The Mermaid's Call

by Katherine Stansfield

  ‘The man you dreamt of, him lying beneath the cliff,’ I said. ‘You knew him, didn’t you?’

  And then his face was more wet than ever for he was scritching.

  ‘It was Joseph. My brother. I knew it, even though it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I need you to find who killed him!’

  ‘But Captain Ians,’ Anna said, ‘you’re speaking simply of a dream.’

  ‘I wish I was. Once my ship reached Lisbon, I felt compelled to return home. I found passage to Falmouth and from there took the fastest coaches north. I arrived in Morwenstow yesterday, as he was discovered. It was just as I had seen in the dream. The same clothes, the same arrangement of the limbs, the cuts. They were bringing him up the cliff path as I arrived.’

  ‘Who were?’ I said.

  ‘The parson, his men. I … I was not myself in that moment, I will own it. I was overcome. To see such a thing. I did not know if I was asleep or awake, and that brought great terror to my mind. When I recovered, I found myself at a loss, for I cannot return to my ship until I know if this poor soul is indeed my brother Joseph and how he met this dreadful end.’

  ‘But you’ve seen the body now,’ I said. ‘Surely you can tell if it is your brother?’

  ‘In truth, I cannot, for I have yet to see the body at close proximity. The parson has it locked in his deadhouse, where he keeps them.’

  ‘Keeps who?’ I said, not liking the sound of a deadhouse.

  ‘The sailors cast on his shores. The parson views it as the Lord’s work, but the Devil is in those waters.’ The captain leant forward in his chair. ‘But Joseph is not a sailor come to grief in a storm. He was killed by human hands.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Anna said.

  ‘Because of the dream. Only my brother lay beneath the cliffs, but it was all around him, a woman’s presence. I knew she was there with him, felt it as strongly as I felt the waves’ spray on my lips.’

  ‘As if she was the sea herself.’ The words were out of my mouth before I knew they were my own. Anna stared at me. The captain too, his mouth fallen open.

  ‘That is a most apt description, Mrs Williams, but how in God’s name could you know? Unless you, too, are part of this. That’s why I found the paper in the coach. I see it now, all the parts.’

  He had grown fretful, seeming to wrap himself in his arms, and I saw how he would have been after waking from his dream, burdened by knowing what was to come but stuck out at sea, the land before him not his own. So many miles still to go, so many weeks to pass before he could find the truth of what would happen. And when he did, such pain.

  He was murmuring to himself. ‘I was right to come. It’s clear now.’

  ‘Captain?’ Anna said. ‘What is it that you believe Mrs Williams knows?’

  ‘About the woman. In Morwenstow, they say the man was killed by a mermaid.’

  SEVEN

  Anna laughed, but soon stopped when she saw he was serious in his claim.

  ‘You surely don’t believe these tales, Captain Ians?’

  He gripped his hands together in his lap to hide the worsened shake. ‘People spoke of such things when I was a boy. Stories to pass the winter evenings, to frighten children. At sea, I have heard men claim they spy the creatures but that is in the doldrums, where their minds are changed by the long calm. They stare so long at the water they fashion the sea cows’ long hair and a tail. I have no time for these fancies on board, and would not have given any credence to the talk in Morwenstow, but that was before …’

  ‘Before the dream,’ I said, ‘for that has changed everything.’

  He nodded eagerly. ‘You see it, Mrs Williams! You see it in me. I am not the same man I was when I put to sea on this last voyage. I am changed, and if that is so, then perhaps all I had thought nonsense before is now real and it was a mermaid that killed Joseph.’

  Anna shifted her chair so that it shrieked against the floorboards and so spoke her feelings sharp.

  ‘I think it would be best if we kept to matters less watery, Captain.’

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Drake. I have not slept since reaching Falmouth.’

  ‘But that must have been days ago,’ I said. ‘How are you still on your feet?’

  He smiled a sad smile. ‘That is another mystery. But I must not give in. I fear what I may see if I allow myself to dream.’

  What curse this poor man bore. I wished to free him of it.

  ‘Such things as mermaids are my work,’ I said. ‘Of the two of us, I am the one for the strange parts of stories, the parts that won’t sit easy with Miss Drake’s facts.’

  The captain seemed more at ease for the first time since his arrival. ‘Then I have come to the right place to discover the truth of the dream, and of the poor soul still lying in the parson’s deadhouse. There is no constable in Morwenstow and as I rushed there from Falmouth, I had no clue of my next step. I do not believe it was chance that led me to see your advertisement in the newspaper left inside the Bodmin coach. If you will let me know your rates?’

  And Anna smiled her truest smile, for here was her truest moment. ‘I can assure you, Captain Ians, that they are very reasonable indeed. Fifty pounds to identify the deceased, to discover the manner in which he died and apprehend the perpetrator, if the death be confirmed as unnatural.’

  I sucked in my breath. Fifty pounds! What was Anna thinking? We had charged only thirty for our last case, and that was gentry that was paying. I worried she had overplayed her hand, asking so much now. Then I thought of what we had spoken of the day before, Anna’s worry of money, and I saw her need to raise our prices. A risky bet, but she was all for risks was Anna Drake.

  I needn’t have been fearful. Such was Captain Ians’ need to be free of the curse he suspected was upon him, and so be able to sleep again, that he accepted Anna’s bargain.

  ‘If you wish to examine the body, then I would urge you not to delay,’ the captain said as he stood.

  ‘We will leave as soon as we have made ready,’ Anna said. ‘This afternoon at the very latest. I must tell you, Captain, not to be concerned if you do not see us there immediately. Mrs Williams and I will be in Morwenstow but we may not be as you see us here.’

  ‘You will be disguised?’ he said, and my heart fluttered a little, for it was beginning, the case. We would soon be others.

  ‘It might be necessary to adopt different identities, of a dramatic kind,’ Anna said. ‘But rest assured, we will alert you to our presence, and our findings.’

  The captain shook hands with us both, for I had no fear now he was drowned. He was dry at last and his skin had found some colour. The water had been a sign of his burden and he had left it behind, pooled across the parlour floor. Our burden now. I led him to the landing while Anna fetched his coat.

  ‘The sooner you can come, the better,’ he said. ‘I dare not leave Morwenstow too long. The parson is minded to bury the poor wretch with all haste rather than wait for the coroner. He will not hear me when I tell him this is no ordinary sailor washed up on his shore.’

  ‘Rest assured, we will not tarry,’ Anna said.

  ‘You will find me at the Bush Inn.’

  ‘Until then.’

  Once he was gone Anna set about collecting our things and almost at once the parlour looked bare, as if we hadn’t lived there so fully as I had thought. As if we had only ever been waiting to go.

  ‘Shilly?’ Anna’s arms were full of shawls and blankets. She had stuffed the pages bearing my writing in the grate.

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘I said, will you ask Mrs Yeo about our transport to Morwenstow? She’ll know who might take us.’

  ‘All right, but—’

  She hurried off in the direction of her room.

  ‘—I must find Mathilda too,’ I called after her.

  Her answer was the sound of the travelling case thrown open.

  The rain was still falling as I crossed the courtyard to the Yeos’ cottage. Mrs Yeo welcomed me in warmly, as s
he always did.

  ‘Mrs Williams! Come in, my dear. Come in. What a day we’re having!’

  I couldn’t see the woman herself for my wet hair was all over my face. I pawed it from my eyes then bumped my head on a milk jug hanging from a beam. Laughter from the back of the cottage – Mrs Yeo’s girls playing slaps.

  ‘I can’t stay, Mrs Yeo, for we’ve much to do, but I need to ask—’

  ‘You must tell me,’ she said, her voice a-hum with excitement, ‘did the captain bring news of a murder?’

  ‘He did, and we’ve to go as soon as we can, to see about it.’

  Mrs Yeo gave my arm a squeeze. ‘The Lord has brought you a death! And you’ll find the truth of it.’ She shook her head in wonder at my cleverness. Well, mine and Anna’s.

  I asked about a cart to take us to Morwenstow and Mrs Yeo said she knew just the man. Davey was too old to fish but not too old to flick the reins of his mare Clemmie.

  ‘But he won’t go today,’ Mrs Yeo said, ‘the weather like this. Won’t be any matter to wait a day, will it, what with the party up Morwenstow already being dead.’

  ‘It might if that party goes in the ground before we get there,’ I said, thinking of telling Anna of this delay and not liking that thought at all. ‘If Davey won’t go, who else would? Any of the fishermen?’

  ‘Not likely. If they’re not putting to sea, which they won’t with this rain, they’ll be keeping close to their hearths. No one will go out until the storm’s eased.’

  ‘Can’t blame them for that,’ I said, though I knew Anna would. ‘As soon as Davey can take us, we’ll go. Have you seen Mathilda? She went out when the captain arrived and I need to find her.’

  At this, Mrs Yeo hesitated. ‘You know, Mrs Williams, I did see her. She went dashing off towards the harbour just as I was coming back here, having been in to see you about the captain. Flying, she was! And in all the rain, too. I called out to her. She didn’t hear me, probably.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t. Mathilda’s a good girl, Mrs Yeo.’

  ‘Oh, she is! Dear of her. She’s not from these parts, is she?’

  ‘No, she’s not. But she’s with us now, me and Anna. That’s where she belongs.’

  I took my leave and ran back across the courtyard to the side door we used to reach our rooms above the shop. As I closed the door there was a thump on the other side. I opened it, and there was Mathilda, soaked through and pale. I hauled her inside, cursing her and petting her at the same time. Through all the layers of dress and coat and shawls I could feel she was chilled to the bone.

  EIGHT

  Mathilda woke me in the night but there were no screams this time. A cough stirred in her chest. By the time the day was fully light she was feverish. I ran for Mrs Yeo.

  The good woman came straight from her bed, her hair loose, clad in her nightdress and stout boots. She pulled away the blankets and felt Mathilda’s forehead, the back of her neck, while I dithered at the bedside. My poor girl gave no sign she knew we were there. Her eyes were closed and she muttered to herself.

  ‘She’s terrible hot,’ Mrs Yeo said, ‘and yet shaking as if with cold, dear of her. Let’s get her wrapped up, Mrs Williams, and then we’ll wake up the fire.’

  ‘Anna – we need your blankets,’ I called.

  ‘I’m afraid they’re packed.’ She was in the doorway, and I saw then that she’d dragged her travelling case onto the landing.

  ‘This fever won’t break for a little while yet,’ Mrs Yeo said. ‘Can you wait a day or two before you leave?’

  ‘I fear not, Mrs Yeo. Captain Ians impressed upon us the need for urgency in this case. We must see the body before it’s buried.’

  ‘But we can’t move Mathilda,’ I said. ‘Look at the poor state she’s in!’

  ‘That’s as may be. The fever might not break yet awhile, but the weather has. Can’t you hear it, Shilly?’

  And I realised it was quiet, for the first time in days. The storm had passed.

  ‘Well then,’ Mrs Yeo said, knotting her hair. ‘You’ll leave Mathilda here with me.’

  Anna was speaking, and then it was agreed, and so quick – Mathilda would stay with the Yeos until she was well enough to come to Morwenstow.

  ‘We will reimburse you for any additional expenses incurred, of course,’ Anna said.

  ‘Now, don’t you worry, Miss Drake. Mathilda’s such a kindly soul. She don’t eat no meat, do she?’

  Anna looked uncertain at these last words.

  ‘She … she does not abstain from eating meat, Mrs Yeo, but I would assure you Mathilda doesn’t eat an excessive—’

  ‘She means that Mathilda’s no trouble,’ I said.

  ‘Oh!’ Anna said, and laughed. Laughed when Mathilda lay so poorly! ‘I will have to make a note of that one, Mrs Yeo. Very droll.’

  I was made fearful by this arrangement, but there seemed no way to stop it. We had to leave and Mathilda couldn’t be moved. I couldn’t stay, for Anna would need me for the mermaids and suchlike. There was no other remedy but still my heart was heavy as Anna and I made ready to go.

  She fair flew round our few rooms collecting this and that, hurrying me. She told me I must wear a different dress than usual, that I must rid myself of Mrs Williams’ mourning colours and that made my breath catch in my throat. Was I to be someone else to go to Morwenstow?

  ‘You’re still Mrs Williams,’ Anna said. ‘And before you ask, yes, you can keep the red curls and the hat. I know how much you like them. It’s only the dress that needs changing. Your mourning is over, Shilly!’

  And then she was off again and there was no chance to find out any more.

  All too soon it was time to leave. I knelt by Mathilda’s bed – mine too, but mine no longer. Her eyes were fretful beneath the closed lids, dancing with dreams. Made worse with the fever? I hoped she was spared that.

  ‘Did you tell Mrs Yeo about the bar,’ I asked Anna, ‘for when Mathilda bites her tongue?’

  ‘I did. You should let the poor girl sleep, Shilly.’

  ‘It’ll only be a few days, won’t it? Until she comes to Morwenstow?’ I stroked Mathilda’s cheek. Her skin was clammy.

  ‘We’ll have to see,’ Anna said. ‘There’s no point making her travel before she’s ready, is there? You wouldn’t want to make her worse.’

  ‘Of course not, but—’

  ‘Well, there we are, then.’

  ‘Anyone would think you were glad Mathilda’s taken poorly and can’t come with us,’ I said, and I thought again of their argument, for I was sure it had been an argument, whatever Anna might have said after.

  There was no reply to this. I turned. Anna had moved to the landing and was putting things in her black bag, the one she always took detecting. And she was wearing trousers.

  ‘Come on, Shilly-Shally,’ she called.

  My name for being slow, for being late. For being myself. If she was calling me that then it really was time to go.

  I pulled up Mathilda’s blankets and tucked them so that she was as well wrapped against the cold as she could be, then bent to kiss her.

  Her eyes fluttered open and after a moment she seemed to know who I was.

  ‘Shilly! You mustn’t let her—’

  Mathilda struggled to get out of bed but so feeble it was easy to keep her where she was, and she soon tired of the fight.

  ‘Now, you must stay in bed, Mathilda, and get well as soon as you can so that you can come to Morwenstow and help us with this case, for we’ll need you.’

  She closed her eyes and muttered something, but I couldn’t catch the words. I thought they might have been in her German way of talking.

  I hurried down the stairs, made breathless, suddenly, with the certainty that Anna would leave without me. Much as I wanted to stay and look after Mathilda, the thought of losing Anna was too dreadful to bear. She could walk out of my life at any moment, there was the truth of it. I needed to make sure she wouldn’t leave me behind.

  She was
in the street, lifting one end of her travelling case, and a short man, old as the hills, lifting the other. But she wasn’t Anna now. The person I knew but did not know, telling me to hurry, was a man.

  Another of Anna’s selves. He took my hand and pressed hard on my wedding ring, looked me dead in the eye and I knew the game.

  ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘so pleased you could join us. This is Mr Davey. He has very kindly agreed to take us to Morwenstow. Mr Davey, my wife, Mrs Williams.’

  ‘Good morning to ’ee, missus,’ the old man said, then he looked from one of us to the other. ‘Betty Yeo did tell me it was to be two women I was taking on the road.’

  ‘It was,’ I said. ‘But we have had a change. My husband is joining me instead.’

  ‘Right enough,’ he said. ‘A fine day for it, with the rain gone.’

  I might have said yes, isn’t it, glad to be with you, Mr Davey, what rain we had, the poor men going out in it, or any such thing. My lips moved but what they said was anyone’s business for all I could think was wife wife wife.

  NINE

  Boscastle had been washed proper in the storm. The sea was the colour of polished pewter, the green on the cliff tops bright, as if the Lord had laid fresh turf in the night. Davey’s mare was not so fresh herself. Clemmie, Mrs Yeo had said she was called. The creature’s back was bowed and I could see the shadows of her ribs. Her grey coat was nicked in places, pink flesh showing.

  I climbed into the cart beside Anna, who was my husband now, and she said to Davey seated in front that we were ready, at last. Davey flicked the reins. His old mare gave a great sigh I could feel through the seat, and then lurched forward. We were off. How long would it be until we returned?

  The hill that led out of the village was steep and winding, and we were slow going, Clemmie a plodder. The freshness of the morning air was soon lost for both Davey and Anna lit their pipes. Now she was a man again it looked more usual a habit. Davey stowed his tobacco beneath his soft cloth hat, such as the fishermen wore. And so we travelled in our own cloud of tobacco smoke. Clemmie coughed, but that was from the effort, I thought, not the smoke. I didn’t mind it. The sweet prickle of the pipe was the smell of Anna, the woman beneath all the false selves. Whoever she was being, she was always smoking.