The Lost Valley

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Tom’s skin prickled.

  ‘I was forced to marry Edward Abbott so the baby would be legitimate, and in any case, I believed Luke had died in a rock fall, right here in this cave. But I was wrong. His dog died, but Luke cheated death and came back to me. He came back to me as Colonel Lucas Buchanan. I didn’t leave my devoted husband to run off with a rich diamond tycoon, although that’s what people think. I left a loveless marriage to be with your grandfather, Tom. To be with the only man I’d ever loved.’

  Tom knuckled tears from his eyes, although he didn’t know he was crying.

  Nana threw a log on the fire, and a flurry of sparks lit up the rough walls. She poured herself a mug of Vin Mariani. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’

  The understatement of the year. Conflicting feelings surged through him. Disbelief led the tide. Perhaps Nana was lying or confused somehow? Shame followed hard on its heels. He’d never met anyone as honest and straightforward as his grandmother, nor anyone with a finer mind. And there was the plaque, and her sure knowledge of this place. So if Nana told the truth, what then? It meant she’d never abandoned her family, quite the opposite. She wasn’t the heartless black sheep that she’d been painted.

  ‘You say Luke Tyler returned as Colonel Buchanan,’ said Tom. ‘Did no one else know his true identity?’

  ‘A few people.’ Nana took a big swig of tonic. ‘Your mother and father knew.’

  Tom gasped. That explained why Mama had always defended Nana. But it didn’t explain his father’s open hostility. ‘When Harry and I were small, Papa said you were wicked to leave. Papa said the Colonel was a monster who’d lured you away. If the Colonel was his true father, why did Papa hate him so?’

  Nana’s sigh held all the sadness of the ages. ‘Your father was fifteen years old when he learned the truth of his paternity. Edward Abbott was the only father he’d ever known. Edward had not been a good husband to me, but he’d been a loving father to Robbie. They were very close.’

  ‘How did the Colonel feel about that?’

  ‘It devastated him. He tried to reach out to Robbie, tried to build a relationship with his son, but Robbie wouldn’t have it. It was all too late. Robbie blamed Luke and me for breaking up his family. He never forgave us.’

  Tom tipped out his cold tea and held out the mug. ‘Can I have some of your tonic?’

  Nana smiled and held out the bottle. ‘Just this once.’

  * * *

  They talked long into the night. Tom wanted to know all about his grandfather – the mysterious Colonel Buchanan. The years slipped from Nana’s face as she told him astounding stories; stories of heroism, bravery and adventures in far off lands.

  Tom had always been proud of his link to Daniel Campbell: Nana’s father, Tasmania’s foremost naturalist, and a man ahead of his time. Daniel was a founding member of the Royal Society. He spoke out for the protection of thylacines when farmers still shot them as pests. He purchased Binburra back in 1883 specifically to protect its flora and fauna. And now Tom discovered that, as a boy, the Colonel had been Daniel’s protégé.

  ‘Luke dedicated his life to advancing my father’s work,’ said Nana. She laid a hand on Tom’s arm. ‘You remind me very much of the Colonel. He would have cherished you.’

  Tom felt like singing. A missing piece of his life had fallen into place. Papa might have loved Harry best. Papa might have thought that a boy with his head in the clouds would amount to nothing. But that’s not what Tom’s grandfather would have thought. The Colonel would have loved him; Nana said so. And that love, the love of a dead grandfather whom he’d never met, suddenly meant the world to him. It eased the pain of Papa’s rejection, the loss of his mother, and his brother’s disloyalty. It made him feel important and strong, like he could do anything.

  An odd cry echoed through the night.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Tom.

  ‘It’s late, my dear,’ said Nana. ‘We all need some rest.’

  * * *

  When Tom woke the next morning, Nana was up and cooking breakfast.

  ‘Are we heading home today?’ he asked, stifling a yawn. He’d lain awake long into the night, processing all he’d learned, and hadn’t had much sleep.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’ve more to show you.’

  Tom shook his head and chased baked beans around his plate with a spoon. ‘Whatever it is, it won’t beat last night.’

  Nana gave him an odd smile. ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  After they’d tidied the camp, Tom stepped through the cave mouth to greet the day.

  ‘Come back,’ called Nana. ‘You’re going the wrong way.’

  When he returned Nana handed him work gloves and a torch. She shone her own torch into the dark tunnel at the rear of the cave, and beckoned for Tom to follow her in. ‘Right. Let’s get to work.’ Nana picked up a stone and moved it aside.

  ‘We can’t move an entire rockfall by hand,’ said Tom, gazing at the impenetrable wall that blocked their way. ‘Who knows? It could be ten feet thick.’

  ‘It could be,’ she said. ‘But it’s not. It’s only two stones wide.’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  Nana picked up another small rock, put it aside, and slowly straightened her back ‘Because your grandfather and I built it ourselves.’

  Tom grinned and shook his head. Would Nana ever stop surprising him? ‘Go back to the camp and sit down,’ he told her. ‘I’ll do this.’

  * * *

  An hour later, the way was clear. Tom shone his torch into the darkness as Nana marched into the tunnel. At the back of the cave, Tom stopped short. He was growing used to surprises, but this was astonishing. Crude stone steps led downwards through a recess in the rock.

  ‘A passage to the lost valley.’ Nana took a swig of her tonic. ‘Never thought I’d have the privilege of coming here again.’

  * * *

  It was a slow and dangerous descent. A little stream ran down through the rocks, making the path slick underfoot, and they slipped more than once. Tom led the way, so if Nana tripped he would break her fall.

  Glow worms, clustered on the walls and ceiling in their thousands, provided a spectacular display – myriad blue lights resembling stars in the night sky. Tiny bats, disturbed from their rocky roosts, fluttered and whirled about their faces before vanishing into the darkness. Nana seemed unfazed, but it took all of Tom’s nerve not to flinch.

  When they finally emerged at the base of the cliff, a pristine valley stretched before them. A crystal-clear creek bubbled through patches of virgin rainforest: myrtle, leatherwood and sassafras. Huon and King Billy pine – trees that had never felt the bite of an axe. Some rose a hundred feet high, with trunks of impressive girth. They must have been ancient. Tracts of stringybark and swamp gums bordered broad grassy clearings where kangaroos and pademelons grazed.

  A flock of gang-gang cockatoos fed noisily on ripe seed pods in the blackwood canopy and right at Tom’s feet, a brilliant blue-crowned fairy wren led his troop of plainer wives in search of insects. A pair of butcher birds, Tasmania’s most sublime songsters, piped a duet, magnified by the cathedral-like acoustics of the surrounding cliffs. Tom slowly exhaled. Nature and the physical landscape had come together to create a scene of unforgettable splendour.

  Nana sank down on a fallen log in the shade, plainly exhausted, but wearing a rapturous smile. Tom joined her, offering the water canteen before taking a long draught himself. They sat that way, side by side, for the longest time, stunned into silence by the beauty of their surrounds.

  ‘So, this is what you came all this way to show me,’ Tom murmured at last. ‘It’s spectacular. Who else knows about this place?’

  Nana’s smile slipped. ‘Nobody else alive, and it must stay that way.’

  ‘Why?’ said Tom. ‘We’re on Binburra land, yes? The valley is safe. In any case, it’s too remote to log.’

  Nana’s expression was unreadable. ‘Come on.’ She hauled herself up with the help of a low-ha
nging branch. ‘There’s more.’

  Tom clapped his hand to his head and laughed. ‘Of course there is.’

  They followed the course of the creek upstream, sometimes paddling in the cool water to soothe their aching feet. The creek wound its way around the base of canyon walls that soared impossibly high. A trick of the light blended cliff tops with sky. Tom stopped and gazed up in sheer wonder.

  ‘Do you know what your grandfather used to say?’ whispered Nana. ‘He said you couldn’t tell where earth ended and heaven began.’

  Tom felt a thrill of excitement – to be walking in the steps of his grandfather, to be hearing his words. To be sharing the same hallowed reverence for this place.

  After an hour or so they reached a pretty pool at the bottom of the falls. The silver cascade fractured into rainbows of spray when it broke on the rocks, the falling water singing a song all its own. Nana leaned on the walking stick he’d made her, staring at a wide recess at the base of the cliff with a faraway expression on her face and sweat beading her brow.

  ‘Let’s stop here for lunch,’ he said, worried she might be suffering from heat stroke.

  Nana took a swig of tonic. ‘Not yet.’

  * * *

  They travelled for another hour, as the temperature climbed higher. Tom couldn’t believe his grandmother’s endurance. Even he was flagging. Where on earth were they going? It was no use asking. She was breathing too hard to talk, waving away his questions.

  ‘This is it,’ said Nana at last, indicating a cave that looked no different from a dozen others they’d passed. ‘Fortune Cave.’ In they went, passing from sunlight to shadow.

  Nana trained her torch on the rear wall. Pick-axe marks. She poured a little water from her canteen onto the scored rock, then rubbed the moist surface with her sleeve. A shining vein of gold gleamed in the beam of light. ‘This is a valley of gold, Tom.’

  His eyes widened as he trailed his fingers along the bright seam.

  ‘Nobody can find out about this,’ she said, her voice low and urgent as if someone might hear.

  ‘Not even Harry?’

  ‘Especially not Harry.’

  * * *

  They ate lunch in the coolness of the cave mouth. Tom wanted to hear everything. ‘How do you know about this cave?’

  ‘Luke discovered it.’ Nana pushed a stray lock of hair from her face. ‘In 1887 state parliament passed a bounty scheme that sealed the fate of our native tigers. They were already rare, and now the remaining animals would be shot and snared into oblivion. My father released three orphans into this remote valley, hoping to protect them. Hoping they might breed with the few remaining tigers that lived here. He appointed Luke as their guardian, charged with keeping them safe and supervising their reintroduction to the wild.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Tom, transfixed. ‘Did they survive?’

  ‘So many questions.’ Nana closed her eyes, looking completely done in.

  ‘Sorry, Nana. Sit there and rest for a while.’

  She managed a smile and hauled herself to her feet with the help of a low branch. ‘Come on, slowcoach.’

  * * *

  An hour later Nana stopped again. She seemed to be searching for something beside the stream. He examined the ground and caught his breath. Animal tracks bearing a tell-tale, heel-to-toe groove in the sand - the magical groove he thought he’d never ever see. Tiger tracks. Tom glanced up in disbelief and Nana’s eyes crinkled into a smile.

  ‘Does that answer your question?’ Happy tears shone on her dust-smudged cheeks and she seemed suddenly girlish. ‘That cry we heard last night? I’d recognise it anywhere. They’re here, Tom. They’re still here.’

  * * *

  It was nearly dark before they arrived back at their camp at the top of the cliff. The gruelling climb from the valley had taken them three times as long as the descent, and Tom had half-carried his grandmother on the final stretch. He lit the fire and prepared a meal, while Nana lay on her swag, dishevelled and dog-tired. Her cough had returned, and not even liberal doses of tonic could settle it. But her eyes burned bright with joy and the deep satisfaction of having achieved the difficult goal she’d set herself.

  During dinner they were both lost in private thought. Afterwards Nana produced another block of chocolate. ‘Now you know why I had to bring you here. I couldn’t let this knowledge die with me.’

  ‘You’re not going to die, Nana.’

  She patted his hand. ‘We all die one day, Tom. So with that in mind, I’m charging you with the guardianship of the tigers and this valley, just as my father charged Luke all those years ago. Passing the baton. They must always be protected.’

  ‘What about Harry?’

  ‘Harry is a wonderful, clever boy, and I love him dearly, but there is temptation here, Tom, buried in these cliffs and underground. Would you really trust your brother with that knowledge?’

  Tom pictured Harry with his lucky golden nugget, turning it over and over in his hand. The loving way he stroked it; the jealous way he guarded it. Nana was right, perhaps more right than she knew, as she was unaware that they knew the truth about their parents’ death. That tragedy had taught Tom that worshipping wealth would only lead to heartbreak. It had taught Harry the exact opposite. In his grief, he believed the loss of family wealth had led to disaster. He didn’t blame their father. He blamed the stock market crash, as if the tumbling figures on Wall Street had somehow pulled that trigger themselves.

  ‘It will never happen to me,’ he’d told Tom more than once. ‘I’m going to rebuild the Abbott fortune, take back what is rightfully ours. I swear I will, for Papa and for Mama. Just wait and see.’

  Tom didn’t doubt him for a second. Instead he pitied him. Following in his father’s footsteps, chasing the money god - these things would not make his confused, grief-stricken brother happy. One day, perhaps, he’d make Harry understand, but until then he’d be proud to guard Nana’s secret.

  Chapter 13

  It was tough for the Starr family, making ends meet after Emma’s father died. Moving from the farm. Finding their feet in town without a male breadwinner. Tim, the eldest, had married a local woman and found work at the foundry, but his financial contributions were few and far between. His wife, Jane, seemed resentful of Tim’s family, and begrudged giving them money. The small sum Mum earned from mending was barely enough to pay rent and bills. They sometimes ran out of food, and their rundown house was collapsing around them. But now, with Mum incapacitated and Emma bound to the house as her caregiver, life wasn’t just difficult - it was impossible.

  Emma had no savings from her job at the Hobart dress shop. She’d sent every spare penny home to her mother. And now the money Mrs Campbell had so generously given her was almost gone. She’d let Mrs Shaw go, saving that expense, but doctors cost money.

  When she approached Tim, he covered his ears. ‘Poor Mum. Don’t tell me. I can’t bear to hear it.’

  Tim’s wife was a tall, stylish woman with straight black hair that she always wore up, along with a haughty expression. At thirty, she was eight years older than Tim. Some had unkindly suggested that she’d only married him for fear of being left on the shelf. This was no doubt part of the truth, but not all of it. They seemed genuinely fond of each other, and Jane was protective of her sensitive husband – in some ways more mother than wife.

  A talented seamstress, Jane had begun work at the woollen mills at fourteen. Her skill with the needle was quickly noticed, and she’d worked her way up to the position of head dressmaker for Trés Chic, Launceston’s most fashionable boutique. Despite the depression, the business still plied a good trade among the well-heeled. With no children, and with both Tim and his wife working, Emma had expected her brother to willingly pitch in.

  She hadn’t counted on jealous Jane, however, and Jane was well and truly in charge of her husband. ‘Why come around here, crying poor and bringing him such gloomy news?’ she’d said. ‘Tim loves his mother, but he’s not a strong
man. You know how much her illness upsets him. I must ask you to wait until you have something positive to report, Emma, before you visit us again. Then you will be most welcome.’ She passed over a few shillings. ‘To tide you over. We don’t have any more.’

  Emma thanked her and said goodbye to Tim, who was close to tears. She was stunned by the unfairness of their response, and vowed to herself that she would not be back. At least Tim wasn’t living at home. He wasn’t costing Emma anything.

  Jack, on the other hand, was a constant drain on her dwindling finances.

  ‘Get yourself some steady work,’ said Emma in exasperation.

  ‘I’m trying, sis,’ he said gloomily. ‘I’ve been to the brewery, brickworks, sawmills, joinery, abattoirs – every bloody place. There’s three dozen blokes waiting in line for each spot, even at the stinking tanneries down by the river. I tell you, sis, there ain’t a single job going in this whole damn town.’

  Emma didn’t doubt him. It was hard to miss the growing face of poverty and unemployment in Launceston. Families standing confused and bewildered on footpaths outside the rented homes they could no longer afford. Swagmen tramping the streets looking for work. Women, old and young, haunting pubs and bars, prepared to sell their bodies to feed their children. It made Emma sick to think how desperate someone would have to be to do that.

  The Great Depression had hit their island state even harder than the rest of Australia. She’d heard Premier Ogilvie talking last week on the radio. Unemployment in Tasmania was a disaster, he’d said, with more than one in three breadwinners out of work. Jack’s best hope for a real chance in life was to leave Launceston and go to Hobart or even the mainland. Perhaps join the military or merchant marines. Emma wanted very much for him to have a future, but how would she cope without him?