The Bespectacled Fairy

The Bespectacled Fairy
by Madeleine Eblouie

Her golden locks lapped at her neck in the breeze; and her loose, bright-yellow gypsy dress swayed dizzyingly around her slender, pale legs. He would have mistaken her for a wood-nymph, a misplaced faerie, had she not had a dainty pair of rounded spectacles perched on the bridge of her narrow nose, which looked as though it had once been broken. She was barefoot already, and now she pulled off her crochet shawl, navy blue, folded it up and laid it down beside her tiny, battered leather shoes on a patch of dry grass by the lake. She placed her glasses on top, like a cherry on a cake. She wriggled one long, lean arm from the sleeve of her dress, and then started to twist the other out. For fear that she would undress entirely, he called out.

‘You there, girl!’ He shouted, pretending he had only just come across her as he strode over. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was going to bathe!’ She said, annoyed as though he was the one trespassing.

‘This is my land, gypsy. You cannot bathe here, and if I find your camp I shall eject you immediately.’

‘You are not master of this land.’ She said knowingly, and he picked up on a slight, lilting accent in her voice; soft and delicious, making the hard, wet English words sound dry and warm. She smiled wryly.

‘I am close enough to it to have enough authority to remove your from my family’s property, girl!’ He said, annoyed at her cheek. ‘Tell me your name.’

‘Manon.’ She replied simply, a teasing, light smile on her pretty, porcelain face.

‘Well, Manon, please remove yourself from my land. Your people can’t stay here either.’ He said distastefully.

‘They have before.’ She answered, her lovely blue eyes focussed on his face, her mouth slightly open as she gauged his reaction. ‘You can’t stop us, Ferenc Ruthersford.’

‘What did you call me?’

‘Ferenc.’ She said, self-assured. ‘I am right, aren’t I?’

‘My name is Ferdinand.’ He corrected her, curious.

‘Oh. I was close enough.’ She shrugged and picked up her glasses. Putting on her shoes, she walked over to him, her shawl in one hand and the silver chain that had been around her wrist a moment earlier in the other palm. She held out the bracelet. ‘A gift. So we may meet again.’

Confused, Ferdinand put out his hand and she lowered the simple, looping chain into it. ‘Thank you, Manon.’

‘Pas de quoi!’ She answered happily in French, smiling radiantly, before gliding away like a fairy.



It was two days later, and Ferdinand couldn’t stop thinking about the magical, sly gypsy girl from the lake. Sometimes he wished he had let her undress, so he could see her slender white figure, but then he remembered his upbringing, that he shouldn’t have even thought about that- she was only a gypsy girl; but she was so radiant and sharp-witted...

That evening, Mr Ruthersford’s steward burst into the drawing room, where the family were sat, reading books to the tune of Ferdinand’s sister’s piano-playing. The middle-aged steward looked flustered and messy, and Mrs Ruthersford, Ferdinand’s mother, wrinkled her nose at him. Ferdinand put his book down and swapped a snide look with his sister, Beatrice, who had stopped playing her piano.

‘Sorry to intrude, sir, but there are gypsies on the grounds!’ He cried out. Beatrice’s eyes widened. Ferdinand froze.

‘Excuse me, darling.’ Said Mr Ruthersford to his wife. ‘I must remove these vermin from Lakeley.’ He left on the tail of his steward, looking brave and honourable; as though moving gypsies on would save Lakely Hall from the devil himself.

Mrs Rutherford looked at her children, her eyes bulging out of her taut face in worry. ‘Beatrice, Ferdinand; go to the Red Drawing Room immediately. I need to speak to your grandmother.’ She said. Ferdinand walked out stiffly.

Whilst Beatrice's back was turned, Ferdinand slipped away to the gypsy camp.

Ferdinand tailed his father as closely as he dared to the cluster of vibrant caravans that sat quirkily on the outskirts of the wood that lay on Lakeley Hall’s thirteen acres of land.

He hid behind a tree when Mr Ruthersford finally reached the camp. His father marched straight up to one of the caravans and rapped twice on the door before opening it and going straight in, the steward following.

'I've got to get closer.' He muttered to himself- but how? Someone would see him, and then he would be in deep trouble.

Ferdinand bit his lip, and the answer came. She was milky-white and glowing, standing out even more against the backdrop of dark forest and the dark-skinned girls beside her. Ferdinand sighed softly and crept closer. He couldn’t bear to talk to her yet, just watched her, her lively smile, her wide eyes, her slender limbs. Then she embraced one of the other gypsies: a tall, muscular, tanned man with a handsome face and a broad back. She kissed his cheek softly, and sat down by the campfire beside him, his arm around her waist. Ferdinand felt a blast of jealousy, strong as a branch falling on his head from a great height. Then he put his hand to the lump on his head and realised that a branch had hit him on the head.

‘Ow.’ He said quietly, and crumpled to the ground. The gypsy lad who had been sat in the tree on guard swung down and dragged his captive over to the campfire.

‘Look what I caught snooping.’ He announced, and all the people around the fire looked up.

Manon swore. ‘That’s Ruthersford’s son!’

‘Hide him, and tell Tizzy once the old man’s gone!’ Said the youth who had been sat at Manon’s side, taking control of the situation. He and another boy dragged Ferdinand by his legs round the back of a caravan, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Manon knelt down by his side and smoothed his hair with her hand. She put her shawl under his head and looked at him, worry in her pretty blue eyes.

Eventually Mr Ruthersford left, after a heated argument with Tizzy, the gypsy matriarch. The moment he was out of sight, Tizzy ran around to where Manon was sat, caressing Ferdinand’s forehead with her fingertips.

‘He looks like his father.’ Tizzy sighed, sounding surprised. Manon looked up at her adoptive mother. ‘Is he conscious?’

‘No. They knocked him out cold.’ Manon answered.

‘Get the boys to take him over towards the house, and when he wakes up, use that old charm on him.’ Said Tizzy. ‘Make sure he doesn’t tell anyone he came here, and he mustn’t come back.’

‘I will.’ Concurred Manon, and then she went off to find one of her adoptive brothers to carry Ferdinand back to his home.

Blurry green trees in golden evening sunlight flickered before Ferdinand’s eyes. His head throbbed. Groaning, he slowly tried to sit up. A hand pushed him back down.

‘Don’t try to sit up, Ferdinand.’ She said softly. Ferdinand opened his eyes again, recognising her sweet, gently accented voice. ‘You had a nasty hit on the head from a falling branch.’

‘But... I’m in the orchard...’ He muttered, confused.

‘I had a friend move you.’ Manon said, sounding slightly worried. Ferdinand lifted a hand to her face, wanting to make her feel better, wanting to protect her. ‘Tizzy, our leader, she would have... have hurt you if she found you there...’

Manon inwardly smiled as she put on more of an accent, raising her voice to a sickly sweet soprano. She fluttered her eyelashes and dropped her hair forward onto Ferdinand’s face. She was quite looking forward to what she needed to do, he was remarkably handsome.

‘I don’t want you to be hurt, Ferdinand.’

‘But-’ Manon silenced him with a finger on his lips.
‘Shh... you must stay away from me, Ferenc. You mustn’t say anything about me to anyone- is too dangereux, mon p’tit!’ She said, eyes wide and bright with false fear. She thought that the pigeon English was a bit much, but he seemed to fall for it, and it worked for her next move. ‘Promise me.’

Manon, knelt close beside Ferdinand, moved her lean body on top of his, her hands either side of his head. Hearing his deep breathing, her lips brushed Ferdinand’s, sparks flying from the touch.

‘I have to go.’ She said, secretly very satisfied. ‘Au revoir, Ferdinand.’

She left Ferdinand lying in the grass, smiling dazedly to himself, happier and naughtier than he had ever been in his life.