It seemed to the girl that her sigh had not been noticed, but the walls, which repeated it with a quiet echo, betrayed her.
– Hey, you there! Over here! Now! What the hell is that? Spies in Norton Castle? – suddenly she heard a man's voice full of anger, and, pale, neither dead nor alive, she hastened to answer.
– 'I'm not spying, sir! I was just coming up the stairs! – squeaked Brigid, praying in her heart that she might be allowed to remain where she was, for she dreaded to meet the owner of that terrible voice and what he would say to her.
– I said, this way!
– Coming, sir!
Tears came to Brigid's eyes. She went up the stairs, almost out of breath, and brushed from her cheeks that salty moisture which not only did not wash away the dirt from them, but smeared it still more.
Soon, trembling with fear and not daring to look at the lady and her husband standing before her, Brigid stopped in front of the unknown guests and lowered herself before them in a deep curtsy.
The staircase was immediately filled with loud, deep male laughter.
– So this is the bird that has been spying on us! – The man turned to his wife, and then threw to Brigid: – 'You don't look well, young miss.
– Thank you, sir," the girl said hastily, and only then realised her mistake: the man laughed even louder.
– Oh, no, miss, it's not my doing! – Through his laughter, he said.
– Forgive my foolishness, sir! – Wanting to disappear, to vanish into thin air, the girl exclaimed. She was so ashamed of her foolish behaviour and tactless words that, if her face had not been covered with mud, the castle guests would have seen it as red as a ripe apple that has absorbed the warm rays of the sun.
– Dear Miss, what has happened to you? – The woman asked. Her voice sounded tender, as if she felt sorry for the poor girl standing before her.
– I was in a field of flowers, my lady… It rained heavily and I ran to the castle, but on the way I slipped and fell face down in the mud," Brigid said quietly. She did not dare to look up at the faces of the strangers, and looked only at the long hem of the woman's gold-embroidered blue dress and the man's high hunting boots.
– That's it! So you're not a servant? – The man asked in a calmer tone.
– No, sir. I am the daughter of…
– It doesn't matter. Go to your room and clean yourself! – the stranger commanded imperiously. – Go!
– Right away, sir! – Brigid straightened her legs and, her head low, walked quickly round the strangers, opened the heavy wooden door, and stepped out into the wide corridor. Her cheeks burned with shame, and she chastised herself for failing to keep silent and giving away her presence.
What did they think of her? That she was a spy? That she had deliberately hidden herself on the stairs to overhear them? What if her strict father heard about it? Or worse, the young, handsome William Tury? She would keep quiet and hope that the lady and her husband would never recognise this dirty, clumsy girl as the daughter of the disgraced Richard Guise, who is already in disfavour of the king.
When Brigid finally entered her chambers, where her mother appeared to be waiting, the first thing she heard was that she was a bad daughter, that she was a disgrace to her family's name, and that if she appeared before her mother like that again, she should blame herself! The convent will be able to teach this wretch!
The soft-hearted girl listened to her mother's reproaches and hurtful words in silence, bowing her head before her. She did not say a word in her own defence: had it ever helped? How many times had she heard those words before? Her mother, an irascible and proud distant relative of the now deceased Elizabeth Woodville of England, had expected her only daughter to elevate the family name and restore the royal favour that the king had deprived them of because of her father's awkward remark about the tenacious royal favourite Anne Boleyn.
The vindictive Miss Boleyn only had to sadly drop a few words to the king that Richard Guise laughed at her, and he sent the loyal servant from the court without explanation and deprived him of all ranks and the title of baronet. And for two years now the Guise family had been in disgrace, without a name, without much means of livelihood, and with great resentment towards Anne Boleyn. However, Brigid did not consider Anne guilty of their family's downfall: her father should have been modest and kept his tongue behind his teeth… It was because of his inappropriate witticisms that the way to the royal palace was closed to her, which, surprisingly, the girl was glad, because she was so fond of her sweet, strange wilderness, her father's castle and the smell of flower fields surrounding it.
No, Brigid had never wanted to be a lady-in-waiting to Her Majesty Queen Catherine, had never sought the king's attention, and hoped that she would soon become the wife of the young, dark-haired, handsome William, whom she had been in love with ever since she had seen him at one of the festivities organised by Alienor's father, Lord Norton. Fortunately, even though the Guise name had been trampled into the mud, Lord Norton had not turned his back on his old friend Richard, so Brigid spent weeks and even months with her friend Alienor at the Nortons' grand old castle, known for its luxury.
While Lady Guise was reprimanding her daughter, Richard Guise entered the chambers unheard. When he saw Brigid looking like a pig herder, he said nothing, but gave her a cold, contemptuous look and turned to his wife:
– Who has ever seen her so ugly?
– I do not know, my dear husband… I have not yet had time to ask her about it," she answered him in an apologetic tone, and, glancing again at her guilty daughter, asked in a stern voice: – Who saw you? Confess! Servants?
– Yes, mother. The servants are in the kitchen," Brigid answered faintly. Her father's arrival startled her: he was never as verbose as her mother, but it was he who terrified her with his icy stare and his rare but hurtful barbs. Sir Richard had a knack of keeping his household in awe, and even his wife, a woman who knew her own worth, was afraid of his wrath.
– Who else? – the mother inquired. Her voice never lost its sternness.
– Alienor… She was with me in the field when the rain started. – The girl swallowed and, not daring to look at her father and mother, asked timidly: – May I ask you, mother, to order you to bring warm water?
– Warm water? You can bathe in cold water too! – Sir Richard grinned mockingly. – Where did you get so dirty, you little muddy thing?
– I fell in the mud, Father… It was very slippery," Brigid began.
– You fell. Next time you fall, don't forget to smash your stupid, empty head," Sir Richard interrupted her in a calm tone. – This dress cost me a fortune, and you've ruined it. Don't dream of getting a new one! There are such guests at the castle, and she's wandering the fields like some peasant girl!
– I had Alienor with me, sir… And we had not heard that guests were coming. – She bit her lip: she always did that when she was struggling to hold back tears. Crying in front of her parents was forbidden to her: she had heard from them more than once that her tears were of no use to anyone, and that they only made their hearts disgusted with her.
Brigid was a dutiful and diligent daughter, but Sir Richard and his wife Jane always found something unkind in her, always found faults in her. Thank God she was beautiful, so beautiful that in this region she was called "The Flaming Rose", she seemed to have inherited the legendary beauty of Elizabeth Woodville, but even this did not save her from the ridicule and rude remarks of her parents: why do they need such a beautiful daughter, if they can not put her in the bed of the king and through her to achieve the former wealth and return what he took from them?
