Mary opened her eyes and for a moment she could not recall what she was to attribute the great excitement to. She looked about herself and realized that sun had been high above the roof of the Lovington Manor already.
William
, shot through her mind. Of course! Darling William was returning home, even if just for a short visit. Mary pushed the bedcovers off and jumped out of bed. "Mother!" she yelled in panic even though she was aware her mother could not hear her this far from her own chambers. "Mother!" she continued gasping nonetheless as she ran down the corridor, quite oblivious to the fact that she was wearing only her nightgown and that male servants might be about the wide halls of the sleeping chambers.
She forced her pace into an impatient hurried walk as she approached her mother's quarters. It would not do for her to burst in front of a frail old woman like a crazed wench with no mind for manners. Just as she was about to carefully turn the knob, the door opened and she jumped aside with a yelp.
"What in the name of the Devil are you doing, you foolish girl?" the voice of her father boomed overhead and in one quick moment she became painfully aware of her lack of garments, the messy hair, and general appearance of impropriety.
"I am sorry, Father." she whispered and felt herself blushing. "But, I was so excited about William's arrival and I was not awoken early, and..."
"Speak up, girl!" interrupted her father. "And stop babbling!" he added cruelly. "And for God's sake, put some clothes on."
"Yes, Father." Curtsied Mary, but remained standing still, hoping to be able to gain entrance to her mother's chamber.
Ambrose Percy followed his daughter's eyes towards the door, which he had closed behind him only a moment earlier. "Do not disturb your Mother, child. She is not well, again." He said and gently pushed her away and towards her own room.
"Oh?" Mary's great happiness seemed instantly tainted by concern for her mother's well being.
"She has just overtired herself with preparations for Will's return, is all." said Mary's father with a gentler voice. "She had ordered that you not be disturbed and allowed to sleep as late as you wished this morning. You shall have to be the mistress of the house tonight, I daresay."
Mary tried to keep up with her father's long strides and found herself half running like a silly child. "Perhaps I should look in on Mother..." she tried again and stopped.
"No, no..." Percy grabbed his daughter's elbow and pulled her after him gently. "There is nothing wrong with her, child. She just needs some rest, is all. You'd better wash and dress yourself," he ran his stern dark eyes over Mary's nightgown and as they paused at her bare feet, she found herself shivering somewhat in fright as well as with a slight chill that hung in the corridor. "Then you should check on the cooks and make sure Will's room is all ready for him."
Mary nodded and feeling she was ten years old again, obediently rushed to her room to do as her father had ordered. She knew William's quarters were ready for him. Cleaned to perfection with new bedding and freshly cut flowers everywhere. She made sure of that over the past week as she so eagerly awaited her brother's return from overseas. Still, there were things to do and she had been foolish enough to sleep late, although, she said quietly to herself, it had hardly been her fault that nobody came to wake her.
She stayed up very late the previous night, hoping against hope that William might not stop at an inn on his way home and spend the night. But of course, he would want to give his horse and himself rest from the long and often dangerous trip across English countryside, she chastised herself. She knew that all too well, and yet, somewhere deep in her heart she had hoped he had wanted to see her, as well as Mother and Father badly enough to ignore the offer of a warm ale and no doubt an uncomfortable bed before he arrived to Lovington Manor.
It had been good ten years since her brother left their family home for musical education on the continent where, under the guidance of master Giovanni Battista he perfected his skills as a violinist and was now a frequent guest at different courts throughout the continent.
It had pained Mary somewhat that despite the long absence from home, William had decided to spend the first few weeks of his return at the Court of King Charles, rather than rush back to the embrace of his family, which missed him very much, particularly Mary herself. Scolded by her mother for such foolishness when she dared express her disappointment earlier in the week, she decided to keep her mouth shut on the matter and simply rationalize the need for William to make his name at English court before he travelled the rest of the way to his childhood home.
Excited by the prospect of all her siblings gathering under the same roof for a reunion raised her spirits and for a few moments she almost forgot about her ailing mother, who was often weak and had spent most of her days in bed or simply sitting in the garden, soaking in the feeble warmth of the early autumn sun. There were good days of course, when she was able to read or do needlework and even attend an occasional social gathering, however, it seemed to Mary that each good day was inevitably followed by a longer period of complete rest than the one before. It pained her greatly to see her mother suffer even though in the moments of madness she sometimes wondered whether her mother's condition might have been more than simply true illness. She scolded herself fiercely each time those thoughts entered her mind and spent long hours praying for forgiveness, hoping that her mother's heart was nothing but pure, exactly like her own.
Mary returned to her chamber in the east wing of the Manor House and rather than calling upon her maid Margaret to help her with the toilette and the dress, she sat in the window, pulling her legs to her chest, just as she did when she was a young girl, her eyes searching the beautiful garden outside where she and William and her sisters have spent many happy days as children.
Silly Willie she used to call him to his great chagrin. Or, little Willie sometimes, for he was so small and delicate then, even if he was two years her senior. She remembered his eyes, dark like hers, welling up with tears when she teased him too long and then she would hug him and ask for his forgiveness, assuring him that she loved him like no other, not even her beautiful foal Bella, whom she adored and spent numerous days riding throughout her father's estate.
She remembered how soft his honey-coloured curls had felt under her fingers when she would pull them off his face in order to kiss his forehead after he had fallen and hurt himself. She remembered his small body trembling next to hers in bed when Georgina, the eldest of their sisters maliciously teased them both and threatened with a ghost who, according to her lived in the bushes at the bottom of the garden. She smiled now, thinking of the silly things they both believed, William and her, how they held each other's hands tight and with careful steps crossed the garden, brave in words but not in their hearts, determined to come to the bottom of the ghost mystery. And when the bushes shook and there was a horrific shriek, they would scream and still holding each other run back to the house, calling for their mother to come to their rescue, wondering if the howl truly came from some terrifying entity or if it had just been Georgina playing her silly games again.
Mary recalled numerous hours when she kept quiet company to William as he was practicing violin while she did needlepoint, enjoying the soft notes that his little fingers evoked out of an instrument, which rather small still seemed quite big compared to the tiny boy who tried to make it work properly.
They both cried bitter tears when Georgina and Emilia were married off to Lords from the Midlands and they were aware that their childhood was over, as they had known it. They promised each other then, on the eve of their last remaining sister Anne's departure with her new husband, that they would stay together forever, never parting ways, never losing the close friendship they had had. The promise, of course, was broken less than a year later, when at the age of twelve, William was sent to the continent for education, under the scholarship of his Grace the King, and Mary was left behind to care for their ailing mother.
She remembered the last glance that she had caught of William, his tiny body disappearing inside her father's coach with the family coat of arms on the back and it seemed to her like something big and dark had just swallowed her delicate little brother. His pale face appeared at the window in the back for a moment and she could tell he was shedding tears, just as bitter as hers, even though she tried to be brave for him and not cause him distress over his departure.
Mary cried for weeks after William had left, begging her father foolishly that William come back or perhaps she could even join him. She had known that those pleas were fruitless, if not exactly outrageous, but she could not help herself. On the day William had left Lovington manner, she felt as if something had died inside her and despite her mother's reassurances that things would be back to normal soon, she had never ceased grieving over the loss of her siblings, particularly her only brother.
"Goodness me!" A sudden cry startled Mary out of her deep thoughts and she jumped in fright. "What is wrong, child?" Margaret rushed towards Mary and before the latter could pull herself together, took her in her arms, and gently embraced her. Only then did Mary realize that her face was wet with tears and she chastised herself for her foolishness.
"Tis a happy day today, Mary." Said Margaret gently as she stepped away and gently wiped the wet cheeks with her hands. "Master William is coming home, there is no need for crying."
Mary smiled through the tears and stuttered through sobs. "I know. Oh, I know. I am just being foolish, Margaret." She said and ran her fingers through her long, unbrushed hair. "I've just been thinking of times past, when Willie was but a wee lad and we played in the garden." She said and tried hard not to start crying again, for her heart was breaking at the mere thought that William would only be at the Manor for a few days, and even before his arrival, she was dreading the moment when he would leave again. Leave her alone in a big and lonely house.
"Oh," moaned Margaret gently. "You foolish, foolish girl. You do not want William to see you have been crying, do you now? If you do not stop, there will be nothing I can do to hide your swollen eyes, Mary."
