Free While Beauty Slept by Elizabeth Blackwell Page B

disappointing Millicent, a fear that only heightened after I emerged from the passage into a grand hall. I was immediately struck by the sensation of openness and light the room imparted. Unlike the rest of the castle, which retained the feel of a fortress, this section had large windows and whitewashed walls. Statues of knights in heroic poses were arranged in alcoves, interspersed with tapestries of nature scenes. The room had a sense of proportion and grace that even Lenore’s apartments lacked. Why, then, were these quarters deserted, save for Millicent?
    Millicent. I knew I mustn’t provoke her wrath by dawdling, yet I could not see the marble staircase of which she had spoken. I turned one way, then another, eventually losing my bearings completely. The angles of the stone walls caused my footsteps to echo back from unexpected directions, so that I felt myself pursued by a foe who was first one step ahead, then one behind. Willing myself to remain calm, I used the windows to orient myself and discern where the tower joined up with the central fortress. A few more turns and I came upon the object of my quest: a staircase lined in pink marble. At the top stood two doors, both closed.
    I walked upward, looking for signs of habitation, but could find no discernible difference between them. Then I heard a faint, quavering sound, coming from behind the door on the right. I took a step closer. The sound moved higher in pitch, then lower. It was a woman’s voice, singing. The words were indistinct, but the notes had a melancholy beauty that carried the weight of loss.
    I knocked gently, calling, “Hello?”
    The sound abruptly ceased. I reached out and took hold of the handle, but the wood did not shift when I pushed against it. My skin prickled with the awareness of another’s presence, willing me gone, and I felt a sudden urge to run from the tower and whatever strange doings it concealed. I stepped quickly to the neighboring door, which yielded with a creak to my touch. As soon as I entered, I knew I had found Millicent’s room.
    Most of the women passing their final years in the castle had few possessions, their lack of wealth being the primary reason they lived off the king’s charity. A few had brooches painted with likenesses of their late husbands; others gave small ivory or silver crosses pride of place. As the king’s aunt, Millicent would be granted larger quarters than most, yet I was still shocked by the grandeur of her room, with its soaring ceiling and dazzling glints of gemstones and gold. A massive bed filled the center of the room, with elaborately carved posts that extended well over my head; a crest of four trees surrounding a boar and other wild game was etched into the headboard. On either side of the bed sat heavy chairs and storage trunks, all of a size and luxury unheard of for a spinster’s room.
    As I stepped farther inside, I noticed objects scattered across every flat surface, from the heavy stone mantelpiece to the tops of the trunks to the edges of the table where Millicent kept her washing basin and hair combs. Delicate silver spoons, rings inlaid with stones in colors I had never seen, a bowl of aromatic flower petals—each new discovery filled me with wonder. But what intrigued me most were the miniature figures arrayed over the fireplace. A few had the look of saints, but others depicted women whose manner of dress was foreign to me. One tiny, rough wood carving had no clothes at all, drawing all the more attention to her swollen breasts and pregnant stomach. Another, no bigger than my thumb and crafted from a strange green stone, was polished to such a gloss that my hands were involuntarily drawn toward it. This woman was naked as well, and though the immodesty disturbed me, I found myself oddly soothed as I ran my fingertips along the smooth curves, wondering who could have made such a thing.
    “What are you doing?”
    Mortified, I turned to see Millicent standing in the doorway. I