Ruby Morgan Box Set: Books 6-10

by LJ Rivers

  “Begone,” I said to the shadows. “Leave me alone.”

  They stirred again, then stilled, and warmth crept back under my skin. He had left.

  I closed the album and placed it on the floor next to the box, so I could check out the other contents. There was a manila folder with the words ‘Important but boring’ written in Mum’s immaculate, almost artistic, cursive. Inside were a bunch of papers, most of which conformed to Mum’s assessment. Insurance papers, bank statements and a couple of utility contracts. I might have to take these to a solicitor at some point, but I filed that away for another time.

  I heaved for air as a picture of Dad appeared under a letter confirming Mum’s new mobile phone contract with Vodafone. Dad was looking solemnly at the lens of the photo booth that had snapped the passport photo, which was attached to a letter with a paper clip. The letter itself was from Whippen & Whippen, the legal firm that helped Mum after Dad was killed. I could look at pictures of Dad anytime I wanted, as I had at least a dozen of them on my phone, but this one had an eerie vibe to it. I estimated him at about thirty in the picture, which meant it was taken two years prior to his death.

  Kit purred and rubbed against my thigh.

  “I know, Kit. I’m mourning Mum, but it’s an old photo of Dad that hits me in the feels.”

  He looked at me as if to say he understood. And somehow I knew he did. At least it was nice to imagine so.

  I put the folder on top of the photo album, making a mental note about the name of the legal firm for later. The box was nearly empty, save for a few envelopes that looked almost ancient. The paper was yellow, and there were actual wax seals on them, all broken, but I could still make out the ornamented M. I picked up the envelopes, three in total, and turned them over. The writing was in neat loops, and they were all addressed to Elaine Morgana—with an a at the end. There were postmarks stamped across the Queen’s face, all from Pwllheli in Wales, the town where Auberon and I had jumped on the train when we left Perllanafal in May. The first letter was dated the 18th of August, 2000.

  I hesitated, then opened it and pulled out the single sheet of paper. My shoulders slumped when I saw the Welsh words. I would need a dictionary to read even a single sentence. I skimmed through it, recognising only a few words, like the opening, Annwyl Elaine, and my own name, which was written as Ruby Guinevere all three times it was mentioned. There was a mention of Nimue as well, just above the signature, which was a single word. Mam.

  So, my grandmother had kept in touch with Mum after all? Not frequently, as there were only three letters, with one sent on the 3rd of September, 2002, and the last on the 14th of June, 2012. But their existence alone felt like a huge game-changer.

  I looked at the last two letters, with the same result as the first one. I was mentioned, with both names, several times, and in the last one, Dad’s name appeared twice. I assumed Mum had written to tell her parents about his death. I recognised the word diolch, which I knew meant thank you, as well as llun—picture. Had Mum sent pictures of me?

  The ending was the same as in the first letter. Nimue yn gwylio amdanoch chi a'ch un chi followed by Mam. I wanted to know what it meant, and what else was written in the letters, but that would take time and effort. It could wait. Right now, another matter felt much more pressing. My grandparents deserved to know what had happened to their daughter.

  Abandoning the boxes, I went inside with Kit close on my heels and found paper and a pen in one of the kitchen drawers. I would have phoned them, but from what Charlie had said, they didn’t have phones or even internet in Perllanafal. She had performed her digimagic and found their address, however. I took the Post-it note from the fridge with their address on it and sat down by the kitchen table to write.

  Dear … I bit on the blue shaft of the pen. What would I write? Grandmother and Grandfather? Too personal. Mr and Mrs Morgana? No, too formal. I chose a kind of middle ground.

  Dear Lili Helene and Llewellyn,

  This is your granddaughter, Ruby. I’m writing to you with grave news. Elaine—my mum and your daughter—passed away nearly one week ago after a drowning accident. It took me some time to find you, but Mum said you were good people, and I want you to know that. She missed you, and I imagine you’ve missed her too.

  I’m sorry for your loss.

  Sincerely, Ruby

  I stared at the brief letter. It would have to do. I couldn’t bring myself to go into details about Mum’s death, and I didn’t want to cause any more grief by writing that she had been murdered. Before I could change my mind, I popped the letter into an envelope and headed back outside.

  The cry of a baby sounded from the front of the house. I sped around the corner. Kit yowled and pounced after me.

  Tabitha paced by Willow’s pushchair, rocking the baby in her arms.

  “Tabbie,” I called.

  She wiggled her crooked fingers in a ‘hi’ as she sang. I recognised the language as Welsh, and though I couldn’t discern more than the odd word, it was enthralling. Willow quieted and Tabitha put her back in the pushchair with great care, swaddling her in a pink baby blanket.

  “There ya go, wee bird,” Tabitha crooned. She turned and opened her arms to me. I wrapped mine around her, and she squeezed me tight. “I’s terribly sorry, luv.”

  “Me too.” I sniffled. Yep, the waterworks were back in full force.

  Instead of going inside, we took the pushchair with us to the back patio.

  Tabitha eyed the swing. “I’ve got the new pillowcases for the swing pillows.” She bent down, which wasn’t too far, and retrieved the pillowcases from the basket underneath the pushchair. “Got the pillows?”

  I went to the storage chest, and together we put the new covers on. They were a smoky blue shade with an unobtrusive floral pattern.

  “These are great,” I said.

  “Why, thank you. Your mum picked the fabric.”

  My hands clenched the pillow. “Then they are perfect.”

  “How’s you holding up, my dear?” Tabitha asked while forcefully pushing the pillow into the new casing. It was a close fit.

  “Not well,” I said truthfully, “but hanging in there.”

  “I’s a little surprised not to find you lying in a ball somewhere. Then again, you never were one to quit in the face of adversity. Even as a wee child, you were strong of mind. It’ll serve you well.”

  “I hope so.”

  We zipped the casings shut and placed the pillows on the swing. Tabitha gestured for me to sit, and we took a corner each. Kit nudged at the swing with one paw, then jumped up and placed himself in the middle.

  Tabitha tilted her head at the boxes. “Is there anything we can do to help ease some of the burden put on you?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to sort out what I need to do, but everything reminds me of her. Makes it hard to think straight.”

  “No wonder,” Tabitha said. “Losing both your parents in such tragic manners would have anyone out of sorts. Have you contacted everyone you need to?”

  I brushed my hand over the newly painted armrest. “I think I got it covered. There weren’t that many to notify, apart from you guys, but I did write my grandparents a letter.”

  Tabitha’s mouth fell open. She put two fingers under her chin and demonstratively pushed it back up. Shaking her head, she gave a brief laugh. “Well, now, I’s surprised you found them. Your mum’s told me they’re hard to find.”

  “They were, but Charlie worked her magic.”

  She nodded. “That girl is quite remarkable.”

  “She is that.” I went to fetch the letter. “Would you mind putting this in the outgoing post for me at the sanctuary, assuming you’re headed there next?”

  She accepted the envelope. “Of course, child.”

  I pursed my lips, staring at the Goblin’s face, remembering another one rather like it. She wasn’t strictly pretty, but she was striking in her own way. “Do you know of a Goblin by the name of Mari? Her married name is Woga
n.”

  Tabitha tapped a long fingernail to her cheek. “Can’t say I do. Why do you ask?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing important. It’s just that I met a Goblin a while back who looked suspiciously like you. I thought you might be related.”

  Tabitha sighed, her gaze wandering to the treeline. “I suppose I haven’t told you,” she said, “but I’ve never known my true kin. I’s raised in Berlysh Cae by a mighty nice Goblin family, though they’s not my blood. There’s a lot of Mag children whose families are unknown, and orphan Goblins came to Berlysh Cae. I’s not sure where the orphans were sent when Berlysh Cae was no more.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  She patted my hand. “Think nothing of it. Though, if ya ever see this Mari again, I would very much like you to ask her about me. Who knows, she might be a distant cousin or other kin.”

  “I’ll do that.” I smiled, meaning it.

  “Now, Hugo would like to speak with you as well. Could you stop by the sanctuary tomorrow, perhaps? I know it’s a lot, but we do have patients to take care of, and without Elaine around there are matters to attend to that need your approval.”

  “Sure. I’ll swing by.”

  “All right, luv.” She hopped to her feet and wobbled back to the pushchair. “I’s be on my way then. You give us a ring if you need anything.”

  I watched the Goblin as she went, then eyed the heap of boxes I still had left to sift through. Instead, I got to my feet and went inside to make myself a cup of tea. The boxes could wait.

  Chapter Two

  I wanted to run. Not my usual morning run; I just didn’t have it in me to even consider it, although the weather was perfect. The sun was hiding behind a thin veil of clouds, and the heat the weatherman had promised had yet to kick in. Yesterday I had managed both a morning run and many hours sifting through Mum’s stuff. Today, I just wanted to run away.

  If I started running, however, I feared I wouldn’t stop until I had left Chester behind me for good. There was nothing left for me here but pain. Mum’s words came to me as I closed the gate outside what I had slowly begun thinking of as my house. “I hold on to the good memories. They are so many and so strong that they almost ease the pain.”

  Almost.

  Tears welled in my eyes, and my feet refused to carry me. I had made it fifty yards up the gravel road, somehow convincing myself that I could go to Mum’s sanctuary and talk to Hugo today. He would have to wait until tomorrow. Instead, I went to a tree stump next to the road and sank down on the grass, leaning back on the rough bark.

  Had it been a week already? As the tears streamed down my face, I could still feel Mum’s embrace, the sweet scents of honey and lemon emanating from her hair. We had stood in the kitchen of my flat in Craydon Court, after finishing a wonderful lunch and talking about Dad. It was our tradition on the day of his death. I had more or less accepted that this year would be the first time Mum and I wouldn’t be together on the 6th of June, but then she surprised me by visiting me in London.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the events of that evening when an already sad day in our family turned into a nightmare.

  Hold on to the good memories.

  There were so many of them, but I couldn’t seem to grasp a single one. Ever since I left for London and uni life, it seemed all Mum and I had done was fight. There had been so many secrets, shocking revelations about my past and my heritage, and I had blamed Mum for keeping me in the dark. She had withheld the truth about Dad, Auberon—my birth father—and other information I had somehow learned through other channels. And I had been mad at her for it, not for a second considering her side of it. The only thing on Mum’s mind was my safety, but in my anger and disappointment, I failed to see it from her standpoint.

  It helped that we had talked about all of this eventually, but I still couldn’t shake the pain of having wasted so much time arguing with her. I tried to push the thought away, to find some of the good memories instead.

  But the most recent memory returned, the one that had played repeatedly in my head. All my inner eye could see was Mum’s limp body falling from the top of the London Eye and crashing into the dark, muddy Thames. And my force fields flying above her as I failed to save her.

  The sound of a coughing car engine came from up the road, and I silently thanked it for pulling me out of the nightmare in my head. I wiped the tears from my face as best I could and got to my feet just as the car rounded the bend and came into view. The car was as old as the engine noises had suggested, a classic Ford Anglia from the early sixties. It was mint green, with a white roof and whitewall tyres. Its owner had bought it brand new from the factory, and I’d heard stories about the old car many times.

  Mr Durham, our neighbour to the east, slowed and stopped next to me. “Good morning, Ruby. I’m sorry to hear about Elaine.”

  “Thank you,” I croaked.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you,” I repeated, my voice still only a whisper. I cleared my throat. “I appreciate that, but I think I have it mostly under control.”

  The old farmer nodded. “That’s good, that’s good.” He slapped the car door twice. “I’ve got to get old Duchess a new air filter. She’s not quite herself.”

  I gave myself a mental slap on my forehead. Duchess, of course! I had forgotten about the car being named after old Durham’s love of the Duchess of Kent.

  “She looks just as pretty as ever,” I said, managing a smile.

  “Just between you and me, Ruby, I think she looks even better than old Kathy.” He winked, then seemed to collect himself again, as if he’d been too chipper with me. “Well, I must be going. Take care, and again—if you need anything!”

  “And again, thank you so much. Have a pleasant day.”

  The old Duchess spat and coughed as Mr Durham navigated her down the road. I stood for a while and looked at the cloud of dust from the tyres. There was no wind today, not even the slightest hint, and it took the dust several minutes to settle back on the road again. The gate to my house was still only fifty yards away. I took a step towards it, then another. I stopped.

  Get a grip, Ru!

  I turned and sauntered in the direction of the sanctuary.

  My feet seemed to have regained their will to support me. Normally, they would have brought me to the sanctuary in seven or eight minutes, five if I were in a hurry, but today it took me at least twenty to get there. And when I stepped up to the front entrance, I almost collapsed again.

  The whole front side of the old, refurbished barn was covered in every conceivable colour of the rainbow. It was a mountain of flowers, with cards and ribbons in between. Heaving for air, I stumbled the last few yards to the door and grabbed the handle, hoping it would keep me from falling.

  It didn’t.

  The door opened, and I nosedived over the threshold.

  “Now that’s an entrance,” chuckled Tabitha.

  I got on my knees. “I—I thought it was locked.”

  She came out from behind the desk and reached out. I took her inviting hands, and she helped me up.

  “We’s let up a little on the security since things seem to be better between the Mags and Donnals.” She held her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. “Oh, maybe it’s best I don’t use that word. They’s so easily offended, which is ironic when I looks at how they’ve treated Mags. But enough about those who have no magic. How’s you feeling today?”

  “The—the flowers,” I began, but my voice quit on me.

  “I understand, luv. Come here.”

  Tabitha’s embrace was nothing like Mum’s, and not only because the smells were different. Tabitha was a foot and a half shorter than Mum had been, and even I, with my five-foot-two frame, felt tall as I bent to hug her.

  “I miss her so much,” I whispered into her bushy, silvery-white hair.

  “I know, dear. We all do.”

  We stood for a while, just holding
each other, rocking gently from side to side. When we finally let go, she cupped my face in her hands.

  “Are you up for a chat with Hugo? I just came in not half a minute before you. The old geezer forgot his lunch again, for the third time this week. Was I thirty years younger, I might suspect he did it just to have me bring it, but I fear it’s not quite so romantic.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “Come on, child.” Tabitha took my arm, leading me behind the desk where Willow’s pushchair was parked. “She’ll be happy to see you.”

  A tiny squeal ensued from the pushchair.

  “There’s my Willow.” I leaned down to greet her. “Is there any situation you can’t bring joy to?”

  The Phoenix, who was now just over four months old—in this life—reached her tiny hands towards me. I let her grab onto one of my fingers, and she squeezed it tightly. She smiled at me, a tiny, white dot showing in the middle of her otherwise toothless mouth.

  “Is she teething already?” I asked.

  “Ay,” Tabitha replied. “The little’un has no patience at all. Poor thing was crying last night, as that tooth was working its way out, but I’s got me some remedies from my back garden to ease the pain.”

  “Cloves?”

  Tabitha nodded approvingly. “You remembered. Also, if you mix in some marigold leaves, the yellow ones that is, it works like a charm.”

  Willow made some babbling noises.

  “She seems to agree.” I leaned further down to kiss her forehead.