Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Where is the manuscript?” The earl scowled. “Did you knock it into the water, Moira?”
“No, sir!”
“Then where is it? No one has been here except the four of us.”
“That is not entirely true, your lordship,” said Barnaby. “Alwin and Lyra were here.”
“I only have your word for that, Mr. Ash.”
“Oh, I saw them too,” said Joy.
“I did too, milord,” added Moira. “Beautiful, they were. I am sorry they have gone.” She looked over her shoulder to where her wings had been. “Perhaps they took the book with them.”
Barnaby looked at the empty space the manuscript had occupied mere moments before. “I think you are right, Moira. The book was meant for folk like us, to lead us to this place, this promise. Now that it has been fulfilled, there is no further need for it.”
Brathwaite waggled a finger under Barnaby’s nose. “If you think you can fool me into somehow keeping such a valuable article for yourself, Mr. Ash…”
The words hit Barnaby like a blow to the stomach.
“I assure your lordship I would do no such thing! Your lordship can see for himself I would have nowhere to hide such a sizeable object. Nor have any of us left this space. The manuscript has simply ceased to exist, just like our wings. And in their place we have the Blessing of Forevers upon Fenwick and those who consume its water.”
“Wings! Blessings! What a lot of rot! One of you has bumped that book into the well and is afraid to admit it. Well, I shall speak to the innkeeper and have the well dredged if need be. You shall be held accountable for your dishonesty if the book is found there. Not to mention the loss to me, for it is certainly damaged beyond repair. It would be better to confess your mistake now.”
Three pairs of eyes gazed back in helpless silence.
“Can I help you folks?”
The foursome spun round to see Mr. Brewster striding across the pathway toward them.
“The wife says she saw the earl’s carriage outside, but that no one came into the establishment. I’ve come to invite you myself.”
He stopped as he took in their serious faces. “Something wrong with the well?”
The earl stepped forward. “I am Lord Brathwaite, recently of Hill House. I have lost a valuable book, knocked into the well by the careless hand of one of these.” He gestured at the trio of accused.
“I would appreciate it, my good fellow, if you had this well dredged so that I might reclaim my property and prove their guilt.”
Mr. Brewster stared at the three supposed suspects. “It was an accident, you say?”
“I would not like to think they had cause to do it intentionally,” the earl admitted.
“And you want me to stop access to the well so that we can find a book that would have been destroyed after lying in the silt beneath all that water?”
“It would prove one of them is lying,” Lord Brathwaite said, a little less certainly.
The innkeeper folded his arms across his chest. “Well, see now, that’s a mighty big inconvenience for me so that you may have the satisfaction you seek. What does it help if the book cannot be salvaged?”
“I shall know one of them is dishonest.”
“Well, for one,” said Brewster. “I can assure you Miss Tully would never lie.”
“And I can definitely vouch for Mr. Ash,” Joy said firmly.
“Moira handled the bucket. And she has lied to me before,” said the earl, homing in on the most likely candidate for his doubts.
“She was just afraid before,” said Barnaby. “And if you promised her no harm would come to her, she would have no reason to be afraid now.”
Lord Brathwaite cleared his throat and softened his tone a little. “Tell the truth, then, Moira, and I assure you, I will not punish you for your clumsiness.”
“I didn’t touch the book! We would have heard a mighty splash if it had fallen in. But it didn’t! It just disappeared, like Alwin and Lyra… and our wings.” Her shoulders drooped.
“Could this Alwin and Lyra have taken the book when they left?” Mr. Brewster asked. It was a practical question, but his eyes drifted to Moira, his brow furrowing at the mention of wings.
“We think they did,” answered Joy. “But his lordship did not see them and is convinced we are making it all up.”
Brathwaite threw up an irate hand. “Well, what would you think if you heard them going on about fairies and blessings on Fenwick and legends of true love? These are childish fantasies!”
Mr. Brewster’s smile returned. “Is this about that manuscript you showed me? The one with the missing pages and the fae circle near the inn?” His eyes grew hungry. “I wondered why those names sounded familiar. Are you saying you actually saw them?”
“No!” said the earl.
“Yes!” countered the other three.
“Seems you’re outvoted there, your lordship,” grinned Brewster, rubbing his palms together. “So, an actual sighting. And there’s a blessing on Fenwick? Tell me more.”
“If you seek true love and drink of the water here, you will find it,” said Moira, her hand upon her heart. “Isn’t it romantic?”
“Here, at my well?” asked Brewster, his eyes glazing over. He was, no doubt, picturing the glorious impact this would have on his ambitions for the inn.
“Any water in Fenwick,” Joy clarified. “After all, this well stands where the spring once bubbled up. But those waters run beneath the marshes and out to sea. All our drinking water has the same source. We’ve been partaking of it all our lives.
Only now it has more benefit than mere refreshment or a means to make ale or soup.
” She turned to Barnaby. “Just think, anyone could be wishing for love, quietly in their soul, and be sipping a cup of tea made with the water of Fenwick, and their hopes would be realized without them even knowing about the blessing they have received.”
“Who’s to say it’s all the waters, hmm?” said the innkeeper. “The legend started here. The blessing, I gather, was pronounced here. Sounds to me like the magic is local to the Queen’s Barque.”
“No, they were very clear about it being all of Fenwick,” insisted Barnaby.
Brewster waved a dismissive hand. “Perhaps you misunderstood them.” He dusted his palms in readiness for the plans that were surely brewing in his mind. “Well, well, this is an exciting development. I have much to think about, decisions to make. If you will excuse me.”
“What about my book?” asked the earl.
“Sounds to me,” said the innkeeper with a shrug, “that it’s gone the way of the fairies.”
“This is all quite unsatisfactory,” grumbled his lordship.
“Milord,” said Barnaby, “I would not presume to tell you what to do. If you doubt my word, I will accept that my commission with you is at an end. However…” He mustered all his courage to continue.
“I believe you know we are speaking true. Lyra touched you. We may have seen her, but you felt her. I know you wish for it to be more logical, but that doesn’t make it less real. ”
“Hmph, we shall say no more on the matter for now. We shall return to Hill House, and I will think on this further.”
Barnaby hesitated, then continued boldly. “If it’s all the same to you, your lordship, I would like to walk back. There is something I must ask of Miss Tully’s father. Something of great importance.” Barnaby slipped his arm about Joy’s waist.
“I see,” replied the earl. “Very well, but please do not linger. There are still numerous books to catalogue.”
“Then you wish me to remain in your employ?” Relief swept through Barnaby’s core.
“Until the library is sorted, certainly. Your dealings with the manuscript have been odd, to say the least, Mr. Ash, but the quality of your work is not in question.”
“Th-thank you. I am most grateful. It would have been terribly awkward to ask for my lady’s hand if I could not provide for our future family. For that to happen, my reputation must be intact.”
“Well, it is. Although I recommend you refrain from more talk of fairies and the like. Not everyone can overlook such…strangeness.” Lord Brathwaite touched a finger to his mouth.
He did so seemingly without thinking because a moment later he threw his hand down as if it were a snake, shaking himself free from whatever dream had briefly captured his imagination.
“Going to be a wedding, is there?” Brewster slapped Barnabby on the back. “Well now, the Queen’s Barque would be happy to host you.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” Barnaby waved both hands furiously at the thought. “Something small and, er, quiet would be sufficient. A breakfast with family and close friends at the Tullys would do nicely.”
The innkeeper laughed. “Mr. Ash, all of Fenwick is close. We are one big family here.”
Barnaby cast a hopeful eye to Joy. She would surely agree to something intimate for his sake.
“Sorry, my love,” came the answer. “Mr. Brewster is right. It would be impossible to celebrate something this important without sharing it with the entire village. You will have to be brave.”
She leaned up into his neck to reach his ear. The fine hairs on Barnaby’s skin rose at the intimacy of it. “You will have me all to yourself afterward,” she whispered.
The mere thought of “afterward” did things to Barnaby’s equilibrium. He gripped Joy’s arm to steady himself. Instead, her warm skin beneath his palm only made matters worse.
“Excellent!” cried Mr. Brewster. “We shall have a celebration like no other. Yours will be the first wedding blessed by the waters from my well. I shall begin planning immediately.” And he hastened back to the inn to do just that.
His comments, meanwhile, had thrown cold water on Barnaby’s simmering desire. The prospect of a rowdy wedding feast could cure him of all but the most extreme distraction.
“Come on,” said Joy, as if she could read his mind, “Let’s go tell Father our news.”
The walk to the Tully cottage took but a very few minutes.
A handful of bees buzzed among the floral abundance of the well-tended garden.
The door swung open from bright day to the murky gloom of the indoors.
Joy’s apron hung over the chair where she had left it.
The house was quiet. No sign yet of its crusty owner.
Barnaby’s nerves began to get the better of him.
Joy might be of age, and able to marry without her father’s consent, but Barnaby wanted her father to be happy for her.
He needed to say the right thing to set the man’s mind at ease.
Any second now Jeremiah Tully would loom before him. What if he stumbled over his words?
Joy, meanwhile, had settled into the hollow of the only sofa in the rather plain room. She patted the space next to her.
Barnaby hovered where he stood. The sound of footfalls from elsewhere in the house did not commence.
“Come and sit with me,” said Joy, her presence as inviting as her words.
“I would first speak with your father,” insisted Barnaby.
Joy smoothed her skirt. “Oh, did I not mention? Silly me. He has one of his meetings with the vicar. They tend to drag on a bit.” She glanced coyly at the seat. “It seems we have the house all to ourselves…”
The hum started up throughout Barnaby’s limbs again. This time he let it rise, filling him, driving him forward into his beloved’s arms.
“You are maddeningly alluring,” he moaned as he sought out the arch of her neck.
She lifted her chin to grant him access, sighing with pleasure as he ran the tip of his tongue along her smooth skin. Her hands slipped inside his coat, her fingers spreading across the warmth of his chest.
Barnaby wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer, breathing in her fresh, flowery scent. Her back arched a little, her breasts waiting for his mouth to find them. He nipped at the soft flesh that bloomed from the neckline of her dress.
Then came the footfalls.
Barnaby flew upright, urgency the only wings he needed. He straightened his coat, painfully aware that it could not hide the entirety of his feelings. In desperation, he pictured the awful Queen’s Barque, its noise, its bustle. Just in time, the image took effect.
Jeremiah Tully entered his home, his head jerking up at the sight of their guest.
“What have we here? Has Sunday come early?”
“No, Father,” answered Joy. “But Mr. Ash would like to speak with you. I shall go and put on the kettle.”
Barnaby, a man far more comfortable with written words than spoken ones, took a deep breath. “Mr. Tully, sir, if I may…” His fingers gripped the rim of his hat tighter. Then he forged ahead. “I have come, sir, to seek the hand of your daughter.”