Stars Across the Ocean

by Kimberley Freeman

  He smiled, and suddenly she could imagine exactly what he looked like as a boy. There was something open and honest about his face. ‘Are you, then? Unfrightenable. What a wonderful word, and what a wonderful way to be.’

  She beamed at him and a moment passed and then he remembered himself, broke the mutual gaze and strode to behind his small, oak desk and stirred up some papers on it. ‘Well, then, I do believe I owe you an apology. I was less than friendly when you arrived and less than delighted that Marianna gave you the position. But I am a man who recognises his errors, and I was wrong. I am sorry, Agnes.’

  Agnes felt keenly that there was much to admire about Julius, and for a moment she admired him very warmly; then she reminded herself that he was likely her brother and perhaps that was why she felt so warm. ‘There is no need to apologise, sir,’ she said.

  ‘You may call me Julius,’ he replied. ‘Marianna refuses formality and so I must too, or seem pompous.’

  ‘The last thing you seem is pompous,’ she said, then finished her sentence with his name, said slowly, trying it out, ‘Julius.’

  The boyish smile again, the glance away again. Stirring the papers on his desk again. Then another glance up, under his eyebrows. Gently, ‘You may go, Agnes.’

  ‘Good evening,’ she said, and reluctantly left.

  •

  The following day, at long last, she had a letter from Gracie. Gracie had always struggled with reading and writing, blaming it on her bad eye. Agnes didn’t see how this was possible, given Gracie’s lacemaking ability, and suspected instead that Gracie simply found it more difficult than the others at Perdita Hall. She had been teased for it, and Agnes had been hauled in front of Mrs Watford more than once for planting a fist into somebody who dared to call her Gormless Gracie. Agnes especially appreciated, then, the thick wad of pages. She excused herself from the kitchen, where she had been loosening the seams on one of Annie’s dresses, and raced up the stairs to her own room. It was a grim grey afternoon, and she pulled a chair under the window for light, unpicked the seal and unfolded the pages. Gracie had written it, as every Perdita child must, on the back of paper already used for laundry lists and class schedules. Paper was scarce. It even smelled of Perdita Hall: a faintly citrus scent over old damp. Agnes was reminded sharply of the world she had left behind barely a month ago, and took a moment to breathe out gratefully for this new life she was living.

  The first thing she noticed was the tiny letters jammed into the top margin, which said: Sorry so long replying you know how hard I find writting. Did it over severall nights. Agnes smiled, and continued to read.

  Dearest Agnes,

  How I loved receving your letter! I will try to write quickly so you are not too long without the comfort of your dearest friend! I will tell you all that is exiting that has been happening here. Bernadett Challenger fell down the stairs and brock her arm and had to be sent to York to have it set by a sergone. Captain Forest has paid for it all because he does not want her to have a bent arm for life. A little boy of around 7 or 8 died in his sleep for we don’t know why. They slopped out the boys dormertory and sprinkled carbolick everywhere, and we were all forced out to the churchyard to pray for him at his funeral. His coffin seemed so very small and I did cry a lot as it seemed so sad, espeshly on a dowly Yorkshire day. Is London very bright and sunny compaired with Hatby? I would reckon it to be very noysy. Mrs Cranbourne has arrived and told me they are locking away the ink wells now so I will write more later.

  The letter picked up again in a different-coloured ink then, and Gracie scribbled on for a few pages with the lesser news. Who had become friends with whom, who had been in trouble for shirking, a description of a new young nurse in the nursery, and how Hannah Coromandel had been discovered eating ‘sope’. Gracie was fierce in her defence of Hannah, apparently, while everybody else had laughed at her. Agnes missed her violently, then. Dear Gracie, who saw the good in everyone, even Hannah Coromandel who had been beastly to both of them in the past.

  Eating soap. Good lord.

  Gracie left and came back to the letter twice more, each time with a different ink. Mostly it was more trivia, but on the final page, her tone became more hesitant.

  Today I was in Hatby dropping off a parsel and picking up lemon polish when I saw Cole Briar. He asked after you and was very kind to me. Did you never think he was handsom, Agnes? He was very nice to me and said to come and see him again.

  Agnes frowned.

  When I said that I should like to see him again in the village he smiled at me in such a way that made my heart quite flop over on itself. I expect you think me as gormless as the others. I shall send this now so you get it sooner. I am sorry it has taken me so long.

  I remain your most loving ally.

  Gracie.

  Agnes put the letter down and turned her gaze to the window. Rain had begun to fall, and the view of the trees was distorted by rivulets of water. She didn’t like Gracie writing of Cole Briar in such a way, and it aroused all her protective instincts. But Gracie was a long way away, and seventeen years old now. No longer that little red-haired, queer-eyed girl that Agnes had been defending as far back as she could remember.

  As Agnes folded the letter and slid it into the top drawer of her dresser, she heard noise from downstairs. Julius had arrived home from the hospital and supper would soon be served. Everything would tick along as normal and soon she would be in the warm kitchen with the other servants, and Gracie would be just fine without her. She had to be.

  •

  For three days in a row, Agnes took Marianna into the garden to read, and for three nights Marianna didn’t wake and need her. Agnes thought that perhaps she had discovered the secret to curing Marianna’s sleeplessness, but on the fourth night she was proven wrong; the voice in the dark pulled her up from under the tide of sleep and she felt her tiredness all the way to her marrow.

  Agnes rose and pulled on her dressing gown, slid her feet into her new slippers, and made her way down the stairs. She remembered the routine easily. Light the lamp, draw the curtains – all was still and dark outside – and make sure Marianna was propped up comfortably.

  ‘What would you like me to read?’ Agnes asked, kneeling next to the bookshelf.

  ‘We haven’t heard from Mister Cherrywell in a while.’

  ‘Didn’t we decide he was boring?’

  ‘Precisely what I need to get back to sleep, dear.’

  Agnes selected the volume, yawning widely, then settled herself in her chair and opened the book to read. From time to time, her eyes would flick towards the walnut chest of drawers, the one she suspected held Genevieve’s things. It was locked, but Agnes knew that the key was in the drawer beside Marianna’s bed. She had seen it once when looking for matches. So far, she hadn’t dared to sneak about and look for it: not because she feared discovery and losing her position, but because she was so fond of Marianna and valued her good opinion. This surprised her enormously: that fondness could be a heavier brake on her impulses than reprimands and warnings.

  She read on. The dark outside the window thinned and began to brighten from the east. Marianna had fallen very quiet and Agnes glanced up to see she was nodding off.

  Now she couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the key, the chest of drawers, what might be inside. Words kept appearing on her lips, but her brain had long ago stopped making sense or significance of them.

  Dare she?

  A little more grey light in the room. Now Marianna was sleeping. Agnes closed the book and put it aside. Sat silently for one minute. Two. Marianna didn’t wake.

  She stood and told herself she wouldn’t do it. How crushing it would be to see Marianna’s soft brow bewildered, disappointed. One step towards the door, another. But then she had switched direction and was creeping towards the bed. She told herself she was simply making sure that Marianna was resting comfortably, that her pillow wasn’t too high or her covers too low. Agnes watched her hands as if they belonged to some
body else. Sliding open the drawer silently. Then the key was in her palm, just as quietly, and Marianna was still sleeping, her face soft and smooth in repose.

  Agnes’s heart thudded so hard she almost imagined she could hear it. She had the key now; she may as well finish the task. She hurried to the chest of drawers, took a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Marianna was still asleep, then slotted the key into the lock on the top drawer.

  Clothes, just as Marianna had said. Agnes pulled a nightdress out, shook it, held it against her own body. It would have been a perfect fit, and it gave her a little glow to know she was of the same dimensions as Genevieve. She folded it again, still checking nervously on Marianna, and placed it back. She hoped for more than clothes. Agnes rummaged in the drawer, her fingers touching silks and satins, cotton and wool, found only more clothes. She slid it closed, locked it, and went to the next drawer. No better luck. Only clothes, mostly underwear and nightwear. All of fine quality.

  The last drawer, then. Agnes kneeled and realised she could no longer see if Marianna was awake or not. She took a deep breath and unlocked the drawer.

  More clothes in a thin layer over … Agnes withdrew a flat wooden box with a Chinese pattern on the lid. She sat back on her heels and pulled it into her lap, felt about for the catch and it sprang open. Jewellery. Rings and brooches and necklaces. These must be Genevieve’s; Marianna always went unadorned. She tried one of the rings on and it fit, so she tried on another. Agnes was aware that sitting here, going through drawers and trying on jewellery was a good way to lose her job, but she became so enamoured of the idea that she was wearing her mother’s things that she couldn’t stop herself. The jewels all sat in a silver tray inside the box, and Agnes lifted it expecting to find more jewels beneath.

  Instead, she found a soft, once-white material, yellow with age and a little moth-eaten.

  Marianna stirred in her sleep and Agnes craned up to see if her eyes were still closed. Heart beating hard, she withdrew the material and shook it out.

  A tiny dress. A baby’s dress.

  Agnes’s breath caught in her throat. She fingered the light fabric, then saw the rings on her hand and sense rushed back in. Working quickly, she folded the dress, placed it and the silver tray back in the box, and slipped off the rings. All of it went firmly back in the drawer. She stood and returned the key to its home, then took a moment to stroke the hair away from Marianna’s brow. Her aunt. That baby dress among Genevieve’s precious things was the proof, if any further was needed. Agnes smiled down at her aunt, then impulsively leaned in and kissed her forehead.

  Dawn was nearly here. Agnes put out the lamp, drew the curtains and left.

  •

  Although she might have returned to bed and slept for a few more hours, Agnes’s brain was far too busy with questions to sleep. Instead, she descended all the way to the kitchen, with the idea of warming some milk. But she became aware even before she hit the bottom step that there was somebody else awake and moving about in the kitchen. Warmth and soft clatter.

  Annie was there, her apron clean and tied tightly. Usually Agnes saw her at the end of the day, when her apron was smeared with food and half falling off.

  ‘Good morning, young miss,’ Annie said. ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘As are you.’

  ‘I like to get ahead of the day,’ she said. ‘You?’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

  Annie indicated a pot on the range with a nod of her head. ‘I’m making cocoa for meself. There ought to be enough for both of us if you’d like some.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Agnes said, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. ‘I would like some. I’d love some.’

  Annie fetched a second cup and then shared out the warm liquid. There wasn’t quite enough for both: they ended up with two-thirds of a cup each, and Agnes was deeply grateful for Annie’s generosity. The plump woman sat with her, tucking her unruly yellow curls behind her ears.

  ‘Orright, then, why are you not sleeping, love? Is it Marianna having you up at all hours?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘She sure has grown fond of you, missy.’

  ‘And I of her.’ Agnes sipped the cocoa. It was hot and sweet, and she curled her hands around the cup to warm them. ‘How long have you been here, Annie?’

  ‘Must be fifteen years now.’

  ‘Is that how long Marianna has lived here?’

  ‘No, she’s been here closer to twenty.’

  ‘And she’s allus stayed inside?’

  ‘As long as I’ve known her, yes. The cook who was here before me told me that for a while she wouldn’t even sit near a window.’

  Agnes mused on this. ‘I wonder what happened to her.’ Then, when she realised that the whole house was asleep and nobody would interrupt them, especially not Julius, she asked, ‘What was her sister like? Genevieve?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘She wasn’t Marianna’s equal. And that’s all I’ll say.’

  Agnes felt a flare of irritation; this was her mother Annie spoke of. Not only did Agnes need to know about her, she needed to hear what was good about her. But then, she considered, a woman as unorthodox as Genevieve would perhaps always draw condemnation.

  ‘Do you know where she went?’

  ‘No idea. She left in a hurry. When was that … nine years ago? I swear, time is rushing past at such a rate. Julius was only twelve or thirteen, I remember that, and too proud a boy to cry over losing her. It was a good thing Marianna loved him so much, or else he might have become cold inside.’

  Cold inside. Agnes had often wondered if a lack of love had made her so. ‘So, Genevieve abandoned him?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  Agnes spread her palms. ‘There’s time before breakfast. It’s barely dawn. And I really ought to know all I can about Marianna if I’m to be a good companion to her. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.’

  ‘Well, the worst you can say is her sister’s name, so simply know that much.’

  ‘Because she abandoned Julius, or because she stole Marianna’s fiancé?’

  Annie narrowed her eyes. ‘You are asking a lot of questions this morning, missy.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Annie drew breath, seemed to be considering whether or not to answer. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘as I understand, Marianna was betrothed to Mister Ernest Shawe. But she didn’t marry him in the end; Genevieve did. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Shawe? But Julius’s surname is Halligan.’

  ‘Oh, Mister Shawe wasn’t Julius’s father.’

  Agnes felt the world spin. Was Julius the illegitimate child? Had Agnes placed herself at the centre of an elaborate self-deception? ‘Then, who …’

  ‘When Julius was a wee lad, maybe two or three years old, Genevieve adopted him. He was the son of her dearest friend from school, and both she and her husband died of typhus in Ireland.’

  The fire in the stove popped softly, but all else was quiet. Two thoughts appeared in Agnes’s mind at once: first, that Genevieve could not be such an awful person if she adopted Julius, and second, that Julius was not related to her. So, why did she feel such an intense sense of knowing him, in her body and her blood?

  ‘Do you know why Genevieve left?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘I remember that day well,’ Annie said with a raise of her eyebrows. ‘Never forget it. The only time I ever heard Marianna raise her voice. Shrieked like a harpy, she did. Didn’t know she had it in her.’ She adjusted the apron strap on her left shoulder. ‘They’d had their father here, visiting from Yorkshire, in the year their mother died. Bit of a stiff fellow. Nobody much liked him but back in those days we all kept below stairs. Marianna doesn’t much stand on ceremony, but my word Genevieve did. Servants were servants and ought to remain so.

  ‘After a few days of visiting, their father left and after that Marianna and Genevieve had an argument. Brutal, it was. Insults traded on both sides. We couldn’t hear every word of it, but I did
hear with my own ears, clear as you can hear me now, Marianna shrieking at Genevieve, “How am I to look at you now I know what you did?” Genevieve was gone within a week. Thought she was disappearing in the dawn but of course the servants were all awake and we saw and heard her but didn’t stop her.’ She sniffed archly. ‘No great loss.’

  Agnes’s mind was bursting with questions, none of which Annie would know the answer to.

  ‘Master Julius sat at the front window for a week, watching for her to come back,’ Annie continued. ‘Eventually Marianna drew the curtain and said he was to sit there no more. He was certain she’d come back, though; talked about it with us all the time. After a few months, he stopped talking about it. How long he kept thinking about it, I don’t know.’

  ‘Did anyone ever hear from her? Perhaps she met some mishap. Perhaps she is …’ She couldn’t bring herself to say dead. Didn’t want to imagine that she had come so far only to find her adventure was already at an end.

  ‘I don’t know, missy. Pamela picked up the post once and said she saw a letter from Paris looked like Genevieve’s hand, but we don’t know for certain. We just try to do our best for Marianna and for Julius, who has grown into such a kind man. That’s how you ought to know he’s adopted – Genevieve didn’t have a kind bone in her body.’

  Not a kind bone in her body. Agnes let the words sink in, and she thought about Gracie and how kind she was and how it meant that people took advantage of her and could get away with any cruel behaviour. Perhaps a woman didn’t have to be kind. Perhaps Genevieve was something else. Strong, determined, unconventional. These were all admirable qualities in men. Why not in women?

  Agnes asked no further questions. She finished her cocoa and then helped Annie wash the pot and cups, and stayed a little longer to help roll the oats for Marianna’s breakfast, which she always took in bed, and prepare Julius’s poached eggs. But all the while, she was musing, asking herself how far she would go to find her mother. She’d already made it to London. Why not Paris?