Origins

Isabelle and Hugh were in the hall of the de Vitot homestead. They had dined with her mother, father and their guests and were now being given space to spend time together. Her mother and father had retired to the chairs next to the fire, and the couple were standing alone admiring the presents. Isabelle looked at the goblets, brooches, tapestries, bolts of silk and linen, rings, and trinkets with a critical eye, when she caught sight of a flash of gold and green between two silver platters.

She reached down and picked it up.

“Oh Hugh, it’s beautiful!” Isabelle exclaimed, surprised at the gift and the way in which it had been presented. It must be his idea of a joke, she thought. “Oh, I love it, thank you.”

Hugh frowned at the emerald necklace draped over her hands and shook his head. “Nothing to do with me…” he said.

“Oh, you’re joking. But it must be from you. It’s exquisite, and who else would give me such a beautiful thing for a wedding present?” she laughed.

“No idea,” Hugh grunted. “Maybe one of your relatives or a rich friend of your father’s. It certainly wouldn’t have come from anyone I know.”

“Oh,” she said with disappointment.

He looked more closely. “Let me see it…”

He held it up so that it caught the candlelight and sparkled. “It’s a sizable lump of green,” he said, “but it can’t be real. It would be worth a small fortune. Must be glass or something else. Otherwise, who would have the wealth to gift this…?” he mumbled.

She took the necklace from him.

“Well, I think it’s real. My mother has a piece of emerald and it’s the same. And in any case, I love it…” Which is more than I can say about you, she thought, you uncouth oaf.

She pouted.

Hugh shook his head. “Well, whoever gave it to you, I’m glad it makes you happy,” he said and smiled at her.

She stared at him. Like you really care, she thought. But he does look sincere. Have I misjudged him after all…? She frowned.

Hugh continued, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’m not looking forward to spending the night freezing my butt off in that building site, saying my prayers, but I’ll see you tomorrow for the wedding. Goodnight.”

God knows he needs to prepare his soul for his dubbing. After what he’s done, she thought uncharitably. But she wasn’t disappointed he was leaving, because it gave her one last night of freedom with her parents before the wedding.

He bowed his head, then left her standing at the table. She watched him bid farewell to his hosts and leave, and after the door slammed behind him, Isabelle relaxed. She joined her parents, slumped in a chair, and sighed.

She knew he was a capable man, and he certainly was pleasing on the eye, but she knew that like her, he wasn’t in love. She’d always dreamt that she would marry for love. Isabelle knew that, as an only daughter, she would have to make an advantageous match, but she’d hoped that the dowry and prospects she offered would have enticed more suitors. There had been young men who came calling, but none of them were sufficiently ‘worthy’, according to her father. There had been one young squire who had caught her eye, but despite her protestations it had been obvious that her feelings were immaterial, she was like a pawn in a chess game, with no power, and just had to do what she was told.

But could I eventually come to love Hugh? she wondered. Not unless he bucks up his ideas, and at least tries to put some effort in.

She knew about his son and wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t know what men got up to. After all, her father was now in love with and loyal to her mother, but she knew it hadn’t been like that in the beginning. When they were first married, he’d had a string of mistresses in quick succession and when an heir didn’t come along, he’d strayed again. Eventually, though, she’d been born when her mother was thirty, and after that it was as if her father had accepted his lot. He’d settled down and seemed content.

Now he was very pleased with himself for securing her betrothal to Hugh, and he hadn’t stopped grinning since he’d made the arrangements. Despite everything they knew about Hugh, he was evidently happy with the cut of his cloth and was very much looking forward to the union and the advantages it would give him.

Unlike me. What will my life be like if we can’t learn to love one another? No doubt there will be children. After all, God knows he’s proved himself capable. But while a bastard is all very well, a legitimate heir is vital, particularly now there’ll be something worth inheriting. Thanks to me, she thought bitterly.

So maybe children will compensate for a lack of love and affection in our marriage. She sighed again.

She got up, placed the necklace back on the table, and went over to her parents. She picked up her embroidery, and they chatted as she worked. Eventually, her eyes grew tired, and she was ready to go to bed. Not that I’ll sleep. I’m too worried about the wedding and all that means… she thought as she kissed her mother goodnight.

The wedding and the banquet were finally over. It was the moment Isabelle had been dreading, the moment she and Hugh would be alone.

She had been wary at the prospect even before the wedding, but as the day had dragged on, she’d become more nervous and worried about what would happen. Particularly as Hugh and his guests had taken it on themselves to drain as much of her father’s cellar as they could, and were now in high spirits, and the groom was drunk and rowdy.

Just before she’d risen from the wedding banquet, Isabelle’s mother had sensed her concern and had patted her arm consolingly. She smiled sadly up at her, as she and Hugh left and made their way upstairs to their bedroom, accompanied by a cacophony of wolf-whistles and catcalls from the assembled men. Isabelle felt like a lamb being taken to the slaughter.

They reached the bedroom and while Hugh was relieving himself; she removed her wedding dress and rushed under the sheets in her underclothes.

She realised she’d forgotten to take off the emerald necklace. She’d worn it all day and gained admiring comments from her girlfriends. Despite Hugh’s denials yesterday, she’d pretended that it was a present from her husband and had noticed the jealous glances that one or two had given first the necklace, then cast in Hugh’s direction. The consensus was that she’d done well for herself.

But she certainly didn’t feel that way, particularly as Hugh took off his wedding clothes and got under the covers with her.

She reached up to unclasp the necklace, but he held her hand.

“No, leave it on… It looks nice. You look nice…” he mumbled. “No, not nice, beautiful…” he slurred.

She frowned at him, then blushed as he held her gaze, his face close to hers. Despite his breath smelling like a tavern and his bloodshot eyes, he looked earnest.

It surprised her to feel her heart flutter, and she breathed in small gasps of air. She felt something stir between them and her eyes went wide as he pressed his lips to hers with a gentle, exploratory kiss.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

Isabelle lay on her side in the bed, the blankets pulled up to keep her sweat-slicked body warm. Her breathing was shallow and even, as she relived what had just happened. Despite her earlier misgivings, she smiled.

She glanced over her shoulder. Hugh was flat on his back, snoring loudly, and she studied him as if for the first time. His black hair was ragged and sticking up in tufts. She sat up, reached over and, with her finger, traced his smooth forehead and narrow, straight nose. He had been so gentle. Maybe everything will be fine after all, she thought. His full lips parted as he snorted, and she tore her hand away, in case he woke up.

She lay on her back and felt the emerald necklace fall heavy on her chest. In the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten she had it on.

She sat up and reached behind her neck to undo it.

The clasp burned her fingers, and she cried out in pain. She felt the emerald shift and looked down with wide eyes. The jewel was moving of its own volition. It was swaying around at the end of the chain.

Isabelle shrieked. She tried to take it off again, but the metal scorched her fingers.

“Hugh!” she cried. The emerald flipped around, and like the head of a snake, the stone seemed to look at her.

She reached over and shook Hugh’s shoulder. But there was no response. He was passed out.

She grabbed at the chain and tried to tear it off. But it was too strong. It didn’t yield.

Slowly, the emerald rotated. It span on its axis, and as it did, the chain twisted around itself.

Isabelle reached up with both hands and took hold of the jewel to stop it from moving. But it was burning to the touch. She yelped and let go.

The emerald glowed with an eerie green light. It kept spinning and tightening the chain.

Isabelle knew she needed help. She knelt up and shook Hugh urgently. He didn’t respond.

She jumped off the bed. Hurtled to the door. Slammed it back against the wall with a crash and sprinted along the landing. All the time, the necklace was twisting around the rotating emerald. Isabelle bowled down the stairs two-at-a-time, hoping that there was somebody around. She felt the gold chain bite into her neck as it shortened. She grabbed at it as she ran, but it was no good, nothing she did stopped it.

She sprinted into the hall. People were slumped in chairs or had their heads down on the large dining table, obviously passed out where they sat. Everyone was asleep and snoring.

“Help!” she cried. But nobody stirred.

The chain squeezed tighter.

She reached up and put her fingers between gold and the flesh of her neck, trying to stop it strangling her. But the chain bit into the skin of her fingers and pushed them into her neck. She couldn’t breathe. She ripped her fingers out, and the noose constricted.

She careered to the front door and staggered out into the cold, fresh air. It was no good. The courtyard was deserted.

Black dots spotted her vision as she stumbled to the barn. She rushed over to a pile of tools and grabbed a metal file. She tried to get it under the chain and scratched her neck. Blood oozed from the wound. Her fingers were slippery with blood and sweat as she wedged the file underneath and tried to lever the chain away. She tried to break it, but all she did was cut her chin more deeply.

The necklace tightened and the metal file dug deeper into her flesh. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and Isabelle Malet, nee de Vitot, collapsed to the wooden floor of the barn. The world around her darkened as she was garrotted by the chain.

Once she had finally stopped breathing. The clasp of the necklace sprang open. The metal file dropped to the floor with a clatter. And the emerald necklace slithered from Isabelle’s neck and snaked across the floor of the barn until it buried itself deep inside a pile of hay, where it lay hidden.

At dawn the next morning a stable hand entered the barn to find the bride, dressed in her nightclothes, dead on the floor. Her neck was cut and had a red ring around it, as if she’d been strangled and cut with a tourniquet. A blood-crusted piece of metal lay beside her, and her hands were stained with blood.

Hugh was woken from his marital bed by the news that his bride had been murdered and he rushed down to the barn.

He entered to find Isabelle’s mother cradling her dead daughter in her lap and Hugh collapsed to the floor, his head in his hands, and he wept, as yet again his future crumbled to dust.

Later, when he was calmer, he examined the body and searched the bedroom. The emerald necklace everyone had admired the day before was missing, and Hugh informed the de Vitot family that Isabelle had been wearing it in bed, so she must have been murdered for it.

Hugh himself interviewed everybody who had been present in the house the previous evening, and stewards and squires were dispatched to hunt for any vagrants or strangers in the area, who may have been seen around the property the night of the wedding, or early the following morning. But throughout the day, they returned empty-handed.

Having assumed that the necklace was the reason for the crime, and that the perpetrator would have taken it, nobody thought to search for it, so it lay undiscovered.

Later, in the early evening, when the farmstead had grown quiet after the trauma of the murder, a small bent figure draped in a heavy cape, with a knapsack over her back, approached the house. She strolled into the cobbled yard through the unmarked stone archway and headed to the barn. If anyone had challenged her and asked what she was doing, Agatha would have said that she had come to offer her condolences to the family, as she was all too well aware of the loss that they felt. Alternatively, if she’d been discovered in the barn sifting through the hay in the back corner, she would have claimed that she was looking for clues to the identity of the murderer and for a murder weapon.

But nobody challenged her, and Agatha found and retrieved the amulet. She placed it in her knapsack along with all her possessions that weren’t now stored in her cave in the mountains. Apart from the necklace, she had nothing of any value. The only thing that she’d ever truly treasured had already been taken from her. But at least she now felt that the events that had unfolded in the de Vitot household, and the future that she had bequeathed for Hugh, made up in a small part for her loss.

Having secured the bag and slung it over her back, she left the farm and the town and headed back up into the hills.