The Secrets of Water

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “I’ve never seen such a skill for words in someone so young,” Mr. Carruthers proudly declared as he sat drinking tea during their weekly report on Edith’s progress. “Your niece has a remarkable talent for storytelling.”

  “Do you think that it will be a detriment to her as she grows?” Amelia asked, concerned for nothing other than Edith’s welfare. “I’d hate to think that such a talent would negatively influence her ability to attract a husband or God forbid, result in her being shunned by her peers.”

  “Oh no, Madame,” Carruthers sipped his tea, slurping a little but Amelia paid it no mind. “In fact, I think it will develop her mind further. Your niece, despite her seclusion, has a keen grasp on the human psyche. A magnificent understanding of human emotion. Edith knows how the mind and the body influence the decisions that we make. If it were up to me, I would allow her to develop her talent further. In saying that, I’d like to add an hour dedicated to nothing but creative writing to our daily lessons.”

  “If you’re certain, then I see no harm. You may add the time to your lesson,” Amelia agreed but stopped short with alarm. “You don’t think that she will want to publish, do you?” Amelia gasped with a horrified whisper, suddenly scandalized at the thought of a well-bred young woman lowering herself to the rank of ‘authoress’. “Look at poor Jane Austen—a spinster who died in such reduced circumstances.”

  “You forget that Jane Austen is one of the greatest writers that England has ever produced. Miss Edith possesses Jane’s capacity to understand us mere mortals. I don’t believe that you have to worry yourself about that, Madame.” Carruthers immediately set out to put her fears at ease. “It is abundantly clear that Edith’s stories are for only her and her alone. I believe that the only reason that she showed me was because I had asked what she did during her free time. When I questioned her further, I realized the idea to show them to someone else never occurred to her.”

  Carruthers was right. Edith’s writing was for her own enjoyment. The tales that she wove added vibrancy to an otherwise dull life. They allowed her to escape the all-too-familiar walls of the estate and set her off onto unknown and often dangerous adventures.

  Edith wrote furiously over the next several years. In truth, writing replaced Addie as her confidant and friend. Everything she thought, felt, or desired went into her writing. Within the worlds she created, Edith became someone else. It allowed her to experience things that she felt would always be denied to her. Through her written adventures, she risked life and limb, traveled to far off, exotic places, and met both charismatic and sinister men who all clamored for her affections. Edith’s writing gave her a way to cope with the first great loss of her life.

  ************

  When Edith was sixteen, Mrs. Sargent brought news that Adelide’s father had died. Upon the loss of her husband, Addie’s mother had relocated to Bournemouth, leaving the farm in the hands of her two sons. Months later, Mrs. Sargent reported that Addie’s mother had passed away, as well. A death that was both premature and unnatural.

  “They found her butchered in her rented room,” Mrs. Sargent whispered to Aunt Amelia as Edith eavesdropped, hidden behind the kitchen door. “Mrs. Grey had taken to keeping company with men, if you know what I mean, and it seems one got too rough,” Mrs. Sargent added as a shiver of horrified excitement tickled down Edith’s back. Mrs. Sargent went on to say how Addie’s brothers lost the farm due to rampant drunkenness, and that Addie herself had been shipped off to a school in Europe, courtesy of a great-aunt with too much money and a deep dislike for children.

  As Edith listened to the housekeeper’s words, she fought against the burning tears that pooled in her eyes. At that moment, she believed that she’d never see her friend again. Resigned to sorrow, a disheartened Edith left her hiding spot and fled upstairs to her bedroom.

  As the days passed and night blurred into day, Edith spent her time staring out at her magical pond perched in one window or another. Edith even refused to pick up her pen and write. No longer needed, Carruthers went to work at a nearby estate teaching three young boys. To Edith, it was as if he had never been there. Try as she might, Amelia could not get Edith to shake the dark depression that consumed her. The prospect of trips to London and to the Continent, savories, sweets, reams of personalized vellum stationery, even offers to introduce her into society to make new friends—none of it enticed Edith to leave the window or break her gaze from the silver-topped water.

  That autumn, the comfortable, familiar world abruptly ended. After months of barely eating and drinking, Edith abandoned her perch and took a walk outside. Amelia and Mrs. Sargent watched, both stunned with amazement as Edith strolled across the multi-colored, autumnal landscape, taking in the full scope of nature around her. To their joy, Edith ate more that night than she had in months. Edith broke her silence and spoke animatedly at dinner and during tea, discussing the glorious color she’d seen. She even discovered a love of Gothic novels, especially The Romance of the Forest by Ann Radcliffe. Edith’s entire demeanor was transformed overnight as the leaves outside slowly died in a violent protest of vibrant color. This changed behavior was not meant to last, though. With the onset of winter, Edith quickly reverted back to her previous ways.

  ************

  Six months before Edith was to turn eighteen, Amelia Blackwell called for the doctor. Severe pain in her lower abdomen had grown increasingly worse and her appetite had all but disappeared.

  “Uterine cancer,” Amelia told Edith shortly after receiving the diagnosis. “The doctor says that it is advanced and that I do not have much time to live.”

  Edith sat catatonically in the window, unmoving and reactionless to the news. As Amelia turned away, she feared that her niece would soon follow her to the grave. Shortly after her grim prognosis, word arrived that Edith’s father had died. His hired man found him stabbed and robbed of his wallet, lying unconscious in the alleyway near his apartment after a hard night of drinking. Within hours of discovery, Bardon Blackwell was dead.

  “He’s left you everything, my dear,” Aunt Amelia said. “I’m to continue to be the guardian of your fortune until you turn eighteen,” she added, more for her own sake rather than Edith’s. “In his letter, your father’s solicitor, Randall Wagner, has stated that he will send regular updates and will accept any requests regarding the needs of the estate. Once I am gone, if there is anything that you want or need, all you have to do is write. His information is in my top desk drawer.”

  Once again, Edith sat in the window, focused on the pond, barely hearing what Amelia said. To Amelia’s great regret, Edith’s hypnotized state remained unchanged up until the day of her death. Ultimately, it was Mrs. Sargent who finally managed to get through to her.

  “Miss Edith,” Hannah Sargent entered the young girl’s bedroom, forgoing the customary knocking. “I don’t think that you realize that your aunt only has hours to live,” she said with a brutal honesty that finally caught Edith’s otherwise rapt attention. “If you don’t go to her now, you will regret it for the rest of your life. Your aunt has sacrificed so much for you. Don’t let her go to God thinking that you don’t care. She has only done what is best for you. I hope that you realize that.” Mrs. Sargent remained in the doorway as Edith listened. “Now, when you are ready, your aunt is waiting.”

  With that, Mrs. Sargent shut the door softly, leaving Edith alone once more. Edith continued as she was for several minutes more, looking back and forth from the door to the window. After the air settled and her room was at peace again, Edith rose from her seat and went to her cupboards. Taking her time, she chose a plain, pink-linen dress that her aunt had always admired. Washing her face first, Edith dressed and left her room for the first time in months.

  Aunt Amelia smiled weakly as Edith appeared in the doorway. As their eyes met, tears pooled at the corners of Amelia’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks, soaking the pillowcase beneath her head.

  “I’m so very glad that I got to see you befor
e I have to say goodbye,” Amelia whispered. The harshness of the cancer eating away at her body left her voice weak and raspy. “You have been the best part of my life, my dear girl. I have loved you as a mother and I hope that you will always remember that.”

  Unable to express her sorrow in words, Edith rushed across the distance and threw herself across her aunt’s body. She sobbed against Amelia’s emaciated form as her aunt lovingly stroked a tendril of Edith’s hair. By the chiming of the next hour, Amelia was dead.

  ************

  Randall Wagner appeared two days after Amelia’s death. By the time he appeared, Amelia had been buried in the family plot that abutted the tree line and stood adjacent to the pond. When Mrs. Sargent let him in, Randall was aware that Amelia had seen to her own burial arrangements and funeral services, wanting to lessen the burden that would fall upon her niece’s shoulders.

  After Mr. Wagner was announced, Edith reluctantly met with him in the receiving parlor, the same place where Amelia had accepted all their guests.

  “I would like to extend my deepest sympathies, Miss Blackwell,” Randall began in an attempt to break the ice between them. “I knew your father for many years, as well as your aunt, and I will miss them considerably.” After making small talk for a few minutes, Randall Wagner proceeded to go over all that Edith needed to know about the estate, as well as the various investments and properties that were now hers.

  “What am I to do with all of this?” Edith asked, completely overwhelmed by what she’d inherited.

  “That is not for you to worry about,” Mr. Wagner moved to reassure her. “That is what I do. I manage it all for you,” he explained as Mrs. Sargent brought in the tea service. Edith thanked the older woman and announced that she would serve.

  “So, does this mean that I’m a rich woman?” she asked, the pressure of her new world settling upon her as if she were Atlas carrying the world’s burden.

  “Very,” Wagner replied. “If you wanted to, you could buy several estates and vacation homes. You could even buy a flat in London if you wanted. Your father had a head for investment, and he’s left you well provided for.”

  “I guess it’s the only thing that he could do,” Edith said bitterly. “Seeing as that I’ve never met him and that he never had any interest in meeting me.”

  “God saw to it that you had a wonderful, loving aunt, though.” Wagner offered comfort but knew that Edith wouldn’t take any part of it.

  “An Aunt who loved me and saw that I wanted for nothing,” Edith added, her distant voice echoing the pain from her aunt’s death.

  “And now, you have me,” Mr. Wagner said simply. “I know that I’m not family, but I promised your aunt that I would be there if you ever needed anything. I will take care of you from here on out.” He desperately tried to make Edith see that she wasn’t as alone in the world as she believed. “Miss Blackwell, if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I will move Heaven and Earth to see it done.”

  Edith slowly sipped her tea while Wagner, after receiving his client’s consent, explained the bulk of Edith’s fortune. An hour later, Edith escorted him to the door. To her surprise, she quickly warmed to the generous man, wholly respecting that he spoke to her as an equal, rather than a young girl in need of guidance.

  “Mr. Wagner,” Edith said as her new friend turned and began to walk from the house.

  “Yes?” Mr. Wagner stopped mid-stride and quickly walked back to Edith. His face was fragile with worry and looked as if a single touch would shatter it.

  “I wonder if there any possible way that you could send a doctor to the house?” she asked simply.

  “Is something the matter? You’re not ill, are you?”

  Edith shook her head. “No,” she reassured him that she was fine. “It’s my eyes. Sometimes I find myself squinting when I write because the words are so blurry. The squinting gives me headaches, too. I haven’t been able to read or write for months because of it.” Edith finally admitted the source of her depression and unwillingness to pursue what she loved.

  “I will inquire after one and have him sent out as soon as possible,” Randall promised. Edith watched him walk along the pathway until he reached the bottom of the hill. Giving him a wave, she watched him exit through the gate and climb into a waiting car.

  The following day, Doctor Nigel Hamilton, an ophthalmologist from London, appeared on her doorstep and after a lengthy, thorough examination, prescribed a pair of reading glasses, as well as no reading or writing without proper lighting. After his visit and adhering strictly to his rules, Edith’s mood improved. Days later, she picked up her pen once more and finished her first novel.

  ************

  With Mr. Wagner’s help, Edith found an editor who agreed to publish what he called her ‘pretty little novel’ and ordered a scant one hundred copies to be published. Without much publicity, it barely sold twenty copies. Months went by without much of a dent made in the way of sales. For Edith, it didn’t matter. She hadn’t written the novel to sell it, that had been Wagner’s idea. She’d written it as a catharsis and nothing more. Writing her novel was a way to make sense of her aunt’s death and the sudden change in her status.

  In the novel, The Sands of Time, Edith had written of a young woman, much like herself, who was cast into uncertainty and chaos after her caretaker’s death. Then, by a series of fortunate events, her character was on top of the world—wealthy, popular, and in love with a devious man who ultimately was her undoing. The novel progressed with the young woman’s sudden, tragic death. It continued on written from her ghost’s perspective as she haunted her murderer and his new wife until the wife committed suicide, and the murderer went insane. Mr. Wagner raved, heaping Edith with praise each time he came to visit. Mrs. Sargent kept a copy on the mantel at her modest cottage just a few miles away. Even Mr. Brown kept a copy in his work shed. For Edith, it was more than enough to see it in print. It was proof that she’d accomplished something in a world that continually kept women down.

  Edith’s lack of success drastically changed when the wife of an MP picked up a copy in a London bookshop and, after having read it, raved about it to her husband, their colleagues, and friends. Within a month, all copies were sold, leaving the public clamoring for more. Edith’s editor, surprised at the sudden interest, ordered five hundred more copies to be printed. Within days of their arrival, those too were gone, and demand rose once more. A stroke of luck transformed Edith into the one thing that her aunt hadn’t wanted her to be. Edith Blackwell was a published author and in high demand.

  FIVE

  Lizzie and Sebastian left the Lake District Museum, each quiet for the first few minutes after exiting through the main door. Seeing that Lizzie’s mind was preoccupied and with a swift glance at the clock, Sebastian made the terrible announcement that there’d be no time to tour Blackwell Farm, but that there was enough time to stop off at The Little Teapot before returning to his Nana’s cottage.

  “Sebastian!” Melinda’s voice rang out as he and Lizzie sat at an outside picnic table sipping Chinese gunpowder tea sweetened with Manuka honey. Both looked up as Melinda’s high-pitched squeal carried across the car park to the seating area. Lizzie watched the young, svelte blonde make a beeline straight for Sebastian. Behind her, a tall, lanky blonde man about Sebastian’s age followed close on her heels.

  “Andy!” Sebastian shouted, deliberately ignoring Melinda who tried to embrace him but was expertly thwarted as he dodged past, slipping under her outstretched arms as he moved to greet the hulking giant.

  “Seb!” Andy cheered happily as the two met, hugged, and pounded each other’s backs several times before letting each other go. “Why didn’t you let me know that you were coming early?” Andy clapped Sebastian’s shoulder and followed the gesture with the kind of loud, booming laugh that you’d expect out of a giant man. “And who is that? Is that your girl? Man! She’s a fox!” Andy glanced over Sebastian’s shoulder and locked eyes wit
h a blushing Lizzie. Leaving his long-time friend behind, Andy quickly strolled over and introduced himself.

  “Andy Whitworth. Sebastian’s best friend and local law enforcement.” Andy’s voice was deep but pleasant and his gentle, protective demeanor instantly put Lizzie at ease.

  “Eliza Bennett,” she introduced herself as she accepted his handshake. Lizzie gawked at how small her hand looked when compared to Andy’s giant paw.

  “Wait a minute,” Andy half-cocked his head and squinted his eyes for moment. “LIZZIE Bennett?” he said casting a look back at Sebastian.

  “The one and the same.”

  “Sebastian? I thought that she was mad at you?” Andy shouted back to Sebastian without looking away from Lizzie.

  “Oh, I still am,” Lizzie answered instead. “But we’re working on something together and so, I have to tolerate him for the time being.” She remained straight-faced while Sebastian popped with nervous, irritated energy.

  “Well, Miss Lizzie, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Andy bent at the waist and kissed her hand. “And, if he gives you any more trouble or decides to take up his drunken shenanigans again, let me know. A night or two in a cell will make him come to his senses. If not, a thorough arse-kicking should do it,” he added as Sebastian joined them at the table and promptly sat down as he stole a glance at Lizzie.

  The three spent the next half-hour talking like old friends while Melinda pouted, visibly put out by Lizzie’s presence. Seeing that Lizzie’s cup was empty, Sebastian went inside, with Melinda right on his heels, and brought out cups of steaming hot cocoa for everyone. As Sebastian placed her mug in her hands, Lizzie thanked him, secretly delighted to have the old, considerate Sebastian back. A gust of wind blew against them suddenly. A reminder that the temperature had dropped significantly and settled a chill in Lizzie’s bones.