by A. W. Exley
“Do you think you can handle this lot for an hour?” Grayson asked. “I want to go check on George and change his dressing.”
“Of course.” Lettie helped him pack clean bandages, and she poured off garlic-infused water into a hip flask to clean the stitches.
The clerk lived in the village, and Grayson set off on foot to do his rounds.
Lettie rolled up her sleeves and dealt with minor fevers and childhood bangs that only needed a little attention and a kiss on the cheek to make the injured party feel better. Those who were beyond her rudimentary knowledge, she told to either come back later in the day or to wait for the doctor’s return.
Widow Elder was invaluable for providing names and histories of the patients and the occasional herbal recipe to help alleviate cold symptoms or chesty coughs. Grayson returned by midmorning with a lighter step.
“How is George?” Lettie asked as soon as he dropped his black bag.
“Comfortable. His pain seems manageable and the wound looks clear. He did receive word from Ocram and Lawson that his employment is terminated and not to bother returning.” Grayson’s hand turned into a fist and then he let it fall to his side.
“Oh.” Lettie frowned at her feet. Bad form of Byron to sack the clerk because a storm blew the hull over and crushed his arm. How would the man support his family now?
The doctor spun on his heel, retreated to his consulting room, and slammed the door behind him.
For some reason, it mattered to Lettie what her pretend brother thought of her equally fake suitor. Part of her hoped Byron could be more than a shallow and selfish Soarer. Why didn’t he step up and do something noble? Although he did save George’s life by lifting the hull a few inches to allow them to drag him free. She would be sure to mention that the next time she was alone with Grayson.
The rest of the day passed quietly. There were few patients to tend. Word grew steadily, but those who most needed a doctor often weren’t able to come to him. At midday, a cart pulled by a shaggy pony halted before the front window, and a man jumped down and charged toward the cottage.
“Oh dear, this doesn’t look good.” Lettie opened the door just as the man got there.
“Doctor needs to come quick. My son had a bad fall from his horse and we don’t want to move him.” His words were rushed between breaths and he finished by pointing off to the west.
Lettie turned to find Grayson already there with his bag in his hand, probably having spotted the distraught man out his window. “I’ll go alone. I know you have another engagement this afternoon, and we wouldn’t want to inconvenience Mr Ocram by making you late. Lock up when you leave.”
“I will,” she said, but he didn’t hear. The men were already out the door and down the path. She leaned on the doorjamb as Grayson climbed into the cart, and the worried father cracked the reins. The pony broke into a trot and then a canter, pulling the men toward the injured person.
The cart had disappeared into the distance, but Lettie still stood in the doorway. She had wanted to go. She was about to tell Grayson that Byron Ocram could wait, and that helping with the injured boy was more important. But the doctor never gave her the chance.
The hollow void inside her fractured open wider. She wanted to be more than a pretty figure on a wealthy man’s arm. She wanted to care for people in a way that affected their lives by becoming a nurse like Marjory. Their presence in Whiterock was a charade to gather information, but was there a chance she could turn the fiction into a reality?
Lettie rolled ideas around in her head as she peeled the garlic and dropped the cloves into a pot of boiling water. The least she could do was replenish the special water that staved off infection. While she waited for the water to cool, she changed the sheets used in the examining room and bundled up sheets and bandages into a basket to be washed. When her work was done for the day, she locked the door and decided to leave the horse dozing in the sun and walk back to Samuel’s house.
Her feet kicked up dust from the road and her hand itched. She scratched her palm. As she rubbed the troublesome spot, the skin seemed tight and dry. The storm the other day had sucked all the moisture from the air and left Lettie irritable. She needed to immerse herself in her element. She’d heard stories of undines deprived of access to water who became shrivelled and scaly like salamanders. She couldn’t imagine a worse fate. A bath would suffice, but she longed for a decent rainfall. She could stand outside with her arms outstretched to welcome the tears that fell from Ouranus to wash over Gaia.
The house seemed deserted when she returned, and she assumed Samuel might have gone to visit the recently bereaved family. Lettie went upstairs and stared at her dismally small wardrobe. She only brought a few gowns with her. She had old gowns stored away from her previous visits, but she couldn’t be seen with Byron in something fifty years out of date.
She settled on the skirt of her travelling outfit with the other bodice the seamstress had provided to change the look. Part of her wanted to go into Sunderland and buy new dresses, but that would just reinforce Grayson’s opinion of her as frivolous. How to convince him she was deeper than a shallow puddle?
Lettie walked down the hallway to the bathroom to wash and stared longingly at the tub with its clawed feet, standing under the round stained-glass window. How she wanted to fill it to the brim and disappear beneath the surface, but she didn’t have the time for such an indulgence. Perhaps later today, while everyone was still out, she could change form and absorb the nourishing touch of her element.
Back in her room, she changed into the bodice with a small cap sleeve that sat off her exposed shoulders and a sweetheart neckline that hugged the curve of her breasts. At the last moment, she picked up a silver shawl that matched the stripe in her dress. Then Lettie walked to the end of the road and waited for the shiny carriage to round the corner.
Byron was attired more formally today, perhaps for his visit to the shipyard. His stiff collar was held closed by a deep blue tie with a diamond twinkling in a stickpin. His jacket and waistcoat were a fine wool in charcoal grey, and a top hat of darkest grey sat on his blond head.
“You look very professional today,” she said as the driver helped her into the carriage.
“One must look the part when showing a lovely Elemental around one’s business premises.” He smiled and kissed her hand, his attention lingering on the swell of her bosom. “You look delectable.”
How long had it been since a man looked at her like that, with a hungry gaze that told a woman she was the only thing that could satisfy his craving? Decades. She couldn’t even call to mind the face of the last man she took to her bed. It had been so long since she shared pleasure with another that she couldn’t distinguish between fantasies and memories. She wondered if she could set aside her revulsion at Byron’s Elemental nature and take the man as a lover.
A woman might be able to forget for one night, just to have a long overdue itch scratched. Better to change the subject before she propositioned him and proved she was a vain creature who, in exchange for pleasure, would overlook what his kind did to her brother. Or perhaps she and Byron were a good match, each as selfish as the other.
“Does the business take much of your time?” Jasper often went to the family mill, although he preferred to work on the accounts and invoices in his study.
The driver gave the command to the horses, and the carriage wheels began to turn. Byron stretched his arm out behind her. His body so close that the resonance he emitted made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. “I am there two or three times a week. Most of the day-to-day business is boring and trivial. It is the process at the start and very end that mainly captures my interest.”
“I know nothing about how a ship is created. They look enormous out of the water, like mythical creatures dragged up onto the beach.” If she had been a saltwater undine, she might have sought a life at sea. Her salty brethren often became sailors, fishermen, or pirates to stay close to their beloved ocean.
/> “It will be my pleasure to explain the process to you. Ocram and Lawson has a reputation as the foremost builder of luxury vessels for a very select clientele.” The hand he had resting on the back of the seat dropped lower, and he caressed the curve of her naked shoulder.
She bit her lower lip to fight back tears. She was so desperate that it didn’t matter if the man who caressed her was a sylph. After so long lost and alone, someone was finally touching her.
She closed her eyes, but all she saw was the disapproving frown of Grayson. A headache pressed at the base of her skull. She needed to swim. Once was not enough in the dark cavern with its bottomless pool.
“The hull that fell, was it much damaged by the storm? Grayson is confident that George will heal well.” She opened her eyes, wondering if the sylph felt any remorse for firing the injured man.
His cold blue gaze remained glacial, without any flicker of recognition at George’s name. “My men managed to right the hull. There are cracks in some of the planking, but it can be replaced. There is nothing that will set back construction too much. The clerk was lucky I was able to shift the hull to free him.”
Yet unlucky he was out in the storm trying to call the workers down from the scaffolding. If the men had been allowed to shelter as soon as it made landfall, George would never have been standing beside the hull when it lurched to the side.
“Here we are,” Byron said as the carriage halted outside the large building with its brightly painted sign.
For a change, Byron stepped down and then held out a hand for Lettie, instead of leaving his driver to do it. Was he warming to her, or putting on a chivalrous performance where others could see?
They trod the wooden planking to the entrance, where a man flung the door open and tugged the brim of his cloth hat. “Good day, Mr Ocram.”
Byron ignored the man as though he were part of the woodwork, but Lettie acknowledged his existence with a smile.
They stood in a lush reception area that could have graced any expensive hotel. Palms planted in enormous bright red urns sat in the corners, their deep green fronds reaching over seven feet high. Rugs in tones of orange and red covered polished wooden floors. It made Lettie think of walking across embers.
“Is Lawson a salamander?” The hot colours used to decorate made her think of the fire element. Back in her home, her father had preferred earthy tones for his favourite rooms, while her mother favoured the cool blues and silvers of water.
Byron removed his top hat and tossed it to a sideboard, then he dropped his walking stick into a hollowed out elephant leg. “Yes. Although he stays in Sunderland with his nose buried in the books. Father passed this part of the business over to me some years ago. Lawson has finally decided to hand his side over to his daughter, who has his head for numbers.”
Inside the darkened building, the aroma of fresh wood and oil hit her nostrils. From beyond a large barn slider came the sounds of hammering and the ping of metal.
“What happens in there?” Lettie tried to peer between the cracks in the towering sliders.
“Machining of parts, construction, and also fit out. The vessels are built out in the open in the yard, but beyond is our factory floor that houses all our machines and equipment.”
Mechanical industry arose while Lettie was in her tower, but she still read the newspapers to learn of the contraptions replacing men. This was the first time she had heard their awful clatter, and the reverberations from the mechanical beasts made the floor under her feet shiver.
Byron held out a hand for her. “Come upstairs, I shall show you what we call the board room. It has paintings of all the vessels the family firm has built. I’m sure you’ll find it quite an impressive sight.”
“That would be lovely.” She slipped her hand into his.
The wide staircase swept up the side of the building in a gentle curve. At the top was an open area with panelled doors leading off on three different sides. The orange and red theme continued in the rugs and the wallpaper on the top part of the panelled walls.
Byron walked her to the double doors opposite the stairs and pulled them open.
Inside was the most enormous table Lettie had ever seen outside of Versailles. The dark, gleaming wood emitted a faint aroma of linseed. Arrayed around it were at least twenty high-backed chairs in a rough oval.
“It’s like King Arthur’s round table.” She laid a hand on one chair. It was carved with a sailing ship; the hull touched each side and the sails reached up from the back.
“Bigger, I believe. This is where we meet potential investors, and we also need space for laying out all the drawings. Our ships are rather … large.” His lips pulled to one side in a smug smile.
“Ocram and Lawson built all these ships?” She strolled along the row of paintings and pictures that lined the walls.
He swept an arm around the room. “Yes. Every single one we built over the last forty years.”
Lettie walked around the room, examining each picture. The earlier ones were all paintings, then as time passed, paintings gave way to large black-and-white photos of the vessels. She preferred the paintings; colour and artistic expression gave the images more life. The photos seemed dour and flat, as though the process of capturing the image had removed the life from it.
“You should consider an undine captain for your ships. With a hand on the helm that controls salt water, you would never lose a ship at sea.” She peered at the more recent photographs, searching for the Esmeralda. She found a few cargo steamers among the luxury yachts, but none of that name.
Byron sat a hip on the edge of the table. “We have never lost a vessel.”
“Never?” She frowned at him. “In forty years, Ocram and Lawson have never lost a ship to the tempestuous ocean?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s why we command a higher price than other shipyards. Our vessels are unsinkable.”
Then what had become of the Esmeralda that supposedly went down with the loss of all hands, the valuable cargo, and all the investors’ funds?
Lettie plastered a smile on her face. “To what do you attribute such a remarkable record?”
“Apart from the fact that our vessels are of a superior quality, sylph captains are very handy. They can dampen the worst squalls, and where do you think the wind comes from to fill sails while other vessels are becalmed?” He tapped the side of his nose.
Lettie swallowed her frustration as she hit another dead end in trying to uncover the fate of the Esmeralda. Perhaps ignorance would keep Byron talking. “How exactly does one commission a ship? Does a wealthy man write you a letter asking you to please build him something extravagant?”
He laughed. “No. Most vessels are commissioned by other companies interested in either transporting passengers or cargo. It’s all very boring and involves accountants and lawyers. There are costings to be done and contracts to be drawn up. I prefer to become involved once the designers present their drawings, and we have something visual to work with and alter.”
He pointed to certain vessels and gave her a brief history of their construction and cost. By the time they approached the fourth painting, her headache had begun to pound in her temples and the painted waves seemed to heave like a turbulent ocean.
“Are you quite all right? You don’t appear to be listening any more. Terribly rude of you when I am giving up my time like this.” He pouted, an unattractive expression for such a handsome face.
Lettie managed a tired smile and rested her hand on his arm. “I am sorry. I have a pounding headache, and it is distracting me from your wonderful narrative. I suspect the salt air and the recent storm are too drying for me, and I need to rehydrate with fresh water.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and made a humpf in the back of his throat. “You do look peaky and it would be better if you go rest. We are holding a ball at the mansion in two days’ time, and I need you to be at your most exquisite.”
She tried to swallow, but her mouth had turn
ed dry as a desert. He hadn’t even asked her to attend, just presumed. “Wouldn’t your family object to my presence?”
“I quite enjoy having you at my side.” His attention fell from her face to the swell of her bosom, just like the lad Charlie’s had done. “I will give you safe passage for the night and guarantee that no one will harm you. Bring your brother so he can see how his betters live.”
“I’m sure Grayson will be delighted,” she murmured, all the while thinking how to break the news to the doctor.
13
When Byron deposited Lettie in the driveway, she found the house still cloaked in silence. Grayson was probably with his patient, and Samuel must have gone back to Sunderland to fetch Marjory. With no one else treading the floorboards in the family rooms, it was the perfect opportunity for Lettie to bathe and refresh her senses.
Samuel had modernised the house, and one of the new luxuries was the bathroom with plumbing and hot running water. The round stained-glass window showed a raven perched on a branch, and it cast the bird’s protective shadow over the interior. Lettie’s hand ran down the chain to the plug at the end, which she dropped into the bottom of the bath. Then she turned on the taps, and soon a faint curl of steam rose from the filling tub.
The water temperature didn’t affect her as an undine, but her woman side delighted in a hot bath with scented oil to perfume her skin. She picked up a vial from the vanity and added a few drops of lavender to the water.
While the bath filled, she returned to her room and stripped off her clothing. She let out a sigh as she loosened the laces on her corset and undid the front busk. How she missed the Regency fashion with short stays and simple gowns. Corsets gave her enviable curves, but they did have their limitations. The things women endured to look stylish. She couldn’t wait for the corset fad to be over.
From the wardrobe she pulled a robe with kimono sleeves, made from a vibrant blue silk. She vaguely remembered the garment, left the last time she visited Samuel so many years ago. Thankfully no moths had found the item or dined upon the fabric. She slid the robe over her shoulders, and the silk soothed her dry skin.