Recalled to Life

by Wendy M Wilson

  She was half way up the tree-lined driveway when she heard a door slam. She ran back down the driveway and concealed herself behind a tree. Pulau had come out the door carrying something — or someone. A woman she thought. Another woman followed them out pushing a bath chair. The Samoan placed his bundle carefully in the chair, and appeared to pull something over her lap…a blanket probably, although it was a warm day. The trio moved between the flower beds – beautiful flower beds Mette could not help noticing - pointing at the flowers, the two walkers pointing and chatting. They did not seem to be paying attention to the woman in the chair, who sat stiffly, her head erect and unmoving. An older woman? Or could it be the “not well” Lady Debra?

  Wanting a better view, Mette left the safety of the tree and moved closer to the house. The kitchen windows were on the same side as the door the trio had just exited, and the cook wouldn’t know she was there if she was quiet. She had to see Lady Debra and find out was wrong with her.

  She reached the house and moved towards the corner, staying as much out of sight as she could, ducking below window sills. Through one window she saw a man sitting at his desk, working on something. Colonel Mountjoy. He glanced in her direction and she drew back. He was a plain man, with a typical English face, and if Frank was Milo’s father she could understand why.

  At the corner of the house she stood with her back to the wall and peered around at the garden. She was within fifty feet of the woman in the chair and her caregivers, but could not hear what they were saying. Pulau stood with his arms crossed, nodding, as the companion, a tall stern woman in a grey silk dress that matched her hair, spoke to him. Mette could not see Lady Debra, who had been left to stare at a bed of yellow roses. She was dressed in a deep indigo blue dress, silk probably, and her blond ringlets had been tied back in a blue bow. Her shoulders were covered in a white lacy shawl. The whole effect was very pretty, but Mette wanted to see her face. She edged closer…

  “Hey, you, what do you think you’re doing?”

  The cook was leaning out a window directly behind her, about to shake the cloth that had been wrapped around the Bakewell tart.

  “I…I was admiring your roses,” said Mette. “I’m sorry…I’ll leave…” “I think you’d better,” said the cook. She saw Lady Debra’s head start to turn. “Bethy?” she said, her voice quivering with fear. “Bethy? What’s happening?”

  Red-faced, Mette ran up the long laneway. She had nothing to report to Frank — almost nothing — except for…an idea popped into her head. Could that be the answer? Surely not…

  As she reached the top of the long driveway, a carriage followed by four men on horseback swept past her. Armed Constables. They must be there to collect Colonel Mountjoy, although the cook had distinctly said he was leaving tomorrow.

  19

  An Overdose of Chloroform

  A cricket game was underway on the Wanganui Collegiate playing fields. Frank stood in the shade of the school chapel and watched as he waited for Mette to return from the Mountjoys. He was feeling worse about bringing her to Wanganui. Had he been more concerned with keeping her by his side than keeping her safe? What a fool he was.

  “Sergeant Hardy?”

  Frank turned to see a recent acquaintance closing the chapel door behind him.

  “It is Sergeant Hardy,” said the Reverend Masterson. “And looking considerably better than when I last saw him.” He swung a cricket bat in his left hand but was not wearing his cricket whites.

  Frank shook his hand. “I’m back to normal,” he said. “You aren’t playing today?”

  “No, not today,” said Masterson. He looked quite downcast at the thought. “But as I said when last I saw you, I play for the Old Boys when they need me, which is not often, unfortunately. The first and second elevens are up today, getting ready for a match with Wellington Boy’s Collegiate next week. More of a practice than a game…so there’s no point…”

  Frank looked out at the players. He thought he could see Mountjoy on the field, but wasn’t sure. He was a house tutor, and shouldn’t be playing for either of the two school teams, but this was a practice, and if they were short-handed…

  “I’m awaiting my fiancée,” he said. “She’s going from house to house selling her cookbook.”

  “And you’d just be in the way,” said Masterson. “I understand. Would you like to go into the chapel while you wait? It’s cool there. Unless you want to watch the cricket, of course…”

  Frank glanced out at the field again. That was Mountjoy, he was sure of it. He’d best get out of sight. “I would, of course, but then my fiancée, Miss Jensen, wouldn’t be able to find me.”

  “I’ll be out here pruning the roses,” said Masterson. “I was just on my way to do that…why not go inside in the cool — perhaps for some quiet prayer and contemplation?”

  “How will you recognize…?”

  Masterson smiled and hazarded a guess. “Young, beautiful, fair-haired…”

  “That’s true,” said Frank. “But aren’t there many…?”

  “Not in Wanganui,” said Masterson. “Not that I’ve seen. And anyway, few women come past this chapel; I’ll just ask everyone who does if she’s looking for a tall, dark, handsome man.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” said Frank. “But isn’t every woman looking for a tall handsome man?”

  “If they nod too eagerly I’ll simply ask if they would take a medium-sized pleasant-looking man instead,” said Masterson. “And I’ll settle for not so beautiful as well, even a red-head. As long as she’s virtuous…for her price is far above rubies.”

  Frank assumed he was quoting from the Bible. He thought briefly of Agnete, whose price was closer to coal, and who was almost the exact opposite of the woman Masterson was looking for. No, Agnete would not do for John Masterson. He would need to find himself a woman like Mette, if another such woman existed. “Thank you, John,” he said. “I’ll explain what’s going on later, when Mette gets here.”

  He went through the vestry door into the church and sat in one of the front pews. Beyond the pulpit, a small stained glass window pictured the Virgin Mary holding Christ across her lap. the walls on either side depicted the Stations of the Cross on painted ceramic salvers. He felt as if he’d made his way along those stations, and wondered when he was going to reach Calvary. He sat slumped, staring at the baptismal font, drained of emotion, wondering when he was going to be able to get on with his life, his life with Mette that had offered such promise. He wanted a son…had always wanted a son. But he’d imagined a full life with that son, not some changeling who was suddenly identified as his. How could that have happened to him?

  A click awoke him from his reverie. The vestibule door opened and Milo Mountjoy peered inside. He was wearing his cricket whites and still wore the batting pads he’d donned for his turn at bat. He saw Frank and came through the door slowly, staring. “I thought I saw you…”

  “Mountjoy…” Frank said wearily. “You’ve come to kill me, have you?”

  Mountjoy shook his head and sat down on the pew, as far away from Frank as he could get. “They told me…,” he said. “They told me…”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “That I was your son…yesterday…”

  “Did you not know before that?”

  Mountjoy shook his head and started to sniff. He’d lost all his bravado.

  “Then why…?

  “They told me what you did to my mother, how she changed…”

  “What I…? What do you mean?”

  “You attacked her. They said that you tried to rape her, but Elizabeth stopped you from…”

  Frank sighed. “That’s not true, you know.”

  Mountjoy wiped his dripping nose with the back of his hand. “It can’t be, can it? If you’re my father, Elizabeth didn’t stop you, so…”

  Frank shook his head. “None of that happened. I met her on the boat on the passage to India. She asked me to her cabin.…” He considered telling
Mountjoy that she’d asked half the young men on board to her cabin, but that wasn’t something a son should hear about his mother.

  Mountjoy looked at Frank, a spark of life in his eyes. “You’re telling me my mother was a whore?” he said. He took a step towards Frank, his fists raised. “How dare you…”

  “I’m not saying that,” said Frank, although he had been. How else to describe a woman who acted that way with young men? “And Elizabeth, your mother’s companion, wasn’t even on the boat, not that I remember.”

  Mountjoy’s anger boiled up again, and he began walking back and forward along the first row of pews, punching his fist against his hand. “Everyone will know…” he said.

  Frank stood and took a step towards him. “Look, it’s not your fault you’re in this difficult situation,” he said. “If your father found me an embarrassment he could have spoken to me. And I will say the same to you. I’m not trying to ruin your life. I’ll move to the South Island, or up north to Auckland. We’ll never cross paths…”

  Mountjoy lunged at him. “No one will know,” he said. “But I’ll know. I’m a nobody…what kind of family do you have? Servants, I suppose…or worse…”

  “My father is a decent, brave man, and you’re lucky to have his blood in your veins,” said Frank, fending off Mountjoy easily with his forearm.

  Mountjoy looked past him at something or someone over his shoulder, and Frank had a few seconds to realize he should have been more alert; two large arms pinned him from behind, one around his chest, the other around his neck. He was lifted from his feet, unable to move as he pulled desperately at the arm around his throat. He kicked backwards, his heel connecting with a shin bone, but that made his captor squeeze him harder, pushing the air from his lungs.

  A woman came from behind, a tall, grey-haired woman who looked familiar. She reached into her purse, and pulled something out. He smelled the faint sweet scent of chloroform. Christ. Not again. He kicked back at whoever was holding him, and tried desperately to move his face away from the oncoming hand.

  As the chloroform-soaked cloth came towards his face, accompanied by the rustle of a silk dress, the whole sordid story became clear to him. “Be…Be…” But his throat was constricted by his captor and a dark shade covered his eyes. He thought he heard Mette call his name, and fought to say something, to warn her…

  20

  A Cricket Lesson

  Mette reached the end of the Mountjoy’s tree-lined lane and looked around. There was no sign of Frank, so she walked in the direction he’d told her he would be, and still could not see him. She stood outside the Wanganui Collegiate chapel, worried. Where could he have gone? Could they have followed her from the Mountjoy home, and even now be taking him away to prison again?

  “Miss Jensen?”

  Mette turned towards the speaker, a sturdy, fair-haired young man carrying a cricket bat over his shoulder. She was frozen with indecision. Was this a fellow conspirator of the Mountjoys? If she said yes, she was Miss Jensen, would she immediately find herself carried away to the same prison as Frank? But he looked like a nice man, not someone who…

  She took a deep breath and replied. “Yes, I am Miss Jensen.”

  “Jolly good,” he said. “I’m John Masterson, Reverend John Masterson. Frank asked me to look out for you. He’s in the chapel.”

  Mette put her hand on her heart. “Thank goodness. I was worried he’d been taken…”

  “Taken?” asked Masterson. He looked puzzled. Had Frank not told him the whole story?

  “Taken…ill,” she improvised. “How do I get into the chapel?”

  “Through the garden gate,” said Masterson, pointing. “I’ll let you in.” He started singing to himself softly. “Come into the garden, Maud, for the black bat…I say, that’s appropriate.” He swung his bat at one of the rose bushes.

  She passed through an arched entranceway hung with tiny yellow rosebuds into the most astonishing rose garden she had ever seen. The scent was overpowering and the beauty of it stopped her in her tracks. “Ah, min gud,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything so very beautiful…”

  “Thank you,” he said. “This is my garden, I’m happy to say. The Lord gave me the talent and I do the best with what he gave me. I keep my tools - he held up his cricket bat - in the vestry - it’s through the door at the back of the church.”

  Unsure what he meant, she bent and touched a large, deep crimson tea rose. “Look at this, how beautiful…”

  “The Lady Debra,” he said. “I named it after one of our most generous benefactors. It’s a hybrid, not unlike the Rosa Mr. Lincoln, named for the late, well…I suppose it’s more than similar, if I’m to be honest. I actually used the same two…”

  “Lady Debra?” Mette leaned down and sniffed the rose appreciatively. “Would the benefactor be Lady Debra Mountjoy?”

  “Actually, yes. Although her husband, the colonel, made the donation in her name. She isn’t really able…well, never mind.”

  “I saw Lady Debra earlier,” said Mette. “In her garden. She was in a bath chair, assisted by her companion and a large Samoan man. Is she not well?”

  Masterson apparently did not notice that Mette knew the birthplace of the servant. “She’s been unwell for many years,” he said. “Since India. I believe she and her companion were at Cawnpore. She was carried out with a broken ankle, or so I heard, and the ankle has never properly healed. It’s taken a toll on her body. On her mind as well, unfortunately. And Cawnpore traumatized her, of course, as it did everyone who was there.”

  “Her mind?” asked Mette. “Is she able to speak, or…” give orders, she thought.

  Masterson shook his head. “Very little. They say she has the vocabulary of a child. The colonel has been very patient and loving…he could have sent her to an asylum, but has refused to do so. He’s a distant cousin, of course, so there’s some family feeling as well.”

  Mette’s mind was starting to spin with all the information. India was the key to all this trouble that Frank was in. Had he done something to bring on Lady Debra’s condition? Did her pregnancy send her off the rails? Despite herself, she could not help thinking about Gottlieb, and what he had almost done to her. Surely Frank would not…but no. Impossible. She was sure she knew the answer now, and that wasn’t it. Not that it was an answer she was happy about, and she was not in a hurry to see Frank, knowing what she knew.

  “What are you doing to the roses?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.

  He held up his cricket bat. “Deadheading them,” he said. “Not much cause for that yet, but there are a few…” He put both hands on the cricket bat, eyed the Lady Debra carefully, and took a swing. A wilted head arced towards the grass.

  “That’s an unusual way to deadhead,” said Mette. “I’ve never grown roses, but I do have a nice summer garden outside my book shop.”

  “Would you like to give it a go?” he asked. “Frank can wait a few minutes…”

  Mette took the bat and swung at another dead rose, but missed it by several inches and spun around, laughing.

  He took the bat from her. “Not like that. Look,” he showed her his hands, which were clasped around the top of the bat. “See how I’m holding it? One hand slightly overlapping the other, the thumb like so…”

  She took the bat again and placed her hands in the same position. “Like this?”

  “Move your thumbs very slightly…yes, that’s the way. Now try again with that pink one. Keep your arms straight.”

  She swung the bat back, in the way she had seen him do, then swiped at the rose he indicated. The bat connected with the rose, but also with the bough it hung from and showered them both in rose petals. “I’m so sorry…”

  “Never mind,” he said. “Ah. Speak of the devil…”

  Mette turned. Lady Debra’s companion and Pulau, her servant, still pushing Lady Debra in her bath chair, were entering the chapel through the vestibule door, which faced away from the street towards the school
building. Mette could see now that Lady Debra was not fully in control of her senses. Her head was slumped forward, no longer erect as it had been in her own garden. She looked as if she was asleep. The companion, Elizabeth, reached down and wrenched her back into position as they passed into the vestibule, pushing her head roughly into place against the back of the bath chair.

  Cricket bat in hand, Mette ran for the vestry door.

  The scene before her in the chapel terrified her. Milo Mountjoy stood in front of Frank, enraged, striking at him, while Frank fended him off with his arm. Pulau and Lady Debra’s companion were immediately behind Frank, the companion clutching a purse like a weapon. Was she going to hit Frank with it? Did she have a gun in her purse?

  “Frank, look out, they…” she said.

  Pulau threw down his hat and put his arms around Frank, lifting him from the ground. The companion thrust Lady Debra’s bath chair to one side, causing Lady Debra to cry out; then she tore open her bag and pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and a small vial, which she emptied on the cloth. While Frank struggled in Pulau’s bear hug, the companion moved towards Frank with the cloth raised. She was going to chloroform him again!

  Mette stood still for two seconds, then ran forward, the cricket bat raised over one shoulder, and took aim at Pulau’s head.

  “I knew it was the companion.”

  “Overlap your hands, overlap your hands,” yelled Masterson. “Careful now…”

  Mette moved her thumbs slightly, balanced herself carefully, then swung as hard as she could, putting all her weight behind the move. She was going to save Frank, even though, in that moment, she would have liked to hit him on the head with the cricket bat instead of Pulau.