His sons, her cousins, captained ships in the company fleet. Brian, the elder, the first of the line’s steamships. Bradley, a Water Master like her father and his grandfather before him, stayed under sail in one of the company’s big Aberdeen clippers. When Uncle Edward said, “No survivors,” Marie knew he saw his sons’ bones joining his brother’s on the ocean floor.
• • •
“You know I’d stay,” he’d said, “but I leave tomorrow for the Sydney shipyard.”
Marie had smiled and nodded. He wouldn’t have lied about leaving for Sydney, but if the weather allowed, he never stayed. Her mother’s grieving made him too uncomfortable.
She waited on the wide front porch until Uncle Edward’s brougham reached the end of the long drive, then wheeled back into the house and called for Mrs. Barton.
“You want go into the water now?” Mrs. Barton’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so. Look at that sky; it’s going to storm.”
“But it isn’t storming yet.” Marie rolled into her room, the old summer parlor remade for her use when the second floor was denied her, and began unbuttoning her shirtwaist. “If we hurry, we’ll be done and dry and dressed in time for tea.”
“Will we now?” But Marie could hear the smile in the older woman’s voice, and when she raised herself up off the cushion, teeth gritted against the pain, Mrs. Barton tugged skirt and petticoat down off her hips and over her legs, waiting until Marie was seated again before lifting each foot and sliding the fabric free.
“I can’t believe you received your uncle with bare feet. Like a heathen.”
“It’s too hot for shoes and stockings, and he couldn’t see my feet under my skirt. Not that he ever looks.”
“Of course he doesn’t. Men don’t see what they don’t want to see.”
“Men don’t see me, they see the late captain’s poor, crippled daughter.”
Mrs. Barton snorted as she draped the blanket over Marie for the ride down to the shore. “That’s because men are fools.”
The late captain’s poor, crippled daughter could bend society’s rules, but Marie had never asked about Mr. Barton. It seemed safer.
The undines and tidal pool nymphs usually waited for her by the ramp, as if their enthusiastic welcome—though unseen by any eyes other than Marie’s—would encourage Mrs. Barton to faster movement. Today, the bay seemed empty. Although the sky had lowered itself to touch the sea, gray on gray, Marie knew the coming storm wouldn’t have driven her usual companions away. She’d watched them from her window, shrieking with laughter as storm-frothed waves tumbled them about, the smaller nymphs skipping from raindrop to raindrop.
She found them at last gathered at the edge of deep water, where the bay became the sea. A wave crested beyond the breakwater, and Marie thought she saw the graceful dance of a deep-water undine in the curl—the lighter curve of a shoulder, an arm, the long, elegant line of tail.
“Are you ready, then? With the air so warm and heavy, it’ll be colder today.”
“Not possible,” Marie murmured absently, her attention on the water.
As soon as her body slipped below the surface, they sped toward her, the nymphs tangling in her curls, the undines winding around her legs and throwing themselves into her arms.
“Is it the ships?” she asked softly, cuddling and soothing where she could. “Did the deep one come to tell you about the ships? Is that what’s upset you so?”
She was afraid her hour would end before she could understand what they were saying.
They weren’t upset about the ships. Or the loss of life.
It was the serpent . . .
• • •
With her uncle in Sydney, Marie had one other option. Three days after she’d learned about the serpent, Conway, the coachman—Mrs. Conway’s eldest—lifted her into the family’s glossy black clarence as the rising sun painted orange streaks on the sea.
They stopped for tea in Hubbards and again at Upper Tantallon.
“Is it the pain?” Mrs. Barton nodded at Marie’s fingers dancing patterns around her saucer.
Marie blinked, confused. Unless she was in the water, pain of one sort or another was a constant companion. Less as time passed, but . . . Then she remembered the reason for their trip to the city. “No, it just takes so long. To get into the city,” she added when Mrs. Barton frowned.
“Ah.” The frown eased. “Well, I can’t deny it would have been much more convenient had the new train route run along the shore. I hear the tracks go all the way to Truro now.”
It was just short of noon when they finally pulled up in front of the Victorian General Hospital in Halifax. Conway lifted her chair down and then her into it.
“Wait at the livery, Conway. We’ll send a message when we need you. And you”—Marie lifted her hands off the wheels as the chair jerked back—“you may roll yourself about the house all you like, but not here. Here you will behave like the young lady you are.”
Mrs. Barton’s dignity allowed her to push the chair up the broad flagstone ramp, but once in the cool central hall of the new building, she flagged down an orderly.
Marie locked her fingers together in her lap and fought the urge to wrest control away. By the time they reached Dr. Evans’ office, she was about to shake herself out of the chair.
“When you need me, Marie, I’ll be right outside.”
Marie had no idea how Dr. Evans had first convinced Mrs. Barton that he needed to see her alone; she was just thankful he had. Once in his office, having been deposited in front of his desk as though the chair was the patient, not the person in it, she rolled back and forth, unable to stay still.
The inner door opened. She released a breath she couldn’t remember holding and froze, the edge of her wheels biting into her palms. “You’re not Dr. Evans.”
“Dr. Evans isn’t available today, Miss Hudson.” Eyes locked on her file, the unfamiliar man crossed to the desk. “I’m Dr. Harris.”
He was tall and thin where Dr. Evans was stout, with a neat, dark beard rather than the fringe of Dr. Evans’ ginger muttonchops, and his accent was evidence of a much more recent crossing from Scotland. But Marie could feel his connection to the earth, stretching down through the stones of the hospital as secure and unyielding as the roots of a tree, and that was all that really mattered right now.
“There’s a sea serpent in the waters east of Sable Island.”
“There’s a what?” He looked up then and actually saw her. “Oh. Of course . . .” Another glance at the file. “Dr. Evans mentioned your mother is an Air Master . . . to me, personally,” he added, setting the file down. “But he neglected to mention you’re a Water Master in your own right.”
“Why would he?” She slapped the arms of her chair. “This is what he sees. But that’s not important now,” she added before Dr. Harris could defend his colleague. “Four ships have already been taken with no survivors—three fishing boats and a clipper. It has to stop.”
“And you know there’s a serpent because . . . ?”
“A deep-water undine brought the news to the spirits of the shallows. When I went in to swim, they told me.”
Dark brows rose. “You swim?”
She would. If not for that rope. “You need to send a message to Captain Conner in Greenwood.”
“Captain Conner, Water Master, recently retired from Her Majesty’s navy?”
What a day for Dr. Evans to be gone. She missed being able to stamp her foot even though she was years too old for such an undignified response. “Yes, that Captain Conner. The serpent must be dealt with, without delay.”
Dr. Harris spread his hands. “Why would the undines not have told the Captain themselves?”
Marie took a deep breath and counted to five. There wasn’t time for ten. “This isn’t a stream or pond or a bucket of water, this is the sea. The deep undines
saved me when my father’s ship went down. They know me.”
“I see.” He glanced her at her file again as though it would have more answers than she did. “Unfortunately, Captain Conner is laid up with gout. He’s not able to leave his chair. But I’ll send word to England . . .”
“Fifteen days for a reply, best case scenario,” Marie snapped. Captain Conner could leave his chair with a cane and a litany of complaints. “There isn’t a steamer heading across until the twenty-third, so that’s by sail with an Air and Water Master on board. But if we had a functional Water Master, we wouldn’t need to send a message to England. I own half of Hudson Shipping, Dr. Harris. I know how long it takes to cross the ocean.”
“Of course.” Startled, he sounded less patronizing. “There’s no ship with a Water Master in port?”
She twitched at the folds of her skirt. “We’d need to check each ship. My uncle spoke of setting up a volunteer registry, having the Water Masters check in at the office when they come to shore, but some work for other companies, and some speak neither French nor English.”
“And all of them were suspicious of his motives?” When she nodded, he stroked his knuckles over his beard and sighed. “It might be faster to send the message than to check each ship.”
“It might,” she acknowledged reluctantly. “Though Boston is closer.”
“Boston? In America? Is there a Water Master in Boston?”
“I don’t know. My uncle would, but he’s in at the dockyards in Sydney.” Three days to Sydney even if she could convince Mrs. Barton of the necessity. Three days in the clarence, and the pain wouldn’t be a lie. “If I could find a ship to take me, I could . . .”
“No. Not in your condition.”
“In my condition?” Marie bit each word off. “I wasn’t planning to walk, Dr. Harris.”
“I don’t doubt your will is strong, Miss Hudson, but your body is not.” The Earth Master was gone, the doctor in his place. “An injury such as yours will never be entirely healed. The therapy Dr. Evans has allowed would be dangerous in the extreme, were you not what you are.”
“Were I not what I am, I wouldn’t be here.” And she didn’t have time to linger. “My apologies for taking up your time.”
“Miss Hudson . . .”
“I’m sure you have actual patients to see to.” Rolling one wheel forward and one back, she began to turn. “Good day, Dr. Harris, I . . .” Interrupted by a brisk knock on the inner door, she paused.
Dr. Harris sighed. “Come in, Ealasaid.”
Ealasaid looked a little younger than Marie’s twenty years, with bright red hair twisted into a knot it seemed determined to escape, and a heart-shaped face dusted with golden freckles. Not a Master, but something about her lifted the hair off the back of Marie’s neck. She wore a dove-gray skirt over modest hoops, a white lawn shirtwaist with a tatted collar, and a starched white pinafore similar to the nursing sisters’, although she wore no cap. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Father, but Dr. Kent needs your help.”
“Miss Hudson, my daughter, Ealasaid. Ealasaid, Marie Hudson. We’re short staffed today, Miss Hudson. My apologies. Ealasaid . . .”
“I’ll see Miss Hudson out, Father.” And with a gentle shove toward the door, he was gone.
Any other time, Marie would have wanted to make a friend of Ealasaid Harris, now smiling at her with a gleam in her gray eyes, but today, since Dr. Harris had failed her, she had to find a way to deal with that serpent. If she could convince Mrs. Barton to go to the docks, perhaps the undines would know of another Master.
“Miss Hudson, I couldn’t help but overhear . . . Actually, I could have, but I didn’t. Is there really a sea serpent? Don’t worry,” Ealasaid added quickly when Marie’s eyes widened, “I know what my father does besides medicine. And I have skills of my own.” She leaned closer and said quietly, “I help the dead.”
“The dead?”
“Move on.”
“We’re in a hospital.”
“Sometimes . . .” The rustle of starched cotton bracketed her words. “. . . sometimes they don’t want to leave.”
Marie rolled back, noticed that Ealasaid watched her, not the chair, and made a decision. “Yes, there’s really a serpent. Men have already died. I have family out on the sea, and I’ve lost enough family. I have to stop it.”
“Of course you do. And I can help. I know a Fire Master at the Citadel.”
Of course she did. She looked like the sort of girl young men would want to walk home. Dance with. “How will that help?”
Dimples flashed. “He has a friend with a boat.”
• • •
“Marie will be perfectly safe with me, Mrs. Barton.” Ealasaid spoke with such confidence Marie could actually see Mrs. Barton be convinced. “I’m a doctor’s daughter, and I help at the hospital when I’m needed. We’ll walk over to the gardens—it’s not far—and I can introduce Marie to some of my friends.”
Mrs. Barton’s brows dipped. “Male friends?”
“One friend is male, yes. An officer in the Citadel regiment and a gentleman, I assure you. They do a luncheon in the garden, and Marie and I will chaperone each other.”
“I’m sure you will.” After a long moment, Mrs. Barton nodded. “I wouldn’t mind a few hours to myself.” Turning to Marie, she added, “Keep an eye on the Citadel clock and be back here by four. You have your medicine in your bag? Good. And wear your hat.” She tied the green plaid ribbon under Marie’s chin and laid a hand gently against her cheek. “Enjoy yourself, but be careful.”
“Thank you. I will.” If they spoke of two different things, Mrs. Barton wasn’t to know.
A braided belt of turquoise cord and a turquoise half jacket much like Marie’s own turned Ellie’s near uniform into a stylish walking outfit. Marie shifted her shoulders and tried not to resent Ellie’s quick footsteps behind her. Ellie. Not Ealasaid because that was a mouthful, and not Miss Harris because they were going to be friends.
For the last three years, all of Marie’s friends had been of the sea.
She wasn’t sure she remembered how to be a friend on land.
• • •
Captain Alistair Williams was not happy about Ellie’s plan. “Begging your pardon, Miss Hudson, but you’re . . .”
“Crippled?” Marie tilted her head back far enough to look him in the eye and wondered if he could even see her brows go up under the brim of her hat. “I’m also the only Water Master in Halifax right now, and every moment we delay increases the chance of another attack, of more men dying. I can stop that. But I need your help.”
“Ellie . . .”
Ellie glanced down at her, then back up at the captain and grinned. “We won’t be walking to the island, Alistair.”
When Marie laughed in response, it surprised her almost as much as it surprised Captain Williams.
• • •
Getting them to the friend’s boat took all the ingenuity of the captain and the cabbie combined. Although Captain Williams had easily lifted Marie inside, without the extra strapping Conway had installed on the family carriage, her chair was causing problems.
“Honestly, they carry sea chests all the time.” Ellie handed her a cheese sandwich on a tissue paper napkin.
“I think it’s frightening the horse.”
“They’ll work it out. If you don’t mind my saying, you’re less fragile than I expected.”
“I swim. Dr. Evans prescribed salt water immersion,” she added when Ellie looked startled.
“Ah. Because you’re a Water Master.”
“Because I can’t use my legs.” Marie crumbled a bit of the bread. “I don’t really swim. I just scull about in the shallows at the end of a safety line holding me close to shore. I wish . . .” She stopped and wondered what she was doing. She never talked about this. Of course, if she told Mrs. Barton, she�
��d never be allowed back in the water, and if she told her mother . . . When did she have the chance to tell her mother? “I wish sometimes I could just swim away and never come back.”
Ellie seemed more curious than shocked, but then, she spoke to the dead. “Isn’t your mother still alive?”
Marie sighed. “Not entirely.”
Then Captain Williams climbed in, triumphant over her chair, and they lost the chance to continue the conversation.
• • •
“You don’t realize what you’re asking. Sable isn’t an hour’s pleasant sail, you know; it’s maybe sixteen hours if the wind is going right and going out . . .” Erik Ahlquist spread large, scarred hands. “. . . it’s never right.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“It’s always important with you, Williams. Always. My answer’s no.”
Before Captain Williams could continue the argument, Marie rolled past him. “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars. Fifty now.” She dug her felted bag out from where it was tucked under her skirt. “Fifty when we’re back safely.”
Ahlquist looked at the new Dominion of Canada ten-dollar notes. “And if you don’t come back safely?”
“Then you’ll be out fifty dollars.”
Chapped lips twitched into a smile in the depths of his white-blond beard. “Why do—”
“And another fifty to not ask questions.”
“Then in the morning . . .”
“We need to go now.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his bright blue eyes shifting from the money to her face. Finally, he sighed and turned to the captain. “We should take Miss Hudson and her chair aboard separately.”
“Do we even need to take the chair?” Captain Williams wondered. “There’s not a lot of room . . .”
Marie could feel Ellie watching her as the two men discussed the best way to secure her. “Did I not mention I was rich?”
“No.”
“My uncle gives me pin money every quarter. I don’t have anything to spend it on.” They used to come to Halifax once a month and stay at Uncle Edward’s house. Her cousins’ wives would throw parties. She owned half a dozen pairs of dancing shoes.
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