Neumegen reappeared at her side, clutching a piece of paper in his hands. He motioned for her to follow him, and they crossed to the street to a small inn, unscathed by the fire, doing a roaring trade of handles of ale and hearty meals.
The pair slipped into a vacant table in the corner and after ordering for them both, Neumegen explained to Sarah the woes of the young man in his hospital bed.
‘It seems your friend, the Warden, had promised to send a letter for the lad, many months ago. A letter he just discovered in your mother’s pocket. He’s devastated. He’s been operating under the assumption that his mother knew of his whereabouts. There’s a sense of… betrayal, I feel.’
‘Can I read the note?’
Neumegen handed her the note written a lifetime ago by a young man filled with the promise of adventure, and the joy of reuniting with a brother he loved. A note addressed to the same woman in Wales on the note Sarah had in her own pocket, nestled next to a large gold nugget, burning a guilty hole in her conscience.
‘He talked to you then?’
‘He did.’
‘And he knows Annabel is my mother?’
‘He does.’
‘Will he speak with me?’
‘Perhaps? But not today, maybe tomorrow? Where will you stay tonight?’
Sarah looked up from the note, the realisation hitting home that she couldn’t stay at the hospital, which was overflowing at its seams. Accommodation in the city now hotly contested, and priced at a premium, and she had no funds for even the smallest of rooms. She shrugged again.
‘Then you will come home with me today and leave the boy to his introspection. Your mother knows in her heart that you have been with her. And she has the Warden to stay with her. You will convalesce from your injuries at my place. This town isn’t in any fit state for a young woman on her own. Leave word with the matron, yes?’
It was the only solution. There was nothing she could do for her mother and watching Price’s obvious love was distressing. Of Colin’s heartbreak over letters not sent, she could at least remedy that with a letter of her own to his mother. She didn’t think it would break any time travel rules, if there were any around time travel? Doctor Who was the only time traveller she was familiar with, and some girl called Claire who travelled back in time and fell in love with a red-haired highlander. But those books weren’t guides to time travel. No, she’d send a letter to Colin’s mother, explaining about Isaac, and Colin’s injuries, including the two unsent letters. And the gold nugget she’d send that too. Heaven knows what life was like for Colin’s mother now, with her sons so far away.
‘Let me tell the matron,’ she said, brushing down her skirts. She slipped the second note into her pocket, where it joined Isaac’s one.
The matron was far too busy to listen to Sarah’s babbling explanation of where she’d be if her mother’s condition changed. And when she looked in on Annabel, Price had fallen asleep with his head resting on the edge of the bed. She backed away, a lump in her throat. If she ever thought she had feelings for the man, he’d never reciprocate them now.
Joining Neumegen outside, they walked down Queen Street, the stark morning light highlighting the nights devastation. Already the sound of sawing filled the air, the fresh lumber scent replacing that of the fire. Gangs of men in heavy duty boots and corduroy trousers worked tirelessly either shoring up damaged buildings, or tearing down those too far ravaged by fire. The army was out in force, keeping order, lending manpower to speed things up.
‘Best thing for the town,’ Neumegen said, pointing at the ugly shell of Sheehan’s Hotel, its timbers still smoking.
Sarah chanced a look at the man. Did he know about the Jowls’?
‘Trouble from the day they arrived here. The whole family,’ he added. ‘No great loss, it’ll be better now,’ he concluded.
Sarah’s heart hammered in her chest. They were nearing a group of army officers milling around a gutted building. Was Neumegen going to hand her over as a murderer? But he did nothing more than to tip his hat, greet them politely, and carry on his way. Sarah didn’t know what to think.
Back at the shop, Neumegen disappeared into the workroom, asking her if she wanted a cup of tea. She trailed behind him, noting that he’d reorganised the cabinets to fill the space of the damaged cabinet. The shop looked cleaner, more elegant with fewer cabinets in the space.
‘Please relax, Miss Lester. Everyone has their secrets. As a pawnbroker, I am privy to more than most. I’m a keeper of secrets, even yours. We drink our tea now, yes?’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah said, her shoulders slumping with relief, excusing his odd turn of a phrase as a matter of translation.
They sipped their tea in silence, each of them considering their own issues.
‘Do you believe in God, Miss Lester?’
Sarah considered his question. Her parents hadn’t raised her to be religious, but she still appreciated that a higher power existed, whether it was God or Mother Nature or some other all-powerful being, she didn’t know. She sensed however that Neumegen believed in God, so she smiled and nodded.
He seemed satisfied with her answer and disappeared out the front, reappearing moments later, a long leather-covered jewellery box in his hand.
‘Then I should like you to have this,’ he said, passing her the box.
Sarah released the catch on the small box and found an ornate jewel-encrusted crucifix attached to a slender gold chain. The light from the lanterns on the wall infused the gems with a life of their own.
Swallowing her surprise, she murmured her thanks, the ostentatiousness of the piece overwhelming. ‘It’s quite something.’
‘It is. I’d like you to have it. You have an angel sitting on your shoulder, but it pays to have extra protection,’ Neumegen explained. ‘I must get back to work. Trade will be brisk today. A calamity is good for business you see,’ he said shrugging. ‘Take yourself upstairs to rest, but no more going through my trunk. It’s empty now, there’s nothing in there of interest.’
Neumegen left her sitting at the workbench, the cooling cup of tea in her hands. Her mouth agape at his last comment. The man was either a mind reader or had surveillance equipment installed. How did he know?
With a creeping unease, she abandoned her tea, and made her way upstairs to light the fire to boil the water to use in her bath, before returning downstairs to locate the water pump. A bath would help clear her head. It was too much to take in right now. Delayed shock perhaps?
The old fashioned hand pump stood outside the door, surrounded by an incredible amount of detritus. It was as if she’d stumbled into the backyard of a hoarder shown on American television. Curious, she poked around, turning things over, and peering underneath abandoned carriage seats and into cracked stone crocks. Did the man throw nothing away?
Sarah filled a bucket and wrangled it back up the narrow staircase, tipping it into the large copper she’d set over the fire. Heating enough water for her bath would be a long and laborious process. After several more trips, and burning herself once in the transfer process, Sarah decided a quick dip in the quarter-filled tepid water would be more than enough for her needs. Why anyone bothered to bathe in the 1800s was beyond her.
After drying herself off, she shuddered at the thought of wearing her soot, sweat and bloodstained clothes, before remembering she’d left her jeans and shoes in Neumegen’s room. Perfect! She dunked her filthy clothes into the still warm bath to soak… no point wasting the water and dashed into Neumegen’s bedroom to hunt out her clothes.
His bedroom looked more or less the same as it had the last time she was here — sterile and sparse. Her clothes weren’t still on the bed, and nor did she expect them to be. The travelling trunk was the most likely place he’d have stored them, unless they’d joined the innumerable cartons on the shelves downstairs.
Although he’d inferred that the rifles were no longer in the trunk, it still surprised Sarah to find that they’d gone. The only items the trunk
now contained were hangers of identical black jackets and pressed trousers. Curious, she opened the little drawers, and found pairs of fine cufflinks and matching shirt studs lined up like soldiers. Neatly folded gloves filled another drawer, and undergarments filled the large bottom drawer. If they weren’t in the trunk, that only left the washstand, itself blessed with three large drawers under the marble basin.
Sarah found nothing of interest in the first two drawers — winter clothes — thick knitted garments, almost too warm for Auckland’s temperate climate. The bottom drawer contained something entirely different.
Not only were Sarah’s jeans and shoes in the drawer, the Converse circle and star clearly visible, but there were two other pairs of jeans and a pair of Reebok trainers, not hers. An old style cellphone sat next to a modern wallet and a set of car keys. Stunned, she sat there staring at the motley collection, until her near-nakedness made her reach for her clothes.
As Sarah pulled her jeans and shoes from the drawer, she dislodged a small beaded purse. Almost art deco in its appearance, it looked brand new. The clasp made of sterling silver, and even without checking a silver hallmarks reference book, the marks on the clasp dated the purse to after 1890, or rather that the lack of the duty mark combined with the hallmarks for Birmingham, dated this piece some thirty years in the future.
Too scared to open it, she shoved it to the back of the drawer, and scrambled to her feet, sliding the drawer shut as quietly as she could. It was too late to get dressed into her local clothes, they were all in the tub, sodden. She needed to put her things back in the drawer, but until she found something else to put on, they’d have to do. She only hoped that she could source suitable clothes from the storage room downstairs before Neumegen recognised that she’d been prying through his things. Neumegen was a man of many secrets. But was she prepared to share hers to find out his?
The Patients
Colin refused any contact with Price, instructing the nurses that he didn’t want to see him under any circumstances. The betrayal of the man, his disregard for Colin’s one request. The broken promises were inexcusable.
This whole time, Colin had been operating under the certain knowledge that his mam knew where he was. The double blow was that Price knew about Isaac’s death and hadn’t told him until now. Letting him convalesce in Dunedin, in utter ignorance of his brother’s murder. Even allowing him to go gallivanting off to Bruce Bay in search of his murdered brother. Who did that?
No, Colin wanted nothing to do with Price, or Annabel. He had baby Sophia, and together they would forge a new life together, somehow.
Convalescing in a ward with other sufferers of respiratory illnesses, the coughing from the various beds formed a relentless backdrop to Colin’s thoughts. The coughing no less loud than the lapping of waves against the shore in Bruce Bay, and he castigated himself for ever leaving. If he’d known Isaac was dead, he would have stayed with the others in Nelson. He’d never have met Aroha, nor been the harbinger of death to her, for that was what he was, he was as sure as the sun rose and set. It was his fault that she’d died. She was travelling to her people, and her journey to the Māori fort had only been to help him. Well, he wouldn’t be responsible for anyone else’s deaths. It would be just him and Sophia from here. He had a job, and he’d find them a place to stay. There’d be plenty of young girls around who’d be able to care for Aroha whilst he was at work. They would be fine, together, the two of them. He didn’t need Price, or Annabel, or anyone else. He didn’t even need the Jowl’s, although he felt the weight of their expectations settle on his shoulders as he remembered Joe Jowl’s last words to him. Never mind, he’d work his way out from underneath that debt and then he’d be free.
Colin lay back against his mountain of pillows, the nurses made him sleep upright to relieve the pressure on his lungs. He’d spent more hours than he cared to contemplating the ceiling, and his life. Once again he was counting the nail holes in the ceiling, when the visage of Price loomed over him.
‘An honest mistake,’ Price said.
Colin turned his head away, his skin prickling at the effrontery of a man who broke his promises.
‘I wanted to tell you, but it just didn’t happen that way,’ Price tried again.
Colin tried biting his tongue, but there was too much anger bubbling up. He’d trusted Price, looking to him for guidance in a new country. ‘But you knew my brother was dead, and you never said a word,’ he said, twisting the sheets in his fists.
‘I wanted to, but—’
‘But you ran off with your girlfriend instead?’
‘That’s not entirely true,’ Price said.
Colin didn’t see the faint smile cross Price’s face at the mention of Annabel.
‘She’s married to someone else, Annabel is,’ Colin spouted, his words aiming to hurt.
‘Was. Was married to someone else.’
The patient turned to face the man who’d let him down.
‘The husband’s still alive, just ask Sarah,’ Colin said, enjoying the discomfort on Price’s face.
‘No one knows if he is alive,’ Price said. ‘Too many years have gone since they were last together, and India is a wilder place than here. The church said there can be an annulment—’
Colin’s laughter interrupted Price’s explanation.
‘Your job was to protect people, to help them. But as soon as a pretty lady flounced her skirts in front of you, you…’ a coughing fit took over, forcing the matron to hold Colin as he coughed up blood-flecked phlegm.
‘Mrs Lester meant to send your letter, Colin. It was a terrible circumstance she found herself in. I’ll resend the letter for you now, will that make amends?’ Price cajoled.
The nurse leaned Colin back against the pillows, his face as pale as the linen.
‘And you’ll tell my Mam about Sophia? Tell her that she’s mine?’ Colin whispered, taking in the blood speckled sheet before moving his gaze to Aroha’s infant daughter gurgling in her crib by the matron’s desk.
Price squeezed Colin’s limp hand. ‘I’ll write today. Trust me, nothing will stop me sending that letter now, I promise.’
The matron ushered Price away as Colin slipped into a troubled slumber, his chest barely rising. The young man almost disappearing before their eyes, melting like the winter’s ice on a warm spring day.
Price stood in the doorway as the matron hurried back to her patient, and as the door closed, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last time he saw the boy.
The Letter
Price left the hospital and made his way to the post office, his head full of half-baked plans and ideas, undelivered promises and formal orders. There was only so much time he could claim to be convalescing before they ordered him back to work.
He rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the stiffness. He didn’t think his body would ever return to the way it was, but he had more mobility than he’d imagined, and he was alive, which was a miracle.
Left for dead after the ambush on their camp, the army had discovered Price two days after they first came through to clear up the mess, and transported him straight to Auckland, delirious, dehydrated, and near death. When he’d come to, no one could tell him where Annabel as or who’d attacked the camp — the imminent attack on Auckland a greater concern. Life in any small town is full of gossip, which flies faster than the wind. And it wasn’t long before he heard strange whisperings about a woman at Sheehan’s Hotel, travelling with a man and a baby, not of her own. The gossip was wild, but the nuggets of truth coalesced into his utter belief that they must have been talking about Annabel. When the fire overtook the city, and the army forced him out of his hospital bed with the rest of the able-bodied patients, and pressed him into service, he’d stumbled upon Sarah and Jimmy Jowl.
Despite their hurdles and mishaps, and although Sarah had reappeared, momentarily sending his heart into the heavens, it was Annabel he found himself drawn to and her wellbeing he wished for. Her touch that he ne
eded. And his childish thoughts of Sarah, from so long ago, vanished like a sunset, subsumed completed by the light of another woman. That Annabel was Sarah’s mother, didn’t feel strange. He’d felt a kinship with Annabel from the first moment he’d seen her. It just made sense. He’d talk to Sarah at some point, but like a coward, it was easier ignoring the elephant in the room, and Sarah had disappeared from the hospital. No one had told him where, but for the time being, her absence suited him. It was unsettling having the mother and the daughter together. There was still something undefinable which set them both apart from every other woman he’d met. But he wanted to spend a lifetime with Annabel figuring it out; if she would have him.
The queue at the post office wove its way out the door. Harried-looking men clutching handfuls of paper, no doubt missives to their insurance company, detailing the stock losses they’d sustained in the fire. Or pleas to their families to send money to pay to rebuild stores not insured. The lines of worry on their faces a sign of how awful things were.
Price joined the queue with what he considered, to be a heartfelt letter to Colin’s mother, detailing the death of Isaac, and the health of Colin. He believed it unlikely that the woman had the means to come to New Zealand to visit her son and his daughter, so he’d included a short postscript explaining that should anything happen to Colin, he would take it upon himself to care for the girl until she became old enough to return to Wales for schooling, should that be what the family wanted. He’d had to stop twice as he wrote that section, knowing in his heart-of-hearts, that Colin’s health wasn’t good, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be writing a second letter to Colin’s mam in the coming days, advising her of his passing.
His palms grew clammy holding the letter. Perhaps it would be better if she didn’t know about Colin and Isaac? Would she be any more wretched if she lived the rest of her days not knowing about her sons? The baby wasn’t Colin’s; she was the baby of a murdered native. Would the baby be better off being raised by himself and Annabel, close to her family he was sure he could track down, using the might of the army behind him?
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