Sixpence and Selkies

by Tilly Wallace

  Wycliff placed the water bottle in the shade. “You know I value your honesty, Swift. Instead of throwing Miller out into the dirt, do we have any small cottages we could offer him?”

  Swift paused in his work and swatted a fly by his ear. “There’s one or two that are empty and not too derelict. We might need to do a few minor repairs before winter, but we’ll find something to suit and he won’t have to stagger so far to the tavern and home again.”

  “There is our solution, then. Miller either moves into the cottage we offer or finds his own alternative. While I’m sympathetic to his grief, I’ll not carry dead wood on good land and he has wasted his chance.” Wycliff couldn’t afford to let prime pasture lay fallow year after year. They all needed to contribute if the district was to flourish. The man had been given ample time to grieve his granddaughter and he’d chosen to wallow in cheap gin instead. “What is happening in the village?”

  Swift picked up a stone and assessed where to place it in the wall. “Sarah Rivers has gone missing. Been two days now and no one has seen hide nor hair of her.”

  Wycliff sorted through his memory to place a face with the name. Youngish woman with blonde hair, if he remembered correctly. “Has she run off with another man?”

  Swift shrugged. “Seems unlikely, but you know how the villagers like to gossip. Her man will be out again this morning, walking the shore in case…” His voice trailed off.

  “You think she drowned?” The ocean took lives and sometimes gave the bodies back, washing them ashore. Others vanished and were never seen again.

  “That makes three in the last year, my lord. Lisbeth Wolfe and Amy Miller were both taken by the sea.” The farm manager’s gaze darted around the paddock as though he expected a sea monster to emerge from the nearby river and drag away a precious ewe.

  Wycliff tightened his grip on the stone in his hands. Lisbeth. Her death a year ago still caused an ache inside him. Sometimes, people trod a dark path and they could not be turned back.

  “Drownings are not uncommon, Swift. The tide can turn and pull even an experienced swimmer out farther than they intended.” That reminded him of his promise to teach Hannah to swim. Her fear of the ocean would surely fade somewhat if she could stay afloat and swim a short distance. But as much as he wanted to spend time in such a way with his wife, that would be time away from the mountain of tasks to tackle and would do nothing to improve the sorry state of Mireworth.

  “As you say, milord, drownings happen when you live by the sea. But folk talk. There are whispers of mermaids returning to the ocean. Of selkie women who shed their skins somewhere along the shore.” Swift took a rock from the pile made by Frank and found a spot for it in the wall.

  Wycliff snorted. Selkies and mermaids. As if he didn’t have enough to do, without tracking down any such creatures to record in the Ministry’s registers. Although if Sarah Rivers were a selkie, then her sealskin would be discarded somewhere near the shore or hidden among the tussocks. “If the women were mermaids, their families would be, too. Why don’t we suggest the locals examine each other for gills or scales at bath time?”

  Swift barked in laughter and then selected a rectangular stone. “There is another matter, Lord Wycliff. Since you have brought your bride to Mireworth, the village will be expecting some sort of celebration.”

  Wycliff let out a sigh. He’d rather not. Although planning a ball might give Hannah something to do. He was aware he had abandoned her to her own devices, while he rolled up his sleeves and tried to reverse years of neglect to the estate. A ball would be an opportunity for her to get to know the locals. “I will talk to Lady Wycliff. The manor is not fit for such an event, but we could hold a dance in the village hall.”

  Swift beamed and slapped his thigh. “That would be grand and it will make Mrs Swift happy. It was her idea and all.”

  As the men worked, Barnes ran back and forth along the wall. Occasionally he returned with a pebble to slot into a gap. After a few hours of hard labour, the breach was repaired and the sheep secure in the pasture. Wycliff surveyed their handiwork and ticked one job off the myriad on the list in his mind.

  “Where to next, Swift?” Wycliff picked up the water jug as they headed back across the paddock.

  The farm manager rattled off a number of jobs that all required his attention. It would be a long, hard day. There were two things Wycliff looked forward to at day’s end. One was a bath to wash the sweat and grime from his body. The other was shutting the study door on the world and being alone with his wife.

  6

  That morning, Mary arose later than Hannah and joined the other women for a companionable breakfast. While the house sat largely derelict and unloved, it warmed Hannah to find quiet solace in the tidy kitchen. It also helped that she had struck up an instant friendship with the older Mrs Rossett. The housekeeper had a never-ending stream of tales about a young Wycliff, or Master Jonas, as she remembered him. Hannah wondered if his parents had sent him off to boarding school at an early age because it was customary, or simply for a rest from his constant pursuit of mischief.

  The housekeeper gave her directions to the village, saying they wouldn’t be able to miss the paths worn into the countryside by generations of feet all heading the same way. Then she handed Mary a carefully printed list of a few supplies she needed. Since Mary could not read, Hannah tucked it into her basket.

  “Come along, Mary.” Hannah waved to Mrs Rossett, linked arms with Mary, and they set off with the spaniel yapping and bounding around them.

  They walked over the fields and around the edge of a coppice, where they reached the path that wound along the top of a cliff. The ocean crashed below them in a centuries-old battle of water against rock.

  “It looks ever so fierce,” Mary whispered from beside her, her eyes wide as she gazed at the ocean for the first time.

  Hannah shared the maid’s opinion of the tempestuous sea. “Wycliff said he used to swim here often as a child. No doubt there will be a quiet cove somewhere along the coast.” Or at least she assumed he had bathed somewhere with calmer waters. She couldn’t imagine leaping into the ocean when the risk of being pounded to death on the rocks were a certainty. That seemed too rash even for a rapscallion.

  A breeze whipped up and blew the ribbons on Hannah’s bonnet around her face. “The village can’t be far now,” she said as she batted a green ribbon away.

  The village of Selham revealed itself where the sweep of the land created a sheltered cove. Cottages and larger buildings huddled along the shoreline with their backs to the rolling hill. Here, the rocks and harsh ocean gave way to golden sand and calmer waters. A harbour around a point with deeper water served larger vessels, while nearby on the beach smaller boats were hauled up by the locals and dragged back out the next day as they fished.

  As they approached, a crowd on the beach caught Hannah’s attention. People were gathered on the sand at one end, where upturned boats were stored. They were staring at the water as a fully clothed man emerged from the waves, a limp form draped in his arms. Long dark hair hung low and soaking skirts were tangled about legs turned pale grey.

  “Oh, no.” Hannah stopped above the beach, unable to look away from the unfolding tragedy.

  “Sarah!” A pregnant woman screamed and rushed to the dripping wet man. She wiped hair from the prone woman’s face and pressed her cheek to one tinged blue. More people surrounded them, and cries and sobs rose from the assembled crowd.

  “Do you think she’s dead?” Mary asked.

  The man carrying the woman knelt on the sand. Someone shook out a blanket before him and he gently lowered the woman onto it. Then he wrapped the fabric around her form, shooing away helping hands. He draped the blanket over her face last and rested one hand on her hair. He bowed his head and his shoulders heaved.

  “It does appear so, Mary.” Hannah gripped her hands together at the display of sorrow and grief.

  Someone glanced up and shielded their eyes against the sun to s
tare at them. Another person whipped around and soon numerous eyes glared at their witnessing such a loss.

  “We are intruding. Let us leave them to tend her.” Hannah tugged on Mary’s arm, and they continued along the path to the village.

  The community occupied a pretty spot, with shops and businesses laid out facing the water. Cottages nestled higher up the hill and lanes wound upward between them from the main road. People bustled back and forth. A few men walked next to horses pulling carts. Some passers-by stared at them as they carried out the purchases for Mrs Rossett, but none said a single word. At most, they received a brief curious nod.

  The haberdashery window caught Hannah’s attention and they stopped to look within at the range of wares displayed. She couldn’t help but overhear the conversation taking place behind them.

  “Did they find her, then?” a woman said.

  “Yes. Poor soul. They are bringing her in now,” another answered.

  “Did you think it’s another one that drowned or…?” The first voice trailed away.

  The deeper-voiced woman made a dismissive noise. “Don’t start with that old nonsense, Margaret. You’re as gullible as any of the children.”

  Hannah turned, curious as to what old nonsense could be attached to a drowning and intrigued as to what the second woman might have been going to say after or. The two women glanced at her, nodded, and fell silent as they hurried along the road. Hannah chided herself for her morbid curiosity. The village lay close to the ocean and many families relied on it for their living. Drownings would be more common by the sea, just as being run over by a carriage was more common on the busy streets of London.

  Not that it did anything to allay her fear of the ocean.

  Hannah and Mary strolled the rest of the main street and its shops. Hannah made certain they gave their custom in cash, not credit, even if it meant using her pocket money from her parents. Their reception became warmer, and word spread that her ladyship herself had come. Hannah purchased beeswax to polish the furniture, a variety of new brooms to be delivered later, and even a ribbon for herself and one for Mary. At last they turned to walk to the wharf, where they watched seagulls circle, before they set out on the return journey. They arrived at Mireworth well after midday to find Mrs Rossett busy in the kitchen. Mary delivered the basket and told her about the brooms before she set to work rustling up tea and crumpets.

  “With so many extra people here and if you are planning to visit more often, I could do with the help of someone, if your ladyship doesn’t mind me taking on another maid. One with a green thumb to tackle the kitchen garden would be most useful.” The housekeeper looked up from the mixing bowl held in the crook of her arm while she stirred batter with a wooden spoon.

  “Of course. Choose someone as you see fit. Mary and I will assist however we can.” Hannah preferred to keep her hands occupied. There was no point sending her out to mend stone walls or shear sheep. Nor could she repair a leaky roof. But she could put that morning’s decision into action. “I thought I might clean out the conservatory if you had no objection, Mrs Rossett?”

  “It would be as good a place as any to start, milady, and I will admit, I did used to like having my afternoon tea in there on a cold, sunny day.” She lowered the bowl to the tabletop and added a handful of flour from a large crock. “How did you find the village?”

  The sad scene at the beach floated before Hannah and her heart ached for the bereft family. “We saw a woman being retrieved from the ocean. A woman on the beach cried out the name Sarah.”

  “Oh, no!” Mrs Rossett put a free hand to her chest. “That will be Sarah Rivers. Poor thing went missing two days ago and her family have been searching for her. The rumours I heard were that she and her man had an argument a few nights ago, and she stormed off to have a quiet think.”

  Hannah stared into her cup of tea and silence fell over the table. Death visited them all, eventually. Only a few would continue to walk the earth after their hearts were stilled. Even if the Affliction took Hannah’s life, there was much to be done after her death. She could seclude herself at Mireworth and coax it back into life. That led her to wondering if Unwin and Alder would deliver the pickled cauliflower down here that would keep the rot from consuming her limbs. When they returned to London, she would raise the issue of delivery by the post coach. The items were preserved, so there was no concern they would spoil.

  An itch sprang up in Hannah’s mind. Cleaning out the conservatory, scrubbing the dirty panes of glass, and refreshing the garden beds would keep her occupied her entire month at the estate. But there was something else she longed to do—explore. The enormous manor house would have many nooks and crannies and she anticipated walking the halls upstairs. What might she find? Lady Wycliff’s rooms, perhaps?

  “Is the upstairs terribly damaged?” Hannah asked. While she wanted to set off and pry into every cranny, and follow the bell to find the suite belonging to her title, she didn’t want to tumble through a rotten floor.

  Mrs Rossett took up her mixing again. “I really couldn’t say. I stick to downstairs. The roof leaks and his lordship has done what he can to stop it spreading too far. You’re most likely to find your way blocked by furniture. Some of the big pieces were moved into dry corridors, and out of the rooms with broken windows or water coming in.”

  “Oh. I shall ask his lordship, then, before I set off on any exploration. Until then, I shall make a start on the conservatory.” Hannah donned an apron provided by the housekeeper and tucked her hair up under a cap to keep it clean.

  Mary helped Mrs Rossett, while Hannah found a broom and began the arduous task of sweeping out years of dirt, dust, and dead plants from the conservatory. Fortunately, two large glass doors still opened to the outside, even though the elderly hinges protested. Once she managed to push them open, she chased piles of dirt and debris out the door and off the side of the bricked terrace.

  By the time dusk fell, Hannah had swept the bricks in the conservatory, cleaned the dehydrated weeds from the reflecting pool, and made a start on scrubbing the bright tiles around its sides. A thorough cleaning revealed reeds in bright green, flowering lotus in vibrant blues to purple, a crocodile in a muted olive, and patterns in a rich red and a golden yellow. The unfolding scene reminded her of paintings and frescoes from a book she had studied recently.

  Hannah sat back on her heels and stared up at the winged statue. “Ma’at,” she whispered as the clues fell into place in her mind. What on earth was a bronze statue and pool dedicated to the Egyptian goddess of justice doing in a Dorset manor house?

  But that was a question for another day. The light was already fading fast outside and she wiped her hands on her apron. There would be time to wash up and perhaps change her dress before supper.

  As darkness dropped over the countryside, Wycliff and Frank appeared from their day in the fields. Both men were damp and Hannah assumed they had washed up in a water trough before entering the house. The group once more gathered around the large table in the kitchen. Hannah’s heart stuttered as she sat beside her husband, anticipating what would unfold after they returned to the study.

  “What did you do today, Hannah?” Wycliff asked as dishes were passed around.

  “Mary and I walked into the village. On the way, we saw Sarah Rivers being brought up from the water.” Hannah stared at her plate, the sad sight weighing on her mind.

  Wycliff picked up his cutlery and rolled the knife between his fingers. Light caught the metal and flashed like a soul darting upward. “Swift told me her family has been searching for her. At least now they can grieve. The currents around here can be unpredictable, and sometimes the ocean does not surrender what it takes.”

  “I think I might stick to walking on the beach and building sandcastles. I do not see any need to venture into the sea’s cold embrace.” Hannah shuddered to imagine how it might be to drown—cold, salty water forcing its way into your lungs as you struggled against the might of nature. Then your bod
y drifting on the tide, subject to the watery mistress’s whim as to whether you were returned to your family, or dragged to the dark depths to become food for the fish.

  “There are coves with quieter waters suitable for swimming if you still wish to learn,” Wycliff said.

  Hannah quite enjoyed a warm bath, but the idea of the frigid water tugging her body to bottomless depths struck fear through her. Then she glanced at Mary. The maid had turned ghostly pale at the talk of swimming. Perhaps, as lady of the house, Hannah ought to set a brave example. “If the weather stays fine, I shall venture a paddle at the water’s edge.”

  Wycliff huffed. “That is a first step, I suppose. Which reminds me, before you imparted the sad news of Sarah Rivers, Swift said to me earlier that the locals will expect a ball to celebrate our wedding. Obviously we cannot hold one here given the state of Mireworth, but there is a hall in the village that is often used for dances, weddings, and such. Do you feel up to organising such a thing?”

  “A ball, for us? Do you think that is appropriate given that Mrs Rivers’ friends and family will be in mourning?” How horrid if the locals thought her crass and unfeeling, putting on a dance while they suffered raw grief.

  His dark eyebrows shot up as he considered her concerns. “Life goes on, Hannah, especially in the countryside. But I am not insensible to local opinion and am not suggesting we hold it the night of her funeral or instead of the wake. Perhaps in two weeks’ time, to give feelings time to settle?”

  “I think a dance is a fine idea, Lord Wycliff. It will give the village something to look forward to, and keep a few idle hands busy.” Mrs Rossett smiled from the other end of the table as Barnes dragged the butter dish toward her. The hand seemed to be going out of his way to prove helpful to the housekeeper.

  “Well, if Mrs Rossett does not think people would take offence at the timing, I shall do my best. It will also be a fine opportunity to get to know everyone.” Making friends never came easily to Hannah. That was Lizzie’s forte.