by A. W. Exley
“Will we ever know for sure?” Long lives bred many enemies. Perhaps others waited for a chance to strike and settle old scores.
“I am trying to find old accounts of events and the names of those executed and disgraced. Then we can trace Ava’s family back to Tudor times. It is slow work searching the old diaries, but it will give Dawn and me something to do while you are away.”
Lettie leaned into her brother. She would miss him, but she also longed for the opportunity to be away from Alysblud long enough to become homesick. Birds sang high above, and a watcher kept apace with the gig below as it skimmed the tree tops. Lettie tried to discover the songbirds in the dense canopy above, when a chill shot down her spine.
She grabbed Jasper’s arm. “Here! You must stop here.”
The wheels of the gig had barely stopped rolling when Lettie picked up her skirts and jumped to the ground. She strode to the middle of the road and turned a slow circle.
“The trees are larger and thicker, but this is the same spot,” she whispered.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. This was where it had happened. The hands of time raced backwards to that long ago morning. A shallow depression remained at the edge of the road where the Soarers had created a detonation to scare their horses. Dirt and leaves filled the dip over the seasons, only to be washed clean with each winter’s rain.
Julian had fallen from his horse, but she didn’t. Then her entire world changed.
Jasper leapt down and patted the horse as he joined her. “Are you sure?”
She crossed the road and peered at the trees, examining each one. Then she placed her hand on one trunk. Its bark was darker than the others, almost black in patches. “Here is all that remains of a scorch mark made by the salamander.”
She had been pushed to the ground here, the Soarer intent on rape while the other two murdered her brother. She crouched down and flashes of memory stabbed at her mind. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his rough, scaly hands on her flesh. A cloying, sweet odour rose from hot, damp earth, reminding her of when the gardeners turned the compost. Steam had soaked her dress and undergarments. She shook her head to dispel the vision and stood.
Following her line of sight, she walked back across the road. “This is where he died. What happened when you found us? I cannot remember.”
All she remembered was intense pain, as though her heart had been torn from her body. There had been the scrape of gravel on her palms as she crawled across the road to hold what was left of Julian. Then she had surrendered to grief and only dimly recalled people moving her once dark had fallen. Lanterns were fireflies in her memory, flitting back and forth in the sudden dark that descended over her.
“I killed the one holding you, but doing so gave the sylph time to fly away with the Meidh. You crawled to Julian and cradled him while I sent the raven to fetch Hector. When he arrived, there was a length of canvas in the back of the cart. We laid the sheet out and—” His voice choked off as they both relived that day.
“We searched for all his pieces,” Lettie finished the sentence.
She closed her eyes, and a door that had remained shut for forty years prised itself open. She had refused to budge until they found all of him. She’d scrambled on her hands and knees, sifting through dirt and leaves for the shattered frozen chunks. She had imagined they could glue him back together like a destroyed china vase, if only they had every single tiny piece.
“It was full dark before we could persuade you to return to the estate. Your dress was torn and tattered, your palms and legs bloody.” Jasper wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him.
Lettie laid her head against her brother’s chest and let his comfort seep into her body. If they had missed any pieces of Julian, they would have long ago decomposed and returned to Gaia.
“The Hamiltons will think we are weak because in all these years we have never struck back against them. But that will be their downfall.” Vengeance was a cold flame kept alive in her gut.
Jasper stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “Our time will come, and Gaia will help us redress the balance. We need to learn more about Dawn first. I have a feeling in my bones that her mother’s past may yet provide something of relevance to our fight.”
Lettie bundled up her grief and placed it back in the room in her mind. She gently closed the door and managed a weak smile when she raised her face. “Let’s carry on. I long to see the village.”
Jasper smiled. “You’ll find it little changed. Time passes us by out here.”
They trotted past the railway station which, despite Jasper’s claims, was new. It had been under construction when Lettie’s long confinement began. Railways had only begun to criss-cross England in the 1830s.
The cemetery sat on the edge of the village. While they didn’t have a Christian priest in residence, Alysblud still had a tiny, white-painted church with a steeple and bell. It gave the community a place to gather and either celebrate or mourn the events that marked their lives.
Jasper had led the service for his brother, the first member of the Seton family to ever be interred. Lettie had vague memories of the funeral and the shocked faces of the congregation. To see a Lord Warder fall was a rare and sad occurrence.
They left the horse and gig standing by the low white fence encircling the cemetery. Brother and sister walked up the wide path. The grass around the rows of graves was cropped short, thanks to the sheep that grazed the lawn on a regular basis. Someone tended the headstones and ensured they were kept scrubbed clean of lichen. The names and inscriptions remained visible, stretching back to the establishment of the village by Lettie’s parents in Tudor times.
Once they neared the boundary of trees, they struck off along the back row. In the very centre, Julian had an ordinary grave much like the villagers. A grand mausoleum would stop his body from returning to Gaia. In a wooden coffin buried in the ground’s embrace, the earth Elemental returned to his origins.
Only his gravestone, slightly larger than those around it, signalled his different position in life to those who slumbered around him. A gargoyle sat on one corner, its clawed feet curled around the edge and its wings spread over its master. Its granite eyes would keep watch forever, or until time wore them from their stone sockets.
Julian, second Earl of Seton
Beloved brother of Jasper and Lettie
Taken from us suddenly 1840
They put no date of birth, only the year he left them. If someone from outside the village came nosing around, it wouldn’t do to have them scratching their heads over his chronological age.
Lettie laid the bunch of wildflowers in front of the tombstone. The vivid yellows and pinks were a sharp contrast to the dull grey granite. She rested one hand on the gargoyle’s head and spent a few silent moments remembering her brother. She thought of happier times, before Ava, when the three of them didn’t seem to have a care in the world. The three explorers they called themselves, as they scoured Europe in search of adventure.
At length she opened her eyes and blinked back the tears. “I know you were never meant to be earl, but you have protected this family and village for so long against Ava. You deserve Dawn.”
Jasper silently reached out for his sister’s hand and squeezed her fingers.
At last Lettie could free her mind to think of the future. “When do you intend to propose to her?”
He huffed a quiet laugh as they walked back to the gig. “I thought to wait. Dawn is still growing accustomed to our world, and I don’t want to overwhelm her.”
Lettie snorted. “Typical man. Give her a sign of commitment that is familiar to her. A ring means as much to ordinary people as the Cor-vitis tattoo does to us. Anyway, a wedding will take months to plan. That will allow her plenty of time to change her mind.”
The next day, Lettie and Dawn were in the rose garden contemplating the strangled fountain. With Ava gone, the thick black vines covering much of the estate were withering and coll
apsing under their weight. That created a new problem as many areas became unsafe with the risk of a sudden collapse in the trees and hedges.
As the smaller vines and netting that covered the rose garden shrivelled and dried out, they became easier to snap and remove. The sharp thorns remained a danger, and the two women worked slowly to clear the fountain. Neither of them wanted to risk being infected a second time by the poisonous barbs.
“Do you think you will be able to get this working again?” Dawn pointed to the pipe in the centre of the square pillar that they laboured to reveal. The men had left them a cart to pile the woody growth into, and it would be hauled away and added to their massive bonfire in a cleared paddock. Guy Fawkes this year would be truly spectacular.
“Oh yes, it just needs cleaning out.” Lettie yearned to bring water back into the garden with fountains, rills, and reflecting ponds. Ava had let all the fountains and ponds dry up, such was her hatred for water.
Lettie looked up as a raven fluttered to the top of a tree. Its head cocked to one side as it stared at the women below.
“We are being watched,” she murmured.
“Or more likely we are needed back at the house.” Dawn glanced up at the bird, which tucked its wings back against its large body and gave a single cry.
The crunch of gravel preceded Hector arriving in the rose garden moments later. He took off his cap and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m getting too old to be running after you, Lady Lettie.”
No one called her Lady Letitia, except for strangers who didn’t know the family and Dr Day, who became flustered if she suggested a more relaxed form of address between them. Everyone in the village and estate called her Lady Lettie, as though she were still in leading strings.
“I take it we are being summoned?” She shot a look to Dawn. The other woman had been correct in her assessment of the bird’s presence.
Hector put the cloth hat back on his bald head. “The earl said to tell you there is a visitor to see both you and Miss Dawn.”
“A visitor? Who?” Lettie didn’t know anyone who would call upon the family.
Hector grinned. “You’ll have to come and see.”
“I could have you flogged for impertinence, you know.” Lettie pulled off the thick leather gloves and dropped them on the stone edge of the pond.
The grin widened to show his missing two front teeth. “If you do, will Nurse Hatton tend my wounds afterwards?”
Lettie and Dawn laughed. Sly old dog. He needed to make an honest woman of Hatton. Two weddings would be as easy to plan as one.
At the house, Hector led them across the hall to the formal parlour where the family entertained their rare visitors. The walls were a deep blue and the ornate ceiling cornice work was painted a light cream for contrast. The blue-and-white floral pattern on the upholstery reminded Lettie of oriental chinaware. The whitewashed wooden floors were covered in numerous large rugs in shades of blue.
The entire room reminded her of the ocean, but she much preferred this one since it never suffered rough weather. The decor soothed Lettie, but many people found it cold.
Jasper and a woman stood in the centre of the room. Their visitor appeared middle-aged, short but slender. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun at her nape. Light danced in her brown eyes; here was a woman who laughed often.
“Ah, here they are. Lettie, Dawn, allow me to introduce Mrs Moreau. She is our local seamstress, and I told her you were both in need of new wardrobes.”
Mrs Moreau dropped a brief curtsey that made Lettie uncomfortable. Then she stepped aside to reveal a large chest crammed with magazines, books of swatches, and lengths of ribbon.
Lettie forgot her momentary discomfort and gazed into the treasure trove laid out before them. The riotous colours inside resembled a wildflower meadow contained by a trunk.
Mrs Moreau beamed. “We may be far from London, but I have fashion magazines regularly sent to me from family in France.”
“I’ll leave you ladies to it. Order whatever you need.” Jasper kissed Dawn’s cheek on his way past and closed the door behind him.
“Where would you like to start?” Mrs Moreau asked.
Dawn stepped forward. “Lettie’s need is more pressing than mine. She is to take a journey soon and requires a travelling outfit. And perhaps something lighter for walking by the seaside?”
“Oh, the ocean.” Mrs Moreau’s hand went to her breast. “A striped cotton in blue and white would be dashing. A shorter length perhaps, skimming the ankle, and a small bustle just for effect.”
Lettie could never resist an opportunity for a new dress. “Very well, I shall go first, but only if, after seeing to my travelling needs, we will discuss your trousseau.”
Mrs Moreau gasped and her eyes widened. “A trousseau! It has been so long since I had that privilege. Oh, will I have time to order silks and lace from Paris?”
“Jasper has not proposed yet,” Dawn said as she peered into the trunk and picked up a roll of green ribbon. A slight blush crept up from under the neckline of her dress.
“I wager he will do so in the next week. Or he had better. I will not leave until I know you two are engaged.” Lettie took the light green from Dawn’s fingers and dropped it back into the box. Then she selected a deeper green, one that reminded her of the depths of a forest where light seldom penetrated, and held it up to her friend’s face. “You suit greens, the colours of nature. Do promise me your wedding dress will have something green about it.”
Dawn laughed and took the ribbon. “If I promise that, can we set to work on deciding on new gowns for you? Mrs Moreau doesn’t have much time for their construction.”
The afternoon passed in a blur of colours and swatches. The women fell on Mrs Moreau’s magazines from Paris, and Lettie caught up on years of fashion. Thankfully, Lettie had missed the large skirts and crinolines that had now fallen out of favour. Slimmer lines, small trains, and bustles were all the rage. They looked entirely useless for climbing trees, but she would endure for the sake of looking fashionable.
Lettie’s undine nature craved to be clothed in the blues, aquas, and teals of water, and soon they had decided on a travelling dress in navy with a tiny silver pinstripe. A promenade dress with a scandalously shorter hem for the beach would be made in a delightful wide stripe of white and clear blue.
Lastly, they ordered an evening gown of shot silk that would shimmer from blue to teal, depending on the light. The bodice would cling to the edge of her shoulders and reveal the swell of her bosom. Lettie thought it a ridiculous extravagance.
“What if you are invited to a ball in Sunderland—would you refuse the opportunity?” Dawn asked with a mischievous wink.
A ball. How divine. To once again float across a dance floor in the arms of a handsome stranger. Yes, she most definitely needed a ball gown.
4
It took more than a week of activity to arrange Lettie’s excursion. The train ran to schedule and wouldn’t be rushed, regardless of her impatience. Jasper wrote to the closest large town for a temporary doctor to care for the villagers while Grayson was absent. Then there were the dress fittings, and when they finally arrived, trunks to be packed. Lettie consulted dusty old books on what was most appropriate for a seaside visit. Parasols, bonnets, and shawls were scattered around her room until it began to resemble an exotic harem.
Finally the day of departure arrived. Lettie donned the travelling dress made by Mrs Moreau. The dark navy and silver pinstripe skirt had a swag front. The bustle was small, to accommodate travelling and sitting, and was decorated with a deep navy fringe that carried on around the back and tumbled down the layers of the bustle. There was no train behind, which would have been inconvenient for walking.
The striped jacket was tightly fitted to her torso with a high collar and long sleeves, and it buttoned on the diagonal across the front. Another bodice, packed in a trunk, would give a different look to the same skirt. To complete her jaunty outfit, a navy co
loured hat with a veil was perched on her head.
Downstairs, Hatton also had a new dress. Hers was in a deep green that suited her faded red hair and fair complexion. The cut was simpler than Lettie’s and suitable for an older matron. While she still resembled Queen Victoria in shape, echoes of the comely young woman remained in her laughing eyes.
A beaming Dawn and quietly smug Jasper joined them. That was when Lettie noticed the ring on Dawn’s left hand that curled around Jasper’s arm. The ring was made of emeralds, all set to form a leaf with a delicate gold edge. The ring had belonged to their mother, and now it graced Dawn’s finger.
Lettie squealed and hugged Dawn.
“When?” she asked, her gaze going from her brother to her friend.
“Last night,” Dawn said, a dreamy look on her face. “I agreed to marry Jasper and will soon be your sister-in-law.”
“I hope the proposal was terribly romantic.” Why did her brother propose at night and not during the day when the rest of the family and estate could watch? Or did he plot it deliberately to be away from prying eyes?
“It most definitely was romantic.” Dawn winked but wouldn’t elaborate on the particulars.
The newly engaged couple were congratulated by the family and staff. Then Lettie extracted promises that she would be fully involved in the wedding plans. She couldn’t remember when the estate last had a grand party, and the wedding would be something for the entire village to celebrate.
Jasper waved everyone toward the door. “Let’s get you moving, or you will miss your train.”
“Ready?” Lettie asked Hatton.
Her former nurse, now her companion, nodded.
Hector drove the cart laden with Lettie’s two trunks and Hatton’s more modest single piece of luggage. The family took a shiny black carriage to the train station. Dr Day waited for them on the platform, a battered suitcase by his feet on one side and his medicine bag on the other. He wore his tweed three-piece suit and a knotted tie around his starched collar. He played with the bowler in his hands.