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“Now, the closer together the contour lines are,” said Mrs Coulter, pointing to some lines on a topographic map, “the steeper the slope.”
It was the middle of the afternoon, and Mrs Coulter was giving Lyra a geography lesson at the dining room table.
“Whoa!” Lyra exclaimed, “That mountain’s very tall and steep!”
Mrs Coulter chuckled delightedly. “It is rather impressive, isn’t it?”
She was watching Lyra closely, catching all of the girl’s reactions, not wanting to miss a single one. She loved the way Lyra’s eyes lit up when she was excited. When she absorbed new information about the world. How eager and interested the girl was to learn about new places, her elbows on the table constantly inching forwards, leaning as close as she could into the maps of the North in front of her. It looked to Mrs Coulter that Lyra would give anything to be able to simply step into the map and be transported onto that mountain and explore the great wilderness to her heart’s desires.
Mrs Coulter used to feel that way about exploration too. The fascination, mystery, and wonder of it all. But she was more fascinated by Lyra as of late. In fact, it was fair to say that Mrs Coulter was engrossed in studying Lyra as much as Lyra was engrossed in studying the maps. The girl was so innocent and precious that the woman, a soft smile seemingly etched permanently on her face these days, could hardly take her eyes off her.
“Wait, what does that say?” said Lyra. “Are they numbers? No, I think that’s a name. Oh, I can’t read it.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs Coulter, leaning forward herself. She was so close to Lyra that her shoulder brushed lightly against the girl’s, and for some reason the contact felt anbarically charged. A spark flickered deep down inside her, the very same place where she had felt others not so long ago, the first being when the girl had unexpectedly thrown her arms around her the night of the dinner at Jordan College, and again when Mrs Coulter had shown her around the apartment and the bedroom that she had prepared carefully and specially for Lyra, the place where they were to live together. The sparks were jolting, including the one she felt right now. But they were jolting in a good way, because they made Mrs Coulter feel very much alive.
Following Lyra’s finger, Mrs Coulter took a look at the tiny markings. Unfortunately the ink had a slightly smudged and discoloured appearance on the aged parchment, and she struggled to identify them herself. “That’s the problem with old maps, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes met Lyra’s and she noticed them deflate ever so slightly. It was the smallest change, but Mrs Coulter refused to be the bearer of any disappointment to her, not if she could help it. Let those honey brown eyes keep shining, she thought.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Mrs Coulter, “I have a magnifying glass which might help. I think I left it on my nightstand in my bedroom. Would you be a dear, and get it for me?”
“Okay,” said Lyra with a smile, and Pantalaimon jumped from her lap, changing from a white ermine to a butterfly.
Lyra made her way down the hallway, Pantalaimon fluttering close to her head. They hadn’t been inside Mrs Coulter’s bedroom before, mostly because the door was always kept shut, but they also stayed away from it out of respect because it was the woman’s home, and Lyra could tell that privacy was important to her. Mrs Coulter had given her permission to enter though, and she was curious to see the inside.
When she reached the room she twisted the handle and pushed the door open slowly, almost as if in anticipation. It was shiny and clean, and furnished and decorated like most of the rooms. But there was nothing in particular that stood out or caught her interest. She decided then that there was nothing special about Mrs Coulter’s bedroom. It was merely an extension of the apartment.
Lyra walked up to the bed and over to the nightstand where she saw a lamp, a few books, a scented candle, and a notepad and pen. There didn’t appear to be a magnifying glass on the nightstand but she figured it could be hiding. She pushed the books forward a bit and picked up the candle, but still she couldn’t see any magnifying glass. Her nose caught a partial scent of the candle as she moved it about and it smelt divine, so she brought it up close and inhaled deeply. The smell instantly reminded her of trees. And there was something else amongst it as well. Something sweet, like vanilla perhaps. She found herself smiling because somehow the candle was a perfect mixture of outside and inside. It was delicious and comforting. Mrs Coulter had great taste.
She smelled the candle a couple more times and then placed it back gently on the nightstand remembering why she was in Mrs Coulter’s room in the first place. If the magnifying glass wasn’t on top of the nightstand then maybe she had left it inside one of the drawers. She pulled open the top drawer to find a small and neat stack of brown folders, which Lyra knew was to do with the woman’s work because she had seen her going through identical looking folders on numerous occasions over the past few weeks.
Lyra didn’t like the idea of going through her things so she barely glanced at them and didn’t touch anything. She closed the drawer and opened the bottom one, only to find it full of silky soft looking clothing. Pyjamas, she figured. As she closed the bottom drawer an image of the top drawer’s contents popped into her head and she realised that something was out of place. She reopened it and instantly saw what it was that was different. Underneath the neat brown stack of folders was a white corner of something sticking out. She lifted up the folders and slid the object out from its corner.
She recognised what the object was immediately. It was a photogram. A monochrome photogram of a baby and its dӕmon. She shared a confused but intrigued look with Pantalaimon, and wondered why Mrs Coulter would have a photogram of a baby.
Lyra sat down on the bed and looked closely at the photogram. Pantalaimon followed suit and settled in her lap as a white ermine, staring and thinking about the baby together with his human. They hadn’t spent much time around babies before, but Lyra thought the one in the photogram looked cute with its little dimpled smile.
What was it one of the Scholars at Jordan had told her once? A photogram is worth a thousand words?… So what did this photogram mean to Mrs Coulter?
“Did you find it, Lyra?” came the woman’s distant and musical voice, coupled with the clacking of her heels approaching down the hallway. “It might be on my desk.”
Lyra was too intrigued by her find to consider feeling guilty about going through Mrs Coulter’s personal things, and the idea to quickly put it back before Mrs Coulter came into the room and pretend she’d never found it never registered. So Lyra and Pantalaimon stayed right where they were and continued gazing at the photogram.
Mrs Coulter and the golden monkey soon reached the doorway. The woman stopped when she saw Lyra sitting on the bed. Her tone was warm, playful almost. “What’s that you’ve got, dear?”
But her face dropped immediately as she realised what Lyra was holding in her hands. In a matter of seconds Mrs Coulter had gone from having one of the best days in her life to being completely and utterly terrified. She was scared of the truth. She was scared the truth was about to ruin everything, and a weary and familiar sadness crept up on her and began to resettle over her heart.
“Mrs Coulter?” said Lyra slowly. “Why do you have a photogram of a baby? Do you—” She looked up and met the woman’s eyes. “Did you have a baby?”
Mrs Coulter didn’t respond at first, not knowing whether to tell the truth or a lie. But she found herself nodding and replied quietly. “I did. Yes.”
“A boy or a girl?”
Mrs Coulter smiled softly. “A girl.”
“You had a daughter?” Lyra said, her voice full of wonder. She sat up straighter. This was very interesting to her. She never would have guessed that about Mrs Coulter. “What happened to her?”
Mrs Coulter paused for a moment and studied Lyra’s eyes carefully. They were gentle and inquisitive, but they were also unyielding. It was like she needed to know more. Well, she couldn’t take back what she’d already revealed. And it would be too cruel and unfair to lie to the girl about it now, as scary as that was for Mrs Coulter.
She sat down on the bed next to Lyra, stared into the middle distance of the room, and gave a mournful sigh. “She was taken from me. The day after she was born.”
Lyra’s mouth parted slightly in shock and she felt instantly sorry for the woman. “That must have been awful. But— But why would someone take away your baby?”
“Her father…” Mrs Coulter shook her head, not knowing how to explain it, “…he thought I wasn’t in my right mind. That I wouldn’t take care of her properly. That I was going to harm her.”
“That can’t be true!” Lyra exclaimed indignantly. Had the man been in the bedroom with them both right now she would have scowled at him. She would have stood in front of Mrs Coulter so that she could stop him from saying or doing anything mean to her. She would have gotten to him when he was alone and played all sorts of annoying pranks and tricks on him to make his life hard.
“I’m not a good person, Lyra,” said Mrs Coulter, interrupting the girl’s thoughts and catching her eyes.
Lyra frowned, confused.
“At least,” Mrs Coulter continued, her voice filling with sadness as she looked away from Lyra again, “that’s what some people think about me. What they say about me.” She laughed wryly to herself at her choice of words. It wasn’t ‘some people’. It was ‘most’ if not ‘everyone’. And all of them for reasons she had stopped counting a long time ago.
Lyra noticed the tears that were welling up in Mrs Coulter’s eyes, but she could tell the woman was fighting them back. She felt upset for her. She wanted to say something, no, needed to say something to cheer her up and make her feel better.
“That en’t true,” Lyra began earnestly. “That just en’t true. You’re one of the kindest, most smartest people I know. And you really can take good care of a child. ‘Cause you’ve taken good care of me. And that’s sayin’ something ‘cause I en’t easy to look after. Just ask Mrs Lonsdale, and she’d have hundreds of stories about how impossible I am to keep track of, and keep clean.”
Mrs Coulter was listening to her intently, so Lyra continued.
“You give the best baths, did you know? I en’t never had bubbles before. They smell so nice it’s like havin’ flowers in the bath. And you don't use boilin’ hot water, and you don’t scrub and scratch hard like Mrs Lonsdale. I used to hate havin’ to take a bath, but now it's one of my favourite things ‘cause of you. And you brush my hair real soft-like afterwards. It’s a nice feelin’... Peaceful-like.”
Mrs Coulter smiled pleasantly for a moment. But it soon dropped again as she realised the duality to Lyra’s words. The child had practically grown up half-wild, running about the streets of Oxford unsupervised. She had grown up without the simple luxury of a nice bath. She had grown up without the simple pleasure of having one’s hair gently brushed by another person. And Mrs Coulter only had herself to blame. She should have done things so much differently. She should have tried harder. Fought harder.
“Yes, well…” said Mrs Coulter, trying hard not to spiral downwards in Lyra’s presence, “…her father didn’t think me capable of good care like that. In fact, I believe he wanted to punish me.” She laughed wryly again, knowing she deserved it.
Lyra became more indignant on Mrs Coulter’s behalf the more the woman became visibly upset. How could her husband have been so cruel to her? She recalled the Master telling her that Mrs Coulter’s husband had died, and the fact that he had told her so as not to be impertinent, and to think twice before asking Mrs Coulter any questions about her husband. But there was a child involved now. Mrs Coulter’s daughter.
Lyra needed to know what happened. Maybe there was something she could do to help Mrs Coulter. It just wasn’t right to see someone so strong be so upset.
“So,” said Lyra, ignoring the Master’s advice, “Mr Coulter took her away from you?”
Mrs Coulter took a deep breath and met Lyra’s eyes. “My husband wasn’t the father. It was—” She faltered and took another breath. This was it. There was no going back after this. “It was Asriel.”
“Asriel?” said Lyra, understandably shocked. “My Asriel? Uncle Asriel?”
Mrs Coulter nodded silently.
Lyra, perplexed, looked away and stared at the floor. She suddenly remembered Mrs Coulter mentioning Asriel’s name as they came out of the dining hall at Jordan. Mrs Coulter had said that they knew each other. But just how well they knew each other, that had obviously been kept from her entirely. Why didn’t she know about this? Why hadn’t Asriel mentioned anything about his child or Mrs Coulter?
“I didn’t know he had a child,” Lyra finally said with a bitter sadness. Apparently she wasn’t important enough to her uncle to be told such things. But there was no ‘apparently’ about it. Lyra knew that for a fact. That her uncle simply didn’t care about her enough to be told about this. Or visit her. Or much of anything, really.
But then she realised something absolutely wonderful, and her eyes lit up brightly, a big smile replacing her frown which wiped away the hurt she had been feeling just now. She looked up and met Mrs Coulter’s eyes, her excitement barely controllable. “But— Wouldn’t that make you my Aunt? Sort of? And…does that mean I have a cousin?”
She was utterly amazed and ecstatic because she was an orphan and she had always dreamed of being part of a family. And now, the idea of family wasn’t just a dream to her anymore, it was right there in front of her, and she was reaching for it with searching hands.
“Where is she now? What happened to her? Is she—” Lyra’s excitement stalled and she stopped herself just in time from asking the woman if her child had died.
“She’s alive,” Mrs Coulter said in a reserved tone, for she was beginning to feel herself unravel at Lyra’s passionate jump to the wrong conclusions. Perhaps she shouldn’t reveal the whole truth to her. Perhaps extended family would be better for both of them.
Lyra breathed a sigh of relief. “How old is she?”
“She…she would be twelve, now.”
Lyra's mouth fell open in pure excitement again. “The same age as me!”
Mrs Coulter took the photogram from Lyra’s hand and held it delicately inside her own. She gazed at the baby she had brought into this world for a moment with soft eyes, the way she had done so hundreds, no, thousands of times before, and in that moment she knew she couldn’t lie to Lyra. Her heart craved to have more with Lyra. And that craving outweighed her fears of rejection. She put the photogram down on the bed.
“Lyra, come here,” said Mrs Coulter gently, taking Lyra's hands into hers. She could feel that her voice was beginning to tremble. It was too difficult to look the girl in the eye just now, so when she eventually spoke she did so looking at their connected hands.
“When my child was taken from me, she was placed in a nunnery. After that she was taken to a— She was taken to a college where they granted her Scholastic Sanctuary.”
Mrs Coulter inhaled unsteadily knowing that things would never be the same between them after her next words. She licked her lips and continued.
“Three weeks ago, I went to that college, I had dinner with her…” her electric blue eyes lifted slowly and when she met Lyra’s awaiting eyes she was so overcome with emotion and passion that her voice was reduced to a whisper, “…and I got her back.”
“I’m—?” said Lyra breathlessly, her eyebrows knitting together in surprise and shock. She looked away from Mrs Coulter and down at the photogram on the bed. It was her and Pan. She had been looking at herself and talking about herself all this time. But that would mean—
Her searching eyes met Mrs Coulter’s once more. “You’re…you’re my—?” Lyra noticed something different in the woman’s eyes. There was a new found depth to them. A sincerity, a truth. “I— I've never—” She was very confused, shocked, and overwhelmed. Her life had just been turned upside down.
“I have a mother?” Lyra finally managed to say.
Mrs Coulter nodded cautiously, not sure how Lyra was taking the information.
But Lyra threw her arms around her. It was a reaction to the pure shock of it at first, the fact that her mother wasn’t dead. That she was no longer an orphan. Then she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tightly around her, clinging to the woman. She had a mother! Lyra couldn’t believe it! She’d never been so happy.
But then— Asriel. The man she had wanted to protect Mrs Coulter from, not a few minutes ago, wasn’t the woman’s husband, but Lyra’s uncle. Her father. Even though he frightened her terribly, the way she was feeling right now she would have given him what for, had he been in the same room as her.
Lyra unfastened her arms and pulled away from Mrs Coulter, her happiness snuffed out like a candle. “Asriel…he’s my father?”
Mrs Coulter could only nod.
“But—” Lyra shook her head in disbelief. Surely this couldn’t be true. “But why would he take me away from you? You’re one of the nicest people I know. He took me away from my mother? He told me my parents died…he said they died in an airship accident. He’s my father? But even he never— He never wanted to see me. I was lucky if I got to see him once a year. He said he didn’t have time for me. He took me away from you, and then he abandoned me? I grew up without either of you.”
It pained Mrs Coulter greatly to see Lyra in such pain, and yet, she didn’t know what to do or say to her.
“But—” Lyra continued, addressing Mrs Coulter directly now, “why didn’t you come for me? Why didn’t you visit me? Why didn’t you come for me sooner? You didn’t come. Why didn’t you come?”
“I wanted to,” said Mrs Coulter, reaching out and squeezing the girl’s hand, hoping to provide some comfort. “I wasn’t allowed. I was forbidden by law. But not a day went by where I didn’t think of you.”
She let go of Lyra’s hand and picked up the photogram again. She stroked it gently, always regretting what could have been. Always pining over what had been taken from her.
“But then the law changed,” said Mrs Coulter, her lips pulling up into a hopeful smile and meeting Lyra’s gaze once more, “and I was finally able to see you.” She hoped Lyra wouldn’t ask about why the law had changed. Asriel’s imprisonment was not something she cared to discuss right now. This was about her and Lyra. But luckily for her, the girl was too focused on the fact that she now had parents to even worry or notice a detail like that.
Lyra was suddenly realising that the photogram must mean a lot to Mrs Coulter because she kept it close to her when she was asleep, and because she had kept it after all this time. She thought the woman was just really kind to her because she liked her and enjoyed being in her company. But it was more than that. It was because she cared deeply for her.
Something had stirred in Lyra’s heart when she noticed how fondly Mrs Coulter looked at the baby in the photogram. When she looked at her. No one in the world had ever looked at her so lovingly before. But she tried her hardest not to think about these revelations and feelings just now in order to remain clear headed, because something about it was still upsetting her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were my mother?” said Lyra indignantly. “You should have told me when you came to Jordan.”
Mrs Coulter shook her head helplessly, sadness capturing her eyes once more. “I didn’t know how to tell you. And I didn’t know if you’d like me.”
“Like you?” Lyra was as puzzled as she had ever been.
Mrs Coulter was aware that Lyra liked her as a woman, as an acquaintance, as a mentor. But as a mother?...
“I don’t know how to be a mother, Lyra. I never got the chance. I was afraid…I was afraid once you started living with me, once you got to know me, that you wouldn’t like me. That I wouldn’t do right by you or do enough for you. That maybe you’d hate me. And I’d understand if you did. I would understand if you hate me after all this. It’s okay if you do.”
She looked away from Lyra and stared at the photogram in her hand again. It was probably all she would ever have of her now, because her daughter would want to leave. She would want nothing to do with her. And her eyes flooded with water while her heart began to crack.
Lyra could see that Mrs Coulter, that her mother was in pain. She leaned closer to her, inched her finger towards her downcast face, and wiped away a tear from the woman’s cheek.
“I don’t hate you,” said Lyra sincerely.
Mrs Coulter returned her gaze to Lyra, in awe of the girl’s closeness. She sniffed and blinked back her tears. “You don’t?”
Lyra shook her head. “I’m just upset you didn’t tell me sooner. ‘Cause I’d be proud to be your daughter.”
Mrs Coulter stared at Lyra for the longest time, her breathing fast, her throat tightening, her tears still threatening to fall. “You would?” she whispered.
Lyra nodded.
“Lyra,” Mrs Coulter breathed, her bright blue eyes crinkling with happiness.
It was hard for Lyra not to smile back at her mother. They simply stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.
“Do I—” Lyra began, but she hesitated and looked away self-consciously.
“Lyra?” said Mrs Coulter softly, reaching out. She placed her fingers under Lyra’s chin and gently tilted the girl’s face up so that it was level with hers. “Lyra, dear, what is it?”
“Well…I just wondered. Do I— Can I call you ‘mother’ instead of Mrs Coulter, now?”
Mrs Coulter’s mouth opened and closed without saying anything. She was too overwhelmed to be able to say anything. She just gazed at her daughter in love and wonder.
Lyra began to panic when Mrs Coulter didn’t respond, so she quickly added, “If that’s okay with you?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Coulter, nodding and chuckling softly. She moved her hand up to Lyra’s cheek and stroked it gently with her thumb. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
Lyra was so overjoyed and overcome with happiness that she clambered onto the bed and got on her knees, allowing her reach to extend further. She threw her arms around her mother’s neck, while Mrs Coulter wrapped her arms securely around her daughter’s back, squeezing and pulling her close.
They hugged and held on to each other fiercely, because they had just become a family.
“Thank you, mother,” Lyra murmured into Mrs Coulter’s neck. She was trembling with emotion. “Thank you for coming back for me when you could.”
Mrs Coulter sighed blissfully and thankfully, and murmured softly back to her, “I never left you, my darling.”
Because she hadn’t.
Even though she had been forbidden from seeing her daughter all those years, it hadn’t stopped her from thinking about Lyra. She had her precious photogram of the girl which she had looked at every day, and had taken with her everywhere she went whenever she left London. Her daughter had always been with her, and she had always been with Lyra, even though they’d been apart. And even if the photogram of her child had never existed, she had always felt that connection, that pull, that bond to Lyra deep within her heart.
And as Mrs Coulter held on to her daughter, the photogram clutched safely in her left hand, she felt more than just a spark this time, but a whole fire which had ignited inside every part of her – mind, body, and soul – and she knew that she loved her Lyra very much. She couldn’t wait to spend more time with her, and learn everything she could about her, and teach the girl everything she knew about the big wide world.
As for Lyra, she had been so very wrong about Mrs Coulter’s bedroom. It was perhaps the most special room in the entire apartment. Not only was it her mother’s bedroom, but it was also a place where a part of her had lived without her ever knowing, both in the form of that monochrome photogram, and in the everyday thoughts of the woman who wasn’t a kind stranger that had taken a keen interest in her, but was in fact her mother who cared about her very much.
Lyra’s life had changed in this room. It was where she had discovered she wasn’t alone in the world. That she did indeed have a family. Asriel might not care about her, but her mother sure did. And that wasn’t something she was ever going to forget.