The Spoils of Avalon by Mary Burns

Author:Mary Burns [Burns, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781792052118
Published: 2020-03-20T22:00:00+00:00

23

Man am I grown, a man’s work must I do.

Follow the deer? Follow the Christ, the King,

Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King—

Else, wherefore born?

–Idylls of the King

 18 July 1877 

Brampton, Cumberland

Wednesday Morning

I woke the next morning feeling refreshed and invigorated—although I had thought my eyes would never close in sleep, after all the excitement, distress and hilarity of such a long day and such an evening. Especially when I remembered, snuggled in the warm cocoon of the blankets, that it was still a fact that someone had entered my room—that someone had most probably murdered Uncle Chaffee—and the reality was that there was a person sneaking about trying to get at my precious book.

John and I had agreed to have our breakfasts separately—it was impossible to manage times and tastes last night before we parted—and to simply meet at ten o’clock in the lobby with our baggage ready to be transported to the Cottage Perilous in Lord Parke’s lovely barouche. I had barely unpacked anything so it was a simple task to get ready—and I had little Maisie’s help again, as she knocked at my door just as I was finishing my coffee.

I could hardly see her without fresh waves of laughter and embarrassment equally rolling over me—such is one’s ungovernable mind, when it comes to gossip and thinking ill of one’s fellow human beings—that I was determined to derive some sort of moral from my humiliation, and whilst searching for it, I decided to engage Maisie in revealing more details about Lord Parke.

“I am given to understand, Maisie,” I said, as she once again worked her wonders on my frowsy, untameable locks, “that you and Annie and other girls have become enrolled in some sort of workshop or school that Lord Parke has created.”

“Oh, yes, Miss,” said Maisie, with great enthusiasm. “He’s been so very good to all of us. We’re learning about crafts that folks in olden times did at home, that is, not poor folk of course, they be busy in field or with animals, but like ladies in yon castle.” She jerked her head in a northern direction; I assumed she was referring to Naworth Castle, the northern home of the Howards.

I wondered anew at Lord Parke’s educational establishment—what were his aspirations? To what heights of manufacturing did he imagine these girls would ascend, and for what real purpose? Was it likely they would find satisfaction in medieval revival crafting? Perhaps I was sadly behind the times, here in England, having spent far too many years on the continent, where no one did anything useful.

“Does he do any of the instructing himself?” I asked.

“Oh, no, Miss, there are those he has set to that, for us,” Maisie explained. “His Lordship comes round, though, to see as how we be getting on, and then, there’s prizes.”

“Prizes?”

“Oh, yes, Miss, ever so beautiful, things from down London, for girls as do best work. Last night, Mary Wattendall took a first for her jet necklace—ever so lovely it was—and our Annie got a prize as well, for her embroidery.

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