When I had sobbed myself dry, he sat me on the couch and made me tea, and Marin came and put his head on my lap. While Emile was not looking at me, I found I could tell him the truth more easily.
‘My sister and I have been promised to husbands,’ I said. ‘It is the way in families like ours. Mister Shawe came tonight to ask for my hand and I turned him down, but my aunt and my sister are entirely sure that I cannot say no. That my future is not mine to make.’
He set the tea tray down in front of me, and his eyes were sad. ‘I see.’
‘I love you, Emile. I want to marry you, not him. You are an infinitely better man.’
‘I knew we could not marry, Moineau,’ he said simply. ‘Not everything is possible, remember?’
I looked up at him and I began to cry again, big sobs that came from all the way in my soul. ‘Please, Emile,’ I said to him, though I don’t know what I was begging for.
He reached for my hands and pulled me to my feet, embraced me hard and planted his mouth on mine. As always, the kisses made my head swim, made my trouble recede momentarily, so I kissed him hungrily, my hands against the small of his back. His hands roamed too, the bandaged one coming to rest on my waist, and the other on my bustle, pushing me against him.
I lost all good sense and so did he. Here, on the edge of the end, we both let passion override our heads. His hand was on my bodice, picking open the buttons, and I let him. I let him walk me to his bedroom, kissing me all the way. I let him lay me down among the covers – they smelled spicy and warm like him – and remove his shirt and press himself down on me. The first jolt of his hand against my bare breast was stronger than my body could stand, and I began to tremble violently.
‘Sh, sh, Moineau,’ he said against my lips, my ears, my neck. ‘I will take care of you.’
He helped me out of my clothes, and removed the remainder of his own. I could see him in the candlelight that reflected through the doorway, and he was beautiful and strong and hard. I had thought a moment like this (because of course I had imagined it) might feel awkward or strange, but instead it felt natural and earthy. He lay down beside me and touched me so expertly, and kissed me from my crown to my toes, and that is the night, my child, that you were made.
•
You will never read this, of course. That is why I can tell you such things that a mother should never utter to a child. You are loved by someone else, and they will make sure you never find me; perhaps they will even make sure you never know you grew in another woman’s body. I am telling this story to myself, as all the saddest stories are shared.
Afterwards, our bodies entwined, we fell asleep. I remember waking once, and thinking I should go home, but then the bliss of being in his slumbering arms chased away sense, and I slipped under again. When I did wake, he woke too, and it was because somebody was thundering at the door, calling his name. And mine.
‘Quick,’ he said, throwing my shift and pulling on his trousers. But the door was not locked, and they burst in and found us.
The vicar, Harriet, my sister. I was in nothing but a thin cotton chemise, he naked from the waist up.
‘I’m sorry,’ said my sister.
•
It was Basil’s fault. He had been trapped in my room and he needed to go out, so he had miaowed and clawed at the door until Harriet, at one in the morning, had found the spare key and opened it. I was gone and she didn’t know where I was, and she’d got herself into a flap and my sister told her everything. They went to find the vicar, who knew where Emile lived. So we were undone.
I do not know if I believe that my sister was truly sorry. Nonetheless, Emile was dismissed from his work at the church, and I was to be dispatched on the next train home to Yorkshire. My chest was sore from sobbing as my sister and I climbed into the carriage to London, and as we rolled out of the village I took—
The Present
‘There,’ I say. ‘It’s unfinished.’
‘I think it’s very near the end,’ Mum says. ‘It wasn’t much thicker than this. I remember it came in an old collection of books from a library in Yorkshire. The librarian found it tucked into a volume of Cicero. I became quite obsessed with it for a while.’
‘What happens?’
Mum sighed. ‘I can barely remember what happens.’ Then she brightened. ‘I spent quite a bit of time and money trying to find the people in the letter. I never did find out the lass’s full name, but I tried to find Emile Venson. I got my research assistant on it, made a visit to Millthorne. Nothing. Such a shame. I would like to know what happened to them.’
‘Me too.’
‘Could you … Do you think Andrew Garr may be able to help us find the rest?’
Progress. I smile. ‘I can ask him.’ When I see him at dinner. A little glow warms me as I think about it, but then a twinge of guilt. I still haven’t called Geoff.
But then, he hasn’t called me either.
CHAPTER 20
Agnes
Agnes was given twenty-four hours to orient herself, once the Persephone had sailed from Colombo, before she was due to report to Dr Angel for duty. In some ways, the clipper ship was similar to the steamship she had boarded in London: the names of the rooms and the decks, the hatches and ladders between one place and the next. In some ways, however, it was vastly different. No hum of an engine; instead, the rattle and snap of rope and sail. No faint odour of coal smoke laid over the fresh briny smell of the sea. Even the way the ship moved felt different. Rather than the steady, predictable pace of steam, the Persephone rode the wind, cutting through the water almost as if by instinct.
Agnes’s situation was vastly different too. Rather than the comfortable second-class cabin she had shared with Tempie Dartforth, she found herself consigned to a tiny windowless cabin in the middle of the ship, which smelled faintly of grease. Her narrow, hard bunk folded down from the dark wood-panelled wall at night, and was stored during the day. There was barely room for the washstand and her trunks. The heat in the cabin was unbearable, and sleeping that first night had been impossible. She’d locked the door and slept completely naked on top of her covers, but even so wherever her skin touched the bed grew almost immediately damp with perspiration.
So, she was tired and hot when she reported to Dr Angel’s office below the foredeck for her first day of work as his Nurse Assistant on board the Persephone. She had met Dr Angel already, in Colombo, where she had spun him a tale of vast experience working in the infirmary at Perdita Hall. She need not have exaggerated so fully, though, because the doctor had told her that the last Nurse Assistant had fled them on their brief stop in Colombo, that he was quite desperate because he couldn’t find an English-speaking girl willing to replace her at short notice, and as long as she could read and follow instructions, that was all he really cared about.
A sign saying SURGEON hung on the door. She knocked once and let herself in.
Dr Angel sat behind a small desk that overflowed with papers and books; some had also scattered on the floor around, as though they had been tossed there by high seas and never retrieved. He had his feet on the desk and his eyes turned to the grimy porthole window, deep in thought. The office also had a wooden examination table built into the wall with a thin mattress upon it, and many cupboards and drawers where, Agnes suspected, the surgical instruments and medicines were stored.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said.
He roused out of thought. He was a young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with a florid complexion and eyes that bulged slightly. His hair was mousy and his beard and sideburns untrimmed. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Resolute. Found your way about the ship yet?’
‘Only my small portion of it, sir. It has been too hot to do owt but sit in the shade and wish for a breeze.’
‘Ah, well. Once you start work you’ll find a few more nooks and crannies. There are fifty-one passengers in steerage. Men to the aft, ladies and children to the stern, with the ladder to the upper decks between them. I will take care
of the male passengers, but you are responsible for the health of the ladies. If I need you in the aft among the men, you must be accompanied by me.’ Here he laughed. ‘You wouldn’t want to go in there without a chaperone, believe me. And likewise, I am not allowed in the stern without you.’
‘Why is that, sir?’
‘They are all savages in the ’tween decks,’ he said, without any trace of humour. ‘It’s for our safety: so you don’t get molested by the men, and I don’t get accused of molesting the women. Don’t give me that look. It has happened.’ He lifted his feet off his desk and opened the drawer, slipped out a large silver flask and took a quick belt from it.
‘And the other passengers, sir?’
‘First- and second-class cabins are on this deck towards the prow. There’s only twelve of them; most joined us in Colombo so won’t have their sea legs yet. You can expect to be vomited on. Not much interesting happens on this run but report anything unusual you see.’ Here a great wave picked up the ship and slammed it back down, and everything shook and rattled. Agnes steadied herself on his desk. Another book slid to the floor and she bent to pick it up and hand it to him.
He took it, saying, ‘The first two berths in women’s steerage have reported creepers. There’s carbolic in the cupboard somewhere … you’ll find it.’
‘Yes, sir. What are creepers?’
‘Bed bugs. You’ll have to wash all the sheets in carbolic, sprinkle it on their beds, and if they complain about the itching, tell them to come to see me for a tonic.’
‘Yes, sir. Where will I find the laundry?’
He looked amused. ‘There is no laundry. There’s a water pump, and some soap, and then get one of the lads to drag the sheets behind the ship for a while. They’ll tell you how to do it.’ He waved her away. ‘You’ve a lot to learn. Go away and learn it.’
Agnes made her way down the ladder to the between deck, where the steerage passengers were located. It was dark down there, with no natural light except what little fell through the open hatch. The berths were separated by walls, but had no doors; and the beds were little more than thin hammocks suspended from bolts on the walls. A pervasive smell of urine and sweat greeted her. She walked around two little boys playing with stones on the ground. Deeper into the dark along the corridor, she heard evidence of at least someone in their berth – the soft sounds of breathing and shifting, someone murmuring to herself – but most were likely out on deck trying to escape the suffocating heat. The residents of the first two cabins, one on her right and one on her left (‘Starboard, port,’ she muttered to herself) were nowhere in sight, but they had stripped their linen and left it on the floor. Agnes sprinkled the carbolic powder on their hammocks, and scooped up the thin grey linen to take upstairs.
The pump was near the stern of the ship, and she had to work the lever several times before anything shot out. When it did, in warm rhythmic squirts, it was water the colour of weak tea. She sprinkled more powder on the sheets, then scrubbed them against each other under the pump. She was mostly sheltered from the sun here but could feel its bite on the hem of her skirt. She kept an eye out for a passing sailor, and called out when a young fellow – he couldn’t have been more than sixteen – went past with a pail. He was dressed in plain brown clothes and wore no hat. His nose was red and peeling from sunburn.
‘Excuse me, but Doctor Angel said you could tow these behind the ship for me?’
‘Give them to me, Miss. I’ll take care of them.’
She handed the sheets over and followed him, and watched as he and two other sailors tied the sheets to a rope and lowered it into the water. They told her they’d return in an hour, and in that time she watched the sheets skim along behind them for a while, then found some shade to wait. Once they were rinsed under the pump, she passed them over to the sailors again, who climbed up into the ship’s rigging to hang them. They flapped in the breeze and the sun, and Agnes was completely charmed by this unorthodox laundry method. She stayed outside while they dried, moving about the decks in any shade she could find, and greeting the crew and passengers she encountered. Everyone seemed much happier on this ship than they had been on the steamer; she had to admit she felt quite happy herself.
Once the sheets were dry and returned to their berths, Agnes reported back to Dr Angel’s office to see if there was anything else he needed from her. By now, the heat of the afternoon had become unbearably damp, and she only wanted to sit up on deck and feel the cool breeze on her cheeks. She knocked, then when he didn’t answer, let herself in, only to find Dr Angel asleep behind his desk. She could hardly breathe in here – how could he bear it in this heat? But then she smelled the strong odour of brandy, and realised he wasn’t asleep so much as passed out drunk.
Agnes smiled to herself. At least he wasn’t going to be a tyrant. She went back up on deck to find some fresh, cooler air.
•
The first two days of work were spent mostly dealing with passengers who had boarded in Colombo and weren’t yet used to the rhythms of the sea. Her shoes and hem were vomited on more than once, and she had to scrub them clean under the pump. Dr Angel had her tidy his desk and organise his cupboards, watching her the whole time with bleary eyes. Agnes couldn’t see herself warming to him, and in turn she thought about Julius, who was almost the same age and had the same training. What a calm, gentle and warm soul he was. At night, in her narrow bed in the cabin, she imagined him receiving her letter. Would he be angry? Or would he be proud of her? Would this latest adventure test his patience so far that his love would be diminished? She tried to harden herself to the thought, but could not. His regard for her mattered too much.
On the morning of the third day, when they crossed the equator, Agnes was up on deck with everyone else. The captain rang a bell, and everyone cheered, and somehow they had passed from one side of the world to the other. It seemed odd that she couldn’t feel it. Paradoxically, it was cooler today. Clouds covered the sun, the wind was behind them and a fresh salt-laden breeze streamed in her hair. One of the sailors told her to enjoy it while she might, because soon enough they would hit calm weather and the heat would be insufferable. Dr Angel came to find her just as the first-and second-class passengers were moving back to the well-heeled end of the ship, with its shaded open saloon for playing cards. She and the other intermediate and steerage passengers fought for a place out of the sun among ropes and buckets. The smell of human sweat was strong.
‘Agnes,’ Dr Angel called, beckoning from the hatch.
‘Coming, Doctor,’ she said, picking her way over ropes and feet.
She climbed down after him into the hot wooden interior of the ship, and stopped at the bottom.
Dr Angel indicated the next hatch. ‘Down in steerage. Berth four. There’s a little lad of one or two who’s quite sick. Not seasick. His mother says he’s just about vomited himself inside out.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ she asked.
‘I’ve no idea. Go and see them. Give him some salts, perhaps.’ He waved her away. ‘I’m not good with children.’
‘Aye, sir,’ Agnes said, and walked towards the hatch to the ’tween deck. She climbed down and felt the heat and dark swell around her. She counted the berths as she walked past – one, two, three, four – and stopped for a moment, peering in. Once again, she could hear the soft murmuring from deeper down the corridor. She made a note to look in on that person at some stage, and advise her to get up on deck for fresh air.
‘Is this little lad poorly?’ she asked the harried-looking woman in berth four.
‘As you see, ma’am. Is the surgeon coming?’
‘I … Let me see him.’ Agnes moved in to the berth. The little one was on the top bed, pale and listless. ‘Doctor Angel said he’s been vomiting.’
‘Yes, ma’am. He’s been poorly since we left Colombo, and I put it down to the motion of the sea. I was ill m’self. But he’s not keeping anything down and he’s gone very quiet.’ She stroked the little boy’s s
weaty curls. ‘He’s never quiet.’
Agnes took a deep breath. She knew she wasn’t qualified to help, but this woman didn’t know that and trusted her. She recalled to mind Nurse Maggie from Perdita Hall, and asked herself what she would do.
‘What has the child been eating?’
‘Nothing. Only milk from a bottle.’
‘Let me see the bottle.’
The woman rummaged among the covers and produced it. ‘Doctor Angel gave it to me when we were anchored in Colombo,’ the woman said. ‘He said milk from a bottle would stop him getting rickets at sea.’
‘Where do you get the milk from?’
‘Doctor gave us a ration of powder.’
Agnes sniffed the bottle. It smelled foul. She stepped out into the little bit of grim light in the corridor and pulled the teat from the bottle. It was flowered with green mould. She didn’t remember much from her brief stint under Nurse Maggie’s instruction – she had been fifteen and determined to be terrible at sickroom work because the infirmary depressed her – but she did remember that they kept the little ones’ bottles much cleaner than this. ‘Don’t give him any more milk for a few days,’ Agnes said. ‘This needs to be cleaned. I’ll bring it back tomorrow. What food do you have for him?’
‘Just our rations, ma’am. Some salt pork and rice and some boiled pudding.’
‘Give him a little rice water, but no milk until his stomach settles. And some fresh air up on deck will help.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I’m awful worried about him.’
Agnes knew the woman was looking for reassurance, so she said, ‘He will be fine. You’ll see.’ Almost immediately, she regretted it, because she didn’t know that at all. She would have to convince Dr Angel to visit. But then, he was the one who’d given the boy’s mother the bottle in the first place, and not advised her to keep it clean. Agnes felt the weight of the responsibility she had taken on. All the other little lies she had told to get by were harmless by comparison.
Stars Across the Ocean Page 32
