Sixpence and Selkies

by Tilly Wallace

  “I will not intrude, since it appears you are expecting guests.” There were two cups set out next to the blue teapot, and a plate of biscuits, as though he waited for someone to join him.

  He smiled and she couldn’t help but return it. “I am always prepared for company, in case someone seeks me out. It would appear that today, that someone is you.”

  “Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Sheba dragged over a stick and sat in the grass at Hannah’s feet to chew on the end.

  “The upcoming dance is much talked of in the village. Everyone is keen to welcome you to this community. It is kind of Lord Wycliff to share his bride with us all, when you are not long married.” Mr Hartley poured tea into the cup and his hand hovered over the milk and lemon as he made the cup just the way Hannah liked it. Then he passed it across the table.

  Hannah took a sip and let warmth flow through her in the hopes it might ease a little of the ache in her heart. She spent her days cold and alone, her nights in Wycliff’s heated embrace. How she wanted a little of the passion they shared in the dark to seep into the sunlight hours. Not that she could broach that particular subject with the reverend. “Everyone has been most kind and I am overwhelmed by how many people are helping to decorate the hall.”

  “Might I enquire if there is any particular reason you sought me out today? I find most travellers have a destination in their minds when they undertake this journey.” He leaned back with his teacup in his hands. His attention moved to a gull circling out over the water.

  There was something in his quiet manner that urged a person to fill the silence. She imagined he was an easy man to unburden one’s woes to. Hannah plucked at a simpler topic to begin. “I seek your help, Mr Hartley, in a mystery concerning Mireworth.”

  He turned back to her with a sparkle in his sage green eyes. “A mystery? How delightful. Do elaborate.”

  Hannah played with the handle of her cup, rubbing a finger along the delicate silver painted line. “Hidden inside Mireworth is a tower that I believe is hundreds of years old. No one seems to know anything about the edifice, nor why it was bricked in when the house was built over a century ago. Mrs Rossett tells me your grandmother was a local and that you know something of the history of the area.”

  “Indeed. Grandmother gathered many stories to her. She was fascinated by history and passed that trait on to me. I do recollect something about an old tower. It caught my attention as a somewhat unruly boy—I was known for disappearing into the woodland to find old ruins to explore.” He laughed at the memory of youthful antics.

  It conjured images in Hannah’s mind of a young Jonas adventuring over the estate, with Lisbeth as his constant companion. Had they discovered the tower together? “Did your grandmother live here long? I understand her husband was not a local?”

  Mr Hartley offered Hannah the plate of biscuits. “No. Grandfather was a travelling man who met Grandmother when he passed through this area. They married and she moved away to settle inland with him. I think she missed the ocean terribly. In fact, this cottage was once hers.”

  On a calm day like today, the sea resembled a blue-green velvet blanket stitched with sparkling diamonds. Hannah could understand how some people could grow to love its changeable nature and the constant company created by the sound of waves caressing the shore. “Did she ever make it back here?”

  He shook his head and a moment of sadness dropped over him as he remembered his grandmother. “No, sadly. She lived a goodly span and her stories are what made me seek out a position here. In quiet moments, I have been writing them down as an unofficial history of the area. As a child under her spell, I must warn you, I never knew which of them were true and which were embellished.”

  On impulse, Hannah asked, “Did your grandmother tell any tales of mermaids and selkies in this area?”

  A smile pulled at his lips. “This is a remote village perched by the ocean and I believe she did spin a few such tales. But surely, Lady Wycliff, given your association with the Ministry of Unnaturals, you would know far more about such creatures than I?”

  Hannah watched the waves purling against the sand. “There is not much mention of selkies or mermaids in London apart, I think, from a preserved mermaid presented to King Henry the Eighth. The poor creature sat on display in the palace for two hundred years, until she was given a decent burial last century.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps they do not make it so far up the Thames as to be commonly discussed? Returning to the tower, I think it is one of the earliest tales my grandmother told. It is over five hundred years old and was once part of a castle. It was built by the first lord to reside here, de Cliffe, who followed the Pope’s call to the Fifth Crusade in Egypt in the twelfth century.”

  “Yes!” Hannah nearly leapt to her feet in excitement. “That would fit with what I have been able to discern about the structure, and Wycliff’s impressions of it.” She kept the presence of the hieroglyphic stones in the fireplace to herself, to avoid any questions about why they were important to her. Their existence gave her something against which to judge the truth of Mr Hartley’s story. Had his grandmother known what the tower hid?

  He leaned back and tossed a piece of biscuit to the spaniel, now hiding under the table. “Hmm…if I remember correctly without consulting my notes, that ancestor of the current Lord Wycliff distinguished himself and was given a parcel of land where Mireworth now stands upon which to build his castle. With its location near the cliffs, it would have been a defensive structure against an attack from the sea.”

  “Did your grandmother hear anything about why the tower endured when the castle did not?” Hannah perched on the edge of her seat, waiting for the vicar to drop the pivotal information.

  “No.” He rubbed his chin and the light caught on a deep blue gem in the ring on his pinkie finger.

  Her heart sank and she sat back in her chair.

  The finger moved to tap his chin in a slow rhythm as he thought. “It is not uncommon for castles to fall into disrepair—England is littered with such ruins. Look at Corfe Castle, not far from here. Stones are often pulled down and reused in other buildings or walls. I imagine that due to its shape, the tower lasted longer. Although I do remember one tall tale, that I am sure is purely a work of my grandmother’s mischief, about the tower being haunted. Perhaps it was left alone so as not to disturb its unquiet resident.”

  Now Hannah simply had to find the lower level. What if, rather than housing cattle and other stock over winter as Wycliff had suggested, someone had been buried there, in unconsecrated ground? The idea perked her up. “The stone masonry is exceptionally smooth and well made. I can imagine the tower weathering the test of time while the rest of the castle fell down around it.”

  “I have some letters from my grandmother and my own notes of her stories. I shall re-read them in case there is anything further I can impart about the tower’s history.” Mr Hartley dropped his hand back to his teacup.

  With that information tucked away, Hannah moved on to a more current issue. “You gave a lovely service for Mrs Rivers.”

  His smile dropped away, replaced by a solemn expression. “The ocean is as cruel as she is beautiful,” he murmured.

  “I understand hers is not the only such death in the last year, and that Amy Miller and Lisbeth Wolfe also drowned.” Hannah broke a biscuit into small pieces and wondered how to ask if Mr Hartley harboured any suspicions as to how the trio died.

  “Yes. I buried them, too. I believe Mr Cramond may have been rather taken with Lisbeth, but then she was taken from us. If so, it was a double tragedy that his heart managed to love again with Amy, only to lose her in the same manner.” He spoke to the ocean, his words drifting on the breeze.

  Hannah considered the new snippet, yet it didn’t fit with her own version of Mr Cramond. He said it had been Mr Seager who had been enamoured of Lisbeth. Was the reverend simply mistaken? Then she recalled Libby’s comment about her sister—that she had offered comfort to Mr Cramond afte
r Amy’s death. How far had such comfort gone? “Are you sure it was Mr Cramond, and not another man?”

  Mr Hartley pursed his lips. “Perhaps I am mistaken. I am not one to rely upon for such gossip.”

  Hannah accepted the gentle rebuke, but it did not stop her. “I understand Amy had quite a wound to her head. Did any such injury exist on Lisbeth when she was found?” Hannah ate the broken biscuit while she wondered if the religious man would have been privy to such information.

  He turned to her and clasped his hands together on the tabletop, a slight frown on his brow as he met her gaze. “Now, Lady Wycliff, you wouldn’t be trying to connect two terrible events together at the expense of poor, unfortunate Mr Cramond, would you? I rather think he has suffered enough.”

  “I merely wish to understand how such tragic deaths could have occurred.” She cast her eyes downward, feeling rather guilty for the aspersions the vicar believed she cast against a hard-working man.

  “I wonder if perhaps you see a little of yourself in these women, that you have taken such an interest in their deaths? In the last year, I have buried a number of elderly members of this community, two fit and hale men who were struck down, and, most sadly, those children who did not walk this earth for long. Yet you have not enquired about their deaths.” There was no rebuke now in his tone or expression, merely a gentle probing of her true motives.

  Hannah stared at her hands in her lap as she absorbed his words. One image stuck—that of a tiny coffin being gently lowered into a small grave by a bereft parent. Children who did not walk this earth for long. How had it escaped her notice that tragedy could strike a community in many different forms?

  Was it her empathy for the women that drove her to ferret out how they had met their ends, or did learning about their lives hold up a mirror to her own, and show a similar solitary reflection? “You are right, Mr Hartley. Perhaps I am struck not by the manner of their deaths, but by the substance of their lives.”

  The rest of Hannah’s visit passed with the convivial company and she found Mr Hartley a thoughtful conversationalist. Soon the spaniel grew restless and it was time for the return walk. Clouds gathered out at sea and the wind carried a chilly edge.

  “Looks like rain is coming in,” Mr Hartley said.

  Hannah tied her bonnet more securely and slid her basket handle along her arm. “I must head back before it turns. Thank you for your time and information, Mr Hartley. You have assisted me greatly.”

  He took her hand and held it between his, his gaze warm upon her. “A pleasure, Lady Wycliff. I do hope you will visit me again. I have much enjoyed our discussion.”

  Hannah set off for Mireworth at a brisk pace as the sky darkened overhead. Soon large droplets of rain fell around her.

  “Blast.” She would be soaked before she reached the house.

  At that moment, she saw a sturdy horse trotting along the road, pulling a cart with Frank at the reins. He drew the horse to a halt and jumped down with a thud that travelled up Hannah’s shins.

  “Master…say…find you,” he hissed.

  “Excellent timing, Frank.” Hannah placed her basket on the seat of the cart.

  The large man scooped up the puppy and placed her in the back. Then he picked up Hannah and deposited her on the seat. When he climbed in, an overcoat rose from the back. When Hannah lifted it, she found Barnes underneath.

  “Thank you, Barnes.” Hannah snuggled into the overcoat as the rain continued to fall.

  Rather than finding answers with Mr Hartley, Hannah found more questions crowding into her head. Was the tower truly haunted? Had it been Mr Cramond or Mr Seager who had courted Lisbeth? How had Amy bumped her head?

  Would tonight be the night that she found the courage to tell Wycliff she loved him?

  14

  The onset of rain called a halt to Wycliff’s tasks for the day, and he decided to concentrate on one particular task he had been putting off—tackling the estate’s account books. As he entered the kitchen, he glanced through the open doors to the conservatory. Hannah had worked to clear the overgrown beds and scrubbed the reflecting pool. Frank had moved fresh soil into the beds and now they needed seedlings and plants to bring the space back to life. He thought he might enquire with their neighbours about cuttings, or ornamental fish to place in the pool. Although that would leave Mrs Rossett to tend both fish and plants when they left.

  The more time he spent at Mireworth wresting her back into working shape, the more he found he wanted to prolong his stay. The roots he’d grown as a boy had been cut off when he reached adulthood. Now he wished to drop new ones and entwine them with Hannah’s.

  “Where is Lady Wycliff?” he asked when he did not find her in either kitchen or conservatory. Had she returned to the tower? An odd sensation rippled through him. He would like to be the one to guide her explorations through the house, like an adventurer armed with a torch and a machete.

  “She set off this morning to visit Mr Hartley,” Mrs Rossett said, poking up the fire.

  The vicar occupied a cottage at the edge of the estate and a good hour’s walk away. He couldn’t settle on his work with the accounts knowing she was out there with the threat of rain in the air. “She will get caught if this weather turns. I shall send Frank to find her.”

  With Frank on his way, Wycliff retrieved the largest ledger and a stack of invoices from the study. Since Hannah used his desk as a dressing table, he didn’t want to disturb her brushes and ribbons. Instead, he sat at one end of the kitchen table, while Mrs Rossett rolled out pastry at the other end. The kitchen had the advantages of a large work space, light, and the warmth of the range. Not to mention the delicious aroma of dinner coming from the oven. Besides, Mrs Rossett kept sliding him still-warm biscuits as though he were a lad again.

  The rain thrummed against the skylight when the door opened and Hannah and the spaniel burst in. Sheba rushed to him and Wycliff dropped a hand to pat the dog, as his wife removed the large overcoat Frank had taken to keep her dry. Mary took the heavy coat and hung it on a hook while peering out the door, no doubt waiting for Frank.

  “Thank you for sending Frank—we would have been soaked without him.” Hannah rubbed her hands together and stood close to the range.

  “I am glad you did not get too wet.” Heat flared inside him as he stared at Hannah. Her cheeks were flushed from the chill outside and her eyes sparkled. The kitchen had a cosy intimacy that would be unheard of in London. He could almost imagine this being their life…if they hadn’t been confined to only two rooms in the house and a deadly curse was not frozen inside her ready to still her heart. There was also his work at the Ministry that awaited him. It was only a matter of time before his weather cube turned red and Sir Manly summoned him back, or his secretary, Higgs, flew in through an open window clutching an urgent missive.

  He let out a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. The harder he worked to make it viable for Mireworth to be their home, the more it slipped from his grasp. Like trying to catch the greased pig at the fairs he remembered as a boy.

  “Might I ask what you are working on?” Hannah pulled out the chair next to him.

  Wycliff moved an invoice from one pile to another. There was no need to hide the situation from Hannah—she had only to look around to see what years of neglect had done to a once grand estate. “I am totalling up invoices for the farm and trying to predict wool and beef prices. I spoke to a man yesterday about repairing the roof, and wanted to see if I would be able to afford it before next winter.”

  “Is a roof such a great sum?” Hannah pulled the teapot closer and poured the steaming liquid into a cup.

  Wycliff found the note from the builder and slid it toward her. Any amount was a great sum when you had very little.

  Hannah turned her head to read the notations. “My word. I had no idea. But then, I suppose it is rather a large roof.”

  “Exactly. We may have to live with the leaks for a few years longer, which unfortunately means more
water damage spreading through the house. I am hoping to get up into the attic and check for any new ones. It may be possible to repair the worst areas for now.”

  What kind of husband was he that he could not even provide an adequate roof over his wife’s head?

  “I will pay for the roof.” Hannah spoke over the rim of the cup in her hands.

  “It is not possible, Hannah. I do not have sufficient funds for it. Not without seeking more financing, and I do not want to borrow more than I can repay and risk losing everything.” If only it were as simple as instructing that the work be done and hoping the bank would honour the debt.

  Hannah took a buttered scone from Mrs Rossett and nodded her thanks. “You might not, but I do. I shall use my dowry to pay for the repairs.”

  Wycliff snorted. He had been adamant that he neither wanted, nor expected, a dowry for marrying her. No one would say their match had been motivated by money. “I did not require a dowry when we married.”

  “No. But my parents gave me one for doing so.” She bit into the scone with enjoyment, her rich brown eyes watching him.

  “What?” Her words carved a path through his brain and Wycliff narrowed his gaze at her. There was a blow to his ego, if a purse had been dangled at her to accept him.

  Humour simmered in her eyes, no doubt as she understood his reaction. “After we married, my parents decided I should have a dowry that I could apply to my new life. The funds are sitting, untouched, in the bank. There is sufficient there to repair the roof and most likely, for new glazing for the broken windows.”

  His inner boy let out a whoop of joy, but the adult hushed the child. Hannah was a marvel to throw him a lifeline he desperately wanted to accept. “I cannot let you do that. It is a significant amount.”

  “We are married, are we not?” Hannah arched one eyebrow and licked a trickle of butter from her finger.

  “Of course we are.” He had wedded and finally bedded her with no regrets about either decision.