by Vicky Adin
She ran to the end of the alleyway and into another street. She looked left and right but could see nothing to help her. She had no idea which way to turn. She knew she should try to find her way back up Spring Hill to the Browne house but couldn’t begin to guess where to start.
She turned right.
Overhead, the sky was a solid charcoal without a hint of light. Water ran in rivulets in every direction, following the slightest slope of the land, gathering momentum as it went. There were fewer people in this area, and they wouldn’t have noticed her anyway. They were too engrossed saving themselves and what possessions they could.
She trudged endlessly against the raging wind and merciless rain, in a maze of alleyways, until she completely lost track of how many times she’d turned, or which way. Through the murk she couldn’t see where she had come from or any landmark that would guide her to shelter – and safety.
“So much for showing me the way,” she muttered heavenward and turned yet another corner. Her feet were immediately submerged in water well over her ankles and she could feel the torrent pulling at her legs.
As far as she could see, the ground in all directions was covered in rapidly rising water. She sensed she was near the river, the air smelt of sludge and dead animals, and something else she couldn’t place. Grease? Tar?
A heavy object banged into her leg and sped on by, the hem of her skirt was snared and tore away as she struggled to hold her footing. The surge was fast moving, gathering trees, fences, small animals, household goods and anything else in its path small enough to be ripped from its place.
Frightened she might be swept away too, she scuttled back into the lane ahead of the rising water following her. She ran. Higgledy-piggledy, up streets, down lanes.
Her breath came in heaving gulps; her legs throbbed.
She lost track of time.
Exhausted, she dragged her feet along. Instinct was all that kept her upright as the desire to lie down became overpowering. “Don’t. Stop,” she repeated with every step. The mantra circled her mind as awareness of her surroundings faded.
“Briig ... id.” Was someone calling her name?
“Briig ... id.” It sounded like her brother. What did John want her to do now?
She was so terribly tired.
“Briig ... id.” The call came again.
Her eyes fluttered open. A hazy shape wavered.
They closed again.
9
Love, Fear and Death
Townsville
March 1887
Months had passed since Sally had first stumbled across Jamie outside the hotel that day in January. She could laugh now at his disapproving face, but it had annoyed her at the time. She’d had enough of men thinking they could control her. But then, he really was quite young. At least he was a hard worker, she’d give him that.
Despite herself, Sally was drawn to Jamie’s freshness and honesty. She still judged him an idiot to have left Brigid for that irrational woman but admired his certainty he was doing the right thing. And he loved those two little girls. Who’d have believed it? A big bloke like him being soppy over a couple of brats. She tried not to think about it – but there were days when her thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone.
For days after their meeting, the papers had been full of the storm that hit Townsville.
But what had scared them both were the reports about the severity of the storm as it travelled south and hit Brisbane. The flash flood had been one of the most damaging the town had seen, with houses floating away and bridges demolished. With no knowledge of the landscape in Brisbane, they couldn’t imagine where Brigid fitted but prayed she was safe. They’d not had a letter in a long while.
Jamie came nearly every day from then on, either to deliver the ice or more often to see if she’d heard from Brigid. The papers continued to talk of the clean-up and the damage the flooding had wreaked upon the business district, but still they heard nothing.
Emily McKendrick had proved to be a good employer – even a friend – and she’d had few enough of those in her life. The bar was thriving and Emily encouraged her ideas, but so far Sally had not found a way of asking if Brigid could be included in her schemes. She didn’t know why it seemed so important that Brigid join her in Townsville and they become a team. It didn’t even make sense. They were as opposite as could be, with different goals.
Brigid was a talented seamstress and lacemaker, but humble and caring. Someone would take advantage of her one day if she wasn’t careful. Someone like that Philip Harrison-Browne. She was too compassionate and too trusting for her own good. Much to her own surprise – and anyone else who knew her, if they’d been able to read her deepest thoughts – Sally was worried.
Unlike Brigid, she wasn’t clever at anything except beguiling people. Oh, yes, she was entertaining. She could make men laugh. She could fleece them at cards and have them come back for more, but she was a loner, even if something was missing. No one would take advantage of her or rip her off. She certainly didn’t want to be considered a do-gooder.
But when Jamie turned up at her door with Maggie, she had little choice. “What the hell am I supposed to do with her?” she berated Jamie as he carried the bruised and battered woman into the hotel kitchen.
“Michael’s been having another go. Can you care for her until she’s strong enough to decide what to do next? And the little ones? I can’t leave them on their own.” Jamie’s eyes looked at her beseechingly.
“Why not? I was left to fend for myself at their age.” Sally remembered only too well the days when her ma was sick and she had to find food, or beg or steal medicine, and avoid a beating from her stepfather.
“Aye. So was I, but at least I had family or neighbours around who would keep an eye on me. Did you not have that?”
Sally barely moved her head. No, she hadn’t. “Ah, all right, then. Let them stay. But don’t expect too much care and attention. And goodness knows what Mrs McKendrick will say when she finds out.”
Emily had been torn. “It’s bad for business to have children hanging around the hotel. The men come here to escape all that. But I can’t see them on the streets, neither, so keep them out of sight and quiet. Else they’ll have to go.”
Sally hated every minute Maggie spent recuperating in her room, but the girls were angels compared with what they’d been on the ship. Whatever had tamed them was a benefit, in the circumstances, but she didn’t like to see them so subdued. They reminded her too much of herself.
At least Maggie wasn’t as changeable as she had been before, but her moroseness affected them all. The girls took her food, which she barely touched, but their appetites were healthy enough, and they willingly helped in the kitchen in return. Even Emily seemed taken with them, coaxing a smile occasionally as she gave them a treat. And Sally was glad when, two days later, Maggie announced she was leaving. No thank you or kiss my foot, she just took the girls by the hand and was gone.
“Hmph! How’s that for gratitude.”
“Don’t judge her too harshly, Sally. That is one very troubled woman doing her best. She’ll crack one day.”
How Emily could see any good in her was beyond Sally’s understanding, but Maggie wasn’t her problem any longer.
Her problem was the increasing advances of one of Emily’s big-spending regulars. Her skin crept whenever he touched her. The same shivery feeling she’d lived with for so long, the one she hoped she’d escaped by coming to Australia to start living again. He’d put his hand on her back, her arm, or tip her chin so she would look at him every time he came to the bar. He laughed and teased, and told his companions what a beauty she was and a wonderful asset. He was ebullient and public with his praise and attentions, but his whispered requests to join her in her room were becoming insistent – and threatening.
To add to the problem, he was a well-respected man about town. He entertained and was entertained by the leaders of the community. He attended all the soirées, receptions and dinner
functions. He was a hard-nosed businessman – and he always got his way.
She’d beaten him at cards – more than once – and he’d not forgotten or forgiven. After the last time, he threatened to expose her if she didn’t meet his request.
“Aw, now you wouldn’t want me to lose my job, would you? Mrs McKendrick is very particular about what goes on in her establishment. She’s made it plain, she has. No men upstairs.”
“I’ll set you up somewhere discreet if that is what you want.”
“You flatter me, Mr Carruthers, but I’m just a small-town girl working for a living. I’m not grand enough to be a mistress. Let me get you a drink.” She extricated herself from the conversation.
But the next time he returned, he tried again. “You won’t have to work any more. A woman like you shouldn’t have to work.” He smiled, raised his glass, laughed; pretended they were having a casual, but amusing interchange.
“But I like my work. I like singing, and being charming to you and your friends, and entertaining you all. There are others more suited to what you have in mind.” She hoped he couldn’t sense her fear or revulsion.
The smile never left his face, but his eyes hardened. “You thought you could cheat me and play me for a fool. Nobody does that to me, especially not publicly. It’s time for you to pay.”
Keeping up the play of a friendly chat, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “No, Mr Carruthers. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m sorry you lost, but it was just a card game. I didn’t take your money. I didn’t cheat you at all.”
He laughed again, held her upper arm between his thumb and forefinger, and squeezed the soft part. She gritted her teeth against the pain and tried to keep the smile on her face.
“I don’t believe you. Think hard about your decision. Think very hard.” He released her arm. “The police might be interested in your methods.” He stood then, picked up his glass and strolled across the room to join some others at another table.
She knew her ordeal wasn’t over.
* * *
Tuesday, 26th April 1887
“Jamie. Jamie. Come quick.” Laura barrelled into him, hands grasping at his jacket, and tried to pull him after her.
Jamie grabbed hold of her wrists. “Slow down, Laura. What’s the matter?”
“You’ve got to come, Jamie. It’s Maggie.”
His heart sank. Not again! He knew what was happening, and it was becoming far too common for his liking. With barely an excuse to his boss, Jamie hurried Laura outside and headed towards their place.
Last month, he’d found Maggie unconscious on the floor of her cottage with little Jane sitting quietly beside her, smoothing her hair from her face. The child was as pale as a ghost and her blotchy, cried-out face was striped where the tears had washed the dirt away. Sally had helped him then. As he laid Maggie on Sally’s bed, he had prayed for strength to stay away from Michael. Fortunately, Laura said he’d gone away again.
What upset Jamie most was that Maggie returned to the cottage once she had recovered sufficiently. “I have to Jamie. I don’t have a choice. He’s my brother, but I can’t let him bash the girls like that.”
Somewhere along the way, the flighty, half-baked, emotional Maggie he was used to had turned into a tigress since Michael had started taking his frustrations out on the girls, after being beaten in another fight. She was used to him hitting her when things went wrong, but until recently the girls had been safe.
Jamie had heard Michael was losing more fights – and money – than he won lately and was drinking heavily. He’d also been warned he would lose his job if he didn’t shape up.
“I hid Jane so I could get here faster,” Laura explained, “but I fear it’s bad. Pa just wouldn’t let up, but Maggie took to him.” Despite being only ten, Laura was tough. There were no tears, just a fierce look on her face as she skipped and ran along beside him.
“What? What do you mean ‘took to him’? How? With what?”
Jamie lengthened his stride and soon left Laura lagging behind. She tried to catch up and, between breaths, answer his questions.
“He slapped Jane ... she fell ... I tried to pick her up ... Kicked me ... Hit Maggie.”
Jamie stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the girl. He gripped her by both arms but instantly let go when she winced. She had a cut above her eye, and her lip was cracked. She rubbed her lower back, and only then did Jamie see the bruises on her legs and guessed there were more under her clothes. His anger flared as he gingerly wrapped his arms around the girl and lifted her up.
“What happened next, beag amháin? Tell me, little one.”
Head buried in his shoulder and arms wrapped around his neck, Laura murmured into his ear. “Maggie picked up the long poker and jabbed it at him to push him away. She told me to go, so I ran outside with Jane. I could hear things breaking and falling over, and him shouting and her screaming. It was worse than the banshees at night.”
Keeping his voice light, Jamie eased his arm slightly and tried to look at her face. “What, a big girl like you still believing in the banshees? Never!”
“But then it went all silent like, and I was even more scairt. I left Jane hid in the bushes and crept back to see. Maggie was lying on the floor. I couldn’t see Pa.”
Fear clutched Jamie’s stomach. One day, he swore. One day he’d put paid to that monster. “Well. Let’s go see how Maggie is, shall we? Sure all will be grand when we get there.” He wasn’t convinced, but he needed to give Laura hope.
Minutes later they arrived at the house and, wanting to go inside alone, Jamie told Laura, “Go and find Jane now, and make sure she is all right. Wash yer faces maybe and then come find me. Wait outside, though, till I give you the nod. Aye?”
Laura nodded and he lowered her to the ground and watched her pick her way across the long grass to find her sister.
The door was shut and he couldn’t hear any movement from inside. He pushed it open. The squeak of the leather hinges sent a shiver up his spine. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior until a dark shape in the middle of the room moved as the sunlight streamed in. A groan. Jamie’s heart lifted. He darted forward, righting overturned furniture in the way. He knelt on one knee beside her and raised Maggie into a sitting position. “Maggie, love. I’m that glad to see you.” He rested his head gently on top of hers and held her close.
“Michael,” she croaked.
“Never mind him! I hope the bastard’s gone for good this time.”
Her hand fluttered, but her eyes closed as she passed out again.
Jamie put his other arm under her legs and lifted her up. He turned, stumbling, shocked by what he saw, and nearly lost his hold on her.
With his foot, he restored the wooden settle to its feet next to the fireplace and laid Maggie down. He knelt once more – this time beside the prone body of Michael. He could tell at a glance the man was dead. His forehead was split open, a pool of blood oozed over the wooden floor. Flies were already buzzing around the wound, but Jamie was certain the blood hadn’t come from there.
He looked to and fro between Maggie and Michael, wondering how she had managed to hit him that hard. He had no doubt she had swung the blow and felt no remorse, he was glad. The problem now was how to get her away from there without getting the police involved. Murder was murder in their eyes, never mind the provocation.
He had to act quickly in case any neighbours began to get suspicious. He was up on his feet and back outside, pulling the door shut behind him, intent on finding the girls before they could see what he’d seen. He found them coming through the tangle of broken fences and bush into the back corner of the garden as he walked around the other side of the house.
“Ah, there you are, now. Don’t cry, Jane. Everything is grand, aye. Maggie is sleeping right now.” He turned to Laura, questions written in her eyes. “She’s not hurt bad, so don’t you be fretting none. All will be well, I promise, but I need you to do something for me.
Will you do what I say?”
Laura nodded again.
“I need you to go to Sally. Tell her I’m with Maggie, ask her to come see me – and she’s to come in the cart. Understand? But you two are to stay at the hotel. Do you hear me now? You are to stay. I’ll be right vexed if you don’t, and you don’t like it when I’m vexed with ye, do you?”
Both girls shook their heads. Solemn. Silent. Trusting.
Jamie nearly scared the living wits out of Sally when he leapt out of his hiding place and jumped on the back of the cart.
“Christ Almighty! You great galoot. You gave me such a fright!” Sally didn’t pull any punches when her dander was up. “What the blazes is going on, Jamie?”
“Sorry, I didn’t want anyone to see me.” He sat down, his feet dangling over the back as if they had been travelling together for some time. “We need to go visiting. Or rather look as though we are going visiting. I need your help.”
Jamie explained what she would find when they got to Maggie’s cottage and waited for her reply. If he’d read the situation right, Sally would support him and help Maggie. If not, they were on their way to the police station.
“And you’re sure it was Maggie?”
“Aye, I am.”
Sally didn’t reply.
The cart bounced and swayed along the rutted roadway, kicking up a cloud of dust that soon had Jamie coughing.
While he’d waited for Sally, he sat watching Maggie, anger bubbling inside him at the sight of her. He had another go at cleaning up the bloodstain to make sure he left no trace. When Maggie stirred, he gave her some water and bathed her head and eventually managed to get her to sit up. She stared at Michael’s body now covered with the only item Jamie had found that was large enough – the patchwork quilt off her bed.
Staring into a void only she could see, bit by bit she told him what she could remember. “When he kicked Laura like that, it was the last straw. I saw red. I grabbed the poker from the fire. It was still hot at the end, and one touch with it and he leapt back, which gave the girls time to run. Did I do it, Jamie? Did I really kill him?” Maggie sounded so forlorn it nearly broke his heart.