Still, he went over and helped Deano with the keg, earning a surprised glance from the man, but no comment. Together they carried it across the wet sand and plonked it inside the shelter, which was proving quite a good spot. Donovan looked over at him, wary yet nosy.
‘Where’d you spring from?’ he called over the storm’s noise.
‘Found somewhere over there,’ Riley called back with a nod towards the cave.
Donovan looked over at it. ‘Bit small.’
‘Yep, this spot’s definitely better,’ Riley assured him, feeling fairly certain Donovan wouldn’t explore the cave if he felt he’d found superior shelter. Banking on that, Riley added, ‘Just getting some more supplies.’
‘Got anything better than this?’ Petey asked him, tapping the keg, the elements and his long beard muffling his words to the point that he actually had to shout. It was as good an invitation to join them as he was going to get.
‘I’ll see what I can find.’ Riley headed over to his boat. Maybe ingratiating his way in for a change wouldn’t prove too difficult under such extreme conditions. Men were more accommodating in life-and-death situations, even men like these, and Riley could surely pretend he thought any company looked good in a storm.
‘King of the river, that’s me,’ Donovan slurred, twirling his bottle about as he looked out at his boat bobbing in the rain. ‘The River King!’
They were good and drunk, well, drunk, anyway. Except Riley, who’d tossed a lot of the stuff away when the others weren’t looking. He’d even managed to sneak over and check on Ivy a few times under the guise of relieving himself or grabbing more supplies. Her temperature was up again but he’d expected that, and there was nothing he could do about it save bathe her face quickly before rejoining the others. The storm had raged for quite a while, the hail arriving as predicted, which kept the men entertained. Deano had collected some pieces that were the size of a plum before hurling them against the rocks for sport and altogether he was a rather merry drunk, telling some ribald jokes and breaking into the odd song with Petey. But Donovan had turned mean in the past half-hour and the three had nearly come to blows several times.
Riley had managed to keep in the background and just observe, mostly – not a friend by any means but tolerated due to the circumstances. The brief armistice seemed to be wearing thin, however, as the storm calmed to a steady rain, the grey curtains of water rendering their world eerie as Donovan’s focus turned Riley’s way.
‘So why aren’t you hiding in your cave?’
‘Bit boring on my own,’ Riley said with a shrug, wondering if he’d just heard Ivy moan or merely imagined it. He took a swig of his drink, hiding his nerves.
‘Cosy places if you have a woman with ya.’ The comment made Riley’s stomach coil, hoping to God Donovan hadn’t heard Ivy or suspected anything.
‘Haven’t had one of those in a while,’ Riley said. It was a comment designed to deflect and it worked. Donovan loved nothing better than to brag about his conquests, as sickening as it would be to hear it.
‘Problem with you is y’too fussy. I’ve had three wives in three years, two at once last winter,’ he bragged, ‘a brown girl and a white girl. Had me way with both of them at the same time after I beat them into agreeing to it,’ he said, chuckling to himself as he stumbled forwards to fill his glass.
‘Is that what did her in? That brown one, I mean?’ Deano commented. The girl had been found dead by her tribe one cold August morning, her body left in the rain onshore, bruised and lifeless. Donovan had denied it was by his hands at the time. ‘Thought you said she fell.’
‘No law against it,’ Donovan said with a shrug, sculling his rum. It made Riley want to punch him, his fist curling by his side. Donovan noticed it, despite his inebriated state.
‘Got a problem with that, have ya?’
‘Well, it is against the law to commit murder,’ Riley said, fury and alcohol driving his words, despite his efforts to not get drunk.
‘Ah, she was just a stupid native. Besides, my wife, my property,’ Donovan slurred. ‘You should try getting y’self one.’ He moved closer to Riley, talking straight into his face, one hand on the knife at his belt. ‘Might improve that carrot-up-your-arse attitude of yours.’
Riley itched to fight him, would have done, in fact, if not for Ivy lying sick and needing his help nearby.
‘Think I might see a man about a dog,’ he said instead, sending Donovan a warning glance before moving off.
‘Yeah, yeah, piss off then,’ Donovan called after him. ‘Pass me his rum, Deano.’
Riley made his way over to the cave to check on Ivy and to his dismay she was sitting up trying to put her dress on.
‘C-cold,’ she stuttered.
‘Hush now,’ he said as quietly as he could. ‘The storm’s died down and we can’t let those men out there hear you, all right?’
‘I c-can hear them …’ she told him and there was fear in her eyes, making Riley wonder just what she’d heard, and how much. God knows it would shock a girl like her to the core.
‘You’re still very warm, Ivy,’ he told her softly, focusing on that instead and stroking her face with the cloth. ‘I know you feel like you’re cold but you’re actually not. Lie down now. I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can.’
‘When …?’ she moaned, collapsing back and clutching the dress.
‘As soon as the coast is clear,’ he whispered, grabbing a few pieces of fruit to justify his visit and climbing back out.
Fortunately the rain had eased to a drizzle and blue sky could be glimpsed between cloud masses, meaning there was enough daylight to make his way back to Fiona’s if that was truly what he needed to do. Thinking of Ivy’s weak and shivering form he knew it was, as further complicated as that made things, but he’d have to leave soon. Just pass out already, he silently begged as he made his way back but Donovan had started an argument with Petey now.
‘Go near her and I’ll kill ya,’ Petey yelled.
‘I wouldn’t go near your sister in for all the tea in bloody China.’
‘What? Not good enough for y’then?’
‘Not if she’s as hairy as you. Reckon she could have a beard downstairs!’
Deano guffawed at that but Petey had grabbed Donovan by the shirt and Deano scrambled to pull them apart.
‘Hey … hey!’ Deano called.
‘Have a go then, ya grizzly mongrel,’ Donovan yelled at Petey, reeling about and nearly falling over his feet.
‘Just settle down already,’ Deano said, rocking as he stood with his arms out between them.
‘My bloody sister …’ Petey was muttering as he sat heavily down. ‘No respect.’
Donovan noticed Riley’s return then and a lecherous grin split his face. ‘Riley’s sister’s the one I would have loved to get me hands on, that Fiona,’ he drawled. ‘I woulda beat the snootiness out of her in no time.’ If Riley had wanted to hit Donovan before it was nothing compared to now.
‘Hasn’t worked for old George so far,’ Deano replied, not noticing Riley as yet. ‘He said a good beating only makes her angrier.’
‘He said what?’ Riley said, heated fury flooding through him in a rush.
Deano swung around at his voice and blanched. ‘I’m sure he … I mean, I’m pretty certain George was lying ’bout it.’
Riley glared at him, trying to discern the truth through his anger. ‘He’d better pray to God he was,’ he said switching his focus back to Donovan, the menace in his tone clear. ‘Any man lays a finger on her and he’s dead.’
For all his bravado it seemed Donovan had finally been shut down, showing his cowardice in the end, and a tense silence followed. Then Donovan stumbled off to relieve himself, muttering, and fell over in the process. Snores soon followed and after a few minutes it seemed the others had begun to doze off at last too. Riley could finally make his exit and smuggle Ivy on board and back to Fiona’s but he waited a bit longer, just in case, before going to her.
He’d expected to find her still feverish but he hadn’t expected to find her crying.
‘What is it? Do you feel that poorly?’ She shook her head, her expression filled with despair. ‘I’ll get you home as soon as I can, don’t worry,’ he said, soothing her face with the cloth, figuring she was probably scared or perhaps homesick. ‘In fact we can get out of here now.’
But tears continued to fall and her face crumpled as she whispered, ‘Fiona.’
Riley’s heart shifted at that, her sweet compassion touching after so much belligerence and cruelty this afternoon.
‘I’m sure there was no truth to it, Ivy. Take no notice of what drunken men like that say. All right?’
She nodded, her trust evident, but she remained emotionally shaken, and literally still shook from fever as he wrapped her in the blanket, grabbed the hessian bag and gathered her in his arms, holding her against him protectively. Then he set off to sneak quietly to his boat with the most precious cargo the Hawkesbury Queen had ever carried, a fact vehemently reinforced by these dangerous men. His need to guard her intense, his senses on painful alert, he lifted Ivy aboard for the third time in less than a day and headed back for urgent attention from Fiona, her safest option for recovery. To the one person who’d always been his home, his family, his rock. To seek healing and support once more, and, while he was at it, to find out how much truth there really was in the words drunken men say.
Fourteen
The moon was rising, cresting the hill across the river in a luminous half-orb, slightly golden as it slowly revealed its form that night and cast a glittering lane across the water that ended in rhythmic waves onshore. It rendered everything magical, a beautiful spell cast over the landscape as its soft light touched every tree, every rock, every tuft of grass. The ordinary now extraordinary. It was Riley’s favourite part of living here: the moonlit river. It spoke to some primal part within him, soothing him and chasing shadows away, but tonight two shadows remained and Fiona had carried one of them with her when she’d waded out in her skirts to meet the boat.
‘What’s wrong? Was it the storm?’ she’d said immediately, the shack behind her bearing fresh scars from the recent onslaught.
‘Yes, we got caught and Ivy’s not good. She’s taken fever …’
‘But you can’t stay here,’ she’d interrupted, eyes darting to shore. ‘George is drunk and in a mood.’
‘What kind of mood?’ Riley had demanded, glancing over at the shore too.
Fiona had paused before replying, her expression closed. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’
Riley had wasted no words then. ‘I swear, Fiona, if he’s been laying into you I’ll kill him.’
She’d merely lifted her chin and scoffed, pride and haughtiness in her reply. ‘Of course he hasn’t! As if I’d let any man hit me in a million years.’
If she was lying she’d become damn good at it all of a sudden. Fiona had been a terrible liar when they were growing up. He hadn’t pursued it, however. She would hardly start confessing in the middle of the river and in full view of George as he lumbered outside to sit in his fishing chair, even if it were true. Besides, Riley had needed Fiona’s help with that other shadow over his day, his very ill and feverish passenger, and it wasn’t the time to argue. That time would come though. This matter was far from over.
In the end Fiona had tended Ivy on the boat rather than move her or contend with George and the patient remained below deck as an exhausted Fiona came up for a breather.
‘Any change?’ Riley asked, pausing from filling his pipe.
‘No,’ Fiona said, stretching her back and sighing. ‘You were right to bring her back to me, though. She would’ve struggled to make the long journey home and that’s a fact.’
‘Do the wounds look worse to you?’
‘Not really,’ Fiona said, frowning as she stared at the water.
‘What then?’ Riley said, studying her, his stomach knotting.
‘Well, I was thinking,’ she said, dropping her tone to a whisper, ‘it could be the plague.’
‘The plague?!’
‘Hush! Keep your voice down,’ she warned before continuing. ‘It took nearly a hundred lives in Sydney last year, is all.’ His horror at that fact must have showed for she’d quickly added, ‘but most newspapers say that’s as good as over.’
The plague. Could anything else happen in this calamity-filled new year? Only two days old and already 1902 had taken his quiet life of smuggling along the Hawkesbury River and thrown in an unavoidable kidnapping, a local hurricane and accusations of wife-beating along with admissions of murder at a violent rum party. No wonder he felt sick and exhausted.
There was no time to rest, however. Ivy was still very ill and Riley needed to get word to her family. Fortunately, Barney’s boat was due to come by soon so he was keeping vigil to send another message. Barney always went fishing on Thursday afternoons but would be back home by nightfall and his boat would chug straight past when he did.
And so it was just Riley and the river, his closest companion, left to soothe his tumultuous emotions in the moonlight. The tide drifted slowly, as if to mark the painfully slow passing of time as Fiona tended Ivy down below, the occasion scrape of a bowl or groan from the patient the only human sounds. The river itself had its usual living language, lapping steadily against the boat’s sides and the shore, while the fauna that depended on it added to that constant sound like an eclectic orchestra.
For a while it had been the diurnal animals keeping chorus but they had all disappeared when twilight fell; the cicada’s drone fading as the last of the wood ducks flew off in drumming flutters and flocks of cockatoos called to their families to take roost in the hills. Riley wondered where they’d all got to while the violent squall had raged, but a perfect calm had settled in after the storm. Yet it wasn’t a quiet calm, nor was it still, as the nocturnal animals took reign.
Frogs, crickets and all manner of insects started the nightly song and it was peppered by the leathery swish of fruit bats flapping overhead, making their nightly pilgrimage to the orchards. The swoop of tawny frogmouths could also be heard as they moved among the trees, and Riley knew that many more creatures would be visible beneath the moon tonight, but the twins hadn’t sought to investigate the riverbank with their little lanterns, nor had they rushed out to greet him as they often did. They hadn’t emerged at all.
Riley stared over at George, asleep in his chair, and seethed anew at the possibility of this man hitting his sister. He was a good-for-nothing type, and lazy as the day was long, but he’d managed to woo Fiona a few years ago, somehow, and at the time Riley had figured she could have done worse. He’d seemed rather harmless back then, especially compared to the likes of Donovan. George’s drinking had got worse since the twins were born, however, and there were more notable and regular absences as he took off fishing. To say the honeymoon was over would be an understatement but he’d never have expected the man would actually hit her, if for no other reason than the fear of Riley knocking his lights out.
But who really knew what went on behind closed doors, and Fiona was proud, as her reaction today had proven; potentially proud enough to hide this from him. There was something in the way she kept holding her hands across her belly too, and the purse of her lips as she drew the twins closer, and away. The image of George’s fist colliding with Fiona’s pregnant form flashed through his mind and he gritted his teeth as he looked out at the water. Maybe he wouldn’t wait to have this out with Fiona properly. Maybe he wouldn’t just hit the bastard, either. Perhaps he really would help him find a watery grave along these shores instead.
Such disturbing, murderous thoughts were interrupted by the rumble of Barney’s motor and Riley picked up the lamp nearby and signalled for him to stop. At least that was one piece of action he could take right now, and it felt good to be able to help Ivy contact her family again, at least, especially after hearing how much she cared for them today.
Barn
ey’s boat approached, low in the water with all the equipment he had on board along with the crates he’d not yet delivered from the orchards. It was part of his job that he deliver up here each afternoon but the produce turned up on doorsteps in the wee hours on Friday mornings due to his Thursday fishing jaunts.
‘Ahoy!’ Barney called cheerily, trying to wave and tie down a crate at the same time.
‘Ahoy!’ Riley waved back, thinking it would be good to see a friend after such a day. He was actually a decent bloke, if rather dim and easily distracted.
Barney finished tying the ropes and drew the boat alongside. ‘What’s with George?’ he said, nodding over at the man’s slumped form.
‘Out cold,’ Riley told him, his earlier thoughts of punching the man and achieving the same end still fresh.
‘Again?’ Barney said, with a shake of his head. ‘He’s really not handling the grog too well lately, is he?’ he said, swigging at a bottle himself, although not unsteadily. ‘Anyway, what’s your story then?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean why’d you call me over? Need a hand with somethin’?’
‘No, no, just another message delivered, if you don’t mind.’
Barney looked at him blankly. ‘What do you mean another one?’
Riley stared, dread in his tone as he replied. ‘Don’t tell me you forgot?’
‘Forgot what?’
Riley took a deep breath, cursing himself for entrusting such a man with such an errand.
‘I gave you a note to deliver last night. To the Merriweather family in Hornsby?’
‘A note?’ Barney was frowning in the lamplight and Riley rubbed his face as yet another huge problem arose.
‘Good God, they must be beside themselves.’
‘When did you give me a note?’
‘When you were pulling the nets in, remember? I said whatever you do, don’t forget to deliver this note …’
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