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- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
An enthralling novel of two intertwining stories based on real events in 19th century Ireland and the Canadian Arctic. Two ships Arctic-bound, HMS Erebus and Terror, leave London in 1845, captained by the aging Sir John Franklin. How long they'll be gone depends on the ice. Meanwhile, second-in-command, Francis Crozier, worries about their inexperienced crew. In Derry, little Weesy Coppin dies of a fever but, as far as her sister Ann and brother William are concerned, her spirit returns to haunt them. While an anxious world waits for news of the Artic explorers, the Coppin family try to understand what is going in their home. But, then, one night, all is revealed when the truth literally steps out of the shadows.
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1
REVIEWS FOR NICOLA PIERCE
Kings of the Boyne
‘Moving and wonderfully written.’
Irishtimes.com
‘The research into the Battle of the Boyne seeps through subtly, but with unfading accuracy. The pacing is perfect … and the writing is utterly superb. Though it was over 300 years ago the reader is there. An incredible reading experience. Highly recommended.’
Fallen Star Stories
Behind the Walls
‘History as it really happened with its gritty and realistic depiction of the terror-struck city of Derry in 1689 … a vivid evocation of life in a city under siege. Memorable characters … heart-breaking in places.’
parentsintouch.co.uk
Spirit of the Titanic
‘Gripping, exciting and unimaginably shattering.’
Guardian Children’s Books
City of Fate
‘Will hook you from the start … historical fiction at its best.’
The Guardian
‘A compelling novel, combining rich characterisation with a powerfully evoked sense of time and place.’
Robert Dunbar, Irish Times
3
Dedication
For the Explorer in All of Us With much gratitude to the Oncology Ward at Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital, the Breast Clinic at Beaumont Hospital, the Gary Kelly Cancer Support Centre, and the Drogheda Hospice
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to Brian Walsh from Dundalk Museum for introducing me to the subject of the John Franklin expedition in his quest to make the name of Captain Francis Leopold McClintock more widely known.
I contacted writer and explorer Frank Nugent with a question about Arctic conditions and could not believe my luck when he offered to meet me, a complete stranger, in the National Library to describe exactly what it is like in the Arctic. I highly recommend Frank’s important book Seek the Frozen Lands, about the Irish polar explorers.
My good friend Peter Heaney, in Derry, sent me wonderful information on the Coppin family and, also, went to St Augustine’s Church to locate the family grave. Also, I wish to thank Doctor Jona than Mattison, the curator of Belfast’s Museum of Orange Heritage, for his help and heartily recommend a visit to the museum too.
My sister Rachel, of Verba Editing House, offered to read the second and third drafts of the book and gave me much needed, and much appreciated, feedback.
As always, I am much indebted to my editor, Susan, who has been with me throughout my five novels and history book, Titanic; True Stories of Her Passengers, Crew and Legacy. I cannot imagine writing a book without her help and support. With Chasing Ghosts, in particular, I needed Susan to be open-minded about ghosts and spirits – and she did not let me down.
I feel so lucky to have had not one but three talented artists working on the book. Eoin O’Brien did the wonderful illustrations, while the cover is down to the genius of designer Emma Byrne and artist Jon Berkeley who performed a magic trick by accidentally drawing what I had quietly pictured since I typed the first sentence of the manuscript. I cannot thank them enough.
The Way They Went …
7
Home
‘There’s magic in that little word …’
Christian Melodies
In search of the Northwest Passage
British explorers had long been obsessed with the possibility of sailing from the Atlantic Ocean, straight across the top of North America, to the Pacific Ocean. By 1845, most of this dream had been realised.
All that was left to do was to find the last piece of this route – some 300 miles – which was known as the Northwest Passage.
***
The following is mostly based on two actual events forever entwined despite their difference in time and location.
***
Let us start with the story that began in May 1849, in the city of Derry.
Contents
1
May 1849, Derry
Poor Weesy is dead
My sister Louisa’s was the first dead body that I ever saw. We called her Weesy because that is what she called herself. When she was very little, she could not say her name properly so when we asked her to say ‘Louisa’, she could only manage ‘Weesy’, making us squeal with laughter. William, our brother, tried to teach her, pointing to her mouth as he slowly curled his tongue around the ‘L’ sound. She watched him, fascinated, as he repeated, ‘L…ouisa; L…ouisa’ and then, confident he had made his point, he invited her to answer the question, ‘Now, what is your name?’
Louisa nodded, accepting his challenge, took a deep breath and replied once more, ‘Weesy’, giggling as William slapped his face in mock horror. Finally, Papa decided he preferred her version and took to calling her Weesy too, and the name stuck. 10
Weesy was sick for ages, but neither Papa nor Mama had warned us that she would die. Perhaps they did not know. Grandfather did; at least I think he did. He lives with us and so does Mama’s sister, Aunt Harriet, who helps to take care of us. We all help to take care of Grandfather, although Mama told us never to say that in front of him. When Weesy fell ill he started to look gloomy long before our parents and Aunt Harriet did, although my aunt had told me that he was still lonely for my grandmother who had died before I was even born.
William, our baby sister Sarah and I were told that Weesy was tired, and therefore needed a lot more sleep than we did. We were only allowed to sit with her awhile in the afternoons. I usually read her one of my short stories, about our dog, Bobby. Her favourite one was entitled ‘Bobby Stands Up to Feline Bullies’. I had written it after watching Bobby become enraged at the sight of a large, stray cat stalking pigeons in our back garden. He soon sent the would-be murderer on its way, thus, I assured Weesy, ‘saving countless lives and rendering our garden safe once more’. She would smile and murmur breathlessly, ‘Thank you, Ann!’ Unfortunately, Mama would not allow Bobby in the house as he had a habit of chewing anything he could get his jaws around, including furniture, sheets and expensive slippers, but Weesy seemed content to listen to my stories about him.
Meanwhile, William liked to show Weesy his model ship 11that Papa had helped him to build, telling her, ‘You can paint the hull, Weesy, when you are better.’
He did not have to explain what the hull was since we were well versed in the different parts that make up a ship because of Papa’s shipbuilding business.
‘She is only four,’ I argued. ‘She might make a mess … by accident,’ I added, to halt any protest from either of them, ‘but you know that I am good at painting, I can do it for you.’
‘No thank you, Ann,’ he replied. ‘I really want Weesy to do it.’
I did not bother to argue with him since I was sure that he would soon be pleading with me to correct Weesy’s mistakes.
But then she died.
William wanted to put the ship in the coffin with her so that she would have something to play with in Heaven. It was a clever idea, I thought, and generous too. However, Mama shook her head, unable to speak, leaving Aunt Harriet to explain that there was no space for it. So, I asked if we could see Weesy as it seemed only fair that we be allowed to judge the size of the coffin for ourselves. Buoyed by my support, William pleaded, ‘Oh, yes, please. I want to see my sister.’
She was in the parlour and, so far, we had been kept well away, Aunt Harriet confiding to us that our parents thought it would be too upsetting. As the visitors arrived, with cakes and flowers, we skulked around the closed door of the room but it 12seemed that all were advised to block our entrance. Still, when old Mrs Delaware took her leave, dabbing at her eyes with her lace handkerchief, she fumbled with the greasy door handle and I just had time to note that the coffin was white.
And tiny.
Just like Weesy.
I attempted to take charge of the family meeting. ‘I am nearly thirteen so I am old enough now, I promise!’
Papa sighed, ‘Alright, Ann, but what about William? He’s only seven. Don’t you think it might be too painful for him to see her … as she is now?’
William pouted. ‘I’m seven and a half!’
‘Plus, he’s a boy,’ I added, ‘and you always tell him that he is the man of the house when you are away at sea.’
Papa thought for a moment while the rest of us waited. ‘No, Ann, I tell him that if anything happens to Grandfather while I am away then he is the man of the house.’
My brother and I glanced at one another, neither of us brave enough to point out the obvious, that Grandfather was too old and wobbly to be much help if anything did happen. When Weesy died, Grandfather was the only adult to cry in front of us, with proper tears that splattered his jacket because his trembling hand could not catch them in his handkerchief. Yet, it was Grandfather who now addressed us. ‘My dears, do you truly feel that you want to see her? You understand that 13she might appear a little different.’
William shrugged. ‘She will look like she’s asleep, like Jenny did when we buried her.’
‘The cat!’ muttered Aunt Harriet when Grandfather looked confused.
Sensing that they were going to give in, I rushed to include our baby sister, saying, ‘And I know that Sarah is only two but she should see Weesy as well, just in case she forgets what she looks like.’
We left the dining room together, Papa holding my hand while Aunt Harriet took William’s. Mama carried Sarah, with Grandfather shuffling in last. Everyone was so solemn that I almost changed my mind, suddenly preferring to run out to the garden and jump and shout and make lots of noise or even break something. In the hall, golden sunlight trickled through the arc window over the front door, causing specks of dust in the air to sparkle. Earlier, I had overheard whispers between my parents. Mama wanted to cover all the shiny surfaces in the house, the looking glasses and the windows including the one over the door. ‘But why,’ asked Papa, ‘must we add to the awful sadness of the house? Think of the children.’
Mama sounded fierce as she replied, ‘The children? They are alive, aren’t they? This is nothing to do with them. I am thinking of Weesy only. I do not want her spirit to get trapped in a mirror.’ 14
I am sure that Papa meant to be kind when he then said, ‘Oh, Dora, you cannot believe that, do you? That sort of talk is for poor ignorant people who do not know any better.’
There was a long pause before Mama spoke again. ‘I don’t know what I believe other than our little girl should not have died.’
As Papa opened the door of the parlour and led me inside, I imagined a spell had been cast that instantly exchanged day for night. The heavy curtains were pulled and the candles were lit, making me forget it was not yet evening; and not a sound did we make, our footsteps hushed by the thick carpet while the eyes of our ancestors, in the paintings on the wall, seemed to gaze sorrowfully upon the little white coffin that sat on its own table, just out of reach. It reminded me of a church altar, thus making the coffin seem like some sort of offering to God, a sacrifice. The crackling of the fire, at least, was familiar. Mama insisted on it staying lit so that the room should not be completely dark at night-time. It was too warm and yet, most peculiar, a shiver slithered its way from the top of my head down to my ankles.
And there she was. Even though I knew I was going to see Weesy, I was shocked to find her there all the same. Letting go of Papa’s hand, I reached in to touch her, to see if she was real or maybe to see if she was actually dead. She looked well. I had become used to her greyish skin and the shadows beneath 15her eyes that looked like fading bruises, along with the noisy cough that forced its way through her, hardly letting her sleep. Really, I thought she looked better now, much better. Her face felt cool, but perhaps it had always felt like that since I could not remember touching it before. A large white ribbon sat on top of her hair that looked like it had been brushed a hundred times and she was wearing her favourite dress, white too with ruffles about the neck. She called it her princess dress and was only ever allowed to wear it on Sundays. Flowers had been pressed all around her, forming a colourful, perfumed garland that perfectly framed her. Her fingers were entwined as if she was saying her prayers. I thought she looked as beautiful as a painting even as I willed her to open her eyes, not for me, but for our parents and Aunt Harriet and Grandfather who had grabbed the poker to prod the orange coals on the fire, turning his back to us.
No doubt William felt he had to say something since he was the reason we were all standing here.
‘My ship won’t fit in there.’
And that was all he said.
Afterwards, we were given a thick slice of lemon cake but only after we agreed to go to bed without a fuss. Oh, I would have preferred to have remained with the adults and be comforted by their solidness, that is, their living, breathing bodies. As I lay in bed, I felt somehow out of place as if I was in 16a stranger’s house and miles away from anything familiar. I imagined that my family’s sadness was draining our home of warmth and light. And I could not stop thinking about my sister lying so perfectly still in the parlour.
The next day was the funeral. Mama crumpled to the ground, her arms outstretched, as Papa carried the coffin out our front door. He saw Mama fall but did not stop or turn back. It was horrible. I supposed that Mama hated the coffin leaving the house as it meant that Weesy was being carried away from our family forever. I pretended not to hear Aunt Harriet whisper, ‘Oh, Dora, it is time to let her go.’
Funerals last hours. My arms itched from the long sleeves of my new black dress and, in the graveyard, the sun made me sweat unpleasantly. I could not help thinking what a waste of a beautiful day and then was ashamed of my selfish thoughts. I saw my teacher Mrs Lee amongst the crowd of mourners. She was alone and pretended not to see me when she did.
Once the reverend finished reciting the prayers, I followed William as he plucked daisies for Weesy’s grave, half-listening to the jumble of conversations floating around us:
‘… was such a pretty little thing …’
‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’
‘At least the weather stayed fine; funerals in the rain can be awfully pathetic.’
‘She’s in a better place now.’ 17
‘Is she, then?’ asked William.
‘Is she, what?’ I asked in reply as I swiped a fly from my ear.
‘Is Weesy in a better place now?’
I shrugged. ‘I suppose so. She must be in Heaven.’
He nodded his head in agreement. ‘And Heaven is better than here, isn’t it?’
I refused to answer such a silly question because of course Heaven was better than anywhere else or else it would not be Heaven, would it?
‘It is just that …,’ said my brother, who began to cry quietly.
‘Oh, William, don’t cry, please don’t cry,’ I pleaded.
Of course, neither of us had a handkerchief, but I tore some large leaves from the ground and bid him to rub his face with them. He did so, streaking watery green across his cheeks, and began again. ‘Must we really leave her here? I mean, won’t she be terribly scared when it gets dark, being here all alone?’
‘No, no, William. The real Weesy is safe. It is just her bones and skin and hair that we buried, like an empty tortoise shell. That is what being dead means. Weesy’s body can feel nothing, but her soul is in Heaven now.’
William sniffed. ‘I am glad to hear that, though I wish we could have kept her at home with us.’
‘Just think of her being happy in Heaven, eating as much chocolate as she wants and surrounded by lots of toys,’ I said, to comfort both of us.
2
19 May 1845, Greenhithe, England
Sir John bids his family farewell
Sir John Franklin was just fourteen years old when he joined the British Royal Navy. Back then, his dreams of trampling the shores of distant and unknown lands were the only things that mattered to him. He had yearned to be allowed to press his boot into foreign snow or sand, before any other man, and do so in the name of his beloved country. That was a long time ago now, forty-five years to be precise, but perhaps not that much had changed, not about his dreams anyhow. Surely that fourteen-year-old navy apprentice would be impressed to see his grey-haired self about to embark on one more journey.
Lady Jane peered at her husband’s face. ‘Are you excited, my dear?’
Sir John merely smiled for an answer. The truth was that 19any excitement he felt was tainted by the knowledge that several of his peers thought he should not be doing this: leading a great expedition to the top of the world in search of the last trade route, through the freezing Arctic seas to the Pacific Ocean by way of the infamous Northwest Passage. A successful expedition would bring its British commander instant fame while enabling his country to take the lead on the world’s stage, in scientific and polar discovery. This would be his greatest moment yet but try as he might, Sir John could not stifle the murmurs that had reached his ears about him being ‘too old’, ‘too fat’ and ‘too clueless’ for the task ahead. Well, nobody could fault his stubbornness. He had persevered, hadn’t he, in spite of the naysayers?
So, here he now stood, in the centre of the small group that included his second wife, Lady Jane Franklin, their niece, Sophie, and Eleanor, his daughter from his first marriage. Standing there, he had never felt more at home, surrounded by all his loves that he was about to leave for goodness knew how long. The family busied themselves watching the goings-on in front of them. Over a hundred men were making their farewells, kissing children, wives and sweethearts, whilst bellowing wild hellos to fellow sailors who were glad to be distracted from the sadness of saying goodbye. 20
To their left, a marching band were tuning up their instruments in preparation for the big send-off. The short, sharp bursts of various trumpets and horns punctured the air every now and then. Newspapermen jotted down their descriptions, keeping a beady eye out for some fresh detail to satisfy their bosses and enable their readers to imagine the scene.
Surrounding them on three sides was a vast crowd of onlookers and well-wishers, growing bigger by the second. And then, in the background, behind the clamour of human activity were the two ships, Her Majesty’s Steamships (HMS) Erebus and Terror, sitting serenely in the water, aside their rippled reflections. Hardy gangs of seagulls darted about their masts, squalling madly, as if demanding everyone’s attention.
‘Do you think they will try to follow you?’ asked Eleanor.
Her father knew she meant the gulls. ‘If they do, they’ll be disappointed to discover that we are not going fishing.’
Lady Franklin smiled fiercely. How she longed to have Sir John to herself, but he insisted on Eleanor being here, and so she, in turn, brought Sophie. Lady Jane was only stepmother to Eleanor, her real mother having died years earlier. She did her best to love the girl but was thwarted by her own possessiveness of her husband.
She longed to take Sir John’s hand but that would not do. 21After all, he was Lord Franklin, captain and commander of this fantastic expedition. Oh, he had done well to take command of what might be the most famous sea journey yet. She was so proud of him. So, these last few moments together had to be savoured and, yes, shared with his daughter. In fact, this had been her gift to him, although she could not remember which one of them had mentioned it first: the proposed expedition to the Arctic, to find the Northwest Passage. Well, it hardly mattered who spoke of it first, just that her immediate response was, ‘You should do this!’
He pretended to be shocked at her suggestion. ‘What, me, at my age? They would never let me, what with so many younger men who are better qualified.’
She, in turn, pretended to believe that he needed convincing.
‘My dear,’ she said, ‘you have faithfully served your country since you were a boy and, in that time, you have captained many ships and have led expeditions to the very same Arctic. Tell me, who is more qualified than you are?’
He again pretended to consider her question, but all he could think was how right she was. Who else indeed?
Reading his mind, she continued, ‘You are a perfect fit for this. You know it, I know it and I’ll wager the Navy knows it too. Goodness, if they allowed me, I should like to 22go and see this Arctic for myself!’
Her husband had described to her the seascapes of ice, with mountains that sparkled like crystal glass and the purest, whitest snow as far as the eye could see. It sounded too thrilling for words.
For a moment, Sir John had fretted that she meant him to pressure the Navy into allowing her to accompany him. Now, he loved her dearly and thoroughly disliked the thought of leaving her behind but – no, no, no – that simply would not do. His naval superiors did not agree with women having opinions and a passion for learning. His Jane had both and never tried to deceive people otherwise. Mind you, she was probably better educated and more travelled than most men he knew.
As it was, he suspected that she was the reason he had lost his post as Lieutenant-Governor in Van Diemen’s Land. She had refused to play nice and befriend the other wives, and meekly mind her place in mixed company. Instead, she tackled his colleagues over politics, religion and society’s ills. In place of hosting lunches and making social calls, she bought books and maps. And rather than hiding these items in her husband’s study, she sat out in the open, poring over them, and then inflicted her newly acquired knowledge on Australian politicians who learned to dread the sound of her voice. Lastly, instead of ignoring 23the brooding presence of the natives like everyone else, she had temporarily adopted a young Aboriginal girl and introduced her to the neighbours, just to watch their faces twitch in dismay.
Lady Jane was fearless and he had allowed her to infect him too, so that he put his name in the pot to lead a hundred and twenty-eight men to the Arctic. It had taken hundreds of years and the courage of many explorers to reach this point. Sir John allowed himself to consider that history might judge his contribution to be the best of all, charting the last few miles through new territory, finally opening up the elusive sea route to allow northwest access to the trading nations of Asia. He would, in effect, be placing a full stop on any further exploration of the Northwest Passage. Yes, his success would mean his name inscribed in history books, the thought of which made him smile once more.
Seeing his smile, his wife sighed, ‘I just wish I knew for certain when to expect you home again. It would be so much easier to say goodbye if I knew how long it was for.’
Regarding her tenderly, he said, ‘Well, now, I would be a clever man if I could tell you anything more than I already have. Everything depends on the ice; it is the master of our fate.’
‘What do you mean, Papa?’ Eleanor peered at her father in wonder. 24
Sir John gave his daughter a guilty look. Had he not already explained this to her? ‘Why, my dear, when the water freezes in the Arctic, it turns into ice which traps a ship until it melts back into water once more.’
‘Traps?’ echoed Eleanor, looking decidedly worried.
Sir John glanced at his wife who took over. ‘Oh, come now, Eleanor, I am quite sure that you know this already. Your father will make his explorations during the summer months but, during the winter, the ships will be stuck fast. No ship is strong enough to break through blocks of ice.’
Eleanor shook her head in protest. ‘But, Papa, you told me that the ships have steam engines, from the railway trains. And their fronts are stronger than any other ship.’
Her father hastened to correct her on one point. ‘Bows, my dear. That’s what we call the front of a ship.’
Lady Franklin stifled an impulse to roll her eyes. The child was impossible. She flashed her niece a look that meant: see, this is exactly why I wanted to leave her at home. Typically, Sophie understood as much and nodded her sympathy – my poor aunt, I completely agree with you.
Sir John was starting to feel somewhat harassed. The sun was high in the sky and his overly-tight starched collar was making itself felt. He had tried to lose weight over the last few weeks but it proved impossible when he and Jane had been invited to so many farewell dinners. As a result, 25he had rather a difficult time getting dressed; there were so many buttons on his uniform and some had to be forcibly dragged through the holes. At one point he thought he heard the material groan in protest.
Furthermore, he had a dratted cold that he could not shake. And now Eleanor was pouting while his wife’s watery smile barely hid her urge to say, ‘I told you so! We should not have brought her.’
A fine farewell this was turning out to be!
‘How long will you be gone, Papa?’
He considered offering his daughter a vague ‘I don’t know’, but that did not seem fair. So, he was honest. ‘We are taking three years of supplies with us, just to be safe.’
Before Eleanor could respond to this, her stepmother sighed, ‘Three years! I cannot lie, it is a long time.’
Eleanor gazed at the blue sky above them, doing her best to imagine slabs of ice big and strong enough to stop a ship from sailing.
Captain Franklin declared to his audience, ‘Be assured that I am planning on returning home long before that, with food to spare.’
Pleased to hear him sounding confident, Lady Franklin declared, ‘You will find that passage, I know you will.’
He agreed with her. ‘If it is God’s will, we certainly shall.’
Erebus and Terror seemed impatient to be released from 26their moorings; their hulks swayed together as if they were listening to music, the waves bearing out the ocean’s rhythm.
‘They are fine ships,’ said Jane, ‘so strong and sturdy, just like their captain.’
‘Well,’ sighed her husband, ‘like me, they are of a certain age, have fought in battles and have been to the Arctic before. I just hope they are not too weary for the journey ahead.’
She knew what he was hinting at and assured him, ‘There is no substitute for years of experience and I am quite sure that your officers and sailors would agree with me.’
‘Good morning to you all!’
They had been joined by Captain Franklin’s second-in-command, Captain Francis Crozier. Tall in stature with dark hair, he was quite the opposite in every way of his commander. A shy man, he had forced himself to approach the family group because pure manners decreed it. However, it was the second last thing he wanted to do.
His glance lingered longer than it should have on Sophie who plucked at a loose thread on her sleeve. Twice he had asked her to marry him and twice she had said no. Oh, it took guts to stand there in front of her and pretend that all was well. He doffed his hat to Jane who greeted 27him warmly, ‘Good morning, Captain. Are you anxious to be off?’
‘Dear me, Lady Franklin, my apologies if I should look so impatient?’
‘Why, Captain Crozier,’ said Jane, ‘you look as impatient as your commander feels though he will deny it.’
Captain Crozier was quite certain that he did not look the least bit impatient to be gone, not at all. And this was because the very, very last thing that Captain Crozier wished to do was undertake this journey to the Arctic. Sir John might well be pitying himself for having to fight a bad cold but Captain Francis Crozier was having a tougher time as he was fighting serious apprehension about what lay ahead.
The only person who was privy to his sentiments was his great friend and fellow explorer Sir James Clark Ross. Two years earlier, the two had spent four years exploring the Antarctic together and owed their powers of endurance to their mutual respect and admiration for one another. Unfortunately, Captain Crozier felt neither for John Franklin, although, as he told his friend, ‘I like him and Lady Franklin well enough and always enjoy their company but …’
‘But?’ said James with a smile.
‘I am tired, James!’ declared Crozier. ‘Plain old tired.’ 28
And he was. He had believed that his polar exploration days were behind him. To be fair, four years is a long time out of one’s life, 1,460 days or thereabouts. Therefore, it is little wonder that Captain Crozier felt he had paid his due to Heaven and to the Navy and now wanted to enjoy ordinary things, like getting married and becoming a father. He wondered at the situation he found himself in: how can it be easier to travel to the other side of the world than find myself a wife?
Recently, as best man, Captain Crozier had watched James marry the lovely Ann Coulman. The marriage only went ahead after James promised his betrothed that he would travel no more. In between making speeches and dancing with James’s elderly aunts, Captain Crozier found himself heartily wishing that it was his wedding day instead, with Sophie for his bride.
Sophie had said no, but he was not ready to give up just yet. What if he took himself away for a while? Might there be the merest chance that she would miss him? He knew little about love and romance but he was familiar with the quotation ‘Absence makes the heart fonder’. Well, then, what had he got to lose?
Sir John rudely interrupted his thoughts with a roar, ‘Ah-tish-shoo!’
Everyone jumped as Sir John fumbled with his 29handkerchief. He blew his nose, far noisier than any trumpet player, before asking, ‘Well, then, how goes it?’
Captain Crozier nodded. ‘I should think we are just about ready, sir.’
Without the Franklins realising it, the sailors had drifted away from their relatives to board their particular ship in single file. Right now, over a hundred men were claiming their hammocks while others, like their officers, cooks and surgeons, were surveying their tiny kingdoms that they expected to lord over for the next year or so, or two at most. Hopefully no longer than that. As Lady Jane said, three years was a long time really.
All that was left was for the two captains to board their ships, Captain Crozier to Terror and Captain Franklin to Erebus, only neither of them seemed eager to make the first move. Finally, Lady Jane took control, her usual approach. Offering her hand in farewell to Captain Crozier, she said, ‘I wish you a safe and bountiful journey and I hope it will not be too long until we meet again.’
‘Thank you, Lady Franklin. I hope so too.’
Captain Crozier smiled hopefully at Sophie, who duly followed her aunt’s lead, presenting to him her own hand with good wishes. ‘Take care, Captain Crozier. We shall keep you and Sir John in our prayers.’
Not to be outdone, Eleanor graciously held out hers too. 30‘Goodbye, Captain. Will you promise to take care of Papa?’
Captain Crozier smiled at the girl, feeling Sophie’s eyes upon him. This was his moment to prove himself as a steady and trustworthy gentleman. Flattering Eleanor, he addressed her thus, ‘My dear Miss Franklin, we are most grateful to you and Lady Jane for releasing your father to us, for this grand mission. And I give you my solemn word that I will return him to his family as soon as I can. Will that do?’
A beaming Eleanor nodded her acceptance.
3
May 1849
Weesy is come back
Four days after the funeral, Papa had to go away on one of his business trips. It was the first normal thing to happen in a long time. In truth, he went away a lot. His shipyard kept him busy, but now his new passion was to salvage or re-float sunken ships and his services were in great demand. It was fascinating, I thought, that he could drag drowned ships from the ocean floor and sit them on top of the water again, bringing them back to life.
If only he could do the same for Weesy.
He would be gone for three months and I heard Aunt Harriet quietly promising him that not for an instant would she leave Mama’s side. He thanked her and muttered something about feeling guilty, though I could not hear exactly what he said. 32
The next morning, he was gone before we got up, which was typical because he disliked goodbyes. I hoped he would remember to bring us back presents.
At the breakfast table, Aunt Harriet told me that I did not have to return to school until after the summer holidays. That suited me fine and then I remembered. ‘I saw Mrs Lee at Weesy’s funeral.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Aunt Harriet. ‘She lost her daughter too, just last year, I think!’
That explained why my teacher never smiled and was always dressed in black.
***
Papa’s absence made the days seem even longer. We missed having our early evenings punctuated by his arrival from work, asking us about our day as he shed his coat and papers, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a tasty dinner. How long could this go on, this dreariness of one day blending into the next? I yearned to escape the sagging atmosphere of the house or, failing that, for something extraordinary to happen.
And then it did.
***
33It was Sarah who saw Weesy first, although she showed no surprise since she hardly understood what was real anyway. Laura, our maid, was polishing the staircase the morning after Papa left when she was interrupted by Sarah clapping her hands and exclaiming, ‘Weesy! Weesy!’ It was one of the few words she could correctly pronounce. The others were ‘me’ and ‘no’. Used to being trailed by Sarah, as she tended to her morning duties, Laura took her time to discover that Sarah was beaming at the wall as if it had made a joke. Feeling obliged to be clear, Laura waved her cloth at the ceiling as she explained, ‘No, my pet. Weesy has gone to Heaven.’ When she saw that she was wasting her time, because Sarah was too absorbed in her mysterious game, Laura gave up and returned to her polishing.
A couple of days later, on hearing a thud from the landing and William’s howl, Aunt Harriet and I dashed up the staircase to find him sprawled on the floor, a perfect dot of blood winking at us from his grazed forehead. Aunt Harriet flung herself upon him. ‘Oh my goodness. What happened to you? Did you fall?’
Instead of answering our aunt’s questions, William appeared to be looking for something. Aunt Harriet cupped his face in her hands and spoke slowly. ‘William, are you alright? Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?’
It took a moment before he finally focused on her, and then he certainly amazed me with his answer, ‘I saw Weesy. 34She was standing just there, by the wall. I ran to hug her but …’
The bell went for dinner. Aunt Harriet pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve, wiped the blood away and told us to go wash our hands. We watched her straighten her skirt and head downstairs.
Waiting until Aunt Harriet had reached the lowest step, William asked me, ‘Do you believe me? I really saw her. Honest!’
Unwilling to give in straight away, I allowed a tight nod of my head, which he missed. Instead, he exhaled in relief. ‘Oh, she is back again! Where did you go to, Weesy? Aunt Harriet was here.’
Realising that we were staring at the exact same spot, he whispered, ‘You see her too, don’t you?’
For some reason I suddenly felt annoyed. ‘Of course I do. Stop asking me stupid questions!’
I wasn’t scared. I mean, it was just my little sister. At least, it looked like her for the most part, only there was a light around her, bluish and straining like the flames of a fire. I had never seen anything like it and yet, at the same time, it was only Weesy. I needed to think. Unfortunately, William still had questions. ‘Why isn’t she in Heaven? You said she was going to Heaven.’
‘Don’t blame me, William Coppin!’ I snapped. ‘This is not my fault!’ 35
William bowed his head and mumbled, ‘Are you not happy that she is back?’
All the while, Weesy never said a word. She just smiled at us as if she was glad to be home again. Goodness knows how long we stood there before we were surprised by Laura who had been sent to fetch us. ‘C’mon, you pair. You are keeping everyone waiting!’
She grabbed us by the hands and Weesy disappeared just like that. In the dining room Mama asked what had kept us. She was seated in her usual place with Aunt Harriet to her left and Grandfather at the head of the table and they were not alone. Before I could stop him, William blurted out, ‘How did you get here so fast?’
Aunt Harriet laughed. ‘Because I came down ahead of you, remember?’
Peering at his forehead, Mama asked, ‘Is your poor head alright, dear?’
‘No,’ said William, not hearing her. ‘I wasn’t talking to you, Aunt Harriet.’
He stopped short and everyone stared at him. Mama shrugged and said, ‘Ah, you were talking to me then, were you? Well, I was already down here waiting for you and Ann.’
William looked at me as he shook his head.
I became the centre of attention as each adult, including Laura, who still held our hands, waited for me to explain my 36brother’s strange behaviour. It was Weesy who let me feel that it would be alright to tell. So, I just said it straight out as I did not know how else to. ‘Weesy is here.’
Laura gasped and dropped my hand. The others made no immediate reaction except that Aunt Harriet and Mama exchanged glances before Mama asked, ‘Where, darling?’
‘There!’ said William, pointing at Weesy’s chair, which wasn’t even pulled out from the table.
Aunt Harriet tried to persuade us otherwise. ‘Children, we all miss her desperately and it is perfectly acceptable to want to see her so badly that you almost think you do …’
William broke in. ‘I saw her upstairs just now. I told you. I ran to hug her and that’s how I hit my head against the wall.’
