Ebony Falls: Chapter 1

      Ivy stood alone in the clearing. Evergreen trees formed high fortresses around her as she rested against a sycamore, a few of which had grown by chance and seemed out of place among the pinewood forest. It was no wonder that it was called Darkwood Forest, with its heavy scent and slanted shadows, only occasionally dappled with specks of weak yellow light. Ivy’s face, too, was shadowed as the sun climbed down over the horizon. It was silent as twilight descended, save for the odd lone call of a hawk as it soared, its wing feathers glinting malevolently in the soft orange glow of the sun.

      In the undergrowth, a hare twitched, before bounding across the clearing and disappearing on the other side into the shelter of a thousand trees.  The wind flitted among the branches and Ivy held her breath. She waited. Within seconds, a loud crackling could be heard as sturdy black boots crunched over dead pine needles and fallen twigs before emerging into the clearing. Ivy stayed frozen, hoping fervently that it would be enough to keep her hidden. Her hair fell into the shadows. Black as ink, it seemed almost as though it belonged more to the darkness than to Ivy herself. Her emerald green dress faded obligingly into the greenery of the forest, but even the shadows could not tint the pale skin of her hands and face. The footsteps drew nearer. A breeze stirred the branches, and one scratched along Ivy's cheek. She reached up to push it away, but it was too late.

      Ivy relaxed, accepting defeat and turning to face the oncoming woman. Nothing could fully balance the sharpness with which she spoke, and Ivy found herself somewhat mortified. Each word the woman uttered sounded more bent on chastising a bad child, than speaking to a young adult.

      “Miss Ivy, you are to return to the house at once. Your father is to present you at court. You,  Madeleine, and your Lord father will ride out on the morrow, come.”

      Ivy knew better than to interrupt Miss Harringam. Indeed, interrupting her while she was talking would have been taken as greatly offensive by the prim woman. Once Ivy's governess, the housekeeper had a tongue that could spring off many a choice remark if provoked. With Lord Adelphe's lax standing on interaction, Miss Harringam had often taken her age and her childhood mistakes to define Ivy as an eternal child. In her brown cotton dress, tight-fitted and garnished at the neck with a half-hearted flurry of white, Miss Harringam looked rather formidable. Not that her figure was in any way imposing: she was of both average height and build. Instead, the severity of her grey eyes and drawn-back bun of brown hair gave her a stature that no height could achieve. Seizing Ivy’s arm, she lead the meek girl through the great expanse of trees. The path she followed was barely visible, ferns having covered it with their green fans, and a sea of brown needles having long since buried it. With each step, several muttered comments escaped her. Some bemoaned their mistress being sent like a serving maid to fetch things that should be able to take care of themselves, while others choice words escaped, telling of the respectable behaviour and decorum of well-bred young ladies, or lack thereof. Ivy was well aware that Miss Harringam did not approve of her taking long un-chaperoned walks in the forest. she let her mind wander to explore some fictional haunt. Ivy was not surprised that Miss Harringam had so easily found her in the clearing. It was becoming too well known where she often walked, and the fact that the clearing was a favourite haunt of young Lady Ivy was common knowledge. In light of this, Ivy dreamt herself into a new clearing.  It needed to be somewhere secluded, where they couldn’t find her. She also wanted it to shaded, yet still well lit. In her mind’s eye, Ivy imagined a part of the forest where the trees were not so dense, and a stream cascaded over the rocks, making soft splashes in the silence.

      As Miss Harringam lead her through the open door, she was brought back to earth by the thud of wood on wood, and soft click of the latch as the back door closed behind them. In front of her, Miss Harringam was issuing loud and rather abrupt orders to any staff who suffered the misfortune of being in the stone kitchen at that moment in time. Occasionally, a serving maid would catch Ivy’s eye, and a look of empathy would pass both ways between them. Both parties held one view over the housekeeper.  With Miss Harringam preoccupied with giving orders, Ivy looked about her. It was rare that she was allowed to look around the kitchen, and on the few occasions she managed to come in, it was the smell that most beguiled her. From the fire place, the smell of a roasting pig on a spit filled the kitchen. Ivy watched it, fascinated, as in was slowly turned by a smoke-stained boy in the corner. Occasionally, it would spit, and Ivy would jump. She saw one maid vigorously at work with a pestle and mortar, then another, packing bundles of food into an oversized hamper. In the corner, a portly woman stood, ferociously kneading dough that Ivy knew would soon be filled with meat and rich gravy, and placed in the hamper ready for her journey. Her mouth watered at the thought.

      When at last Miss Harringam was done ordering the staff about their business, she rounded on Ivy, clicking her tongue. Ivy later supposed she should have taken the initiative to attend herself while Miss Harringam attended to the business she deemed "worthy".

      “What’re you still doing here? The kitchen is no place for a lady! Come, you must change before your father returns home. Your father would not be best pleased to find his daughter in the kitchen with the servants. Especially not with her hair loose and her dress covered in mud and King knows what else besides, like some common wildling.”

      Ivy did not respond, though she knew well enough that her father would not so much as have batted an eyelid even if his daughter turned up wearing horse manure and a crown of daisies on her head. So often had similar occurrences happened when Ivy was smaller that they barely fazed any member of the household - except Miss Harringam, with her ever ready tongue. She was now engaged in ordering the spit boy to turn the spit slower. Ignored once more, Ivy showed herself out of the kitchen. She walked along the narrow passages, glancing into each of the plain whitewashed rooms as she passed. Climbing the wooden staircase, she became uncomfortably aware that her dress brushed the walls as she walked. As a child, she had often run along these passages, running from the servants who tried to catch her. Other times she had simply spent time hiding in their quiet confines. She had chased gusts of wind and called them friends just as often as hidden behind some door and wept that a phantom was chasing her, until she was sure it was gone. Servants had often turned into their private spaces to find the room askew from where Ivy had taken to hiding in their possessions. Those were the evenings Ivy'd gone to bed smarting and hungry.

      She emerged from a hidden section in the wood panelling of her room. As she entered, her maid jumped. Madeleine spun to face her and curtseyed deep. The dress she was holding fell onto Ivy’s bed, and she held her curtsey as it was. Ivy went to the bed and raked through the dresses, pulling one or two out of the pile.     

      "Madeleine, return these to the wardrobe, I won't be wanting them." She indicated the smaller pile

      “I wouldn’t do it ma’am, only Miss Harringam ordered that I must pack them all, and  I cannot disobey her, ma’am.”

      Ivy nodded “Miss Harringam certainly is a queer woman.” she mused. “Very well, Madeleine. Have you any idea as to why Father has so suddenly deigned to take me to court?”

      Madeleine looked away, her hands busying in folding a dress that lay discarded on the bed. “No, Ma’am.”

      Ivy smiled slightly. “Madeleine, what gossip have you been listening to in the hallways below?”

      The response came back floating between shy and ashamed. “They say that Prince Syrio’s first betrothal has most tragically fallen down a well, and that his most Majestic Queen Mother and King Father would wish to find a new girl to whom they shall betroth their son, Ma’am.”

      “Most tragically indeed. Was this a covered well too? Or has Ebonis reverted to customs that not even Canladine favours any longer?” A ghost of a smile played on the corners of Ivy’s lips. Madeleine’s answer held no emotion.

      “They say the cover cracked under her weight, Ma’am”

      “Entirely possible. I pity whoever ends up engaged to Prince Syrio next. There, Madeleine, you’ve already folded that dress. In the trunk with it already!”

      Madeleine did as she was bid. And then returned to Ivy, her long and practised fingers making short work of the laces that bound Ivy so tightly into her dress. It slid to the floor and lay there crumpled as Madeleine straightened the white petticoat that had been beneath it.

      “Madeleine, how exactly does my Father expect me to ride in a dress?” Ivy’s voice was struck with annoyance at the likely response, though the mask of puzzlement was all that Madeleine perceived.

      “Side saddle, Ma’am. Your father has bid you to behave like a Lady, Ma’am.”

      Ivy laughed slightly. “The blue dress today, the silk one. If I am to dine with my father, I might as well look well.”

 

      With Ivy ready and seated in the drawing room, reading, Madeleine took her leave and disappeared into the woodwork. Barely minutes passed before the equal castanet rhythm of hooves on stone heralded her father’s return. Ivy held herself back; running to greet your father being a child’s trait. Still, when he reached the big front door, she nearly tripped over her skirts as she ran into her father’s waiting arms. As he pulled away, he laid his hands on her shoulders, and looked her over.

      “Still my little girl, then?” Ivy did not respond. Question or statement, it hung in the air as she brushed down her dress and patted the chestnut mare that so obediently stood near to her Father. Searching frantically for something to say, Ivy blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

      “Is it true that Lady Marta is dead?”

      Her father’s grey eyes lost their sparkle. “Indeed. A tragic accident. Who would have thought that that gentle gelding she rode would have bucked her off quite so suddenly. They say it broke every bone in her body.”

      Ivy knew better than to question this new cause of death: it was common the strange events to occur around the court.

      “Will you be eating in the dining hall, Lord Adelphe?” Miss Harringam filled the silence with her sharp tones, each word slightly tinted with a country accent she vehemently denied.

      “The drawing room, I think. Lay out two places. I will dine with my daughter. See to it that we have some decent wine to accompany it. Some of the Stonefields wine should suffice."

      “Come, Ivy, we shall talk more in the lounge.” He offered her his arm, but she did not take it. With a sigh, he let his arm drop.

      “If someone at court offers you their arm, you would do well to take it.” His tongue chastised, but his eyes glowed. Ivy mumbled something that could have been an apology, and when her father offered his arm again, she took it.

      “Ever the lady,” he teased, “Now, tell me, what daring exploits of yours has that brown-haired shrew foiled now?” Ivy laughed. Only her father could make Miss Harringam seem nothing more than a small rodent.

      “Today, I think I upset her by walking alone in the forest.” Ivy admitted.

      “How can you tell her displeasure from her normality, my sweet? Pay her no heed, the fresh air does you good. King knows we need more of it in Maegar court these days.”

      Ivy smiled; following her father into the lounge and hearing the door shut and lock behind them. As she sat in an armchair. Her father kicked off his shoes and lay across the sofa. The puerile gesture made Ivy laugh. It was commonly said that Lord Tristan Adelphe’s grey hair and deep laughter line’s didn’t reflect the man within. With his eccentric wiry hair and short haze of a beard, he looked older than he was. His temperament seemed aware of this and so resorted to being completely devoid of unnecessary sophistication.

      When Ivy had finished laughing, (and her father had oh so innocently inquired as to why she was doing so), conversation resumed. The conversation lost its stiff formality and the pair talked over everything that had happened in Lord Adelphe’s absence. Slowly conversation drifted towards the impending journey. Ivy listed attentively as her father detailed the route they were to take. Time passed fairly amiably as he described the wonderful sights Ivy was soon to see.

      Predictably, it was Miss Harringam’s voice that punched the discussion as she entered to the entered to inform that supper was ready.

      “Miss Harringam, I am the Lord here, and I will eat my supper when I damned well feel like it.” Ivy hid herself in the chair. Rare were the times when her father lost his tempter, and even rarer were the times Miss Harringam held her tongue. The woman’s grey eye glinted and her voice held little restraint as she muttered a reply.

      “If it pleases m’lord, the dinner will soon be cold if it is not eaten.” Her lack of a curtsey had not gone unnoticed.

      “If it pleases m’lady you will have the food brought in here for my daughter and I to consume at our leisure. Away with you, and only return when you have something aside primness in that head of yours.”

      Flicking his eyes from Miss Harringam to Ivy, his bone softened. “Now, my dear, tell me. What are you reading these days?”

      The evening passed peacefully enough. Sure as clockwork, the requested food was brought in, and the two ate as much as it took to fill them. The night, when it fell, was a beautiful one. Slight clouds obscured a bright milk-moon, and a thousand stars threw their blessing over the slight silver of the crescent that shone in the sky.

      In the lounge, the fire burned low in the grate when Ivy kissed her father’s cheek and made to retire. Madeleine came as Ivy rang the bell, and soon Ivy had drifted into a deep and much needed sleep.