Castle Keyvnor ~ Bocka Morrow, Cornwall
Good heavens, Mother was truly in a mood today, wasn’t she? One would think some time away from home and her usual responsibilities would have her a bit more relaxed, and yet, here she was, lecturing Lady Samantha Priske on proper behavior and etiquette. Not that Sam didn’t know how to behave properly, but she often chose not to. She just couldn’t help herself. Like when she found a tree that was clearly made for climbing, with a sturdy, high-up branch perfect for reading. Or a lake that beckoned her as if it were filled with glorious sirens. How on earth was she to resist such adventures?
“Samantha, are you listening?”
Sam snapped from her daydream where she was swimming in nothing but her chemise through the cool waters of the ocean they’d passed just a few minutes before they arrived at the gates of Castle Keyvnor. “Of course, Mother.”
“Then what was the last thing I said?”
Sam knew it was going to earn her censure, but she said it anyway. “Samantha, are you listening?” she quoted.
Mother’s jaw set into stone and her skinny little nostrils flared just the slightest bit as she attempted to keep her calm. “Do you know what happens to girls like you? Girls who are allowed to run wild and speak their minds?”
“Well,” Sam began, “if you are to be believed, they end up sad and lonely spinsters, correct?”
“I am to be believed, Samantha, not if. I saw it happen again and again, season after season, the same girls were left quite firmly on the shelf.” Mother placed her teacup and saucer on the small round table covered in an elaborate flowered chintz and leveled Sam with her beady gaze. Goodness, how glad she was to have inherited Father’s eyes. “Is that what you wish for yourself, Samantha? To be left behind? Left alone?”
Just then, yes. She wanted more than anything to be left to her own devices. They’d arrived at Castle Keyvnor more than an hour ago, and here she was, still forced into this interview with Mother. Cassandra was already off exploring, but then, she probably wouldn’t get terribly far. Her older sister was terrified of the place, completely horrified at the idea of sleeping in a haunted castle. Sam, on the other hand, couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be. What fantastic adventures awaited her around the corners of this ancient fortress?
“Samantha!”
Oh, bother. She’d forgotten to answer her mother’s question. But the truth was, she wasn’t entirely certain how to answer it. She would far prefer spinsterhood to this. To being told what to do or how to act, whether by her mother or a husband. Sam knew her ideals were wildly modern and frowned upon by most, and yes, the road would be much harder alone, especially for a girl of her station. Work was not even supposed to be in her vocabulary, and yet, sometimes Samantha itched to truly understand its meaning. What would it be like to earn something? To contribute to society in some small way by creating something that other people wanted to buy?
Of course, she dreamed of selling her poetry one day. She wrote and collected her poems in a small book that was nearly filled now. Her most prized possession, she carried it everywhere with her. Even now, it was tucked firmly against her torso beneath her gown. She had to walk with her elbow close to her side to keep it from slipping out, but it didn’t bother her at all. Soon enough, she’d be alone, able to write to her heart’s content. Or until Mother called her for some other interview.
“Of course I don’t wish to be alone,” she finally said, at which her mother audibly sighed. “However,” she continued, making her mother bristle again, “I don’t think that is a good enough reason to marry.”
“Well, then, perhaps a little trip to the poorhouse will give you cause.”
Samantha shrugged. “Perhaps,” she concurred with a nonchalance that most certainly made her mother want to clock her over the head. “But I don’t believe I’d end up there anyway.”
“The world is a cruel, cruel place outside of our circles, Samantha.”
“But it’s not, Mother!” Sam cried, eager to defend the masses. “Why look at Clarissa Parfitt. Her family is most decidedly middle class and they’re happy as can be.”
Mother reared back, her skinny face twisting into something grim, all shadows and pockets and ugliness. Not that Mother was horribly ugly usually — she’d had her day as a diamond, if the portraits of her were any indication —but she’d let years of unhappiness and bitterness get the best of her. Sam vowed she’d never become like that, which was why she refused to marry just for the sake of marrying. If she was going to wed, it was going to be to someone she could at least get on with. Nothing like her own parents who spent as little time in one another’s presence as possible.
“Carl Parfitt is in trade,” she whispered the last emphatically, as if she might summon the ancient aristocratic spirits of Castle Keyvnor if she said it too loudly. “How happy can one truly be who is in trade?”
Much happier than you, she wished to say, but she knew it would only get her into trouble and prolong this painful lecture. It was time to cow tow, as much as it pained her, so that she might gain at least a modicum of freedom today before dinner.
“Oh, yes,” she said, as if just remembering Mr. Parfitt was a tradesman. “You’re right, Mother. I will strive to conduct myself in a manner worthy of our family and name. You shan’t be disappointed.”
Mother narrowed her eyes. She knew Sam was simply trying to be done with their teatime, but she couldn’t argue with her anymore, not after that. “Thank you,” she said, with a terse nod of her head. “You may be excused, but I expect you and Cassandra back in an hour so that you may nap before dinner.”
Nap. Sam hated naps. They made her feel out of sorts and even more tired than before. She’d only had one season, and she quite detested it. While Cassandra was happy to arrive home just before dawn and sleep the day away, Sam hated it. It didn’t seem natural. She preferred to tuck herself away early and then wake up with the sun and the roosters. Terribly plebian of her, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Yes, Mother,” she said, extricating herself from the stiff-backed Jacobean chair, her bottom numb from sitting for so long, both here with her mother and in the carriage on their long journey to Keyvnor.
And then, with a placating curtsy for her mother, Sam took herself off to explore.