The Pearl in the Ice

plane tree. It was as broad as her hand. She rolled it up and put it in her mouth as if it were a cigar. She must look awfully smart with her head tilted back against the trunk of the tree and her legs in their sailcloth trousers stretched out along the branch. She must look just like the illustration of the ‘new woman’ in Ivy’s Society News.
‘The new woman wears satin pantaloons and a turban. She neglects the pianoforte to smoke cigarettes of Turkish tobacco and rings her soulful eyes with kohl. The new woman is mistress of her own destiny. When she speaks, the world listens.’ (How that last sentence made the hairs on the back of Marina’s neck stand on end. She found it hard to make anyone, even Ivy, their housekeeper, listen to her.)
Marina turned to see if Edward could see her looking so very new, lost her balance and nearly toppled into the froth of green leaves below.
‘You’ll be forced to wear a skirt,’ he added. ‘No more dressing like a boy.’
Trust Edward to puncture her plump, inflated dream. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go.’
‘Have you spoken to your father?’
Marina chewed her lip. All these dreams of being a ‘new woman’ who could speak up for herself dissolved when she spoke to her father. When he looked at her, his small intelligent eyes focused intently, his quick mind already formulating a reply; it was as if he had the power to steal her voice.
‘He’s been too busy getting ready for his command,’ she mumbled. ‘He locks himself away in the library. Ivy has to leave his meals on a tray outside the door.’
‘Understandable,’ Edward reasoned. ‘It’s a big job, commanding a battleship. And the new class of dreadnought at that.’ And under his breath, with great admiration, he whispered, ‘All those guns.’
Marina didn’t share Edward’s fascination with gun turrets and bore sizes and how many shells could be launched in a minute, so she always ignored him when he started on about them.
‘When’s your father leaving?’
‘Six o’clock for the train to Portsmouth.’ Marina felt her chest get tight. Everything was changing. ‘The Neptune sails tomorrow.’
‘It won’t be all bad,’ Edward said. ‘At your new school.’
‘Easy for you to say! You get to go to a school with lessons in a forest and . . . and . . . boys and girls are treated the same. And you’ll do painting and sculpture and . . .’
‘But you’ll have a lovely time doing embroidery!’ He laughed. ‘And French composition. Although how anyone thinks it’s possible to turn you into a lady . . .’ He snorted as he waved at her legs in their navy trousers. ‘Hell will freeze over first.’
‘I’ll run away,’ she whispered. She had never said this out loud, although she had thought it many times.
‘Bit extreme,’ Edward replied, unfazed. His sensible, easy nature was the thing that Marina most liked about him. She found that she was always interested in and usually surprised by his views, even if they were very different from her own. (Apart from when he wittered on about the guns on dreadnoughts.) Neither of them tried to convince the other of something: they simply enjoyed each other’s company without question.
‘Could you write to your mother?’ he offered. ‘Ask for her help?’
‘I wouldn’t know where to send the letter.’ Marina swallowed.
‘She won’t come back?’
‘It’s been too long.’ Marina shrugged. ‘She left when I was small. You know this – I’ve told you.’
After a thoughtful silence, Edward said, ‘Maybe she went home. Have you ever thought about that? My mother did. After the baby before last. She said we were all too noisy and spoilt and she couldn’t think straight. She didn’t come back for . . . for . . .’ He squinted as he tried to remember. ‘It was a long time, anyway. When she did finally come home, Maudie cried and told her that all we’d had to eat was cold sago pudding. Which was true. Father can’t cook and Cook had given her notice and gone to work for the Stanleys. And then Mother cried. Even Father got his handkerchief out and blew his nose.’ He shook his head. ‘Barmy.’
‘My mother won’t come back now,’ Marina said, trying to sound as if she didn’t care. ‘It’s been too long.’ Another thought. ‘I’ve grown so much, she wouldn’t recognize me even if she did.’
‘Bad luck,’ Edward said, and she was grateful for his sensitive reply. She knew that being the sort of boy he was – straightforward, helpful and decent – he wouldn’t bring up the subject again.
‘Even so, I wish my father wouldn’t go away. I wish he wouldn’t send me to that wretched Ladies’ College.’
‘What can’t be cured must be endured.’
‘You’re not a vicar, so you can stop preaching.’ She swung her leg over the branch to try and kick him. Pointless as he was too far away, but she needed to show him how annoyed she was.
‘Marina! Marinaaaaaa!’ She jumped in surprise at the sound of her father’s voice, bellowing from the house.
‘My father’s leaving.’ She threw herself into the dancing sea of green and gold leaves.
‘Don’t worry, Marina.’ Edward’s voice followed her. ‘School can’t possibly be as bad as you imagine. Nothing ever is.’

2
‘Marina!’
She chased her father’s voice through the scullery and up the stairs. The old house, with its broad floorboards and panelled walls taken from ships captained by long-dead Denhams, creaked appreciatively under her quick, light steps.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been calling for you.’ Her father stood in the hall, his old blue kitbag at his feet, looking at one of the sea charts on the wall.
Marina thought how tall and handsome he looked, with his thick dark hair and a full dark beard threaded with silver. Wearing his naval uniform – so many shining brass buttons and so much gold braid – he was less her dear father and more the upright Commander Patrick Denham of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Marina came and slipped her small hand into