by Anna Romer
Miss high and mighty, Rob had called her.
A glimmer; a question. How could he know—?
And that was all it took for the vault to crack open and spill forth my last remaining memory.
They were standing on the flat granite shelf overlooking the river, caught up in a heated argument. They couldn’t see me hiding behind the boulder, but I had a clear view of them.
Jamie, and Bobby Drake.
My sister had her back to me, but for the first time, I saw Bobby clearly. He was tall and heavyset, with stubble on his pale cheeks and a dark gaze that was fixed intently on Jamie. His hair was lank and mousy, curling over the neckline of his football jumper.
‘Where is it?’ he was saying. ‘Mum wants it back.’
Jamie said something I didn’t catch, and it seemed to infuriate Bobby further. He stalked away from her, then turned on his heel and came back.
Jamie went to sidestep him, but her sandals slid on a patch of moss. Bobby took her arm to steady her, but she jerked away from him.
‘Leave me alone, you idiot.’
She started walking along the rocky embankment, back towards the track that led home. Bobby lunged after her and spun her around to face him. Gripping her shoulders, he gave her a shake.
‘Just tell me what you did with the locket.’
‘I hid it.’
‘Mum wants it back.’
Jamie pulled free. ‘You shouldn’t have nicked it in the first place. Besides, you said your mum originally got it as a present from my great-grandmother.’
‘Yeah, years ago. So?’
‘So it’s rightfully mine. I’m keeping it. And if you hassle me about it anymore, I’ll tell everyone you’re a thief.’
Bobby made an angry sound in his throat, and shoved Jamie. The action sent her off balance again and her sandals skated on the mossy surface and skimmed from under her. She hit the rocks on her hands and knees, gasping in pain.
Bobby laughed.
Jamie flushed beet red. She struggled to her feet and rushed at him, swinging her fist into his face. Bobby grunted and stumbled back. Blood began to stream from his nose and seep over his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he saw the blood he looked at Jamie. Just looked at her for the longest time. Then he grabbed her by the arms, pinning them to her sides as he swung her around and shoved her against the tall granite boulder.
Jamie’s head hit the stone. Bobby pushed her again, and she started screaming.
‘Shut up,’ Bobby hissed.
He shook her really hard then, over and over, as if to wake her from a dead sleep. Each time, her head bashed into the rock. Then her scream cut out midway, and her head wobbled forward. She began to cry, and a bubble of blood came out of her mouth.
I flew from my hiding place. I was trembling so hard I could barely stand, but I charged at Bobby, digging my fingernails into his arm, trying to drag my sister away from him. Bobby elbowed me in the head, bringing stars to my eyes, but he released Jamie. She staggered against the boulder and then slid onto her bottom. Wheeling around, Bobby walloped me across the side of the head and I went skating backwards across the boulder, sliding over the edge onto the rock below. My shoe caught in the gap between two stones, and I couldn’t get it out, so I wrenched my foot free and left the shoe there. Scrambling back up the boulder, I found Bobby crouched beside my sister. Jamie sat crumpled on the ground like a ragdoll, her legs crooked beneath her.
‘Jamie,’ I said kneeling beside her, ‘are you okay?’
She didn’t look okay. Her face was greyish-white and streaked with grubby tears. Her hair stuck to her face, and when I lifted it away I saw that her ear was full of sticky black liquid. A handful of seconds passed before I realised it was blood.
‘Jamie?’
She looked at Bobby. ‘They’re here somewhere,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘They’re my best sandals, I don’t want them getting lost. Help me look for them, will you?’
Her voice sounded strange, slurred, the way Mum’s was after Dad died. Worst of all, her sandals were on her feet, right where she should have been able to see them.
‘Where are they? What have you done with them?’
‘Jamie,’ I said, touching her arm, ‘we better go home now.’
She looked at me, but Bobby tugged her around to face him. ‘Hey Jamie – you fell, remember? If anyone asks, tell them you fell. You understand?’
Jamie’s mouth dropped open and blood trickled out. She must have bitten her tongue. She touched her fingers to her lips, then stared at them as if she’d never seen blood before.
I tried to get her to stand up. Her hair was matted and wet, and all I could think was: Maybe she should stay here and not move? Her head was gashed, I could see the wetness through her dark hair. She might even have to go to hospital.
Her eyelids fluttered. She looked – not quite at me, but not quite anywhere else, either.
‘Get Mum,’ she said in a weird voice. She started shivering, I thought with cold, so I dragged off my cardigan and tucked it around her shoulders. She was still looking at nothing, moving her lips now. I leaned closer but her words were too mumbled to understand.
Bobby was looking at me in a shifty way, and I was suddenly wondering why he hadn’t already run for help. Jamie was hurt, badly hurt . . . Why was Bobby just standing there, staring at her?
‘You have to tell them you fell,’ he said firmly to Jamie. ‘That’s what you’ve got to tell your mum. You fell, okay? And don’t say I was here. You can’t tell. You know what I’m saying, Jamie? You have to say you fell.’
My mouth opened.
No, I wanted to say. No, that’s not what happened. You did this, Bobby Drake. It was you, you hurt her. But the words stayed within me, bottled up and, trapped by the lump that was suddenly lodged in my throat.
Bobby took a step towards me. His lips were wet with spit, and his brown eyes seemed to bulge, as though the pressure in his head was building. He glanced down at Jamie, then his hand shot out and he grabbed hold of my T-shirt. He dragged me up close to his face, and said sharply, ‘She fell, okay? That’s what happened. And if you say anything different, I’ll tell them you did it.’
That was when I saw the stone in his hand. I looked at that stone, and then I looked back at my sister. She hadn’t moved, but a puddle of blood had seeped from the gash on the side of her head and made a black stain on my cardigan.
I looked back at Bobby. My lips were numb, my tongue felt swollen, but somehow the words slipped out.
‘I saw you hurt her. I’m going to tell.’ Twisting like an eel, I tore free of his grasp and stumbled away. Regaining my footing, I raced across the slippery granite shelf towards the safety of the trees.
Mum would be home by now; she’d know what to do. Mum would tell the police, and they’d go and talk to Mrs Drake, and Bobby would be in serious trouble—
A gust of air rushed past my ear.
Then pain, an explosive pain that I’d never experienced before. It started in the base of my skull and erupted outward, sending shockwaves like broken bits of glass shattering through my veins and bursting out of my skin until I was no longer Ruby but a glowing fiery angel, an angel of pure, molten, blindingly brilliant pain. Wings burst from my shoulder blades and unfurled around me, easily lifting me off my feet and carrying me up, up into the wide blue sky. For a while I circled like a bird, gazing down with only mild interest at the three small figures on the broad granite embankment below. Then I breathed my newfound strength into my wings and soared away.
20
Brenna, August 1898
Late on Tuesday afternoon, I arrived back at Brayer House. As my hired carriage drew into the drive, I met Adele and Quinn hurrying across the gravel towards the black dray that awaited them. The dray was attended by one of the stockmen, I noted, and was packed with several large carpet bags.
‘I’m on my way to Launceston,’ Adele explained, holding me close in a warm embrace. She rat
tled out a cough and touched her handkerchief to her lips.
‘You are unwell,’ I said.
She nodded, then frowned and held me at arm’s length. ‘But look at you, my friend. You are troubled, I can see it in your face. What’s happened? How is your father?’
I was not yet ready to speak of Fa Fa or Owen, so instead I asked, ‘Where’s Carsten?’
Adele coughed again, her thin frame shaking. ‘In Hobart. He’s due back in a day or so. He was furious with you,’ she added quietly. ‘And with Quinn and me for helping you escape. After you left, he sank into one of his darker moods. I feared he would rush after you and try to bring you home, but he just kept saying that you would return soon enough.’ She squeezed my fingers and searched my face with worried eyes. ‘You’ve been crying. And you’re trembling. I will cancel my trip and stay here—’
‘There’s no need.’ I glanced at Quinn, who had walked over to the carriage to speak to the stockman. I drew Adele into the shadow of the house. Taking the locket from around my neck, I held it in my palm.
‘Do you recognise this?’
She frowned. ‘It’s Carsten’s. Where did you find it?’
‘At the Aboriginal encampment at Lyrebird Hill. Carsten was there, Adele. Just as he was there twenty years ago, committing violent acts against helpless people.’
Adele’s eyes grew large. She looked at me for a long time, then took her handkerchief from her pocket, and held it against her mouth. She began to cough, and tears sprang from her eyes. Once the fit had passed, she seized my hand.
‘My brother was always so deeply bothered by his conscience,’ she murmured, her face blanched of colour. ‘Now, after what you’ve told me, I understand why – and I fear for his soul.’ She looked at me closely. ‘How you must hate him, Brenna. Why have you returned here, knowing what he’s done?’
I thought about the pistol hidden in the false lining of my suitcase, and decided Adele did not need to be burdened by my plan.
‘I came back for you,’ I said simply, fastening the locket back around my neck. ‘And for Lucien.’
Adele looked at me sharply. ‘Lucien has gone.’
‘Where?’
‘No one knows. I suppose he wanted to wait until his wounds healed enough for him to travel, but Quinn came in a few weeks ago and said that he was gone.’
Kissing Adele’s cheek, praying I was right, I said softly, ‘I think I know where to find him.’
Running between the trees, I headed for the south-west corner of the garden and the track that led to the glade. The grass was damp beneath my feet, the air tasting faintly of frost.
‘Lucien,’ I called, my voice as soft as the hoot of an owl. ‘Lucien, are you there?’
He must have been camping in the forest, always nearby; I had known he would not leave without me. He must have seen the arrival of my carriage this afternoon, and perhaps guessed that I would have picked this place to meet him.
A restless shadow broke from between the trees and came towards me, barely visible among the narrow-trunked trees that caged the glade. He hesitated, but when I rushed at him and flung my arms about him he swept me up and crushed me against him. He was trembling, and his closeness made me tremble, too.
In a jumble of words and tears I related to him what I’d told Adele – the horrible devastation of my family and the clan I loved so dearly; the evidence of Carsten’s locket on the riverbank, and the picture of my mother it contained.
‘Your mother?’ Lucien drew away. ‘Why would Mr Whitby have a picture of your mother?’
I recalled the yearning I’d seen in my husband’s eyes whenever he gazed at his treasure, and a shiver rushed through me. ‘He loved her once. He wanted to marry her, but she married my father instead.’
Lucien gripped my arms and held me at length, examining my face. ‘And he married you? Why?’
I dragged in a breath. ‘I have spent the last weeks trying to understand. Our marriage was an arrangement to benefit both Carsten and my father; Fa Fa needed to save his farm, and Carsten wanted a son. But I have come to believe that his motivation was darker than that.’
Lucien nodded. ‘He wanted to take you from your father, just as your father took your mother from him.’
I shut my eyes, wanting desperately to be away from this place, to be at home where I could find a way to repair the shattered fragments of my life.
‘I’m returning to Lyrebird Hill,’ I told Lucien. ‘Will you come with me?’
Lucien’s smile was slow, but when it arrived it lit him like a beacon. The moon’s shifting light toyed with his features; one moment he was a man, his angular features as fierce as any bird of prey; the next he was a wide-eyed boy, his brows pulled in, his mouth aquiver.
‘I would go to the end of the earth for you,’ he whispered. ‘I would go to the brink of death and back again, just for a glimpse of your sweet face. Is it true, then? Do you really want me to return with you?’
‘Yes. But first there’s something I need to do.’
Lucien frowned then, his gaze sharpening on my face. ‘If I were in your shoes, I would seek to destroy any man who killed my family. I can see it in your eyes, Brenna. You’re planning something, aren’t you?’
I couldn’t speak. My loathing for my husband was a bushfire raging out of control in my heart. My despair over what he’d done to my family was intolerable; the pain of it had set me alight and was relentlessly burning me, consuming me. How could Lucien ever understand? He had sought and found forgiveness in himself for the man who had scarred him so terribly as a boy. How could I ever expect him to comprehend my darkness, when his own heart was only full of light?
Turning away, I started along the track towards the house. I’d barely walked two paces when Lucien was at my side. He took my hand, drew me to a stop.
‘Brenna, wait.’ Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he smoothed his thumb across my cheek. ‘I’m sorry about your family.’ He frowned at the dark track that led back to the house, then returned his gaze to me. ‘But I want you to promise me something.’
‘What?’
He tightened his lips against his teeth, the way my father used to. ‘Promise that when we walk away from Brayer House, we truly leave it behind us. When we forge a new life together, we will find a way to forgive what has happened.’
I flinched. ‘Forgive?’
‘You must. If you don’t let go of your hatred, it will fester and grow in your heart. It will destroy you. Eventually, it will destroy us both.’
How could I tell him that it had already festered, already grown beyond what I was capable of containing? My hatred had become a living, breathing entity within me – a second, more powerful self; a master whose bidding I had no choice but to carry out. But Lucien was watching me with his stormy eyes, and somehow – at least in that moment – I was swayed. I did not want my hatred to poison my heart. I saw clearly then that my plan to avenge what Carsten had done to my family would not heal my pain. Rather, it would only add another blight upon the burden I already carried.
Lifting my hand, I cupped Lucien’s damaged cheek. ‘For you, love . . . I will find a way to leave it behind.’
His face filled with longing. Grasping my hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed my palm, my fingers, my inner wrist. Love shone from him like lantern light, and it made him beautiful. It beamed out of him and bathed me in its warm glow, dissolving the shadow that had eclipsed my heart and finally, fiercely and compellingly, setting me free.
The grass was soft and moist beneath us. Lucien made a bed of our clothes and we lay on them in the darkness. The night air was cold, but Lucien’s skin was hot. It kept me warm as I cradled him, as I wound myself around him, caressed him with all the tenderness I’d kept hidden from him for so long. He moaned softly as my fingers found his scars, as I memorised their location with my touch so my lips would know where to find them.
Afterwards we lay curled together, using my cloak as a blanket. Lucien whispered
in my ear, his voice lulling me. He spoke of our future together at Lyrebird Hill, the beautiful garden of roses he would build for me, the milking goats and dogs and possums, and eventually the children who would share our happy home.
He fell silent, nestling against me. I knew it was time to leave. There may have only been a few hours left before dawn, but I sensed that Lucien was as reluctant as I was to break the spell of our lovemaking, to pollute the memory of it just yet with the ordinary necessities of travel.
Soon, the cold settled upon us.
We dressed hurriedly, I re-pinned my hair while Lucien shook the leaves from his. As we set off along the track back to the house, Lucien took my hand.
‘Wait for me in the stables. I’ll collect your belongings and we can be away before the rest of the household wakes.’
‘Make sure you get my brushes and paints, my paper and drawings. They’re all in my trunk under the bed. And Lucien . . .’ I stopped walking and drew him to me, forcing him to pay me careful attention. ‘There is a false lid in the trunk. If you prise it away, you will find my father’s firearm hidden there.’
If Lucien was surprised at my disclosure, he didn’t show it. He nodded, and lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’ll bring everything that’s precious to you.’
We reached a fork in the path. One branch led back to the house while the other would take me to the stables.
Lucien pulled me back against him. ‘Soon we’ll be on our way,’ he whispered into my hair. We kissed quickly, then he hurried into the darkness and out of sight.
I slipped my hand into my pocket, touched the pouch of desiccated wolfsbane flowers. When I heard the scullery door click shut, I knew Lucien was inside. I paused, imagining him climbing the stairs, moving along the upstairs hallway in the dark, treading on silent cat feet to my room.
Deceiving him sat uneasily with me, but I knew there was no other way for us to escape. Carsten would never let me go. Nor would his pride allow Lucien to follow me. And if he came after us, found us – worse, found us together – his rage would know no bounds.