by Téa Cooper
Mrs Winchester’s frown deepened and she sat down with a thump. ‘Continue.’
‘Carrick O’Connor bears a brand, on his shoulder, inflicted by Dankworth.’
‘A brand? Don’t be ridiculous. Men are not branded. That is for animals.’
She’d ignore Mrs Winchester’s expression of ridicule. Not be browbeaten as she had yesterday. ‘Not only that, Dankworth was responsible for Carrick’s transportation from Ireland.’
Mrs Winchester’s head snapped up.
That had got her attention. So she knew something of Dankworth’s origins. ‘They have a long-standing feud. Dankworth torched the house in which Carrick’s wife and child were seeking refuge and then accused Carrick of inciting riot. That’s why he was transported, as a political prisoner.’
‘Oh no. I don’t … I can’t believe …’
‘Dankworth saw Carrick with Ruan and believed he’d prevent him from taking Ruan, claiming him.’
‘What nonsense. I fail to see how that may incriminate Gideon. Why would he want to see Carrick imprisoned again if the man has served his sentence? It seems we have two entirely unrelated incidents here. You are maligning the poor man, Roisin. I didn’t imagine that would be the case. Why, if everyone in Australia harped back to their origins the country would barely function.’
‘Dankworth told me I had to make a decision between my lover and my son.’
‘Carrick O’Connor is your lover?’
She forced the flush beneath the collar of her green jacket and stared Mrs Winchester straight in the eye. ‘I hope he will be my husband one day soon.’ If he survived his trial and returned from Ireland.
‘I still fail to see how the two are connected. Why would Gideon want Mr O’Connor to hang? What has he to gain from this?’
‘I don’t know. I only know Carrick did not kill the overseer and there is a witness who saw Dankworth commit the crime.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Winchester’s shoulders drooped and she slouched back against the chair. ‘This puts a completely different view on the proceedings. I must call Mr Winchester. Who is this person? Where are they?’
‘He is a native called Old Pella.’
‘A native.’ She gave a tight laugh. ‘Well that’s of no use.’ She dismissed the possibility that a native could offer anything of value with a wave of her hand. ‘He can’t give evidence. Surely you know that. Natives are not permitted. Being heathens they can’t take an oath. Whatever he claims, his words are worthless.’
Roisin swallowed her scream of frustration. Would she be stalled at every turn? No wonder Old Pella said he couldn’t help. ‘I also have this.’ Roisin drew the stopper from her pocket. ‘Old Pella found it at the base of the tree next to the body, after he had witnessed the shooting.’
Mrs Winchester sank back in the chair, peering down at her palm, the colour seeping from her face.
‘It belongs to Dankworth. It has his initials as the crest. The same as those on the head of his cane.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Mrs Winchester seemed to rally somewhat. ‘However, this doesn’t prove anything. It could have been found anywhere.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
‘I think you better talk to Mr Winchester. Even though a native can’t give evidence in a court of law, I’m sure Mr Winchester would, of course, be interested in talking to the man, unofficially. I’m certain there must be some simple explanation.’
Yes, there was. Roisin was in no doubt now that Gideon Dankworth had killed the overseer deliberately to prevent Carrick from claiming Ruan.
‘There’s a very simple explanation.’
Mrs Winchester’s mouth dropped open. Roisin turned to the windows that led onto the flagstone verandah.
Lady Alice stood before them, tears streaking her face, clutching a scrap of white linen and dabbing uselessly at her swollen eyes. ‘I hold myself entirely responsible.’
‘My dear.’ Mrs Winchester rose and led her to a chair. ‘Now, now, please don’t distress yourself, this is nothing of your making.’
Lady Alice pushed Mrs Winchester away, and gave one more swipe to her reddened face, trying hard to regain control. ‘I can do no more than apologise to you, Roisin.’ She dropped her head into her hands and rocked back and forth, keening like some bereaved wife, while Mrs Winchester patted her back and made soothing noises. ‘I must ask you to believe me when I say,’ she lifted her face and dabbed at her eyes, ‘I had no knowledge I’d in any way be hurting you. You have shown me nothing but kindness and understanding. You have given me back my self-esteem and my self-worth and no matter what the cost, I can’t see you suffer.’
A fresh bout of sobbing ensued. Roisin wanted to grab the woman and shake the story from her. She clamped her teeth and dragged in a deep breath.
‘Believe me when I say I didn’t know that this mad, foolish plan of Gideon’s would come to anything. I have been so very wrong.’ Lady Alice shooed away Mrs Winchester’s hands and moved in front of the fire, determination etching her flushed face.
‘I have no doubt that Gideon is behind this situation. His hand is written all over it. Roisin is right, it does go back to Ireland. Gideon Dankworth was my father’s agent. My father owned several estates in Ireland, he was what the Irish termed an absentee landlord. He sold much of the food produced on the land to England. When the Famine came and times got bad it left the estate impoverished. The tenant farmers could not afford to pay their taxes or even support themselves. Gideon oversaw the clearing of the land. The removal of the tenants.
‘Papa was not a cruel man and he was shocked and horrified by what Gideon had done in his name. Even though several of the tenants were accused and sentenced for burning their own homes and inciting riot, rumours were rife. Papa dispatched Gideon to Australia to escape the furore.’
Roisin’s mind swirled as the pieces fell into place. Carrick was one of those transported for insurgency. It explained his relationship with Dankworth. It didn’t explain why Dankworth would want Ruan. Why he suddenly, after six years cared whether he had a son and wanted to claim him. She sank down onto the chair by the window and waited to see if Lady Alice could offer any further explanation.
‘Gideon returned to England, he courted me and I was taken in by him. He was a link to the past, a past that had been snatched from me by my father’s illness, and I was no longer young. I’m under no illusion now that he married me for my father’s money, for his estates. He could never inherit the title that would pass to our son and so would all the lands, on the condition I bore a son. That is where I failed. When Papa died my cousin inherited everything. Gideon didn’t care what happened to me, I was of no use to him, and he returned to Australia. Then out of the blue he sent for me. He’d discovered some impoverished woman had given birth to his son and he thought to claim him and thus challenge my cousin’s right to the title and estates. No one would know if the boy was mine. He simply had to ensure my compliance.’
‘My dear, I’m certain you exaggerate. All marriages are difficult. I am sure …’
Lady Alice raised her hand to silence Mrs Winchester. ‘If it hadn’t been for my vanity, my desire to make Gideon want me, I’d never have come to you and asked for your assistance with my dress. Gideon would never have found you, never found Ruan.’
Roisin felt the weight ease from her shoulders. At least now she knew why he had pursued her, been so insistent about claiming Ruan.
‘Oh, my dear.’ Mrs Winchester dropped her head into her hands. ‘I am so sorry. Would you believe me if I told you I knew none of this? It is I who have failed you.’
‘Carrick? What about Carrick?’ Roisin screeched the words. None of this would help Carrick.
Lady Alice sat down next to her and took her hand. ‘You do not understand how obsessed Gideon is. When he discovered you and Ruan, he was determined to take the boy, not have him slip through his fingers as he had in Sydney. He spent days watching you, watching Carrick, waiting for the moment when he could spirit him a
way.’
She’d known all along someone was watching, but she had put it down to Old Pella and relaxed her guard. Dankworth wouldn’t stop now. ‘Where is Dankworth?’ Her skin turned clammy and her stomach roiled. ‘Where is he?’
Mrs Winchester turned to Lady Alice, who lifted her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. He was here this morning, said he would ride and then return for breakfast before he attends the hearing.’
Roisin jumped to her feet. ‘I must go. I must go now. Ruan is alone with Jane.’
‘I’m sure you have nothing to fear, Roisin. Gideon is a gentleman, he wouldn’t do anything foolish.’
‘Go. Go now,’ Lady Alice said. ‘I’ll speak with Mr Winchester on your behalf. Go and find your son. I pray to God he is safe.’
Twenty
Roisin flew through the front door and down the steps. ‘Slinger! Slinger! We have to leave now. Hurry.’ She scrambled into the buggy.
Slinger gazed up at the house and ambled across the driveway as though he was enjoying a Sunday picnic.
‘Slinger, please. Hurry!’
He jumped up into the buggy and tipped back his hat. ‘If those toffs are givin’ you a bad time, I’m more than happy—’
‘Slinger just go, please! Dankworth is out riding and hasn’t come home. Jane and Ruan are alone.’
Whether it was the mention of Jane or the panic lacing her voice, she’d no idea, but Slinger picked up the whip and brought it cracking down across the back of the poor horse and they took off up the road as though the angels of hell were after them.
Roisin clung to the sides of the buggy, bouncing and twisting with each and every pothole. Having listened to Lady Alice’s story, she had no doubt Dankworth intended to snatch Ruan. He could have him in Morpeth in a matter of hours and Sydney not much longer after that and then, Holy Mary, onto a boat and heading back to England or even Ireland.
‘What makes you think Dankworth’ll make a move now?’
‘He’s got a lot to lose. He believes if he can prove he has a son he will inherit a fortune in Ireland.’
Slinger turned and threw her a bemused glance. ‘And what’s it to do with Carrick?’
‘That I don’t truly understand, Slinger. I can only think that Dankworth must have seen Carrick with Ruan and thought he’d stand in his way, prevent him taking Ruan.’
‘A gentleman don’t set a cedar cutter up for murder because he thinks he’ll stop him getting hold of his son. Carrick wouldn’t get a leg in. There has to be another reason.’
The buggy jostled and bumped along in silence. Slinger chewed his lip while she sat wringing her hands, trying to overcome the puddle of dread pooling in her stomach. ‘Maybe it was because you were taking the tree from his land.’
‘Nah. No need for that, he had the law on his side. We’re illegal cutters, everyone knows that. That’s not a hanging offence, though. Just a bloody great fine—more than those constables down at the courthouse earn in a year. There’s more to it than that.’
He picked up the whip and licked it across the poor horse’s back, trying to squeeze the last bit of speed out of the animal. Dankworth couldn’t prove Ruan was his son. She clung onto the thought as tightly as her fingers curled around the edge of the buggy. With Lady Alice on her side he couldn’t do anything. Oh yes, he could, a nasty voice reminded her. He could do whatever he liked. He believed he had some God-given right to manipulate everyone’s lives.
‘Ireland, you say.’
She turned to Slinger. ‘Yes, Ireland. Dankworth was an agent for Lady Alice’s father’s estates. He got a reputation for cruelty for evicting the tenants and …’
‘Dankworth’s the English arsehole Carrick’s intent on murderin’? The one who killed his wife and child, branded him and got him transported? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Beggin’ your pardon.’
‘One and the same.’ She grasped the side of the buggy as they careered into a huge pothole. ‘Carrick told you about Ireland?’
‘You don’t live and work with a man for ten years without learning some of his secrets, no matter how hard he might try to hide them.’
She could understand that. And hide them Carrick did. ‘I believe Dankworth saw Carrick and Ruan together and thought Carrick was taking revenge, taking his son the way he’d taken Liam.’
‘Jesus.’ The whip came down with a heart breaking slash across the horse’s back and it leapt forward, taking the bend over the bridge and slithering to a halt amidst a crowd of people outside the inn.
‘What’s going on?’ Roisin gathered her skirts and leapt down from the buggy.
‘No idea. I’ll find out. You go and find Jane and Ruan.’
A nameless dread colonised her insides. She couldn’t think, she wouldn’t think. Not now. She flew up the road, forcing her way past the people crowded around the inn, scanning the throng for Ruan and Jane.
‘Roisin, come ’ere.’ It was Maisie’s voice. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t turn back. All she could think of was Ruan. Dankworth would take him. With her sides splitting and her breath rasping she slithered to a halt. Elsie stood, barring her way. She tried to barge past the wretched woman, who stood like some stone carving refusing to budge. ‘Get out of my way.’
‘He’s not there.’
Her heart began to thud in her chest, the answering echo beating in her head. ‘Not there?’
‘He’s gone.’
‘Where?’ A sheen of sweat raced over her skin, hot then cold, and the nausea rolled up in one long, sick crest from her feet to her stomach and into her throat.
‘I don’t know. They’re organising a search party down at the inn. Jane raised the alarm. He was playing out the back, searching for treasures. She was keeping an eye on him out the window. Next thing she knew he’d vanished.’
‘It’s Dankworth.’ She gritted her teeth and fought back the waves of sickness.
‘Dankworth?’
‘Lady Alice’s husband, he’s taken him.’ A scream tore at her chest, wanting to rip out of her, instead a long, slow keening sound built in her throat and a thundering noise roared in her ears as the ground spiralled up to meet her.
Her head throbbed and her vision cleared to reveal Elsie standing over her. ‘What …’
‘You took a turn. Haven’t got time for that. On your feet.’
Feet. She couldn’t even feel her feet. All she could feel was the great swelling lump in her chest. Her heart breaking. ‘Ruan.’
Elsie grabbed her shoulders and eased her back into the middle of the road. ‘You need to get down to the inn. Find out what’s happening. It doesn’t feel right to me.’
It wasn’t right. She’d known from the moment Lady Alice had said Dankworth was out riding. Known in her bones Ruan would be gone. ‘Why did I leave him?’
‘It’s too late for that now. Everyone’s searching.’ Elsie tucked her hands under Roisin’s armpits and dragged her towards the crowd outside the inn. Surely there hadn’t been that many people when she and Slinger had returned. The buggy still stood unattended in the middle of the street. A couple of the Paterson cutters were waving their arms, one of them standing on a barrel, then Slinger moved through the crowd, towing Jane behind him, forcing his way to the back.
‘Roisin. I’m so sorry I don’t know …’ Jane’s face, ravaged by tears, peered up at her. ‘One minute he was playing and the next he’d gone.’ Jane tried to slip her arm around Roisin, but she shrugged her off.
‘How could you? You knew. I told you.’
The tears tracked down Jane’s face. ‘Ruan wouldn’t have gone off with him. He must have forced him, dragged him away.’
Roisin didn’t care. Dankworth had Ruan, that was all that mattered.
A buggy skidded to a halt and Jane grabbed her arm and pulled her aside just before the wheels ran over her feet. Mr Winchester, hatless, his dramatic mane of silver hair flying in the breeze, and Lady Alice, her hand clamped over her hat, tumbled out. The crowd swirled around them. With an imperious wave Mr Winch
ester gestured them aside and strode up to the courthouse.
‘Constable! Oi, Constable!’
‘Quit your yelling, what’s the problem?’
Carrick jumped down from the window and turned to the door, forgetting his chains, and landed in a crumpled heap. ‘What’s going on outside? Half the bloody town’s out there.’
‘Nothing to do with you. Least ways nothing you can do anything about. You’re stuck here until the magistrate comes. Now quit your hollering.’
Carrick climbed back onto the bed and pressed his nose to the bars. Maisie and Elsie stood in the middle of the road. No sign of Slinger, that was good. He’d have everything under control. He was a good bloke, could be trusted in a pinch. He’d keep Roisin and Ruan safe. The Paterson cutters clustered around the big bloke, the ringie from the two-up game, as he clambered onto the barrel and spread his arms. Silence fell.
‘Start from here and work your way around. We’ll check the brook. Others out that way.’ He waved his burly hands in the direction of the school. ‘And anywhere else you can think of, anywhere a boy might go and hide.’
A boy? What boy? Where the hell was Slinger? ‘Constable!’ Carrick yelled at the top of his voice.
The keys rattled in the lock and the door swung open.
‘Mr O’Connor?’
Carrick stared the toff up and down. His long white hair all awry and his face redder than one of Roisin’s silks. ‘And who’d be asking?’
‘Winchester, James Winchester. Magistrate.’
Carrick opened his mouth to tell the sodding magistrate what he could do with his justice system, and then stopped when the keys in the man’s hands rattled.
‘Please lift your hands. I’m releasing you. I can see no reason to detain you. I would, however, request you stay within the town limits. You will be called when this matter comes to court. You might wish to assist in the search for the boy.’
‘What search? What boy?’ The fool fumbled with the key, taking his time. It’d be easier to rip the bloody cuffs from his wrists than endure this. ‘What boy?’ he repeated.