If he declared he admired her but would never love her, how would she go on?
Far better to hypothesise possible scenarios, but never validate the experiment with cold, hard truth. That way, she could exist in two worlds simultaneously. In one version, Wycliff swore his lifelong friendship but no more, leaving the cold void inside her to fester and consume her over the years. In another marvellous world, her husband declared his most ardent love for her.
With only a sliver of her attention, she chatted with Mr Hartley on the return journey and they parted company at a fork in the road, where one arm of the milestone pointed to Mireworth and the other to the village of Selham. Back at the estate, and needing time alone with her thoughts, Hannah sought out the library.
The poor room, cut in half by Wycliff’s grandfather, possessed only one window to illuminate its soaring wall of shelves that should have been crammed with books. Once, a grand chandelier had lit the room and protected the books from the ravages of sunlight. Now it resembled a tomb, the solid desk like a sarcophagus left in the middle of the stripped floor.
She padded across the floor to the window. The built-in seat offered no comfort, its padded cushions removed long ago, but she didn’t mind. Tucking her feet up under her, Hannah huddled in the corner and pulled the bundle of letters from her pocket.
First, she closed her eyes and offered a silent apology to Lisbeth for what she was about to do. Then Hannah untied the ribbon and pulled free the first letter. Angling it to what light came in through the window, she read the declarations of love it contained, the restrained and tidy hand at odds with the outpouring of emotion. The writer confessed to an ocean of love for Lisbeth, if only she would return his affection.
“I am lost without you. Say you love me, otherwise alone, I will drown in my despair,” Hannah whispered the words to the empty library.
Then she closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold wood, the letter clutched to her chest. “Alone, I will drown in my despair,” she repeated. Tears welled in her eyes. Had Wycliff penned those words to his childhood sweetheart? Although that would be at odds with the tale Mr Hartley told of Wycliff breaking Lisbeth’s heart. In these letters, the writer asked Lisbeth to declare her love.
Melancholy rippled through Hannah’s body and her fingers tightened on the paper. Then she sat up and stared at the letter. When on earth had she decided to cast herself as the heroine in a badly written gothic romance? Honestly, she had created a wallow of self-pity for herself almost as large as the ocean.
“Where did you leave your common sense, Hannah?” she chastised herself.
Yes, she loved Wycliff. Yes, the way he slipped from their shared bed before dawn and left her alone hurt. But unless she grew a spine and tackled the issue head on, it would never be resolved. The loneliness would fester until she, too, flung open her arms to welcome the ocean’s fatal embrace.
“No. That’s not right.” That idea snagged on another in her mind and the two combined into a larger idea. Hannah jumped down from the window seat and knelt on the floor to arrange the letters around her to study them.
Surrounded by words of love and despair, Hannah sat back on her heels and reviewed what she knew. Three women had drowned, but the more she learned of their lives, the less she believed the gossip about their shared fates.
Amy Miller had accepted Mr Cramond’s proposal, but seemed troubled and had gone to break the news to another. Sarah Rivers was married, childless, and alone—that created parallels to Hannah’s own marriage. What if she had sought solace and understanding from another, but no more? Lisbeth Wolfe had supposedly been spurned by her lover and taken her own life. But that didn’t match the content of the letters—what if she had refused him?
The more Hannah considered the lives and deaths of the three women, the more she began to see another hand at work. One that did not respond well to being rejected.
What if Amy dreaded telling another man that she was engaged to Mr Cramond that night, and would see him no more? What if whoever wrote these letters and claimed not to be able to live without Lisbeth chose to end her life instead? That left Sarah Rivers, who had argued with her husband and stormed off to think. Or had she sought a shoulder to cry on that night? Someone who might have seized a moment of vulnerability, only to be spurned?
“Oh, I see you now,” Hannah whispered. “And I will find you.”
19
A new sense of determination flared into life. Hannah would uncover the truth about the women’s deaths. That meant another conversation with Libby Tant, to determine if she knew of anyone her sister may have confided in. Hannah also decided the hidden tower would yield its secrets to her—which would require a more corporeal plan.
“Do you know where Mrs Tant lives?” Hannah asked Mrs Rossett that morning. Wycliff had found a gardening book for Hannah, and she flipped the pages looking at brightly coloured illustrations. She found herself anticipating her parents’ visit. Her mother would know what to plant to breathe new life into the conservatory.
“Oh, yes. They have a lovely cottage up above the village. It will soon be rather cramped for them, I imagine, with the new one about to appear, if it’s not here already.” Mrs Rossett stood at the bench, a limp pheasant before her as she plucked feathers from the creature and dropped them into a bucket.
“She did look imminent last I saw her.” Hannah wondered what she could take along for the new mother—it wouldn’t do to turn up on the doorstep both uninvited and empty-handed. One of the crates in the study contained wooden soldiers and horses. She would ask Wycliff if any could be spared. Mrs Tant might appreciate a diversion to keep her children occupied.
“When the man dropped off the milk this morning, he said his wife—she’s the midwife—had been fetched to attend Mrs Tant.” The denuded bird was placed in the sink for a wash and the housekeeper wiped fluff from her fingers.
“Probably not a good day to visit, then.” Hannah had little experience with babies, but she should probably wait at least a day or two before imposing on a woman who had just given birth.
“If you ask me, she’s probably popping the babe out now so she can attend the dance.” The washed pheasant next had its internal cavity inspected.
Hannah stifled a laugh as she watched the housekeeper at work. Given how Mrs Rossett called autopsies a city thing, she was doing a fine job of conducting a similar examination of their dinner. “Well, perhaps I might return to the tower today instead, and examine the stairwell. There may be a doorway leading down that I have overlooked.”
The housekeeper patted the bird dry and then picked up a bunch of herbs, tied with string. “Oh, speaking of that, his lordship said to tell you he remembered where the plans are, and that you would find them in the Oriental cabinet in the billiards room.”
“Oh, brilliant. Thank you.” Hannah gulped down the last of her tea and then returned to the study to fetch her glow lamp.
Armed and ready, she pushed into the billiards room and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. The room wore half the library like a beautiful animal skin draped around the shoulders of a hunter. The marble fireplace remained, but the wall on either side had been demolished, leaving the chimney exposed. Likewise, the bookshelves were gone, but the metal gantry remained as a spine that stretched on either side of the solid brick chimney.
Hannah placed a hand on the cool mantel. Veins in a silvery grey swirled through the marble and tiny specks shimmered. “One day, you will be restored.”
The billiards table squatted on the other side of the fireplace and claimed more space than Henry VIII’s monstrous bed. Probably its size had saved it from being sold. Hannah couldn’t imagine how it had originally been squeezed in through the doors. A sheet covered the felt and Hannah peeked underneath at the green surface so similar to closely mown grass. She recalled the table in Baron Medwin’s house; thankfully, this one was free of bloodthirsty puppets.
“The Oriental cabinet,” she murmured to her
self as she surveyed the rest of the room.
Sideboards, paintings, rugs, and chairs had all been stripped from the room, but a dark wood cabinet that hunkered in a corner drew her eye. It was easily eight feet tall and six feet wide, and closer inspection revealed scenes had been carved over the entire surface. Pagodas stood before flowing rivers. Cranes waded out into the water, and ladies in kimonos fanned themselves from where they lounged under spreading cherry trees.
Deep red tassels hung from the doors and they swayed as Hannah pulled them open, to find the cabinet might once have been a wardrobe. The shelves in the upper half were empty. The lower half comprised drawers of various depths such as a lady might use for rolled stockings and underthings. She pulled the top drawer open and papers fought to escape. She plucked a few at random and found the pages covered in drawings that seemed to be sketches of gardens, plants, and water features.
“Oh, I wonder if you will show me what the grounds used to look like. The conservatory pond and statue might be among you.” Adventures in horticulture would have to wait for another day. Her current mission was architectural in nature.
A middle drawer housed numerous long leather cylinders fastened with buckles. Hannah rolled one over and a label read Farm cottage, and another said Stables and outbuildings.
“Please all be properly labelled as to your contents,” she whispered.
The next one rotated in slow motion and read Mireworth 1701. She only hoped her luck continued and the actual plans were within and not a drawing of the sheep-wash. She unbuckled the top and held the lamp close to see tightly rolled paper within. Glimpses of a wall with windows confirmed it did indeed seem to be a house plan.
Carrying her booty to the kitchen, Hannah tipped out the plans onto the table directly under the skylight. Bottles of condiments held down each corner and fought the plans’ natural urge to roll back up. The aged paper had yellowed in places, but fortunately the cabinet and the storage cylinder had kept it safe from hungry mice.
Hannah oriented herself, letting her fingers walk through the drawing. “Entrance, library…oh.” On paper, the library was no longer sliced in half. Here, it possessed two windows overlooking the drive and, when she squinted at the squiggles, a spiral staircase up to the gantry. Those pieces now looked down on the slumbering billiards table. She tapped the lines of the desecrated room and repeated her promise that one day, it would be returned to its correct proportions.
“Where are you hiding?” she whispered to the tower. From what she had observed from inside, she knew roughly the space the tower occupied. While not quite on a corner, it was near one end on the northeast side.
Yet where she expected to find the twelfth-century construction, the plan showed only a void. Hannah traced corridors—one ran down one side of the empty space and on the other side was a narrow room with no apparent reason for existing. To make certain her finger trod the right spot, Hannah examined the other rooms on the lower floor. Here were the study that served as their bedroom, the library, a parlour, and the network of rooms that comprised the service areas, kitchen, and staff quarters.
“Now this is curious.” She sat back and closed her eyes, seeing again the view from the south-facing windows.
“What is, milady?” Mrs Rossett asked from her spot at the end of the table. She had moved on from the pheasant and now rolled out dough to make biscuits.
Hannah opened her eyes and looked again at the spot where her brain said the tower had to be. But there was no door, no opening, not even a scribble saying ancient tower. “There’s nothing here, only an empty space where it should be.”
“So that tells you where it is.” With the dough flat, the housekeeper picked up a star-shaped metal cutter. She pressed it into the dough, removed the raw biscuit, and placed it on a baking pan.
Hannah stared at the void left on the sheet of rolled dough—a perfect star shape remained. “Of course. The journal! The Lord Wycliff who built this house wrote, since the tower cannot be torn down I shall at least conceal the damned thing. That is what he did. It is not mentioned, nor does there appear to be any door marked to give away its presence.”
“How will you get into the lower level, then?” More stars were cut out and placed on the tray, until only thin ribbons of dough were left to connect the empty spaces.
“I shall examine the corridor first, somewhere between it and the library. It is possible there is a concealed door such as I used to gain access on the second level.” Now that she had an idea of what to do, excitement raced through her.
With her glow lamp in hand, Hannah headed for the library.
“I know where you are,” she murmured to the room as she touched a griffin’s head on her way past.
Behind the curved stairs, and running alongside the library, was a dark corridor. Hannah clutched the lantern more tightly. The inky darkness reminded her of how Wycliff had disappeared the day her mother asked him to search for a way to the underworld. A chill swept over her and she rubbed the heel of her hand up her arm to dispel it. She paced the length of the corridor that appeared to serve no purpose. At the end stood a slim doorway.
“Aha!” With a sense of triumph, she jiggled the door handle.
The metal protested and the wood seemed stiff in the frame, but the door swung open…to reveal a tiny sliver of a room with a large window overlooking the curved drive. A built-in seat on the wall opposite the window would afford a grand view of any arriving visitors. She could imagine children wriggling on the bench, waiting to be the first to spot their father’s return.
Since the light was better in what she promptly dubbed the waiting room, Hannah took the opportunity to feel every seam in the panelling. None gave to her fingertips, nor did there appear any doorway to the space beyond, given the way the seat was attached to the wall. From idle curiosity, she lifted the wooden seat, to reveal an empty storage chamber beneath.
“Blast.” As she went to drop the lid, she stopped.
A spot caught her eye, somewhat darker than the rest of the inside of the storage space. She propped the lid open. When Hannah moved the lamp closer, she found a rounded hole at the bottom of the wall and tucked under the seat. Reaching in, her fingers found nothing. No wall blocked their progress.
She perched on the side of the open seat and considered the implications. It could be a hole eaten by a very large and hungry rodent, but it edges were too smooth. But why make a tiny entrance to the space behind? What a shame only a hand fit within.
A hand!
Barnes would fit through the tiny doorway and could tell Hannah what he found on the other side. However, if it were as dark as the corridor, he wouldn’t see much. Although he didn’t possess eyes, for whatever magical reason he still required a light source to find his way about. There might be a way for Barnes to take a small glow lamp through with him. First, Hannah would ensure there wasn’t another way to the imprisoned tower beyond.
Inch by inch, she examined the panelling in the dark corridor. Every join in the wallpaper made excitement surge inside her, only to plummet when her fingernails found nothing but plaster behind. After some hours, she finally declared herself vanquished. If there was a secret door, it had won this round of hide and seek.
“Barnes it is,” she said to the empty hall as she walked back to the kitchen.
Hannah returned to her work cleaning panes in the conservatory. Fortunately, Frank arrived for lunch with the hand perched on his shoulder.
“Master…no…need,” Frank whispered in his stilted way. Then he dropped into a chair with a thud.
Wycliff might not need them, but Hannah would put them to use. “Excellent. Since I have you for the afternoon, Barnes, I have a task for you, if you feel up to a bit of solo exploration.”
The hand jumped to the tablecloth and scuttled to where she sat. The hand sat on the heel of his palm and waved one finger in a carry on gesture.
“There is a hole I want you to venture into and report to me if you find anything
beyond.” Now that Hannah had the house plans, Barnes could draw on the empty space what he discovered.
The hand gave a thumbs up and then scuttled over the side and curled up on a chair to wait.
After lunch, Hannah led her team of explorers to the narrow waiting room. With nothing to do except be an anchor in case something on the other side latched on to Barnes, Frank stood by the window and tapped on the glass at the birds flying past.
Hannah lowered Barnes into the space under the seat. Then she set her small travelling lamp down by the hole.
“I need you to go in there and tell me if there is an empty room beyond, or if you find the base of the tower.” Hannah tapped the top of the glow mushroom. She had wrapped a piece of twine around it and then looped it around the wrist of Barnes.
He waved his index finger in a kind of salute and then set off, dragging the light behind him the way a horse pulled a plough. Little by little, the light faded away.
Like Frank, the only thing Hannah could do was wait. She didn’t want to drop the lid to sit on the seat, in case Barnes rushed back through. Instead, she took up a vigil by the window. Beyond the dirty glass lay an uninspiring view. The once clipped lawn had transformed into a tangled mess of weeds and brambles. Even the gravel had succumbed to neglect and needed a good weeding and a new top layer. More tasks to add to their never-ending list. When the estate recovered its finances, they would need a team of industrious gardeners to wrestle the grounds back into shape. Thinking of pleasure gardens seemed so frivolous when the roof leaked and the windows were cracked.
After nearly an hour, the hand reappeared, dragging the glowing mushroom.
Hannah removed the twine from the wrist and picked up Barnes. “Well?” she asked, almost unable to voice her question with so much excitement pressing in her chest. “Is the tower beyond?”
Barnes wagged his first finger up and down in a yes motion.
Sixpence and Selkies Page 17