“Before we go any further. I have to confess something,” Edward said abruptly. Edith felt a pang of loss as he created a short distance between them. Shadows and storm clouds passed over his eyes as they stared into hers.
“What is it?” she asked. Concerned, Edith touched his cheek, savoring the warm, rough texture of his slightly stubbled skin under her fingertips.
“I am married.” His confession knocked the wind out of her. Edith reeled as if she’d been punched in her gut. “My marriage isn’t a true marriage, though. It’s more of a guardianship, you see. My wife, Amy,” Edward sucked in a shuddering breath before continuing. “Has been confined to a mental asylum for almost a decade. Her mind shattered when she lost our child. If I were to divorce her, it would bring shame upon her,” he admitted as he watched the play of emotions—anger, dismay, disbelief, betrayal, empathy, and understanding—cross across Edith’s delicate features. “And, if I were to divorce her, my family would disinherit me. That means Amy would no longer receive the care that she deserves. I have her in a facility in New York, you see. A private facility where she is well treated, and her attendants take meticulous care of her. The kind of care that costs a fortune. Her own family has no money. Her father lost it all on some ridiculous investment scheme that both my father and I warned him against. If I divorce her, my father will cut me off and Amy will be sentenced to a fate worse than death.” Edward tried his best to explain, hoping that Edith would understand. To her credit, Edith fell silent as she processed what she’d just learned.
“You’ve been alone for ten years,” Edith said simply, recalling the scathing, stomach-turning article that she’d read on Bethlem Hospital in London. The horrific accounts of the patient abuse that occurred within its walls chilled her to the bone and numbed to her core. After reading it, Edith vowed that she’d never wish such treatment upon anyone, especially not the woman who was legally married to the man that she loved. “You’ve kept yourself bound to a woman simply because you didn’t want to see her suffer?” Her voice trembled with unspoken compassion for Edwards’ wife and the loss of their child.
Edward nodded and waited anxiously for what she said next.
“Edward,” Edith laid her hand upon his cheek, feeling the faint scratchy stubble of his beard under her fingers. “What you’ve told me tonight won’t make me turn my back on you,” she said with a self-assurance that she’d never experienced before. “Instead, it only makes me love you more. You could have kept this from me, and I would have been none the wiser. What you’ve told me only goes to prove that you are not only an honest man, but also a compassionate one.”
The breath Edward had been holding rushed out with a sigh of relief. “I thought you were going to chuck me,” he laughed nervously as he voiced the truth of his sudden fear. “I was so worried that you were going to tell me to be out by morning.”
“No.” Edith’s face remained soft, empathetic, and understanding. “I won’t chuck you.” She offered him a shred of hope. “I willingly and knowingly choose to enter into whatever this is.” She threaded her fingers through his and drew their clasped hands upwards, laying them over her pounding heart. “But I want you to be honest with me. If something happens with her, I want to know. From this day forward, your burdens are mine.”
“And yours are mine,” Edward vowed as the last waves of relief surged through him.
“This is the moment that my life truly begins,” Edith whispered as a sacred sentiment resonated within her words.
“I’ve waited so long to find this,” Edward said, completely swept up in the autumnal magic that had brought them together. “I had given up hope of ever finding someone…” Edward turned his eyes away from her suddenly, his words trailing off as the power of his emotions overtook him.
“I’ve lived inside this house for many years,” Edith turned his head back to hers. “I’ve never had any friends except for Mrs. Sargent, Mr. Brown, Addie and Elsie,” she admitted. “I was raised by my aunt—my father’s sister.” She drew in a breath to steady herself. “Aunt Amelia raised me as best as she could, but she was older and shy. She spoiled me and promised that I’d never go without. That I would never know the loneliness she tasted as a child. It was the only promise that she couldn’t keep. She’s the one that told me that water holds magic.” Edith’s eyes lit up with fires ancient fires burning in darkened braziers. “She told me that this pond was why my great-great-grandfather bought this estate. That he believed that water was the keeper of secrets. That anything you needed to say or confess would safely remain in its depths until you were ready to release them into the world. This pond,” Edith pointed to the waters that reflected like a fairy’s pool. “Has been my constant companion. It knows everything about me. It has been with me through bouts of melancholia, through my aunt’s death, and even during the hours when I contemplated taking my own life.”
Edward blanched in the pale light, his pallor that of a ghost haunting an ancient hall. “Edith, no!” Edward grasped her arms as if afraid that she might slip out of his grasp and fade away.
“It’s all right.” Edith rested her hands upon the steady support of his chest. “Those thoughts left my mind the moment that I met you.” She offered him a reassuring smile, but it did nothing to quell the fear that stared back at her.
“Edith, promise me that if you ever have those thoughts again that you will come to me. That you’ll let me help you. I don’t care what it costs, I’ll take you to the finest doctors…”
“Look at you,” Edith caressed his chin and let her hand smooth its way down the side of his neck until it came to rest upon his shoulder. “You’re already taking care of me.” She could barely contain how deeply his reaction affected her. “We will take care of each other,” she vowed and suddenly placed a tender kiss upon his trembling lips.
“Yes, my love,” Edward said, drawing her close once more. “We will take care of each other, no matter what comes our way.”
Edith and Edward spent the night hours lost in each other’s company. When the dawn broke over the eastern tree line, Edith yawned, and Edward announced that they should get a few hours of sleep before they had to return to the day. Hand in hand, they strolled leisurely up to the house and let themselves in through the kitchen’s back door. Not ready to be apart, they both headed to Edith’s room where they both laid down and slept until the noon day sun was high overhead.
NINE
Due to an active day and with an uncharacteristic claim that her leg was paining her, Hazel went to bed within a half hour of their guest’s departure. Grabbing a rainslicker and slipping on Hazel’s wellies, Lizzie prepared herself to venture out in the pouring rain. Sebastian was already waiting in the car when Lizzie shut Hazel’s front door. Running towards the car, Lizzie protected her eyes from the stinging rain. Once she reached it, she discovered that Sebastian had the interior warmed and was armed with a thermos of coffee, two steaming travel mugs, and a pair of torches.
“The temperature’s dropped significantly since dinner.” Lizzie pulled the door open as a gust of frigid wind blew across the back of her neck. Sebastian watched as her cold breath created small clouds of condensation in the air.
“It’s dropped to -1° below,” Sebastian said as Lizzie got into the car and shut the door behind her.
“Fahrenheit?” Lizzie’s eyes widened with shock.
“No, Celsius,” Sebastian said and smiled, amused by her reaction. “That equals 30° Fahrenheit.”
“It’s still cold, Sebastian,” Lizzie said as he handed her a warm cup to thaw out her frozen hands. “No matter what scale it’s in.”
“And wet. Are you sure that you want to do this?” He glanced out the windscreen at the raging storm before looking back at her.
“It’s not a matter of want. This is something that I have to do,” she declared as a crackle of thunder vibrated through the car’s metal shell. “I feel like this is what Edith would want me to do,” she said definitively.
&
nbsp; From the stubborn set of her mouth, Sebastian saw that Lizzie’s mind was made up and that there was no way to talk her out of this.
“All right, if you’re certain, we’ll go.” Sebastian shifted gears and soon, they were turning onto the main road. Lizzie nervously tapped her fingertips against her leg as they drove. The route to Blackwell Farm, in good weather, only took fifteen minutes. In barely visible, torrential sheets of rain, it would take at least a half hour. Sebastian crept the car along, hugging close to the lines in the road. The windshield wipers slapped at top speed but failed to make a difference in visibility.
Twenty-five minutes later, Sebastian killed the headlights as they approached the turn into Blackwell Farm’s car park. Fortunately, the torrential rain had lessened, allowing for a shred of visibility. Once the car was parked, Lizzie and Sebastian huddled together, armed with their flashlights—both currently off—and made their way to the main house.
They slipped past the guard shack and the guard, who, just as predicted, was asleep in his warm, dry space while a small TV played a rerun of Doctor Who.
“I love that episode,” Sebastian whispered softly as they continued to make their way towards the back of the property. “That’s The Husbands of River Song. It’s the one where they spend a night on Darillium.”
“Where the nights are twenty-four years long,” Lizzie whispered in return as they approached the back-garden gate and fortunately, discovered that either the guard had forgotten to lock it, or the wind had blown it open.
“You know your Doctor Who!” Sebastian nearly shouted with a hearty amount of enthusiasm.
“Duh! It’s no wonder! You only made me watch every single episode since the moment that I met you,” Lizzie shot back playfully as they navigated their way through the dark. “Shouldn’t we be whispering?” Lizzie said after a beat, realizing how quickly they’d abandoned their plan to be silent.
“The storm will drown us out if the guard wakes up and comes investigating,” Sebastian added as a crackle of thunder proved his point.
When they approached the kitchen’s entrance, Sebastian stopped suddenly and caught Lizzie’s shoulder as she continued to move ahead. “Turn on your torch,” he said and motioned towards her pocket. With a single flip of a switch, Lizzie swept the area with the small, almost useless beam and realized they were closer to the house than she’d thought. If Sebastian hadn’t stopped her, she’d have walked smack into the glass window abutting the door.
“Focus your beam on the keyhole,” Sebastian requested as he dug in his pocket for his Nana’s lifted keyring. Lizzie aimed her flashlight towards the decade’s old lock while Sebastian adeptly opened it with little difficulty. He opened the door slowly but held back, allowing Lizzie to enter first, before following behind. He shut the door tightly and relocked it before returning to Lizzie.
“Does it smell like perfume in here?” Lizzie said, sniffing the air. The fragrance, light at first, grew stronger as they stepped further into the kitchen where Hannah Sargent spent the majority of her days for over thirty years.
“No,” Sebastian answered with a whisper as Lizzie blinded him with a flash of light. “I can’t smell anything but dust and traces of old potpourri. Let’s get upstairs.” Sebastian flinched as Lizzie directed the beam away with a quick apology. “The sooner we find what you’re looking for, the sooner we can get home,” he added gruffly.
Even though he didn’t expressly say so, Lizzie knew that Sebastian didn’t like leaving his grandmother alone during the storm. His adoring concern for her blinded him to the fact that Hazel Sanders was far more capable at surviving a storm or obstacle than they were.
Lizzie led the way through the kitchen, across the dining room, and into the foyer until they were at the bottom of the main staircase.
“Is it just me, or was the dining room colder than it was earlier?” She’d noticed the significant change in temperature even with the thick rain slicker on.
“Probably because of the storm and the lack of people in here. Besides, I’m sweating buckets over here, so it feels good to me, but yeah. It did seem colder.”
“Maybe there’s a malfunctioning vent? Or maybe you’re right about the lack of people,” Lizzie said offhandedly as she started up the stairs, bound for Edith’s writing room.
They crested the last stair when a thunderous crash shattered the silence. Grabbing Lizzie by the back of the coat, Sebastian pulled her into the nearest room. Edith’s bedroom.
Sebastian closed the door shut without a sound. Huddled together in the corner shared by the door and the wall, Lizzie’s heart thudded in her ears, as did the swift rush of her blood traveling through her veins. There was no visibility due to the lack of light. Hanging onto Sebastian’s sleeve was the only way that she could gather her bearings.
“What in the hell was that?” Lizzie whispered as Sebastian tucked himself against her.
“Shh!” He hushed her, gently placing a brief but warm, soft palm over her mouth. “I don’t know.” His low voice so soft that she could barely hear him.
A second crash sounded, once again coming directly from Edith’s writing room.
“I thought you said that there was something of worth here!” An angry voice echoed, cutting through the near impenetrable darkness. Realizing that they weren’t alone, Lizzie silently tucked her flashlight into her pocket and snuggled closer to Sebastian. The voice was furious. A voice that raised the hair on her arms.
“I told you there was!” A second, irritated, nasally voice shouted back. “That red-haired girl and that stuck-up bitch’s grandson were staring at that bloody thing for over an hour. I heard them say that they thought something was there. That bloke even took pictures.” The second voice belonged to Monica Rylance. Lizzie sensed Sebastian tense as Monica insulted his grandmother.
“Well, there’s nothing here except for this old worthless painting! Are you sure they weren’t just admiring it? You know, taking commemorative photos as all crass, ignorant tourists do!” The first voice shot back with more than its fair share of annoyance. Lizzie recognized it from somewhere. Glancing towards Sebastian, a flash of lightning lit the room. She saw that he was too focused on listening to what was being said, rather than who was speaking. As Lizzie eavesdropped further, she tried to recall where she knew the first speaker from. It took but a second before it came to her. The slick, elegant, serpentine voice belonged to none other than Dr. Linda Trelawney.
“I was standing right there!” Monica shouted inside a crescendo. “I heard them say that they needed to tell Beemer that there was something here. Why the fuck do you think I called you? Do you think that I wanted to hang out in an old creepy house during a thunderstorm? Believe me, I have much better things to do than creep around this old dust bin with the likes of you.”
“You little bitch! Do not dare to speak to me like that!” Dr. Trelawney warned menacingly. “You forget that one call from me and you’ll be working at McDonalds.”
“Whatever,” Monica scoffed. “You don’t have that kind of clout anymore. That whole business with Allen Chang took care of that.” Monica blew the wind out of Trelawney’s sails. “And where do you get off putting on airs? We both know that you’re broke and that you lost whatever influence you had years ago.”
“Either shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you. You know that I will.” Trelawney gave a final warning that sent shivers down Lizzie’s spine. “Now, what else did they talk about?”
“That girl kept staring at the desk,” Monica replied, her tone the direct opposite of what it was before. “She said something about how it looked like her grandmother’s desk.”
“The red-haired girl?” Trelawney asked. Lizzie listened, knowing all-too-well that they were speaking of her. “Lizzie Bennett? The little know-it-all snob from the Lake District Museum?”
“Yeah, the American. The one fawning all over Hazel’s hot, idiotic grandson.” Sebastian bristled under Lizzie’s touch. A low growl rumbled at the base of t
his throat. For a second, Lizzie thought he’d lose his cool and confront the other intruders, unintentionally giving their presence away. To her relief, he remained in place, although the low growl had now traveled from his throat to the rest of his body.
“She didn’t say anything about it that seemed peculiar. Something that might resemble a clue?”
“No,” Monica replied again. “She just stood there looking like an idiot gawking at it and she did this weird spinning thing in the middle of the floor. It freaked a lot of people out. I’d put my money on it that she’s a bit touched, if you know what I mean?”
“She’s not touched, you fool,” Dr. Trelawney barked in a short, clipped tone. “I asked Jacobs about her. She was a research student when I was still in charge at the Museum. He said she was a curious, yet astute student, but the longer we stand here, the more that I think that her appreciation for this ugly old thing was purely sentimental. I don’t think there’s anything of importance in this room. I’m positive that the Museum got everything when they cleared it of its contents.”
“Maybe, maybe not. You’re the expert.”
“Did they mention any other part of the house?” Trelawney shifted gears. “Any place where the Museum was going to look?”
“Nope. Just this room,” Monica answered as a booming clap of thunder shook the house down to its foundation.
“We’ll just have to come back tomorrow night,” Trelawney sighed with resignation. “I’m giving another lecture at the museum tomorrow at noon. That’ll give me some time to get more information out of Jacobs. God, it’s ridiculous how he’s so eager to kiss up to me. He’s rather obtuse.”
“And a prat.” Monica spat.
A heavy tattoo of footsteps trudged down the hallway, freezing both Lizzie and Sebastian in place. Lizzie held her breath until the pattern descended the staircase and eventually disappeared. Seconds later, the front door creaked open and was promptly slammed shut.
The Secrets of Water Page 18