Island of a Thousand Springs

by Sarah Lark

  “Of course you didn’t mention the young man’s address, Simpson, nor you, Wilson. It is not necessary that you assure me a third time. But my daughter, nonetheless, must have worked it out — where else than with her would-be fiancé would she have been hanging about for three weeks? So …”

  Reed looked over the group of his employees, all of whom abashedly lowered their heads. At the end of the group was Bobby, who blushed guiltily when Reed looked at him.

  “You there!” Reed immediately noticed his reaction. “Robert! Did you lead my daughter into the East End? Speak freely; as it’s clear to me that you couldn’t refuse her in your position. And none of these forward-looking men forbade you from doing so, is that correct?”

  Bobby shook his head. “No one forbade me,” he confirmed — and then gave a full confession. “So I went to the docks later to deliver the letter,” he admitted, looking with uncertainty at Simpson who was glaring at him angrily. “But the East End, the area on the Thames … I couldn’t let such a young lady go alone. And I kept an eye on her, sir, I assure you. Even later—”

  “Are you still in contact with her?” Reed asked. His voice wavered between anger and relief.

  “In a way,” Bobby muttered. “In any case she is fine.”

  Thomas Reed rubbed his temples. “Well, then we will make certain of it. You get back to work, gentlemen. And you come along, Robert; you’ll show my coachman the way.”

  Nora and Simon had banished the world from their attic after Dr. Mason had gone. Simon was dying, but Nora willed and dreamed away any thoughts of the end. With their stories, the two stole away to the Caribbean islands. In a soft voice, Nora conjured up a hammock that she’d woven out of palm leaves. They lay in it under tropical trees, swaying in the wind, caressed by the sunbeams that found their way through the leaves, and painted patterns of light and shadow on their naked skin.

  Nora only got up to keep the fire from going out. She held Simon in her arms, spinning tales of their daydreams, and rocking him to the melodies of love songs she hummed. Simon slept most of the time, but when she stroked him he reached for her hand and kissed it. Nora counted neither hours nor days; she no longer fearfully listened to his breathing, and no longer flinched when he coughed. Nothing was more important than to be with him. All that existed was the two of them, their island, and the waves breaking on the beach.

  But then, late on Sunday night, as Nora was just about to put out the last candles; Simon pulled her back into reality.

  “What will you do when it’s over?” he whispered. “When I … when I … will you go back to Mayfair? Do you think your father will forgive you … and me?”

  “It will never be over,” Nora answered, firmly, and kissed the wrinkle on his forehead that had appeared from strain and worry. “You will always be with me. It will pass, it must pass. I love you so much.”

  “You have to forget me,” Simon said. He had all the pain of the world in his eyes, but he forced the words out. “I’m dying, Nora. But you are alive, and you are still so young. You will love someone else.” Nora shook her head. “Never. We will always be together. I will keep you in this world, my love. I won’t let you go, have no fear.”

  “I am not afraid,” Simon whispered. “And if I could … if I only could … I would never leave you, Nora, I would love you for ever.”

  She stroked his face with her fingers, then with her lips, as if it would help her etch it into her mind.

  “You will not leave me,” she said tenderly. “Do you still remember the story about those ghosts? The Negroes on the islands call them loas or Duppies.”

  Simon smiled weakly. “They take form in smoke that rises from the graves,” the story had been in one of his books, and he had scared Nora when he told her about it on one of their happier days together.

  “There, you see!” Nora said. “You will come back. We can always be together in our dreams on our island,”

  Simon squeezed her hand. “Then take me there, Nora,” he whispered. “Bring me back again …”

  Nora was asleep and dreaming of their paradise on the beach when Simon finally took his last breath. She held her beloved in her arms and Simon let himself be carried off by the waves. The poppy syrup that Nora had given him that evening spared him any agony.

  When Nora awoke, his body was still warm in her arms, but she no longer heard any wheezing or troubled breathing. Simon’s face was peaceful and beautiful, relaxed, and finally freed of pain and worry. Nora knew that it was over, but she still felt no pain or sorrow. His eyes were closed and she kissed the lids. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let him go. She would hold him just a bit longer. To feel his body one last time; to never forget how it felt to caress her beloved.

  But in the end, the spell was broken. Simon’s death had also freed Nora’s soul from the cocoon that they had spun around each other. The island of their dreams had faded; Nora grew aware of the somber room as the pale morning light crept in. And for the first time in two days, she listened to what was happening outside of their attic — the familiar nagging of Mrs. Paddington as she greeted a visitor.

  “Another fine gentleman — must be here for the lord and lady, right?” Nora heard the usual, malicious chuckle. “Though, it’s a bit too early for a courtesy call, is it not? Is this about money, sir? Bailiff? But there is nothing to take, I’ll tell you now. And you’ll have to get in line, as their rent is nearly three days late and I come first. Two shillings, mister, the—”

  “Your hole up there is certainly not worth that much!”

  Nora sprung up. She recognized that cheeky voice. It was Bobby, the little office messenger boy. They had come for her. Nora gently laid Simon’s body in the pillows, and then quickly threw a scarf on over the shirt she wore to sleep. She briefly considered pulling a sheet over the face of her beloved, but she couldn’t bring herself to cover it.

  There was a knock at the door and for a split second, Nora thought about simply not opening it. She needed a little time — she didn’t have the strength to face the outside world.

  But Bobby had never waited for her to respond to his knocking. And Thomas Reed certainly did no such thing. The merchant forcefully pushed open the door — and blinked in horror at the dimly lit hovel to which his daughter had fled.

  Thomas Reed registered the crooked walls and dilapidated furniture. He also noticed that the floor was swept clean, if not entirely scrubbed, that a fire was burning in the chimney, and how neatly the few pots and pans, and the earthenware cups and plates were lined up on the clumsily constructed shelf. He saw the carefully folded clothes on the wobbly chair — and recognized the desperation and exhaustion in his daughter’s expression. He turned to her — she had protectively pushed herself in front of her lover’s bed when the door had opened. He had been furious when he first heard of her disobedience; angry that he was forced to cancel his trip because of it, and worried about the possible consequences of her youthful folly. But this was no spoiled child that had run off to play marriage. The young woman that stood before him here, with undone, tangled hair, and a threadbare shawl slung over a cheap nightgown had clearly matured. And what she had made of this hole in the attic … Reed grudgingly had to pay her respect.

  But what about Greenborough? The merchant could make out a slender figure under the blanket, but could the man have really slept through the commotion in the hallway?

  “Nora …”

  Thomas Reed had envisioned the reunion with his daughter often enough, but he had not expected to feel so helpless. Unsure, he opened his arms.

  Nora stared at her father as if she’d seen a ghost. But then all of her feelings burst forth at the sight of him, the sound of his voice, and his helpless, tender gesture.

  “Papa!”

  Nora threw herself into his arms. She sobbed without restraint, and Reed was given a view of the bed near the fireplace over her shoulder. Bobby, who had meanwhile entered behind him and irreverently inspected the room, confirmed his worst fears.
>
  “He’s dead,” the boy said and made the sign of the cross. “God rest his soul.”

  As if from a distance, Nora heard Mrs. Paddington nagging from the hall again. She continued on about her rent payments.

  “I’ve already paid it!” Nora gasped, sobbing incoherently. “The rent I mean … I just had no time this time because Simon … But the doctor, I haven’t paid him, I have to …”

  Nora remembered Simon’s gentle reminder and cried even harder.

  “Well, that’s probably the least of it,” her father muttered abashedly and held her petite body close to comfort her. She had grown much thinner. “Nora, I had no idea … I didn’t realize that it was so bad, that he was so sick.”

  Nora shook her head. “No one knew,” she whispered. “But … what do I do now?”

  “You’re coming home, of course!” Reed said, decidedly.

  “Peppers is waiting downstairs, we will—”

  “But Simon—” Nora turned to the bed.

  “Well, there’s nothing more you can do for him anyway,” Bobby said, which was doubtlessly meant to be comforting, but made Nora sob again. “He—”

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Reed said calmly. “But first I am taking you with me, Nora, no arguments. You have to rest now. You’ve done everything you could.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Thomas Reed did take care of things — and Bobby was an invaluable help. The boy guided the man and the sobbing Nora past the complaining Mrs. Paddington, and settled the rent with the money that Mr. Reed had quickly counted out for him. Then he ran over to see Dr. Mason, whose immediate payment Nora had inexplicably insisted upon. The physician requested no money for the last consultation. He said he wasn’t able to help at that point. Bobby pushed a shilling on him, nonetheless, and paid him on top of that for a house call at the Tanners’, whose sniffling, coughing toddlers clung to Nora’s skirt and wailed as her father brought her out.

  “Maybe something can be done before they get consumption,” Bobby said, but he didn’t sound very optimistic.

  The boy would have also arranged for a gravedigger, but Reed would not allow Simon Greenborough to be buried in the paupers’ cemetery. He knew of the shallow graves in which there were always five to seven bodies, and that were always left dug up until the pit was completely occupied. Instead, he bought a burial plot in the cemetery of the newly built church of St. George in Mayfair, ordered a coffin, and ensured a proper burial. He informed Simon’s mother and sister of the death of their son and brother — and turned them away when they immediately asked after the signet ring and possible savings of the deceased.

  “What could the boy have possibly saved?” Reed asked, shaking his head. He had already sent Wilson to the East End on the day of his arrival to liquidate Nora and Simon’s poor household before Mrs. Paddington traded all of their belongings in for cash. There were no more valuables, but rather carefully pinned receipts and banker’s orders to various creditors, as well as Lady Greenborough and her daughter. Reed was shocked. “These people gutted him like a Christmas goose. And I took him for a pinch-fist because he always ran around like a pauper prince.”

  Nora had decided that the Tanner family should have their household items, and Wilson now set that in motion. Mrs. Tanner tearfully thanked him — but soon pawned everything and used it to purchase gin. Mrs. Paddington demanded compensation for the bedding that she had “lent” Nora and no longer wanted, since Simon had died in it. Wilson calmly ignored her tirades, as he also had an unpleasant landlady.

  “The old bag’s already earned enough money on that dirty attic,” he explained to Reed and grew in his esteem. The merchant appreciated it when someone saved him money.

  Nora could not hold back the flood of tears. For three days, she sat sobbing quietly huddled in a corner of her wide four-poster bed, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her head rested on her knees. The young woman spoke to no one and only answered when she was addressed.

  Thomas Reed had to coerce her to get up for Simon’s funeral and go with him to the church. He did so somewhat reluctantly, but Lady MacDougal, his old confidant and advisor in social issues, was residing in London, despite the fact that it was hunting season, and had advised him to do so.

  “Of course it’s inappropriate, but half of London is already talking about your daughter running off with an impoverished lord anyway. So, better to pass him off now officially as Nora’s deceased fiancé. Maybe it can still be salvaged if you believably explain that she had spent the last few weeks with his family to help his mother take care of him.”

  Thomas Reed, less worried about Nora’s reputation than her state of mind, reluctantly muttered, “The funeral will just upset her again.”

  Lady MacDougal shook her head. “Nonsense, Thomas. It will help her put an end to it. She can say goodbye, maybe she’ll still cry for a few more days, but then she’ll get over it. Have you, in the meantime, worked out if she’s still a virgin?”

  Reed denied it almost angrily. He would never have dared broach the subject, even though he very much wanted to know. Eileen MacDougal, Lady Margaret’s lively daughter, who only barely escaped from her own scandal with the stableboy, knew fewer inhibitions. Lady Margaret had sent her to “cheer Nora up a bit” while she spoke with Thomas herself. Naturally, this was unsuccessful. Nora sat quietly crying in her corner, and paid little attention to the questions with which the curious young woman bombarded her. It was only when Eileen asked her directly whether Simon had made her a woman and how it was, that Nora showed any reaction at all, and it was short and severe.

  “No,” Nora’s voice choked out. “Not even once.”

  Nora was no longer crying when she followed her father to the new cemetery near the church. She obediently pulled on the black dress that her housemaid had laid out for her — it had to be taken in, as Nora had lost weight in the last few weeks. The seamstress earned a shilling for completing the task quickly.

  “You could get an entire dress for only three at the market in Cheapside,” Nora said almost disinterestedly, as the housekeeper complained about the exorbitant price. “And two for the farthingale … which are so impractical, those crinolines.”

  The attendant, who would have given her life to just once be permitted to dance at a ball in such a dress, with carefully applied makeup and powdered hair, made no comment.

  The reverend from St. George gave a moving speech, and most of the employees of the Reed offices appeared at the funeral, including Wilson, who kept Mrs. Paddington far from Nora. The landlady didn’t miss the opportunity to visit the memorial service and wanted to continue harassing them with demands. Even the Tanners were present, and Nora suspected that her father had made up for their loss of earnings from the day. Both seemed sympathetic, but had already smelled like gin in the morning.

  Nora endured the funeral service with a stony expression. She didn’t cry the next day, but instead went out, as the concerned servants enthusiastically reported to her father that evening.

  Peppers didn’t drive her to one of the better shopping streets to supplement her wardrobe, as hoped, but instead to a pawnshop in the East End. Nora got Simon’s signet ring back — and felt better as soon as she held the metal in her hand. It didn’t fit her slender fingers — even Simon hadn’t been able to wear it, as it must have been made for one of the much heavier Greenborough ancestors.

  Nora strung it on a velvet ribbon and wore it around her neck. Then she returned to her silent, now tearless grief once again. For hours, she sat on the corner of her bed and seemed to stare blankly out in front of her. Nora looked for the island in the south where she had lost Simon’s soul. But she found no way back.

  THE ISLAND

  London, Jamaica

  Winter 1729 to spring 1732

  CHAPTER 1

  “Give her a few more days,” Lady Macdougal said to Thomas Reed, when Nora had still made no effort to return to her normal life a week after the burial, instead spending her d
ays alone in her room. “It was a disturbing experience; perhaps she needs a bit longer.”

  Initially, Thomas Reed let that appease him, but when weeks became months, and a year fast approached, he’d had enough.

  But Nora didn’t want to stop mourning. Of course, her stiffness loosened with time. Her father first forced her to come for shared meals in the dining room, and she eventually did so of her own accord. She was no longer persistently quiet, but answered his questions, and also seemed to courteously listen when he talked about his work. Thomas Reed thanked the heavens that she apparently did not harbor any resentment towards him. However, Nora no longer laughed, and wouldn’t be persuaded into any kind of social event. All of the invitations — to participate in riding hunts in the fall, balls in winter, picnics, and country outings in the spring — were met with the same rejection. There were already fewer invitations than usual, as the scandal had, naturally, hurt her reputation.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Lady Margaret sighed. “Don’t let her withdraw entirely. At least drag the girl to church or to dinner. Even put her in my society — then she won’t be able to retreat! But make sure that she’s seen! Otherwise, the ladies will come up with something else!”

  Lady Margaret made an expressive gesture that indicated a rounded stomach.

  “I think that she has not …” Thomas muttered.

  Lady Margaret rolled her eyes. “Do you want to have that put in the newspaper?” She inquired. “And even then, it could be that certain people don’t believe you.”