The Soldier’s Maiden

T.E. Hodden

“I want it to be beautiful.” Lady Felten said.

She was marching ahead of me through the hop fields. She was tall, and lithe. Her cascade of hair was so fair it was almost silver. Her eyes were sapphires. She did not dress like a Lady, that first time I saw her. She was not adrift in a sea of skirts, her hair sculpted, and her face painted. She was dressed in riding boots, tawny trousers, and her fathers old coat.

“Do you think that possible?” She asked, looking back.

“I intend for it to be very beautiful.” Baker said. He was burly, and stocky, wild white hair escaping from his tricorn hat. Since he had found his fortune, he had taken to dressing in rich blacks and very dark reds. The cream scarf pinned around his throat was decorated with amber coloured stitching. “The reason it has taken so many years to complete, is because I wanted to do justice to your father’s desires. To make it beautiful, and haunting, so that it will never be forgotten?”

She did not seem convinced.

“Romance and Tragedy,” I offered. “Your father was very clear.”

“Tragedy?” Lady Felten stopped walking. “Oh no. No… Romance, yes, but tragedy? No.”

“Your father was very specific.” Baker said, his cheeks flushing a very particular red, and his tone adopting a particular note of plum, as he threatened to bluster. I kicked his heel. He scowled at me. “The Tragedy Of  The Soldier’s Maiden was to be the masterpiece that his Troupe would be remembered for. The Jewel in his Crown, and his…”

“Baker.” I said.

He swallowed back his bluster. “Of course, the house of Lady Felten has been visited by too much tragedy this year. Of course, if My Lady would  rather we staged a comedy for her delight?”

“No.” Lady Felten sighed. “Why is it actors always want to turn love to a joke, or a tragedy? Why can you not simply offer me a story of love. Truest, sweetest, kindest, and most beautiful love?”

“If you wish me to write a new play, I will have to beg more time.” Baker may have tactfully avoided mentioning money, but his tone did its best to hint at the money it would require.

“No.” Fleten shook her head. “I have read some of what you left for my father to approve. I like the Soldier’s Maiden. I would rather it was the Romance of the Soldier’s Maiden, than her tragedy. How long would you need to complete the play, with a final act that is not some tawdry bloodbath?”

“Tawdry.” Baker seethed.

“A happy ending. Not a comedy. Not a death. Something more… Perfect.” Lady Felten said.

Baker considered. He nodded. “I believe it can be done.”

“You will winter on the estate.” Lady Felten said. “Complete the play.  Stage it for me. Bring a little hope, a little sunlight and warmth back to this house.”

“My Lady.” Baker stooped into a bow. “I would be honoured.”

I felt the eyes of the lady on me. I followed Baker into a bow.

“I shall visit you in a few days. To see what you have come up with.” She said.

Baker glanced at me. He tried very hard not to look worried.

“A few days? Ma’am?” I said.

“Well, I would not expect you to have completed the script. I would just like to know if you have the story in hand. A plan.” Lady Felten nodded. “An artist has a plan. An architect. A gardener. You will of course have one. How else would you know the roles, or the props, to be filled?”

Baker was swallowing back his bluster.

“And you will want to hear a story of love?” I said.

“Yes.” She looked at me. “Actors are capable of love? You do not all believe that every fair maiden should be stabbed, poisoned, or die of heart sickness?”

“Our life does not make it easy, but… It has been known.” I said.

She smiled. “Are you sure? Mister David’s reputation suggests it is… something of a skill to him.”

Her smile was bright, and her cheeks rosy. She had that distant look that many women had when they spoke of the wolfish, Scott.

“Perhaps, but I doubt if it is the particular form of Romance you intend.” I said. “I think the Romance you described is considerably rarer. As rare for actors as for anybody else.”

Lady Felten nodded. “Very true Fawn. Very true! Master Baker, I am heartened you understand.”

Baker smiled. “We do Ma’am. And I will endeavour to capture that very essence, for our play. The rarest, and most beautiful of treasures. The truest of loves.”

Lady Felten grinned broadly, happy with our understanding.

The troupe gathered in the Hearth Hall of the house. It was as large as a church, with beams high overhead, supporting the arched roof. The floor was solid stone, the walls sturdy brick. The room was more than large enough to be haunted by echoes. There was the hearth, that gave the hall it’s name, at one end. The golden flames drove back the chill of the morning, so the frost did not stray past the tall, narrow, windows.

“We are to stage the Romance of the Soldier’s Maiden.” Baker said, with gusto.

“The Romance?” Tam David was thin and gangly. He was just past thirty, with razor sharp features, jet black hair, and eyes that could open legs from a hundred paces. His accent lingered in Edinburgh most often, but would stray around the Highlands when his passions were raised. He wore a simple shirt, and loose trousers under his quilted coat. “The Romance of the Soldier’s Maiden?”

“Yes.” Baker said, his jowls reddening. “Our patron has asked we amend the script.”

“You mean write a script?” Mathews was the Girl. The youngest of the actors. His rubbery face was not handsome, but with the right care could become beautiful. His elfin build leaned naturally towards the feminine. He gave a self assured smile.

“We have a script.” I said. “The same script. Same characters. Same roles. The script is two thirds done. Instead of the final act that Lord Lady Felten wanted, his grand and heartbreaking tragedy, we just need to write the new ending.

“We do?” That was Billy. He was only fifty, but could carry himself in a way that made him look wizened and frail. He was a natural at kings, lords, and men of noble virtue.

“A happy ending?” Patch said. He was short, and somewhat ramshackle. His bob of hair crowned a craggy and expressive face, whose eyes twinkled with child like mischief. He smiled. “So, all she wants is a happy ending?”

“All she wants…” Paul was square jawed, and square shouldered, with long locks of chestnut hair, and a trimmed beard. He spoke with a soft, poetic, Northern accent. “All she wants, is love and happiness, ever after?”

“All she wants is something that encapsulates the finest, truest, and most beautiful, love.” Baker said.

“Oh?” John was often our narrator. He was a hawkish man, who carried himself like a dandy, and spoke like a crier. “Is that all? So… How will it end?”

Baker gave a wry smile. “With a tragedy.”

“She does not want a tragedy.” I said.

Baker swatted me around the back of the head.

“She said…”

“She said she wanted something beautiful? Something that captures the truest essence of love?” Baker walked to the middle of the hall. He turned to look at me. “And that is what I will give her.”

“You will break her heart.” I said, nursing the new lump on my crown.

“And?” Baker planted his feet, and spread his shoulders. “That is the nature of love Tawny. That is how we know love is true. When it endures beyond our last breath. When it stings our tears. Dear God, why do you think we tell of love through tragedy? We know love by loss. We know love by…”

He paused and stared at the back of the room.

“Do not mind me.” The young woman who stood in the doorway was hearty and hardy. Her eyes were the colour of a restless sea, but as bright and warm as summer. She wore autumnal skirts and a warm shawl. Her hair was tied back into a knot. “Please. Go on.”

“Ah.” Baker coughed. “My Lady, if you please, your father had an understanding with us…”

“He did.” She nodded. “But my sister said I was welcome to watch you.”

The young woman was Grace Felten, the second of the Lord’s three daughters. I stepped forwards, and spoke before Baker could.

“Of course. We are at the service of our patron.” I set one of the chairs by the hearth, and flicked a blanket over it. “Please?”

She nodded, and sat demurely down. She looked at Baker and waved for him to continue.

“We know love by…” She prompted.

“My gracious lady.” Baker seemed to remember who had their fingers on the purse string. “We are honoured by your interest. Humbled by your presence.” He waved his hands. “So… Our story. The Romance of the Soldier’s Maiden. Imagine, if you would, my lady, that this hall is a field on some distant shore, blanketed in snow, and moonlight. Above us,” he craned his head, “a field of perfect stars, stretching into eternity.”

I set the blanket over Grace and ensured she was comfortable. She gave me a hint of a thankful nod. I took the other blanket and draped it over Mathews, like a riding cloak. He gave a feminine giggle as he fluttered his eyes, and his manners suddenly became shy and ethereal.

“Our Maiden. Lola. A fair and comely lass, of a once great family falling on hard times. She feels with her fortunes waning love will pass her by,” Baker said. As he spoke Mathews danced around, losing himself in his role. David stepped forwards, and placed his hands on Mathews’ side. They stepped into a dance together. “Until, she happens upon Jacob, a soldier. A brave young officer. To her eyes he is dashing and charming. They can not help but to feel the bonds of love starting to form.”

Mathews and David drew close, in their dance, their lips about to touch, when David suddenly stepped away. His back straightened as he marched away. Mathews followed for a step, before slumping into sadness.

“Only for duty to call him away.” Baker said. “Leaving her alone, and adrift for months.”

I took two props from the chest. A feathered hat, and a crown. The feathered hat I placed on Billy, the crown I placed upon Patch.

“Lola’s father,” I said, touching Billy, “Halberd, is making a deal with the Count Croesan. He intends for his daughter to travel to the court of the Count, as his guest, with an eye for matching the daughter with the Count’s son and heir. Hawk.”

Paul stood and bowed. He stepped close to Mathews, and they began to dance.

“Hawk is blunt in manners, and sharp in tongue. His duties weigh heavily on his shoulders. But, beneath the mask he must wear in his duties, is a simple man, of an honest heart. He is not used to love, or tenderness, he does not know how to show Lola what he feels. To let it through his starched uniform.” Baker waved a hand. “And his closest friend and ally?”

David stepped back into view.

“So, the woman is torn?” Grace said. “Between the woman she wants, and the woman she is to marry?”

“No,” I said. “She is torn between the man who made her heart beat faster, and the man who makes her heart ache. Both are worthy, both are kind, and good. But the question is not if one is heroic and the other a villain. It is, if love is the instant spark, the bolt of lightning that steals our breath. Or if it something that grows slowly, as we come to know each other. If it is a tidal wave that sweeps us away. Or a tide that raises us slowly, as we float upon it.”

“And how does Lola intend to answer this question?” Grace leaned forwards to rest her chin on her fingers.

“With his help,” Baker said, pointing at me.

“And you are?” Grace raised an eyebrow.

“Pertwee. Halberd’s clerk, and Lola’s oldest friend. Her only confidant,” I said. “I can see that my Lady Lola is torn. I do not approve of her game, but as she is expected to court Hawk, I distract him. I make excuses and alibis as she finds moments to be with Jacob. He keeps Jacob at arm’s length when she spends time alone with Hawk.”

“Her game of deceit and lies is justified, because of course it is her only way to be with her one true love.” David said. He held out his hands. “But alas, we are discovered.”

“Lola realises too late the true danger of her folly.” Mathews says. “Hawk is a good man, but she has broken his heart, with false hope. He will cling to any hope of happiness, even if it means false hope. He would face Dav- I mean Jacob, in a duel.”

“He does not know seduction, or poetry, but he has come to know love.” whispered Paul. “But he knows justice, and he knows war. He is learning jealousy.”

Paul and David circled each other. They began to duel with imagined swords.

“No!” Mathews threw himself between the two, and let out a deathly cry. He dropped to his knees.

“No!” David crouched, with Mathews in his arms. “As she dies in my arms, as she stares into my eyes… As she tries to form the words we have longed to tell each other…”

“It is only then I learn true love,” Paul said. “Only then I see what it is I could never compete with. Only then… I know what was not mine to lose.”

“Only then I know I wasted such love on games and chases.” David bowed his head. “Oh sweet princess, sleep forever and dream of me.”

“Is that not beautiful?” Baker spoke in a hushed tone.

“No,” said Grace, folding her arms. “It is torture of the heart.”

“It is tragedy.” Baker sounded exasperated.

“It is tragic.” Grace snorted.

“And what would you know?” Baker roared the words.

“What she is willing to pay for.” I whispered, with as much sorrow as I could invest.

“Ah,” Baker said. “And what would you suggest.”

Grace stood, brushed the creases from her skirts, and walked onto the stage. She grabbed Mathews by the arm and hoisted him up. He flushed at the lingering look she tried to give him, as her hand lingered on his arm. He gave her a friendly nod, and stepped away, as she took on the role of Lola.

He stepped clear of the stage and gave me a smile.

“She doesn’t want me to die,” Mathews said, brightly. “I might get a long lingering kiss as the curtain falls.”

“Oh?” I smiled.

He looked between Paul and David. “I can think of worse fates.”

“No…” I said. “ Lola will kiss either Hawk or Jacob. Passions fade, when you have made the same kiss a thousand times, and you can feel the audience on you.”

“And it is worth it for the one kiss when I can only His eyes. When the world slows around you, and fades into the shadows.” Mathews chewed his lips. “Don’t you think?”

I shrugged. I could not tell if he spoke from experience (and he must have experienced quite some kisses), or if he was describing the dream he had woven from poems and songs. I did not want to steal his smile away, so I said:

“Which one?”

Mischief infused his grin. “I shall let the muses decide.”

Ah. Love can be trouble for an actor. It can blur lines, and make it difficult to tell where the role ends, and your heart begins. It can bring Heaven to your sonnets, or it can make you feel a Hell of despair. It can taint your words and cloud your eyes.

An actor who believes he is fallen in love twice over, brings a new trouble for every breath he draws.

“Well?” Baker huffed out his cheeks.

“Well…” Grace paced around the stage. “We begin with the girl. Lola. She is of course exactly as you explained. Innocent and kind, fallen on hard times. Of course, when she meets a wolf of an officer she is going to fall for his allure.”

Dave swept Grace into their dance. His eyes locked with hers, his fingers on her cheek. He looked at her the way a cat would look at a mouse. Making promises with his smile.

“And, she will think it is love.” Grace said. “She will think his desire, his passion, and his allure, are love. Because she has never been romanced before. She has never opened her heart, and she knows nothing of the sport. Of the thrill of the chase, and the fleeting thrills. She is so desperate to find her chance, that she grabs the first hope she finds, thinking it is her only hope.”

“But when duty calls…” David stepped away. “Jacob looks back on her with fond memories, but nothing more. There will be other sport.”

“And her wise father,” said Billy, placing a comforting hand on Grace’s shoulder, “Tries to offer her heart direction. Towards hope. He has heard whispers that she caught the eye of a man she did not even see in the crowd. A smile she was blind to, while lost in the eyes of another.” He gestured for Paul, and placed Paul’s hand upon Grace’s. “He sends his daughter to the court of the Count, and hopes her eyes will open.”

Grace closed her eyes, drew a long slow breath. She glanced at me, a second.

I stepped onto the stage.

“But when she reaches court, she sees her first love,” said Grace.

David walked past her. A look. A touch of his fingers to hers. For a moment she was lost. She did not see the way David aimed his smile past her. To Mathews.

“He sees his sport.” David said. “And why should fond memories end?”

“She has her friend and confidant arrange for meetings with Jacob.” I said, as David took her hands. “And she longs.”

“But she learns the difference between her infatuation and real love.” Grace nodded. “She spends time with Hawk, and starts to see past his stiff and regimented duty, to the good man beneath. As she spends time with him in court, even as she plans to have the next kiss stolen from her by Jacob, she begins to doubt, and to question…”

Paul stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

“And he… He learns to open himself to her. To love. But… When he discovers her infatuation, he will be a gentle and noble man. He will have no choice, but to stand aside, to let her be happy.” Paul bowed his head. “If his love is true.”

“And how could she have any doubt?” Grace grinned. “If he will sacrifice all his happiness for her, how can she doubt?”

“And where is our final act?” Baker raised an eyebrow.

“Come man. Do you really think Hawk would just give up?” Billy huffed at the idea. “He has a hold on Lola. If she tried to break away, then their secret moments will no longer be secret. There will be scandal. There will be gossip. There will be-”

“A duel!” Grace clapped her hands. She hurried to David and shoved him towards Paul. “He knows Hawk will give up her hand, but he has not yet won her heart. Jealous rage fills him, and he orders a duel with Hawk. A duel that Grace will feel bound by. When he slays Hawk, she will find comfort nowhere else. She will fall into his arms.”

“Or so he thinks.” I add.

David smiled at Paul. They began their duel.

“And thus, Jacob is defeated, and Hawk has proven his love. Our heroine realises that true love is not found in an instant, or in a skip of the heart. It grows slowly and builds over time. It is the heart that begins to beat in time with your own.” Grace said.

David let out a mournful cry and fell to the floor, clutching a red kerchief to his heart, in imitation of flowing blood. Paul stepped over him, to lay a chaste kiss upon Grace’s fingers.

“And this will please your sister?” Baker said.

Grace paused. She frowned. She shook her head.

“Then what?” Baker growled.

“True love is found in a single heartbeat.” John said.

The company fell to silence and looked at him.

“My Petal and I knew love in an instant. I still remember the first time I saw her smile at me, when I fourteen. I remember knowing then, that one day I would marry her.” John shrugged. “I think I knew then I would be with her to her last breath, and one day, I would be an old man, on my own, loving her still.”

Grace smiled.

“It took me three years to win her hand. But one instant, one second, one beat of my heart, to know.” John gently ushered Grace away, and waved for Mathews. Mathews slipped easily into his role as Fair Lola. “If our heroine is to know true love it is because one moment is all it takes.”

David held Mathews in his predator stare. He moved to place his hand on Mathews, to begin their dance, but Mathews stepped teasingly away. He placed a hand on David’s chest, exploring the muscles with a stray finger, before shoving David away.

David stepped up to Mathews and grabbed his hands. Mathews played at trying to escape, but only enough for the determined, hungry, look, to etch itself over David’s face. Then as David loomed over him, the struggles subsided. Mathews submitted to the kiss. His struggles becoming those to hold David closer.

“Their passions burn bright, but when his duty calls Jacob away, they have so much still unsaid. Her heart is not broken. It is simply incomplete without him.” John turned to Patch and Billy. “But a deal is struck. Halberd and the Count arrange for her to meet Hawk. She believes her hope of the purest love is lost, so she seeks what comfort, or joy, she can find, with a good man who cares for her.”

“Why?” Grace slumped into her chair. “Why has she given up on her love so easily?”

“Jacob is a soldier. His duty is war.” I said. “She thought he was lost.”

John nodded. “But she does not give up hope completely. She sends her friend to find him. To lay a single rose on his grave, wherever it may be. In the mean time she is in court…”

“Learning that Hawk is no villain. She does not love him, but he cares for her.” Paul took Mathews in a protective embrace. Standing behind him, and caressing his fingers. “She may not have that same instant love, but I think, perhaps, she can recognise his heart is true. They are friends, and he hopes for more.”

“She questions if she may indeed be allowed happiness.” Mathews said. “Love, but not the kind one falls in. Love, but not lovers. Kindred spirits and kindness.”

David stepped close to Mathews, his predatory nature smouldering through his flesh.

“When she sees her first love, she is torn.” John said. “She can not deny that every fibre of her body aches for Jacob. But she has felt the pain of loss. She has felt the flame of hope being snuffed from her heart. She may not long for Hawk, but she can not bring herself to cause such pain, in one who has tried to show her kindness.”

“Then how can she have her happy ending?” Grace whispered.

“Tragedy breeds love.” Patch said. “I, the Count, learn that my future daughter in law may be falling for another. I will not see my son betrayed.” He lay a hand on my shoulder. “I have my agents bring me the man who has been messenger for the lovers, Jacob and Lola, and I draw the truth from him. Threats to his flesh will not sway him, but threats to his beloved Lola crack open his lips. I declare a duel.”

“En Garde!” Paul cried, launching into a duel. He and David danced with imaginary swords, lunging and parrying.

“No!” Mathews threw herself between them, and placed his hands on David’s chest. “No. I would rather live a life with half a heart, than see my truest love die.” He turned to Paul, and took his hands. “End this now. I will be yours. And I hope… If I can not know true love, perhaps one day his heart will beat in time with another.”

“Oh my darling.” Paul sighed. “How can I claim to love you, if I would ever deny you this happiness? Your heart is his, and his alone.”

“You will be happy for us?” Mathews whispered the words, sadness and joy mixed in every syllable.

“I love you Lola.” Paul cupped Mathews’ chin, and guided him to a lingering kiss. “But that love is worth nothing if it darkens your heart, or denies you your own love. It will be my honour to defend the honour of yourself, and your husband to be.”

Mathews looked at David. Slowly, carefully, he entwined in an embrace. David no longer smouldered with desire. He held Mathews close, and looked awed. He stared to the Heavens.

“My heart will be yours, as long as the sun and the moon watch from the skies. As long as the stars burn, and the spheres turn.” David whispered.

Their kiss seemed to stretch on and on, refusing to break.

“Would this make My Lady happy?” Baker said.

“I do not know.” Grace shook her head. “It leaves a good man wounded and pained.”

“But it is the truest of loves.” John said.

“Aye.” Patch said. “No tragedy. No comedy. But some of both.”

I knew it would make Felten happy. Of course it would. She would smile, and clap, and imagine the futures for each of the characters, that would spread far beyond a Happy Ever After. She would stare into the fireplace in her room and toy with her hair as she wondered what would happen if she faced the same choice. If she would want the hungry, wolf, or the wise and gentle owl.

She would flush as she imagined the words of love being whispered in her ear.

But it was not the truest love.

“Fawn?” Baker looked at me.

“I am in the wrong role.” I said. “Because Pertwee should get the girl.”

“Oh?” Paul stood up straight, and looked at me, stroking a hand through his locks. “How do you come to that conclusion?”

“Because… He is her best friend. Her confidant. Her trusted advisor.” Patch said. “He helps her find stolen moments with the lad she fancies. He runs off to find her soldier.”

“He would do anything for her.” Grace said.

“He has probably known her since he was a boy.” I whispered. “He served her father for years. He earned her friendship, and he dared to dream or more, though he knows she will never see him as anything else.”

“She can’t.” Baker said. “He is making something of himself, but not enough to even earn a second look from her. He is staff.”

“He is a clerk.” I said. “And her family fortune is faltering. There are worse things she could do than consider a professional.”

“Besides, this is a romance.” Patch spoke in a velvet tone. “It does require that love be approved, or blessed, only that it be true. Have Hawk employ the boy. He sees where true love lays, and cedes to it. Gives the clerk a role in the court, and marries the happy couple.”

“Jacob could not deny it. He would have to see the risk that Pertwee took to be the messenger in their illicit affair.” David said.

“Lola sends him to find the soldier.” Mathews said. “Just as before. He collects Jacob and takes him back to court.”

“And just like last time, she is coming to her understanding with Hawk.” Paul said.

“And just like last time, the clerk helps her arrange stolen moments to see Jacob.” David agreed. “But something is different. His attentions are alluring, but promise no more. The excitement, the spark, is there, but it will never offer the support of the nobleman.”

“And Hawk does not have the passion.” Paul said.

Patch lay his hand on my shoulder. “The Count hears of the affair. He intercepts the lowly clerk, and levels his influence. The Count intends well, but the Devil lives in good intention.”

“And why would two good men duel?” Grace was hopping around excited. “Surely either would concede, if thy thought the other was her true love?”

“And surely both would join her, if her friend was in danger? Held captive until her hand was offered in marriage?” David said.

“Because it is the threat of loss…” I whispered.

“The threat of loss, of tragedy, of having her truest friend torn from her heart that opens her eyes.” Baker spoke as though he were projecting over the crowd. “It is only then, when hope seems doomed, that she realises why her friend has done what she asked, at such risk to himself. She chides herself for being blind.”

“She would rather live in poverty with her love, than live in a palace without him.” Grace smiled brightly. She looked at me, and for a moment, she understood. “And she has two great heroes to help her. They save poor Pertwee, and she confesses her love. A happy ending can be had.”

“So, David must play Pertwee.” I said.

Mathews nodded, pleading Baker with his eyes.

“Very well.” Baker grumbled. “Though the Clerk’s Maiden has no ring to it.”

“Keep the title.” Grace patted his shoulder. “It is perfect. Can you write it?”

“I can write it.” Baker grinned. “We can have costumes and make-up. We can produce the show.”

Grace nodded. She looked at me, as I lifted a dress from the trunk. It was ivory and cream, with glass beads that looked like pearls. It was sized to me, but I held it up to Mathews. Grace grinned at me.

“It will need taking in.” She said.

“It will be.” I promised.

“But he will make a beautiful maiden.” She looked at me. “Now you have a beard.”

“Ach.” David frowned. “He made such a poor Maiden we had to play comedies until we could employ a beautiful wee thing.”

Grace giggled. She did not take his words for truth. “I thought Fawn made a fine maiden. Not beautiful, but…”

“Give me the dress. I will pin the scrawny bean-pole in it, and have him looking like Venus herself soon enough.” David took the dress from me, and whistled sharply at Mathews.

Mathews smiled at me. He was already imagining that first, perfect kiss. I guess he had made his choice. I waved at him to hurry up after David.

I had been painting the backdrop in the barn. A canvas sheet that would hang from the rafters and give the impression of a snow laden field on a distant shore. As it hung in the barn to dry, I went back to our rooms, ready to collapse by the fire. But as I pushed the door to our rooms I froze. I caught a glimpse of Mathews, mostly in his costume, and Tam David, mostly out of his clothes, celebrating their affections.

I closed the door, and made myself scarce.

I found myself in one of the hop fields on the edge of the estate, staring up into the stars. My thoughts in the past.

“You seem lost Fawn.” Felten sat beside me, a grin on her lips. “Is it because you have to call me Your Lady now?”

“Not at all my-”

“Fawn.”

“Not at all Plum.”

She laughed. It had been a long time since she had been called that. She put a hand on my shoulder. “See! You remember! We were friends once.”

“We have always been friends.” I wished those words did not come so easily. I wished they did not make my heart feel so heavy. “I have never considered you anything less.”

“I know since you came home from the last tour…” She sighed. “A lot changed in those months.”

“I wish I was here for you.”

She nodded. She knew. She had seen how the news of her father had hit me.

“I met somebody.” She said.

I forced myself to smile.

“An officer.” She said. “Actually… it was at Father’s funeral. A man from the old regiment. He was kind, and he was gentle. And I do not think he sees me as anything else. But… The ball is coming.”

“The ball? You will dance?”

“I intend to. With him.”

“It must be serious.”

“I…” She paused. “I need to practise, and Grace is forever falling to fits of laughter. She does not think I can count to three, as I keep muddling the steps.”

“Crushing her toes?”

“She thinks I should wear clod-hopper boots.”

“Very well.” I stood, and bowed. “Would My Lady care to…”

She took my hand, and we began to dance. She looked at the floor, and crushed my toes.

“Oh!” She squeaked.

“No. I’m fine.” I tried not to feel like I had kicked an anvil. “Look. The secret to dancing has nothing to do with dancing.”

“No?”

“No. Look at me Plum. Look at my eyes.” I tried not to let too much of soul show, as she looked into my eyes. “Your officer is a good man?”

“I very much hope so.” She whispered.

“Then he will not have danced with you, because he wants to dance.” I started us moving, up and down the line of the bines, on the frost crusted grass. She kicked me twice, but I refused  to stop.“He wants to spend a few moments with you. A few moments that feel like he is alone with you. He won’t care if you stomp his feet, or lead him into the buffet table. Nothing else matters beyond the tips of your fingers. He wants to see you. He wants to see you smile. He wants a chance to ask you to be alone later.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“See. You are doing fine.”

“Well, it was always easier with you.”

I laughed, and she began to hum the tune of the dance, so we could keep better time. As we slowed, she rested her head on my shoulder and began to hum folk music. I put my hands on her hips, and we began an easier, earthier, more intuitive dance.

“Why is it easier to dance with you?” She whispered.

“We are friends.” I said.

“Still?”

“Always.” I promised.

“There was a time…” She stopped that thought.

There was a time I had wanted to be more. I was a boy, and even by the standards of youth, I was an idiot. I had not told Plum my feelings because I ever thought she had shared them. But I had wanted her to know the truth, because I had been too close to her to lie. She had taken it in good humour. Too good humour.

There are still nights that I am woken, cringing and heartsick, by the ghosts of her laughter.

Perhaps the worst of it was, that while I was working in her father’s office the next morning, she just treated me exactly the same. It would have been kinder for my words to make her hate me, than to have no meaning at all.

I believe she read my thoughts in my eyes.

“I did not mean to be cruel.” She said. “I was a child. Love was a game, and you were…”

“Beneath you.” I said.

“No.” She squeezed me. “How dare you think that?”

“Because you said it. You wanted a man of title and wealth.”

“But not because of class. Not because I was blind to you.” She blinked away a tear. “Because I thought that love was a game, and I wanted a prize. Wealth and a big house, and…” She looked at me. “I did not understand what love was. I did not understand what you told me. I would not have deserved you.”

“You deserved the world and the stars.”

“And a better thing by far.” She sung the words. She leaned against me. We stopped dancing and I just held her. “You promise you will always be my friend?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

She smiled. “No matter what I do?”

“That is the thing about friends.”

“Good.” She nodded. She patted my arm. “Good.”

She leaned back, so that the moonlight caught her hair, and leaned forward. Our lips met with a kiss. The world faded away, and there was nothing beyond that moment, beyond our finger tips.

— The END —

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