Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Henry Brewster materialized in front of them as if summoned from the ether.
“Miss Tully!” He beamed. “I see you have met the Brathwaite boy’s tutor. Are you introducing him to the fine fare we offer at the Queen’s Barque?”
She turned a quizzical eye upon Barnaby. “Tutor as well? You are a busy man.”
“Oh,” said Barnaby, flustered at the misunderstanding. “No. I…er… that is to say…”
But Miss Tully had already moved on. “Mr. Brewster, we have a rather exciting development we thought you’d like to know about. Is there somewhere quieter we can talk?”
Brewster did not need to be asked twice. “Something good for the village, I hope.”
“That, I believe, is what Mr. Ash is trying to find out.”
“Well, then, follow me,” said the innkeeper, leading the way to a private parlor just beyond the bar.
Barnaby began at once to unwrap the manuscript, explaining what he had learned thus far from its contents. “So, you see, it is a local story, and we’re hoping to find someone with any idea of how it ends.”
“This is remarkable!” Brewster’s eyes shone like polished pennies. “This is exactly the sort of lore that puts a place like ours on the map. Visitors will want to sleep in the same bed which this Alwin and Lyra shared, and…”
“Actually,” interrupted Barnaby, “that would make the bed almost nine centuries old. The Queen’s Barque will not have existed back then. The writer speaks of a public house which…”
“Yes, yes.” Brewster waved a hand at him impatiently.
“The inn was built on the same foundations. And who is to say it does not include the original building within its walls? People love the idea of things. Especially if it is romantic. Just think…” He lifted his palms with thumbs extended as if framing an image before him.
“Couples on their honeymoon will want to sleep in the room where magic united human and fae. A sort of blessing upon their marriage, don’t you see?
A few weeks by the sea, some excellent food, a touch of the mystical.
Yes… I might even consider hiring musicians for a full-moon recital.
This Alwin did say he thought the music came from the public house. ”
“Yes, he did at first, but …”
“Ah, yes, I can see it. Perhaps a masked ball on Midsummer’s night, with everyone dressed as fae folk.
We shall have costumes for hire. Plenty of work for the women of the village who are skilled at sewing.
” The innkeeper stared into the middle distance, his thoughts clearly painting a future intended to turn the village, and the Queen’s Barque in particular, into a desirable holiday destination.
Barnaby looked around at the dank paneling, the likely source of the overpowering smell of persistent mold and the lemon that had proved insufficient to curb its growth.
Clearly the ongoing repairs had not yet reached this room.
Barnaby lacked the sort of imagination that could picture this building as a desirable anything.
“Exactly,” said Miss Tully, to Barnaby’s immense surprise.
“But think how much more successful such a campaign would be if we knew the full story. Did the lovers remain in Fenwick? If so, which cottage was once theirs? What we are trying to establish, Mr. Brewster, is whether there is anyone who might have answers to these questions. Even if it is merely a legend, folk may have spoken of it in the long ago, passing it down through the generations by word of mouth. Who, in the village, would remember such talk? I can only think of Old Magda. Can you suggest anyone else?”
“Hmm, Old Magda is certainly the best keeper of Fenwick’s history, being the oldest among us,” agreed the innkeeper. “But whether she can recall anything at a given moment… you know how it is.”
Miss Tully nodded, her expression grim. “Don’t you think it strange that we have never heard of such a tale ourselves? We have both lived here all our lives.”
“People fear what they cannot explain,” said Barnaby, the weight at his back a now constant reminder of such a phenomenon.
“Why else would someone tear pages from the manuscript? After all, only two hundred years ago our Puritan forefathers were burning books they deemed unsuitable. Your great grandparents probably ceased speaking of things that might be frowned upon.”
“Nevertheless, we must do what we can to solve this mystery, Mr. Ash,” insisted Brewster. “The future of Fenwick may well depend upon it.”
Barnaby caught Miss Tully fighting to control the corners of her mouth. She understood the innkeeper’s interest in the matter all too well.
“We’d better be off then,” she said, her features once again composed. “Old Magda lives with her son and his family on the edge of the marshes, opposite the harbor. It is quite a long walk.”
Barnaby pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat. “I’m afraid it shall have to wait until tomorrow. Lord Brathwaite is expected back this evening, and I have yet to introduce myself. It would not do for him to return and find me wandering the countryside instead of cataloguing his books.”
“Cataloguing books, too? Got you doing double duty, does he?” commented Mr. Brewster. “That’s the rich folk for you, getting their money’s worth.”
“I’m not actually…” Barnaby began to explain, but Miss Tully was already chiming in with her own thoughts.
“Shall we say after breakfast? What time do you dine at Hill House? I could meet you there, as we have to walk the long way around the inlet and would all but pass the manor along the way.”
“I cannot say with certainty whether I will be able to join you tomorrow,” replied Barnaby.
“I would have to obtain my employer’s permission before venturing out on another excursion.
I do not know how open-minded he will be to this research.
If he is as intrigued by the legend as we are, I may have some leeway in how I spend my time.
I shall send a messenger with news once I know Lord Brathwaite’s mind. ”
Miss Tully did not offer the sort of bright response Barnaby had come to expect.
No doubt she was disappointed that her adventures thus far should be so brief.
A visit to the inn could not be considered a noteworthy experience.
In this, he shared her feelings. More than that, he already missed the hand that now hung listlessly by her side instead of tucked into his arm.
“I assure you,” Barnaby found himself saying, “I am eager to return to you…”
Her chin lifted, her clear-blue eyes widening.
“To… to…” He stammered. “To continue our investigation,” he managed at last.
It was bad enough that he had made such a fool of himself in front of Miss Tully.
But now Mr. Brewster, as sharp of mind as he was friendly, nodded at her and said, “It seems you’ve made a new friend, Miss Joy.
Mind your father doesn’t get the wrong idea about this friendship.
He may be getting on in years, but his aim with that old blunderbuss of his is second to none. ”
“I’m sure there’ll be no need for…” protested Barnaby, his jaw slack, his eyes twitching from the innkeeper to Miss Tully and back.
Brewster burst out laughing and slapped Barnaby on the back so that his chest heaved into his throat.
“Don’t listen to him,” said Miss Tully. “Father is somewhat of a curmudgeon, but harmless.”
Brewster grinned. “Not if you run off with his daughter like Alwin did with Lyra.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” insisted Barnaby.
Miss Tully lifted a hand to her hip and cocked her head. “I’m not the sort of woman you dream of then?” The twinkle was back in her eyes.
Barnaby had no ready answer. How could he tell her the effect she had on him without overstepping? He stared helplessly at her, willing anything intelligent forth from his lips.
“I think you’ve broken him, Miss Tully,” quipped Brewster. “And him being a man of words and all. Who would’ve thought it?”
Barnaby straightened to his full height.
It wasn’t particularly impressive, especially given how tall the innkeeper was, but he felt his dignity had been bruised.
He began to fold the waterproof wrap around the book once more, a little more hurriedly than he would normally have done.
He tucked it back under his arm and touched his hat to the others as a show of manners which he felt they had neither given nor currently deserved.
“I must go. Thank you both for your time. Good day to you, Mr. Brewster, Miss Tully.”
Then he swept from the room.
At least, he tried to. The door, swollen with moisture, would not budge under his efforts, so that he had to be freed from his prison of embarrassment by the mighty hand of the innkeeper.
Warmth surged into his cheeks. Barnaby would not allow them to see how flushed he was.
He forged ahead, pushing past the multitude of bodies in the bar and escaping through the entrance into the open air.
But he did not stop. Instead, he marched up the road, his indignation an engine that spurred him on.
All he wanted now was the sanctuary of his room at Hill House, where he could clear his mind of this burning humiliation.
What had he been thinking? Miss Tully was not for him. He had never needed a romantic entanglement before. And Miss Tully was certainly not the type of woman with whom to start one.
Barnaby’s chest swelled. He was a man of dignity. And she had been so quick to tease! The woman barely knew him. She had no right to play games with him.
That Brewster fellow was no better! In fact, the whole village could just sink into the sea as far as he was concerned, the unfinished legend along with it. They were nothing to him. Nothing. He had a job to do—work for which he was valued.
Barnaby fretted and grumbled for the better part of his stomping return to Hill House. It was only when the manor came into view that he had calmed down sufficiently to bethink himself.