Nora produces a tray bearing tea, which brings an approving glance from her husband.
‘My father and I joined hundreds, perhaps even thousands of others. I don’t think we have experienced a big freeze since you’ve arrived in our city, Mrs Fowler. They are not as frequent or severe as those in your country, I dare say. For us, it was exciting until suddenly in the middle of the afternoon at the height of the numbers there was an awful roar. And the shout of ‘men down, men down’ had us all rushing to the shore for safety. From there, my father and I strained to witness the terrible sight of two men and two young boys flailing in the water where a large section of the ice had given way. The boys went under immediately. It looked as if the men, their fathers we assumed, were under the ice, too, but their heads popped back up for air – they were diving to find the boys.’
‘Bystanders went to fetch ropes and the Royal Humane Society men raced across the lake in their flat-bottomed tub. The two fathers went under a second time, but emerged again shaking the ice and water from their hair and gasping, and now seized in panic. That is when we recognized the men – the Fitzgeralds. They dived under for a third time, but this time did not come up again.’
Nora dabs her eyes with her handkerchief. Her soft sighs accompany her husband’s story.
‘The Society men finally reached the location but more of the ice began to give way. It just wasn’t safe enough, even with ropes tied around their waists. The sisters Fitzgerald had been in the Cheesecake House. It was their custom to retreat for a short while to the cake house after watching their husbands and their little lads skate. When my father spotted them walking over the footbridge he knew they did not yet know. He grabbed me and we pulled off our skates and ran towards the sisters with our shoes unlaced. You see, my father knew the Fitzgeralds quite well – we enjoyed their custom, and he once employed the men for legal advice.’
‘Was there no further attempt to find them?’ Clovis asks.
‘That night there was a hard frost, and by morning the ice was as firm as brass. They searched the following spring. But there are mud deposits on the bottom … The sisters’ husbands and their sons had disappeared.’
Another whip of wind gusts through the door again and a young sea captain enters followed by one of the mutes from the undertaker’s down the road. Clovis and the Mocketts are returned to the present by the captain’s complaint of a throbbing head and the mute’s purchase of a second box of opium pills.
‘Goodness! I thought the Fowler woman would stay the night!’ Nora says, as they put out the last lamps. ‘I have a bad taste in my mouth, Owen.’
‘Well, spit it out, Nora.’
‘Did you notice her reaction? How could a woman listen to such a tragic story and not be moved? I was afraid you were going to tell her about their mother, too!’
‘No.’ Owen says as he secures the locks. ‘You are right as usual, Nora. It is unnatural for a woman to remain untouched by such a tragedy. If I am honest, I grow more and more uncomfortable with the Fowlers and this tunnel business. The risks are too great.’
‘I am relieved to hear you say it, Owen. We mustn’t fall.’
‘As thieves go, Finn Fowler is not the worst of them … but his wife … I agree with you. I have a bad feeling about her, too.’
Nora sighs, long and deep – as a woman does when she feels the fear of the unknown dissipate; that inexplicable knowing that something dangerous has been avoided.
She wraps her arms around her husband’s neck and kisses him, and in that kiss invites him to their bed.
‘We mustn’t fall, Owen.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Opin, vinsamlegast! Opin!’
‘What the fucking hell!’ Finn springs from the bed in the dead of night.
A persistent knocking accompanies the pelting rain. Clovis slips into her dressing gown and lights a taper from the embers in the fireplace. Finn is too rattled and impatient to have any concern about modesty or decorum and streaks down the stairs in his nightshirt.
‘It must be midnight or later,’ Clovis hisses. ‘Who can this be?’
Then they hear the language they have not heard for years.
‘Opin, vinsamlegast! Opin!’
The man is tall, middle-aged and handsome. The woman, older, carries a swaddled baby on her back. Weighed down by the dragging rain, the woman’s mouth drops open a bit when she sees Clovis. Taken by a moment of jolting recognition, Margrét had not expected the sisters to appear so similar.
Undaunted, Stefán steps in uninvited, quickly, in the manner of a man on urgent business.
‘My apologies for the late hour,’ Stefán says in his language.
‘Do you speak English?’ Finn asks.
‘If you prefer. Margrét is still learning.’ Stefán’s English is good.
The commotion has brought Willa and Jonesy down from the attic. Neither is sure what they should do, except relieve the strangers of their sodden outer jackets.
‘Welcome. Forgive me. We are taken by surprise.’ Clovis motions for the strangers to follow her.
‘Our late hour is necessary for the safety of the child,’ Stefán says.
Without further comment Clovis leads them into the front room. The visitors note right away that with the exception of their midnight arrival, Clovis is prepared. For there, dominating the corner opposite the armonica, suspended high off the floor from its base, a rocking cradle awaits an occupant.
Margrét carefully unties the baby’s carrying cloth. She struggles in an awkward moment and looks to Clovis for help. But Clovis remains rooted and instead motions to Willa who is wrapped in her own blanket. The girl is relieved to have something useful to do.
‘Tea.’ Jonesy bows before he retreats to the kitchen.
‘No. Coffee for our visitors. Hot and strong,’ Clovis orders.
Once
