by A. W. Exley
“Do you remember why the Uxbridges moved on?” She leaned forward to pick up an open dinghy that fit into the palm of her hand. As she did so, her bosom brushed the youth’s arm.
His blush deepened, but he didn’t move away. Instead he wriggled his arm against her. “My dad said it was right strange. They just up and moved one night, like a mother cat who thinks her kittens have been discovered and she moves them in the dark. But I don’t know if I should say anything. It’s not my business, is it?”
Lettie looked up, ignoring the lad fondling her breast with his elbow, and exchanged a worried glance with Grayson and Marjory.
She shifted to move the pointed bit of Old Charlie’s arm out of her soft spot. Instead she let him gape at cleavage as she leaned forward. “Are these for sale? I would love to purchase this little one.”
He wet his lips, his gaze now several inches below Lettie’s face. “A shilling, for you.”
She smiled and reached into her reticule to extract a coin. She took his hand, pressed the money into his palm, and curled his fingers around it. “Can you remember anything about their time here that might help me?”
His wide gaze went from their joined hands to her cleavage and back again. Only after several moments did he look up and manage to find her face. “Old Ellen Bassett would know. She lived next door to them and was always chatting to Mrs Uxbridge. I never saw much of them except to wave at their daughter when she was at the window. The others thought she was stuck up, because she never came down to play with us. My father said she was sickly, and we wondered if they moved so sudden because she died.”
Since Dawn was very much alive, did Verity Uxbridge remove her daughter during the night like a protective mother cat because her hiding spot had been discovered?
Lettie wondered how old Old Ellen Bassett would prove to be. Twenty-five or perhaps the impossible age of over thirty? “Where would I find Mrs Bassett?”
The lad rattled off a street in Sunderland. Lettie smiled and kissed his cheek. “I am eternally grateful for your assistance and shall treasure my little boat.”
They exited the shed and left the lad in a daze. The last Lettie saw of him, he was rubbing one hand against his cheek.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Grayson said as he handed her back up into the gig.
“What? Buy the little boat? Anything that helps the lad, and it got us the snippet we need.” She set the tin toy on the floor by her feet.
Grayson frowned, as men close to Lettie seemed to do often. “Flirting with him like that was unnecessary.”
Men. Lettie resisted the urge to roll her eyes or poke out her tongue at her brother. The harmless exchange would give the lad something to fuel his dreams for many nights to come. “Necessary? Probably not. But I am out of practice, and if I am to find a way to learn Ocram’s secrets, I need to hone my feminine wiles.”
“Nothing wrong with a woman using her powers of persuasion.” Marjory winked as she climbed into the back. “Where to now?”
Lettie pointed back toward the ocean. “To the beach. I wish to promenade on the sand and have a look at this shipyard while we formulate the next step in our plan.”
It was a short ride back to the village where the cliff ran down to the beach and gave way to a wide expanse of sand. They left the horse grazing stout tussocks and walked down to the harder sand. Lettie rebuttoned the jacket of her blue-and-white-striped seaside outfit and then grabbed the matching parasol.
“You go on ahead,” Marjory called. “I’ll going to rest my bones in the shade.” She headed for a whitewashed rotunda with a view of the ocean.
The shipyards were odd things, like monstrous graveyards with the skeletal remains of boats scattered about. Iron beams and wooden struts jutted out like bones of enormous mechanical whales that had been picked clean by birds. Metal or wooden panelling on the sides hung like peeling skin, waiting to be either removed or attached by the workmen.
Boats were built out in the open, and wooden scaffolding was constructed around them as they grew. Men swarmed over the narrow catwalks and hauled supplies up on ropes. As the hull and deck emerged from the sand, the scaffolding rose higher and higher until the men were dwarfed by the size of the vessels they built.
A large two-storeyed wooden building sat at the end of the yards. The outside was painted a bright yellow, and a large red sign above the double doors that faced the road proclaimed Ocram & Lawson. Stretching north from the building, there were three vessels up on the beach. Two were under construction, and a third appeared to be in dry dock undergoing repairs. Underneath each vessel, a slipway ran out to the ocean.
“This is just one company. Sunderland is crammed with such yards almost as far as the eye can see,” Grayson said as he took Lettie’s arm.
“Why did Ocram establish his yard here, two miles from Sunderland and not in the main port?” Lettie cast up and down the beach, but apart from a small wharf that was clustered with fishing boats, there didn’t appear to be any other shipbuilders at Whiterock.
“Who knows. Privacy? Cheaper land? Because it had a convenient outcrop for his mansion? Could be any number of reasons.” The mansion, while further inland, seemed to loom from the distance.
Lettie watched the industrious builders and wondered how they bore the constant noise from the hammering. It pressed against her skull. Even the ocean was loud today with waves rolling in and crashing against the sand. She preferred the noxious smell of London over the proximity of the sea.
Lettie popped open her parasol and rested it against her right shoulder. She leaned on Grayson, needing the comfort and reassurance of his presence. He was like a mental parasol, shading her from all things that tried to drill into her head.
They paused to admire a sandcastle abandoned by a group of children. An assortment of turrets looked like they had tried to copy the Ocram house. One had proved unstable and toppled over. Lettie raised the corner of her skirt and kicked another, sending it lurching to one side, where it collapsed with a puff of sand.
“You are an undine and yet you don’t like the ocean,” Grayson murmured as they walked along the beach and away from Ocram and Lawson.
“I am a freshwater undine and I have little affinity for salt water.” Likewise different gargoyles preferred different types of terrain. Some chose to live in rough, mountainous regions and others sought out flat plains.
“Ah. You are like fish. Some live in the ocean, others in rivers and lakes. Perhaps, as my sister, I could refer to you affectionately as trout?”
“Trout?” She glanced up at the doctor. She might change her mind about having another brother. They should have made Grayson masquerade as a footman or a butler; that would put a stop to his impertinent talk.
The moustache twitched. “No, perhaps not. I think carp would be more suitable for a younger sister. I hear they can be rather talkative and vexatious.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He simply wouldn’t dare call her carp. “I swear if you call me either, I shall stab you with my parasol and we’ll find out if a physician can heal himself.”
“Good grief. Is this what Jasper has had to put up with for the last two hundred and fifty years? No wonder he finds Dawn such gentle company. Your swim yesterday seems to have restored the sharp edge to your tongue.” He feigned horror, but she saw the laughter in his hazel eyes.
She’d forgotten that Grayson had not known her for long. He seemed a fixture in her life, how odd that he had never been a part of their childish games. She kept imagining him there alongside Jasper and Julian, pulling her pigtails and making use of longer legs to outrun her.
“You only ever knew me as the mad woman kept in the tower. Now I introduce you to the woman I really am.”
He stopped and his hand tightened on hers. “I never thought you were mad. I always knew you were sick, and now you are better.”
His eyes were so serious, Lettie didn’t know what to say. The playful brother of moments before was gone and replaced by
an ancient soul she didn’t know. Like a leaf that had fallen into the ocean, she was adrift on rough waves and couldn’t find her equilibrium.
“Did you discover anything in your explorations yesterday?” She tugged him further along the beach.
“Ocram and Lawson do not have a doctor on call. They send word to Sunderland if a man is injured. I believe they would be receptive if I offered to make my services available to them.”
Lettie stumbled as the heel of her shoe sank in deeper sand. “It might be time to return to Marjory, before I require your services for a twisted ankle.”
They walked back the way they had come, passing their footprints in the sand. Grayson’s larger ones never wavered from beside her smaller ones, even when she stumbled. That summed up the doctor’s last few years, always beside her even if she didn’t realise it.
As they neared the shipyard, a man walked from the office building and toward the boats under construction. He immediately caught Lettie’s eye. There was a lightness to his step as though he walked on air. His entire appearance was one of elegance—from his tall, lean figure to the expensive cut of his clothes. Sunlight caught his blond hair and ringed him with a halo that defied everything Lettie knew of Soarers. She didn’t need to ask Grayson to know who the figure was—Byron Ocram.
He watched them walk back to the gig, his attention fixed on Lettie. She wondered what colour his eyes were but suspected they were most likely the same blue as the sky, his element.
He made a slow and deliberate bow while holding her gaze.
Lettie dropped a curtsey in return.
Then the man turned and walked toward the skeletal ship, except he didn’t cross the sand or use the scaffolding. Only air was under him as he ascended an invisible staircase. His legs lifted as his feet found the next transparent step. Onward he moved, higher and higher above the sand, like an angel who strode through the clouds, until his feet touched the solid wood of the deck.
“Show off,” Grayson muttered.
Lettie laughed. “Indeed. I suspect things are about to get interesting.”
7
After their seaside jaunt, Lettie, Grayson, and Marjory returned to the Warder’s residence for lunch and to plan their afternoon.
“Lord Seton has sent a raven enquiring about you,” Samuel said as soon as they walked in the front door. “I sent a reply that you are much healed after your swim and there is nothing else to report yet.”
Lettie snorted as she pulled off her gloves. “Gaia save me from overprotective brothers. This is only our second day here. Did he think I had sallied forth and engaged the enemy without doing a scrap of reconnaissance first?”
After they had washed and changed, they reconvened in the dining room. Lettie caught Samuel up to date with the morning’s discovery. “A lad said Dawn’s mother used to be close to one of the neighbours, an Ellen Bassett. She has since moved back into Sunderland, and he provided us with a street but unfortunately not a specific address.”
“I could go ask after her in the area and see if someone knows which house is hers? Then I could pay a visit and pretend to be a distant relative of Mrs Uxbridge, trying to locate her from her last known address,” Marjory said.
Lettie smiled at her companion. “Excellent idea. Thank you, Marjory.” Hatton would be perfect for trying to find the missing woman. People seemed more likely to talk to a middle-aged matron. She presented a harmless and genial facade.
“Charlie said they moved suddenly in the middle of the night, like a cat whose litter is disturbed. Given Mr Uxbridge was an accountant, surely it might have been remarked upon in whatever firm he worked for?” Lettie turned over the slight bit of information they had gleaned.
Samuel gestured for lunch to be served, and his man moved on silent feet around the table. “I have a few business contacts in Sunderland. I’ll ask around if anyone remembers his name. Lawyers and bookkeepers tend to keep to themselves, and someone in that circle might remember Mr Uxbridge, particularly if the circumstances of his departure were unusual.”
“While we were down at the shore, Lettie managed to attract the attention of Byron Ocram.” Grayson stabbed his lunch with more vigour than a surgeon should exhibit when wielding a knife.
“What did you make of him?” Samuel raised an eyebrow.
Lettie compared Grayson’s profile to what she had seen of the sylph. The doctor was handsome in a warm, friendly way, whereas Byron appeared cold, unapproachable, and utterly breathtaking. “He is a very handsome man who moves like a sylph. Fluid and elegant. I did not need to be introduced to know who he was.”
“That and he blatantly exhibited his Elemental powers by walking up an invisible staircase,” Grayson said.
Samuel grunted deep in the back of his throat, and it rumbled through him like earth subsidence. “Foolish thing to do. Only those who need to know of us should know.”
Grayson glared at his lunch, as though the beef had offended him somehow. “And he will discover you are an Elemental, Lettie, if you do not exercise the same caution as Samuel.”
Lettie assumed his lunch did not agree with him, given the way Grayson dissected his meal. Men. So temperamental at times. “Some things cannot be hidden from other Elementals. As soon as I am close to him, he will know. Since I cannot disguise what I am, I shall instead use it to my advantage.”
“How?” Samuel’s frown deepened and created fissures in his worn face.
Lettie smiled. Regardless of the danger, engaging their enemy made her come alive. At long last she had a purpose and was no longer the helpless victim. “I intend to challenge him. Let us see if he dares strike up an acquaintance with a Warder.”
That afternoon they moved to the parlour. Marjory sat on the chaise with a book while Lettie and Samuel stared at a chessboard. Grayson paced, unable to settle. He walked back and forth across the old rug, which would soon be worn threadbare if he didn’t stop.
“Whatever is the matter?” Lettie finally asked when his constant movement made her unable to concentrate on the game in progress.
“I confess I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I am a doctor without a patient, and that rarely happens in Alysblud. I’m not used to finding other ways to fill my time.” He stood at the window and clasped his hands behind his back.
“A doctor without a patient,” Samuel repeated. A thoughtful look entered his grey eyes as he rubbed his chin. “I have a suggestion that might help, if Lettie does not mind me retiring from our game?”
“Oh? What would you do with our out-of-work doctor?” Lettie was curious what Samuel’s solution would be—setting Grayson to work in the kitchens? Or perhaps a spot of weeding in the garden?
Samuel rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Grab that bag of yours, lad, I’m taking you to the pub.”
Grayson frowned and turned from the window. “How will going for a drink help?”
Samuel laid down his king on the board. “There’s many a man in the tavern seeking to dull his pain with a beer. You just might be able to help some of them, if you don’t mind working for free.”
Grayson smiled and his moustache lifted at the corners. “A brilliant idea! We might also learn a thing or two about Ocram and Lawson from their workers. I will be back directly.”
Grayson ducked out the door, off to fetch his medical bag.
Lettie took Samuel’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you. He was looking rather lost. Just don’t get him too drunk.” How strange; now she was exhibiting a sibling’s concern. A new protective feeling roused inside her at the thought of Grayson carousing with the locals.
The old gargoyle chuckled. “I’ll look after the lad. I may be old, but I can still make sure he returns in one piece.”
With both men gone, quiet descended over the house, and Lettie found she paced in their absence.
“Don’t you start, or I’ll be thinking you are the one lacking an occupation for your time,” Marjory said, looking up from her book.
“I have n
ever had any paid occupation.” Lettie paused her pacing by the window. She stared down the drive where Samuel and Grayson had disappeared. Should she have a job? What an odd idea. Aristocratic women undertook a variety of decorative activities to fill their days, like needlework or painting, but how the world had changed if women were expected to work outside the home. “Since I reached adulthood, I either helped Mother, annoyed Jasper and Julian, or we sought entertainment abroad. What else are well-bred women meant to do these days?”
Marjory set aside her novel. “You will find little has changed among the upper classes. You are primarily expected to keep house and have children.”
“Dawn sought employment and came to us as a gardener, but I have little expertise in that area. Are my options really limited to marriage, offspring, and handcrafts?” Lettie screwed up her face. She’d rather retreat to her tower than take up reproduction. She had enjoyed watching Elijah grow into a fine young man, but surely once was enough when it came to raising a youngster? Not that she had any great objection to children, just so long as they belonged to someone else.
“You could be scandalous and take to the stage?” Laughter danced in Marjory’s green eyes.
That sounded more suitable. Imagine standing on a stage before a rapturous audience, all clamouring to see her. But such dreams didn’t help in their current situation. Grayson was conjured in her mind, standing tall at the window. The doctor who lacked patients. “Do many people go without seeking medical advice when they are sick or injured?”
“Doctors cost money, and many folk are too poor to afford such services.”
In Alysblud, the earl provided both a home and salary for the doctor, so that the people had access to medical care whenever required. An idea formed in Lettie’s head, one that might give her something to do with her time.
“Grayson cannot spend all his time in a tavern. What if we found a room for him close to the shipyards? Somewhere he could freely offer his services to the people of Whiterock? Why go out and seek them, when we could have all that information come to us instead?”
