The Secrets of Water

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “No, shit!” Darcy said, the disbelief from a moment ago was now completely gone. “You seriously found something that she wrote? That the Edith Blackwell wrote?”

  “And I think it hints at the possibility that she had a lover—someone with no known prior connection to her,” Lizzie added, knowing Darcy’s passion for epic romance novels and sappy love stories.

  “Wait, wait, wait. I thought she was an old maid. That she died a virgin, alone in her big drafty house with like ten thousand cats.”

  “She didn’t have cats, Darcy,” Lizzie corrected. “Everyone thinks that she died a spinster, but I have concrete proof to suggest otherwise.”

  “Then you need to get your ass to London. I’ll let Bobby know that we have the house for the next few days. Just promise me that you will be careful and call me the instant that you land.”

  Lizzie finished the call, promising Darcy that she would do exactly as asked. Once her car was parked, Lizzie pulled her small roller suitcase behind her as she made her way into the airport. An hour later, after checking in and passing through the TSA, she sat waiting, sipping on a piping hot Starbucks Grande Caramel Macchiato. When the announcement to board came over the loudspeaker, Lizzie felt as if she were going to burst and shoot into thousands of different directions. Something inside of her spoke of great change on the horizon. For the first time in over a year, Lizzie looked forward to the days ahead, choosing to embrace them rather than hide from it

  THREE

  The flight from Boston to London was uneventful. During the journey, Lizzie read the second half of the manuscript, all the while taking notes of key points of interest. Her skin tingled as she followed the story of a young writer who, after a life of solitude, fell in love with a handsome, brown-eyed painter. Just before the plane landed, Lizzie made the decision to visit The National Gallery on her way home, where one of Edward Martin Murray’s paintings was displayed. Lizzie recalled Virginia waxing poetic about it when she and Sebastian flew over to visit her for the Christmas holiday.

  “It was simply marvelous,” Virginia gushed as they sat around a table at a local northern pub, drinking ales and gobbling up shepherd’s pie. “His portrait hung just a few displays over. If I didn’t know any better,” she said directly to Lizzie. “I would say that you look like him,” she continued on as their conversation drifted into the wee early morning hours.

  Remembering her grandmother’s enthusiasm made Lizzie want to reconnect with her in some way. Knowing that Virginia had once stood before Murray’s Scylla and Charybdis as well as his self-portrait, Lizzie felt that even across the miles and the chasm of death, Virginia was there encouraging her onward.

  ************

  It was close to midnight when Lizzie arrived in the bright city that buzzed and hummed with life. Picking up a taxi at Heathrow, she asked the driver to take her to a comfortable, clean, and inexpensive hotel. Acknowledging her request, the driver drove her across town, past the London Eye and dropped her off at a small inn within walking distance of the Albert and Victoria Museum and Hyde Park.

  Minutes later, Lizzie was settled into her room for the night and collapsed upon the bed. She had forgotten how exhausting travel could be. Her tired body screamed as she reached for her backpack and her cell phone within it.

  “I guess this means that you made it in one piece,” Darcy answered on the second ring. In the background, Lizzie heard someone talking in the background. No doubt Bobby was already there and watching TV while Darcy took the call into the other room.

  “What is a sunspot!” Bobby cheered, proving Lizzie’s assumption was correct and that he was watching yet another Jeopardy rerun.

  “I’m fine. I had the row to myself and there was very little turbulence,” Lizzie stated. “Overall, it was the best flight that I’ve ever been on. I just forgot about the jetlag and how it hits you once you arrive.”

  “Well, seeing as I have never left the U.S., let alone the New England area, I will have to take your word for it.” Darcy snorted, faking sympathy for her uncomfortable best friend who was currently thousands of miles away.

  “I am going to take the train up to the Lake District tomorrow,” Lizzie said, detailing her plan for tomorrow, knowing that Darcy was writing everything down on the other end. Darcy was the quintessential organizer. She could make lifelong professionals look like amateurs. “When I get there, I’m going to find a place to stay. Hopefully, I can meet with Jacobs, too. If I can’t, I’ll try for Monday and do some exploring in the meantime. Maybe I’ll visit Blackwell Farm. I haven’t seen it since it was refurbished.”

  “Whatever you do, be careful. And find somewhere to keep those documents safe. You don’t want some asshole stealing your bag, leaving you totally screwed.”

  “I will be very careful. If anyone tries to take my bag, I will use that self-defense stuff that you dragged me to all those years ago.”

  “Or just remember your Miss Congeniality—S.I.N.G.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin—I got it,” Lizzie laughed in response, recalling Darcy’s favorite movie.

  After giving Darcy and Bobby her eternal gratitude for safeguarding the house, Lizzie disconnected the line. Snatching the charging cable from her bag, Lizzie plugged in her cell phone and laid it on the stand next to the single-wide bed. As it charged, she pulled her laptop out and emailed Jacobs. In the body of the email, she stated that she had arrived safely in England and that she would be heading up to the Museum tomorrow. She noted that once she got settled, she’d email again and give him a call, despite the threat of terrible service.

  Lizzie logged off, put her laptop away, and got ready for bed. Freshly showered and snuggled into her favorite Winnie the Pooh pajama pants and an old Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. Feeling her body scream for sleep, Lizzie climbed into the narrow bed, snuggled under the covers, and within minutes, was fast asleep.

  ************

  London was its charming, drizzling, chilly overcast self the following morning. Lizzie’s alarm went off at seven, startling her awake after a night of deep, dreamless sleep. She sat up and stretched, noticing that the jetlag from the night before had magically disappeared. Once she was dressed and packed, she settled the bill and just by chance, got the same cab driver from the night before.

  The cabbie chattered away as he drove her to a nearby a shop where she picked up some snacks for the trip, and then on to the closest Tube station. With ticket in hand, Lizzie boarded the train and found a quiet seat in the back, a good distance from the rest of the passengers. As the train pulled out of the station, she started to reread Katherine Sargent’s biography on Edith Blackwell. Lizzie wanted to see if Katherine Sargent had had any inkling of Edith’s supposed secret romance or if she too had been completely unaware.

  Lizzie read quietly as the train coursed along. Several times, the train lurched as it picked up speed. As she reached the chapter on Edith’s suicide, Lizzie sensed a change in the air. Glancing up from her book, a shot of rage seethed through her. Standing in the aisle ahead was the one face that she hadn’t expected to see.

  “What are you doing here?” Lizzie demanded as Sebastian Sanders walked towards her. To her dismay, he didn’t stop until he was at her side and looked down at her with a slightly amused grin.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his eyes rounded with surprise, leaving no doubt that he was just as stunned to see her.

  “You first,” Lizzie barked, turning a more than a few distance heads in their direction.

  “Nana fell and broke her leg. You remember her? Her’ name is Hazel. She’s eighty-eight and feisty,” he started sarcastically but quickly abandoned the attempt. “Nana was up on a ladder, cleaning her gutters when the ladder sunk into some mud and she toppled over.”

  “Oh, my God! Is she okay?” Lizzie gasped, anger momentarily gone.

  “She’s fine.” Sebastian made all assurances as he planted himself into the seat next to her. “I was coming over
to spend the holiday with her anyway. When her neighbor called and said that Nana had ‘taken a little spill’, I decided to change my plans and come early. Phillips is taking care of the last week of my class. I’ve also decided to stay until after New Year to make sure that she takes it easy, like the doctor ordered.”

  “Well, I’m glad that she’s all right,” Lizzie added, not wanting to come across heartless. When Lizzie met Sebastian’s paternal grandmother, Hazel Hepworth-Sanders, Lizzie idolized Hazel’s spunky nature, her vast, far-reaching knowledge, and unrestrained free spirit. Hazel had worked at the museum under the former director, Dr. Trelawney, and immediately taken Lizzie under her wing. “Your grandmother is such a fantastic woman,” Lizzie said with complete admiration.

  “She is. I’ll admit, I’m fond of her, and not just because I’m her grandson.” Sebastian’s eyes twinkled with Hazel’s kind-hearted mischief.

  “You’re not intending on spending the rest of the trip in that seat, are you?” Lizzie scoffed as she remembered her former irritation, already certain of his answer.

  “I paid for a seat. I can sit wherever I please,” Sebastian countered. He saw the rising frustration clearly written on Lizzie’s face, indicative from her flushed features and how her eyebrows knitted together. He smiled genuinely and further rooted himself into his seat.

  “But it doesn’t have to be the one right next to me.” Lizzie teetered on furious. The last thing that she needed was for Sebastian at her side during the entire trip.

  “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.” He tucked his backpack in between his feet as he deftly steered their conversation back to its origins.

  “I’m here on business, if you must know,” Lizzie stated, defensively lifting her chin as if Sebastian was prodding around in places where he wasn’t supposed to be. “I found something, and I didn’t want to wait for Jacobs to get back to see it. So, I decided to bring it to him.”

  “What did you find?” Sebastian’s eyebrows raised curiously as a second smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Lizzie debated lying but, in the end, went with the truth.

  “Someone sent me a series of three envelopes,” Lizzie replied, lowering her voice, even though the closest people were seated at the front of the car and well out of earshot. “Two contained letters written from Edith Blackwell to a friend. Someone named Elsie. There was a notecard in the second. It sent me all the way to Copp’s Hill.” Lizzie met Sebastian’s eyes as they keenly watched her back. “Inside the first two letters, Edith referenced a man that she was in love with—”

  “Wait, what?” Sebastian interrupted suddenly. “Edith Blackwell? She’s the writer that you love. I thought she died a lonely spinster. That her depression issues were why she drowned herself in a lake.”

  “A pond. She drowned in a pond, Sebastian,” Lizzie clarified with a sharp edge of annoyance. “And yes, that’s what history tells us, but history doesn’t always get it right. All the letters are written in her own hand. I would know. I spent over a year reading, typing, and cataloguing her correspondence. I would know her handwriting anywhere,” Lizzie declared, seeing the gears of Sebastian’s mind start to move. “The second letter states that someone was trying to tear Edith and her lover apart. Someone that was desperately trying to seduce this E. guy away from Edith.”

  “Do you have any clue as to who this mysterious ‘E” is?”

  Lizzie’s face lit up with excitement. “That’s where it gets interesting. As I told you, the notecard sent me out to Copp’s Hill Burying Grounds where Edward Martin Murray is buried. Are you familiar with him?”

  Sebastian nodded that he was.

  “From what I read on Wikipedia, his father interred him there next to his grandfather, but that’s not the juicy part. What’s exciting is that I found a third envelope lying on his grave when I got there. An envelope containing the missing half of The Secrets of Water.”

  Sebastian’s mouth fell open with shock. His curiosity well piqued, he leaned in closer to hear more. “Lizzie, do you mean to tell me that you have in your possession something that historians have long argued about?”

  Lizzie gave him a single nod. “I do. I brought it with me.” She patted her backpack resting by her leg.

  “Well, congratulations,” he cheered before his tone turned towards snarky. “I’m sure your boyfriend was just so proud when you told him, huh?” Sebastian scoffed, visibly annoyed. Lizzie frowned, taken back by his sudden odd behavior.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend, Sebastian. For your information, the only people that know about this are you, Darcy, Mae Yu from the Asian art department, and Director Jacobs.”

  Sebastian honked with laughter. “Yeah, right,” he snickered, shaking his head in disbelief as he laughed. “You’re trying to tell me that you didn’t share any of this with Michael Sheridan? I know that you two have been seeing each other. I saw how chummy you are in the hallway at the college. And, I know that it all started just before Virginia died. Frankly, I’m surprised he wasn’t at the funeral or at the wake. One would think that if you loved somebody, you’d be there for them. You know, lend them a shoulder to cry on. Someone to provide support, but he wasn’t at either. There wasn’t a trace of him. You may not have noticed, but I noticed. I notice a lot of things.”

  “Then you are blind,” Lizzie retorted, annoyed that Sebastian would make such ridiculous assumptions. “If you haven’t noticed, Michael Sheridan is married to Abigail Strange, the political science professor. He is very much in love with his wife, which means that we’re definitely not dating. They also have three children. Their oldest boy, Sam, who’s thirteen, is struggling with English. I’ve been tutoring him for well over a year to help get his grades back up. And the so-called ‘chumminess’ that you think that you saw, is him trying out his stand-up routine on me. He performs down at the Laugh Bar on Saturday nights. He’s been a regular since October of last year.”

  Sebastian’s face drained of all color as his gross misjudgment dawned on him. He abruptly lowered his gaze, stunned, humiliated, and chastised.

  “So, you’re not dating anyone?” he asked almost relieved. Lizzie answered with an emphatic no.

  “No, and if you don’t believe me, you can ask Darcy,” she added defensively. “I’ve done nothing but go to work and go home since the Christmas party last year. And, since you’re so interested, when I tutor Sam, Michael goes to Starbucks and reads for an hour while we work. I am not dating, period. I haven’t been out with anyone, not even Darcy, until the other night. That was the first time that I dared to do something different and you ruined it.” Lizzie’s chest heaved with unspoken anger. She wanted to slap Sebastian for what he’d done, but her hands remained stilled and silent, resting in her lap.

  “My God, I’ve been such an ass!” Sebastian half-whispered as he ran a long-fingered hand over his face and through his hair. “Lizzie, I’m so sorry for what I said,” he moved to apologize for his egregious sin and for once, Lizzie did not stop him. “I have no excuse for getting so hammered the night of the Christmas party. I shouldn’t have said all that shit. I hope you know that I didn’t mean any of it. I was just so… I can’t begin to say sorry for the pain that I’ve caused you. If I had any idea that Virginia would die—”

  Lizzie flashed a quick, warning hand, silencing anything further that he had to say. “I don’t want to discuss that,” she insisted, her injured expression conveying what her tongue couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry.” Sebastian glanced from Lizzie’s hand to her face. “I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you. You are the last person that I want to hurt.” For a second, Lizzie thought he might take her hand, but ultimately didn’t. A small war waged inside of her. One side wanted him out of her life forever. The other craved their missing connection. It craved the warmth of his hand in hers. The feel his arms around her waist and…

  Snapping out of her daydream, Lizzie gave her head a brief shake to clear her mind.

  “I don’t want to talk
about it. And just because I’m speaking to you right now doesn’t mean that I’ve forgiven you. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you, but we can at least be on speaking terms while we’re here.” The side that longed to savor his soft touch leaped with joy. The other roared a blood-curdling war cry. Lizzie tamped them both down, not ready to feel that strongly yet.

  “I can agree to those terms,” Sebastian surrendered and waved the white flag. He would accept their stalemate…for now.

  ************

  The two quietly discussed the details and what consequences it would bring. Later that afternoon, they arrived at the station in Oxenholme and quickly exited the train.

  “Where do you go from here?” Sebastian asked as a passing driver sped by, showering them with a spray of road and dust gravel. Seeing Lizzie struggle, Sebastian took Lizzie’s suitcase from her and pulled it behind him.

  “Well, I have to find a place to stay, and then, I need to find something to eat,” she replied as her stomach let out a loud growl.

  “I can help out with the latter,” Sebastian announced and motioned for her to follow. “There’s a pub not too far from here that serves the best fish and chips,” Sebastian said, leading the way. Following another angry rumble from her stomach, Lizzie complied without complaint.

  One half-hour long taxi ride later, Lizzie found herself in a cozy, inviting pub with a steady fire burning in its hearth. The wind had picked up and gusted as they exited the cab, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Once she was on her feet again, Lizzie cowered down as a second bust blew blew briskly straight through her windbreaker.

  “I should have worn my heavier coat,” she stated once they were inside at a table, waiting for someone to serve them. “London wasn’t that cold when we left.”

  “The weather here is always unpredictable,” Sebastian replied. “I spent enough time here as a kid to know that at least.” He referred to his paternal heritage. His maternal was one he seldom mentioned.