and out, in and out, the way Miss Lillingsworth had taught me. Miss Lillingsworth was an old friend of the Plush family. She was a psychic herself, and she’d explained to me why, when you come out of a vision, you often feel upset.
“It’s as if the past somehow clings to you like cobwebs. What you need to do is brush them off.”
Deep breathing, according to Miss Lillingsworth, was just the ticket.
Only right now, it wasn’t working. I kept seeing the handsome man’s face. Who was he? Why was he so angry? Perhaps he was a family friend. Or the doctor who couldn’t save the children. “Together, at last,” he’d said. What did he mean? Together in death? Again I felt a wave of sorrow. It was suffocating. My chest tightened. My heart ached.
Why was I reacting so intensely? The Petrovs’ tragedy was nothing to do with me. Was I supposed to do something? Could I help in some way? From out of nowhere a plump, red-cheeked face popped into my mind.
“Mrs Brandywine,” I said to myself. “She has a gift. She’ll know what to do.”
I got up off my bed and smoothed my dress. Somehow the thought that Mrs Brandywine was there if I needed her made me feel much better. If the Petrov’s sorrowful past continued to haunt me, I would certainly go to see her. One more deep breath and I was ready to re-enter the Indian room.
9
LETTERS AND TELEGRAMS
There was just us girls and Helen at breakfast the next morning because Mr Petrov, like Papa, had his on a tray in his room.
He had a lengthy morning routine, explained Helen. “Mohan gives him a massage and a salt bath and a morphine poultice every day.”
“What, every day?” asked Poppy. “Then what do
you
do?”
“What do I do?” A strange, bleak expression passed over Helen’s face. Then she shook her head, as if to get rid of some stray unwelcome thought. “I do charity work. I go visiting. I sew. Which reminds me – I must go into town this morning to buy some embroidery silk.”
“Can we come with you?” Poppy, Connie and I spoke together.
“You would be bored.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” said Poppy.
“And I have a letter to post,” added Connie. She adored her father, and wrote him a long letter every week.
Helen hesitated for a few seconds. She couldn’t hide her reluctance.
Hannah, coming in with hot water for the tea, joined the conversation. “It’ll be a chance for you to show the girls the town, ma’am.”
“Please,” begged Poppy.
What a moody person Helen was, I thought. As cold as marble one minute, warm and affectionate the next. Yesterday evening, she hadn’t been able to get enough of us. Now, it was clear she wished we’d disappear.
“Very well.” Helen stood abruptly. “We will leave at ten.”
It was shopping day in Castlemaine. Unlike yesterday, the streets were busy with horses, vehicles and people. Ladies greeted Helen with smiles and gentlemen raised their hats. A few inquired as to who we were, and Helen did some quick introductions. Very quick they were too, because for some reason, she was in an awful rush for her embroidery thread. She whisked us past a chemist’s, a bakery and a millinery establishment and then stopped in front of a draper’s.
“You may as well stay here, girls,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
“Can’t I come in?” asked Poppy. “I like lookin’ in shops.”
“So do I,” I said.
For a second I thought she was going to order us to stay outside.
“Perhaps you could find some blue ribbon for me.” She gestured to some tables near the entrance and walked quickly to the counter.
Poppy and Connie began to examine the different spools of ribbon but I kept an eye on Helen. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was a habit I’d got from working with SP, assisting with confidential inquiries. You get a nose for mystery, for odd behaviour, for anything that’s not quite right.
This is what I saw. After Helen paid for her silk, the shopgirl reached under the counter and brought
“It’s as if the past somehow clings to you like cobwebs. What you need to do is brush them off.”
Deep breathing, according to Miss Lillingsworth, was just the ticket.
Only right now, it wasn’t working. I kept seeing the handsome man’s face. Who was he? Why was he so angry? Perhaps he was a family friend. Or the doctor who couldn’t save the children. “Together, at last,” he’d said. What did he mean? Together in death? Again I felt a wave of sorrow. It was suffocating. My chest tightened. My heart ached.
Why was I reacting so intensely? The Petrovs’ tragedy was nothing to do with me. Was I supposed to do something? Could I help in some way? From out of nowhere a plump, red-cheeked face popped into my mind.
“Mrs Brandywine,” I said to myself. “She has a gift. She’ll know what to do.”
I got up off my bed and smoothed my dress. Somehow the thought that Mrs Brandywine was there if I needed her made me feel much better. If the Petrov’s sorrowful past continued to haunt me, I would certainly go to see her. One more deep breath and I was ready to re-enter the Indian room.
9
LETTERS AND TELEGRAMS
There was just us girls and Helen at breakfast the next morning because Mr Petrov, like Papa, had his on a tray in his room.
He had a lengthy morning routine, explained Helen. “Mohan gives him a massage and a salt bath and a morphine poultice every day.”
“What, every day?” asked Poppy. “Then what do
you
do?”
“What do I do?” A strange, bleak expression passed over Helen’s face. Then she shook her head, as if to get rid of some stray unwelcome thought. “I do charity work. I go visiting. I sew. Which reminds me – I must go into town this morning to buy some embroidery silk.”
“Can we come with you?” Poppy, Connie and I spoke together.
“You would be bored.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” said Poppy.
“And I have a letter to post,” added Connie. She adored her father, and wrote him a long letter every week.
Helen hesitated for a few seconds. She couldn’t hide her reluctance.
Hannah, coming in with hot water for the tea, joined the conversation. “It’ll be a chance for you to show the girls the town, ma’am.”
“Please,” begged Poppy.
What a moody person Helen was, I thought. As cold as marble one minute, warm and affectionate the next. Yesterday evening, she hadn’t been able to get enough of us. Now, it was clear she wished we’d disappear.
“Very well.” Helen stood abruptly. “We will leave at ten.”
It was shopping day in Castlemaine. Unlike yesterday, the streets were busy with horses, vehicles and people. Ladies greeted Helen with smiles and gentlemen raised their hats. A few inquired as to who we were, and Helen did some quick introductions. Very quick they were too, because for some reason, she was in an awful rush for her embroidery thread. She whisked us past a chemist’s, a bakery and a millinery establishment and then stopped in front of a draper’s.
“You may as well stay here, girls,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
“Can’t I come in?” asked Poppy. “I like lookin’ in shops.”
“So do I,” I said.
For a second I thought she was going to order us to stay outside.
“Perhaps you could find some blue ribbon for me.” She gestured to some tables near the entrance and walked quickly to the counter.
Poppy and Connie began to examine the different spools of ribbon but I kept an eye on Helen. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was a habit I’d got from working with SP, assisting with confidential inquiries. You get a nose for mystery, for odd behaviour, for anything that’s not quite right.
This is what I saw. After Helen paid for her silk, the shopgirl reached under the counter and brought
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