by Juliet Moore
Then she smiled. "I suppose you're right. It's a flaw of mine to think the worst of people." His whole world suddenly seemed brighter.
"Sometimes that is a good thing. The world is changing." He looked down at the unkempt grave. "I assume this is your aunt's grave?"
She looked at the tombstone and frowned. "You can hardly read the inscription."
"It's a shame the grave has gotten this way."
"Yes. Do you have any idea why that might be?" Her question was completely innocent. He was surprised sometimes by the extent and lack of her knowledge. She recognized that none of his family would be buried in such a place, but didn't understand why these graves would look so unlike the rest.
He wondered if it would be best to tell her the truth about it all. Even though it was a simple thing, he didn't welcome the idea of sharing such negativity with her. He hesitated by yanking a handful of weeds from the plot and throwing them to one side.
"You do know something about it, don't you?" Her expression made it clear that she saw right through him.
He forced himself to meet her gaze and not to look over her shoulder at the church steeple. "These graves are untended because of the occupant's crimes."
"Being murdered is a crime?"
"Your aunt committed suicide."
She was clearly shocked. "How?"
"She drowned herself at high tide. The sea is rough during a storm. Apparently, she jumped right in and that was the last anyone ever saw of her."
"But why?"
He shook his head. "People in Coverack like to gossip and anyone you ask will have a different theory. The true reasons behind her decisions, however, are a mystery. It was what I was thinking of when I looked at her picture in the drawing room."
"You said her eyes seemed to be hiding something."
"And they certainly were."
She shook her head slowly. "Why did my uncle tell me she was murdered?"
The birds overhead chirped so gaily that it was amazing to him that the animals wouldn't somehow know what an ill-portended conversation they were having. "I think, Miss Fyn, that you'll gradually realize that your uncle is a very curious man."
"But could she have been murdered?"
He sighed. "I would say no." His mind started to go on a trail of remembrance that he was sure he didn't want to walk down. "If your uncle believes that, he didn't when it first happened."
She looked at him strangely. "You're interested in what happened to my aunt, aren't you?"
"Well, I'm interested in the reasons why it happened."
"There is something chilling about suicide, is there not?" She revealed her interest in the subject by leaning forward and pressing his arm. "The most of us try so hard to stay alive, so to think there are those reject the gift of life is incredible."
"I also think it a fascinating subject, but not one I wish to know about firsthand." He offered her his arm to lead her out of the cemetery. He could tell that the heat was starting to affect her. Unless she was still feeling embarrassed, the spots of color on her cheeks were definitely a sign that she needed to be indoors.
She accepted his arm. "I wonder what I can discover about Fiona."
"It was quite a few years back."
"Yet you remember, Mr. Trevelyn."
They stepped over the broken iron gate. "Your aunt was a beautiful woman. I was only a child when it happened and it's the kind of story that inspires a lot of imaginative thought. One always remembers the events that affected them as a child." He grinned to himself and added, completely honestly, "I also had a little crush on her."
Victoria laughed. "I think it's refreshing that you're interested. I was hoping to discover more about the rest of my family, and I most certainly shall begin with Fiona. You've already helped me, but it's also nice to know I have someone to discuss my discoveries with."
"Not only would I be pleased to serve you, I am also interested for curiosity's sake." He realized that his words were genuine. He'd even painted a picture of Fiona that still hung in the schoolroom. He'd pictured her standing on the dark beach, the waves crashing against the black rocks on either side of her. Her shawl being blown by violent gusts of rain-scented wind.
"I'll also be asking you too many questions and expecting you to know obscure details about my family..."
"Anything I can help you with, Miss Fyn," he replied, not even acknowledging the joke. He was so willing to help that her exaggerations didn't seem so extreme at all. "In fact, I think I may be able to assist you right now."
She smiled and leaned forward. Her anticipation was as clear as thin ribbons on her gown.
"There's a certain old woman in town who knows far more than she should about everyone's business. Sometimes, she can be a nuisance. But in your case, she'll be quite helpful."
"And who is that?"
"The local midwife."
"Oh! But doesn't she have more important things to do than gossip?"
"You'd think! Actually, her daughter does most of the work nowadays." He saw her expression of interest and was glad he could help her solve her mystery. "Shall we go?"
She smiled, but once they'd taken a few steps away from the cemetery, she let go of his arm and fiddled with her gloves.
She didn't need to speak to tell him that the intimacy for the day was finished. She'd been so wrapped up in their discussion that she'd been overly bold. Of course, he didn't think she had, but he was positive that was what was going through her mind.
He debated over taking the long route to the midwife's abode. Any extra time he could secure with her was delightful. But he relented when he watched her move along and noticed that her breathing was short and shallow. The summer heat, even in such a mild-weathered area as Cornwall, was tough on a lady with more than three layers of clothing on, give or take a couple of layers. He couldn't know the exact number, but he imagined what was underneath.
They turned a corner then and she smiled at him randomly. It made him ashamed of his secret thoughts, but he couldn't suppress the animalistic attraction that went along with his respect. It would be like telling a dog not to bark. Impossible.
Chapter 6
The cottage had a thatched roof and a charming position at the end of a lane, but it also had a loud personality. Before they'd even passed the cottages of either of the midwife's neighbors, they'd heard a ruckus such that one could scarcely believe. The yells would run the entire gamut, from ear-piercing screams to low, pathetic cries.
Victoria almost wanted to walk past the small cottage without another look, but Alexander was there to encourage her to go inside. Finally, she took a deep breath and knocked.
They thought they heard a woman tell them to enter, but they weren't quite sure over the racket coming from within. They let themselves in anyway, but with hesitancy.
Her eyes immediately went to the older woman sitting in a rocking chair. She sat in front of the window seemingly oblivious to what was going on in, presumably, the next room.
But at the sound of the door, her head whipped around. "Mr. Trevelyn!" she immediately said with audible reproach. "I thought you'd never visit."
It was obvious that he was to be a welcome guest. Whether or not she had heard the knock wasn't clear.
Alexander led the way toward where the woman sat. Before they'd reached her side, he quickly whispered, "Mrs. Reed likes to think of herself as being as indispensable to the children she's delivered, perhaps similar to a nurse. She can be a little trying at times, since most children haven't any attachment to their midwife, but most people consider her charming and ignore her little idiosyncrasies."
She took affront at his warning. "I wouldn't begrudge a woman her happiness. If she claims more intimacy than most, it would only be the sign of a large heart."
He shrugged and before she could say another word, he brought Mrs. Reed into the conversation and the whispering ceased.
"I apologize if it's been a long time since I've seen you, Mrs. Reed."
; She gave him a once-over and never noticed Victoria was doing the very same thing to her. "Father keeps you busy, eh?"
"He does that," he said, smiling.
It was obvious that the woman did care very deeply for those she had brought into the world. With just a smile, Alexander had charmed the slippers off her feet. The white-haired woman smiled in turn and a spider's web of wrinkles crept across her face. She had the look of one who'd worked hard in life, but also of one who'd been happy. Every one of those creases had been earned in joy.
She turned her chair and it squeaked on the unpolished floor. "Who's this?" While her words were a little abrupt, her face gave away her interest and delight in having a new visitor.
"This is Victoria Fyn," he answered for her, before she could.
"Any relation to John Fyn?" She spoke louder to fight against the impending din.
She nodded, stepping closer until the sunlight from the window shined on the bottom of her skirt and disturbed particles of dust when the folds rubbed together. "I just moved here recently. I'm his niece."
"He's a good man, even though...ah, he's just a good man!" Victoria couldn't help but think that if the woman had a cane, she would have thumped it.
The screaming became louder then, just after they'd raised their voices. She almost wanted to cover her ears with her hands. She believed Alexander was secretly laughing at the entire scene. If the amused expression on his face meant anything, she was right. "What is happening in there?" she asked with an anxious gesture toward the closed door.
"Oh, don't mind that!" she said with a loud laugh. "It's only Jacob's wife giving birth."
"Right now? In here? I thought the midwife was supposed to make house calls."
"She was in town when the contractions started. Foolish woman shouldn't have been walking around as big as she is. It's too much trouble to take her back to the farm when Sadie and me are right here." The yelling obviously didn't bother her.
"I suppose we should leave." She looked at Alexander to see what he thought.
"No, don't go! I'd love to speak to the new girl in town. Everyone's talking about you."
"What have they been saying?"
"Oh, this and that."
She almost didn't hear the response due to the birthing woman's loud protests. "Are you sure we shouldn't--"
"Haven't you ever heard a woman in labor before?" Both of them looked at her.
"No!" Then she laughed with Alexander. She had to admit that it was a little amusing.
The woman screamed again.
"Are you sure she's alright though?"
The sage midwife nodded. "I'm sure she's only hollering like that because she knows she has an audience. She probably thinks it's her husband." The woman leaned forward in the creaky rocking chair. "Quiet it up, Jenny! It ain't your husband yet."
The woman in the other room actually did seem to be affected by the pronouncement. The old woman certainly knew her stuff. Victoria smiled.
"So tell me what you came here to speak to me about."
She hesitated. She was almost hoping for Alexander to jump in and ask instead of her, but he remained silent.
The older woman leaned forward, waiting and probably more interested due to the unintentional suspense and--excuse the pun--pregnant pauses.
Victoria felt odd asking people about a woman who'd died twenty years ago, but she realized she'd better do it if she wanted to get anywhere. "I was hoping you could tell me about my aunt. Fiona Fyn."
"Oh, that one! I remember her." She seemed to nod and shake her head at the very same time. It was probably due to her eccentricity that she didn't even bat an eye at the question. It was like she was asked about long-dead relatives every day.
"It seems as if you didn't like her."
"No, no, of course I did. She was a very classy type. Never belonged down here, if you ask me. John was asking for it when he brought her back to Cornwall."
Victoria didn't really find that the midwife's comments matched the impression she'd gotten of her aunt. Then again, she hadn't much to go on beside instinct and perhaps romantic fantasy. Just like Alexander, the story of her suicide fascinated her and she supposed she had wanted to hear about what a good woman the late Fyn was. Truth be told, from Alex's expression, he was having similar thoughts. But they had gone to the midwife's cottage to find the truth...the one that lurked behind the thoughtful eyes in the parlor portrait.
She surprised herself then by asking, "Was she a little snobbish?" If they were to ignore all bad reports, they were wasting their time investigating the woman at all.
The woman shook her head. "I wouldn't say that she thought herself better than any of us. It was more that she was bored of living in a tiny fishing village. Simply wasn't her idea of good living. Me? I say there's no place that's better. Cornish first, English second is what I always say."
"I'm sure many would agree with you, Mrs. Reed." He frowned when Jacob's wife issued a particularly loud wail.
The woman nodded. "Fiona Fyn was a sweet sort, though. Not surprised she didn't make much of a fuss about the entire thing until it was all over."
"Is that when she started to make a fuss?" he asked.
"If you ask me, she still is."
"Still is?" She looked around nervously. "My aunt is dead, Mrs. Reed. Are you referring to her...ghost?" The skin on Victoria's arm rose into tiny bumps and the short hairs stuck up on right-ends.
"Of course I speak of her ghost. Haven't you come across it yet?"
She almost swallowed her tongue. "Why, of course not. I'm just surprised that you would say such a thing."
"Don't be, dear. Ghosts walk these coves as surely as will-o-wisps float across the moors."
She tried to pretend that she didn't want to speak of ghosts because she thought the existence of them unlikely, when in reality, she was just too frightened to contemplate the thought of it.
Alexander shot her an almost tender look, but he ruined its affect by saying, "Don't worry, Victoria. They only come out at night."
She glared at him, but as an attempt to get him to wipe the smile of his face, she faired quite poorly. "I just might welcome the idea of Fiona having a ghost. She could tell me all about what happened."
Now it was the midwife's turn to frown. "Why would you want to hear about such a dark day?"
"I've only just met this side of my family," she said, as if that explained anything. She knew it was hard to describe her reasons for desiring more knowledge of the dearly departed and she realized then how wonderful it was that Alexander was on the same level as she.
"I suggest you focus on the ones that are still living," said the woman in response to her shoddy explanation.
While the comment was probably the most sensible one the midwife had departed with, Victoria ignored it. "Tell me more about Fiona."
She sighed. "She was a slip of a thing, a little timid. After she'd been here a while, she changed. She became so sensitive to everyone's needs."
"It seems strange that she would be so unhappy, yet so determined to help her neighbors."
"Well, that was mostly after he left. I believe the poor woman was looking to fill in the gap and make up for what she'd lost."
She thought about the woman's words for a moment. "Did my uncle go somewhere?"
"Oh no, John never goes anywhere. I don't think he's been away from Cornwall for more than two days his entire life." She started to rock in her chair. She had stopped for a while they'd spoken.
"So what were you speaking of?"
"Oh, yes." She glanced out the window and frowned.
"I'm just thinking of that naughty boy of hers. Richard."
* * *
"She had a son?" Victoria swayed to the side and he steadied her by putting his hand to the small of her back. Unfortunately, that seemed to throw her even further off balance. As soon as his palm went against her body, she jumped a half foot into the air.
He pressed both hands onto her back to assist her and
held her arms to her side and she finally became steady.
He noticed that her eyes were soft when she looked at him. His heart noticed it too.
"Have you been filling her with drink, Alexander?"
"Not yet." They had a laugh together, both ignoring the indignant glares of his wobbly companion.
He thought she'd want to get away from them both, as she usually did at any small sign of trouble. But he was wrong.
"My uncle had a son?"
The woman gave her a funny look. "He didn't tell you?"
"Not a word."
"Well, perhaps I can understand why. That son of his managed to be the end of his mother. It's doubtful that he would enjoy speaking of him."
It seemed a little harsh.
"What did Richard do?"
"Decided he wanted to make his fortune in London. Nobody knew exactly what wild scheme he'd concocted, but he obviously had faith in it."
She frowned. “I suppose his mother didn't want him to go?"
"No. She was inconsolable when she realized that nothing she could say would change his mind. Even in hate, John was the one with power over that boy."
"What do you mean?"
"The two didn't get along. They argued over just about everything, especially with what Richard ought to do with his future."
Alexander nodded. "John expected him to be a sailor like his old man?"
The woman grinned. "That's exactly what it was. But as I said, Richard was a young man with big ideas. He was only fourteen years old when he left and he's never come back."
"But my aunt...is that why she committed suicide?" She didn't even react to his implication. He realized that it was a sign of her innocence that she probably hadn't caught the joke.
"It might have been. But she didn't do it immediately after he left. So maybe it had something to do with John as well."
Victoria moved away from the woman's chair. "Thank you for your help, Mrs. Reed."
He supposed that she'd finally had enough. All that she had found out would likely be upsetting. Here she was trying to discover more about her roots, and her own uncle was keeping things from her. Also, Richard was supposedly still alive, and to someone with most of their relatives dead, the news of having a cousin must be shocking. Part of him wondered why she even bothered when she obviously had other things of importance on her mind.