Sixpence and Selkies

by Tilly Wallace

  Seraphina burst out in laughter and wrapped her arms around Hannah. “I do so admire your spirit. When I return from the Fae realm, we will discuss what we do next. The time has come for us to take a bold step to defeat our invisible enemy.”

  “You will journey to the underworld,” Hannah murmured.

  It was the logical progression of their search for a cure. Seraphina would journey to the next life and seek out the creator of the dark magic spell, with the assistance of a hellhound to shake the truth from the mage responsible.

  “Yes, but don’t tell your father just yet. You know how he will worry.” Seraphina pulled the veil back over her face and shuffled to her bathchair. She muttered a spell and her body levitated the short distance necessary for her to resettle in the chair.

  Sir Hugh would not be the only one to worry. Concerns gnawed at Hannah, too. To walk beside the hellhound, Seraphina would need to sever the strand that bound her soul to her physical form. They had no idea what effect that would have. What if the strand connecting soul to dead form was the very thing that kept her mother animated? Hannah’s concerns extended beyond her mother to include Wycliff, too. If only there was a way for her to make the journey with her husband. But only the dead could cross into the shadow realm.

  “What if you don’t return?”

  “There is no point worrying about things that have not yet happened. Do you really think Wycliff would leave his mother-in-law in Hell?” Seraphina tilted her head and the muslin swayed.

  Hannah bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I suspect there is many a husband who would happily deposit his mother-in-law in Hell, but I don’t believe Wycliff is one.”

  Her mother’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “You may be right. But as I said, don’t go gathering worries before their time. Now, off you go. You have much to organise and I need to finalise the spell to bind Barnes to Frank.”

  The next few days passed in a whirl of activity. Trunks were packed and Mary agonised far longer over what belongings to take than Hannah did. The maid bubbled with both excitement and dread about a trip to the seaside. It transpired that she shared Hannah’s reservations about the ocean. Though neither of them could swim, at least Hannah had happy memories of playing in the sand as a child. Mary had never seen the ocean.

  “I’m not going into the sea, milady, but I would like to wriggle my toes in the sand,” Mary said as she closed the lid of the trunk.

  “I’d quite like to sit on the sand myself.” Another thought occurred to Hannah. Wycliff had mentioned teaching her to swim. What would that be like—to have his arms hold her as the waves tugged at her body? Would he hold her tight or would she slip from his grasp?

  “We’re all done, milady. I’ll have Frank carry the trunks down.” Mary placed her hands on her hips and surveyed her work.

  A regular tapping made Hannah look around. It sounded like a breeze knocking a branch against glass. Except no trees reached Hannah’s first floor windows. “Mary, where is Barnes?”

  The hand had been assisting them by selecting pieces of jewellery, which they rolled up in a blue velvet case.

  “Oops.” The maid lifted the lid of the trunk and then jumped back.

  Barnes climbed over the side and dropped to the floor as though he had been deprived of oxygen. Sheba rushed over and administered a reviving lick.

  “That could have been an uncomfortable trip, Barnes,” Hannah murmured as she closed the trunk once more and ushered the group from the room.

  That night, the family had a quiet dinner before they were to part ways in the morning. Hugh would transport Seraphina to the doorway to the Fae realm, where she would be met by Helga, a woman in Lady Loburn’s employ. The robust and sensible servant was often used to assist the dead mage on her trips. Helga was painfully short-sighted without her spectacles, and would remain unaffected by the beauty of the Fae. The Miles home would remain silent except for Cook, who looked forward to her own sort of holiday. The old woman would sit by the fire, she said, and knit.

  Seraphina had crafted a mage silver ring for Wycliff, which she presented at the end of the meal. “I made it in the shape of a bone, like Hugh’s ring. I thought that an appropriate shape for both a physician and a hellhound.”

  Wycliff slipped the ring onto the smallest finger on his right hand, and the magical metal adjusted to the perfect size. “Thank you.”

  The yard bustled the next morning with two carriages hitched up and all the horses pawing the ground, impatient to move off. Frank and Old Jim loaded the trunks onto the correct vehicles. Sir Hugh had hired a large travelling coach and four horses to take Hannah and Wycliff to Dorset, and the vehicle would provide ample space for them and their luggage.

  Frank fussed over the equines, checking the harnesses and scratching withers as final arrangements were made. Then the trunks were secured to the rear by ropes. Cook pushed a basket into Hannah’s hands containing a meal to tide them over until their stop that evening.

  Seraphina sat in her bathchair to one side, the chickens surrounding her like ladies-in-waiting. “Barnes,” she called out, “it is time.”

  The hand scampered over, ducked around a chicken, and climbed up the side of the bathchair. Seraphina picked up Barnes in her gloved hands and held him before her face.

  Hannah had a flash of an illustration in a picture book that accompanied the fairy tale of the Princess and the Frog. If her mother kissed Barnes, would he be transformed into a frog leg?

  The mage whispered and the words became a blue-tinged gust that swirled around the hand until he stood in the middle of a head-sized vortex. Then a piece broke off and raced toward Frank. The blue wind grew in size as it spun around the giant’s middle. When the swirling covered all of Frank’s torso for a split second, the wind became solid, like water that flash froze, with an accompanying loud crack. Then blue chunks fell away but never touched the ground, having dispersed into the air.

  “Done,” Seraphina said.

  She placed Barnes on the ground and the hand turned around and around, as though looking to see if he had grown a tail.

  The mage pointed a finger at the disembodied hand. “You are tethered to Frank, Barnes, and I have given you a two-hundred-foot range. I think that will cover most scenarios. Should you try to venture farther than that, you will encounter a solid wall that will not let you take another step in the wrong direction. If Frank moves beyond the allowed distance, you will be dragged to within the necessary distance. Try not to be on the other side of something solid if that happens.”

  Frank stared at his middle, a deep frown on his face.

  Mary clung to his arm. “It won’t hurt my Frank, will it?”

  Hannah swallowed a laugh. Mary worried about Frank, who was the anchor, but it was poor Barnes who would suffer if the tether tried to pull him through a tree or a wall. Or imagine if a gust of wind caught the hand—he might become a kite gliding high above Frank as he strode across the countryside.

  Seraphina waved away the maid’s concerns. “Of course not, Mary. Frank won’t feel a thing. But do remember Barnes is connected to you before you take off in any kind of conveyance, and ensure he is nearby. Otherwise the poor fellow will be bounced along in the road behind you.”

  A low chuffing noise, somewhat like the new and experimental steam engines, came from the constructed man. He rarely laughed and the odd sound suited him, as though warmth and humour rolled off him like puffs of steam coming from a kettle.

  Wycliff and Hugh checked everything over again and the time had come to say goodbye.

  “Before you depart, I have one more enchantment to weave. Hannah, Wycliff, would you take my hands, please?” Seraphina held out her gloved hands.

  Hannah glanced to her husband, then took her mother’s hand. Wycliff approached more cautiously, but he took hold of Seraphina’s other hand.

  “Good. Now if you two would join hands,” Seraphina instructed.

  They did as asked, the three of them now hand in hand
and forming a loose circle. Seraphina’s head dropped forward and she murmured in a strange tongue. Whispers raced over Hannah’s skin and tickled, as her mother’s magic washed over her body. On the last syllable from her mother’s throat, the gold ring on Hannah’s left hand wriggled of its own accord. Wycliff stared at his own hand and she assumed the same thing was happening on his finger.

  Seraphina let them go. “It is done. I have added an enchantment to your wedding bands to let you signal one another if necessary. It won’t be as elegant as contacting me, nor will it enable direct communication, but should the need arise, you have only to rub the gold ring and think of the other person. That will make their ring wriggle as you just experienced. I am still pondering how to enable you to talk to one another across distances—and whether a miniature you carried might be ensorcelled to work as a conduit.”

  Hannah stared at her hands. One gold ring, one silver, and each touched by a different type of magic. She leaned down and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you. I will see you in a month’s time, Mother.”

  “Have a glorious adventure, Hannah, and we can swap stories when I see you next.” Seraphina reached up and stroked her daughter’s cheek before letting her go.

  Next, Hannah hugged her father, and she even managed a quick cuddle with Timmy, which made the lad blush as he scampered away to the family’s carriage.

  Mary stood next to the large travelling carriage and fidgeted with her hands.

  “Whatever is it, Mary?” Hannah asked as she looked around the yard one last time.

  The maid leaned close and whispered, “Do I have to ride inside? His lordship is ever so fearsome. I’d rather sit up with Frank, if it’s all the same to you, milady.”

  Mary remained oblivious to Frank’s gruesome, stitched-together appearance and saw only the gentle soul that dwelt within. Yet Wycliff’s stern good looks struck fear in her heart. Hannah decided it was best not to tell her about the souls attached to Frank. Men were forever bound to his form by the stitches Lord Dunkeith had used to attach the limbs taken from others…but Mary did not need to know that.

  Hannah nodded. “Of course you may, Mary. But if bad weather threatens, I will insist you sit inside. Wycliff is bringing his mare, so he won’t always be in the carriage. He will ride at times.”

  “Oh.” Mary’s face brightened. “I’ll sit with you then, milady, when his lordship is on his horse.”

  Wycliff tied his mare to the ring at the back of the carriage and scratched the horse’s withers. The saddle and bridle were stored in a rear trunk, for when he wished to ride.

  “Where will you sit, Barnes?” Wycliff picked up the hand.

  Barnes gestured up and Wycliff placed him on the high driver’s seat.

  “He wouldn’t have much of a view from inside, unless he swung from the curtains,” Hannah murmured as Wycliff helped her up into the carriage. Then he handed up the spaniel, who sat on the seat and peered out the window.

  Hannah waved to her parents as they set off. An odd disturbance churned in her stomach, as though things would never be the same again. Silly, she chided herself. This was her second trip away in as many months and it was only the disruption to her normally quiet routine that made her unsettled.

  They skirted the fringes of London and headed southwest. As twilight fell, they broke their journey at a quaint tavern in Winchester. Light and laughter rolled from within. Frank eyed the activity and growled, preferring to stay in the stables with the horses. Not everybody was like the Miles family. Strangers often stared and he preferred to stay in the shadows, lest he distress others with his appearance. Mary split her time between fussing over Hannah inside and worrying about Frank outside.

  Wycliff procured two rooms next to each other, and Hannah discovered she was to share one with Mary.

  Who snored.

  3

  They set off from the tavern early the next day, as Wycliff was keen to reach Mireworth before dark. They halted only for short rest breaks and ate luncheon by a stream as Frank watered the horses. After lunch Wycliff rode his mare, but after two hours, they paused to remove the horse’s saddle and tie her to the back of the carriage.

  Afternoon was lengthening toward sunset when Wycliff sat forward and peered out the window. He pointed to the left. “We will be able to see Mireworth soon if you look this way.”

  Then worry pulled at the corners of his eyes and he frowned.

  Curious as to what caused him concern, Hannah leaned toward the window and fixed on the view. Trees clustered in a woodland area that looked ideal for explorations with Sheba. The road followed the dips and bends of the land and excitement built in her stomach at what she would spy as the foliage drew back from the sweeping driveway. The grand curve hugged the side of the house and formed a complete circle with a patch of tall grass in the middle.

  “Oh,” Hannah managed to say as she schooled her disappointment. “She must have been grand in her day.”

  Once golden stone was smoke-stained and smeared with grime, with only a few muted pale patches still visible. Staring at the house was not unlike gazing on the rot-ravaged face of an Afflicted. The windows were dirty and cracked, and some were boarded over. Dead vines clung to the stone in places like skeletal hands with a death grip on the structure. Weeds had made a valiant effort to take over the gravel of the drive and made better progress in the cracks around the house. At the exact moment of their arrival, a dark cloud took up residence over the roof and Hannah wondered if her mother, in a mischievous mood, had sent the thundercloud on purpose.

  In her mind, Hannah ignored the exterior and contemplated the bones. The skeleton showed Georgian origins in the clean lines of the facade and the symmetry of windows on either side of the central portico. Now, the once grand house appeared tired and forgotten, like a broken toy shoved in an attic. Time had eaten away her beauty and Hannah wondered if only ghosts and bats were left to wander the halls.

  “Once, Mireworth was marvellous,” Wycliff murmured. “Then some ten years ago, a big storm damaged the roof and Father had no money to repair it. She slid into ruin after that, but I hope to wrest her back from neglect and restore her.” He flung open the carriage door and jumped down before offering a hand to Hannah.

  The spaniel leapt free with a bark. Frank lowered himself to the ground, and lifted down Mary and then Barnes. Sheba and the hand made straight for the circle of grass and disappeared in the overgrown lawn.

  “Oh, milady, surely we’re not staying in there? It looks right haunted.” Mary hugged her arms to her body and she glanced from Frank to the house.

  Wycliff ground his teeth and a stony look dropped over his features as he stared at his inheritance.

  Hannah dug deep to find any good in the situation. “I’m sure no ghosts will bother us, Mary.” The ones following Frank everywhere caused no concern, and she hoped those that clung to Mireworth would be equally polite and unobtrusive.

  A man hurried around the side of the manor house. “Lord Wycliff! How marvellous. We were not expecting you today.”

  Wycliff hailed the man and they shook hands. “Hannah, this is Swift, the estate manager. Swift, this is Lady Wycliff.”

  The man appeared to be in his thirties, with a face darkened by the sun and worn into creases by inclement weather. Of average height, he had broad shoulders and warm brown eyes. He halted on seeing Hannah and adopted a wide-eyed, startled look.

  “How do you do, Mr Swift? I am looking forward to seeing these merino sheep with their superior wool. Wycliff has told me much about them.” Hannah smiled at him encouragingly and wondered whether, while Wycliff had told her of the sheep, he had neglected to tell his manager that the estate had acquired a mistress as well.

  The man swept off his cloth cap and nodded. Tufts of brown hair stuck together and he appeared to be in need of shearing. The manager tortured the hat in his hands and glanced from Hannah to Wycliff. “They are mighty fine sheep, milady. Best-looking ones in the county, if I do say so mys
elf. But your lordship, we did not know you would be bringing her ladyship with you. We have no proper accommodation.”

  “My wife does not require her own suite. We can make do together.” Wycliff took her hand and squeezed it. Although whether to reassure himself or her of his words, she did not know.

  “Yes, my lord. But if you recollect, we have only the cot in the study.” Mr Swift whispered in such a loud voice that Hannah easily overheard. She looked away and pretended an intense interest in whatever weed was trying to prise its way under a window frame. With tiny yellow flowers, it appeared to be creeping clover.

  Wycliff ran a hand through his hair and stared up at the sulking house. “Blast. I had forgotten, it has been so long since I last visited.”

  “Come now, Wycliff, I know the house is uninhabited, and I did not expect to find grandeur and a surplus of servants. You may as well tell me the worst of it.” Hannah slipped her hand into his elbow and they walked toward the cracked portico.

  “Well, she’s not entirely uninhabited. Mrs Rossett, the housekeeper, has her room by the kitchen.” Leaves made deep piles at the front door and Wycliff kicked them aside. “I don’t normally go in this way.”

  “I am quite capable of using the kitchen entrance like everyone else.” Hannah glanced around the house, prepared to find the servants’ entrance.

  “You should at least use the front door on your very first visit,” he muttered, and rattled the door handle, which didn’t want to budge. In the end, he put his shoulder to the thick slab of wood. It burst open and Wycliff nearly tumbled inside.

  Hannah was about to step in behind him when he called, “Wait!”