by A. W. Exley
“I thank you anyway. Now, shall we flush out your quarry?” He pointed to their right at the ornate entrance to the park.
A cast iron archway joined two tall brick pillars. A yellow rose scrambled over the brick and up the arch to entwine with the metal blooms. Before them stretched a tree-lined avenue. Branches interlaced and created sufficient shade for a lady to stroll without risking the sun on her delicate complexion.
“Let us hope Ocram is easy to spot with his gathering of female admirers,” Grayson said as they joined other couples and families enjoying the park and gardens.
From the avenue of elms, they took a turn around a large pond where children sailed tiny boats. Lettie gazed longingly at the shallow water. On any other day she would have removed her shoes and waded out with the children. She could touch her element to create waves and eddies to propel their boats faster.
She created one whirlpool to spin the ships around and fling them the other way. Children squealed in delight at the unexpected obstacle in their race. Lettie smiled and composed herself as she formulated her approach. Her flirting skills were rusty and her conversation half a century out of date, but she had to try. For Dawn and for Julian.
They were admiring the herbaceous borders when they found Byron Ocram with not two walking partners, but four. The peacock with his harem of peahens.
“He appears to attract the ladies like bees to honey,” Grayson said as they advanced upon the other party.
Byron wore a pale linen suit with a straw boater and a vibrant blue tie the same colour as the sky. The women appeared to be doting on his every word and vying for his attention. One woman elbowed another out of the way to move a step closer to the sylph.
“Samuel says he smells of bacon and that is what makes the women hungry for him. Why don’t you hang back and I will go on ahead?” Lettie let go of Grayson’s arm and walked on alone. She knew how to attract the Soarer’s eye, and she had one advantage over the women around him—she was an Elemental with a born fluidity to each step she took.
She touched her undine form and let water guide each foot. She didn’t walk, she flowed past him with a sway to her hips. As she drew level, she cast him one sidelong look from under lowered lashes, then flicked open her parasol to shield her face from view.
Lettie counted under her breath as she continued straight ahead. It wouldn’t do to spoil the effect by looking back to see if he noticed. Byron was at her side before she counted to five. He took her gloved hand and slid it along his forearm.
“Since I have abandoned my lovely companions to answer your call, you at least owe me your name,” he said. His voice was lighter than Grayson’s, both in tone and manner, as though he were a man who, like his family, soared through life without any worry or concern.
“Letitia Day, but everyone calls me Lettie.” They entered a shady avenue with trees in clusters that created hiding places where a bold beau could steal a kiss away from a chaperone’s notice.
Byron pulled her to one side. “It has been years since I spied a new Elemental. Do tell me you are at the seaside in search of mischief.”
She took her time shutting her parasol. Then she winked at him. “I solemnly promise that I am up to no good.”
His lush, full lips pulled back to reveal perfect white teeth. His clear blue eyes danced with mirth. “How delicious. I think you and I should be friends. You were on the beach yesterday in Whiterock. Was that your husband hovering over you?”
“My brother, actually. We are new to the area. Grayson is a doctor and we have just found a cottage for him to use as a practice.” She wondered if Byron’s eyes reflected the moods of the sky, just like gargoyles had grey eyes in the hues of stone.
“Ah, that explains his attentiveness. What a shame you are not married. Brothers seem far more protective of sisters than husbands are of wives.” He took her hand in his and raised her knuckles to his lips.
Lettie was grateful for the soft cotton gloves that prevented his lips from tasting her skin. She had thought being this close to him would be something to endure. A torment that would bring on a pounding headache or make her teeth hurt. But he didn’t grate on her senses as she expected, nor was he unpleasant to be around. His resonance buzzed along her skin more as a tingle than jarring pain. He was entirely tolerable, and that set off a warning in her head.
“Are your admirers wives or sisters?” The women hadn’t followed. As though they were a pack of dogs told to stay, they remained by the flowering beds.
“Wives. I find they have fewer complications.” His upper lip curled as though he smelled something horrid and he dropped her hand.
“You’re an undine,” he hissed.
“And you’re a sylph,” she threw back. She had lapped up his attention and the keen interest in his eyes, when she should have been disgusted to have a sylph touch her. It confused her that she wasn’t revolted by him.
He narrowed his gaze and his features hardened. “What pathetic Warder trickery is this? Did you think to lure me into a trap?”
Lettie bit down on her tongue to stop from shouting that Soarers were the ones who sprang the trap on her and Julian. She steeled herself. Only through strength would she achieve her goal. “Are you so threatened by one woman? Would you like to steal my parasol and use it to fly away from here?”
He snorted. Then he leaned back against a tree trunk and crossed his arms. He regarded her from behind half-lidded, wary eyes. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with other Warders?”
Lettie laughed and toyed with the handle of her parasol. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the only other Warder in County Durham is old Samuel Thorne. Quite apart from the fact that he is my uncle, I prefer my men a few centuries younger and far more spirited.”
His face lightened again as he grinned. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you sought me out. I have heard the gnomes can’t satisfy a woman, even one as liquid as you.”
He really did have an insufferable ego. He would have to taste like bacon, not just smell like it, to ever entice her. “Are you quite finished insulting me, or do you have a little more?”
“Finished? My dear watery tart, I could go all day.” He pushed off the tree trunk and moved closer, as though he would share a confidence with her, and whispered in a low tone, “Indeed, you could feel the lash of my tongue all night long.”
A shiver ran down her spine. He was teasing her in rather uncouth terms. Now she needed to parry quickly or he’d think her dim-witted. “You look the sort who would prefer a woman to use her tongue on you.”
He hummed in the back of his throat, agreeing with her. “I can guarantee you’d have your mouth full.”
“Lettie!” Grayson called out sharply. “You are making a display of yourself being alone with a strange man.”
Relief shot through Lettie as Grayson interrupted their tête-à-tête. His appearance also saved her from finding another retort. For some reason, words weren’t rushing to her tongue, as she was consumed by images of rolling something else around in her mouth. She grinned at Byron. “There, you are saved from imminent danger. My brother thinks my behaviour is unseemly.”
Byron took her hand, drew her closer to him, and kissed her knuckles. “I prefer unseemly. I have decided I will see you again. I find you intriguing and want to know more about you.”
“I am sorry, sir, my sister struggles with polite manners. She has been too long secluded in the country.” Grayson reached her side and snatched her hand from the Soarer.
“Tomorrow afternoon, Miss Day. I believe I shall take you for a ride and show you how much of this county my family owns.” His gaze flicked over Grayson as though he weren’t even present. Or worse, like a servant who should serve but not be seen. “I only ask that you meet me on the roadside. For obvious reasons, I’ll not set foot on your uncle’s property. Two o’clock—and do be punctual.” He touched the brim of his boater and then walked away.
Grayson waited until the sylph was a few strides a
way before muttering, “What was going on? I became worried when he pulled you behind the oak.”
Lettie followed Byron’s retreating form. His gaggle of women rushed to greet him as though he’d returned from war. “He recognised me for an undine and I called him a sylph. Elementals don’t loudly decry each other in public; it wouldn’t do to have people realising we exist.”
Grayson stiffened. “I’m not sure Jasper would approve of you going for a drive with that man.”
“Jasper knew I was to play spy. Did you know that subterfuge and politics is referred to as the Great Game? For that is what we play, a game. We are cast as Britain and they are Russia.” Lettie had more important things to worry about. With only one new day dress, what on Earth would she wear tomorrow?
9
Samuel didn’t just have a flock of ravens who were excellent watchers, he also had a network of gossips. When Lettie, Grayson, and Marjory arrived at the cottage the next morning, they found a steady trickle of people flowing through the doorway. And all before the sign was erected at the bottom of the path.
It seemed anyone in the village who had nothing better to do stuck their nose in through the door. One elderly lady turned up with a basket of knitting and claimed a corner as her own. After so long in isolation, Lettie delighted in the range of people and lives that now flowed around her. If you were of a ghoulish inclination, what better place to hear the village gossip than at the doctor’s cottage? Those present would be first to hear who was sick or injured.
The apothecary delivered the medical supplies in a large crate, and Grayson insisted on placing everything on a shelf himself. Lettie glanced in the box and was glad there didn’t appear to be any jars of eyeballs. Soon the bookcase in his consulting room was stocked with clean bandages, small containers with contents that rattled or sloshed, needles, spools of thread, and an assortment of liquids and pills in bottles and packets.
Marjory was in her element with people to care for and fuss over. Villagers sat in the waiting room as she fired off questions to determine what ailed them and if it were something simple she could deal with, or if they required a consultation with the doctor.
The itch in Lettie’s mind to have a purpose and be useful was finally scratched. She became Marjory’s pupil instead of her patient, soaking up the nurse’s instructions and lessons. Lettie started off making cups of tea and washing the occasional grazed knee or elbow of a local child.
While she didn’t have her mother Serena’s Meidh touch for soothing upset people, Lettie could still dry tears. She was the calm water when faced with a tempest. Perhaps it was her undine nature that allowed the anxiety of others to wash over her, or it might have been she had spent so many years screaming in the dark that she no longer became upset at the cries of others.
“A pretty face goes a long way to making an ache feel better.” Marjory winked as Lettie hushed a child who screamed as though he were being murdered while Grayson removed a deep splinter from his hand.
The morning passed with a steady trickle of coughs and colds, one colicky baby, and a couple of children with splinters and scrapes—one from falling over and the other from tumbling out of a tree. Lettie had a quiet sense of achievement, not that she had done much. Assisting Grayson, or even just wiping runny noses, made her realise what a huge impact the doctor’s work would have in the community.
They were eating a cold lunch at the worn pine table when the front door banged and a youthful voice called out, “Hello?”
Marjory pushed through the door and voices rose and fell in the hallway. Lettie picked up the dirty plates and carried them over to the sink. The door banged again as Marjory returned with a boy of around ten years old at her heels.
Marjory took the boy by the hand. “The lad needs us to go see his mother. She can’t get out of bed and is feverish but complains of being cold.”
Grayson rose from his seat. “Of course. I’ll fetch my bag. Are you coming, Lettie?”
“I can’t. I have to return to the house and change my clothes before I meet Mr Ocram.” Lettie wrung her hands in a towel as her words tasted dry and woody in her mouth.
Grayson’s face set into hard lines. “Of course it’s more important that you put on a new frock and have a lovely time. You run along. Nurse Hatton and I will tend to the sick woman.” Then he turned on his heel and left.
“He doesn’t mean it, love,” Marjory said before she darted out the door after the doctor.
Lettie finished tidying up and then she locked the back door, placing the key under the mat for when Grayson and Marjory returned. She rode back to the Warder’s house feeling particularly foolish. She would wear a pretty dress and go for a ride in a grand carriage with a handsome man. But she would rather be in a squalid cottage and covered in blood if it meant doing something productive rather than ornamental. Her time with Byron Ocram might yield information of use, yet it seemed a frivolous waste of the afternoon compared to the bloody battles Grayson fought.
She handed the horse over to the stable lad, still lost in swirling thoughts.
“How goes the first day?” Samuel asked as she walked into the parlour.
“Busy. Grayson and Marjory have gone to tend a sick woman, and I must change before Byron arrives.” She pulled off her gloves and tucked them inside her hat.
Samuel looked up from his newspaper. “I won’t be around for that, but I’ll send a raven to watch from a discreet distance, just in case you need me.”
Upstairs in her room, Lettie changed into her travelling outfit with its row of angled buttons down the front. She rolled a short veil down from the brim of her hat and pulled it across her eyes. At five minutes to two and with parasol in hand, she walked to the end of the driveway. At precisely two p.m., a gleaming, black open carriage, pulled by a matched pair of chestnuts with coats that blazed like fire, trotted down the road.
The driver jumped down and helped Lettie up into the carriage while Byron remained seated. Today he wore a frock coat of a deep navy with pale grey trousers. The points of a silvery blue waistcoat contrasted with his jacket. A top hat sat upon his blond head, and he leaned gloved hands on the silver knob of a walking cane.
“Ready for a little adventure?” He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his cold eyes.
Lettie managed a polite smile of her own. “The last time someone asked me that, I believe I ended up running from a mob of angry French revolutionaries.”
“I don’t have anything that invigorating planned, apart from some brisk conversation.” He waved to the driver and the horses trotted on.
Lettie fussed with her parasol as she let her body adjust to his slightly discordant presence. She opened the striped umbrella and placed it over her shoulder. “Do you plan to take me somewhere secluded and interrogate me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Something like that. I will admit to being curious, and I wanted to find out more about you without my family interjecting.”
She drew a deep breath as her stomach settled. Being around him was like the first few moments on a ship, when you waited for your sea legs to take over and for your stomach to decide if it was going to revolt or not. “By all means, ask away. I assume it will be a reciprocal arrangement where we swap question for question?”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “No. I rather think I have the upper hand, don’t you?”
All Soarers had the upper hand, yet they didn’t see that would be their downfall. The pendulum had swung too far in their favour and Nature would correct the imbalance.
Lettie stared at the passing fields as she gathered her thoughts. To discover any information about Verity Uxbridge and the Esmeralda, she would have to play the game by Byron’s rules. “I am no threat to you, and there is nothing for you to gain by causing me harm.”
He arched one golden eyebrow as he regarded her with a steady blue gaze. “I don’t need anything to gain if I simply derive pleasure from the act of harming you.”
Lettie twirled the parasol and kept her fa
ce impassive. Soarers believed themselves superior, and all others who walked the Earth were something lesser, merely existing for their entertainment. Not a trait confined to Soarers, as she had learned after many decades. Mortal men were just as capable of great cruelty as well as great kindness.
“Then ask your questions and let us see how deep your fascination runs.”
Byron tapped one finger on the knob of his cane. “We are little bothered by your kind here. The old gnome has been the only Warder in this region ever since my family settled here forty years ago. Which makes me wonder, why did you leave your Warder family to come here, into our territory?”
He cocked his head to one side and with his curious blue eyes, he reminded her of an inquisitive bird. No, a predatory creature of the air. Possibly a vulture that stared at its dinner moments before removing its liver with a sharp beak.
In the week before her departure, Lettie had worked with Jasper to construct a history that the Soarers would believe. Now was the moment to test it. “I never had a Warder family. My father and I were alone for a long time. He never spoke about why he split from his clan. All I know is my mother died, and he didn’t want anything else to do with their world. He left and settled in York, where he raised me as a human. Then some thirty years ago, he formed an infatuation for our neighbour. He married her, and she presented him with my very human brother, the doctor.”
Byron’s pale eyebrows arched and the gaze became more curious and predatory. “An undine raised as a human? I have never heard of such a thing. You poor unfortunate. What must the other children have thought of you?”
“That I was a very good swimmer and most difficult to drown no matter how long they held my head under.” Lettie needed a story to explain her isolation, and a father who split with the Warders seemed the best line. It was not unknown for Elementals to live apart from others of their kind, although rare. Warder families tended to stick together through thick and thin.
Byron laughed. “They tried to drown an undine? They may as well have tried throwing a sylph off a cliff.”