I am the One

I am the one. Not the chosen one. Not the only one, and certainly not ‘the one’ to solve the mystery of what happened here, so long ago. But I know what took place - all the secrets and all the lies. I am Victoria, an artist and a painter, and my connection to this story runs deep.

I grew up not far from here in a vast castle called Saelmere. It has become a tourist attraction for this rural area, and its little town of Beckfourth. It generates thousands of dollars annually, which bolsters the town’s economy. Earlier, the family spared no expense on its furnishings and upkeep. It became what it is today because nothing went wrong there. At least, nothing extraordinarily wrong. Nothing tragic to inspire fear or bring doom to its inhabitants. The history of this place, the stories it holds, are as vast and intriguing as its walls.

I am the lucky one. I came home to my roots. Roots that go deep - deeper than anyone can imagine. It surprised me that the castle nearest to Saelmere had reverted to wrack and ruin. Today I sit here with my easel, brush, and palette all set to paint the ruins of Wadeley Keep.

Wadeley Keep. The name is not ominous. One family and its successive generations lived here for hundreds of years. I enquired around the town and visited the local museum. Most people only know of Saelmere, but I did meet up with one old lady, the town’s oldest inhabitant, who knew so much more. Once a grand building, Wadeley has reverted to rubble, tussock, and a few remaining walls. People lose interest, especially when an intact structure, on a grander scale, is only a day’s walk away, a shorter distance by car, with a road between them.

Tourists are drawn to the stories of people from antiquity who lived within the walls of these architectural masterpieces. When the walls crumble and threaten to become part of the landscape, it is harder to visualise what took place in them so long ago. The story I heard explains why Wadeley failed to survive and Saelmere remained for all to see. The elderly lady, Barbara Martin, shared the story with me.

‘Not far from Wadeley Keep is a rocky shore. Due to its high cliff face, which extends for miles, one imagines smugglers and pirates moored in the hidden coves. One also thinks of ships in peril during a tempest being washed onto the treacherous rocks, leaving the passengers to leap for their lives and swim to shore, as the boat smashes to pieces on jagged rocks. Such a storm occurred long ago. It swept a boat onto the nearby rocks. A family group, escaping from somewhere, travelled to this land, and all but one fell victim to the harsh forces of nature and this perilous seacoast. One small boy survived, whereas the family who came with him either washed up drowned, or were never found. A graveyard nearby, though in a state of disrepair, has what remains of about a dozen of their headstones. A sealed family crypt nearby, its church long gone, houses the remains of generations of Wadeley’s family members.

The rescued little boy, Tytus, from a distant land, lived at Wadeley, grew up, and married the only daughter of the family, his childhood sweetheart. Twins were born, according to the story, but their mother died. Lord Tytus, her husband, the twins’ father, fell into such a state of grief over his dead love that he became a recluse who barely saw the light of day. He, a deeply superstitious man, boarded up his dead wife’s rooms, curtained off the hallway to her wing of the castle and forbade anyone from entering. His red-haired daughter, Anna, he neglected, while his son, Roland, received no censure, becoming selfish and wayward.

The story goes that once Roland met Esmeralda, the daughter of the lord of Saelmere Castle, he vowed to change. He became a better man and proposed marriage. One day, intruders entered Wadeley while the daughter of the Lord of Saelmere was visiting with Anna, the daughter of Lord Tytus. They were abducted while betrothed, even though the young lady had proudly refused initially. The three young people, young Lady Anna included, were dragged away from right under the noses of the servants. The Seneschal Williams rallied the men from the castle. He pursued the assailants in an attempt to rescue the three, to no avail.

The body of Lord Tytus was found dead in the moat, after having jumped, or was he thrown, from the turret emanating from a narrow stairway opened into by a door in his room below.

A search for the young people was mounted by the families from both castles. No one found them. Seneschal Williams of Wadeley looked after the upkeep of the castle, and they hoped the three might find their way home. The functioning of the castle and its household remained with Seneschal Williams and the loyal servants.

Many years later, the daughter from Saelmere returned with two young children. They both looked like their aunt, who had been abducted, Lord Tytus’ daughter, who had red hair, so no one questioned her. The children were named Roland the Third, and Anna., after the brother and sister who never returned.

She claimed that Roland the second was her husband, and she alone had the opportunity to return home with their children. It was never stated that Lord Roland the Second had died. She moved into Wadeley Keep and brought up her children with the help of her maid from Saelmere and Seneschal Williams. Much visiting occurred between Wadeley and Saelmere, with doting grandparents from Saelmere so happy to have their daughter and her children back. Naturally, the legacy of Wadeley and its lands passed to Lord Roland the Second’s son in his absence. The mystery of his non-return remains to this day.

After the children's mother died and her son took over the governance of the castle and its fief, a rumour started. Many people who lived in the area believed it to be true. A ghostly apparition walked the halls of Wadeley at night, crying out for her daughter.

“Where is my daughter? Who has my daughter?”

It terrified everyone. Later, after all the family living in the castle died, the younger ones, who had done what young ones do - respond to the lure of the nearest big city and forsake their home - tried to sell it, but the stories of the ghost had become so entrenched in everyone’s minds, no one would buy it. The upkeep was going to cost millions, like a giant bottomless pit wide open for the dumping of all the money they had, and more. So, it fell into disrepair and with each year that passed, even more so.’

The fascinating story inspired me to visit the site and create a painting of Wadeley in its current state. It no longer had high towers and parapets. As I painted each part, I imagined how it must have looked in its heyday. The existence of a ghost gave me the creeps. People claimed that on a still night, the sound of weeping and calling out for a lost daughter can still be heard. Everyone assumed she sought her abducted daughter. However, only Roland’s spouse and her children returned. No one ever heard a cry for the missing son. The fact that the little twins, the son and daughter of Lord Roland, had arrived home safely filled everyone with such joy that it had been sadly accepted as fact that their father and master wasn’t there. Life settled back into a happy rhythm. His wife never forgot. She remained loyal to him and never remarried.

‘But maybe she liked her independence,’ I thought. The romantic notion of an unrequited love, forced on her by the death of her paramour, seemed too negative, like the tragedy of Lord Tytus never getting over the death of his wife.

As I painted each stark, bleak monolith and crumbling wall, the story came alive in my mind. I knew what had happened to grieving Lord Tytus. When he saw his son and daughter being taken away, along with the neighbour’s daughter, his son wished to marry; he, in his anguish, threw himself from the top of the tower into the moat below. Little did he know that the fight ensuing between the assailants and his own men, led by Seneschal Williams, enabled the three to escape and hide in a concealed place below the moat’s edge. When his daughter screamed in horror at seeing his dead body, it gave away their hiding place. The skirmish ended, leaving the men bloody and injured, and the three escapees were swiftly recovered and taken away. Tytus men hobbled back to the castle in defeat. Tytus became a casualty as well as the catalyst for the events of that awful day.

It’s a wonder no one dreamed up the avenging ghost of Lord Tytus.

I continued painting until a hand rested firmly on my shoulder. Startled, my heart leapt and I glanced sideways, wondering who on earth had crept up on me. I turned and saw a young woman with long, black, curly hair and green eyes - my eyes. She looked like me, except with clothing from the wardrobe of an ancient play. I stood up to face her and found we were both of comparable height.

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I’ve seen you before.’

“I was about to ask you the same thing,’ I said.

‘You can see me?’

‘Of course, I can see you. We are having this conversation.’

‘I am Lady Soona of Wadeley.’

‘I’m Victoria Trent, and an artist. You don’t mind me painting what is left of Wadeley?’

‘No. To have my home immortalised in a painting is fine.’

‘Why have you introduced yourself to me?’

‘I don’t know if you realise it, but the only difference between us is that my hair is curly and yours is sleek.’

‘I-I grew up in Castle Saelmere, not far from here.’

‘But I know more about you. You were born here, not at Saelmere, but I never held you. I died the very hour you were born, and you were taken away, never to be seen again.’

‘But, Lady, you did see me. I came back here with your grandchildren, the twins. A boy and a girl, two peas from the same pod. Both as redheaded as your first daughter, my sister.’

‘But they can’t have been my son's children. You are from me. I gave birth to three children, and you are the youngest. Don’t you know me, your own mother?’ The woman’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Lady Soona, I never knew you. I saw a portrait of you once and was told it was of my mother. I wished you were not. Don’t you know what happened after you died?’

‘All I remember is wanting to hold my daughter. I could not rest until I found her.’

I sighed. ‘This meeting is meant to be. I am your long-lost daughter, but I am also Victoria Trent, the artist. The three of us, your children, were taken away. I alone returned, back then. The children with me were from my husband. Not your son, my brother. My husband died. ‘

‘So, you came here and informed everyone they were the children of my son Lord Roland, and took over the ownership of the castle and its lands?’ Her voice shrieked, and her face became terrible.

‘It was his wish. He wished to protect my future and the futures of the children. No questions were asked on my return. Everyone believed we left here betrothed. I let the lie be believed. I truly belonged here, but who would have believed the truth? . . . Look at our crumbling legacy now.’

‘Why was it left to fall apart and decay this way?’

‘My dear, because of you. The stories of a ghost looking for her daughter filled everyone with fear. No one wanted to live here.’

‘I never knew, I only wanted to hold my baby in my arms. I wanted to live and bring up you three children with my beloved Tytus.’

‘The man who loved you so much wanted me to die for causing your death and never told anyone I had been born! The man who gave up on his other two children, your children, because you died? I had a happy life and was loved. I made your son, Roland, reform. You needn’t have worried. Rest assured, Tytus loved you. Your death was a tragedy he never recovered from. I took what was rightfully mine and had a good life here at Wadeley. I’m sorry it is now in ruins.’

‘I never knew,’ she said, as she started to fade. Her appearance grew increasingly ghostly with every passing second. ‘I will never forget you. Thank you for coming back to me. I never stopped loving you, loving all of you.’

I reached for her hand, but mine passed through hers.

‘Farewell, mother dear. Rest in peace.’

What else could I say? I am not a distant observer, but I have always been a part of this history, one that has been secretly revealed to you. But sometimes, I don't know who I am. Am I her long-lost daughter, the one her son wanted to marry but didn't? Yet I never claimed to be her until now. I came from Saelmere, the daughter of another lord, although I claimed to have married Lord Roland and had his children at the time. Which lie is the truth? It truly doesn't matter anymore.

I reflected on the unfairness of life and how our reactions to injustice can often lead to even greater grief. I decided to incorporate a ghostly figure in my painting. Not too perceptible. Just the hint of one. I would name my painting, ‘Immortalised.’

I had spoken to the mother I had never known, all those decades ago. The births of her children, my siblings and me had led to so much more than she could ever know. She died, but I continued to live. A ghost in my own right. It made her yearning for the child she had never held, insignificant. Though for a mother who dies, the need to hold her child is natural. An invisible umbilical cord can’t stretch from the grave to the world of the living. It can only try. Did it succeed?