Verity Sparks, Lost and Found (22 page)

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.

And I woke.

There were two letters waiting when I went downstairs that morning. One was from Daniel.

Dear Verity
,

I have just had a telegram from SP. He has interviewed one of the surviving sailors, who told him that he’d seen Pierre hanging on to the lifeboat. He wants you to know there is hope for Papa Savinov
.

In haste
,

Your loving friend
,

Daniel

“I knew it,” I said. “I knew that there was hope.” And I thought of my dream. Somehow, in some strange other world, Alexander was watching over Papa and me. And he knew that Papa was safe. It was only a matter of time before SP found him. I was sure of that now.

The other letter was from Andrew Ross, asking about our progress on the case.

“It almost sounds as if he didn’t get the letter, doesn’t it?” said Miss Deane.

“I’d forgotten all about the letter.” Alan and Andrew Ross seemed like figures from long ago and far away. But perhaps it was time to take an interest again.

“Perhaps I should write to him,” said Miss Deane.

“You know, I think we should go and see him,” I said. “And Daniel and Judith as well. I feel like going to Melbourne for a few days, Miss Deane. What do you think?”

She looked at me doubtfully. “Are you well enough? After all, you haven’t eaten more than a few bits of toast since we got the news about Mr Savinov.”

“I feel like breakfast today,” I said. “Bacon and eggs and sausages …”

And when she offered me some Dr Hartmann’s Homeopathic Herbal Helper, I politely said no.

“I really don’t think I need it any more,” I said.

“We’ll only be gone for a few days, Toby,” said Miss Deane. “Then Poppy will be back again.”

We were visiting Greystones to tell Mrs Honeydew and Mrs O’Day of our plans. When he heard that we were going away, Toby was instantly in tears.

“B-b-but I’ll miss her,” he wailed.

“Never mind, my pet,” said Mrs O’Day, trying to hold him. “Mamma’s here.”

He wriggled free of her. “I don’t want Mamma! I w-w-want Poppy …”

“Oh, my darling …” Mrs O’Day’s eyes filled with tears as well. “Could Poppy stay here with us? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Toby?”

“Yes, yes!” Toby jumped up and down, banging his hands on the table.

Mrs O’Day looked appealingly at Poppy. “Please, Poppy, dear. It would make him so happy.”

No wonder Toby was such a brat, I thought. Mrs O’Day couldn’t bear to say no to him. Now she’d put us all on the spot. If Poppy didn’t want to stay, we weren’t going to make her – but refusing would seem rude. However, Poppy made up her own mind.

“Orright,” she said. “I’ll stay.” She gave a stern look in Toby’s direction. “You’ve got to behave yerself, mind.”

He nodded.

“An’ then,” she added craftily, “you ’ave to give me a go on Albert.” Albert was the name of Toby’s tiny Shetland pony.

“I will,” promised Toby, hugging her. “I will.”

“Drucilla, perhaps you and Mrs O’Day should talk to Kitty?” suggested Mrs Honeydew. “After all, she’s the nursemaid, and it will mean one extra child for her to look after.”

“Should we? Oh, of course,” said Mrs O’Day in her vague way, and the two ladies and the children went upstairs to the nursery.

Mrs Honeydew patted the place beside her on the sofa. “Come and sit by me, Verity. Are you feeling better, dear? How are you sleeping? I have been rather worried about you, you know.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “I would like to look at your eyes, if you don’t mind. The eyes are the windows of the soul, so they say, but they can reveal a lot about bodily health as well.”

The eyes are window of the soul
. I hadn’t heard that saying before, and I liked it. I thought of Mrs Enderby-Smarke, with eyes like pebbles and a smile like a fish.

“Chin up,” said Mrs Honeydew. Her face was very close to mine, and I could see there was a dark ring around Mrs Honeydew’s intensely blue iris. The smell of Harmony Blend clung to her. “That’s right. Now, look into my eyes …”

Suddenly, I was lying on the sofa. Miss Deane and Mrs O’Day were leaning over me. Mrs Honeydew was wafting cool air with a Japanese fan and her kindly face was full of concern.

“The poor dear fainted,” she explained. “And it’s no wonder. Nerves, liver, digestion – all in a shocking state.”

“Then she must see a doctor!” said Miss Deane in a horrified voice.

“Really?” I said. Despite my nerves and my liver, I didn’t feel unwell. Disturbed sleep and strange dreams don’t mean you’re sick.

“Quite right. You must seek medical advice,” nodded Mrs Honeydew. “It’s just as well you are going to Melbourne.”

“Indeed it is,” said Miss Deane. “We shall make an appointment as soon as we arrive.”

“Perhaps,” I said vaguely. Apart from that time after Alexander’s accident, I’ve never had to see the doctor. How grown-ups love to fret about everyone’s health, I thought.

There was nothing the matter with me.

Toby and Poppy wanted to see us off at the station, so Kitty and the children came down to Macedon with us in the wagonette from the livery stables. Poppy hugged us both and then she and Toby scampered excitedly up and down the platform while we waited for the train. At last we heard the puffing of the engine and the loud blast of the whistle. The train rounded the bend and began to draw in to the platform. I don’t really know what happened next. I must have moved forwards to the very edge of the platform. I looked at the train, drawing closer, and then I looked down.