The first part of this serial/long short story is at Gobelin Market - Part One. Below is part two. I’m releasing them slowly since I’m making changes to tweak the ending.
The sun poured in the southern window, heat falling on her back, while her shadow loomed across the canvas. Her attention was mostly on the great circular mirror. She reached for it now to gently wipe away the smudge of a fingerprint with her handkerchief.
The distant church spires of Astolat were framed in the glass, the silver thread of the canal nearby, the rippling of the wildflowers, the movement of traffic.
She pushed herself to her feet, stretched, stiff from hours at her canvas. She looked down at her work.
Last year, the townspeople visited the grounds, taking to the lake in their boats in what had become a bi-annual event. Once in the summer, and once in mid-winter they came. Her canvas showed the fireworks of the mid-winter festival playing out beyond her window. Silver and gold thread streaked across dark blue. And below, ornate barges on the moat, decorated and lit with lanterns in winter.
They came to her because she wouldn’t go to them, but she brought people to the town and the townsfolk were grateful and keen to be part of her story.
But never once had she looked out the window. Not since childhood. Her mirrors would do. For years Vanni told her she was foolish. He’d tried to tempt her into coming with them to the market. No one would recognise her. And she could see what people made of her work – how they admired it.
How could she convince him that she didn’t want their thoughts in her head? That she thought in pictures – the images passing before her mirror, sometimes a reflection of the world behind her, or something yet to happen.
She prized the silence of the tower house, and the beauty of the grounds reflected in the mirrors. Right now she could watch the swans gliding on the waters of the lake beyond. Their heads dipping below the surface, tail feathers in the air. The ducks swimming in a line. The rippling of the water that glinted from the sun.
Time to eat. She left the room and made her way to a side chamber where a table was laid out with fruit, cheeses, bread, slices of meat, and a bottle of wine.
When she’d eaten her fill, she slipped down a narrow stairwell into the walled garden, taking a turn around in the sun. This was her special place. Here no one could spy on her from the bank of the lake. Nor could she see the spires of Astolat or anything else of the world beyond. Just the sky above, the birds in the air, and the stonework of the visible towers.
Here she walked among the roses, the other lush flowers, and the fruit trees. She’d walked here with her mother, before her mother became smitten with the world beyond. She'd walked here with him too. For a brief time. Vanni sometimes came here with Alice. But mostly it was hers alone.
Time to return to work. Morning, afternoon, and evening she worked. Some said it was a curse. She sat at the southern window these days – the one that looked to Astolat. But much as she might watch people from the mirror, drifting on their barges down to the town, or walking or driving along the road, she never felt the temptation to go there herself. Not even when he’d asked her.
Guy returned to the canal and his boat. There were chores to be done – the emptying of the waste cartridge and the filling of the water tank. If he decided to stay here long enough, he could even give the outside of the boat a lick of paint.
Inside, he left the rear door and the side hatch open, welcoming the light draft. He peeled off his clothes and took a cold shower. When he was dressed, he closed the hatch and took the few brief steps needed to get to the boatman’s cabin. Traditional narrowboat art decorated the panels, including a tower rising from an island of trees. It had always made him think of France, the chateaux of the Rhone.
He paused on the bank outside, glancing again at the exterior. He’d always meant to rename her, but somehow life got in the way and he never had the time. The Lady Elaine. Where had that thought come from? He laughed and decided it was time to go to the pub and hear the story of Elaine of Astolat.
“It was more than six years ago,” Rob said, before taking a long draw from his beer. “And I got it all from Vanni. That’s the little fella on the market stall.” He put the glass on the table. “There was this college student. Lance was his name. Not from around here, though he was studying locally. Had digs in the town. And when the story starts, he should have been studying for exams. But it was the Beltane fair. The market was bigger than usual, people coming from far away, just like today.
“And there he was walking around, looking at the sights, just like you today, when he came to the Gobelin Market. Well, Lance thought it was Goblin Market on account of the little guy striding up and down like a ringmaster in a circus. There was only one stall back then. Elaine’s become more prolific over the years.
“So the little fella, Vanni - short for Giovanni - he was going on about this lady who lived alone at the tower house, all on her own since her parents died. You’d think this sort of information shouldn’t be bandied about in public. But no, Vanni was giving the crowd the sales spiel. How she sat up there and stitched from one end of the day to the other and so on…
“Anyway, Vanni was going on that day about how she’d never been courted, not once. Not just sweet sixteen and never been kissed, but sweet seventeen, eighteen, and now she was near twenty and still no sign of a fella. Of course, this inspired offers from the crowd, not all of a respectable nature.
“But Lance had his doubts, thinking that Elaine was likely just a story. Another tall tale among the many you find in this town. So he bided his time and waited until Vanni packed up for the night, and tried to engage him in conversation. But the little fella, he was having none of it. Told Lance to buzz off, so to speak, he was busy. And if Lance needed any help in leaving, the big fellas were sure to oblige. Well, no one in their right mind is going to argue with those two. So off the lad went. But he was back the next morning, listening to every word Vanni said from his place on the stall.
“That Vanni, he knows who to pitch what at. A born salesman. To the Americans, he was giving some spiel about the Astolat family: how they came from France with William the Conquerer, and how Astolat was named after them. Really playing on the history, dressing it up with a bit of romance, tragedy, drama, and a few tapestries, and the money was soon changing hands.
“At the end of the day, Lance was still hanging around. There was a particular work that had drawn his attention this time, a tapestry of a knight in black armour, sitting on his horse, looking to a tower house in the distance. Vanni and the big fellas were packing up their van. It was the van and the picture of the knight that gave him the idea. See, Lance recognised the house. He had a motorcycle, often went tearing off on it on the road that passes by the gatehouse of the old tower house. He decided it was time to pay the place a visit.
“The road follows the canal a bit, and you turn off there to get to the house. The gatehouse is a ruin, and the walls that fortified the whole place are gone in places. The house was actually a keep, built in the late fourteenth century. The walls on the ground floor are ten feet thick, so they say, and mostly storerooms and guardrooms in the old days, and there’s no proper windows to look in.
“The domestic rooms start on the first floor. And there’s a wide moat around the house. More like a lake, wide and green and quiet, with only swans and ducks to swim across to the other side. I went there a few times, after I heard Vanni’s story. I was sceptical like you. I tell you, it’s the kind of place you dream about. And Lance must have thought so too, standing there, with his helmet under his arm.
“So he decided to take a walk around the bank, have a look at the four towers. Maybe he’d catch sight of her. I tried that myself a few times.”
“And did you see her?” Guy asked now, preferring to ignore his own drink, the pub, and the bustling crowds outside the window.
“I saw someone - a girl with long hair, but only from behind. She was bent over something, one arm moving. Probably working on her tapestry. But I could only see her from the ground and she was high up. No way to see her properly.”
“You must have seen her from the bank,” Guy said. “If the moat is wide, you’d have a decent view, with a pair of binoculars. No stretching your neck to look upwards.”
“Well I wasn’t smart enough to think about binoculars and Vanni wouldn’t take kindly to me peering at her like that. Though, I’ll tell you, plenty of others have. But the big fellas have a way of turning up and tapping you on the shoulder, then looming over you until you leave.” Rob laughed and took another sip of beer.
“Lance though, he came up with the idea of climbing a tree, for a better look. He tried the first tower, then the second, and saw no one at the windows, which were closed. But then there she was on the third attempt. And there he was, perched on a branch, wondering what she’d make of him if she caught sight of him there.
“She stood up, her back to him, her hair long and dark, and down to her waist. Then she was gone.”
“Are you embellishing things a bit?” Guy asked. “You know an awful lot about it.”
“He told Vanni one night in this very pub, drunk out of his head he was, so the little fella got plenty of details. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Lance jumped down, walked round to the bridge across the water, and climbed the steps on the other side that led up to the great door.”
“The bridge is left down?” Guy enquired.
“All the time. Obviously not in the old days. Anyway, stop interrupting, I’m losing the thread. So Lance, though he didn’t know what he’d say if she answered, he knocked on that great door. Knocked long and hard, but no one came. So he decided to leave and come back another day. But it wasn't so easy, for down at the bottom of the drive, Vanni and his two henchmen waited, standing by their van, arms folded. They’d blocked the road.
“‘This is private property,’ Vanni said. ‘What are you doing here?’ And Lance said he only came to look at the towers and catch sight of Elaine. But he was wearing his black leathers and realised maybe he looked like the suspicious type to the little fella. Anyway, Vanni told him to buzz off, that she didn't see visitors. ‘She’s a recluse,’ he said. And he went on to say that anything he said about her at the market was sales talk and not an invitation to trespass. ‘Get your bleeding arse out of here and don’t come back!’ he said. ‘Elaine doesn’t like visitors and that’s that.’
“And so Lance had no choice but to return to the town, with them on his tail all the way back, just making sure he really did leave.” Rob took another long draw of his beer.
“And that’s it?” Guy said. “That’s your story?”
“No. That’s just the beginning.” Rob tapped his almost empty glass. “Storytelling is thirsty work. Could do with another one of these.”
Gobelin Market - Part Three is here.
The images are by Waterhouse.
Well-written, can’t wait to read more!