by A. W. Exley
As a sign of her move to the big house, Dawn relocated the delicate orchid to the side table in the family’s private drawing room. The plant’s vivid cerise blooms were a punch of colour amid the soothing greens and browns that showcased the orchid perfectly.
Today Dawn sat in the drawing room with an open sketchbook on her lap doodling plans for a conservatory. It was a type of space the manor house lacked, and a glass enclosure would give them somewhere warm and sunny to sit when the temperatures outside plummeted over winter. She had decided the south side of the house, reaching toward the herbaceous border, would be the best location. Now she had to decide on a shape and size. She had brought the obsidian egg to sit on her papers and held the warm weight in her hand as she drew. Rubbing its stone surface soothed her and reminded her of her mother.
Lettie and Elijah played chess at a table with the board inlaid in the surface. Two serious faces studied the pieces. Every day the tight lines around Lettie’s eyes diminished and her laughter seemed lighter and more natural. She had less need for Nurse Hatton, and soon the older woman would be free to live her twilight years as she pleased.
Jasper sat in a worn leather armchair by the fire. An open book rested in his hands, but Dawn caught him staring at her when he didn’t think she would notice. At night, they exchanged quiet words of love, and with each day, that bond grew into something stronger and deeper. She wondered if he plotted his proposal but didn’t want to ruin her anticipation of the event by asking.
Hector knocked briefly on the door and then entered. “Large trunk arrived on today’s train for Miss Dawn.”
“Oh marvellous.” She laid down pencil and set the egg to wobble on the pad as she rose to her feet. “It will be all that remains of my life in Whetstone.”
“And a letter accompanied the trunk,” Hector said, holding out a cream envelope.
Dawn froze and glanced to Jasper.
He stood and took the correspondence from Hector’s hand. He flipped it over and read the address on the back. “From Mr Stevens. No doubt it will be a response to my queries. Do you want to read it or shall I?”
Fear gripped Dawn and her hands curled into her skirts. What would the solicitor say? That Lettie’s casually thrown words were ridiculous and the Uxbridges’ deaths had been a terrible accident, or had he discovered a darker plot?
She swallowed and sat back down. “Could you read it, please? I fear the shake in my hands would make it unreadable.”
Jasper flicked the seal open and pulled out the sheet within. He scanned the page, his lips murmuring softly, then he glanced to Dawn. When she nodded, he returned his attention to the letter and began to read aloud.
“Dear Lord Seton,
First let me say how it gladdens my heart to hear that Miss Uxbridge flourishes under your care and attention—”
Jasper looked up and winked at Dawn. A faint flush ran over her skin as she thought of his care and attention. His analogy had proved true; her delicate health had never been a human problem and like her orchid, she had found the perfect environment to allow her to thrive and bloom. She grew as strong as the Ravensblood, now that it was free of Ava’s poison.
Jasper continued reading.
“—I will admit to serious misgivings about the tragic death of my long-time colleague and his dear wife, but did not wish to add to Miss Uxbridge’s grief by mentioning them. Having read that you hold similar concerns, I shall now unburden what has troubled me these many weeks.
On the day in question, there was a heated exchange in Uxbridge’s offices. I confess I succumbed to curiosity and left my office door ajar, the better to hear what caused such an uproar in the usually quiet accountant’s rooms.
At length, five grim-looking men left. One clutched a large satchel, and I assumed him to be the bearer of bad tidings making his rapid exit, as he charged off first. Four doleful investors followed, muttering among themselves. Then my friend and his wife emerged. I hailed him in the hallway, but he had little to say apart from, ‘We are ruined, all of us. Verity says he speaks false and we have been swindled. I have demanded a full accounting or I will involve the authorities.’ Those were the last words I had with my friend before he hurried off to his carriage and, as it transpired, to meet his death.
I recognised one of the other investors and tried to have a quiet word at the funeral, but the man took quite ill and bolted. I am convinced that Uxbridge’s death served the dual purpose of stopping him from examining the financial records and to silence the other investors, lest they also voice their concerns.
But how to prove it? I have little to provide in the way of evidence, alas. All I can discover is that the investment concerned a new shipping venture, to use the modern steamers to transport cargo much quicker than sail. The steamers were to be built by Lawson & Ocram Shipbuilders in Whiterock.
A substantial amount of capital was raised for this venture, by Uxbridge and four other fellows, from themselves and their clients. Supposedly the first ship constructed, the Esmeralda, went down somewhere in the Atlantic. The ship was uninsured, the cargo and all hands lost, and the creditors could not be satisfied, resulting in the bankruptcy of the company.
I hope you might have connections who can discover more, for I have found only closed doors and even more firmly sealed mouths. No one will utter a word about Lawson & Ocram or their owners.
I can only imagine what dark plot Uxbridge stumbled upon, and I pray you keep Miss Uxbridge safe and convey my warmest regards.
Yours sincerely,
Mr J. Stevens, solicitor.”
Jasper folded the letter and silence fell over the room. He sat next to Dawn and took her hand in his. She drew from his calm strength as she let the contents of the letter sink into her mind.
“Your mother revealed herself. The Soarer knew who she was,” Lettie said from her seat.
“Now I know why Father wanted Mother at the meeting that day, to see if the business manager was telling the truth or not,” Dawn said as she curled in fingers against Jasper’s skin.
“We know a false picture was presented, one which cost your parents their lives for asking for the accounting records.” Jasper stroked the back of her palm with his thumb as he thought.
“Or for Mother being a Meidh.” So many unanswered questions. “How did you know it wasn’t an accident, Lettie?”
The elegant young woman turned in her chair. “The water gathers whispers in each drop. Rain falls and touches lives as it passes. Each tiny orb holds a single thought or impression. The lake is full of memories and glimpses from around the country. Sometimes it’s hard to pick out particular ones, but when I was swimming, I touched those that had fallen near your family.”
Dawn glanced up at Jasper. “Can you listen to the rain?”
His lips pulled in a brief smile. “Only undines use water. Gargoyles use the ravens and the stationary watchers on buildings.” Then he returned to the topic at hand. “Whiterock is in County Durham, only a few miles from Sunderland.”
“Which is where my parents came from twelve years ago.” She remembered little of those sickly years, of struggling to survive in the wrong garden. That time was only glimpses from a window or whispers in the hall.
Jasper drew her closer and placed an arm along the back of the sofa to shield her. “Different threads seem to be drawing themselves together. What do you wish to do?”
Resolve crept down her spine. “We find the truth. If we can.”
He reached out and stroked her face. “There is an old Warder called Samuel Thorne in County Durham. I will send a raven first, see what he knows.”
She turned and kissed his palm. “Until then we can only wait, and plan.”
His arm dropped over her shoulders, and she nestled in close against him. “Time reveals all, Dawn. This family has merely survived for too long. Now is the time for lies to be revealed and for justice, for both Julian and your parents. Just as you promised to heal this family and estate, I promise to you that we
will find those responsible and expose them.”
THE END
About A.W. Exley
Books and writing have always been an enormous part of my life. I survived school by hiding out in the library, with several thousand fictional characters for company. At university, I overcame the boredom of studying accountancy by squeezing in Egyptology papers and learning to read hieroglyphics.
Today, I write historical fantasy novels from my home in rural New Zealand.
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Also by A.W. Exley
Silent Wings
1. Dawn’s Promise
2. Day’s Patience
3. Dusk’s Revenge
* * *
The Artifact Hunters
1. Nefertiti’s Heart
2. Hatshepsut’s Collar
2.5 The Unicorn’s Tail
3. Nero’s Fiddle
3.5 Paniha’s Taniwha
4. Moseh’s Staff
* * *
Serenity House
1. Ella, The Slayer
2. Henry, The Gaoler
3. Alice, The Player
4. Rory, The Sleeper
5. Vincent, The Tailor
