Sixpence and Selkies

by Tilly Wallace

  His low words rippled over Hannah. If she hadn’t been a happily married woman, and if she were given to fanciful flights of imagination, it might almost seem as though Mr Hartley was expressing some type of romantic interest in her. Impossible. But perhaps a quiet word might be warranted, to clear up any misunderstanding?

  “I have been reading the notes of my grandmother’s stories and believe I may have unearthed a few tidbits about your tower,” he went on. “Perhaps I could tell you later in a quiet moment?”

  The musicians struck a chord, and Wycliff turned from his company to claim her for the first dance.

  “Yes, please,” Hannah said. The perfect opportunity would present itself later to both subtly remind Mr Hartley she was a married woman and advance her mission to uncover the tower’s secrets.

  22

  Hannah took the floor four times—two dances with Wycliff, one with Mr Cramond, and last with Mr Hartley. Her heart hammered at the exertion and the room grew overly warm. Thankfully, the musicians stopped for a drink and afforded her a short break. She fanned herself as Mr Hartley escorted her from the floor.

  “Could I offer you a glass of punch, and perhaps a few minutes outside in the cool air? I can tell you of my discovery before the dancing resumes,” he said, holding out his arm.

  Hannah searched the room for Wycliff, but couldn’t see him in the press of people. Frank created a more prominent landmark, standing to one side with Mary. Barnes clung to a starfish above them, and swayed back and forth as though the music still played.

  “That would be lovely, Mr Hartley. I could certainly do with a breath of fresh air.” Hannah took his arm.

  As they headed to the double doors that led outside, she glanced again at Frank and Mary. The maid looked up and waved, an enormous smile on her face. Hannah waved back and they continued on their way. For some reason, it reassured her that Mary had noted her departure. Not that she was in any danger from having a glass of punch with Mr Hartley, as she recovered from the exertions of dancing.

  In the foyer, a table was set up, draped in a cloth of cream embroidered with lavender and vivid blue cornflowers. In the centre of the table, a wide glass bowl that appeared large enough to bathe a child in held a deep red liquid. Small glasses were arrayed on the cloth around it. Mr Hartley filled two glasses and handed one to Hannah, then they continued out the door. The cool breeze skated over her skin and brought instant relief.

  “Shall we walk down to the beach? It’s such a lovely evening,” Mr Hartley said.

  “Yes, it does appear magical tonight.” Hannah found herself agreeing to his every suggestion. His words tugged at her, like the pull of the moon drawing the tides.

  Moonlight reflected off the waves, their crests sparkling with silvery diamonds. The ocean was calm, the only sound the gentle murmur of water caressing the sand. The mage silver ring on her smallest finger sent a tingle up her arm. How odd. Perhaps it reacted to the moonlight.

  “You have quite kept me in suspense, Mr Hartley. What have you discovered about the tower?” Hannah sipped her punch, careful not to spill any on her dress as their footing changed from packed earth to loose sand.

  He leaned in close. Flecks in his eyes glittered a soft green, rather like the soft glow of a cat’s eyes, and she found herself staring as she contemplated their unusual hue. Under the night sky and by the ocean, his eyes seemed to take on a reflection of the salt water.

  “I am sorry you are much ignored by your husband,” he murmured.

  Hannah frowned. They had come outside to discuss the tower, not the state of her marriage. Which, happily, had much improved. A prickle washed over her scalp, the one that warned of magic in use. She stared back at the hall, wondering what might have triggered that sensation. Some of the decorations inside had been created by an aftermage painter. No doubt the overhead enchantments made her head itch and she simply hadn’t noticed due to the fun of dancing.

  “Lord Wycliff has much to keep him busy, Mr Hartley.” Hannah turned back to stare at the ocean. Only a slight breeze blew and the water seemed almost mirror-like and serene.

  “We are alone, Lady Wycliff. You do not need to keep up the pretence for me. I am aware that your heart aches and loneliness laps at you.” Mr Hartley led her closer to the waterline.

  “You are correct, Mr Hartley, in that I was rather sad for a time. But an honest conversation with his lordship cleared the air. I can assure you there is no need for concern about the state of my heart.” Apart from the curse poised to squeeze the life from it.

  The tingle from her mother’s ring edged farther up her arm until it tickled along her collarbone. The nettle-like sensation on her head rolled downward to meet it. Her thoughts struggled through a fog that had descended upon her, like a sudden sea mist that rolls over the shore.

  “You stand in difficult waters, Hannah. Let me be your friend and support,” he murmured quietly, like the lap of water against the shore.

  “I do not think I should have any more punch,” she whispered.

  Mr Seager had been responsible for mixing the brew and it was supposed to be non-alcoholic. Had he made it potent without warning anyone? Had he similarly changed his potions for Lisbeth, or Amy, or Sarah?

  Mr Hartley took the glass from her and a blue light shone through the ring on his right hand. “You deserve to be immersed in love.”

  Immersed in love. She shook her head, trying to clear the mist. She was loved—by Wycliff. She didn’t want to be immersed, all cold and wet. She much preferred to be surrounded by hellhound fire, which was rather toasty. And why was her blasted ring acting in tandem with the blasted ability to sense magic? Her whole body scratched—at this rate, she would need a witch hazel tonic to soothe the irritation.

  Rings.

  She stared at his hand again. It wasn’t the moonlight hitting the gem that made it shine. The gem itself was glowing a deep blue. Magic. He was using magic and her body and the ring were trying to protect her.

  A single moment of clarity burst into her brain. “You. It was you.”

  He held tight to her hand, pulling her against his chest. “I offer an ocean of love. Here, all your pain is washed away. I will love you ’til death.”

  ’Til death? Hannah snorted. She possessed a love that went beyond death. Fear tightened its grip and fuelled her mind’s fight against the fog wiping away her thoughts. She would get to the bottom of his murderous ways. “How are you doing this to me?”

  He grinned and held up his hand. “The ring has many attributes. Surrender to me, Hannah, there is no need to struggle anymore. I have you.”

  A cold weight wrapped around her legs and she stumbled. The ocean surrounded her to waist level. Somehow, Mr Hartley had walked her out into the ocean and she hadn’t even realised it.

  Hannah rubbed her wedding ring and thought of Wycliff. She was in rather a pickle.

  Wycliff wandered the edges of the room, humming a few bars of music under his breath. Hannah and her team of helpers had worked a small miracle, turning the plain hall into an underwater scene. The village came together to celebrate the new Lady Wycliff, and many men shook his hand and wanted a few words in his ear. He brushed a curtain of shells aside and walked to the tables being prepared for supper. Set on the side of the hall closest to the tavern, the plates of food would be carried across and placed on the tables. Dancers could then either sit inside or out in the sheltered courtyard with their refreshments. He picked up a card bearing the order of events and idly stared at the neat hand.

  The itch in his head exploded. He had found him—the author of the love letters to Lisbeth.

  He waved the card at Mrs Rossett, who stood by the table. “Who wrote these?”

  The housekeeper oversaw the arrangement of plates. “Oh, Mr Hartley did those for us.”

  A chill dropped over Wycliff. Hartley had been in love with Lisbeth. The reverend offered a sympathetic ear to those in need in the village, and appeared to have crossed the line with at least one w
oman. Wycliff tapped the card against his hand. He needed to talk to Hartley immediately.

  Mrs Rossett moved a stack of empty plates to one side. “Milord, I have another bit of news. Mrs Gallon and I have had our heads together trying to remember who Mr Hartley’s grandmother was. Why do you think he never said much about her?”

  Why indeed allow it to be forgotten that his grandmother had been a local? “Who was his grandmother, Mrs Rossett?” Wycliff asked before she veered too far off course.

  “Rosie Ferry. An odd one she was. Used to swim in the ocean no matter the weather. People used to laugh and call her a selkie, and warn her to watch out that some boy didn’t steal her seal skin. She left the village some fifty years ago, the summer those two men drowned. We assumed she had a fright in the water, and that’s why she moved so far away.”

  Ideas collided in Wycliff’s head. Hartley’s grandmother had married someone not from the village and settled inland, where she never saw the ocean again. Two men had drowned that long-ago summer, but they had had no more inexplicable drownings until Hartley came to them. What if Rosie had been a selkie or some sea creature, and her grandson had inherited her attributes and used them to lure vulnerable women into the water?

  “Thank you, Mrs Rossett. That is most helpful.” He had to find Hannah to tell her of his discovery. But where was she? Wycliff searched the dance floor, but couldn’t see any sign of her.

  Mary chatted to a group of women to one side, Frank standing guard beside them.

  “Mary, where is Lady Wycliff?” An ache took up residence in his chest.

  “She went for a walk with Mr Hartley, milord. She was looking right flushed since everyone wanted to dance with her,” Mary said.

  At that moment, his wedding ring vibrated and shook on his hand. Wycliff spun on his heel and made for the door, waving away the revellers who wanted to draw him into the festivities, and emerged into the cool night air. He ran toward the ocean.

  Two figures were out in the water. Hannah was waist deep, the tide tugging at her skirts, which billowed around her. The moonlight cast the fabric in an eerie green like seaweed surrounding her. Hartley had hold of her arm and pulled her into deeper water.

  “Hannah!” Wycliff shouted. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the ground as he ran.

  Hannah turned, confusion written over her features. She waved a hand in front of her face as though to clear something from her vision. A wave rolled into her chest and she staggered a step and nearly fell.

  “Stay out of it, Wycliff. She has made her choice. She wishes to immerse herself in my embrace and wash away her sorrows,” Hartley called.

  Water rushed into Wycliff’s shoes but he had no time to remove them as he waded toward his wife. “I love you, Hannah, beyond death. Whether in this realm or the next, my love will remain constant and unaltered.”

  Deeper Wycliff walked, forcing his legs through the water and trying to use his hands to cut a path. No matter how far he waded, Hannah stayed out of his grasp, as though an outgoing current had hold of her. She kept moving backward with Hartley and water now lapped over her chest.

  “Beyond death?” Hannah spoke at last, as though she had not realised he was there. Now the water brushed under her chin and she tilted her head to keep her mouth and nose clear.

  Hartley laughed. “That is ridiculous. Love is a temporary thing that ceases when your heart stops.”

  Hannah pressed one hand to her temple and struggled to pull herself free of Hartley’s grip on her arm. “No. True love continues after death.”

  She spun and fought to take a step in Wycliff’s direction, back toward land. Hartley released her and for a moment, relief soared in Wycliff’s chest. He jumped forward to reach her, so close now. He pulled a brown object from his coat and shrugged it on. With a blue flash, he disappeared. A large brown seal lunged at Hannah and pushed her beneath the waves.

  “No!” Wycliff yelled as Hannah disappeared under the water.

  Rage and despair exploded inside him. Fire ignited along his veins and the water around him boiled as the beast crashed over him in an instant. He let out a howl and the hound dove beneath the waves, searching for Hannah and the selkie.

  To his hellish vision, the water shimmered a pale aqua and appeared to be comprised of millions of tiny spheres. The specks parted around him yet supported his weight. A flash of silvery green caught his eyes and he struck out for it.

  The monstrous seal had its flippers on Hannah and was pushing her downward. Easily six feet long and solid with muscle, it used its greater weight and driving force to propel her to the bottom. Her arms flailed above her head as she fought, but she couldn’t dislodge him or swim away.

  Because Wycliff had never found the time to teach her to swim.

  Anger fuelled him. Through his own stupidity, he would lose his wife. He should have ensured she had some confidence in the water. He should have told her sooner how much he loved her.

  No. Their time was not over. Not so long as any breath remained in his body.

  The hellhound used its powerful legs to strike out. Inch by inch, he gained on Hartley. When he neared, Wycliff lunged and managed to grab a mouthful of Hannah’s dress. He yanked her sharply to one side and out from under the flippers of her would-be murderer. Once free of the selkie’s grip, he dragged her up to the surface. They broke free and she gasped for air, but in her panicked state she couldn’t stay afloat.

  Hannah grabbed at fistfuls of his smoky fur but they disintegrated in her hands and offered no purchase. Her eyes were wide and frightened as she battled her waterlogged clothing with no ability to swim, her head dipping beneath the surface with each surge of the ocean.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded, paddling to hold his position but careful not to strike her with his claws. The frigid seawater clashed with the heat flowing from him and the bluish-green spheres turned purple and popped like myriad tiny champagne corks.

  “Wycliff!” She gasped his name with terror in her voice.

  A stab of panic carved through his chest. He would not lose her. He barked and swam closer.

  Hannah gritted her teeth and swung one arm, trying to secure herself over him. As her fingers slid around his neck, her head snapped back and she shot downward to disappear once more beneath the surface.

  Around him, the ocean stilled, as though it had swallowed her and then closed its lips tightly against him.

  23

  Wycliff screamed Hannah’s name and plunged after her, using his powerful hind legs to search the depths. A faint green glimmer came from far below him. The seal had Hannah’s gown in his mouth and pulled her deeper as it swam.

  “Let her go!” Wycliff barked.

  When Hartley had assumed the Mireworth living, the quietly spoken man had said he wanted a life by the seaside. Wycliff could never have imagined the smiling vicar was actually a murderous selkie who preyed on women whose only fault was in needing an ear to listen to their woes, or a friendly smile to lighten a dark time. Both well within the remit of a man of the cloth. Certainty flowed through Wycliff that while Hartley had killed three women already, Hannah would never join their number.

  I failed you, Lisbeth, he whispered to his childhood friend. But I will never fail Hannah.

  A silvery shape flashed past Wycliff, too fast for him to make out its shape. Another selkie, or a large fish? The last thing he needed was a shark drawn in by the turmoil. Not that it mattered if there was one or a thousand such creatures under the surface. None would take her from him. Hannah was far more than his love and his wife. She was his safe harbour. The reminder of his humanity when the dark void sang to him and sought to erase his soul. If he lost Hannah, he, too, would be lost.

  Closer and closer, he gained on them. The seal might think the ocean its environment, but Wycliff dwelt between realms. The tiny water spheres boiled and popped around his mouth, and created an air pocket that allowed him to breathe. His heated form slid through the sea like a kni
fe through butter.

  As he neared, Wycliff opened his jaws and latched on to the seal’s side. He stopped swimming and sought to use his weight to halt the selkie’s downward plunge. Hannah reached out for him, her eyes wide as the ocean sought to claim her. The tiny luminescent spheres forced their way between her lips and down her throat.

  Wycliff growled and closed his jaws. He wrenched his head from side to side, as the selkie thumped him with a solid flipper. Hartley curved his body to use his strong tail flipper to strike the hound, each blow like that delivered by a prize boxer.

  In his mind, Wycliff imagined the void and tried to summon it forth. He needed a quick end to Hartley so he could save Hannah. Answering his call, the void opened within the water. The bluish-green droplets pushed up to the edges but did not enter the inky space. The voices flowed from the darkness, singing a seductive tune that could have been those of a mermaid luring a sailor.

  Channelling his anger, Wycliff redoubled his efforts. His teeth sank into tough skin and pierced blubber. Then he hit something that oozed around his teeth like jelly. The water churned around them—spheres boiled and popped, blocking his vision like a sudden hailstorm. He fought blind, relying on instinct and the singing of the void to guide him.

  Snapping down on the thick substance in his mouth, he worried the selkie’s magical skin. Inch by inch, he pulled the creature’s soul from its body. He gulped, to adjust his grip, and dug his teeth into the foul-tasting soul. Wycliff reeled Hartley’s essence forth, to expose the true monster within that was neither man nor seal. Coated in slick black like eel skin, it possessed a long and sinuous form like a serpent. A short and rounded head contained multitudes of sharp teeth like a barracuda.

  From the hovering void, black arms emerged and drifted on the current as they reached for the monster’s soul. Clenching his jaw, Wycliff wrenched his head and shook the soul free. Then he tossed Hartley to the inky seaweed. The dark tendrils wrapped the monster in an embrace he would never escape no matter how hard he struggled.