A BROKEN PROMISE

On a Sunday evening in late Autumn, Ellen Whitfield returned home from visiting a neighbour to find her dearest friend struggling with the clasp on the front gate, hands clumsy with her eagerness to leave.

‘It sticks in the heat,’ Ellen said. ‘Give it a kick.’

Harriet checked the street was empty, then hoisted her skirts and did as Ellen had suggested. She stumbled forward as the gate flew open. Ellen caught her around the waist and gave her a quick squeeze before letting her go.

‘If I’d known you intended to come today, I’d have stayed in,’ she said. ‘Mrs Davidson’s heart is bad again so I took some biscuits for the children. Then I felt obliged to sit with her for a while, and there are only so many things a person can say about the weather.’ She grimaced. ‘Even on a revolting day like this.’

It was unseasonably warm for May and the air was thick with humidity. Ellen bore dry heat without complaint, but this clammy weather made her temper spark and the Davidsons’ cottage was particularly airless.

‘Poor dears,’ Harriet said, eyes sad as she gazed across at the Davidson’s house. ‘It must be hard for them. First their father, and now they’ll probably lose their mother as well.’

‘At that age, I thought my parents would live forever.’

Harriet frowned. ‘Yes…’

Ellen winced. ‘I’m sorry, Harriet. I didn’t think.’

Harriet managed a weak smile. ‘Don’t be. I don’t expect people to avoid the subject forever. I’d rather they didn’t, really. I’m sick of walking into a room and having everyone fall silent, only to start whispering the second I leave. She’s the one who lost her whole family in that shipwreck . Like it’s an exciting story they read in the paper, instead of my life. At least if you’ve something to say, you’ll say it to my face.’

Ellen laughed. ‘It’s not usually considered a talent, as my brother always reminds me.’

At the mention of William, Harriet’s smile faded. That was odd. Could they have quarrelled? The very idea seemed unthinkable; love made them blind to each other’s faults. They’d have been married months ago if not for the shipwreck. Now the wedding was drawing nearer and Harriet was at the Whitfields’ home almost daily, seeking advice that Ellen felt ill-equipped to supply. She was thirty now and, despite her mother’s coaxing, it seemed increasingly unlikely that she’d stumble into marriage and motherhood.

She didn’t mourn this as she knew she should, but was very glad of the path Harriet had chosen. It was so much more bearable to have her married to Will—a sister—than to lose her to a stranger: removed to another town or colony, her letters growing more distant with every year that passed.

‘Why don’t you come in for supper?’ she said now. ‘There should still be biscuits, if Will hasn’t polished them off.’

‘No…’ Harriet glanced back at the cottage. ‘I’m sure you’re tired. And I mustn’t stay out late.’

‘Nonsense! It’s still early.’ Ellen had little idea of the hour, but it was not yet sunset. ‘I shall be quite jealous if you spend time with my brother but refuse to do so with me.’ Her tone was joking, but there was a truth there all the same.

‘It’s not that.’ Harriet’s eyes met Ellen’s only briefly. ‘I’ll give you all the time you desire, and gladly. But not here and…not tonight.’

For the first time Ellen wondered if something else was wrong with Harriet, beyond the constant shadow of her grief. ‘Harriet, if there’s something…’

‘I’m fine,’ Harriet said, her smile unnaturally bright. ‘Or at least I shall be. Visit me tomorrow? I’ve a lot to tell you.’ The smile cracked and she looked deeply exhausted. ‘But not now.’

A dozen questions bloomed in Ellen’s mind. For once she left them unspoken and said simply, ‘I’ll come in the morning.’

Ellen found her brother in the front room of the cottage, staring into the empty fireplace with a pristine newspaper folded upon his lap. Prince, at William’s feet, raised his head and thumped his tail joyously against the floor as she entered. The lamps had not yet been lit. The corners of the room were shadowed, but William’s face glowed golden in the light of the setting sun.

Their peaceful life was on display in the neat lines of William’s books and the tangle of Ellen’s embroidery threads, discarded beside several bent hatpins and loose sheets of music. The walls were papered with dark green brocade, faded a little where the morning sunlight touched it, and Ellen had chosen curtains in a lighter tone to brighten the room. Her piano stood in one corner—too big for the space—with another assortment of her possessions strewn on the stool. It was not a grand room, but it was cosy and cheerful and Ellen preferred their little cottage to the more opulent homes she knew. One didn’t feel the constant urge to be well-mannered here. When Harriet moved in after the wedding, it would be perfect.

William didn’t look up when she came in and only appeared to notice her presence when she dropped into the chair beside him. ‘Too many children!’ she said with a groan. ‘One or two can be diverting, I suppose, but a brood like the Davidsons’ is just plain exhausting.’

William glanced at her and returned his gaze to the fireplace. ‘Did I hear you talking to Harriet outside?’

‘I ran into her on my way in.’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘No, she was keen to get home. I’m to visit tomorrow morning.’ She watched him for a moment, waiting for a response. When none came, she said, ‘She was in a peculiar mood.’

‘Yes. I suppose she would be.’ William made an effort to rouse himself, blinking and rolling his shoulders as though they had grown stiff. His smile would have seemed convincing to anyone who did not know him so well. ‘Are there any of those biscuits left?’

Ellen noted the change of subject but decided not to challenge him. William’s bad moods were rare, and seldom lasted once he had eaten. ‘I saved half for us. You can have one if you eat all your supper.’

His smile became more genuine. ‘Wasn’t it you that Mother used to scold for leaving your meat and then crying for dessert?’

‘That meat—I don’t know what Mrs Allen did to leach out all the flavour, but she was admirably consistent.’

‘And yet Mother remains so loyal. Each time I visit the farm I expect to find a new cook, but there’s Mrs Allen, looking all of a hundred as she boils every last bit of flavour out of the food.’

‘I used to think Mother kept her on just to spite me. I’m there so rarely now, though—it can’t be that.’

‘Now you’re being foolish.’ William softened his words with a smile. He got to his feet. ‘I think I’ll take Prince around the block before the sun sets.’

Ellen watched them leave from the front window. Prince with his nose held high; William’s form hunched and folded, his gaze fixed to the ground.

The small kitchen at the rear of the Whitfields’ cottage was less cluttered than the front room but no more spacious. The room was dominated by the large fireplace: the cast iron fittings and brick surrounds, the pots and pans hung on the wall above it when not in use, the fire irons rested to one side so as to avoid stubbed toes. In the middle of the room there was a worn wooden table, where meals were both prepared and consumed, and three narrow chairs. The only other piece of furniture was the dresser, which contained everything from china to missing buttons. Every few months, William would suggest that they should bring some order to the chaos and each time Ellen would swear she knew how to find anything they might need in there, but would be lost if she was forced to tidy it. The latter point was undoubtedly true.

Ellen was not a natural housekeeper, but she was proud of their little home and enjoyed taking care of William—seven inches taller, but forever her little brother. This happy duty would soon pass to Harriet, a blow lessened by the knowledge that Harriet considered her a sister just as William did, and would never oust Ellen from her home. In fact, she had said she would be relieved to have Ellen there to show her the way of things. Her parents had kept several servants and even the lightest tasks were new to her, whereas Ellen did all but the most laborious of household duties. Those she left to the charwoman.

The third chair in the kitchen was Harriet’s. It was often empty, but tonight it seemed especially so.

Ellen allowed her brother to eat much of their meal in silence—a feat of unusual restraint—but with the coffee and biscuits, her curiosity finally overcame her self-control.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what happened to make you so sad and Harriet so strange? Did you quarrel?’

‘Not…as such.’

It was unusual for William to be reticent with Ellen. His hesitation now gave new weight to whatever had happened. Ellen had imagined a minor embarrassment or disagreement, but neither would provoke this dark mood.

He sighed and pushed his chair back, the half-eaten biscuit forgotten on his plate. ‘I suppose you’ll hear it from Harriet anyway,’ he said. ‘She called off the engagement.’

‘ What? She can’t have! You must have misunderstood her; perhaps she just meant to postpone it. She’s felt the loss of her family deeply these past few weeks.’

There was no humour in William’s laugh. ‘Oh, she’s found a solution to that. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it when you see her. I’d be pleased, if it didn’t come at my expense.’

‘I don’t understand, Will. When I saw her on Friday, she was so excited about the wedding. And she’s usually as immovable as you are once her mind is set.’

‘So I thought.’ He smoothed his moustache with one finger, an unconscious habit that Ellen teased him for in lighter moments. ‘It’s a quality I’ve always admired in her. She said that her feelings haven’t altered, but she felt obliged to heed her mother’s wishes.’

Ellen frowned. ‘But Mrs Kirk adored you! She was almost as happy about your engagement as I was.’ She thought back to the last time she’d seen Harriet’s parents, not long before they left on their fateful voyage. Both had spoken warmly to William, and Harriet’s mother had talked at great length about the wedding. There was nothing in her manner to suggest that her admiration of William had dimmed. And even if it had, why would Harriet act upon it only now?

‘She’s changed her mind, it seems.’ There was an uncharacteristic bitterness to William’s tone.

‘What, from beyond the grave?’ Ellen’s laugh died in her throat when she saw the look in her brother’s eyes. ‘Will?’

‘Quite a story, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘An amusing headline: “Marriage called off by bride’s dead mother”.’

‘You’re serious.’ Ellen stared at him across the table. ‘Well, then, there’s no other explanation: Harriet must have completely lost her mind.’

‘It might be easier if she had; then she could be cured, and forget all this. No. Do you remember her talking about that new church she’s attending?’

‘Church!’ Ellen scoffed. ‘It sounds more like a theatre. I never thought Harriet would get caught up in all that spirit nonsense. She’s always been so sensible.’

‘Death changes people.’

‘I don’t see why. I mean, unless you’re the person who died.’

William’s laugh was a genuine sound of amusement this time, although it was quickly silenced. ‘You can see the allure of proof of life beyond the grave, surely? Knowing that those you’ve lost are whole and happy again.’

‘Certainly. As long as it was actual proof, not an old woman in a darkened room pretending to speak to Prince Albert.’

‘You’re not as trusting as Harriet is.’

‘No, and just as well.’

William gave her a disapproving look. ‘She’s vulnerable right now. You can’t blame her for that.’

‘I can blame whoever’s using it against her, though… Ah. That’s the mother she’s been talking to, isn’t it? Some charlatan making money from her grief.’

His eyes were sad. ‘She told me she’s spoken to her mother several times. She didn’t say anything before because she knew we’d be sceptical.’

‘I think we have a right to be. And what about me? Does she intend to sever our friendship too?’ The thought of it pained Ellen dreadfully; she would not release Harriet without a struggle.

‘I didn’t think to ask her,’ he said. ‘I had other things on my mind.’

His words jolted Ellen from her anger, her temper always swift to rise and equally swift to fade. She was being selfish, she realised, fuming about the actions of strangers when it was William she should be attending to. ‘Poor dear,’ she said, pushing the plate of biscuits towards him.

She had always been the hardier of the two of them—in her own estimation at any rate—and the eighteen months between them often felt more like eighteen years. Perhaps it would have been different if they were closer to their parents, but Ellen had been mothering William since they were children—to his amusement, and sometimes frustration.

Now, however, she would allow no argument. ‘Eat,’ she said, nodding toward the biscuits. ‘I’ll visit Harriet tomorrow morning and try to talk some sense into her.’

William shook his head, but his mouth held the hint of a smile. ‘As bossy as always.’

‘Whatever gets the job done.’ She nodded with satisfaction as he reached for another biscuit.

*

The following morning, Ellen was greeted at the front door of Harriet’s home by her maid. The family had once kept several servants, but Mary Anne was the only one remaining aside from a part-time cook. Harriet’s father had provided well for her; she could have lived quite lavishly if this were in her nature. But a woman on her own had no need to employ the staff befitting a professional man such as Mr Kirk. Harriet had felt terrible, dismissing the others, but she had given them all glowing references. And as Ellen had told her, it was good servants the colony was short of, not good situations. She was glad, nonetheless, that Harriet still had Mary Anne. The house was too large for just one person, and the affable Irish woman provided a familiar presence when so much else had changed.

‘Miss Kirk’s in the parlour,’ said Mary Anne, nodding towards the open doorway. ‘She asked me to brew up some tea when you got here, so if you’re happy to see yourself in…’

Ellen had visited the Kirks’ home more times than she could count, but it felt different since Harriet’s parents and brother had died. The long, wide hall with the row of doors opening off it had not changed, nor the carpeted staircase to the upper floor. The wallpaper was patterned with the same elegant design of dark twining foliage, now with an oddly funereal cast, and shadows formed at the cornices as they always had, swelling as the day stretched on. But there was a feeling of emptiness now, lingering even in company. Ellen didn’t believe in spirits, but she felt the presence of Harriet’s lost family here in the unfillable spaces and silences.

Harriet rose as she entered the parlour. ‘You came.’ She embraced Ellen with no sign of the previous day’s strangeness in her voice. ‘I did wonder whether you might be too cross with me.’

‘Not with you.’

Harriet released her and gestured for Ellen to take a seat. ‘Forgive the mess,’ she said, waving at the immaculate room, and referring, presumably, to the neat pile of threads and fabric next to her on the sofa. It wasn’t that Harriet herself was particularly orderly; it was her mother who had always insisted on having everything just so. With Mrs Kirk gone, however, it seemed as though Harriet felt bound to emulate the very traits she had so often grumbled about. The side tables were kept clear of books and papers and not so much as a fallen petal was left upon the floor. Whatever needlework Harriet was working on she cleared away into her workbox as soon as she had finished with it, and one would never find a button or hatpin in an unexpected place.

Once, when Ellen teased her about it, William said, ‘Let her mourn them however she chooses. There’s no harm in keeping things neat.’

Now, as Ellen studied Harriet’s face for signs of lunacy, her friend’s newfound fastidiousness seemed insignificant compared to her talking to spirits.

But Harriet did not look mad. If anything she looked happier than she had since the reports had reached her about the sinking of the Cheviot . She had met the loss of her family with astounding fortitude, but still there had been something missing these past months: a dulling of her light. Now her eyes were bright and it was as if the old Harriet had returned.

Ellen felt unduly flustered. She had not realised how much she had missed this version of Harriet. Would she fade away again without her spirits? It seemed cruel of Ellen to desire it, but equally cruel that this should depend upon a lie. ‘You look well,’ she said. ‘Not at all like a woman who has just ended her engagement.’

‘He must despise me.’ Harriet’s eyes were truly remorseful. ‘And I don’t blame him.’

‘Oh, you know Will. He’s being remarkably forbearing as always. I think it would do him good to get into a rage about it—bang a few books about, slam a few doors—but that’s always been my province.’

Harriet’s expression carried all the understanding of one who had found herself on the receiving end of Ellen’s anger several times.

‘He’s miserable,’ Ellen went on, ‘but, of course, he’d never say so.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Harriet lowered her gaze. ‘You know I think the world of him.’

‘Then why do it, Harriet? It doesn’t make any sense.’

Harriet looked down at her hands, which were folded tightly in her lap. ‘Because my mother wished it. I’m sure William told you so.’

Here they were, then, at the crux of it. Most women would not have reached this point so swiftly, wasting time with gossip and idle chit-chat about the weather. Ellen saw no point in delaying the purpose of a visit, however. She was here for an explanation, not news of some acquaintance’s gout.

‘Your mother’s dead, Harriet,’ she said—bluntly, even for Ellen. ‘Whoever may wish this, I can assure you it isn’t her.’

Harriet did not flinch. ‘I know she’s dead, Ellen. I still wake every morning wishing I had dreamt it, but I know that isn’t true. She’s dead and so are my father and brother, and there’s no changing it.’

‘Then why—’

‘Please, Ellen.’ Harriet held up a hand. ‘Let me tell you all of it before you start mocking me.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, don’t look so defensive. I’m sure you’ll think I’m a fool—if not a raving lunatic—but if you’d heard the things I’ve heard…’ A shadow, quickly vanquished, seemed momentarily to darken her eyes.

‘Tell me, then,’ said Ellen. ‘I promise I won’t interrupt.’

‘You know I’ve been attending a new church…’

Ellen opened her mouth to reply, then remembered her promise, and nodded.

‘It’s not…not a normal sort of church. There are hymns, but no formal sermon. None of the usual readings and responses. The leader is an Englishwoman: Mrs Caroline McLeod.’

‘A woman!’ The words burst out before Ellen could stop them.

‘I know what you’re thinking, but she doesn’t claim to be a vicar. Her husband was— is —the minister. He’s the one who started the church back in England, and it was his idea to relocate to the colonies. But he died during the voyage.’ She dropped her gaze to where her fingers were toying with the woollen fabric of her skirt. ‘And now he speaks through Caroline.’ The last words were rushed, but when she looked up again, there was a challenge in her eyes.

Ellen gestured for her to continue. If she heard the whole of Harriet’s story, it would be easier to discredit it. Easier, hopefully, to talk some sense into her. Because Lord knew it was needed.

‘She’s a medium,’ Harriet’s voice was stronger now, ‘and she acts as her husband’s mouthpiece since he went to the Summerland. You should hear the way he describes it, Ellen—it sounds so beautiful. He says spiritualism is the most pure form of Christianity, and it all makes perfect sense when he explains it…Anyway, he conveys messages from other spirits sometimes, and occasionally they speak directly through Caroline. That’s what happened with my mother.’ Harriet’s expression grew distant. ‘She called me Poppy, like she did when I was little. There was no way Caroline could’ve known that name. She said she loved me and missed me and that they were all happy in the Summerland…and that the only worry left to her was the thought of me marrying William. She wanted me to stay with the church, so she could talk to me.’ She shook her head and her eyes, focused once more on Ellen, shone with unshed tears. ‘I couldn’t lose her a second time.’

‘And so you broke off the engagement. Because this Caroline told you to. Is there anything else she expects of you?’

Harriet bit her lip and avoided Ellen’s gaze. ‘I’m moving to East Melbourne. The church has a house there: a mansion, really. Caroline’s offered me a room.’

‘Harriet…’ Ellen reached out, then withdrew her hand. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

‘No. But I intend to do it anyway.’ Harriet looked up. ‘Go on, then. Tell me what a fool I’m being.’

Harriet was being foolish; Ellen had no doubt of that. It was clear that grief had impaired her friend’s judgement and was continuing to drive her actions. But she would never mock Harriet for missing her family. It was the so-called church that was to blame—people like this Caroline McLeod who saw a woman’s suffering and turned it to their own advantage.

‘I don’t believe you spoke to your mother,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘You know I think that spirit stuff is nonsense. But I believe that you believe it.’

‘So you don’t despise me?’ The relief on Harriet’s face was almost comical.

‘If I was ever going to, it would have been when you cast me aside, not my brother.’ It was meant as a joke, but the mood was not right for it. The words hung in the air between the two women, expanding as the silence stretched.

‘That’s not how it was,’ Harriet said finally. ‘I didn’t—’

‘I know,’ Ellen broke in, and found herself unable to meet Harriet’s eyes. She quickly changed the subject. ‘If you’re moving in with these spiritualists, what will happen to this place?’

Harriet eagerly accepted the move away from old hurts. ‘Nothing, at least not immediately. I always planned to lease it out once William and I were married, and I suppose I’ll still do that if things work out with Caroline.’

‘And if they don’t?’

‘Then I’ll have here to come back to.’ Harriet looked as if she had more to say, but at that moment Mary Anne entered the room carrying a tray.

‘You wouldn’t believe the fuss I’ve had with that new stove,’ she said as she laid out the tea things on the low mahogany table beside the sofa. ‘The fire kept putting itself out. Give me an old-fashioned hearth any day.’

‘Mary Anne’s kindly agreed to stay on while I’m away,’ Harriet said to Ellen.

Mary Anne gave a dismissive wave. ‘No kindness in it,’ she said gruffly. ‘You’ll be paying me, won’t you, and who else would take me on when I’m to be married in a matter of months?’

Ellen knew Mary Anne too well to take her words at face value. She and Harriet were truly fond of each other, and both would feel the separation deeply.

When they were alone again, and once the tea had been poured and tasted, Harriet said, ‘I didn’t much like the thought of staying here alone after Mary Anne leaves to be with her Joseph. It’ll be nice to be surrounded by people again. And everyone at the house is so lovely.’

They would be , Ellen thought, beginning to feel fatigued from constantly biting her tongue. They’re wooing you and your pretty inheritance like a thoroughgoing rake . To Harriet, she said, ‘I hope they remain so.’

‘I do wish you could see them as I have. If you came to one of our meetings…’

Ellen couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of it. ‘I don’t think they’d appreciate the presence of an obvious sceptic.’

‘You wouldn’t be the first. If you came to learn, not mock, Caroline would welcome you.’ Harriet’s eyes glowed. ‘Tell me you’ll think about it? It would mean a lot to have you with me.’

Ellen had never been good at saying no to Harriet. ‘I will,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Ellen was waiting in the front room when William came home from work. It was not a long cab ride from Collins Street, but on fine days he often chose to make the journey by foot. Then, it took William almost an hour: an interminable age when Ellen had something she was eager to discuss.

She had tried tackling the new piano piece she’d been learning, hoping the concentration would distract her, but had found herself incapable of everything but simple scales. She had not been able to stop thinking about Harriet’s situation, but remained unsure of what to do. She had never been able to make a decision without verbalising her thoughts; silenced, they remained an inscrutable tangle. And William, cautious and sensible—qualities Ellen would never claim to possess—had often stopped her blundering into some ill-considered scheme. It could be frustrating in the moment, but she was usually grateful in the end.

Having dismissed piano practice, Ellen attempted to read the novel she had recently started, but when she realised she had read the same paragraph four times she cast the book aside. Saturday’s paper met the same fate. By this point, Ellen’s restlessness had infected Prince, who was now barking at every sound out in the street; finally the barks became the impatient whines that always heralded William’s return. Soon after, Ellen heard the creak of the front door.

She hovered while he took his shoes off, then succumbed to the flood of words that had been dammed up. ‘She hasn’t gone mad,’ she said, ‘but I think she’s in trouble.’

‘And hello to you too.’ William rubbed Prince’s ears and settled into his chair. ‘I assume you’re talking about Harriet.’

‘Who else?’

‘One never knows with you,’ he said, the words softened by his fond smile.

Ellen recounted the morning’s conversation.

‘She seems determined to go through with it,’ he said when she had finished.

‘She really thinks that woman is relaying messages from her mother. It makes me furious, the way they’re preying on her grief. And she wants me to join them!’

‘That’s the part I find most surprising,’ William said. ‘If it were me, I’d want you well away from it, not barging in there accusing all my new friends of fraud.’

‘You make me sound incapable of controlling myself.’

‘Well…’ He raised an eyebrow, then ducked when she sent a cushion flying towards his head. ‘My point exactly,’ he said, irritatingly smug.

‘Oh, you don’t count. I’m perfectly able to behave in public.’

‘Perhaps, but at a private seance? You’d be under the table looking for hidden strings.’

‘Don’t be silly, that would only make Harriet angry. She needs to see for herself that it’s all a lie.’

But how? she thought, as William nodded morosely. It wasn’t as though Ellen could expose this Caroline McLeod by joining the so-called church herself. Although…

Her exclamation was so loud that Prince woke with a start.

Why couldn’t she join the church? Harriet had invited her, after all. As long as Ellen was careful not to reveal her true intentions, she could gather the evidence she needed to unmask McLeod and keep an eye on Harriet at the same time. It might even be fun.

‘Forget hope,’ she said. ‘I’m going to join this church of Harriet’s and save her from its lies.’

William didn’t look at all surprised. ‘What if she doesn’t want to be saved?’

‘I’ll save her anyway.’

‘She won’t thank you when she loses her family a second time.’

‘It’s not really her family, Will. She’ll thank me for showing her the truth.’

‘Do you think so?’ He spoke softly, the way he always did when he tried to moderate Ellen’s enthusiasm. ‘She seems happier not knowing it.’

‘No one’s happier being lied to,’ she scoffed. The thought of it was ridiculous.

‘Just be careful , Ellen.’

Her mind was so full of blossoming plans that she barely heard. ‘I’m always careful,’ she said, and ignored his answering sigh.