Adrift: A Little Mermaid Retelling

16: Daniel

The winter warmed into spring, spring warmed into summer, and life creaked into back into normalcy for all of us—all of us but Agnes.

Wylliam was a good man. I respected him. He'd learned much about running a plantation from his father; that much was clear by the time a few days had passed.

I pitied him, for I knew how he must feel. A working man has no time to mourn. That he was several stations above me in life made no difference; I, too, had been pushed back into work while still deeply grieving my father, and I knew it was hard for him. Harder than it had been for me, I'm certain. I had nothing more to do than sweep, scrub, and cart water. He had the care of the crops, the hands, and the house servants to worry about, not to mention a wife—and a sister who did not make things easy on him.

Ness's grief turned her into a ghost of a girl for a month or two after Master Allore's death. She hardly ate, hardly washed, hardly seemed to sleep. I worried for her, but all I could do was watch her from afar, for after that day on the cliffs when she kissed me, she kept her distance. A good friend, she had called me, but she did not seem to want to avail herself of my friendship.

Ness's dark grief did not fade as the months passed, as it does for most. It sharpened, and she used it like a whip.

She hardly spoke to anyone, least of all me. When she did, her words were cold, sometimes cruel. She spent her days out-of-doors, wandering. Many's the night Cuthbert or Master Wyll had to go down to the cliffs and drag her back after sunset. Once or twice, they couldn't find her. I would creep from the kitchen late into the night and see Wyll pacing the parlor, unable to do much to find her in the dark. She always turned up the next day, pale and shivering and hungry, but always unremorseful.

Sybill, poor soul, did her best to keep Ness looking like the young woman she was, but I imagine it was hard for her. Ness's hair was always a snarl in those times, and with all her wandering, her clothes were often dirty and in poor repair.

Ness had plenty of time on her hands, for Master Leisher had left her. He had made a valiant attempt to resume her lessons not long after Master Allore was killed. I'm not sure what happened up in the music room where they studied of a morning, but I often heard her shouting, and I imagine that man had a list as long as his arm of things he'd rather do than battle a willful brat of a girl. Finally, Master Wyll did him the kindness of dismissing him with dignity so the old man would not have to quit.

Ness never touched her books, nor a needle, nor even her harp. Not that I saw. Not for a very long time. Although she was so spiteful toward us all, it near broke my heart not to hear her playing and singing. The last time I'd heard her was the day she played for Captain Dremmer's dinner. She'd always loved music so, and the house wasn't the same without it.

What did she do out there, wandering by herself all day? I'm not certain. She never told me. Whatever friendship we'd had between us, she had set aside.

I never had a chance to give her back her ribbon; there was never a good time. I kept it in my pocket. I'd take it out and look at it sometimes, wishing I could have back the girl I knew and the woman she'd been on the brink of becoming. I knew she had never been mine, of course, but I cared for her still, even though the heat of my affection started to fade. That love I'd felt near drowning me the day she played her harp, and the heady hopes of impossible romance that flooded me when she kissed me on the cliff—all that faded and grew cold. How could I nurture such feelings for the wild creature she'd become?

It was in the summer, three years after Master Allore was killed, and Ness was as wild as ever. Once again, she hadn't come home. I stood on the porch, broom in hand, and stared out across the dark grass stretching on toward the sea.

Cuthbert's voice surprised me. I turned my head to see him standing on the ground at the side of the porch, grasping the railing.

"Maybe she won't come back this time," he said.

I opened my mouth and closed it immediately. I was shocked—but I couldn't tell from his tone whether he found this a good thing or bad.

Cuthbert turned his head and gave me a twisted, sick sort of smile. "She's her mother's daughter, Dan, eh?" he said. "Wretched girl."

Again, I chose silence. I shifted my broom to the other hand, feeling queerly guilty on Ness's behalf. Heaven knew she didn't feel it for herself.

"She'll be the death of Wyll. I don't think he can handle her 'til she's good and wed." Cuthbert shook his head and pushed off the porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Guess I'll go look by the cliffs again. He won't sleep unless we find her."

I watched him walk across the lawn, across the road, and on toward the cliffs on the other side, his head down and his shoulders tense in the moonlight. Then I drew the ribbon out of my pocket and threaded it through my fingers with a sigh. This house had become such a dark place.

Cuthbert hadn't come back yet when I saw something else: a rider on the road, some distance away and coming up from the south, from Annisport. Although it was summer and the night was pleasantly warm, it was late, and a traveler at that hour was uncommon. Furthermore, we were situated well north and west in the Reachlands, and there was very little past us on the road. He must have been coming to us.

I propped the broom against the wall and darted down the steps, then jogged my way toward the rider up the road. Once I drew closer, I realized that what I had taken to be a lone, heavy-set rider was actually two figures: it was a man with a smaller person in the saddle before him.

Agnes.