The Secrets of Water

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “We never found that box, though. Jacobs said he left in the kitchen, but we searched every square inch of the house and never found a trace.”

  “That was the same box that magically appeared after all that Allen Chang fall out,” Sebastian said, making the connection. “Now that I think of it, the timing is too coincidental. I’m now positive that Trelawney’s hands are covered in dirt,” he added with more than a hint of suspicion.

  “That’s what I’m starting to believe, as well, Sebastian,” Lizzie replied as she absently grabbed his arm, letting her had rest upon it. “Can you believe this?” She gestured to room’s grandeur and gazed at him spellbound, half-way intoxicated knowing it all belonged to Edith.

  “For a recluse, she had impeccable taste,” a woman standing behind them said in a loud, brash New Jersey accent. “But this stuff is all so old. You think with all the money someone would have modernized it,” she added ignorantly. Lizzie shot daggers at the woman who was oblivious to Lizzie’s ire. Sensing that Lizzie was on the verge of smacking the woman, Sebastian escorted her into the sitting room, then to the receiving salon, library, conservatory, solarium, dining room, and finally the kitchen. After a thorough examination of Mrs. Sargent’s cooking pans, they returned to the main room and headed upstairs.

  Lizzie made beeline to Edith’s writing room. With Sebastian fast on her heels, she pushed her way inside and sighed deeply as she came to stand before Edith’s modest, walnut-colored desk covered in carved reliefs of climbing roses. It was the sole remainder of two matching desks. The other one was believed to have rotted away from neglect.

  Lizzie took in the room around her. When she’d come years ago, this room had been cordoned off due to multiple soft spots in the floor. Lizzie had been tempted to sneak in, even though she knew the risks. The desire to steal a peek inside Edith’s private world was almost worth risking falling through the floor. In the end, she’d chosen safety and not to disturb Edith’s peace. Even though the woman had been dead for over one hundred years, Lizzie sensed that Edith had secrets to keep and wasn’t ready to give them up just yet. Lizzie’s respect for beloved authoress kept her hand from reaching for that knob and giving it a twist. As she stood in the center of the room now, she wondered whether if it would have felt as intimate and familiar then as it did now.

  White lace curtains hung from the three windows that allowed the soft, warm sunlight in. The wallpaper was an off-white decorated with a pattern of leaves in a wide array of autumnal colors. The floor beneath her feet was a pale oak herring bone pattern accented with a modest Persian rug of gold, yellow, red, orange, tan, and deep brown. Lizzie spun where she stood in order to get the full experience. On her second revolution, she closed her eyes and pictured Edith at work, bent over her desk, pen in hand, scratching out endless pages filled with words. As she slowly twirled, Lizzie felt as if she were seeing the experience through Edith’s eyes.

  “Whoa,” Sebastian’s hands were suddenly upon her. One rested on her shoulder while the other lingered lightly at her waist. “You almost knocked into me,” he chuckled and brought Lizzie to a full stop. “Are you all right?” He reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Frissons of excitement exploded across Lizzie’s skin. The sensation was something she hadn’t felt in well over a year.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a smile before she began showing him points of interest about the room. “It’s like the photo on display at the Museum.” Lizzie could barely contain her enthusiasm. The photo she referred to was of an unknown provenance and showed Edith with her back to the camera as she stared out over her pond. According to the sign listing its details, it was found in a collection of old photographs of the house after it was newly renovated.

  “Nana said that this was the only room that kept most of its original pieces. The wallpaper was preserved and patched in a few places. The floors were updated to patch the soft spots, and,” Sebastian stood close to her as he pointed out the intricate rose pattern that ran up and down the sides of Edith’s desk. “She also said that when the renovation started, this desk and chair were the only two things that were never removed from the house. That despite sitting unused for well over a century, they were near pristine in condition. That the only thing that marred its surface was the heavy coat of dust that had built up over time.”

  “I can see why. It’s huge. It looks like the one in my office, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.” Sebastian added before turning his focus to the wall behind them. “Look at that!” he breathed with deep appreciation. Lizzie turned and gasped, instantly captivated by the painting. Both stood silent as they examined the intricate image of Ione, the Greek sea nymph of legend, daughter of Nereus and Doris. “Do you remember discussing Murray’s corroboration with Arthur Price? Wouldn’t it be funny if this was one of Murray’s pieces? I mean, it certainly could be,” Sebastian explained. “There’s no author signature at the bottom and the style matches the Vestal Virgins. The only thing better was if it was one of Murray’s.”

  “It could be a possibility,” Lizzie agreed as she peered closer at the painting, searching for a clue that would somehow prove their newfound theory. Several minutes passed as she contemplated the painting, standing in deep concentration with her fingers pressed to her lips.

  Lizzie studied the scene with intense scrutiny. For nearly twenty minutes, she stood unmoving while a slow trickle of other sightseers walked past her. Sebastian remained at her side and entertained himself by looking at other items about the room. No matter where his eyes lit, they always returned to the painting that held Lizzie rapt in attention. Finally, after glancing at his watch more than a half-dozen times, Lizzie spoke up.

  “Sebastian!” Lizzie exclaimed as she pointed to the painting. “Sebastian,” she whispered. “Look!” Her blood went still momentarily. “This is Murray’s painting!” Lizzie said assuredly. Her skin sizzled with excitement as she recognized the brushstrokes, color tones, and style.

  “Are you sure? I thought you weren’t overly familiar with his work.” Sebastian had stepped back but now came to rest at her side.

  “I’m not but I am certain that the model in this piece is the same as the one in The Vestal Virgins. The woman there, the dark-eyed one with raven-colored hair. I think Edith was the model! According to what I read on the Web last night while I was listening to Itzhak Perlman play Meditation from the opera, Thais,” Lizzie referred to her favorite piece of music. “Murray painted Scylla when he was supposedly a resident at Blackwell Farm. The Vestal Virgins also dates from that time, as does Briseis, Virgin Priestess of Apollo, which matches this one’s style. It hangs in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. I saw it when I took Darcy there last year. I remember it said that it was painted during the same time, as well.”

  “You know, I think you’re right. Hold on, let me look something up.” Sebastian leaned across the rope to get a closer look. A sharp warning from the tour guide stopped him.

  “There is no recording allowed on the premises,” a sharp, Northern accent warned.

  “I’m not recording or snapping photos. I’m looking something up,” Sebastian shot back, instantly recognizing one of his grandmother’s former tutors. “Monica Rylance,” he whispered to Lizzie. “She deflected from Nana to Dr. Trelawney just before you came here to study. She was a pill then and clearly hasn’t changed,” he added while he brought up a photo of Murray’s interpretation of Briseis, King Priam’s beloved niece. “Lizzie, look!” Sebastian held up the phone so she could clearly see the screen. “You’re right! It is the same model. This painting here fits the description of one of Murray’s lost works, as well. And according to this, Murray’s painting of Ione—which I’m sure is this painting—was lost shortly after the flat he was occupying was destroyed. It’s listed as being lost in a fire.”

  “That painting that you two are so in love with was originally discovered in this room when the Museum took possession of the house. I was part of the art restoration cr
ew that brought it back to life,” Monica piped up, oblivious to the reason behind Lizzie and Sebastian’s interest. Sebastian rolled his eyes, knowing that Monica’s comment was birthed from bragging rights and vanity rather than a genuine interest in the preservation of history.

  “Thank you,” Lizzie nodded at Monica who turned to warn another tourist about not touching the furniture. “Sebastian, we have to tell the Museum!” Lizzie half-squealed as she absently reached out and touched Sebastian’s arm. “I have no doubt that Edith was his model. Of course, we can’t prove it right now, but that figure of Ione looks just like her! That’s got to be something, especially with all that we’ve learned.”

  “Lizzie, I think we’re on the verge of changing history again!” Sebastian wrapped an unexpected arm around her shoulders and drew her close to him.

  “This is all so surreal,” Lizzie sighed happily. “Just think, less than a week ago, we weren’t speaking and now, we’re on an adventure of discovery together.” She faced him suddenly and was stunned to find him gazing down at her, just like she had dreamed at least a thousand times.

  “There’s no one else that I’d rather share this with,” Sebastian said, giving her a light squeeze once more. “Let’s go call Nana about the painting before we explore the gardens.” Lizzie willingly let Sebastian escort her downstairs.

  Once they were outside and surrounded by the wintertime gardens, Sebastian called his grandmother. After a brief discussion, Hazel assured them that she’d pass the details on to Martin Beemer.

  “If it is Edith, Katherine Sargent will want to be there,” Lizzie offered as soon as Sebastian had disconnected the line and filled her in on the details.

  “I doubt that anyone could keep her away. I half expect her to be there when Beemer and Jacobs come out to view the painting tomorrow,” Sebastian added as he and Lizzie made their way down the pathway leading to the back garden.

  “I wonder what Edith would think about all this hoopla that we’re all making over her life?” Lizzie asked absently as Sebastian stopped and helped her down a short but steep incline.

  “Well, from all accounts, she was a recluse, save for the friends that shared her home. Nana’s said at least a dozen times that there’s no record of her leaving Blackwell Farm. There’s even a letter in the archives somewhere that’s written in her own hand that says as much.”

  “I was the one who discovered that letter,” Lizzie admitted. “It was tucked inside a collection of to-do jobs and grocery lists. When I first read it, I sobbed because I felt so sorry for her. To see her describe loneliness in such a way nearly broke my heart.”

  “Melancholia and depression can easily twist and affect one’s perception,” Sebastian said, knowing all-too-well how the two could affect and change a person inside and out.

  His own mother had gone through a rough period once she learned that her cancer was terminal and that there was no chance of hope. Watching his mother struggle against an ever-present blanket of melancholia destroyed the relationship that Sebastian had with his father. While his father demanded that his wife needed to be left alone, Sebastian willfully tried his hardest to add some light to his mother’s darkest days. In the end, nothing they did prevented the spread of cancer that took the beautiful spirit that was Ruth Hargrove-Sanders from them.

  “Are you all right?” The presence of Lizzie’s hand upon his shoulder brought Sebastian back to the present. Sebastian was unaware that they had reached Edith’s pond. The winter landscape sent a chill across this body even though he wasn’t the slightest bit cold. In his mind’s eye, he saw Lizzie as a young, vibrant girl of eighteen re-reading Katherine Sargent’s biography of Edith Blackwell. Long ripples of curly auburn hair cascading down and framing her face, one long tendril twisted around her index finger, and biting her lip every so often as she reached an interesting part in Edith’s life story. Lizzie was just as perfect now as she was then. He was just too stupid to realize it before. The insecure flattery of others fed him for years, sustaining his ego, keeping him blind to the treasure hiding in plain sight. Sebastian serial dated, endlessly looking for his inspiration, endlessly searching for his muse while Lizzie found hers within the words of Edith Blackwell. It was something that had bothered him since he’d come to England with Virginia. A change that pinged off his bones and left him reeling, feeling like both the king and the fool.

  “I’m fine,” Sebastian said simply as he buried his hands deep within his pockets. “Being here reminds me of my mother,” he sighed as a brief glimpse of his mother’s emerald eyes, her corn silk blonde hair, and the tiny wine-colored heart-shaped birthmark she bore over her left eyebrow flashed in his mind.

  “I am sure that you miss her.” Lizzie’s arm encircled his waist. Sebastian sighed deeply once more, ecstatic to have her so close but heartbroken that his mother hadn’t lived to meet the woman who possessed his heart.

  “I do. You remind me a lot of her, actually.” He turned as Lizzie’s blue eyes watched him closely. “You both possess this intrinsic need to mend things. To put things back to right. Nana’s even mentioned it a time or two. She loved Mum just as much as she loves you. I miss her every day—Mom. I suppose that you’re the only person that truly understands how I feel.” Sebastian threaded his arm around Lizzie’s shoulders as they stood staring out at the small body of water where Edith Blackwell’s life came to a close.

  “I suppose I am. When my parents died, I thought my life was over. Grandma did her best to console me, but nothing erases the pain of losing your parents. I guess it would be far different if I’d had fifty years or so with them, but I barely had eight. Losing them so young changed me. I can see that in you too.”

  “Didn’t Edith’s mother die young, as well?” Sebastian asked suddenly as the question came to him.

  “Amanda Blackwell died in childbirth. Eclampsia from what some of Edith’s Aunt Amelia’s letters say. To make matters worse, her father, Barton Blackwell, abandoned her just after she was born, leaving her in the care of the housekeeper. He blamed Edith for her mother’s death and abandoned a helpless infant to the cruelty of the world. It was Mrs. Sargent, the housekeeper, that was responsible for Amelia coming to Blackwood Farm to raise her niece.”

  “How awful,” Sebastian spit, visibly angered by Barton Blackwell’s callous treatment of his only daughter. Hearing the story of Edith’s abandonment triggered his resentment towards his own father.

  Since the moment that his mother died, Reginald Sanders became a completely different person. A man who was known for his witty sense of humor and his loud, booming, infectious laugh never chuckled or giggled after his wife last drew breath. “My children will never doubt that their father loves them,” Sebastian pronounced, feeling the urge to rise above his father’s mistakes and break the cycle of pain. “They will never go through what I did.”

  “I have no doubt that your children will worship the very ground you walk on,” Lizzie offered, sensing the swirl of emotions coursing through him but had the foresight to not intrude upon them. Sebastian needed to process what he’d been through and that all she could do was support him.

  The two went quiet once more as they each lost themselves in their thoughts.

  As Sebastian waged an imaginary confrontation with his dead father, Lizzie surrendered to the war she’d been fighting since Virginia died. The fact that she loved Sebastian more than ever was painfully obvious. When he’d embarrassed her in front of the large crowd of friends, co-workers, volunteers, and donors, Lizzie swore that she’d never forgive him for his heartless and cruel behavior. As she stood at the edge of the water now, she finally recognized the root of that viciousness: Pain. Like herself, Sebastian had had dealt with more than he should have. It was only then, watching the winter sun set over the pond, that Lizzie realized that, like her, he was still processing everything. Sebastian was still trying to navigate the pain-filled field while learning how to live with it. Having him in her arms, every bit of anger and hatred dissipa
ted. Even though the memory was still there, she realized she’d forgiven him because he was human. She’d refused to see that she wasn’t the only one that was suffering. Her grandmother, Virginia, had become a second mother to Sebastian. Lizzie had failed to understand that he’d been forced to watch someone he loved wither and die twice. In addition, he’d been abandoned by the one person he needed the most. And alcohol brought out the worst in him. As she braced herself against the cold wind that blew across the water, Lizzie recalled a pivotal, yet unfulfilled moment that occurred just after she’d come over for her internship. A moment where she and Sebastian looked out over a body of water together after bridging another divide.

  ************

  Lizzie had been in England for just over four months when Virginia and Sebastian surprised her by suddenly showing up at the museum. To Lizzie’s delight, the pair arrived, escorted by Hazel, who radiated with joy.

  “What are you two doing here?” Lizzie excitedly jumped from her seat and rushed to greet her grandmother. Virginia Bennett embraced Lizzie and squeezed her tightly before reluctantly letting her go.

  “We thought we’d surprise you,” Virginia said, looking every bit as elegant as always. Standing at nearly six-foot, Virginia Bennett commanded respect with just a glance. Her short-cropped, medium brown hair, tinged with bits of silver, cascaded in waves while her piercing amber eyes sparkled with a mixture of spirit and joy. Upon further inspection, Lizzie noticed that Virginia wore an over-sized, tan overcoat instead of her favored Buffalo plaid rainslicker. “I mentioned to Sebastian that I wanted to see you and offered to bring him along so that he could spend some time with Hazel,” Virginia replied as she stepped aside for Sebastian to come forward.

  “No hug for me?” He joked as he skipped ahead and happily took Lizzie into his arms. Lizzie froze as he encircled her waist and pressed her close. Briefly, her eyes closed as she breathed in deeply, savoring the lingering fragrance of his favored spearmint and eucalyptus body wash. Swiftly upon its heels was the guilt of knowing that there would never be anything between them. Sheila had seen to that. Since Sheila had come into his life, Lizzie had kept herself at arms’ length. The one time she’d hugged Sebastian, Sheila had made her life a living hell for weeks on end until she’d forced Lizzie to agree to never touch him again. Now, she couldn’t help but cherish his touch, his scent, and the warmth of his body. Something that she’d longed for but denied herself because of the consequences it would bring.