The Clockmaker's Daughter

by Kate Morton

  Lucy managed to withdraw from the room unseen. She fled back along the corridor and up the stairs to her bedroom, where she threw herself onto her bed. She wanted to disappear, to explode like a star into tiny, tiny pieces of dust that burned up and became nothing.

  She didn’t understand what she was feeling, why she was hurting this way. Tears fell and she hugged her pillow to her chest.

  She was embarrassed, she realised. Not for them, for they had been beautiful. No, Lucy was embarrassed for herself. She knew herself, suddenly, to be a child. An awkward clomping girl who was neither beautiful nor desirable, who was clever, certainly, but otherwise ordinary, who was, she saw clearly now, not the first and most special person to anyone.

  The way that Edward had looked at Lily Millington, the way that they had looked at one another – he would never look at Lucy like that, and neither should he, neither would she want him to; and yet at the same time, as she pictured his expression, Lucy felt something inside her that had been carefully constructed and important crumble and fall away, because she understood that the time of being children together, brother and sister, was over, and that they were each standing on different sides of a river now.

  Lucy was woken by a tremendous noise and her first thought was that the storm had returned to rage on for another day. When she cracked her eyes open, though, light spilled in and she saw that it was a bright and brilliant morning. She noticed, too, that she was curled up in a tangle of sheets at the foot of her bed.

  The noise came again, and Lucy realised it was Thurston shooting at the birds. Events of the previous day came rushing back upon her.

  Lucy had a headache. It happened sometimes when she hadn’t slept for long enough, and now she went downstairs to fetch a glass of water. She had hoped to find Emma in the kitchen and to sink down into the woven chair by the cooker, from which she would listen as the maid told mild stories of local happenings and tut-tutted good-naturedly about the louche behaviour of the others. But Emma wasn’t there; the kitchen was empty and showed no sign that anyone had been in it since Lucy and Lily Millington had made cheese sandwiches the night before.

  The night before. Lucy shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of the confusion of what she had seen in Edward’s studio. It certainly provided an explanation as to the conversation she’d overheard between Edward and Thurston. So, too, Edward’s preference that Fanny Brown not come to Birchwood Manor for the summer. But what did it all mean? What was going to happen?

  She filled a glass with water and, when she noticed a line of light creeping across the tiles from beneath the back door, decided to take it outside with her.

  Everything was better beneath the big blue sky, and Lucy walked bare-footed across the dew-damp grass. When she reached the corner of the house she closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the morning sun. It was only nine o’clock, but already it held the promise of heat to come.

  ‘Good morning, Little Radcliffe.’ Lucy opened her eyes and saw Thurston sitting on Edward’s iron peacock chair, smiling around his cigarette. ‘Come and sit with Uncle Thurston. I might even let you hold my rifle if you’re a very good girl.’

  Lucy shook her head and stayed where she was.

  He laughed, lifting the weapon to take casual aim at a sparrow that had alit briefly on the wisteria arbour. He mimed pulling the trigger.

  ‘You shouldn’t shoot the birds.’

  ‘There are many things in life one shouldn’t do, Lucy. And they’re usually the things one most enjoys.’ He lowered the weapon. ‘Big day ahead for you.’

  Lucy did not know what he meant but did not wish to give him the pleasure of hearing her say so. Instead, she eyed him coolly and waited for him to continue.

  ‘Bet you didn’t imagine you’d be modelling this summer.’

  With everything that had happened since, Lucy had forgotten Felix’s suggestion of the night before, his determination to make a photographic plate based on the tale of the Eldritch Children.

  ‘Little Lucy the stunner. Have you been practising your poses?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good girl. Natural is better. I’ve tried to tell Clare. The most beautiful people are those who don’t care enough to try.’

  ‘Is Felix planning to take the photograph today?’

  ‘There was much excited talk of capturing light earlier.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  Thurston stood up and used the barrel of his rifle to indicate towards the attic. ‘Raking through the costume chest.’ He tucked the weapon under his arm and brushed past Lucy on his way towards the kitchen.

  ‘Emma’s not in there.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  Lucy wondered what else he’d heard. She called after him: ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Ill at home in bed. A messenger came this morning, someone from the village – she won’t be in today and we are all to fend for ourselves.’

  Lucy found the others in the attic, where, just as Thurston had said, they were busy pulling costumes from the large trunk, trying on flowing dresses, cinching them with ribbons at the waist, and talking animatedly about how best to weave garlands for their hair. The novelty of her inclusion made Lucy shy, and she hovered in the corner near the top of the stairs, as she waited to be invited closer.

  ‘We should make sure that they match,’ Clare was saying to Adele.

  ‘But not exactly. Each of the Eldritch Children would have a different type of magic.’

  ‘Would they?’

  ‘We could show it through the use of different flowers. I’ll be a rose; you can be a honeysuckle.’

  ‘And Lucy?’

  ‘Whatever she likes. I don’t know – a daisy, perhaps. Something befitting. Don’t you think, darling?’

  ‘Yes, yes, wonderful!’ Felix, only half-listening, was nonetheless ecstatic in his response. He was by the window, holding a piece of fine gauze up to the light, squinting first one eye and then the other as he considered its effect.

  Lily Millington, Lucy noticed, was not present. Neither was Fanny or Edward.

  Adele took Clare by the hand and together they brushed past Lucy’s corner in a giddy rush. ‘Come on, slowcoach,’ Clare called back from halfway down the stairs. ‘You need to make a garland, too.’

  Some of the roses were a little the worse for wear after the previous night’s rain, their delicate petals littering the grass, but there had been such an abundance to start with that the garland-makers were still spoiled for choice.

  Along the stone wall that bordered the orchard were a number of daisy bushes, and Lucy picked a selection of the pink, white and yellow flowers, keeping the stems long enough that she was able to sit upon a dry patch of grass afterwards and braid them together. The garland would not keep for long, but Lucy was happy with her progress. She couldn’t think that she had ever made such a thing before, and in any other context she would have thought the occupation a frivolous waste of time. But this was different. Lucy had been uncertain about being part of Felix’s photograph; now she realised that she was starting to feel excited. She would never have admitted it to anyone else – she wasn’t even able to explain the feeling properly to herself – but being part of the photograph made Lucy feel more like a real person than she had before.

  Lily Millington had joined them in the garden and was sitting quietly to weave her own garland; Lucy, stealing glances from where she was sitting cross-legged by the daisy bush, noticed that a slight frown pulled at her brows. Thurston, too, had gathered his sketchbook and pens and was now helping Felix to assemble the glass plates and collodion, ready to carry them with the camera and tent to the woods. Only Edward and Fanny were missing, and Lucy wondered whether they were having the ‘talk’ that Edward had promised as he shepherded her up to bed the night before.

  Felix said that the light would be best in the middle of the day, when the sun was at its strongest, and everything was geared towards his decree.

  For the rest o
f her life, Lucy would remember the way the others looked, dressed in their garlands and costumes as they made their way through the long meadow grasses towards the woods. Sprays of wildflowers peppered the grass and rustled when the light breeze blew warmly across their tops.

  They had passed the barn with the threshing machine inside it and had almost made it as far as the river, when the cry came from behind them: ‘Wait for me. I want to be in the photograph.’

  They turned around and saw Fanny stalking towards them. Edward was close on her heels, a stormy look upon his face.

  ‘I want to be in the photograph,’ she said again, drawing near. ‘I want to be the Fairy Queen.’

  Felix, the wooden tripod balanced on his shoulder, shook his head, confused. ‘I need Lily as the Fairy Queen; it has to be the same as Edward’s painting. I want them to stand as companion pieces. How better to demonstrate that photography and painting are on a level? But Fanny can be one of the princesses.’

  ‘We’re engaged to be married, Edward. I should be the Fairy Queen from your story.’

  Lily glanced at Edward. ‘Of course she should.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to speak,’ said Fanny, with a curl of her lip. ‘You’re paid to stand there and look vacant. I was talking to my fiancé.’

  ‘Fanny,’ said Edward, a note of controlled caution in his voice, ‘I told you—’

  ‘I’m going to lose the perfect light,’ said Felix, with some desperation. ‘I need Lily as the Queen, but Fanny, you can be the front-most child. Clare and Adele, one either side.’

  ‘But Felix—’

  ‘Adele, that’s enough. The light!’

  ‘Lucy,’ said Clare, ‘give your garland to Fanny so that we can get started.’

  Within a fraction of a second, Lucy took in the faces of Clare, Edward, Lily Millington, Felix and Fanny, all now staring straight at her, and then, without a word, she started to run.

  ‘Lucy, wait!’

  But Lucy didn’t wait. She tossed her garland to the ground and kept running like a little girl, all the way back towards the house.

  Lucy did not go to her bedroom, or to the library, or to the kitchen where she could have had her way with the remaining half of the Victoria sponge that Emma had baked on Friday. Instead she went to Edward’s studio in the Mulberry Room. Even as she pushed open the door she was uncertain as to why she had come, only that it had somehow seemed the only place to go. Lucy was fast learning that she knew a lot less about her own motivations than she did about the way the internal combustion engine worked.

  Having arrived, she found herself at a loss. She was out of breath from running and embarrassed for fleeing. She felt rejected but at the same time cross with herself for having let the others see her disappointment. And she was tired, very tired. There had been so much excitement and such a lot to comprehend.

  When no better option came to mind, she sank to the ground in self-pity and curled up like a cat.

  It was approximately two and a half minutes later that her gaze, which had been sweeping generally across the floor of the room, fell upon Edward’s leather satchel, leaning against the leg of his easel.

  The satchel was new. Lily Millington had given it to him for his birthday and Lucy had been envious when she saw how much he loved it. She had been confused, too, for never before had a model given Edward a gift, let alone a fine, prized gift. She understood more clearly now, after what she’d seen last night.

  Lucy decided that she no longer had the necessary commitment required for self-pity. The urge had been replaced by another, stronger impulse: curiosity. She righted herself and went to pick up the satchel.

  Lucy undid the buckle and flipped it open. She could see Edward’s current sketchpad and his wooden pen holder, and with them something else, something less expected. It was a black velvet box of the same sort that Mother kept on her dressing table in Hampstead to safeguard the pearls and brooches that Father had given her.

  She slid the box out of the satchel and with a shiver of nerves lifted the lid. The first things she saw were two pieces of paper. They had been folded together but opened in the space created when the lid lifted. They were Cunard tickets for a Mr and Mrs Radcliffe, travelling to New York City on the first of August. Lucy was still considering the implications of this discovery when the tickets fell to the ground.

  As soon as she saw the large blue gem beneath, Lucy knew that she had expected all along to find the Radcliffe Blue within the jeweller’s box. Edward hadn’t imagined the diamond onto Lily Millington’s neck: he had taken it from the bank’s safety deposit box. And without permission, she was sure, for there was no way Grandfather would have allowed such a terrifying breach of protocol.

  Lucy lifted the pendant from the box and held it in her palm, draping the fine chain over the top of her hand. She was shaking a little, she noticed.

  She glanced back at the painting of Lily Millington.

  Lucy was not the type of girl who longed for frills and lace and shiny gems, but over the past two weeks she had become more aware than ever of the distance between herself and beauty.

  Now she took the necklace with her to the looking glass above the fireplace.

  She stared squarely for a moment at her small, plain face and then, with a slight tightening of her lips, lifted the fine chain and attached it at the nape of her neck.

  The pendant, sitting cool against her skin, was heavier than she had imagined it would be.

  It was wondrous.

  Lucy turned her head this way and that slowly, observing the way light caught the diamond’s facets and threw flecks upon her skin. She inspected each of her profiles in turn, and then every position between, watching the lights dance. This, she thought, is what it is to be adorned.

  She smiled tentatively at the girl in the mirror. The girl smiled back.

  And then the girl’s smile dropped. In the mirror behind her was Lily Millington.

  Lily Millington did not bat an eyelid. She neither admonished nor laughed. She merely said, ‘I’ve come on Felix’s behalf. He insists that you must be in the photograph.’

  Lucy did not turn around but spoke instead to the mirror. ‘He doesn’t need me, not with Fanny. There are four of you already.’

  ‘No, there are four of you. I have decided against being in the photograph.’

  ‘You’re just trying to be kind.’

  ‘I make a point of never trying to be kind.’ Lily Millington was before her now and she looked closely at Lucy, frowning. ‘What on earth?’

  Lucy held her breath, waiting for what she knew must follow. Sure enough, Lily Millington reached out and brushed the side of her neck.

  ‘Well, now, look at that,’ she said softly, unfurling her fingers to reveal another silver shilling in her palm. ‘I had a feeling you’d turn out to be a valuable friend.’

  Lucy felt a sting of tears threaten. There was a part of her that wanted to hug Lily Millington. She reached up to unhook the necklace. ‘Did you think about whether you’re going to tell me how it’s done?’

  ‘It’s all to do with this part of your hand here,’ said Lily Millington, pointing at the skin between her thumb and forefinger. ‘You have to hold the coin firmly, but be careful to keep it concealed.’

  ‘How do you get the coin in there without being seen?’

  ‘Well, now, that’s the art, isn’t it?’

  They smiled at one another then and a wave of understanding passed between them.

  ‘Now,’ said Lily Millington, ‘for the sake of Felix, who is becoming more frantic with each passing minute, I suggest that you get yourself down to the woods at once.’

  ‘My garland, I threw it—’

  ‘And I gathered it. It’s hanging on the back doorknob.’

  Lucy glanced down at the Radcliffe Blue pendant, still in her hand. ‘I should put this away.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lily Millington, and then, when hurried footsteps sounded suddenly in the hallway, ‘Oh, dear – Felix, I fear.�
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  But the man, when he arrived at the door to the Mulberry Room, was not Felix. It was a stranger, someone whom Lucy had never seen before. A man with brown hair and a wet smirk that set Lucy against him from the start. ‘The front door was unlocked. I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said Lily Millington in an anguished voice.

  ‘Checking up on you, of course.’

  Lucy looked from one to the other, waiting for an introduction.

  The man was standing in front of Edward’s painting now. ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed. He’s good. I’ll give him that.’

  ‘You must go, Martin. The others will soon be back. If they find you here, it will likely cause a disturbance.’

  ‘“Likely cause a disturbance.”’ He laughed. ‘Listen to the hoity-toity lady.’ His mirthful expression dropped suddenly and he said. ‘Leave? I don’t think so. Not without you.’ He reached out to touch the canvas and Lucy drew breath at the sacrilege. ‘That’s the Blue? You were right. She’s going to be very pleased. Very pleased indeed.’

  ‘I said a month.’

  ‘You did. But you’re a fast worker, one of the best. Who can resist your charms?’ He nodded at the painting. ‘Seems to me like you’ve got on ahead of time, sister dear.’

  Sister? Lucy remembered then the story of Edward meeting Lily Millington. The brother who had been with her at the theatre, the parents who had needed convincing that their daughter would not be risking her respectability if she were to pose for Edward’s painting. Was this horrid man really Lily Millington’s brother? Why, then, hadn’t she said so? Why hadn’t she introduced him to Lucy? And why was Lucy filled now with a sense of dread?