The Whispering Road

by Livi Michael

  ‘And I will, I will look after her,’ I say out loud, and I'm crying now. ‘I never meant to leave her. I love you, Mam,’ I say, and then it happens.

  Annie shudders and goes stiff, like all her muscles are clenched. Then she takes a long, wheezing breath, and suddenly she's coughing fit to burst! I let her hand go and she curls her knees up, still coughing.

  I run to the door. ‘Nurse, NURSE!’ I'm yelling, and the little nurse comes running.

  Then I run back to Annie and pick her up again, banging her on the back. ‘Annie, Annie, it's all right!’ I tell her.

  Her face is almost blue with coughing, then suddenly she stops. The nurse holds out a cup of water with trembling hands and Annie sputters into it, then manages to swallow. I hold her face and she looks at me, blinking, with her hollow eyes.

  ‘Mother,’ she says, and sinks forward, into my arms.

  5

  Voices

  The next couple of hours flash by, so many things are happening. Nurse sends for the governor, and he looks as if he can hardly believe his eyes.

  ‘Well, well,’ he says. ‘Well, well, well!’

  Apart from that, he's speechless.

  I can't take my eyes off Annie, who looks like she doesn't know where she is, like she's just been born. The nurse fetches some soup and I help to feed her, because she'll only take it off me.

  ‘Annie,’ I say, ‘do you know who I am?’

  She nods, not looking at me, and I lean forward and she whispers, ‘Joe,’ and I hug her till she hasn't got any breath left.

  ‘Careful, careful,’ says Governor John. ‘We must be careful.’

  He's in a right state, spectacles askew.

  ‘The doctor will be arriving,’ he says. ‘I must go and tell him –’ And he hurries away.

  When we're on our own Annie looks at me, still blinking, like the light hurts. ‘You left,’ she says.

  I start apologizing all over again but in no time there's footsteps approaching, several of them, and the governor's voice saying, ‘It's remarkable, really quite remarkable.’

  Then the door opens wide. I only half turn round, enough to see that Abel's there, and Nell. ‘Abel,’ I say. ‘Look at Annie!’

  The doctor steps forward. ‘Nat!’ he says. And I turn round fully then, seeing him for the first time. It's Dr Kay.

  My first thought is to bolt past them somehow. But I won't leave Annie. I shift backwards on the bed, holding Annie's hand.

  ‘I know this boy,’ says Dr Kay. ‘He's a violent criminal.’

  This is all I need, I'm thinking, but Abel crosses the room and stands by me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Not this boy,’ he says. ‘His name's not Nat.’

  The doctor glares at Abel. ‘Can I see the patient?’ he says. We move for him as he sits on the bed, but Annie's still clutching my fingers. He moves her head this way and that, gazes into her eyes, takes her pulse then, just as he did with me, looks down her mouth. Each time he tells her to do something Annie looks at me and I nod, and she does as she's told. All the time I'm thinking, What now, what now? Because for all I know, when he's finished, he'll call the police.

  ‘How many fingers am I holding up, Annie?’ he asks, and she doesn't speak but holds up four of her own, then three. He moves her leg and taps her on the knee with a tiny hammer, and her little foot flies up. When he's finished he smiles. ‘Well done, Annie,’ he says. Then he stands.

  ‘It seems as though she's recovering nicely,’ he says. ‘If she carries on improving she can leave. Though there is the question, of course, of where she can go.’

  ‘She's staying with me,’ I tell him. He packs away his tools.

  ‘What, in the New Bailey?’ he says. My stomach gives a lurch, then goes on falling. ‘I treated Mr Mosley,’ he says, ‘when you'd finished with him. And why he didn't take out a warrant for your arrest I'll never know… His name was Nat then,’ he snaps as Abel starts to speak, and Abel backs down.

  Then Abel says, ‘I think you'll find Joe had his reasons.’

  And Nell says, ‘That man took my children!’

  ‘All he wanted me for,’ I say, ‘was to prove that the poor are like animals – that nothing can be done for them.’

  ‘Well, you helped him out there, didn't you?’ the doctor says.

  But Nell cuts in, ‘I was in the workhouse, and he saw to it that I was placed out and my children taken off me – taken where I could never find them. I still don't know where they are.’

  Dr Kay raises his hand, ‘Watch what you're saying,’ he tells her.

  But Abel says, ‘It's true – and I could find you a dozen other mothers with the same tale to tell. Poor children are being sent all over this country, and to other countries, and no one sees or hears of them ever again!’

  ‘I don't need to hear this,’ says Dr Kay. ‘All I know is that Mr Mosley gave this boy a home – fed him, educated him – and was repaid by a vicious beating. The boy is dangerous. He belongs in prison!’

  Annie scrambles across the bed towards me, and I hold on to her hard. Then the governor speaks nervously.

  ‘I don't know the ins and outs of this,’ he says. ‘But I do know that it would be very unwise to separate the boy from his sister. By all accounts she fell into this state when he left her, and she has recovered on his return. That should tell us something, I think.’

  The doctor looks at us, and Abel says, ‘Look, sir. In his short lifetime the boy has seen and done more things than you or I could know. His sister too. They have survived difficulties and dangers we can't even imagine. You know, better than anyone, how the poor live – you wrote about it in your book. Small wonder if they go astray; more wonder if they don't. But I can say this – for the past few weeks the boy has worked for me, and he has worked hard and honestly and well. And he cares for his sister, sir. They are everything to one another.’

  ‘Their mother died in this very hospital,’ the little nurse puts in.

  ‘What purpose would it serve, sending the lad to prison?’ says Abel angrily. ‘He'd only be sent from there to some distant place, Canada even, or Australia, by people who think the poor have to be disposed of – like your Mr Mosley.’

  Dr Kay looks from one to the other of us, and swallows, then turns away. ‘I can't pretend to agree with all of Mr Mosley's sentiments…’ he begins, and then looks round. ‘But this is beside the point. I can't discharge the girl into her brother's care – he isn't fit. They have no home. Where will they go? On to the streets, where they will revert to a savage state? They should go where they will be taken care of – if not to prison, then to the workhouse.’

  ‘NO!’ I say, too loudly, but Abel looks at Nell, and she comes to stand by his side.

  ‘They have a home, sir,’ Abel says, taking her hand. ‘With me and Nell. We plan to marry, and the children can stay with us. I can offer the boy honest employment, and I will see to it that they are both educated.’

  I look up at him, amazed, then at the doctor. I can see his mind's hanging in the balance. ‘You mean you will act as their moral and legal guardian?’ he asks, and Abel nods. The doctor turns to Nell. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘Oh, sir,’ she says. ‘I lost my own two children and I can't replace them. But if I can take care of these two – it's more than I could hope for!’

  ‘Well,’ says the doctor, and he rubs his fingers across his forehead. ‘For whatever reason, Mr Mosley did not seem interested in pressing charges and it is hardly my place to act for him. If you swear to me that they will be properly looked after, and kept out of trouble? Because if there is any trouble –’

  ‘No fear of that, sir,’ says Abel, and I look up at him joyfully.

  ‘Then maybe it is for the best,’ the doctor says.

  ‘Oh, thank you, sir, thank you!’ I say. ‘You won't regret it!’

  ‘I hope not,’ he says, very serious. ‘Meanwhile, I think my patient has had quite enough excitement for one day. We should all leave her now.�
��

  ‘I can't leave her, sir,’ I say as Annie clutches me. ‘I said I'd never leave her again.’

  There's an argument about this but in the end Nurse Susan says, ‘I can make up a bed for him here, for the night.’

  And that's what we do. The doctor leaves, promising to come back the next day. Abel ruffles my hair. ‘I'll have to be going too,’ he says.

  ‘Abel,’ I say, catching his hand. ‘Thanks.’

  Nell steps forward. ‘Goodbye, Annie,’ she says, touching her hair. Annie quivers but doesn't speak.

  ‘We'll come back soon,’ Abel says. ‘Give Annie a chance to get to know us.’

  And they leave, Nell looking wistfully over her shoulder at Annie.

  As soon as they go Annie scrabbles round to face me. ‘Flo?’ she says, and I realize what a lot she's missed.

  ‘You're in hospital now,’ I say gently, and start to tell her all over again about everything that's happened. In between, Nurse Susan comes in with bedding, and then warm milk.

  ‘Does she know… about the necklace?’ she asks in a hushed voice, but I haven't wanted to bring that up just yet, for fear of what the shock might do. I don't know how much Annie knows.

  Then the nurse leaves and the noises of the hospital get louder, and along the corridor the woman's still ranting on. I don't like it any more than Annie. She stands on the bed and tries to see out of the window. I make her lie down again but she bobs up and goes to the door. ‘Go now,’ she says.

  ‘We can't,’ I tell her. ‘Annie, come here.’

  Annie comes back to me, dragging her feet. I pick up her necklace that she's left lying on the bed, then I hold the other one to it.

  ‘Do you know what this is?’ I ask her. She leans forward so that her hair falls all over her face. ‘Look, Annie,’ I say. ‘The pieces fit.’

  She shudders but doesn't speak. Then she snatches the necklaces suddenly.

  ‘Our mother was here,’ I tell her, my lips dry all of a sudden. ‘But she was very ill.’ Annie's fists tighten round the necklaces. ‘She never stopped looking for us, Annie. She loved us.’ I lie Annie down on the bed and she curls up towards me, still holding the necklaces.

  I try a different tack. ‘Where were you, Annie? Where did you go?’

  For a moment Annie doesn' t answer, but her eyes film over, like she's trying to remember. Then she says, ‘Mother.’

  ‘You were with our mother?’ I say, and she nods. ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Dark,’ she says, helpfully. ‘And light.’

  I lick my lips. ‘What was she like?’ I ask. Annie's brow creases, like she wants to tell me something that's too big for words. ‘Angel,’ she says, and sighs and closes her eyes.

  What, you mean like Dog-woman? I think of saying, but somehow I know that's all I'll get out of Annie. Her eyes flicker open again briefly, and I know that she knows, and she knows that I know, about our mother, and maybe that's all that matters. Her eyes close again, peacefully, and her breathing changes. And I lie down on my own made-up bed and try to get some sleep.

  In the morning two doctors come with Dr Kay and examine Annie for ages, and she hates it, curling up under the sheets, but somehow I convince her it has to be done before we can leave.

  ‘Is she always this quiet?’ they ask me.

  ‘Yes,’ I tell them firmly.

  ‘Can she speak for herself?’ one of them asks, and I try to explain how it is with Annie; that she can speak but usually she won't. All the time I'm terrified that they'll find one of us unfit, and say she can't leave or we both have to go to the workhouse. Then Nurse Agnes brings breakfast and Annie eats like there's no tomorrow, while Dr Kay looks on approvingly.

  ‘Not much wrong with her appetite, anyway,’ he says, and the doctors prepare to go.

  ‘If she carries on like this, there's no reason why she shouldn't leave,’ he says at the door, and my heart dances a little jig. I clasp Annie's hands and she smiles at me.

  Apart from this, it's dead boring – nothing to do. Nurse Agnes talks to us a bit and wants to hear our story, and Annie submits to having her face and hands washed. I take her for a bit of a walk along the corridor, but she runs back when one of the chained-up lunatics roars. It's a long, long day.

  But in the evening Abel comes with Nell.

  ‘I've brought something for you,’ he says, holding his hand out to Annie. It's a little wooden bird. ‘Travis made it,’ he says.

  Annie cups it in her hands. She doesn't say anything but she's smiling.

  Abel sits on the corner of the bed and Nell sits on the stool. ‘I don't think he'll stay with us much longer,’ Abel says to me. ‘But he's hoping to see the “little maid”, as he calls her, before he goes.’

  He talks to us then, about the shop and how well it's doing, and how he and Nell are renting a place in Ardwick Green. Nell says nothing, just sits looking at her hands, and picking at a thread in her dress.

  ‘We're going to marry, last Sunday in the month,’ says Abel. ‘You're invited, of course – everyone is! Isn't that right, Nell?'

  Nell looks up and nods, but she isn't smiling.

  ‘What's the matter? he asks her. Dont tell me you've changed your mind!’

  ‘Of course not,’ she says, looking back down at her fingers. Then she looks up again, at me. ‘I was hoping,’ she says, ‘that Annie would speak to me.’

  I look at Annie, Annie looks at the bird. I don't want her to try anything too soon, that might send her back into that other world. On the other hand, there's Nell, desperate for news of her children, like our mother wanted news of us.

  ‘Annie,’ I say.

  No answer.

  ‘Annie, this is Nell,’ I tell her. ‘She's looking for her son and daughter, just like our mother looked for us.’

  Nell gazes at her beseechingly. Annie looks up briefly, then turns her face into my shoulder.

  ‘You remember when we left Bent Edge Farm?’ I prompt her, and she's listening, with her face still turned away. ‘You said then that a girl and a boy were following us – right through the forest and into the town, remember?’

  No answer. Her breathing's hoarse against my shirt.

  ‘Well, where did they go, Annie? Where have they gone?’

  Annie says something but her voice is muffled by my shirt.

  ‘What?’ I say, turning her chin with my fingers. ‘What did you say, Annie?’

  ‘Not gone,’ she says more clearly. ‘Here, and here.’ She points to one side of Nell, then the other.

  Nell gives a muffled cry, pressing her fingers to her mouth, then she looks to the left and right, as though she might see them. Abel swears under his breath.

  ‘Are they… are they…’ Nell gropes for what she's trying to say. ‘Are they saying anything to me?’

  ‘Stop looking,’ Annie says. ‘You can't find them now.’

  Tears come into Nell's eyes. ‘Is it really Sarah – and Ned?’

  Then Annie moves. She sits up in the bed, swaying lightly, and in her eyes is that strange, moony expression I used to hate.

  ‘Mam-my,’ she says in a girl's voice that's not her own. ‘You look so tired.’

  Nell says, ‘Ohhh,’ on a long breath, as though all the air's leaving her.

  ‘Mustn't look for us any more,’ says the girl. ‘Too tired.’

  ‘Sarah?’ says Nell, hardly able to speak.

  Then a boy's voice comes. ‘We're with you now,’ he says. ‘You don't have to look. We'll always be with you.’

  Nell's crying freely now. ‘What happened? How… how did you…’ she stumbles over the last word. ‘What happened?’

  Then both voices speak together, from Annie's throat. ‘Hungry,’ they say. ‘No food, no water. Don't beat me again – can't work any more.’

  Nell gives a great cry and falls from the stool to her knees. Her mouth's open but there's no sound. A strand of spit falls from her top to her bottom lip. Abel leaps forward and pulls her to him, but she struggles away, stri
king hard.

  ‘NOOOO!’ she howls, tearing herself away.

  ‘Nell, Nell!’ he cries. ‘You always knew it – in your heart.’

  ‘Mother,’ Annie says, in two voices, ‘come back to us,’ and all at once Nell's still, taking great sobbing breaths in Abel's arms. He sits her back on the stool.

  ‘It's not dark any more,’ the voices say. ‘We are with you now.’

  Nell bites her knuckles, her breath coming in long, shuddering gasps.

  ‘We love you, Mammy,’ the voices say.

  ‘I love you,’ Nell says, and she begins to sob in earnest. ‘I always loved you, I never stopped – I never gave up on you! I loved you and I always will.’ She's crying now in a high, keening wail.

  Annie shudders, sinking downwards, and grows limp. ‘It's all right, Annie,’ I whisper, stroking her hair, though I'm scunnered half to death. ‘Hush now, it's all right.’

  But Annie pulls herself away from me and slides off the bed. And on her own account she's tottering towards Nell. And a step or two away from her she opens up her arms, like she never has before in all her life, and says, ‘Mother.’

  And Nell scoops her up and holds on to her, like it's what her arms have needed all this time, and she rocks her backwards and forward, crooning, tears rolling down her face and into Annie's hair.

  6

  Afterwards

  The next day two doctors say Annie can leave. It's all we can do to get her out of the hospital and on to the streets. She clings on to me all the way and hides her face, and I hear again as though for the first time how noisy and crowded the town is, bells ringing and people crying. We lift her into the cab and she scrambles on to my knee and digs her fingers into my arm, and her knuckles are white.

  But when she sees Travis it's a different story. Her face lights up and she lets go of me and runs to him, and he picks her up and she touches his face. ‘Little bird came back,’ he says.