11. “Courage to Change” - Sia #2
The estate Adelaide shared with her late husband is located in the country, about an hour southwest of Maison de Lierre. It is situated on a bluff overlooking the sea, the large manor nestled at the end of a long gravel road that winds through the craggy countryside like a child’s scribble.
The housekeeper answers the door when I knock and directs me to a rocky path leading to the beach, where the mistress of the house is supposedly “busy foraging.” I follow it down the steep cliff, clutching the rock face to as I try to keep my footing on the loose stones.
The wind billowing in from the ocean tries to filch my breath when I reach the bottom, so crisp you could snap it in half, and the tang of saltwater permeates my nose and mouth.
I climb over the massive boulders studding the coast and spot Adelaide further down the shore with a tall, blue bucket at her side.
Like me, she’s dressed in knee-high wellies—although hers are Hunters—and a wax jacket, navy to my dark olive.
She glances up as I approach, the wind whipping her short white hair into her face.
Pushing it back with one hand, she uses the other to wave a greeting.
The first time I saw Adelaide, I did a double take because I thought she was Helen Mirren.
We were at a charity gala during my final year of university, both madly intent on winning the same eighteenth-century Pierre Redford landscape that was up for auction.
All of his paintings are evocative, but this particular piece is said to be his best. You can almost hear the waves slamming against the rocky coastline as you gaze at it.
I would have sold my car to obtain it, and nearly had to by the time Adelaide bowed out—and none too graciously, either.
She later called a truce, saying she couldn’t hate anyone whose taste was as good as her own.
We’ve been friends ever since. It was thanks to her recommendation that I got the director position at the Historical Society, where she not only serves on the board but also volunteers three days a week.
“You’re just in time,” she calls now, then motions for me to join her on the flattish rock she’s perched on before squatting down beside a large crevice.
“What are we doing?” I can’t see what she’s looking at, aside from a shallow pool of water gathered in the fissure. Some sort of algae is growing along the bottom of it.
She gestures toward a small overhang, which creates a sort of cave-like opening inside the rock. “Stick your hand in there for me, love. I’ll have the bucket ready.”
I bark out a laugh. “Stick my hand in there? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be a coward.”
“What exactly is in there?”
She waves her hand as though I’ve just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Nothing but a pair of harmless edible crabs.”
“Oh, is that all?” I grab the handle of the pail. “I’ll opt to hold the bucket, thank you very much.”
Adelaide chuckles, then, bending over so she can reach it, slowly sticks her hand into the narrow nook. Several seconds later, she pulls out a large brown crab, grinning victoriously. “There’s the female.” She drops it into the bucket and reaches back in. “Now, for your husband.”
Several crabs later, we venture further down the shoreline toward what she calls a mussel patch. “All right, poppet. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
How do I even begin? “You’ve seen the news?”
“I can’t imagine there’s a person in Wesbourne who hasn’t.”
“Parliament has a plan they think will bring about a ceasefire.”
Her brows meet together above her sharp eyes, and she studies my face. “What kind of plan are we talking about?”
I couldn’t ask for a more trustworthy confidante. Adelaide’s work in politics depended on her ability to safeguard confidential information. Even now, years later, she’s still sitting on a myriad of governmental secrets. Might as well cut right to it.
“They want Henry and me to get married and ascend the throne together. In three months.”
If she’s shocked, she doesn’t show it. Her face remains as expressionless as the rocks surrounding us. Turning toward a large outcropping on our left that’s covered in mussels, she says, “Ah, look at all of these scrummy fellows.”
She has either chosen to ignore what I said or is taking her time processing it.
“Several things about collecting mussels,” she tells me. “Only take the biggest one from the patch.”
I nod in agreement. It’s the first rule of responsible foraging: never take everything.
“Secondly, try to keep the beard on the mussel as you’re removing it from the rock.
If you pull it off, you kill the mussel.
” She demonstrates by carefully prying a large black shell from the rock face, a brown, hair-like clump clinging to it.
She tosses it into the bucket of seawater at our feet. “Your turn.”
I follow her directions and climb over to a patch of mussels on the other side of the outcropping. I gently tug on one, and a ridiculous euphoria shoots through me when it comes loose, stringy beard still in place. Adelaide’s grin makes me swell with pride.
We continue scouring the shore for more mussels, stopping once we’ve collected several dozen. She sets the bucket down and sits on a large rock.
“I’d have to be stupid not to deduce why you’re here.”
I perch beside her and wipe my wet hands on my jeans. “Does it make me a terrible person if I don’t know what to do?”
“Don’t be absurd. It makes you human.”
“How do I choose between two right options?”
Adelaide gives me a wry smile. “Once you figure it out, let me know.”
“My mother thinks I should do it.”
“Of course she does. Rosalind would wither away if she didn’t have ambition to keep her alive.” She pins me with her sharp eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you should.”
“In some ways, having a choice makes it even worse. If they had just told me I had to do this, at least I could avoid all of this agonizing.”
“It wouldn’t be like our government to make things easy, would it? What’s your heart telling you?”
I pick a piece of seaweed off the rock and drag my fingers through it.
“Depends on which side you ask. Part of me can’t imagine leaving Wesbourne to ruin if it’s in my power to potentially save her.
And of course there’s the lure of being queen, of finally making a difference.
The other part of me—” My voice breaks, and I take a stabilizing breath.
“The other part is horrified that I’d even consider doing that to Beck. What kind of person am I?”
“You’ve been asked to make a terrible choice. I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer.”
“You’re not the one who has to tell my fiancé I’m considering breaking it off with him so I can marry someone else.
Doesn’t the fact that I’m even having this conversation break all of the trust in our relationship?
Even if I decide not to do this, how will our marriage hold up if he knows I struggled to make up my mind? ”
“If he can’t understand that, poppet, he doesn’t deserve you.” Adelaide reties the silk scarf around her neck, and I catch a glimpse of the large birthmark she always keeps covered. She pats my hand where it rests on the rock. “Beck is a good man.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears. “The best. To give that up, to never have a satisfying marriage . . . What am I thinking?”
“You’re thinking of the greater good.”
“Sometimes I’d like to tell the greater good to bugger off.”
She laughs, and the wind snatches away the musical sound. The ocean spreads out before us, shocking in its limitless expanse. The waves crash further out at sea.
The tide will be coming in soon. It makes me think of one of our weekend trips to the coast as a family when Bea and I were little.
We found a live starfish on the beach, and my father scooped it up and threw it back into the water.
Then he told us the story of an old man who used to walk along the seashore after the tide went out, picking up starfish after starfish and throwing them back into the ocean.
One day, a younger man asked him why he bothered. He wasn’t making a difference, he said, because the beach was full of washed-up starfish. He’d never be able to save them all.
The old man bent over, picked up another starfish, and threw it into the sea. Then he straightened and said, “It made a difference for that one.”
The only question I have is: which starfish do I save?