The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (45 page)

The tears began again to fall down Analee’s cheeks and she quickly finished her toilet and, yet again, started to collect her few things together.

The Allonbys, early risers, were already at breakfast as Nelly and Analee descended the stairs. Mary looked at the bundle and the expression on Analee’s face and jumped up.

‘Oh, you are not going?’

‘Yes, the snow has cleared. You have been so kind to us Mary, dear Mary, more kind than I can ever say or forget. You have helped me more than you know ...’

Mary looked for a long time into the clear eyes of Analee, trying to fathom there the mystery of a woman who intrigued her more the more she knew about her. Was it not strange that Analee had lost a baby and Aunt Susan had found one? But the baby was fair, not dark, not a gypsy baby, not like Analee at all. Analee had seemed so persistent in talking about little Morella, in wanting to know everything about her. Maybe, Mary decided, to comfort her for the loss of her own.

‘Are you sure, Analee? You are welcome here. Betty will miss Nelly in the kitchen, and I talking to you. We are like sisters.’

‘I think we shall meet again,’ Analee said gravely. ‘How or when I know not, but in my bones I feel it.’

They both looked up sharply at the clatter of hooves descending the hill towards the house. There were two men and Nelly ran to the window.

‘Oh, Analee, ‘tis McNeath. McNeath with William. Oh, he must bring word ...’

Nelly flew to the door followed by the others. In the courtyard McNeath had descended from his horse which stood snorting and steaming after a rough ride. McNeath’s face was red and he was panting hard.

‘Ah ... Analee. William and I have ridden all night. ‘Tis his lordship. He is dying and he would see you before he breathes his last. Pray go to him I beg you!’

McNeath who loved his master almost fell on his knees, his face creased in supplication. Analee’s hand flew to her heart and for a moment she thought she would swoon. The world seemed to turn upside down, so that the earth was over her head, the sky under her feet. She leaned against the doorway.

‘Dying?’

‘Aye, badly wounded in battle. We brought him home, but he has not rallied. His days are numbered. He asks for you all the time. William brought word of your whereabouts, but we have not dared tell the master you refused to return. Oh, Analee, you must come home, even to see him breathe his last.’

Analee thought of the mighty, powerful Falcon lying on his deathbed. They had shared so much pleasure, such rapture. But more than that she could not forget him. His presence haunted her mind and his image seemed constantly to hover before her. Now she had no doubt what she must do.

‘I will come,’ she said quietly and turned to Nelly whose face was alight with joy at seeing her beloved again.

‘Nelly? You get up with McNeath. I’ll go behind William.’ Analee paused and gazed solemnly at McNeath. ‘McNeath, this is not a trick to lure me back. You are sure?’

‘Oh, Madam, would it were,’ the soldier said brokenly. ‘Even as we talk my master may be dead.’

***

The room was very quiet, the curtains half drawn to keep the light out of his eyes. Only his heavy uneven breathing disturbed the silence.  His face was ashen and covered with sweat, his great beaked nose and closed eyes already resembled a mask of death.

Analee stood by his side and gazed at him. They had ridden all day and she still wore her cloak, her face grimy with dust. They had not even paused to eat, negotiating the narrow tracks with an ease born of desperation.  Lord Falconer was considered to have very little time to live. The servants already crept about as in a house of death.

Analee placed a cool hand on his brow. She closed her eyes and willed him to live; that the life force should pass through her own vibrant body into his. She pressed her hand on his forehead and murmured the only gypsy blessing she knew. If ever she had
cohani
powers she used them now, summoned every force in her being to invoke the spirits of her Romany ancestors.

But the Falcon did not stir. She drew her hand away and saw her palm was covered with the moisture from his brow. Analee knelt by the side of the bed and took between hers the hand that had already been placed crosswise on his breast, in an attitude of resignation to death. She leaned over and kissed his cheek letting her lips brush over his, sending the message of life and vitality.

‘Do not die, my lord,’ she whispered. ‘There are so many good things yet to do.’

Suddenly his eyelids flickered and those standing near gasped. Then they saw his pain-wracked eyes gazing at Analee. He looked at her face for a long time and slowly she saw the colour beginning to creep back to his ashen cheeks.

She smiled.

‘Am I in heaven?’ he whispered.

‘Not yet, my lord. I think they would not have you there.’ Analee pressed his hands and put her lips to his cheek.

 ‘Is it real? Is it
you,
Analee?’

‘They have brought you home and I have come to you. You are going to get better. I have willed it.’

‘You
are
a
witch,’ the Falcon murmured weakly. But there was a trace of a smile on his lips as he closed his eyes again and fell into a peaceful, more natural sleep.

There were those who had witnessed the miracle they said Analee had performed on the dying nobleman, and went in awe of her from that day. That she had supernatural powers very few doubted. For the Marquess began to recover and from then on Analee never left his side. At night she slept by his bed on the floor. Nelly brought her fresh clothes and she and McNeath supervised the serving of the food, the broths and coddled eggs needed to restore his lordship to health.

He spoke little. In the days that followed Analee’s return he could hardly speak at all. But when his eyes were opened they gazed at her, and always when he closed them he smiled as though he were dreaming of her.

The doctors thought it was a miracle, they had given his lordship only hours to live. His wounds were not only severe, but infected with pus. Now even the wounds were beginning to heal. The gypsy woman would go herself into the grounds and, even in the depths of winter, return with herbs and plants which she mixed with her own blood, urine and spittle to lay on his wounds. These she refreshed herself every day. The doctors were horrified by the evidence of this sorcery. She was certainly a witch, otherwise the Marquess of Falconer would be dead.

Analee knew that the powers had flowed from her to her lord. It had felt almost as though her own life was draining away and passing to him. One day they were alone together and, in weariness, she stretched on the bed beside him. She could feel his regular breathing beside her, the pulse growing stronger every day, the healthy complexion returning to his face.

She awoke to feel a hand caressing her and as she turned saw that Lord Falconer’s eyes were wide open and gazing at her.

‘I think you are recovering fast, my lord.’

The Falcon said nothing but turned her towards him and she laid her head on his breast, listening to the quick healthy pounding of his heart, knowing that his blood still flowed strongly and well.

Analee had restored the Falcon to life.

A week later Lord Falconer was able to sit up in bed, resting against cushions piled high behind him. Analee now slept by his side every night because he would not be parted from her; but she got up before he woke and made sure his food was ready to be served. Then when he had eaten she washed him all over with perfumed soap, drying him and rubbing oils of fresh pine, lavender and herbs into his skin. She then put on him a clean fresh nightshirt and combed his long black hair back from his head, noting the new found vigour in his fine eyes, the healthy flush of his skin. He had lost a lot of weight, but he had always taken such care of his body that his illness appeared to have done him no lasting harm. He was wiry like a young man. His thin face still handsome with the long aquiline nose and the thick brows, the clean shaven cheeks and the ruthless mouth, whose harsh lines were softened by Analee’s presence and, more often than not, curled up in amusement at something she had said or done.

For Analee was not only a lover but a companion to him. She entertained him and amused him. Her character delighted him and he made her go over and over again the story of her life, the myths and legends of Romany love. He found her knowledgeable, even profound, and they would discuss life and its deeper meanings, of which both felt they had recently acquired harsh knowledge.

Analee sat by his bedside all day talking or watching him as he slept, for he had still to regain his strength. As he sat there on this day, propped up, the Marquess looked at the woman who daily became more precious to him.

‘Analee, do you not get bored here with me all day?’

‘Bored, my lord? I?’

‘Can you not read?’

‘No sir. I was never taught.’

The Marquess laughed and told her to fetch him a travel book from the case by the side of his bed. She snuggled up beside him and he carefully turned over the thick pages, slowly enunciating the words and getting her to repeat them after him.

The printed word was meaningless to Analee but she stared at the pages as he turned them, obediently repeating after him what he said.

‘You must be able to read to be a fine lady,’ her lover said kissing her ear.

‘I? A fine lady?’

‘You cannot leave me now, Analee.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Say, “my love”.’

‘My love.’ She looked at him:

‘Do you mean it?’

‘Of course I mean it.’

‘I know about your baby, Analee. I have known a long time. When I am well I will help you to find her; but I never want you to leave me. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘My love.’

‘My love.’

‘Angus. Say “Angus”.’

‘Angus.’

‘There.’

‘Angus.’ Analee reached out a finger and stroked his chin. ‘I know my baby is well and cared for. Do not ask me how but I do. She is happy where she is.  Better off.  I am content.’

Lord Falconer kissed her hand.

‘When I was so ill near death I dreamt I saw you, and your belly was swollen with my child. I wanted you to have my child Analee, I wish it so strongly ...’

‘But sir ... Angus.’

‘I thought a lot about my life and as I have struggled to stay alive I have come to realize how frail we mortals are. I am thirty-six. I have no progeny that I know of though I have loved many women. Nothing to leave, to carry my name. You have become much more than a love to me. I want you to have my children. Do you wish it, too, Analee?’

 Analee looked at him gravely.

‘Now I wish anything that you wish, my lord, Angus. Once it was not so. I thought I was a gypsy, a vagabond; my life was in the wilds. But now in these past weeks seeing you near death, helping you to recover, I have felt otherwise. I know that for as long as you wish it, I belong to you. If you wish it I am content to do as you say, be your mistress, bear your children. I ...’

There was a knock on the door whereupon Analee jumped up from the bed. Both Mrs Ardoine and Nelly had bundles in their arms and, at the direction of his lordship, who was clearly expecting them, laid on the bed dresses of lavish silks and brocades and undergarments, hoops, petticoats, bodices, and stomachers.

His lordship was looking at the array with satisfaction; Analee with amazement and alarm.

‘There, my love. I cannot have you as my mistress without fine clothes. See, Mrs Ardoine and Nelly have been to Carlisle to purchase the best they can. In time the finest dressmakers will be called to serve you. Take no notice of me. Mrs Ardoine and Nelly will assist you to dress.’

‘May I not pull the curtain my lord?’ Analee said with unaccustomed modesty.

‘Well, if you insist!’ His lordship smiled and took up the book he had been reading with Analee. Then she drew the heavy curtain across his bed, and allowed Nelly to help her out of the simple gypsy bodice and skirt which was all she had ever worn.

Nelly was having a fit of giggles as she held up one undergarment after the other.

‘Mrs Ardoine, leave us please,’ Analee said noticing the curious, prurient gaze of the older woman as she stood naked. She had never like the housekeeper, but since the attempt to whip her she loathed her. Moreover she knew she was jealous of her position with Lord Falconer.

‘But ...’

‘Do as I say.’

Mrs Ardoine cast a glance at her master’s bed, futilely hoping for his intervention. Then with a tilt of her chin she left the room, slamming the door behind her. Analee smiled.

‘I think I will soon show her who is mistress here.’

Nelly produced a cage-like structure made of whalebone which narrowed at the waist and had laces at the back. ‘This is the corset ...’

‘But I
cannot
wear it ...’

‘It will pull your waist in and accentuate the fullness of your breasts,’ his lordship said, peeping again. ‘My dear Analee, it does me so much good to see you in such finery ...’

‘I cannot wear that!’

But Nelly was already putting her arms through it and pulling hard at the laces.

‘Now the hoop,’ said his lordship, throwing the curtain right back and settling down to enjoy himself. ‘I can see you two women are unfamiliar with such garments.’

‘And I see you are only
too
familiar,’ Analee retorted glancing at him over her shoulder. ‘Ouch, not too tight, Nell.’

The hoop was made of buckram, distended by hoops of whalebone and tied at the waist by running strings, upon which Nelly firmly tugged, following his lordship’s instructions.

‘Now the petticoat,’ ordered his lordship.

Analee gasped as the most beautiful garment of white quilted satin was pulled over her head settling on the hoop, so that it was carried out horizontally from the waist and then hung vertically all round. Nelly was already struggling with an open robe of heavy blue silk damask embroidered with flowers.

‘First the stomacher,’ instructed the Falcon putting away his book and the pretence of reading. This was made of dark blue ribbon and silver lace with a décolleté neckline edged with lace flounces. Already Analee could see the transformation in the mirror, how slender her waist had grown and how full her bust. Everything fitted so beautifully.  She exclaimed as Nelly put over her head the damask robe which opened down the front to reveal the fold of the stiff white petticoat and the beribboned stomacher.  It had graceful winged cuffs also edged with lace and stood out at either side.