The Secrets of Water

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “I’m so sorry,” Jacobs quickly apologized. “I wasn’t aware that you wanted to talk. As you can see, I had a meeting with my colleague from the museum in America.” Jacobs motioned towards both Lizzie and Sebastian.

  “Oh, what a pleasure.” Dr. Trelawney grabbed Sebastian’s hand and wrapped their clasped hands within her free one. Trelawney held it as one would a lover. A move that made Lizzie briefly see red. “I don’t know why, but American men are just so… scrummy. Especially tall ones with gorgeous blonde hair and a healthy California glow. You’re positively dishy, darling.” The older woman flirted confidently, her predatory eyes fixed on his tall, muscled body. Lizzie’s targeted the woman opposite her.

  “Actually, I’m the colleague,” Lizzie said, correcting the other woman’s wrong assumption as she placed herself between Sebastian and the silver-streaked viper. Lizzie offered her hand which eventually received a shake. Dr. Trelawney examined Lizzie briefly, taking her in from head to toe.

  Lizzie watched her former team lead closely. The older, chestnut-haired woman who wore a silver streak at her right temple tensed as if she sensed something that she would not put into words. Immediately, Lizzie knew. Dr. Trelawney had no idea who she was and clearly didn’t remember interacting with her before. Lizzie watched as Trelawney visibly bristled, suddenly as transparent as cellophane.

  “I’m sure the pleasure is mine.” Trelawney’s flirty demeanor was instantly replaced with a cool, detached and suspicious façade.

  “Lizzie’s visiting England, too. In fact, she was part of the internship program a few years ago,” Jacobs explained, no doubt sensing the sudden tension in the air and wanting to tamp it out before any flames ignited. “Apparently, some mystery person left several articles in her care. Several articles, actually, all belonging to Edith Blackwell. At the mention of Edith’s name, Dr. Trelawney’s interest in Lizzie suddenly materialized.

  “You don’t say? Who is this mystery person?”

  “If I knew then it wouldn’t be a mystery, would it?” Lizzie barked before biting her tongue, reminding herself to not to be lured by Trelawney’s bait. A reminder she helplessly ignored.

  “That would make it almost impossible to authenticate, wouldn’t it?” Trelawney’s cool, green eyes twinkled excitedly as the corner of her mouth crooked upwards with a half-smile.

  “Possibly but the fact that everything is written in Edith’s own handwriting and on her personalized stationery is a good indicator of its authenticity.”

  “What is it that you think you’ve found?” Trelawney frowned and crossed her arms defensively.

  “Two letters that suggest that Edith may not have died a virginal spinster as we’ve long believed, but rather a woman in love,” Lizzie answered bluntly. Sebastian snorted in response but quickly covered it with a fake coughing fit.

  “Two letters don’t necessarily prove anything, my dear,” Trelawney words dripped with condescension. “Any garden-variety historian could tell you that.”

  “But that’s not all,” Jacobs chimed in, once again playing referee before anything got too out of control. “The letters proved to be a quest. The second one,” he paused and looked to Lizzie to ascertain that he had his facts straight. “The second one bore a note that led her out to the cemetery where the painter Edward Martin Murray is buried. When she arrived, Lizzie found the other half of The Secrets of Water resting on his grave.”

  “The lost manuscript?” Trelawney blurted out, astonished by the revelation. Seconds later, she recovered herself and was once again the quintessential example of respectability. “Jacobs, are you saying that this girl found the missing half of the lost manuscript?” A shadow passed over Trelawney’s features. The corners of her mouth tightened as her body went rigid, all signs that stated something was bothering Trelawney but what, Lizzie couldn’t say. “Do you actually think that you’ve found the lost half?” Trelawney scoffed, practically laughed, casting the idea off as if it were ridiculous. To everyone present, it seemed as if Dr. Trelawney was hellbent on discrediting Lizzie without hearing the argument out.

  “Yes. I have no doubt. Everything is written in Edith’s hand. I would know, I saw enough of it for well over a year. Jacobs has seen the photos. The two letters were written to a woman whom I believe is Elspeth Ehlers, who, according to the display behind us, spent a significant amount time at Blackwell Farm.”

  “There’s also a different dedication included with the manuscript,” Jacobs said, interrupting Lizzie. “In it, Edith dedicates the manuscript to E.M.M, which also happen to be Murray’s initials. Lizzie, show her the picture.” Jacobs motioned between the two women. Lizzie pulled out her phone, retrieved the picture, and held it up for Trelawney to see.

  “Well, on the slim chance that you happen to be right, it will need to be authenticated by an expert,” Trelawney said as her pomposity mixed in with her condescension. “Of course, since I am the ultimate expert on Edith Blackwell. I would be more than happy to lend my services. You can drop it off at my house—”

  “Shouldn’t it be examined here at the museum? In a proper lab instead of your house? And I thought Katherine Sargent was the preeminent expert on Edith Blackwell?” Lizzie shot back with a loaded verbal barrel, tired of being the target of the former director’s venom. Trelawney’s eyes flashed furiously, but Lizzie stood her ground, refusing to allow herself to be cast off as unqualified and unimportant.

  “I’ve contacted Katherine, actually,” their referee chimed in as he stepped between the two sudden opponents once more. Lizzie knew that he had yet to ask but she wasn’t about to contradict him in front of the viper. “Since she’s on staff and has written several biographies and histories on Edith’s life, Martin Beemer asked her to come and head up the authentication process,” Jacobs explained but it did nothing to calm Trelawney’s increasing irritation.

  “Oh, I see,” Trelawney scoffed. “Well, then I guess my limitless experience is neither needed nor wanted. I guess that I will have to wait and see what you find out. Please do keep me posted,” she half-spat with an iciness that numbed Lizzie to the marrow. Without goodbyes or farewells, Trelawney turned and charged out of the exhibit hall.

  “Of course, we always appreciate all that you’ve done. After all, you’ve spent your life…” Jacobs, the umpire, chased after her, leaving both Lizzie and Sebastian behind. His voice trailed off as they disappeared around the corner.

  “What was that?” Sebastian said once they were alone again. “Did you see how upset she got when Jacobs told her about the manuscript and mentioned Katherine Sargent?”

  “I’m beginning to think that it was wise to heed your grandmother’s advice,” Lizzie admitted, unexpectedly concerned whether Trelawney would show up when she delivered the documents. “I don’t like how defensive she got or how she was so quick to try to discredit me. You would think that as a historian, this kind of discovery would excite her,” Lizzie said again after a long pause and Sebastian suggested that they leave. “If I were in her shoes, I would be ecstatic. It’s almost as if she’s threatened by what I found.” Lizzie couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself. As they passed by the doors to the lecture hall, Sebastian reached out and stopped her.

  “You are an honest historian with nothing to lose. I’m beginning to think that Nana was right. That Trelawney’s nose isn’t as clean as she’d like us to believe.” He glanced away for a second but froze. “Look,” he said, pointing to an advertisement housed in a floor stand beside the lecture hall doors.

  “Edith Blackwell: The Cost of Depression,” Lizzie read the title of a new book written by Dr. Trelawney aloud.

  “The lecture’s over,” the attendant stated, appearing through the door while eyeing Lizzie and Sebastian. “You didn’t miss nothing, though.” The college kid spoke in a thick Northern accent. “Just that doctor lady prattling on about how depression led some lady’s genius. That a lonely life as a spinster is what made her work so good and that without abject melancholy.” the
kid rolled his eyes, “The writing wouldn’t have amounted to crap.”

  Both Lizzie and Sebastian shared a knowing look, both thinking the same thing. Dr. Trelawney had written a book about Edith’s well-known depression. A book, that upon Lizzie’s discovery’s confirmation, would prove to be worthless.

  FOUR

  Edith Blackwell arrived into the world as a dangerous storm waged war against nature. Outside the walls of Blackwell Farm, her father’s family’s estate, the sky lit up brilliantly with deadly flashes of lightning while gale force winds gusted fierce enough to fell several ancient trees across the estate.

  After her mother, Amanda Colton-Blackwell, struggled arduously to birth her child, something went wrong. Just hours after the baby had been born, Amanda Blackwell went into distress. She complained of headaches. Her face and hands swelled to three-times their size, and she complained of blurry vision. Eclampsia, the doctor diagnosed far too late, and sadly, there was nothing that could be done. When Amanda went into convulsions, everyone watched in horror, helpless to save her. The seizures robbed her of her ability to breathe. In the end, Edith’s mother was dead and left Edith’s father a widower and the newborn Edith motherless.

  Barton Blackwell, blamed his innocent daughter for his wife’s untimely death. A daughter that he hadn’t wanted but consented to because it was what his wife had desperately wanted. Unable to bear the infantile screams of his wife’s murderer, he fled his home, leaving Edith to be raised by his spinster sister, Amelia.

  Tenderhearted Amelia adeptly assumed the responsibility of raising the child that Amanda had yearned and died for. Despite her sweet, gentle nature, Amelia was also exacting and shrewd. Soon after Barton’s departure to France—a country where he would live out his final days—Amelia took over the house finances, Barton’s business dealings, and the management of the family estate. Her brother’s apathetic outlook towards living beyond the bottom of a bottle left a sour taste in Amelia’s mouth, creating a bone-deep disdain and leaving her incapable of forgiving him. The last thing that she wanted Edith to have was a life where she grew up feeling unloved and unwanted, just like Amelia had. Amelia’s own mother was a cold, unmaternal woman whose only joy was going to London for months at a time, leaving her twin children at home to be raised by a series of cruel nannies. Their father had been just as absent as their mother was. The business world and endless moneymaking schemes held more interest than the two children that he’d claimed to want.

  As Amelia held a quiet, sleeping baby Edith in her arms, cradling the newborn and rocking her gently, she promised the small, dark-haired girl that she would never know the bitter taste of loneliness. Her promise was that Edith’s life would amount to something, instead of being doomed to rot away in a crumbling house until the Reaper finally came calling.

  ************

  Amelia doted on her niece as Edith grew from a spindly-limbed baby into a health, beautiful little girl with raven-black hair and warm brown eyes that were the very picture of Amanda’s. From the time that she could walk, Edith was immensely curious and inquisitive. Seeing her nieces’ early zeal for knowledge, Amelia began educating Edith early. Education, Amelia knew, was a woman’s greatest asset in a world where her options and rights were practically non-existent. Sophistication and manners would only take a girl so far. Brains erased any obstacle that stood in the way.

  As Edith grew, the bond she and Amelia shared strengthened. Both were more like mother and daughter rather than aunt and niece. They often took long walks across the state, frequently visiting the pond on the back end of the gardens. The pond was the sole reason that Charles Blackwell, Edith’s three-times-great-grandfather, purchased the land, built the house, and established the estate.

  “My grandmother used to claim that the pond was magic. That one could come here, tell the water their secrets, and the water would keep those secrets safe, never to reveal them to anyone,” Aunt Amelia said frequently as she and Edith picnicked on a gingham blanket, gazing out across the pond’s glass-topped waters.

  The idea of enchanted waters filled Edith’s young head with endless daydreams, medieval romantic tales, and whimsical fantasies. Tales of princes and princesses. Of wizards and witches locked in an intense battle, each one seeking to possess the magic of the water. Stories that quickly became Edith’s sole reason for living.

  As Edith lost herself in the imaginary world of her own creation, Amelia saw so much of her younger self reflected in her niece. A girl whose only friends were the staff or imaginary and who was wholly ignorant of reality. Amelia wanted Edith to know more about love, in all its forms. Love was something that she’d never gotten the chance to savor. Most of all, she believed Edith needed other people in her life—friends, to be exact. Her ultimate vow was to see that Edith would never be alone. That Edith would have at least one friend who’d be there as she navigated her way across the rough terrain of life. Ever true to her vow, Amelia went in search of a playmate for her niece.

  After making inquiries through their housekeeper, Hannah Sargent, Amelia agreed to educate the daughter of a local farmer, Adelide Grey, in exchange for the girl becoming Edith’s playmate. The Grey’s jumped at the offer and soon, Adelide entered Edith’s life.

  ************

  The little girls were as different as night and day. While Edith was dark, black-haired with soulful, intelligent eyes, Adelide Grey was crowned with golden-blonde curls and possessed hard, almost soulless gray eyes. Mrs. Sargent often referred to them as ‘the eyes of madness’.

  Upon their first introduction, both Edith and Adelide were unsure of the other. They sat across from each other in the receiving parlor sharing tea, stealing glimpses, both too frightened to speak until neither could bear the silence any longer. Edith sipped her Earl Grey with lemon daintily while Addie slurped hers down. When Edith pointed out Adelide’s crude manners, Aunt Amelia promptly scolded her for her rudeness. Chastised, Edith withdrew into her shyness. Adelide remained frozen to her spot, distant and unsure of how to interact with other little girls her age, the result of being the only daughter with two much older brothers. Somehow, the icy precipice between them bridged and despite coming from starkly different backgrounds, they became fast friends and were soon inseparable.

  By the end of the first week of their meeting, Edith was adamant that Addie, her pet name for Adelide, should live at the manor with them.

  “Addie has her own family that needs and loves her,” Aunt Amelia explained as Edith despondently cried into her shoulder, disappointed that her only friend must live so far away. “Addie is a great help to her mother. Mrs. Grey can’t afford to have Addie away for that long. Don’t you worry, though, Addie can spend the night from time to time, as long as her mother gives her permission.” Edith quickly calmed down as Aunt Amelia laid out alternatives. That moment cemented Amelia’s decision to introduce other children into Edith’s orbit. With a true, faithful friend at her niece’s side, Amelia believed Edith would more prepared. That with someone to lean on, Edith could live within this harsh, bitter world and understand that life was filled with more disappointments than blessings. Amelia wanted her niece to be far more prepared than she ever was. It was a promise that she utterly failed to deliver upon.

  ************

  Over the next five years, Edith and Addie attended class in the schoolroom located on the top floor of the estate. Despite Amelia’s every attempt, no local families would part with their children to ‘cater’ to the whims of the wealthy. Perturbed but undaunted, Amelia changed course and decided to mold Addie into a young woman of Edith’s caliber. To ensure both girls received the best education, Amelia hired Mr. Philip Carruthers to teach his pupils in several subjects including English, History, Mathematics, Sciences, French and Art. Mr. Carruthers found Edith to be a voracious student, eager to devour whatever that day’s lesson provided. Addie on the other hand, was more interested in grandiose daydreams and often shirked her studies. Edith’s gentle, well-mannered demeanor
made her a joy to teach while Addie’s outbursts and uncontrolled fits of anger made her a nightmare.

  “The girl is volatile,” Mr. Carruthers often reported. “If I ask her to comply with the lesson, she turns violent. That coarse little imp becomes impossible when prevented from doing what she wants. Today, when I asked her to stop braiding her hair and quit staring out the window, she threw her inkwell at me. I managed to dodge it, but it shattered against the wall and has marred the wood paneling with an ugly black spot,” he added, disgusted and no longer willing to put up with Adelide’s ever-increasing instability. “I am afraid that I can no longer teach Miss Grey. If that means that I must resign my position, then I will, Madame.”

  The girls were now twelve and the inkwell was the last straw. Amelia had finally had enough and with the advice of Mr. Carruthers, she decided that Addie had reached the end of her education. Addie’s mother was grateful to have her daughter back full time, due to the heavy workload she’d had to tackle alone. Secretly, Amelia was relieved to have Adelide Grey out of her hair. For Edith, it might as well have been a death sentence.

  Despondent over her only friend’s sudden absence and without any other friends her own age, Edith retreated within herself. Although she remained a dedicated student, Edith soon planted herself firmly within the imaginary world of fairies, chivalrous knights, and enigmatic wizards that she’d created long ago. Soon after Addie’s withdrawal, Edith began to write. For hours, she hammered out word after word as if afraid they’d disappear if she didn’t. When asked, Edith willingly showed Carruthers what she had written, unafraid for others to know the world that chose to live in. It was her tutor that first told Amelia about Edith’s remarkable talent.