by A. W. Exley
Marjory oriented herself in the direction she needed and set off. Today she would tackle the other end of the street where Ellen was said to live, and hope someone knew the name and could point out the exact address.
Pedestrians from all walks of life crowded the footpaths. Young children scampered between the adults, laughing and calling to one another. A few grubby youths sought to create a distraction to allow a mate to steal a few coins from an unguarded pocket. Some things never changed.
Marjory smiled as she surveyed the crowd. For the last forty years, she had stared at the same old faces. What a change to see such a variety of men and women. Her eye lingered on one particular specimen with a tall and broad form encased by a well-tailored tweed suit. She had always appreciated a well-made man, and her flirtation with Samuel reminded her she was still a woman with wants and desires.
The tweed-suit gent turned in her direction and she brightened, hoping to catch his eye for a flirty moment. Except his gaze passed over her with a bored disinterest. Marjory carried on walking, her good mood propelling her along the pavement. Yet an odd thing happened. None of the men returned her smiles or nods.
Curious. She knew she wasn’t invisible, Samuel’s attention reassured her of that, but why did no other man acknowledge her?
She stopped by a millinery store and peered in the window at the range of brightly coloured hats perched on bodiless, head-shaped stands. An old woman peered back at her from the glass. The bold stranger possessed a face lined with wrinkles, her hair faded to a dull washed out red, and beneath her rolled chin, a short and stout body. Only when Marjory touched a hand to her cheek did she realise she stared at herself.
When did she become old and dowdy?
There was no mirror in Lady Letitia’s tower room. It had been removed in case she threw something at her reflection or sought to use the glass to harm herself. For forty years, Marjory’s ethereal charge remained untouched by the passage of time. While intellectually Marjory knew she wasn’t an Elemental and was subject to the whims of ageing, another part of her assumed she kept some remnant of her former looks.
How cruel of life to remind her that her days of being considered a beauty were long behind her. All those decades ago when she had journeyed by carriage to Alysblud, she had basked in male attention. Their stares had lingered on her curves, the swoop of her waist, the rise of her bosom, and the fairness of her face.
Now she was invisible. Erased by time.
Not a man on the street saw her. Yet inside the aged skin, she was the same person. Her soul was as light and bright as when she had been twenty-three years old. But no man saw it. Could only an Elemental who was eight hundred years old consider her worth spending a moment with?
A gaggle of young women swarmed the shop front, fresh faces pressed to the glass as they chatted of beaus and dances and who should have which chapeau. They glanced at Marjory and twittered like sparrows perched on a washing line.
“She’s far too old and frumpy to shop here,” one whispered to her companions, and they burst into laughter.
Marjory smiled and pretended she didn’t hear them. Her feet moved slower as she carried on. She walked the outer edge of the footpath, closest to the trams, carriages, and horses that trotted by. No chivalrous man took that side to protect her from traffic and dust. No one cared.
Her thoughts were darker as she stopped people to ask if they knew which address belonged to Ellen Bassett. She had given her prime years to serve the Seton family. Had it been worth it? She had no husband, nor any family of her own. There was no one to comfort her in her twilight years.
Since Lady Letitia no longer needed her, perhaps she could stay on in Whiterock as a housekeeper for Samuel. At least the gargoyle treated her like a woman, no matter the state of her exterior. But then he was made of granite, and a woman who aged to resemble a cracked rock face might appeal to him.
At length, one pedestrian knew Old Ellen and apparently lived in the same block of flats. Marjory set off with renewed determination. She hoped Ellen was home. She found the row of modest terrace houses in a busy street. The front door stood open, perhaps to allow airflow or because the tenants came and went so frequently.
Marjory glanced at the names written in faded ink next to small brass numbers by the front door. It would appear she sought the occupant of flat number four on the second floor. Her knees grumbled as she took the steep stairs upward. At least it was only one flight. Rusty joints, another sign that her body deteriorated with age while her mind fought the reality.
Voices rose and fell behind closed doors as she passed, but none seemed angry or heated. The building seemed to be inhabited by the respectable, if somewhat lower-middle class. She found number four and took a moment to catch her breath. Then she rapped sharply on the door.
“Who is it?” a voice called from beyond.
“Marjory Hatton,” the nurse answered.
“I don’t know any Marjory Hatton.” A chair scraped over bare floor and soft footsteps moved closer to the door.
“I have brought cake so we might become acquainted over tea, if you would be so kind as to open the door.”
“What kind of cake?” The voice was closer now, almost pressed up against the wood.
“Tea cake.” Marjory had made it herself that morning. There was nothing worse than hard, dried currants in your tea cake, and she had soaked them overnight to ensure they were plump and flavourful.
The handle rattled and the door opened. Apparently tea cake was acceptable. A face not dissimilar to her own peered around. “You can come in then. I’m Ellen Bassett.”
Marjory smiled. “I know. I sought you out to talk about Verity Uxbridge.”
Ellen’s face lit up. “Why didn’t you say? I often wondered what happened to her and her family.”
Within, the modest rooms were clean and tidy but with obvious signs of wear. A child of about two sat on the rug and played with a set of blocks. With blonde ringlets and the short cream dress used for both girls and boys, the tot’s sex was impossible to distinguish.
Marjory nodded to the toddler as a pang of emptiness stabbed through her. “A grandchild of yours?”
Sadness passed over Ellen’s features. “No, my neighbour’s little one. I watch him while she’s at work. We look out for each other here.”
Ah. The child was a boy.
Ellen seemed of similar vintage to Marjory, with the same short and stout body that had seen many years of physical labour. Ellen filled the kettle with water and set it to boil on the range. Then she fetched two plates and a knife. She gestured to the worn pine table. “Have a seat. Did you know Verity?”
“No.” Marjory pulled the pins from her hat and removed it before she sat down. “Her daughter has sent me to learn more about her mother.”
Ellen’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Little Dawn is still alive? Goodness. Such a sickly, wee thing, no one thought she would be on this Earth for long. I assumed she had died, and that was why Verity left so hurriedly.”
“No, she is not only alive but thriving. A change of location saw a most miraculous transformation in her health.” Best to leave Dawn’s recovery at that.
The kettle whistled, and soon a pot of tea and two mugs sat on the table. Marjory unwrapped the still-warm cake and placed it on the cutting board.
“Dawn remembers little of her time here, due to her illness, and wants to learn more about her parents’ early years together.”
Ellen poured the tea. “Why doesn’t she just ask her mother?”
Marjory glanced at the playing child. With chubby cheeks and sparkling eyes, the child had no idea of the dark forces beyond the walls that could strike anyone at any time.
“A most tragic accident took the lives of both Mr and Mrs Uxbridge. Losing them has inspired Dawn’s desire to learn more about them as younger people.”
Ellen’s smile fell away. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Lovely woman she was, always had a kind word for everyone.”
“Were you her neighbour for long?”
Ellen cut the cake into fat slices and slid one onto a plate for Marjory.
“Since the day she arrived in County Durham. She rented the cottage next to mine, and we were neighbours from the very first day she moved in until the last when they moved on.”
Marjory sipped her tea and pondered what to ask about Verity Uxbridge. How did one broach whether a neighbour noticed anything unusual about the woman?
Ellen bit into a piece of cake. “It was lovely when James married her and claimed the babe as his.”
Marjory nearly spat her tea across the table. “James Uxbridge wasn’t Dawn’s father?”
“Oh no. Verity arrived at the cottage alone and in the family way. I asked about the father, but she said he had died. Poor thing, we all know how these things happen. A young couple makes promises to each other and the woman surrenders herself, only for tragedy to strike.”
“Or for the man to leave town having got what he wanted.” Marjory, for all that she spent years in isolation, wasn’t sheltered. Men were just as capable of baiting traps as women.
“Are you married?” Ellen peered over the rim of her cup.
Marjory shook her head. “No. I spent my life as a nurse to one family and never had time to raise one of my own.”
Ellen’s gaze lingered on the child who toddled over to the table and held out a hand. She cut a hunk of cake and placed it in a chubby palm. “My man and I never had any of our own, no matter how much we tried. I lost so many, but it wasn’t meant to be. He’s gone now and left me all alone. That’s why I don’t mind watching this one. He keeps my mind occupied and stops me from staring at the walls.”
Ellen’s face seemed a reflection of Marjory’s own but from a different angle. They could have walked the same path, but took different forks. Yet here they both were, alone. Except when she really thought about it, Marjory wasn’t alone. She had no family by blood, but there was another kind. The Seton family would care for her until they placed her in her grave. Never would Lord Seton abandon one of the staff.
Then there was that old goat, Hector. While time had eroded his face and form, Marjory only saw the younger version in her mind. The tall, sinewy man with raven black hair who made the local girls swoon when he removed his shirt to cut hay or work in the garden. The man whose eyes sparkled whenever he gazed upon Marjory, no matter how time wore her down.
The man who spent forty years plotting how to steal kisses, and more, from her in their private moments.
Standing on the busy streets below, ignored by passers-by, Marjory had thought her life had been for nothing. Seeing herself echoed in Ellen made her compare their two lives. She could easily have taken the same path toward marriage and tragic widowhood. But while she didn’t have a ring on her finger or her grandchildren crawling at her feet, Marjory had never been alone. She had loved and been loved and had a family that would remember her name for centuries.
A noxious odour filled the room and she wrinkled her nose.
“I’ll take care of that,” Ellen muttered, and she swooped on the child.
The stench reminded her of one aspect of the Elementals that Marjory was glad to have finally outgrown. They took fifty years to reach adulthood, and baby Elijah had spent over a decade in diapers. Marjory had often sought reassurance from Lord Seton that the babe would eventually be toilet trained and grow into a young lad.
Ellen returned a few moments later and deposited a fresh-smelling child on the rug.
“Where were we?” She took her seat opposite Marjory.
“You were telling me how Verity arrived in the area.”
“Oh, yes. Verity Farnham she was then. All alone and with no family, she spent many a long hour in my kitchen.” Ellen broke off a piece of cake and popped it into her mouth.
Marjory soaked up the details of Dawn’s history and refilled Ellen’s tea cup when her throat became dry. “How did Mr Uxbridge become involved?”
“Verity had a piece of jewellery that her man had given her. He’d said it would be enough to see her and the babe right. She needed someone trustworthy to sell it and handle the money for her. James Uxbridge was a new accountant that my man knew. He had just opened up his business, and I took her to see him. I think he fell in love as soon as he laid eyes upon her.”
Love at first sight, there was a tale worthy of a romance novel. “He sounds like a good man.”
Ellen beamed, her gaze far away as she saw someone no longer in the room, or even in the world. “There’s still a few of them in this world. Less than three months later, the two of them wed. I was her matron of honour.”
“It was an honourable thing to take on another’s child.” Marjory wondered what Verity had told him of Dawn’s father. They would probably never know; the dead take their secrets with them.
“He loved the little mite so completely, I don’t think it made a blind bit of difference to him who fathered Dawn. James was the one who raised her. But they did fret about her. They consulted different doctors, but none had any good news to share. What does she look like?”
“I believe she is the mirror image of her mother.” Dawn had said only time separated them in appearance.
“Is she wed?” A conspiratorial wink.
Marjory smiled to think of the obvious love between Dawn and Lord Seton. “Engaged to my employer. Another fine young man, who dotes upon her.”
Ellen sipped her tea. “Good. There had been too much heartbreak in that family.”
“Do you know why they left Whiterock?” Marjory edged closer to the main question Dawn wanted answered.
Ellen chewed her lip. “It was so abrupt. They said nothing, but simply packed up and left one night. James even walked away from his business without a word.”
Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to her cup.
“But there was something, wasn’t there?” Marjory prompted in a soft tone.
“It was the oddest thing. They had been gone about a week, and I was hanging out my laundry one day when I saw a man peering in their windows. I called out to him, and he said he was looking for Verity. He asked if I knew where to find her.” Ellen brushed a hand up her arm at the old memory, as though it washed a chill over her skin.
“I told him no, that they had up and gone with no forwarding address. He swore and seemed most angry that he had missed her. He scared me and I’ve always wondered, what if little Dawn’s father wasn’t really dead, or his family had come looking for his child? What if they moved so suddenly because she had been warned they were coming for her or Dawn?”
Marjory wondered the same thing. So many questions, and the only people who could answer them were gone from this realm. Just when she thought they reached the end of the thread, they discovered two more. The small plot they originally suspected was growing larger.
“You have been most helpful, Ellen. Thank you.”
The two women rose and walked to the door. Ellen wrung her hands. “Would you think it would be all right if I wrote to Dawn?”
Marjory patted the woman’s arm. “If you are agreeable, I shall see to it that you receive an invitation to the wedding. You were a great friend of her mother’s, I think she would love to have you there on her day.”
Ellen beamed. “Oh that would be marvellous. I’ll bake a pie with the apples from Dawn’s tree. She never did get to taste them.”
“What tree?” Dawn had a special tree, the Ravensblood. Odd to think she might have had another here.
“Oh, the day they left, Verity dug a hole in the backyard. I remember asking her what she was up to. Planting a special tree just for Dawn, she said. In hindsight, it was such a strange thing to do. Verity must have known they’d be gone that evening. That little tree took a few years to bear fruit, it was never going to sprout them overnight.”
“Yes, how strange.” Marjory tucked the information away to share with the others.
12
Lettie
*
* *
While Samuel took Marjory to Sunderland after breakfast, Lettie and Grayson took the horse and gig to the cottage. The doctor was silent, only answering direct questions with the minimum number of syllables required or a grunt. Lettie assumed he still dwelt on the patient he lost, even though they had saved George. She tried to distract him by pointing out she might make a discovery when she visited the shipyards with Byron, but that just seemed to make the doctor even more morose.
Lettie heaved a sigh of relief when the horse walked around the side of the cottage and she could escape. She left Grayson to unharness the horse and put him in the yard for the day while she unlocked the cottage and tied an apron over her dress. Then she made a fire in the range. Blowing on the tinder, she wished for a touch of salamander fire. Although she could use her element to fill the kettle, she couldn’t heat the water.
By the time Grayson pushed open the back door, she had a fire going and the water set to boil. Time alone with the horse appeared to have given him back the ability to converse in complete sentences.
“When you have time today, could you boil more water with garlic, please?” He reached into a basket under the bench and pulled out two fat bulbs of garlic. Then he moved to the shelf and grabbed a large pottery jug. “Marjory pours it off into the jug. Although I think we need to maintain a larger supply, if you could ask Samuel for more jugs.”
Lettie took the jug and sloshed the liquid remaining in the bottom. “Of course. Is that what you used to wash George’s stump?”
“Yes. Some doctors think it is just an old wives’ tale, but I’ve found wounds washed with garlic water are far less likely to become infected.” Grayson picked up a bulb and rubbed a thumb over the papery outside coating.
“I think it’s worth doing if it helps people heal,” she said. “Shall we see who awaits us today?”
When she opened the front door, Widow Elder and her knitting basket walked in. The woman gave a toothless grin and settled into her corner. Behind her were the usual array of coughs and scrapes.
