Stars Across the Ocean

by Kimberley Freeman

  ‘Don’t you touch them!’

  ‘I’ll do as I please.’

  ‘You can’t come back here and start thrashing them!’

  Agnes put aside her sewing and crept to the threshold of the bedroom, where she leaned out. The voices were directly outside the front door of the house, one of them clearly Minnie’s, one an unknown man. A child cried, or perhaps it was two or even three children. Agnes felt the change in atmosphere as though foul weather had moved in; a storm brewed.

  Then a shadow darkened the door to the house and Agnes ducked back into the bedroom and returned to her work. She had glimpsed him, though: a huge beefy man with a dirty face and a ragged beard. Minnie’s husband, she presumed. In the living room, he was roaring at Minnie and the children for being dirty and untidy and for not having a meal ready for him. Agnes’s pulse flicked fast at her throat. He sounded like a monster, and his bed was separated from hers only by a curtain. It had not been bad sleeping in such proximity to Minnie, but with this huge, hairy creature so close?

  The argument went on, and Agnes heard her name mentioned.

  ‘I’ve got a lass here paying us sixpence a night just to sleep in Lizzie’s old bed and eat a bit of bread. See? I’m not as stupid and useless as you say.’

  ‘Sixpence. You could have given her our bed and charged twice that.’

  Lizzie was Minnie’s dead sister. Agnes shivered at the thought of sleeping in a dead woman’s bed.

  ‘Then there wouldn’t have been room for you. Now, you be nice to her or she’ll leave and then we’ll have nothing.’

  On and on it went, and Agnes tried to hear music in her head instead as she dipped the needle into the cloth, again and again, sewing herself away from this awful situation and into her future.

  •

  That night, Agnes met Minnie’s husband at supper. He resembled the picture of Father Bear that had been in the book of Goldilocks she had read as a child. He wore a grey shirt that might have once been white, and a filthy pair of trousers held up with rope. He sat glowering at her across the table, while Minnie and the children stood around, struck dumb by his presence. Whatever he had earned away in the mines, he had largely spent on whiskey by the smell of him. He ate two pieces of bread while the children had a quarter-slice each, and Agnes got only a half. She didn’t speak. Her entire mind was focused on calculating when she could leave.

  Minnie caught her after supper and said, ‘Errol’s not all bad.’

  Agnes said nothing.

  ‘Just … if you have anything of value, hide it. Or keep it on you.’

  ‘I have nothing of value,’ Agnes said.

  ‘Even if you think it isn’t of value,’ Minnie said. ‘He’s been known to sell things for grog.’

  ‘Aye, be right,’ Agnes said. Her money and Gracie’s shawl were in the bag under her mattress, and she could keep her cloth and thread there too.

  Then she remembered, she also had Julius Halligan’s umbrella under there: a spear of daylight shot through her clouded mind.

  Agnes wasn’t out of ideas yet.

  •

  She barely slept, listening to the snores and mumbles of Errol beyond the curtain. He had taken his pleasure with his wife without any care that Agnes could hear it all, but Agnes felt more relieved than shocked. At least she didn’t have to fear him coming through the curtain to force himself on her. She was too nervous to eat breakfast, so she shared it all with Freddy, then slipped out before Minnie could ask her where she was off to.

  The day had warmed, and she was flushed and uncomfortable by the time she finally arrived at Belgrave Place. She stood a little while in the shade of a nearby tree while she cooled down, checking the pins in her hair. She suspected that she might look dirty or dishevelled, that in fact only Gracie’s shawl kept her from looking like a pauper. She said a little thank you to Gracie on the breeze, then walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Heart speeding.

  The door was opened by a plain young woman in a navy day dress and white apron. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘May I come in?’ Agnes held out the umbrella. ‘I wanted to return this to Julius and Marianna. Are they home?’

  The parlour-maid took a step back, allowing Agnes into the entryway, and looked at the umbrella with a frown. ‘They are not expecting—’

  ‘I know they’re not expecting me, but—’

  ‘Who is it, Daisy?’ A woman in her middle years had appeared at the head of the passage that led into the house. She had fair hair streaked with white, piled high on her head. A plain, cream-coloured house gown skimmed rather too loosely over her frame, as though she had recently lost weight. Nonetheless, she was not a thin woman. Tall and well built, with square wrists and straight white fingers unadorned by jewels. This must be Marianna. Her aunt. Agnes noticed she hung back in the doorway, one hand gripped tightly at the threshold, almost disappearing behind it.

  ‘Ma’am, I am Agnes Forest. Julius very kindly let me borrow this umbrella when I came to speak to him about the position as your companion.’

  ‘You came about the position?’

  ‘Aye, and although I didn’t get it, I—’

  ‘You’re from the north?’ Her eyes were clear and light, blue or grey, and they fixed directly on Agnes. ‘I know that accent. You’re from Yorkshire. My family are from there.’

  And in those last lines, Agnes heard the faintest burr of Marianna’s own northern accent, hidden beneath the clipped tones of a good education and a London life.

  ‘I am that, ma’am, I’m from Hatby. And I need to speak with you.’

  ‘Hatby! Why, that is where I spent my childhood.’

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later Julius was there, fastening his cuffs and frowning. He stiffened when he saw Agnes. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Julius, this lass is from Hatby,’ Marianna said.

  ‘I came to return the umbrella,’ Agnes said.

  ‘I didn’t ask for it to be returned.’

  Agnes glanced at Marianna, who was smiling at her. She told herself to ask quickly about Genevieve, but now Julius was here she knew he would have her thrown out. She opened her mouth to ask again for a moment alone with Marianna, but then Marianna spoke.

  ‘As the other lass said no, Julius, why not this one?’

  Hope lit up all through Agnes’s blood. ‘Then the position is still vacant? Or vacant again?’

  Julius glanced from Marianna to Agnes and back. She could tell he was choosing his words carefully. ‘Marianna, this girl has no references. I have two other girls in mind ahead of her.’

  ‘My references were all stolen,’ Agnes said quickly. ‘A thief took my luggage at a coaching inn in York.’

  ‘There,’ Marianna said. ‘It’s hardly her fault.’ She turned to Agnes. ‘You can read? I would so love to hear more of that accent. It reminds me of happier days.’

  The parlour-maid, Daisy, had fetched Julius’s coat and gloves. ‘Here you are, sir.’

  He checked his pocket watch. ‘I’ll be late if I don’t go now,’ he muttered, as Daisy helped him into his coat. His eyes never left Agnes’s face. She tried to read his expression. He was angry. Perhaps he felt thwarted too. She understood that. ‘Fine, then,’ he said. ‘Fine. Marianna, if this is who you want, then fine.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Agnes said, all on a big gush of breath, because never had she been more grateful. ‘I won’t let you down.’

  Julius pulled on his gloves, then pointed his index finger at her. ‘See that you don’t.’

  ‘Oh, Julius,’ Marianna said dismissively. ‘How badly wrong can it go? She’s not going to steal our silverware, are you, my dear?’

  ‘I promise you no, ma’am. I’m after good honest work. That’s all.’

  ‘Hear that, Julius? Good honest work.’ Her fingers released from their grip on the threshold and she took one step forward. ‘Go on, go to work. We’ll sort everything out here.’

  Julius left, but not before he
gave Agnes a stern gaze of warning, but she simply smiled back at him sweetly. She had been gazed at sternly plenty of times in her life, and wasn’t about to be intimidated now. Not now that she was in the last place Genevieve Breckby had lived.

  CHAPTER 4

  Though nothing ought to have persuaded her to return to Bethnal Green, Agnes had grown fond enough of the children, especially little Freddy, that she felt she should say goodbye. Errol was out when she arrived, and she solemnly gave Minnie her last two shillings and told her to look after the little ones.

  ‘I can’t accept such generosity,’ Minnie said, but her hand had already closed over the coins.

  ‘You have mouths to feed. I have a good job to go to now. I will be fine.’

  Minnie nodded and said a gruff goodbye. Freddy found a piece of old ribbon to give her and Agnes left them behind, guilty but relieved.

  This time, arriving at the house at Belgrave Place, Agnes was welcomed. Daisy called for Marianna, who collected her and led her up to her new room. She felt light, as though her limbs were filled with air.

  ‘Now, you’ll eat in the kitchen with the other servants,’ Marianna said, climbing the very steep stairs to the third floor without any shortness of breath. ‘But you must sleep up here, near us. I sleep very badly. I expect Julius explained.’

  ‘Aye, ma’am.’

  ‘None of that “ma’am” nonsense. I am Marianna. In any case, my bedroom is at the bottom of this set of stairs, and yours is at the top.’ With that they reached the low-ceilinged landing, and Marianna unlocked the door to a plain little room.

  Agnes followed her in, recognising at once that this was the dormer window she had seen from the street. The ceiling was sloped dramatically towards the window, which was framed with plain blue curtains. The bedspread was white and the pillows lacked frills or ruffles. A dresser and washstand, and a small oak chest made up the rest of the furniture.

  ‘There is a servants’ bathroom downstairs,’ Marianna said. ‘Daisy will show you. But make yourself very comfortable up here. And keep your door open at night in case I call out, won’t you?’

  ‘Aye, Marianna, that I will,’ Agnes said, placing her purse on the dresser. No hiding it under a pillow or mattress here, because she had her very own room. Her very own room. For the first time in her life.

  ‘What else are you good for? Julius will be anxious that you have plenty to do.’

  ‘I’m a fine needlewoman, ma’am. I mean, Marianna. Mending and embroidery.’

  ‘That is good, because Daisy stitches quite sloppily.’

  ‘If I might say, Marianna, that dress hangs quite loose on you. I should be very happy to take it in.’

  ‘You speak your mind,’ Marianna said, absently glancing down at her dress. ‘We shall see. Perhaps I’ll fatten up again now I have company. Being lonely makes me sad, and being sad means I’m never hungry.’

  The first nudge of guilt pushed against Agnes’s ribs. Until that moment, she had viewed Marianna as nothing more than a way to get to the real prize – her mother – but now she saw in front of her a lonely middle-aged woman too afraid to venture out or even open her own front door. Impulsively, Agnes put her hand out and gave Marianna’s fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘I know we will be friends.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Marianna said, looking at their joined hands then carefully extricating her own, a light flush coming to her cheeks, ‘I shall let you settle in, shall I? Come down when you’re ready. Not before. Make yourself at home.’

  Agnes watched her go, then closed the door quietly behind her. She fell on the bed on her back, arms and legs spread out. My bed. My room. She composed in her head the letter she would write to Gracie, and imagined how happy Gracie would be for her. Then she stood and went to the window, and looked down over parks and townhouses and trees bending gently in the afternoon breeze. For the first time it occurred to her that she needn’t be in a hurry to ask about Genevieve, not if it put this position, this lovely little room that was all hers, at risk. But even such sensible thoughts couldn’t extinguish the hot urge to know, to seek, to find.

  ‘All in good time, Agnes,’ she muttered. She pulled off the shawl and folded it away with her other meagre belongings in the dresser. She wondered if it would be too much to ask for a little of her wage in advance, for new clothes. A small oval mirror stood over the washstand, and she examined her reflection, pinched her cheeks for colour. Then she descended the stairs in search of her new mistress.

  •

  Agnes found Marianna in the same drawing room where Julius had first spoken to her. Marianna was on the chaise with a light blanket over her legs, her face turned away, gazing out the window, and Agnes took a moment to study her. She had a strong face, what Mrs Watford might have called ‘good bones’, with a long straight nose and remarkably few lines. Her eyes were slightly hooded, making her gaze seem sad. Or perhaps she was sad.

  The wind had picked up and moved in the branches of the tree outside the window, making the sunlight disappear and appear again. Agnes could see beyond into a tiny garden, neat but unremarkable, as though nobody ever spent much time there. The room was quiet but for the tick of a clock and the occasional rattle of the window.

  ‘I’m here,’ Agnes said.

  Marianna turned and smiled. ‘Agnes, there you are. Pamela fetched me some new volumes from the library depot yesterday. They’re over there by the fireplace in a box. Choose me one. Nothing frivolous.’

  Nothing frivolous. There was no chance of finding anything frivolous in this collection of books. They all looked desperately ‘improving’ and reminded Agnes of the books she had been forced to read for lessons at Perdita Hall; and then the nights she had spent reading a battered volume of East Lynne to Gracie by candlelight, sitting on the floor between their beds. Unfortunately they only had volume two, so they never knew how the novel started or finished.

  ‘What about Recollections of a Missionary by a Mister Marcus Cherrywell?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘Yes, that will do.’

  Agnes sat in a wing-backed chair, opened the book, and began to read. Marianna turned her face back to the window and gave no indication that she was listening. She seemed, instead, lost in her thoughts. Agnes read on, and after about half an hour had passed, in the middle of a sentence, Marianna interrupted her.

  ‘How did you have your trunk stolen? What happened?’

  Agnes laid the ribbon at the page she was up to – dispiritingly close to the beginning – and closed the book. ‘I was at the railway station—’

  ‘Details. Which railway station?’

  Agnes cleared her throat and paused a moment before she spoke. ‘In York, ma’am. The one on Tanner Row. I had bought a ticket for a train to London without checking what time it left. I had to wait until after midnight to board.’

  ‘I told you to call me Marianna.’ But she wasn’t staring out the window any more. Her eyes were fixed on Agnes and she nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was jiggered. So tired. I wanted to put my head down more than anything. There was nobody about except a well-dressed man. I nodded off and a few minutes later I woke up and my trunk was gone, and so was the gentleman.’

  ‘Do you think he took it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe it was street urchins. There wasn’t owt of value to a gentleman in it.’

  Marianna wrinkled up her nose. ‘Men,’ she said, ‘are not to be trusted.’

  Agnes smiled. ‘That’s not allus true.’

  ‘Allus? There’s a Yorkshire term they beat out of me at boarding school. No, not always but … It was because he was handsome, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, Marianna,’ Agnes admitted. ‘It was because he looked rich.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, yes, of course it was. The lower classes are always vulnerable to …’ Marianna trailed off, then turned back to the window. ‘I’m quite tired now, Agnes. Perhaps you can go and find Pamela and ask her to show you where the needle and thread are kept. I might have a l
ittle nap before supper.’

  ‘Aye right, Marianna.’ Agnes stood, unsure if she should offer some kind of curtsey or even a farewell, but Marianna was lost in her thoughts again, and didn’t seem to notice when she left.

  •

  At supper time, Agnes met the other staff. Daisy she already knew. She was a sweet girl with a receding chin and mousy hair, and a gentle laugh. The cook, Annie, was as cheerful and ruddy as the head cook back at Perdita Hall, and Agnes wondered if there was something about working with food that made people merry. The older maid, sturdy steel-haired Pamela, was in charge of laundry and performed some of the duties of a housemaid: keeping things in order and organising a schedule of jobs. She’d been delighted to hear about Agnes’s flair with a needle and thread and had quickly fetched a basket of mending for her.

  The kitchen was roomy and warm, though lacking in windows. A lamp glowed on either side of the enormous cast-iron stove, where Annie was cooking them eggs and fried potatoes. Agnes sat with Daisy and Pamela at the round wooden table, sorting through the clothes in the basket.

  ‘There’s a few months’ worth there,’ Pamela said, and Agnes smiled at her broad accent, where the ‘th’ in months had become an ‘f’. ‘Daisy ain the much good at sewing.’

  ‘Hush, now,’ Daisy said. ‘Nor are you, and you’re in charge of the laundry.’

  ‘It’s me big meaty ’ands,’ Pamela said, stretching out her hands. ‘Can’t do nuffing delicate like.’

  ‘I’ll enjoy it,’ Agnes said. The pile was mostly socks and dresses, but there was one pair of Julius’s long johns in there and it felt uncomfortably intimate to pick them up and inspect them.

  ‘Under there,’ Daisy said, pointing out a hole where the seam had come undone at the top of an inside seam.

  Agnes folded them and put them back in the basket. ‘I’ll get on with this tomorrow.’

  ‘Grub’s up,’ Annie said, and she began to fill their bowls with the fried eggs and crispy potatoes. It smelled so much more appetising than the celery soup and cold pork sandwiches that had been taken out to Marianna and Julius earlier.