Day's Patience

by A. W. Exley

  “Of course. Sarah, would you mind taking Charlotte outside, please? Perhaps you could pick some flowers for the mermaid?” George waved his hand to the back door.

  Charlotte gasped and her face lit up like a sunbeam. “Come on, Momma. We need to pick forget-me-nots and cornflowers, because they are blue like water.”

  Sarah laughed and took the girl’s hand. Lettie took a wooden chair next to Grayson.

  “Sorry about that. She is good friends with Elspeth, and all that girl can talk about is how a mermaid saved her life. I think the village quite likes having a resident mermaid.” George winked at Lettie.

  Warmth washed through Lettie at those words. She was proving her worth. She and Grayson had been welcomed with open arms in their short time in the village. Yet the Ocrams, for all that they possessed a stunning castle perched on the hill, had not built any goodwill in forty years. Who was the wealthier family—the one with fancy possessions or the one who contributed to daily life in the village?

  “I rather think it was the doctor who saved Elspeth. I just pulled her from the well.” Lettie glanced at the sheet of paper on the table with its large and awkward scrawl. It looked like a child learning their letters, but he would improve. He was certainly determined enough. She tapped the sheet of paper. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Before long you will be adding up columns of numbers.”

  “That day can’t come quick enough. I have to provide for my family, and that gives a man the motivation to master a new skill. But is there something I should know, doctor, about my arm that you wish to tell me first?” Worry pulled at George’s brow.

  “Oh, no. I am quite satisfied with how that looks. You might even want to consider a prosthetic soon. You could have one made with a hook or claw to give you back some functionality. I asked for privacy as I have some delicate questions about your former employer.” Grayson snapped his bag closed and laid his hands on the table.

  George huffed. “I don’t owe him any loyalty, not after what he did to me. Excuse me for being so forward, but isn’t he courting Miss Day?”

  Now it was Lettie’s turn to snort. “I don’t think Mr Ocram courts anyone. Women seem to flock to him, and he takes his pick.”

  “We were all wondering what you saw in him. He can be charming when he’s in the right mood, but the lads at the shipyard see a different side to him.” George picked up the pencil and rolled it between his fingers as if to familiarise his hand with the implement.

  “This is not a personal matter, but a business one. I have a question to ask you about a vessel built by Ocram and Lawson, but I require your utmost discretion in the matter,” Grayson said.

  Lettie scanned the room. The seekers who reported to the Soarers were a cunning lot. Weasels and rats could hide in small places, their keen ears catching all whispered secrets.

  The muscles in George’s upper right arm bunched and released as though he squeezed a phantom fist. “I know how to hold my tongue. Ask away and I will help if I can.”

  “Not so long ago there was a vessel called the Esmeralda. Or not a vessel. When I spoke to the older men, they called it the ghost ship. They said they had laboured in the warehouse to construct engines, boilers, and propeller shafts—but no vessel. Then one day Ocram ordered everything to be packed into crates, and horses and carts took all the pieces away.”

  George scratched at his stump with the pencil. “I remember it, quite an unusual situation. I kept asking Mr Ocram when he wanted me to order the supplies to start construction on the hull.”

  “What did he say when you asked?” Lettie leaned closer to hear the clerk’s tale.

  “He would just laugh and say not all vessels sail on the ocean.” Having eased his itch with the pencil, George stuck it behind his ear.

  Grayson arched a questioning eyebrow to Lettie, but she shrugged. It meant nothing to her unless it was to have been a river vessel like the barges used in some areas.

  “We’re looking for any records about the Esmeralda, and especially where the parts went after they left Whiterock. Could you tell me where in the office we would locate the ledgers and invoices?”

  George gave a slow nod. “I can certainly tell you where to look if you want all the invoices for the project. Poor investors on that one were bled dry. As if a box of nails would cost a hundred pounds.”

  “They padded the numbers?” Grayson asked.

  “Stuck in my throat to write them down. I may not be a fancy man, but I’m an honest one. Mr Ocram said I was out of a job if I didn’t mark up the accounts the way he told me to.”

  Lettie closed her eyes and breathed in a sigh. No wonder Mr Uxbridge had to be silenced. The records of the investment would never have stood up to scrutiny by a bookkeeper. Greed was a powerful motivator for murder.

  “Everyone around here is afraid of the Ocrams. We pay them their due since the shipyard puts food on the table for many of us, but there are things we never say too loudly where it might be overheard.” George’s remaining hand played with the edge of the page of practice writing.

  “We heard the whispers at the tavern. The elders said they don’t think he is human, but more devil,” Grayson said.

  George looked around and over his shoulder. “Exactly. We see the things he does, like no matter how hard the wind blows off the North Sea, it never ruffles his clothes or hair.”

  Grayson stroked his moustache. “Perhaps he uses lots of wax in his hair.”

  George shook his head. “The older workers swear he hasn’t aged a day since he started the business with his father forty years ago. Then there is way he doesn’t need the scaffolding to get to the top of a boat. And the three of us all saw him push the hull back off the timbers holding me trapped.”

  Lettie fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt. The villagers knew the Ocrams, Samuel, and she weren’t like them. This was where Elementals were at risk from their neighbours. How you treated others was the difference between dinner being held for you, and those same open arms carrying lit torches and pitchforks to burn your house to the ground. “When you talk quietly among yourselves where no one can hear, do you have any ideas what he is?”

  George swallowed with an audible gulp. “He’s not human, but who are we to know if it’s a demon or some other sort of creature?”

  Grayson laid a hand over Lettie’s and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Yet you still work for him.”

  “We all have families to support. Most of the men in Whiterock would work for the devil himself as long as he paid regularly. Then there is old Samuel Thorne. Everyone jokes he’s an ancient statue. He doesn’t age either, but he’s one of us, so we keep his secret willingly.” George leaned back in his chair, a curious look in his eyes as he regarded Lettie.

  “You are right, George. Samuel and I are not like you, but we mean you no harm and only want to help this community grow. The Ocrams, though, have different motivations. That is why we sought your help and why everything we say here must be kept between us.” Lettie chose her words carefully. While the way the villagers treated Samuel gave her confidence that they accepted him, fear of the unknown could still make rational men do unpredictable things.

  “Samuel Thorne is a part of this community, that he vouches for you both is enough for us. And by your actions, you have done more for this village in a few short weeks than Ocram has in forty years. I’ll do what I can to help you. All I ask is that you remember good men here just want to protect their families.” George met Grayson’s gaze, a serious tone to his voice.

  Grayson held out his left hand. “I promise.”

  The men shook hands as best George could, and Lettie reinforced the vow in her head. They would bring down the Soarer family and ensure the people of Whiterock were unaffected.

  “It would be easier if we drew the office layout so you know where to find everything.” George rose and fetched a fresh sheet of paper. Then he pulled the pencil from behind his ear. He hesitated as the lead point hovered over the page. “Would you mind,
Doctor Day? Your hand would be steadier, and I can tell you where to mark things.”

  “Of course.” Grayson took the pencil.

  “The office is a rectangle …” As George spoke, Grayson drew. “The door is there.” He tapped one side of the rectangle. “My desk here, and this wall here is all the drawers that hold invoices, statements, and correspondence.”

  Soon they had a detailed map of the office and its layout, including which drawer would contain the folder of documents relating to the Esmeralda. “That will give you all the original invoices and my calculations showing the mark-up that Ocram made me add on. Not sure if it’s any help, but I also know where all the parts went.”

  “You know?” Lettie nearly jumped to her feet in excitement. They had thought they would have to break into the office under cover of darkness and rummage around for the ledgers.

  George frowned. “Why of course I know. I had to organise the train and transport.”

  Excitement stole the words from her throat, and Grayson asked the pertinent question. “Where did you send the ghost ship, George?”

  George handed the completed drawing to the doctor. “To Cumberland and a gentleman called Francis Hamilton.”

  Lettie gasped as her world spun. Hamilton. The Soarer family that murdered Julian and would have ended her life if not for Jasper. Impossible.

  “You know him?” George cocked his head at Lettie.

  She put a hand to her temple as memory threatened to swamp her conscious mind. “I know the name. If you will excuse me, I need some fresh air.”

  She fled out the front door to the sunshine and light breeze outside. She closed her eyes and tried to steady the vortex in her mind. Questions with no answers spiralled down into a black void.

  Familiar warm arms wrapped around her, and she rested her head on Grayson’s chest. The steady beat of his heart gave her something to focus on so she could wrest her mind back to the present. “Soarers murdered Dawn’s parents and Julian, and now we find a ghost ship links their deaths.”

  Grayson kissed her forehead. “I fear we have discovered a much larger plot than we ever imagined. Let’s get you back to Samuel’s house, and we can tell Jasper what we have learned.”

  26

  Lettie and Grayson still had to finish their rounds. They paid calls to a few more homes, checking on the sick or injured and ensuring their healing progressed. When they returned to the house, they found Dawn awake and resting on the sofa. Her feet were in Jasper’s lap as both of them read books. Or at least pretended to read, since Lettie noticed Jasper held his upside down.

  Her brother looked up and tossed his book to the side table. “What news?”

  “Hamilton.”

  Lettie had started and discarded the conversation a million times on their way back to the house. How to tell her brother that the same Soarer family was behind both the death of their sibling and Dawn’s parents? When she saw his face, all she could do was utter the name.

  Jasper’s eyes widened and his hand curled around Dawn’s ankles. “Are you sure?”

  “The Esmeralda was built and shipped to Francis Hamilton in Cumberland,” Grayson said as he ran a hand through his tidy hair and messed it up.

  Lettie needed a drink, or perhaps a swim in a vat of gin. How could one family be the cause of such misery to another? That gave rise to a flurry of ideas in her head. Who knew where the original fault rested? Soarers and Warders had fought for thousands of years, with blood feuds carried from generation to generation. The Hamiltons could be repaying a wrong committed by Setons a millennium ago.

  The pendulum swung back and forth. Revenge was eternal and peace was fleeting.

  The book in Dawn’s hand fell to the floor as it slipped from her fingers. A creak and groan filled the room as stone and granite materialised around Jasper and clad his form. The gargoyle lifted his mate’s feet as he rose off the sofa to his full seven feet. Fists curled into boulders, and his wings flexed as he shifted the muscles in his back.

  “They will pay for what they have done to our families.” Jasper’s voice was like a chain dragging over gravel.

  “Ocram came here forty years ago. It is possible that they might have colluded with the Hamiltons all along.” Grayson picked up a decanter of brandy and poured a finger’s width into short, fat glasses.

  “We need to discuss a course of action, not charge off and smash heads,” Dawn said as she placed a hand on Jasper’s granite forearm.

  The gargoyle scowled, but he relaxed his fists. Then piece by piece, he shook off his stone exterior. “I have done nothing for so long, and look how many lives it has cost. Your parents might still be alive if we had struck after Julian was killed.”

  Dawn wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. “You cannot think that way. If my parents still lived, I would still be in Whetstone waiting to die, and I would never have met you. Let’s move forward and try not dwell on things that can never be changed.”

  Lettie took a tumbler from Grayson and raised it to her friend. Dawn was wise and calm, when Lettie was all for riding with Jasper to storm the Ocram mansion. She swallowed the brandy, letting it burn down her gullet and ease the anxiety in her stomach.

  Grayson replaced the empty glass with a full one.

  “To absent friends and family,” he said and clinked his glass against Lettie’s.

  “To family,” Jasper and Dawn echoed.

  Samuel pushed open the door and allowed Marjory to enter first before following. The two paused and surveyed the sad group. “What have we missed?”

  “The Hamiltons were behind the ghost ship and, indirectly, responsible for the deaths of Dawn’s parents.” Jasper pulled his mate tighter as though to protect her from what lay beyond the door.

  Samuel whispered something in an old language. Lettie didn’t understand the words, but she caught the meaning from his tone. He was cursing in his native tongue.

  “No,” Marjory gasped and dropped to the closest chair.

  “George was most helpful and gave us a drawing that shows the layout of the Ocram office and where the records are located.” Grayson pulled the folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it over to Jasper. “He remembered the Esmeralda clearly. It rankled that he was forced to fabricate the numbers to show that the investment suffered a massive loss.”

  “The men also know that Byron Ocram, Samuel, and I are not human like them. He has asked that whatever we do, we keep in mind that good men simply want to provide for their families.” Lettie leaned against Grayson and drew strength from his quiet presence.

  Jasper sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “We would never endanger them, that’s not the Warder way. We just need to consider more carefully what we do.”

  Lettie had an urge to match fire with fire, but that would have dire consequences. “As much as I long to burn the shipyard to the ground, that would only inconvenience Byron but it would be a huge blow to the village.”

  “The shipyard is the main employer in Whiterock. Whatever we do, we need to keep the business intact.” Samuel paced to the window.

  “A business can continue to operate while it has a change of management,” Marjory piped up from her spot.

  “Marjory is right. The shipyard has to be untouched by this, but that doesn’t stop us from removing the current owners. Somehow. I assume you and Samuel have plotted something while I snored away upstairs?” Dawn tilted her head to gaze up at her Lord Warder.

  Jasper dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “The snoring barely rattled the house. But yes, Samuel has formulated something that will destroy the Ocram base in this county.”

  Outside the window, shadows became longer over the landscape as the sun fell. Samuel moved around the room and lit the gas lamps.

  Lettie took a seat and pulled Grayson down next to her. “Are you finally going to let us in on the secret?”

  “Samuel, it is your story to tell.” Jasper sat down and Dawn curled up next to h
im.

  Samuel walked to the middle of the room. “I could do nothing when the Ocrams came here forty years ago. Lord Seton had been murdered, our clan was cast into disarray, and I was alone. Day by day, I watched as they built that monstrosity on the hill.” He paused and looked around, ensuring he had their attention. “Or at least there was nothing visible that I could do. But I laid plans in case the day ever came that we could do something about them.”

  “Oh, Samuel, do tell me you’ve been doing more with your element than digging potatoes and mounding leeks,” Lettie said.

  Jasper smirked, for he knew the other Warder’s secret. He leaned back and the tension eased from his shoulders.

  Samuel grinned. “I have some mighty fine leeks, best in Whiterock. But you are correct, Lady Letitia. I have spent the last forty years quietly manipulating soil and rock.”

  “Where, though? There is nothing visible around here.” Grayson glanced from Lettie to Samuel.

  Lettie bit her lip. She had an idea. Gargoyles didn’t work their element high in the air, after all. Earth, by its very definition, was beneath their feet.

  Samuel waggled his eyebrows. “To bring my plan to fruition, I need your assistance, my lady.”

  Grayson huffed. “Can we please drop the Elemental double talk and illuminate the lesser mortals in the room?”

  Samuel turned and spoke to the doctor. “The Ocram mansion is built on a honeycomb of my own devising. I have spent years quietly excavating under their feet, moving soil and bedrock to create thousands of small, hollow chambers. All I need is a helpful undine to flood the tunnels with water and to knock out the thin walls of dirt that remain. Then the whole thing will just—” He held up his hands and crumbled something between his fingers.

  “They will fall,” Lettie breathed out. Their entire castle would be undermined and disappear as the earth opened up beneath them.

  A dark cloud passed over the window as a flock of starlings all headed for the trees surrounding the house to roost. The larger ravens would already have settled on their favourite perches. Some would watch the house while others slept, always waiting to be summoned by a Warder.