“This chapel was built after the castle was already in existence, but don’t worry guys, it’s still quite old. It dates from the early 14th century.”
The pretty blonde tour guide walked backward down the aisle. She smiled and gestured to the stained glass windows on either side, before continuing her speech. She spoke with a Scottish burr and it felt like she was always laughing.
“The stained glass is genuine, from the time the chapel was built. Many family members are buried right under these flagstones. Despite the many funerals this chapel has seen, there has yet to be even one wedding, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles, I suppose. You’ll notice that this chapel is considerably colder than the rest of the castle. That’s because, as beautiful as those windows are, they’re not very well insulated. You see, medieval architects didn’t exactly have access to modern heating. But if you’ll follow me through this archway into the main castle and I’ll show you the bedrooms.”
The rest of her classmates filed out behind the guide, sneakers clomping and echoing against the heavy stone, but she couldn’t seem to move. She could catch up to them later, Anna reasoned, but her feet felt rooted in place as she gazed up at the stained glass windows. It was a cloudy day but they glowed in the half-light, casting reds and blues and shimmery whites across the deep gray paving stones.
No one noticed as she hung behind. Anna was surprised that no one had ever been married here. The windows cast such a sense of peace in the cool stone space. It would be a beautiful place to start a life with someone, she thought. She gazed reverently at the windows. Surprisingly, they were quite secular. There were crosses interspersed there, but for the most part, they portrayed abstract designs. She saw animals, suns, stars and moons, shining out from the windows as though someone had taken the celestial objects down from the sky.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
She jumped and turned around at the voice. She had been alone in the chapel, she thought, her cheeks burning a brilliant crimson at getting caught staring. The old woman sat on one of the wooden pews, looking at her with a clear, blue-eyed gaze.
“Yes, they’re lovely,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like them.”
“There’s nothing like them in all the world,” the old woman spoke softly, almost whispering to herself. Like the tour guide, she had a Scottish burr, although hers was much more pronounced.
“I’m glad I got to see them.” It was really awkward, trying to keep up a conversation with a complete stranger.
“I come to see them every day,” the old woman said.
She was wearing an old-fashioned black dress and wrapped in a thin black shawl. Must be a local, Anna thought.
“Wow, that must be quite an effort,” she said. “I mean, walking all the way up from the village every day.”
“I live here,” the old woman answered.
“I didn’t know that anyone still lived in the castle,” Anna said.
“It’s hard to leave your home,” the old woman’s voice was quiet, but Anna understood every word. “I’ll never leave the place where I grew up.”
Anna smiled.
“That’s part of why I’m here,” she said, smiling across the aisle at the woman. “I left home because I wanted to see the world, see new things and learn about them.”
The old woman’s eyes raked her up and down. She shuddered a little under that gaze, but it might have just been a breeze in that drafty chapel.
“You remind me of my daughter,” she said. “She left home, left me, but she never came back.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna told her. “I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”
“When you’re my age, darling, all you’ve got left is memories.”
The old woman stared into space for a moment before looking back at Anna.
“Come here, child,” she said, beckoning with an old thin hand.
Anna walked hesitantly over and forced herself not to shiver as the old woman ran a hand over her hair.
“You have such lovely, dark hair,” she said, gazing off into space again before snapping back into the present and looking into her eyes.
“I would like to give you something,” she told the young woman.
“You really don’t have to do that,” Anna answered, and started to back away, as the old woman grabbed her hand.
“I want to,” she said. “I would like to give you something to remember this place by. You should remember that somewhere, your mother is waiting for you to return, that she will be waiting, no matter how far you go.”
The old woman reached deep into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a beautiful gold locket. It was circular in shape and it glowed in the half-darkness of the chapel.
“Take this,” she said, dropping the locket into Anna’s palm. “And remember.”
The girl’s hand closed over the locket almost against her will. She could feel the cool metal pressed inside her fist when the woman spoke again.
“You should catch up to your group now, Darling,” she said. “You wouldn’t want them to forget you in here. Run along.”
“Good-bye, Ma’am,” Anna answered, as her feet carried her up the aisle and out the door at the rear of the church. Honestly, she was quite happy to get out of that drafty chapel and away from the strange old woman.
Her feet stumbled over the lintel in the doorway and she looked back as she tripped, barely bracing herself against the firm stone of the arch. There was no one in the chapel behind her.
Maybe she’d imagined the encounter, she thought, as she ran along the hall to catch up with her group. No, she couldn’t have. She could feel the locket firm and real inside her hand. The old woman must have walked out of the chapel while she was going up the aisle. Yes, she was certain. That must be what happened.
Her shoes slapped loudly against the stone. The blood pounded in her ears. By the time she caught up with the group in the large, airy chamber that the hallway emptied into, she could barely hear the tour guide over the sound of her own heartbeat. She’d missed half of the lecture, but she gathered that the room had been used as a grand dining hall, primarily when the family had important guests, but she could’ve figured that out on her own, judging by the enormous, heavy wooden table filling the center of the space. The chamber was quite gloomy and the windows were small for such a large space, presumably built that way to keep enemy arrows out. Enormous chandeliers hung from the ceiling and she imagined they would have given the room a nice glow, but they weren’t lit.
While she looked, the guide continued speaking.
“If you gents and ladies will take a look round at the walls, you will see portraits of all the members of the family, down through the ages. Some of these date from the 1200’s.” She smiled at the group, making sure she still had their attention. “To be sure, they weren’t a particularly attractive lot, but the paintings do give us an insight into the long and complex history of the castle. We also host parties in this room, for a handsome fee. Quite a few brides have gotten upset when the paintings didn’t match their wedding themes, but such is life. Feel free to have a look around and the tour will resume in ten minutes.”
She caught her breath as the others wandered around the room in small clumps. Some pulled out cameras and avidly began snapping photos, while some plopped down on the uncomfortable wooden chairs and sipped from water bottles, discreetly munching away at whatever chips they had stashed in their bags, for all snacks weren’t allowed on the tour.
The tour guide wandered over to a corner and drank from her own water bottle, chugging quite energetically. Anna followed, trying not to look too eager. She didn’t know quite how to ask her question without sounding odd.
“So,” she said, gaining the girl’s attention. “These tours must make it really difficult for the people who live around here.”
The tour guide screwed the top back on the bottle and sat it on a side table.
“The villagers?” she asked, looking up at Anna. “They really don’t mind. After all, the tours bring in money. And a village so tiny can always use a little extra income. And the tourists really aren’t so bad.”
She smiled, inviting Anna to laugh at her small joke, but Anna merely looked perplexed.
“I didn’t mean the villagers,” she answered. “ I mean the people who live here. You know, in the castle.”
Now the tour guide looked slightly confused.
“No one lives here,” she said. “The castle is a historical place and it’s protected by the government. It’s not a residence. Who would want to live someplace without heat or running water anyway?”
“Oh. I guess I hadn’t thought about that.” She knew she sounded like an idiot, but she didn’t know what else to say. “Of course no one lives here.”
The tour guide turned back to her backpack and surreptitiously pulled out a cookie, as Anna slowly backed away, hoping to pretend the conversation had never happened.
She uncurled the fingers of her right hand. The locket was still there, but it wasn’t the golden shimmery piece she had seen before. A locket that had turned brown with age hung from a rusted chain, sitting neatly in her palm. Quickly, she shut her hand again, backing further away. If she’d been looking where she was going, it might not have happened. She might not have bumped into the side table, nearly knocking it over, but she did.
It rocked on its’ four, spindly carved legs, seconds away from falling over, but she managed to catch it, only to receive a glare from the tour guide.
“Most of the furnishings here are authentic, you know. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more careful.” The blond girl glared at her to emphasize the point and took a large bite of cookie.
Anna averted her gaze quickly, making sure the table was steady again and found her gaze caught in the painting on the wall behind it. It was an old woman wearing a voluminous black dress. The painting was well done. The viewer could clearly see everything from the intricate lace on the woman’s shawl to the steely blue gaze of her eyes. Her skin was wrinkled and her grey hair piled in an elegant bun on top of her head. She was undoubtedly old, but sat with a self-possession and control that belied her age. And she was absolutely, without a doubt, the woman Anna had spoken to in the chapel.
“Who is she?” Anna nodded toward the painting. To her surprise, the tour guide smiled.
“She’s an interesting story.” The blonde young woman gazed up at the portrait reverently. “Her mother was the duchess of Windsor, who was, unfortunately, none too fond of her daughter. She came here when she sixteen, married off to some man she hardly knew and stuck in a big, drafty castle. But she ran this place like a queen. She’s the one who commissioned the stained glass in the chapel. She made this castle her legacy, despite a philandering husband and a sick son. She put all of her faith in her daughter. She raised that girl like a princess, gave her the run of the place, always said that someday, this castle would be hers.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a sad ending,” the guide said, looking from the painting back to Anna. “Her daughter hated this place, insisted on moving back to London. And she stayed there, until she died, which wasn’t actually very long. Caught some disease and died young. Broke her mother’s heart. But she kept running this place, even after her son and husband died. After she finally passed the castle was untenanted for a long time, until some cousins picked it up.”
Anna gazed up at the portrait for a moment, before turning back to her guide.
“You know,” she said. “You never mentioned her name.”
The tour guide looked up from what was currently her third cookie.
“Her name was Anna,” she said, through a mouthful of crumbs.
The tour guide didn’t hear Anna’s sharp intake of breath and it didn’t really matter, as she trotted off to use the toilet before the tour started up again.
Anna stared at the portrait and then at the locket in her hand. She looked back at the portrait again.
Later she would pretend that she hadn’t seen it, that the portrait was just a picture of an old woman with a shawl, sitting dourly in a plush chair. And she would never admit it, but it was nonetheless true. At that particular moment, gazing up at that portrait, Anna watched as the old woman gave her a wink and a smile.
No comments:
Post a Comment