Story for the Day: Lady Faoiltigherna

Lunas calls her Faoili, to obviate difficulties. It is not pronounced how you think it is. Neither is Fethenshaugh.

The morning marched on: Erdaidh and everyone in the kitchen quarreled over the arrangement of the green geese, the underservants complained of having to do the plate-laundry, the maids lamented over having to take out the arrases, Lord Cinnaide, in a flurry from having received his new knife, could not wait to show it to his friend and therefore went to town himself, to fetch him in the carriage and bring him back to the house, whether dinner should be ready in time for their arrival or not. Lunas, away from the bustle and confusion of formal visits, had begun his work for the day when Lady Faoiltiagherna approached, to wish him a good morning and cheat him out of productivity by reliving her heart of her domestic woes. She came on the wings of vexation, having spent the chief of her morning garlanding the house for a guest she was sure to disapprove. She was a small woman, thin but hardy, trimmed and trained, well-furnished and well-made up, as prim as she was peculiar. She had a great love for well-made gowns, followed the Marridon fashion of being long-hemmed and long-sleeved, of always wearing lace and a few pearls, adopting the use of a short stay for support on a frame with very little shape. A puff at the shoulder, a ruffle at the wrist, a flurry of burgundy skirts, the image of a Marridonian noblewoman of a few years back, all small waists and flaring flounces, her hair nearly taller than she was, parted and piled up, each side of her head adorned with a mass of cardinal curls. She had few friends and seldom had time to talk to them with an estate to manage, and with no mother or older sister to guide her, Lady Faoiltigherna ran the great house well but dressed herself with desultory taste, her cousin doing her no service by telling her she always looked well, and their guests doing her no favours by pretending to be satisfied with her dress in public and granting her the title of ‘an interesting young woman’ whenever they wanted to slight her in private. She had no time for aspersions, however; Duke Fethenshaugh was coming to dine, and though she would rather not have him in the house, her rank as steward and housekeeper did not admit exclusion.

                She always came to Lunas, to tell him how much she hated their nearest connections and ask Lunas whether he could frighten them off. The answer was always no, but it was said with such undecided affability that she was sure she could change his mind. She thought him a superior creature, the guardian of all her peace, whose disquieting size and smiling countenance bore a contrast with the tight forms and grim faces of the nobility, his immense height and stooping shoulders giving him an amiable and open look against the overwhelming might of his arms. She had gained the title of ‘an interesting lady’ from nearly everybody who came to the great house, and Lunas was given the added title of “Oh, my…” whenever he was by. She always asked Lunas to come and sit at the table with them whenever a dinner was on; he was family, however their guests may confuse it, and Lunas was there to represent his master’s interests as much as he was present to keep Lady Faoiltiagherna from throttling his detractors. She hated anyone who abashed and abused him, and would say so whenever there was occasion for  it. His appearance disqualified him from conversation in some of the higher circles, and as a benefit of this, Lunas was glad to act as a means of keeping her from better society. She came to his workshop, expecting to be talked out of her dislike for a duke who had neither wits nor wages enough to tempt her into timidity. Her sighs  were audible from the courtyard, and Lunas was just putting down his chisel when she marched toward him, full flouts and fists clenching, the calamistrated ribbons tied around her hair bounding with every step.

                She stopped in front of Lunas and glunched in silence, waiting to be talked out of her agitation.

                The tools were put down, and Lunas approached her. “Erdaidh told me,” said he, his eyes already smiling.

                “Then I suppose you have heard the latest news,” said she, her lips pursing to one side.

                Lunas grew suspicious.

                “That our cousin means to have this intruder stay with us for the whole season.”   

                 “Oh.”

                “What a most disagreeable surprise. Now we shall have to dine with him every day, to watch him be above his desserts, commenting on the smallness of the supper and the badness of the plates, and oh what a horrid shame it is that we have no music while dining, and how shut away from the world we must be being so far from town—and the only peace we will be likely to have for a few hours together is when he takes cousin off to the lodge, because there are not ample enough hunting grounds here. How glad I am that cousin has never had the new wood put in. They should be in them forever, had they been kept well-stocked.”

                She paused and glanced up, and found Lunas stifling a smile.

                “Oh, ha. This all great fun for you, I’m sure, because you get to hide away here as much as you like, but for the rest of us stuck up at the house, there is a nightmare descending. I was in enough of a pet already, because cousin did not tell me he had a friend coming, which I suspect was done on purpose. He knows how much I abominate Duke Fethenshaugh, a character I have managed to avoid ever since I met him last Ailineighdaeth, after he made a comment about my hair being very nice for a made-up mimsie—“ She made a sharp sigh through her nose. “And of course, I am to mitigate all the trade negotiations between the houses, and though that is easily managed, I would rather have done with it and send the Duke home. It is bad enough he is coming for dinner—now he will be to stay all the rest of the autumn, and there goes all my domestic tranquility for the season. I will have to look at his horrid face and listen to him breathe through his nose and slotter his soup and whine about the want of servants and brook all his nonsense inquiries about business, which he himself knows nothing about, and repeat myself a hundred times over— How cousin could ever think it was a good idea to invite him here instead of take him to the lodge is—“ She grunted. “And none of this distresses you, Lunas?”

                Lunas could not but laugh. “I am completely shattered.”

                “Right,” Faoili snuffed, “I’m coming to live with you here in your workshop until the duke dunnard leaves. Let him set up his own house how he wants it and never mind me. I am just going to be sleeping under the workbench until winter.”

                “You might not like that,” said Lunas laughingly. “You will have to share it.”

                “I am grown quite used to sleeping in small spaces. I will thank you to remember how many times I slept in the garret during my first year here, and how many times I suffocated under your arms when it was too cold to sleep with no fire in my room.”

                “I have no complaints from anyone else who uses me as a blanket.”

                Here was a glance toward the workshop, where someone sit within, melting ore and cleaning moulds.