Lady Anne

You think you know me, don’t you?  You’ve heard stories, so many stories about Lady Anne Skipwith.  A beautiful woman, who married well and had a good life…

Until she and her husband, Sir Peyton Skipwith were invited to a ball.  Not just any ball, but one held by the governor himself in the capitol city.  They graciously accepted the invitation, and a few weeks later were happily staying as guests in a house just down the green from the Governor’s Palace.  On the night of the ball, Anne got separated from her husband, and when she went to find him, he was not alone.  Anne’s older sister, Jean was with him showing considerably more than sisterly affection.  Anne ran from the palace, stumbling across the lawn and losing one of her beautiful shoes.  Returning to the house she was staying in as a guest, she found a bit of rope and in a fit of grief hanged herself from the landing rail.   For years, people have been knocking on that door, trying to return the lost shoe.

Poor girl, poor sad Anne.

But there are other stories, you know.  Perhaps you’ve heard the one about Jean, poor Anne’s sister.  She went on to marry Sir Peyton, became the new Lady Skipwith.  It’s been said that on that fateful night, Jean followed Anne back to the house.  Anne was above stairs in her chamber when she heard someone coming up the stairs.  Thinking it was her husband returned to beg for forgiveness, she went to meet him with an open heart.  But it was Jean, not Sir Peyton that met her on the steps, and when Jean saw Anne’s pity and compassion she was overcome by such a dark rage that she grabbed Anne’s dress and flung her down the stairway, snapping her beautiful neck. 

Such sad, sad tales.  But that’s the thing, you never can tell what stories to believe, can you?

Oh yes, my name is Anne Skipwith.  I did go to a ball with my husband, and perhaps that’s what killed me.  But the real story, the TRUE story starts some years before.  I was heavy with child, my third.  It was June and all the cicadas were greeting the close of another day with a rousing chorus.  I went from my house to find my sister, Jean.   She had taken a book to the gardens, another novel or a scientific treaty- I never could keep track.  Wandering the flowerbeds I heard her voice, a breathless laugh.  Then I heard someone else.  They were there- both of them sitting on a stone bench.  My beloved sister and my dear husband.  He looked at her with such passion, such gentle love, suddenly I felt like the interloper.  I tried to move, to cry out- but I couldn’t.  I was caught there, behind the hedges watching as my husband leaned over and tenderly kissed my older sister. 

I froze, unable to think, unable to breath.  Then, with a snap I came back to myself.  I was eight months along; Jean had come up to help with the lying in.  In my state, what could I do?  I was terrified of doing something to harm the pregnancy, to bring the baby too quickly.  And besides, who knew if I would even survive- it’s not just the birth that’s dangerous you know- it’s the possibility of sickness, infection that comes later.  Showing myself would only cause more hardship to my family.  I loved them both so.  I turned, and walked away. 

Well the baby did come, not too long after.  A beautiful baby boy (girl?)  Jean stayed by my side, caring for me, my children….and my husband.  They did nothing to rouse my suspicion, nothing was outwardly wrong- but I knew.  A woman can always tell.  Still, I was healthy, and so was my baby- and that’s all that mattered.  I kept quiet and did my best to forget, everything. 

Life continued as it does in the countryside of Virginia, the years passed and my children turned into sturdy toddlers and then began to shed their baby fat and have opinions and thoughts of their own.  It was a pleasant, peaceful existence.  One day my husband came to find me in my dressing room.  He was glowing; we had been invited to a grand ball but the governor of Virginia himself!  I protested, I did not want to leave my children behind, but he insisted that they were old enough to be without their parents for a few days.  Perhaps, I suggested, their Aunt Jean could stay with them- she loved them so!  “But Anne, don’t you understand?  Jean is going too!  The whole family together for a long weekend in the city!”  Oh, I understood.  He would not hear of any further protests, when I said I had nothing to wear he said I should have a new gown, and shoes to match.  And so, before I knew it I was bundled up into a carriage with my husband and my sister, setting off to Williamsburg.

The journey was smooth, and we were welcomed into Williamsburg; before we knew it the ball was upon us.  I buckled my new shoes on and settled the smooth silk fabric over my hoops, determined to show nothing amiss.  I had always liked parties after all.  Peyton and I stepped a minuet, and several of the country dances before I excused myself to find a glass of punch.  When I returned, he was nowhere to be found.  A quick glance around the room show that Jean was missing as well, and I could feel my stomach drop into my feet.  So this was it, how predictable.  With a smile, I slipped out the back door and into the gardens.

They were in the maze, at the very center.  They didn’t see me approaching.  Before I knew it, I was yelling, screaming at the top of my lungs for the whole world to hear.  God only knows that names I called them, and then I was running- sprinting back to the house I was staying it- to safety.  My new shoes were loose, one slipped off and stayed on the green but I didn’t stop to retrieve it.  I was on my bed before I knew it, my shoeless foot tucked beneath me as I clutched a pillow to my heart.  The minutes crept by, and then I heard the door open.  The steps were too light for my husband, they must be….yessss. 

She came up the stairs and I rose to meet her.  I could feel the cold fury rolling off of her before she entered the room.  Yes, she was my sister- and I knew her better than anyone else in the world.  Better even than my husband.  I knew what to say to make her blood boil, and I had said everything I could in the gardens.  I was on the landing by the time she got there.  She looked up at me, and then I did the one thing I knew she could not stand.  I looked at her with pity. 
“You poor woman.  You poor old maid.  You can’t get a husband so you’ll steal you younger sisters.” 

That’s when she screamed.  The last thing ever I ever heard was her wailing.

Have you ever been betrayed?  Have you ever realized that the one person you love more than anything else in the world, the one person that you would do anything for doesn’t love you? 

First you’re devastated with grief.  Then you get angry.  Then, you get even. 

I am no simpering fool.  Do not pity me, for I chose my fate.  Who do you think wrote to the governor, begging for an invitation to the ball for my dear sister?  Who ordered shoes a size too big? I knew what I was saying to Jean in the garden that night, knew she would come after me.  It was no accident that my scarlet shoe was outside the house that night, pointing the way to me.  And then, when she found me I did the one thing that I knew she could not stand; I pitied (or forgave?) her. 

If you had the chance to punish someone, would you simply punish them for life, or for all eternity?  She pushed me down the stairs that night, and yes I broke my neck- but she sealed her fate as well.  She is trapped in this house with me, she can never escape the sister that she wronged.  Poor sweet girl, poor sweet Jean.  She lived with my husband, never expecting that when she died, she would come back here.  And I will never let her forget it.  It’s like my red shoes, don’t you see?   All these years later, everyone feels sorry for me, tries to help me find them.  They hate her, curse her, dare not speak of her.  But I’ve had them, all along. 

(stands to reveal both shoes are now on her feet)

Now, remember- don’t believe everything you hear.  Goodnight.