Ember Island

by Kimberley Freeman

  “No.”

  “No cave or overhanging rocks?”

  “No, Miss Lejeune. We know every hiding place on this island. She’s probably out in the open somewhere.”

  She trudged after him. Was Nell really silly enough to put her father through all this, to put all the prison staff through all this, only days after they had pursued an escapee? In the rain, too? Tilly began to worry: what if something else had happened to Nell? Sterling had feared it straightaway, she could tell. What if he was right to fear it? If she was injured or kidnapped or worse . . .

  “Nell!” she began to call. “Nell!”

  Mr. Donaghy looked at her, curiously. They weren’t used to calling out for prisoners who escaped. But then he seemed to decide it was a good strategy. “Nell!” he shouted. “Nell, where are you?”

  •

  Freezing, wet, and muddy, Tilly returned home late in the afternoon. She was weak and tired, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t found Nell. In her bedroom, she peeled off her wet clothes and dried herself off. Her fingertips were white and waterlogged. She found dry clothes in her wardrobe and dressed, then sat on the bed to think.

  Had Nell run or was she taken?

  What reason did she have to run? Guiltily, she thought of Sterling making love to her last night. Had they been too loud? Had Nell overheard and run off, angry with them both? No, it had been late when they’d finally felt safe enough to creep to Sterling’s bedroom, and Nell wouldn’t have known what to make of anything she heard in any case.

  Then she remembered. Nell had spoken to Hettie that afternoon, and then in the evening she had been quiet, subdued. Had Hettie said something to her? Or had Nell, perhaps, said something to Hettie?

  Tilly climbed to her feet. She would have to tell Sterling . . . but then, what would happen? Would somebody go and question Hettie and find out that Tilly had been asking about her crime? Sterling had so much on his mind already.

  She could always go to the stockade herself. Tilly shivered at the thought. But she became more and more certain that Hettie knew why Nell had run, and perhaps even where she might have run to.

  Tilly went down the hall to Sterling’s office. Of course he wasn’t there. He was somewhere on the island, looking for Nell. She moved out onto the verandah and looked down, over the treetops towards the forbidding buildings of the stockade. Dark stone, iron bars, grim and silent in the heavy rain. Would they even let her in to see Hettie?

  Today they might. If she could hold her nerve.

  She pulled her spine up straight and walked down the stairs. The rain had eased to a miserable drizzle, but black clouds on the horizon threatened more to come. She picked her way down the dirt road, which had turned to rutted mud, and then took the side road that led to the stockade. She had never walked this way before. She had no idea where to go to get in, but she remembered Sterling saying the female prisoners were at the far southern end of the building, so she headed in that direction.

  A separate entrance stood outside the southern wing. A small yard, perhaps an exercise yard, was enclosed in iron bars. The yard was nothing but scant grass and mud. No wonder Hettie loved the garden so much. Beside the yard was an arched wooden door in a stone wall. She wondered if she was supposed to knock, but then tried the latch and found it opened on a small wood-paneled room that smelled of lye soap and lemon. A young turnkey with carroty hair sat in a chair there, legs spread wide, his finger firmly jammed in his ear, giving it a thorough clean.

  He saw her and dropped his hand, jumped to his feet. “You’re not supposed to be here, ma’am.”

  “Superintendent Holt sent me. I have to speak to prisoner 135.”

  “I haven’t seen any orders.”

  “Of course you haven’t. He’s searching the whole island for his daughter. I’m Eleanor’s governess, and the superintendent and I have good reason to believe 135 may be able to help us find Nell. I simply need to speak to her for a few minutes.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Wait here.” He lifted a large loop of keys off his hip and unlocked a door behind him, disappeared through it. The sound of the locks going back into place. She waited. The rain intensified again, deafening on the tin roof. The clouds had blocked out any light coming through the windows, turning the little anteroom into premature nighttime. Five minutes passed, another five, then Tilly heard the door unlock again, and the red-haired turnkey was back with an older, balder man.

  “You say the superintendent sent you?” he asked brusquely.

  “Yes.” She met his eyes, didn’t blink.

  “He hasn’t sent any word.”

  “As I said to your colleague, that’s because he is otherwise occupied. And the longer you hold off letting me speak to 135, the longer young Nell is going to be outside in the elements.”

  The older man shook his head. “I don’t threaten, ma’am. I follow orders. I haven’t had any orders.”

  Tilly steeled herself. Her plan was falling apart. “I saw Hettie speaking to the girl yesterday. She may have some clue. You must let me speak to her. This is what Sterling wants me to do.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her use of the superintendent’s first name, but to her surprise, he didn’t throw her out. “Well, then. I expect the paperwork is on the way and I wouldn’t want to hold up the search for the girl. Follow me.”

  “Thank you,” Tilly said, managing not to gasp in surprise.

  “I reckon we all want to see the lass found safely,” he said in a gruff voice.

  The old turnkey unlocked the door and led Tilly into an office with two desks and a wooden cabinet. Everything was remarkably neat and clean. Beside the wooden cabinet was a door with a square, barred window in it. He unlocked this door too, and it opened on a dim stone corridor, with a series of doors placed close together. He walked up to the first one and unlocked it, pulled it open, and said to the person within, “Miss Lejeune is here to talk to you.” Then he stood aside, and gestured Tilly through, while he waited in the hall.

  Tilly could barely fit in the tiny room. Hettie sat on a hammock bed, opposite another hammock bed with another woman—a Chinese woman with gray hair at her temples—lying in it. A tiny washstand stood in the corner, a wooden bucket beneath it. A small, barred window, up very high, let in the only light and a few spits of rain. Despite the cooler weather outside, the cell was close and humid. Tilly imagined that on those very hot summer days, it would be unbearable in here. How on earth did they sleep?

  “Hello,” Tilly said.

  “What is it?” Hettie asked, puzzled.

  Tilly moved in close so the other prisoner couldn’t hear, but Hettie said, “Don’t worry, she hardly speaks a word of English.”

  “Nell’s gone missing.”

  Hettie’s eyebrows shot up. “So that’s why we’re locked down?”

  “We think . . . we hope she’s run away. It’s very bad weather out there today, and we are desperate to find her safe and well.”

  “Why are you speaking to me, then?”

  “Because I saw her yesterday, talking to you. I wondered if she said anything, or if you said anything . . . I wonder if you have any clue you can give us. Think very hard. What did you speak of?”

  Hettie shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. She showed me her drawings. She told me you said she hadn’t taken her time with them. I said she should always take her time with things that matter, and how I did exactly that in the garden . . .” She frowned, trying to recall every detail of the conversation. “She asked if we could grow some daisies. She said she’s grown fond of daisies. I said I’d see what I could do . . . Honestly, Miss Lejeune, that’s all.”

  Tilly hung her head, sighing. “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing. Only . . .”

  Tilly lifted her head again. “Only what?”

  “The girl always knows things she shouldn’t. For instance, last year, she came out to wish me happy birthday. How did she know it was my birthday? She must have looked at a document somewhere, somethin
g she shouldn’t be looking at. Perhaps she’s seen or heard something she doesn’t understand and it’s set her off.”

  “Oh,” said Tilly, realization sweeping over her. She had been so busy feeling guilty about her developing romance with Sterling, that she had forgotten the conversation they had conducted the previous night about Nell and boarding school. Nell must have eavesdropped, then run away in an angry fit. Perhaps run away to punish her father for even considering it.

  And thinking of schools and teachers made Tilly suspect she knew where Nell was too.

  “Thank you, Hettie,” she said. “Thank you. You’ve been more help that you can imagine.”

  She turned, nearly knocked over the old turnkey leaving.

  “Off in a hurry?”

  “I need to find Sterling.”

  He unlocked the door for her. “He was with the search party that went down to the southern cane fields.”

  “Thank you!”

  Finally, she was free of the grim stockade, only to emerge under a leaden sky to deepening rain. She raced along the muddy road, hard fat raindrops driving against her, until she reached the edge of the cane fields. The cane was hip height, laid out in neat rows with paths between them. She plunged in, looking left and right for somebody who could lead her to Sterling.

  “Sterling!” she called. “Sterling!”

  A man in blue with a bushy gray beard caught her as she was about to plow into him. “Miss Lejeune?”

  “I need to find the superintendent. I think I know where Nell might be.”

  “This way.” He hurried further into the cane field, and soon they happened upon Sterling, soaked to his skin, calling for Nell with a hoarse voice.

  “Sterling!” she shouted over the rain. “Come with me!”

  “You’ve found her?” He trudged through the field towards her.

  “I hope so. Do you have the key to the chapel?”

  “I have the key to everything. I don’t have my daughter.”

  “Then come.”

  Sodden and hopeful, they found their way out of the cane field and began the walk down to the chapel. He was clearly exhausted, still recovering from terrible injuries and lack of sleep, so she tried not to hurry ahead. She was desperate for her hunch to be right, that Nell was where she believed she was.

  “I know why she ran,” Tilly told him. “She must have overheard us talking about sending her to boarding school.”

  “I hope that’s all she overheard,” he said, mouth set in a hard line. “Why are we going to the chapel? We’ve already checked there.”

  “She once told me about a secret ladder, up onto the roof. How she and another child had hidden up there from their teacher.”

  “Secret ladder?”

  “In the ceiling.”

  He shook his head. “I hope you’re right. I hope this isn’t some silly story she made up.” He redoubled his speed and Tilly noticed he was wincing every time he put a foot down. The rain was unrelenting now, blurring her vision. But a few minutes later, they were inside the chapel, dripping on the wooden floor.

  A chair pulled up near the end of the chapel, where Jesus mournfully hung on his cross, gave away the location of the secret ladder.

  “Will you look at that?” he breathed, gazing upwards at the hatch. “I thought I knew every inch of this island.”

  He was already climbing onto the chair, reaching upwards and slipping his finger through the ring in the hatch. He pulled it and the hatch opened, and a ladder slid open, narrowly missing his head.

  “Nell?” he called.

  Tilly stood underneath him and he wriggled through the hatch and disappeared. She followed him up and found herself in the dark space between ceiling and roof, crawling on her hands and knees. Ahead of her, Sterling crawled too, until he found an iron door that opened onto rainy daylight. By the time Tilly made it onto the flat walkway above the eaves, she could already see Sterling crouching next to Nell. The girl stood very still, her body grasped in the circle of her arms, staring out to sea. Pangur Ban had been set on the brickwork in front of her, with his face also turned to the bay. He was as impassive as ever.

  “Nell!” Tilly exclaimed.

  Nell didn’t respond. Tilly hurried over to join them.

  Sterling was berating her. “You foolish child! Do you not know you have sent all my staff on a wild-goose chase? They are exhausted. I am exhausted. Last night you wouldn’t let me reach for the gravy myself, but today you forced me to tramp around cane fields in pain and fear.”

  Nell wouldn’t look at him. Tilly reached out to grasp Sterling’s arm. She understood that all his tension was pouring out of him as anger—anger she hadn’t known him capable of—but Nell wasn’t listening.

  “Nell,” she said. “Is this about boarding school?”

  Nell turned her face to Tilly. Her lips were blue, her curls hung in sodden tendrils. She nodded.

  Sterling collapsed forward onto his hands, shaking his head. “I’m not sending you to boarding school, Nell. I would have you by me, all the time until you are grown.”

  Nell relaxed her body, dropped her head, and began to sob. Sterling pulled her into his arms and they stood there, in the pouring rain, clinging to each other while Tilly looked on.

  NINETEEN

  A Single-Minded Man

  That night, Sterling went to bed before dinner and didn’t get up the next day. Dr. Groom was sent for, expressed concern about his injuries and exhaustion, and ordered Sterling off the island for three weeks to recover.

  Sterling told Tilly this in the half hour before his boat was due to leave the next day, as he folded shirts neatly into a suitcase, avoiding meeting her eye. “I have insisted that Nell come with me,” he said. “I think that will be a good thing. We haven’t had a holiday since Rebecca died. Perhaps we will spend some time in the city. Lord knows she needs new clothes.”

  “I want you to be well again,” Tilly said.

  Sterling paused in his packing, and his expression as he regarded her frightened her. There was pity in it. Pity never preceded anything good. “I would make you the offer to take the time off as well and travel with us to the mainland. But we would have to part company at the wharf. Nell doesn’t know about . . .”

  “I know. I promise you, I am happier staying here. I will read and garden and relax.” She smiled shyly. “And look forward to your return.”

  He focused very hard on his packing. For an instant, she was back in Guernsey with Jasper, feeling the sick embarrassment of his rebuffs.

  “Sterling?” she said. “Do you regret what we have done?”

  “I make it my goal not to regret anything,” he said. “I will miss our conversations, but it is only three weeks. I think we will all benefit from the break.”

  Tilly worked hard to stop tears from pricking her eyes. “Yes,” she said, “perhaps you are right.”

  Then Nell came in, excited but in a subdued way. She had been diffident and pouty since the running away, no doubt because Sterling had limited her freedoms and enforced a number of unpleasant punishments in the form of household chores, but also because nobody on the island spoke to her anything but sternly now. They were all still angry with what they saw as a selfish prank.

  Only Tilly had sympathy for her. “Are you looking forward to your holiday, Nell?” she asked, playfully tugging one of the girl’s curls.

  “I am looking forward to being in a place where I don’t get frowned at quite so much,” she said with feigned boredom. “Don’t play with my curls. I’m nearly thirteen.”

  “You brought the frowns upon yourself, Nell,” Sterling said, distractedly, searching in the top of his wardrobe for a hat. “And you ought not to speak sharply to your governess.”

  Your governess. Not Tilly.

  “What were you two talking about?” Nell asked, considering Tilly by the morning light coming in the window.

  “You,” Tilly said.

  “None of your business,” Sterling answered, at preci
sely the same time.

  Tilly laughed lightly, but Sterling remained stern.

  “Nell, you must learn your place. If you hadn’t eavesdropped on my conversation with Tilly, you would never have gone off with half a conviction in your head that made you—”

  “I know, I know. That made me waste time and resources on the island.”

  “And possibly put yourself in danger. Don’t forget that,” Sterling added.

  Nell turned her eyes up to Tilly, tried a little smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ll miss me, won’t you, Tilly?”

  “Of course I will. Be good to your father. He is good to you.”

  And then they were off, down the rutted path to the jetty, leaving her in the west wing of the house alone. Mr. Donaghy would take over the superintendent’s duties in Sterling’s absence, so she could expect his company for lunch daily. Apart from that, she was on her own schedule, could do whatever she pleased.

  It made her feel a little empty.

  •

  Tilly read that day until three, when the worst of the heat had faded, then she headed out to the garden.

  It wasn’t until nearly nightfall that she saw Hettie, who was planting some seedlings along the far northern border of the garden. Tilly realized she hadn’t thanked Hettie for her help in finding Nell, so she peeled off her dirty gardening gloves and approached.

  Hettie sat back, wiping the back of her hand against her forehead.

  “Mind if I join you?” Tilly asked.

  “Please,” Hettie said, gesturing to the grass next to her. “I think I’m done for the day. Pansies. They came on the boat this morning. They’ll be so pretty.”

  Tilly stretched out her legs. The dusky sky was cool. The wet heat of summer was finally loosening its grip on the island. The sea breeze was almost enough to make her arms come out in gooseflesh under her sleeves. “I meant to thank you for your help finding Nell.”

  “I didn’t help.”

  “You did, indirectly. You provided a different perspective. I think that’s always a valuable thing.”