Page 20 of The Nature of a Lady
Ollie saw himself out, and Mabena went to her room to gather Beth’s clothes. With the shawl wrapped around her hands, she decided it didn’t matter how she felt about it. The only thing in the world that mattered was finding Beth.
7
Blessed sunshine greeted Libby on Friday morning when she rose, bringing a smile to her lips and making her jump from bed and fly to the window. She pushed up the sash, breathing in the scents of salt and green life and a world washed clean by the rain she’d been none too happy with yesterday. It had pounded the island all day, keeping her in when all she really wanted was to be out. After Mrs. Pepper left the other evening, Libby had insisted Mabena sit down with her so they could write up a plan, and most of that plan included tasks that required going about St. Mary’s asking after the missing Beth Tremayne.Notsitting at home twiddling their thumbs.
Though to be sure, they’d put their day to use. They’d gone over every inch of the cottage, finding a few more items that were more likely Beth’s than the Peppers’—books on the islands’ history, mostly, that Mabena had thought were from the Tremayne library. At Libby’s insistence, they’d catalogued them, along with the items they’d already sent to Tresco with Mr. Tremayne. She’d even transcribed all the notes inTreasure Islandbefore he left, including the entire fairy tale—not that it had been finished.
Mabena had sighed at the list-making, but in Libby’s opinion it brought a bit of much-needed order to the situation. They now knew exactly what Beth had deemed not important enough to take with heron her task—or, in the case ofTreasure Island, what she’d dropped without realizing it, which was Libby’s suspicion. Perhaps that didn’t tell them what shehadtaken, but it was more information than her brother had when he came here. She glanced again at her transcription of the fairy tale.
Once upon a time, there was a princess. She lived on an island of rocks and bones, with no one to keep her company aside from the fairies. All her life she’d danced with them to the tunes they played on their magical pipes, the tunes echoed by deep voices from the rock itself. One day, however, the music stopped.
The princess, concerned for her fay friends, set out to find them, only to discover that every fairy on the island had vanished. Far and wide she searched, high and low. In the treetops she found no friends ... but there was a house in the boughs she’d never seen before, one made of wood creaking and ancient, bearing the name of the fairy king over its lintel. In the pools she found no friends ... but there was glinting metal winking up at her from the depths, the very shade of the fairies’ eyes. Not to be tempted, the princess pushed onward. In the forest glens she found a wonder that dazzled her eyes. Trees with fragrant bark peeling in fairy-wing curls. Crocuses with petals like fairy gowns. Purple-spiked flowers like fairy crowns. But none of her friends were there.
She kept on, toward the far-looming mountain from whence it was said that all fairies came. But the closer she drew to the rugged rocks, the heavier her feet grew. And the louder came the voices that used to sing along with the fairies’ pipes. The very bones were singing, inviting her to sing with them. She knew, though, that to give in—to sing that song—would mean becoming naught but bone herself.
So heavy were her feet by the time she climbed up the first rock that she could scarcely go any farther, and the winds blew cold now against her. Shivering, the princess tucked herself into a cleft of the rock and cried for her lost friends.
Still, the voices sang. “Look toward the birds,” they chanted over and again. “Look to the birds, Lizza.” The princess tilted back her head and watched an eagle soar overhead. But no help came for her from his widespread wings.
Libby stepped away, trying to shake the words of the story from her mind. She took in one more breath of the lovely air and then spun back toward her room. She’d dress, make a cup of tea, perhaps grab a bite to eat, and then go back to the beach. The day of rain had allowed the slight burn on her nose to lessen, so another day of sun on it shouldn’t hurt too badly—and this time she’d be certain not only to wear her hat, but to keep it adjusted to actually protect her.
She also meant to obey Mama today and greet the other families staying in the cottages dotting the island. Though, granted, not for the reasons her mother wanted her to. Rather, she meant to ask them all if they’d seen or met Beth. Mabena, meanwhile, would begin canvassing the locals in Hugh Town and Old Town, maybe going so far as Little Porth and Trenoweth, if there was time. If not, then Trenoweth and Pelistry would both be her assignment for another day.
It was a fine plan. A helpful one. Mr. Tremayne might have said that they needn’t go out of their way, but he could only be in one place at a time. Surely it would be to his advantage to have them asking questions too.
She dressed quickly and put her hair into a utilitarian braid that the wind wouldn’t be able to ruin in a matter of minutes. Today she meant to test the temperature of the water too. She had a bathing costume packed away, and she wanted to put it to use.
But for now she opened her door as quietly as she could, hoping Mabena had taken her advice and meant to sleep late.Shedeserved a holiday too, and there was no reason at all for her to be up at the crack of dawn just to assist Libby.
When she stepped into the living area, though, she saw her friend already at the stove, and Mabena greeted her with a grin. “I tried, my lady. It was no use. The sun seemed to work its way through my curtains and find my eyes within minutes of rising.”
She didn’t look at all unhappy with that, so Libby smiled back. “Sly thing. Did you sleep well?”
“Mm. Well enough. You?”
“Perfectly.” She moved to Mabena’s side to measure out their tea.“I mean to go down to the beach as soon as I can so I’ll have a bit of time for collecting before the other tourists arrive.”
“Good. I hate to think that you’ve promised away all your time.” Rather than shooing her from the kitchen as Mrs. Pepper had done on Wednesday night, Mabena handed her a spoon. “I’ll start at the bakery this morning and pick us up a few treats as well. I daresay Beth frequented the place while she was here.”
Libby spooned out the tea leaves and stole a sidelong glance at her friend. “How well do you know her?”
Mabena lifted a single shoulder in a shrug, but somehow it didn’t look quite right. “Well enough, as I do everyone on Tresco, especially those of an age. We always got along. She is, in fact, how I learned to dress hair and whatnot. She provided my recommendation when I applied for the position with you.”
Libby set the spoon down again, frowning at Mabena. There had been a strange undercurrent between her and Mr. Tremayne the other night, to be sure. But not the sort that came of having been employed by his household—thatundercurrent was one Libby had plenty of experience with. No, it had been something else. Something she’d told herself not to wonder about.
But she had the hardest time not wondering about things. “I didn’t realize.”
“No reason you should have. What would we like for breakfast this morning?”
And now she was changing the subject. Libby let her, but she filed away the question for later examination. There were questions Mabena clearly didn’t want her asking, and that was all right. She didn’t need to know everything about her friend’s past. But if she was so determined to keep that past a secret, why had she invited Libby to the Scillies for the summer to begin with?
Libby mentally reviewed the contents of the icebox and larder. “That bacon looked lovely. Perhaps with toast and eggs? I intend to do a bit of walking today, so something more than porridge sounds good.”
“Perfect. I’ll handle the eggs and bacon if you would tackle the toast. I’ve a fire lit in the stove already. No electric toaster here, I’m afraid.”
“Not a problem.” Their cook at Telford Hall had been rather excited to get the device last year from a small company in Scotland, but it wasn’t as though they’d even had electricity for most of Libby’s memory. Papa had resisted having it installed, quoting “needless expense” as the reason, but they all knew he just didn’t like making any changes to his ancestral home. Bram, however, had always been one for the latest and greatest. He’d had both the country estate and their London townhouse wired soon after Papa died.
She could rather see Papa’s point though, especially here on St. Mary’s, where so much was as it had been for centuries. There was a charm to the unchanging. To watching and learning the rhythms of nature and seeking to be part of them, rather than to rule them. To gliding over the waters with the help of the wind or oars rather than churning them up with an electric motor.
