The next day Wycliff had not needed Frank, nor Barnes, since he was tethered to the larger man. Not wanting to waste the opportunity of having Frank at her disposal, Hannah and the others decided to tackle the walled garden. A new maid, Charlotte, had been engaged to assist Mrs Rossett and to look after the vegetable garden. If Hannah and Wycliff were to spend more time at the estate, it made sense to have the kitchen garden productive once more.
They spent a busy morning pulling weeds and clearing beds, and Frank took charge of the wheelbarrow, dumping the rubbish on the growing compost heap. Another job for Charlotte would be adding horse manure from the stables, and turning the compost pile to create a rich fertiliser for the garden.
With sweat running down between her shoulder blades, Hannah rested in the shade for a few minutes. She watched Frank assisting Mary. The big man grinned constantly in Mary’s presence, and she often giggled and swatted at him, her hand lingering upon him. A tug at her sleeve made Hannah look down. Barnes sat next to her on the bench.
“What do you think of your country excursion so far, Barnes? Are you enjoying yourself?” To date, the hand had stayed out of trouble and mostly within his range of Frank. Only once had Hannah spotted Frank stalking across the paddock with Barnes dragging behind him, pulled through the grass by the invisible tether.
The hand gave a thumbs up. Then he tapped on the gold ring on Hannah’s left hand and pointed to Frank and Mary.
“Will they get married? I really don’t know, Barnes. It is clear they have affection for one another, but I think Mrs Rossett is quite right. Frank won’t ever be able to articulate the question, and Mary would faint dead away if she ever had to ask him.” Hannah wondered if she should intervene and ask them their intentions, but that would remove some of the romance of having someone propose.
The hand was his version of silent, meaning he sat very still. Then he snapped his thumb and middle finger as though he’d had an idea, and jumped off the bench to run along the garden path.
The next morning, Hannah woke alone. As usual. More unusually, she had spent the night alone for the first time since she had come to Mireworth.
“Did Wycliff not return from looking at the sheep last night?” Hannah took her usual spot at the kitchen table and reached for a piece of toast.
“No, milady. The shepherds have gathered with their flocks for the summer shearing, and he camped out with them. Knowing those men, they were probably awake half the night telling each other tall tales around the fire.” Mrs Rossett poured hot chocolate from the pot into a cup for Hannah.
“Oh.” The days without his company were tolerable when she had their nights to look forward to. Now even those had been taken from her. “I might go for a walk after breakfast and explore a bit more of the area.”
“Very well, milady. With Mary and Charlotte’s help, I will start the baking for the big picnic tomorrow, when we all gather to help with washing and shearing the sheep.” Mrs Rossett opened the doors to her cavernous larder.
“I will be back to help however I can later on. I find myself in need of a walk this morning.” While Hannah had no direction in mind when she left the house and let the spaniel dictate their path, she had a purpose: to be able to think. The bright chestnut dog with her floppy ears chased a scent back and forth. As they walked, the crash of waves against rock and the call of seagulls replaced the chirp of birds and rustle of leaves.
When they reached the path worn along the side of a hill, Hannah climbed over tussocks. Picking a spot at random, she sat on the grass. She pulled her knees up and hugged them as she stared out at the ocean. Waves foamed and slapped the rock below as though water and earth argued. A vast expanse of sea drew her eye to the horizon, the line smudged where ocean met sky.
Hannah had come to Mireworth with hopes and expectations that had erupted into joy when Wycliff took her in his arms on their first night. Then, the morning had dashed cold water over those dreams when she had awakened alone. She foolishly thought their new physical intimacy would be the missing piece to bring them together in a true marriage. Yet every day she found herself more alone, as Wycliff grew more distant.
Hannah’s heart ached and it seemed the breeze picked up her dreams and scattered them over the unfathomable ocean. Tears rolled down her cheeks and were whisked away by the salty wind. Sheba huddled into her side and offered her warmth. One hand rested on the spaniel’s head like an anchor point while her mind crashed with thoughts like a stormy sea.
She stared down at the dog. “I don’t know what to do, Sheba.”
Common sense dictated that she sit her husband down and tell him how she felt. An image appeared in Hannah’s mind of a hen-pecked husband listening with deaf ears, as his wife read from a long scroll detailing his faults. She would never be such a wife. For truly, apart from their growing more distant every day, she had little to complain about.
Having discovered through introspection that she loved her husband, she found herself at a loss as to what to do with that knowledge. Life had seemed easier when they dealt with each other as colleagues with a mutual admiration. Love skewed the partnership and dropped a heavy weight onto one side of the scales if there were nothing to balance it. If there could be some tiny indication from Wycliff that he felt the same way, Hannah would consider speaking up and exposing her heart. Then, it would be worth the risk.
A figure in a dark, swirling coat walked along the narrow path. He stopped as he drew near to where she sat and touched the brim of his hat. “Lady Wycliff, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Mr Hartley.” Hannah couldn’t smile, the sadness flowing through her body too deep to allow it.
He narrowed his gaze at her. “I say, is everything quite all right?” Before she could reply, he climbed up the hill and sat next to her. He stared out at the sea, painted in deep tones of green and blue with white crests. “You have chosen a lovely spot to think. But I wonder that the view alone is not helping sort through your troubles.”
Hannah drew a ragged sigh and dashed the salt traces of tears from her face. “I am sorry, Mr Hartley, I am not good company at the moment.”
He smiled and leaned closer. He sat on the side more buffeted by the wind and his larger frame acted as a shield. “I shall let you in on a secret, Lady Wycliff. I am rather good at offering a listening ear or a handkerchief to those in need. Some would say it is something of a vocation.”
That made a small chuckle puncture her dark mood like the flash of a firefly. “I have so much to be grateful for, it seems churlish to bend your ear with my small woes.”
Warmth simmered in his eyes that, combined with his tone, created a much needed offer of friendship. “I have a responsibility to all my flock. Anyone who is lost is deserving of my time, regardless of their station in life. And if you will forgive my impertinence, Lady Wycliff, you do look as though you are lost at sea without an anchor to steady you.”
If she were lost at sea, an anchor would send her straight to the bottom. What she needed was a boat and a hand to haul her in. Rather than picking holes in the reverend’s analogy, though, she laced her hands over her knees and stared at them. Her fingers made a kind of boat with the ocean in the background. If she raised her thumbs, they could almost be masts or sails.
Could she save herself from the ocean inside her? Where did one even start in unburdening such problems? Some were far too intimate to share with anyone, even Lizzie. Hannah doubted the duke rose early, abandoning his bride to awaken alone with only cold sheets beside her, and an emptiness within. No. Harden would sleep late with Lizzie in his arms and only rouse to seek breakfast for her. Which brought to mind another concern—Lizzie had still not replied to any of Hannah’s messages, and she could not help but worry.
Hannah let out a long sigh and picked a mundane issue to share with Mr Hartley. “I was never born to this position. While my mother held a high rank when she was alive, my father and I lived a relatively quiet life in her shadow. I find Lady Wycliff has many responsibilities to both the tenants on the estate and the wider community, and I am unaccustomed to having such expectations held of me.”
“It can be a lonely road to walk, if you do not have a companion at your side. But I am sure Lord Wycliff is helping you settle into Mireworth.” His eyes pierced her and sought out a true answer.
Hannah swallowed. Wycliff had promised to teach her to swim, but she found herself drowning on dry land. “Wycliff has many responsibilities of his own. There is much to be done to revive the estate,” she murmured.
Sheba squirmed at her side, their spot too cold for a snooze. She was growing impatient at the inactivity when there were rabbits to flush out of the long grass.
“You do not have to be alone, Lady Wycliff. I offer my services to share your burden. You have only to take my hand, as it were.” A serious glint lit Mr Hartley’s eyes.
Why couldn’t her husband extend such an offer? How easy it would be to unburden herself to the reverend. But a tiny voice made her hold back. “Thank you, Mr Hartley, that is a generous offer. Perhaps you could offer your assistance in directing my efforts toward the tenants? I do not want to pry and they are somewhat reticent around me, but I want to help those who need it the most.” Much could be made easier in their lives if leaky roofs were mended and empty tummies filled. Either pride or embarrassment seemed to be stopping the tenants from bringing their problems to the new Lady Wycliff.
The reverend smiled and a warm flush burst through Hannah. “It would be my honour. I was heading out to call upon Mr Miller, if you would care to join me?”
She knew that name. The grandfather of one of the drowned women. A perfect opportunity to at once sate her curiosity and enquire after his welfare. “Thank you, that sounds like a splendid place to start.”
He stood and extended his hand. Hannah placed hers in his and found a warm grasp that washed comfort and support over her. The spaniel ran on ahead, bouncing across the path as scents caught her attention. Hannah and Mr Hartley chatted about the village and the forthcoming dance as they walked.
“You may need to take an extra pair of slippers. Many of the men are keen to dance with your ladyship and I doubt you will have much chance to sit down.” Mr Hartley had placed Hannah’s hand in the crook of his elbow and rested his hand over hers, to steady her on the uneven ground.
The more time she spent with him, the more at ease she found herself. “I am glad it has brought some excitement to the village. I had concerns about whether the sea theme was appropriate, given the recent death.”
He fell silent, then cleared his throat before speaking. “Death walks arm in arm with life, and they are a practical sort hereabouts. Many rely on the ocean to support their families and they know she is a force unto herself.”
“You speak of the ocean as though it were some type of deity. Is that not a conflict with your religious beliefs?” Hannah recalled her father’s associates in the Society of Unnatural Scientific Study. In particular, Reverend Jones possessed a fervent belief that he could call down God to free the trapped remnant of soul in an Afflicted woman. His spiritual beliefs had been shattered when he failed. Hannah thought that particular religious man rather narrow in his view, with no consideration for other religions or types of deities.
Mr Hartley stopped and gestured to the tumultuous ocean. Waves crashed at their feet and foamy peaks rose and fell. “Does she not resemble a pagan goddess? Powerful, unfathomably deep, her arms wrapped around our globe and capable of the greatest mercy and the cruellest acts. Sailors have long referred to the ocean as she, and I think only a foolish man would try to downplay her true nature.” Then he turned to Hannah with a sheepish smile. “But please don’t tell the bishop I said that, if he ever visits. It’s not the done thing.”
Hannah laughed, genuinely this time and not the hollow mimicry she’d felt earlier. “I promise to hold my silence on your admiration of the ocean. My mother holds similar views and refers to the ocean as one of Mother Nature’s handmaidens.” The dead mage had an affinity for nature and the weather that remained undiminished by her passing.
They found Mr Miller at his new cottage, on the outskirts of the estate and an easy walk from the village and the tavern.
“Good day to you, Mr Miller!” Mr Hartley called as they approached.
A weathered bench sat in front of the cottage, the timber worn silver by time and the salt-laden wind. The dour man sat upon it, staring off toward the horizon. His face bore deep wrinkles and his hair was white and tousled like peaky waves. He leaned on a cane clutched in both his hands. A pottery jug sat at his feet and a whiff of stale alcohol and sweat tickled Hannah’s nose.
“Who’s she?” He narrowed his eyes until they nearly disappeared into the wrinkles.
Mr Hartley stopped by the bench. “Lady Wycliff, may I make known to you Abraham Miller. Mr Miller, her ladyship has come to enquire if you are settled in after your recent move and if you need anything.”
“Good day, Mr Miller. How do you find the cottage?” Hannah dug inside her for a sliver of happiness and used it to fuel her smile and tone.
Mr Miller grunted. “His lordship threw me out of my own home.”
“I understood you could no longer work the land, which is a terrible shame, to be sure. But in this smaller cottage, you won’t have to worry about all the chores going untended.” Wycliff had ranted for some time about the state of the Miller farm, the pastures left fallow for too long, and the disrepair of the buildings.
“I was going to get around to mending things and buying sheep. I only needed more time.” He cleared his throat and then spat a glob of phlegm in the dirt.
That wasn’t the version of events Hannah understood. Wycliff had said Mr Miller was at least six months behind in his rent. From what she’d seen of the state of the old farm, it had no hope of generating any income without the sort of hard work Mr Cramond was prepared to put into the soil.
“I am so sorry that you lost your granddaughter—that must have been quite a blow.” Hannah peered over his head and through the window. The cottage appeared orderly, but then he had only been a resident for a few days.
“It was that Cramond, I’m sure of it. He’s a monster that dragged her into the ocean. Probably couldn’t stand that she would rather help her old grandpa than cook his meals.” He shot out the words and the colour rose in his face.
Hannah considered her next words carefully. From what she’d observed of Mr Cramond, he seemed a genial and even-tempered man, unlike the specimen in front of her. A sadness had lingered in the young man’s eyes when he spoke of Amy. “Mr Cramond does not seem the type of man to fly into a rage, from what I have observed of him.”
“You think it was me, don’t you? I know they all say I killed her, but those nasty gossips are all wrong. I’ll swear on the Bible that Amy never came home that night,” he shouted. Spittle flew to the ground.
“Are you sure, Mr Miller?” Hannah bit her tongue before she asked how he could have known that, if he had been blind drunk that night. Rumour, after all, whispered that he had struck Amy in a drunken rage and thrown her body into the water when he sobered up and realised what he had done.
“I waited all night for her to come back. Always sat up, I did, to make sure she found her own bed safe. That’s how I know he did it. I swear to God she never crossed my threshold.” His eyes bulged and the whites shone brighter as his face turned deep red.
Mr Hartley placed a restraining hand on the old man’s shoulder and eased him back down to the seat. “No one is suggesting otherwise, Mr Miller. Lady Wycliff is merely concerned for your well-being.”
“Of course.” Mr Miller might be old and drunk, but he seemed adamant that Amy had never come home. Mr Cramond was equally certain she’d left him that evening to walk home. That only left one possibility, and the certainty grew in Hannah that the someone Amy had to tell her news hadn’t been her grandfather, but another. “Mr Miller, do you know if Amy was seeing anyone other than Mr Cramond?”
He coughed and when he caught his breath, his colour returned to normal. “Maybe. Sometimes she would say she was heading out to see Cramond, but then he’d turn up on my doorstep and she weren’t with him.”
That was hardly proof of any other pull on her affections. Amy might simply have been distracted, or changed her mind. “Did she see Mr Seager for any potions?”
Mr Miller barked a coarse laugh that turned into a cough. “Oh, that one. Used to sniff around the farm with a face like a thundercloud, he did.”
“Well, we shall leave you to your day, Mr Miller, if you don’t require anything.” Mr Hartley offered his arm to Hannah.
Hannah let herself be led away, her mind bounding through ideas like Sheba in the meadow. One in particular began to take shape, but she had more enquiries to make first. How she wished she could discuss this with Wycliff. She glanced up at the profile beside her. Although it had to be said, Mr Hartley made a fine companion for the walk home as he told her the history of the village.