The Hanged Man and the Fortune Teller

by Lucy Banks

  “Mother will be impressed that you’ve gone to such an effort,” I said, giving the ribbon of her bodice a final tug. “Though you needn’t have worried so much, it’s only a casual family gathering, after all. It’s not as though we’re dining at some exclusive establishment in the city.”

  Her expression darkened, and I knew immediately why. It wasn’t Mother she was concerned about, but rather Fred’s presence, and the discomfort that was likely to accompany it. Goodness knows why he’d decided to accept this particular invitation to luncheon, when he’d rejected so many in the past, but there was little point dwelling on it. He would be there, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Still, it was hardly surprising that Eleanor was apprehensive. I felt much the same way, which seemed rather ridiculous given that he was my brother.

  “Arthur will be there too,” I said, stroking her arm. “It won’t just be him. And you know Arthur, he’s more than capable of lightening the mood.”

  Eleanor climbed into her dress with the grace of a ballerina, toe pointed with discreet delicacy. “Yes, of course, I know dear Arthur will do his best. Fred will be bringing his fiancée, that’s what your mother said, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, though heaven knows what she’ll be like. Mother’s already met her, and she implied the woman was something of a strumpet.”

  “Goodness me!” Eleanor giggled, before covering her mouth with her hand. “Still, if he met her down the Pig and Whistle, she’s bound to be, isn’t she?”

  Eleanor wasn’t wrong. The Pig and Whistle was one of the most notorious spots down by the Docks, usually filled to the brim with whiskered workers, shifty-eyed pickpockets and women of ill repute. I dreaded to think what Fred’s wife-to-be was like, or what her previous profession in life might have been. Still, my brother had clearly recovered from his heartbreak over Eleanor, and that was the most important thing.

  “Poor old Arthur.” I buttoned her dress, then spun her around, kissing her gently on the nose.

  She blinked in surprise. “Why?”

  “Well, he’s the only brother not to have a sweetheart, isn’t he, now Fred is engaged? I do hope the lad isn’t feeling too hard done by, I should think he’s rather surprised by it, given how much fuss everyone used to make about his blonde curls and rosy cheeks.”

  “He’ll be fine.” She glanced a final time in the looking glass, before scooping up her bonnet and pressing it delicately on to her curls. “He’s a charming man; I’m sure he has no problem attracting female attention. Now, shall we go? I don’t want to be the last ones there.”

  I seized an umbrella on the way out. Although the sun was high in the sky, grey clouds loomed over the distant buildings, rolling uneasily, like sea-tossed boats. We were surely in for a bout of bad weather before too long; it was all too evident in the still, humid air.

  Our house was diminutive, but perfect for the two of us. Every time I closed the front door, a swell of pride rose within me; pleasure at what I’d achieved in life, and how I’d managed to provide for my wife. Perhaps Eleanor would have liked a larger dwelling, with a few servants to assist with the running of the house, but if this was the case, she never once said it. Arthur’s home was grander, but then, he had no one to share it with, which rendered it immediately less charming than my own. As for Fred’s, well, it was better not to think of Fred’s current situation, renting a grim room overlooking the Thames. I’d not visited, but Martha had avidly filled me in on the dirt, the damp, the broken window pane. It sounded like a filthy, desperate little hole.

  How far Arthur and I have come, I thought, musing on the house we’d grown up in, where Mother and Martha still resided. It was a dear little cottage with a beautifully overgrown flower garden, but was decidedly cramped. Still, it had been a happy childhood, for the most part. Even after Father had finished chastising us for one misdemeanour or another, the house had never lost its warming glow. Though Fred may feel differently, I acknowledged. He’d always come off worst with Father; there’d been something about their personalities that simply clashed, like two clanging cymbals. Poor Mother had often found herself in the role of mediator, along with Arthur, desperately trying to keep the peace. I’d often secretly agreed with Father; but then, everyone always said I was more like him than the others; even more so after he passed away.

  It was a pleasure to see that Mother’s door was wide open, as it always was when she was expecting guests. At the sound of our feet on the doorstep, Martha tore from the parlour, wide-eyed as a puppy, her apron streaked with flour and water. Eleanor squeaked in surprise, before letting herself be enveloped in her sister-in-law’s chaotic embrace.

  “Gosh, you’ve got a lot of energy today,” I commented, placing my umbrella in the corner. “Kindly release my wife; you’ll do her some damage with a grip like that.”

  Martha let go, then grinned. She had a smudge of coal by the side of her nose. “Mother’s cooked rabbit, and it smells wonderful. I was making bread earlier, but then it was too wet, so I gave up and Mother took over. Won’t you come in?”

  “I would,” I remarked dryly, “if I could get through the door. You’re rather blocking the passageway, Martha.”

  “Are the others here yet?” Eleanor asked, glancing over Martha’s shoulder.

  “Arthur is, he’s lazing around outside. Typical him, he expects us women to wait on him hand and foot. Won’t you come through? I’ll pour you both some lemon cordial. We’re sitting out in the garden for lunch, don’t you think that’s a splendid idea? Though the wasps are dreadful today. I’ve already had to swat three with my book. Shall we sit outside then?”

  I laughed at my sister’s ceaseless chatter. “As long as the rain holds off.” Striding through to the kitchen, I relished the warmth and comfort that can only be found within your childhood home. The plume of rich smoke hit us as soon as we entered, just as Mother slammed the oven door closed again, wiping her brow on her apron.

  At the sight of us, her face lit up, like an oil lamp rising to flame.

  “There you both are,” she said, arms outstretched. “Come in, my loves, come in. Fred should be along any moment.”

  Eleanor glanced at me.

  “And his lady,” Martha drawled, as she gathered the glasses from the dresser. “If we can call her that. She’s utterly dreadful, you know.”

  Mother whipped her briskly with her tea towel. “Martha, you mustn’t say such things!”

  “Come on, you know what she’s like, she was absolutely awful when we met her, and—”

  “—That’s quite enough, young lady.” Mother peered anxiously down the hall, as though expecting to see Fred and his fiancée already there, listening in on the conversation. “I’m sure she’s perfectly pleasant when you get to know her.”

  “She’s terribly rude and hostile,” Martha whispered, perching on the nearest stool, beckoning for us to come closer. “I think she looks the sort who—”

  “Are you prattling again, Sister?” Arthur appeared at the back door, a smart flat cap resting on his oiled hair. “Goodness me, poor Miss Elizabeth Stride, and to think, she’s set to marry into this family.”

  “No one’s forcing her,” Martha grumbled, fiddling with her plait.

  I shook my younger brother’s hand warmly, observing the cravat at his neck, which was a particularly soft silk. He caught the line of my gaze, then patted it down self-consciously.

  “I know, I know, paisley’s considered a little out of fashion these days, but I simply couldn’t resist it. I found it in Liberty’s last weekend.”

  “It looks very fine on you.” I instinctively touched my own naked neck, feeling somewhat underdressed by comparison. But then, Arthur always did have a taste for fine clothing. Fortunately for him, he now commanded a good enough salary to indulge it.

  “Is that someone I hear coming through the door?” Mother trilled, opening the oven again and releasing another cloud of fragrant smoke into the room. “Arthur, woul
d you be a dear and greet them? I don’t trust Martha to be well-mannered, you know what she’s like.”

  Eleanor stiffened. I could tell by the set of her jaw that she was preparing herself for the inevitable encounter. Her anxiety brought forth a fresh wave of nerves in myself, and I smoothed my waistcoat down, wondering what to say to the brother I hadn’t seen for so long. Would Fred be civil? Or was he still holding a grudge against me? It was impossible to predict.

  We heard chatter and footsteps, clattering in the hallway. I braced myself.

  “Good afternoon, everyone.” Fred strode into the room, thumbs tucked into his braces, looking every bit as self-assured as I remembered him. If he was uncomfortable with my presence, he gave no sign of it, though seemed reluctant to meet my eye, looking at all corners of the room apart from the one I was standing in.

  He’s grown a moustache, I noticed, observing his profile, which was sharp-jawed and tense. The facial hair looked well on him, gave his face a sense of gravitas. I felt an unreasonable stab of jealousy and hastily pushed it from my mind. Now was not the time for ill feeling, after all.

  “Hello, Fred, it’s wonderful to see you again.” I held out a hand. After a pause, he took it, then without warning, pulled me into him. I gasped with surprise, then tentatively returned his embrace.

  “Less formal, little brother,” he whispered into my ear.

  I grinned, pulling away from him. “Very well, Fred. It is good to see you again.”

  The woman beside him coughed, surveying us with open interest.

  “You must be Elizabeth,” I ventured as warmly as I could, though in truth, I was shocked by the sight of her. Although Martha’s comments had prepared me to some degree, I hadn’t anticipated the reality of such a woman. Her hair hung, tousled and tangled, to her collar, and her face was unusually long, with protruding cheekbones. Aside from her grey eyes, which were currently sparkling with amusement, there was only roughness about her, and none of the usual feminine charms associated with the fairer sex.

  Whatever does he see in her? I wondered, then averted my eyes, aware that I was staring more than was appropriate.

  “Yes, that is me,” she replied, in a voice that was thick with accent, perhaps Northern European or German. “And this is your wife, I presume?”

  Eleanor stepped forward, extending a hand. I noticed it was trembling slightly.

  “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Stride.”

  “Stride’s not her real surname,” Fred said, leaning against the doorframe. “No one can pronounce her real name, so she’s made one up to suit her.” He glanced around, with challenge in his eyes.

  This is going to be every bit as painful as I anticipated, I realised, sighing inwardly.

  “I meant to ask last time we met; where are you from originally, Elizabeth?” Mother wiped her hands on her apron.

  Elizabeth surveyed the kitchen with an expression that was somewhere between aloofness and interest. “I am Swedish,” she replied. “I came to England when I was fourteen, after my father died.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Fred sighed, then slapped the table. “Enough about all that now. When’s food going to be served then, Mother? I’m starving and no mistake.”

  She chuckled, relishing the change in subject. “Not too much longer, dear. You all go on outside. Enjoy the sun. Martha can help me serve up.”

  “Why me?” Martha squeaked, leaping off the stool. “Why can’t one of the others do it?”

  “Because it’s only right and proper that you learn to be useful in the kitchen,” Mother replied, as she nudged her aside to reach the carving knife from the drawer. “Isn’t that right?”

  “No,” Martha muttered ominously, but held her arms out to receive the serving plates, nonetheless.

  “I shall return to the deck chair,” Arthur announced, sweeping out the back door. “If only the neighbour’s dog would stop its incessant barking, then I could rest my eyes for a while. I’m ever so tired.”

  “Try doing my job, then,” Fred growled, as he followed. “You have no idea what hard labour is until you work at the Docks. Never a moment goes by when my back doesn’t ache.”

  We emerged into the balmy sunlight. The garden was tidy as ever, the roses neatly pruned, the table already laden with cutlery and plates. I could just about detect the vague buzz of the bees within their hive at the bottom of the garden, concealed by the buddleia bushes. It immediately soothed my spirits, taking me back to happier times spent here, playing marbles on the patio, or hide and seek among the shrubs and plants. I could tell from glancing at my wife’s face that she was thinking the same; of all those days she’d come over to play as a child, while her aunt and my mother gossiped in the kitchen.

  How fortunate we were, I thought wistfully. I hadn’t really appreciated it back then; only noting how cramped the house had always felt, how much smaller it was than the elegant buildings in the city. How wrong I had been, to focus on those things, when true contentment had always been within my reach.

  “What a beautiful day!” Eleanor announced, startling me from my thoughts.

  To my horror, Elizabeth Stride sat without waiting to be asked, assuming the position at the head of the table, despite Fred’s unsubtle nudge at her elbow.

  A blackbird chirruped noisily at the top of the apple tree. Somewhere in the distance, a cow lowed uneasily. We all waited for one another to speak.

  “So,” Eleanor said finally, in a too-bright voice, tilting her bonnet to shade her eyes from the sun. “When will the wedding be, Elizabeth?”

  “I do not know.” The other woman yawned without covering her mouth. Her two front teeth were grey.

  “We’ve got to save money first,” Fred said, shifting uneasily in his seat. “It’s not like we’re free to do as we wish, like you and my brother here.”

  Ah, there it is. The note of resentment, buried deep, but evident nonetheless. In some strange way, it reassured me that he still felt something about it all and hadn’t just forgotten us completely. Still, the bitterness in his tone disturbed me, hinting at further unpleasantries still to come. I sighed. The last thing I wanted was to fight with him, especially not on a day like this.

  “Perhaps you’ll marry in the autumn?” Eleanor suggested, scrabbling for words to fill the silence. “It’s such a glorious season for weddings, don’t you think?”

  Elizabeth Stride shrugged, then picked up a fork, passing it from hand to hand.

  “Wake me up if I fall asleep,” Arthur said, stretching like a cat in the deck chair. “I don’t want to miss the food.” He promptly tugged his cap over his face, ignoring the rest of us. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Typical Arthur, I thought. Never mindful of social niceties, far too interested in enjoying himself. Still, his laid-back manner served to calm the rest of us, easing the tension from the conversation like an iron over cotton. I leaned back against my chair, feeling my stomach start to untighten.

  “So.” Fred poured himself a glass of cordial, oblivious to the splash of fluid over the side, which landed on the napkin. “You two are enjoying married life, then? I heard the wedding was very pleasant.”

  The edge to his voice was unmistakable. I glanced at Eleanor and reached for her hand across the table. “It was a beautiful service,” I replied evenly, meeting his eye. “It is a shame you couldn’t be there.”

  Elizabeth snorted, eyes lit with poorly concealed contempt. I bristled. Who did she think she was, anyway? To come into our home, and to be so scathing and dismissive? Up close, I could see she was older than Fred, the lines around her eyes poorly concealed with powder. It made perfect sense why Martha had been so rude about her earlier. Still, I wanted to rebuild my relationship with Fred, and if that meant enduring this harsh-faced woman, then so be it.

  “Whereabouts do you live, Elizabeth?” I asked, with as much sincerity as I could muster.

  “Here and there.” She looked up, her express
ion twisted in defiance. “I was in the workhouse until recently.”

  Eleanor winced. “You poor thing. I’ve heard that they’re very hard on people.”

  I felt a rush of love for her. Typical Eleanor, to pity this woman, despite her hardness and poor manners. No doubt it had been her own actions that had landed her in the workhouse in the first place. She looked the type.

  Elizabeth’s face softened, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the girl she’d once been; vulnerable, lonely; a stark contrast to her usual closed-off expression. “It wasn’t a good life,” she admitted. “But I’m out now. Fred’s been kind to me, despite the hardships he has to endure.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear,” I said warmly. “Though I’m not sure Fred’s life is that hard. Plenty of people have employment down at the Docks, don’t they? At least it’s a job, with a steady salary.”

  “I’m not sure you’d know much about it,” Fred growled. He met Elizabeth’s eyes, then looked away.

  To my relief, a clatter of plates interrupted the quiet, breaking the strange atmosphere. A moment later, Mother and Martha appeared, laden with serving dishes and plates, and both rather red in the face.

  “That silly sister of yours has managed to spill hot fat all over the floor,” Mother huffed, placing the rabbit in the centre of the table. It steamed restlessly, still hissing from the heat.

  “You passed it to me when I wasn’t ready!”

  “I specifically asked, ‘Are you ready to take the rabbit for me,’ and you said—”

  “—Well, this looks splendid,” I interrupted, keen to avoid yet another round of bickering. I seized the carving knife, watched Fred’s expression darken, then realised my error. He’s the oldest brother, I reminded myself, cursing my forgetfulness. It’s his job, now father’s not with us.

  “Here,” I said swiftly, as I passed the knife across. “You do the honours.”

  “No, you’ve started it now. You may as well carry on.” He leaned back, arms folded, and guilt rose in my chest; not just guilt about the carving, but about everything. How he’d fallen, how the only woman he could attract now was a hardened harlot from the workhouse.