Sixpence and Selkies

by Tilly Wallace

  Delight burst through Hannah. It was there! At least the builders hadn’t cut the tower off at the knees, leaving the upper levels. She had only to make a hole in the wall to reach it herself.

  Barnes tapped on her thumb and Hannah stopped imagining large holes in the plaster. He moved his finger back and forth, which meant no.

  “No? No what? You did find the tower and not some other strange construction?” Hannah tried to interpret the gestures.

  Yes, he waggled, he had definitely found it.

  “But there is a problem?” That could be the only explanation for the no. “Is the lower floor full of rubble?”

  No.

  Sometimes, trying to communicate with a disembodied hand was remarkably frustrating. What could he be trying to tell her? Then her heart sank. “Did they brick in the bottom of the tower?”

  He responded with a so-so motion, which meant she was close to guessing the correct answer. “There’s no door?”

  Thumbs up.

  Bother. A tower with no door. How Rapunzel-ish. Or it might be there, but unclear in the dim light. She had sent Barnes in with only a tiny glow lamp, which might have missed a ground floor entrance such as a postern gate, or cracks if it had been bricked in at some point.

  Wycliff had agreed that Lady Wycliff had dominion over the house. Did his newfound tolerance extended to holes in the walls? Hannah decided to wait until her husband returned at dinnertime to ask, before she directed Frank to knock through the plaster. Wycliff might even remember another hidden doorway that had escaped Hannah’s explorations.

  “There is another matter, Frank, while I have you alone.” Hannah dropped the lid on the bench seat and sat. Then she patted the spot next to her.

  The giant bent his knees and lowered himself. The wood groaned, but held under his weight. He faced Hannah with deep lines in his brow.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Mary,” Hannah said to alleviate his worry in case he thought he had done something wrong.

  “Love…Mary,” Frank whispered.

  Barnes hopped onto the monster’s knee and gave a thumbs up. Apparently he either agreed with Frank or was confessing his own affection for the maid. Hannah wasn’t sure which, nor did she want to dwell on it for too long.

  “Do you wish to marry her?” As Lady Wycliff, Hannah decided to take matters into her own hands after all. There might be a way to prod Frank into proposing while making it appear spontaneous for Mary.

  Frank nodded. Then he tapped his chest and pointed to his mouth. “Words. Hard.”

  Barnes bounced up and down on Frank’s knee and waved his fingers in the air.

  “Are you offering to assist, Barnes?” Hannah might have laughed at the idea, but she was already turning it over in her mind. A helping hand was exactly what Frank needed. “What do you say, Frank? Are you willing to let Barnes help you ask the question? If so, I would like to give you a ring for Mary.”

  “Yesss.” Frank grinned and showed all the teeth crammed in his jaws.

  She clapped her hands as ideas spun in her head. “Very well, gentlemen. Let us concoct a plan.”

  In the study, Hannah unrolled the piece of velvet containing her jewellery. She knew exactly which piece to give to Frank. The ring had often been admired by Mary and some impulse had made Hannah include it for this trip. A single pearl clasped in a deep pink enamel setting, it reminded Hannah of the dress Mary had admired in the village. Which gave her another idea.

  She handed the ring to Frank. As he plucked it from her fingers, a tear welled up in his eyes and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  The happiness on his face eased a little of the loneliness inside Hannah. Perhaps her forte in life was to organise fairy-tale weddings for Unnatural creatures? Although finding the perfect match for Barnes might prove to be quite a challenge, unless she stumbled upon an unattached lady’s foot.

  20

  That afternoon, Hannah bombarded Wycliff with questions as soon as he walked through the kitchen door.

  He listened as he washed his hands, but shook his head as he dried them. “I’m not aware of any door to the bottom of the tower. I admit it didn’t excite my curiosity that much to search for one. Since you will not be deterred, I cannot see any problem with making a hole in the wall to admit us.”

  Hannah bounced on her toes, then kissed Wycliff’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Although I did think to repair Mireworth, not make her more dishevelled.” He frowned, but ruined it with the laughter simmering in his dark eyes.

  Ideas bubbled in her head as to how to knock through to the tower. They needed a large hammer, or possibly a metal bar, depending on how the wall was constructed. They would also need lanterns to reveal what Wycliff’s great-great-(or however many greats)-grandfather sought to conceal. The little Barnes had managed to convey to her indicated that the space beyond sat in inky darkness.

  “I assume you will want Frank for the demolition work and the tools you require will be found out in the stables,” Wycliff murmured as he took the cup of light ale she passed him, to ease his thirst from an afternoon of work in the fields.

  “Do you think there is time to start before dinner?” Hannah clasped her hands together to stop herself from rushing off.

  Wycliff had returned from the fields early, and there was at least another hour of light before the sky dimmed.

  A mischievous glint in her husband’s eyes made Hannah’s stomach turn a slow roll. Oh, how she loved him, even more as she glimpsed the rapscallion still hidden deep inside him.

  Wycliff took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I believe, dear wife, that if we do not make a start before dinner, you will be in peril of exploding from excitement.”

  Wycliff took Frank out to the stables to find what they needed. Hannah fetched the lanterns and arrayed them along the windowsill in the thin sliver of a waiting room. The men returned with tools and Frank stood with the enormous sledgehammer in his hands as he waited for instructions.

  Hannah pointed to a spot above the built-in bench and also directly above the hole through which Barnes had crawled. “Start there, please.”

  The smash of the first blow made her cringe, the noise echoing through her body in the cramped room. Hannah pressed herself to the wall by the window as chunks of plaster flew. Wycliff stood next to her, sheltering her body from the crumbly snow. As Frank progressed, the snow turned red as he smashed his way through brick.

  “When I brought you here, I never imagined you tearing walls down,” Wycliff said against her ear and over the noise of the hammer.

  “I prefer to think of it as revealing the true history of the house. Don’t you think the oldest part deserves to be brought into the light after so many years hidden away?” Hannah split her attention between her husband and Frank.

  The constructed man proved able at deconstruction, and soon had a hole the size of his head made in the wall. He dropped the hammer to rest by his toe and stared at Hannah. “More?” he rasped.

  “Let us see if this will work first, before you expend all your energy, Frank.” Wycliff pushed off the wall and picked up one of the lanterns.

  Hannah followed close behind him. Wycliff stood on the bench seat and held the lantern to the hole. After several long seconds, he turned and held out a hand to Hannah. “The wall is not so thick, if you wish to look.”

  If I wish to look? She bit back a laugh and balanced on the bench next to her husband. The light from the lantern made her squint in one eye as it cast extra shadows through the hole. “Would it be possible to hold the lantern on the other side?”

  “If you don’t mind standing close,” Wycliff said. He angled the lantern through the gap Frank had made, stretched his arm through, and dangled the lantern on the other side. He wrapped his free arm around her waist as Hannah pressed herself to him and peered into the space.

  “Oh,” she whispered, feeling like an explorer who has discovered an ancient burial mound.

  The lantern cast a s
oft yellow glow over the room beyond. Approximately eight feet of space lay between the wall and the slumbering tower, which echoed what she had found on the upper level. The curved stone wall glowed a rosy pink. She followed the curve of the wall as far as she could see. Barnes was right. There did not appear to be any door, or at least none she could discern. Nor did there appear to be any windows or other routes in that she could see from the little light the lantern provided.

  “What would you like to do?” Wycliff asked as she withdrew her head from the hole. He looked in for himself before withdrawing his arm and the lamp.

  “I would like Frank to continue, please, and release the tower from its prison. If nothing else, it will increase the space here and turn this into a useable room.” Removing the wall would make the tower visible from the drive, too, and give future visitors an intriguing glimpse as they descended from their carriages.

  Wycliff lowered the lantern to the bench, then jumped down and caught Hannah around the waist to swing her to the ground. “You heard her ladyship, Frank—carry on and free the prisoner.”

  The tension of the last few days dropped away from his features and Jonas, the mischievous boy, smiled back at her. It transpired that Hannah had only needed to take a sledgehammer to his ancestral home to reveal his hidden heart. Now, could she claim it?

  The day before the village ball, Hannah set off to pay a call on Libby Tant. She clutched a basket with a selection of wooden soldiers, horses, and tiny cannon. Wycliff had so paled at her suggestion that she wondered if he snuck them out at night to re-enact war scenes upon the worn rug. After careful consideration, he agreed to let half the toys go to the Tant children. Then he insisted on selecting which of his wooden army could be spared.

  Hannah left the horse and cart with the blacksmith and then walked up the hill to the cottages. One had pink ribbons tied to the fence railings, the ends fluttering in the wind and signalling the sex of the new arrival to the curious neighbours. Her knock on the door was answered by a woman with grey hair tucked under a cap and laugh lines etched around her eyes.

  “Lady Wycliff, how do you do? I am Mrs Gallon, the very busy grandmother.” Libby’s mother gestured for Hannah to enter.

  Esther toddled forward with her arms extended and Hannah knelt to receive a sticky hug. Then the girl pointed to the basket and cooed.

  “This is for you to share with your brother and sister.” Hannah offered the basket to the girl. With the same great care she used to select a starfish, Esther chose a horse and then held it high to show the room.

  “Thank you, milady. New toys will keep that lot quiet for quite some time,” Libby said from the window, where she cradled her newborn and had a view over the roofs of the houses below out to the sea.

  “It’s my pleasure. I thought a distraction would afford you some peace.” Hannah passed the basket to Mrs Gallon, who carried it over to where the children played on a rug.

  “Do come and meet my daughter, Sarah.” Libby’s voice caught on the name and she glanced away.

  Hannah approached on quiet feet and regarded the baby asleep in her mother’s arms. A tiny, red, screwed-up face was surrounded by wisps of pale gold hair. “What a lovely way to remember your sister. I am sure little Sarah will grow to be as kind a person as her aunt.”

  “Would you like to hold her?” Libby offered, and then sat forward to gently place the baby in Hannah’s arms.

  Hannah lowered herself into the chair opposite Libby, and stared down at the little face. The baby twitched her nose in her sleep and a sweet aroma that could be described only as newborn baby drifted upward. The child trusted that she remained safe and protected with whoever held her. She also contained a world of possibility as to what she might become or do—if only the world allowed her to reach that potential.

  “Babies are amazing to look at, are they not? I find each time my mind spins, wondering what sort of person the child will become,” Libby murmured, as though she had read Hannah’s mind.

  The other children set up the soldiers and the horses while Esther circled them holding her horse aloft as though it were Pegasus. From the little Hannah had seen of the toddler, she exhibited a thoughtful and imaginative mind. What might she become in the future? Perhaps an enquiring investigator for the Ministry of Unnaturals?

  “I hope you are both well?” Hannah asked.

  “Oh, yes, thank you. She had an easy birth, and we are blessed that all four of our children have thrived.” Libby turned to stare out the window.

  They talked of the children and the dance for some time. Then the baby stirred and made an alarmed squawk. Hannah returned the babe to her mother to be soothed. “I have a question about your sister, if it is not too much of an intrusion.”

  Libby offered a sad smile as she rubbed the baby’s back. “Ask away, milady—I trust your heart is in the right place.”

  Hannah gazed out at the crests of the waves and searched for the right approach to a delicate matter. “I am trying to discover whether anything bound Sarah, Amy, and Lisbeth together. Do you know if Sarah sought solace with another, or a friendly ear to share her burden, when you have been so busy?”

  Libby rocked the child as the latter continued to make mewling noises, though they diminished in volume. “It saddened me how distant we had become in recent months, and she no longer confided in me as she once did. But Mr Hartley might know. Have you asked him?”

  Mr Hartley. The name slammed into Hannah’s brain. So obvious with his kind and generous nature. Then a cold finger stroked down Hannah’s spine. What if he had counselled all three women? And yet…surely Hannah saw a monster where none dwelt? The shepherd of their flock was indeed a good listener, and had even offered his broad shoulder to Hannah if she desired to unburden herself of her problems. It seemed entirely reasonable that Sarah Rivers had sought the same patient counsel…and inconceivable that he might have had anything to do with her untimely death.

  Objectively, he was a handsome and generous man who made it easy for a lonely woman to lean on him. Hannah argued back and forth with herself, and in the end decided it was a simple matter that could be cleared up by a conversation with Mr Hartley. Which reminded Hannah of another matter, long overdue for clarification through conversation. “Thank you, Mrs Tant, you have been a great help.”

  “Do you think something happened to her, other than what some say?” Worry swirled in the woman’s gaze. Mrs Gallon approached with the same deep concern written over her features.

  Hannah shoved all the horrid ideas clustered in her head to one side. “I don’t know, but some force compels me to try and find out what exactly happened in the dark to Sarah, Amy, and Lisbeth.”

  Mrs Gallon rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “When I was a child, my mother used to tell us never to venture near the water’s edge at night, in case some selkie or mermaid snatched us to serve in their watery kingdom. Two men drowned one summer and the locals hereabouts found it right odd. Both were strong swimmers. One was a fisherman plucked from his boat in a flat calm. Do you think the creature has returned and taken Sarah and the others?”

  Hannah rose to her feet, having intruded long enough. She sought the words to reassure the women. It seemed highly unlikely that deaths separated by decades could be in any way connected, apart from the cruel sea being responsible. “I am sure that is simply a tale told to keep children inside at night. Drowning is an unfortunate risk when one lives so close to the ocean.”

  Back in Mireworth that night, the household ate a quiet dinner, as though they all preserved their energy for the dance on the morrow. Barnes sat on the table and kept tapping Frank’s hand. The monster would brush him away, his entire focus on the plate before him. Hannah idly wondered what disagreement brewed between hand and constructed creature. Barnes was obviously picking at his larger friend over something. Perhaps it rankled that Frank had broken through to the tower without the hand assisting. Or perhaps the hand was merely reminding Frank that it was high time h
e took advantage of his help where Mary was concerned.

  When the meal was over, Mrs Rossett and Mary cleared away and stood at the sink to wash the dishes. Hannah put things away, enjoying the quiet company in the kitchen.

  Soon, they would return to London and the formality of lives separate from those below stairs. If only there was a way to keep the intimacy that the ruined house forced upon them. Perhaps she could tell Wycliff she didn’t want to restore the house or increase their fortunes? But that seemed disloyal to both husband and Mireworth.

  Barnes climbed up Frank’s arm and tugged on his ear. The large man stared at Mary and heaved a sigh. Then he nodded to the hand. Frank reached into a pocket and removed something that he tucked between his fingers.

  Hannah held her peace. With the antics between the two and the longing looks at Mary, her thoughts of what might transpire this evening were confirmed. The last platter was put away on its shelf and Hannah fetched down the teacups.

  Mrs Rossett put the kettle on to boil and Mary dropped into her chair.

  Frank cleared his throat with a ghostly rasping noise like the protest of antique hinges. “Love…Mary,” he croaked.

  She giggled and swatted at him. “I love you, too, you big lump.”

  Frank extended his hands, Barnes cupped in his enormous palms. The hand walked to the tips of Frank’s fingers and bowed to Mary by swiping one finger in an arc. He pointed to Mary and then to Frank. Then Barnes did a sort of dance that made Hannah think of the display some male birds did when trying to impress a female. The dance came to a stop and Barnes sat back on his stump and held aloft the pearl ring.

  “Oh!” Mary gasped. Her eyes wide, she stared from Barnes to Frank.

  “I believe, Mary, that Barnes is proposing on Frank’s behalf,” Hannah murmured in case their honourable intentions weren’t obvious to the maid.

  “Yes. Marry. Frank. Please,” the big man whispered in a much higher tone than usual, as though a case of nerves tightened his throat.