Chapter 4

MARCH 3RD IN WHITBY

T wo days later, Annice had the shop open. She'd arranged things pleasantly enough, and the light coming in through the shop windows lent a warmth to things that seemed hopeful. It had been a quiet day, but she'd expected that. It was barely into March, and the tourist trade wouldn't pick up until May. But there were always some people there to take the sea air, at least that was consistent, even if there weren't many of them.

She'd had a slow trickle. A couple of the wives from down the street had stopped in to see how she was doing. That was kind, though she never knew what to say to them. Yes, she was fine. She wasn't, but not in a way that fit into the social niceties. She accepted an invitation to tea later in the week from Mrs Watts. They were non-magical, so there were even more things Annice couldn't explain or talk about. But the Watts were doing well enough that Annice didn't feel like she was taking food the family needed if she said yes.

Mrs Allen, the woman with her, she would have. They were a family with more mouths than money, and that was a hard path, no matter what sort of face she put on it. And while fishing paid well when there were fish, it was a risky trade. Not just in the fishing, though that was a big part of it, but in whether it paid much in the way of a catch.

It gave Annice something, no matter how small, to look forward to late in the week. Then there had been a number of people going by and waving from the outside, but not coming in. That was the thing about having the shop open. Back before, a year ago, or two or five, Nan would have been the one sitting down here, chatting away. And Annice and Grandad would have been up in the attic, making pieces to sell.

Annice couldn't do both at once. No magic she'd ever heard of let someone be in two places, doing two different things entirely, all in the same moment. So even if she wanted to sell her carving, she'd have to make them at times no one wanted the shop. Evenings, Sundays - it helped she wasn't religious much at all, though she made a proper show of going to church. If she didn't, people talked.

The door opened, and Annice looked up. No one she knew, which meant visitors, not town folk. "Good morning." Annice kept her voice cheerful. "Come in, please. I'd be glad to show you pieces up close."

"Oh, we're just visiting." That was a younger woman, though not exactly young, maybe a bit older than Annice herself. The other two women were older, plump, and not, Annice thought, the sort to favour jet jewellery. They weren't dressed in the latest fashions, of course, but they wore brighter colours, the ones in the fashion plates. "But the shop looked interesting."

"I'd be glad to tell you a bit about jet, perhaps? Even if you don't want to buy, we are famous for it. It would be something to tell your friends later?" Annice made herself smile again. She'd done this lecture before, hundreds of times, and Nan had always been much better at it. She kept hearing her grandmother's voice whenever she tried, the way Nan would pause, get people laughing and smiling. Sometimes those laughs had turned into a letter, later, asking to buy this thing or that, if arrangements could be made.

She did have a slight advantage over Nan. Mam had been a schoolteacher for a little, and she'd picked up and kept the sort of elocution that people from outside Yorkshire found easier to make sense of. And she'd taught it to Annice, of course. And of course Da had it naturally, from his own people and the school he'd gone to. It set her apart in town, even though she could and did speak both ways when it was called for.

The women hesitated, then the younger one, the daughter, nodded. "We have a few minutes, perhaps. And need a little breather before tackling the steps."

"Ah, you want to climb up to the abbey? That does take a bit of effort!" The hundred ninety-nine steps that led up to the now ruined abbey above were worth climbing. The view was stunning, but the hike didn't seem the sort of thing these women were entirely used to. "Here, let me pull out a stool or two. You can sit while we talk." A minute or two later, they were settled on broad stools. Annice had shared out cups of tea, and they were agreeably inclined to listen.

Annice went through the talk about how they'd found jet buried as grave goods, going back thousands of years. She leaned heavily on the fact it was like amber. It had come from something that had been living, once, long ago. Mighty trees in vast forests had fallen, been buried, and a combination of time and pressure and minerals had turned the wood from wood into something far better.

She let her love for it show. There was a chance these women would laugh at her about it. Of course, some did. But if they did, they'd be out of the store and gone a few minutes from now. When Annice made a sale, it was almost always because she'd caught someone's imagination. Once she'd laid out the older history, she said, "Now, of course, Whitby became famous because of Queen Victoria. When her beloved Prince Albert died, she declared jet to be the court stone for mourning, and she wore it for the rest of her life. Jet - the best quality jet, we think - is found only in a stretch of perhaps seven miles along this coast. It washes up. It was mined for years, though not these days. And we take it and make something beautiful. And - well." Her voice got a little softer. This was personal. "Heavy enough to remind us of our grief, and light enough to wear every day. I've thought about that more and more, the last few years."

There was a small silence before the oldest of the women said gently, "Lost someone dear, then?"

"My father, in the War, my mother a year after. And then, in the last year, my grandad and my nan." The term confused them. They were not Yorkshire folk or northerners. "My grandmother, a common term around here." Annice gestured at the shop. "My grandad was one of the best known jet carvers. My father had a love for it. He learned it after he let his love for my mother keep him here. And now I have the pieces they worked on to find a home for."

It was all true, and it was also an ideal shift into the fact this was a shop. She tilted her head, not pushing at it. "I could bring out a few things for you to look at? Some of the older traditional pieces, and some of the newer?"

That got a small round of nods. The oldest woman considered, then pulled something out of her bag. "I have a set from my grandmother." She pronounced it precisely, definitely from somewhere well south and more posh. "One earring is missing."

"I'd be glad to look. Sometimes it's possible to have a match made." It only took Annice a minute to pull out a small table. She set it comfortably where all three women could look at it, and a cloth to set the jet on. "Here, that will let me see it to the best advantage."

As soon as the woman pulled a necklace out, Annice knew it wasn't jet at all, but some sort of simulant. Not vulcanite. That would be browning by now, if it were as old as the woman had suggested. The earring, though, that was jet, or seemed likely to be. Now Annice would have to go delicately.

"This is a lovely earring. And I could likely make a copy myself." She added, because these women probably would find it amusing. "There's a tradition that women carving jet is unlucky, but my da and grandad didn't think so. Or if you'd prefer someone else, I could recommend someone reliable."

"Oh, you seem much nicer." That was the youngest of the women. "You really could?"

The oldest woman smiled benevolently. "I've told Alexandra they're to come to her, or at least the single earring was. If you'd like it done here, I suppose that's fine."

"Annice Matthewman," Annice offered. "That's my name. I can give you a card." She wanted to press on to the business arrangement. "There's one thing I should tell you first, though. I'm afraid this necklace, here, the centre pendant isn't jet. I think it's likely some sort of horn, dyed. Can I bring out a few pieces so you can compare them?"

Annice kept her voice pleasant. The oldest woman froze for a second, and there was a moment when Annice was sure all three of them were going to be out the door. It was the youngest woman, again, who was a help. "Let us hear Miss - it is Miss? - Matthewman out, Grandmama."

It gave Annice a chance to explain, at least. She gave them a moment, going to pull several pendants of the same size out of the display, and then one that was of slate, not jet. "Here, sometimes it's easiest to feel. Jet is very light comparatively. If something feels heavier than that, it's possibly glass, or it might be vulcanite. You can do some lovely jewellery with both, but if what you want is jet, obviously, that matters."

"And this?" The oldest woman touched her finger to it.

"May I?" Annice didn't dare touch it without permission.

The woman waved a hand. "Go ahead. We're right here."

Annice picked it up carefully, considering. "It's easier to tell with a brooch - you can't put screws for a backing into jet, it will fracture. If you see that, it's almost certainly horn or vulcanite. But this is an older piece, you said, ah, see here. If you look along the edge, you can see how it's flaking a bit, and those flakes are translucent? That's horn. It's well made, but it's horn."

Something in it intrigued them, and that got the middle woman, presumably the daughter, between grandmother and granddaughter, asking how else you could tell. After five minutes of it, she laughed in delight. "I'm going to have a grand time asking people to bring out their pieces and telling them. Is there a pamphlet or something of the kind, do you know?"

"Not that I know of, ma'am, but I could write something up, given a couple of days. I don't know how long you're staying in town, but I could send it through the post." Annice liked the thought of that, some woman in some town or city somewhere south, telling her friends about jet.

"We're here for four more days." The grandmother tilted her head. "If Alexandra still wishes it, would you be able to do the earring by then?"

"May I take a closer look?" At the woman's nod, Annice pulled a proper jeweller's loupe out of her pocket and used it to inspect the piece, moving over into the light coming through the window. The part that was a trick would be matching the long oval shape, but she had a couple of pieces upstairs that would likely do.

"I'd need to do some precise measurements and see what pieces I have that would work, but I think so. I could tell you for certain in a couple of hours. Perhaps I could bring a note to your hotel?"

"Oh, the White Horse & Griffin, just around the corner." Alexandra beamed. "Would you? And we want to look at some of your other pieces, definitely. Perhaps we might look now and make some decisions when we come back for the earring?"

It would make a nice bit of a sale, if Annice could manage it. She smiled - an entirely honest smile - and nodded. "Let me write up a few notes, your names and all that, and then I can bring over some more pieces for you to look at."