Isolation - Moonacre Week 2024
Maria was no longer a child.
The day she stopped wearing white dresses was the day she had technically stopped being a child, or at least, she was no longer considered too young to not be thrown into the fray. Men stopped minding their mouths around her, cursing even as she flinched, and women dealt her sharp slaps whenever she stole biscuits from passing trays.
She was going to be fourteen at the end of summer, and yet she was still being treated like a useless infant.
By her father, as well as her governess.
“Maria, have you practised your braiding?” Miss Heliotrope asked, her kind smile misplaced in Castle Black.
“No, Ms. Heliotrope, I haven’t practised brading, or piano, or french, or needlepoint, or-”
“Ah, ah, ah! Maria dear, there is no need to go on listing your shortcomings.” Ms. Heliotrope smiled congenially.
Ms. Heliotrope stuck out like a sore thumb in the whole damned castle, but that was because she had come from London to help bring up Maria. It had been Loveday’s idea, long ago, when Loveday’s ideas were still valued. When Loveday was still valued. Something about how Maria deserved to be brought up as a proper lady, so her chances of securing a husband in the future were more certain.
Of course, that was before Loveday left, and Maria was their only chance.
Unless Father decided Dulac would be a better Coeur once Father passed. It was always possible, and Father always threatened it. Then, of course, David would be next in line, as he was Dulac’s only relative, and Maria would be tossed to the side. Very much like Loveday.
Maria waited and waited for the day that Father would turn Ms. Heliotrope away, as she was a clear reminder of Loveday and her sticky ideas, but Father had surprised them all. Ms. Heliotrope would stay, and bring Maria up not just as a proper lady, but as a proper heir.
Well, heiress, and all Maria had to do was marry whoever Father picked for her.
So, Maria hardly cared about whatever it was Ms. Heliotrope wanted her to do, as it didn’t matter. She didn’t have to try to fetch a husband, as so many poor girls did, Maria would be handed off.
“Maria, may I remind you how important it is to your Father, and your people, that you learn all that you can! Why, if I had so many proud customs, I would long to learn them all as well!” Ms. Heliotrope smiled, as brilliant as the woman was, she could be quite oblivious.
Maria only sighed, adjusted her black skirts and gazing out the window, to the forest, where she was sure the boys were running wild, free from silly lessons and governesses.
“I know how to braid.” Maria began. “So, I have no reason to practise them over and over again. I have mastered the piano, and je n'ai plus besoin d'apprendre le Français, I know it well enough.”
“And needlepoint?” Ms. Heliotrope smirked, as if she had caught Maria.
“I don’t care- mm! Ms. Heliotrope, can’t I go out into the forest?”
Ms. Heliotrope gasped, “The for-! Maria, what would your father say!”
“But going into the forest is as much my birthright as any of it! I mean how am I supposed to guard the forest if I don’t know it?”
Ms. Heliotrope tutted. “Maria, you are not to go into the forest.”
Maria pursed her lips and crossed her arms, turning away from Ms. Heliotrope and looking out the
window once more. She did not ask why not because she knew, it was the answer she had been given since the day Loveday had been scorned. Since the day her Father’s spies returned with the knowledge that Loveday had hidden in the forest. Because they did not trust Maria to stay put. Because they did not trust Maria not to run off after her sister.
As soon as Ms. Heliotrope left the room, Maria would jump up, claw at the ribbons lacing her in the heavy black dress and change into the leathers she had stolen from the boys. She would braid her hair to the side, tied with a black ribbon, and pull a mask around her face, covering her nose and lower mouth, an airy veil she had repurposed. She would smudge charcoal under her eyes and wrap the one scrap of blue cloth she had around her throat. She would sneak through the halls of the Castle, and into the forest, where they would never find her. Where she would be free of the isolation she felt here in the Castle.
However, that was not what Maria had in store for today. No, she had much grander plans.
There was word around the Castle that the Merryweathers were about to receive another.
A young boy in London, only seven years old, had lost his one remaining parent, and would soon be sequestered to Moonacre, where he would live with Sir Benjamin Merryweather.
He had them. She just knew he did.
It was what they all thought. That Sir Benjamin sent the Pearls away with his brother, safe and far from where the De Noirs could get them back. Now that the man was dead, and his son was returning home, the Pearls would as well.
Maria adjusted the veil over her face. She knew she was the disappointment. She knew she was supposed to have been born a son, and that she had come out a rotting girl. She knew that Loveday had failed, not only as a De Noir but also as the Moon Princess, and now the entire future of the De Noir Clan was on Maria’s shoulders. At least if Loveday had remained, there would be some peace, some love within the Castle’s cold walls.
The evening sun cast the Castle in a honey-warm glow, and while Maria should have waited for nightfall, she had grown impatient.
Sneaking her way into the stables, she stole her father’s favourite horse and took off for London.
She rode through the night, and with what little information she had, wound her way to the cemetery where his father was being laid to rest, where his mother’s tomb was. Maria followed the procession, looking for the little boy that must have been Robin Merryweather.
However, besides the robed officials, the priests, a young man, and two grieving women veiled in black, Maria did not see a little boy. She almost wondered if they had not allowed him to attend, but as she slithered around the stones and positioned herself a good distance away underneath a columned stone structure the realisation struck her.
She watched the young man step towards a grave marker and place a single red rose on the stone, then he stood above the freshly dug grave and threw a rose down over the coffin. She scowled, trying to figure out if their information had been wrong. He had no reason to leave flowers at graves unless- unless…
And Maria realised they were mistaken, and had missed a number.
The boy’s head snapped back to her, apparently her gaze was too sharp. She gasped, suddenly frozen at having been spotted, and as soon as he turned back, she spun around so her back was pressed to the column and she was once again hidden.
Seventeen. The boy was seventeen, and coming to Moonacre, not as a little boy seeking refuge, but a man preparing himself to step into the position of Lord of Moonacre.
He had been the first Merryweather she had ever laid eyes on.
Her heart pounded and she clenched her fist.
