The Girl In the Painting

by Téa Cooper

  ‘There’s nothing the matter with my heart, I can assure you.’

  ‘Would you like Jane in the room while I examine you?’

  ‘No, I would not.’

  ‘Very well.’ He placed the contraption on her back and her chest, asked her to breath in and out, grunted a fair bit and removed the pieces from his ears. Then he took her wrist, feeling for a pulse.

  After a few minutes, he stood up. ‘I have to agree with you, I can find nothing wrong. Have you had any headaches, disturbed vision or other peculiar sensations?’ he asked, tapping into her thoughts with uncanny accuracy.

  ‘No.’ She had no intention of mentioning the periodic racing of her pulse, the moments of vertigo, nor the strange smell she couldn’t shake.

  ‘There is only one other conclusion I can draw. It’s a little delicate.’

  ‘Spit it out. I’m not some pampered ninny who can’t be told the truth.’

  ‘Women of your age …’ He cleared his throat, turned to the window, and fixed his concentration on some point beyond the garden.

  ‘Women of my age?’ she prompted.

  ‘The change of life. Symptoms such as over-heating, difficulty sleeping, disturbed memory … this can lead to nervous exhaustion and hysteria.’ He continued to stare out of the window. ‘Have you been suffering any of these maladies?’

  ‘For goodness sake. Hysteria? Next you’ll be demanding I prove my sanity and threatening me with the attic.’

  ‘Nothing of the kind. However, I would like to suggest plenty of rest and a substantial diet—dairy products and red meat.’

  ‘Don’t let Bessie hear you say that. She prides herself on the meals she provides and I am more than happy to substantiate my approval.’

  ‘Have you had any difficulty sleeping?’

  ‘No, none at all,’ Elizabeth replied, thankful he was still facing the window and couldn’t see her heated cheeks. She’d barely slept the night before, too concerned the despicable hallucinations would return. Spent most of the night staring out into the darkness until the sky lightened.

  ‘I’ll leave you a sleeping draught and call in again in a few days. If your symptoms worsen I expect to be notified immediately. Now I shall go and put Michael’s mind at rest.’

  ‘While you’re here, be kind enough to remind him to carry his pills. I noticed he left them at home while he was in Sydney.’

  ‘Touché.’ Dr Lethbridge quirked a smile. ‘Stay where you are. I can find my way to Michael’s study.’

  ‘Is there nothing we can do to prevent a recurrence?’ Michael asked Lethbridge.

  ‘There is simply no way of telling. If it continues we can look at some further treatment.’

  ‘What kind of treatment?’

  ‘There is a place on the river, beyond Morpeth; their rest-cures are held in high regard.’

  ‘You mean the asylum? I can assure you I will not be committing Elizabeth to an asylum, not based on one episode of understandable cause.’ They were well-respected, wealthy members of the community. People like Elizabeth didn’t end up in an asylum.

  ‘Understandable cause?’

  ‘She did tell you about her fear of birds?’

  ‘No, she didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Mother of God. She can be closer than a clam when the mood takes her.’

  ‘Are you certain you don’t have any idea what this fear stems from?’

  ‘None at all.’ And that was the truth. ‘There was one occasion, years ago, when we were in Hill End. There was a hollow tree at the intersection of the main street. People would leave notes pinned to it and there were several nesting boxes for the carrier pigeons. At dusk when the birds returned they’d swoop. It sent her racing home. After the first occurrence she avoided it. I didn’t pay much attention. Impressionable young girl, full of fantasies.’

  ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Around ten, maybe twelve. A year or so after she arrived at Hill End. It’s only recently we’ve kept chickens. Elizabeth was never keen. Lucy and Jane deal with them.’

  ‘In my professional opinion it is simply the stage of her life she has reached. Women of a certain age frequently have a trying time. I’ve told her I’ll call in again later in the week. Now it’s your turn.’

  The man was a nuisance, and Michael would put money on the fact Elizabeth was behind it. Lethbridge waved his stethoscope around like some sort of an Indian cobra. ‘Come along. Angina pectoris is not to be taken lightly.’

  ‘I have the medication with me at all times.’ He patted his top pocket and hoped he wouldn’t be called to task. The last time he’d seen the little brown bottle of pills they were on the dresser in his bedroom.

  ‘Carry them. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Lethbridge.’

  Lethbridge pulled a ferocious frown. ‘Neither of you are getting any younger, and I intend to ensure Maitland has the benefit of your combined skills and expertise for many years to come. I have no idea what the town would do without you, or what I would do for that matter.’

  ‘Can I offer you a drink?’ Michael reached for the bottle of whiskey at his elbow, and thought better of it. ‘Tea, perhaps?’

  ‘Thank you, no. A bit of restraint with the hard stuff wouldn’t go amiss. Concentrate on some gentle exercise, an evenly paced walk every day,’ he added. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  Once Lethbridge departed Michael dropped his head into his hands. He had no idea what had caused Elizabeth’s turn, and try as she might to pretend there was nothing wrong, he could sense her confusion. This fear of birds had never caused such a reaction before. He’d played it down in front of Lethbridge but it hadn’t occurred to him to warn her about Tost and Rohu’s exhibition—for goodness sake, he’d even recommended it. Shame Witherspoon hadn’t stuck to paintings.

  Which reminded him. He walked to the door. ‘Jane!’

  Lucy came scuttling along the corridor.

  ‘Where’s Jane?’

  ‘She got back a minute or two ago.’

  ‘Tell her to come to my study.’

  With Jane’s ability to reduce a problem to the bare essentials and apply basic logic, she must have a rational answer. Perhaps Elizabeth’s turn was nothing more than a momentary lapse. She seemed her usual self now and Jane hadn’t thought it necessary to call Lethbridge the night before. Asylum. Heaven forbid.

  Five minutes later Jane’s head appeared around the door.

  ‘Ah, come and sit down,’ said Michael. ‘Can you shed any light on yesterday’s events?’

  Jane scrunched up her face and shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. I was talking to Mrs Witherspoon about the accounts and went to find Aunt Elizabeth. She was sitting in the corner on the floor with her head in her hands. She was extremely upset.’

  ‘Was it the birds?’

  ‘I can’t think what else it could be. She seemed to recover quickly and insisted on walking home, though I asked the hansom cab to follow us and she finally agreed to a ride.’

  Michael grunted his approval.

  ‘She slept for the rest of the afternoon. I shouldn’t have worried you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was entirely the correct thing to do. I’ll call into the technical college and have a look at this exhibition myself. I have a meeting this evening; I’d like you to stay at home with Elizabeth.’

  Michael picked up his hat and his cane from the hat stand and pulled the front door closed behind him. An evenly paced walk, Lethbridge advised. It would take about half an hour to walk to the technical college via the telegraph office. He’d have a word with Mrs Witherspoon and take a good look at this exhibition before he talked to Elizabeth again. The sooner the birds were gone the better.

  Walking was all very well, but by the time he arrived at the telegraph office he’d raised his hat so many times his arm was in danger of dropping off and his heart was pumping faster than he’d like. Damn it! He’d forgotten to pocket the pills before he left.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Quinn.
How is Miss Quinn today?’

  ‘Much better thank you, Mrs Shipton.’ It would seem all the townsfolk had heard about Elizabeth’s visit to the technical college. Bunch of time-wasting gossipmongers. ‘I’ve come to see if there’s anything for me.’

  The woman behind the counter turned to the neat rows of wooden cubbyholes behind the desk and pulled out an envelope. ‘Your private correspondence was delivered to the house this morning. This arrived only a few moments ago. Joe would have delivered it later this afternoon.’

  Michael took the small brown envelope from her outstretched hand. ‘I’ve been expecting this,’ he mumbled, slipping it into his breast pocket.

  ‘From Liverpool, England. Nothing wrong I hope.’ Mrs Shipton peered at him over the rims of her spectacles.

  Why she asked, he had no idea. At this precise moment, she knew more about the contents of the envelope than he did. She read every telegram received and frequently broadcast the information before Joe had the opportunity to deliver. ‘No, nothing at all.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know.’ She gave an irritated huff and turned her back, giving him the perfect opportunity to escape.

  Next stop, the technical college, and then he’d be free to see what his enquiries had produced.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Witherspoon.’

  ‘Mr Quinn, how delightful. How is Miss Quinn today?’

  Michael bit back a sigh. ‘Better, thank you. I would like to have a word. Dr Lethbridge is investigating Miss Quinn’s episode and I wondered if you could shine any light on the matter.’

  ‘Me?’ The woman patted her hair and straightened her spine. She eased around the desk, enveloping him in a cloud of something horribly floral, dead roses perhaps.

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual about Miss Quinn’s demeanour?’

  ‘No, nothing at all … until Jane brought her out of the exhibition.’

  ‘Perhaps you could show me around.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ she simpered. ‘Tost and Rohu are a force to be reckoned with.’ She came to a halt in the doorway and flung out her hand. ‘The exhibition is due entirely to Major Witherspoon’s tireless efforts on behalf of Maitland Town, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’

  A lot of stuff and nonsense. Due entirely to the Major’s efforts to win support for the Commonwealth Liberal party in the area. Michael closed his lips firmly. He was not here to debate the merits of Maitland politics.

  ‘The exhibition will run for another three weeks.’ A bell tinkled in the distance and Mrs Witherspoon emitted a tiresome sigh. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. Have a look around and I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Can you tell me exactly where Miss Quinn was standing when she suffered her turn.’

  ‘No, no I can’t. I wasn’t here. Jane and I were going over the accounts. It wasn’t until Jane came into the exhibition she found Miss Quinn crouched on the floor.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I simply can’t tell you. I did, however, call a hansom cab.’ She lifted her nose. ‘Miss Quinn refused my efforts to assist.’

  The bell tinkled again in the distance.

  ‘Excuse me, I won’t be a moment.’ She disappeared through the arch, taking her cloud of dusty roses with her.

  The exhibition wasn’t large but the contents were extraordinary. In the centre of the room the diprotodon skull took pride of place, and behind it was a massive eagle, which could well have been the cause of Elizabeth’s distress. There were snake skins, one at least fourteen feet in length, furs, various other taxidermied birds and a series of carved emu eggs.

  Elizabeth was happy to eat eggs, but the chickens had to be kept cooped up. She’d threatened to sack Lucy when they’d wandered into her rose garden and she’d insisted Jane remove the bird table she’d put up hoping to encourage the King Parrots. Then there was the pigeon tree in Hill End. Ridiculous, he was clutching at straws. He had to have a serious talk to Elizabeth. Perhaps if she faced her demons she’d be happier.

  It was most peculiar. All the birds were displayed behind glass, yet Elizabeth had insisted she’d felt their wings graze her cheeks in the darkness. It made no sense.

  Shafts of sunlight illuminated the exhibits in the front section of the room. Michael sniffed and detected no strange smell, other than the remnants of Mrs Witherspoon’s rose-scented person.

  After making one more circuit, he walked out to the desk where Mrs Witherspoon was in close discussion with a group of women. Their conversation stopped short as Michael approached. He nodded, replaced his hat and left. The last thing he wanted to do was get caught up in another round of commiserations and enquiries. It was all most peculiar—and here in Maitland, the one place where he thought Elizabeth would be safe.

  Fourteen

  Hill End, 1870

  Michael couldn’t believe the ease with which Elizabeth slipped into his life, into the life of Hill End. Every morning he’d walk her to school and every afternoon he’d return to a cottage filled with laughter, warm food, and the happiness Mam had promised so long ago when she and Da first heard about the assisted immigration scheme. For a long time he’d begrudged their arbitrary decision to leave he and Lizzie behind with Aunty Nuala and take advantage of the free passage for married couples without children. Now he couldn’t fault them; they’d made the right choice, just hadn’t lived to see their plan come to fruition.

  ‘I’m home.’

  The door banged, echoed in the silence. Michael sucked in a breath, his nostrils twitching.

  Burning!

  He raced out the back to the kitchen and pulled the pot from the stove. Charred remains greeted him. ‘Kitty!’

  Back inside the house, the cold wrapped around him, the fire in the grate nothing but a few dying embers. ‘Elizabeth! Kitty!’

  He thundered up the stairs, throwing open the door to Elizabeth’s room, to his own.

  Nothing.

  No one.

  ‘Jaysus.’ With his heart thundering he slammed the door and shot out into the street.

  A couple of boys playing with hoops, a baby crying in its mother’s arms while she chatted unconcerned over the fence.

  ‘Mrs Dalley, Mrs Green.’ He slewed to a halt. ‘Have you seen Elizabeth?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘What about Kitty? Did anyone see Elizabeth this afternoon?’

  ‘Davy!’

  One of the boys with a hoop lifted his head.

  ‘Seen Elizabeth? Was she at school?’

  Of course she was. He’d dropped her off himself, just like always.

  ‘Yeah.’ The boy turned back to his hoop, sent it bowling across the street, narrowly missing Ah Chu, vegetable baskets dangling from his timber shoulder yoke.

  ‘Seen Elizabeth?’ Michael called.

  ‘She came, got some vegetables. Down at the garden.’

  ‘When? What time?’ He dashed across the road, fists clenched, resisting the temptation to shake some information, any information, out of the man.

  ‘After school finished.’

  ‘With Kitty?’

  ‘No, she’s home. Her man’s sick. Broke his leg in a rock fall.’

  Michael let out a groan and took off up the street. Why hadn’t Kitty told him? Where would Elizabeth go? If she was down at the gardens on the creek, anything could have happened. What if she’d taken a shortcut through the old diggings, honeycombed with disused shafts, sinkings and mounds of upturned dirt. Da’s face, his indented skull, flashed in his mind and he took off up the road.

  ‘Jing! Jing!’

  ‘Mr Michael.’ Jing appeared at the front of the warehouse.

  ‘Can’t find Elizabeth. Lock up. Come with me.’ He bent double, hauling the cold air into his lungs.

  ‘All locked up. Time to close.’

  Michael shot a look at the darkening sky. Soon it’d be impossible to see anything, never mind a young girl wandering alone in a town full of drunken miners and ne’er-do-wells. ‘Ah Chu saw her down at the gardens at
lunchtime.’

  ‘Kitty?’

  ‘Nope. Joe’s sick. She didn’t fetch Elizabeth.’ Left his darlin’ alone. Mary and Joseph, anything could have happened.

  ‘I’ll go down there.’ Jing indicated the sprawling shanties of the old town. ‘You go to the church.’

  The church, yes; Father MacCormick, he’d help. Without answering, Michael took off.

  The sun had long gone, but not the incessant thumping of the stampers; they rang out, keeping time with the pounding of his feet. He screamed to a halt outside the church, his breath clouding the cold night air. No lamp-light in the Father’s house, the churchyard in darkness.

  Slumped against the sagging fence, Michael scanned the churchyard. ‘Elizabeth!’ His voice hardly broke above the thundering stampers. He snatched more air into his lungs. ‘Elizabeth!’

  A flash of white.

  He vaulted the fence. Stopped dead.

  ‘Here.’ A frail voice wafted in the darkness, then another glimmer of white.

  ‘What the bloody hell would you be doing here?’ He reefed her to her feet.

  ‘Michael, stop it! Stop it! My foot … I can’t …’

  He scooped her into his arms, heart hammering, fury swelling in his gut. ‘Who did this? I’ll beat the living shite out of him.’

  ‘Michael, put me down.’ She struggled free, slid down, a groan slipping between her lips when her foot touched the ground.

  Something akin to a sob spluttered from his mouth, fury turned to fear.

  She swiped at his face. ‘Don’t cry.’

  He knuckled the tears from his eyes. Grimaced.

  ‘I stumbled, over Mam and Da’s gravestone. I squashed the flowers Ah Chu gave me. I called and called. Father MacCormick didn’t hear me.’

  The air fell out of his mouth, a massive sigh of relief.

  ‘My ankle hurts.’ She stood like a broken bird, balanced on one leg, the palm of her hand against the church wall, supporting her weight.

  ‘We’ll get you home.’ He scooped her up, tucked her close to his heaving chest.

  ‘My apron.’

  His balance shifted as she leant from his arms towards the ground.

  ‘I waved it, like a distress signal. Did you see me?’