But Nelly, ah Nelly. I give her a smile. I note she doesn’t deny St Sinwin’s at all. I rise, and release Ena from her harness and the high chair. Nelly eyes me, moves as if to take the child.
‘I’ll keep Ena with me today, Nelly, thank you. It will give you time to attend to more things than you can usually get done in a day. Oh, and do consider my proposal. I’m sure Uncle Edward would be amenable, he is very attentive to my requests.’
She says nothing though I can feel she wants to; very restrained of her.
I take Ena to her room and clean her up. I dress her in a pretty frock and sunbonnet, tie the ribbons of her knitted booties, then settle her in the pushchair and take her walking to the village – keeping a good distance from the lake, though there is no sign of any mer today. I greet everyone by name, the sad end to the harvest fest seems to not have left a mark on anyone’s attitude, and people are happy to see me. They comment on how Ena’s grown, how well she looks, how she’s flourishing for a child who’s been without her own mother for so long so soon in her young life. I don’t tell them that many people survive such a thing.
I don’t hurry, I don’t proceed in an obvious fashion towards my goal, I am careful that no one watching would think me intent upon anything. When I see the door I want, I walk up at a leisurely pace and knock without urgency.
When Miriam Dymond answers she looks surprised, but steps aside without question and I enter the cottage, pushing the stroller in front of me.
‘I didn’t thank you,’ she says. ‘For saving my girl.’
‘Everything was rather… disrupted yesterday,’ I say, then smile. Ena’s dozing by this time, giving little whimpers, her feet kicking out as if she’s chasing after rabbits. ‘Thank me by answering some questions and we’ll call ourselves even.’
Miriam tilts her head and gives me a frank look as if assessing how much trouble my seemingly simple request might get her into. Then she nods briskly. ‘Let’s talk while it’s quiet – my lot are at their grandmother’s.’
I follow her through to the small sunny kitchen, painted in a bright yellow. A barely begun beverage steaming on the table and she asks if I’d like one. I say ‘yes’ because Aoife taught me that the little signs of hospitality are a way of putting people at their ease. I sit in one of the chairs, keep pushing Ena’s stroller, back and forth, back and forth to keep her sleeping.
As Miriam pours a strong peppermint brew into another thick-bottomed mug (no pretty porcelain cups here), she says, ‘Well? What do you want to know, Miss Miren?’
‘Is your daughter well? No ill effects?’
‘Adie is no worse for her dip. And again, thank you for her life.’
It’s my turn to shrug. ‘Ah, she’d have floated.’
But we both know she wouldn’t. Not in that strange water.
‘I understand you used to be the housekeeper up at the big house?’
Her lips tighten. ‘And cook, with the Toop girls to help.’
I nod. ‘And I also understand Edward Elliott changed that?’
Her turn to nod. ‘I’m assuming you’re not asking this out of idle curiosity or to make me relive a painful experience?’
‘Not at all.’ I smile. ‘Tell me about Nelly Daniels. Keziah Eddy said she used to talk to the folk in the village, once upon a time.’
Miriam slides the mug across to me, sits down and sips at her own. ‘I didn’t like her before she took my job, but I couldn’t have put my finger on why. You get a feeling. She boasted how she’d come from a fancy job in St Sinwin’s and wasn’t she special to be chosen to come to Blackwater? How Mr Liam had wooed her away with a bigger salary and no domestic duties, nothing beyond wet-nursing the little miss.’ She nods at Ena, drooling and snoring softly. ‘And she had her own daughter, Meraud – Merry – same age, they even looked alike. Very different temperaments, though.’
‘How so?’ I ask, glancing down at Ena.
‘This one,’ she nods at my little sister, ‘used to be a foul little brat. Crying and wailing, pulling at your mother’s last nerve. No one in the village would look after her to give Nelly a break. I’ve had five children and mine can be mean as rats, but I’ve never seen anything like this one. Only your mother could calm her with that touch of hers, but Mrs Elliott couldn’t spend all her time seeing to the child.’ Miriam shakes her head. ‘But look at her now, she seems to have become a happier creature.’
‘How long since you saw Ena?’ I ask.
‘Five months – five months since your uncle turned me out. Seen you walking around with her, of course, but not up close until today.’
And I think how Isolde hadn’t done much mothering – she left me so young, and Maura cared for me even before my parents left – she had no experience when Ena came along. ‘Was Isolde not able to feed Ena herself?’
Miriam shakes her head. ‘Your mother had no milk… and she was impatient with the child. Loved her, but… You need to understand that my mother used to work for your parents, then when Mam got too old, I took over. She’s kind, your mother, everyone loves her, and when she touches your hand you feel as happy as you ever had.’ She shakes her head. ‘But I wouldn’t say we were ever friends.’ Then she hesitates.
‘Miriam, nothing you can say will offend me. I did not know my parents, they
