Marjorie Farrell by Autumn Rose

Author:Autumn Rose [Rose, Autumn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The provost’s daughter went a-walking one day

Oh, but her love was easy won

And she heard a Scots prisoner a-makin’ his moan

And she was the flower of Northumberland.

Sam was good at dialect, and rolling his R’s, he continued the story of the maiden who ran off to Scotland, only to be sent back at the border by the man who had used her. It was a favorite of his, and he quite forgot about the unsuitability of the subject matter until he was halfway through, at which point it was too late to do anything but pretend he had forgotten a few lines, the ones where the lover referred to the lady as a “brazenfaced hoor,” and at the end apologized. “But for all that it is crude, it is one of my favorites,” declared the viscount, “for the tune and because in this version the maiden is welcomed back home. In too many of these ballads, the wronged maiden kills herself!”

They all laughed except for Nora. Sam had not looked at her directly while he was singing, for he had been concentrating too hard. Now he noticed that her face was white and her eyes suspiciously bright. As the others begged Lavinia for more, Nora left the group and sat down in the corner. Sam immediately followed and drew up a footstool next to her.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Dillon?”

As Nora looked up, Sam saw a tear rise and spill over. He had almost put his hand out to brush it gently away when he realized what he was about to do.

“I thought it was a rather happy ending myself,” he said, trying to tease her out of her sadness.

“Oh, but I know that song, and the story does not always end that way. In some versions, the parents are not as eager to welcome home the prodigal daughter.” She stood up, visibly shaken, and said quietly, “I fear I am indisposed, my lord. Will you let me slip away this evening and give my excuses to the others?”

“I will never sing again if it affects you this strongly,” Sam replied lightly, trying to get her to smile, and she did, fleetingly, before she went away, leaving him there puzzled and concerned.

* * * *

Nora had not heard that song for years, and she was as taken aback by her own reaction as the viscount. At fourteen or fifteen she had heard it sung by an old ballad singer at a fair and had romantically imagined herself as that young girl whose love was “so easy won,” just as she herself had imagined herself as Lady Margaret when hearing the story of Tarn Lin. What a foolish young woman I was, indeed, she thought despairingly as she undressed and climbed into bed. But once she had blown the candles out and pulled the covers up, the song would not leave her, and she could only cry for that poor young maiden, knowing, of course, she was crying for herself.

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