THE FALLEN ONE

Harriet followed Ellen to their bedroom, ignoring the clear message given by the closed door, which they usually left ajar during the day. Ellen was sitting at the dressing table, re-pinning her hair and trying to focus on the present instead of unwanted flashes of the past. She refused to think about the seance. Thinking would do nothing but upset her further. She had been perfectly happy before coming here; she could be happy again if she simply pushed all memory of Bella from her mind. Regret would not erase her long-ago actions and rumination would not alter the cost of what she had done. Her sister was dead, lost to her, and Ellen was responsible. No spirit—no footprints—could change that dreadful truth.

Grace had not pushed her to discuss things best left locked inside. When Ellen stumbled, she simply helped her over to one of the drawing-room sofas and sat beside her until Ellen felt able to walk. Ellen had wanted to take her hand, but there were others present. She contented herself with the warm press of Grace’s knee against hers, and even that small contact was a comfort, despite the wall of wool and velvet between them.

Grace had not tried to draw her feelings out of her. ‘Do you…?’ she had asked, her meaning clear, and when Ellen shook her head violently, she lapsed into silence.

If only Harriet were so considerate. She was introspective by nature, and could cheerfully analyse her own emotions for hours, then reprise it all in writing for the diary she faithfully kept. Ellen could imagine nothing more tedious. To her, good things were best experienced fully in the moment and bad things were better off being ignored as much as possible. If she spent too much time contemplating her transgressions and disappointments, she felt she would quickly go insane. It was not something that Harriet would ever understand. Five years of friendship, and still she persisted in her belief that Ellen would be better off if she were as emotionally unguarded as herself.

Particularly today. She took a seat on the bed, watching Ellen’s reflection in the mirror. Finally, she said, ‘You can’t ignore it forever.’

Ellen continued to twist and pin her hair. ‘I think you’ll find I can.’

‘It’s not healthy to pretend that none of this is happening.’

‘I’m not pretending. I’m simply refusing to dwell on it.’

‘And that will make it go away?’ Harriet sighed. ‘You know I only wish the best for you.’

‘I’m doing what’s best for me.’

‘No,’ Harriet argued. ‘You’re doing what’s best for your mother.’

Her comment was unexpected. Letting the remaining pins fall onto the dressing table, Ellen turned to face her. Harriet’s gaze was kind but determined. She offered Ellen a sympathetic smile and patted the space beside her on the bed.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Ellen said, but was that entirely the truth? Had she not sometimes wondered whether she would have become a different woman if her family hadn’t changed inexorably when she was twelve years old? Reluctantly, she moved to sit next to her friend.

‘William told me a little of what it was like for the two of you, growing up on the farm. He’s not much better than you when it comes to talking about feelings, but he doesn’t hide from reality the way that you do.’

‘I don’t hide ,’ Ellen protested.

‘Perhaps not physically.’

‘Because I don’t want to discuss everything in minute detail? Talking doesn’t change anything.’

‘Exactly.’

Ellen looked at her in confusion.

‘If you lock things up inside you, they remain there forever,’ Harriet explained. ‘It’s what your mother did. Your father also. And they taught you and William to do the same. Your mother froze eighteen years ago. She couldn’t bear to feel her grief for Bella, so she refused to feel anything at all. But it’s not that easy, Ellen.’

‘There was nothing easy about it.’ When Harriet didn’t reply, she continued. ‘I didn’t only lose my sister. But someone had to make my mother eat, and someone needed to take care of William. I tried talking—begging for forgiveness—but when that just made my mother sadder, I stopped. And it’s served me well ever since.’

Harriet’s eyes, she realised, were brimming with tears. ‘But it hasn’t,’ she said. ‘You’ve spent eighteen years blaming yourself for Bella’s death when, if you’d only talked about it, you would have been told that wasn’t the case.’

Ellen’s laugh was humourless. ‘You don’t know my parents.’

‘No, but I know William, whose opinion you value far more.’

‘He’s biased.’

Harriet reached to pat Ellen’s hand where it lay upon her thigh. ‘And so, my dear friend, are you.’

Ellen couldn’t help but smile at that.

‘I don’t know what to make of the laughter or those footprints,’ Harriet continued. ‘These new manifestations seem more like things you’d read about in a ghost story than something you’d encounter in church. But I trust Caroline, and she’s never failed us in the past. If that girl we heard today was Bella—and I think that’s the most obvious conclusion—then I know that she sounded happy. And I think she’d want to know that you were happy too.’

Now it was Ellen who had to blink away tears. ‘She would. There’s never been a sweeter child. She’d wake me in the morning by climbing into my bed and snuggling up to me. “You’re my favourite,” she’d say, and then make me promise not to tell William. I’m sure she said the same to him.’

‘You listened to her then. I think you should listen to her now.’

Ellen shook her head, rubbing at her eyes. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter what she tells me. I don’t deserve her forgiveness. And I don’t deserve to have her back when it’s my fault she’s gone.’

Harriet looked at her, and her eyes revealed nothing but compassion and love. ‘Oh, Ellen,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’

The following day, when Ellen went upstairs to put on her coat and boots for her afternoon walk with Prince, she found Sarah and Annie arguing outside the door to Sarah’s room. Such a thing was rare within the house; although the women were all very different, they generally got along well enough. If anything, their differences made conflict less likely, as those with fiery tempers—Frances and Adelaide—were tempered by Annie and Harriet, the peacemakers of the group. Ellen had been struck, upon joining the church, by the fact that its members all genuinely enjoyed spending time together. They were not all equally close but they were unfailingly respectful, even when there were differences of opinion.

Both this, and the involvement of quiet, sensitive Annie, made the argument highly unexpected. The polite thing for Ellen to do would be to pretend she hadn’t noticed them, but she knew her curiosity would nag at her if she didn’t find out what was going on. She was not foolish enough to intercede, however, so she lingered at the doorway to her own room, where she could listen without getting involved.

‘But you can’t ,’ Annie was saying.

‘I can,’ Sarah replied. ‘And I intend to.’

‘It’s ungrateful, and underhanded, and you should be ashamed of even considering it.’

‘How is it underhanded?’

‘You were packing!’ Annie said, her voice as loud as Ellen had ever heard it. ‘Were you planning to leave without telling us, as well?’

‘Of course not.’ Sarah’s tone was calmer and more controlled, but her irritation was visible in the lines of her body and the angle of her chin. ‘And it’s not as if you’ve had no warning. I’ve been saying for weeks that I was thinking about moving back home. Well, now I’ve decided.’

‘But that was before things started happening. Why would you leave now, when we’ve been given this incredible gift?’

‘You might have been given it,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve received nothing. Not even a proper message from my Millie since all this foolishness began.’

‘If you wait—’

Sarah cut her off before she could finish. ‘I’m sick of waiting. I’m sick of waiting, and I miss my husband. And it’s time I went home.’

‘This is your home.’

‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘It isn’t.’

‘And you would betray Caroline so willingly? The Lord’s chosen?’

‘I’m betraying no one.’

There was no humour in Annie’s laugh. ‘Don’t think that you’ll be allowed back again if you turn your back on her like this.’

‘I’m not leaving the church,’ Sarah argued. ‘Only the house.’

‘The house is the church. Can’t you feel it? The spirits are here even now!’

‘I can’t feel anything.’ The anger had drained from Sarah’s voice and now she sounded only sad and exhausted. ‘I’m sorry, Annie. But I am leaving on Friday. Whether that pleases you or not.’

With that, she stepped into her bedroom and closed the door in Annie’s face. Ellen took that as her cue to make her own exit before Annie spotted her. She didn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping, even if it was true. As she buttoned her walking boots, she waited for Annie’s footsteps to pass before she left the room. She thought Annie’s outrage unwarranted, but didn’t wish to provoke her further.

If Sarah wanted to leave, she should leave, Ellen thought. The house was the church’s home, not its prison, and Caroline was no jailor. It was Annie who was clearly in the wrong, and the other women would feel similarly, she hoped.

Ellen had walked past the Melbourne Exhibition Building many times, but she had never been inside. Imposing in size and beautiful in form, it belonged in a great European city instead of an upstart place like Melbourne, which had only recently been a small colonial town. Now it looked particularly grand, decorated for the Centennial International Exhibition and enlarged through temporary annexes. A sixty-foot golden obelisk stood at the southern entrance and hundreds of colourful flags bedecked the roofs. The gardens were neat and looked to have been freshly planted; even the paths were remarkably devoid of muddy puddles despite the recent rain.

She and Grace had intentionally chosen a weekday to visit the exhibition, reasoning that with the men of the city at work, it would be less crowded. When their hansom cab drew up outside the building, however, they could see dozens of men and women alighting from their own cabs and buggies and hundreds more promenading around the grounds. Most were dressed in a manner that suggested money, but there were also men who looked to be labourers or factory hands, and women wearing neat, simple dresses that favoured practicality over fashion. There were even some who were clearly visitors to the colony. Ellen caught words from several different languages as they moved through the crowd.

It was good finally to be alone with Grace, but Ellen was also glad for some time away from the house. The spirits had been moving possessions again, which always made her feel uneasy, and the mood among the women had become tense after the news spread of Sarah’s determination to leave. Ellen had been in a state of vigilance for weeks now, and it was a relief to climb into the cab beside Grace and know that they were headed to a place where she need worry about neither spirit manifestations nor the hurt feelings of her friends.

They spoke little after alighting from the cab. Ellen still felt unnerved by the press of Grace’s leg as they were jolted about on the short ride. Grace had not moved away, but that was perhaps even more disconcerting. It made Ellen wonder what else Grace would allow—even welcome. She had wanted to hold her hand in the cab, but had not dared; now she was wondering whether it would be too forward to offer her arm. Then Grace hooked her own arm around Ellen’s, her eyes bright as she glanced across, and Ellen thought her blush might be seen from across the gardens.

‘I’m not used to so many people,’ Grace admitted. ‘I feel as if everyone must be staring at me.’

‘What, with women like her to look at?’ Ellen motioned towards the fountain, in front of which stood a woman dressed as if for a ball given by the Queen herself. Her skirts were gathered into an enormous bustle that was quite inappropriate for daytime, and she was wearing so much jewellery that Ellen thought it remarkable that she hadn’t been waylaid by thieves. ‘Anyone who might glance at you would simply see a pretty girl. They’d turn right back to marvel at her lack of taste.’

‘You don’t have to say that,’ Grace replied. ‘I’d rather you didn’t, when we both know it isn’t true.’

Ellen turned back to the garish woman, confused. ‘You can’t think she’s tastefully dressed?’

‘Of course not. I meant the other thing. Saying that I was…that I’m pretty,’ Grace stuttered.

‘But you are,’ Ellen said reflexively, without any thought of whether it was prudent to say so. It was the truth, though; even if she couldn’t name the moment when she had begun to think so. On their first meeting she had been struck by the contrast between the darkness of Grace’s eyes and the pallor of her skin, but she had mistaken her manner for rudeness and failed to realise her error for far too long. Now she knew that it was not Grace’s appearance that unsettled her. It was the way that looking at her—being near her—had always made Ellen feel…unsteady. Unguarded; stripped of her usual self-control.

‘You are,’ she said again, and this time she held Grace’s gaze until the hurt in her eyes faded and was replaced by a wondering smile.

‘If we were alone, I’d kiss you,’ Grace said, her voice low, so that only Ellen could hear.

Her pulse raced at the thought of it. ‘They say one is most anonymous in the middle of a crowd,’ she said, smiling so that Grace might know it for a joke.

‘And yet I do feel it would attract attention.’ Grace held Ellen’s arm a little more tightly and nodded towards the door. ‘Shall we?’

As they entered, Ellen wondered how she could ever have thought it crowded outside. The interior of the building seethed with what seemed like thousands of men, women and even small children clinging to their mothers’ skirts and their fathers’ coats, but the vaulted ceiling—truly as high as a cathedral’s—gave an unexpected sense of spaciousness.

It was only when they managed to push further into the building that Ellen understood the true scale of the exhibition. There were booths loaded with manufacturers’ wares and great wooden cabinets, gilded and glazed; ahead Ellen could see a group of marble statues and two enormous wine barrels. There were flags, banners and colourful fabrics hung like awnings or parted curtains and no matter where she turned her gaze, there was something new to see. There was almost too much to look at.

Grace moved closer, until she was pressed full against Ellen’s side. ‘It’s overwhelming,’ she said, and even above the noise, Ellen could hear the tremor in her voice. ‘So many people.’

‘Do you want to leave?’ Ellen found it all quite exciting, but she didn’t wish to remain there at Grace’s expense.

‘No…but perhaps somewhere a little less crowded?’

‘There’s a ladies’ court,’ Ellen suggested. ‘I read about it in the paper. I shouldn’t think there would be as many men there looking at needlework as there are in here with the minerals and machines.’

Grace nodded her assent, so Ellen asked for directions and ushered Grace through the crowd as quickly as possible. Before they reached their destination, however, Ellen spotted a sign to the picture galleries on the mezzanine level above them. Surely they would be more peaceful than any of the crowded courts below. By now Grace looked too unnerved to hold any opinion on where they went so Ellen quickly led the way to the staircase, pushing ahead to clear a path for her.

The picture galleries were busy, but not like the avenues below, and there were sofas dotted at intervals. Most were occupied, but Ellen could see one in a corner that had just been vacated by a pair of elderly women wearing ludicrous hats. She guided Grace toward the sofa before anyone else could claim it, and pulled her down onto it when it became clear that she was too dazed to decide even this for herself.

Ellen was used to Grace being the most calm and competent woman in a group, especially in times of crisis; she was worried to see her so shaken. At the same time, she liked the chance to care for her, when it was so often Grace herself who played the caring role. Bold now that she had cause to be, Ellen reached for Grace’s hand and laced their fingers together. She sat quietly until Grace began to breathe more easily and her eyes no longer looked dazed. Then, she shifted slightly so that her body was turned towards Grace, never loosening her grip on her hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We should never have come here.’

Grace’s smile was weak, but genuine. ‘It was my idea, remember?’

‘Then we should have left the moment you said you didn’t like it.’

‘Staying was my idea, too.’

‘I should have known you were only saying it for my sake.’

‘It was for my sake,’ Grace said. ‘I didn’t want to end our time together so soon.’

Sparks of happiness ignited at her words. ‘We could have gone elsewhere.’

‘I didn’t think of that.’

Ellen laughed. ‘We’re both as bad as each other,’ she said. ‘Let’s agree to something simple next time…perhaps a walk in the botanical gardens.’

‘Next time?’ Grace looked surprised for a moment. ‘Provided it isn’t pouring, that sounds lovely.’

Ellen paused. There had been something itching at her mind ever since that night in the kitchen, and Harriet’s warnings had only made it more insistent. It seemed dangerous to put her questions—her hopes—into words. And yet…

‘May I ask you something?’

Her fear must have been audible in her voice. Grace’s smile faltered. ‘Of course,’ she said, but she set her shoulders as though expecting to defend herself.

Now that she had committed to speaking, Ellen found it hard to find the perfect words. ‘Are you…’ she began. ‘Do you…’ She decided to approach it from another angle. ‘We are friends now, I think? I hope so.’

Grace nodded.

‘But do you like me as you would any other woman? Or… or as you might feel for a man?’ It all came out in a tumble, but hopefully Grace would understand.

‘I don’t much like men at all,’ Grace said. ‘I’ve spent so little time with them, but they always seem to look at me like a problem they want to fix.’

‘That’s…not quite what I meant.’ Ellen lowered her voice, although none of the people nearby seemed to be paying them any attention at all. There was no point talking around the subject for hours; she would have to be bold. ‘I am…not made as other women are,’ she said, forcing herself to hold Grace’s gaze. ‘I like men well enough, but would hate to marry one. I have only ever possessed that kind of feeling for other women. Does that bother you?’

Grace laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have kissed you if it did. Goodness, I thought you were going to tell me something terrible.’

‘So you are…’

‘Of a similar nature? I suppose so, although I must admit, I’ve never thought a great deal about it. My life has always been very cloistered, and I just assumed I’d spend it caring for my mother. But…there was a maid at our hotel when we first arrived in Melbourne. She looked a little like you, actually, although her eyes were not such a pretty shade of grey. I felt ill each time I saw her and I suppose that’s when I realised that it was not only my appearance and my mother’s calling that made me peculiar.’

Ellen felt like pulling Grace up from the sofa and dancing her about the room, and she may well have done so if she weren’t aware of how much the crowds had exhausted her. Her joyful smile was not so easy to contain. ‘Did it worry you?’ she asked.

‘There are worse things to be than unusual. I worried only that it meant I’d never be relieved of my loneliness. But then you came to the house and shouted at me, and it all seems to have gone rather well.’

‘I didn’t shout!’

‘It sounded very much like it to me. But I probably deserved it. And either way, you look very striking when you’re angry. It would be a shame if I hadn’t had the chance to see it.’

‘Goodness. Are you flirting with me, Miss McLeod?’

Grace looked amused. ‘Is that all flirting is? Telling the truth? Then I’m guilty of that, and will continue to be. At home, I’m forced to be reticent, but I’m not at home right now.’

‘I’m glad.’ Ellen felt her mood of giddy happiness slip a little when she was reminded of the house. ‘In more ways than one,’ she added.

Grace seemed to understand her words immediately. ‘You don’t have to stay there,’ she said. ‘I’d look out for Harriet if you left.’

‘And who would look out for you?’

Grace’s dark eyes widened at that. She mumbled something indistinct and ducked her head, but today the long waves of hair were pulled back into a plait and covered with an unfussy bonnet, so Ellen was granted an unobscured view of her flushing cheek.

‘Besides,’ she said, to take the focus away from Grace, ‘I’ve seen what happens when people decide to leave.’

‘It’s been horrible, hasn’t it?’ Grace’s voice sounded a little unnatural, but she looked less like she wanted to make herself invisible. ‘I didn’t think Annie had it in her to be so spiteful, and Frances and Adelaide haven’t been much better. I think Adelaide just likes the excitement, but Frances seems genuinely hurt.’

‘To accuse her of betraying your mother…’

Grace nodded. ‘I feared this might happen when they began all that nonsense about her being chosen by God. It doesn’t help that she’s started believing it herself.’

‘And you’re certain she isn’t?’

‘Completely.’ She sounded herself again, and when she looked back up at Ellen, her cheeks had returned to their usual snowy white. ‘But we have enough of this at home. There’s no need to bring it here. I feel emboldened by our conversation, and capable of facing the crowds. We should discover what great things have been brought here from all over the world.’

It was clear that her airy attitude was forced. Ellen had no interest in even the most marvellous exhibits if viewing them came at Grace’s expense. ‘I would much rather seek out a tearoom,’ she said.

Grace’s smile was grateful. ‘That sounds lovely,’ she said. ‘Perhaps one without too many tables.’

‘We’ll launch an expedition.’ Ellen stood and offered Grace her arm.

Grace took it without hesitation, then quickly kissed her cheek. Ellen could feel the warmth of her lips long after the touch itself was gone.

That night, Ellen was glad to go to bed, eager to revisit all that had happened that day while waiting to fall asleep. Grace had not let go of Ellen’s arm while they were walking and, when taking tea and cake in a quiet tearoom, they had tangled their feet together beneath the table. In the hansom cab home, she had returned Grace’s kiss, allowing her lips to linger and marvelling at the knowledge that she was welcome to do so. She breathed in the scent of lemon and bergamot that she had come to associate solely with Grace and wished that it were acceptable to kiss her upon the mouth.

As she lay beside Harriet, she remembered this, along with the shy glances she and Grace had exchanged over the evening meal. Later, she had played the piano for the women, and Grace stood at her side to turn the pages, sometimes humming under her breath. The sound was surprisingly tuneful, and Ellen had resolved to have her sing properly sometime, whatever persuasion might be needed. Prince sat closely behind them, relieved to have his favourites back in the house.

With all these pleasant thoughts to lull her, it did not take long for Ellen to fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.

She was woken shortly before midnight by Prince’s urgent bark. It took a moment for the fog of sleep to lift, but once it did, she became aware of a muffled cry through the closed bedroom door.

‘No!’ it seemed to be saying, followed by a high-pitched shriek of ‘Please!’

Harriet was beginning to stir beside her and she woke fully when Ellen got out of bed. ‘What’s happening?’ she mumbled, her words clumsy with sleep.

‘I don’t know,’ Ellen whispered. ‘Someone’s shouting. It sounds like it might be Sarah.’

‘Another spirit?’

‘I suppose so. But if it isn’t…’ She hesitated, unsure whether Sarah would welcome her interference if she were simply having a nightmare, but not wishing to ignore what might be a genuine cry for help. ‘I should make sure she’s all right.’

‘Not alone,’ Harriet said, in the tone of voice Ellen knew to mean that there was no point in arguing. She rose and took the candle from the bedside table then bent to light it on the drowsy embers in the fireplace. As she stood, it illuminated a face equal parts determined and frightened.

Ellen attempted a smile. ‘Come on,’ she said, but as she placed her hand upon the doorknob, there came another cry, followed by the sound of something breaking and the crash of shattering glass. The shrieking stopped.

‘That didn’t sound like a spirit.’

‘No,’ Ellen said. She exchanged a bolstering look with Harriet, then opened the door.

Together, they left their bedroom and moved silently down the hall. Prince pressed against Ellen’s leg, a low whine escaping him as the sound of sobbing pierced the quiet. It did not seem like the same woman, but it was hard to tell from a distance. Ellen could see that Sarah’s bedroom door was open, and there was a light coming from the room. She placed a hand on Prince’s neck, stepped in front of Harriet, and went inside.

It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. It was not Sarah who was kneeling on the floor weeping, her body folded so that her forehead almost touched the carpet. It was Margaret: hair twisted into a plait for sleeping, and barefoot in her nightdress. When she heard Ellen’s footsteps, she turned and looked at her with tortured eyes.

‘I was too late,’ she said. ‘When I got here, she’d already fallen.’

‘Fallen?’ Belatedly, Ellen noticed the debris that lay beyond Margaret. There were scattered shards of glass and splinters of rotted wood, and one curtain had been torn half from its rod. Where there once had been a window, there was now only a hole in the bedroom wall. ‘What?’

She walked over to it, being careful not to cut her feet upon the glass. Most of the window frame was gone and along with it the panes and even some of the plaster where it had fitted into the wall. She had to lean forward to see the ground that lay below it: a paved area leading to the laundry. There was light enough from the moon for Ellen to see Sarah, wearing only a white cotton nightdress, lying crumpled upon the ground. Beneath her head was an inky shadow.

It was only when the shadow began to fill the cracks between the paving stones that Ellen realised it was blood.