Sixpence and Selkies

by Tilly Wallace

  Sixpence and Selkies

  Manner and Monsters book 5

  Tilly Wallace

  Copyright © 2021 by Tilly Wallace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Version 15.03.21

  Published by Ribbonwood Press

  www.ribbonwoodpress.com

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  Also by Tilly Wallace

  1

  After the biggest society wedding of the London season, the mood of Hannah, Lady Wycliff, was a leaf on the wind—swirling in different directions depending on the whims of a breeze. Joy would sweep through her at being witness to a day so marvellous that it filled the newspapers with tales of the beautiful bride, the handsome groom, and the magical enchantments. Then a wave of sadness would break over her. Never again would she and Lizzie be two giggling girls, as close as any sisters could be.

  When she returned from her honeymoon, Lizzie would step into the role of Duchess of Harden and society had laid weighty expectations upon her. Not to mention the soirées the duchess would host, the charity work for the underprivileged she would undertake. Hannah wondered if her dear friend would manage to find any spare time for her once she threw herself into the full whirlwind of the Season. A quiet voice in the back of Hannah’s head pointed out that if she had remained unmarried, she might by now have slipped into the role of companion and been a constant support to Lizzie in her new life.

  If Hannah were brutally honest with herself, her wallow in self-pity was fuelled by the tiniest sliver of jealousy. Lizzie had married the man she loved and experienced the full pleasures of married life. Hannah felt trapped in the first few pages of a romance novel, as though the reader had lost interest and the characters could not advance to the next chapter. She longed for more heated kisses from Wycliff, but the thought of boldly asking for them made her blush. Nor could she read his behaviour.

  When she had sought her friend’s counsel, Lizzie thought he might be taking a slower approach in order to woo Hannah and allow her time to become accustomed to his affections. While she appreciated that her husband cared enough to progress slowly, sometimes slow was, well, too slow.

  Tick tock. The clock on the mantel marked the progression of time for those in the room. Though it must be said that, due to her mother’s freezing her in time, for Hannah the clock struck the same two-second beat over and over again. What if, in order to advance matters, she had to remove the spell from her body and let the curse steal her life? Oh, the irony if she couldn’t truly live until she died!

  Hannah stabbed her boiled egg a little too vigorously and it shot out of its porcelain cup. The plop as it hit the tablecloth made Wycliff stare at her over the top of the newspaper, his intense black eyes as unfathomable as ever. Hannah had no inkling whether she had committed some terrible wrong, or if he were about to confess his undying love.

  The very thought of that made her snort, which turned into a cough.

  “Are you all right, dear?” her mother asked from her side.

  “Yes, something caught in my throat, is all,” Hannah replied.

  She couldn’t imagine Wycliff doing anything so…fanciful as giving a heartfelt pledge of love and devotion. Nor did she know where such silly ideas were coming from. More and more, she stewed in her growing feelings for her husband. How did one know if one was in love? A distinct physiological change would make a diagnosis easier. Or Timmy could peer into her heart to see if Wycliff’s name was written upon it.

  Pursuing that line of thought made more questions burst into her mind. Did love always evolve at an equal pace in each person? What happened if it didn’t? Or, horrors, what if one person fell deeply in love, only to discover the other party simply thought of them as a good chum?

  “Your egg is escaping,” Wycliff murmured.

  Rather like wrangling bolting horses to a halt, Hannah managed to pull her wayward thoughts back to the scene at the table. The egg spun in a slow circle, its escape impeded by its oval shape and an inability to roll in a straight line.

  She scooped the egg up on a spoon and dropped it back into the chicken-shaped porcelain cup. Hannah swallowed a sigh. If only all her problems were so easy to deal with. Before it shot off again, she placed a finger on the top to exert downward pressure and then sliced horizontally through the shell with her knife. The decapitated piece fell to the plate and Hannah peered within at the bright orange yolk. Their chickens laid eggs with the most vibrant centres, as though each held a little burst of sunshine.

  “I have a request, Hannah.” Wycliff spoke with cautious, measured tones.

  Hannah picked up a small spoon in one hand and a slice of toast in the other. She managed a weak smile. “Oh?”

  Wycliff fidgeted with the edges of the newspaper, then scrunched it up and discarded it beside his plate. “As you know, I instructed my farm manager to buy a ram and a number of ewes of the new breed of merino sheep. I intend to return to my estate to see the flock and attend to some long overdue business matters. Would you care to join me?”

  He kept a steady gaze upon her as he made his request, but his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  This time, a genuine smile touched her lips. He was trying, and perhaps another jaunt in the countryside was just the tonic their marriage needed. “Why, of course I would. How wonderful to see your ancestral home.”

  Seraphina reached out and took Hannah’s hand. “We need to consider timing, Hannah, depending on how long you wish to be gone.”

  She stared at her mother’s gloved hand. With the passage of each day she wondered if her heartbeat’s failing was such a curse anymore. She had a husband who would protect her beyond death. Did a pulse make any difference in whether one was happy or not?

  Hannah patted her mother’s hand and glanced up at the veiled face. “I know. But I have never been to Dorset and it has been so long since we used to go to the seaside as a family. How I miss building sandcastles.”

  “It seems journeys are on everybody’s mind this morning.” Her father spoke up from the head of the table. “I thought I would take Timmy back to see Doctor Colchester. There is much the lad could learn from a fellow aftermage, and I think assisting on country rounds will be less intimidating for him than our regular London clientele.”

  “An excellent idea, Hugh,” Seraphina said.

  At that moment, Barnes rode into the breakfast room on Sheba and leapt to the table as they neared. Barnes ran up and down the centre of the table and bounced on his fingertips. The puppy made for her usual spot in the sun at Wycliff’s feet.

  “Perhaps we should take Barnes and see what Doctor Colchester can discern about him?” Hugh pointed to the hand with his knife.

  Barnes flopped to the tablecloth and tw
itched rather like a landed fish.

  Hannah laughed at his antics. Given he had no eyes, ears, or mouth, he still managed to convey rather a lot through gestures, like a tiny mime. “I don’t think he wants to go to the country, Papa. Would you like to go to Dorset, Barnes?”

  The hand turned over and onto his fingertips. He jumped up and down like the large spider Mary imagined him to be. Then he did some form of contortion. It took Hannah a moment to realise he seemed to be pointing to the severed tattoo on his wrist.

  “Of course! Barnes was a sailor. He wants to go to the seaside,” she said.

  Barnes stopped in front of Seraphina, sat back on his stump, and crossed two fingers. It appeared to be a plea to be allowed to go.

  “Do you think a disembodied hand loose in the countryside is a good idea?” Seraphina cocked her head. “We only recently extended his range to include the garden.”

  “Can you even swim, Barnes?” Wycliff asked.

  “Not overarm, he can’t.” Hugh chuckled at his own joke.

  “Many sailors cannot swim. To learn indicates a lack of faith in their ship being watertight, or in their captain’s ability to keep them from trouble,” Seraphina said.

  Hugh peered at his wife and concern pulled the creases deeper at his eyes. “If we are all away, Sera, what will you do? Fancy joining me in the countryside?”

  Seraphina reached out and took Hugh’s hand. “I miss our walks in the countryside, but I have a task to complete. I shall return the fusil dryads to the Fae realm and advise Queen Deryn of the fate of her grandson.”

  “The puppets will not be incinerated, then?” Hannah asked between mouthfuls of toast. Much discussion had taken place about the fate of the fusil dryads, the small wooden bloodsuckers responsible for the deaths of two men. While technically they had committed the crime, it had been at the command of Baron Medwin, the faery queen’s grandson. In that regard, the puppets were somewhat like a rifle or sword, being the weapon wielded by another, who used it to monstrous ends.

  “No. While they are dangerous creatures, it seems unfair for them to spend an eternity locked away in the Repository because of what the baron ordered them to do. I am certain Queen Deryn will find a secure place for them and ensure they do not return to our realm.” Seraphina clutched an empty teacup in her hands.

  “How I wish I could see the Fae court.” Hannah half closed her eyes and conjured a fantastical scene in her mind. What a wondrous sight it would be—full of the most beautiful beings and other magical creatures. The book Wycliff had found for her said that the Fae possessed unicorns, who shone like glittering silver by moonlight. What woman didn’t want to gaze upon a unicorn?

  Wycliff narrowed his eyes at her. “You mean accompanying your mother to the Fae court sounds better than my offer of a farm visit to see sheep?”

  Hannah stared at her husband, her mouth opening and closing while she tried to respond. Although really, there was no choice to be made. A trip to the Fae realm was virtually impossible for an ordinary person like her without serious repercussions. Many mortals lost track of time and returned to their lives decades later, or fell so in love with the Fae that they pined and died without them. Hannah could not take such risks, but she did expect her mother to conjure images of what she saw upon her return.

  Seraphina laughed and waved a hand at Wycliff. “Don’t tease the poor girl, Wycliff. Sheep have their own magical properties—particularly when it comes to falling asleep. Since we are all venturing away for some time, perhaps you might consider taking Frank and Mary with you to Dorset? I could construct a spell that binds Barnes to within a certain distance of Frank. He is large enough to work as an anchor point to stop our diminutive friend from running off.”

  “A disembodied hand, a stitched-together monster, and a maid prone to fainting in the country? Well, at least we won’t lack for entertainment.” Wycliff’s dark eyes sparkled with humour as his gaze returned to Hannah.

  Barnes leapt up and down with excitement and ran round the tabletop in circles.

  “We shall take Sheba with us, too. I am sure she will love the open spaces and walks through the forest.” Hannah would need to tell Mary of the forthcoming trip. There would be much packing to do.

  “If Hannah wants to stay in Dorset for longer than a month, Sera, I could collect you from the Fae doorway down that way and we could visit Mireworth for a few days. Assuming her ladyship does not mind our intrusion?” Hugh winked at his wife and daughter.

  Hannah’s mind spun. While she knew there were ways to the Fae realm, she didn’t understand exactly how one moved between them. That led her to wonder if it were similar to the way Wycliff could travel to the underworld. His form had disappeared as he stepped on that shadowy path. “Do the Fae use doorways, and not paths such as Wycliff saw leading to the underworld?”

  “Yes, dear. Fae doorways are fixed in certain places, whereas I suspect the path Wycliff can see is more fluid, and appears as needed. Fairy rings and standing stones mark Fae doorways. Although some are purely for show, of course, they guard the real doorways so people don’t inadvertently stumble through,” Seraphina explained. Then she turned to her husband. “That would be most convenient, Hugh. You could signal me when you are at the Dorset doorway. That will ensure I don’t lose track of time—you know I do not like to be away from you overlong.”

  “You would be most welcome at my—our—estate,” Wycliff said. “Although I must apologise in advance for its sad state of neglect and disrepair. Most of the house is shut up and not lived in. The housekeeper has a few rooms maintained on the ground floor, but it will be basic accommodation. Not unlike being back on the campaign trail,” Wycliff added.

  Seraphina laughed. “Your home would be a palace compared to the hovel Hugh used to live in when I first met him. I do believe he shared it with rats and a family of owls, and there was so much dirt on the floor that potatoes and mushrooms grew in the corners.”

  Hugh squeezed his wife’s hand and a look of pure love and devotion shone in his eyes. “I had nothing, and yet when you gave me your heart, I became the richest man in the world.”

  Hannah dropped her attention to the empty eggshell on her plate. If Wycliff ever gazed at her with a fraction of the love her father bestowed on her mother, she would consider herself a most fortunate woman.

  2

  That afternoon, Hannah sat on the window seat in her mother’s turret as the powerful mage prepared the monthly renewal spell. With a piece of yellow chalk, Seraphina drew a coffin shape on the wooden floor. Then she added another boundary around the first line. The three-inch space between the two lines was filled with runes and symbols that Hannah didn’t understand, but a chill washed over her skin and raised goose bumps as each image was drawn.

  One satisfied with her work, Seraphina threw the chalk onto the bench and waved to Hannah. “I am ready for you now, my dear.”

  Hannah walked to the chalk outline and swallowed the lump in her throat. Though they had performed the same ritual every month for over two years now, it never became any easier to place herself in the drawn coffin. She gathered her skirts in one hand to stop them from brushing the patterns as she stepped in and lay down. With her hands crossed over her chest, Hannah closed her eyes and waited.

  Her mother shuffled closer to the edge of the drawing and placed one gloved hand on Hannah’s head, the other over her heart. Then Seraphina began to chant in a low tone. An invisible hand squeezed Hannah’s heart, and just as she thought she could endure it no longer and might cry out, her mother fell silent and the interior grip loosened.

  “All done, Hannah.” Seraphina patted her daughter’s head.

  She opened her eyes, sat up, and curled her feet under her. “And?”

  After every instance of performing the spell, her mother issued the same reassurance—the curse lay dormant in Hannah’s body, she remained in a frozen point in time, and they had another month to work on a cure.

  Today, her mother remained sile
nt.

  In a rare move, Seraphina raised her veil and revealed her ruined face. The greyish skin and blue blotches spoiled her once pale complexion, but nothing dimmed the love in her blue eyes. “I do not wish to alarm you, Hannah. My spell holds and the curse will not have you this month. But it has…moved.”

  “Moved?” Whatever did that mean? Had it pooled in her toes?

  “That is the easiest way to explain the change I sense within you. It is like an army laying siege to a castle encircles their target. I fear that after all this time, the dark magic is testing my spell, perhaps seeking a way to break through. But it will not succeed, Hannah. Death will not have you.” Seraphina took her daughter’s hands and the two women sat side by side on the floor.

  Hannah had delayed death for two years. Her heart should have stilled a few weeks after she had first dabbed the poisoned powder on her face, and she should have joined the gentle ranks of the Afflicted. The many months that had passed since had given her ample opportunity to face her fear of death. When viewed objectively, her situation was not so terrible. After she died, at least she would arise in her bedroom, surrounded by her family. They would never know how many of those who had used the tainted powder had roused to find themselves buried deep in the ground with no hope of escape from their graves. When her parents had tried to exhume those they suspected of being Afflicted, the families had denied them permission.

  “We cannot hold it back forever, Mother. But do not worry, for I am not afraid. Not anymore.” Wycliff would protect her and her mother both. Legislation might declare them to be dead, and as such unable to hold property or fulfil other legal obligations, but they would still continue with their lives. “Besides, when that day arrives, you and Father will finally have one of the Afflicted willing to sit in a bathtub of potion while you call down a lightning strike.”