That morning, Mary arose later than Hannah and joined the other women for a companionable breakfast. While the house sat largely derelict and unloved, it warmed Hannah to find quiet solace in the tidy kitchen. It also helped that she had struck up an instant friendship with the older Mrs Rossett. The housekeeper had a never-ending stream of tales about a young Wycliff, or Master Jonas, as she remembered him. Hannah wondered if his parents had sent him off to boarding school at an early age because it was customary, or simply for a rest from his constant pursuit of mischief.
The housekeeper gave her directions to the village, saying they wouldn’t be able to miss the paths worn into the countryside by generations of feet all heading the same way. Then she handed Mary a carefully printed list of a few supplies she needed. Since Mary could not read, Hannah tucked it into her basket.
“Come along, Mary.” Hannah waved to Mrs Rossett, linked arms with Mary, and they set off with the spaniel yapping and bounding around them.
They walked over the fields and around the edge of a coppice, where they reached the path that wound along the top of a cliff. The ocean crashed below them in a centuries-old battle of water against rock.
“It looks ever so fierce,” Mary whispered from beside her, her eyes wide as she gazed at the ocean for the first time.
Hannah shared the maid’s opinion of the tempestuous sea. “Wycliff said he used to swim here often as a child. No doubt there will be a quiet cove somewhere along the coast.” Or at least she assumed he had bathed somewhere with calmer waters. She couldn’t imagine leaping into the ocean when the risk of being pounded to death on the rocks were a certainty. That seemed too rash even for a rapscallion.
A breeze whipped up and blew the ribbons on Hannah’s bonnet around her face. “The village can’t be far now,” she said as she batted a green ribbon away.
The village of Selham revealed itself where the sweep of the land created a sheltered cove. Cottages and larger buildings huddled along the shoreline with their backs to the rolling hill. Here, the rocks and harsh ocean gave way to golden sand and calmer waters. A harbour around a point with deeper water served larger vessels, while nearby on the beach smaller boats were hauled up by the locals and dragged back out the next day as they fished.
As they approached, a crowd on the beach caught Hannah’s attention. People were gathered on the sand at one end, where upturned boats were stored. They were staring at the water as a fully clothed man emerged from the waves, a limp form draped in his arms. Long dark hair hung low and soaking skirts were tangled about legs turned pale grey.
“Oh, no.” Hannah stopped above the beach, unable to look away from the unfolding tragedy.
“Sarah!” A pregnant woman screamed and rushed to the dripping wet man. She wiped hair from the prone woman’s face and pressed her cheek to one tinged blue. More people surrounded them, and cries and sobs rose from the assembled crowd.
“Do you think she’s dead?” Mary asked.
The man carrying the woman knelt on the sand. Someone shook out a blanket before him and he gently lowered the woman onto it. Then he wrapped the fabric around her form, shooing away helping hands. He draped the blanket over her face last and rested one hand on her hair. He bowed his head and his shoulders heaved.
“It does appear so, Mary.” Hannah gripped her hands together at the display of sorrow and grief.
Someone glanced up and shielded their eyes against the sun to stare at them. Another person whipped around and soon numerous eyes glared at their witnessing such a loss.
“We are intruding. Let us leave them to tend her.” Hannah tugged on Mary’s arm, and they continued along the path to the village.
The community occupied a pretty spot, with shops and businesses laid out facing the water. Cottages nestled higher up the hill and lanes wound upward between them from the main road. People bustled back and forth. A few men walked next to horses pulling carts. Some passers-by stared at them as they carried out the purchases for Mrs Rossett, but none said a single word. At most, they received a brief curious nod.
The haberdashery window caught Hannah’s attention and they stopped to look within at the range of wares displayed. She couldn’t help but overhear the conversation taking place behind them.
“Did they find her, then?” a woman said.
“Yes. Poor soul. They are bringing her in now,” another answered.
“Did you think it’s another one that drowned or…?” The first voice trailed away.
The deeper-voiced woman made a dismissive noise. “Don’t start with that old nonsense, Margaret. You’re as gullible as any of the children.”
Hannah turned, curious as to what old nonsense could be attached to a drowning and intrigued as to what the second woman might have been going to say after or. The two women glanced at her, nodded, and fell silent as they hurried along the road. Hannah chided herself for her morbid curiosity. The village lay close to the ocean and many families relied on it for their living. Drownings would be more common by the sea, just as being run over by a carriage was more common on the busy streets of London.
Not that it did anything to allay her fear of the ocean.
Hannah and Mary strolled the rest of the main street and its shops. Hannah made certain they gave their custom in cash, not credit, even if it meant using her pocket money from her parents. Their reception became warmer, and word spread that her ladyship herself had come. Hannah purchased beeswax to polish the furniture, a variety of new brooms to be delivered later, and even a ribbon for herself and one for Mary. At last they turned to walk to the wharf, where they watched seagulls circle, before they set out on the return journey. They arrived at Mireworth well after midday to find Mrs Rossett busy in the kitchen. Mary delivered the basket and told her about the brooms before she set to work rustling up tea and crumpets.
“With so many extra people here and if you are planning to visit more often, I could do with the help of someone, if your ladyship doesn’t mind me taking on another maid. One with a green thumb to tackle the kitchen garden would be most useful.” The housekeeper looked up from the mixing bowl held in the crook of her arm while she stirred batter with a wooden spoon.
“Of course. Choose someone as you see fit. Mary and I will assist however we can.” Hannah preferred to keep her hands occupied. There was no point sending her out to mend stone walls or shear sheep. Nor could she repair a leaky roof. But she could put that morning’s decision into action. “I thought I might clean out the conservatory if you had no objection, Mrs Rossett?”
“It would be as good a place as any to start, milady, and I will admit, I did used to like having my afternoon tea in there on a cold, sunny day.” She lowered the bowl to the tabletop and added a handful of flour from a large crock. “How did you find the village?”
The sad scene at the beach floated before Hannah and her heart ached for the bereft family. “We saw a woman being retrieved from the ocean. A woman on the beach cried out the name Sarah.”
“Oh, no!” Mrs Rossett put a free hand to her chest. “That will be Sarah Rivers. Poor thing went missing two days ago and her family have been searching for her. The rumours I heard were that she and her man had an argument a few nights ago, and she stormed off to have a quiet think.”
Hannah stared into her cup of tea and silence fell over the table. Death visited them all, eventually. Only a few would continue to walk the earth after their hearts were stilled. Even if the Affliction took Hannah’s life, there was much to be done after her death. She could seclude herself at Mireworth and coax it back into life. That led her to wondering if Unwin and Alder would deliver the pickled cauliflower down here that would keep the rot from consuming her limbs. When they returned to London, she would raise the issue of delivery by the post coach. The items were preserved, so there was no concern they would spoil.
An itch sprang up in Hannah’s mind. Cleaning out the conservatory, scrubbing the dirty panes of glass, and refreshing the garden beds would keep her occupied her entire month at the estate. But there was something else she longed to do—explore. The enormous manor house would have many nooks and crannies and she anticipated walking the halls upstairs. What might she find? Lady Wycliff’s rooms, perhaps?
“Is the upstairs terribly damaged?” Hannah asked. While she wanted to set off and pry into every cranny, and follow the bell to find the suite belonging to her title, she didn’t want to tumble through a rotten floor.
Mrs Rossett took up her mixing again. “I really couldn’t say. I stick to downstairs. The roof leaks and his lordship has done what he can to stop it spreading too far. You’re most likely to find your way blocked by furniture. Some of the big pieces were moved into dry corridors, and out of the rooms with broken windows or water coming in.”
“Oh. I shall ask his lordship, then, before I set off on any exploration. Until then, I shall make a start on the conservatory.” Hannah donned an apron provided by the housekeeper and tucked her hair up under a cap to keep it clean.
Mary helped Mrs Rossett, while Hannah found a broom and began the arduous task of sweeping out years of dirt, dust, and dead plants from the conservatory. Fortunately, two large glass doors still opened to the outside, even though the elderly hinges protested. Once she managed to push them open, she chased piles of dirt and debris out the door and off the side of the bricked terrace.
By the time dusk fell, Hannah had swept the bricks in the conservatory, cleaned the dehydrated weeds from the reflecting pool, and made a start on scrubbing the bright tiles around its sides. A thorough cleaning revealed reeds in bright green, flowering lotus in vibrant blues to purple, a crocodile in a muted olive, and patterns in a rich red and a golden yellow. The unfolding scene reminded her of paintings and frescoes from a book she had studied recently.
Hannah sat back on her heels and stared up at the winged statue. “Ma’at,” she whispered as the clues fell into place in her mind. What on earth was a bronze statue and pool dedicated to the Egyptian goddess of justice doing in a Dorset manor house?
But that was a question for another day. The light was already fading fast outside and she wiped her hands on her apron. There would be time to wash up and perhaps change her dress before supper.
As darkness dropped over the countryside, Wycliff and Frank appeared from their day in the fields. Both men were damp and Hannah assumed they had washed up in a water trough before entering the house. The group once more gathered around the large table in the kitchen. Hannah’s heart stuttered as she sat beside her husband, anticipating what would unfold after they returned to the study.
“What did you do today, Hannah?” Wycliff asked as dishes were passed around.
“Mary and I walked into the village. On the way, we saw Sarah Rivers being brought up from the water.” Hannah stared at her plate, the sad sight weighing on her mind.
Wycliff picked up his cutlery and rolled the knife between his fingers. Light caught the metal and flashed like a soul darting upward. “Swift told me her family has been searching for her. At least now they can grieve. The currents around here can be unpredictable, and sometimes the ocean does not surrender what it takes.”
“I think I might stick to walking on the beach and building sandcastles. I do not see any need to venture into the sea’s cold embrace.” Hannah shuddered to imagine how it might be to drown—cold, salty water forcing its way into your lungs as you struggled against the might of nature. Then your body drifting on the tide, subject to the watery mistress’s whim as to whether you were returned to your family, or dragged to the dark depths to become food for the fish.
“There are coves with quieter waters suitable for swimming if you still wish to learn,” Wycliff said.
Hannah quite enjoyed a warm bath, but the idea of the frigid water tugging her body to bottomless depths struck fear through her. Then she glanced at Mary. The maid had turned ghostly pale at the talk of swimming. Perhaps, as lady of the house, Hannah ought to set a brave example. “If the weather stays fine, I shall venture a paddle at the water’s edge.”
Wycliff huffed. “That is a first step, I suppose. Which reminds me, before you imparted the sad news of Sarah Rivers, Swift said to me earlier that the locals will expect a ball to celebrate our wedding. Obviously we cannot hold one here given the state of Mireworth, but there is a hall in the village that is often used for dances, weddings, and such. Do you feel up to organising such a thing?”
“A ball, for us? Do you think that is appropriate given that Mrs Rivers’ friends and family will be in mourning?” How horrid if the locals thought her crass and unfeeling, putting on a dance while they suffered raw grief.
His dark eyebrows shot up as he considered her concerns. “Life goes on, Hannah, especially in the countryside. But I am not insensible to local opinion and am not suggesting we hold it the night of her funeral or instead of the wake. Perhaps in two weeks’ time, to give feelings time to settle?”
“I think a dance is a fine idea, Lord Wycliff. It will give the village something to look forward to, and keep a few idle hands busy.” Mrs Rossett smiled from the other end of the table as Barnes dragged the butter dish toward her. The hand seemed to be going out of his way to prove helpful to the housekeeper.
“Well, if Mrs Rossett does not think people would take offence at the timing, I shall do my best. It will also be a fine opportunity to get to know everyone.” Making friends never came easily to Hannah. That was Lizzie’s forte.
Thinking of her friend caused a wave of sadness to crash through her. Hannah had received only a short missive from Lizzie to say she was enjoying her voyage to Italy, then silence. Her mother had given both women a piece of ensorcelled paper. What was written on one sheet appeared on the other. When ready to craft a reply, they had only to rub a finger over the words to make them disappear. Every night, Hannah checked her sheet, but it remained blank.
Had the ocean claimed Lizzie and Harden? No. It wouldn’t dare ruin the honeymoon by dashing their vessel to pieces. She would have to be patient. Her friend would write a full account when she had time. Lizzie was simply preoccupied with her marvellous European adventure, and being doted upon by a husband much in love with his bride.
Hannah swallowed a sigh. What must that be like?
Mrs Rossett passed a pitcher of lemonade to Hannah. “I can come into town with you tomorrow, if you like, and introduce you properly. I’ll ask about to find a local girl to help out in the garden for a few hours each day. Will you be here long this time, Lord Wycliff?”
Wycliff glanced at Hannah. “A month at least, I think, Mrs Rossett. Then Hannah’s parents will join us for a short while.”
She nodded. “We had best prepare another room for them—my mother will be more comfortable on the ground floor, accessible to her bathchair.”
Hannah stared at her hands. She would like to stay for longer, and settle into what she hoped would be their home one day. Her mother would visit to renew the spell that kept her death at bay. But what if she lacked the ingredients needed for the ritual and the curse nibbled a little more at her heart? Before they left for Dorset, her mother had discovered that the dark spell poised to snatch her life had altered.
Thoughts of life and death swirled through her mind and an idea bubbled to the surface. “Wycliff, why is there a statue of Ma’at in the reflecting pool in the conservatory?”
Wycliff frowned. “I have no idea. How did you know who it is? As a lad, I always called her bird lady.”
Mrs Rossett pushed her plate away and leaned back with a faraway look on her face. “That statue was old when I was a fresh-faced scullery maid. Who knows anymore why it was chosen? That was over a hundred years ago.”
“The tiles are distinctly Egyptian and that made me realise the identity of the winged woman. Ma’at is a goddess of truth and justice.” Odd that Wycliff’s ancestral home had an Egyptian statue, when Hannah and her mother had been pursuing that line to find a cure for the Affliction. Most likely, it was a simple coincidence. Englishmen were fascinated by all things Egyptian. A long-ago Lady Wycliff might have seen the image in a book and requested a duplicate.
After dinner they talked for a while, then Mrs Rossett washed dishes while Mary dried, and Hannah followed directions to put things away. Her palms were damp with nervous excitement as she walked along the hall to their impromptu bedchamber, Wycliff’s footsteps an echo behind her own.
He shut the door and Hannah activated the glow lamp by the bed. When she turned, Wycliff had shrugged out of his jacket and stalked toward her with dark fire in his eyes. He caressed her collarbone and his finger slipped under the edge of her gown.
“Jonas,” she whispered, and closed her eyes. Hannah leaned into his touch, wondering if this night would be different. Might her husband whisper of his love and fill the odd hollow inside her?