Stars Across the Ocean

by Kimberley Freeman

  ‘I don’t like it. I worry that we will sink. Do you know how many steamers have sunk since 1840?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t, but you must stop worrying. The ship won’t sink while I am on it. I believe this with all my heart.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Because I am specially charmed.’ She hung the damp washcloths over the rungs of the bunk ladder. ‘Close your eyes and I’ll tell you a story.’

  Tempie closed her eyes. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Once there was a girl who had no mother and no father. She was left at a foundling hospital in the cold, grey north when she was only a week old. When it came time to name her, they called her after a ship. Her name was Agnes Resolute.’

  Tempie’s eyes flew open. ‘Agnes! No!’

  ‘And she was called that because she was born with sea legs and charmed that no ship she sailed on would ever sink.’

  ‘Agnes, is it true you are an orphan?’

  ‘Sh,’ Agnes said. ‘Let me finish the story.’

  Agnes began to recount her adventures so far: learning about her mother, having her luggage stolen, living with the paupers, growing to love Marianna, escaping from the bordello, turning down Julius’s marriage proposal. Tempie gazed at her wide-eyed through the whole story, and the rain hammered and the wind blew and the ocean roared. But Tempie stopped vomiting.

  ‘My goodness, Agnes, you must be the most courageous woman in the world!’ Tempie said when Agnes had finished.

  ‘Don’t tell your mother or sisters a word of it,’ Agnes said.

  ‘Of course I shan’t, because look: your story has cured me. I am not ill any more.’

  ‘Then close your eyes and sleep, and the storm will pass and morning will come.’

  ‘Will you stay down here with me?’

  Agnes longed for her own bed, away from the stench of vomit. But Tempie was such a gentle, sad lump of a thing, and Agnes felt nothing but pity for her. ‘Aye, then. Move th’self over.’

  Agnes slid into the bed next to Tempie, and put an arm over her waist. Tempie was asleep in just a few minutes, and Agnes listened to her breathe awhile. But then the ship’s rocking did its work, and Agnes, like an infant in a cradle, drifted into a deep and soothing sleep.

  CHAPTER 15

  As the days went by on the ship, Agnes and Tempie became firm friends. Through the rough seas of the Bay of Biscay, they learned to eat their meals over the little railings called ‘fiddles’ that were erected on the table. When the ship steamed past Gibraltar, they stood together on the foredeck and gazed at the fortifications and the open mouth of St Michael’s Cave, so taken with the sight that they missed the Divine Service given by the kindly Reverend Dunbar in the saloon. Along the coast of Spain they shared secrets and spotted porpoises, and Tempie told Agnes all she knew about ships and sailing routes. They were the triumphant egg-and-spoon team in the afternoon sports on deck, when the Udolpho moored in Marseilles to put off dozens of bags of mail. As the weather grew warmer, the cabin became the last place they wanted to be: hot and cramped. They abandoned their corsets and found a place in the shade of the quarterdeck to hide from Tempie’s family and lift their skirts to their knees so their skin could feel the slight breeze that the movement of the ship created. They read to each other, and Agnes showed Tempie how to improve her long-and-short stitch. Their hands grew tanned and their faces always shone. In the Strait of Bonifacio, the earnest and melancholy Peter Glynn followed Agnes out on deck one evening while everyone was singing ‘God Save the Queen’ in the saloon. He declared Agnes his queen, and Agnes put him off gently. Tempie later told her that Mercy now hated her with all her heart but that she, Tempie, would always remain loyal. To say Mrs Dartforth was growing to dislike Agnes was an understatement, but perhaps she allowed the friendship to flourish because she was embarrassed by Tempie’s size and plainness, which were, to Agnes’s mind, the least important things about her. In fact, now Leonard Glynn had been definitively rejected by both Constance and Mercy, he had turned his eye to Temperance without a hint of shame.

  One night, in the Strait of Messina, they were woken by shouts and commotion from above, and left behind their stuffy cabin for the cool evening air. The captain and the Reverend and some of the stewards and the Orientals in their beautiful vests were pointing and gasping, and Agnes followed their gaze to see bright orange light against the sky.

  ‘Oh, my Lord!’ Agnes breathed, hastening to join them all at the port side of the ship, which was passing an erupting volcano. Down towards the aft, a line of third-class passengers were likewise hanging off the railings, applauding and shouting with excitement every time a flame shot into the night sky.

  ‘What is it?’ Tempie asked.

  ‘Mount Stromboli,’ said the captain. ‘She’s always on fire, that one.’

  ‘There’s a village at the bottom of the mountain,’ one of the stewards said. ‘I could do without the excitement of living there.’

  Agnes gazed as hard as she could, until the fiery shapes were burned to the back of her eyes, in the hope she might remember it forever. The flames were as bright as the sun, the orange sparks shooting up fast and drifting down slowly, and long rivers of bright orange lava flowed down the black sides of the mountain. Tempie squeezed Agnes’s hand and said, ‘Oh, the things we’ve seen, Agnes.’

  Agnes squeezed her hand in return, speechless for the first time in her life.

  •

  Ten days after they left London, they approached Port Said and the entrance to the Suez Canal, which would take them into the Red Sea. The heat had grown increasingly unbearable, and the Glynn brothers bragged about ‘dossing’ on the deck at night, which was much cooler. Agnes said she would like to do that too, which scandalised Mrs Dartforth beyond words. She was further scandalised when the young men said at lunchtime that they intended to go ashore when the Udolpho reached the port, even though they weren’t predicted to arrive before ten in the evening.

  ‘I hear Port Said is quite, quite dangerous,’ Mrs Dartforth said, banging her fork on the table for emphasis. ‘You’ll have broken heads and rifled pockets when you return. If you return.’

  ‘Ah well, ma’am,’ said doughy Leonard, ‘a pair of lads like us can certainly contend with any street bandit. Besides, I hear tell that the town is never asleep. We will not change our plans for any persuasion.’

  ‘Take Tempie with you,’ Constance joked. ‘If somebody tries to rob you, she can sit on them.’

  The only people who laughed were Tempie’s mother and sisters. Everyone around, including the young men themselves, were mortified by such a cruel joke. Tempie pushed her chair back and hurried out of the dining room, and Agnes tore off after her with Mrs Dartforth calling in her wake, ‘Oh leave her be, Miss Resolute. She’s far too sensitive.’

  Agnes caught up with Tempie outside their cabin, and held her in her arms while she cried.

  ‘What a beastly thing to say,’ Tempie declared. Her face was flushed and tear-stained.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How could you know?’ Tempie bit back. ‘You are beautiful and … and slim and …’

  Agnes held back her own sharp retort. ‘I have been teased for other things, Tempie. I know how it hurts, but I also know that the wound goes only as deep as you let it, and if you distract th’self with some terribly wicked plan, it usually goes away altogether.’

  Tempie sniffed, blinking her tears away. ‘What terribly wicked plan?’

  ‘I want to go ashore with the lads.’

  ‘To Port Said? To broken heads and stolen purses?’

  ‘We have stayed aboard at every other port. Imagine, an exotic town, all lit up at night.’

  Tempie shook her head. ‘Mother would never let me.’

  ‘Aye, too right she wouldn’t, which is why we won’t tell her. We don’t reach port until ten this evening. She will be in her cabin by then, as she is every other night.’

  ‘But how can I show my face again to the Misters Glynn, after they lau
ghed at Constance’s terrible joke about me? What if they do want me to sit on a thief?’

  Agnes giggled, but it was kindly and Tempie giggled too.

  ‘Oh, Agnes, I am so sorry for snapping at you.’

  ‘I don’t mind. I will tell you something: the lads did not laugh at the joke. Rather they looked scandalised and I’ll have you know that Leonard seems very interested in anything you say at dinner.’

  Tempie blushed furiously, her neck going almost the colour of beet. ‘I don’t know if I dare.’

  ‘I’m afraid you are going to have to dare, dear friend, for I am taking you with me.’ Agnes imitated Leonard’s very posh London accent as she said, ‘I will not change my plans for any persuasion.’

  Tempie looked terrified, but even so she said yes.

  •

  ‘Really, Agnes, this is scandalous,’ Tempie said as they crept down the corridor of the men’s saloon. It was one floor above the ladies’ area, and much wider and grander, Agnes noted.

  ‘Hush now. Do you remember their room number?’

  ‘Six.’

  The ship’s engine was quiet, and made only a small lulling movement. Agnes found the right door and knocked softly and swiftly. The door opened, and Peter Glynn’s face lit up when he saw Agnes.

  ‘Agnes!’

  ‘We’re coming with you.’

  Leonard joined them, a dubious expression on his face. ‘Tempie? Has your mother approved this excursion?’

  ‘I …’ Tempie blushed.

  ‘She hasn’t,’ Agnes replied. ‘But we are still coming with you.’

  Leonard and Peter exchanged glances, then Leonard sighed. ‘You must stay close to us. The locals in Port Said are thought to be quite brutal with travellers. They’ll extort you if they can, and rob you if they can’t.’

  Agnes had left all but a little of her money under her pillow in their cabin. ‘Aye, aye,’ she said. ‘Come along. Before we are heard or seen by Mrs Dartforth.’

  The boys locked their cabin door and together the four of them climbed up to the deck. A few others from the second class were whistling for the little ferry boats that darted between the ship and the wharf. Tempie shrank against Agnes while they waited their turn, but soon enough they were down the ladder and into a small, shallow skiff. A dark-skinned man demanded sixpence, and Leonard paid him. Then they too were darting away from the ship. Agnes could see all the other ships in the port, the town on one side and on the other flat desert. A lighthouse blazed at the mouth of the port. The wharf smelled salty and fishy, and the scent of coal hung in the air. Leonard helped Tempie ashore and Peter put his hand out for Agnes. She wanted to brush his hand away but realised she would need it as she climbed out of the shallow boat, holding her skirts up with one hand.

  ‘Lord!’ Tempie said. ‘I’ve forgotten how to walk on land.’

  Agnes laughed. It was the same for her. As they made their way along the wharf, the unmoving ground felt odd and jolting against her feet. She noticed Leonard take Tempie’s arm and draw her in close. Peter tried to do the same with Agnes, but she pulled away.

  ‘For safety,’ he said, and Agnes reluctantly agreed.

  ‘Just for this evening,’ she replied.

  They emerged into a well-lit thoroughfare. Rather than stone buildings, these were made of wood, three or four storeys high, with wrought-iron balconies. White canvas awnings were set up, gas lamps hanging off their corners, and tables of wares laid out. The shouting of hawkers intensified as they walked past. Agnes saw a fine-looking Egyptian couple – he in loose white clothing with a little brimless hat, she dressed in layers of white and black, with a diadem in her hair holding a veil – buying water from a black man with a tank on his back. He offered them a cup, then bent to fill it, and waited for them to drink and return it. A large store with lamps all lit in its windows declared itself an ENGLISH STORE in large writing across the awning. They went in and Agnes couldn’t make sense of the profusion of objects for sale, none of which seemed English at all. She browsed the postcards, and dearly would have loved to send some to the people she missed. But she didn’t know Gracie Badger’s address, and if she sent one for Julius, then Marianna might see it and worry that she was so far away.

  Tempie held a beautiful Arabian-looking crown on her head. ‘What do you think, Agnes?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it’s beaten iron that’s painted gold,’ Leonard huffed, examining the price. An Egyptian man hurried over and started talking about how his merchandise was ‘all good quality’ and ‘real Arabian gold’, and he and Leonard engaged in some good-hearted haggling until Tempie had her crown and the merchant had his still-inflated price met. Up and down the street, swarms of people moved about, as though it were midday and not approaching midnight. Many English and French, many dark-skinned, some in suits and dresses, some in loose white robes; beggars and street vendors and gangs of children running about, all of whom, Tempie said, should long ago have been in bed. Agnes soaked up the noise and the smells, the heat and even the company. They wandered the thoroughfare for an hour, then wound up inside a concert hall. A dark man in white clothes had ushered them in, promising them the entry was free, but of course once inside they were compelled to take a table and order food or drinks. Leonard and Peter were very gentlemanly and ordered coffees and cakes for everyone, and they sat in the crowded gas-lit room, choking on thick tobacco smoke, and watching a tall, thin woman on a tiny stage sing quite poorly in French.

  Their coffee and cake arrived and they shouted over the entertainment and the noise of the crowd, sharing their observations and declaring that everybody was wrong about Port Said and it was a very friendly and enticing place. The singer finished and while the stage was being set up for a band, they were finally able to hear each other properly.

  Leonard called over a waiter and directed him to bring them more coffee. The waiter had difficulty understanding him and Leonard began to rant at him. Agnes’s face flushed to be associated with him, and she tried to smile at the waiter kindly as he darted off to fetch their order.

  ‘Dashed idiots, these natives,’ he muttered and Peter agreed with his brother.

  ‘I am so glad you brought me on your adventure, my dear friend,’ Tempie said, giddy and silly with excitement, slinging her arm around Agnes’s shoulders. ‘I have never been so happy.’

  ‘I like an adventurous spirit in a woman,’ Peter said.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe her adventures!’ Tempie exclaimed. ‘Will all that end when you find your mother, Agnes?’

  Peter’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Your mother? I thought she was dead.’

  Tempie pressed her hand to her lips. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Leonard leaned forward. ‘Go on. Spill it.’

  Agnes was mildly annoyed with Tempie for letting loose her secret to these buffoons, but she smiled nonetheless. ‘Aye, it’s true. My father was not a Hungarian bearskin trader and I never knew my mother. I’m going to Colombo to find her. It is the last place she was seen or heard of.’

  ‘She’s a foundling!’ Tempie added flightily. ‘Left on a doorstep!’ She rattled on a little longer until Agnes reached out and pressed a finger over her lips.

  ‘Oh! Sorry, Agnes,’ Tempie said.

  Agnes withdrew her finger. ‘Be right, Tempie. We don’t want to bore the lads with my history.’

  Peter had narrowed his eyes. ‘How then, Miss Resolute, are you so well dressed?’

  Agnes noted he didn’t use her first name, and certainly all the mooning passion had left his voice. ‘I have been lucky enough to have a benefactor,’ she said, hoping it was vague enough.

  ‘A man?’ Leonard asked.

  Agnes did not answer, not wanting to drag Julius’s name into it. ‘There are surely more interesting things to talk about than me,’ she said. ‘Tempie, why don’t you tell us about—’

  ‘I am interested,’ Peter said. ‘I am very interested.’

  Agnes stood. ‘Thank you, sirs. I am tired an
d will make my own way back to the ship.’

  ‘Agnes?’ Tempie said uncertainly.

  ‘Enjoy your evening, Tempie,’ Agnes said, and hurried away from the table and out into the balmy evening air.

  Tempie joined her on the street a few moments later. ‘I’m sorry!’ she cried. ‘Oh, what a terrible friend I am!’

  ‘I blame you for nothing, Tempie. The sirs oughtn’t have been asking questions about money. Even I know it’s vulgar.’ But her heart was still ticking briskly. She didn’t mind for her reputation, but she did mind for Julius’s.

  ‘But it’s all perfectly fine,’ Tempie said. ‘You’re going to marry Julius. It’s not at all grubby.’

  Agnes stopped and turned to Tempie, who looked at her with big soft eyes. ‘To some people, us poor folk always look grubby,’ Agnes said.

  ‘Not you.’

  ‘Aye. Well, I imagine the young sirs will have things to say about me, and I’d rather not be around when they did. Shall we get along to the ship?’

  Tempie agreed, taking her hand.

  At the wharf, Agnes saw the Udolpho on her anchor out in the channel. All the little boats moored along the jetty bobbed and swayed gently. There were men in some of them, chatting in their strange language, the bright ends of their cigarettes flaring in the dark. The sky had clouded over, covering the stars and the crescent moon. The air was warm.

  Agnes found a sixpence for a boatman, and as they rowed out across the water, Agnes thought of the expression on Peter’s face when he realised she wasn’t the lady he’d thought she was. It turned her mind to Julius, to his goodness and his kindness. Poor Julius, awkwardly tripping his way through the proposal, only to have her rain fury down on his noble head. The regret was like nausea, burning inside her, turning her stomach over. She fiercely longed to be in the quiet house on Belgrave Place with Julius and Marianna, and not half a world away.

  •

  Agnes was dressing the next morning when the door to their cabin banged open and a shrill voice called, ‘Tempie!’

  Agnes hurriedly gathered her clothes to her chest and looked up, to see Mrs Dartforth blocking the doorway. Tempie, who had been reading in bed, made a little moaning sound of fear.