Strange Star (5 page)

When I awoke the birds were singing. I was lying in a bed, the blankets rough and heavy against my skin. A breeze blew in from somewhere, lifting the hair off my forehead. The air wasn’t cold any more: it smelled of spring, though everything else still looked as dark as a winter’s day.

The reason for this soon became clear. A damp piece of muslin had been put over my eyes.

‘Don’t touch!’ Peg cried, as I went to lift it off. ‘You’ve to keep the cloths on. Your eyes are burned.’

Her voice made me jump.

‘What? I mean … where …?’ But by now I’d guessed I was at home in my own bed with Peg sat beside me. I tried to sit up but the pain was too much. The skin on my neck and arms felt like glass about to crack. I lay back, sick and exhausted.

‘What’s happened to me, Peg?’ I asked, when I managed to speak again.

There was an awkward silence.

‘You … well …’ She hesitated.

I almost wanted her to lie. Just a little white one, like she often did. But she couldn’t do it.

She didn’t need to.

In one awful wave, it came back to me – the thunder. The brilliant blue light. Mam with her pitchfork raised and that stench of burning which, I supposed, had come from me.

‘Open the window wider, would you?’ I said, weakly.

Peg did as I asked. I lay quiet, filling and emptying my chest in long slow breaths until the pain in my body eased.

At some point I grew aware of sounds from outside – the happy gabbling of my geese, and from Da’s workshop, sawing and hammering. Those noises were as familiar as my own heartbeat. They meant life was continuing, that everything was all right. I’d get well again, my eyes would heal, and things would be …

‘Where’s Mam?’ I asked.

I heard Peg swallow anxiously.

‘Peg?’

‘Shh, just rest,’ she said.

Outside, the sawing stopped. And Da came inside.
His footsteps on the stairs were unusually soft. As he came into the room, he brought his always smell of woodchippings and sweat. But with the cloth still over my eyes the shadowy shape of him looked smaller, somehow.

‘You’re awake at last, Lizzie,’ he said. His voice sounded thick. ‘The doctor gave you a strong draught.’

‘Have I been asleep long?’ I said, assuming he’d say a day or two.

‘Nearly two months. It’s April now.’

‘April?’
I spluttered. ‘How can that be?’

‘We thought it best that you …’ Da paused, ‘… slept through the worst of it.’

I heard his hesitation: he was choosing his words with care. A tightening sensation grew in my chest. So this
wasn’t
the worst of it. Something more dreadful had happened. And I knew what he wasn’t telling me, because Peg hadn’t, either.

‘Where’s Mam?’ I said once more.

For a long while, he said nothing. Peg took my hand, stroking it like a kitten. Da kept clearing his throat, so that in the end I asked again.

‘Da? Where is she?’

‘The lightning … it … umm … struck your mother first. It went right through her, Lizzie, to hit you.’

That fresh air coming through the open window meant nothing now. I couldn’t breathe.

‘Did she …?’

‘She died, Lizzie, yes. The silly, stubborn creature died just to prove a point.’

Now he’d started, Da talked on as if he couldn’t stop. But his words seemed like they were meant for someone else. I wasn’t sure I was even here, not properly. Inside my head was a big, black space that stretched on with no end. It was terrifying.

‘I can’t bear it,’ I said. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to block everything out. It was impossible. Next to me Peg had started crying. Da gave a little cough. If he was crying, he did it silently.

‘You’ll have to bear it, my girl,’ he said, with a sharpness I didn’t expect. ‘And plenty more, besides.’

Those next few weeks, it was easier just to sleep. Each hour of each day was a reminder that Mam had gone. In between the sleeps Mercy would visit, pulling up a chair by my bedside and knowing, for once, just to sit and not fill the silence with talk. There were times when I’d listen out for Da. Often I heard hammering
and sawing from his workshop, but rarely did I sense his tread upon the stair. It was Peg who brought most of my food, who kept telling me to rest so that my eyes would get better. But the problem with sleeping was the waking part when, hard as a horse-kick, it would hit me all over again.

It was on such a day in May that I woke, in a sour-smelling twist of bedsheets, and knew it couldn’t go on like this. It was time to face the world.

By now, the skin on my neck and arms no longer hurt. I dreaded to think what it looked like, though, for it felt tight and unnaturally smooth. Sitting up, I took the cloth from my eyes. I blinked. Rubbed. Squinted. With or without the cloth – it didn’t make a jot of difference – I still couldn’t see right. My eyes hadn’t healed at all.

In panic, I called to Peg.

‘What is it?’ she cried, clattering into the room.

‘What’s happened to me? I still can’t see nothing!’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought that you’d …’

‘… get better? So did I.’

My sister sat with me as I cried in great, choking sobs. And that made me feel doubly awful, for Peg was just a girl herself. Only now she didn’t have a mother –
we
didn’t have a mother. I’d opened my stupid mouth
at breakfast that day and when Mam said we’d bring the cattle in, I should’ve stopped her. Instead I’d gone along with it, and even shaken hands. How foolish we’d been.

The worst part was that I’d survived. And I had to find a way to live with it, starting today.

Eventually, the tears stopped. I wiped my face and snotty nose, and began to get my bearings. There, to my left, was the lightness of the window. Directly ahead was the doorway, lighter too, which I supposed meant it was open. It seemed I could tell light from dark, at least.

‘It’s no good pretending I’ll get better, Peg,’ I said. ‘This is it now. This is me.’

Slowly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. All down my left side, the skin creaked and my limbs felt stiff and heavy. I stood up. Everything was grey and swimmy-looking. This wasn’t going to be easy. I still needed my sister’s help.

‘You there?’ I said.

‘I’m here,’ she said, at my side.

‘Good.’ I reached out and, finding her bony shoulder, gave it a kindly squeeze. ‘Now, nice and slow, we’re going downstairs. I need to get washed and you’re going to help me, all right?’

‘Right.’

She sounded reluctant, and I guessed why. ‘You’ve seen my scars, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, a bit too brightly. ‘But they’re not
that
bad, really they’re not.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Tell me again, properly this time.’

Peg groaned. But I got it out of her in the end. One scar ran from just below my jawbone to my elbow. The other went from my hip to the sole of my left foot. They weren’t like normal scars at all.

‘They’re like veins, Lizzie, like the underneath of a leaf,’ Peg said.

She made them sound almost pretty, which I knew they weren’t, though I did appreciate the lie.

We made it down to the kitchen well enough. As Peg went outside to draw water from the pump, I tried to find soap and clean linens. Even in a place so familiar, it was hard. I kept bumping into the table and cracking my shins on the chairs tucked underneath. It made me angry and teary again. And I almost called out to Da, whose bangings and thuddings told me he was outside in his workshop.

Then came the sound of footsteps crossing the yard.
The doorway darkened. Expecting it to be Da, I stood up shakily.

‘I’ve come downstairs at last,’ I said, hoping he’d be pleased.

‘And you look in need of some help too,’ said a cheery voice.

It was Mercy. And oh, was I glad she was here.

Before long, I was washed and dressed, and though still weak, I felt better than I could have imagined.

‘Eat,’ said Mercy, putting a plate of food in front of me. The smell of it – savoury, buttery, meaty – made my mouth water.

‘It looks proper tasty,’ said Peg.

Then came a slapping sound.

‘Ouch!’ Peg squealed.

‘Keep your hands off, then! It’s one of my mam’s best ham hock pies for Lizzie,’ said Mercy.

For the first time in ages, I smiled. Almost. Then guilt swooped down on me like a great, black bird. It wasn’t just Da and Peg and me who were suffering. Poor Mercy, who’d tended me so kindly, had fallen out with her sweetheart, Isaac Blake, and then seen
awful things in the churchyard. I’d no business to be sat here, smiling. Swallowing a mouthful of pie, I found I couldn’t eat any more.

‘You knew this would happen to Mam, Mercy,’ I said, pushing my plate away. ‘You saw our spirits enter the church that night.’

She dropped into the chair next to mine, her arm circling my shoulders.

‘Come on now, it’s just a daft old myth. No one really believes that stuff nowadays.’

‘Don’t they?’ I said, thinking how she’d cried. ‘You seemed to. Or perhaps this awful bad luck is because of the comet.’

‘Forget all that, Lizzie,’ said Mercy. I imagined her batting away centuries of superstitions with a waft of her hand. ‘See,
fashionable
folk believe in real things that can be proved.’

‘You’ve changed your tune.’

‘Well, why not? Especially now we’ve got our very own scientist living in the village. Made quite an impression, so he has, though I’ve not seen him yet myself.’

Mercy had spoken of this before, I remembered. The man was moving into Eden Court, and Da had been making shelves for him. It was exciting news by Sweepfield’s standards, yet it was also a bit baffling.

‘Why would a scientist come from London to Sweepfield?’ I asked. ‘We’re miles from anywhere. There’s more pigs here than people.’

‘He’s doing secret science work, but no one really knows what.’ Mercy started shuffling in her seat like she was smoothing down her skirts. ‘Anyway, are you well enough to take a walk?’

I gulped, nervous again. ‘No. Not today.’

Mercy, unlike her name, wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

Crockers Lane was a road I knew blindfolded. Yet when it came to it, I needed the help of two people to stay on my feet. Mercy kept on my left side, Peg on my right, each holding me firmly by the hand. Halfway down the lane Mercy suggested we walk over the fields instead.

‘It’ll be quieter, Lizzie. You can take your time,’ she said.

I think she saw how jumpy I was. All those weeks in bed, I’d felt safe. Hidden. Now I had to face the world and it terrified me. What if I got lost or fell down or made an idiot of myself? I knew what happened to piglets born blind, or to horses too old to see right. If Mam was here, I’d feel stronger. But she was now just a body in the ground – and I needed to pay my respects.

‘I’d like to walk on to the churchyard. It’s not far,’ I said.

Mercy hesitated. ‘Oh … erm … very well, if you think you can manage it.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Nothing at all. Honest.’

Last time I’d been on Crockers Lane, it was a bitter, cold winter’s day. Even today the wind still had an icy bite to it, and the dullness of the light told me there wasn’t any sun. But it was spring, according to the calendar. And I tried hard not to think of the budding hedgerows and all the other glorious things I couldn’t see. It wasn’t easy. Nor was walking past our field where the accident had happened. I knew we’d reached it when Peg suddenly said, ‘Da sold the cattle to Mr Henderson, you know.’

‘Oh.’ It didn’t shock me, not really. But it still hurt to hear it for it made things more real, more final.

By the time we’d turned left towards the village green, I was beginning to get my bearings. To people who didn’t know, we probably looked like any other girls on a morning stroll.

Which, of course, we weren’t.

This was Sweepfield. Everyone would know what had happened to Mam and me. We were bound to run into someone who’d say how sorry they were, and I’d
feel frightful and want to cry. I began to wonder if I could face this, after all.

It was too late to turn back. Up ahead, I heard the clip clop of horses, and the jangle of a shop bell. There were voices too, people greeting each other in the street. Mercy’s hand tensed up on my arm.

‘Are you ready?’ she said.

‘I … I don’t know.’ Suddenly, I saw myself as Peg and Mercy had seen me – a girl with strange red scars and eyes that didn’t work. My frock covered most of the marks, but even a bonnet brim couldn’t hide what had happened to my sight. Babies might cry on seeing me. Horses might leap sideways. It made my mouth turn dry.

‘Don’t worry, that was only Mr Henderson going into the post office,’ Mercy said. ‘Married a year and his wife still works in there. My mam says it’s all very
modern
.’

Which instantly made me think of that stupid blindfold game, and how Mr Henderson had met his future wife playing it. One person I prayed we wouldn’t meet today was Isaac Blake. The thought made me shrivel up with shame.

‘There isn’t anyone else up ahead, not even a dog,’ said Peg.

I sighed in relief. ‘Good. Onwards, then.’

In the main village street, Mercy grew more forceful in her guiding. ‘Watch the pothole to your left,’ then, ‘Stop! Horse coming!’ and ‘Step up onto the grass.’

Beneath my feet, the road turned to springy turf as we crossed the village green. From here it wasn’t far to the churchyard. Church Path lay before us, and beyond that the place itself. The walk hadn’t been too taxing, after all. It was good to smell spring grass and hear the birds again. Yet just when I relaxed a bit, Mercy stiffened at my side.

‘Uh-oh, bellringers up ahead,’ she muttered under her breath.

I braced myself. There’d be condolences now, questions after my health. I’d be polite, of course – they’d only mean well by asking. Then we’d move quickly on.

Except as we got closer, the men fell silent. There were no greetings, no enquiries after my health. In the end it was Mercy who spoke as we went by. ‘Morning, Mr Cleave! And to you, Mr Strawbridge and Mr Passmore! Isn’t it cold today?’

I didn’t hear a reply.

‘Why are those men staring?’ asked Peg, once we were out of earshot.

‘Don’t know,’ Mercy said.

‘They’re pointing at us. Look!’

‘Keep walking!’ said Mercy. ‘Don’t worry, Lizzie. I’m certain they weren’t pointing at you.’

Which, I sensed, meant they were.

Once we’d reached the churchyard, I told Peg to run on ahead to Mam’s grave.

‘Those bellringers,’ I said, once she’d gone. ‘It was me they were staring at, weren’t it?’

Mercy didn’t answer.

‘I feared it would be like this,’ I said, tears springing into my eyes. ‘I should’ve stayed at home.’

Mercy patted my arm. ‘You know what people are like when there’s been a tragedy. It’ll pass. They’ll be gossiping about Eden Court again by teatime.’

Sniffing back my tears, I hoped she was right. But it stung to be called a tragedy. I was just about to say so too, when Peg slid to a breathless halt in front of us.

‘It isn’t fair!’ she cried. ‘I hoped it’d be just us today but someone else is already at Mam’s grave!’

‘Who is it?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. They’ve got a long dark cloak on with shiny buttons down the front and they’re proper tall, too.’

The person didn’t sound familiar. Forgetting my
own troubles for a moment, I fumbled for Peg’s hand. ‘You’d better show us.’

We followed the path that led to the far corner of the churchyard, where the yew trees grew dark and glossy green. The air here was cold, winter air. Beneath our feet damp grass soaked into our skirt hems.

‘There, that’s the person,’ said Peg, stopping sharp.

‘Oooooh,’ breathed Mercy.

I’d no idea which direction we were facing. Or how far away from the stranger we were. Or, more importantly, what they’d seen.

‘Describe them, can’t you?’ I hissed.

Mercy breathed deep. ‘Well, it’s a man … no, wait … it might be a woman … no, maybe it’s …’

‘Which is it?’ I said, frustrated that I couldn’t see for myself. ‘It can’t be that hard to tell.’

‘It’s a man,’ said Peg. ‘And he’s got dark hair combed forward.’

I wondered if she’d made that last bit up. Especially when Mercy said, ‘No he hasn’t. He’s wearing a curled wig.’

‘Never mind that now, Mercy,’ I said. ‘Tell me what he’s doing.’

‘Umm.’ I pictured her peering with her eyes all screwed up. ‘He’s writing something down.’

‘Can you see what?’

‘It looks like he’s copying from your mam’s headstone.’

‘Are you sure?’

Peg cried ‘Shh!’

Then came the crackle of paper, the
swoosh
of a cloak. Footsteps thudded across the grass, away from us to the front of the church and the village green. A blackbird shrieked before the quiet settled heavily around us again.

‘Phew! He’s gone,’ said Mercy.

‘Back to Eden Court, I expect,’ I said, because it was dawning on me who this stranger probably was. There weren’t many in Sweepfield whose cloaks made that expensive, silken sound.

Mercy gasped. ‘You think he’s the scientist?’

‘He might be,’ Peg agreed. ‘He looks like a city sort.’

Mercy was keen to discuss it some more. But the episode had left me confused. Why on earth would a scientist be visiting my mother’s grave? I’d no idea. No idea at all. And right now my mind was too full to take it in.

Holding my hand, Peg led me across the grass to the spot where Mam lay.

‘It’s a small grave, but it’s proper nice. It’s got angel’s
wings on it, see?’ said Peg, placing my fingers on the headstone.

Slowly, I traced the curved lines. I tried to think of how pretty they must look, but all I felt was cold, rough stone. The churchyard smelled of rotting leaves, and from the dull light, I supposed we were right under trees. Poor Mam shouldn’t have been left somewhere this bleak; she should’ve been laid to rest in the sun.

Tears rolling down my face, I dropped to my knees. Peg knelt beside me, her elbow and hip pressed comfortingly against mine. We stayed like that until our legs ached and our skirts grew even damper.

‘All right?’ Peg asked me.

I sniffed. ‘Just about.’

Putting my hand out to push myself up, I felt something lying on the grass. It was a heavy, round, button-sized thing.

‘What’s this?’ I asked, holding it for the others to see.

‘That’s a brass button.’ Mercy breathed in sharply. ‘Or maybe it’s a gold one.’

‘Cor! Let me see!’ Peg said, leaning in close. ‘It’s got a shape on it, like a crest or something. It looks right expensive.’

‘I bet it belongs to that scientist man. It probably came off his cloak,’ I said, closing my fist around it.

‘He might come back for it,’ Mercy warned. ‘Or say he finds out you’ve got it and comes after
you
?’

The crying had worked loose something knotted up inside of me, and I felt bolder because of it. The worst had already happened: we’d lost our mam. There wasn’t much left in the world to be scared of, and that included scientists and bellringers.

‘I want to know why he was visiting Mam’s grave,’ I said, dropping the button into my pocket for safekeeping. ‘So
we’re
going after
him
.’