Lise Leitner - The Alderman's Ledger

‘Excuse me sir, what’s your name? Where did you say you were headed?’

The coachman had waved a hand in front of his face briefly and briskly, clearly on edge that he’d said something wrong. 

‘Apologies,’ Elijah said quickly. ‘Long journey, you know. The name’s Elijah. Elijah Whittlesey.’

His new name still felt foreign in his mouth, each syllable requiring care and effort as he tried to pronounce them as though they’d left his lips ever since he had been a little boy. His brother had never had that problem when he was alive, always puffing out his chest and announcing his name to the room every opportunity he got. Elijah made a mental note to put a bit more bravado in his speech and to assume the same degree of unwarranted confidence and class when speaking.

‘Collins Street Melbourne’s the destination. I’ve rented a house there to take up my lodgings. That journey doable?’

‘Certainly! Should be able to make good time if we leave promptly,’ the coachman replied in his sing-song voice.

‘Excellent. And I’ll throw in a bonus if we can hurry things up a bit.’

‘Can do, sir, no trouble.’ The coachman gave him a toothy grin and opened the door of the coach with a flourish. It wasn’t hard to understand why the man was in a good mood; the journey to Melbourne would be arduous in the oppressive heat, but it would also mean considerable coin for him. ‘Please sir,’ he said unctuously, gesturing towards the coach for Elijah to get in. ‘After you.’

‘Oh, naturally.’ Elijah half expected the coachman to pull out a small stepladder, but then he was a man now, and there were no more skirts in the way to warrant needing one anymore. He placed his hands inside the doorway and heaved himself inside. No sooner had he stumbled aboard than the coachman slammed the door shut unceremoniously behind him.

He had expected this part of the journey to be the easiest. They were on solid ground now, after all, and his nights would no longer be filled with the sways of a ship, making him feel like Jonah, trapped in the stomach of a whale. And yet, he missed the openness of the ocean. The inside of the coach was small, cramped, and humid, and only had two narrow wooden benches facing each other. On one side, a young mother and a little boy were already nestled in. The boy was fast asleep against his mother’s side, his face partially obscured by the folds in her dress. Elijah noticed that they must have already been on the road for a while; both their faces were red and splotchy, and their foreheads shone with a thin layer of sweat.

Normally at this time of year, the London weather would be warming up, full of soft breezes and the smell of grass, but then London was a faraway city now, a pinprick on the horizon. When the ship had left the bay in Dover, Louisa had openly wept. Their brother had looked out at their home one last time, stony-faced. The only thing that had given his true feelings away was a lone muscle in his jaw, twitching and jumping. They all knew that a return journey wasn’t a given. Nor was a safe arrival on the other side.

As a family, they had never been rich but always comfortable, and their father, ever the well-connected working gentleman, had paid a handsome price for the journey. Nevertheless, ‘comfortable’ wasn’t a word Elijah would’ve used to describe their passage, especially since, out of all three family members who boarded the RMS Ocean Star, he was the only survivor. Whenever he thought of the journey now, it felt abstract and far removed from his own reality, as if he was looking at his own memories from behind a thick pane of glass. Yet, the images of the crew throwing the dead bodies into sea each morning, each sewn into a canvas bag, haunted him, and the way the dead floated in the foamy-watered wake of the ship, like uneven stones on a horrifying path, still occupied his dreams at night. His unease must have registered on his face, for when he sat down on the empty bench the woman opposite him stared openly, her eyes sweeping over him in apparent judgement. He gave her a curt nod in acknowledgement hoping that would perhaps appease or warm her, but all she did was shift her gaze towards the window, her eyes fixed on the landscape sliding past.

‘Alright, off we go!’ The coachman’s voice sounded vaguely hollow, coming from the top of the carriage outside.

Neither of his fellow passengers acknowledged their departure, which suited Elijah just fine. Speaking, unfortunately, was one of the things that still frightened him. Growing up, his voice had been called melodic. Now all he wanted was for it to sound low and authoritative.

The carriage began to move at a slow, uneven pace. Outside, dusk was starting to fall. The view, if anything, was uneventful, and had been so since his arrival. All he’d laid eyes on had been the docks at Sandrige Pier: nothing but large wooden sheds drawn up out of necessity, and crowds, mud and sand everywhere.

In the glasses’ reflection, he could see the woman’s eyes pinned on him once again.

‘Long journey, eh?’

Elijah detected a slight Irish lilt in her speech. He cleared his throat nervously, vaguely hoping it would make him sound more manly. ‘Yes, indeed.’

‘Where from?’

‘England.’

‘Everyone make it across?’

‘Sadly no.’ He coughed curtly again. A tremor had crept into his voice, and he swallowed rapidly to disguise his discomfort. Too nervous to look directly at her, he fixed his eyes firmly on the ground. ‘My two sisters, rest their souls, passed at sea.’

‘Oh.’ She grimaced. ‘My apologies. Didn’t mean to intrude.’

‘No harm done.’

‘Lost my father too, a few weeks in.’ The woman’s tone had softened. ‘They promised us nothing but safety and uneventful weather. We got hit by a storm mid-way through.’

Elijah looked up.
‘I’m so sorry to hear it.’

‘Thank you, but nothing you can do about it now, is there?’ She continued, misty-eyed. ‘I’m hoping my boy will remember his grandfather, but you know how young minds can be. Thoughts and fancies come and go like the wind.’

Looking at her, Elijah thought that she seemed slightly dazed, playing with a lock of her child’s hair; he was relieved that she seemed to have taken his trembling voice for a rare display of male emotion.

‘Yes. Long journey for a child. I myself was onboard the Ocean Star for about two and a half months.’

‘Ah. That explains the state of your trousers.’

Elijah glanced down at his feet. Indeed, his shoes and trouser legs were covered in mud.

‘Well,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘Hygiene isn’t always a given when you’re at sea.’