Sixpence and Selkies

by Tilly Wallace

  Thinking of her friend caused a wave of sadness to crash through her. Hannah had received only a short missive from Lizzie to say she was enjoying her voyage to Italy, then silence. Her mother had given both women a piece of ensorcelled paper. What was written on one sheet appeared on the other. When ready to craft a reply, they had only to rub a finger over the words to make them disappear. Every night, Hannah checked her sheet, but it remained blank.

  Had the ocean claimed Lizzie and Harden? No. It wouldn’t dare ruin the honeymoon by dashing their vessel to pieces. She would have to be patient. Her friend would write a full account when she had time. Lizzie was simply preoccupied with her marvellous European adventure, and being doted upon by a husband much in love with his bride.

  Hannah swallowed a sigh. What must that be like?

  Mrs Rossett passed a pitcher of lemonade to Hannah. “I can come into town with you tomorrow, if you like, and introduce you properly. I’ll ask about to find a local girl to help out in the garden for a few hours each day. Will you be here long this time, Lord Wycliff?”

  Wycliff glanced at Hannah. “A month at least, I think, Mrs Rossett. Then Hannah’s parents will join us for a short while.”

  She nodded. “We had best prepare another room for them—my mother will be more comfortable on the ground floor, accessible to her bathchair.”

  Hannah stared at her hands. She would like to stay for longer, and settle into what she hoped would be their home one day. Her mother would visit to renew the spell that kept her death at bay. But what if she lacked the ingredients needed for the ritual and the curse nibbled a little more at her heart? Before they left for Dorset, her mother had discovered that the dark spell poised to snatch her life had altered.

  Thoughts of life and death swirled through her mind and an idea bubbled to the surface. “Wycliff, why is there a statue of Ma’at in the reflecting pool in the conservatory?”

  Wycliff frowned. “I have no idea. How did you know who it is? As a lad, I always called her bird lady.”

  Mrs Rossett pushed her plate away and leaned back with a faraway look on her face. “That statue was old when I was a fresh-faced scullery maid. Who knows anymore why it was chosen? That was over a hundred years ago.”

  “The tiles are distinctly Egyptian and that made me realise the identity of the winged woman. Ma’at is a goddess of truth and justice.” Odd that Wycliff’s ancestral home had an Egyptian statue, when Hannah and her mother had been pursuing that line to find a cure for the Affliction. Most likely, it was a simple coincidence. Englishmen were fascinated by all things Egyptian. A long-ago Lady Wycliff might have seen the image in a book and requested a duplicate.

  After dinner they talked for a while, then Mrs Rossett washed dishes while Mary dried, and Hannah followed directions to put things away. Her palms were damp with nervous excitement as she walked along the hall to their impromptu bedchamber, Wycliff’s footsteps an echo behind her own.

  He shut the door and Hannah activated the glow lamp by the bed. When she turned, Wycliff had shrugged out of his jacket and stalked toward her with dark fire in his eyes. He caressed her collarbone and his finger slipped under the edge of her gown.

  “Jonas,” she whispered, and closed her eyes. Hannah leaned into his touch, wondering if this night would be different. Might her husband whisper of his love and fill the odd hollow inside her?

  7

  Hannah awoke the next morning to find that, yet again, she was alone. A sluggish chill crept through her veins and she tugged the blankets higher to warm her core. Logically she understood that Wycliff had much to do in their limited time at the estate, and he didn’t want to waste daylight hours. Nor did she think any fault for her growing loneliness could be attributed to her husband’s nocturnal activities. Wycliff was, in her very limited experience, a patient and gentle lover.

  So why did waking up alone cause tears to burn behind her eyes? Could it be that the physical act alone did not bring the true intimacy she sought? There was a conundrum—for she could not imagine how to be any closer to her husband. Hannah turned the problem over in her mind as she dressed, wondering if the missing piece was not the closeness of Wycliff’s body, but of his heart.

  She yanked on the laces of her boots. The only route she knew to a man’s heart was the direct one, assisted by rib crackers and a scalpel.

  Once dressed, Hannah headed to the kitchen, but paused in the grand foyer to gaze up at the dome above. Layers of dirt and bird droppings covered the protective outer glass and filtered the light as though she stood at the bottom of a well. The colours in the stained glass were muted to murky reds and browns and one image became indistinguishable from another. Although from what she could see, all the glass appeared intact and in need only of a thorough cleaning. Perhaps she could send Barnes up there with a brush to make a start. At least he wouldn’t be injured if he fell from the roof.

  An eerie silence enveloped the house. No servants moved about their chores, no one scuttled through hidden passages, no friends or family chattered in rooms above. There wasn’t even the tick or chime of a clock to interrupt the quiet. The ghost of a tall and narrow outline hinted at where a grandfather clock might once have stood, marking the passage of time for the household. The timepiece must have been sold to pay the late Lord Wycliff’s debts, or was stored in a dry place somewhere.

  Hannah found Mrs Rossett and Mary at the kitchen table, chatting over breakfast. The housekeeper rose to prepare a plate as Hannah entered and pulled out a chair.

  “His lordship left early again.” She congratulated herself on managing to keep a wistful tone from her voice. Despite the fact that she missed his company. Sheba placed her front paws on Hannah’s leg and she patted the spaniel in greeting. At least she possessed this particular dog’s affections, even if they weren’t large enough to fill the empty space inside her.

  “There’s always hard labour to be done on a farm. He was muttering about visiting the tenant farmers today. I hear a few are behind on their rents.” Mrs Rossett poured a hot chocolate and slid the cup along to Hannah.

  After a quiet breakfast, the three women put on their bonnets and walked over to the stables. Frank hitched up the gig for them and then handed each woman up, with a large toothy grin for Mary. Hannah did not miss how the big man’s hand lingered on Mary’s. It gladdened her heart to see the odd romance blossom and she appreciated the soothing effect Frank exerted on Mary. But she did wonder if there was any future for them. None of them knew how long Frank would remain animated. He might endure for a hundred years…or only as many days.

  Hannah realised she could say the same thing about herself. For a moment, melancholy stole her breath. How many beats remained for her heart? The curse was changing within her and fought a silent battle against her mother’s magic. Any day might be the one that saw the curse break free and squeeze the life from her.

  Seize each day given to you, she reminded herself. The curse could overwhelm her, Frank’s stitches could come undone, or a monstrous wave might surge up and wipe out the village. None of them knew their allotted lifespan and dwelling on it allowed fear to steal the enjoyment from each day.

  From his perch on the giant’s shoulder, Barnes snapped his fingers to attract Hannah’s attention.

  She pulled her mind back to the friends and family surrounding her. She could guess what the limb wanted when the former sailor was this close to the ocean. “Help Frank with his chores, Barnes, and I promise that this afternoon we will all go to the beach.”

  The hand gave his version of a salute and then tugged on Frank’s ear, no doubt in a hurry to tackle their work for the day.

  Hannah picked up the reins and clucked her tongue to ask the placid horse to walk on. Once clear of the estate and on the packed earth road, she urged the horse into a slow trot. It didn’t take long before the sweep of the land revealed Selham up ahead. Hannah slowed the horse to a walk as they approached and more people shared the road with them.

  Mrs R
ossett waved to indicate a large barn. “That’s the blacksmith. We can leave the horse and gig there.”

  Hannah guided the horse into the yard, as a large man emerged from the smoke-covered building. Soot from the forge had caressed nearly every stone and when the sunlight hit the coating, the barn shone a silvery grey.

  “Good morning, Mrs Rossett.” The blacksmith stood at the horse’s head as the women climbed down.

  “Good morning. Lady Wycliff, may I present William Kaye.” The housekeeper made the introduction.

  The blacksmith nodded to Hannah and pulled off his cap, but his attention strayed to Mary. “Lady Wycliff. We were surprised to hear his lordship had wed. You’re a brave woman, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Hannah glanced at Mary when the maid giggled. What on earth had prompted that unusual reaction? Ascribing it to the maid’s usual unpredictable behaviour, Hannah turned back to the blacksmith. “I understand the sentiment, Mr Kaye. My husband does have a reputation for being somewhat abrupt, and he does a fine job of concealing his manners.”

  That comment made Mrs Rossett snort in laughter. “He does at that! Now, Mr Kaye, we will be a few hours, by the time we see to all our errands.”

  The man nodded and yanked his cap back on his head. “Right-o, Mrs Rossett. I’ll unhitch the cob and he can have the yard until you return.”

  “If you please, milady. We have much to do.” Mrs Rossett offered Hannah her arm and steered her down the road while Mary trailed behind. She appeared to be watching the blacksmith remove the harness from the horse.

  “I think we should find Mrs MacNee and have a quiet word. She’s the publican’s wife and they own the hall,” Mrs Rossett said.

  As they progressed along the road that separated the buildings from the shore, Mrs Rossett put names to the people who stopped to wave or stare. A few wore sad smiles or had eyes that glistened from recently shed tears.

  “Was Sarah Rivers well known in the village?” Hannah pitched her voice low as they walked. She didn’t want to offend by speaking loudly about the deceased.

  Mrs Rossett hummed as she thought. “Everybody knows everybody else’s business around here. She was married a few years ago, but the couple weren’t blessed with any little ones. Her man is a shepherd for his lordship, and is gone most of the day.”

  Hannah had her own experience of a husband who rose early to work the land. At least theirs was a temporary measure. How would she cope if endless days alone stretched before her? Then her feet froze to the ground. How silly she had become in a few short months. Before Wycliff had entered their lives, Hannah spent much time in her own company. Quiet solitude had never bothered her as she went about her studies and assisted her parents.

  How quickly she had become accustomed to Wycliff’s presence and conversation during the day. How quickly she had grown to anticipate his kisses and caresses at night.

  “Everything all right?” Mrs Rossett asked, and scattered Hannah’s thoughts like a child running toward a flock of seagulls.

  “What? Oh, yes, sorry. For a moment I had forgotten something, but it has returned to me now. Look, I think I can spy the hall.” Hannah pointed to a whitewashed building that stood by itself.

  “Yes, that’s it, and the tavern is right next door. Very handy for providing supper,” Mrs Rossett said.

  “Would it be all right if I looked at the shops, milady?” Mary asked, fidgeting by the tavern’s porch.

  “Yes, of course, Mary. We shall catch you up later.” Hannah waved to the maid as she gravitated to a brightly decorated window farther along the row. It seemed a pink dress had caught Mary’s eye.

  Mrs Rossett pushed open the door to the tavern and Hannah followed her inside.

  While not a large establishment, the tavern had a warm and friendly air. The floors were swept and the tables clean. A fire crackled in the enormous hearth; the magical orange flames threw no heat, but instead a sweetly scented odour wafted on the air. A ginger cat with luxurious fur sat before the fire and turned its head to regard them with yellow eyes. Hannah thought the creature looked annoyed that the ensorcelled fire made a pleasant smell rather than overheating the room to a cat’s liking.

  “Morning, Beatrice! It’s not often we see you in here,” a woman called.

  “Morning, Hollie. I have the new Lady Wycliff with me.” Mrs Rossett walked closer to the bar.

  Hollie’s eyes widened and she put down the glass and cloth in her hand to bob a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Wycliff. I must say, when Beatrice told us the news that his lordship had married, I thought she was pulling my leg.”

  “I am aware his lordship doesn’t appear to be the marrying type. I confess that on first meeting him, I thought him abominably rude,” Hannah murmured.

  “Yet there is no man more loyal and he would go to the ends of the earth for those he cares about.” Mrs Rossett nodded to herself as she made her pronouncement of Wycliff’s character.

  Or undertake a journey to the underworld? Hannah wondered.

  “Lady Wycliff wishes to discuss using the hall, Hollie.” Mrs Rossett gestured out the window in the direction of the other building.

  “Indeed. Lord Wycliff and I would like to host a dance for the village. In two weeks’ time, if that would be possible?” Hannah asked.

  Mrs MacNee beamed in delight at the idea. “Oh, how marvellous, milady. Of course you must use the hall. We can pop over now if you have time, and decide what needs to be done.”

  From a row of hooks set along the wall, the publican’s wife selected a key with a faded gold tassel. Then she led the way through a side door, and across a shared courtyard to the hall. Once unlocked, the door creaked as it swung open. Their footsteps echoed on the floorboards.

  Hannah stood in the dusty space and turned a slow circle. It was no grand Mayfair ballroom like the one where Lizzie had her wedding ball. But it had ample space for them to dance, room to set out tables for refreshments, and they could create a few seating areas.

  “It hasn’t been used for a few months and sand does get into all the corners when the wind howls. It will need a good clean, but there will be plenty of willing hands to help once word gets around. Did you want to decorate at all?” Mrs MacNee asked.

  What Hannah wouldn’t give her for mother’s abilities to set the night alive with magic! Instead, she would have to use more earthly means. Selham was a coastal village. Perhaps a sea theme? Ideas sprang into her mind.

  “I think an underwater theme. We could thread shells on strings to make garlands. Lanterns with blue and green glass would cast a lovely light and simulate being underwater. Perhaps strips of fabric to mimic seaweed?” Hannah imagined it in her mind’s eye as she conjured the sort of ocean she would dare venture into. No sharks would be allowed to circle the dance floor, but paper fish could dangle from thread.

  Mrs MacNee tapped the side of her head as she considered the idea. “We have a young woman in the village who is a right good painter. She has a slight aftermage gift that makes the images move. We could ask if she would paint fish that we could cut out and hang among the seaweed?”

  “Oh! That would be brilliant. If we work hard, it will come together in time, I am sure.” A tingle of excitement ran through Hannah. What fun to plan her own wedding ball. But what a shame neither her parents nor Lizzie would be present.

  They settled on a date two weeks away and Mrs MacNee promised to speak to the painter about providing a variety of sea life. At least collecting shells and stringing them together would give the village children a way to feel included, too.

  “I will spread the word and ask for helpers, but I’ll leave it for a few days, milady. We have the funeral for Sarah Rivers tomorrow.” A frown crossed Mrs MacNee’s brow and the light in her eyes dimmed.

  Hannah clasped her hands together. “Of course. We must defer any public announcement until after she is laid to rest.”

  She would talk to Wycliff about attending the funeral. It seemed only right th
at he be there, and he would have to leave off attending to whatever derelict wall or field called on his time for a few hours to escort her to the cemetery.

  That afternoon, as promised, Hannah and the others walked to the shore for an outing. Mrs Rossett told them where to find a sheltered cove. Hannah and Mary both carried a basket containing wrapped sandwiches, fruit, and biscuits. Frank carried a blanket slung over his back like a bedroll. Barnes bounced on the giant’s shoulder.

  They stopped at the edge of the cliff and Hannah breathed in the salty air. Beneath them, the waves rolled in toward the golden sand. As before, the wind tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet and tested the firmness of the knot holding it in place.

  “Oh, milady, we won’t get dragged out by the ocean, will we?” Mary clung to Frank’s arm and stared at the vast expanse of water with wide eyes.

  “No, Mary. We shall gather shells and perhaps build a sandcastle. We will stay clear of the water, unless you wish to have a paddle later?” Hannah had failed to find Wycliff and so could not ask if he would accompany them. Any attempt to teach her to swim would have to wait until another day, assuming her husband could tear himself away from the demands of the estate. Hannah led the way as they followed the worn track down the cliff to the beach.

  Barnes jumped to the sand and ran back and forth, then stopped and jumped up and down on the spot before taking off again. Sheba barked at the incoming waves and let out a yelp when cold water lapped at her paws. Hannah laughed to watch their excitement. Mary chose a spot in the shelter of the cliff and out of the fresh wind. Frank undid the strap around the blanket and unfurled it where directed. The women unpacked the food and left Frank to guard it in case the spaniel got any ideas.

  Hannah clutched her basket and the two women set off with enthusiasm, picking up shells from the sand or from under seaweed that piled up where the retreating tide had deposited it. Collecting shells for the forthcoming dance had seemed a marvellous idea, until Hannah realised just how very many they would need to thread into garlands to decorate the hall. She hoped there would be lots of little helpers from the village to pitch in and make them, too, once word spread.