Along the Endless River

by Rose Alexander

  ‘Good evening,’ she giggled, half falling against the panelled corridor. ‘Enjoy yourselves!’

  She was aware of their eyes following her as she stumbled back to the staircase. And she was drunk enough to care not one little bit.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Norwood, 1909

  The rainy season of 1908–9 was one of prodigious precipitation. The heavens opened and it rained, day after day, week after week, with a ferocity of intent that startled even those Europeans who, like Katharine, had been in the Amazon for years. The Indians took it in their stride; for people whose history stretched back millennia, excessive rainfall was nothing new.

  When the rain finally eased off, the forest, ready and poised, exploded into new life. Blossom burst forth on the orange trees and hummingbirds surrounded them, greedily drinking the nectar, orchid flowers erupted from bud to bloom in the blink of an eye and so many chicks in so many eggs broke their way out of their shells simultaneously that Katharine swore she could hear their tapping.

  Katharine and Lily were playing at the water’s edge, enjoying the river’s song and the sunshine after so many cloudy days, when a canoe drew up, its Indian oarsman leaping out the minute the bottom hit the sand and running towards them as if his life depended on it.

  ‘Urgent message, Mother,’ he shouted, ‘Mr Mayhew, he said very important!’

  He thrust a slim letter towards her and immediately turned back around.

  ‘Thank you,’ responded Katharine and then, calling after him as he rapidly ran off, ‘can’t you wait for a reply?’

  But the Indian was gone already, leaping into his canoe and paddling furiously away.

  Katharine took Lily up to the house and gave her into Rosabel’s care before opening the letter. Inside the envelope were two pieces of paper – one from Mayhew and one in Mabel’s handwriting.

  Mabel’s was short. She was coming to the Amazon.

  Mayhew’s was equally brief, and blunt as always. He was in Manaus with Mabel and would be travelling down to Lagona with her. He would stay with her until the Good Prospects arrived and then send her on to Norwood alone.

  The letters gave no idea about what had happened, or why Mabel had made this totally unexpected journey.

  Katharine worried and worried at it, asking Thomas time and again what the matter could be, whether she should go to Lagona to meet her sister, how Mabel would cope with the heat and humidity of the jungle. Katharine remembered her as such a delicate, precious thing. The onslaught of the Amazon would knock her for six.

  When the steamer finally docked, Katharine was waiting. As the gangplank was lowered, her heart skipped a beat. She was desperate to see Mabel, who had been only five years old when she had left London, but also a little nervous. She had received only a handful of family photographs in the intervening period, and these had soon deteriorated in the humidity, falling prey to fungi and mildew, so Katharine wasn’t sure that she’d even recognise her beloved sister.

  But in the event, it was easy. Only one person got off. A woman, stunningly beautiful, her white dress of Swiss dot with hat and matching veil somehow managing to look pristine and fresh despite the temperature. But nevertheless, a woman who was most definitely not the sweet, innocent child that Katharine had left behind all those years ago in London.

  This woman was truly a grown up – and she was also with child.

  Open-mouthed in astonishment, Katharine went towards her, moving slowly as if walking through water.

  ‘Mabel,’ she stuttered, ‘Mabel, I can’t believe it’s really you.’ Disregarding Mabel’s state for the time being, she flung her arms around her sister and kissed her over and over again.

  ‘Oh Katharine,’ sighed Mabel, and her eyes behind her veil brimmed over with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  Thomas arrived on the dock and opened his mouth to speak. Katharine shot him a silencing glance – now was not the time for questions – and led Mabel up to the house, to the shade of the veranda, calling to one of the servants to bring lemonade and wine.

  Divested of her hat and veil, Katharine was able to properly take in the ethereal, other-worldly beauty of her sister. Mabel was every bit as lovely as she had promised to be as a child, and now even more so, the glow of pregnancy enhancing her gorgeousness. If her face is her fortune, their mother Mary had always said, then Mabel is sitting on a goldmine. But there was sadness behind her smile, and a haunted look in her melting brown eyes.

  Katharine poured the drinks. She took lemonade for herself but Mabel asked for wine. She drained the cup almost instantly and then requested a refill. Katharine was shocked. It was hard to see her sister, who’d she’d last seen age five, downing alcohol like it was going out of fashion.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Katharine, gently.

  That Mabel was pregnant and had presumably fled as far as possible to escape the opprobrium an unmarried mother would face in London was obvious. Coming to the Amazon must have seemed the only option, and the best one – to take her shame to the jungle where it could be swallowed up with all the other depravity. Katharine was inwardly seething, incandescent with rage, but the worst thing would be for Mabel to see this. In her condition, she needed unconditional love and succour.

  ‘You can tell me, Mabel,’ Katharine urged, taking her sister’s hand in hers. ‘I’m your sister. But you don’t have to talk yet, if it’s too soon.’

  Mabel began to cry, silently and copiously. ‘I couldn’t write,’ she sobbed, when she could speak again, ‘I-I was too ashamed.’

  Katharine bowed her head in sadness. She had been blissfully unaware of Mabel’s undoing, enjoying her time with her own infant with no notion of what Mabel was going through.

  Mabel took a handkerchief out of her bag and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Beneath the beauty, Katharine saw that she was exhausted, her face washed out, white and drained like the Amazonian sky after a storm.

  ‘I think you should get some rest now,’ suggested Katharine, stroking Mabel’s hair away from her face. It was wet with sweat and tears. ‘Travelling is exhausting and you’ve come a long way. Sleep first, explanations later.’

  Mabel nodded. ‘Thank you, Katharine,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you so much. I-I didn’t know if you would understand. But I knew you would be kind.’

  That night, feeding Lily in the darkness, Katharine thought that, though she would always be kind and would try to be understanding, she didn’t understand at all. Not yet. Not until she’d heard from Mabel exactly what had gone on, who was responsible for this.

  It was a long, angry wait. Mabel slept for twelve hours. Not even the discomfort of her large belly was enough to stop her slumbering. Unlike Mabel, Katharine barely closed her eyes that night, running through in her mind the possible culprits – a rapist in the streets, a young man from a bad family who felt entitled to take whoever or whatever he wanted.

  And it was always the women who took the blame, whose lives changed irrevocably after an incident such as this, while the men carried on regardless. Katharine burnt with indignation and fury. This was one of the reasons why the fight for women’s votes was so important, she thought in the cacophonous reaches of the Amazonian night. Unless women had a say in laws and government, how would anything ever change? Men got away with taking advantage of women all the time and women could do nothing about it.

  Next morning, she was playing with Lily beneath the arching fronds of a palm tree when Mabel approached. Katharine ordered coffee and bread and scrambled eggs; Mabel needed protein and sustenance for her baby. She was thin, Katharine saw now, beneath the bump.

  ‘Mabel, I know this is all going to be difficult, and you can tell me the details when you feel ready,’ Katharine said, ‘but first of all, we need to make arrangements for your confinement. How far gone are you?’

  Mabel bit her lip. ‘I think about eight months now,’ she replied. ‘Mayhew took me to a doctor in Manaus and he said the same. Eight months, more or less.�
��

  Katharine nodded. She wished they were in Manaus, where she had first-hand proof that the hospitals were excellent. She weighed it up in her mind. There wouldn’t be another steamer for two to three weeks, and then it would take several more, with the current on their side, to get from Lagona to Manaus. They couldn’t risk it, would never make it to the city in time. It would be better for Mabel to be here with the local women to help than end up giving birth on the boat.

  ‘So, the baby will be born here at Norwood. Your baby. It will be fine.’ Her voice was as calm and reassuring as she could make it. Mabel was young and healthy, and Katharine herself had had Antonio in the jungle to no ill-effect. She needed Mabel to feel confident, not afraid.

  Katharine looked at her sister to gauge her reaction. But her eyes were glazed over, her skin white and translucent as porcelain.

  Chicken soup, thought Katharine, slightly desperately. Rosabel’s chicken soup would restore Mabel to health in the weeks before the baby’s arrival. And she would call for Senhor Garcia, ask him to come and check Mabel over.

  Mabel, seeming to rouse from her waking reverie, picked up her coffee and sipped at it, her nose wrinkling as if it were poison.

  ‘Don’t drink the coffee if you don’t like it,’ urged Katharine, anxiously. ‘It’s very bitter here, and we’ve given up on even tinned milk. There’ve been so many times when we haven’t had any that we’ve all grown used to going without.’

  She smiled, hoping to see Mabel reciprocate. But Mabel just stared at the cup, blank-eyed.

  ‘Do you have any wine?’ she suddenly blurted out. ‘Or whisky, or brandy. Anything?’

  Katharine gulped in astonishment. It was ten thirty in the morning. She wondered if alcohol was good for the baby. Or good for her sister, for that matter.

  ‘We’ve probably got… I mean, yes, we have brandy, and wine. It’s in the office; the Indians go crazy for it; they’d drink it all in a day if they got the chance. So, it’s kept under lock and key.’ She paused, reaching out her hand and taking Mabel’s. It was limp, cold and clammy. Katharine curled her fingers around Mabel’s palm. ‘But it’s a bit early for drinking quite yet, isn’t it? Perhaps stick to lemonade for now. We can have a glass of wine with our dinner later.’

  Mabel visibly quivered and Katharine saw something in her eyes that horrified her. Behind the empty gaze lay something worse, animal, visceral.

  Fear.

  A gasp rose in Katharine’s throat. Her sister was terrified and she needed to know why.

  ‘Mabel,’ she implored, gently. ‘Please tell me what happened. You know you can trust me. Who did this to you? Who are you afraid of?’

  Mabel looked up, her brown eyes meeting Katharine’s grey ones. Her bottom lip trembled just as it had done when she was a little girl, back in Hawthorn Road, and she’d hurt herself or one of the boys had been mean to her.

  Mabel whispered something that Katharine couldn’t make out.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ she murmured, leaning in close to her sister. ‘Please tell me again.’

  Mabel’s eyes were swimming with tears.

  ‘Mac,’ she muttered, faintly.

  Katharine’s breath caught in her throat. Mac? What could he possibly have to do with this?

  ‘I was working for Alexandra – his daughter, your friend,’ continued Mabel, still mumbling but her words more distinct now. ‘I was her lady’s maid. You don’t know, Katharine, we didn’t tell you. Dad had a bad fall, he couldn’t work any more so I had to. I haven’t been at school. I won’t ever be a teacher. Mac gave me a job.’

  She paused. Katharine was silent, dumbstruck, her head reeling. How could all this have been going on and she knew nothing?

  ‘It was there. It happened there. In her house. His daughter’s house, that Mac bought for her.’

  Katharine’s heart broke for her baby sister and she gripped her hand tighter. Though nausea was churning inside her and bile rising in her throat she had a desperate urge to know everything.

  ‘Tell me,’ she whispered. ‘It’s better to talk about it than to keep it all inside.’

  But Mabel just burst into sobs and was soon crying so hard that speech was impossible.

  Over the next few days, Katharine remained furious about being kept in the dark regarding Bill’s accident but stopped asking Mabel questions. She told herself that Mabel would tell her when the time was right and, in the meanwhile, she would concentrate on feeding her sister up and – as much as she could – weaning her off her desire for alcohol.

  In her head, she devised all sorts of punishments and penalties for whoever had impregnated an innocent girl like Mabel and then abandoned her, without the decency of offering to marry her. Though the more Katharine thought about it, the more she realised that she didn’t want her sister marrying anyone just for the sake of convenience, however society might judge her for the lack of a ring on her finger. Here in the Amazon, Katharine consoled herself, Mabel and her baby could live without anyone wagging fingers. The Indians couldn’t care less whether she was Mrs or Miss; they just loved all babies without question.

  One morning, sitting at a table on the veranda on which Rosabel had laid lemonade and biscuits, Katharine reached out and took Mabel’s hand.

  ‘Can you tell me now?’ Katharine queried, tentatively. ‘I’d like to hear. About everything.’

  ‘I don’t know how to say it,’ muttered Mabel, staring down at the table, its wooden surface smoothed by years of use. It had been one of the first things that Jonathan had made when Katharine had first arrived at Norwood and had been used day in, day out since then.

  ‘I think I loved Archie – Terence,’ she said, falteringly. ‘I did love him. But he got dismissed. And then it started. It’s… I know it was my fault. He told me it was my fault, that I wanted him, wanted…’

  Her voice grew so faint that Katharine had to strain to hear.

  ‘It was… He gave me alcohol. I thought he was being kind. But it was really to make me – to make me do… things.’

  Her face was twisted into a grotesque grimace as she remembered.

  ‘At first I was flattered, I felt special, the chosen one.’ She gulped, breaking a biscuit into tiny pieces and dropping them to the ground. The ants descended in seconds, a black mound seething and writhing. ‘But then he threatened me. He said he’d get me sacked, thrown out onto the streets, that I’d be disgraced, I’d never be able to set foot in my family home, or any home, again.’

  ‘None of that is true,’ Katharine murmured, putting her hand on Mabel’s knee to steady her, to comfort her. She still had no real idea exactly was Mabel was talking about. ‘No one has that power.’

  ‘He told me that if I just relaxed, I’d enjoy it,’ Mabel blurted out. ‘Oh please, Katharine, can I have some wine now? Please.’

  Katharine clenched the fist of her free hand, the one that was not caressing Mabel’s. Who was this ‘he’ Mabel was so terrified of? She thought of the most omnipotent person she knew, the most inviolable.

  ‘Not even Mac,’ she enunciated slowly, ‘the greatest rubber baron of them all, has that sort of power.’

  Mabel stiffened, and froze. The little colour in her cheeks drained away, leaving her eyes stark and staring, searching frantically amongst the trees as if her tormentor were there, stalking her, waiting for her. Fear, anger and shock jolted through Katharine’s spine as the dreadful truth dawned on her.

  Mac.

  When Mabel had mentioned his name just a few days before, Katharine had thought his connection to Mabel’s downfall was that the dreadful event had happened in the house he owned. But now it slowly dawned on her what the real situation was.

  ‘No,’ she stuttered, ‘n-no… I don’t believe it. It can’t be…’ She fell silent, her gaze meeting Mabel’s. ‘It is, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’ Her voice rose in a tone of disgusted resignation. ‘It’s Mac. Mac did this!’ The last words hissed out like steam under pressure.

  Mabel nodded, slowl
y and with the utmost sadness.

  ‘No!’ Katharine screamed; no restraint possible now. ‘No, no, no. How could he?’

  The noise woke Lily, who’d been sleeping in her pram. She began to cry, loud and insistent. Katharine did not go to her, instead pacing up and down, fists clenched, knuckles white with anger.

  ‘It is, Katharine, it’s Mac!’ Mabel was suddenly shrieking too, her eyes wide with fear, her nose streaming with snot. She still looked beautiful, even like that, and Katharine’s heart broke for her at the same time as her head raged, the name Mac exploding over and over again between her ears and behind her eyes. She hadn’t even been aware that her sister knew Mac. And now this appalling revelation, that she not only knew him but that he had fathered her child.

  ‘He… he… many times, so many times, he… I couldn’t stop him, Katharine! He brought me a gift; I was grateful. But then it all changed. He came to my room; he forced me… I didn’t know how to make it stop…’

  Mabel faltered, then broke down into uncontrollable, heaving sobs, unable to continue.

  Katharine took a deep breath and swallowed down her bile. She could not believe that Mac, her friend and mentor, her ally, could be guilty of such a heinous crime as rape. But that was clearly the truth of the matter. She focused on her breathing, in and out, one two three, one two three.

  Thomas appeared on the veranda and stared, bewildered, at the wailing baby in her pram, the weeping Mabel in a chair, and his wife striding backwards and forwards with a look fit to kill.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, quietly.

  Katharine swung around and faced him, raising her arms at the elbows as if Thomas were Mac and she were about to challenge him to a brawl.

  ‘Mac,’ she hissed. Just that one word, Mac. And Thomas knew.

  ‘No,’ he breathed. ‘How?’ And then, ‘Oh God. Oh, my good God.’

  Katharine, come to her senses with Thomas’ arrival, rushed to Mabel, who had suddenly slumped forward onto the table. She flung her arms around her sister.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she crooned, ‘it’s all right. He can’t hurt you any more. You’re safe here with us. I promise that you’re safe.’