What a granddaughter you have, William Davidson, darkeyed and whitetoothed.
Who is she? Not yours?
Of course shes mine, sir. Once in a generation such a child appears, and many years have passed my son Archibalds granddaughter, and soon Ill have a greatgranddaughter.
But, William, all the Evanses are fairhaired. I know every Evans; you once worked for my grandfather your ancestors served the Crown with honour.
We served, sir, and thats why we are here. My greatgrandfather was a steward, as were my father and I.
My sons have gone to town. Walter drives a coach for Lady Eleanor, a kindly, wealthy lady who has married and raised children and grandchildren. Simon works as a shop clerk, making a decent living and planning his own business. Archibald, a veteran of the regiment, rose to the rank of captain, earned medals, and was praised by the Duke, who kept him close and helped him greatly.
Archibald lives well, runs his farm, and keeps the estate strong. He married a fine young woman named Eleanor, and they had a daughter, Mabel, to everyone’s delight. In our line men are common, and when a girl is born she always turns out like Mabelbright and steadfast.
So it is, sir.
Old Mr. Evans sits mending nets while a darkeyed girl twirls nearby, her slender hands and delicate fingers a marvel of beauty, as if she were a miracle rather than a child. Beside her stands young lord George Spencer, whose eyes cannot leave Mabel.
Mabel, will you marry me?
Im still a child, sir
Of course youre young now, but when you grow, will you?
By the time Im grown, youll be old. Ill choose a younger man.
And who would that be? Have you found anyone?
Not yet; the time has not come. Grandmother Etheldra says Ill know when the right one arrives
Mabels eyes grew serious, as if she were already an adult.
Grandmother Etheldra? William, I dont understandwho is this Etheldra? Is she Archibalds wife from the village?
Ah, sir ignore her; she babbles nonsense, still a child herself.
May I play with Scout? the girl asked, suddenly turning back into a child, and sprinted down the lane to the river, racing the lords hunting hound named Scout.
How does she know the hounds name?
Perhaps you mentioned it, or someone else
I only brought him in today.
Sir, youre clever, but dont make up things that arent there; the girl will follow your lead.
The girl ran joyfully along the riverbank, while Scout, the floppyeared spaniel, bounded beside her.
The tale lodged itself in Georges mind. He, like many youths, loved mysticism, wrote verses, and was an intriguing fellow.
In autumn they met again; Mabel was out mushroompicking with her grandfather, and George walked with Scout.
George muttered poetry to himself, and Scout, who had been at his heels, darted forward, ears pinned.
Scout, Scoutieheard Georges childlike voice.
He followed the path, saw the hound lying on his back, shaking his legs as Mabel laughed above him.
Good morning, Mabel.
Good morning, George
Are you alone?
No, my grandfather is out gathering mushrooms.
They walked together toward the old mans cottage.
Mabel, have you changed your mind about marrying me?
No, sir, another path awaits you. Youll spend your life abroad, longing for home, and youll never have me.
Is that so?
Yes, well meet again when Im grown, but it will be a hard farewell.
You speak passionately, Mabel.
Not I, but Grandmother Etheldra says
Who is this Etheldra?
She was my grandmothershe simply runs off to play with Scout now.
William, you never told me the family legendwhy do you keep producing such girls as Mabel?
Ah, that the old man smiled, perched on a stump youre not of our blood, George, yet you ask.
I cannot stop thinking about it; I must know.
Then listen.
Long ago, near our borders, a travelling troupe of Romani set up camp, singing and dancing. The local lord loved the Romani, was wealthy, and welcomed them, even visiting their camp. He became enchanted by a Romani girl, a childlike beauty with mischievous eyes, bright lips, pearlwhite teeth, and a head of dark hair under a colourful scarf. When she sang, tears fell from the listeners eyes; when she danced, the air swirled. They called her a witch, but she was simply Etheldra, born with a fierce spirit.
The lord begged her father to give her to him.
How could I give away my child? protested the old Romani chief.
You cannot force a spirit to stay; she will go when she wishes.
Etheldra laughed, her voice ringing like bells.
Sir, I am not a granddaughter for you to claim!
The lord, frantic, clutched at her skirts, tossed coins, and promised introductions to the Empress, fine dresses, golden carriages, and palace life.
I need no palace, sir. I am a wanderer; my feet belong to the dewcovered grass, not to gilded shoes.
You would cage me in a golden cage!
Then leave, sir, before you lose what you value most.
The lord ignored her warning. The Romani, seeing his obsession, vanished one night, leaving him raving. He chased them with soldiers, accusing the camps men of theft. Screams rose over the camp; the lord, eyes wild, offered the men in exchange for Etheldra.
A young woman stepped forward, demanding the Romani be freed, walking away while singing. The lord and his men pursued, but she slipped away, leaving the lord howling in madness.
Later, the lords own son, Victor, an illegitimate but acknowledged heir, arrived to guide his father back to reason.
My time has come, whispered Etheldra to the lord.
Two weeks later she left for the steppe, and Victor followed.
Years passed, and Victor returned with a son, Henry, and a petite darkeyed girlEtheldras children.
Your greatgrandfather, George Spencer, once sheltered my greatgrandfather, William Evans, making him a steward and helping his children rise. Thus we are bound, sir.
What became of Etheldra? asked George, puzzled.
Some say she died; others claim she found a new lover among the travellers.
Its not true; she never found anyone
replied a voice from Mabel, she loved her husband fiercely, was restrained, and left early. Victor wanted to raise his children well, but without his beloved, he could not thrive.
The old man fell silent, remembering that once every generation a girl with Etheldras fire is born. He thought of Mabel, richly gifted by her greatgrandmother.
For several years George and Mabel lost each other, but he discovered old deeds proving that lands east of his estate belonged to the Evans family. He delved into new ideas as the country changed, though not as he had hoped.
He and his comrades were arrested at the former Evans manor, held until a senior officer gave orders.
George Spencer, sir a soft voice called from a window, a girl of unearthly beauty bathed in moonlight
George Spencer she whispered come, quietly, we have half an hour before the guards wake.
They slipped out, following her into a hidden cavern none had known.
My people have hid here for centuries; do not fear, I will help you.
Mabel? What have you become?
Sir, you flatter me she smiled, adult now.
Im smitten, dear Mabel.
Remember the family legend
She guided George and his men to a harbour, introduced them to the right contacts, and helped them escape abroad.
Mabel, travel with me; you have become more than a stranger.
I cannot, sir my destiny lies elsewhere. Go, may your life be long.
Please, Mabel, just a little longer, like a younger sister.
No, George I must stay, walk my own road. Farewell, sir.
In exile, George drew Mabels likeness from memory and gave it to an artist, who painted her portrait. He married later, loved his wife, yet kept Mabels pure image in his heart.
Only when he was an old, frail man did the truth of that portrait surface. Mabel had lived a long life, married the senior official whose arrival they had awaited the night she helped George escape. He was later executed during the purges, then rehabilitated; they left three sons and a daughter.
Mabel never saw old age; she only glimpsed her first greatgrandson, who later had a daughter whose resemblance to the ancient matriarch amazed all.
Mr. Nichols, why does your Angel look so bright? Youre all lighthearted, yet she seems not of our lineasked a neighbour.
Shes ours, laughed Mr. Nichols indeed ours.
Angel, whats her nickname? Is she a Romani? She wears beads
Not beads, a pendant replied the girl, gazing with clear black eyes and they call her Etheldra.
The tale ends with one simple truth: wealth, titles, and even the fiercest passions cannot buy a heart that chooses its own path; listening to the wisdom of those who have walked before us guides us away from folly and toward a life lived with honesty and love.
