RESTLESS SPIRITS

Later, Ellen would come to realise that the incident with Frances’ aunt marked a turning point, but at the time there was no clear indication of a shift within the house. The conversations remained warm, the interactions friendly, and the church members continued to seek Caroline’s approval in all they did.

The brief time that Ellen had spent away at her parents’ farm had warmed her heart to Margaret Plumstead’s strange house and to all its inhabitants. The house was dark and draughty and frozen in time, but Ellen had come to appreciate the friendly parlour, and the drawing room in which each note of the piano, ringing in an unusual amount of space, sounded almost as it might in a concert hall. She missed William, but saw him at least weekly under the guise of long walks with Prince. Harriet became more like a sister to Ellen with every day they lived side-by-side, but she could never replace William; and there would always be one point of contention that marred their friendship. That, of course, was William himself.

There were nights when Ellen would lie awake next to Harriet and wonder when the last of the yearning, rending feelings had faded. They had been the cause of much pain and frustration but, now that they had left her, Ellen felt strangely bereft. She missed the rush of sparking joy that had once accompanied each first glimpse of Harriet and even the driving, circling thoughts that had long beset her mind. She loved Harriet still, but it was a different love: calm and reassuring where once it had burnt fire-hot.

Part of Ellen’s sadness, she knew, had little to do with Harriet herself. Her feelings had in some way given meaning to her spinsterhood. She was unmarried by choice and by inclination and she could not, in good conscience, change that when her heart was not hers to give. Now, however, she was unburdened of such fancies. She would turn thirty-one in a matter of weeks and it seemed increasingly likely that her mother’s most doleful predictions would come true. As much as Ellen disliked the idea of taking a husband, she did not want to remain alone forever.

There was little chance of that in the church house, at least. She would never have thought how much she would come to value the companionship of women she had once considered ridiculous or naive. Most surprising to her was her begrudging regard for Caroline. Ellen remained unconvinced that the medium possessed all the abilities she claimed, but there was no question about the woman’s kindness, nor her affection for all who lived in the house. It was clear she favoured Margaret and Frances, of course—they had been together the longest. She had once kept Sarah close as well, but of late there seemed more distance between them. Now it was Ellen who had the privilege of sitting to Caroline’s left at the dining table.

She had worried that Harriet might feel slighted, but Harriet was content as long as she continued to receive messages from her mother. She respected Caroline greatly, but felt no need to vie for her attention. When Ellen asked her about it directly she laughed and said, ‘I don’t need to be told I’m special to feel at home.’

Ellen still wasn’t sure if this was an insult. It irked her more because she knew there was some truth to it, especially when Caroline singled her out for further development.

Caroline approached Ellen while she was at the piano, practising the fingering for a new piece. She thought she must look quite peculiar to anyone watching her on those occasions, as she started by learning the trickier phrases silently, without exerting pressure on the keys.

‘You’re very dedicated,’ Caroline said, sinking into a nearby armchair and arranging her skirts about her legs. ‘What little I knew, I’ve long forgotten due to lack of practice.’

‘It’s easy when you enjoy it.’ Ellen continued until she reached the bottom of the sheet, then turned towards Caroline.

‘No, no,’ Caroline protested. ‘I don’t want to interrupt your practice.’

‘You’re not interrupting. I was becoming quite frustrated with that passage. I need to rest my fingers—and my temper.’

Caroline laughed. ‘Well, I shan’t keep you long. I only wished to ask whether you might consider working with me to develop your natural affinity with the spirits.’

Any lingering irritation that Ellen had felt was displaced by the now-familiar sense of dread rising within her. ‘I…I’m not sure that would be a good idea.’

Ellen tried not to fidget beneath the weight of Caroline’s gaze. ‘Is that because you fear what you may learn about yourself?’

‘I think I know myself quite well. It’s other people I struggle with.’

‘And you worry what these others might know of you.’

‘A little, yes,’ Ellen admitted.

There was more to it than that, of course. Ellen remained unconvinced that there was any truth to spiritualism, but she had to admit that she was no longer actively searching for ways to expose Caroline. Her attempts to find mechanical devices hidden about the drawing room had failed, and she had not been able to explain how Caroline might have learnt all the knowledge attributed to Bella. It was simple to accuse Grace of eavesdropping, but Ellen had thought back over her conversations in the house and been forced to admit that she had no memory of discussing Bella at all. She would by no means say that she now believed in spirits…but could no longer state unequivocally that it was all nonsense.

Now Caroline was insisting Ellen had a natural aptitude for spirit work. She had never thought herself particularly talented at anything, beyond being a relatively proficient pianist. Certainly, she would never have entertained the idea of supernatural skills. She had been too sensible even as a child to scare herself with thoughts of ghosts, regardless of how dark or ominous the setting. The idea that she might become a medium was preposterous.

‘I won’t lie to you,’ Caroline said, breaking into Ellen’s thoughts. ‘The life of a medium isn’t easy. You’ve seen the physical toll it takes and I dare say you’ve heard the others speak of the trouble I had in Sydney.’

‘Only that several people attended your meetings in the hope of exposing you.’

‘It was a lot more than several. But I bear no ill will towards them. They were afraid, because my husband’s teachings made them question all that they thought true. It’s easier to dismiss the spirits as trickery than it is to change one’s understanding of the world.’

Caroline’s expression remained calm and friendly, but Ellen couldn’t help but wonder whether this was a challenge as well as a simple recollection. How much did Caroline know of her scepticism? Was this a test, or did Caroline truly believe she was special? And either way, what would happen if Ellen failed?

‘It’s difficult,’ she ventured, determined to remain honest. ‘I’ve seen things here that logic insists must be impossible.’

‘And yet you seek not to destroy us, but to learn more.’

Ellen felt sure her guilt must be clear upon her face, but Caroline appeared not to see it.

‘Work with me,’ she continued. ‘Learn the true extent of your abilities. If it proves too frightening, I promise we’ll stop.’

Ellen couldn’t bear to disappoint her. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it.’

*

The following morning when Ellen went to make tea for herself and Harriet, Sarah and Annie were already in the kitchen, huddled together at the broad table as though sharing confidences. They separated as soon as they became aware of Ellen’s presence.

‘Don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘As soon as the kettle boils, I’ll leave you alone.’

‘No need for that.’ Annie motioned to the empty chair beside her. ‘Please, join us.’

‘Harriet’s waiting, and you know how she is before she gets her tea,’ Ellen joked. She tested the weight of the kettle and found it close to empty. ‘Let me get this going, and I’ll sit with you while it boils.’

She fetched a jug of water from the scullery and emptied it into the kettle. It would be quicker to fill the kettle directly, as she did at home. This one was nearly twice the size of the Whitfields’ little copper kettle, however, and it was made of cast iron. She arranged the china on a tray, then took the seat that Annie offered. She and Sarah had resumed their conversation while Ellen was bustling about and Annie was saying, ‘I just think you need to be certain it’s what’s best for you before you make any decisions. I’m sure Caroline would welcome you back if you changed your mind, but Margaret might not be so forgiving. You know how fierce she gets if anyone’s disloyal to Caroline.’

‘It’s not that I intend to leave the church,’ Sarah said, ‘just the house.’ She took a sip of her tea, then wrinkled her nose. ‘Ugh. Cold. All I’m saying is that it shouldn’t matter where I live and whom I choose to live with, as long as I attend meetings as usual and do all the Reverend asks of us.’

‘It does matter, though. Perhaps not to Caroline, but it matters to Margaret.’

Sarah’s laugh was bitter. ‘I doubt Caroline would even notice I was gone. She has a new toy to play with.’

‘That’s not fair, Sarah.’ Annie gave Ellen an apologetic look.

‘No?’ For a moment, it seemed like Sarah might argue. Her brown eyes glinted with emotion, but it was unclear to Ellen whether it was anger or pain. She returned her cup a little too forcefully to its saucer, and the noise seemed to jolt her. She glanced at Ellen, then slumped back in her chair. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry Ellen—I shouldn’t have said that.’

Ellen felt her own indignation fade. Caroline had taken an interest in her, certainly, but that did not mean she saw Ellen as a plaything. If that was all she wanted, there were diversions enough here to keep her occupied. ‘Apology accepted,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry if my arrival displaced you in any way.’

‘It was gratifying to think myself a favourite,’ Sarah admitted. ‘Particularly when Alexander and I were so estranged. He blamed me for Millie’s death, you see, and I blamed him. But it was cruel of me to think he should have saved her. Not even a doctor can save those whom the Lord has determined to take to his side.’

‘It’s terribly unfair.’ The water had come to the boil, but Ellen thought it better to focus on the conversation. The tea—and Harriet—could wait.

‘And yet so very common. This house is full of people who have lost loved ones before their time.’

‘Perhaps that’s why we’re all so determined not to lose them,’ Annie suggested. ‘There’s so much left unfinished. Even just knowing they’re well and happy in the spirit world…it’s something.’

‘But never enough. It won’t be, not until I can hold my Millie in my arms again. And I don’t want to be alone until then.’

‘You’re not alone. You have us.’

Sarah regarded Annie with sympathetic eyes. ‘You sound just like Caroline and Margaret. We’re family . Fine. But Alexander is my family too, and I miss him. I can’t hold my daughter, but I can hold my husband. I think it’s time for me to go home and do just that.’

‘You’ll be missed,’ Ellen said. She hadn’t become close to Sarah, but she knew there were others there who would feel her loss keenly.

‘Yes. That’s the one thing that makes me question my choice. But,’ Sarah continued, her voice unnaturally bright, ‘you must attend to that kettle and I must attend to the mending I’ve been putting off for days.’

‘Go,’ Annie told her. ‘I’ll clear up.’

By the time Ellen followed Sarah from the room, however, Annie had not moved at all. Ellen had never before seen her look so bleak.

‘Have you seen this?’ Adelaide waved a journal in the air. ‘There’s a letter in here from a man who went to a seance where the spirits plucked a fish right out of the ocean and dropped it into the middle of the table.’

‘A fish? What’s wrong with fruit or flowers?’ Frances’ disgust was clear on her face.

Margaret looked up from the rose she was embroidering onto a linen napkin. ‘It’s a test, hen. Sceptics say that flowers are too easy to fake.’

‘But a fish ?’

Ellen laughed. ‘What would you have them bring?’

Frances thought for a moment. ‘There’s a baker in Castlemaine who makes little square cakes covered in pink icing. I’d have one of those.’

‘I’d ask for jewellery,’ Adelaide said. ‘Maybe gold.’

‘Can they do that?’

‘They can do anything,’ Margaret said. ‘Provided, of course, the spirit is powerful enough. Whether they would do it is another matter entirely. The Lord has granted us the ability to communicate with the dead so that we might become richer spiritually, not materially.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Adelaide raised her left hand to admire the glint of her rings in the gaslight. ‘If just anyone could be wealthy, it would rather lose its point.’

Ellen knew that Adelaide was far too intelligent to have misunderstood Margaret’s meaning, but she hated being preached to. At this point, Margaret was the only one who persisted in what Adelaide referred to as ‘God talk’. It wasn’t that Adelaide was a heathen; she simply found most aspects of religion exceedingly dull. Hymns she enjoyed as long as they were lively, but on the whole Christianity placed too much emphasis on ‘shall nots’ in Adelaide’s opinion, and too little on the joy to be found in life. It was her eternal search for some new diversion that had brought her to the Church of the Spirit in the first place and it was that same drive that was now fuelling the dissatisfaction Ellen often glimpsed in her expressive green eyes.

‘Do you think the Reverend could bring us a token from the Summerland?’ Frances wondered. ‘The way he speaks of it, it sounds so beautiful.’

‘Is that even possible?’ Ellen had read accounts of spirits themselves materialising in the world of the living, but never of them bringing anything with them. The flowers and fruits—and, apparently, fish—that were produced at seances were always said to have been transported from other earthly places, and even that she found difficult to accept. Too often those stories were linked to men and women who were later proved to be charlatans.

‘It makes more sense than fish or flowers. If a person wanted fish, they could go a fishmonger—and we’ve plenty of flowers in the garden.’

‘It’s not about what the spirits bring; it’s them bringing it at all,’ Margaret said. ‘People these days aren’t satisfied with rapping and trances. They want proofs they can hold in their hands. If you ask me, it’s not the medium that’s lacking; it’s the faith.’

‘Oh, but doesn’t it give you the most wonderful shivers to imagine looking at a spirit and having him look right back?’ Adelaide waved the journal again. ‘They say there’s a woman in Sydney who has people tie her up in a cabinet, and then her control comes out and walks around the room.’

Ellen couldn’t help but laugh at that. ‘Let me guess: the control is remarkably similar to the medium in height and form. You’ve heard what Caroline says. If a medium won’t work in the light, then she has something to hide. I’m sure that goes double for mediums who can only produce marvels if they’re entirely obscured from view.’

‘But they tie this one up in ropes,’ Adelaide argued.

‘I’d warrant she has a knack for getting free.’

‘You’re too cynical.’ Adelaide turned to Margaret. ‘What if the only thing stopping the spirits materialising at Caroline’s seances is the fact that we can see her? You’ve known her the longest—have you ever tried locking her in a cupboard?’

‘Adelaide!’ Frances gasped, but with a hint of laughter.

‘It’s a fair question. You can’t know what might happen unless you try it.’

‘We are not locking Caroline in a cupboard,’ Margaret said firmly, although a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

‘Well, something , then. It seems unfair that other people get ghost lights and materialised spirits and—’

‘And fish?’ Ellen interjected.

‘Yes, and fish!’ Adelaide let the journal fall onto her lap and slumped backwards in her chair, her expression abject. ‘I’m just so bored .’

‘There’s plenty to do in the house and garden if you’re wanting for something to do.’

Adelaide regarded Margaret with undisguised horror. ‘Cleaning and weeding? I’m not that bored. If I stay here much longer, I shall insist you let me engage a gardener and a maid.’

‘If?’ Frances exchanged a glance with Ellen, who had also noticed Adelaide’s choice of wording.

‘Oh, don’t look so worried, Frances—flattering though it is.’ Adelaide’s genuine smile softened the haughty sound of her words. ‘I have no plans to leave immediately. But it’s not as if I can stay here forever…and I do so hate it when things get stale.’

‘You can stay as long as you like. If that’s forever, then I’ll be long dead and you’ll get no argument from me. Hiring more servants is a little more complicated. It’s so hard to find someone trustworthy.’

‘And you worry about Caroline.’ It was clear that Adelaide had heard Margaret’s argument before.

‘Somebody needs to,’ Margaret replied.

It was with some trepidation that Ellen entered the library early on the afternoon assigned to her first session with Caroline.

They had chosen the library for its relative privacy, as both the parlour and the drawing room were likely to be well-populated with church members at that hour of the day. It did not have the cosiness of the parlour, but it was familiar and far less austere than the study that Ellen thought of as Robert Plumstead’s.

She was a few minutes early, and Caroline had not yet arrived. The library was not empty, however. The weak light that penetrated the half-drawn curtains illuminated the spare form of Grace, who stood before one of the bookcases.

‘Oh,’ Ellen said without meaning to.

Grace turned, an open book held in her left hand. If she was surprised to see Ellen, there was no sign of it on her face. ‘I don’t recommend this one,’ she said. ‘I’ve counted eleven spelling errors in the first four pages.’

Ellen still found herself thrown by Grace’s tendency to enter and leave a conversation at points that most people would think belonged in the middle. ‘Why read it, then?’

‘I want to see how many pages it takes to reach a hundred.’

Ellen supposed there was a strange kind of logic in that. ‘I’m not here for a book.’

‘No?’ There was something in Grace’s smile that Ellen couldn’t quite grasp. ‘I know you’re not here for me.’

‘Actually, I’m meeting your mother.’ When Grace didn’t reply, Ellen felt the need to explain. ‘She thinks I have some kind of natural talent, and she wants to help me develop it.’

‘And what do you want?’

Ellen blinked, surprised by the question. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you want to be a medium?’

‘I…’ Ellen looked helplessly at her. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Perhaps you should decide.’ Grace turned to nod towards her mother, who had entered the room as she spoke. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

She closed the book, but took it with her, tucking it under one arm as she brushed past Ellen, the fabric of their skirts combining and then parting again like an eddy of water.

‘Second thoughts?’ Caroline asked. She was wearing a dress today that Ellen hadn’t seen before, a dark velvet with the blue and green opalescence of a peacock’s tail, cut high at the neck and narrow at the cuffs. It made her look taller and more slender than usual; more like her daughter. Against the deep aquamarine of the velvet, her eyes looked especially blue.

‘Hm?’ It took Ellen a moment to register what she had said. ‘No. Not if you think it worth the time.’

Caroline smiled. ‘You are always worth my time.’

A feeling of warmth rose within Ellen at her words. ‘Where would you like me to sit?’

Caroline looked about the room, two fingers pressed against her lips. ‘If we move that table…’ She motioned for Ellen to take a seat in the chair closest to the window, then divested a small table of its trinkets and cut-work cloth and placed it in front of her. She seated herself with the table between them, then leaned forward confidingly. ‘I have to admit, I’ve not done this before, so there will be a lot of guesswork.’

‘Were your own abilities developed by another medium?’

‘No, I came to it all quite naturally as a child. I thought myself quite unique until I met my husband, who was twice the medium I could ever hope to be. He didn’t develop me so much as show me how much more there was to it than spirit-writing and fleeting spirit thoughts. And then, when he died…’

Her gaze grew dim as she stared at, rather than through, the window. When she spoke again, however, her voice was bright. ‘And so you must forgive any mistakes I make, because in this I’m both teacher and student.’ She placed her hands upon the table, the left with its palm facing the ceiling; the right palm facing the floor. ‘Now, I think we should begin with the very fundamentals. Take my hands and close your eyes.’

Caroline’s hands were cool and dry, her fingers long in Ellen’s blunt, square-nailed hands. The wood beneath the knuckles of Ellen’s left hand felt hard and lifeless compared to the press of Caroline’s smooth skin.

‘I don’t expect much will happen today. There’s a great deal of waiting in the beginning. What I want you to do is to open your mind as wide as you are able, pushing all conscious thought to the side. Make room for the spirits and hopefully they’ll come to you. Perhaps not this time, but we’re not in any hurry. You can rush some things, but you’ll never rush the spirits.’

‘Isn’t it dangerous, being open to any spirit that might wish to communicate?’ Ellen kept her eyes closed as she spoke. ‘What if an evil spirit tries to control me?’

‘There are far fewer evil spirits than some like to claim. You have little cause to worry.’

Ellen remained anxious. She thought it extremely unlikely that anything would happen at all in these sessions, but if there were even the slightest chance that she might contact a spirit, she didn’t like the idea of having no control over who that spirit might be. She didn’t know what would be worse: being under the influence of a murderer or being surprised again by Bella.

Still, she had agreed to try this. She forced herself to breathe evenly and relax her grip on Caroline’s hands; rolled her shoulders until the worst of the tension eased. Her mind did not calm so easily. It was all very well for Caroline to talk of pushing all thoughts aside; she was used to this, and far more temperate in character than Ellen could ever hope to be. Ellen’s thoughts were often chaotic, tumbling over one another in their fight for her attention. To be able simply to quiet that constant noise seemed like magic to her—perhaps more so than the spirit communion that might follow. She did what she could, however. And then she waited.

They sat quietly for a long time. It felt like hours to Ellen, unaccustomed to such long stretches of stillness, but the slow movement of a patch of sunlight on the carpet suggested something closer to thirty minutes. For much of this, she felt nothing but boredom and physical discomfort. Towards the end, however, she became aware of a sinking within her mind. It was like the sensation at the border of sleep and wakefulness, but not entirely the same. She did not feel as if she were about to doze off; it was a different threshold that approached. She tried to open herself up to it, but a greater part of her resisted with a feeling like clenching within. Then the moment passed and the sense of falling ceased.

Soon afterwards, Caroline spoke. Her voice was soft and careful, as if wary of startling Ellen. ‘I think that’s enough for today. You may open your eyes, if you like.’

Ellen blinked rapidly. Even the anaemic light in the library felt bright after so long with closed eyes. Her hands were still joined with Caroline’s, an intimacy that had been much easier to endure in the dark. She was glad when the medium smiled and withdrew her hands.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ellen said. ‘That was a complete waste of your time.’

‘Was it?’ Caroline’s smile grew. ‘I felt a change in the air around us. Didn’t you feel it too?’

‘I felt…something,’ Ellen admitted. ‘But it was inside me, not in the room.’

‘Perhaps it was both. Either would be confirmation that you have a natural aptitude for spirit work. It’s rare to sense anything without weeks of study and practice—rarer still to succeed on a first attempt.’

‘Success would be contact with a spirit, not a vague feeling of becoming distanced from my mind.’

Ellen’s words did not dim Caroline’s approval, as she had expected, but instead brought a fresh glow of excitement to her face. ‘But that’s the way it starts,’ she said, and she reached across the table to reclaim Ellen’s hand. ‘I knew from the moment we met that you were special.’ She squeezed Ellen’s hand, a brief press of fingers, then let it drop.

‘I hope I won’t disappoint you,’ Ellen said.

‘You couldn’t.’

Ellen thought of her mother. Her downturned lips and the rigid stillness of her form. Caroline was kind, but if Ellen had a natural aptitude for anything, it was for letting people down.

She felt unsettled for the rest of the afternoon. Even the piano couldn’t calm her. By five, her thoughts were so restless that she knew there would be no quieting them if she remained inside the house. She changed into her walking shoes, wrapped a warm cape about her shoulders and went in search of Prince. He had settled in quickly to his new home and had soon formed strong opinions on the best places to nap. Most were unsurprising: in front of the range in the kitchen, at the foot of Ellen’s bed, or beneath the parlour table where there was always a chance of fallen crumbs. Others were less obvious. He had a liking for Robert Plumstead’s study and, stranger still, a habit of curling up at Grace’s feet. Prince was a friendly dog, but not given to paying much attention to anyone not holding food. Grace, however, he had quickly grown attached to. This had worried Ellen at first, but since covert observation had revealed only that Grace smiled more at Prince than she did at any human, Ellen had decided not to interfere.

Today, Prince had claimed his favoured stretch of carpet in the parlour, which was unusually empty—only Sarah and Margaret were there, deep in conversation. Even Jane Rutherford’s usual chair was occupied only by her knitting. She had felt unwell, Ellen remembered, and was likely resting upstairs.

‘You’ll break the poor lass’s heart,’ Margaret was saying.

‘I find that very unlikely.’ Sarah sighed. ‘You know I’d hate to hurt her, but I’m sure she’ll understand. And I’d still attend the meetings.’

‘Meetings! Your wee daughter could visit at any time.’

‘She doesn’t, though, does she? I’m grateful for the messages but I could stay here forever without receiving more than a sentence every few Sundays.’

‘Would you have Caroline act as the stage mediums do, resorting to theatre when the spirits fail to entertain?’ Margaret’s tone stated exactly what she thought about such tactics.

‘Of course not. But there’s little point in waiting for things that may never come.’ Sarah looked up and, seeing Ellen standing awkwardly in the doorway, offered a tired smile. ‘I’m afraid you’ve heard all this indecision before.’

‘Better to be indecisive than to leap without thinking as I often do,’ Ellen said, for want of anything more helpful. She nodded towards Prince. ‘I’m just here to collect this one for a walk.’

‘And a fine chaperone he is.’ Margaret patted his flank as he stretched before moving to Ellen’s side. ‘It’ll be dark soon; don’t stay out too long.’

Ellen said her goodbyes and left them to their conversation. She didn’t envy Sarah the decision that lay before her. Ellen thought Dr Corrigan sounded rather unpleasant, but she was a poor judge of the qualities that might make a good husband. Dr Corrigan was an educated man in possession of wealth and good social standing, and that, she supposed, was enough for most women. Ellen would rather someone kind and penniless, which undoubtedly meant that she was right in thinking marriage was not for her. Sarah seemed to feel genuine affection for her husband, however, despite the tragedy that had come between them, and for that reason alone Ellen could not fault her for wishing to return to him. Love strong enough to withstand adversity was too precious to abandon without good cause.

She set out on her walk with Prince beside her. He was a well-trained dog and she had never felt the need to keep him on a leash, but before she even reached the end of the block, he bolted from her side to race ahead while her head filled with images of carts and horses bearing down upon him. Her fear made her voice sharp when she called him to heel, just as a familiar woman turned into the street. Grace.

By the time they drew close enough to speak, Ellen had managed to force a polite smile. ‘I was wondering what had made Prince so excited.’ She seemed to have caught Grace’s own habit of beginning a conversation without preamble.

‘He probably smelt the sausages,’ Grace said, nodding towards the basket she had looped over her left arm while Prince sat sniffing the air with a look of martyrdom.

‘I thought Amy did all the marketing,’ Ellen said, referring to Margaret Plumstead’s cook.

‘She was unwell, so I sent her home. I doubt Adelaide knows the difference between pork and chicken, but we’re not all incapable of fending for ourselves.’

‘I didn’t take you for a cook.’

Grace raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t say I was good.’ Something akin to humour sparked in her black eyes, then faded. ‘We weren’t always living in homes as grand as Margaret’s. There were times when sausages would have seemed an extravagance and the closest we got to meat was a scrape of dripping.’

Ellen couldn’t imagine Caroline living in such poverty. Even at the breakfast table, where several of the women looked dazed and crumpled, Caroline always held herself like a lady: her dress faultless, her hair neat, her posture straight and alert. She knew that life had not been easy for mother and daughter when they had first arrived in Sydney, but she had not imagined anything as drastic as Grace’s words suggested. ‘It must have been hard being alone in a new country without husband and father.’

Grace’s huff of laughter held no mirth. ‘It’s a difficult thing anywhere.’

Ellen had the impression that she was missing something, but she had never been skilled with veiled meanings. If people would only state what they meant explicitly, she often complained to William, then there would be a lot less misunderstanding in the world. Certainly she herself would have caused less offence and irritation over the years. ‘It’s a young age to lose a father,’ she said. ‘You must have missed him terribly.’

Grace’s face shuttered. ‘That’s what I’m told.’

Ellen did not need to understand everything that had been said or left unsaid to know when it was time to change the subject. ‘Well, I shall look forward to the sausages.’

It was the obvious cue for Grace to leave, but she didn’t take the chance. ‘You seem quite entrenched in the house now.’

Ellen felt herself stiffen. ‘I’m sorry if it inconveniences you.’

‘No, not for the reasons you like to assume. I just don’t want you to become like Annie or Frances, unable to even contemplate life outside the church. You don’t need it the way the others do. You don’t need my mother.’

‘Perhaps not need,’ Ellen said, ‘but it’s nice to feel wanted—like I’m not as useless as some might think.’ She hadn’t meant to be so honest, but after her session with Caroline, she remained raw and open. Her complicated feelings surrounding her mother and Bella were still close to the surface and therefore harder to ignore.

Grace regarded her in silence, her gaze as penetrating as her mother’s. ‘Your worth doesn’t come from the spirits,’ she said finally. ‘Seek them out if you like, but don’t let them consume you. There are those who would keep you just as you are.’

Ellen looked at Grace—her hair, falling as always from its pins, and her pale, inscrutable face, made golden by the sun’s last light—and the heart of her reeled and shifted. If only … she thought, and then hardened herself. ‘And you would keep me far from here,’ she said, her voice bright and painful.

Grace’s lips twitched, then stilled. ‘Yes,’ she said; and it was only as Ellen raised her chin and brushed past her that she added, ‘For your sake, yes, I would.’