I thanked him and reminded him about Sir John’s good cutlery. I imagine that Lady Franklin would like to have it returned to her.
Thomas nodded. ‘Indeed, sir. I have placed his cutlery in one of the boats with his Royal Hanoverian medal. I wrapped it up in a silk handkerchief just as you asked me to. It should be perfectly safe.’
The earthly chorus of hammering is dwindling. In the future, when I have the luxury of looking back on this trip, I will undoubtedly hear those hammers. Thomas has made two trips from my cabin, carrying my things to the boats, which were, I was assured, perched on their sledges, on the ice that should be a sea.
I sit here, greedily snatching the last remaining moments of being able to relax, just Neptune and I. God knows when we shall next have a room to ourselves. These private quarters of mine have been my home for three years. I know every inch of them, the small spidery crack in the wall, the eye-shaped gap between the floorboards, right beside my bed, into which I have watched a multitude of insects disappear and the coffee stain on the wall from the time that I knocked my cup over, after we buried Sir John and I had had too much wine.
In truth, I love this ship and Erebus too. We have been through a lot together and I truly regret leaving them like this. But my first responsibility is to the men. I need to get them home, back to their mothers, wives, girlfriends, sisters and daughters. We have done all we can here. Too many have been lost as it is, including poor Sir John. I hope I have his blessing, although I wonder what he would think if he was still alive. Somehow, I doubt he would agree to this madness and, perhaps, that is why the Lord took him from us so that he would not stand in our way from undertaking this next adventure.
I am writing as fast as I can because I can hear the men calling to one another that all is ready. Ah, there is the knock on my door. Fitzjames is telling me that the officers are waiting for me aboard Erebus.
Neptune and I, along with our crew, must leave Terror. May God bless her and keep her and Erebus safe from harm. How we will miss them.
16
Aunt Harriet’s friend takes charge
Just as the clock struck eight o’clock, the doorbell rang. Mama had given Mrs Boxhall and Laura the night off so Aunt Harriet went to open it and returned almost immediately with Mrs Lee and her friend. Were they expecting to see so many of us? Papa, Mama, me and Grandfather, who had surprised us all by wanting to take part in the proceedings. Only I had guessed that he hoped to hear something about his wife, my grandmother. He and Papa had dressed as if for a proper dinner. They stood up rather stiffly as the women appeared, only Mama actually welcoming them, with the words, ‘How do you do?’
I was struck dumb at the sight of my teacher in my house. She seemed a lot smaller than usual. Too shy to greet her, I busied myself in watching the adults respond to one another. Mrs Lee stood aside, allowing my family a better look at her companion, Mrs Powell. Her clothes were perfectly respectable and her features rather plain though her engaging smile made her instantly likeable. Possibly, I had been hoping that she would look somewhat unusual; not exactly like a witch, but I had fancied that she would stand out on entering a room. Yet, there was something about her. As I stared, I was convinced I could see an actual light radiating from her figure, a mistiness about her head and shoulders. She was a woman of colour. I mean that, though her coat and shoes were brown and her skirt a mute green, I somehow felt shades of pink, orange and blue wafting about her. I wished I could fetch my paints and try to capture what I felt on paper.
To my surprise, she approached to shake my hand. Normally, adults who were not relatives ignored me. But here was this lady, a most gentle one at that, addressing me, ‘And you must be Ann.’
All eyes were on me as I replied, ‘Yes, madam.’
She held my hand steady for a moment longer than I expected and, for some reason, it did not make me uncomfortable. Instead, I felt that a conversation had begun, a private one between the two of us. ‘You are not scared, are you, dear?’
‘No, madam. At least, I do not think I am.’
‘Good girl! Well, just remember that you are surrounded by your loved ones. More than you know. All I need you to do is trust me and everyone else in this lovely room. Do you think you could do that?’
I felt myself melt into her kindness. I had never met anyone like her before and was determined to do whatever she asked of me.
‘Would you care for some refreshment?’ Mama asked.
‘No, thank you, Mrs Coppin. I think it is best that we get on as I have another appointment this evening.’
Grandfather and Papa, unsure of their role, kept quiet, but now Mrs Powell spoke to them, directing them towards the table. ‘If you gentlemen could place enough chairs for all of us around this table. How many of us are there?’
‘Seven!’ I declared, proud to help.
‘Also,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘Could I ask for the lamps to be turned down? I prefer to work in twilight.’
Mrs Lee and Mrs Powell removed their hats and coats and we all sat down together, taking our places around the table on which had sat Weesy’s coffin. I only noticed Mrs Powell’s large carpet bag when she opened it and brought out a small bell, setting it down in front of her. There was a strong smell of lavender that I assumed was coming from Mrs Powell or her bag. This was exciting, though I saw Papa looking puzzled and glancing at my mother for reassurance. She ignored him.
‘Well, now,’ said Mrs Powell, smiling at each of us in turn. ‘I hope everyone is comfortable. If we could place our hands palms down on the table, in a relaxed fashion, we shall begin with a prayer, as proof of our good intentions.’
‘I say,’ Papa suddenly blurted out, ‘I am sorry but I must ask what it is that you are proposing to do. I thought you just wanted to speak to Ann. What is this all about?’
‘I assure you, Captain Coppin,’ replied Mrs Powell, ‘that I will not be doing very much as I rather feel that Ann will be doing most of the work.’
‘But is she old enough for … this?’ Papa asked. Grandfather nodded to support him. It struck me that the men were nervous while the women, I felt, were impatient to begin.
Mama and Aunt Harriet exchanged a grim smile, leaving Mrs Powell to explain, ‘She must be, otherwise I would not be here. I promise you, sir, if I think it is proving to be too much, I shall bring the session to an end.’
He had no choice but to accept her solution. Just then, she shuddered. ‘Hmm, yes, it would be best if we had some paper and pencils to hand. I have a feeling that they might be needed but we shall see.’
Happy to oblige, I offered to get some and rushed out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time, knowing that no one would dare criticise me for being unladylike. None of that mattered tonight.
‘What is going on? Who are those ladies?’ William shuffled out of the shadows, a ship in his hand, and would have frightened me only I had just seen that his bedroom door was wide open and knew he must be on the prowl.
‘Nothing!’ I said. ‘It is just a tea party. Go back to bed.’
‘Are you going to bed now?’
‘Well, no, I have been asked to get some paper and pencils.’
‘Why?’
‘So that I may draw something for them.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said crossly. ‘I am in a hurry. Stop asking me questions.’
‘Can’t I come down with you? I want to see you draw.’
A likely story! However, I did feel a little sorry for him. It had crossed my mind that he should be at the table since he knew as much as I did about Weesy’s doings. My parents would never allow him, of course, but I had an idea: ‘If you want, you could hide behind the folding door. I think we are going to be calling Weesy, that’s all. But you have to be really quiet. And if you get caught, do not tell them it was my idea.’
‘I won’t, I won’t.’
He waited for me to get what I needed and tiptoed downstairs after me, holding his finger to his lip
s, proving a point. In the parlour, I took my place once more and Mrs Powell suggested that I keep the paper and pencils in front of me. Pausing to make sure we were ready, she then said, ‘Now, I want everyone to close their eyes and say with me:
Our Father who Art in Heaven
Hallowed Be Thy Name
Thy Kingdom Come
Thy Will be Done …
A few lines from the end of the prayer, I could not resist peeping and cracked open my eyes to see everyone else dutifully praying, eyes shut tight, voices loud and clear. Everyone that is except Mrs Powell who winked at me, making me smile in spite of my embarrassment at being caught out.
Once we said the ‘Amen’, Mrs Powell rang her bell, to signify, she explained, that we were beginning our session. The rocking chair in the corner began to rock ever so gently. ‘My wife’s chair,’ gasped Grandfather.
‘I think,’ said Mrs Powell, ‘that we should remember what tonight is about. We are here for Ann and her sister. There may be other ‘guests’ but, perhaps, I could return another night to concentrate on them.’
Seeing the disappointment in my grandfather’s face, Mrs Powell told him, ‘It is enough for her to know that you recognise that she is near.’
Mama and Aunt Harriet gave Grandfather encouraging smiles. He nodded to himself, saying, ‘Thank you.’
The chair ceased to rock and a wonderful calm spread throughout the room. At the same time, the air around us grew chilly. I shivered, feeling the hairs on my head stand out. My feet were numb, a familiar sensation. Mrs Powell looked at me. ‘Well, my dear, have you anything to report? But I do not want you to stress or strain to produce a feeling that you do not have.’
My voice was a whisper. ‘I do not think that Weesy is here yet.’
‘No matter,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘I will call her now on everyone’s behalf: Weesy, do not be afraid. We are here to help you, your parents, your grandfather, your aunt and sister. They love you very much and only want to know that you are alright.’
Silence.
Papa shifted in his chair. I wondered if he saw Weesy tonight, would he admit it. Suddenly, he asked, ‘Did someone kick the table?’
‘Did you feel that too?’ asked Aunt Harriet. ‘I thought I imagined it.’
Mama’s face had paled in the half-light. She jumped as the table beneath our fingertips lurched.
‘Please remain calm,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘This is quite the usual, I assure you. We must provide as warm a welcome as we can.’
‘Is my daughter doing this?’ asked Mama. ‘Ann, are you kicking the leg of the table?’
‘No, Mama,’ I said, quickly adding, ‘and neither is Weesy,’ before anyone could ask.
The table lifted once more, prompting Mrs Powell to say, ‘If your name is not Weesy Coppin, I urge you to pass on your way, with our thanks and respect.’
‘But who is it?’ persisted Mama.
Mrs Lee, who had not said a word, spoke gently. ‘It could be someone just passing through, as Mrs Powell has said. They might not be known to any of us here. It is like they are travelling around and on finding us sitting like this together, they see an opportunity to communicate.’
Mama bit her lip, still looking worried, but the table had stopped moving. We all studied it but it remained in place. I felt that whoever had been shaking it had left, thereby allowing someone else to come through. Weesy had, I felt, been waiting to do so and now moved closer. My hair felt like it was being tugged and a gust of cold air sped past my ear. ‘Mrs Powell, Weesy is here. I cannot actually see her but I know she is here.’
‘At last,’ said Mrs Powell with a gentle smile. ‘Weesy, dear, do you have something that you would like to say to us?’
Silence. Of course, everyone looked at me, so I said, ‘I do not think that she likes the question.’
‘Weesy, can you tell us why you are here?’ asked Mrs Powell.
I hardly knew how she would answer and, once more, found myself explaining her silence. ‘She does not understand the question.’
Mama sighed, causing Mrs Powell to look at her. Blushing, Mama said, ‘This is what happens. I neither see nor hear a thing, and yet must believe that my dead child is in the room with me.’
‘Let me try again,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘Weesy, is there something you can tell us to prove that it is you?’
Again, we waited in vain for something to happen. The clock ticked on and I found myself checking it. We had been sitting here for over thirty minutes. ‘I do not believe,’ laughed Mrs Powell, ‘that I am asking the right questions. Small children can be a stubborn lot.’
No one else laughed, and I sensed my family’s impatience that this had all been for nothing. ‘I wonder,’ said Aunt Harriet, ‘if Ann should ask her something.’
‘If that is alright with Captain and Mrs Coppin?’ said Mrs Powell.
My parents glanced at one another before nodding their permission.
‘Now, consider, Ann, what would be a good question,’ Aunt Harriet said, ‘something that no one here would be able to answer.’
I stared at her blankly, thoroughly stumped. Without thinking, I picked up a pencil, just to have the feel of it in my hand, rolling it back and forth between my fingers and thumb. I shivered and wondered what William was making of this. Perhaps he had already returned to bed, satisfied that he was not missing out on anything special. And then, just like that, I thought of a question, startling everyone when I leant forward and said, ‘Oh! Weesy, where are the two ships in the Arctic, the ones that have gone missing?’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Mama. ‘As if that has anything to do with us.’
‘Hush, Dora,’ said Aunt Harriet. ‘She might as well try. Nothing else is working.’
‘Exactly,’ said my mother. ‘Perhaps we are wasting Mrs Powell’s time.’
Mrs Powell assured my mother that this was not the case. ‘This sort of thing can require a huge amount of patience with very little in return.’
‘It is not for everyone,’ agreed Mrs Lee.
‘Pardon me for asking, Mrs Lee, but have you heard from your daughter since she died?’ asked Mama.
‘No, not as such, but that is not to say that I don’t feel her around me sometimes,’ said Mrs Lee.
‘I just don’t know,’ said Mama.
Their voices faded pleasantly into the distance, though I did hear Grandfather say, ‘Look at Ann.’
Closing my eyes to shut out their expectations and conversations, I had begun to draw, allowing the pencil to roam where it wanted to, soothed by the sound of its sketching busily. The page felt like iced water against my wrist and hand, reminding me how cold I was.
I had no idea how long I sat there, wondering what it was that I was creating. Would it be better than good? Or a web of meaningless squiggles? All I could fathom was that I seemed to be filling the entire page because my arm, not just my hand, was involved.
Back and forth.
Right and left.
And back again.
All the while the only sound I could hear was the forlorn chime of a distant bell.
The last thing I did was a full stop, that is, I drilled a dot into the page with the pencil standing upright just before I thought I heard the word ‘victory!’ from somewhere, maybe inside my head. We all have an inner voice after all. I took pride in knowing when to stop, even with my eyes closed. I had ruined many a decent picture by over drawing, accidentally producing an image on paper that was out of shape and completely at odds with the one in my mind. Well, this drawing had to be different since my mind had been free of expectations aside from the whiteness of the page.
I opened my eyes, curious to see what I had accomplished, and was immediately disappointed. I had hoped to see a face of a human or an animal, or a landscape, maybe a typical Derry scene with the walls in the background, or in the foreground. But, this? This was nothing, just outlines of odd-looking rectangles and oblong shapes, not a straight line to be seen. Everything was crooked, with lo
ts of nips and tucks. It made no sense at all. Sarah might have drawn it. Oh, why couldn’t I be as wonderful, as talented, as I dearly wanted to be? It was such a let-down that every picture I had ever done was nowhere as good as the picture I had planned to draw. Sometimes I wondered why I bothered trying. How long did I have to wait before I found any kind of satisfaction in what I did? Even as I was caught in my thoughts, I was scribbling words I hardly recognised: Terror, Erebus, Lancaster Sound, Prince Regent Inlet, Point Victory and Victoria Channel.
I felt tired, too tired to draw anything else, and stifled a yawn. My aunt touched my arm and pronounced it to be freezing. She pressed the back of her hand against my face. ‘Oh, she is so cold!’
Meanwhile, Papa was peering at the page and sounded most strange when he declared, ‘Oh my God, I think … but, surely not … though it does look like one.’
‘What?’ said Aunt Harriet. ‘What does it look like?’
‘A map,’ said Papa.
‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘That is what it is.’
Aunt Harriet was positively giddy as she looked from my drawing to Papa. ‘Do you really think that is what it is?’
‘Well, I will have to check it against the atlas in my study but there are the ships’ names, Erebus and Terror. I am familiar with some of the other words as place names but not all of them.’
Mama was sceptical. ‘But we all know the ships’ names. Surely Ann was just remembering them from previous conversations?’
‘Ann, dear,’ said Mrs Powell, ‘is Weesy still here?’
‘No, she has gone again.’
‘Well, then,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘Let me ring my bell, closing us for business, as it were. Captain Coppin, would you be so good as to turn up the lights?’
The light returned us to normality. Mama looked disgruntled while Aunt Harriet was torn between comforting her and wanting to march to Papa’s study to fetch his atlas. The two ladies began to put back on their coats and hats. ‘Are you quite sure,’ asked Mama, ‘that you cannot take a cup of tea?’
Chasing Ghosts Page 15