Verity Sparks, Lost and Found Page 14

  “Alexander?”

  He was standing by my bed, looking down at me. His face and hair were wet, as if he’d been swimming. His shirt was soaked and stuck to his skin, and one sleeve hung in tatters from his shoulder.

  “Hold on,” he said. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and the muscles of his face and neck were taut with effort. “You have to hold on.”

  I was scared, but not of him. Somehow I knew that he wouldn’t hurt me.

  “What do I hold on to?” I asked, but now there was a rushing, roaring sound all around us and he didn’t seem to hear me.

  “Please try.” He sounded desperate. “Try harder. You’ll make it if you just …”

  “What?” I was shouting now. “What do you want me to do?”

  “… just hold on.”

  I sat up with my heart pounding. Since last year I’d tried to thrust Alexander completely out of my mind, but you can’t control your dreams, can you? There was to be no more sleep for me, I could tell, so I put on my dressing-gown, went to the window and opened it. It was dawn. The only sounds I could hear were the birds and the steady dripping of rain. The balcony outside my room was littered with leaves and twigs and strips of bark. Looking further, I could see more of the same scattered all over the lawns, and those fancy garden beds looked like an army had marched through. The storm had done its worst and passed on.

  I sighed, trying to shake off the ominous feeling left over from my dream. Alexander was dead. He couldn’t hurt me. But in my dream, he didn’t want to hurt me. He was telling me to try, to try harder, to hold on. Hold on to what? What did it mean? I sighed again and closed the window.

  I don’t know why, but I went over to the dressing table and opened my jewellery box. Mrs O’Day’s earring looked strangely dull and lifeless in the dim light of the room. Don’t forget to give it to Mrs Honeydew, I reminded myself.

  But I wasn’t after the blue earring. I wanted my lucky piece; the amulette, as Papa called it. It had been lucky for me, all right. I thought about Mrs Vic and my mother, about Alexander, about dear Papa. I hadn’t worn it for a while, but I remembered Papa saying, when he gave it back to me last year in London, “Somehow I think you might need it.” Maybe it was time to wear it again.

  As I slipped it over my head, an uncontrollable shiver ran through me – what Madame Louisette’s cook used to call “a goose walking on your grave” – and for a second I thought I felt the tiniest tingling sensation on the very tips of my fingers. I stood, waiting, as the rosy light spread across the wrecked garden. But that was it. No itchy fingers. Tucking the lucky piece inside my nightdress, I turned to go back to bed. But then I heard an unexpected noise. The crunching of wheels on gravel. Voices. Quick steps up to the front door and the banging of the knocker. An early visitor had arrived at Forest Edge. Miriam would only just be up, I thought. She would be in the kitchen, lighting the fire. Could she hear the door from in there?

  The visitor banged the knocker again, longer, louder. There must be some very important news or an emergency of some kind. Perhaps flooding, after all that rain. Pulling on my dressing-gown, I ran out of my room and down the stairs, reaching the door at the same time as Miriam. She opened it, and there was Daniel standing on the doorstep.

  My mind raced to Judith. Had the baby come early? Were they all right?

  “Oh, Verity … I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “Judith?”

  “No, no. Judith is right as rain. It’s Pierre.”

  Speechless, I clutched the lucky piece.

  “His ship, the Battenberg – it’s gone down in a storm off the Queensland coast and it seems … Oh, Verity, we don’t know for certain. As yet there’s no list of those who …” He hesitated. “Who drowned.”

  Somehow I was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of hot, milky tea in my hands. Somehow Miss Deane was next to me, with her arm around my waist, and Poppy, under the table, had her head on my knee. Miriam had the kettle boiling away like mad, and was hovering with the teapot.

  In a shaky voice, I asked, “What happened?”

  “A sudden storm. The ship hit a reef. All the passengers assembled on the deck to board the lifeboats, but the sea was so rough that they couldn’t be launched. Then the ship tipped sideways and the passengers were swept off into the water. After that, a few sailors managed to lash themselves to the masts. Poor fellows, they stayed there for more than twenty hours while the storm raged. They were rescued on Tuesday morning. Verity, I hate to have to tell you this! It seems likely that all the hundred and ten passengers on board were lost.”

  “Oh, Papa.” My lovely old lion, with his noble face and mane of silver hair. So kind and loving and generous. Had I found him only to lose him again? Daniel tried to give me a handkerchief but my eyes were dry. I don’t often cry.

  “Mr Rowland!” I said suddenly. I’d forgotten until now that he’d been travelling with Papa. The tragedy wasn’t mine alone. There was Lottie and her brother and Mrs Rowland. There were all the other families feeling stunned with shock and horror.

  “No,” said Daniel. “Mr Rowland is safe. He broke his leg and couldn’t sail. Mrs Rowland has already left to join him.”

  I was glad for Lottie, but why couldn’t Papa have broken his leg too?

  But what was this Daniel was saying? I didn’t quite understand.

  “And SP will be in touch as soon as he gets to Brisbane.”

  “SP? Brisbane?”

  “Yes. He made his plans as soon as he heard. He’s probably steaming through The Heads at this very minute. He’ll do whatever he can, to find … to find … oh, Verity, to find out what happened to Pierre. And to make all the proper arrangements.”

  It took a few seconds for it to sink in. He meant that SP would try to find Papa’s body, identify it, and organise his burial. Miss Deane hugged me tighter, and Poppy nuzzled me with her hard little head.

  I shut my eyes and tried to concentrate. Surely, if Papa was lost at sea, I’d know it. I tried to picture his face in my mind, but I kept seeing Alexander instead. Alexander, sorrowful and grave, holding out his hands to me and then fading into the darkness.

  Daniel left after lunch.

  “As further news arrives at the Mercury, I will let you know,” he said.

  Miss Deane sent me upstairs to rest, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to fall asleep and dream about Papa in that pitiless sea. It was bad enough in my imagination to see the darkness, to hear the roaring wind and lashing waves, the cries of the drowning and the dreadful noise of the ship’s timbers breaking on the rocks …

  This is no good, I told myself. You mustn’t just lie here, tormenting yourself with images of shipwreck and disaster. You should get up and go back downstairs. Do something. Take your mind off Papa.

  But I didn’t move. I just lay there. It wasn’t like me to give in to my feelings in such a way, but I couldn’t help it. Everything seemed black and hopeless.

  “Verity? May I come in?” It was Mrs Honeydew.

  “Oh, Mrs Honeydew.” It was her kind, motherly face that did it. I began to cry, and she took my hand in hers.

  “You poor child. There, there, dear. There, there.”

  I cried, and she comforted me until the sobs subsided.

  Then she said, “Drucilla forgot to cancel our afternoon tea, but don’t worry – we won’t stay. I just wanted to offer you some Harmony Blend, dear. It’s not just for headaches. You’ll find it will help you to sleep. Would you like me to massage it in for you?”

  “Yes, please, Mrs Honeydew. You’re very kind.”

  “Not at all,” she said, uncorking the little blue bottle. I breathed in deeply. What had she said was in it? Oil of lavender, Attar of Roses, a few special ingredients of her own. It was like breathing in fresh air from a flower garden. The smell of Harmony Blend and the gentle pressure of her fingertips on my temples was calming. I felt as if I was floating above my shock and pain, looking down on myself but somehow not fe
eling anything.

  “I’ll leave you now, dear. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “I will.”

  She was nearly out of the door, when I remembered that I had something for her. “Look in my jewellery box,” I told her. “There – on the dressing table. The lost earring.”

  She picked it up and held it up to the light, turning it slightly so that it sparkled and shone. She gazed at it with a strange expression on her face.

  “I’ve missed you, old friend,” she said.

  Old friend? What a strange thing to say. And besides, I thought Mrs Honeydew said the earrings were Lavinia’s … And then I forgot all about it, and slept.

  24

  THANK HEAVENS FOR LUCIFER

  The next few days passed like a bad dream.

  Mrs Honeydew sent over a bottle of Dr Hartmann’s Herbal Homeopathic Helper, and Miss Deane insisted I take it, but I didn’t think it did me much good. I felt flat and weary. Washing and dressing seemed an effort. Watching Miss Deane and Poppy eat almost made me sick, so I asked Miriam to bring up my meals on a tray. But I didn’t eat them. I couldn’t. At least, thanks to Mrs Honeydew’s Harmony Blend, I could sleep, although sleeping and waking seemed drearily the same. After a week, I realised that I was making myself ill.

  Miss Deane was worried about me, so she asked Mrs Honeydew – her being a nurse and all – to come and look me over.

  “You must eat something,” she said, and sat beside my bed feeding me hot beef tea by the spoonful. I thought I would choke, but she insisted.

  “Good girl,” she said when I’d finished the cup. “You must keep your strength up. Do you think you can go to sleep now? Would you like me to massage you again?”

  The smell of Harmony Blend wafted me away to another place, a flower garden by a lake or perhaps the sea … Mrs Honeydew’s eyes were blue as the sea; her earrings, blue as well, spun and glittered with her every movement …

  “There, dear.” Mrs Honeydew stroked my hand as she stood up. “Better?”

  “Much better,” I mumbled, and fell into a doze.

  I was looking down from a great height, as if I was on a roof or in a tower. The trees, the lawns, the garden beds were silvered with moonlight. The circular drive, made of pale-coloured gravel, shone as if it was water and the roses near the front steps looked like black velvet. There was no breeze, no sound; everything was still as if frozen in time. It was so peaceful here, high above the world. So peaceful …

  A sudden wave of vertigo swept over me. I closed my eyes, and that was better. Now I felt as if I was floating. It was a warm, dreamy feeling; floating, like a snowflake or thistledown. Or perhaps falling …

  Where was I? What was I doing? I had no idea. All I knew was that there was no firm ground beneath my feet, no floor. I was teetering on the edge of something, losing my balance.

  “Hallelujah!”

  Right in my ear came a shriek loud enough to bust your eardrums. Then something large and hard hit me in the middle of my chest. I fell back, hit my head, and that’s the last thing I remember.

  “Oh!”

  I inhaled the sharp ammonia smell and opened my eyes. I was lying on the balcony outside my bedroom. It was still dark and there was a lamp burning beside me. Miss Deane was holding the smelling salts under my nose and Lucifer was toddling backwards and forwards on the balcony rail, talking quietly to himself. He was in his prayer meeting mood. “Praise the Lord,” he said, and occasionally, “Amen.”

  “Does your neck hurt, Verity?” asked Miss Deane. “Can you move your head?”

  I could nod. I could turn from side to side. Nothing hurt too badly. I was more shocked than anything else. What had just happened? I tried to ask but I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering and the words simply couldn’t come out.

  “Let’s get you up and into bed then.” Miss Deane helped me to my feet and into my room. Once I was under the covers, she sat on the chair next to my bed, holding my hand. Lucifer made his way over to Miss Deane and then climbed up her dress and onto her shoulder. He stared at me with his little round eyes. How old and wise he looked.

  “Oh, Verity!” Miss Deane still held my hand. “Oh, you gave me such a fright.”

  Finally, I could speak. “But tell me what … what?”

  “You were sleepwalking.”

  It seemed I’d taken the chair out of my bedroom and onto the balcony. I’d climbed up on that chair and then stood on the railing.

  “I remember looking down,” I said. “And then something hit me and knocked my backwards.”

  “That was Lucifer,” said Miss Deane. “He flew at you and knocked you backwards onto the floor of the balcony. Lucifer is one of the names of the devil, but he’s been an angel tonight.” She stroked his head. “Thank heavens for Lucifer.”

  He’d saved my life. A cockatoo had saved my life.

  I rubbed the back of my head. I’d have a lump the size of an egg there tomorrow. But at least there was going to be a tomorrow.

  Why was I on the balcony rail? What was I doing there? I looked over at Lucifer. He knew, but he wasn’t telling.

  After that, I knew I had to pull myself together. Waking the next morning, I felt light-headed and queasy, but I was determined to get up. Even to have breakfast. I wasn’t going to spend another day in bed. It wasn’t doing me – or anyone else – any good. I walked downstairs and stood in the hall, swaying slightly, waiting for my stomach to settle. The breakfast room door was open, and I heard voices.

  “It’s a tragedy. What a terrible fate – the poor man – and that poor dear child, left orphaned and bereft.” It was Mrs Honeydew talking. “What will happen to little Verity now that her father is dead? You told me she had relatives in Canada. Will she go to live with them, I wonder?”

  Would I? It was something I hadn’t even thought about. My mother had been an opera singer. Her stage name was Isabella Savage, but she was also known as La Belle Sauvage, which means “the beautiful savage”. It’s a kind of pun because she came from Canada, a wild and savage land of snow, Indians, fur-trappers and bears. I knew I would rather stay with the Plush family, wherever they were, rather than go halfway across the world to people I’d never even met.

  “I don’t know, Bertha.”

  There was a rustling sound, and Mrs Honeydew said, “This report in the Mercury is very shocking.”

  “Is there a report in the Mercury?” I asked, coming into the room.

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t read it, Verity,” said Miss Deane, but I insisted on seeing it for myself.

  “The steamer Platypus picked up as many bodies as could be found, but as the waters are shark-infested, there were not many,” I read out loud. “Oh no … Papa …”

  “Don’t, dear,” said Mrs Honeydew, gently, trying to take the paper from my hands. “You’re only upsetting yourself.”

  But I had to. “When the Platypus reached the wreck, the sea was like a mirror, smooth and shining. Below, one could see plainly the ship with its broken timbers wedged against the coral reef and tied with ropes. There was a metal safe with 3000 ounces of gold on board. Once a diver recovered the gold and ensured that there were no bodies on board, the ropes were cut and the ship, shifting off the reef, sank in many fathoms of water and is now forever lost.”

  “That’s enough,” said Miss Deane. She took the newspaper, folded it and tucked it under a cushion, as if that would make the horrible news somehow disappear. “Would you like some tea, Verity? I can ring for Miriam.”

  “It makes me think of that poem we studied at school, Miss Deane,” I said. “From The Tempest.

  “Full fathom five thy father lies;

  Of his bones are coral made:

  Those are pearls that were his eyes …”

  “You poor child.” Mrs Honeydew brought out a snowy handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

  “I think I’ll go back upstairs,” I said drearily. �
��I have a headache.”

  “Why don’t you lie down on the sofa, dear?” said Mrs Honeydew. She came towards me with such a tender, sympathetic look on her face. “Let me help you.”

  Mrs Honeydew’s fingers on my forehead and scalp were gentle but firm.

  “That’s soothing, isn’t it, dear?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  That night, I had another dream of Alexander. This time, his face wasn’t tense with effort. He wasn’t drenched with water either. Wearing a clean white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, he looked as if he’d just come from a cricket match. His fair hair was tousled and blown as if by a light breeze. Warm light surrounded him, and there was a shushing sound like waves on a beach. He smiled.

  “It’s not over yet, Veroschka,” he said. “But don’t worry. Soon it will be.”

  “Papa?”

  There was affectionate laughter in his voice. “He’s on his way home. Don’t doubt that, little one. Don’t you remember what Papa always said? After a storm comes fair weather, after sorrow comes joy.”

  I thought of the Battenberg with its broken timbers wedged against the coral reef, fathoms deep under the waves. I wondered if SP had found Papa’s body before the sharks did …

  As if he could read my thoughts, Alexander said, “Full fathom five thy father lies … No, he’s coming home alive. Alive and well and large as life.”

  He looked quickly behind him, as if at someone just out of my sight. Then he appeared to be listening, for he nodded his head before he turned back to me.

  “I must go now, Veroschka. This is the last time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s the last time I shall see you. I was given the chance to make amends. And I have.”

  “What do you mean? Alexander? Alexander!”

  He was gone. All I could see was diffused golden light, like the morning sun coming into my room through the blinds.