has been described as ‘tranquil’ and a most pleasant place to sit. Built of red brick, a long row of mullioned windows allowed both glorious views and light for those within.

Kensington Palace from the south, Jan Kip, 1724

When George I ascended the throne in 1714, Nottingham House’s role as a country seat was to change forever. Under the guidance of Colin Campbell, the house was turned into a residence fit for a king. The body of the old mansion was remodelled, with the addition of three new State Rooms – the Privy Chamber, the Cupola Room and the Withdrawing Room. By 1829, the State Apartments consisted of a suite of twelve rooms. Most of the Royal Apartments were fitted up with paintings and decoration by William Kent, who also painted the King’s Staircase, reflecting various stories of the Court at that time. He represented the King’s Turkish Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, Mustafa – who was jealously regarded for his closeness to the King – Peter, the wild boy, a child and a lapdog, and even included an image of himself! The staircase is particularly grand, rising on two sides to a gallery on the third, edged with a banister of intricate, scrolled ironwork. Arched panels with rich decoration enclose the paintings and stand alongside ornate, pedimented niches containing statuary, while the ceiling is a magnificent blaze of gilding and moulding.

The Great Staircase, W.H. Pyne, 1819

The Cupola Room was where the great and not-so-good went to be seen, to further careers and seek favour with Their Majesties, and was a sumptuous chamber appointed in gold, with gilt figures and side-tables. Suspended from the glorious gold and blue ceiling, on purple ropes, were four tremendous chandeliers. Centuries later, these mysteriously disappeared, but in 2020 new ones were hand carved and gilded, to the closest representation as possible, to replace them.

The Cupola Room, W.H. Pyne, 1819

Queen Caroline’s Withdrawing Room was a light, airy apartment where she would sit to read, converse with her ladies or sew. The walls were lined with paintings in gilt frames, below which were set blue-covered stools, and the ceiling had a great, gilded oval surround to a painting featuring Mars and Minerva.

Queen Caroline's Drawing Room, W.H. Pyne, 1819

The Princesses’ Courtyard (named for the King’s granddaughters) was built and new kitchens were added. With all these alterations, the building became a large, irregular construction. Once George II became monarch in 1727, little more in the way of structural improvements were made, for He and Queen Caroline concentrated on the gardens, restricting themselves, within the house, to the reorganization of furnishings and paintings. The Queen discovered, forgotten in a bureau, a parcel of drawings by Holbein. Wise and Charles Bridgeman were brought in to create a new design for the gardens, poaching 300 acres from Hyde Park for the purpose, and so the Round Pond became a feature, as did the Broad Walk, which extended from the palace along the south side of the gardens. In the spring this was a particularly fashionable promenade, especially on Sunday mornings. At the time of these innovations the Serpentine was also formed, from several small ponds of the River Westbourne.

Kensington Palace Gardens, John Martin, 1815

Due to George III choosing to live at Buckingham House, following Queen Caroline’s death Kensington Palace was put under Holland covers and closed for four decades, much falling into disrepair, although in the 1830s the Duchess of Kent made use of the State Rooms to extend her apartments. She also divided the King’s Gallery into three rooms for Princess Victoria’s accommodation. The State Rooms were used to store furnishings and paintings during the nineteenth century and were rather neglected.

Although no monarch since George II has lived at Kensington Palace, apartments were made ready for Caroline of Brunswick, wife of George IV, in the early 1800s, and then her daughter, the Princess Charlotte. Frederick Augustus, Duke of Sussex, also made his residence here. Princess (later Queen) Victoria was born at Kensington in May 1819, and grew up beset by ‘The Kensington System’ of rules and regulations devised by her widowed mother’s secretary and adviser, Sir John Conroy, who seems to have had an eye to his own advancement and power. The young Victoria was supervised in everything she did, even to moving about within the palace, yet she did enjoy riding her donkey or driving her goat-coat around the grounds. She also drove a phaeton drawn by four ponies. However, Conroy’s attempted control over the young Princess backfired. When the Prime Minister and the Archbishop of Canterbury arrived in the middle of the night to inform her that she had become Queen, she swiftly assumed her authority and insisted upon receiving them alone – and she was dressed only in her nightclothes and a dressing gown! She then proceeded to hold her first council at Kensington on the very next day, 20 June 1837. After that, she packed her bags and moved to Buckingham Palace (so lavishly extended and redesigned by George IV), leaving her mother behind at Kensington. When the Duchess of Kent died in 1861, the Duke and Duchess of Teck moved into her apartments. Queen Mary was born there in 1867.

In 1897 Parliament was persuaded to release funds to the tune of £36,000 for the refurbishment of the palace, after which the State Apartments were opened to the public on Queen Victoria’s 80^th birthday in 1899. The gardens had been open to view since George II’s reign. In 1923, the Palace was reopened after housing the London Museum. Princess Margaret, sister of the late Queen, lived at Kensington for almost 42 years, and Diana, Princess of Wales, lived at the palace following her wedding to the then Prince Charles, on 29 July 1981, until her death in Paris on 31 August 1997. One of her favourite places was the Sunken Garden, commissioned by Edward VII in 1908; it sits in a part of the garden once the domain of hot-houses and potting sheds.

The Sunken Garden

Today the Palace is the official London residence of the Prince and Princess of Wales and their children, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, the Duke and Duchess of Kent, and Prince and Princess Michael of Kent.

© Heather King

All images are in the Public Domain.

Rambling in the Regency

 

I am delighted to be able to announce the publication, today, of the paperback version of Volume II of The Horse: An Historical Author's and Reader's Guide! Packed full of information with respect to the horse when used for travel - care, treatment, harness, the carriages and coaches he was put to, and the major coaching inns of London - this book contains everything you didn't know you needed to know!

Amazon UK         Amazon US

I do hope it proves useful and entertaining. There are a few changes from the Kindle copy, so that will be updated in due course.

All the best,

Heather

The Horse: An Historical Guide

 

FINALLY... after months and months off scurrying down endless rabbit holes and the diligent study of an extraordinary amount of research material, I can proudly reveal the publication of The Horse: An Historical Author's and Reader's Guide, Volumes II and III, which in the e-book are one volume. Two for the price of One!

Companions to The Horse: An Historical Author’s And Reader’s Guide Volume I, Volumes II and III are mainly aimed at those interested in the Georgian/Regency era, although they also cover a wider historical period. The series of volumes offer a fascinating journey through the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, being packed with information vital to the historical author and of interest to any reader with a passion for horses. Bowling along the major routes, past picturesque coaching inns, we visit racecourses and other places of pleasure whilst meeting a rogue or two along the way.

This book (two paperback volumes will be available in due course) will give the reader an insight into the way horses were treated, regarded and employed for both travel and pleasure, covering driving history and methods; harness; carriages and coaches; the arrival of the postal service; the major London inns, the main mail roads leading from the capital and the inns which sprang up along them.

I hope authors and readers everywhere will find the series not only useful but also entertaining and informative. Enjoy!

Heather

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Nutcrack Night ~ Hallowe’en In The Regency

 

I cannot believe it is a year since I last wrote a post for A Regency Reticule! Where has the time gone to? It has been a very busy year.

I thought I would look at Hallowe'en from the Regency perspective rather than the event we celebrate today.

Chiefly a northern festival, Hallowe’en, Hallow Even or Holy Eve were all alternative or colloquial terms (described by the Reverend John Platt in 1827 as ‘vulgar’) for All Hallows’ Eve, the last day of October. This was the night before All Saints’ Day, the Christian appropriation of the old Celtic feast of Samhain. This is the night when the veil between the world of the living and that of the spirit realm is at its’ thinnest, allowing the two to merge and the undead to live again.

Dating from the middle of the sixteenth century, the term All Hallow Eve was overtaken by that of Hallow-e’en or Hallowe’en in the last years of the seventeenth century, particularly in Scotland. It is not therefore surprising that Sir Walter Scott should include a spirit in one of his early works, The Monastery, published in 1820. Central to the tale is the Glendinning family, the scion of which, Halbert, is a sprightly, impetuous youth – and jealous of the apparent affection Mary of Avenel holds for his brother.

‘He arrived at length in a narrow and secluded cleuch, or deep ravine, which ran down into the valley, and contributed a scanty rivulet to the supply of the brook with which Glendearg is watered. Up this he sped with the same precipitate haste which had marked his departure from the tower, nor did he pause and look around until he had reached the fountain from which the rivulet had its rise.

Here Halbert stopt short, and cast a gloomy, and almost a frightened glance around him. A huge rock rose in front, from a cleft of which grew a wild holly-tree, whose dark green branches rustled over the spring which arose beneath. The banks on either hand rose so high, and approached each other so closely, that it was only when the sun was at its meridian height, and during the summer solstice, that its rays could reach the bottom of the chasm in which he stood. But it was now summer, and the hour was noon, so that the unwonted reflection of the sun was dancing in the pellucid fountain.

“It is the season and the hour,” said Halbert to himself; “and now I—I might soon become wiser than Edward with all his pains! Mary should see whether he alone is fit to be consulted, and to sit by her side, and hang over her as she reads, and point out every word and every letter. And she loves me better than him—I am sure she does—for she comes of noble blood, and scorns sloth and cowardice.—And do I myself not stand here slothful and cowardly as any priest of them all?—Why should I fear to call upon this form—this shape?—Already have I endured the vision, and why not again? What can it do to me, who am a man of lith and limb, and have by my side my father's sword? Does my heart beat—do my hairs bristle, at the thought of calling up a painted shadow, and how should I face a band of Southrons in flesh and blood? By the soul of the first Glendinning, I will make proof of the charm!”’

Halbert then bowed three times to the holly tree and the same to the fountain, uttering a rhyme, thus producing ‘...a figure of a female clothed in white...’

'There’ something in that ancient superstition,

Which, erring as it is, our fancy loves.

The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbles,

Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock

In secret solitude, may well be deem’d

The haunt of something purer, more refined,

And mightier than ourselves.

OLD PLAY.

‘Young Halbert Glendinning had scarcely pronounced the mystical rhymes, than, as we have mentioned in the conclusion of the last chapter, an appearance, as of a beautiful female, dressed in white, stood within two yards of him. His terror for the moment overcame his natural courage, as well as the strong resolution which he had formed, that the figure which he had now twice seen should not a third time daunt him. But it would seem there is something thrilling and abhorrent to flesh and blood, in the consciousness that we stand in presence of a being in form like to ourselves, but so different in faculties and nature, that we can neither understand its purposes, nor calculate its means of pursuing them.

Halbert stood silent and gasped for breath, his hairs erecting themselves on his head—-his mouth open—his eyes fixed, and, as the sole remaining sign of his late determined purpose, his sword pointed towards the apparition. At length with a voice of ineffable sweetness, the White Lady, for by that name we shall distinguish this being, sung, or rather chanted, the following lines:—

“Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me?

Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee?

He that seeks to deal with us must know no fear nor failing!

To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts are unavailing.

The breeze that brought me hither now, must sweep Egyptian ground,

The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is bound;

The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for my stay,

For I must sail a thousand miles before the close of day.”

The astonishment of Halbert began once more to give way to his resolution, and he gained voice enough to say, though with a faltering accent, “In the name of God, what art thou?” The answer was in melody of a different tone and measure:—

“What I am I must not show—

What I am thou couldst not know—

Something betwixt heaven and hell—

Something that neither stood nor fell—

Something that through thy wit or will

May work thee good—may work thee ill.

Neither substance quite nor shadow,

Haunting lonely moor and meadow,

Dancing; by the haunted spring,

Riding on the whirlwind’s wing;

Aping in fantastic fashion

Every change of human passion,

While o'er our frozen minds they pass,

Like shadows from the mirror’d glass.

Wayward, fickle is our mood,

Hovering betwixt bad and good,

Happier than brief-dated man,

Living twenty times his span;

Far less happy, for we have

Help nor hope beyond the grave!

Man awakes to joy or sorrow;

Ours the sleep that knows no morrow.

This is all that I can show—

This is all that thou mayest know.”

The White Lady paused, and appeared to await an answer; but, as Halbert hesitated how to frame his speech, the vision seemed gradually to fade, and became more and more incorporeal. Justly guessing this to be a symptom of her disappearance, Halbert compelled himself to say,—“Lady, when I saw you in the glen, and when you brought back the black book of Mary Avenel, thou didst say I should one day learn to read it.”

The White Lady replied,

“Ay! and I taught thee the word and the spell,

To waken me here by the Fairies' Well,

But thou hast loved the heron and hawk,

More than to seek my haunted walk;

And thou hast loved the lance and the sword,

More than good text and holy word;

And thou hast loved the deer to track,

More than the lines and the letters black;

And thou art a ranger of moss and of wood,

And scornest the nurture of gentle blood.”

“I will do so no longer, fair maiden,” said Halbert; “I desire to learn; and thou didst promise me, that when I did so desire, thou wouldst be my helper; I am no longer afraid of thy presence, and I am no longer regardless of instruction.” As he uttered these words, the figure of the White Maiden grew gradually as distinct as it had been at first; and what had well-nigh faded into an ill-defined and colourless shadow, again assumed an appearance at least of corporeal consistency, although the hues were less vivid, and the outline of the figure less distinct and defined—so at least it seemed to Halbert—than those of an ordinary inhabitant of earth. “Wilt thou grant my request,” he said, “fair Lady, and give to my keeping the holy book which Mary of Avenel has so often wept for?”

The White Lady replied:

“Thy craven fear my truth accused,

Thine idlehood my trust abused;

He that draws to harbour late,

Must sleep without, or burst the gate.

There is a star for thee which burn’d.

Its influence wanes, its course is turn’d;

Valour and constancy alone

Can bring thee back the chance that's flown.”

“If I have been a loiterer, Lady,” answered young Glendinning, “thou shalt now find me willing to press forward with double speed. Other thoughts have filled my mind, other thoughts have engaged my heart, within a brief period—and by Heaven, other occupations shall henceforward fill up my time. I have lived in this day the space of years—I came hither a boy—I will return a man—a man, such as may converse not only with his own kind, but with whatever God permits to be visible to him. I will learn the contents of that mysterious volume—I will learn why the Lady of Avenel loved it—why the priests feared, and would have stolen it—why thou didst twice recover it from their hands.—What mystery is wrapt in it?—Speak, I conjure thee!” The lady assumed an air peculiarly sad and solemn, as drooping her head, and folding her arms on her bosom, she replied:

“Within that awful volume lies

The mystery of mysteries!

Happiest they of human race,

To whom God has granted grace

To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,

To lift the latch, and force the way;

And better had they ne'er been born,

Who read, to doubt, or read to scorn.”

“Give me the volume, Lady,” said young Glendinning. “They call me idle—they call me dull—in this pursuit my industry shall not fail, nor, with God's blessing, shall my understanding. Give me the volume.” The apparition again replied:

“Many a fathom dark and deep

I have laid the book to sleep;

Ethereal fires around it glowing—

Ethereal music ever flowing—

The sacred pledge of Heav’n

All things revere.

Each in his sphere,

Save man for whom ’twas giv’n:

Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy

Things ne’er seen by mortal eye.”

Halbert Glendinning boldly reached his hand to the White Lady.

“Fearest thou to go with me?” she said, as his hand trembled at the soft and cold touch of her own—

“Fearest thou to go with me?

Still it is free to thee

A peasant to dwell:

Thou mayst drive the dull steer,

And chase the king's deer,

But never more come near

This haunted well.”

“If what thou sayest be true,” said the undaunted boy, “my destinies are higher than thine own. There shall be neither well nor wood which I dare not visit. No fear of aught, natural or supernatural, shall bar my path through my native valley.”

He had scarce uttered the words, when they both descended through the earth with a rapidity which took away Halbert's breath and every other sensation, saving that of being hurried on with the utmost velocity. At length they stopped with a shock so sudden, that the mortal journeyer through this unknown space must have been thrown down with violence, had he not been upheld by his supernatural companion.

It was more than a minute, ere, looking around him, he beheld a grotto, or natural cavern, composed of the most splendid spars and crystals, which returned in a thousand prismatic hues the light of a brilliant flame that glowed on an altar of alabaster. This altar, with its fire, formed the central point of the grotto, which was of a round form, and very high in the roof, resembling in some respects the dome of a cathedral. Corresponding to the four points of the compass, there went off four long galleries, or arcades, constructed of the same brilliant materials with the dome itself, and the termination of which was lost in darkness.

No human imagination can conceive, or words suffice to describe, the glorious radiance which, shot fiercely forth by the flame, was returned from so many hundred thousand points of reflection, afforded by the sparry pillars and their numerous angular crystals. The fire itself did not remain steady and unmoved, but rose and fell, sometimes ascending in a brilliant pyramid of condensed flame half way up the lofty expanse, and again fading into a softer and more rosy hue, and hovering, as it were, on the surface of the altar to collect its strength for another powerful exertion. There was no visible fuel by which it was fed, nor did it emit either smoke or vapour of any kind.

What was of all the most remarkable, the black volume so often mentioned lay not only unconsumed, but untouched in the slightest degree, amid this intensity of fire, which, while it seemed to be of force sufficient to melt adamant, had no effect whatever on the sacred book thus subjected to its utmost influence.

The White Lady, having paused long enough to let young Glendinning take a complete survey of what was around him, now said in her usual chant,

“Here lies the volume thou boldly hast sought;

Touch it, and take it,—’twill dearly be bought!”

Familiarized in some degree with marvels, and desperately desirous of showing the courage he had boasted, Halbert plunged his hand, without hesitation, into the flame, trusting to the rapidity of the motion, to snatch out the volume before the fire could greatly affect him. But he was much disappointed. The flame instantly caught upon his sleeve, and though he withdrew his hand immediately, yet his arm was so dreadfully scorched, that he had well-nigh screamed with pain. He suppressed the natural expression of anguish, however, and only intimated the agony which he felt by a contortion and a muttered groan. The White Lady passed her cold hand over his arm, and, ere she had finished the following metrical chant, his pain had entirely gone, and no mark of the scorching was visible:

“Rash thy deed,

Mortal weed

To immortal flames applying;

Rasher trust

Has thing of dust,

On his own weak worth relying:

Strip thee of such fences vain,

Strip, and prove thy luck, again.”

Obedient to what he understood to be the meaning of his conductress, Halbert bared his arm to the shoulder, throwing down the remains of his sleeve, which no sooner touched the floor on which he stood than it collected itself together, shrivelled itself up, and was without any visible fire reduced to light tinder, which a sudden breath of wind dispersed into empty space. The White Lady, observing the surprise of the youth, immediately repeated—

“Mortal warp and mortal woof.

Cannot brook this charmed roof;

All that mortal art hath wrought,

In our cell returns to nought.

The molten gold returns to clay,

The polish’d diamond melts away.

All is alter’d, all is flown,

Nought stands fast but truth alone.

Not for that thy quest give o'er:

Courage! prove thy chance once more.”

Imboldened by her words, Halbert Glendinning made a second effort, and, plunging his bare arm into the flame, took out the sacred volume without feeling either heat or inconvenience of any kind. Astonished, and almost terrified at his own success, he beheld the flame collect itself, and shoot up into one long and final stream, which seemed as if it would ascend to the very roof of the cavern, and then, sinking as suddenly, became totally extinguished. The deepest darkness ensued; but Halbert had no time to consider his situation, for the White Lady had already caught his hand, and they ascended to upper air with the same velocity with which they had sunk into the earth.

They stood by the fountain in the Corri-nan-shian when they emerged from the bowels of the earth; but on casting a bewildered glance around him, the youth was surprised to observe, that the shadows had fallen far to the east, and that the day was well-nigh spent. He gazed on his conductress for explanation, but her figure began to fade before his eyes—her cheeks grew paler, her features less distinct, her form became shadowy, and blended itself with the mist which was ascending the hollow ravine. What had late the symmetry of form, and the delicate, yet clear hues of feminine beauty, now resembled the flitting and pale ghost of some maiden who has died for love, as it is seen indistinctly and by moonlight, by her perjured lover.

“Stay, spirit!” said the youth, imboldened by his success in the subterranean dome, “thy kindness must not leave me, as one encumbered with a weapon he knows not how to wield. Thou must teach me the art to read, and to understand this volume; else what avails it me that I possess it?”

But the figure of the White Lady still waned before his eye, until it became an outline as pale and indistinct as that of the moon, when the winter morning is far advanced, and ere she had ended the following chant, she was entirely invisible:—

“Alas! alas!

Not ours the grace

These holy characters to trace:

Idle forms of painted air,

Not to us is given to share

The boon bestow’d on Adam's race!

With patience bide.

Heaven will provide

The fitting time, the fitting guide.”

The form was already gone, and now the voice itself had melted away in melancholy cadence, softening, as if the Being who spoke had been slowly wafted from the spot where she had commenced her melody.

It was at this moment that Halbert felt the extremity of the terror which he had hitherto so manfully suppressed. The very necessity of exertion had given him spirit to make it, and the presence of the mysterious Being, while it was a subject of fear in itself, had nevertheless given him the sense of protection being near to him. It was when he could reflect with composure on what had passed, that a cold tremor shot across his limbs, his hair bristled, and he was afraid to look around lest he should find at his elbow something more frightful than the first vision. A breeze arising suddenly, realized the beautiful and wild idea of the most imaginative of our modern bards {Footnote: Coleridge.}—

It fann’d his cheek, it raised his hair,

Like a meadow pale in spring;

It mingled strangely with his fears,

Yet it fell like a welcoming.

The youth stood silent and astonished for a few minutes. It seemed to him that the extraordinary Being he had seen, half his terror, half his protectress, was still hovering on the gale which swept past him, and that she might again make herself sensible to his organs of sight. “Speak!” he said, wildly tossing his arms, “speak yet again—be once more present, lovely vision!—thrice have I now seen thee, yet the idea of thy invisible presence around or beside me, makes my heart beat faster than if the earth yawned and gave up a demon.”

But neither sound nor appearance indicated the presence of the White Lady, and nothing preternatural beyond what he had already witnessed, was again audible or visible. Halbert, in the meanwhile, by the very exertion of again inviting the presence of this mysterious Being, had recovered his natural audacity. He looked around once more, and resumed his solitary path down the valley into whose recesses he had penetrated.’

Fairies, too, come abroad on Hallowe’en, making it a night full of charms and spells. In 1785, Robert Burns wrote his poem of that name and published it the following year. Here are just the first two stanzas:

UPON that night, when fairies light,

On Cassilis Downans dance,

Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,

On sprightly coursers prance;

Or for Colzean the route is ta’en,

Beneath the moon's pale beams;

There, up the cove, to stray an’ rove

Amang the rocks and streams

To sport that night.

Amang the bonnie winding banks,

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear,

Where Bruce ance ruled the martial ranks,

An’ shook his Carrick spear,

Some merry, friendly countra folks

Together did convene,

To burn their nits, an’ pu’ their stocks,

And haud their Hallowe’en,

Fu’ blithe that night.

Spells and magic were very much at the root of the customs and traditions of this night, which has very little to do with pumpkins, trick or treating and dressing up in scary costumes, although the Lord of Misrule does promote the last. With the exception of the Prince of Misbehaviour, these are, of course, much enjoyed by modern children of all ages but have come to us from America. On this side of the Pond, superstition, witches and warlocks, fairies and other magical spirits are the traditional components of this once pagan celebration on the last night of the year.

British customs, by which mainly Scots and Irish, may well have begun with a festival to honour Pomona, the goddess of fruits, for it was thought that this was the time when the stores of fruit kept for winter consumption were opened. Nuts were considered sacred by the Romans, echoing the belief from those pagan times.

Indeed, it was a Roman custom for a bridegroom to toss nuts about the room, whereupon the boys might scramble to gather them, intimating (as put forward by some) that the new husband intended thereafter to set aside the games and sports of boyhood. Nuts were also employed in perhaps the most ancient rite of divination performed on this night – that of prophesying a successful marital union. Two nuts, selected by the girl and her proposed match, were put into the fire. If they lay still and burned together, it was a sign of a happy marriage or a hopeful love. If they bounced and jumped apart, it was considered to be a sign of ill-omen. From this practice, and from cracking nuts with the teeth, came the rather charming appellation of ‘Nutcrack Night’. John Gay (1685-1732) described the custom quite beautifully in his poem, ‘Spell’.

‘Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame,

And to each nut I gave a sweetheart’s name,

This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz’d,

That in a flame of brightest colour blaz’d;

As blaz’d the fat, so may thy passion grow,

For t’was thy nut that did so brightly glow!’

The nutty proceedings, however, were not the first to be performed. The foremost and first act of the evening was for the younger members of the party to proceed into the garden. With eyes tightly closed, they groped to the cabbage patch, where they each pulled up a stock. These were then examined on their return to the house. The shape of each stock was said to determine the figure of the maid or youth’s future husband or wife. Thomas Pennant, in his Tour In Scotland of 1769, confirms this practice, saying: ‘The young people determine the figure and size of their husbands by drawing cabbages blindfold on All-Hallows Even...’ Then it was time to gather about the roaring fire and, with each person given a certain number of nuts, one boy and one girl put one nut into the fire, in an alternative version of the above ritual. Depending on how seriously this was taken, the outcome could cause much hilarity, happiness or horror!

Next, a barrel of water was produced containing a few apples bobbing on the surface. The young gentlemen of the company then ducked for them in the time-honoured manner, their hands behind their back while they tried to catch them with their teeth. The apples thus claimed were given to the ladies, who, according to the old superstition, then lit a candle and went alone to a room. Here, before a looking-glass, each combed her hair whilst eating the apple, in order to see the face of her future husband peeping over her shoulder.

Three dishes were then placed on a table. One contained clean water, one dirty water and one nothing at all. Blindfolded, the young gentlemen were led to the table to dip a finger in one bowl. This was repeated three times, with the bowls in different positions. If the gentleman dipped his finger in the clean water, it was a sign his future wife would be a pretty young girl; if he chose the dirty water, she would be a widow; and if fate gave him the empty bowl, he was destined to remain a bachelor.

After this came the second apple-catching tradition, one of great antiquity. From a length of thin rope or cord, a crossed stick was suspended from the ceiling or horizontal beam. At the four ends were hung, alternately, an apple and a lit candle. The cross was then set spinning, and while it was whirling, the maids and their swains tried to catch the apples with their mouths without being burned. This activity may be likened to the ancient game of Quintain. John Stow describes the sport, the province of squires and young knights in medieval England, in his Survey of London.

‘I have seen a quinten set up on Cornehill, by the Leaden Hall, where the attendants on the lords of merry disports have runne and made greate pastime; for he that hit not the broad end of the quinten was of all men laughed to scorne; and he that hit it full, if he rid not the faster, had a sound blow in his necke with a bag full of sand hanged on the other end.’

Different parts of the kingdom and, indeed, different countries, have different ceremonies and traditions. The inhabitants of St. Kilda, stated Martin Martin in 1703, observed the festival of All Saints by baking ‘a large Cake, in form of a Triangle, furrowed round,’ and that ‘it must be all eaten that Night.’ This tradition, says a correspondent in The Gentleman’s Magazine Vol. LX, Part II for 1790, had travelled to Ripon in Yorkshire, where ‘On the eve of All Saints the good women make a cake for every one in the family; so this is generally called cake-night.’ John Brand, in Popular Antiquities of Great Britain, 1813, adds, ‘There was formerly a custom in Warwickshire to have Seed Cake at Allhallows [sic], at the end of wheat seed-time...’

 It was also the tradition in Scotland to light bonfires in every village. Once the fire had been consumed, the ashes were carefully drawn into a circle, and a stone placed near the edge for every person of those families taking part. Any stone moved or damaged by the following morning indicated that person to be fey and they were then expected not to live above a twelvemonth from that day. The bonfire was lit by consecrated fire received from the Druid priests and was supposed to remain for a year.

A similar tradition was upheld in North Wales, where a fire was lit on All Hallow Even, under the name of Coel Coeth. This was done in the most conspicuous position near each house and then kept burning for about an hour during the night. Once almost out, each person flung a white stone, previously marked, into the ashes. The company then paced about the embers, saying their prayers, before retiring to bed. Early the following morning they searched for the stones, the firm belief being that should any stone be missing, the one to whom it belonged would die before All Saints’ Eve could come again. Spooky!

On the subject of foretelling the future, though, not everyone approved. John Platt, as a minister of the church clearly did not and neither, it seems, did Robert Burns.

‘“The passion of prying into futurity,” says Mr. Burns, “makes a striking part of the history of human nature, in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.”’

I wonder what they would think if they could see the ghoulish, vampiric, tricking, pumpkin-grinning and treating celebration it has become?

 

© Heather King

All images are in the public domain.

All Hallows Eve ~ Can A Flicker of Flame Ignite Love?

 

The night of All Hallows Eve approaches here in the UK, and our thoughts turn to the one night above all others when the veil between the world we know and that of the spirits is at its thinnest. This is the night when the threshold can be crossed and preternatural beings live again...

This excerpt comes from the novella, Candle of Life, part of the anthology featured on this blog. During the violent days of the English Civil War, Sabrina is a healer from a long line of wise women. She treads a narrow path in order not to be condemned as a witch.

One day, she crosses that taken by a monster and is doomed thereafter to a life against humanity... or is she?

Candle Of Life

Sabrina jerked off the straw pallet, the scream in her mind dying on her lips. She was back in the filthy tavern room, the images only memory. Shivers racked her sweat-soaked body. As she clutched the threadbare grey blanket to her, the air in the chamber seemed to move yet again and the shadows merged together. A figure materialized slowly, cautiously, from the swirling darkness in the corner of the attic chamber. It was a man – a very tall man, for he was forced to bow his head to avoid hitting the low, sloping roof.

She was too weak to scream again, but a parched, scratchy mewl grated the foetid air between them. Somehow she managed to wriggle up the prickly pallet and cower against the rough plaster wall, flakes of limewash descending unnoticed into her sweat-darkened ash-blonde hair. It was as far from him as she could get. How had he found her? Had he brought her here? Myriad questions, fearful and anguished, teemed through her mind at once.

Her fingers clutched the blanket so hard it ripped beneath her skeletal grip, the white knobbles of her knuckles gleaming like polished ivory through her dry, parchment skin.

“What do you want with me? What have you done?” she wailed. Her voice was almost lost amidst the gales buffeting the mean inn, coming wild and unfettered from the angry ocean which crashed over and over against the quay beneath the tiny window. Her throat was raw, burning each time she inhaled, the smoky air of the dreadful room catching and scraping the tender lining of her gullet.

“Be not afraid.” The man held out one hand, palm down, in a gesture intended to ease and walked forward into the pitiful light thrown by the guttering tallow candle. Sabrina noticed a plain gold ring on his middle finger. He was a big man, broad of shoulder as well as tall. His hair was jet black, reaching in thick waves past his collar; his face starkly handsome although marred with a jagged scar high on his left cheek which reached almost to the corner of his mouth. His eyes, obsidian against his swarthy skin, watched her with a gentleness she did not expect to find. Nestling in the folds of creamy lace at his throat was a large ruby, while his clothes denoted him a gentleman of substance, if not a nobleman. He wore a wine-red wool doublet, slashed at the sleeves to reveal a fine white linen shirt, and matching breeches. A pair of close-fitting leather boots encased his lower legs and feet, whilst on the back of a plain folding chair before the meagre fire reposed a heavy black cloak and hat. His voice was deep and soothing… and he was not the man she had first believed him to be.

“You’re not…” she croaked. “I thought… Why am I here? Who art thou? H-how can I be alive? He—” She broke off, closing her eyes against the flood of terrifying memories.

The stranger took the hand which had lifted from the bed and was agitatedly clawing the air. Holding it gently between both of his own, he lowered himself slowly to a rickety three-legged stool beside the bed. His clasp was cool and pleasant against her overheated skin; strangely, it eased her fear rather than increasing it. His thumb moved in tiny circles over the base of her palm.

“What I have to tell thee is going to appear the stuff of nightmares. Thou wilt think me a madman and my words inconceivable, nevertheless I beg thee to hear me out, for what I speak is the truth.”

“Where am I?” she demanded, irritated that she could manage no more than a squeak. “Are we under siege? That sound I hear, like the roar of thunder, it cannot be the ocean. This whole room shakes with it.”

“We are in a tavern by the coast. That roar is indeed the tide beating against the quay. We are right above it, which is why it seems so loud. I must apologize for the foulness of the accommodation, but it was important we should not be questioned – or disturbed.”

“I am sick. Will I infect anybody in this place?”

He shook his head, a sad smile twisting his generous mouth. Close to, hidden in his neat moustache, she could see the creases which denoted it was a mouth accustomed to smiling.

“What ails thee is not a sickness as you know it. Thy medicines and potions cannot cure it. Soon you will feel pain such as you have never known; an agony that will tear at thy insides as a hawk will tear its prey. There is only one way to prevent it.”

“You are frightening me. Am I going to die from this heinous affliction?”

“No.” He sighed as though the world were balanced upon his head, crushing him. “You have already died.”

Sabrina’s eyes all but started from her head. Clutching the blanket to her febrile and wasted body as if it could protect her from this deluded stranger, she tried to edge further away from him. Shaking her head, she attempted to remove her hand from his grasp.

“No, no, you speak words of the devil! I am seeing things which are not here. Go away, foul servant of Satan. Allow me to die in peace!”

He leaned forward and grabbed her wrists. She inhaled sharply and caught the scent of him – cloves, wine and something less easy to discern, a sweet odour akin to that of fresh rabbit meat after skinning. She realized she could also smell boiled cabbage, fish and ale as strongly as if she were in the room in which they had been consumed. The steady beats of a dozen hearts thumped inside her brain and she heard someone nearby grunting in his sleep.

In alarm, she tried to pull away from the handsome stranger, but while his grip tightened, it was gently done. She could not break free, but he was not hurting her. His eyes bored into hers, holding her gaze captive. After a moment, her panic lessened.

“My brother attacked thee and drank thy blood,” he said deliberately. “He left you for dead. I was searching for him and came upon you in your hut in the forest. I had no choice. I had to make you one of us, or leave you to die.”

“One of us?” Her voice was a husk of sound, barely even a whisper.

He looked away, his expression troubled, his jaw set. “My brother and I… are vampires. I had to bring you across to the dark side or you would be dead now.”

She stared at him in horror. “Vampire? You made me a vampire? I thought such things were stories, made up by the priests to frighten the little ones. You’ve turned me into a monster! You should have let me die!”

Her voice cracking with emotion and strain, she snatched her hands free and threw herself across the narrow bed. A spasm of excruciating agony clutched at her entrails at the same moment and she tumbled, writhing, on to the filthy floor. The stranger rushed to her side and gathering her up, laid her gently back on the bed.

“Let me ease your pain,” he said. “You need to feed.”

Clenching her jaw, she shook her head. “No. I cannot.”

Another burst of pain sliced through her abdomen. She felt as though she were being eaten alive from within. Tortured sounds not unlike those she had once heard coming from a castle dungeon issued from her mouth to fill the tiny chamber. Unknowingly, she gripped the man’s forearm, digging her nails into his flesh even through the layers of doublet and shirt. He hissed, the sibilance shockingly loud in her new sensitized condition, but did not withdraw.

“It will only get worse. You cannot deny what you are.”

“Finish it. Finish me,” she cried. “I am a healer. I cannot take life.” Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks and blotted the flour-coloured bodice of her muslin shift with dull, red-tinged spots. She eyed them with a dread bordering on hysteria. She could feel it welling up inside her with the same force the tide had amassed outside. As if he knew, the stranger stroked his thumb across her cheek, wiping the wetness away and somehow reducing her trepidation.

“You do not have to. You may feed from me until you have control. If you are careful how you do so, you may in time use your blood to heal,” he told her.

She switched her fascinated gaze from the unnerving evidence which revealed the truth of what she had become and locked it with his.

“Who are you?”

“Later.” Never taking his ebony eyes from hers, he lifted his other arm and bit into his wrist. Rich, crimson nectar flowed from the two neat punctures he had made and Sabrina’s nostrils quivered. The warm, sweet smell made the savoury aroma of the tastiest rabbit and onion stew a forgotten memory. Her mouth watered and she licked her lips. Although vaguely disgusted with herself, she took hold of the offered wrist and fastened her mouth over the wound. The sweet coppery flavour was the most glorious she had ever experienced, better even than the almond sweetmeats she had once tasted at a fair, and she drank greedily.

The stranger, whose name she still did not know, stroked her damp hair back from her brow.

“Sip gently,” he murmured. “My brother’s poisoned blood has made you like this, made you weak. If you drink too freely it will have the same effect as if you had imbibed a whole flagon of the best French wine. You must take only a small quantity at a time for a few days.”

Having overcome her revulsion, she was inclined to feast and take no notice of him. The hunger demanded that she do so, yet equally something in his quiet tone commanded her compliance, even though he had neither insisted nor removed his arm from her grasp. Slowly and reluctantly, a few moments later she lifted her head in response to his whispered:

“Enough.”

An uncharacteristic giggle bubbled to her lips as she licked away all traces of the honeyed ambrosia of his vein. She did feel oddly light-headed. The scuttling crabs came to a standstill and the fever abated… but then, as swiftly, great shudders racked her slender frame, shaking her so violently she feared she would die of a palsy.

“Help me!” she groaned. “What is wrong? You said your blood would heal me! Did you lie? Do you get some depraved joy from killing me this way?”

She clutched both hands to her stomach and bent forward as more pain washed over her. Screwing up her face, she clamped her teeth together to keep from either biting herself with her fangs or disturbing the whole inn with her screams. Warmth bloomed along the right side of her body as the straw rustled and the rope springs squeaked and dipped. The movement of the bed sent her sideways into a heavy wall of muscle.

“Hush, sweet dove, hush.” The man’s arms came around her even as his voice offered reassurance. “All will be well, I promise you. My blood is fighting the poison in your veins introduced by my brother’s bite. That is why you must not take too much.”

His palm lightly caressed her brow and continued down the side of her face to brush a tendril of her long dirty hair out of her eye and behind her ear. Part of her was deeply shocked that she could permit such an intimacy with a man she did not know – with any man. The only man ever to be this close to her had been her father, a kind, intelligent man whom she had loved dearly. Yet it felt so right to be in this stranger’s arms that she pushed from her mind all awareness of her state of undress and the fear of what was happening to her. For the first time since her mother had died, she felt safe and not alone. Whatever the future might hold, she would take this moment of tenderness and pray that he did indeed speak the truth and all would be well.

His hand continued to gently caress her locks; long, sweeping strokes which seemed to smooth away the terror, the grief and the torment. He whispered to her, his voice deep and melodic, the words in a language she did not understand. She smothered a yawn with her hand and closed her eyes…

***

Sir Jasper Mortimer gazed down at the pale blonde head cradled in the hollow of his shoulder and breathed a silent sigh of relief. She slept at last. His vampire powers were strong and he could have compelled her, but he had not wished to do so. It was enough that he had touched her thoughts to calm her and ease the pain of the conversion. It was more than enough that he had been forced to convert her in the first place. Unbidden, his mind filled with the pictures of when he had first seen her.

He had been following his brother for some weeks, altering memories, calming the hysteria caused by the cur’s ungovernable bloodlust and endeavouring to prevent the mass revolt and destruction Ralph, no doubt, had planned. Word had reached Jasper, via a network of souls loyal to the King, that his brother was headed into the Royalist strongholds of the west between Worcester, Nottingham and the Welsh Marches. He had almost caught up with him at the manor of Beckford and it was there, close on Ralph’s heels, that he had found the woman in his arms.

He had heard her screams from several miles away, having continued on in the direction of Shrewsbury, surmising that to be his brother’s likely route. By the time he had located the tiny dwelling in the vast oak forest, Ralph was once more long gone and his victim, her throat ripped, bleeding her last drops of precious lifeblood on to the crimson spattered plank floor. Red had also patterned the rough cabin walls and soaked into a russet and tan coloured rug made of strips of rag, upon which the girl had fallen.

Thinking her already dead, Jasper had cursed and turned himself to mist in order to follow more easily the man he hated above all others, but then, as he paused above the inert body, gazing with sorrow upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, he had heard the faintest throb of her heart. Returning at once to human form, his fangs lengthening simultaneously, he had not hesitated. Gently he had taken a mere drop or two of the sweetest nectar he had ever tasted, then tearing his wrist, had dribbled his own blood into her mouth… He had then carried her with the supernatural speed of his kind to this foul alehouse, the farthest he could safely take her.

He switched his black perusal from her pallid countenance to the tiny square casement in the outer wall. The wind had lessened and the noise of the ocean with it. The tide did not withdraw completely here, but the water level did fall. Beyond the coarse, filthy glass, the sky was purple streaked with grey, whilst iridescent bands of pale blue on the horizon heralded the coming of dawn. He did not need to see it; the tingling over his skin was warning enough. Sabrina – he had heard her name in her thoughts – would sleep the Dark Sleep of the newly converted now until night fell. Then he would know if he had saved her, or if he would be forced to kill her. A heavy sigh parted his lips. It would be one more iniquity to lay at the feet of his evil sibling, he thought, if Ralph, not content with murdering their father and making Jasper Vampyre, should be the cause of such a terrible circumstance. For, as he considered the sleeping maid, Jasper had a strong presentiment that he had already fallen in love with her. If she did not survive the conversion, he made himself an oath he would spend the rest of eternity hunting his brother down, thence to end his existence in the most excruciating manner possible.

Easing himself carefully out from beneath her, he collected his thick cloak from the chair by the dying fire, with a wave of his hand rekindled the embers into a blaze of red and gold flames and crossed to the window. With a grimace he covered the glassed aperture, checked the door was locked and having, for good measure, barred it with a solid chest, returned to the bed. He removed his doublet, folded it and placed it on the stool, then pulled off his boots, setting them neatly on the floor beside it. Sliding back in beside Sabrina, he drew her once more into his arms and pulling the blanket, which smelled unpleasantly of stale bodily fluids, over both of them, prepared to accept his own unholy slumber.

He had taken a big risk, billeting them in a public hostelry, but he had had little choice. Sabrina had been too weak to be transported far, even by preternatural methods, and he had needed to get her as far from his brother’s likely vicinity as possible. If Ralph even suspected Jasper’s involvement before Sabrina had recovered, then her very soul would be at risk. Having taken almost all her blood, Ralph would be able to turn her into the very monster she feared she had become, simply by controlling her thoughts. Jasper needed time to teach her how to defend herself.

Unaccustomed emotion flooded his being and lodged in the back of his throat. Without quite understanding the compulsion he felt, he lifted her lifeless hand and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss in the centre of her still-moist palm.

 “I know not why this has happened now, with you, when I have known many a maid in my lifetime,” he whispered, “but I swear to you I shall use all my power to keep you from harm.”

Praying to a God he was not sure existed and whom he no longer believed in, he held their entwined fingers against his chest. Please, God, if you hear me, let this have worked.

No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the expressed permission of the author.

© Heather King

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