The Alice Tree part 2
The gypsy clan arrived again the evening after Alice and William’s engagement party. Excited to tell her best friend the news, Alice ran down first thing the next morning. Crispin spotted her before she saw him, and left the logs he was splitting to run and greet her. He had grown tall, tanned and strong from the life he led, and could lift Alice off her feet when he hugged her.
They sat by the fire and Crispin made tea. For some time they talked about what had happened in the gypsy camp since last summer, and the Elder came over to inquire over Alice’s health. Though she had been old when Alice was born, the Elder was still hale and hearty. At last she was called away to attend to the first advice-seeking villager, and Alice and Crispin were afforded some privacy.
‘So,’ started Crispin, ‘how has village life been since I was last here to make the place a bit more interesting? I hope you’ve been to plenty of tea parties, and that you’ve been thrilled by some new print of fabric for the girls’ dresses.’
Alice pulled a face at his gentle teasing. Having never been a part of it, Crispin had always found the ways of her kind of life very amusing. ‘Hush your mouth. I have some very important news for you.’
Crispin raised an eyebrow, ‘Oh?’
Alice paused for effect, but the information which she had been suppressing suddenly bubbled up and burst forth, ‘I’m engaged to marry William!’
She had expected Crispin to be as excited as she was at the news, but his reaction was entirely the opposite. His eyes narrowed and he did not even smile. ‘Who is William?’
Alice realised for the first time that when the gypsies had last been there she had not yet met William, and Crispin would not have heard of him. She had not mentioned him in any of her letters since forming an attachment, a kind of girlish embarrassment keeping her from speculating about the future. In this light she decided that Crispin’s lack of enthusiasm about her sudden engagement to an unknown man was forgivable. She quickly explained the circumstances under which they had met, but was saddened to see that Crispin’s disposition did not improve.
‘Well,’ said Crispin resolutely, ‘I hope you’ll be very happy together.’ He stood, but did not offer a hand to help her up. ‘I must get back to my work, I don’t have the time to sit around talking all day. It was kind of you to come and say your goodbyes.’
Confused and hurt by the coldness in his voice, Alice sprang to her feet. ‘I don’t understand you, Crispin! What do you mean, “say my goodbyes”? I can marry William and still have you as my friend, can’t I?’
He ignored her anger. ‘No Alice, you can’t. Do you really think your husband-to-be will allow his wife to consort with a gypsy man? Do you not think he will see it as a slight upon his honour and your virtue? I am fully aware of the reputation that we gypsies have in your society. We are not people, we are rogues and swindlers who bewitch young women away from their marriage beds! No, Alice. You cannot have me as your friend.’
Alice stared at him, stunned into silence.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ he continued. ‘Lord only knows what he’ll do when he finds out what you really are.’
This final blow was too much, and Alice turned and ran back to her home, weeping bitter tears as she went. The terrible thing was that Crispin spoke the truth. William was a good man, but he would never stand for her friendship with Crispin. As to the other issue… she had of course not told William of her double nature, nor did she plan to; it was simply not something which either he or society would be able to overlook. She would be called a freak, an aberration; she would be cast out, shamed and disgraced, even killed. Her only choice was to hide it, or find a way to manage without her occasional transformations. She had no other choice.
Crispin watched her leave, a tumult of regret, sadness and anger filling his heart. She still did not know that he loved her, and now he would never be able to tell her. But even as he stood there, the well-known pain over the impossibility of his love was overshadowed by the fear for what would become of her.
***
Though the gypsy clan remained for the whole of their usual summer stay, Alice did not see them again before her wedding day. The preparations for the wedding consumed Alice’s days, and it was with great anticipation that the whole county awaited what would certainly be the event of the year.
Her only trouble was the nighttimes, when she would awake in a panic, having dreamed that William had learned of her secret. When the sun rose she could ignore the fear, but not at night. William was so proud, so driven by his place in society. She had hoped that one day she might divulge her secret, but she had seen how he scorned those who were deformed or disfigured. It was surely unfair of her to judge him for it, she scolded herself. Most any other young man of his position would have thought the same. But she saw the disgust on his face when approached by a beggar with a withered arm, and knew that if he could not stand that, he would not accept her.
The evening before the wedding a note arrived for her. Recognising the writing, Alice retired to her bedroom to open it.
Alice,
As we are nearing the end of summer it is time for my clan to move on, and we leave tonight. I wish you luck in your marriage, though I do not pretend that I can give my blessing. Should you need my help, you know how to reach me.
Crispin.
The letter brought a fresh wave of grief to Alice, but she pushed it firmly aside. The loss of Crispin was regrettable, but though he was a dear friend she could not choose him over William. Her duty was to her mother and now her husband-to-be, and she was determined to follow her path as well as she might.
*
Alice spent that last night before her marriage in her tree form, drawing as much comfort and strength from the earth as she could. With her whole heart she prayed that she could draw enough energy to last the rest of her life, for she had still no clue as to how she was to keep her secret from her husband. She would not be able to sneak out of their home for entire nights at a time without his noticing. Praying was all she could do.
The wedding went exactly to plan. The day was beautiful, and as the sun set she arrived at William’s family home as its new mistress. Before going up to the house William decided to take her on a drive through the grounds. ‘We have been preparing for your arrival,’ he boasted. ‘There were so many trees and things growing wherever they wanted, it was most out of order. The new layout is much better. It will be finished within the week so you can enjoy it on your walks.’
Alice was horrified to see piles of logs heaped by the side of the road. So many trees must have been killed for William’s ‘improvements’, she could scarcely think about it.
William seemed to be waiting for a response. ‘Do you like it?’ he finally prompted.
Alice looked at the attempts to create an ornamental version of nature, and sighed softly. ‘Yes,’ she replied, her voice flat, ‘it’s lovely.’
In spite of this, for some time life continued in a happy way. Alice became accustomed to the ways of the estate, and with some help from the housekeeper learned to take her part in running it. Though she saw little of her husband due to his lifestyle, she thought herself lucky in the match.
Their happiness, however, was short lived. After only a few weeks Elizabeth’s health took a turn for the worse, and two days later she died. Alice inherited her parents’ whole fortune, but it did nothing to ease her suffering. The grief took its toll on her energy, and not long afterwards her health too began to wane. It began, as always, as a simple tiredness: a reluctance to get out of bed in the morning, a drooping of eyelids after dinner. At first Alice dismissed it out of hand; it was surely due to the amount of walking she did. But as the days progressed she found that she walked less and less, as she became out of breath so quickly. Her hands shook so badly that the simplest piece of embroidery was impossible, and picking up the silver cutlery at dinner was a terrible effort. She lost her appetite and began to sleep for longer and longer. Though she maintained that it was only a bad cold, on the sixteenth day William insisted that she take to her bed.
Alice was afraid. Never before had she purposefully let the decline get this far. As soon as she felt the ebbing of her energy she had taken her tree form, and all would be well again. Now she did not know where to turn.
Whilst Alice stayed in bed, a number of changes were made in the estate without her knowledge. William had been much pleased with the windfall of Alice’s inheritance. His love of finery had severely depleted his own fortune, which was now nothing more than reputation, and the acquisition of Alice’s money was a saving grace. As her husband, William saw it as his absolute right that he should spend the money as he saw fit, and so he finished remodelling the gardens, the stables were filled with fine horses, and his wine cellar was fully stocked.
This had been going on for five weeks when William came to her and apologetically informed her that he must leave on a matter of business. ‘It will only be two or three days,’ he told her, squeezing her hand, ‘You know I wouldn’t go if I could help it. But it’s been so long since I’ve been into town, I really can’t put it off any longer.’ He gently stroked her hair from her pallid brow, ‘You don’t mind do you, sweet? I will hurry back to you as soon as I can.’
‘Of course, William,’ Alice smiled sadly. ‘I wouldn’t expect the world to stop turning whilst I am ill. Naturally you must attend to the business.’ She watched him leave the room, and felt a tear slip down her cheek. If this opportunity had come earlier it would have saved her, but as it was the nearest place she could take her tree form was a good mile away and she simply had not the strength to walk there.
By the time the sun had risen Alice had made up her mind. She said goodbye to her husband, then asked the maid to bring her pen and writing paper.
Crispin,
She wrote,
I am terribly ill. Please come for me.
Alice.
She sealed the note, and gave it to her maid with strict instructions to have it delivered directly to the gypsy clan, who in early autumn camped half a day’s ride away. Having received confirmation that the messenger had left, she bade the servants not to disturb her for the rest of the day. She wished to rest as much as possible, she told them, in order to be strong for William’s return.
As soon as she was alone, Alice pushed away the bedcovers and got up. She just had strength to stand and walk unaided, if only for short distances. She dressed herself in her hardiest, plainest dress, and proceeded to pack a few necessary items into an old cloth bag. Due to her weakness the whole business took far longer than it would normally, and by the time she was finished it was nearly midday. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and sat at the window to wait.
For several hours she slipped in and out of sleep, dreaming agitated dreams in which Crispin did not come and William returned home to find her corpse still waiting in the chair, and waking with a start each time. At long last, as the world began to grow dark, she was woken from a fitful doze by the clatter of hooves in the courtyard outside. Three riders dismounted, and the foremost pounded on the front door. Alice recognised him immediately. Crispin had come.
She took her bag and crept out of her bedroom. Upon reaching the top of the stairs she saw Crispin framed in the open doorway. The housekeeper, Mrs Miller, was trying to remove the three gypsies from the premises with the help of a large portion of the household staff, but Crispin was refusing to move an inch before he had seen the lady of the house.
‘Well then!’ Mrs Miller was saying, ‘I will have you thrown from the premises! Matthew,’ to the footman, ‘get the men from the stables!’
‘Mrs Miller, that will do.’ Alice descended the stairs with all the little authority she could muster, gripping the rail to support herself.
‘But ma’am, these ruffians want-‘ Mrs Miller began, only to be cut short.
‘Never mind that. I have no more need of you tonight, you are all dismissed.’ And then, upon perceiving the hesitation of the group of servants, ‘Go!’
None of the servants had ever had a single sharp word from their mistress before, and in shock they scattered, leaving Alice alone with Crispin and his companions. As soon as the last servant had gone Alice ran the last few steps towards Crispin, whereupon her strength failed her and she fell weeping into his arms. For several minutes Crispin held her as she sobbed out her whole story.
‘And so you see,’ she finished, ‘I cannot stay! To stay is to die, and to tell my secret may well mean the same. Please, take me away with you.’
‘Of course,’ Crispin stroked her hair, ‘Of course.’ Without another word he picked her up and strode back out into the courtyard. Alice’s tiny amount of extra weight made no difference as he swung them up into his horse’s saddle, seating her gently in front of him so that she could lie against his chest and he could hold her steady.
For a while they rode through the fading light, but when full-dark came upon them Crispin called a halt. Whilst his friends made camp, Crispin carefully lifted Alice down from the horse. She was barely conscious. He carried her away from the others into a small copse of trees, and as he laid her on the ground she opened her eyes.
‘We only have a few hours,’ he told her. ‘At first light we must move on. But it should be enough time to at least restore you in part.’ He made to leave, ‘I will sleep on the edge of the copse,’ her told her, ‘if you need me, just call.’ When he got no response he risked a glance back over his shoulder, but all he saw where Alice had been was a silver birch.
*
At first light Crispin woke to see Alice walking out of the copse towards him. She still moved a little wearily, but she now looked no worse than a person who has had a bad night’s sleep. The colour had returned to her cheeks, and she did not look so thin.
Half an hour later they were once again on their way. Alice could now sit properly on the horse, and so she rode behind Crispin, holding on to him for balance. For his part, Crispin was concerned. Alice had eaten well at breakfast, and her improved strength could not be denied, but since emerging from the copse she had not spoken and her eyes were dull.
After several hours they reached the gypsy camp, where they were received by the Elder. The still-silent Alice sat and drank hot tea whilst Crispin and his grandmother discussed what was to be done.
‘I suppose it is time to move on, anyway,’ sighed the Elder. ‘But we cannot go south, as we usually do. True, the majority of people do not take any notice of our comings and goings, but if Alice’s husband comes after her it will not be difficult for him to find us, if we stick to our usual routine. No, I believe we should continue west.’
Crispin nodded, ‘I agree. It will be several days before we reach a prosperous settlement, but we have provisions enough. My only worry is what everyone else will think?’
The old woman sniffed, ‘I am their Elder, they will abide by my decisions. And there will be many who will be glad for a change of scene. We cannot tread the same paths forever.’
‘It is settled, then. We will leave tomorrow.’
Part three