Stars Across the Ocean

by Kimberley Freeman

  ‘Is that tomorrow’s?’ I asked, excited.

  ‘Yes, but I’m not sure Marin should give it to you. I think he should strike out the lines and start anew.’

  ‘Why? May I see it now?’ I was halfway across the room already, my breath half-held, desperate to see what it was Marin shouldn’t tell me. It was in my hands in a second, and then Emile was there with his fingers firmly over mine.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said darkly. He was very close. I could feel the heat from his body. His grip was tight.

  ‘Please,’ I said.

  He slowly let go, and I unfolded the note and read it before he could change his mind.

  Moineau, I am falling in love with you.

  My senses reeled, throwing me off balance but in a pleasant way, like sand dissolving beneath my feet. ‘And is this from you, or from Marin?’ I asked lightly.

  His own serious gaze did not lighten. ‘It must be from Marin, for I ought not fall in love with you.’

  The off-balance feeling became instantly unpleasant. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It won’t end well. You do not know all there is to know about me.’

  ‘Then, tell me. I want to know everything about you.’

  ‘No, you do not. You cannot.’ He stepped away from me, then shook his head, the darkness dissolving. ‘It is late and I am tired, and not making any sense,’ he said.

  ‘Would you like me to go?’ I felt silly and afraid.

  ‘No, I … I have so missed seeing you. Stay a little longer and we will talk about other things.’

  So, I stayed, and we pretended the strange interaction over the note hadn’t happened. We sat opposite each other and did not touch, but I could still remember the feel of his hands on mine, and that night as I went to sleep I held the feeling in my mind until it dissolved into blackness. I dreamed of standing by a window, reaching through to grasp Emile’s hands on the other side, only to find they were Mr Shawe’s hands instead.

  CHAPTER 19

  Moineau

  Three nights in a row Madame Azhkenazy called a séance, and each time I visited Emile after dinner, with my sister urging me more and more strongly. ‘Why oughtn’t you marry a carpenter?’ she said. ‘As long as one of us takes Mister Shawe as Father has promised.’

  I asked her once, if all of Mr Shawe’s money would make up for a lack of love, and she gave me such a look as if my question had been asked in a language she didn’t understand.

  Why oughtn’t you marry a carpenter? Yes, why oughtn’t I? My evenings with Emile were pure bliss. We talked, we ate, we lay on the floor one night with Marin between us, listening to light rain on the roof and Emile said, ‘Marin is in heaven at this moment,’ and I said, ‘So am I’ at precisely the same time Emile said it. I took this as a sign. I took everything as a sign. I had become as superstitious as Harriet. Even the clear weather seemed to conspire to keep Emile and I in our happy bubble, in the plain little house, under the stars.

  On the fourth day, in the late morning, I was lying on my bed reading with Basil tucked under my arm, when I heard a great commotion downstairs. I put aside my book and my cat, and descended the stairs to find Harriet howling in the drawing room and Jones trying to get her to take some tea. Harriet had upended the tea tray and was pounding her own chest, shouting, ‘He’s gone! He’s gone!’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, hurrying to Harriet’s side.

  ‘Madame Azhkenazy has visited,’ Jones said, her mouth pulled down hard at the corners.

  ‘She said there is nothing more to be done,’ Harriet sobbed. ‘She cannot reach Oswald. He is lost forever to me. Oh, the stubborn fellow! He was always stubborn in life too!’

  I held Aunt Harriet against me, surprised by how small and soft she was. She had such a big personality that I’d believed her more robust of body. She shook with sobs. My sister appeared at the door and asked what had happened.

  ‘Aunt Harriet has lost Uncle Oswald,’ I said, even though the loss was several months in the past.

  My sister asked no questions, and immediately came to comfort Harriet, while I gave a kind nod to Jones, who cleared up the mess swiftly and left the room. We made a little circle: my sister, my aunt and I. We held each other for a very long time, and then Harriet sniffed and gently pushed us away and said, ‘If only I could say goodbye to him.’ Her face was distorted by an unvoiced sob. ‘I didn’t get a chance to tell him how much I loved him.’

  ‘Sh,’ my sister said, smoothing her hair.

  ‘That was all I wanted. For Madame Azhkenazy to make contact so I could say goodbye.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, though I didn’t know then how insurmountable the loss of love feels.

  My sister met my gaze over the top of Harriet’s head. I could tell by her one cocked eyebrow that she had thought of a plan. I nodded to indicate I understood, because it was very simple really. Jones was certain Madame Azhkenazy was taking large sums of money from Harriet. If we offered her a large enough sum, perhaps she would return and pretend to contact Oswald, giving my aunt the chance to say goodbye.

  But for now, we stayed with Harriet and eventually she said it was time for her to draw the shades and put on her widow’s weeds, and what a fool she’d been. My sister helped her upstairs to dress her in black, and I went below stairs to find Jones.

  I found her bent over an open cupboard in the scullery, a crooked little corner behind the kitchen. She was pulling out cleaning brushes and bottles and jars of soap and polish.

  ‘Jones?’ I asked.

  She stood, gave me a curt nod. ‘Miss Breckby. I tidy cupboards when I’m angry.’

  ‘You’re angry at Madame Azhkenazy?’

  ‘I knew that Russian witch was up to no good. She made promises she could not keep.’

  ‘Where does she live? My sister and I are going to pay her a visit.’

  ‘She lives over the tea room on the high street in Raven’s Head. Hateful woman, leading on poor Mrs Parsons like that. Are you going to get back all the money she’s been paid?’

  ‘Actually … there may be one last visit from Madame Azhkenazy.’ I touched her shoulder gently. ‘You must trust my sister and me.’

  ‘Best keep me away from her then, lest I give her a black eye.’ Jones made a harrumphing noise. ‘I’ve sent for Doctor Mortensen. He will bring her an anodyne to calm her down, and she can doze on the sofa all afternoon.’

  I returned to the drawing room and soon enough Harriet came in, supported by my sister, her bright green gown abandoned for sombre black. We settled her on the couch in time for Dr Mortensen’s visit, and soon after she drank the anodyne he gave her, she became settled and sleepy.

  My sister and I finally had a chance to talk outside the drawing-room door.

  ‘Raven’s Head,’ I said. ‘We can go tomorrow and find this beastly woman and insist she come and sort this out.’

  ‘Today,’ my sister said. ‘I don’t see why we should wait.’

  ‘We have to arrange a carriage.’

  ‘Mister Shawe will take us.’

  ‘Mister … No, we are not going to mention this to Mister Shawe. This is a family matter and we can deal with it ourselves.’

  ‘You are far too independent, sister,’ she said. ‘Mister Shawe has a carriage sitting there. Besides, I want to see if he’ll say yes.’

  ‘Of course he will say yes. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.’

  ‘I want to see if he says yes quickly,’ she corrected herself. ‘Come, sister. We can be at Raven’s Head by one and have this whole mess sorted out.’

  I glanced over my shoulder at the closed drawing-room door, remembering Harriet’s small trembling body. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Though I do not like being beholden to him.’

  ‘He will be family soon, one way or another,’ my sister said. Her tone was light but I knew she was deadly serious.

  •

  Mr Shawe agreed with haste. I was relieved to see that he seemed to have transferred his interest to my sister, and was soli
citous and attentive to her, while I stood back as they made plans. Now his attention was solely on her, she relaxed and became her calm, good-natured self, and I liked her a lot better this way than when she was shrill or flirtatious. Within half an hour, we had set off in his fine carriage towards Raven’s Head. It was a clear afternoon, with only the slightest breeze, and so he had the canopy back so we could have the sun on our hair. We rolled out of the village, past Emile’s lane. I thought of last night’s conversation with him, when I had asked him what he thought happiness was. ‘A quiet mind and good company,’ he had said.

  A quiet mind and good company. It was so simple and so powerful, for I knew now this was exactly what I wanted. Not houses and factories and fine carriages, though I didn’t blame my sister for wanting those instead.

  Mr Shawe asked me teasingly if I had continued to attract stray dogs, and I told him boldly that in fact I had found the dog’s owner, Mr Emile Venson, the carpenter who worked at the church.

  ‘A carpenter’s dog,’ he sniffed. ‘Even better.’

  ‘Mister Venson is a very kind gentleman.’

  ‘He may be kind, but if he’s a carpenter, he is no gentleman,’ Mr Shawe countered quickly.

  ‘Careful, she’s quite taken with him,’ said my sister, and I wanted to kick her shins for saying it aloud.

  ‘Mister Venson and I are on friendly terms, and no more,’ I said.

  Mr Shawe eyed me suspiciously. I turned my face away to watch the passing countryside, and my sister distracted him with some other nonsense and it seemed the conversation had moved on. I breathed out in relief. We rattled past wildflowers and deep cool groves, slowly up steep hills, then racing down again. In just over an hour we were slowing down on the high street of Raven’s Head. It was a larger village than Millthorne, with an old market square in front of the church, and many new stone buildings.

  ‘Jones said there was a tea room,’ I told them, as the carriage came to a halt and we made to climb out.

  ‘I see it,’ said my sister, as Mr Shawe helped her down, his hands lingering a moment too long on her hips. She smiled at him.

  I took his hand to climb down but released it quickly. ‘I’m sure you don’t need to come, Mister Shawe,’ I said. ‘It is, after all, sensitive family business.’

  ‘Don’t listen to her,’ my sister said, already striding off. ‘Of course we need you, Ernest. What if she has a terrible Russian husband with knives hidden in his trousers?’

  I smiled weakly at Mr Shawe, who gave me a dark look in return. I ignored it and followed my sister. All the little shops looked so inviting with their wares in their windows. We found the entrance beside the tea room and walked up a crooked staircase to Madame Azhkenazy’s home. Hanging on the door was a wreath of hawthorn and dangling from the middle of it, what looked to be a bird’s skull.

  ‘How dramatic,’ Mr Shawe said, recoiling.

  I lifted my hand and knocked, and within a few moments the door opened. Madame Azhkenazy, minus her dark headscarf, blinked back at me. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I need to talk to you about Aunt Harriet.’

  ‘I have nothing to say.’

  ‘Let us in,’ demanded Mr Shawe. ‘Or there’ll be the devil to pay.’

  Madame Azhkenazy laughed bitterly, but let us in nonetheless. I found myself standing in a tiny, dark room, with black curtains hanging from the windows, and the greasy smell of tallow candles hanging on the air. There was a small table, but no sofas or easy chairs. She stood in front of us, defiantly, and said, ‘My relationship with your aunt is at an end.’

  ‘Has she refused to pay you more money?’ my sister asked, in a sharp tone.

  ‘No money in the world is enough to contact the dead if the dead will not be contacted,’ Madame Azhkenazy said with an arch of her brows.

  Mr Shawe was about to say something but I silenced him with a look and said to her, gently and reasonably, ‘We will pay you handsomely to return tomorrow for a last séance, and tell her that Oswald speaks to you.’

  ‘You insult me. I do not perform parlour tricks.’

  ‘Oh, come now,’ Shawe boomed. ‘Everything you do is nonsense. We know it and you know it, so just do as the lass says. In fact, I shall pay you, and I can pay you much more than either of these girls can.’

  ‘Mister Shawe, no,’ I said, at precisely the moment my sister said, swooningly, ‘Oh, what a perfect gentleman you are!’

  Madame Azhkenazy looked from me to my sister, then settled her gaze back on Shawe. ‘How much?’

  ‘Twenty pounds,’ he said.

  ‘Twenty-five,’ she countered instantly.

  ‘Yes, twenty-five,’ Shawe said. ‘But you must come every night for a week and let her speak with him.’

  My stomach swirled with guilt. On the one hand, she had agreed. On the other, we were now deeply indebted to Shawe, and he really had offered her a lot of money – more than triple what I was prepared to give her. Shawe had the money in her hand with showy speed, and the deal was done.

  ‘You must be convincing,’ I said to Madame Azhkenazy. ‘She is in a mourning gown, but have Uncle Oswald say he prefers her in green.’

  ‘Yes, and that he will try to visit her in her dreams, and she will know him because he will be a young man again.’

  We went on, layering the details, giving her specific things to say: things only Oswald would know or mention. Once we had exhausted all the information we had, we finished with a wish that she would tell Harriet that Oswald was sorry to leave her. ‘And he will see her one day again, and hold her in his arms,’ my sister added, and I pressed her hand, so overcome with emotion and affection.

  ‘I will come tomorrow,’ Madame said. ‘And now you are here, would you like me to tell your fortunes?’

  ‘What nonsense,’ Mr Shawe said, but my sister gave him an appealing look.

  ‘Oh, do go on, Ernest. It’s just a bit of fun. Besides,’ she turned to Madame Azhkenazy, ‘I should like to know my future.’

  ‘I won’t hear of it,’ he said. ‘Come along.’

  My sister followed him obediently, but I hung back a little and said softly to Madame Azhkenazy. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It looks as though your companions are leaving,’ she said, smiling cruelly. Mr Shawe and my sister were already out the door and on the staircase.

  I nodded and moved towards the door, but her bony hand shot out and she held me close by her a moment and said in my ear, ‘He’s lying to you.’

  ‘Who? Shawe?’ Then an awful, sick thought. ‘Emile?’

  ‘A man. There is a man, and he is lying to you.’ Then she released me, and my sister was calling to me from the stairs, so I hurried off.

  ‘That was well done,’ my sister was saying to Mr Shawe.

  ‘Poor people always have their price,’ he bragged, then gave me a sidelong glance and said, ‘Maybe even poor carpenters.’

  Before he uttered this, I had disliked Mr Shawe. Now I despised him. I bit my tongue so I didn’t tell him so, as I followed them back to the carriage.

  •

  I couldn’t get away to see Emile with Harriet in such a state, so I stayed with her that evening and all the next day, and prayed that Madame Azhkenazy would come soon. My sister and I were solemn and quiet, but always there by her side; and between us all we must have drunk a barrel of tea; Jones declared it was ‘just the thing’ for troubled times.

  When a loud knock at the door sounded through the house, just on dusk, my heart leapt. It would be Madame Azhkenazy, and she would call a séance, and Harriet would be distracted enough that I could leave to see Emile. But it wasn’t. The drawing-room door opened, and Toby showed the vicar in just as Jones was lighting the lamps.

  ‘The vicar!’ Toby announced, before retreating again.

  ‘Mrs Parsons,’ he said, limping in. ‘Miss Breckby, Miss Breckby.’

  ‘Good evening, Vicar,’ Harriet said. ‘Have you come to comfort me, for I’m sure I cannot be comforted.’

  �
��Comfort you? No … I … has some ill befallen you?’

  ‘My aunt is just now feeling the loss of her husband,’ I explained hurriedly.

  His face froze as his brain ticked over. ‘Oswald?’ he said, confused.

  ‘Yes, yes, Oswald, who else?’ Harriet cried.

  I could not blame him for being confused; he had buried Oswald so long ago. ‘Ah, well. I am very sorry. Again,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps come back another day, sir,’ my sister said.

  ‘No, no, he has come for some reason,’ Harriet said. ‘Speak, Vicar. I’m sure I need some distraction.’

  ‘Yes, well. I need your good advice as head of the church renovation committee.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Our man, Venson.’ He looked pointedly at me before he continued. ‘Emile. He’s had an accident while sawing some wood and won’t be able to work for some time.’

  It was as though the room went white, and everything became muffled. I needed to speak, but couldn’t. Bless my sister, who said, ‘What kind of accident? Is he badly injured?’

  ‘No, not badly. Just inconveniently. He’s cut his palm quite deeply. Obviously, he can’t do anything useful until it’s healed.’

  I relaxed a little, but still longed to get out and see Emile.

  ‘And what advice would you have of me?’ Harriet asked.

  At that moment, there was another knock on the door.

  ‘Busy in here tonight,’ said the vicar. ‘What I’d like to know, Mrs Parsons, is whether you’d have me find another carpenter to finish the job, or wait for him.’

  ‘Oh, but you must wait for him,’ I said, before I had the good sense to hold the words back. ‘It isn’t his fault he’s injured.’

  The vicar gave me the full weight of his cold gaze. ‘Miss Breckby, thank you. I had asked your aunt, though, who is the head of the renovation committee.’

  Harriet looked at me sideways then turned her attention back to the vicar. ‘The man does good work and it might take us just as long to find another,’ she said. ‘We shall wait for him.’

  Tears pricked my eyes and I wanted to throw myself onto Harriet and hug her.