A Tale from Blythe Manor

The Blythe Estate seemed endless. At times it felt daunting - as if she could walk for days and never breach it’s boundaries, forever doomed to roam the grounds, like a fair maiden charmed by faeries.

The sky was the muted grey of a lazy dawn. Strange, Amélie mused, how the sunrise could creep up on you. Undoubtedly it was lighter than it had been when they left, and yet the sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden either by the horizon or the myriad clouds that dulled the sky. 

Master James Blythe stood a few paces away, eyes focussed upwards. He seemed quite lost to the world; he often stood like that, she had discovered, over her months at the Manor. It was not a habit she much minded - indeed, she had found his quiet companionship rather comforting, during the early days of her stay, infrequent though it had been. Their acquaintance may have been simply that of chance, but the eventual friendship was one formed of shared temperament and the knowledge that, in each other’s presence, neither would compel the other to talk.

Amélie too turned her head to the skies. She herself could not find in it anything so enthralling, but then, of the two of them, Master Blythe was the more poetic. Doubtless he would find some meaning in the beauty of the shifting clouds that formed dark silhouettes against a drab expanse slowly being painted over with blush tones, as if the dawn itself felt shy. She could ask him, but she feared somehow that words would spoil the mood, and she felt there was a certain magic in the air nonetheless: the chill, biting wind; the distant birdsong, not melodious at all, but vibrant screams of love and life; the long, damp grass, and the disturbed dewdrops that beaded her shoes.

Besides, she would rather let Master Blythe come out of his trance - she would call it a trance, for lack of a better word - on his own terms. That seemed a kindness few people had extended to him, and she knew that that understanding they shared, the solace they both knew could be found in silence and solitude, was the foundation of the trust they had developed between them.

She could not wait as he did, however, stoic and unmoving. Already could she feel her face grow numb, feel the cold seep into her hands through her gloves. She fidgeted, shuffling her feet where she stood, tucking her coat more tightly around her, and then negating those efforts by attempting to bury her face in her collar.

She had tried to be quiet, but it seemed she had tried in vain, for when she finally settled, having arranged her clothing, if not quite to her liking then as close to it as she could achieve whilst out in the open, she found Master Blythe had shifted his gaze to her. 

She met his eyes. They were beautiful - two toned, light brown edged with green. They often reminded her of little acorns - they were of precisely the same colouring.

Neither spoke, for a moment. For a moment, all was still, in their little pocket of reality, though the clouds still drifted overhead and far away the birds still sang, and the sky grew lighter with every passing minute.

Master Blythe looked serious, as he opened his mouth to speak, before apparently thinking better of it. He looked away, and shook his head slightly, and when he turned towards her again, his expression was softer, more friendly.

“You sounded lovely, earlier, at the piano.”

Amélie smiled. “You are as kind as your words are untruthful.”

He laughed, soft and hardly there, lost in the wind. “Truly. Unpracticed, perhaps, but still pleasant to hear. The piano usually is.”

Amélie gave no response, as he went on. “Not, though, of the style you usually play, I think. I don’t believe the piece was familiar to me - indeed, I do not know who’s it was.”

That at least was true. “Jadin,” she offered. The piece was loud and chordal - it satisfied some urge deep within her that even a thousand pages of Bach’s precision could never touch. “I tend to only play it when alone, I find the style is not to everyone’s taste.”

“Indeed.” He nods, as if considering this information. A slight gleam appears in his eye. “I suppose it was this same consideration for others, that led you to practice only once under moonlight, with the household all in their bedchambers and not even the housemaids awake yet.”

Her gaze had drifted at some point during this conversation - with those words she drew it back, sharp. He had assured her that his being awake was the fault of no one but his own turbulent mind. But had he been lying - or worse, did he know?

She had of course, not left her bedchambers in the deep of the night, dressed, after hours of unwelcome wakefulness, merely to play the piano without inviting criticism of her taste in music. She had not intended to find the piano at all, nor to be awake so long. But the bittersweet memories that kept her awake - of hours of contentment stolen from the night, soured by the fear of being caught, of exposure, by the knowledge that those short, snatched moments were all they would ever have, and none could ever be long enough - it had all left her quite restless. She had hoped to work out her disquiet through the music, relearning the notes from her memories of the melody alone, but she was starting to fear she may never be able to rid herself of it. And then Master Blythe had found her, and suggested they take this dawn-lit walk, saying such an opportunity to do so may never come again, and ought not to be squandered.

If that was not his true motive, if indeed he had begun to suspect…

But his expression remained gentle, almost fond, and Amélie let herself relax.

“I might say that consideration guided my actions then as much as a need for exercise guides yours now,” she replied, briefly gesturing with one hand, before bringing it back to clasp the other for warmth.

He tipped his hat in acknowledgement. And now did that brief glimpse of hesitation earlier return. 

“Miss Montaigne,” - his face had turned serious again - “we have now known each other for quite some time.”

“Indeed we have.” She felt her pulse quicken. “And I am quite grateful for it, and for your companionship.”

“As am I for yours.” He paused, there. 

“Miss Montaigne, I believe you know my feelings on marriage. And, if I am not very much mistaken, I believe you may share them.”

Amélie once more found herself tense all over. There was a deep, indescribable feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she felt her heart flutter in anticipation, though what it was waiting for she also could not describe.

“I do not love you.” He furrowed his brow. “Not, at least, in the ways of the great poets, or heroes of old. But I do cherish our friendship, and I feel as though you understand me in a way no other person shall, if only because I feel no other person would ever try, and it occurs to me that, were I to ever marry, I cannot think of any woman I would rather wed than you.”

Amélie stared. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

“And I do not know the name of whom you dress in your daywear, and leave your bedchambers and wander the hallways at night for.” Here he must see the fear come across her face, for he hurriedly adds “Nor do I particularly care to. I imagine by the secrecy however, that they are not perhaps someone your family would deem a suitable match. This to say, I do not wish to keep you from them, whoever they may be. A different suitor might, and whatever our personal feelings, we will both of us one day be married. I am merely proposing that it might be to each other, rather than strangers who are like to ask us for what we may be unable to give.”

The shock had started to ease slightly, both from the time she’d been granted by the speech, and the clarification of both his feelings and intent. Had her mind not cleared even that little bit, she may have missed the look of fear on Master Blythe’s face, slight and hidden as it was.

That look - and it wasn’t just fear, but apprehension, too, of rejection or being misunderstood, of moving first and knowing that in doing so you have moved the consequences beyond what you can control - and the feelings associated, were familiar to her as her own hands, and brought her back to herself far sooner than she might have managed alone. And he too must have seen some deeper meaning in the relaxing of her own expression, because with it his own brow smoothed as well

“Take some time to think over what I have said. I do not need an answer at once,” he said, looking once more up to the sky. His gaze drifted, and landed on the horizon - Amélie’s followed, and her eyes tightened when she did, not prepared to confront an object so singularly bright. “The sun is up. Come, let us return.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Blythe Estate seemed endless. It encompassed forest and farmland alike. She had planned to walk the same route she had that morning with Master Blythe, but then thought better of it - with nothing but a single lit lantern and the fickle moonlight to see by, she’d be better going straight to her destination.

The morning’s clouds had disappeared over the course of the day, chased away by the bitter, defensive winds. The moon hung bright, and full or nearly so. The air was still for once, though she did not trust it to remain that way. 

The lake was only a half mile’s walk away, and Amélie was practiced at treading it. Even the night could not much slow her pace, and she came to the old boat house in good time. 

The boat house was dark. This did not come as a surprise to Amélie - she ran a lesser risk of waking people when she left the Manor, and was also the taller of the pair, despite being younger - but it was disappointing nonetheless. Still, she lit the larger lantern that hung just inside the shed, before extinguishing her own flame, to preserve the candle.

The moon still shone, and though the wind had, as she had predicted, began to pick up again, Amélie stepped back outside to walk down the jetty. She had always enjoyed being close to water, and it felt folly to waste the calm weather. Besides, who would take the ominous shadows in the boathouse over the blinding bright of the moon.

Diana’s moon, watching over all young, unmarried maidens.

Amélie sat cross legged at the water’s edge. The wood was damp underneath her, but not so much that she needed to fear spoiling her dress and being found out. She looked over that moon - it’s rippling reflection, in constant motion, never settling for more than a passing second - and considered the proposition Master Blythe had set before her that morning as the sun rose

Reflections and reflection - how right that she reflect on Master Blythe’s words by a lake.

Ironic, how she would now be the one to make the proposal - the complete inverse of the morning’s conversation: night, not day; no sun, just moon; and Miss Montaigne to speak, not Master Blythe. 

They had spoken more on the exact nature of the agreement as they walked back to the Manor, though Amélie had not given Master Blythe a name, and nor had he asked for it. His acorn eyes fixed on her own steely blue. She had asked about children - he had told her that he would not give them to her, though if she desired he was sure some arrangement could be made. She had asked whether they would not be expected, and he had replied that as his father’s second son, his ability to have children ought to be more important than that ability being realised.

“If no harm comes to my elder brother before he has sons of his own then I am unlikely to have anything for my supposed children to inherit,” he had said, with that smile he let few people see, that held just an edge of cunning. “And no harm is likely,” he’d gone on, eyes bright, “for his new wife is pregnant and very nearly due, though they have not yet been married six months.”

She had asked where they would stay, and what she had to gain from such an arrangement that would be preferable to one formed with a present stranger. He had told her of a country house, smaller than the Manor but still comfortably large, that was to become his when he came of age. He looked at her knowingly then, and said he would be happy to ask his father to part with certain members of his domestic staff, should she wish to bring anyone with them when they moved. 

Their discussion had dried as the sun continued to climb stubbornly further and further above the horizon, but Amélie had realised that Master Blythe must have already long considered this, worked through every detail and particular, before broaching the subject with her, and she found herself more and more warming to the idea. He had been right earlier, that she shared his feelings on marriage. And now, for the first time in her seventeen years, she could think of being married to someone, a man, though to be true he was right now a boy as old as she was, without being filled with fear and dread.

She gazed out over the moon again. It was beautiful. It looked almost like a pearl - white and round, and just barely misshapen. Her mother had had a pearl pin, that she had worn on her wedding, and had said she would keep aside for Amélie’s own. Accordingly, Amélie had sought to avoid all pearls and, to the best of her ability, all things that reminded her of them. Now, for the first time, she could allow herself to admit that pearls could indeed be beautiful.

The wind dropped suddenly, and the shimmering reflections in the water resolved themselves along with Amélie’s mind. Tonight, she would speak, and make her case and hope, and then whatever happened, she would accept Master Blythe’s proposition come the morning.

Now all that was left was to wait.

Though not for long, thankfully, as a soft spoken “Ma’am?” broke her reverie from behind her.

She stood, and turned, and almost overbalanced in doing so.

And there she stood, holding a lantern of her own, though she was blowing out the flame even as Amélie rose to greet her. “Anna,” she said, more an exhalation than a word.

“Miss Amélie,” Anna replied, and Amélie could hear the teasing smile in her voice, picture in her mind the twinkle in those dark brown eyes, though the moonlight alone was not enough for her to truly see either.

She knew this woman, and loved her, and if Amélie was to promise her heart, her life, to another person at this young age anyway, then she could think of no one she would rather gift it to. 

She knew it wholly and surely, and as certainly as she knew that the sun would rise again when the dawn came, and that the moon that would chase it away at next dusk would be truly full.

And with that knowledge, she walked off the jetty, away from the lake and its reflected moon, to go and greet Anna properly.