Read Online The Dandelion Seed by Lena Kennedy - Free Book Online

and danced together – old, young and even the children. For Marcelle it had been a grand thrill all day. And then when they came home on the back of an old donkey, Will was much the worse for drink and kept falling off, at which point the donkey would immediately turn around and head in the other direction. Marcelle, who had known only tears and sadness in the last year, giggled and laughed until she was quite exhausted.
    But when Annabelle found out about this outing, she had been furious, lashing out with her tongue at both Will and Marcelle. ‘Young ladies do not go to fairs,’ she said angrily. ‘Whatever would I say to Dour Thomas if anything should happen to you, Marcelle?’
    Marcelle had no idea of what was likely to happen, but she dropped her head meekly and said: ‘I am sorry, Annabelle but it was all so funny and after all, Will was with me.’
    After that, Annabelle clearly decided to keep a closer eye on Marcelle, so every afternoon the girl was taken up to the parlour to accompany Annabelle while she gossiped and passed round drinks to her friends. Marcelle was made to sit amongst them all and sew pretty dresses for her trousseau.
    In the recess behind a silk curtain in Annabelle’s room there were many dresses made from lovely satins, brocades and fur. They were all mostly gifts, cast-offs from Annabelle’s more wealthy friends. ‘I’ll never wear this lot out,’ she had told Marcelle one day, ‘I’ll tell you what we will do. We will cut them to fit you and make them fashionable, so that when Dour Thomas gets quarters for you at court you will be smart and pretty, and we will all be proud of you.’
    Annabelle had a heart of gold, and was always so generous with her love and possessions.
    ‘Everybody loves Annabelle,’ said Abe. ‘She has not a mean streak in her anywhere.’
    But from her vantage point, Marcelle, often saw a different side to Annabelle, a side hidden from the rest of the household. As she sat quietly sewing in the corner of that bright little parlour, Marcelle would observe all the grand ladies with their high-pitched cackles who discussed in whispers some choice scandals and were entertained by a smart, alert, very hard and brittle Annabelle. And when all these smart ladies had all gone, Annabelle would put an arm around Marcelle’s shoulders and say bitterly, ‘Those bitches, they are damned stinking bitches. Come on, darling, let us go downstairs.’
    There was one place in the house that Marcelle hated and that was on the top floor, where she seldom ever went. For she was terrified of old Merlin. Her first trip to his quarters had been a great shock. She had seen this tall thin man in a long smock down in the kitchen several times. He never spoke to her but would tilt her chin up and gaze directly into her eyes pinning her, she felt, like a trapped animal. It was enough to make anyone terrified. Then one day, she had been forced to see him upstairs.
    ‘Merlin has not been down today,’ said Annabelle. ‘Take his food up, will you Marcelle, dear?’
    With a heavily laden tray she climbed the gloomy stairs up to the big attic where Merlin lived. It was dark and dismal up there, dust and cobwebs were everywhere. By the time she had reached the heavy oak door to Merlin’s room, she felt as if her heart was in her mouth. She gave a gentle tap on the door. No reply. With her foot she pushed open the door which swung open slowly with a protesting whine. Marcelle stood and stared open-mouthed at the sight which met her startled gaze. Before her was a great dingy room with lots of dark corners from which strange faces stared at her. In the middle of the room was a large table from which a very strange blue light came and there, holding a smoking glass bowl, stood Merlin. His hair was hanging over his face and he was muttering wildly as he stirred the smoking glass. Suddenly he became aware of her presence. ‘Enter!’ he called irritably. ‘And shut the door. You are making