When Stars Align: Part 1

Herefordshire, December 1889

Martin rubbed his sleeve against the fogged-up glass of the carriage window. Outside, he could see nothing but blackness. A few twinkles of light from nearby cottages shot through the gaps in the hedgerow, but only when the carriage would tilt at just the right moment to allow them through.

Despite the darkness, he could still make out the snowflakes landing on the windowpane, before they slowly melted and dripped out of sight. The only sounds to pierce the carriage walls were those of the wind whistling wildly outside and the horses’ hooves as they crunched on the ground. The three occupants sat in silence, until Frances piped up.

‘I thought the decoration was rather lovely,’ she said, lacing her voice with as much sweetness as she could.

‘Yes,’ replied Richard. ‘Although a bit gaudy, even for the festive season.’

‘Oh don’t be such a grump, it is a known fact that you don’t enjoy anything festive. Isn’t that right Martin?’

‘Hm?’ He hadn’t been listening to them at all. He was far too absorbed in seeing which droplets would reach the bottom of the windowpane first.

‘He forever has his head in the clouds, doesn’t he Richard?’

Frances was always eager to muster other’s support for her opinion. It wasn’t so much the principle of the argument that she was interested in, but instead who she could coax into an alliance with her.

‘And why shouldn’t he, with such a boring conversation partner.’

Frances’ face turned red with fury at this, and within an instant, she was slinging a flurry of insults at her brother. Martin had been friends with the Arkwright siblings ever since he met Richard at school, and as an only child, had quickly been taken under both their wings. This did not keep him out of the firing line of their quarrels though.

‘Martin, am I really a bore?’ Frances demand, rather than asked.

He opened his mouth to speak before deciding to close it again. He knew whatever he said would put him at odds with one of the siblings.

‘See! He agrees,’ Richard said triumphantly.

‘He does not. He hasn’t even answered yet.’

‘His silence was as good as any answer he could have given.’

Martin saw now that he had no other option but to speak up.

‘I really don’t think you’re a bore Frances, but—’

‘I knew it. It’s like I’m always telling you Richard, Martin prefers me by leaps and bounds.’ Now it was her turn to relish in victory.

‘Martin, you cannot seriously prefer Frances over me. Was it not I who took a shining to you first?’

Martin’s cheeks flushed at this. He could not deny that it had been Richard who he initially gravitated to, but that was for reasons he could not disclose to anyone but himself. His mind flashed with images of his first day at Hereford College as a boarder.

There had not been a familiar face in sight. His parents did not even make the effort to drop him off themselves. Instead, he was sent with his nanny, who sat opposite him with pursed lips and a sympathetic look in her eyes. He fidgeted awkwardly on the overstuffed leather seat as the carriage neared the school, his new uniform itching at his neck and wrists.

‘It’ll be alright,’ his nanny tried to reassure him. ‘There will be other boys there your age, nervous for their first day, just as you are.’

But none of them were, at least not outwardly. As Martin waked across the schoolyard alone, they eyed him up, as though they were foxes who had spotted a hare. He fiddled with his fingers awkwardly. They slipped against each other, coated with a thin layer of sweat despite the early autumn chill.

He went through the whole first week without making any friends. He ate alone in the refectory, and at night, he was forced to listen to sniggers in the dormitory. He was sure they were at his expense. Then, the day before his first Sabbath at the school stretched before him like a yawning chasm, he met Richard.

Despite having quickly made friends of his own, Richard sympathised Martin. He had never been without his sister before, and his schoolmates did little to take the edge off the separation. Through this, he could, in some small way at least, relate to Martin’s isolation.

Before long, he had taken the quiet boy under his wing and brought him into the fold of things. Martin was thankful for this, although he rarely interacted with the other boys he was now introduced to, instead clinging to Richard as though he were some lost puppy.

It was this image that burned in his mind as he weighed up which sibling he preferred. Though he had met Frances through her brother, and had grown quite close to her in that he felt he could impart secrets on her that he could not with him, it was Richard who he felt the most loyalty to.

Both brother and sister stared at him as they waited with bated breath for his answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, a loud crack was heard and the carriage tipped violently to one side, throwing all three into a heap.

‘What on the bloody hell was that?’ Richard barked at the driver, who was lying dazed on the ground outside the window they were all pressed against.

Within a few minutes, they were all stood shivering in the snow, looking down forlornly at a few pieces of broken wood that had once made up a wheel. The driver squatted beside the remains, looking over them as though he hoped to magically patch them back together.

‘We must’ve hit a pothole, and a big one at that,’ he stated glumly.

‘Didn’t you see it coming? Surely you should’ve been keeping an eye out for them,’ Richard chided the man.

The driver stood up, his face red with fury. Before he could argue back though, Martin jumped in to diffuse the situation.

‘The snow probably buried it. It has been falling for a good few hours, probably long enough to fill every pothole in the county.’

Richard could think of nothing to retort with. He forced his lips together tightly. He was much less inclined to get into an argument with Martin than he had been with the driver.

Frances was the first to voice the question playing on all their minds.

‘Well, what are we to do now?’

Images

• Preview Image: Pollard, J. Mail Coach Descending a Hill in a Snow Storm [Photograph]. Wikimedia Commons. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LONDON_TO_GLASGOW_MAIL_COACH_IN_THE_SNOW_%29.jpg