Falling Angels

by Tracy Chevalier

  “There’s Caroline Black,” Lavinia said, pulling at my sleeve. “What on earth is she wearing?”

  Caroline Black was hopping from foot to foot, still in her Joan of Arc armor. The white plume in her helmet bobbed up and down as she moved. She looked very grim, and my stomach turned over to see her alone.

  “There you are!” she cried, not smiling sweetly at me as she usually did. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for ages!”

  “Where’s Mummy?” I demanded.

  Caroline Black looked as if she might cry. “Your mother—she’s had a little mishap.”

  “What happened?”

  “It all went so well, that’s the shame of it.” Caroline Black shook her head. “We had a marvelous time, with such support from our comrades and the spectators. And the horse was lovely, so gentle, and a dream to ride. If only—”

  “What happened? Where is she?” It was all I could do not to shriek the words.

  “Someone let off firecrackers in the crowd along Oxford Street. The horse shied, and at that moment Kitty stepped in front of it to look at my banner—I don’t know why. The horse reared—I just barely kept my own seat. When it came down it kicked her in the chest.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “The daft thing insisted on finishing the march, leading the horse and all, as if nothing had happened. She said she was fine, just a bit breathless. And I stupidly allowed her. Then she wouldn’t leave during the speeches—she said she had to be here to find you afterward.”

  “Where in God’s name is she?” I cried. Lavinia jumped at my tone and people around us stared. But Caroline Black didn’t even flinch.

  “She’s sitting over in the trees.” She pointed back the way we had come.

  Lavinia grabbed my arm as I began to walk toward the trees. “What about Ivy May?” she cried. “We must find her!”

  “Let’s get to Mummy and then we’ll look for her.” I knew Lavinia was angry at me but I ignored her and kept going.

  Mummy was propped up against the trunk of the tree, one leg folded under her, a bare leg stretched out in front.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Lavinia murmured. I had forgot that she hadn’t seen Mummy in her costume.

  Mummy smiled as we came up, but her face was tense, as if she were struggling to hide something. Her breathing was labored. “Hello, Maude,” she said. “Did you enjoy the procession?”

  “How do you feel, Mummy?”

  Mummy patted her chest. “Hurts.”

  “We must get you home, my dear,” Caroline Black said. “Can you walk?”

  “She mustn’t walk,” I interrupted, remembering my first-aid lessons from school. “That may make it worse.”

  “Going to be a doctor, are you?” Mummy said. “That’s good. I thought you might become an astronomer, but I’ve been known to be wrong. As long as you become something, I don’t mind what it is. Except perhaps a wife. But don’t tell Daddy that.” She winced as she took a breath. “Go to university.”

  “Hush, Mummy. Don’t talk.”

  I looked around. Caroline Black and Lavinia were watching me as if I were in charge.

  Then I saw a familiar figure striding toward us.

  “Thank heaven you’re here, Mr. Jackson!” Lavinia cried, grabbing his arm. “Can you find Ivy May for us?”

  “No,” I interrupted. “You must get Mummy to a cab. She needs a doctor quickly.”

  Mr. Jackson looked at Mummy. “What has happened, Kitty?”

  “She’s been kicked by a horse and can’t breathe,” I said.

  “Hello, John,” Mummy murmured. “This is what happens, you see—I dress up as Robin Hood and get kicked by the pantomime horse.”

  “Ivy May is lost, Mr. Jackson!” Lavinia shouted. “My little sister has been lost in that horrid crowd!”

  Mr. Jackson looked from Mummy to Lavinia. I knew he could not make the decision himself—I would have to do it. “Mr. Jackson, go and find a cab,” I ordered. “You’re more likely to get one than me or Lavinia, and you can carry Mummy to it. Caroline, you wait here with Mummy, and Lavinia and I will look for Ivy May.”

  “No!” Lavinia cried, but Mr. Jackson had already run off.

  Mummy nodded. “That’s right, Maude. You’re perfectly capable of taking charge.” She remained against the tree, with Caroline Black kneeling awkwardly beside her in her armor.

  I took Lavinia’s hand. “We’ll find her,” I said. “I promise.”

  Lavinia Waterhouse

  We did not find her. We searched everywhere, but we did not find her.

  We walked back and forth across the park where the crowds had stood, the grass all trampled as if a herd of cattle had passed through. There were many fewer people now, so it should have been easy to see a little girl on her own. But there were none. Instead there were groups of young men roving about. They made me very nervous, especially when they called out to us. Maude and I linked arms tightly as we walked.

  It was so frustrating—we could not find any policemen, nor even any of the suffragettes who had been running about during the procession wearing sashes that read BANNER CAPTAIN or CHIEF MARSHAL. Not one responsible grown-up was about to help.

  Then a group of very rough men shouted, “Ahoy there, girls! Fancy a drink?” and came toward us. Well. Maude and I fairly ran our legs off to get out of the park. The men didn’t follow, but I refused to go back in—it was far too dangerous. We stood at the Marble Arch entrance and looked out across the grass, shielding our eyes from the early evening sun.

  I was looking not just for Ivy May, but for Simon as well. We had not seen him since he left the procession to go and collect the horse (led by Maude’s mother in that costume! I am speechless. It was no wonder that the horse kicked her). He had said he might come back to the park after. I kept thinking as I looked that they would be together—that Simon would appear, leading Ivy May by the hand. They would be eating ice-creams and they would have them for Maude and me as well. Ivy May would give me a cheeky look, with a little smile and glittering eyes, and I would pinch her for frightening me so.

  “She’s not here,” Maude said. “We would have seen her by now. Perhaps she’s gone home. She may have retraced the route we took, back to Euston, and got on an omnibus. She’s not stupid, Ivy May.”

  I held up the little purse that dangled from my wrist. “She had no money for the bus,” I whispered. “I made her give it to me for safe-keeping, so she wouldn’t lose it.”

  “She may have found her way back,” Maude repeated. “Perhaps we should walk along the procession route and look for her.”

  “I’m so very tired. I don’t think I could take another step. Let’s stay here just a little longer.”

  Then we did see Simon coming toward us. He looked so small in that great grass expanse, with his hands at his sides, kicking at things that had been left behind—bits of paper, flowers, a lady’s glove. He seemed unsurprised to see us, and unsurprised when Maude said, “Ivy May is missing.”

  “Ivy May’s gone,” I said. “She’s gone.” I began to cry.

  “She’s missing,” Maude repeated.

  Simon gazed at us. I had never seen him look so grave.

  “We think she may have gone along the route we marched,” Maude said. “Come with us to look.”

  “What were she wearing?” Simon asked. “I didn’t notice before.”

  Maude sighed. “A white dress. A white dress like everyone else. And a straw hat with flowers around the brim, like ours.”

  Simon fell in beside us and we began walking back down Oxford Street. This time we could not walk down the middle of the street, for it was full of horse-drawn cabs and omnibuses and motorcars. We stayed on the pavement, crowded with people walking back from the demonstration. Simon crossed over to search the other pavement, looking in doorways and down alleys as well as scanning the faces around him.

  I could not quite believe we were going to have to walk the whole route again—I was so thirsty and
footsore that I did not think I could manage it. But then, as we were going along Upper Regent Street, I saw down a mews a pump for watering horses, and went up and put my whole face under the stream of water that gushed out. I didn’t care if the water was bad or my hair got wet—I was so thirsty I had to drink.

  The bell in the clock tower of St. Pancras Station was striking eight when at last we arrived back at our starting point.

  “Mama will be frantic with worry,” I said. As tired as I was, I dreaded arriving home to face Mama and Papa.

  “It’s still so light out,” Maude said. “It’s the longest day of the year—did you know that? Well, second longest, perhaps, after yesterday.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake shush, Maude.” I could not bear to hear her talk like a teacher in a classroom. Besides which, I had a fearsome headache.

  “We’d best go home,” Maude said, ignoring me. “Then we can tell your parents and they can contact the police. And I can find out about Mummy.”

  “Your mother,” I began. Suddenly I was so angry I wanted to spit. Maude had sent Mr. Jackson off with her mother rather than have him help us. He would have found Ivy May, I was sure of it. “Your bloody mother got us into this mess.”

  “Don’t blame her!” Maude cried. “It was you who wanted so badly to come on the march!”

  “Your mother,” I repeated. “You don’t know the half of it about her.”

  “Don‘t, Livy,” Simon warned. “Don’t you dare.”

  Maude looked between us. “I don’t want to hear it, whatever it is,” she said to me. “Don’t you ever say a word of it to me.”

  “Go home, both of you!” Simon said. I’d never heard him raise his voice before. ‘There’s an omnibus there.“ He even pushed us toward it.

  “We can’t leave Ivy May,” I declared, stopping in my tracks. “We can’t just jump on a bus and leave her at the mercy of this awful city.”

  “I’ll go back and look for her,” Simon said.

  For that I could have kissed him, but he was already off at a run, back down along the Euston Road.

  Jenny Whitby

  Never did I expect to see such a sight.

  I didn’t know who it could be, ringing the bell on a Sunday evening. I’d just returned from Mum‘s, didn’t even have my cap and apron on yet. I weren’t even there normally—I usually came back later, after Jack was asleep, but today he were so tired from running about that after tea he just fell into his bed.

  Maybe it were the missus and Miss Maude, had their key pick-pocketed in the crowd. Or a neighbor meaning to borrow a stamp or run out of lamp oil. But when I opened the door, it were the man from the cemetery, carrying the missus in his arms. Not only that—she weren’t wearing a proper skirt! Her legs were bare as the day she was born. Her eyes were just open, like she’d been woke up from a nap.

  Before I could say a word but stare with my eyes popping, Mr. Jackson had pushed inside, with that suffragette lady Miss Black fluttering behind him. “We must get her to her bed,” he said. “Where is her husband?”

  “At the Bull and Last,” I said. “He always goes there after his cricket.” I led the way upstairs to her room. Miss Black was wearing some sort of metal suit what clanked as she went up the stairs. She looked so strange I began to wonder if I were dreaming it all.

  Mr. Jackson laid the missus on her bed and said, “Stay with her—I’ll get her husband.”

  “And I’ll fetch a doctor,” said Miss Black.

  There’s one on the Highgate Road, just up from the pub,“ I said. ”I can ...“

  But they were gone before I could offer to go so Miss Black could stay with her friend. It were like she didn’t want to stay.

  So it were just me and the missus. She lay there staring at me. I couldn’t think what to do. I lit a candle and were just about to close the curtains when she whispered, “Leave them open. And open the window.”

  She looked so silly in her green outfit, her legs all naked. Mr. Coleman would have a fit if he saw her like that. After I opened the window I sat on the bed and began to take off her little green boots.

  “Jenny, I want to ask you something,” she said real quiet.

  “Yes, ma‘am.”

  “Does anyone know about what happened to me?”

  “About what happened to you, ma‘am?” I repeated. “You’ve had a little accident, is all.”

  The missus’s eyes flared and she shook her head. “Jenny, there is no time for this silliness. For once let us be clear with each other—does anyone know what happened to me two years ago?”

  I knew what she were talking about the first time, even though I acted like I didn’t. I set the boots on the floor. “No one knows but me. And Mrs. Baker—she guessed. Oh, and Simon.”

  “The cemetery boy? How could he know?”

  “It were his mum you went to.”

  “And that is all—no one else knows?”

  I didn’t look in her eyes, but tugged at the green cap in her hair. “No.” I didn’t say nothing about Miss Livy’s letter. There seemed no point in agitating her in her state. Simon and Mrs. Baker and me, we could keep our counsel, but there was no guessing what Miss Livy might say one of these days—or said already, like as not. But the missus needn’t know that.

  “I don’t want the men to find out.”

  “No.” I reached round and began to unbutton the back of her tunic.

  “Promise me they won’t.”

  “They won’t.”

  “Promise me something else.”

  “Yes, ma‘am.”

  “Promise me you won’t let my mother-in-law get her claws into Maude.”

  I pulled off the tunic and gasped. Her chest was one big black bruise. “Lord, what happened to you, ma‘am?”

  “Promise me.”

  Now I understood why she was talking like that. “Oh, ma‘am, you’re going to be just fine in a day or two. The doctor will be here soon and he’ll sort you out. Miss Black’s gone to fetch him. And Mr.—the gentleman’s gone to get your husband.” The missus tried to say something, but I wouldn’t let her—I just ran on and on, saying whatever popped into my head. “He’s down the pub just now, but it won’t take him a minute to get back. Let’s just get this nightgown on before they come, shall we? It’s ever so pretty, this one, what with the lace at the cuffs and all. Let’s just pop this over your head and pull it down. There. And your hair, that’s it. That’s better now, ain’t it?”

  She lay back again, like she were too weak to fight my words. Her breathing were all wet and ragged. I couldn’t bear to hear it. “I’ll just run and light the lamps,” I said. “For the master and doctor. Won’t be a second.” I ran out before she could say anything.

  Mr. Coleman came home as I was lighting the lamps in the front hallway, and then the doctor and Miss Black. They went upstairs, and then it went all quiet up there. I couldn’t help it—I had to go and listen outside the door.

  The doctor had such a low voice that all I could hear was “internal bleeding.”

  Then Mr. Coleman laid into Miss Black. “Why in hell didn’t you find a doctor the moment the horse kicked her?” he shouted. “You were boasting there would be a huge crowd—surely among two hundred thousand people there was a doctor!”

  “You don’t understand,” Caroline Black said. “It was so crowded it was difficult to move or even speak, much less find a doctor.”

  “Why didn’t you bring her home at once? If you had shown any sense whatsoever she might be all right now, with nothing more than a few bruises.”

  “Don’t you think I didn’t beg her to? You clearly don’t know your wife well if you think she would have done what I asked her to. She wanted to get to Hyde Park and hear the speeches on such an historic occasion, and nothing I nor anyone else—not even you, sir—said could have dissuaded her.”

  “Hyperbole!” Mr. Coleman shouted. “Even at a time like this you suffragettes resort to hyperbole. Damn your historic occasion! Did you even look at he
r chest after it happened? Did you even see the damage? And who on God’s green earth told Kitty to lead a horse? She’s a disaster around horses!”

  “It was her idea. No one forced her. She never told me she didn’t like horses.”

  “And where’s Maude?” Mr. Coleman said. “What’s happened to my daughter?”

  “She‘s—she’s on her way home, I’m sure.” Caroline Black was crying now.

  I didn’t stay to hear more. I went down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Then I sat at the table and began to cry myself.

  Ivy May Waterhouse

  Over his shoulder I saw a star fall. It was me.

  Simon Field

  I never seen a dead body before. That sounds strange coming from a gravedigger. All day long I got dead bodies round me, but they’re in boxes, nailed shut tight and covered with dirt. Sometimes I’m standing on a coffin in a grave, and there’s only an inch of wood ‘tween me and the body. But I ain’t seen it. If I spent more time out of the cemetery I’d see dead bodies all the time. Funny, that. Our ma and sisters has seen hundreds, all them women and babies died in birth, or neighbors, died of hunger or the cold.

  It’s strange seeing someone I know like that. If I didn’t know to be looking for her I wouldn’t recognize her. It’s not that she’s cut or crushed or anything like that. It’s just that she ain’t there. There are the legs, arms, head, all in the right places, lying down the back of a mews behind a stack of bricks. And the face is clean and smooth even, the mouth shut, her eyes a little open like she’s looking through her lashes and don’t want you to know she’s looking. But when I look at the face I just can’t see her. She ain’t a person no more, but a thing like a sack of spuds.

  “Ivy May,” I call softly, squatting beside her. I say it even though I know she’s dead. Maybe I’m hoping she’ll come back if I say her name.

  But she don’t. She don’t open her eyes and look at me with that look she has of knowing everything what’s happening and never saying. She don’t sit up with her legs straight out in front of her the way she likes to sit. She don’t stand solid, looking like you could never knock her down, as hard as you pushed.