Editor's note: Just read this one. You'll love it!
I am going to tell you the story of
my sister Lady Mary and Mr. Fox. But I am not sure quite how to begin. My
brothers and I could never understand what she saw in the fellow. She was
hardly alone in her admiration of him. Indeed, many of the ladies of the
village of L_____ thought Mr. Fox the most agreeable gentleman of their
acquaintance. Perhaps it was his charming, almost lazy smile, his bright
mischievous eyes, or his fine red coat, which I daresay many of the gentlemen
envied.
But perhaps it was rather the fact
that my sister had an especial fondness for animals. And whatever his
more attractive points, Mr. Fox remained a scavenging, sheep-chasing, chicken-stealing
fox. My brothers and I would have sent him packing the first time he
trotted through our gates and scratched at our door, but Mary insisted he be
allowed the pleasure of waiting upon us.
She was always soft hearted, you
see, and far too trusting. When we were children she was just the
same. Take hunting, for example. Tom, Dick, and I traipsed home
from each of our first fox hunts with our cheeks smeared with blood, as any
initiate should. But on the day of Mary’s first hunt, when the hounds
closed in on their quarry, Mary leapt from her pony and took the terrified fox
in her arms, snarling at the hounds and the rest of us to keep away. The
master threw up his hands and called in his hounds. The only marks on
Mary’s face that day were the claw marks of the ungrateful wretch whose life
she had saved.
I must own we all indulged my
sister, as she was the only girl, and the youngest. The entire household
allowed her to have her way in everything. Of course we tried to persuade
her to be sensible. When Mr. Fox came courting her, we told her again and
again that he was no better than a common poacher. No one ever caught him
at it, and he always protested that he was a gentleman, and never ate anyone’s
pheasants but his own. But my brothers and I continued to doubt
him. Mary, however, was satisfied. So satisfied, in fact, that
she allowed him to make her an offer of his hand, or, I should say, his
paw. As her oldest relation, Tom of course refused his consent, but that
was nothing to Mary. She was a singularly headstrong creature, and was
determined to accept Mr. Fox.
We should have known how it would
be. Mary used every weapon at her disposal. She used her wit,
vivacity, charm, and sheer stubbornness. She vexed Tom, (Dick and I too,
I might add) day and night, until at last, as always, we gave in. The wedding
breakfast was ordered; the wedding clothes bought and paid for. Mary was
to have Mr. Fox, a gentleman of considerable property. So it was rumored,
at least. And Mr. Fox was to have Lady Mary and her fortune of forty
thousand pounds. Our acquaintances in _____shire were all
astonishment.
No bans were read, for Mr. Fox
declared he would have a special license. On the day he was to ride to
town to procure the license, he called on Mary before he left. I
heard them talking together in the shrubbery. “In the morning,” he was
saying to her, “could we have some bread and perhaps a cup of chocolate before
we go to church?”
Mary laughed. “What about the
wedding breakfast? You’ll spoil your appetite,” she chided him.
“Not a bit of it,” he told
her. “You know what a ravenous fellow I am.” I took this
opportunity to appear on the path.
Mary rose from the bench where they
sat. “Very well,” she said. “You know I could never refuse
you.”
Mr. Fox gave me his jaunty
smile. “Congratulate me, Harry,” he cried. “Tomorrow will make me
the happiest of gentlemen.” Without waiting for my response, he leapt
from the bench and bounded away through the park.
I took Mary's hand.
“Are you certain about all this? We know nothing about him. We’ve
never even seen his estate, if he even has one.”
Mary smiled and kissed my
cheek. “I know my own mind, Harry,” she said. Then, almost to
herself, she added, “Of course he has an estate.” With that, she headed
off towards the stables.
I did not see her again until the
next morning, the morning of the wedding. She was looking rather
low-spirited, sitting alone at the table in the breakfast room. I thought
brides were supposed to wear light colors, not black. But I daresay I am
a stupid fellow and know nothing about ladies’ fashions. Mr. Fox noticed
her changed appearance also. As soon as he leapt into his chair, he put a
paw on her hand and said, “You are pale, my love. Are you not
well?”
Mary gave him a small smile.
“It is only a headache,” she said. “I had a terrible dream last
night.”
“Indeed?” cried Mr. Fox, “Well, you
must tell me all about it. Our nightmares often seem foolish by the light
of day, and it will while away this tedious time before we are to go to
church.”
Mary smiled, a bit of her usual
liveliness returning. “You know I could never refuse you,” she told him
archly. The matter was settled, and Mr. Fox began to do justice to his
bread rolls at once, without benefit of butter or jam.
“I dreamt I was overcome with
curiosity to see your house, as I had never been there,” she began. “So I
set out. You had told me I was always welcome, you know.”
Mr. Fox paused in devouring his
bread to assure her he had told her many times that she might visit whenever she
liked.
“I arrived at your house,” she went
on, “to find an arched gateway, upon which was carved what I guessed to be your
family motto. ‘Be bold, be bold,’ it said, ‘but not too bold.’”
Mr. Fox’s nose came out of his
chocolate cup, and he licked his chops. “It is not so, madam,” he said
with his lazy smile. “An extraordinary motto, but I assure you, it is not
mine.”
Mary inclined her head. “It
was only a dream, sir,” she said, and went on. “Perhaps the message was
for me. For bold I was. I went through your gates and approached
your door. Above your door was carved another message, ‘Be bold, be bold,
but not too bold, lest that your heart’s blood should run cold.”
“It is not so, my love,” replied the
bridegroom. He stopped eating for a moment and scratched his ear with his
back foot. “I should never have such peculiar words written above my
door.” He shook his head, and returned to his food, all affability.
“I was bolder still,” continued
Mary, “and I went through your door to find your house empty. I was not
surprised, because I knew you to be from home, just as you were
yesterday. I began to look about me, but, to my alarm, I heard footsteps
outside the door. I blushed then to think how I had intruded on your
privacy, and I opened the first door I came to, so as not to be
discovered. What do you think I saw there?”
Mr. Fox winked at her
roguishly. “Perhaps you saw all the jewels I have set aside to give you
when you are my wife and spoilt your own surprise. Was that what you saw,
you impertinent creature?”
Mary shook her head. “I saw a
room full of skeletons and the bodies of young ladies with their throats ripped
out.”
Mr. Fox coughed, and chocolate went
everywhere. “It is not so, my love. What an unnatural dream to
have. Why you dreamt it I cannot imagine.”
“I ran from the room at once,” Mary
went on, her hands in her lap. She had not touched her food. “There
was not time to try another door, so I hid behind a tapestry. In you
came, sir, with a richly dressed young woman. You had the end of her
skirt between your teeth and were dragging her across the floor. Once
inside, you took a fancy to a ring around the lady’s finger. It was stuck
there, and she could not get it off, try as she might. You grew impatient,
and seizing her finger in your teeth, bit it off. You worried the poor
girl’s finger in your mouth to shake off the ring. But you were too
hasty, sir, for both ring and finger flew across the room and landed at my
feet. You dragged the unfortunate creature into the bloody chamber to
revenge yourself upon her, and I made my escape.”
Mr. Fox was not eating
now. “It is not so,” he said in a strained voice. “God forbid
it should be so.” With some effort, he summoned up his habitual smile and
said teasingly, “You had no business to have such a dream.”
Mary withdrew one hand from her
lap. “It is so,” she said, opening her hand, which contained a delicate
finger, the ring still on it. “It was no dream.”
Tom, Dick, and I leapt to our feet,
demanding satisfaction from Mr. Fox, as the gentleman in question jumped from
his chair. “Sit!” commanded a low voice from the end of the table. It was
Mary’s. She was standing too, straight and tall. My brothers and I
reclaimed our chairs, while Mr. Fox cowered on the floor, his tail curled tightly
about him. I thought I heard him growling. But I was mistaken, for
he too was looking for the source of the sound.
Mary came around the table, a
handful of leashes in one pale fist. At the end of the leashes were her
foxhounds, bristling and straining to be set free. At last I understood
Mary’s black dress. She was not dressed for the wedding. She was
dressed for the hunt. She gathered the hound’s leashes near their collars
and knelt next to Mr. Fox, who was now shaking from whiskers to tail. His
ears drooped as her free hand reached out towards him. A whine escaped
his lips as Mary’s fingers stroked his fine red coat. “I do pity you,”
she said. “So I will be generous.”
I could not fathom it. How
could she show compassion, even now? Mr. Fox’s ears tipped forward.
“Yes, my dear,” he almost whimpered. “Show some mercy.”
“You know I could never refuse you,”
she said. Then she called to the butler. “Have Hobson saddle my
horse. I will be down in five minutes.” She leaned close to Mr. Fox
and spoke low in his ear. “I’ll give you a head start.”
Lissa has contributed stories, poems, and guest posts to
Enchanted Conversation, but she also writes and illustrates for younger
readers. Visit her online at
lissasloan.com.
