The Marquis

The castle was perched on the hill above the town like a bird of prey, the turrets digging talons into the sky and rooted amidst the trees. That was where the Marquis lived, surrounded by his mute servants and beautiful trinkets. He never came down into the town, but he was whispered about in the schools by the boys who wanted to become like him, and the girls who feared but adored him.

The Marquis sent letters into the town with one of his beautiful, silent runners sometimes. There would be a smart rap on the door of a house, and a thick parchment envelope placed reverently into the hands of the mother of the house. The father never knew of these letters. The Marquis had eyes around the town. He knew when the men were not looking as he poached their women.

The letters were sealed with red wax, imprinted with a seal of a sword piercing a rose. When the envelope was cracked open, a fine dust of sparkling powder fell out as if placed there by magic, but it was a careful part of the Marquis’ design. It would stain the mother’s hands until she agreed to his request. No mother ever denied the Marquis. His wishes were granted without question.

I was betrothed to a young man of the aristocracy when the letter arrived. My fiancé was not one of the more powerful figures in society, but he was respected well enough. My father kept telling me how lucky I was to have ensnared a noble at all, given the financial difficulties we had. Our status was from reputation rather than possessions. My marriage was intended to secure our family future, to give strong heirs and buy a big house.

The letter arrived when my father was visiting my fiancé. My mother shut the door and switched on a side light. She looked up at me, where I sat beside the fire with my youngest sister on my knee. I looked back at her, then down at the letter in her hands.

“Don’t open it,” I said. “Just throw it in the fire.”

She turned it over and ran a fingertip over the wax seal. “You know I can’t do that.” She sat opposite me, the dull electric light casting a strange shadow over her face. We prided ourselves on our electricity – for all our poverty, we still made a show of it. Only the very elite of the aristocracy and the Marquis had electricity.

“Millie, go to bed,” I said, setting my five year old sister down on the floor. She reached up with small arms and I leaned down to hug her. She put a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Brush your teeth,” I said as she scampered away. I curled myself back into the chair and looked over at my mother.

She broke open the seal on the letter. The shimmer of the sparkling powder erupted in a soft cloud and settled over her fingers and knuckles. There was no going back now. I felt my heart quicken as I ran over the options in my head. There was me, but I was betrothed to another. There was my sixteen year old sister, Charlotte, but even she was being carefully guided into a marriage. There was my fourteen year old sister, Emily, but she had barely begun her moon-blood. Still, the Marquis was summoning one of us.

When I had been at school, my peers and I had huddled in the showers after tennis and whispered about who he liked to choose and what he did. Pandora had told me that he liked to choose a woman who was wanted by all the eligible men in the town, before anybody had staked a claim on her hand in marriage. When he knew he would be obeyed, he could have chosen anybody. Maybe it was Charlotte he wanted. There were several men who were vying for my father’s favour.

My mother unfolded the paper slowly. The light shone through the letter, showing me the curling script written smoothly on the other side, outlining the Marquis’ requests. I waited, gripping my toes in one hand. The fire had lost its warmth, suddenly. My mother folded the paper again deliberately. She pursed her lips.

“Charlotte?” I said. She said nothing. My heart lurched. “Emily?”

She met my eyes with a level gaze. “You.” She ran her fingers down the crease in the paper, as if to score out the words. “He has requested you.”

I regarded her calmly. “I’m not going.”

“You will go.”

“I won’t.” I flicked my hair away from my face. “I intend to marry in a white dress.”

My mother did not flinch. “The Marquis has requested you. You will not disobey him. It is an honour to be chosen by him.”

“Were you chosen?” I challenged.

She narrowed her eyes. “I wish I had been. My sister was chosen. Her marriage was rich and prosperous after that. I was married into poverty.”

“I’m not going,” I repeated. “I don’t care how rich he’ll make me. I’m not going to his castle.”

“Don’t imagine the stories,” my mother said. “Schoolgirls know nothing of this man’s influence. It is an honour to be chosen by him.” I opened my mouth to argue again, but she interrupted me, “you will not shame this family by denying him. I will turn you onto the streets and you can earn your living with the other girls who were as foolish as you.” I fell silent. I had seen the girls with their faces stiff with makeup to hide the bruises and the haggard lines of disease, lined up on the street corners waiting for the punters to take their choice.

My mother tucked the letter down her dress and looked at me with one eyebrow arched. “Will you go with some dignity, or will I bundle you up in a basket and deliver you to him myself?”

I gazed into the fire. “What has he said he will do in return?”

“It’s a little more than that,” my mother said. “He will pay your dowry. He will establish you and your husband in a house, with three servants. He will pay our debts, he will secure Charlotte’s marriage and he will ensure your family is financially safe for the first ten years of your marriage. All for a fee of fifty pounds.”

“And me.” I smiled almost triumphantly. “We can’t afford fifty pounds.”

My mother smiled. “Yes we can. I have some money saved up. It’s not much.”

“He wants me.”

“It isn’t so bad,” my mother said. “It won’t be for long.” She sniffed. “It would be worth your while, considering the pains he could put us through if you deny him.”

I chewed the inside of my lip. I was supposed to walk into his castle of my own free will, allow him to do whatever he wished and then return to the town and my respectable marriage.

“What about my fiancé?” I said.

“Do you think he’ll care?” my mother said. “If his money is safe and he has a pretty girl on his arm at social functions, he won’t worry his head about it. He doesn’t love you. It makes no difference to him.” I had to agree with her. I couldn’t exactly imagine him being outraged if I agreed to the Marquis’ terms.

“When does he want me?” I asked.

“Two days’ time. He will be sending another letter to your father to explain your absence. You will be visiting your aunt to learn the management skills for your future.” My mother rubbed at the sparkling powder on her hands. “Will you go?” I didn’t answer for a while. “If you will, we must order you a new dress tomorrow.”

“What if I won’t?”

“I will deliver you to him in a laundry basket, and when he sends you back I will set you down on the corner and you can learn the street trade.”

I felt a knot settle in my stomach as I twisted my engagement ring around my finger. “I will go,” I said.