Mrs Rossett hummed and placed a dried flower in the book before closing it. “That is old nonsense. Practically as old as I am. When I was a youngster, our elders used to frighten us by saying sea creatures would drag us into the water if we were out after dark. There was a summer when men drowned and stories flowed about mermaids, selkies, and such-like.”
Hannah’s curiosity sat up and paid full attention. Mermaids, selkies, and such-like? Did the village have a problematic Unnatural lurking beneath the waves? “Do you remember any of the circumstances of the drownings?”
She shook her head. “It must be fifty years ago now. It was two men, I think, and I seem to recall one was a fisherman whose empty boat washed ashore. The other was a shepherd. I’m sure all villages across England have some story of bogeymen to scare children into obedience.”
“Yes. I’m sure you’re right.” Two men had drowned fifty years ago. It did seem nonsense to connect that to recent tragic events.
After breakfast, and despite her reservations about the man, Hannah decided to call upon the apothecary and assess the range of herbs and potions he offered. There were things her mother required for the renewal spell if it was to be performed at Mireworth. On the off chance that Seraphina didn’t bring everything with her, it would be prudent for Hannah to examine what the apothecary carried.
An image drifted through Hannah’s mind of her mother conducting the ritual in the ancient turret, and the hieroglyphics bordering the fireplace glowing with a soft purple and silver light. The floor under Hannah turned inky black, as though her body hung suspended over a void.
An odd imagining, but her discovery was much on her mind. Hannah had spent the morning making rubbings of the stones, but she could do no more to decipher them without either her mother’s assistance or the ensorcelled translation paper. A comparison revealed both sides of the fireplace bore the exact same inscriptions, but she could discover no clue as to whether their placement had a deeper meaning or if it were merely ornamental.
Needing the fresh air and exercise, she walked to the village accompanied by Sheba. Mrs Rossett had advised her that the apothecary was the last cottage on the end of a row, past the shops. Hannah slowed as she approached. It was a fine-looking building with two storeys, sparkling windows, and a plaque on the door urging customers inside. She tied a length of string to Sheba’s collar and attached the dog to the white painted fence.
“I’ll not be long, girl.” Hannah patted the dog’s head. Mrs Rossett had slipped Hannah a bone and she placed it before the spaniel, as an offering to keep the dog occupied while she was inside.
Lavender overhung the path and brushed against Hannah’s skirts, releasing a soft fragrance. She stopped to draw a deep breath. When she pushed open the front door, she found the two front rooms converted into a combination of shop and workroom. A square and solid bench stood before a wall of shelves and separated it from the rest of the room. Rows of bottles with neat cream labels and black lettering were arranged according to size. Large bottles were on the bottom shelf and they diminished in size as they neared the ceiling. The top shelf held bottles no bigger than Hannah’s finger and a ladder was the only way to access them. Bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling and Hannah recognised lavender, rosemary, and thyme.
Mr Seager sat behind an enormous desk on the side of the room opposite the shelves, and with his back to a small, round window. Before him sat brass scales and he tapped a black powder from a tiny vial into one pan. He looked up and frowned. “Lady Wycliff, I did not expect to see you here.”
Hannah braced herself for rudeness. He walked his own path, but that did not preclude her from remaining civil. “Good day, Mr Seager. I thought to peruse your available herbs and potions, in case I have need of them while I am at Mireworth.”
He grunted and returned his concentration to his work, plucking the pan from the scales and tapping the contents into a mortar. “You may look, but don’t touch anything.”
For him, that probably passed for civil. Hannah decided to start on the other side of the room, farthest away from him. She wandered behind the bench and examined bottles. The labels were all written in the same neat hand. Many of the herbs she knew. Ground white willow for aches and pains. Dandelion extract to cleanse the liver. Chamomile to assist sleep.
One shelf at eye level held a pretty display of soaps scented with rose, lavender, jasmine, and other fragrant flowers. Hannah picked up a pale pink bar with flecks of rose petal trapped in the soap and sniffed. If she closed her eyes, there could have been a fresh, dewy rose in her hands.
“I said don’t touch anything,” a voice barked from behind her.
Hannah jumped like a startled schoolgirl caught in the act of committing a grave offence. She turned and held out the piece of soap. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist smelling the soaps.”
“I assume you will buy that one, since you have put your fingers all over it.” Mr Seager dropped the pestle into the mortar and pushed back his chair with a scrape.
“Of course.” She set the soap down on the bench and noticed that underneath ran rows of drawers with curved brass pulls. One sat open a few inches, revealing notebooks stacked inside. A name on the book at the very front, which looked as though it had been hastily shoved back, caught her attention. Sarah Rivers.
Why had the deceased woman done business with the apothecary? The purchase of scented soaps or salves for her skin wouldn’t require a journal. Unless Mr Seager kept a record of every purchase made by each person.
“I assume that since you attended Mrs Rivers’ funeral, you were acquainted?” Hannah cast a line to see if the fish would bite.
“Selham is a small village. I know all the residents.” He picked up the soap and plucked a square of cream tissue paper from a basket sitting on the counter.
“I am sure such a tragedy touches everyone who knew her. Such a terrible way to die.” Hannah watched him wrap the soap.
He twisted the top of the paper and then selected a length of string from the same basket and tied it in a bow. “She was a kind and gentle woman who kept her nose out of other people’s business. She will be missed.”
Hannah stared at the ceiling and counted to ten in her head. Once, Wycliff had been as rude and abrupt. Time had revealed the loyal and honourable man under the gruff exterior. Would a deeper acquaintance reveal a softer side to Mr Seager? Perhaps he was like a long-neglected sheep and one needed to penetrate the outer floof to see what was within. No, that analogy didn’t work, as floof was an excess of fluffy wool that created a dense and impenetrable shell. He was more like a crustacean with sharp pincers.
Since he appeared to be predisposed to a foul mood, Hannah decided she had nothing to lose by making another request of him. “Might I see your garden, Mr Seager? I am most interested to see what you grow, even if I am not much of a horticulturist.”
He glared at her and looked on the point of refusing, when he let out a sigh. “I suppose you cannot do too much damage out there, so long as you stay on the paths.”
He led the way through a door that opened into a short hallway with a set of stairs to one side, and then through the kitchen to the outside door that revealed the walled garden. Mr Seager walked down the steps and placed his hands on his hips, as though daring her to stand on any of the precious plants.
“Oh, my,” Hannah murmured as she walked along the crushed shell path.
Stone walls eight feet high kept the harsh winds out, and heat-loving plants grew against the sun-warmed stones. The path led through regimented beds with neatly clipped, bright green hedging to stop the crushed shell invading the soil, and stopped the plants from escaping to grow wild.
Black painted wooden spires helped the ramblers to grow straight and true. Everything had a label at its base denoting its common and Latin name. The apothecary might have a prickly exterior, but his care of the garden revealed a deep love for horticulture. Hannah wondered what conditions would be required to make love bloom in the grum
py specimen before her. Or even civility.
Out in the warmth, some of the tension eased from Mr Seager’s shoulders and his pose relaxed as he followed her. Hannah pointed to a leafy green plant with tall white spires. The tag at its base read Black Cohosh. It grew next to the purple flowered chaste berry.
“I am familiar with chaste berry, but not with Black Cohosh. What remedies do you make with it?” Hannah reached out and her hand hovered above its flowers.
Mr Seager stopped beside her and bent to pull a weed that had grown to obscure a label. “It assists with issues relating to the reproductive organs. I make it into a syrup with chaste berry, cinnamon, and a few proprietary ingredients, for those wishing to conceive. I have some already brewed if you want to buy a bottle.”
Those wishing to conceive. Of its own accord, her hand went to her flat stomach. “No. Thank you. I am not in need of such a potion.”
“Are you already carrying, then?” He narrowed his eyes and the action pulled a line along his brow.
“No.” She turned back to the plants, taken aback by a question that no gentleman would ever dare ask a lady.
He grunted. “His lordship will need an heir. There’s no shame in taking my brew. A dead mage cannot create life, if you think to seek your mother’s assistance.”
Hannah bit back a retort. Her fertility, or lack thereof, was nobody’s business. Wycliff had known her condition when he offered marriage. He said it did not concern him if they had no offspring, as he did not want to risk creating another like him, bound to a hellhound.
Ignoring the apothecary’s impertinent remarks, Hannah walked to the next bed that contained what appeared to be weeds, but the dandelions and ragwort were tended with as much attention as the herbs on either side. “I understand two other women lost their lives to the ocean over the last year. So much sorrow for the village to bear. I imagine your potions are sought after, to ease the pain.”
He strolled down a different path and bent to prune a few dead flower heads from the chamomile. “Sorrow is like the ocean. It ebbs and flows. Some feel the pull of that tide more keenly than others.”
A poetic interpretation from such a gruff man. “If one suffered an aching heart, would you have a remedy?”
He glanced at her. “Of course. I only wish some had sought a remedy from me earlier, rather than…” His voice trailed off.
Hannah recalled the few details she knew of the other two women. Since Amy Miller had had an offer of marriage, she didn’t think she would have sought a cure for a broken heart. Mrs Rossett said Lisbeth kept herself apart from the other women and that the childhood teasing had never really abated. “I understand Lisbeth Wolfe walked a lonely path.”
“I have much work to do, Lady Wycliff. Are you going to pay for your soap, or ask me to extend you credit?” With that, he strode back inside the cottage.
Hannah paid for the scented soap and placed it in her basket. Outside, she untied the spaniel, who barked and bounced as though she had been sitting in the same spot for days, rather than a handful of minutes. Since she was in the village, Hannah’s next visit was to the hall. Word had spread, and a few women were present to sweep and clean the space. Two were on their knees, scrubbing the floorboards.
“Oh, my!” Hannah exclaimed at the industrious activity. “You have all been so busy.”
“The dance is giving us something to look forward to, milady,” a heavily pregnant woman said. Then she dropped an awkward curtsey. “I am Libby Tant. Since I can’t see my knees to help scrub, I am supervising and making garlands.”
“Good morning to you, Mrs Tant. Do you need to sit down?” Hannah reached out to steady the woman’s arm as she wobbled. She recalled the woman from the day Sarah had been retrieved from the ocean. She had cried out Sarah’s name and stood with the family at the funeral.
“If you don’t mind.” The woman blushed and with Hannah’s help, lowered herself to a chair. From the size of her belly, she either carried twins or was due any day. Libby rubbed her stomach. “This one was supposed to have made an appearance by now. How I wish Sarah could have met him or her.”
Hannah took the chair next to the expectant mother and guessed at the relationship between the two. “Was she your sister?”
“Yes.” Libby looked away to watch three children at play. A young boy and a girl built a tower from pieces of driftwood, while a smaller child toddled around them. Sheba trotted over and sat down, much to the delight of the children, who immediately included the young dog in their games.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope you do not think us insensible to your grief, holding the dance so soon after the funeral.” Hannah plucked a shell from the basket beside her and ran her fingers along its smooth inner side.
The other woman flashed a sad smile at Hannah. “Not at all, milady. Truth be told, it gives me something to keep myself occupied. Otherwise I would be sitting in our cottage, fretting over what happened to Sarah.”
“Would you tell me about her, if it’s not too much of an intrusion?” Hannah said.
“Of course not. I’d like to talk about her.” The heavily pregnant woman rested her work on her stomach as she threaded shells onto the string. “Let me see. Sarah and I were similar in age, with less than a year between us. Once, we were as close as two peas in a pod.”
“What happened?” Hannah asked.
Libby placed a finished garland to one side and then cut off a new length of string. “I fell in love and married my George. I still saw Sarah as often as I could, but…well, when you’re newly married and in love, nothing seems so important as being with your man. Then she married Jim, and I thought we would raise our families together.”
Hannah scooped up a handful of shells as she listened. The story contained echoes of herself and Lizzie. They, too, were as close as two sisters could be, but Hannah feared married life and the demands placed on the duchess would pull them in opposite directions.
“We had our first child a year after we married. I swear I’ve never been as busy as I was then, what with a young one to care for, the house to keep, and making sure George had a hearty meal to look forward to at the end of his day.” Her hands stilled and she gazed off into the distance.
“It’s not so easy, settling into a routine after marriage.” Hannah had adjusted to her husband’s being a hellhound, although that didn’t impose any particular demands on their relationship. It wasn’t as though she had to clean paw prints from the rugs or provide souls for him to consume.
Libby scooped up more shells and laid them out on her stomach. “Then I had number two the next year, followed by our third. Each time I thought Sarah and Jim would surely be blessed like we were, but life can be cruel sometimes. I remember how sad Sarah looked at Christmastide, when I told her I was pregnant again. I truly did not do it to cause her pain. Her husband is away long hours minding those sheep, and a little one would have been such a comfort to her.”
Hannah closed her eyes and placed herself in the dead woman’s shoes. She imagined Lizzie with a brood of children and the busy life of a duchess. Wycliff away until all hours with either the needs of the estate, or his work for the Ministry. The chill inside Hannah crept along her limbs like a freezing river. How lonely Sarah’s days must have been. Did she imagine that those she loved had no time to spare for her?
“I’m sure she knew that you still loved her.” Hannah touched the other woman’s arm. Fertility was an invisible and unpredictable blessing. Even her mother’s magic could not coax life into being, if Mother Nature decided against it.
“The night she disappeared, Jim said they argued and she set off to spend some time alone. I wish I had said something to her. There was a look in her eyes the last time I saw her that I cannot explain.” Libby sniffed and put aside her work to find a handkerchief.
Hannah tried to find words of comfort for the bereaved woman, but as she clutched the shell a little tighter, imagining that it could keep her afloat in the ocean churning inside h
er, no words came.
12
The toddler detached herself from the playing children and wandered toward Hannah. She picked a starfish from a basket, then waved it at Libby as she tried to climb up her mother’s legs.
“You won’t fit in my lap, Esther—your new brother or sister is taking up all the space.” Libby brushed a hand over the toddler’s cheek.
“She can sit with me, if she would like.” Hannah smiled at the girl with her pudgy arms and blush pink dress with dark pink smocking on the front.
The child tugged a length of string free from another basket. She held starfish and string aloft in her fists, and a question burned in her young eyes.
Hannah put the clues together. “You want to make a garland featuring the starfish? What an excellent idea. It will hang from the ceiling like a star in the ocean.” Hannah opened her arms to the child and took the string in one hand.
The child climbed up on Hannah’s knee and assisted as they attached the starfish to the end and then found shells to thread on after it. Apparently it was serious business, and the girl often slid to the ground to search all the baskets for the exact shell to go next.
“Thank you, milady, for being so patient with my little one,” Libby said as her daughter set off to find the next piece of decoration.
The other women finished scrubbing the floor and used cloths to wipe it dry, before any of the children slipped on the excess water. There was still much to do. Tables and chairs were piled in one corner and the light fittings were covered in dust cloths and swung like ghosts watching over them.
Hannah held out her hand for the shell selected by little Esther. “I think Esther is doing a fine job. Helping her is lightening my heart, and I am sure a small ray of joy will aid everyone.”
Sixpence and Selkies Page 10