Precious Things DVD commentary (part 2)
Okay, this is late. Like really late, and it's still not complete, but I can't help the fact that I just get these slupms in wiriting. Also the dissertation is eating into my writing and creative reserves. I wrote this today while sitting in Starbucks. I apologise for the rather rambling nature of it.
Anyhoo, this is for the lovely kat_lair, who has been very patient.
Part 1 is here
This was partly a transitional section, and partly what my beta called “sociology-crap-fest” (I’m paraphrasing from memory here :D).
The first section had two functions, to explain what happened after the events in the woods, and to tie the story to the actual events in the series. Partly I think that it feels a bit too paraphrasy, as I read it now it seems a bit too hurried, but at the time of writing I just needed to get the facts off the way so I could concentrate on the upcoming events.
It was important to me to deal with Robin, and the distance that Marian is putting between them, again to set the scene for later events, and also to explain the isolation and fear that she is going through. Marian is truly alone in her fight at this point, because she has cut ties with her only ally: Robin. There is a suggestion in there that Robin has some kind of an idea on what has happened, but I was relatively ambivalent on that subject, so I left it up to the reader’s interpretation.
I loved the hair cutting scene in the series, it was just perfectly balance and came in on the perfect time when I was writing/planning this. It suite my purposes because it gave the push for Guy to confront Marian again. Also, if you look at the sequence again, I think these events could have taken place in the series.
I have a particular fondness for women’s hair, because it is often a metaphor for something else. Much like in the show (or in history) it is the sign of Marian’s honour. Guy bringing it back is a sign of his respect, and also that of him trying to make up for what he took from her. Obviously Marian does not see it that way, but she sees it a sign of respect. It is a convergence of motivations which are not the same but fit together.
Okay, now the dialogue section. I usually write dialogue all in one piece, without any description in between, for me it’s like listening to people talk, and I just take notes. We had long discussions with my beta over that section, because it did feel on occasion like a sociology lecture, and it still does, but there were things that I needed in the consciousness of both characters and this was the fastest way to do it.
In a way, this is a very pivotal point in the story, because Marian becomes a narrator, she narrates her life the way she experienced it, and I think that’s quite powerful.
It was also important for me that Marian acknowledges the rivalry Guy feels with Robin, and actively choosing him over Robin.
xi.
But Lord did not grant Marian her wish. At first the images of him had been so vivid in her mind that she would awaken in the middle of the night with his imagined fingers running over skin and she would cry in their absence. Then, slowly, it became more like a dream; something that had only transpired in her head. Her life moved on and no one saw the difference in her. Her father improved and was able to rise from his bed again, but a nagging worry was now imprinted in her heart and she worried about the coming winter. He wanted her not to worry and willed himself to stand strong in the council and in her eyes. But she could no longer pretend that he was well, and in her heart she knew he was dying. Sometimes at night she would stand outside his door and listen to the rattling of his breath and cry silently against the grains in the wood.
She had not been able to help herself when it came to Robin. She had consciously distanced herself from him and his men. Even though the Night Watchman went out almost every night and helped those in need, she could not help Robin anymore. She could see the faces of those men in Robin and John and Will, even if they had not been there. The face of the dead man still haunted her waking hours, his lifeless eyes following her around the house. She knew that no matter what had happened to her, Robin would never accept her as a killer. He had sought her out a few times, but had, after her harsh brush off, respected her need for solitude. And to her surprise he had not questioned her why.
Then the pestilence came. She had to speak out, even with Sir Guy shooting a warning glance at her across the room, even with her father’s shoulders tensing beneath her hands, she had to. A part of her expected the sheriff’s retribution, wanted it. She wanted something to happen, something to jolt the people around her. Robin was a fool. He flaunted himself before the sheriff and played games. He had not yet realized what was truly at stake here. He did not see the coming winter as a bitter enemy. So she placed herself on the line.
The sound of the shears was now etched in her mind, and Marian hoped that it would fade with time. Her father had retired early, complaining tiredness. She had given him herb tea to help him sleep through the coughs. Herself, she could not sleep; silently she listened to the night and was jolted by the quiet knock on the door.
Gently she slid the door open and in the flickering light of the torch stood Guy of Gisborne. She had searched for him with her eyes in the courtyard today, but he had refused to meet her gaze. Now he finally looked at her with the kind of soft gaze she had learned to know a little those few weeks past. She slid the door wider so he could pass into the silent and dark house. He paced in the front room and Marian sat by the table, watching his movements. He wanted to speak, she could see it in his eyes every time he turned towards her, but each time seemed to lose the nerve.
He held it on the palm of his had like it was some precious thing. The hair had been braided and bound with two thin leather straps. Her fingers skimmed over the soft surface, not quite believing that it had been cut from her mere hours ago.
“You went back for it?”
She could hear the disbelief in her own voice, and felt ashamed for it. Had he not always tried in his crooked way do what was best for her?
“I thought you might want it back…”
There was a kind of hesitation in his voice that she had never heard before and he began to pull his hand away. Harshly she grasped his wrist and was instantly transported to another place and time, which she had for a while though to be but a dream. Softly she picked up the braid and felt again the tears she had refused to let fall in the yard.
“Thank you.”
Marian had never though how big a part of herself her hair was, until she the braid was in her hands. It was such a little thing and would grow back within the year, but it had such great implications against the moral of her character. She had been flippant earlier to Robin, she had not wanted him to see her fear and her shame, but now she felt no such decorum. She let the tears fall, silently. It was more of a release than an act of sorrow. But Guy did not know that and he kneeled by her chair his hands softly cradling her own, saying nothing. Marian wondered why their every single meeting could not be like this. He was not an eloquent man, but when he let his body do the speaking she could understand him so well.
She smiled, wiping the tears away and offered him the seat opposite her own. The braid remained in her hands and she twined her fingers through it.
“He truly made his point. I am a woman of no honour now.”
Against her will she felt a small grin tug the corner of her mouth and gave him a look from beneath her brows.
“But then again; you already knew that.”
“What happened between us had nothing to do with your honour. To me you are as respectable as always.”
She could not help the gentle smile spreading on her face and Marian wondered how he could make her smile so many times on such a day.
“Thank you, but I do fear that you will be the only one willing to express that sentiment. He has ruined my chances of getting a husband now more surely than ever.”
He was silent for a long time, and she could see the question in his eyes before he even asked it. In a way she had invited him to.
“Why did you never marry?”
And she did want to tell him her story, wanted him to know the reasons that drove her.
“I was meant to. When I was eleven an accord was made with the third son of the Earl of Wessex. We were to be married on my eighteenth birthday. I had no dowry, so it was agreed that upon the death of my father the lands would pass to the family of my husband. Under those circumstances it seemed fair to my father. You see I have rank, but no fortune. It was very hard for my parents to find me a suitable husband.”
“When I was seventeen, my intended died in a tournament and the grief stricken Wessex’s refused to accept me for any of their other sons. Then my mother died.”
Her voice caught and his fingers slid between her own, and she carried on. Her voice remained strangely even in the otherwise silent room.
“You have to understand that my father was never one to push for my marriage, my mother was. In a way she understood my needs in society so much better than my father. After she died my father became even more reclusive. He denied any suitors that came and one day they just stopped coming.”
“You see time was much against me. Now that my father finally understands that I will be left with nothing if he dies it is too late. I am too old.”
He nodded, but he wanted more, needed to know more.
“What about Locksley? Were your families not closely connected?”
“It would have been possible, but he is the Earl of Huntington. His father wanted him to marry well; they were vying for a wife with royal blood, giving him a strong bid for the throne. We were friends as children and I was betrothed early on, so the thought never entered my father’s mind. Robin left to war right after my intended was killed. During that time finding a wife was the last thing on his mind.”
“Do you now see why I did what I did? For once I wanted to be the one making choices over my body. For you see, it does not truly belong to me. It belongs to the land. We are both landless, both fighting to retain what we believe to be ours.”
“I fear that the earth will shallow me whole. This is what you meant by that, is it not?”
She could not believe that he had remembered her words so closely.
“That is why I told you that it would not matter if you changed a name of a thing. And for me it does not. For women names are fallible and ever changing. You have to find something in the land that is your own, something that will stay with you no matter if they take it away or change its name. “
Suddenly she looked at him, as if jolted awake from her thoughts.
“I apologise, I am rambling.”
“No you are not. We do not ever think what you must go without, us men. How small things can bring you down, make you unworthy.”
She shook her head. He was the first man to ever even express regret like that to her, and now that he did it was suddenly meaningless.
“I know. But I cannot be angry with any of you. We are all bound by rules of our station. But they can be thwarted.”
She raised her eyes to meet his, smiling without humour.
“And in that way the sheriff has helped me. He has shamed me in front of all of Nottingham. If I choose to, I can now repel any suitor I wish. That is the greatest freedom a woman in my position could ever wish for.”
She slid her fingers between his, finding the gesture so incredibly intimate. I have done this before. They were familiar fingers, and again his question did not surprise her.
“Why did you choose me? Why not Locksley?”
“Because Robin could never truly understand the ties that bind me, the rules I have to follow. And he would never see it as my choice, merely an extension of his own charms. But I thought that you would. And by bringing this…”
Marian pulled her fingers away from his and ran her fingers over the severed braid.
“…you have proven me right.”
At that he looked away, as if uncomfortable with the idea that she had read him so well. That was alright. He had given her more tonight than she had ever expected to receive from any man in a lifetime. His terse voice did not come to her as a shock.
“I need to leave.”
She got up after him, walking after him to the door. He stood the immobile, looking once more like he wanted to say something, make their parting memorable. Marian did not give him the chance.
She pulled him to her, until their bodies were touching. His lips were still as soft as she remembered and Marian was comforted in the thought that she had not imagined everything. His hands found their way around her waist, but before she could once more get used to the feel of his hands, he pulled away.
“Marian, we cannot do this.”
His forehead rested against her own, and she wanted nothing more than to invite him back into her house and take him to her bed, but she knew the truth of his words. They could not and she let him go. She watched him as long as she could; until the sounds of the hooves disappeared into the night and he was once more gone from her life.
This was an odd section to write, because I needed to convey Marian’s disgust and worry, but it had to be veiled in respect and stony determination. I’m not very good with subtle tones of writing. That’s why I like writing violence; there are no tones, just bright red chaos.
I’m not quite sure how successful I am here in creating threat on the part of the sheriff. I don’t think his presence is strong enough to echo through the next parts and create enough pressure. But alas, we cannot have it all.
The function here is to create the imperative for Marian and her father to get her married.
xii.
She watched the closed door and listened to the murmured words of the physician through the door. The sheriff had finally relented and his personal physician had become an almost permanent fixture in her house. Marian did not know if she should be thankful. Had Guy pressed the matter in the castle or was this another of the sheriff’s ploys to gain an upper hand over her father? But none of it mattered right now. Her father was dying; his lungs were slowly beginning to give up.
A sharp rap on the door made her turn around, but the visitor did not wait to be called in. The sheriff pushed into the hall, motioning for his guards to wait outside. Marian forced a smile on her lips at the sight of the man, but her voice remained cold.
“Forgive me, sheriff, but my father is not well enough right now to receive any visitors.”
He gave her a mocking bow, eyes searching the locked door behind her.
“Yes, so I have been informed, my dear.”
His voice was jolly as always. And today the sinister gleam of his eyes seemed even more pronounced to her. He moved around the room, as if already owning it, fingering the furniture and the looms hanging on the walls.
“It is a shame really; you unmarried and unable to inherit. The estate will pass onto the crown, of course.”
His voice was even, and Marian could not afford to show her rage.
“But I am sure there are men interested in the Knighton hall. After you father has passed there should be a competition for the land and for you, hmm?”
Then his face contorted into a nasty smile.
“But no, who would possibly take a shamed woman as a wife? It would have to be someone willing to live with your soiled past. I must say there are not many of those around.”
His eyes moved over her, and Marian suppressed a shiver. She would not give him the satisfaction, not when her father was dying a mere door away.
“Personally I would think the land is worth the shame of a spoiled wife.”
He moved closer to her then and Marian fought not to strike him as his breath ghosted over her lips.
“I think it is time you left Sheriff, my father is very tired.”
He grimaced at her, teeth visible between his cracked lips, but he pulled back. He wrenched the door nearly off from its hinges, but instead of rushing out he turned to her.
“I have all the time in the word, and you father have very little of it left. I will wait.”
The door was left slightly ajar in his wake, and the cold air pushed some of the dead leaves in from the porch. She stood still for a long while, listening to the silent tones of the physician and her father’s laboured coughing.
This is one of my favourite parts for two reasons: the fact that it is a very masculine clash of honour and ownership and because Marian is using her own power in a very underhanded way. Marian gives them privacy because she knows that this will further her own plans, she knows how her father thinks and what he needs and I think that is very touching.
I needed Guy to be angry here, because as much as he wants to marry Marian, he is angry for being forced, because he thinks that she does not wish him as he husband. I think that he still considers the liaison they had as something opposite to marriage on Marian’s part.
The exchange between Marian and her father was interesting to wrote, because there are a lot of things running under the surface, a lot of things that remain unsaid, and un-thought. I don’t know how well the subtleties come though again, it’s always such a fine line with writing of saying too much and too little.
“I wish to marry Gisborne; I want to be his wife. I know you do not approve, but this is my choice, father.”
This is an important line, because Marian is speaking the truth in her mind, but for her father she is telling what he needs to hear, and Edward is taking it as her daughter being strong. People can be so odd.
xiii.
Guy came to her house, face shuttered and as angry as ever. Maybe her father could read his intentions, better than she could; maybe he knew the expression of Guy’s face from when he had been in the same position. He commanded her out of the room, and for once Marian did not argue. Her father needed to do this. He needed to feel in control of at least one part of his house.
She laid on the floor by the stairs, her head leaning against the banister. Their voices floated in the air around her like silent whispers and she could make out most of them.
“You know that the Sheriff has his eyes set on her, his eyes set on your land. He will act as the grand saviour, the understanding Sheriff who will take in the shamed daughter of the old Sheriff. Without you she will have no protection against him.”
“Gisborne…”
Her father spat the name as if it were a curse.
“… how dare you come to my house and throw these proposals to my face. My daughter has allies and friends who will protect her.”
Marian heard the heavy steps and she could imagine the anger of Guy’s face.
“Do you, sir, truly know your daughter so little that you imagine that she would forsake her lands for personal happiness? She is proud and she will stand by her family’s property against anything!”
Her father’s breathing was laboured, but he still managed to inject some force into his voice.
“How dare you suggest that I do not know my own daughter?”
Their voices rose in crescendo then and the words were now clear and Marian let her head fall onto the wooden floor.
“I want to marry her. I have no land of my own and I will let her stay on her own estate. It would be a beneficial arrangement for both of us.”
“Beneficial!”
Her father was shouting now and Marian worried again about his lungs, but she dared not to intervene. His father had already lost so much face when it came to her, she did not want to take it from him in front of Guy.
“How dare you demean my daughter’s happiness to ‘beneficial’.”
“Because it is all I can offer to her. I love your daughter, you know this. I have courted her for a long time, but she does not love me, but, Sir, she does not have time for love anymore.”
She heard the legs of the chair creaking against the floor and she knew her father had sat down. She could imagine his down cast eyes, and for a while the house was silent. Then Guy moved, and Marian wondered if it was a bad sign that she recognised his footfalls.
“Send for me when you have an answer, Sir Edward.”
The door slid shut behind him, but Marian would not move, she breathed in sync with her father. Counting the rattling breaths in her mind. Then her father walked up the stairs. He sat heavily on the highest step and she could see the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Marian felt like she was floating. She had been proposed to for the first time. Her. Not her property, but her as a woman. I love your daughter. Even though her father would not see it that way. The only thing he had eyes for was Gisborne’s thirst for land, but Marian had felt his hands on her body and she knew the truth.
“I think you heard what went on in there.”
Her father would not look at her, his eyes searching the far wall. There was wariness, and fear, in his voice. She did not bother to reply, they both knew the answer.
“Did he speak the truth? Has the sheriff truly made threats against you?”
“Not in so many words, but his intentions were made clear.”
His shoulders slumped, and Marian felt like a criminal in her actions. She should not have burdened her father with this. But the fear in her would not allow her to be silent.
“You did not hear his voice. You did not hear the lust.”
Her father buried his face in his weathered hands and Marian feared he was weeping. She could not bear it, could not bear the sorrow of her dying father. She grasped a hold of his arm, trying to convey her need to comfort him. But he stayed strong for her and managed even to add some smile into his voice, even though none could be seen on his face.
“I had always hoped you might marry someone you would truly love. Someone you could be romantic with.”
She smiled at that, but his averted eyes could not see that.
“I am not romantic, father.”
“I know you are not, but you must forgive an old man’s hopes, Marian. I so wished you could have a say in the man I would bind you to.”
She pushed herself up from the floor, to sit by her father.
“I do have a say, father.”
His eyes seemed so old and Marian wanted to reassure him, wanted him to be happy for her.
“I wish to marry Gisborne; I want to be his wife. I know you do not approve, but this is my choice, father.”
He smiled then, just a little, and grasped her hands in his own.
“No, my dear. I do not disapprove, for you could do much worse in our situation.”
This is the mirror scene to the discussion between Marian and her father. This again Marian forcing Guy to see the world in the way she wants him to. It’s less subtlety than with Edward because partly Marian doesn’t need to lie so much to Guy, because he is technically aware of most facts.
Some of the description in this is a bit awkward, and I don’t really know why. It just for some reason wouldn’t take proper shape when I was writing it.
On a side note, I don’t know if it comes through in the story, but I always thought Guy was very good with horses, and that was always the connection in Marian’s relationship with him.
xiv.
He was in the stables of the castle, or so the servants had told her. The air was dry and the smell of hay caught in the back of her throat. The corridors were dimly light by the small rays of daylight filtering in through the cracks in the wood panelling. There were no other lights in fear of fire. He was standing inside a pen, grooming one of the horses. The huge beast had him almost shoved to the wall, but he did not seem to mind. She stood there for a moment, observing his actions. A month or two ago she would have been shocked by the gentleness of his hands and the quiet, soothing calm of his voice. But now she knew better. Those hands had travelled over her body and the voice had spoken to her silently and made her fall apart, and for the first time she felt joy in the news she was delivering.
She could see the shock on his face as she entered the pen, but he covered it quickly behind his usual mask.
“My father will come to see you today. He will formally accept your proposal and arrangements will be made for our engagement to be officially announced.”
She could hear the strokes of the brush stilling, but she still would not meet his eyes.
“Was this your father’s choice. Did he force you into this?”
His voice was harsh and it made her look him in the face. There was hatred and rage in his eyes, but Marian refused to recoil from his anger. For a long silent moment they measured one another, and she realized his hate was not directed at her at all. He was angry at himself. She smiled.
“Not by a mile. To tell you the truth I was the one doing the forcing. I think he would have rather sent me to the Holy Land.”
He looked away and she could see his jaw tensing in the low light.
“Is that supposed to be a consolation? That your father loathes the very core of me.”
She felt her insides boiling. Men and their damned pride; why could he not just accept her and be done with it?
“But I do not. I hope that is a consolation, if you so wish to take it. I wish to marry you Sir Guy.”
She walked around the horse and with her hands on his face, forced his eyes to meet hers.
“I will be your Gisborne, if you let me.”
He kissed her then. It was so sudden it took her breath away and she was frozen in place, but then she could not help but cling to the sleeves of his coat.
This section is just me indulging in the scene of the archery contest. I loved that scene and I really wanted to write it into the story. I know it’s very confusing if you haven’t seen the series, and I should have expanded on it a lot more, but I was getting impatient by the end of the process and just wanted to get the story out there, so this remained a bit unfinished.
I also enjoyed giving the apple peeling scene a bit of a sexier edge, there flirtation that I tried to inject into that would be natural if they were both aware of the pending marriage announcement. It was also strange of how the flirty mood had to change into fear and apprehension quite fast, and I’m not too sure how well that transition went.
But there were two important plot devices inserted here:
The realization on Guy’s face about the Nightwatchman’s identity, which I thought was interesting.
The revelation of the marriage while Robin listens in the background.
Both of these are sort of devices that I had to include here in order to justify what happens later on. This was just generally a really odd section to write, it still feels a little disconnected.
xv.
Her father had insisted upon her consent more times that morning than Marian could count. Even when they were thundering through the forest in Guy’s carriage he was imploring if this was truly what she wished. Part of Marian wanted to tell her father the truth. How her body burned every time she merely caught sight of Guy in the castle, how he had brought her hair back and held her hands in his own. But she remained silent on all of those things and once more assured him. I do father, and I will.
Now she sat beside him, a mere foot away, forcing her gaze to admire the archers. His voice was soft in her ears as he leaned towards her:
“They say the peel of an apple could predict who a woman will marry.”
She nearly laughed at his words in delight and the motion made her severe the peel. It fell to the floor and both of their gazes followed it. She turned to his serious eyes and gave him an impish smile. They announced the name of his archer and he smiled back.
“You’ll like him...”
His voice died away as his fingers trailed on her forearm and came away bloody. She felt her heart stop and pressed the heel of the blade against her palm.
“I cut myself.”
She felt like a fraud as his eyes questioned her.
“Your arm...”
“No, my hand, I must have gotten some on my sleeve.”
His eyes called her a liar, but he would not say anything and she pleaded him in her mind; please please please. She did not know what she was pleading for; for him to accept the lie or for him to discover her secret. But at the arrival of his own archer his grey eyes turned away from her and Marian’s heart felt cold.
When the boy threatened her later on the day, she could not feel anything. Her mind was still numb from earlier and mechanically she spoke him down from his rage, but it was a hollow victory. The fear had been lodged into her stomach like a block of ice and Robin, who belatedly arrived to rescue her, got the blunt of that fear.
After the competition it was her duty to present the silver arrow. Her fear was momentarily pressed back by her satisfaction. She could almost feel the suppressed rage of the Sheriff. The crowd cheered for Rowan and she could not help but smile.
After the noise had died down her father took the stage. His voice did not waver and she marvelled at the power of his will. He had barely been able to whisper that morning. Instinctively she grasped a hold of Guy’s hand in the folds of her cape, hidden from view.
“Could I please have you attention for a brief while. I know you are all thirsty and the ale will soon be served, but there is something I would like to make known across the county.”
She could see the hooded form of Robin in the crowd turning around to listen.
“It is my great pleasure to announce that the houses of Knighton and Gisborne will soon be united. Sir Guy of Gisborne and my only daughter, Lady Marian will be wed a week from Saturday. I wish that all of you will be present there to wish them well. Thank you.”
For a moment there was complete silence in the yard, but slowly applause began. Marian thought that it were the sheriff’s soldiers who started it, but she still smiled. Guy pulled her forward, to stand by her father. She had felt the tension in him since the apple, but now he seemed calmed by her side. He lifted their clasped fingers to his lips, and just before they met her skin, whispered:
“It is all right.”
I wanted to deal with Marian’s mother at some point, deal with the memories that must plague both Marian and her father. In a way this section is as much about Edward (even though it’s all sub-textual) as it is about Marian’s need to connect with her mother during the wedding preparation.
Okay, historical fact (from which I have to give kudos to the costume designers of the series, which were otherwise horrendous) medieval wedding wear is not white. Blue was the colour of choice as it represents purity ( Virgin Mary).
The letter is incongruent on purpose, the idea behind that was, that Marian’s mother was very ill when she wrote it and was not i her right mind. I don’t really know if it works that well. I think I should have embellished it a bit more, explained about her condition more.
xvi.
The grooves on the wood of the chest were deep and sharp against Marian’s fingers. Her father’s voice had been faint and she had had to bend to properly hear.
“I did not want you to see them. I feared what you might find among her things. I feared the memories it would bring. But I think it is time.”
He had pulled the brass key from beneath his tunic and Marian had know he had not parted from it since they day of her mother’s death. It had been warm and heavy in her hand and she had wondered how badly its weight would have reminded him of her mother every day.
The lock was rusted and it took her a few tries before the old gears gave in and the mechanism snapped open. The dust was mixed with the smell of herbs and she could see the dead flowers crumbled upon the clothing.
One by one she pulled each dress from the truck and laid them over the chests lining the walls of their attic. In the light of the tiny little windows she could admire the bright colours. The last one was folded inside a white sheet. The light blue was as bright as it was on the only day her mother had worn it. The tiny embroidered white flowers seemed to change colour in the shadows and the light. She folded the dress and the thick veil that accompanied it open. The flowery pattern continued in the veil even though the white embroidery was harder to see in the light fabric. Her mother had obviously put much thought into this dress and suddenly Marian missed her more than she had ever before. Her mother should be here today, she should be here to prepare Marian for her wedding. She lifted the dress up against herself, and a thin enveloped fell out from beneath the hem.
Her name was inscribed on the envelope with shaky letters. She broke the clumsy seal of wax and pulled the letter out. The letters were spiky and little ink blots decorated the letter as well, as if her mother’s hand has shook terribly as she wrote it.
My lovely daughter, I wonder now what wisdom should I part to you. What will you need from me in the years to come that I will not be able to give you?
Your father is a good man, but he will never truly know you. He will never truly understand you. So I will tell you now, my love, that you must trust yourself above anything. The men who will be part of your life after I am gone will always pretend to know what you need and want. But you must not trust them.
Choose your husband wisely. Do not take a husband for love, for love dies in the harsh English winters and you are then bereft and are left with nothing. Take a husband of strength. One you can respect, for he will control all that is you.
And always collect the final apples of the fall and make jam of them. That will carry you over the coldest month without hunger.
She had to strain to read some of the words, and she knew her mother had been plagued by heavy fever and she had not been lucid during the last days. But something in the letter made her believe the words, believe in the wisdom her mother had not had time to pass on. Gently she kissed the spiky letters and folded the paper inside her own tunic. For a short time she wondered if her mother would have approved of her choice. Would she have been able to see through her husband or would she have been as deceived by Guy as her father was.
She gathered the dress and the veil in her arms and carried it downstairs. She would have to call the tailor to make some adjustments to the dress. She was slightly shorter and thinner than her mother had been.
Anyhoo, this is for the lovely kat_lair, who has been very patient.
Part 1 is here
This was partly a transitional section, and partly what my beta called “sociology-crap-fest” (I’m paraphrasing from memory here :D).
The first section had two functions, to explain what happened after the events in the woods, and to tie the story to the actual events in the series. Partly I think that it feels a bit too paraphrasy, as I read it now it seems a bit too hurried, but at the time of writing I just needed to get the facts off the way so I could concentrate on the upcoming events.
It was important to me to deal with Robin, and the distance that Marian is putting between them, again to set the scene for later events, and also to explain the isolation and fear that she is going through. Marian is truly alone in her fight at this point, because she has cut ties with her only ally: Robin. There is a suggestion in there that Robin has some kind of an idea on what has happened, but I was relatively ambivalent on that subject, so I left it up to the reader’s interpretation.
I loved the hair cutting scene in the series, it was just perfectly balance and came in on the perfect time when I was writing/planning this. It suite my purposes because it gave the push for Guy to confront Marian again. Also, if you look at the sequence again, I think these events could have taken place in the series.
I have a particular fondness for women’s hair, because it is often a metaphor for something else. Much like in the show (or in history) it is the sign of Marian’s honour. Guy bringing it back is a sign of his respect, and also that of him trying to make up for what he took from her. Obviously Marian does not see it that way, but she sees it a sign of respect. It is a convergence of motivations which are not the same but fit together.
Okay, now the dialogue section. I usually write dialogue all in one piece, without any description in between, for me it’s like listening to people talk, and I just take notes. We had long discussions with my beta over that section, because it did feel on occasion like a sociology lecture, and it still does, but there were things that I needed in the consciousness of both characters and this was the fastest way to do it.
In a way, this is a very pivotal point in the story, because Marian becomes a narrator, she narrates her life the way she experienced it, and I think that’s quite powerful.
It was also important for me that Marian acknowledges the rivalry Guy feels with Robin, and actively choosing him over Robin.
xi.
But Lord did not grant Marian her wish. At first the images of him had been so vivid in her mind that she would awaken in the middle of the night with his imagined fingers running over skin and she would cry in their absence. Then, slowly, it became more like a dream; something that had only transpired in her head. Her life moved on and no one saw the difference in her. Her father improved and was able to rise from his bed again, but a nagging worry was now imprinted in her heart and she worried about the coming winter. He wanted her not to worry and willed himself to stand strong in the council and in her eyes. But she could no longer pretend that he was well, and in her heart she knew he was dying. Sometimes at night she would stand outside his door and listen to the rattling of his breath and cry silently against the grains in the wood.
She had not been able to help herself when it came to Robin. She had consciously distanced herself from him and his men. Even though the Night Watchman went out almost every night and helped those in need, she could not help Robin anymore. She could see the faces of those men in Robin and John and Will, even if they had not been there. The face of the dead man still haunted her waking hours, his lifeless eyes following her around the house. She knew that no matter what had happened to her, Robin would never accept her as a killer. He had sought her out a few times, but had, after her harsh brush off, respected her need for solitude. And to her surprise he had not questioned her why.
Then the pestilence came. She had to speak out, even with Sir Guy shooting a warning glance at her across the room, even with her father’s shoulders tensing beneath her hands, she had to. A part of her expected the sheriff’s retribution, wanted it. She wanted something to happen, something to jolt the people around her. Robin was a fool. He flaunted himself before the sheriff and played games. He had not yet realized what was truly at stake here. He did not see the coming winter as a bitter enemy. So she placed herself on the line.
The sound of the shears was now etched in her mind, and Marian hoped that it would fade with time. Her father had retired early, complaining tiredness. She had given him herb tea to help him sleep through the coughs. Herself, she could not sleep; silently she listened to the night and was jolted by the quiet knock on the door.
Gently she slid the door open and in the flickering light of the torch stood Guy of Gisborne. She had searched for him with her eyes in the courtyard today, but he had refused to meet her gaze. Now he finally looked at her with the kind of soft gaze she had learned to know a little those few weeks past. She slid the door wider so he could pass into the silent and dark house. He paced in the front room and Marian sat by the table, watching his movements. He wanted to speak, she could see it in his eyes every time he turned towards her, but each time seemed to lose the nerve.
He held it on the palm of his had like it was some precious thing. The hair had been braided and bound with two thin leather straps. Her fingers skimmed over the soft surface, not quite believing that it had been cut from her mere hours ago.
“You went back for it?”
She could hear the disbelief in her own voice, and felt ashamed for it. Had he not always tried in his crooked way do what was best for her?
“I thought you might want it back…”
There was a kind of hesitation in his voice that she had never heard before and he began to pull his hand away. Harshly she grasped his wrist and was instantly transported to another place and time, which she had for a while though to be but a dream. Softly she picked up the braid and felt again the tears she had refused to let fall in the yard.
“Thank you.”
Marian had never though how big a part of herself her hair was, until she the braid was in her hands. It was such a little thing and would grow back within the year, but it had such great implications against the moral of her character. She had been flippant earlier to Robin, she had not wanted him to see her fear and her shame, but now she felt no such decorum. She let the tears fall, silently. It was more of a release than an act of sorrow. But Guy did not know that and he kneeled by her chair his hands softly cradling her own, saying nothing. Marian wondered why their every single meeting could not be like this. He was not an eloquent man, but when he let his body do the speaking she could understand him so well.
She smiled, wiping the tears away and offered him the seat opposite her own. The braid remained in her hands and she twined her fingers through it.
“He truly made his point. I am a woman of no honour now.”
Against her will she felt a small grin tug the corner of her mouth and gave him a look from beneath her brows.
“But then again; you already knew that.”
“What happened between us had nothing to do with your honour. To me you are as respectable as always.”
She could not help the gentle smile spreading on her face and Marian wondered how he could make her smile so many times on such a day.
“Thank you, but I do fear that you will be the only one willing to express that sentiment. He has ruined my chances of getting a husband now more surely than ever.”
He was silent for a long time, and she could see the question in his eyes before he even asked it. In a way she had invited him to.
“Why did you never marry?”
And she did want to tell him her story, wanted him to know the reasons that drove her.
“I was meant to. When I was eleven an accord was made with the third son of the Earl of Wessex. We were to be married on my eighteenth birthday. I had no dowry, so it was agreed that upon the death of my father the lands would pass to the family of my husband. Under those circumstances it seemed fair to my father. You see I have rank, but no fortune. It was very hard for my parents to find me a suitable husband.”
“When I was seventeen, my intended died in a tournament and the grief stricken Wessex’s refused to accept me for any of their other sons. Then my mother died.”
Her voice caught and his fingers slid between her own, and she carried on. Her voice remained strangely even in the otherwise silent room.
“You have to understand that my father was never one to push for my marriage, my mother was. In a way she understood my needs in society so much better than my father. After she died my father became even more reclusive. He denied any suitors that came and one day they just stopped coming.”
“You see time was much against me. Now that my father finally understands that I will be left with nothing if he dies it is too late. I am too old.”
He nodded, but he wanted more, needed to know more.
“What about Locksley? Were your families not closely connected?”
“It would have been possible, but he is the Earl of Huntington. His father wanted him to marry well; they were vying for a wife with royal blood, giving him a strong bid for the throne. We were friends as children and I was betrothed early on, so the thought never entered my father’s mind. Robin left to war right after my intended was killed. During that time finding a wife was the last thing on his mind.”
“Do you now see why I did what I did? For once I wanted to be the one making choices over my body. For you see, it does not truly belong to me. It belongs to the land. We are both landless, both fighting to retain what we believe to be ours.”
“I fear that the earth will shallow me whole. This is what you meant by that, is it not?”
She could not believe that he had remembered her words so closely.
“That is why I told you that it would not matter if you changed a name of a thing. And for me it does not. For women names are fallible and ever changing. You have to find something in the land that is your own, something that will stay with you no matter if they take it away or change its name. “
Suddenly she looked at him, as if jolted awake from her thoughts.
“I apologise, I am rambling.”
“No you are not. We do not ever think what you must go without, us men. How small things can bring you down, make you unworthy.”
She shook her head. He was the first man to ever even express regret like that to her, and now that he did it was suddenly meaningless.
“I know. But I cannot be angry with any of you. We are all bound by rules of our station. But they can be thwarted.”
She raised her eyes to meet his, smiling without humour.
“And in that way the sheriff has helped me. He has shamed me in front of all of Nottingham. If I choose to, I can now repel any suitor I wish. That is the greatest freedom a woman in my position could ever wish for.”
She slid her fingers between his, finding the gesture so incredibly intimate. I have done this before. They were familiar fingers, and again his question did not surprise her.
“Why did you choose me? Why not Locksley?”
“Because Robin could never truly understand the ties that bind me, the rules I have to follow. And he would never see it as my choice, merely an extension of his own charms. But I thought that you would. And by bringing this…”
Marian pulled her fingers away from his and ran her fingers over the severed braid.
“…you have proven me right.”
At that he looked away, as if uncomfortable with the idea that she had read him so well. That was alright. He had given her more tonight than she had ever expected to receive from any man in a lifetime. His terse voice did not come to her as a shock.
“I need to leave.”
She got up after him, walking after him to the door. He stood the immobile, looking once more like he wanted to say something, make their parting memorable. Marian did not give him the chance.
She pulled him to her, until their bodies were touching. His lips were still as soft as she remembered and Marian was comforted in the thought that she had not imagined everything. His hands found their way around her waist, but before she could once more get used to the feel of his hands, he pulled away.
“Marian, we cannot do this.”
His forehead rested against her own, and she wanted nothing more than to invite him back into her house and take him to her bed, but she knew the truth of his words. They could not and she let him go. She watched him as long as she could; until the sounds of the hooves disappeared into the night and he was once more gone from her life.
This was an odd section to write, because I needed to convey Marian’s disgust and worry, but it had to be veiled in respect and stony determination. I’m not very good with subtle tones of writing. That’s why I like writing violence; there are no tones, just bright red chaos.
I’m not quite sure how successful I am here in creating threat on the part of the sheriff. I don’t think his presence is strong enough to echo through the next parts and create enough pressure. But alas, we cannot have it all.
The function here is to create the imperative for Marian and her father to get her married.
xii.
She watched the closed door and listened to the murmured words of the physician through the door. The sheriff had finally relented and his personal physician had become an almost permanent fixture in her house. Marian did not know if she should be thankful. Had Guy pressed the matter in the castle or was this another of the sheriff’s ploys to gain an upper hand over her father? But none of it mattered right now. Her father was dying; his lungs were slowly beginning to give up.
A sharp rap on the door made her turn around, but the visitor did not wait to be called in. The sheriff pushed into the hall, motioning for his guards to wait outside. Marian forced a smile on her lips at the sight of the man, but her voice remained cold.
“Forgive me, sheriff, but my father is not well enough right now to receive any visitors.”
He gave her a mocking bow, eyes searching the locked door behind her.
“Yes, so I have been informed, my dear.”
His voice was jolly as always. And today the sinister gleam of his eyes seemed even more pronounced to her. He moved around the room, as if already owning it, fingering the furniture and the looms hanging on the walls.
“It is a shame really; you unmarried and unable to inherit. The estate will pass onto the crown, of course.”
His voice was even, and Marian could not afford to show her rage.
“But I am sure there are men interested in the Knighton hall. After you father has passed there should be a competition for the land and for you, hmm?”
Then his face contorted into a nasty smile.
“But no, who would possibly take a shamed woman as a wife? It would have to be someone willing to live with your soiled past. I must say there are not many of those around.”
His eyes moved over her, and Marian suppressed a shiver. She would not give him the satisfaction, not when her father was dying a mere door away.
“Personally I would think the land is worth the shame of a spoiled wife.”
He moved closer to her then and Marian fought not to strike him as his breath ghosted over her lips.
“I think it is time you left Sheriff, my father is very tired.”
He grimaced at her, teeth visible between his cracked lips, but he pulled back. He wrenched the door nearly off from its hinges, but instead of rushing out he turned to her.
“I have all the time in the word, and you father have very little of it left. I will wait.”
The door was left slightly ajar in his wake, and the cold air pushed some of the dead leaves in from the porch. She stood still for a long while, listening to the silent tones of the physician and her father’s laboured coughing.
This is one of my favourite parts for two reasons: the fact that it is a very masculine clash of honour and ownership and because Marian is using her own power in a very underhanded way. Marian gives them privacy because she knows that this will further her own plans, she knows how her father thinks and what he needs and I think that is very touching.
I needed Guy to be angry here, because as much as he wants to marry Marian, he is angry for being forced, because he thinks that she does not wish him as he husband. I think that he still considers the liaison they had as something opposite to marriage on Marian’s part.
The exchange between Marian and her father was interesting to wrote, because there are a lot of things running under the surface, a lot of things that remain unsaid, and un-thought. I don’t know how well the subtleties come though again, it’s always such a fine line with writing of saying too much and too little.
“I wish to marry Gisborne; I want to be his wife. I know you do not approve, but this is my choice, father.”
This is an important line, because Marian is speaking the truth in her mind, but for her father she is telling what he needs to hear, and Edward is taking it as her daughter being strong. People can be so odd.
xiii.
Guy came to her house, face shuttered and as angry as ever. Maybe her father could read his intentions, better than she could; maybe he knew the expression of Guy’s face from when he had been in the same position. He commanded her out of the room, and for once Marian did not argue. Her father needed to do this. He needed to feel in control of at least one part of his house.
She laid on the floor by the stairs, her head leaning against the banister. Their voices floated in the air around her like silent whispers and she could make out most of them.
“You know that the Sheriff has his eyes set on her, his eyes set on your land. He will act as the grand saviour, the understanding Sheriff who will take in the shamed daughter of the old Sheriff. Without you she will have no protection against him.”
“Gisborne…”
Her father spat the name as if it were a curse.
“… how dare you come to my house and throw these proposals to my face. My daughter has allies and friends who will protect her.”
Marian heard the heavy steps and she could imagine the anger of Guy’s face.
“Do you, sir, truly know your daughter so little that you imagine that she would forsake her lands for personal happiness? She is proud and she will stand by her family’s property against anything!”
Her father’s breathing was laboured, but he still managed to inject some force into his voice.
“How dare you suggest that I do not know my own daughter?”
Their voices rose in crescendo then and the words were now clear and Marian let her head fall onto the wooden floor.
“I want to marry her. I have no land of my own and I will let her stay on her own estate. It would be a beneficial arrangement for both of us.”
“Beneficial!”
Her father was shouting now and Marian worried again about his lungs, but she dared not to intervene. His father had already lost so much face when it came to her, she did not want to take it from him in front of Guy.
“How dare you demean my daughter’s happiness to ‘beneficial’.”
“Because it is all I can offer to her. I love your daughter, you know this. I have courted her for a long time, but she does not love me, but, Sir, she does not have time for love anymore.”
She heard the legs of the chair creaking against the floor and she knew her father had sat down. She could imagine his down cast eyes, and for a while the house was silent. Then Guy moved, and Marian wondered if it was a bad sign that she recognised his footfalls.
“Send for me when you have an answer, Sir Edward.”
The door slid shut behind him, but Marian would not move, she breathed in sync with her father. Counting the rattling breaths in her mind. Then her father walked up the stairs. He sat heavily on the highest step and she could see the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Marian felt like she was floating. She had been proposed to for the first time. Her. Not her property, but her as a woman. I love your daughter. Even though her father would not see it that way. The only thing he had eyes for was Gisborne’s thirst for land, but Marian had felt his hands on her body and she knew the truth.
“I think you heard what went on in there.”
Her father would not look at her, his eyes searching the far wall. There was wariness, and fear, in his voice. She did not bother to reply, they both knew the answer.
“Did he speak the truth? Has the sheriff truly made threats against you?”
“Not in so many words, but his intentions were made clear.”
His shoulders slumped, and Marian felt like a criminal in her actions. She should not have burdened her father with this. But the fear in her would not allow her to be silent.
“You did not hear his voice. You did not hear the lust.”
Her father buried his face in his weathered hands and Marian feared he was weeping. She could not bear it, could not bear the sorrow of her dying father. She grasped a hold of his arm, trying to convey her need to comfort him. But he stayed strong for her and managed even to add some smile into his voice, even though none could be seen on his face.
“I had always hoped you might marry someone you would truly love. Someone you could be romantic with.”
She smiled at that, but his averted eyes could not see that.
“I am not romantic, father.”
“I know you are not, but you must forgive an old man’s hopes, Marian. I so wished you could have a say in the man I would bind you to.”
She pushed herself up from the floor, to sit by her father.
“I do have a say, father.”
His eyes seemed so old and Marian wanted to reassure him, wanted him to be happy for her.
“I wish to marry Gisborne; I want to be his wife. I know you do not approve, but this is my choice, father.”
He smiled then, just a little, and grasped her hands in his own.
“No, my dear. I do not disapprove, for you could do much worse in our situation.”
This is the mirror scene to the discussion between Marian and her father. This again Marian forcing Guy to see the world in the way she wants him to. It’s less subtlety than with Edward because partly Marian doesn’t need to lie so much to Guy, because he is technically aware of most facts.
Some of the description in this is a bit awkward, and I don’t really know why. It just for some reason wouldn’t take proper shape when I was writing it.
On a side note, I don’t know if it comes through in the story, but I always thought Guy was very good with horses, and that was always the connection in Marian’s relationship with him.
xiv.
He was in the stables of the castle, or so the servants had told her. The air was dry and the smell of hay caught in the back of her throat. The corridors were dimly light by the small rays of daylight filtering in through the cracks in the wood panelling. There were no other lights in fear of fire. He was standing inside a pen, grooming one of the horses. The huge beast had him almost shoved to the wall, but he did not seem to mind. She stood there for a moment, observing his actions. A month or two ago she would have been shocked by the gentleness of his hands and the quiet, soothing calm of his voice. But now she knew better. Those hands had travelled over her body and the voice had spoken to her silently and made her fall apart, and for the first time she felt joy in the news she was delivering.
She could see the shock on his face as she entered the pen, but he covered it quickly behind his usual mask.
“My father will come to see you today. He will formally accept your proposal and arrangements will be made for our engagement to be officially announced.”
She could hear the strokes of the brush stilling, but she still would not meet his eyes.
“Was this your father’s choice. Did he force you into this?”
His voice was harsh and it made her look him in the face. There was hatred and rage in his eyes, but Marian refused to recoil from his anger. For a long silent moment they measured one another, and she realized his hate was not directed at her at all. He was angry at himself. She smiled.
“Not by a mile. To tell you the truth I was the one doing the forcing. I think he would have rather sent me to the Holy Land.”
He looked away and she could see his jaw tensing in the low light.
“Is that supposed to be a consolation? That your father loathes the very core of me.”
She felt her insides boiling. Men and their damned pride; why could he not just accept her and be done with it?
“But I do not. I hope that is a consolation, if you so wish to take it. I wish to marry you Sir Guy.”
She walked around the horse and with her hands on his face, forced his eyes to meet hers.
“I will be your Gisborne, if you let me.”
He kissed her then. It was so sudden it took her breath away and she was frozen in place, but then she could not help but cling to the sleeves of his coat.
This section is just me indulging in the scene of the archery contest. I loved that scene and I really wanted to write it into the story. I know it’s very confusing if you haven’t seen the series, and I should have expanded on it a lot more, but I was getting impatient by the end of the process and just wanted to get the story out there, so this remained a bit unfinished.
I also enjoyed giving the apple peeling scene a bit of a sexier edge, there flirtation that I tried to inject into that would be natural if they were both aware of the pending marriage announcement. It was also strange of how the flirty mood had to change into fear and apprehension quite fast, and I’m not too sure how well that transition went.
But there were two important plot devices inserted here:
The realization on Guy’s face about the Nightwatchman’s identity, which I thought was interesting.
The revelation of the marriage while Robin listens in the background.
Both of these are sort of devices that I had to include here in order to justify what happens later on. This was just generally a really odd section to write, it still feels a little disconnected.
xv.
Her father had insisted upon her consent more times that morning than Marian could count. Even when they were thundering through the forest in Guy’s carriage he was imploring if this was truly what she wished. Part of Marian wanted to tell her father the truth. How her body burned every time she merely caught sight of Guy in the castle, how he had brought her hair back and held her hands in his own. But she remained silent on all of those things and once more assured him. I do father, and I will.
Now she sat beside him, a mere foot away, forcing her gaze to admire the archers. His voice was soft in her ears as he leaned towards her:
“They say the peel of an apple could predict who a woman will marry.”
She nearly laughed at his words in delight and the motion made her severe the peel. It fell to the floor and both of their gazes followed it. She turned to his serious eyes and gave him an impish smile. They announced the name of his archer and he smiled back.
“You’ll like him...”
His voice died away as his fingers trailed on her forearm and came away bloody. She felt her heart stop and pressed the heel of the blade against her palm.
“I cut myself.”
She felt like a fraud as his eyes questioned her.
“Your arm...”
“No, my hand, I must have gotten some on my sleeve.”
His eyes called her a liar, but he would not say anything and she pleaded him in her mind; please please please. She did not know what she was pleading for; for him to accept the lie or for him to discover her secret. But at the arrival of his own archer his grey eyes turned away from her and Marian’s heart felt cold.
When the boy threatened her later on the day, she could not feel anything. Her mind was still numb from earlier and mechanically she spoke him down from his rage, but it was a hollow victory. The fear had been lodged into her stomach like a block of ice and Robin, who belatedly arrived to rescue her, got the blunt of that fear.
After the competition it was her duty to present the silver arrow. Her fear was momentarily pressed back by her satisfaction. She could almost feel the suppressed rage of the Sheriff. The crowd cheered for Rowan and she could not help but smile.
After the noise had died down her father took the stage. His voice did not waver and she marvelled at the power of his will. He had barely been able to whisper that morning. Instinctively she grasped a hold of Guy’s hand in the folds of her cape, hidden from view.
“Could I please have you attention for a brief while. I know you are all thirsty and the ale will soon be served, but there is something I would like to make known across the county.”
She could see the hooded form of Robin in the crowd turning around to listen.
“It is my great pleasure to announce that the houses of Knighton and Gisborne will soon be united. Sir Guy of Gisborne and my only daughter, Lady Marian will be wed a week from Saturday. I wish that all of you will be present there to wish them well. Thank you.”
For a moment there was complete silence in the yard, but slowly applause began. Marian thought that it were the sheriff’s soldiers who started it, but she still smiled. Guy pulled her forward, to stand by her father. She had felt the tension in him since the apple, but now he seemed calmed by her side. He lifted their clasped fingers to his lips, and just before they met her skin, whispered:
“It is all right.”
I wanted to deal with Marian’s mother at some point, deal with the memories that must plague both Marian and her father. In a way this section is as much about Edward (even though it’s all sub-textual) as it is about Marian’s need to connect with her mother during the wedding preparation.
Okay, historical fact (from which I have to give kudos to the costume designers of the series, which were otherwise horrendous) medieval wedding wear is not white. Blue was the colour of choice as it represents purity ( Virgin Mary).
The letter is incongruent on purpose, the idea behind that was, that Marian’s mother was very ill when she wrote it and was not i her right mind. I don’t really know if it works that well. I think I should have embellished it a bit more, explained about her condition more.
xvi.
The grooves on the wood of the chest were deep and sharp against Marian’s fingers. Her father’s voice had been faint and she had had to bend to properly hear.
“I did not want you to see them. I feared what you might find among her things. I feared the memories it would bring. But I think it is time.”
He had pulled the brass key from beneath his tunic and Marian had know he had not parted from it since they day of her mother’s death. It had been warm and heavy in her hand and she had wondered how badly its weight would have reminded him of her mother every day.
The lock was rusted and it took her a few tries before the old gears gave in and the mechanism snapped open. The dust was mixed with the smell of herbs and she could see the dead flowers crumbled upon the clothing.
One by one she pulled each dress from the truck and laid them over the chests lining the walls of their attic. In the light of the tiny little windows she could admire the bright colours. The last one was folded inside a white sheet. The light blue was as bright as it was on the only day her mother had worn it. The tiny embroidered white flowers seemed to change colour in the shadows and the light. She folded the dress and the thick veil that accompanied it open. The flowery pattern continued in the veil even though the white embroidery was harder to see in the light fabric. Her mother had obviously put much thought into this dress and suddenly Marian missed her more than she had ever before. Her mother should be here today, she should be here to prepare Marian for her wedding. She lifted the dress up against herself, and a thin enveloped fell out from beneath the hem.
Her name was inscribed on the envelope with shaky letters. She broke the clumsy seal of wax and pulled the letter out. The letters were spiky and little ink blots decorated the letter as well, as if her mother’s hand has shook terribly as she wrote it.
My lovely daughter, I wonder now what wisdom should I part to you. What will you need from me in the years to come that I will not be able to give you?
Your father is a good man, but he will never truly know you. He will never truly understand you. So I will tell you now, my love, that you must trust yourself above anything. The men who will be part of your life after I am gone will always pretend to know what you need and want. But you must not trust them.
Choose your husband wisely. Do not take a husband for love, for love dies in the harsh English winters and you are then bereft and are left with nothing. Take a husband of strength. One you can respect, for he will control all that is you.
And always collect the final apples of the fall and make jam of them. That will carry you over the coldest month without hunger.
She had to strain to read some of the words, and she knew her mother had been plagued by heavy fever and she had not been lucid during the last days. But something in the letter made her believe the words, believe in the wisdom her mother had not had time to pass on. Gently she kissed the spiky letters and folded the paper inside her own tunic. For a short time she wondered if her mother would have approved of her choice. Would she have been able to see through her husband or would she have been as deceived by Guy as her father was.
She gathered the dress and the veil in her arms and carried it downstairs. She would have to call the tailor to make some adjustments to the dress. She was slightly shorter and thinner than her mother had been.