Day's Patience

by A. W. Exley

  “It looks like tomorrow will involve a trip into Sunderland to acquire something suitable for the doctor to wear. That will give me a chance to have a chat with Ellen again and see if she remembers anything else about Verity,” Marjory said, her cheerful tone working to dispel the remaining tension in the room.

  Grayson let out a groan. “I’m going to end up dressed like a penguin.”

  “Yes you will, because penguins are always impeccably dressed.” Lettie grinned to herself. She looked forward to seeing the doctor in something other than his usual three-piece suit.

  “I will have all my ravens watching the Ocram mansion, but I will have no way of knowing what happens once you cross their threshold.” Samuel still worried over their safety.

  “We will simply have to trust that Byron Ocram will keep his word.” Lettie would leave it to Samuel to let her brother know what she planned. She half expected to see an enraged Jasper land in the backyard when he heard. Perhaps they should tell him afterwards and not before.

  “Can you think of anything that might explain how Verity masked her nature?” She changed the topic of conversation to safer territory. They assumed the Soarer family knew nothing of Verity. The ball would present an opportunity to discover what Meidh were aligned to the Ocrams and Lawsons.

  Samuel leaned back in his chair as he relaxed after the standoff. “I will ask the older Warders if any know of a way it could be done. But it will take time to sift through our collective memories. If I were to do it, I would use an object as a focal point.”

  “Like a talisman?” Grayson asked.

  The old Warder tented his fingers as he considered the possibility. “Yes. Something that would mask an Elemental’s nature so long as they were close to the object. It could even be something Verity carried in a pocket or a piece of jewellery.”

  “But that still wouldn’t explain why you sensed Verity when she moved here,” Lettie said.

  Samuel’s face went through a range of expressions as he sought to explain how that happened. “The only explanation I can conjure is the masking had a particular effect on Soarers but not Warders.”

  “And why would Verity be more concerned about concealing herself from Soarers?” Grayson asked the question and let it hang between them.

  Lettie stared at her empty wine glass. She didn’t remember finishing off the wine, but she must have gulped it for courage before announcing her intention to make herself a sacrificial lamb. “So many questions without answers. Dawn is unlikely to know what the object might be, since her mother kept her Elemental nature a secret from her as well. And given all their belongings were sold, we are unlikely to ever know.”

  The next day, Grayson went into Sunderland to find formal wear while Marjory visited with Ellen. Lettie hung her ball gown on the wardrobe door and found jewellery to match. All the while she alternated between excitement at attending a ball after decades away from society and fear of walking into their enemy’s territory.

  No Warder had ever entered a Soarer compound and emerged unscathed.

  This time when Lettie ran a bath, she locked the door before she removed her robe. She scrubbed at her skin and washed her hair, calling her element to tease through her long locks to ensure all traces of shampoo were removed. Later, Marjory insisted on helping Lettie tighten the laces on her corset before slipping the expensive and beautiful ball gown over her.

  The bodice clung to the top of her bosom and revealed all of her shoulders and collarbone. Beaded swags draped over her shoulders. The fabric changed from dark blue to teal, reflecting the colour of deep, still water. The silk at the front of the skirt was draped to resemble ripples of water over rocks and was edged in the same beading as the tiny straps. The back gathered in a small bustle before tumbling to a flared train.

  Next they tackled her hair, lifting it all off her neck in a loose knot. Curls were pulled free at the front to frame her face. She finished the look with a simple silver and emerald set of drop earrings, choker, and bracelet.

  “Oh, you look divine,” Marjory gasped.

  “I’ve not been to a ball for decades. I hope I am fashionable.” Fashions had certainly changed in the last half century, and she longed for the simple elegance of the last ball she attended during the regency. She sighed over the Grecian influences, high waistlines, and floaty fabrics. Perhaps they might reappear in time.

  Instead she was tight laced into a corset with her bosom pushed upward and her bladder downward. Her evening skirts were heavier than anything she had worn before. The entire outfit made her feel as though she were a young child playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes. When she moved, the weight of the bustle forced her to take slow and measured steps.

  “You will start your own fashion, and all those Soarer women will be jealous of how elegant you look.” Marjory tweaked a curl and then stood back, satisfied.

  A ball was already taking place in her stomach, where her nerves danced and stood on each other’s toes. “Well, let us see how much Grayson resembles a penguin.”

  Marjory descended the stairs first and left Lettie to make her entrance. Grayson stood at the bottom of the stairs talking to Samuel, and both men turned on hearing the rustle of silk.

  Neither spoke as she approached. Lettie started to worry that she had made a terrible misjudgement. Was there something wrong with her gown or her hair?

  “You are staggeringly beautiful, and I am honoured to accompany you tonight,” Grayson said in a low tone as she stepped off the last stair. Then he held out his arm to her.

  Dr Day was a rather handsome specimen himself. His sandy blond hair was slicked back off his face and his moustache neatly trimmed. The black jacket with tails, cream shirt, and matching waistcoat were topped off with a snowy cravat and a pearl pin. The ensemble fitted him perfectly, even if the colour scheme left little scope for a man to reflect his individuality. Not that they should. Men were the midnight velvet against which women could shine.

  “You are quite dashing yourself. You appear so much the London gentleman I could forget you are a provincial doctor.” She had a natural, brotherly affection for Jasper’s closest friend. But tonight he was wrapped in a different guise. A surge of something hot flared through her. How many women would circle the handsome young doctor, vying for a dance and his attention?

  “Perhaps I could find employment in the city, now that you no longer require me.” He led her from the house and to the waiting carriage.

  Lettie glanced at him. Surely he joked? An empty weight dropped through her at the idea of Grayson moving away from Alysblud. Like Marjory, he had given years to her service, but at least he was young enough to still find love or forge a career elsewhere.

  She had thought Ava the sole evil influence in the family, but how many lives had Lettie consumed? Did it make any difference that they gave their best years from a sense of love or duty rather than coercion?

  “We would all miss you greatly, I am sure,” she whispered as he helped her up.

  The journey to the Ocram mansion was a silent one, with each passenger lost in their own thoughts. Soon the towering structure loomed over their old carriage as the driver steered the horses up the sweeping driveway.

  The building occupied the top of a hill, looking down on the surrounding countryside and out to the ocean like an ancient fortification. Soarers often chose the highest point in an area to establish their compound and then built fairy-tale castles with soaring turrets and spires.

  The construction of thick stone walls and narrow windows would contain any escaped salamander fire or repel any Warder attack. Somewhere in the middle of the compound would be a phoenix, the symbol and spiritual heart of the family. Like the Ravensblood tree, except the fiery bird would live its life chained to a pillar in a windowless room lest it escape and take the family’s prosperity with it.

  Soarers might joke about Warders having a tree as their heart, but the Ravensblood grew unrestricted in the open air. Sun caressed its leaves and rain
could fall through grooves in its trunk. In winter, snow settled along its boughs and ravens flocked to its sheltering embrace. The Soarers’ fiery bird merely existed, never allowed to taste freedom or spread its wings. Perhaps its treatment was a fitting metaphor for the Soarers who took and controlled all around them.

  Soarers rule while Warders serve, as Byron reminded her.

  Lettie drew a deep breath as they approached the mansion. She couldn’t hide what she was. For some, the resonance was a pleasant buzzing sensation when they were near, and others emitted an inaudible tone that made them uncomfortable to be around.

  They didn’t all experience it the same way, and it seemed to be something that seeped into their forms over time. The very young, like her nephew, Elijah, could pass as human with no hint of the gargoyle form that lurked under his skin. Only as he moved into maturity would a resonance attach to him.

  The carriage halted under a large portico, and a footman clad in pale grey livery opened the door.

  Grayson hopped down first and then took Lettie’s hand. He pulled her close as they walked up the tiled stairs toward double-height doors that were flung open. The massive arched doors had an almost religious feel, as though they entered a great cathedral. Except this one was dedicated to greed and selfishness.

  “Are you ready?” he asked as they paused on the threshold.

  She drew a deep breath and then let it out. “Let us step upon the battlefield.”

  Lettie and Grayson passed through the open front doors and across a marble entranceway. The walls were encased in dark panelling, like that favoured in Tudor times. Enormous chandeliers made of thick wrought iron hung far above their heads. The flames from the wicks seemed brighter and taller than a normal candle would give off, with no trace of smoke, probably enhanced by a resident salamander.

  Footmen stood in rows to ensure guests didn’t wander the wrong way. Their pale grey uniforms popped against the dark wood, giving them the appearance of human torches. They lined a pathway to the grand ballroom that lay just beyond a heavily carved archway.

  Lettie’s fingers rested lightly on Grayson’s sleeve as they walked. Her skirts made a sibilant hiss over the ground behind with each step. Music drifted through the mansion along with snatches of laughter and the clink of crystal glasses. The Ocrams entertained in grand style, with nearly two hundred people in attendance.

  Lettie reached out with her element, seeking the comfort of knowing water was nearby, but she found none. Not a fountain, reflecting pool, or even a puddle could be found within the mansion’s grounds.

  “Do you think we should be doing this? I’m not sure I can advise walking into the enemy’s den, nor do I think the earl would approve,” Dr Day said.

  Her fingers curled for a moment into the ebony fabric of his jacket. She had waited forty years to avenge her fallen brother and could play the game for a little longer. The more they uncovered, the more it seemed the untimely deaths of Dawn’s parents were tied back to the same elements who stole Julian from them. “They know what I am, but I must maintain my neutrality. If we openly battle them, not only will we lose, but we will learn nothing. As Marjory says, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  “If you are sure, but I shall play my part as overprotective brother. I intend to hover over you all evening.” He smiled at her as they descended the grand staircase.

  “I am quite fond of protective brothers,” she said as her gaze drifted below.

  The ballroom was as large as anything in London or Europe and befitted a royal palace. The gold-painted roof soared far above their heads, the ceiling at least three storeys high. The floor was covered in honey-coloured timber laid in an intricate pattern. Gilded chairs with crimson seats and matching sofas edged the room so dancers could rest their feet and gossip when they grew weary.

  Women swayed like wildflowers in a range of colours, sizes, and patterns scattered on a meadow. Palest yellow whirled next to bright pink. Bold green stripes danced beside quieter blue spots. Between them wove men in black. Their absence of colour stopped the overall picture being too overwhelming on the eyes and gave a visual break before the next garish flower.

  Chandeliers the size of tables hung from the ceiling on enormous chains. Twinkling crystals transformed the flicker of candles into the whirl of rainbows. One wall contained a series of French doors flung open to a balcony beyond, and a faint breeze, tinged with salt from the nearby ocean, stopped the room from becoming unbearably warm.

  Lettie and Grayson made their way through the crowd toward the drinks table that occupied the centre back of the room. The long table was covered in a gold cloth with a red fringe. Each end held a fountain that rose up nearly five feet tall. Aromatic punch spilled from the top of the fountain and flowed over each level before reaching the bottom. Tiny crystal glasses hung from hooks around the edge of the fountain, waiting for attentive men to pluck one free, dip it in the punch, and return to his partner.

  As Lettie and Grayson moved among the crowd, a low whisper fell into their wake. One word hissed from one Soarer to another.

  Warder.

  15

  Lettie schooled her face to serene indifference as men and women circled behind them. They were sharks in a sea of silk and taffeta, but she was an undine and would control this ocean. Their whispers had a sharp, hostile edge as did the narrowed gazes focused on her.

  She ignored them as she scanned the dancers, seeking a particular face. All the while a tiny voice in the back of her head asked if Byron had, in fact, lured her into a trap. Would her life end here, shattered over the polished parquet floor? Perhaps the dancers would kick her frozen pieces between them in a gruesome game of football.

  And what would become of Grayson? Most likely he would be found guilty by association and die a fiery death. Neither demise would play out just yet, for as it transpired, her unlikely saviour snuck up behind her.

  “My lovely undine, how fetching you look this evening,” he said in a voice loud enough for listening ears to hear.

  Byron Ocram seemed to materialise from the very air beside them. A sylph trick, and a risky one with so many human eyes watching, assuming there were any in the crowd unaware of his true nature. Most people didn’t believe their eyes and would assume they simply missed seeing him weave through the mass of people.

  He was the one gentleman in attendance not wearing black. His jacket was of a crisp blue with a pale silver thread in a crosshatch pattern on his waistcoat. Tall and elegant, he was a summer sky set among them. Women turned just to watch him speak, their eyes fixed on his full lips.

  “Mr Ocram. You are most handsome, a star among pebbles if I might say,” Lettie said, lowering her lashes as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

  “You can flatter me all night, Miss Day. I am so glad you accepted my offer of protection this evening.” His pale eyes never strayed from Lettie’s face.

  As he uttered that sentence, the Soarers who had gathered around them retreated like the tide pulling back from the shore. Hostile whispers became softer, confused ones. Lettie used the opportunity to count the enemy. She found twenty Soarers, gathered in groups of three or four. A huge number for one family, when Warders were reduced to surviving in clans of five at most. How had such an imbalance happened?

  To add to the Soarers’ ranks were the Meidh aligned with the family, and then the dedicated humans who would give their lives to serve the Elementals. They were a formidable force. No wonder Samuel stuck to raising leeks and watching events. There was nothing he could do with such a large problem before him.

  “It was most solicitous of you to extend an invitation to us,” Grayson said from beside her.

  Byron glanced to him, as though he had forgotten the doctor stood there. “Ah, Dr Day, I do hope you don’t mind if I steal your sister away.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of intent.

  The doctor gave a tight smile. “I have no objections, but I don’t know if Lettie wishes to dance this eveni
ng. She is still recovering from a recent illness and might prefer to sit and watch.”

  “Watch? An ethereal creature such as your sister shouldn’t be relegated to watching, she should be the centre of attention and envy.” Byron kept hold of Lettie’s hand in his white gloved one.

  “I’m sure one of my cousins will be more than willing to entertain you, doctor.” He snapped his fingers over his shoulder and a petite woman appeared next to him. “This is Caprice, and she loves to dance.”

  “Caprice? For capricious?” With a name like that, Lettie guessed the woman had to be a Meidh.

  “Yes. She can be fickle, but I’m sure she will entertain the doctor.” Byron pulled Lettie closer while the other woman slid her hand along Grayson’s forearm.

  Caprice was clad in a pale orange gown that complemented her dark colouring. She cast large brown eyes at Grayson.

  “Do say you will dance with me, Dr Day?” Caprice said.

  Grayson glanced to Lettie then back to the woman sent to tempt him. He was caught in a chivalrous dilemma. He couldn’t refuse the young woman and protect his sister at the same time.

  “I’ll be fine, Grayson. Try not to worry, and you never know, you might enjoy yourself,” Lettie said.

  “Does that mean you’ll be mine for the evening?” Byron whispered as he held her hand in one of his while his arm encircled her waist.

  How long had it been since a man had held her in his arms and swept her away in a dance? Decades at least, perhaps as much as a hundred years. Had the waltz even reached English shores the last time she had attended a ball? She remembered the formal patterns they used to dance in grand homes. It was only around a bonfire with a fiddle as accompaniment that men and women held each other close and surrendered to the music.