Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

  She took his hand in hers. ‘God bless you, sir. You’re an angel. Sent from heaven.’

  ‘None of that, Molly. If you want to thank someone, thank Angus.’

  ‘How did you know my Angus?’

  ‘Let’s just say we were friends.’ He surprised her by kissing her cheek. ‘Goodbye, Molly, and go easy on the brandy.’

  Luke trotted the bay mare out of town. When they reached the road to Binburra, she bucked and broke into a gallop. He let her have her head. A thrill ran through him as the familiar blue gums rushed past. He was going home.

  Luke cantered up the drive and dismounted to open the gate. The deserted house looked the same. Only the trees had changed. Snow gums and stringybarks he remembered as saplings now towered twenty-feet high. A rainforest understorey of waratah, correa and leatherwood was returning.

  Luke unsaddled the mare and turned her into the paddock where Sheba and Whisky used to graze. He hefted his pack up to the house. It was locked, but the cart shed where he’d once slept wasn’t. He lay on his lumpy old bed, staring up at cobwebs on the tin roof. A far cry from the luxury he could afford now. Luke closed his eyes. He would give his entire fortune to open them and find himself transported back sixteen years.

  Luke went back outside and did a tour: the killing gallows, the stables, the devil and tiger pens. Sasha’s grave. Most of the plants in the greenhouse were dead. He gathered those still clinging to life, took them outside and watered them from the hand pump. His heart thumped harder; he almost expected Belle to creep up behind him for a kiss, so strong was her presence there.

  Luke cast one last look around Binburra’s homestead, then shouldered his swag and marched up the waterfall track.

  He reached the cave at dusk of the third day. It took him a long while to venture in. This wasn’t what he remembered. A tunnel ran through the wall of stone that had killed Bear and so nearly killed him. Neat piles of rocks stood either side of the entrance, and timber shored up the central passage. Did he have the wrong cave? No, there on the roof above him, the familiar collection of rock paintings: hand prints and circles and the image of a thylacine.

  What had happened here? He spun the lamp in a slow circle, illuminating the walls. First up high, then lower, and lower again. Bats whirled past his face. He hardly noticed. A dark shape on the ground caught his eye.

  He lowered the lamp. The square brass plate was set in stone. In loving memory of Luke Tyler and his loyal dog Bear. My heart is forever yours. Bluebell.

  He stared at the words in wonder, remembering the day he’d given Belle her nickname. She’d done this? He examined the timbers under lamplight. They were clean and free of rot. Bat droppings weren’t piled in the tunnel as they were in the cave corners. Glow worms had barely begun to colonise its walls. The plaque had been placed there recently.

  My heart is forever yours. Could Belle still love him after all this time?

  Something was shifting inside him. He’d camp here tonight with Bear, keep him company. Then he’d return to Hobart, but not to say goodbye as he’d originally planned. An unfamiliar surge of hope filled Luke’s heart. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to reclaim his life.

  CHAPTER 56

  ‘I’m telling you, Belle, the Colonel’s a bloody hermit.’ Edward drained his coffee cup. ‘Where’s Hetty?’ He swore under his breath and then poured himself another. ‘Must I do everything myself around here?’

  ‘I don’t understand, Eddie. Why is it so important that you meet this man?’

  ‘A man like the Colonel doesn’t come to an end-of-the-world outpost like Hobart for nothing. He has business here, I’m sure of it. Trouble is, he’s been holed up in his hotel ever since he arrived. Nobody’s seen him. I can’t even reach him on the phone.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s having a holiday and wants some peace and quiet.’

  ‘Don’t be so naïve, Belle. He’ll be taking somebody’s calls. There’s a profit to be had here. I wish I knew how to find it.’

  ‘Let it go, Eddie. It’s not like you need his money.’ Belle finished her tea and wiped her mouth. ‘Our companies are doing perfectly well on their own.’ She stood up and smoothed her skirt. ‘I’m off to work. Will I see you tonight?’

  ‘I’m staying at the club.’

  Belle shot him a swift accusing glance before she swept from the room. To hell with her. He’d long since stopped feeling guilty about Fanny. If he came home, Belle would have gone to bed anyway – gone to her bed, in her wing of the house, where he wasn’t welcome.

  Edward took a sip from his hipflask of laudanum, and waited for it to chase the anger away. He’d once seen the concoction as the secret to happiness. Yet the longer he used it, the lesser its stimulus and the greater its side effects. Shaky hands, cloudy thinking, insomnia. His sleep had been peppered lately with nightmarish visions: being buried alive with mummies and skeletons or kissing beautiful girls who transformed into slimy things. Once, half-awake, he’d imagined Fanny was attacking him and had struck her in the face. It was time to wean himself off the drug, he knew that. But not yet. Not today.

  Edward jumped as his chauffeur entered the room. His nerves were getting the better of him. ‘Your car is ready, sir.’

  ‘The Imperial Hotel.’

  Maybe a personal visit would coax the Colonel from his hotel room and into a meeting.

  Edward shifted from foot to foot. How dare this character keep him waiting so long? He’d been standing at the hotel’s grand reception desk for half an hour, feeling like a fool. Part of him wanted to leave. However, the concierge kept insisting the Colonel would be down soon. Perhaps he was testing Edward’s patience. Or his persistence. A good business partner required both those qualities.

  Edward slipped his hand into the pocket of his newly tailored three-button sack coat. Teamed with a contrasting waistcoat, club-collar dress shirt and bowler hat, he epitomised the latest in London fashion. Edward viewed his reflection approvingly in the large gilt-edged wall mirror, just as the concierge nodded towards the stairs. ‘Here’s the Colonel now.’

  Buchanan was an imposing figure. Half-a-head taller than Edward again, an erect bearing, impeccably dressed – a most distinguished-looking person, indeed. But it was his eyes that made the biggest impression: piercing, intelligent eyes, the kind that had seen a lot of life. The kind that could see right through a man.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Welcome to Tasmania.’ Edward extended his hand. The Colonel’s grip was like a vice. ‘I’m Edward Abbott.’

  ‘I know who you are.’ There was only a faint trace of the clipped Boer accent in his voice. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’

  ‘In a good way, I hope?’ The Colonel inclined his head. ‘How long do you expect to be in Hobart?’

  ‘I have not decided.’

  ‘In that case, Colonel, perhaps you’ll give me the pleasure of your company at my club tonight. Over dinner.’

  The answer was a long time coming. ‘Of course, and, please, call me Lucas.’

  ‘Excellent. Shall I call for you at seven?’

  Edward left the lobby with an unfamiliar lightness in his step. From what he knew, Colonel Buchanan had barely stepped outside his hotel room since arriving. Yet now the man wanted to spend an entire evening with him. Was this as strategic a move on the Colonel’s part as it was on his own? Hills End Resources was the largest mining company in Tasmania, the natural choice if Buchanan Diamonds wanted to partner with a local outfit.

  Did Lucas have a proposition for him? Perhaps he’d had agents on the ground all along. If so, he’d kept that very quiet. Edward couldn’t think of anybody unusual making enquiries, or stories of mineral exploration teams. No matter, he’d find out soon enough.

  Edward grinned at the doorman and tipped his hat on the way out. How long had it been since he’d felt this kind of excited anticipation? His hand hesitated as he reached for the little bottle in his pocket. For once he barely needed it, but his fingers closed on the smooth silver flask of thei
r own accord.

  CHAPTER 57

  Luke glanced at the clock, then gazed out the window to the evening scenes on the road below. Life was strange. Once, as a brash young boy, he’d foolishly felt like he owned these streets. Now, as the fabulously wealthy Colonel Buchanan, he did. He could buy and sell any man in Hobart ten times over.

  The town had changed since he’d been gone, entered the modern century. Street-lighting and motor cars. Bustling crowds of pedestrians. Electric tramcars, the first in the Southern Hemisphere. Yet it was still recognisably the town where he’d grown up, and he was thrilled to be back. Thrilled to be rid of the vague, background homesickness that he’d been suffering these many years without even knowing it.

  The telephone rang. Luke spoke briefly, then paused. ‘That’s good to hear. I’ll come by to see her now.’

  Molly and Nurse Kendall had travelled back to Hobart with him, and shared the suite next door. Luke knocked and went in. Molly sat in a chair by the window, with a rug across her knee. Colour had returned to her face, and it lit up when he entered the room. She looked happier than he could remember, even when she and Angus were together. As if, for the first time in her life, she hadn’t a care in the world.

  ‘How are you feeling, Molly?’

  ‘On top of the world, thank you, sir.’ Her eyes had recovered their keen, bird-like quality.

  The nurse seemed a little flustered that Molly sounded so chipper. ‘It will be weeks before Molly is fully restored to health. She will need me for some time yet . . .’

  ‘Oh, yes, do keep Evie on,’ said Molly. ‘She’s right good company, is Evie.’

  Luke smiled. ‘I hope you’ll stay here with us, Nurse Kendall, until your patient is entirely well.’

  The nurse beamed. Luke pulled up a chair opposite Molly. ‘Is there anything you need?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Some yarn, knitting needles and a pattern book. I feel so useless sitting here. And a magazine would be nice.’

  ‘See to it, please, nurse, but don’t let her overdo it.’ He patted Molly’s hand and stood up.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘How often have I said it, Molly? My name is Lucas.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t call you that, sir. It don’t seem right, considering.’

  ‘Considering what?’

  ‘Considering there’s something I haven’t told you.’

  Luke checked his watch, almost seven. ‘Tell me in the morning, Molly. I must go.’

  ‘But sir . . .’

  ‘In the morning, Molly. In the morning.’

  Edward led the way up the imposing bluestone steps of Hobart’s exclusive Mountbatten Club. ‘Must you always dodge the press at your hotel like that, Colonel?’

  ‘Vultures, the lot of them. Just you wait. By tomorrow there’ll be wild speculation in the paper about our dining together.’

  The doorman greeted Edward by name, as did the maître d’. He escorted them past Chesterfield lounges and an elephant-foot umbrella-stand to a table in the restaurant. ‘Your usual, sir?’

  ‘You must try this brandy, Colonel. An Armenian variety. It won the Grand-Prix award in Paris last year.’ Edward sank back in his chair with a sigh. ‘Welcome to my home away from home. Privacy, comfort and an escape from domestic bliss.’

  ‘Escape? You don’t receive privacy and comfort at home? Does your wife not please you?’

  ‘Oh, Isabelle pleases me well enough.’ Edward lit a cigar. ‘You’re not married, Colonel, no? A wise man. Living with women is not easy.’

  ‘What makes you think I don’t live with women?’

  ‘Forgive me.’ Edward flushed. ‘I meant no disrespect. African customs are, no doubt, ah . . . very different.’

  ‘How is business?’ asked Luke as the drinks arrived. ‘Your goldmine?’

  Edward hesitated, his eyes flicking sideways. ‘Production has never been better. Of course, my company has other irons in the fire. Wool. Timber.’ Edward leaned forward. ‘Though the fact is, Colonel, I’m keen to expand my mining interests.’

  ‘Lucas, please.’ Luke downed his drink in two gulps. ‘You’re right, it’s an excellent drop.’ He signalled to a waiter. ‘Bring us a bottle of this brandy.’ He selected a cigar from the box on the table. ‘Is your good lady wife expecting you home early tonight, Ed?’

  Edward snorted. ‘My good lady wife is not expecting me home at all.’

  ‘Then shall we make a night of it? It’s been nothing but business since I arrived.’

  ‘Capital. How about a game of poker after dinner?’

  By midnight, Luke knew a great deal more about his companion’s character, none of it good. Edward Abbott was an inept gambler, who had a loose tongue when he drank too much. There was a girl stashed away somewhere, and on top of that, Edward was addicted to laudanum. He barely tried to hide the little silver hipflask with its distinctive, pungent odour. How could a man with everything, including Belle, have sunk so low?

  Edward kept angling for information about the purpose of Luke’s visit. He seemed a bit too keen to get in on any commercial deal that might be afoot. Luke wasn’t sure what to make of it. Should he add greed to the list of Edward’s vices? Or was Hills End Resources not as profitable as he pretended? It wouldn’t be hard to find out.

  When Edward’s losses grew too large, Luke insisted they leave the gaming table. ‘I’m doing you a favour, mate. It’s not your night.’

  ‘It never is.’ Edward slurred his words. ‘But you did all right. Let’s have a drink to celebrate.’

  ‘Not for me. I’m heading back to my hotel. Shall we share a cab?’

  They pulled up at a double-storey terrace house a few minutes’ drive from the club. Luke shook Edward awake. ‘Is this where your . . . your lady lives?’

  ‘Fanny? Yes, Fanny’s a great girl. A real goer. Always up for it.’

  She’ll be disappointed tonight, thought Luke.

  Edward stumbled out on to the street, forgetting his hat, and almost fell.

  The driver tapped on the hatch. ‘Shall I help the gentleman to his door, sir?’

  ‘No, drive on.’

  Edward could rot in the gutter for all he cared. Luke felt sick. What had he done? Leaving Belle and his son to the mercy of that pathetic excuse for a man. More importantly, what was he going to do about it?

  CHAPTER 58

  That night, Luke dreamed he was back in the depths of Abbott’s mine, rushing blindly ahead of the flood. More of a vision than a dream. When the noxious air cast him choking to the ground, he rose above the flood and witnessed what happened next – Edward, dragging him to safety.

  Luke woke up in a sweat, with the morning light streaming in. He relived the dream, seeing the fear in Edward’s eyes as he leapt from the cage. It was an act of bravery, and Luke owed Belle’s husband his life, damn him. It complicated things.

  A knock came at the door, and a waiter rolled in the breakfast trolley. Devilled kidneys, kippers, bacon, boiled eggs, poached cod – a fine spread that should have been welcome after a night of drinking. But a cold stone lay in Luke’s stomach where his appetite should have been.

  Maybe he’d ask Molly to join him. He didn’t know what it was. Perhaps because she was a living link to a remarkable time in his life. Perhaps because he was channelling Angus these days. But for some reason she always made him feel better.

  ‘Did I wake you, Molly?’

  Snores came from the nurse’s room.

  ‘Oh no, sir. I always was in the habit of rising early.’

  He wanted to say how he remembered. How when he was young and ungrateful, it had annoyed him when she rose at dawn to beat rugs and chop wood on his one day off. Instead he said, ‘Good, because I’m inviting you to breakfast.’

  Luke smiled as Molly piled her plate high with eggs and kippers back in his suite. Watching her tuck in revived his own appetite, and he helped himself to the poached cod.

  Molly’s appetite did not match her ambition, and before long she put the plate aside.
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br />   ‘You’re too good to me. It’s more than I deserve.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ He picked up the pot to pour her some tea.

  ‘I need to talk, sir.’

  There was something about her tone and the way her eyes held his – a certain gravitas. He put down the pot.

  ‘I won’t blame you two hoots if you turf me out on the street afterwards. Still, it needs saying.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I know who you are. You’re Adam.’

  Becky had warned him of the danger, but Molly hadn’t seemed to know him and he’d reckoned himself to be safe. He should have prepared for this moment, thought of what to say. There was no point denying it. She knew him as surely as he knew her.

  ‘When?’

  ‘I supposed you was Adam as soon as I saw you, but I put it down to the fever. Once I was in my right mind, well, there were no doubt.’

  ‘And what do you plan to do now?’

  ‘Clear my conscience.’ Her voice was strong and clear. ‘I did you a terrible wrong, sir. A wrong I thought could never be put right. It’s been eating me up, all these years, and now God has sent me a miracle. You, back here, alive, so I can apologise for my sins.’

  Where was this going?

  ‘It were me that turned you in to the coppers. I’d found your letters in the cottage, signed as Luke, and put two and two together. When I saw you that night at the party, well . . . there were a reward for Luke Tyler, and I blamed you for not rescuing my Angus.’

  He reached for her hand. ‘If I could have, Molly . . .’

  ‘Oh, I know that now, sir, but back then I were bitter and angry and blind with grief. It tore my heart out, though, when I heard you’d died. It were all my fault. Angus loved you, that’s the truth, and I should have protected you. He would have wanted that. My worthless life hasn’t been worth living since I took young Abbott’s blood money.’

  ‘Young Abbott.’ Luke stiffened. ‘You mean Edward? What’s he got to do with this?’