by Lucy Banks
She slapped my arm playfully. “You are silly. Guess properly.”
“An old school friend?”
“No.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Eleanor, do just tell me.”
“I saw your brother, Fred.”
Fred? The name surprised me. Since Arthur’s solicitor had managed to get him out of prison, Fred had all but disappeared. The last I’d heard, he’d lost his job at the Docks and was taking on some casual work with an ironsmith in Southwark. I didn’t even know if he was still renting that sad, dank room by the Thames, or whether he’d moved to a new abode. Even Mother hadn’t heard from him, which was highly irregular.
“You look shocked.”
“I suppose I am, a little.” I straightened, loosening my tie, which suddenly felt rather tight. “What on earth was he doing on Regent Street? Did you speak to him?”
Eleanor blushed. “Yes, I had to, didn’t I? I mean, he is my brother-in-law.”
No, you didn’t have to, I thought meanly, then scolded myself for it. Eleanor was absolutely right of course. Fred was her family now, regardless of their history. “Very well,” I said slowly, still struggling to acclimatise to the thought of Fred in such a well-to-do shopping district. “What did he say to you?”
“He said he was looking for a gift.”
“A gift? For who?”
“He said a lady, but wouldn’t go into details.”
I snorted. “Well, it can’t be Mother, her birthday was last month. And Martha’s isn’t until November. What’s he up to, I wonder?”
Eleanor smoothed her skirt carefully, easing out each crinkle in turn. “Aren’t you going to ask me how he looked?” she said casually.
“Presumably just the same as ever,” I scoffed. I felt guilt for my lack of charity towards my brother, but then, when had he ever shown me any kindness? Any brotherly gesture he showed towards me was usually ruined by a dark look or hostile comment.
She shook her head. “No, not at all. He looked quite smart, believe it or not.”
“In what way?”
“He had a well-made top hat, plus a long coat. If I hadn’t have known him better, I would have thought he was comfortably off. In fact, he reminded me rather of your late father.”
“Really?” The notion made me bristle, though I did my best to swallow my misgivings down. I thought back to when I’d last seen him, languishing in his dirty cell at Clerkenwell. I couldn’t marry the vision of the man I’d seen there with the one my wife was describing, it didn’t make sense.
Eleanor studied my face carefully, then leaned into me. “He didn’t look as handsome as you,” she murmured in my ear.
I shifted uneasily. “That wasn’t why I was pulling a face. It’s just…”
“Yes?”
I couldn’t put it into words. Was I suspicious of Fred, concerned that he’d managed to find money through dishonest means? Or worried that he’d somehow known Eleanor was shopping today, and had deliberately attired himself smartly to attract her? Don’t be silly, I told myself firmly. Fred and Eleanor had only courted briefly. My response was ridiculous, pure and simple.
“Did he say anything else?” I asked, forcing myself to sound more cheerful.
“Only that he’d found new employment, over in Shadwell. And was living in a new place too, much nicer than the previous one, apparently. I said good luck to him; he’s had a rough time of it, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said, musing on the information. Shadwell was close to Whitechapel. Perhaps he found employment near to my offices. I wondered what sort of position he’d managed to acquire, and how on earth he’d found someone to take him on without any reliable references. Though it made me guilty to think it, I couldn’t help but suspect he’d become involved in some sort of shady endeavour, otherwise how would he find decent employment with no credentials?
My suspicions must have been etched across my face, as Eleanor prodded me in the ribs, fairly hard.
“You should be pleased for him.”
“I am,” I protested weakly, then repeated, “honestly, I am,” more to convince myself than her. If Fred had managed to improve his lot in life, then all the better. Whatever he got up to was scarcely any of my business these days. It saddened me, though. I remembered the brother he’d been in my youth, jovial, protective, energetic; before Father had died and changed his demeanour irreparably. Who knows what might have been, had Father lived, I thought, wondering.
To lighten the mood, I pointed to the hatbox. “Go on,” I said, “show me then.”
Eleanor smiled, and reached down willingly enough, discarding the lid with a flourish. What emerged was an elaborate affair, with a silk ribbon wrapped around the brim, not to mention several ruffles and feathers. She really doesn’t need such adornment, I thought, watching as she positioned it on her head. She’s far more beautiful in her simple bonnet, or better still, with nothing covering her hair at all.
Still, I didn’t say anything. She posed coquettishly, then laughed. “You don’t like it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely not. It’s very…fine.”
“Fine?” She laughed again. “You do know I can tell when you’re not being sincere?”
I pulled her back down on my knee, wrapping my hands around her waist. “If you like it, I like it. Is that good enough?” I kissed her cheek, trying not to imagine how much the milliners might have charged for it. Our financial situation was my concern, my responsibility to fret over. Not hers.
“I know you think it’s a bit frivolous. But I can’t help liking things like this, you know. It’s because I never had much growing up with Auntie Nora, you see.”
“I understand that,” I said evenly. It hardly seemed the time to remind her that I hadn’t grown up in a wealthy household either. “And I am happy for you to have the hat, my love. It’s just that we do need to keep an eye on our financial situation, and—”
“Yes, but that’s your job. You like working with numbers, you told me so yourself.” She glanced out the window. “Look, it’s stopped raining now. Shall we go for a walk?”
“Really?” It was rather late, and I wasn’t much in the mood to head out again, after only having just returned.
“Yes, I’ve been cooped up in the house for hours, I should like to take some fresh air. What do you think?”
Her pleading expression was too much for me to resist. With a sigh, I rose to my feet, hoping that a short stroll would be enough to appease her restless spirits. I didn’t dare ask what dinner might be, or even if anything had been prepared yet; the kitchen was lacking any pleasant aroma, which indicated it might be rather late until my appetite was satisfied. Father wouldn’t have stood for no dinner, I thought unkindly, as we wrestled ourselves into our overcoats. But then, times are different, I suppose. Eleanor is far busier in the day than Mother would have been, back then.
“Shall I wear my new hat?”
“Aren’t you rather worried it might get rained upon?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I’m sure it will be fine. How else will I be able to show it off, if I never wear it?”
“That is a fair point, my love.” Sweeping the door open, I stood aside to let her pass through, then shut it reluctantly behind me.
We soon fell into a rhythm, instinctively taking the route we often took when out for a walk; along the river path, away from the main docks. It was quieter there; the birds could often be heard chirruping from the neighbouring trees, and the air felt cleaner somehow, less tainted by the continual smoke of the passing steamboats.
An elderly couple passed us, bidding good evening as they went. Eleanor tilted her head to them, then grinned at me. “That was Mr and Mrs Macready, wasn’t it?”
“Gosh, I have no idea.”
“Yes, they moved into the house along the road, the large one with the fine pillars outside? He made his money from whiskey, believe it or not; he’s opened a distillery across the riv
er.”
“However do you know these things?” I was genuinely bemused; my knowledge of the neighbourhood was vague at best.
She patted the side of her nose. “I have my ways. And Arthur is of course a fountain of information.”
Good old gossiping Arthur. She was right, my youngest brother always seemed to have the latest news from town. He made it his business to discover every new event and uncover every secret. “Yes, he has his uses,” I replied blandly. “So, how long did you want to keep walking?”
“We’ve only just started!”
“I know, but there’s a fine mist to the air, it will surely start raining soon.”
“Don’t be a bore, darling. Let’s keep going for a while longer, yes?”
I nodded and felt the warm press of her hand slipping through my elbow.
“Look!” She pointed down the river. “It’s one of those pleasure cruises. Doesn’t it look fun?”
I squinted, following the line of her finger. Sure enough, a large ship was navigating the waters, its chimney prodding into the grey sky like a solitary finger, belching smoke. We waited, watching as it drew nearer, its paddles cutting haphazardly through the water. A few people on board waved at us, and Eleanor waved back enthusiastically, holding onto her hat to prevent it blowing away in the breeze.
“It’s such a romantic thing to do,” she said, as the ship ploughed its way past us, driving inexorably forward to the centre of the city. “Don’t you think?”
I scratched my chin thoughtfully. She’d mentioned this before, each time with greater intent, and I knew how much she yearned to experience it herself. “I’m not sure it appeals to me,” I said eventually. I couldn’t quite say why. Was it something to do with being out on the river, vulnerable to the force of nature? Or was it the machinery itself; the vague repulsion I felt for the ship’s enormous tossing paddles and its foul-smelling fumes? Probably it’s more the fact that I can’t swim, I thought, with a dry grin. As children, my brothers had always teased me for my reluctance to join them in the lake for a splash around. If I fell overboard, I thought, with a grim smile, I’d sink like a stone.
Her face fell at my answer. “I don’t understand why you’re so negative about it,” she said eventually, biting her lip. The mist around us thickened, as the first raindrops settled on our shoulders. “After all, it’s just a boat trip, nothing more.”
“Yes, I know,” I said patiently, tugging her arm gently, to indicate we should turn to go home, “but I can think of far better ways to spend our money. How about—”
“—is that what this is about? Money? I thought you said we were comfortably off?”
“We are, but frivolous activities such as a pleasure cruise really are a bit much.”
“This again?” She frowned. The rain fell harder, casting widening circles across the surface of the river beside us. “Why does everything have to be about our finances? It’s rather crass, don’t you think?”
The comment made me flinch. There had been several occasions where I’d bitten my tongue about her spending; though perhaps she hadn’t realised. Maybe I’ve concealed my financial concerns a little too well, I thought. Perhaps I need to be a little more honest with her.
“My love, the thing is—”
“—The thing is, you want me to stay at home and produce children. Is that it?”
I stopped walking, momentarily stunned into silence. “Eleanor,” I said eventually, “that’s not the case at all. I’ve never made you feel as though—”
“—You have. After the…” She swallowed hard, and wiped her face, freeing the moisture from her skin. “After what happened, I feel as though you blame me for it, that you’re just waiting for me to get with child again, to make everything better.”
“Good heavens.” Her comments left me feeling winded, raw; not least because they seemed so unjust. I’d done my damnedest to make her feel loved, protected, and entertained, yet still, she blamed me. She saw the hurt in my expression and softened immediately.
“I don’t mean to upset you,” she said quickly. “It is only that these last few months have been difficult for me. Do you understand?”
“Of course.” The wind lashed at the treetops above us, sending fresh droplets of rain upon our heads. Fortunately, we’d not ventured too far out, and our house was almost in sight.
She nodded, relieved. “That is the only reason I’d like to have a bit more fun. To try to put all that behind us, make life more pleasurable again. Don’t you think that’s worth spending a little bit of money on?”
I eyed the river with apprehension. Sometimes, it seemed to me more beast than fluid; a supple, serpentine creature, winding a path through the capital; its murk and muck leaching out into the banks beside it. “Could we perhaps choose an activity that doesn’t involve water?” I suggested, with a laugh that emerged more of a hoarse croak than a sound of amusement. “Perhaps a trip to the theatre? That would be pleasant, wouldn’t it?”
Eleanor sighed. “Yes, of course. That would be wonderful.”
Rough thunder pealed somewhere in the distance, a vague murmur of the storm to come. I waited for the lightning, but none was forthcoming. Perhaps too far away, I wondered. Taking my wife’s arm more tightly, I drove the pair of us forward, head ducked to avoid the worst of the weather. The feathers in her hat had wilted and curled, like dying ferns.
We strode in silence for a short while, keen to get home. I still hadn’t the courage to broach the topic of dinner, especially after her earlier outburst. Perhaps I could roll up my sleeves and have a go myself, I thought, glancing at Eleanor’s set jaw and downcast eyes. After all, I used to watch Mother in the kitchen all the time, how hard can it be?
“Here we are,” I announced cheerfully, inserting the key in the lock. “Thank goodness. Look at us both, we’re wet through!”
She entered the hallway, removing her hat with the tenderness of a parent carrying a child. “Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all,” she admitted, as another roll of thunder cut through the air, sharper this time, and with more menace.
“If it gave you the fresh air you needed, then that’s all that matters,” I said, shaking the worst of the rain off my coat before hanging it up. “And I meant what I said earlier, you know. Let me know what performance you’d like to see at the theatre and I’ll book it. I promise.”
Eleanor smiled weakly, before heading out to the kitchen. “That’s very sweet of you. And don’t worry about the pleasure cruise.”
I followed her, dutifully as a pup wandering after its master. “Really? I mean, we can do it if you’d—”
“—No, it’s fine,” she interrupted, a little more sharply than anticipated. “After all, your brother said he’d take me if you weren’t comfortable with the idea.”
For a terrible moment, I thought she was referring to Fred. Then I realised she meant the younger brother, not the elder. A surge of irritation rose in me. Arthur was a wonderful chap, but what right did he have to offer to take my wife on an evening cruise, without my accompanying them? It was improper and undermined my position as her husband. I made a mental note to address the issue with him when we next met.
“That won’t be necessary,” I replied, pulling the kitchen chair out more roughly than I’d intended. It shrieked across the tiles, causing Eleanor to wince, perhaps more theatrically than was appropriate for the situation.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said seriously, as I sat down, “that if it really matters that much to you, then I will take you. There will be absolutely no need for Arthur to accompany you, or anyone else for that matter.” I waited, watching as her face broke into an open smile. “As you say, it will be romantic. I’m sure I’ll overcome my reservations once we’ve set sail.”
“Oh, thank you!” She flew at me, wrapping her slender arms, which were still damp, around my neck. “You are a dear. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the experience.”
I shall just have to enquire about that promotion again, I thought, more sombrely. Or else take on extra hours to pay for it.
But then, I’d always said I’d do anything for her. And I was prepared to stand by that, no matter what. What is the purpose of loving someone, if you aren’t prepared to sacrifice all to make them happy? So that was what I would do, despite the prospect being somewhat daunting.
I watched her busying herself in the pantry, and wondered, why is it so much harder to make her smile than I’d anticipated?
Then I swallowed the thought quickly and rose to help her.
SIXTEEN
— 1890 —
THE BROKEN MIRROR sends moonlight upwards; shards of light that cast orbs across the brightly coloured walls of the caravan, and the base of the wooden-panelled bed. It was Agnes’s late mother’s mirror, the ghost knows this because Agnes has mumbled it once before, on a quiet, bright night much like this. Now it is gone; yet another strand of her past smashed to oblivion.
She sits by the little oven, knees pressed together, eye already swelling. She is undeniably one of the most painfully vulnerable living creatures he’s seen in a long time, especially now, so bruised, so tormented that she seems scarcely able to draw breath.
It is unlike Ernst. He usually takes more care with his beatings, aiming for the stomach, the chest, the back; areas that cannot be seen by others.
She is so unhappy, the ghost thinks, and wishes he could reach out to her. But they are two different entities; he dead, she alive, and their communication lies only in the snatched moments when she’s focusing on her candlelight, when her mind splits open and allows his voice to enter. He treasures these conversations, even though she is in pain. It isn’t just the acknowledgement that he exists. It’s the richness of her, the force that flows from her every word. Although her misery drew him first, it is her inflamed soul that keeps him here, longer than he’d initially planned.
