The Secrets of Palmerston House

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

With Martha behind them, Thomas headed for Palmerston House, resisting the urge to plant his foot on the accelerator. Christie had several attempts at dialling.

  “Deep breath. Relax your fingers. Darn it, doesn’t your phone let you dial by voice?”

  “No. Maybe.” She tried again. The panic in her voice as she spoke to Martin cut through Thomas.

  He avoided town by taking the road closer to the beach, but Martha went into town. He had no idea why, but had enough to worry about.

  Christie dropped her phone into her bag. “He’s going straight there.”

  “Good. Hold it together.”

  “What if...”

  “What ifs don’t matter.”

  “She sounded dreadful. As if—”

  “As if she’s had a terrible scare. We’re almost there.” He had to think about gears again as he slowed to turn. Sports cars were different. Rather nice to drive. But different. “And the ambulance is coming.”

  “Why was Bernie there? Didn’t Trev tell him not to go there?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “Where is Trev? I’ll call him.”

  Anything to keep her occupied.

  “Trev, when you get this please call me. It’s Christie. There’s been an... I mean, Bernie Cooper has hurt Angus.” Her voice faltered and Thomas looked at her, shocked at how pale she was. “Please come to Palmerston.” She finally managed.

  “Christie, you need to stop thinking the worst. Where’s my girl who’s always positive?”

  Thomas drove through the gates of Palmerston House and almost before he pulled up to one side of the driveway, Christie was clambering out.

  “Go. I’m not far behind.” Thomas turned off the engine and opened the door. “If I can get out.” With his hand, he leveraged one leg out, then the other. Christie was almost at the front door of the house.

  “Need help?” Martin appeared from nowhere, panting a bit and offering his hand to Thomas.

  “These things are too low.” Thomas grabbed on and let Martin help him. “Not as young as I once was.”

  “Why are you driving it?”

  “Christie isn’t coping. Go on, I’ll straighten up and follow in a minute.”

  Martin followed Christie, bounding up the steps in her wake.

  “Wish I could still do that.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Christie ran through the open front doorway of Palmerston House.

  Where are they?

  The foyer was empty. What had Elizabeth said... something about the cellar.

  “Angus?” Her cry echoed back.

  Christie ran to the kitchen. She almost slid through the kitchen doorway, grabbing the edge of the table as she saw the crowbar, hammer, and knife laid out. A torch was on the floor near the doorway to the cellar and she scooped it up.

  “Elizabeth!”

  “Down here.”

  Christie hurtled down the old steps. She remembered the storage room from the day Elizabeth took her there to recover a photograph of the cottage, taken when Thomas was only a child.

  She’d only been a young child herself when Angus had appeared at her side on the worst day of her life, enclosing her small hand with a firm but gentle grasp and telling her to be brave. An anchor at her parents’ funeral.

  Angus. Always the one to turn to, growing up in Gran’s less than happy home. He’d taught her to cook. To dance. And how to laugh again.

  Christie stopped inside the doorway, hand flying to cover her mouth.

  Elizabeth sat on the stone floor, holding Angus’ hand. He was covered with blankets, only the top of his head visible.

  “No.”

  “Oh, you’re here.” Mascara streaked down Elizabeth’s face and Christie stifled a sob.

  Her legs buckled and she only made it to Angus’ side before they gave way completely and she dropped to her knees.

  His face was grey. She stared at him, desperate for a sign he was breathing, and leaned close to whisper, “Be brave.”

  “Christie... I don’t think he can’t hear you.”

  “What do you mean?” Of course he can hear me. He’s always heard me. Christie felt for his other hand under the blanket. It was so cold. “Angus, be brave. We’re here for you. Elizabeth and me. We love you.”

  “And... I... love you both...dearly,” he barely whispered, and weakly returned the pressure on Christie’s hand.

  “We heard you. Angus, there’s an ambulance almost here.” Christie reached out to Elizabeth and grasped her free hand, hanging onto it as though they were the lifeline for Angus. “Did you hit your head? Try to say yes or no.”

  It took a few seconds until he managed a weak, “Yes.”

  “Then you are probably concussed and need to keep awake. No more laying around sleeping the day away for you!” Christie squeezed both the hands she held. She glanced at Elizabeth. “Where’s Charlotte?”

  “I’m not sure. But not home. Do you really think he’s concussed?”

  “I guess it’s possible. Still with us, Angus?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Who is here with you?”

  “You. Eliza...beth.” His eyes flickered open. “Martin.”

  “Hi, Angus.” Martin squatted beside Christie and ran his hand down her back. The fear and panic seeped away. She leaned into him but still held tightly onto Elizabeth and Angus’ hands.

  “So... tired.”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Christie, maybe not the time.” Elizabeth let go of her hand to adjust her position.

  “Surprised me. Thought a rat.”

  “Big rat.” Martin frowned. “Bernie was down here? Did he have the hammer and crowbar and knife?”

  “Oh... I had the knife.”

  Everyone looked at Elizabeth, even Angus managing to widen his eyes for a few seconds.

  “I must remember to put it away.”

  “Perhaps everything should be left where it is. Until Trev says otherwise. Where is he?” Christie glanced over her shoulder at the doorway. “Can I hear the ambulance?”

  Martin stood. “I’ll go. Keep talking, Angus. Won’t be much longer.”

  “Why... dear lady, did you have... a knife?”

  Christie spoke for her. “To cut up some of your favourite pie, most likely. I definitely hear sirens.”

  ***

  As sirens had approached the graveyard, Bernie stepped out of sight behind a tree. He’d peered through branches as an ambulance sped by in the direction of River’s End. Once it disappeared, he’d lost interest and resumed his inspection of the headstones where Elizabeth suggested he look. She really was a nice lady, always considering his interest in Palmerston House.

  Early settlers, she’d said.

  Past the time of the theft of Palmerston House, he actually knew little about Eoin Ryan. Perhaps he’d lived a short and miserable life after throwing the rightful owners from their home. He put a hand to his pocket, expecting the diary to be there. It wasn’t, reminding Bernie he needed to find out what happened the night he’d lost it.

  The first few graves were names he didn’t recognise. Old headstones with little to say. A number of Ryan graves followed. Generations of thieves.

  Another siren cut through the quiet and he ducked, then snuck a look over the headstone, surprised to see a police car race past. First an ambulance, now this. Surely he hadn’t actually harmed Angus? The man had appeared out of the gloom after Bernie picked up his tools, ready to go upstairs and tell Elizabeth he’d fixed a broken cupboard. He hadn’t meant to knock Angus down, but he’d apologised and got a response, so expected him to get up and follow.

  The police car gone, Bernie straightened. He turned to gaze out to sea. Blue-green and with a gentle swell, it was a perfect day to sail. Not nearly high enough tide to reach the cave though. He wanted the treasure. Needed the treasure. Mother wants me to find it. He missed her so much. She’d know what to do next, and how to finish this.

  Bernie reached into his back
pack for a bottle of water. The last one. He’d need to top up his supply as soon as he finished here. The water cooled him as it reached his gut, then the familiar, essential hit of vodka spread warmth through his whole being. These days it made up a quarter of each bottle.

  He continued perusing the graves. Some cared for, most overgrown. And there... Eoin Patrick Ryan.

  He read aloud. With growing anger. “Eoin Patrick Ryan. Eighteen-eighteen to eighteen... eighteen-ninety-three.” This was no early demise. Seventy-five years to steal, bully and do whatever he wanted.

  Three graves on, he stopped. Read. And reread.

  Impossible.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Henry William Temple. Born 1820 in London, England. Died 1853.

  And nothing else. No elaborate headstone. Only a simple small plaque.

  “Harry.” Bernie sank to his knees beside the old grave. “How? Why?”

  He put the bottle down, found his phone in a pocket, and switched it on. As it booted up, he stared again at the headstone. Why so small? Harry was the most significant man to come to River’s End. The phone beeped and Bernie tapped in Harry’s full name and asked where he died.

  For a few moments he read the results, at first rejecting each but finally dropping his head in despair. Drowned. Assumed by his own hand. Found washed up on the beach, his body battered by the rocks at the base of the cliff.

  “Not true. You must have fallen from the cave.” Bernie turned off the phone, then returned it to his pocket. He reached for his half empty bottle of water and finished it in one long draught. So satisfying. The sound and feel of crushing the bottle. Sorry, Mother. He threw it toward the edge of the cliff, so she wouldn’t know.

  He stared at the grave of Harry Temple. His ancestor. The man who created Palmerston House, then lost it to a fraud, bully, and thief. If such a man as Harry was unable to retrieve the treasure, then how was he to do so?

  Bernie sighed. A deep, despairing sigh. All was lost. It was time to leave River’s End.

  ***

  From the Macedon Ranges, Trev had headed through the quarry town of Bacchus Marsh and across country toward Geelong, sprawling beside the sea and second only to Melbourne in population in the state. These days, a bypass shortened the trip. From here, one could head for the beginning of the Great Ocean Road and wind along incredible ocean scenery, or take one of several inland options – as he was doing. It was almost dark as the car went through Colac.

  “Another hour and a half or so. You still okay?” Trev glanced at Charlotte, deep in a book she’d bought from his mother. “Isn’t it getting a bit too dark to read?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry. Maybe.” Charlotte looked out of the passenger window. “When did it get so dark?”

  Trev chuckled.

  Charlotte closed the book and slipped it into her bag. “I really like your mother.”

  “She likes you back.”

  “Were you able to help her with the problem you’d mentioned? The reason we drove there today?”

  “You were welcome to join us. None of it is a secret, but you seemed quite happy playing shopkeeper. Selling raunchy books to old ladies.”

  “Not really raunchy and Mrs Lane assumed I worked there so I went with it. Wouldn’t want to embarrass a customer, would I?”

  “Mum appreciated your help.” Trev adjusted himself in the seat, feeling the complaints in his muscles from the long drive. “She’s going to sell the shop. Not yet, but soon.”

  He had her attention. What did Dad used to say about impossible decisions? Plant a seed, let it grow into whatever it will be. Nurture it, because one day you’ll want its shade and shelter.

  “Trevor? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, thinking about growing trees. Never mind. Anyway, Mum is ready to stop working, but not quite ready to let go of the bookshop. She wanted me to tell her it’s okay, I think.”

  “And is it? Okay?”

  “She can’t work forever. I grew up in the shop. Lots of memories there, but she’s... she’s not getting any younger.”

  “I think Rosie is incredible. Not only for the way she presents the shop and the fabulous range she carries, but to manage it alone... and with some limitations.”

  “The wheelchair? Injured her spine in a scuba diving accident almost twenty years ago.”

  “What?”

  “She and Dad were right into it but now she won’t even come to River’s End to see me. Makes her sad to see the ocean, I guess.” More than the accident. Probably brings back good memories as well. But even good memories hurt when the person you remember is gone. Miss you, Dad.

  “Trevor, she deserves to retire if it’s what she really wants. But I see the love she has for her business. Wouldn’t a partner be better? Let her take the back seat but still be involved as much as she wants.”

  Plant the seed.

  “Funny you should suggest it.” A little corner of Trev’s heart cried out no. “She’d love someone to come on board and learn the business. With a view to taking over later on.” There. It was said.

  Charlotte was quiet for a while. He stole a look at her face, softly illuminated by the control panel of the car. She was thinking.

  Let it grow into whatever it will be.

  “Today she said money isn’t even a consideration. Not at first. She’d rather have someone learn for a few months and then make some arrangement to suit both parties.”

  “She is very generous.”

  “And wise.”

  Charlotte smiled at Trev. “Yes. Does she have a Facebook page for the shop? I might leave a nice review.” She pulled her phone from her bag. “Oh, I forgot this was off.”

  “So is mine. When you’ve turned yours on, would you mind doing the same for mine? Better see if anyone needs me.”

  “Sure. Can’t have the town in a panic because you have a day off.”

  A beep from Charlotte’s phone was followed by several more. She booted Trev’s phone, then checked hers. “Text from Christie to see where I am. One from Elizabeth to see if I’m okay. Darn, I should have left her a note. Sweet of them to worry.” She started replying to the messages.

  Trev’s phone beeped. And kept beeping. He laughed at how many messages came through. “Whose cat is in a tree? Would you take a look for me?”

  “Trev, you might want to put those lights and sirens on.” Charlotte scrolled through his messages. “There are twelve missed calls. From Elizabeth, Christie, Martin, Thomas...”

  “Missed calls? Any voicemails? Just hit the phone icon on one.”

  “Okay. It’s the first one from Christie.” She put the call on speaker. “‘Trev, when you get this please call me. It’s Christie. There’s been an... I mean, Bernie Cooper has hurt Angus. Please come to Palmerston.’”

  With a loud and uncharacteristic curse, Trev sped up. “No lights and sirens on this. Can you call Green Bay station for me?”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Sunrise at Palmerston House always filled Angus with a sense of peace, but soon, the quiet he’d enjoyed for the last few weeks – since coming home from hospital – would be broken as the property began its final preparations for the wedding tomorrow. Christie would be here most of the day, along with half of River’s End. Later, everyone would meet at the pub for a dinner hosted by Martin and Christie.

  Angus sat on the verandah at the front of the house. Here was where he’d first met Martin, dropping by to retrieve Randall after a day sailing with Christie. How surprised he’d been to learn of her new confidence on and in the ocean. But after a few moments with Martin, he’d understood. With a man such as Martin by her side, she’d rediscovered the part of herself hidden for years. Pushed down by her grandmother for so long. And now, the love he had for Martin was like the love of a father.

  “You look deep in thought.” Elizabeth came around the corner, carrying two cups. She handed one to Angus and kissed his forehead, then sat at his side. “Are you alright?”

  “I am fine. Stop worr
ying about me.”

  She bit her lip and he put a hand over one of hers.

  “I’m sorry, I know you care. But I’m quite recovered. Even the doctors agree I’m back to normal. So stop worrying so much.” He smiled.

  “It’s only been a few weeks though.”

  “Time enough. No more headaches or odd vision. I’m cleared to drive and feel fine. Better than fine, in fact. Tomorrow, I have the honour of walking Christie along the path to meet her new husband.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “She will be the most beautiful bride.”

  “And thanks to you, dear lady, Palmerston House will be the perfect place for the wedding and reception.”

  “There’s a lot to do.” She frowned. “More food preparation for the reception. All the decorations. A final tidy around the pond and ensuring the space for the arch is cleared. And all in time for Daphne to have some practice runs because she is so nervous.”

  Angus lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Let’s put it in perspective. Food prep will be concentrated fun with you, me, Sylvia, and Martha all bustling around the kitchen. Yes?”

  Once Elizabeth nodded, he continued. “Martin, John, and Barry – plus a couple of Barry’s men – will sort the landscaping out and get the arch up. Christie, Thomas, and Charlotte will decorate and I believe Trev is providing assistance there as well. What have I left out?”

  “Nothing. Everyone is being so wonderful.”

  “The town loves a wedding. So do I.” He held Elizabeth’s gaze for a moment, then released her hand to sip some tea.

  With daylight, the ever-changing colours in the fountain lost their brightness. A kookaburra flew down from a tree to drink. Magpies sang to each other across the lawn.

  “The world is stirring.”

  “I do enjoy watching the day begin. And with only the three of us to prepare breakfast for – today at least – I may sit here for a little longer than usual. I’ll be busy enough with the guests staying for the wedding.” Elizabeth laughed softly at Angus’ surprised glance. “You are a good influence, my love.”

  “In that case, I shall sit with you. If I may.” He slipped his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and she shuffled over to lean against him.