by Iris Cole
“It is.” Clary nodded. “And I’ve gone to such lengths to get to you.”
Her father shook his head slightly. “But how… have you come to be here? Are you sure I’m… who you think I am? Might you be… mistaken?” Clary could not look at him, in case she found dismissal in his eyes. Of course, she had not expected him to believe her right away, but surely he could see something of himself in her face. Brenda had insisted that Clary looked like an exact blend of her mother and father.
Could he not see it? Was he too far gone into his sickness?
“I thought this coin might be like a map,” she said, “leading the way to you and my mother, but… I took some wrong turns. At the time, this coin was all I had. A friend helped me decipher the markings on the back, which took me on a journey to Manchester to find Captain Dunbar.”
All of a sudden, a strangled sob emerged from her father’s croaky throat.
“He cast me off his ship without any information, so I thought I’d run out of chances… but then I got my hands on those documents, and that is how I’ve reached you, at long last.”
Freddie’s hands lifted to his face, covering his eyes as the sobs continued, wracking his frail body until Clary feared he might cry himself apart. Cautiously, she rested a palm on his back, feeling every ridge of his spine, and stroked gentle circles in an attempt to soothe him. All the while, she let her own tears trickle down her cheeks, where they dropped onto the floor in silent splashes.
“I prayed for you,” he whispered, finding his voice a few agonising minutes later. “Every day, I prayed for you.”
Surprise made Clary’s hand stop in its circular motion. “Pardon?”
“All these years, I’ve prayed for you,” he replied.
Clary blinked, not understanding. “You… knew about me?”
“I spent a year, after you were born, searching all of London for you.” He dabbed at his red-rimmed eyes with his filthy sleeves.
“I went to every orphanage, every gutter, every inlet on the riverbank, every corner of this city, trying to find a trace of you. But I didn’t know your name, I didn’t know what you looked like, I didn’t know if you were a girl or a boy, I didn’t know where Rebecca had gone to give birth to you. And I had no idea if you’d been taken somewhere or if you’d been…” He trailed off and the sobs returned tenfold; his wrenching, guttural howls piercing the silence of the attic room.
Instinctively, Clary put her arms around her father, holding his emaciated frame as tightly as she dared. After a moment, his arms encircled her, gripping onto her as though he never intended to let her go again.
Together, they wept into one another’s shoulders, releasing all of the pain, grief, and desperation they had evidently both been clinging onto for almost two decades.
Clary did not know how long they stayed there like that, and she would have continued to hold onto him, had he not pulled back to lift his hands to her face.
His sunken eyes observed her closely, and a small smile lifted the corners of his lips as a flicker of something like recognition passed across his face.
“You’ve got her beauty,” he said softly. “Your eyes are mine and hers, your nose is hers, but your hair is mine.” He brought her face closer until their foreheads touched. “I never thought I’d get to see you. I thought you were lost, like her.”
Clary swallowed. “I’m right here.”
“I can’t believe this is real,” he gasped. “Are you sure you’re here, or is this some kind of deathbed dream, so I can pass into the hereafter without regret?”
Clary shook her head. “I promise you, I’m here.” She took hold of his hands. “But… how did you know I existed? In my documents, it said that my mother didn’t tell anyone that she was with-child. I assumed her family didn’t know, or they would’ve come to get me.”
“Your grandma figured it out,” her father replied. “She knew your ma wasn’t just sick… It was a strange kind of sickness, you see. I suppose your grandma saw the swell of your ma’s belly, or something—I’m not sure, but she guessed what happened. She was the one who told me. She helped me to search for you in that first year, and she wanted to carry on trying, but I had to go back to me work, or I wouldn’t have had two coins to rub together.”
Clary dropped her gaze. “I heard the Tennysons moved away.”
“Aye, they did. I don’t know where. I asked your grandma if she’d let me know the place, so I could visit, but she thought it’d be better if I didn’t. I think she wanted me to move on with me life, but… I never did.” Her father sighed wearily. “I never loved another after your ma.”
He was true to her. All that time, and he still remains true to her.
It broke Clary’s heart to hear him say so, for she realised he must have had a lonely existence. It hurt even more to know that he had clearly intended to marry her mother, but there had been some mistaken fears, or perhaps some gossip, or some loss of faith somewhere that had prompted her mother to give birth and try to manage her future alone.
Her father took a sudden, sharp breath. “I still don’t know your name. What is it, my dear, lost girl? What did my Rebecca call you? Did she leave you at that hospital with a name?”
“My name is…” Clary hesitated, remembering the promise she had made to Dolly.
“Well, the truth is, my mother did give me a name, but the people I was given to forgot to write it on my crib. The matron there took me in her arms, when I was a baby, and decided to love me as her own. She named me “Clary,” but I found out today that I was once “Cassandra.” I just never knew.”
Her father blinked away a freshly beaded tear. “Cassandra is a beautiful name… but Clary is unusually beautiful. They both suit you.” He hiccoughed. “And I’d like to meet this matron who took care of you, so I can thank her. I’ve always wondered if someone cared for you like you were their own. I hoped so, even when it seemed likely that you’d gone from this Earth.”
“My mother fought for my position at the Foundling Hospital,” Clary insisted, somewhat horrified to hear that he’d thought his beloved Rebecca could ever cause harm to their child. “She was already desperately sick, from what I’ve heard, but she still went to a meeting with the governors and gained me entry into that place. The woman I spoke to said my mother could barely walk, but she wouldn’t give up until she knew I was safe.”
Her father nodded slowly. “The Foundling Hospital… I went to the gates of that place once, to look for you. The porter said it was a refuge for the children of respectable young mothers, not peasant wenches, and turned me away.”
His face fell. “I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve made that bastard let me in. If I’d seen that coin, I’d have known you were mine, and I could’ve… I could’ve held you in my arms, and watched you grow, and taken care of you, and known a piece of Rebecca lived on.”
Clary embraced her father again, letting him rest his head upon her shoulder. “I haven’t had a bad life, Pa. As a child, I never suffered. I knew happiness, even though I longed to know who my mother and father were.” She patted him gently on the back. “I know what those porters are like—there’s nothing you could’ve done. By searching for me in the first place, with no knowledge of my name, or anything of that sort, you did everything you could. Please, don’t blame yourself. It’s nobody’s fault.”
“I should’ve made it clearer to your ma that I was coming back for her. I should never have left her in any doubt,” her father sobbed. “If she hadn’t been so scared of the consequences, she wouldn’t have gone off on her own.”
“Hush, now,” Clary soothed. “Don’t torture yourself. I promise, it’s nobody’s fault. And we should be grateful that, after all this time, we’ve found each other. There are so many who’ll never have this chance.”
Her father held onto her tightly. “I’m so very grateful.”
“We’ll have our time, Pa,” Clary urged. “You just have to promise me one thing and keep that promise.”
“Get better,” Clary replied. “Please, get better. I don’t think I could bear to lose you, having just found you.”
A small smile graced his lips. “I’ll do my best to keep that promise, my sweet Clary.”
The trouble was, Clary knew that was not something they could decide. Just as fate had brought them together, in the end, it could also tear them apart at any moment. But she hoped that, after all they had endured, the heavens might give them this one miracle.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Three Months Later…
Clary crouched in front of the fireplace, fanning away the heat of the flickering flames as she stirred the cast iron pot that hung over the fire. The delicious aroma of lamb, rough-cut potatoes, softening carrot, and a few turnip scraps, simmering in a hearty, herby broth wafted around her, making her close her eyes in delight. Fresh bread took pride of place in the centre of the nearby table, beside a stocked butter dish, so she and her father could slather it on thick and mop up every last drop of the fortifying stew.
Just then, the door to the remarkably spacious, three-room lodgings opened, and her father walked in.
His cheeks were streaked with dust and dirt, his clothes perpetually stained with black patches, but he wore a smile upon his face, so wide that it made Clary’s heart burst with joy.
“I could smell that stew cooking halfway down the street!” he cried merrily. “The stray dogs are barking like lunatics, wanting a taste.”
Clary wiped her hands on her apron and crossed the main living area to place a kiss upon her father’s cheek, not caring if it made her lips dusty. “I was hoping you’d be home in time for us to eat together. I’ve got to be at the orphanage in an hour, to start the night shift.”
“Lucky it’s only a short walk down the street.” Her father grinned and pointed to the door at the far end of the living area, which led into his bedroom. “I’m just going to wash this muck off me face and change me attire, then I’ll be with you. I want to hear everything about your day.”
Clary chuckled. “I haven’t done much except cook and clean and collect some deliveries for the orphanage.”
“I don’t care. I want to hear about it, anyway.” He patted her head gently, before heading to the back room to refresh himself.
Clary watched him go, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. If someone had told her, seven months ago, that she would be residing in spacious lodgings, with her father healthy and working, and with her own position at the Saint Pancras Female Orphanage, she would have scoffed at them. And yet, the fates had seen fit to be kind, allowing father and daughter their longed-for miracle of making up for lost time.
After finally meeting her father three months ago, Clary had enlisted the help of Brenda and Harriet, to help her bring her father down from that rancid room in the boarding house. To her surprise, Harriet had invited father and daughter to stay with her, until her father either grew stronger, or succumbed to his sickness.
They had remained in that terraced house, which held so much history for Clary and her father, for a month. Harriet, Clary, and Dolly—who had slipped away from the Foundling Hospital at every available opportunity—had shared the caring duties between them, making sure Clary’s father ate, and rested, and had water to drink, until, to everyone’s shock, he became healthier with every passing day. By the time the month came to a close, he had transformed into an entirely different man. He looked younger, and stronger, and broader.
With their care he had grown meat upon his bones, no more hollowness to his face, and a ready smile of gratitude that had not left his lips since.
With her father in a better condition, Clary had sought Dolly’s help to try and regain her position at the Saint Pancras Female Orphanage.
As fortune would have it, they had two positions open, and the Head Matron immediately offered them to Dolly and Clary, after a rather detailed explanation about what had happened the first time around.
The Head Matron had also offered the three-room lodgings, as part of the employment offer, and they had been here ever since: Clary, her father, and Dolly.
Having a roof over their heads, and two streams of income, Clary’s father had taken it upon himself to find work at the railway.
It was not the kind of work he was used to, after spending most of his life out at sea, but he had quickly adapted, and seemed to enjoy his work. Indeed, Clary doubted she had ever seen a more cheerful man in all her life.
“Was that your pa I heard?” Dolly emerged from the door to the chambers she shared with Clary. “About time, too. I told him this mornin’ that he was to get himself back home before ye went on the night shift. I know ye like havin’ yer dinner with the two of us before a long night. Cheers me up, an’ all, after spendin’ me day gettin’ littluns to eat proper.”
Clary laughed. “You adore them, Dolly. You can’t fool me.”
“Aye, I do that.” Dolly grinned. “Though I’m lookin’ forward to the night shift next week, so I can watch all them sleepin’ wains with ye. There’s naught so sweet as a wain sleepin’ peaceful.”
Much like Clary’s father, Dolly had also transformed back into the woman she had formerly been. She had regained her robustness, and no longer looked sallow about the face. After breaking free from the shackles of the Foundling Hospital and knowing she would never have to contend with the Head Matron again, Dolly had well and truly bloomed in the winter of her life.
Clary also had a sneaking suspicion that Dolly enjoyed bossing her father around, though her father did not seem to mind it one bit. After all, her father owed Dolly a great deal for taking care of Clary, when he could not.
Just then, her father came out in clean clothing, with his face pink and glistening.
“Ah, so it’s ye traipsin’ all this dirt into the house, is it?” Dolly tutted, with a teasing smile. “I should’ve known from the bloody great footprints.”
Her father laughed heartily. “I’ll sweep it all up with a brush, later.”
“I should hope so.” Dolly approached Clary and put a tender hand upon her shoulder. “Come on, me girl, it’s time for us to get some of that mighty stew in our bellies. I’ll be dribblin’ in a minute, if I don’t get a taste.”
Her father sat down at the table. “I was just telling her that the dogs are beside themselves in the street, wanting some stew.”
“Well, they can’t have any,” Dolly said.
Clary cast her a knowing look. “Until you go outside and feed them the scraps later?”
“I don’t do anythin’ of the sort!” Dolly protested, before flashing a wink.
As the older woman took her place at the table, she cut big slices of bread, and slathered them with rich, salty butter.
Meanwhile, Clary went to the fireplace and ladled out three bowls of the delicious stew. Carrying them to the table, she handed them out before taking her own seat, to find two of the most thickly buttered slices of bread resting on a plate beside her bowl. Even now, Dolly never failed to take care of her, and to make sure she ate properly.
After saying Grace, the trio began to eat their dinner. Dolly and Clary’s father took the reins of the dinnertime conversation, whilst Clary answered questions about her day, and listened happily to the constant chatter of her father and her surrogate mother as they veered off on amusing tangents.
It was like this every day, and Clary would not have had it any other way. It was one of the greatest joys of her life to sit here at the table, flanked by the two people she loved the most, dining on good food, and never having to endure a stilted silence.
And yet, there was one person who played upon her mind from time to time: the young, handsome sailor whose coin she still wore around her neck. Whenever she absently touched her fingertips to the disc of metal, she was reminded of Bill, and wondered if he would keep his promise to come back for his coin. And, perhaps, for her.
It is a love token, af
ter all.
She had discovered the true meaning behind the coin, thanks to her father. According to him, sailors gave these tokens to the women they loved, as a promise that they would return. He had given his to Clary’s mother, who had given it to Clary with the same promise. And Bill had given his to her, though they had only known one another for a short time. Perhaps it meant nothing, but part of her hoped it meant what she thought it did.
You were the kindest man I’ve ever met. If there is to be anyone on this Earth whom I could love, it would be you.
Still, she could not forget Captain Wilks’s frantic words to her, when he had discovered that she was a woman. What if she really had cursed the Dawn Voyager? During her occasional visits to the docks, to see if the Dawn Voyager had come in, she had not heard of any bad tidings. But she knew that did not mean much. And so, all she could do was enjoy the comforts of her new life, her wonderfully unusual family, and her satisfying work, and continue to wait, in the hope that the owner of this coin would one day return.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A week later, half asleep after a lengthy night shift, in which every child—or so it had seemed—had awoken with some complaint, or a nightmare, or a thirst for some water, Clary wandered up the street to her lodgings. She rubbed her eyes to try and awaken them, and unleashed a weary yawn into the chilly dawn air, dragging her heavy limbs the short distance to home.
She was no more than ten paces from the gate to the red-brick house where her lodgings were situated, when she finally became aware of a figure standing out on the street. He held a small bunch of flowers in his hand, and was staring up at the house as though he did not quite know what to do with himself.
“Can I help you?” Clary asked, as she neared. It was much too dim to see his face, but he looked as though he was in need of assistance.
Slowly, the man turned, and Clary stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand shot up to the coin around her neck, and clasped it tightly, as she looked upon the face of the man who had left it with her. He seemed a little older, with a graze of stubble across his jaw, and a tiredness around his eyes, but there was no mistaking him.