Nurse Marsh glared at him, but held her tongue.
The doctor snapped shut his black leather bag and made to leave the room. ‘Give him liberal doses of laudanum at the first sign of pain, sleeplessness or nervous fever.’
Edward watched Nurse Marsh expertly dress her patient’s wounds and abrasions. As Adam leaned forward, the terrible scars on his back became visible. Edward and the nurse exchanged glances.
As Adam tried to rise, gritting his teeth against the pain, Edward assisted her to push him gently back down. Then he poured a generous measure of laudanum into a medicine glass and persuaded Adam to drink it. Within a few minutes he seemed calmer and drifted off to sleep.
‘I need to speak to my father,’ said Edward. ‘Tend this young man with the utmost care and see he takes enough laudanum to stay comfortable.’ The nurse nodded and turned to tidy the assortment of ointments, salves and bandages.
Edward took a last look at the miner, both fascinated and horrified by his scars and what they might mean. It was intriguing to think that his own life had almost certainly been saved by a convict.
He found his father in the drawing room. Enormous gilt-edged paintings adorned the walls, scenes of fox-hunting, deer-shooting and falconry. An impressively antlered stag’s head hung over the marble mantel and a twelve-foot white tiger-skin, jaws frozen in a snarl, lay before the fireplace. Henry was inspecting his collection of hunting rifles. He was obsessed with guns, and always wore a loaded pearl-handled pistol at his belt, saying he didn’t feel properly dressed without it.
Henry turned, took the pipe from his mouth. ‘What’s the word on our young friend?’
‘On the improve.’
‘Good, good. That boy has courage and initiative. He could be very useful to me.’
Edward’s ears burned. Unlike me, he thought. He toyed with the idea of mentioning Adam’s scarred back.
Henry took down a rifle and opened the breech. ‘You took a risk, dragging Adam to safety at the last.’ He smiled his close-lipped smile, which Edward rarely saw. ‘It made me proud.’
Edward experienced an unfamiliar shock of pleasure. He’d been waiting all his life for his father to say those words. Now he was doubly grateful to Adam – for rescuing him from the rockfall, and for providing him with the means to impress his father. Perversely, the second felt more important.
‘Your mother wants to know if Adam is well enough for a visit,’ said Henry.
‘He’s yet to be told of his uncle’s death. I’d wait until then.’
‘Very well. I’ll be guided by you on the matter.’
Edward couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Since when had his father ever been guided by him on anything?
A manservant appeared at the door. ‘Lady Jane requires Master Edward to have his injured arm dressed.’
Henry clapped his son on the back. ‘Go on now, before your mother blames me for something.’
Ten days had passed since the mine disaster, and Luke’s physical wounds were healing. Yet his grief at Angus’s death had cast him into a permanent pit of despair, every bit as hellish and dark as the mine. Sixteen men had died that day. Demons of self-loathing consumed him. He’d abandoned Angus to a watery grave, but guided an Abbott to safety. Worse still, he owed Edward for his worthless life.
On the first day at Canterbury Downs he’d resolved to kill Henry Abbott. Here was the perfect opportunity to destroy the man responsible for every cruel loss he’d suffered. But as the days wore on, Luke’s mind grew increasingly muddled. When he tried to think, nothing stayed straight in his head.
One day Luke woke to find he couldn’t remember his sister’s name. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t come. Rose, concerned at his growing agitation, gave him a double dose of his morning laudanum. It tasted terrible, but was well worth forcing down. Then she gave him an extra cup at his request. Ah, there it was, that delicious drowsiness coiling through his mind. His frustration ebbed away and a precious cloud of indifference settled over him. It didn’t matter if he could remember or not.
Luke shut his eyes and relaxed into his soft bed, listening to Rose prattle pleasantly on about her day. His plan to kill Henry Abbott suddenly seemed ridiculous and far too difficult to bother with. The past was losing its grip.
Hours later, through the fog of sleep, Luke heard the barking of dogs. He’d had a dog once. He struggled to remember, fighting to hold the thought . . . Bear. A flood of emotion accompanied the memory, rousing him from his stupor. Luke staggered to the window. A mounted man approached, leading a riderless horse. They looked familiar . . . a coal black stallion with a graceful, arched crest, and an elegant grey. Solomon and Sheba. Daniel had come for him.
A groomsman took the horses’ reins and Daniel moved under the verandah, out of sight. Luke stumbled from his bedroom. A timber-panelled passage led to a broad staircase. He managed the stairs, and found himself in a grandly appointed front hall, punctuated by four oak doors. Luke opened them one by one. Behind the third, in a pine-panelled drawing room, he found Daniel and Henry engaged in a heated argument. He stood in the doorway, wild-eyed and unsteady in a long cotton nightgown. To his immeasurable delight, Daniel hurried to embrace him.
‘Adam, collect your things. You’re coming with me.’
‘Return to your room, Adam. Mr Campbell and I aren’t finished.’
‘There’s nothing here I need,’ said Luke.
‘Then we’ll be off,’ said Daniel. ‘Thank you, Henry, for taking such excellent care of Adam, but we want him home.’
He took Luke’s arm and guided him from the room, and out the front door to where a groom waited with the horses. Fighting waves of dizziness, Luke hitched up his nightgown and clumsily managed to mount Sheba. How good it was to feel the mare under him again.
Luke saw a curtain twitched aside at the house, and Henry Abbot in the frame of the window, a look of astonishment on his face. It would make no sense to him, of course. Of what possible importance could Adam McLeod, the nephew of a poor miner, be to Daniel Campbell?
CHAPTER 24
What a homecoming. Elizabeth seemed to have put aside her fears, and joined in the welcome. Belle wept with happiness. She also laughed a lot when Luke arrived in nothing but a nightshirt. This time it was his turn to blush.
Bear gambolled like a pup, refusing to leave his master’s side and insisting on accompanying him into the house. He lay on Luke’s bed, growling fiercely at anyone who tried to move him. The dog finally met his match in Mrs Scott, who never took any nonsense from anyone. She clouted him with a broom until he lay compliant on the floor.
For Luke it was as life after death. Elizabeth insisted he rest, but instead he dressed and followed Belle into the yard.
‘I’ve been so worried,’ she said when they were alone. ‘I can’t believe you almost died. Why did you disappear like that? It was my mother, wasn’t it? You don’t have to say anything. I can tell. I wish she’d just leave us be. Come on.’ She took his hand. ‘I’ve the most wonderful surprise for you.’ She led him to the stable.
There, in a bed of golden straw, lay Sasha with a wriggling pile of newborn puppies.
Bear trotted in and Sasha wagged her tail. Kneeling slowly in the straw, Luke held a puppy. So tiny. So warm and soft and sweet.
‘There are five girls and five boys: Calliope, Adonis, Hercules, Apollo, Zeus, Pluto, Ariadne, Diana, Juno and Helen.’ Belle picked up each puppy as she recited its name.
‘But they all look the same. How can you tell them apart?’
‘They are not all the same,’ said Belle. ‘They have different personalities for one thing. And Diana here? Her muzzle’s a bit wider than Juno’s. And Hercules is much bigger than Adonis already, and Ariadne has the cutest little ears . . .’
Luke laughed. ‘All right, I believe you. But forgive me if I can’t recognise them straightaway.’ He hugged Bear in congratulation.
When he stood up, Belle came to him. ‘Where’s my hug?’
&nb
sp; Impulsively he put his arms around her and kissed her. So much for all the firm words he’d had with himself. The moment proved irresistibly delicious to them both.
Approaching footsteps made them draw apart.
‘There you are.’ Daniel poked his head in the door. ‘Don’t overtax him, Belle. Luke still has some recovering to do.’
‘At least let him see the tigers.’
The cubs had grown big in the past few months, coats streaked burnished gold, tawny eyes bright with health. King, in particular, seemed more mature, more arrogantly wild. To Luke’s delight they remembered him. The she-cubs, Bindi and Mindi, approached the wire with friendly yips, sidling along the fence for a pat. Even King deigned to be stroked. The little devils weren’t so forthcoming and remained soundly asleep in their log.
‘It’s time for Luke to rest,’ said Daniel, when Belle suggested they go riding.
As they passed the cart shed, Luke spied an emaciated black kelpie lying in the sun.
‘Who’s the new dog?’
‘That’s Rastus,’ said Belle. ‘Abbott’s musterers found him chained to a tree at a deserted camp site. Apparently he belonged to a fur trapper, but it’s a mystery what happened to his owner. The camp looked like somebody might come back at any moment . . . skins still pegged out to dry . . . but poor Rastus was nearly dead from hunger and thirst. The trapper’s two horses wandered into Canterbury Downs a few days later in hobbles. Papa thinks he had some sort of accident out in the bush. Henry wanted to shoot Rastus because he was so sick, but I talked Edward into giving him to me. He’s still skinny, but he’s slowly getting better, aren’t you, Rastus?’ Belle walked over to the dog who stood briefly for a pat, then lay wearily back down. ‘Come and meet him.’
Luke shook his head, horrified the kelpie would sense his complicity in its master’s death. Some very unwelcome memories crowded in.
When they returned to the house, Mrs Scott saw Bear off at the door and bustled Belle away. ‘You look done in, Adam. Go to bed.’
Luke didn’t need to be told twice. His bones ached to their marrow and the wash of emotions had left him weak. He longed for sleep. Yet a peculiar numbness in his back and limbs kept him tossing and turning, making it impossible to lie comfortably in one position for more than a minute or two. On top of that, he was getting the headache from hell.
Mrs Scott came in with scones and tea, but Luke had no appetite. ‘Could you please tell Mr Campbell that I need some laudanum. The doctor prescribed it.’
He yawned and sank back on the bed to wait. It seemed to take forever.
When Daniel finally arrived, he was accompanied by a smartly dressed young man. ‘This is Dr Lovejoy, newly arrived from England and qualified in the most advanced medical theory.’
The doctor conducted an exhaustive examination. After half an hour he put down his stethoscope, moved away from the bed and began talking to Daniel in a low voice. Luke strained to hear. What was taking so long? If he didn’t get that medicine soon, his head would explode.
After a minute or two, Daniel said, ‘Excellent news, Adam. Your lungs are clear, and your wounds and broken ribs are healing nicely.’
‘In a few weeks you’ll be good as new,’ added the doctor.
Instead of being pleased, Luke grew more anxious. ‘Dr Lark gave me laudanum. It helps a lot. Can I have some?’
‘No.’ The doctor snapped his bag shut. ‘I’ve left some soothing herbs with Mrs Scott to ease your withdrawal.’
‘Laudanum’s not a good idea,’ said Daniel.
‘But it helps.’
‘My dear boy, laudanum is no medicine. It’s opium dissolved in wine, effective for easing the pain of birth and death and little else. Even a short time on high doses can trigger physical dependency, so I’ll forewarn you of what to expect. Sleepless nights. Aches, sweats . . . shivering, perhaps. Your stomach may cramp. However, this will pass and you’ll soon feel your strength return.’
Daniel put a book on the bedside table, a copy of Homer’s Odyssey, one of Luke’s favourite stories. ‘Read the marked page, please. I think you’ll find it interesting. We’ll talk later.’ Daniel patted him on the shoulder and left the room.
Curiously, Luke turned the familiar pages to the episode where Telemachus was sinking into depression, having failed to find his father, Odysseus . . . But then Helen had a happy thought. Into the bowl in which their wine was mixed, she slipped a drug with the power to rob grief and anger of their sting and banish all painful memories. No one who swallowed this, dissolved in their wine, could shed a single tear that day, even for the death of his mother or father, or if they put his brother or own son to the sword and he were there to see it done.
Luke put down the book in disbelief. He knew opium dens to be frequented by criminals and the desperate. As a child in Hobart, Luke had peeked into them. Strange, ragged people lying prone on filthy, foul-smelling cots. Cloying, pungent smoke in the air. Prints of naked women on the wall. These places had frightened him, as did the trembling, malnourished wrecks he sometimes saw on the streets, senseless in the grip of their addiction.
Yet the drug still held a potent allure. What did Homer say? Luke read it again . . . the power to rob grief and anger of their sting and banish all painful memories. How perfect, yet it was perfection tainted by Henry Abbott’s hand. Luke gritted his teeth against the pain and lost himself in tales of Odysseus, wreaking bloody revenge on those who wronged him.
Elizabeth lay in bed, wide awake, watching dawn creep in the window, listening to rain on the roof. Two months now since Luke had arrived back at Binburra. She’d tried to put her fears aside. Rescuing the miners had made him the town hero, and she too admired his bravery. But as Luke returned to health and strength, her doubts returned. Belle was more besotted with him than ever.
Elizabeth had hoped that Luke would honour her wishes and keep away from Belle. He made a show of it, for a time. Not any more. Yesterday she’d found them together in the stable, ostensibly cleaning out the puppy pen. Elizabeth did not miss their fast breathing or her daughter’s flushed face. She’d spent a sleepless night, wondering how she might again separate Luke from her daughter.
Daniel stirred beside her, and Elizabeth studied his handsome face in the pale morning light: his broad, tanned forehead with barely a frown line, aquiline nose, softly parted lips and neat beard flecked with grey. She kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her without opening his eyes, as she nestled her head on his shoulder.
‘What is it, Lizzie? You were restless last night.’
She wanted to, no, needed to confide in him, but she also knew he’d dismiss her concerns. His faith in Luke was too strong and his understanding of young love too weak.
‘The fire made the room hot.’
‘Is that all?’ He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘Perhaps you’re worried about me leaving for Coomalong today?’
‘Riding in this rain will be an ordeal,’ she said. ‘Why not delay your Hobart trip?’
‘You know I can’t, Lizzie. The government is bringing forward the Thylacine Bounty Scheme Bill. That bastard Lyne is trying to push it through without debate. It’s the last chance for the Royal Society to lobby for a no vote. They need me.’
I need you too, thought Elizabeth. She turned away, taking her head from his arm.
‘But this is vital, Lizzie, as you well know. Why don’t you and Belle come with me?’
If only . . . but Belle would flatly refuse such an invitation, so Elizabeth reluctantly did the same.
‘As you wish.’ Daniel stretched. ‘But don’t blame me for us being apart, when it’s your choice to stay.’
Elizabeth bit her tongue. Daniel would leave for Hobart, having no clue of the emotional hot house he was leaving behind.
CHAPTER 25
The key instigator of the thylacine bounty scheme was a man named John Lyne, an independent member of the assembly for Glamorgan. A lecher by reputation, he’d earned the nickname Leghunter. Daniel also had him
pegged as a dishonest braggart. He’d claimed his family migrated to Tasmania with letters of introduction from the highly renowned Earl of Bathurst, attached to the Colonial Office. A simple inquiry found this to be demonstrably false, as false as Henry Abbott’s knighthood. A disregard for facts and a flair for self-congratulation also characterised Lyne’s political life. He publicly dismissed reports that floggings continued in the island’s prisons as fanciful.
‘We are a humane society that has thankfully moved beyond barbarity,’ he boasted, in line with growing popular opinion.
But eyewitness accounts contradicted him. A young station hand told Daniel he’d been assigned as a boy to Lyne’s farm. ‘If I didn’t keep a still tongue in my head and do the master’s duty, Mr Lyne gave me thirty lashes.’
Dark rumours abounded of the family’s past violence against east-coast people. It was said that John Lyne personally shot Aborigines found on his land.
Now Lyne directed this considerable talent for hypocrisy to the thylacine issue. Though privately conceding that native tigers had never caused him a problem, publicly he spearheaded a campaign by rural members of parliament for their destruction. Paradoxically, it was during a discussion about the need for a closed season to protect native game that Lyne first proposed the government introduce a thylacine bounty. He lacked the numbers and his proposal was defeated. Undeterred, rural members waged a war of attrition against the anti-bounty MPs, never missing an opportunity to malign them. They also vastly exaggerated thylacine numbers and the damage they caused. Lyne’s private member’s bill soon followed, recommending ‘the appropriation of a sum of five hundred pounds for the destruction of tigers’. The die was cast.
The very fact that a parliamentary pro-thylacine block even existed gave hope to the Royal Society. Daniel and his colleagues spent the days before the vote furiously wining and dining the ten or so members still opposed to the bounty, shoring up their support. But they also courted the country members to gauge their opinions and change their minds.
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