“Richard’s lover,” Diana replied. Her head was spinning. With the locket that probably depicted Vikrama’s mother, and the probable copy of the palm leaf Grace had referred to in her journal, she now had the final pieces of the puzzle. All she needed to reconstruct the story.
Diana decided to take her two finds away with her, to keep them for later generations, if there were any. She hoped there would be. Her divorce from Philipp was progressing, she was completely happy with Jonathan, and everything else would take its course, with or without a prophecy.
Indian Ocean, 1887
On the high seas, Grace hardly knew any more whether she felt so bad because of her pregnancy or the seasickness that was affecting many. Winter was not a good time for travelling. There were frequent storms, but once they had passed through the Suez Canal the climate would improve and there was not far to go from there to the shores of England.
Grace didn’t care. She didn’t care if she froze or boiled, if she lived or died. Every now and then she overcame her deep longing for the darkness. Then her thoughts of her child would break like a ray of sunshine through the clouds, and she knew she wanted to live. Live for her child, live for the hope of seeing her beloved again sometime.
In those moments she would take out the scrap of paper she had been given by the old man at the palm-leaf library.
“Listen to your heart,” he had said. Could she have warded off this misfortune if she’d obeyed? Her pregnancy had unleashed the worst misfortune her parents could ever have imagined. But she had experienced this great love . . .
“I think another storm is rising,” Miss Giles said nervously. Their time at sea had turned her into a bundle of nerves. She spent most of her time brooding in a corner of the cabin and only spoke to her ward when absolutely necessary—not because she was angry with her, but because of a guilty conscience, Grace was sure.
At first Grace had thought it served her right to be separated from Mr. Norris. After all, she was the one who had exposed Vikrama as the father of her child, through snooping around in Victoria’s things and then showing the book with the secret notes to their father. As they boarded the ship she felt like throwing the governess over the railings.
But their time at sea had given her plenty of time to think. Grace could sympathise only too well with what Miss Giles must be feeling. The hope that Mr. Norris would summon her back because she was needed to look after Miss Victoria was the only thing that kept her going. It was a slight hope, since she was more likely to be needed to look after the baby. A baby that would trigger a scandal. A baby that might be taken away from its mother, to keep up appearances.
So Grace tried to suppress her anger, and when she sensed Miss Giles was mourning the absence of the teacher, she comforted her by saying she was sure he would come to find her one day and marry her. Just as she hoped to return to Ceylon. However, this hope weakened, and her fears for her lover grew, with every mile they sailed. If Vikrama had managed to hold on to his life, he would have stayed away from Vannattuppūcci. She prayed fervently that his bold heart would not lead him to do anything stupid that he would regret forever. And she hoped that fate would find a way of bringing them back together.
As the storm broke over the ship, Grace briefly doubted the power of the palm leaf. Maybe it had been wrong when it promised her forty-three more years of life. How could the Brahmans know the misfortunes that could befall people? The storm, which proved to be worse than any they had yet encountered, brought the ship to the brink of sinking. Panic broke out. Everything was in turmoil. As the passengers came out on deck, a huge wave broke over them. Grace heard a scream, and Miss Giles suddenly disappeared. Before she could find out where she had gone, hands drew her aside and she found herself in a lifeboat.
A blanket was laid around her shoulders, and she was engulfed in a babble of agitated voices. Icy, wet gusts stung her cheeks, but she didn’t feel them. Her thoughts were on the piece of paper, and she knew now that everything would happen as it said.
“Is everything all right, madam?” the young German officer asked in excellent English as he lifted her from the lifeboat. Her teeth chattering, Grace nodded and allowed herself to be led to the cabin they had allocated her. She didn’t notice the man’s expression of wonder as he looked at her face, her hair. Yes, at that moment she would have laughed at anyone who claimed that the officer with the blond hair and blue eyes would one day be her husband.
But that changed during the voyage. The young officer took care of her, made sure she was comfortable and personally brought her extra portions of food because he believed that the little life inside her should be well provided for. Once they were back on dry land and Grace was installed in a small guest house in Hamburg—wild horses couldn’t have dragged her to Tremayne House—he visited her regularly, bringing her gifts and taking her out for walks.
Some people wondered at Grace’s condition, while others believed it was her husband whose arm she linked with hers. Friedrich would playfully threaten with his fists any of his friends who commented that he hadn’t lost any time, but Grace could see his eyes shining with pride when anyone took him to be the father of the baby.
Maybe it was his care, or maybe simply the realisation that she needed someone she could rely on until her prince arrived, that made Grace open her heart a little. At first it was sympathy she felt, but it grew into affection for the man whom she married, when she was seven months pregnant, in a little church in East Prussia, his homeland.
It gave her a grim satisfaction to stand before the altar and say yes to the officer, making him the happiest man in the world. She was carrying her sister’s letter dated 15 February 1888 close to her heart. One of the servants at Tremayne House had forwarded it to her.
I’ve forgiven you, Victoria, she thought as she left the church, cheered and admired by the wedding guests. And it’s good to know that I have someone to look out for my descendants.
That child was born in 1888, the year that went down in German history as the Three Kaiser Year. Grace called her daughter, who resembled her father so closely, Helena. At first she was tempted to give the girl her father’s first initial before her name, in accordance with the Tamil custom, but she didn’t want people to ask questions.
It was enough for her that Helena looked at her with Vikrama’s eyes.
About the Author
Photo © Hans Scherhaufer
Bestselling author Corina Bomann was born in Parchim, Germany. She originally trained as a dental nurse, but her love of stories compelled her to follow her passion for writing. Bomann now lives with her family in a small village in the German region of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern and is the author of a number of successful young-adult and historical novels.
About the Translator
Photo © 2016 Sandra Dalton
Alison Layland is a novelist and translator from German, French, and Welsh into English. A member of the Institute of Translation and Interpreting and the Society of Authors, she has won a number of prizes for her fiction writing and translation. Her debut novel, the literary thriller Someone Else’s Conflict, was published in 2014 by Honno Press. She has also translated a number of novels, including Corina Bomann’s The Moonlit Garden and Storm Rose. She lives and works in the beautiful and inspiring countryside of Wales, United Kingdom.
Butterfly Island Page 42