“Thank you, Sebastian,” she replied. “That means a lot. I guess we just have to wait and see.”
Twenty minutes later, Lizzie sat belly full, afraid to move after devouring the heaping pile of deep-fried fish and chips. Not a single scrap remained on her plate. Across from her, Sebastian sat silently, eyes blissfully closed, and patting his stomach as he sighed deeply and contentedly.
“Much better. I’m not so ‘hangry’ anymore,” he laughed. Once they were able to move, Sebastian rose from his chair and headed towards the bar.
“Here, let me give you something for my half,” Lizzie called after him as she went for her purse.
“No need for that, lovie,” Harry called out. “The meal is on the house. The good lad here was always so kind to my Andy, ‘specially when he broke his back falling out of a tree. I’m glad to see that he’s finally found himself a decent girl. I can’t say that I’ve quite cared for the others that he’s brought to us.” Harry tenderly ribbed Sebastian, who accepted the teasing with good humor.
“Oh, I’m not—” Lizzie tried to say but Sebastian cut her off.
“She’s certainly a cut above the rest,” Sebastian said as Harry came out from behind the bar and plucked his jacket off of a nearby coatrack. “Very different from the rest.”
“You better marry this one before she slips away,” Harry teased once more before shouting at his daughter that he would be back shortly.
************
On the way to Hazel’s house, Lizzie chose the backseat while Sebastian and Harry sat in the front. Just as they turned out of the pub’s parking lot, her phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her bag, she pressed a button that brightened the screen. A surge of joy shot through her as she saw a missed text message from Jacobs.
Got your emails and am excited to see what you have. Meet me in the main exhibit hall Monday at noon to discuss further. Jacobs.
Lizzie exhaled slowly, satisfied now that she had definitive plan on what to do next. She sat quietly for the remainder of the trip, half-listening as the two men chatted about what they had missed over the last two years.
A half-hour later, they turned down a long drive and pulled up in front of what Lizzie could only describe as the quintessential British cottage. A cottage that had been in Hazel’s family since her great-great grandmother, Daisy, turned the patriarchy on its head and made a decent living as a landscape painter.
Hazel’s home was made from black, gray, and tan-colored fieldstone, Hazel’s home radiated welcome and love. Despite the season, Hazel’s gardens still held smattering of green and a few bits of fading color remained, dotting the garden here and there.
“You should see it in summertime,” Sebastian said, taking Lizzie in as she stood awed. “Nana added to it since you were here last. Roses line the pathways leading to the house and wildflowers blanket the gardens from here,” he said, pointing to the barren section to the right of the house. “And down to the shore.” His finger traveled down to the lake that stretched out along his grandmother’s property line.
“Ah, there you are!” The front door opened, and Hazel Sanders burst out, eager to meet her guests. “Harry, I hope that my grandson hasn’t put you out!” she shouted as Harry removed Lizzie’s suitcase from the boot of his car. Lizzie was taken aback at how little Hazel had changed since she’d last seen her. With a face void of wrinkles and harsh lines, Hazel possessed a lithe, slender body, brilliant, sparking green eyes, and a willowy build. The only thing that betrayed her age was her bright, silver hair that she kept tied back in a lengthy braid. Leaning on a single crutch for support, Hazel hobbled down the pathway and hugged her grandson tight.
“It’s so good to see you, my boy!” She kissed his cheek and covered the spot with a loving hand. “I see that you’ve still not cut your hair. Don’t they have decent barbers in America? You’re starting to look like one of those hippies! Oh, well, it’s no matter. How was the trip? Any hiccups at all?” Hazel asked but stopped as she caught sight of Lizzie.
“Oh, my dear girl!” Hazel’s voice thickened with unspoken happiness. “Oh, Lizzie! You’ve come to visit!” Hazel pushed past Sebastian and went straight towards her. Hazel enfolded Lizzie into her arms and enveloped her warmly. “It’s been so many years since I last saw you.” Hazel pulled back, looked Lizzie directly in the eye, and brushed an errant hair away from her face. “I was so sorry to hear about Virginia, my dear. She was a magnificent woman. I can’t begin to fathom what this past year has been like for you.”
Lizzie burst into tears. Hazel comforted her and soothingly stroked the length of Lizzie’s auburn hair. “That’s all right, my sweet girl,” Hazel whispered softly as she cradled her. “You just let it out. Take all the time that you need. The world will still be waiting for you when you’re ready.”
Lizzie cried against Hazel’s shoulder, allowing all the unspoken heartbreak to flow out. When Lizzie was able to calm herself down, she put herself back together but kept her arm linked with Hazel’s.
“Thank you,” she sniffed and pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe her nose. “I really needed that,” she said as she glanced down, but Hazel placed her finger under Lizzie’s chin and lifted it to see her eyes clearly.
“Grief is not something that we can force, my dear. I think you of all people understand that. We don’t know when the moment will come when the dam finally bursts, but once it does, it’s surprising at how that heavy burden is suddenly lifted from your shoulders.” Wrapping a protective arm around Lizzie’s shoulders, Hazel ordered Sebastian to grab the bags and waved Harry off as he climbed back into his car and drove away.
“I’ve made a pot of tea and I have some leftover coffee cake. Why don’t we all go in and have us a nice chat. Besides, it looks like it wants to storm.”
************
Ten minutes later, Lizzie sat at Hazel’s rectangular, gingham-cloth covered table, plopped down on a comfortably padded chair in a kitchen that reminded her of her parents’ house before they were killed. Outside, the storm that Hazel mentioned earlier rumbled and tossed rain about the countryside.
“Please, eat some cake,” Hazel urged Lizzie as she cut off a decent-sized hunk, placed it on a small plate, and pushed it towards her. Despite still being full, Lizzie gobbled up the decadent, cinnamon-flavored cake and its silky top cream-cheese layer. Sebastian ate a slice as well, no doubt too afraid to go against his feisty grandmother’s commands. “There’s a room upstairs for you. The same one you stayed in before,” Hazel announced as she pointed towards the ceiling. “It belonged to my sister when she lived with me. No matter how much I change the décor, it always smells of roses.” Hazel smiled, her face warm with fond memories.
“Thank you, Hazel,” Lizzie said gratefully.
“Think nothing of it, dearie. So, tell me, what has brought you all the way over here?” Hazel asked curiously as she clapped her hands together. Lizzie hesitated, not from a lack of trust but rather to find the right wording.
“I received an envelope at work on Friday,” Lizzie began. “When I opened it later that night, I found a letter written by Edith Blackwell inside,” Lizzie continued while Hazel listened with intense fascination. “Then, yesterday morning, there was another one lying on my front porch with another letter inside, again written in Edith’s hand. The second included a note stating that I should go to Copp’s Hill Burying Ground.”
“It’s an old pre-Revolutionary graveyard, Nana,” Sebastian cut in, explaining briefly to provide some context. “King George’s troops once used it to fire cannons at the rebel army.”
“That’s right,” Lizzie added. “There are several notable figures buried there, including the early-twentieth-century painter, Edward Martin Murray. Curious, I went and found a third envelope sitting upon his grave. The missing part of Edith Blackwell’s, The Secrets of Water, was inside.”
Hazel peered at her closely with profound amazement. Lizzie could see her piqued interest as clearly as she could see the nose on
Hazel’s face. Sebastian, having heard the story earlier, sat back and listened in as the two women spoke.
“If it turns out to be authentic, you have just changed history, my sweet girl,” Hazel said, surprised at Lizzie’s discovery.
“That’s not all,” Lizzie exclaimed. This was the part that she loved the most. “In the letters, Edith wrote to a friend about a man. Someone she described as ‘my love’ and that her mystery man, an American painter that she refers to as “E”, who described his life as a ‘landscape of color’. Those very same words are etched on Murray’s tombstone.”
“All of that could just be coincidence,” Hazel said, ever consistent with her sometimes blunt honesty. “It could be someone having you on.”
“That could have been a possibility if I hadn’t found an amended title page inside. The dedication read, ‘dedicated to E. M. M.—my love, my life, the other half of my soul,” Lizzie declared. Hazel gasped, clearly not expecting to hear what Lizzie divulged. “I’m positive that there was something between Edith and Murray, I just don’t know when, where, or how.” Lizzie beamed with pride. Hazel rested a supportive, congratulatory hand upon the younger woman’s shoulder. “When I found the last envelope, I rushed home and emailed my boss, Marc Jacobs. You may remember him from when I was interning here, helping to catalog all of Edith’s surviving writings and correspondence?” Hazel nodded her head to show that she did indeed remember Jacobs.
“He was a keen lad, if I remember. A bit of a prat, though, and always trying to make everyone happy. He often ended up playing referee,” she added which sent a ripple of laughter around the small room.
“I’m going to meet him tomorrow afternoon after he finishes attending a lecture given by Dr. Trelawney.”
“I’m glad that you’ve got everything sorted, but please take this word of advice. Do not let that woman within fifty feet of those documents. If she catches wind of their existence, they will disappear before you can blink, and you too might end up wrapped around a tree.” Hazel’s frank words made Lizzie flinch as if she’d been struck in the face.
“Nana,” Sebastian spoke up, nudging Hazel’s good leg under the table. “You can’t go around bandying accusations about like that.”
“Oh yes, I bloody well can!” Hazel snapped in return and held out a long, slender finger at her grandson. “That woman stole that Keats letter and had Allen Chang’s brakes cut to silence him because he started making a ruckus about her stealing it from him.”
“It was never proven that his brakes were cut. The authorities believed it was suicide due to his inability to handle the stress.”
“Harold Carson said that those brakes were cut. I’ve known that man for over fifty years and he is one of the most honest people alive. If he said that the brakes were cut, you can bet good money that they were!”
“How awful,” Lizzie sat horrified at what she’d just learned. “When did this happen?”
“The year after you went back home. The year that I retired, and Linda made millions of dollars after that lost letter suddenly ‘reappeared’ and she wrote a book about possible revelations concerning his relationship with Fanny Brawne. The whole bloody incident wagged on gossiping tongues far too much for my liking. By the time it was over, I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the museum and seeing that smug murdering bitch every day.”
“And so you quit.” Sebastian didn’t bother to hide his disgust at his Grandmother’s decision. “You let her win.”
“Oh, hush,” Hazel scolded him. “I was planning on resigning the following year anyway, and I was long past retirement. My staying wouldn’t have mattered. The board forced Trelawney out just after I left. The Keats book was considered a liability and they felt that it wasn’t in good faith to allow her to remain. Martin Beemer runs the Museum now and it couldn’t be in better hands. He won’t let Trelawney within ten feet of the museum unless it’s to give a lecture and even then, it’s with considerable conditions and a watchful eye.” Hazel added and promptly yawned. “That woman always gets my blood up and now, I’m overtired,” she explained with an exhausted sigh. “The past two days have almost been too much for me.” She glanced at Lizzie and then at Sebastian. “Almost,” she added with an impish smile.
After making Lizzie promise to be careful, Hazel announced that it was late, that she needed sleep, and promptly left the kitchen. Lizzie and Sebastian watched her retreat into the living room and were silent for several minutes after Hazel had gone.
“Do you think she’s overreacting about Dr. Trelawney?” Lizzie asked, knowing that Sebastian would give her an honest answer.
“Every part of my being wants to say yes but her track record proves otherwise. Nana’s got this irrefutable sense about people. She’s the one that busted the heist back in the late-nineties, all on a hunch.”
“And based on that, do you think that I would be wise to heed her advice?”
“YES!” Hazel’s shout echoed across the living room, reaching the kitchen. Both Lizzie and Sebastian laughed at Hazel’s final declaration.
“I think that means that you should,” Sebastian said, supporting Hazels’ warning.
“Then I will. I’ll be careful.”
“GOOD!” Hazel shouted again, sending both Lizzie and Sebastian into hysterics. “And good night! I’ll see you both in the morning!”
************
Monday morning, Lizzie woke to a flock of hedge sparrows chirping in the tree outside. The faint scent of roses tickled her nose and the wind blew gently outside the bedroom window. Once she was showered and dressed, Lizzie headed downstairs, tantalized by a whiff of something delicious floating in the air. When she reached the kitchen, she found Sebastian standing at the stove making bubble and squeak from left-over potatoes and cabbage. Lizzie always found the name amusing as it stemmed from the squeaking noises the cabbage made while cooking. Hazel sat in the same seat as the night before as Lizzie stepped into the deliciously fragrant room.
“Good morning, love.” Hazel’s mouth stretched wide into a genuine smile as she welcomed her into the new day. Wishing them both a good morning in return, Lizzie moved to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup but found the carafe missing.
“It’s on the table,” Sebastian explained and pointed a thumb behind them. “I put it there so Nana will stop getting up and I don’t have to refill her cup every few minutes,” he added while keeping his eyes focused on their food. “There’s a fresh cup waiting for you.”
Lizzie’s eyes darted to the table. Sebastian had set a cup out for her in the same place where she had sat yesterday. Sitting down, Lizzie added a healthy shot of cream and a heaping scoop of unrefined sugar to the brew.
“How did you sleep, love?” Hazel asked as Lizzie stirred her coffee.
“Really well,” Lizzie said truthfully. “That is the best night’s sleep that I’ve had in months. Thank you again for allowing me to stay here. I doubt that I would have slept that well on a rented bed.”
“There’s no need for you to thank me. You are more than welcome to stay any time you’re here.” Hazel lovingly patted Lizzie’s hand. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she added as Sebastian turned off the stove and served the main fare, along with a steaming loaf of freshly made bread.
“I didn’t know that you could cook?” Lizzie said, astonished that Sebastian was so adept in the kitchen. To see him manning a stove so expertly left her genuinely impressed at his culinary prowess. As much as it killed her to admit it, it only made him hotter.
“My mother taught me,” Sebastian said evenly. His face was unreadable as he joined them at the table and began slicing the bread. “When she was diagnosed with her cancer, she insisted I learn how to feed myself just in case things didn’t turn out...” Hazel reached across the table and patted Sebastian’s hand as his words dropped off. Lizzie listened and kept silent as Sebastian doled pieces of warmed brown bread.
Sebastian’s mother was something that he rarely spoke of. Ev
en though he openly shared details about his dad, Ruth Hargrove-Sanders was a topic that was always off-limits. The few times she had tried to get him to open up about her, Sebastian remained tight-lipped. Lizzie could see that the same rule continued to stand. Not wanting to push him into an uncomfortable place, Lizzie chose to change the subject.
“I’m looking forward to seeing Jacobs today,” she announced, instantly diffusing the charged atmosphere. “I was debating on whether to take the documents with me, though. A little voice saying to leave them has been nagging at me since I woke up,” Lizzie admitted.
“If your gut is telling you something, you should listen.” Hazel stopped chewing and held her butter-coated knife in the air. “When you don’t, trouble is sure to follow,” she said matter-of-factly as she bit into her butter-topped bread. “If you were planning on sitting around here all day,” Hazel turned her attention towards Sebastian. “I won’t be home. I have my bridge club at ten, followed by lunch, and then my whist club at two. I should be back around five. You can tell me how it all went at dinner.”
“Nan, don’t you think that you should take it easy?” Sebastian stopped eating and stared incredulously at his grandmother. “You just broke your leg. The doctor told you that you needed to rest and stay off of it.”
“No one stands to play bridge or whist, Sebastian,” Hazel countered. “Libby Edgworth is hosting this week and she told me that I can prop my leg up on her husband’s rollator. It’s one of those rolling chair-thingies that Irma Morton uses. And Elsie Cottington has set the table up at her window seat so I can rest my leg. Besides, am I supposed to stop having life? That I should stay home and be bored? I am active, my dear boy, and I am not going to give that up for anything. You know as well as I do, if you stop, you die. Your grandfather refused to listen and look what happened to him.” Hazel reminded her grandson of her husband, Louis, who retired early, sat around for a year, and died of a massive heart attack. Lizzie swallowed a laugh as she listened with immense respect and appreciation as Hazel prattled on. If she was fortunate enough to reach Hazel’s age, she could only hope to have that much moxie.
The Secrets of Water Page 6
