“Which makes me mistress of Mireworth, does it not?” She continued her questions.
“Yes. You are mistress here.” The idea warmed his insides more than Mrs Rossett’s fresh scones.
A smile tugged on her lips. “As mistress and lady of Mireworth, am I not responsible for the running of our home?”
“What is your point, Hannah?” He had a suspicion he was about to run afoul of his wife’s machinations.
Hannah leaned toward him and spoke by his ear in a demure tone. “My point, dear husband, is that you cannot stop me from spending my money to repair my home.”
A cackle of laughter came from the end of the table. “You married a smart one there, milord. Best leave the mistress to take care of her domain, while you worry about the rest of the estate. Lady Wycliff will have the old house watertight and dry by winter.”
Hannah beamed at the housekeeper. “Quite right, Mrs Rossett. Matters pertaining to the house are my domain. I suggest, Wycliff, that you stick to broken walls, blocked drains, sheep, and the like.”
He swallowed his pride. Truth be told, it made his blood sing that she thought of the house as her home already and wished to see the place restored.
“Thank you,” he murmured. Then he took Hannah’s face in his hands, and kissed her thoroughly. That put more colour in her cheeks and Mrs Rossett let out another laugh of delight. “If you are certain, I will let the builder know he can assemble his workers and begin. As Mrs Rossett says, it should be done before winter.”
An image of Christmas in the house sprang into his head, with an enormous tree in the grand entrance and strategically placed boughs of mistletoe so he had more excuses to kiss his wife. Hannah had wrought a miracle over him. For the first time that he could remember, Wycliff looked forward to what the future would bring.
The storm grew in intensity outside and the sky darkened prematurely. Frank left straight after dinner to sit in the stables in case the thunder and lightning frightened the horses, and Mary and Barnes joined him. Wycliff hoped the fragile roof would hold. Should he take a lantern now, rather than waiting, and poke around in the attic to see if there was anything he could do? Hannah’s generous offer would put him years ahead on restoring the estate even though it grated, somewhat, that he hadn’t raised the money through his own efforts.
Tired muscles from long days of hard labour and the charged atmosphere from the storm made a headache press behind his eyes. All he wanted was to drop into bed and listen to the rain fall outside. It seemed Mrs Rossett also sought shelter from the storm in her room, and everyone said their good-nights early.
In the study, Wycliff peered into some of the crates stacked in the corner, wondering if he might find the missing drawings of the house among them. He had seen them somewhere, but the headache wouldn’t allow him to remember where.
Hannah undressed and then, wearing her dressing gown, sat at her impromptu dressing table and brushed out her hair. “Do you not find it odd that three women from the village have lost their lives within the space of a year?”
He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. He could imagine what ideas ran through her head; that said, it did seem that murder had become a regular part of their conjugal conversation. “Life is different here, Hannah, and much harsher than what you are used to.”
Her hand stilled on the hairbrush. “Three women drowned. How is that the harshness of life? Or do you mean the cruelty of the ocean? None of them died in childbirth, or a fire caused by an upset candle, nor were they struck down by disease.”
“The village is situated by the ocean. All the women were last seen at night, one of them in winter when paths are slippery. As tragic as it is, they most likely lost their footing in the dark and fell into the water.” He stripped off his cravat and waistcoat next, treating them more callously than the jacket. The items were tossed to the seat of the chair. The pressure inside and outside his skull reached a crescendo as thunder cracked above their heads. He spent his days trying to wrest the estate into better order to secure their future, and dowry notwithstanding, Hannah spent her time chasing silly rumours.
“Three young, healthy, and able-bodied women all fell? Amy wasn’t even that close to the water.” She laid down the hairbrush and pushed back her chair.
Wycliff raised a hand, on the point of snapping at her, but pulled himself under control and ran his fingers through his hair instead. His shoulders dropped before he spoke in a low tone. “Hannah, leave it be. No good will come from you stirring up old sorrows. There are whispers that the women took their own lives.”
That stole the breath from her lungs and her mouth opened in an O. Then she frowned and Wycliff could practically hear her marshalling her thoughts to sally forth again. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Amy Miller take her own life when she had just accepted a marriage proposal? She had so much to look forward to.”
Wycliff dropped to a chair to tug off his boots. “Perhaps she wandered off the track and fell then, but the other two jumped.”
“Sarah had a minor disagreement with her husband, nothing worth such a horrible ending. Why are you so closed to the possibility there is something more sinister happening here?” Hannah had to speak louder to compete with the boom of thunder from above.
“Why are you so determined to find foul play?” he shot back.
Hannah’s shoulders sagged and she turned to the bed and fluffed her pillow.
Wycliff regretted his outburst. In truth, the deaths gnawed at him. One in particular kept him awake at night, wondering if he could have done more to prevent it. He let out a sigh and sat on the settee at the end of the bed. Leaning forward, with his forearms resting on his thighs, he stared at his hands.
“I grew up with Lisbeth. Apart from me, I think she was rather lonely and suffered bouts of melancholy. I remember a terrible day some seven years ago, when we were both not much older than twenty. I caught her about to throw herself from the cliff into the ocean below. I snatched hold of her hand as she overbalanced and was able to pull her back onto the grass. She cried in my arms that she couldn’t bear the ache inside her any longer. I made her promise to seek help from somebody. After that, I thought she was much improved.”
It had caused him pain to know his dear friend suffered in such a fashion and he was powerless to help her. He thought Lisbeth had much to live for, and the fault lay with the villagers who couldn’t see all she had to offer behind her sad eyes. Many thought that like other men, he appreciated her beauty, but as a young boy it was her witty personality and throwing arm that had drawn him to her.
Slippers shuffled on the rug as Hannah approached and sat beside him. “I am sorry. I did not mean to…stir up old sorrows.”
Hannah placed a hand on his thigh and Wycliff took hold of it and kissed her knuckles.
“And I am sorry for shouting. It is, as you no doubt have surmised, a delicate topic for me and I blame myself for not seeking more help for Lisbeth. I berate myself that if I had returned here last summer I might have done…something to ease her pain. As to the other two, I admit that I do not know for sure. If you believe there is more to these deaths, then I shall assist you. But tread gently, Hannah, in case you are mistaken. It is hard on the families left behind when a beloved member leaves them too soon by their own choice.”
She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think that of the two of us, I am the one best known for quietly eliciting responses to delicate questions.”
He huffed a soft laugh. If anyone could reveal the true cause, it was Hannah, with her quiet but determined way. “Indeed you are.”
“I saw Mr Hartley today, and he implied that Mr Cramond had been rather fond of Lisbeth. Yet when I spoke to Mr Cramond, he said that it was Mr Seager who spent much time with her.” She spoke quietly and he strained his ears to catch her words over the storm.
Two men interested in Lisbeth? He hadn’t known and it struck him as odd. Lisbeth had guarded her heart fiercely
. “Lisbeth never mentioned either of them the last time I saw her, nor would I have imagined either as being to her tastes. But what of Sarah Rivers? How does she fit into whatever theory you are brewing?”
“Mr Cramond is a handsome and affable man. Sarah’s sister said Sarah offered comfort to him after Amy died. Perhaps he sought more than comfort and she refused? Although again, Mr Cramond said that Mr Seager was often in Sarah’s company and that he had called on Amy,” Hannah said.
Both men could have touched the lives of all three women. Wycliff let out a sigh and stood, pulling Hannah to her feet. “If you are determined, I shall make certain discreet enquiries about both men myself. But walk softly, lest you do damage to their reputations and lives if you are wrong.”
“I would never do harm to an innocent man. I shall be the soul of discretion,” she murmured. “There is one other thing. Mrs Rossett mentioned that some fifty years ago, two men drowned, and rumours swirled at the time of a mermaid or selkie being responsible.”
That was the old memory that had itched in his mind when Miller had ranted about Cramond dragging women into the ocean. Some villagers clung tight to old ways and beliefs. Wycliff made a noise in the back of his throat. “Do you suspect a sea creature who must be at least seventy years old, who emerges from the ocean every half century to claim victims?”
Humour sparkled in her eyes. “If it is, at least this investigation won’t end with a chase. I assume an elderly sea monster wouldn’t run very fast.”
Then she tilted her head and parted her lips in an invitation he could not refuse.
15
The next day dawned clear, the storm having passed overnight. After breakfast and some time scrubbing the window panes in the conservatory, Hannah sat at the table and twisted her hands together, pondering what to do next. Mr Seager may have had a valid reason for calling on each of the deceased women. Or he may have used his position as apothecary to mask the true reason for his visits. Ever since the visit to the village where Hannah had glimpsed the notebook with Sarah Rivers’ name on the front, she had itched to know what remedy Sarah had sought from the man. However, he possessed an eagle eye and she couldn’t simply rummage through his drawers unnoticed.
Not unless she had an accomplice.
Mary, while a most excellent maid, was terrible with secrets and subterfuge. The Miles family even had to hide their Christmas presents from her, or she would blurt out what they had purchased for one another. That left Hannah with one other person who might indulge her.
“I wonder, Mrs Rossett, if I might pose a question of you.” Hannah steeled herself for disapproval from the housekeeper.
“Oh? That sounds serious.” With no immediate tasks calling for her attention, the housekeeper sat at one end of the table with her knitting.
“There is something I wish to accomplish, but I cannot be seen. I require someone who can…divert another person’s attention.” Hannah chose her words with care.
The older woman’s eyes widened. Then she scooted her chair closer to Hannah. “Do tell, milady. I love a bit of mischief.”
At least this was not an outright refusal. “It’s not so much mischief as…well, actually, I don’t know quite what it is.”
Mrs Rossett patted Hannah’s hand and poured a cup of tea. “Why don’t you tell me everything? I may not know your ladyship that well yet, but I have wondered if something was preying on your mind.”
Hannah heaved a deep breath. Better out than in, her mother would say. She would confide in Mrs Rossett and take things from there.
“It is the deaths of Sarah Rivers, Amy Miller, and Lisbeth Wolfe. Something about them does not sit right with me.” Hannah glanced at the older woman over the rim of the cup. Would she think Hannah terribly nosy and officious, prying into the tragedies?
Mrs Rossett blew on her tea before taking a sip. “You wouldn’t be the first. We were all terribly shocked when Lisbeth drowned. Some said she were a selkie and had found her skin to return to the ocean…until her body washed up. Then when Amy died, some folk whispered that the deaths were no accidents. But if they weren’t, how did they die?”
Hannah hypothesised that if the deaths had not been accidental, something would bind the women together. Either motive or opportunity would be present, if she could find it. Mr Cramond was one possible common thread, although Wycliff did not think he had courted Lisbeth as Mr Hartley had said. Mr Seager was another person the women might have had in common.
“I am looking for any connection between the three women and what might have bound them together. The other day at the apothecary’s, I happened to glimpse a notebook with Sarah Rivers’ name on it. I wish to see what cures she sought from Mr Seager.”
Mrs Rossett’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Oh, yes, he has those drawers with all the little notebooks in them. He writes down whenever he makes a potion just for you. You might find the other women in there, too. Lisbeth was a sad thing, out in that desolate cottage all on her own, but in the last few weeks she had seemed much happier.”
“Perhaps a tonic perked up her mood? But Mr Seager is so rude and unhelpful. I doubt he will let me see them if I ask.” Hannah tapped her fingers against the cup, thinking of ways to sneak a look in the drawers. Wycliff might assist, if she could tear him away from his labour on the estate and convince him the matter required investigation.
Mrs Rossett chuckled. “He won’t let you rifle his drawers. You’d think that one was keeping secrets for the Crown, the way he protects his potions and salves. Do you think he did it, then—killed them?” Her eyes widened and her voice trailed away to a whisper on the last two words.
Hannah nearly choked on a mouthful of tea. She certainly didn’t want to make any allegations until she dug deeper into the women’s lives and deaths. She had promised Wycliff she would tread carefully. Now that she turned the idea over, she wondered if more might be learned from Mr Seager’s notebooks. “Oh, no, but I do wonder if perhaps all three saw Mr Seager for some reason? People can react differently to herbs and potions. For all we know, each may have ingested something that caused her to become dizzy, or lose her footing while walking the shoreline. We might avert another such tragedy if that is the case. Such is my theory. Now I need a way to test it. Will you help me, then?” Hannah hardly dared hope that the housekeeper would be complicit in what she intended to do.
Mrs Rossett winked. “Oh, yes. I must say, you are an excellent match for our rapscallion.”
Hannah wondered what that meant. She had never deliberately misbehaved or broken the law. Not until Wycliff came into her life. “I never used to search through people’s private papers until recently, and I was a very obedient child. My mother once observed that she thought Wycliff would embolden me, even as I smoothed off some of his rough edges.”
The housekeeper let out her loud laugh that could have served as a foghorn in a storm. Then the two women plotted what they would do. After tea, Frank hitched up the cart and Hannah took the reins as they headed for the village. Once more they left the horse and cart with the blacksmith, and then walked along the main road to the apothecary’s cottage.
“Lady Wycliff. Mrs Rossett.” He addressed them from high on a ladder, as he placed a small vial among its fellows on the very top shelf. He climbed down and then moved the ladder along to a corner and out of the way. “Do you need more cough syrup, Mrs Rossett?”
“Yes, I have nearly run out. Thank you, Mr Seager.” Mrs Rossett wandered over to the square desk with the tiny scales in the middle. Two chairs sat in front of the desk and she clutched the back of one. She fanned herself with her hand and then dropped into the chair. “Oh, I say, I feel ever so faint.”
“You do look rather flushed, Mrs Rossett.” Hannah rushed over to the housekeeper. “Could you fetch her a glass of water, please?” she said to the apothecary.
He narrowed his eyes at both women, tensed his shoulders, and held his ground. For a moment, Hannah thought he might refuse and throw them out
of the shop instead. Then he blew out a snort that reminded Hannah of an indignant horse asked to do something beneath it. “Very well. Stay right there, the pair of you.”
When he disappeared through the door to the rear of the cottage, Mrs Rossett grabbed Hannah’s hand. “Off you go. I’m going to follow him and get him to take me outside for a breath of fresh air. You won’t have long. Five or ten minutes at most.”
Hannah wasted no time. She hurried to the counter with the drawers and pulled open the one she remembered being ajar on her last visit. She found Sarah Rivers’ notebook, no longer at the front but toward the middle of the row. Hannah turned the pages and scanned the neat notations. For a period of six months, the woman had visited the apothecary once a month for a tonic containing chaste berry, Black Cohosh, and cinnamon. All ingredients in the syrup he said he brewed to assist fertility.
Time ticked by. What of Lisbeth Wolfe? Moving as fast as she could, Hannah pulled drawers and scanned names. Five minutes passed with no luck, when a bottom drawer revealed the first dead woman’s notebook. With shaking hands, Hannah found the last entry. Lisbeth had been dispensed a tonic containing St John’s wort.
“Good for melancholy,” Hannah murmured. She thrust the book back into place and shut the drawer just as Mrs Rossett’s voice came from behind the door. She barely had time to scurry to the window and made a show of peering out and watching the passers-by.
“There is nothing wrong with you that wouldn’t be aided by more vigorous exercise, losing some weight, and drinking less port of an evening,” Mr Seager said as he propelled Mrs Rossett back into the room.
“I’m an old woman, Mr Seager, and my nightly port is one of the few pleasures left to me in life. But I shall take your advice.” She returned to the desk.
Mr Seager made a noise in the back of his throat, then walked to the shelves and scanned the contents. He fetched a large, dark green glass bottle and then a smaller blue one. He turned to the drawers and opened one, muttering under his breath as he found a notebook and pulled it free. On his return to the desk, he collected a small empty bottle from a box. Once seated, he set down his armload of things. With a funnel from one corner of the desk, he measured differing amounts from the two bottles into the smaller one.
Sixpence and Selkies Page 13
