Chapter 5
Chapter Five
On Sunday morning, Miss Tully was waiting at the bottom of the curved drive to Hill House, as arranged.
The trees lining the drive created a screen from the road, an intentional design to enhance privacy for the house.
Barnaby had thus not been able to see Miss Tully until he was almost upon her—at which moment she called pleasantly, “There you are!” and startled his well-practiced apology clear from his mind.
“Ye gods!” he blurted out, curling his arms inward reflexively to stop his heart from jumping out of his chest.
“Are you all right?” asked Miss Tully before the corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I have never considered myself such a frightening sight, but I dare say us country folk take some getting used to.”
Barnaby took a moment to compose himself. “I must have looked quite the sight myself, jumping like that,” he said as casually as possible. “I shall endeavor to maintain my bearing in future.” He was rather pleased with his clumsy attempt to mirror her playfulness.
Miss Tully must have been, too, for she beamed at him and slipped her arm through his as she had done before. “Here, let me steady you, just in case.” Her tone was formal, but laughter lay shallow in her eyes.
Barnaby would have reveled in the return of her touch, but the rules of decorum were too firmly entrenched in his mind. “You’ve brought no chaperone,” he said, looking around as if one might appear upon command.
“I don’t need one,” answered Miss Tully.
“But we are to walk a fair distance, with no one to protect your virtue.”
“Oh, I am perfectly capable of protecting my own,” came the reply, followed by a wicked grin. “Why? Do you propose to have your way with me if I do not?”
Barnaby almost threw her arm away as he stepped back. “Miss Tully, I understand you are fond of a good jest, but there are limits. I respect you far too much to…”
“Of course you do, Mr. Ash. Which is why I can depend on your honorable arm to keep me from harm. You shall guide me away from puddles and push aside any branch that hangs across our path. I, in turn, will lead you to Old Magda. An excellent partnership, don’t you agree?”
“But,” said Barnaby, not quite ready to give up on his parents’ tutelage, “an unmarried lady should have a chaperone when she is alone with a man, even if his reputation is intact.”
Miss Tully’s hand fisted on her hip. “Mr. Ash, you are too much. I am hardly a lady by any standards. And Fenwick does not have spare footmen roaming about to follow us on our errands. Most everyone here has grown up together from the crib. We’re decent folk, Mr. Ash.
We have no need to keep an eye on each other. ”
Barnaby hesitated. He very much wanted that willful hand around his elbow. If it were the norm in Fenwick, he would not be mis-stepping, would he?
“You are certain?” he asked. “Your father will not be pursuing me with his blunderbuss when he finds out?”
Miss Tully threw back her head and laughed, her neck open and inviting.
Barnaby swallowed. Such smooth skin… His hand itched to touch it. Not the sort of maddening itch that he had felt with the manuscript. It was more a battle between sense and desire. And good sense was winning by a very fine margin.
It didn’t help that Miss Tully now tucked her hand about his elbow again. He shivered a little as her closeness sent a tiny rapture throughout his entire body.
Miss Tully must have felt it because she immediately asked, “You’re not really afraid of my father, are you, Mr. Ash?
If anything, I think he’d be relieved to see me hitched to some fellow, even if that fellow was a toff like you.
” She nudged Barnaby as if he were a brother she might torment with her humor.
He did not wish to be her brother.
Barnaby tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. He fought against the distracting sound of her skirt gently swishing against his leg. Her perfume today was a lively citrus which only invigorated him further. It was a lost cause.
And then there was her musical voice right by his ear. And the constant hum of his arm under the feminine pressure of her ungloved hand.
The sheer willpower it took not to kiss her caused him to speak very little.
He had never felt this way around a woman before.
It was thoroughly unnerving. No! Don’t think about it!
Look at the ground. Note the shape of the pebbles.
Argh! Why must she turn her head toward me when she speaks? Her breath is so warm…
And so, Barnaby suffered in almost complete silence while Miss Tully chattered away cheerfully and did terrible things to his self-control.
His relief when they reached their destination was immense. Finally, people would be present whom he could place between himself and Miss Tully.
“Now remember,” she said, separating from him at last to knock on the door of the rather primitive cottage, “Old Magda suffers from senility. She might be able to recall the whole history of Fenwick or be unable to remember her own name. We will not know what windows of her mind will be shuttered today. She might be confused and will need our patience. Please be kind to her. Although,” she added, her gaze both direct and soft, “I believe you would have been without my asking.”
Barnaby had no chance to answer before the door swung open, a man filling its frame with his burly shape. Despite his brutish size, his face lit up with childlike glee at the sight of Miss Tully.
“Ma!” he called back over his shoulder, “here’s a visitor come for you.” He took Miss Tully’s hand in both his own. “Bless you, Miss Joy. She could use the company. Her leg has been bothering her something awful, and she’s been unable to potter about as she usually does.”
“How is she, Brennan? Will she know me?”
The gentle giant shook his head. “Hard to say. Comes and goes. You know how it is.”
“I understand,” answered Miss Tully, her sparkle quite gone for the first time.
“Brennan, this is Mr. Barnaby Ash. He is researching a fascinating legend about Fenwick. I told him Magda might be able to help. But he knows we can make no promises. Would you mind if he talks to her, asks her some questions?”
Brennan shrugged. “His presence will make no difference to my mother. Sometimes we are as much strangers to her as Mr. Ash here.” He reached out a massive hand to take Barnaby’s and shook it without crushing it, for which Barnaby was exceedingly grateful.
“Brennan Eiger at your service, sir. Please, do come in.”
The entrance was dimly lit. The windows were small and the rooms equally compact.
Their host led them through to a large space which turned out to be the kitchen.
A thick pine table stood center stage, the stone floor keeping the room cool in the late May sun and no doubt absorbing and maintaining a deep heat in the winter.
A cauldron hung from a stand over a small fire, something that smelled delicious bubbling inside.
A woman of indeterminate old age—seemingly made up entirely of wrinkles—sat beside the cooking pot, stirring hypnotically. At their approach, she looked up and smiled, the lines in her face gathering and shuffling back toward her ears.
“Miss Joy! Have you come for lunch? Is the service finished already? Where are Jenny and the children?”
“They’re not back yet, Ma,” said Mr. Eiger. “That new vicar likes to talk the hind legs off a mule. But Miss Joy has brought a new friend to meet you. He wants to know more about Fenwick. And you’ve got all those stories in yer head.”
“Ah,” said the old woman wistfully, “not always. They go walking about on their own sometimes.”
“I’m Barnaby Ash,” said Barnaby, pulling up a chair from the table so that he could sit opposite Old Magda. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“My,” said Magda to Miss Tully, “Where did you find this gentleman? And one who’s interested in our little corner of the world, no less.”
“Please do not be impressed by my attire,” Barnaby answered. “I grew up in a home not unlike this one. My father was a tenant farmer. In fact, when my little sister began to speak, she called me Barn Baby.”
Barnaby ignored the grin that he knew was forming upon Miss Tully’s lovely mouth. He wanted to set Old Magda at ease, and this little snippet from his past would hopefully do the trick.
“I suppose,” he continued, “these were words my little sister understood. They were familiar in our world. She obviously did not picture me turning to a life of books. I have my parents to thank that I did. They were determined I should be properly educated. But I have not forgotten whose son I am. And I would love to know more about your childhood, ma’am.
If you’d be willing to share your stories with me. ”
Old Magda glowed at his words. “Did you hear that Bren? He called me ‘ma’am.’ What a polite boy.”
Barnaby had not been referred to as a boy for several very full decades, but it felt right coming from a woman who could well be approaching a century in age.
“Did your parents speak to you about the local myths?” he prodded gently.
The wrinkles fell back into place as Magda’s smile collapsed. “My parents worked hard. They had no time for stories.”
“Didn’t you mention your grandmother would tell you all manner of tales to help you sleep?” Miss Tully reminded her.
Magda’s jaw softened. “Oh, yes. She made most of them up. Had a wonderful imagination, she did.” She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “And there were many stories from the Old Times. My parents would not have approved. But then, they never knew.”
“Did any of these … imaginings take place in Fenwick?” Barnaby tried not to sound too hopeful, but he leaned forward as if to enter the secret circle.
“Let me think on that…” Old Magda stared into the fire, the spoon moving rhythmically through the aromatic contents of the cauldron.
Silence fell upon the room.
It stretched on for some time.
“Ma,” said Mr. Eiger.
“Hmm?”
“Mr. Ash wants to know if you heard any legends about Fenwick from your old granny.”
“Yes, yes. I was thinking. Don’t rush me.”
The three younger folk exchanged unspoken glances. The silence returned.
Then, as if stirring from a dream, the old woman began to weave a tale.
“My granny said there were fae here once. A long time ago, before the river sank beneath the earth. When Fenwick was no more than a small seed sown in the vastness of the Suffolk coast.
“The fairy folk would dance at the full moon, their music drifting upon the night air, but few among the humans had eyes that would see or ears that would hear.
“There was one, a traveler, a scribe by trade.” Magda paused. “I forget his name.”
“Alwin,” said Barnaby automatically.
Magda nodded. “Yes, Alwin. And his fae bride, Lyra.” She drifted off for a moment.
“They married?” Excitement bubbled up inside Barnaby. This was new. Perhaps it had been mentioned in the missing pages.
“The maiden Lyra,” continued Old Magda, ignoring his interruption, “departed her ethereal realm for the sake of true love, a magic far stronger than that of her people. So moved was she by the wonder of it, that she blessed the site where they had first met. At least, that’s how I remember it. It has been many years.”
“Do you know where this place is?” asked Barnaby, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice. “What sort of blessing was it?” he wanted to know. “Could a visitor feel its effects? Would it feel like an itch at first?”
Miss Tully touched his sleeve. Barnaby turned to see her shaking her head slowly. He was rushing poor Magda. He had promised to be patient and kind. His desire for answers had run away with him. Barnaby turned to apologize to Magda.
He knew at once it was too late.
Magda stared at Miss Tully blankly. Then relief washed across her features. “Why, Janet, it’s been a while.”
Barnaby turned to Miss Tully in confusion. Who was Janet?
She mouthed the silent answer. My mother.
“But who is this?” Magda tilted her head at Barnaby.
“Where is Tully? You haven’t thrown him over, have you?
” Magda looked Barnaby up and down appraisingly.
“Fine lad, though. A bit pale. Not local, I gather.” Her wrinkles made room for a knowing smile.
She elbowed Miss Tully. “I see the way he looks at you. Oh, he blushes! Such a deep pink! A learned man, is he? They are usually awkward around women. Don’t be discouraged, dear.
This one will follow you to the ends of the earth. ”
His soul laid bare by the old woman’s words, Barnaby felt a rush of heat surge up through his chest and onto the canvas of his throat and cheeks.
Magda turned to stir the stew once more. Round and round, her thoughts her own.
“Ma,” Mr. Eiger said gently. “We have visitors.”
Magda turned and scowled. “Don’t want no visitors. Leave me alone. What do you bring strangers into my house for, Bren? Can’t an old woman have time to herself?”
Barnaby, who had been looking for an excuse to flee the cottage under the bloom of embarrassment, stood at once.
“So sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for your time.” He almost knocked over his chair in his haste to be out the door, where he waited, appalled and agitated, for Miss Tully to say her goodbyes.