by Emma Jameson
“Where?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know. I never know till I reach Plymouth, which I love almost as much as I love Birdswing,” Letty said. “I’ll want her ladyship to bring me all the news. No offense, Dr. Bones, but young men can’t be trusted for such tasks. They’ll only say it was cold, or wet, or cloudy, or fair. I need someone to paint a picture in words, and that one is never short of words.”
“That one,” Lady Juliet said, raising an eyebrow, “hasn’t agreed to accept this demand upon her time. I will, but only if you pay my price. You must agree to let me install modern plumbing. You’ve been in violation for years and the Council has overlooked the matter because you’re a pillar of the community—”
“Pillar?” Letty laughed. “Pillock, more like.”
“Be that as it may, only think how comfortable you’ll be with hot and cold taps.”
“I’m a dying woman,” Letty insisted, face lighting up as Dinah reentered with a mug of Guinness in hand. “Step lively, girl, I’ve a powerful thirst. Oh. Yes, that’s better,” she said, drinking deeply. “But how can I cling to life while men with hammers and loud voices pull my house down around me?”
“I have the perfect solution,” Lady Juliet said, pouncing. “You’ll stay with Mother and me in Belsham Manor till the work is done.”
Chapter 4
Juliet spent the next several days meddling in Letty’s affairs and rearranging them to her satisfaction. The exercise not only played to her strengths, it kept her anticipation about the twenty-fourth of December to a manageable simmer. Allowing it to boil, to contemplate what amounted to an entire day with Ben and all the possibilities therein, rendered her useless in short order. But by the evening of the twenty-third, she’d run out of problems to solve. That meant the pot was on, the steam was billowing, and it was all she could do to sit still.
After dinner, she and her mother usually had drinks in the downstairs parlor. Lady Victoria liked what amounted to a thimbleful of brandy; Juliet preferred coffee, and plenty of it. Tonight, however, it merely exacerbated an ever-present stomach ache. Fortunately, their two very different houseguests were occupied elsewhere.
Ethan, who had been asked not to intrude on Juliet and her mother’s private time, was down at the Sheared Sheep, probably holding court. The old men who made up its core clientele seemed to regard him as something of a conquering hero, which she would have found unbearable if it wasn’t all for the greater good. Let them slap Ethan on the back and make lewd insinuations about how he’d supposedly put his wife in her place. This was Juliet’s first wartime sacrifice, and it probably wouldn’t be her last.
Letty, who would have been a welcome addition, had a standing invitation to join Juliet and Lady Victoria, but had thus far declined. She was on her feet again, albeit unsteadily, walking a few minutes each day with Dinah by her side. After an early dinner, she was too exhausted for anything but sleep.
As if reading Juliet’s mind, Lady Victoria said, “You’ve worked a miracle on Letty. And by extension, Dinah. I quite enjoy seeing them together.” Embroidery hoop on her lap, she was finishing up a Christmas present, something patriotic with the flags of Cornwall, England, and Great Britain.
“I can’t take much credit. She gave in rather easily. Perhaps she’s tired of living alone,” Juliet said. “I never realized Dinah had the makings of a nurse.”
“She’s sympathetic, but not soft. She sees right through Letty’s excuses,” Lady Victoria said. “I overheard them this morning. I used to consider Dinah closemouthed, but with Letty she sounded quite spirited.”
“You should hear her when she does my hair,” Juliet said, recalling their game of Impertinent Questions.
“Speaking of your hair, it’s lovely.” Lady Victoria looked up from her embroidery with a smile. “Have you learned to do it yourself?”
“No. But I finished The Buccaneers and moved on to The Code of the Woosters.”
“That’s probably a better use of your time. So. As you seem ready to launch out of that chair and fly around the room, I have to ask: Are you looking forward to tomorrow’s excursion?”
Juliet didn’t dare lock eyes with her mother, who saw too much. Settling for looking at something safer—three of the dogs, arranged by the hearth in a state of collapse—she said, “No doubt it will be jolly good.”
Lady Victoria chuckled. “Poor Dr. Bones couldn’t stop saying ‘jolly good’ after you and Ethan announced your so-called reconciliation, could he?”
“No. He sounded quite like a parrot with a concussion. It made me want to cry. I’m glad you can laugh at it.”
“Forgive me. That was painful for you. Truth be told, it was painful for me, too.” Lady Victoria put the hoop aside. “Though I’ve known for some time what he means to you, it wasn’t until that moment that I realized what you meant to him.”
“I wish I could believe that,” Juliet said, startled. “But he wasn’t gutted for long. After a day or two, it was back to business as usual.”
“Yes, well, that’s down to me,” Lady Victoria said lightly. “I do regret leaving open the door to the back passage. Dr. Bones must have wandered all the way to the library. You and Ethan were conferring inside, and I fear whatever he overheard put him in the picture.”
Juliet’s gasp made one of the semi-comatose dogs twitch an ear. The “back passage,” as she and her mother called it, was also known as “The Master’s Way”—her ancestor Sir Thaddeus’s grandiose name for Belsham Manor’s hidden passage. It ran from the master bedroom to the library, and from the library to the dining room. Sir Thaddeus had used it to discreetly move his mistress to and fro. The staff used it as a cut-through, and Juliet used it when she couldn’t sleep at night and needed a new book.
“Mother! What about the Official Secrets Act?” she cried, loud enough to be heard at the Ministry of Defense. Cringing, she added in a whisper, “They hang citizens who speak of what they know.”
“Is that so?” Lady Victoria, who’d picked up the hoop again, didn’t look up. “How fortunate for me, then, that I spoke not a word. True, I left a door open in my own home. Dr. Bones, being an investigator, investigated. You and Ethan were overheard, which is terribly unfortunate, but hardly criminal. Dr. Bones never questioned me afterward or acknowledged what happened in any way. But I was pleased to see him smile again, and stop lurching about like he wanted to hit something.”
“You violated the spirit of the law.”
“Did I? Good heavens. When the government starts hanging ladies of a certain age for violating the spirit of this or that, let me know. In the meantime, I’m quite pleased with how it all turned out. You were between Scylla and Charybdis. How could I sit by and watch as your future happiness was needlessly destroyed?”
“But it’s not that simple,” Juliet cried. The oldest dog lifted her head and whined.
“Oh, do be quiet, Florence. Talk about a dog’s life. I should be so lucky, prone in front of a roaring fire, with nothing to do but luxuriate in the moment.” Juliet sighed. “There I was, on the brink of freedom. Now I’m stuck acting the part of Ethan’s wife for who knows how long. Ethan’s faithful wife. Ben would have divorced Penny for adultery if she hadn’t died first. The fact I’m still married is something he couldn’t possibly overlook.” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this with my mother.”
“Perhaps it’s time you stopped thinking of me only as your mother,” Lady Victoria said mildly. “There’s so much we could share. But not if you cling to the role of a child.”
“Are you saying… do you mean…?”
“I mean, things that are meant to happen will find a way, no matter what,” Lady Victoria said. “Believe that, my darling, if you believe nothing else.”
Chapter 5
Ben arrived at Belsham Manor just after breakfast. It was shaping up to be another gray day, bracingly cold, with a line of ragged clouds on the horizon. The morning air was clean and sweet, every brea
th like a draught of tonic. Sometimes when he took a big risk, he rushed toward it headlong, unsure of himself but carried along by pure speed, which made turning back impossible. Today was different. Today he was sure of himself—not of how it would all play out, of course, but of what he was risking, and why.
“Good morning,” Ben called as the door opened and Lady Juliet emerged. Her smart black coat was buttoned up to her chin; her cloche was pulled low over her ears.
“Good morning to you,” Ethan Bolivar said, appearing behind her. Tall and striking, he was still in his pajamas, dressing gown, and slippers. Famous for sleeping late, he’d apparently made a special effort to see her off. “You’ll see her safely back before dark, I trust?”
“Ignore him,” Lady Juliet commanded, hurrying down the marble steps without a backward glance. “Responding to his delusions will only reinforce them.”
“She’s in a vicious mood,” Ethan said, grinning. “There’s a café near Terulefoot that serves pie. I suggest you kip there if you want a pleasant journey.” Waving, he stepped back inside and closed the door.
“You see what I must endure,” she huffed, throwing herself into the passenger seat of Ben’s Austin Ten. “They say virtue is its own reward, but I think it’s shamelessness that really pays off. I feel like the ant in Aesop’s fable. Except instead of smugly telling the grasshopper off, I’m forced to feed him, share my home with him, and listen to him play violin all winter long. Poorly,” she added, as Ben got behind the wheel. “Why are you smiling?”
“Nothing. Only—it’s quite nice to hear from the real Juliet. After listening to you play the dutiful wife for what felt like an eternity.”
“Oh. Well. Yes. You see….”
“I know,” he said.
“Mother told me you did. Just last night,” she said, sounding like she might cry. “You can’t imagine how desperately I’ve wanted to talk to you about it. I suppose here, in the car—”
“Let’s not,” he cut across her gently. “I won’t have you breaking your oath on my account. I’m proud of you, if I’m being honest. You’ve convinced everyone that you and Ethan have truly reconciled. You even convinced me, for a little while.”
She still looked close to tears, which wasn’t remotely how Ben wanted the day to go. Time to change the subject.
“There’s a woolen blanket in the back if you’re cold,” he said, starting the engine. “Mornings like these, I wish I had my dad’s gas heater for the floorboards. It was bloody dangerous, but it kept our feet toasty.”
“I’m fine. As navigator and first officer, as it were, of this expedition,” she said, gaining confidence as she gave herself a promotion, “I prefer a little cold to keep my wits sharpened.” Opening his glove box, she rummaged around, coming out with a map.
“Put that away. I know how to get to Plymouth.”
“Yes, but can you find that café near Terulefoot? I think not. Ethan is wrong about a great many things, but his advice about pie was spot-on.” She shook out the accordion-folded map, which flapped into his sightline. He batted it aside.
“Navigator? I seem to recall a certain incident when you promised to direct me to Truro. We ended up on a narrow lane, boxed in by some especially belligerent sheep.”
“That was down to you. You drive like a Londoner,” Lady Juliet said. “Sheep can tell. They can look into a motorist’s eye and winkle out the slightest trepidation.”
The distance from Birdswing to Terulefoot melted away as the sun climbed and the sky went from gray to blue. Ben was surprised by how much he had to say, the sheer volume of conversation he’d apparently suppressed. At the café, he bought them each a slice of lattice-topped apple pie, hot out of the oven. They washed down the pie with glasses of milk.
“When it’s time for lunch, it will be my treat,” Lady Juliet said. They sat by the café’s window, which offered a view of the hills and some black and white cows. “By the way, I have a terrible confession.”
“You plan on ordering another piece of pie?”
“Worse. I didn’t get you a Christmas present. Not because I didn’t want to,” she said. “Only because I wasn’t sure you’d accept it.”
Ben shrugged. “We’re having a day out. We’re having pie. What else could I ask for? Besides, I didn’t get you anything, either. Not per se. But something Mrs. Smith said gave me a notion.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the antique compass.
“Happy Christmas,” he said, placing it in front of her. “Sorry I didn’t wrap it.”
“Oh, my.” Lady Juliet stared at the antique compass. Ben had thoroughly cleaned it, using surgical swabs to get at the tiny bits, then polished it till it shone. He waited for her to smile. She did not.
“I had one just like this as a girl.” Removing the compass from its case, she studied it front and back like a jeweler, minus the loupe.
“I picked it up on impulse,” Ben said. “Made by Dolland of London, I think the man said. The case has seen better days.”
“It’s mine.”
“Yes, of course. Happy Christmas,” he repeated.
“I mean, this is the one I carried everywhere as a girl. When I lost it, I was heartbroken.” Turning it over, she showed him a faint etching. “See there? J.L., for Juliet Linton.”
Ben didn’t know how he’d missed it. What he’d taken for random scratches was, in the mid-morning sun, a child’s wobbly but readable inscription.
“Father used to say I was born holding a map,” she said. “He had a collection. Old ones and new ones. Some bound in books, some framed under glass. He would point at spots where the cartographer had drawn some fantastical beast and tell me, ‘Here be dragons.’ I said I wanted to sail there and see the dragons for myself.” She smiled at the memory. “When I was a bit older, I planned my route to travel the world. First I’d fly to Ecuador. Then I’d sail to the Galapagos islands, Argentina, and Brazil. He was so pleased, he gave me his compass for Christmas. When I was careless and forgot it somewhere, I felt as if I’d forgot him.”
Ben reached across the table and took her hand. Like the rest of her, it was large, strong, and feminine. It was warm, too, like her soft brown eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Where on earth did you find it?”
“Howell’s Nonesuch.”
“Impossible. I went there once a week for ten years, hoping someone had nicked it, then sold it for cash.”
“It’s a long story. Let’s get back on the road, and I’ll tell you.”
Chapter 6
They took a ferry across the River Tamar. The Austin Ten kept the wind off, so they chose not to disembark as they crossed. From inside the car, they could still enjoy the sights: blue sky, choppy water, and seals bobbing along beside the boat. Then they were on the road again, their trip slightly hampered by the lack of signs, many of which had been removed or obscured to foil future invaders.
“Is that Tavistock Road?” Lady Juliet asked, shaking open her map. “I know where we are, but only if you can assure me that is Tavistock Road.”
Despite the odd hiccup, Ben was glad of her help, which successfully guided him to Stonehouse graveyard well before noon. Following the caretaker’s directions, they located the lost-at-sea memorial which listed Jacky Smith among the dead.
“No grave but the sea,” Lady Juliet read. “A sad inscription. But a poetic one, too.” She placed some flowers they’d picked up along the way, then brought out her Brownie camera and took pictures.
“If one turns out well, I’ll frame it for Letty. A keepsake for her nightstand. Now, step closer to the plaque, please. Mind the carnations.”
Ben groaned. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the one who’s improving her home. I’m sure she’d rather have a photo of you.”
“Hush. I can’t abide false modesty,” Lady Juliet said. “Letty adores you. Now smile.”
He did. After she’d taken a few extra snaps for safety, he insisted on putting her through the same treatment. He w
anted a candid photo of her, though he wasn’t sure where he would keep it. His housekeeper, Mrs. Cobblepot, was a former schoolteacher, and like all schoolteachers, was both all-knowing and all-seeing. But he’d clear that hurdle when he got the print.
Afterwards, they climbed back into the Austin and motored to the spot Lady Juliet had suggested they place the mermaid, Bovisands Beach. She’d been there once before, and remembered it as peaceful and meditative, but that had been in summer. Now deserted except for seabirds, it was barren, brown, and rocky. The wind swept along the shingle, battering them mercilessly. Ben kept one hand on his hat; Juliet tied a scarf over her cloche.
“I’m already frozen.” Shivering, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the porcelain mermaid. “Letty asked me to place it where the tide would carry it away, or else drop it into the sea. I thought it would be easy. But the shingle will be softer close to the water, and my shoes are already sopping. Do you think if we put it here, the tide will take it?”
“Yes,” Ben said, basing his answer on where the thickest deposits of seaweed and driftwood lay. “Mind you, I’m a fair bowler, or at least I was. I could chuck it into the water.”
“Do you think that’s entirely proper? Treating Letty’s offering like a cricket ball?”
“There’s a uniquely English question.” He chuckled. “‘It’s all very well proposing to fling a miniature mermaid at Plymouth Sound. But is it done, old boy? Is it done?’”
“Take this,” she said, pressing the mermaid into his hand, “before I tell you where else you can put it.”
Ben passed her his hat. “Careful. Don’t let the wind have it.”
He was close enough to the tide to simply hurl it into the water. But with Lady Juliet watching, he couldn’t resist showing off his run-up, bound, and coil, releasing the little figurine at the top of the arc. It disappeared into the surf. Probably it was destined to work its way into the shingle like a discarded shell. But perhaps it would drift into deeper, darker waters, where mermaids and dragons and resurrected sons live, hidden from human sight.