‘What is the matter, Mama?’
My mother’s tone was cold. ‘I think you know what the matter is, young lady. Did you think it was good enough to leave this for Laura to deal with?’
Laura looked at me sadly. I felt she was sorry for getting me into trouble, while I was mystified as to what the trouble was – that is, until my mother gestured impatiently at their feet or near their feet. She must be referring to the rug on the floor by my bed. Papa had brought it back from one of his trips. I took a step forward to see what was wrong with it.
Normally a chaste white in colour, the rug was strewn with paint, my oil paints. Slashed with thick brushstrokes of black and red, the rug was now something vulgar or even violent. In shock, I gasped, ‘Oh, my God!’
Mama was now twice as livid. ‘How dare you talk like that! That is no way for a lady to behave. How could you, Ann? This is an expensive rug. How could you waltz off and leave it like this?’
‘Those are my best paints!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mama’s voice was shrill.
I wished that she would allow poor Laura to leave. She looked miserable standing there, unable to get properly involved or ask Mama to calm herself.
I declared to both of them, ‘I did not do this!’
The smell of paint was like a further invasion of my bedroom. Normally, I thrived on it, but now it was making a mockery of me, stinging my nostrils, actually hurting me. Of course, Mother refused to believe me.
‘What do you mean? This is your room, is not it? And you are responsible for everything in it!’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I did not do this. Why would I waste my good paints like this?’
Mama was too angry to hear what I was saying. Bending down, she picked up a corner of the rug before tossing it down crossly. ‘It is ruined, absolutely ruined. What is your father going to think?’
Surely Papa would not believe me capable of this?
The strange thing was that all my paints were still neatly packed away on my desk. The jam jar was still upright, though I would need to count my brushes to see if any were missing.
‘I want the truth. Lying is worse than anything else.’
Mama was striving to speak in a normal tone. ‘Were you moving your paints around and they fell onto the rug? Is that what happened?’
‘Ann didn’t do it!’
William was standing beside me, his ship in his hands. I could see he had made no progress in my absence.
‘Well, you didn’t do it, did you?’ Mama asked him, a note of incredulity in her voice.
How could she be so sure that he would never do anything like this but had no problem believing that I could? It was humiliating.
‘And do not,’ Mama warned, ‘for one moment attempt to sully your little sister’s name by dragging her into this mess!’
I knew better than to ask if she was referring to Sarah or Weesy. It hardly mattered, anyway, as I was her only suspect. I could only sullenly proclaim my innocence. ‘I did not do this.’
Hoping to distract Mama, Laura suggested that she would take the rug downstairs. ‘Perhaps it will succumb to a good scrubbing, ma’am. That new soap can work wonders.’
Looking far from convinced, Mama stared at the rug and then told me to take it downstairs. ‘You can clean up your own mess. Laura has enough to be doing.’
Nothing would shake her belief that I had poured paint on the rug and then played the coward, hoping that no one would notice it. I hated to think that Laura shared my mother’s belief. She refused to meet my eye when I lifted up the rug. To prevent Laura from helping me, Mama told her to move on to Sarah’s room, that there was nothing more to be done in mine.
There was no point in telling Mama that this was Weesy’s handiwork. It would only make things worse. I spent over an hour working away at the blasted rug, until my hands were red and I had pains in my shoulders and arms, not to mention the fact that I had thoroughly soaked the front of my dress. Mrs Boxhall had given me a scrubbing brush, and although some flecks of paint came off, they only stuck to the bristles of the brush before finding their way back onto the rug once more. In defeat, I sought to convince myself that the splotches of paint had improved what had possibly been a boring addition to my room. If I was allowed, I would let it dry out and put it back beside my bed. As I worked, my thoughts turned to the real question. Why? Why would Weesy do this and break William’s ship?
‘Are you here now?’
I thought I might as well ask.
‘Weesy, can you hear me?’
With some awkwardness, I put down the brush and listened carefully. Not that I expected to hear her voice announcing her presence but I was prepared to hear something strange. However, when the door suddenly opened, I clamped my sopping wet hands across my mouth in fright. But it was only William. Seeing I was alone, he asked, ‘Who are you talking to?’
I was relieved and, then, a little disappointed too.
‘Come in and close the door behind you. For goodness sake!’
He quickly obeyed, whispering, ‘Is the rug alright?’
I rolled my eyes testily. ‘No, it is not. She has ruined it!’
‘You mean Weesy?’
‘Well, who else?’ I asked, my nervousness making me irritable with him, though he was not the one I was annoyed with.
‘Just be quiet for a moment.’
‘Why?’
‘Hush, will you! Move over by the door so you can hear if anyone is coming.’
Looking confused, William did as I told him to and I began again, this time more confident because my little brother was with me, ‘Weesy, are you here? Did you break William’s ship and pour paint on my rug?’
William’s eyes widened in surprise but he kept his mouth shut and listened hard. Then he jerked his head upwards. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What? Is someone coming?’ I whispered.
He put his ear to the door. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Trying to keep the impatience out of my tone, I asked, ‘Well, what did you hear, then?’
‘I am not sure. Ask her something else!’
It was my turn to obey him. ‘Weesy, are you here now with me and William?’
There was a sound. We looked at one another in wary triumph. How can I describe what I heard? Perhaps it sounded like the air around us had momentarily wrinkled or creaked, or like a piece of paper had been rumpled up. William gestured for me to speak again. ‘Is that you, Weesy? Can’t you let us know?’
Suddenly, we were running, the two of us, getting caught in the doorway in our efforts to outrun the other. We charged up the stairs, not stopping until we reached William’s bedroom and shut the door behind us. There, we stood, panting and straining to get our breath back. Laura was moving around next door and I wagged my finger at William, meaning him to keep his voice low should he speak.
‘What did you hear?’ I asked him.
He opened his mouth but checked himself.
‘What?’ I snapped, impatient with his reticence.
‘I don’t know.’
His look was apologetic.
Feeling foolish, I asked, ‘Did you just run because I did?’
‘No … No!’
That second no was drawn out as if he was still thinking about the question. I wanted to shake him and snarled, ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’
William gave me a chance to collect myself before shyly admitting, ‘I thought I heard someone laugh.’
‘You mean,’ I demanded, ‘you think you heard Weesy laugh?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think it was her.’
My impatience vanished. I sat down on his bed and made my confession. ‘I thought I heard a man laugh.’
William nodded. ‘Yes. That is what I heard too.’
It was unsettling. I would much rather he had heard nothing at all.
‘Ann,’ said William, sounding fearful, ‘do you think our house is haunted?’
His worried expression rem
inded me that I was the oldest. I should not be scaring him like this. He was only seven years old after all. Feeling guilty about including him in whatever had just happened, I was obliged to lie to him and say, ‘No, of course not!’
He swallowed hard and I glanced around, looking for something safe and ordinary to concentrate on. It was with immense gratitude that I saw his ship, lying on her side, still in need of repair.
‘We better get your ship untied before Papa sees it!’
For the first time in years, William took my hand and I walked us over to his toy.
11
Sunday, 6th June 1847
Captain Crozier’s Journal
This, I think, has been the worse day yet. Certainly, it is the first Sunday that Sir John has not led us in prayers. I minded more than I would have thought but any change in our established routine knocks our confidence. When I enquired, I was told he was resting. I sent word to see if I could visit him but heard no reply. Not wanting to deal with Officer Fitzjames and his friends, I kept to Terror. A football match, between the two crews, had been planned for this afternoon but was duly cancelled.
Then this evening there was a timid knocking at my cabin door. Having already sent Thomas off for the night, I answered it to find Sir John standing there, looking as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
‘Why, Sir John, I heard you were unwell?’
He stared at me in confusion as if I spoke another language. Then I realised that his overcoat was open, exposing the fact that his tunic buttons were done up incorrectly, leaving the last button with nowhere to go whilst just below his collar, a button hole lay vacant. He was shivering with the cold, though hardly seemed to notice his own trembling. The shoulders of his dark coat were heavily flecked with ice, making it look as if it had been dipped in crystals.
How had he left Erebus by himself? It was a bit of a trek, over ice, between the two ships, especially for a man of Sir John’s age and physical status. This was his first time on Terror in a long, long time.
In shock, I left him standing there, in my doorway, for a few petrified seconds, before I thought to bring him inside. In order to get him seated, I had to place my hands on his shoulders and gently push him down. Once that was done, I fetched him the cup of coffee I had been drinking.
‘Here you are, sir, this should heat you up.’
He gave me a vague smile as he accepted the cup, ‘Thank you, child. How kind!’
This flustered me and, for a moment, I thought I should say nothing but then reasoned that the poor man needed my help. ‘Sir John, I am Crozier, your second-in-command.’
He gazed at me in wonder as if I had said something truly magnificent. ‘Ah, and you are in charge here?’
I felt winded but was determined to behave as if we were having a most normal conversation. ‘Yes, Sir John. That is correct. I am in charge here on Terror.’
I wanted to keep mentioning his name in the hope it might break the spell he was under.
He glanced about the room before leaning forward in his chair. ‘Well, I need to talk to you about something important. Is this a safe place?’
‘Quite safe, Sir John. It is just you and me.’
He beckoned me to come close to his chair. I grabbed a little stool I rarely used and put it right beside him. Was this about his old age? I was reminded of elderly relatives who had to be looked after because they had returned to a child-like stage and knew nothing about boundaries or precautions. Is this what I was dealing with right now, right here in the Arctic? Although Sir John was hardly in his dotage just yet. Those relatives of mine had been in their eighties and nineties.
‘They are out to get me!’ He tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and winked at me in a conspiratorial manner. ‘But they do not realise that I am on to them.’
I hesitated to respond which made him a little agitated.
‘Oh, but you must not tell them, do you hear? Not a word, now.’
‘I won’t tell them but who are they, Sir John?’
Scrunching up his face in disbelief, he whispered, ‘But you know who they are. Do not play coy with me, young man.’
I tried another line of questioning. ‘What do they want from you?’
Here, his eyes widened in horror and he gripped my arm. ‘Why, they want to kill me.’
I was stumped and just sat there, racking my brains as to what to say next. He nodded as if I had made a sensible remark to his outrageous claim, adding, ‘I think they mean to poison me.’
He must have registered my torment because he suddenly smiled and kindly assured me, ‘Do not worry about me, lad. I am too clever by half for them. I just pretend to eat what they give me.’
I returned his smile, though mine was no match for his, as I replied, ‘Yes, Sir John!’
I needed to get him back to his quarters as quietly as possible. I could not allow the men to see him like this.
‘Sir John, can I get you more coffee? Your cup is empty.’
He peered into the cup. ‘Well, yes, it is empty.’
‘Might I suggest that I accompany you back to your ship and we will have more coffee in your room?’
He looked at me. ‘My ship?’
I did my best to appear confident and trustworthy. ‘Why, yes, Sir John, a mighty fine ship, HMS Erebus. You are its captain.’
‘Am I, indeed? Well, well.’ He sounded amazed.
I stood up and began to pull on my coat. Fearful of panicking him, I moved slowly, doing up my buttons, then reaching for my scarf, hat and my gloves. He watched me with interest. I gestured to his own coat, hinting that he should imitate me in buttoning it. He put the cup down and rushed to comply. So far, so good.
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Crozier, Sir John, Francis Crozier.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, my boy, I must be going now. My good wife will be wondering where I am.’
I had no idea what to say to this. Perhaps it was best to agree since it was the perfect reason to get him back to his room and so I said, ‘Yes, sir. It is late. She must be worried.’
‘Is your wife with you?’
I shook my head. ‘No, sir, I mean, I am not married.’
‘How peculiar!’
In spite of the bewildering circumstances, I laughed. ‘Yes, sir, it is peculiar, I suppose.’
His manner changed once more, this time becoming brisk. ‘Well, good night. I need to be getting home.’
I picked up my oil lamp. ‘Sir, I would be obliged if you would allow me to accompany you.’
He walked to the door and waited for me to open it. I was relieved to have his consent. All was quiet as I led the way to the gangway. Everyone was asleep aside from the lookouts. I assumed that whoever was in our crow’s nest did not recognise Sir John but only knew that someone from Erebus had made their way to Terror, which was no cause for alarm.
I did not envy them their night shift in the freezing cold but there was nothing else for it. We needed to be on our guard from treacherous foes like bears and wolves and even warring natives. Not that I had ever heard of a ship being invaded by the Inuit, but a royal naval ship had to be prepared for every eventuality.
Besides, I had earned my right to my unbroken sleep in my bunk and cabin. As a young apprentice, I had spent countless nights, over many years, keeping watch in crow’s nests, a fact confirmed by the stripes on my uniform.
As we walked down the gangway, I gave a brief wave to satisfy the lookout above us. Sir John stumbled a little as we met the ice but I did not like to take his arm. It might annoy him and I could not have a scene in front of the crew.
‘Just watch your step, sir. It is a little tricky in places.’
He made no reply, only humming softly to himself. My God, it was bitterly cold. Within seconds my nose and chin were stinging and I felt as naked as a newborn baby. My breath collected in temporary balloons in front of my face, while I could no longer feel my toes or ankles. We crunched along in silence, e
xcept for the tuneless humming. The curious thing was that Sir John appeared quite capable physically for this walk. He almost seemed younger as he kept up the pace nicely, making no complaint about the weather.
Instinctively, my gaze took in the night sky. It was a cloudless night and I was rewarded with the sight of miles upon miles of stars showing off their brilliance in miniature. Their shimmering made it seem as if the sky was alive, pulsating with a million different heart beats. An unforgettable moment for me was when Sir John whispered in delight, ‘Isn’t it heavenly?’
For the first time that night, my agreement was genuine. ‘Yes, Sir John.’
I was obliged to raise my arm again before we were halfway across, this time acknowledging whoever was in Erebus’s crow’s nest. If they recognised their captain, I would just say we were having a meeting. If they raised the point that one o’clock in the morning was a strange time for a meeting … well, I am sure they would not dare to question me. It is absolutely none of their business what time Sir John and I choose to meet and that is what I would tell them!
As it happened, there was no need for explanations. For all I know, the lookout was asleep at his post but, for once, I did not care about a possible breaking of the rules. We trudged up the gangway and I hoped that Sir John would not need me to escort him to his cabin. I longed for my bed and for this troubling episode to come to an end.
Striving to keep my voice steady when my entire body was jerking in spasms from the temperature, I said to him, ‘Now, sir, you are home again. Will you be needing any further assistance?’
He looked around him in obvious disappointment. If he refused to move then, I would be forced to have the doctor woken up, thereby risking all sorts of problems regarding keeping the situation from the sensitive crew.
‘Sir John.’ I tried to hide my anxiety. ‘Is everything alright? Do you need me to lead the way to your quarters?’
He shook his head. I spared him a few seconds to get his bearings. In truth, I felt undone, exhausted by the chilly air.
I barely heard his reply. ‘I thought that I really was going home.’
Chasing Ghosts Page 9
