by Joanna Lloyd
Her thoughts were interrupted by a small sound. It could have been an animal but some instinct told her it was not. The first sound was followed by a high-pitched screech. Like the creak of a rusty door hinge. It was difficult to determine the direction or distance, as in the predawn silence, sound carried so clearly. She finally decided it was coming from the stables and got to her feet, uncertain of what to do. The thought crossed her mind to alert William but when there were further muffled sounds from the stables, she made the fateful decision to see for herself.
As she rounded the side of the stables, a heavy instrument struck her on the head. Her body spun and dropped to the ground. For a few seconds her mind struggled to draw in information but the blackness dragged her down.
Electra slipped in and out of consciousness for an interminable time. When she finally came to, she was bouncing like a sack of wheat, slung across the front of someone’s saddle. Her hands were tied and she had lost both her slippers. Her captor smelt of stale, dried sweat and rotten meat and something else; did evil have a smell? An attempt to turn her head was met with a nauseating dizziness and she moaned aloud.
“The wench is awake, Mick.”
“Good. It’s time to be stoppin’ and ye’ll be keepin’ her quiet ’til I’m ready for her, Red.”
“I don’t know as why we had to take her, Mick. We could have had her there, grabbed what we wanted from the house and be gone. She’s gonna be trouble, I can tell jes’ by lookin’ at her.”
“Ye’ll be findin’ out what trouble is boyo, if I hear yer whingin’ voice again.”
The voices blurred as the fog resettled over her mind. And anyway, none of the voices were familiar. Her mind snapped back to consciousness as the name “Mick” registered. Oh God, she thought, sickened, it’s Mick Murphy. I’ve been captured by Mick Murphy and I know what he does to women. William, where are you? Then she remembered. He didn’t know she was gone.
And now here she was, tied to a tree, helplessly awaiting her fate. Electra decided to try and loosen the ropes on her wrists, but her struggles only tightened the knot. She steadied herself and looked around, taking note of her surroundings. They were in thick, scrubby bush with only a smattering of light visible through the branches of the towering eucalypt trees. The ground was littered with broken branches and dry leaves and a mist threatened in the distance. By the angle of the land, she determined they were on a ridge and the slight chill in the air indicated they had climbed in altitude. This was unfamiliar country and her despair deepened at the knowledge William would not find her.
A branch snapped as someone approached. Electra closed her eyes, hoping whoever it was might leave her alone if he thought she was not conscious.
“Wake up, bitch,” muttered a low voice.
She stiffened, but kept her eyes closed.
A damp, fleshy hand slapped her face. Hard. Her head slammed against the tree trunk and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
“You bastard!” she hissed. “Are you such a coward that you have to hit women?”
He laughed, an eerily familiar laugh. “That’s the least of what you’re gettin’, whore.” He trudged back to join the group of men.
Something about the man was scratching at her memory. Ridiculous of course, she had no acquaintances among the bushranger community. But it was the laugh. She was sure she had heard it before and the unease grew in her mind.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Eh, boss, devil man ’im chasin’ you?” yelled Billy, through the dust and flying stones as William and Callum thundered into the Pretty Creek Camp. The women and children scattered into huts and nearby bushland.
William dismounted and calmed his breathing before he spoke. “I need the best tracker in this area, Billy. Mick Murphy has kidnapped my wife and I have to find her before that scum touches her.”
A high-pitched, disembodied voice uttered a sharp question and Billy turned to throw back a response. There was a scream and wail as Yaraay appeared from the bush pulling at her hair. Interspersed with her wailing, were orders to one of the children who trailed behind her. He scooted like a bandicoot into the bush and William turned back to Billy for an explanation.
“Bulanggi best damn tracker I know, boss. Picaninny bring ’im quick time,” said Billy. He turned to respond to Yaraay as she pointed at the bush and at herself and turned back to William. “We all come, boss. You got ’im guns?”
“Yes, guns and knives.” William frowned at Billy. “Won’t the women slow us down?” he asked, desperate to begin the search.
Billy chuckled. “Nobody move like us black fellas in the bush, boss. You gonna take them noisy animals?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you take ’em for a bit but then we leave ’em behind. Them bushranger fellas hear us comin’ miles away. Okay boss?”
“Callum?”
“Oh aye, they’re right, Will. These laddies are the experts.”
It seemed like only minutes before the child reappeared with Bulanggi at his side, his face hard with anger. He told them he would put a spear through the heart of any man who touched the missus. Looking at the group gathered around them, William realised each one would gladly lay down their life for Electra. She had captured the hearts of so many in the short time since she arrived in the colony.
He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. To dwell on what Murphy might do to her would take his mind from the hard, cold focus he would need to find her and punish those responsible.
William and Callum mounted their horses and with the four natives trotting easily beside them, they retraced their steps to the western boundary where the visible tracks disappeared.
The three men and two women stood silently watching Bulanggi crouch over the footprints.
Without raising his head he said, “Look like dis many men.” He held up five fingers. “’Em be pull ’im ’nuther one.”
William started to ask a question but Bulanggi held up his hand. He had not finished. He spoke rapidly to Billy who translated.
“One fella ’im real tall and big, one fella ’im — ” he indicated a shorter height, “ — but real fat. He like to spit and don’ like movin’ too fast. ’Nuther fella, ’im short and skinny. He got red colour hair … ” he held up a red hair he found on the ground. “This one fella, he not so big too. He walk funny and he real scared. Las’ fella not too tall but strong. Missus, she not awake.” He looked up at William and Callum. “Who these fellas, boss?”
“I would guess the big one is Mick Murphy but I have no idea about the others. What do you mean my wife was not awake?”
“She not movin’, boss. Don’ worry. Don’ mean she dead.”
That was true, they would not continue to carry her body unless she was of use to them. William tried to keep his face impassive and concentrate on the task of finding her but he could feel the strain on his features and a chill in his heart.
“How — how long ago were they here?” he asked.
“Look like the wind bin blowin’ these one marks since before sun ’im come up.”
At least six hours. William cursed anew the time spent sleeping but refused to lose hope. He had been crouching next to Bulanggi and stood up. “Which way, Bulanggi? Let’s get going.”
Bulanggi stood and looked around, noting every aspect of the surroundings. He picked up broken twigs, disturbed groundcover, and even a small insect trampled into the dirt.
“This way boss.” And he was off into the bush.
As they rode beside the natives, William’s curiosity got the better of him.
“Billy, how the hell did he know how big those men were?”
“Those feller’s footprints jes’ like lookin’ at ’em close-up.”
“What do you mean?”
“That big fella, ’im got deep, straight one foot mark. That fat one, he got deep mark too but he not walk straight, he walk like he — ,” Billy blew out his cheeks and indicated a wide girth. “That small
one, walk funny, ’im go deep on the outside of his boots an’ light on the inside but not so deep like them two big ones.”
“Well, that all makes sense, but how did you know one of them was scared?”
“Easy boss. That one he jump around an’ walk to them horses an’ then walk back. Then that big one, he maybe smack ’im an’ he fall back. Then his feet real still. He real scared.” Billy reached over and touched Will’s arm. “Them fellas no match for black fella, boss. We find missus.”
Bulanggi nodded his agreement then held up his hand. “No more talk. We go.” He ducked through the trees and out of sight.
Despite Bulanggi’s continual disappearance, the other natives never faltered. They had a sixth sense that told them exactly where he was at all times. At regular intervals, the group would come upon Bulanggi standing motionless like an ancient ebony statue. Then his nostrils would flare, his eyes would flicker and he would be gone again.
After hours of intense, silent tracking, Bulanggi held up his hand to bring them to a halt. He indicated they should leave their horses. William and Callum hobbled the horses, slung the saddlebags over their shoulders then waited for his explanation.
“Bulanggi say them fellas go ’long them Blue Mountains. That my mother’s land, Dharug country, boss, plenty family there,” said Billy. He pointed to his left. “Them fellas stop there.” He made an eating motion. “’Em not too smart.” He knocked the side of his head with his knuckles. “Make ’im fire. You look.”
William looked to where he pointed. Sure enough, there were the remnants of a fire, coals still smoking. He kicked at it, angry they had not caught up. There must be some clue, he thought, scanning the area, something to tell him she was alive.
“Boss!”
“What is it? Is she alive?”
“She alive all right, boss,” said Bulanggi, holding out a piece of ripped fabric.
“She bin tied to this tree and bin kickin’ real hard.” He pointed to the marks on the ground at the base of the tree.
William knelt down and could see where the groundcover had been cleared and furrowed by someone struggling and kicking at the ground. There were also small indents on the trunk of the tree where rope had severed the bark.
Yaraay joined him, surveying every inch of the area. Suddenly she yelped, clutched his shoulder and pointed to the ground. He leaned over and picked up a leaf which was covered in a brownish-red, viscous substance.
The others hurried to his side and Callum shook his head. “Weel, I’ve seen enough in my time to know that’s dried blood, lad.” Bulanggi and Billy nodded their heads in agreement. William froze, unable to speak. His hands fisted at his side, gripping so tightly his arms started to shake.
“Not much blood, boss. And maybe belong other fella,” said Billy hopefully.
William dragged his focus back to the task and told himself Billy was right, there was not enough blood to be life-threatening and she did indeed seem to be very much alive by the evidence. He uncurled his fingers and flexed his hands and hoped she had kicked one of the bastards in the face. That it was his blood.
Bulanggi walked some way up the ridge and gestured to Billy. They all followed eager for clues.
Billy pointed to the ground, indicating disturbed groundcover, broken branches, and bark scratched from trees. “One fella he take them horses up here. He go ‘lone. Other fellas, them walk. Other way. Not long,” he said, pointing toward the misty outline of the mountains.
William turned toward the mountains but had only taken a few steps when Callum grabbed his arm.
“I canna take another step without tellin’ ye something, lad.”
William looked up, impatient to keep moving. “Can’t it wait, Callum?”
“No, I dinna think so.”
“All right, what’s this about?”
“It’s the lass. She may be in worse shape than ye think from the journey,” he said, watching William’s reactions.
“For God’s sake, Callum, what are you trying to tell me?”
The man looked stricken. “She’s with child, man. The poor wee lass is with child.”
The words didn’t make sense. Had he said she was with child? His child? His emotions were a blur of confusion, alarm and finally denial. William rounded on Callum, grasping the front of his shirt and shaking his friend. “It’s not true. You’re lying. She would have told me.” Callum put his hand on William’s arm to calm him but William threw it off. “How do you know this?”
Callum looked away. “It pains me to say this lad but she was afraid to tell ye for fear ye didna’ want her or the child. She told my Shelagh, who was sworn to secrecy. When ye ran for me with the news of her capture, Shelagh told me. I didna’ ken how to tell ye.”
William turned from Callum and dropped his hands to his sides. He shut his eyes in self-disgust. It was no accident he had not married before this. He always knew his inability to believe in love would bring another woman pain. But Electra was his wife and, despite his past, he loved her. Goddamn, he loved her so much. His fists curled at the thought that Murphy might have hurt her. A child, she was carrying his child! Now both she and their unborn child were in danger because he had driven her away with his past.
William sank to the ground where she had struggled and for the first time in his life, he wept.
The others moved discreetly away.
He swiped his sleeve across his face and shook his head, annoyed at his weakness. He couldn’t wallow in misery, wasting precious time. He had to find her, protect her and his child. To do this they needed a plan.
He joined the others. “We’re close and we have the element of surprise. These brutes are seasoned fighters, they’re killers, and I don’t want anyone, especially Electra, getting hurt. I have some suggestions and I’d like to hear any others.”
• • •
Once the slopes became too steep to ride, they dismounted and unpacked the horses. One of the men, Paddy, was sent in another direction with the horses while they continued on foot. They tied one end of a rope around Electra’s wrists, in front of her body, and the other end was tied around the waist of the short, stocky man they called “Bench.” Mick Murphy followed, his eyes burning into her back.
At an order from Murphy, Bench quickened his pace and Electra stumbled, falling to her knees. Murphy grabbed her by the hair and hauled her painfully to her feet. His free hand lunged down her bodice and pinched her breast. It was sufficient incentive to stay on her feet. She was beyond the point of exhaustion, her throat was parched, and her mind was focused solely on staying upright, putting one foot in front of the other. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot …
After hours of being dragged through the bush, Murphy called a halt, walked in front of Electra and unsealed his water bag. He took a long, slow swallow, letting the water dribble from his mouth and down his neck.
“Yer lookin’ like ye need a long, cool drink me darlin’,” he said, holding out the bag to her. She could already taste the sweet, cool liquid as she reached gratefully for the bag.
Without moving his eyes from her face he tipped her share onto the ground. “Oh will ye look at that? That’s a shame, that is.” Laughing at the disbelief on her face, he sealed the bag and pushed her forward. She licked her cracked lips and swiped her angry tears away.
As the sun set on another day of hell, Electra’s shoulders slumped with relief to hear Murphy announce they were safe to camp for the night. She was once more tied to a tree away from the warm fire and left shivering, hungry, and thirsty. Her head drooped onto her chest. She no longer had the strength to hold it up. Exhausted sleep began to draw her down when she heard the sound of footsteps through the dry leaves.
“Here, eat this and quick. If Murphy catches me, we’ll both be in trouble.”
The smell of roasted meat ignited her senses and her mouth was already open as she raised her head. Embarrassed at the intimacy of the act, the red-haired boy shoved the meat quickly into her mouth. Too hungr
y to even chew, she swallowed the meat and opened her mouth for more like a baby bird. After repeating the action four times, the boy opened his hands to show her there was no more.
“Please, I need water,” she whispered.
He came prepared and held the water to her lips. The cool liquid shocked her dry throat and it contracted in protest. Her eyes watered as she tried to smother a choking cough. The boy tried again and this time her throat relaxed and she swallowed thirstily. At last she let her head fall back against the tree and looked at him properly. Something was different … what was it? Oh Lord, she thought, her heart sinking. He was no longer wearing a mask. That could only mean they knew she would never bear witness to their actions. Electra quelled the panic that rose in her chest. She needed to engage the boy, make him an ally. Someone who could help — must help if she was to survive.
“You are so kind. You seem too nice to be with these animals,” she said, forcing the corners of her mouth into the semblance of a smile.
The boy shoved his boot into a clump of dirt and kicked it at the base of a tree. He pursed his lips. “I’m not so nice. I done bad things and no one back ’ome wants to have nothing to do wiv me no more. Them over there,” he jerked his head toward the group around the fire, “them’s the only friends I got.”
“But if you were to help me, I would speak for you and you could get yourself a pardon and maybe start a decent life,” she ventured.
For a moment there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and then they clouded as the cynicism resettled. “Yeah, right. There’s only a noose waitin’ fer me whether I helps yer or not. Not worth it, sorry. You ain’t bad neither.” He shrugged and turned away.
“Wait! Don’t go,” she called.
The boy spun around, fear in his eyes. “Yer shut up, yer hear? If Murphy hears me talkin’ to you, I’m done.”
“Oi, Red. What be ye doing over there boyo?” called Murphy.
The boy glared at her before answering. “Jes’ checkin’ she ain’t loosened her ropes or nothin’ Mick.” He scuttled back to the group.