Agnes thought she may as well put herself to use while she waited. She returned to the kitchen and hunted in the cupboard for scrubbing brushes, scouring soap, waxes and polishes, and got on with the job. It was no worse than she had done for her keep at Madame Beaulieu’s bordello. She scrubbed the range and the sink, scoured the pots, waxed the table and benches, swept the floor, cleaned the copper and polished the silver. The smell emanated from an old pot full of food that had been left behind the pantry for what seemed like centuries. She marched the pot out of the house and threw the food over the garden fence, then scrubbed the pot until it looked new. The ice box was empty of both ice and food, and she rinsed it out with boiling water and left it open to dry.
It took hours, but finally the kitchen smelled like lemons and everything shone dully. Rain had moved in and thundered against the roof. Still, Saul wasn’t awake, and she had no idea where Mahesh kept his quarters.
She was growing hungry again, and wasn’t keen to eat bread and tea for a third meal in a row. She searched the pantry and found potatoes and rice. She cut the eyes out of the potatoes and washed the weevils from the rice and set both to boil. The only other edibles she could find were boxes of spice and salt, so she added some of those to the boiled potatoes and made a rudimentary kind of potato curry, whose aroma filled the house and eventually drew out Saul.
‘What are you doing, woman?’ he said, irritably.
She turned. It seemed he had slept in the same clothes he’d been wearing the previous day. They were crumpled and stained, his cravat hanging loose and his shirt untucked on one side.
‘I’m making food. Where is your servant?’
‘Mahesh? He doesn’t work Sundays. Is it Sunday?’
Agnes thought about it. ‘Aye, it is. You are right. Do you go to church?’
His answer was nothing but a bitter laugh. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It is nearly noon. I expect you’ll want me to eat some of this mess you’ve made for my luncheon. Or my breakfast.’
‘Aye, then. Come on. Sit down.’
He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and she laid out two bowls and spoons, and served them each some of the food. Even though the dish was bland, it was thick and hearty and filled her up. As they ate, she stole glances at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair and beard wilder than the day before.
‘Did you sleep poorly?’ she asked him.
‘A girl came along and roused up my ghosts,’ he said.
‘I won’t stay. I will leave this afternoon, once you have told me about Genevieve.’
‘You’ll stay. It’s Sunday, a terrible day to travel. Mahesh will return in the morning after visiting the markets. There will be food and ice for the box.’ He pointed at his bowl. ‘We won’t have to eat this.’
She smiled. ‘I learned to cook at Perdita Hall. I soon worked out that the girls who were good at it were usually made to work in the kitchen forever. I tried not to be too good at it.’
‘You succeeded,’ he said, with neither a smile nor cruelty in his tone. ‘What were you good at?’
‘Sewing. Mending and embroidery mainly.’
‘Genevieve liked to embroider,’ he said.
‘Did she?’ She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling too broadly.
‘Yes. She said it made time stand still.’
‘That’s exactly how I feel,’ Agnes said. ‘The world is whirling about, but with needle and thread in my fingers I am quiet in the middle of it all.’
He smiled his wolfish grin. ‘You are her girl, then.’
‘Do you think she will want to know me?’ Agnes asked, and was embarrassed by how small and uncertain her voice sounded.
‘I should think so,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t she?’
‘Because she gave me up. She didn’t want me.’
‘You can’t say that. Her father is a bloody fool. Pardon my language, but it’s true. Perhaps your father was Peacock after all, and they had to have her give you up so Shawe would marry her. They did well out of the deal.’ Then he sniffed, and stared down at his bowl. ‘Who’s to say who else it might have been? More have lain with her before me, more after. I suppose that’s a scandalous thing to say around a lady.’
‘I’m hardly a lady,’ Agnes said. ‘And as I know Genevieve bore me out of wedlock, then I know that she was neither innocent nor virtuous.’
‘No, Genevieve is neither of those things. When Pepperman lured her away from me, I expect he knew that too, and that he is being led on as merry a dance as I was.’
‘Who is Pepperman?’
‘George Pepperman. Her husband. I don’t know if she’s told him she’s already married, or if Ernest Shawe still thinks of himself as her husband. What a line of blockheads we all are. Where is my whiskey?’
‘Sir, you only just woke up.’
‘I told you not to call me sir. If we are finished with this nondescript meal, can we please return to the living room? I rather fancy a glass of single malt. In fact, I insist on it if I am to lay bare my pain.’
‘As you wish, Saul,’ Agnes said. She rose and followed him to the living room and they sat in the same place as they had the night before. The rain was bucketing down now, and thunder banged about between the hills. The cool air it brought was welcome, after so many days on end of heat and perspiration.
He poured himself a generous splash of whiskey, took a gulp, and then began.
‘I met Genevieve on a journey away from Paris. We were in England. In London. What year is it?’
‘1874.’
‘Well, there you are. Ten years ago. My daughter was only beginning to talk, and Genevieve was living with her sister in Belgrave Place.’
‘Marianna,’ Agnes offered.
‘That’s right. And the lad, Julius. He wasn’t even hers. She certainly hadn’t wanted to be a mother. That was the reason she fled from her husband in the first place.’
‘I thought you were the reason she fled from her husband?’
‘Ah. Not so simple. When we met, he was engaged in a very forceful campaign to woo her back. In fact, it was through Shawe that I met Genevieve. Shawe and I were at Cambridge together. I was in London, raising money for a business venture. Shawe was there at the time, mooning after your mother, telling me all about how she was a horse that needed to be broken and by jingo he was going to break her and make her return to him. I met her at a party at his home. He was introducing her about as his wife, the poor fool, and she looked mortified and furious all at once. From the moment I laid my eyes upon her, I knew she wasn’t a horse that could be broken. She had to be given the reins.
‘Over several chance meetings and then a few that were carefully organised, Genevieve and I fell in love. I travelled a great deal, but I started every journey to Colombo from London so I could see her. The distance caused us too much pain, so I brought her to Paris and she worked for me for a time. Rashmi despised her, of course. Rashmi, who didn’t want me, and didn’t want my advances once we’d had our child, but, like the dog in the manger, couldn’t bear for anyone else to have me. Eventually things became so tense between them, and I was away in Ceylon so much, that we decided Genevieve should come here. I felt as though I was living two lives: the proper life of a gentleman with his wife and child in Paris, and my real life with Genevieve.
‘You asked me to tell you about her, give you something to admire.’ He gulped more whiskey, seeming to steel himself. ‘I will sound like a sentimental blockhead, no doubt, but every aspect of her was admirable. She was striking, of course. Her expression moved from imperious to merry to carnal and in every mode she was a woman beyond compare for beauty. She lived without restraints. To be with her was dangerous, thrilling. She followed all her appetites and cared nothing for the opinions of others. She once told me she had spent her girlhood being good, but all that had got her was marriage to Mister Ernest Shawe and him grumbling constantly that she should give him a son. I was more than in love with
her; I was intoxicated by her. Life without her is …’ He trailed off, jaw set tight.
‘The people who have told me she was selfish—’
‘Of course she was selfish. She was a devil for getting her own way. But men who can only love a weakling are not fit to call themselves men, in my view. Once you have known the wild, the sweet … Ah, more whiskey, Agnes. I need more whiskey.’
He refilled his glass, took a sip and then said to her, ‘She isn’t coming back to me.’
‘You said she was in Australia.’
‘Yes, Melbourne or some damnable place. Met George Pepperman in Colombo while I was back in Paris trying to clear my debts with Valois. She was gone when I returned.’
‘You didn’t go after her?’
‘Of course I didn’t. I’m not as pathetic as Ernest Shawe. The more I clung to her, the harder she would resist. My best hope is to let her go and believe she might remember me fondly.’
Agnes turned this over in her mind as the rain hammered down outside. The overgrown hedges in the garden heaved under the weight of the water. ‘And is this Mister Pepperman also a wealthy businessman?’
‘She doesn’t care for wealth, Agnes. Put that out of your mind. She longs for experience. That is where she sees the value in life.’
Agnes closed her eyes for a moment and let the thought wash over her. This was her own truth, too. They were connected, she and Genevieve, and she was surer than ever that Genevieve would welcome her, want to know her. But Genevieve was in Australia.
‘If Pepperman is wealthy, it is precariously so. He’s in the theatre business. No wonder Genevieve was drawn to him. She lives life as though it were a drama. He and a business partner were over here looking to set up musical theatre for visiting passengers on the long run between England and Australia. They thought they could fleece them good, while they were glad to be on solid ground.’
Agnes thought about the music hall in Port Said, where the Glynn brothers had paid exorbitant prices for coffees and cakes.
‘I have my suspicions that Genevieve might have gone to meet him to audition,’ he continued. ‘She liked to sing, and Lord knows she liked to be looked at. As her face grew lined and her waist grew thick, it became more important than ever to her that she was admired.’ Here he shrugged. ‘There. A portrait of your mother.’
‘Was she kind?’
‘Hardly ever.’
‘Tender? Loving?’
‘She loved fiercely, not tenderly. Oh, God, I miss her. I miss her. The deuce take me. I cannot bear this pain.’ He hung his head in his hands, and Agnes waited while he composed himself. Finally, he raised his gaze and said, ‘I am sorry I couldn’t help you. You have come a long way. When does your return voyage depart?’
‘Twelve days.’
‘Then stay here. Be among her things. Take her clothes for your own if they fit you. They are of no use to me. Just, please leave her perfume. I spray it on my pillow from time to time and dream I am sleeping alongside her.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In some ways, I am like a stepfather to you. Allow me to play that role, even for a little while.’
Agnes smiled. Staying here would be a fitting way to end this journey in search of her mother. She could sort Genevieve’s belongings, and find some small tokens to take home. The only problem was that she didn’t want this to be the end of her journey. She wanted, more than ever, to meet Genevieve in the flesh.
‘That is a kind offer,’ she said to Saul. ‘I will take it.’
•
Agnes thought to make herself useful in the time she spent at Valentine Estate. There had been no housekeeper in a long time, and so she set about putting the house in order. She swept out the laundry and washed all her own clothes, then Saul’s and Mahesh’s, keeping them to secure buttons and repair seams. She dusted and polished and sorted and laundered. Mahesh did what he could, but he spent much of his time managing the overgrown tea fields. It seemed Saul had sold off much of his estate to neighbours, and in his misery over the loss of Genevieve had missed several harvests. There was no money for workers in the fields as there had been in the first years of the estate, Mahesh told her. He was hoping to convince some relatives to come for the autumn flush, and in the meantime was simply trying to keep the weeds from ruining the crop.
Saul rose at noon every day. He was lucid for a few hours, during which time he thanked Agnes profusely and told her that she inspired him, that today he would go out in the fields and help Mahesh and plan for the recovery of Valentine Estate. But by four o’clock – after he had mooned about between the living room and the verandah, dispiritedly forced down some lunch, pulled on his shoes then taken them off again – he was back in his chair with his whiskey in his hand. Then he said he didn’t want to go near the tea fields, that they terrified him, that Valois would come to recover debts and find nothing and probably cut his throat, and nobody would care and perhaps even the world would be better off. When he was drunk and in such a black mood, Agnes would retreat to her bedroom and sort through Genevieve’s things. She polished jewellery and took in gowns so that she could wear them; dressed up in her mother’s clothes and accessories, she studied herself in the mirror for hours, until her own face became unfamiliar to her, and she felt lost in the world.
•
Mahesh offered to take her back to the railway station at Nawalapitiya, and had been out that morning to borrow a neighbour’s bullock and cart. Her trunk was waiting in the cart, she was dressed in one of Genevieve’s cool cotton dresses, and Saul stood on the stairs watching her with sad eyes.
‘You are so like your mother,’ he said. ‘I am sorry you didn’t find her here.’
Agnes pulled on her gloves. ‘Aye, but I am grateful that I found you, and found some stories about her in which she wasn’t a monster.’
‘She is so far from it. Oh, the devil take me! I miss her. If you ever do find her, tell her to come back to me.’ He shook his head. ‘She won’t. She won’t.’
Agnes leaned in impulsively and hugged him, and he clung to her tightly, then released her and strode up the stairs and inside. Agnes climbed onto the seat next to Mahesh.
‘The long journey home begins,’ he said with a smile, urging the bullock forward.
Agnes’s heart felt hard and cold. ‘I suppose it does,’ she said.
•
Agnes returned to Colombo late in the evening, the day before she was due to board the ship home. After securing a room for the night at the Victoria Hotel, and dropping off her luggage, she walked directly to the wharfs. A brisk breeze off the sea cooled the humid stickiness. She could see the Udolpho out in the harbour at anchor, among the other steamers and a handful of clipper ships. Her return ticket did not tell her what time she would leave, so she searched in vain for somebody handling mail bags at the dock to tell her, but was finally directed to a wooden building standing at the end of the wharf.
Inside smelled like fish and ink. Agnes wrinkled her nose. A gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair stood at a wide oak table, a map laid out between him and an elderly couple who were asking many questions. While she waited, Agnes looked around the office. On the wall were pinned nautical maps with sea routes marked on them, and handwritten posters advertising positions aboard ships. She scanned them idly.
Then she stopped.
Wanted. A single woman without encumbrance to assist Ship’s Surgeon as Nurse Assistant, aboard the clipper ship Persephone, bound for Melbourne 9th of September. She must be of sober and steady disposition, English speaking, and well acquainted with the work of Nurse. Wage £3 payable in Melbourne. All living expenses aboard included. Apply to Dr Angel at The Grand Alfred Hotel.
‘Madam? May I help you?’ This was the gentleman behind the counter, finished now with the elderly couple.
She turned, then tried to remember why she was here.
‘Madam?’ he said again, eyebrows drawing down curiously.
She may not have ever been a nurse, but she had spent time in the infirmar
y at Perdita Hall and was unafraid to embellish this small truth.
‘Never mind,’ she said to the gentleman. She pulled down the poster so nobody else would see it, and took it with her as she hurried off.
•
Late that evening, she wrote to Julius.
My dear Julius,
I am sorry that you will receive this letter instead of receiving me. The Udolpho will steam away to England tomorrow without me. I have found a passage to Melbourne, Australia, instead. I do not know how long I will be away. I have heard fresh tales of Genevieve, and could not give up after coming so far already. I know I want to meet her and I believe, now, that she will want to meet me.
Please do not be angry with me. My feelings for you will not change and I trust yours for me will also remain constant. It simply isn’t time for me to return yet. Please be patient, and if you cannot be patient, be forgiving. I seek a missing piece of myself, and trust I will return to you whole.
Give my love to Marianna and, yes, tell her I am indeed on the far side of the ocean, but that I intend to cross it one more time as soon as ever I can, to be with you both again.
With love,
Agnes
The Present
Life takes on a rhythm, even though nothing is settled. I can see that Mum is growing depressed, that she is tired of the clinic now her injuries are healing. I know we are avoiding the questions that need to be asked, but the ordinary relentlessness of life – sleep, meals, and so on – keeps me from falling into despair. I am returning from the supermarket with two bags of frozen meals-for-one in the back seat of my rental car when I decide to stop in briefly at the college and find the next volume of Middlemarch, which I’ve been reading to Mum. Because she collects old Victorian books, there are no convenient paperbacks that contain a whole story; everything is in dusty volumes. As I come up the stairs, I see that Mum’s office door stands open and I hurry along, protective of her things.
Stars Across the Ocean Page 27