A Portrait of Death

Clara Burton stared at the lady in the painting. The woman was old, her gray eyes looking tired, the wrinkles in her face marking time in her pale skin. Around her neck, a silver brooch, set with a crimson jewel which Clara swore sparkled in the candlelight of the foyer. The high neck of her white dress stiffened up to her jaw, lay open at the front, exposing her neck giving her a vulnerability that caused Clara to cover her own with her hand.

The dress flowed down the woman’s body, hugging her frame. It covered her bosom, such a last century fashion. The lady sat in the painting, but Clara couldn’t see on what. She had a thin scowl on her face, and her hands neatly folded in her lap. Clara had no idea why she looked so angry, living in such a nice house.

“Oh, so that’s where you got to Clara! You never made it passed the Aunt,” William Assheton la Zouche, heir to the Barony of la Zouche, strode into the foyer with a glass of wine in one hand, a smirk on his face, and the other behind his back. He wore no powdered wig, and his deep blue coat’s lapels flapped against his legs as he moved around Clara. His blonde hair lay pressed flat against his head, falling around his shoulders in the back. “Come, have a drink with me!” as he produced another wine glass from behind him.

Clara smiled, and took the glass. She was here at his invitation. Clara had never seen such a beautiful man before, and she felt heat rise in her chest, even before she took a drink. “My good sir, is this a painting of your aunt? She is so enchanting.”

William shook his head. “No, but she has been hanging in the castle Ashby de la Zouch for as long as anyone can remember. From what I am told, she likes to look over the guests when they arrive at our feasts.”

Clara took a sip of wine, and tilted her head at the painting. She turned her body, swirling her dark green dress around, and looking at William’s blue eyes. “Has she always hung here? Such a sight to greet our lordship’s guests.”

William’s smile vanished. “I hear that the staff moves it to a bedroom each night.”

“Why do they do that?”

William looked down, trying to hide his sheepish grin. “That I don’t know. Why so many questions? That’s not becoming of a lady. As my guest, come with me into the main hall. We have lemon cakes, fine vintages, and a succulent red feathered goose that will delight your eyes,” William held out his hand, in which Clara placed hers, willing to be lead away from the painting.

Clara had never seen such a sight before. Lords and ladies danced around to lively music. Servants plied trays piled high with tasty treats. A bard sang a ballad that picked Clara’s feet off the polished wooden floor.

William spin her around, the lights blurring as she twirled. A pillar of red glided into Clara’s view, and when she stopped whirling, it became the lady Harriet Anne Curzon. “Just who is this William? A common girl from the fields?”

William laughed, “No, dear Harriet. This is the lady Clara Burton, daughter of millwright James Burton, and Mary Burton. She is quite an eligible lady here in Ashby-de-la-Zouch. Doesn’t she have the nicest brown curls?”

Harriet hiccuped, and tugged at her red dress. “I guess you could call it that. She does have a certain ruddy beauty, in a common way. Anyway, I would like to introduce Sir Jeffrey Morgan.”

A tall, dark and handsome man walked towards the group of them. A red scar ran down the side of Jeffrey’s face, beginning near his violet right eye, ending in a pink puckering of scar flesh just above his upper lip. Jeffrey’s grin was truly malicious, and Clara felt more warmth in her body, this one a bit lower than her throat. “You have the look of a dangerous man, Sir Morgan.”

Morgan’s dark short hair, thin mustache, deep red military coat, and obsidian colored knee high boots spoke cavalry man, the sneer out of his mouth and the saber said dragoon. “You have a clear eye, Lady Burton. I have seen action in the Americas, and the West Indies. I have stared down a savage of the Iroquois tribe. I have crossed blades with a buccaneer out of the vile port of New Providence. I don’t think that you fine ladies need those skills on this night.”

A killer indeed. “Well, I can’t speak for Lady Harriet, but I certainly feel safer under your protection Sir Morgan.” Clara put her hand on Jeffrey’s forearm, rubbing the golden button on his cuff.

William stood up straight, “Now Sir Morgan, aren’t you here as Lady Harriet’s guest tonight? The Lady’s glass looks a bit empty. There is a fine yellow vintage they have just opened. A sweet vine, dances on the tongue.”

Jeffrey led Harriet over to the wine casks, and William took Clara out to the dance floor. He kept her spinning and her glass full, and the night passed as a dream. She barely had time to catch her breath, but when William stepped away to relieve himself, she took a moment to get some air. Clara walked back out to the foyer.

The Aunt was gone. A brown outline of varnish shown where it hung not a few hours before. Clara walked back into the main hall, and spotted two servants carrying a covered bundle into a hallway. She tread lightly, her tan slippers making no sound on the gray flag stones. Torches illuminated the passageway, their amber light letting Clara follow them with ease. They came to a door, on the right hand side of the hall, and carried it inside.

She waited until they exited the room, carrying the brown burlap covering with them. Clara returned to the main hall, and watched the two servants come back. She was of a mind to go to that room, but William grabbed her arm, spiriting her away to another dance.

***

The food ran out, and the wine ran dry. Many of the guests had retired, and Clara’s eyes had trouble staying open. William led her down that same torchlight hallway, bringing her to that same door she spied on earlier. But he turned her around, and Clara saw a door on the opposing wall.

“Is this to be my room?”

William bobbed his head. “Yes, Lady Clara. I am to make sure that you get in it, and get a good rest tonight.”

Clara wanted to sleep but she also needed to know. “Who is staying across from me? I want to know that I’m safe.”

William smiled and bent down to kiss Clara’s hand. “Sir Morgan is. There is a bell inside your room, if you need anything, just ring it. Help will by quickly.” He reached behind her and unlocked the door. William pressed the key into her hand. In a true chivalric fashion, he closed the door behind her, and then Clara was alone.

There were a few candles in the room, just enough light to get ready for bed. Clara reached into her single pocket on her dress, pulling out her rosary. It wasn’t fashionable to be a Catholic in England. Clara was pretty sure they couldn’t arrest her for it, but she didn’t need to flaunt it. She knelt before her bed, and she said her prayers as quickly as she dared. She didn’t want to fall asleep during them.

*****

Clara awoke with pale moonlight coming in through the narrow window. She rose out of her bed, and walked to the opening. A small crack in the window let in cool night air. On that breeze Clara could hear a low whine, a distant sound that she didn’t place. She often heard wolves and foxes in the night, but it didn’t feel like that.

Something about it though, caused her hand to shake. She immediately went to her green dress, laying against a chair and placed her hand in the pocket. It was still there. God would protect her. She pulled it and put it around her neck. She crawled back into bed and under the sheets. That sound crept into her room, even in her bed. She clutched the cross at the end of her rosary, closed her eyes and said the Pater Noster.

Darkness took her soon after.

*****

Yellow sharp light woke Clara, her hand still around her cross. On the dresser lay a brush and a small brown bottle, its contents smelling of lilacs and strangely iron. Clara straightened her hair, and dabbed a little of the perfume on her.

William met her in the hall, many guests breaking their fasts with assorted fruits and slices of meat. He led her to a spot, and she sat down, a servant filling her goblet with ale before she could blink. Clara ate and looked around. She spied Lady Harriet a few benches away, wearing a tangerine dress, complimented with a brass choker set with a blood red ruby. She sat alone.

Clara gave her a little wave. “My lady, you are unescorted this morning? Where is Sir Morgan?”

Harriet looked puzzled. “Sir Morgan? Whom do you speak of, Ms. Burton? Do you think that in my father’s house I must be attended to by guards? You have shown that you don’t belong here Ms. Burton. I think it would be best for you if you were to leave.”

William chimed in, his mouth full of food. “Now, that's too hasty. I think tonight will be the night, yes, I think.” He swallowed, “Its going to be a wonderful feast indeed tonight. Clara, please say that you will remain here with us for one more day?”

Clara couldn’t believe her ears. She hadn’t even dared to believe that William was interested in her. She felt that warm feeling throughout her body, and swayed a little, “Oh, of course my lord. I had such a wonderful time last night, and I know that tonight could be more special. I can’t wait!”

Could he be thinking about marrying her? She didn’t know what to think. He was a nobleman, and Clara thought he would marry a noblewoman. But her father was an important man in Ashby-de-la-Zouch. She knew that among the village girls she was the most beautiful and sought after. Maybe he would ask her to marry him? Her father gave her no warning. She would have some things to say to him when she returned.

Clara finished her meal, and walked to the foyer. The Aunt had been returned to her perch, and to Clara’s eyes, she was different. She appeared less wrinkled, her cheeks rosy and her eyes violet now. Her scowl now was a smile, hiding behind her mask of an unfeeling face. The red brooch glowed in the candlelight, and she wore the same dress as before. Maybe Clara was just misremembering the painting from the night before.

It was a magical evening, and that must be it. There would be no reason as to why someone would paint changes into this piece. She stared at it for another moment, then suddenly felt something staring back at her. She spun around, and Lady Harriet stood behind her.

“You like this painting, Ms. Burton? I don’t. If it were up to me, I would put it into the dungeon, but its been in our family for as long as anyone can remember. If I were you, I would turn on your heel, and naught look back to us.”

Clara flushed, her ears turning crimson. “You don’t like me much my lady, but I don’t see why. I am just a miller’s daughter, no threat to you. We could be friends, if you wanted it.”

Harriet’s face looked pained, and she lowered her voice, “You stupid peasant girl, we don’t want you here. You need to leave, now. Go and you will find that the village boys will fight over you, they certainly will. Just don’t come back here.”

Clara smiled, and curtseyed. She glanced at the painting once more, and turned towards the front door, pulling it open so she could enter the courtyard. She wasn’t about to let Lady Harriet win, so Clara didn’t exit through the main gate. She wondered the courtyard, drifting from yellow flower to red blossom.

She found a stone bench, and sat on it. A sweet fragrance filled her nose, and her heart, which pounded since her discussion with Harriet, began to slow down. She reached inside her pocket and began to pray quietly. She felt the wood of the beads between her fingers, and calming presence of God in her heart. No one bothered her as she completed the entire rosary.

*******

The second night of the feast was as enchanting as the first. William kept Clara on her toes, spinning on the floor, and goblet filled with fine wine. She though kept an eye on the foyer, and saw servants take bring the painting through the room and into the hallway where their bedrooms lay. This time she couldn’t get away to see which room they put it into. A chill went up her spine as she pictured the Aunt being hung in her room. She banished the thought as soon as she could, finishing the goblet.

William took her arm in his as he led her down the hall at the end of the night. The torch’s amber glow seemed dimmer, William’s blue doublet didn’t sparkle like it did before, his face looked drained of blood. “Here we are my dear. Have a wonderful night.” He fumbled the key as he put it into the lock, and opened the door for Clara, ushering her in.

She heard the door close behind her, and she moved to the bed to get ready to go to sleep. She turned towards the dresser, and there it was, The Aunt, placed in her room. She had returned to the original look from the night before, and a twinge of uncertainty left her unsettled. Clara kept her rosary with her when she climbed into bed, and blew out the last candle.

Clara awoke in the middle of the night, her breathe visible in the chilly air, far colder than it was outside. She tried to sit up, but found it difficult to move. She opened her eyes wide, and moved her head around, to look about the room.

The Aunt stood at the foot of her bed, her eyes illuminated with green light, and her spindly fingers extended to Clara ending in sharpened points. Her mouth agape, teeth sharpened to points, gave a moan that froze Clara to her soul.

It climbed into the bed, coming towards Clara on her knees, and Clara still could not move her legs or chest. Clara squeaked out a feeble word. “Stop…” and found more spit to speak more, “Please.”

The Aunt tilted her head back and gave a soundless laugh, and dragged her fingernails down the bed sheets that covered Clara. Even though her head still swam from the wine she drank, Clara knew that her end was near. She needed a miracle.

All Clara could do was to watch the Aunt crawl up her body, her claws scraping at her bosom. Her heart froze, and all Clara could do is wet her lips, to say the Pater Noster once more. As the words crossed her lips, the creature recoiled as if it hurt by the very words. Clara found she could move her arms, and she produced her rosary, displaying it to the creature. It shuddered in horror.

“Our father, who art in heaven…” The Aunt soundlessly screamed, and dragged itself back off the bed. As it moved back, Clara could move, and she followed it, continuing the prayer. “hollowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…”

Clara backed the Aunt against the fireplace, the creature pressing itself against the dull red bricks, its limbs breaking and gray dust falling down over the floor. “On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Its torso collapsed on itself, its skull twisted by a scowl, its glowing eyes hating Clara.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever and ever…Amen.” Only dull dust remained of the horror.

Sweat dripped from Clara’s brow, and she sat down on the floor, exhausted. She looked up at the painting, a very different visage greeted her. A demonic figure, blood red eyes, black horns, scales instead of flesh was the subject of the painting. It wore a doublet, dark as an abyss, which strangely left its red throat exposed as the original painting did. She felt nothing but revulsion from it, the true danger vanquished.

*****

William waited for the servants to come. It wouldn’t do for him to carry whats left out of the room. But maybe, a quick peek first. He put the key into the door, and opened it. She stood there, as if nothing at all happened last night. “Oh William, you shouldn’t gape like that. Not becoming of a nobleman. I certainly enjoyed myself, but I must be going. Please thank Lady Harriet for me. I don’t think that I an interested in coming to more parties. I can see myself out.”

Clara smiled. William said nothing about the gray dust on her verdant dress. She thought it made her sparkle. She picked up her pace. Clara didn’t want to be late for mass.