She drew in a breath of ocean air and opened her eyes. The Gall Parasido had at long last reached its destination: an island somewhere in the Southern Atlantic Ocean. The crewmen threw the ropes out to the pier where the dockworkers secured it to capstans and slowly pulled the ship closer. Her heart pounded with anticipation. If only Thomas could see her now. They both had an odd interest in the dead. Her own interest came from her childhood—a way to deal with the pain. She attempted to restore her parents to their lifelike state. She didn’t understand the concept of death at the time. In truth, she still didn’t understand it.
What is life? she often wondered. Why does a creature stop living; and what is the difference between a creature whose heart beats and one whose heart does not beat? She had heard many stories of illnesses whose symptoms resembled death. In some parts of the world, they would even bury people and install grave bells. These bells were attached to a string that led to the coffin through a brass pipe. The idea was that the person could ring the bell if they were buried alive.
The ship strained as the ropes were tightened. The crewmen stepped back from the railings as the walkway was fitted. It was nothing more than a few boards fixed together, but it looked sturdy enough. A few moments passed before a crane swung overhead to remove the cargo.
Petronia McBride picked up her suitcases and clutched her handbag to her side, waiting for her turn to disembark. First was the grand couple of Lemeard. She had chuckled when she had first heard their surname. After them, were a few businessmen; someone looking like a railroad man; women on some kind of tour; then men and women who looked like the normal working class. Once all of these were off, she stepped off and into her future.
***
“Papers, please,” the policeman barked kindly.
Petronia was flustered, briefly forgot how to speak English and then frantically started looking for her letter of invitation. Where on earth had she put it?
“Uh, uh, one… second…” she stuttered, dropped her suitcases and dug through her handbag. “It ought to be here… some… where…” She panicked for a second. Did she leave it in the hotel room? No, she wouldn’t have been able to get on the ship without them. Did she leave it in her cabin? No, she had double and triple checked it before she came outside.
She threw her handbag to the side and jumped on a suitcase and struggled to unlock them.
“What yer got ther’?” came an odd voice from the side. It sounded like a Russian-Scottish mixed accent. The policeman looked up and waved a boy over.
“Lady lookin’ fer papers yeh?” asked the boy. He had a cap on his head, brown trousers, bare feet, a checkered shirt that had seen better days, and wore a smile that shone brighter than the sun.
“How are you Scrush?” asked the policeman, then said, “Take your time ma’am.”
Scrush looked at her and chuckled, patted the policeman on the shoulder, and then sat on his haunches next to her.
“Och, yer know lassybushka, I can make this here problem go away fer a wee bit of money.” The accent was taxing on the ear.
“Uh, no,” she said, sitting upright amidst what looked like the aftermath of an explosion of clothes. “No, thank you, I am quite alright.” She put a hand to her cheek. “It is somewhere here, I just um, I have just um, misplaced it, I’ll think of where in a moment.”
Scrush looked back up at the policeman.
“Och lassybushka, what if I show you where yer papers are then yer pay me one coin.” He held up his index finger. “I’m nought but a humble beggar, yer see.” Something odd was going on. The policeman just continued staring up at the ship, as if expecting more passengers to disembark. She thought over the proposal.
“Well, alright, but only a single coin, as the policeman is my witness.” The boy smiled, stretched out his hand and removed her papers from her hand. She had been holding them the whole time. She felt relieved and ashamed at the same time. She stood up and handed the papers over to the policeman, then took out a copper penny and gave it to Scrush.
Scrush smiled, tossed the penny up in the air and caught it niftily.
“Yer, know, fer another one of these I could pack yer bags and carry ‘em fer ye’,” he said. The policeman looked over her papers, wrote something down in his book, and then handed the papers back to her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking them. She was confused as to what he was still doing staring up at the ship.
“Scrush, is it?” she asked and Scrush nodded. She sighed. What a great start to her new life. “I’ll give you two of those if you pack them, carry them and show me the way to the Maynard Estate.” Scrush chuckled, whispered something to the policeman and started packing her suitcase. The policeman then closed his book, looked up and down the pier, bade her a pleasant stay and then walked off. She looked after him for a while, then at the dockworkers who were heaving and hauling the cargo from the ship. To the one side was everything that had been delivered, to the other were supplies for the Gall Parasido’s next journey, ready to be loaded.
“That policeman seemed strange,” remarked Petronia.
“Och, Constable Constable?” replied Scrush, looking back at the policeman. “Brilliant police officer that—underappreciated if yer ask me—but fair, kind, honest and hardworking.” He locked up the suitcases. “Just doesn’t understand the workings of people, is all. Good man though, good man.” He stood up, waiting for her signal to carry on.
Peculiar place, this. She motioned with her glove-covered hand and they started walking down the pier.
***
She had never met Mr Maynard—never heard of him before, but his offer of employment and endorsement of her studies were just too much of an opportunity to pass up—not a lot of people gave much thought to the dead. The letter was straightforward and simple. Word got out that she prepared the dead to be presentable at funerals; he stated that there was a need for that in Adelwreth. Employment would offer accommodation, good pay—A100 a month—and a chance to further her studies and experiments. Not to mention this beautiful island.
All she had to do now was reach Mr Maynard. He had said that there was a local carriage driven by a Mr Hozjunuh that would take her up to him. Ah, that’s right, she thought.
“Scrush,” she said as they exited the docks. “Could you be so kind as to take me to a Mr Ho… Hozju… oh I can’t pronounce the name.” He stopped, cocked his head to one side, thinking.
“Never heard of ‘em,” he said and continued walking. This is great news, she thought sarcastically but continued following him. In a few minutes, she had not only lost three pennies, her dignity and her confidence but now she was lost. Really lost. Following a boy in a foreign city.
They went around a corner and passed a bustling market square. People bartered at stalls, gathered in groups talking, drew carts, argued and laughed. They walked on through busy crowds of people coming to and from the market. A bunch of shops with alleys between them lined the outskirts of the square.
Peasant’s Way. Odd name for a street, she thought. They carried on, passing people who were neatly dressed, exchanging how-do-you-dos and good days with them. Some of them looked on in disapproval of the boy carrying the suitcases.
At Second Street, a young man leaned against a wall. He was carving something with a knife. He looked up as they passed, hopped into the street and jogged up to Scrush.
“Scrussian,” he said as he stepped up alongside the boy. The man looked back at Petronia, put his arm around the boy and whispered something in his ear.
Oh, if Thomas could see her now… What a fool she had been, what a fool she had become. The young man patted the boy on the back, tipped his cap towards Petronia, and then jogged off into an alley.
It was at Fourth Street when her nerves had calmed down that she asked Scrush:
“So that back there, what was all that about?”
“Och Donkin?” he said smiling over his shoulder. “Just sayin’ there’s a job opportunity fer me tahmorrow.” That accent was like the weight of the world to tolerate. She nodded and walked on in silence.
“He told me where te’ find that Mr Hozju- or whats-his-name,” he said, leading her to a factory. “But, seeing as I will only find him ternight, best we get yer some lodgings first.”
He turned around, visibly struggling with the heavy suitcases in his hands. “It’s not much, but Donkin said yer can stay as long as yer want. Caps Honour.”
Oh great, she thought, what else should she have expected?
“Is that for another penny?” she asked sarcastically. He just smiled broadly over his shoulder.
“Here we are!” he exclaimed as he opened the door. She looked inside. It was clean; there was a bed, a table and a chair. Not much, but it would do for the night. She inspected the door—at least there was a lock. The window, however, had no way of being secured shut. She put a hand to her forehead.
“Isn’t there a hotel or tavern or something?” she asked. He cocked his head, thinking.
“Well, Fifth Street Hotel, twenty Adels a night or Lütz Tavern, five Adels a night.”
“Good, I think I can manage my way there,” she said and walked out into the street.
“Fifteen pounds per Adel, lassybushka,” he said behind her.
Her heart sank into her shoes. She didn’t even have enough for the tavern then. Surely he was trying to trick her.
She ran up to a man in a suit.
“Excuse me!” she called, running and stumbling. “Excuse me.” The man stopped and turned to her with an elegant stance.
“How much is an Adel worth in pounds?” she asked, catching her breath. The man nodded his head. “About fourteen… no… fifteen pounds at the moment. How do you do? Minclen von Schaft, at your service,” he said, then bowed. Hand to her forehead, she turned and walked back to Scrush, mumbling a how-do-you-do back at the man.
“So tonight, I’ll go find Mr Hozju- or whats-his-name and barter travel to the Maynard Estate fer yer, all on Mr Maynard’s account,” he said, setting her suitcases on the table.
“If yer need anything, I’ll be right outside that door for the rest of the evening, and after I find whats-his-name, I’ll be back,” he said and walked outside. “Caps Honour, lassybushka.” He tipped his cap at her and went around the corner.
Well, he knows the policeman and seems helpful, and besides, he is only a boy, she thought. She started unpacking some clothes and dug through her suitcase for her diary. Life surely took a turn since she walked off that ship. She started writing. Then she drew the lighthouse, the tall structure that stood stately on the cliff to the west of Adelwreth. She smiled. If she did not meet success as a dresser and carer of the dead, she could always become an artist. She drew the Market Square and Donkin, carving whatever it was he was carving and ended with a drawing of the interior of the small room—the room that sat next to a large factory.
A few moments later, the Scrushian knocked at her door, bringing her food. Bread and soup. It was not much, but it was enough. He bade her goodnight and was off to find Hozjunuh.
She knew then that she could trust the capped boy. She ate her fill and passed out on the bed, awaiting, with anticipation, her new life here in Adelwreth.
TO BE CONTINUED