“Hello, ladies,” he said with an easy smile.
He glanced at Tilly, met her eyes, and she blushed furiously.
Nell didn’t notice. She ran to him, threw her arms around him. “Papa! I’ve been dying to see you.”
“Not so tight, Nell. Here, look at this.” He lifted up the corner of his shirt.
Tilly caught a delicious glimpse of his hard flank and memories of last night flooded through her. But then he lifted it further, and she could see what he was showing Nell. His ribs were practically black with bruising.
“Oh, Papa, you poor thing!” exclaimed Nell. “What a beast he was to do this to you. I hope you gave him what for.”
Sterling tucked his shirt in again. “Ah, well, that’s an interesting story. In fact, it was your governess that gave him what for.” He smiled up at Tilly. “The turnkeys are all terrified of you now. It’s a shame Burton isn’t still around to hear what they’re saying about you.”
Tilly laughed and Nell looked up at her with round eyes. “Tilly, you didn’t.”
“I did.” She remembered last night’s vow, to make amends in the present. “And it was unpleasant and that man, no matter what a beast he was being, was badly injured. Has the doctor seen him, Sterling?”
He answered her in the detached tone of an administrator. “The prisoner regained consciousness shortly after he was apprehended. He has a broken nose and multiple bruises and lacerations. He’s being returned to the mainland for treatment and then a new trial for assault. He won’t be returning to Ember Island as he’s considered a danger to me, particularly now. So that’s the end of it.”
The end of it. And the beginning of something else.
Sterling pulled out his pocket watch and huffed. “I must go. I have more meetings.”
“I’m glad you’re well, Papa,” Nell said, squeezing his hand. Then she reached for Tilly’s hand. “And I’m glad you were the one who rescued him.”
After he’d left, Tilly turned to Nell and said, “There’s no way either of us can concentrate any further. The afternoon is cooler, shall we finish classes in the garden? You can bring your sketching pad and draw some flowers.”
Nell practically jumped. “Yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes.” She raced off to her room to fetch her sketching pad, and Tilly met her at the front verandah and they walked down into the garden.
Nell, set free, disappeared amongst the hedges and Tilly walked up to her plot and found a shady place to sit down. She put her arms around her knees and dropped her head and listened. The breeze shushed in the fig trees, but rattled in the palms. The sea crashed on the shore in the distance. Birds called: the sweet chirping of sparrows and somewhere far off the hooting call of a kookaburra. She thought about that moment they had all held hands, like a family.
Did she deserve a family?
Tilly raised her head. Off near the far edge of the garden, by the magnolias, Hettie stood.
Without knowing what she was going to say or do, Tilly climbed to her feet and walked across the soft grass towards her. Hettie didn’t see her at first, but then she turned and smiled.
“You’re out here early today,” Hettie said.
“I brought Nell out to sketch flowers.” Tilly looked back over her shoulder. Couldn’t see Nell, but presumed she was sitting somewhere drawing lavender heads. She turned back to Hettie.
“And are you well?” Hettie asked.
“Why did you do it?” Tilly said, knowing she was pushing past some invisible barrier, but unable to stop herself.
“Beg pardon?”
“Why did you kill your husband?”
Hettie’s face reddened deeply. She opened her mouth once, twice, but no sound came out.
Curdling regret. “I’m sorry,” Tilly said, palms in the air, backing away. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
But Hettie’s hand shot out and grabbed Tilly’s wrist so hard that she winced. She leaned close, her eyes glittering darkly. “He treated me like dirt. He came home every night drunk and he beat me and I knew it was only a matter of time before he started on the children. I couldn’t see any other way out.”
Tilly’s thundering pulse made it hard for her to swallow.
“But now I regret it, I regret it with all my heart. I loved him once and I have to live with knowing I robbed him of every moment from that awful day onwards. Every morning birdsong, every evening breeze, I took them all from him. I took them all.”
Tilly struggled to speak. “Do you feel . . . do you feel that being in prison will erase your debt?”
Hettie released her arm, stood back. “That is what I pray for sometimes. God doesn’t answer.”
Tilly considered her a moment. Hettie’s dark hair was coming loose at the nape of her neck, being whipped across her face by the wind.
Hettie took a deep shuddering breath and said, “But what I pray for the most is to see my children again.” Her eyes brimmed and Tilly’s heart twinged. She became very aware of Hettie’s physical presence, her dense fleshy body, so open and vulnerable and so in need of an embrace. Against any good judgment, she gathered Hettie in her arms and let her sob. She doubted anybody had held Hettie since her arrest because the older woman clung to her with such force that it winded Tilly. Tilly rubbed her back and made soothing noises, but Hettie cried and cried, and Tilly was afraid of what she had unleashed.
“Tilly?” A small voice behind her.
Hettie jumped away immediately, covering her face with her hands. Tilly grasped Nell’s shoulder firmly and led her away. “Forget what you saw,” she said.
“What happened? Is Hettie all right? Why were you hugging her? Does Papa know you are friends?”
“We are not friends. Hettie was upset and I did what any decent human would. Please don’t mention it to your father. He has enough on his mind.”
“What was she upset about?”
“She didn’t say.” They were at the stairs now. “Did you draw anything?”
Nell beamed, the incident forgotten. “Look,” she said, brandishing a sheet out of her drawing book.
Tilly took the drawing and offered some small praise. Nell was much better at writing than at drawing. It was another task that she rushed through because it wasn’t easy for her. “Let’s go inside,” she said. “You can look up the Latin name for this and write it in.”
Nell went in ahead of her. Tilly looked back towards the garden. Hettie was kneeling at the side of a garden bed, composed again, and appeared at this distance completely recovered. Tilly felt much less composed, much less recovered.
•
Later that afternoon, Tilly was taking tea in the parlor when she saw Nell walk past on the verandah. Ordinarily, Nell would be clamoring for Tilly to share tea with her, but she walked out into the long shadows instead. Tilly didn’t think anything of it, then remembered Nell’s interest in her exchange with Hettie earlier that day. She stood and went to the window, and could see Nell, the afternoon sun shining on her chestnut curls, hands behind her back, chatting to Hettie.
She hesitated. Should she go out and stop them talking? No, all would be well. Hettie would not reveal to Nell the things she had revealed to Tilly. They were probably talking about flowers or the weather. Tilly stood behind the window and watched, then remembered her tea and returned to the couch.
She sat, saucer in her lap, teacup in her fingers, staring into the middle distance. Hettie’s story had shaken her up. Her husband had been a violent, abusive man. She had been defending herself and her children, and for that she was in prison. Tilly judged her own situation and held herself guiltier than ever. It was she who should be in prison; the world was topsy-turvy when a protective mother was locked away and Tilly, who had suffered nothing more than a cheating husband and had caused two deaths because of it, lived in freedom.
Tilly wondered if she had the courage to do what she knew she should do.
EIGHTEEN
Inside the Stockade
Tilly had no appetite for supper. Sh
e watched Sterling, his hands and wrists moving as he cut his pie, ate his vegetables. All she wanted was that sweet oblivion that had engulfed them both last night. In such a moment she knew she could forget the black thoughts crowding her mind. She craved him, and food was unnecessary, a distraction.
Nell was quiet tonight, solicitous, not letting her father stretch too far to reach for the gravy, pouring his glass of water, and offering to fetch the maid to clear the table without having to be asked.
“You need to rest, Papa,” she said. “Straight to bed after dinner.”
“If it’s all the same with you, Nell,” he said, “a glass of sherry in the parlor would make me feel much improved.”
Tilly’s body flushed with warmth. At last, at the end of the long day, they would be together.
Finally, Nell was off to bed and they were closing the door on the parlor. Tilly launched herself into Sterling’s arms and he held her for a few moments before gently pushing her away and saying, “I need to be sensible a moment and ask for your advice.”
Tilly hid her disappointment. “Go on.”
Sterling went to the drinks cabinet, set up their two sherry glasses as normal. “It’s about Nell.” He unstopped the decanter and poured their drinks. “Life on an island . . . perhaps it’s not the best thing for her.”
“She is very happy here.”
“Her happiness is a secondary concern to her safety. That prisoner who escaped came here to find me. What wouldn’t he have done to hurt me? When he had finished with me, what would have stopped him coming inside to find Nell?”
“But that’s the only time this has happened,” Tilly replied. “Usually prisoners run away from the staff, not towards them. He was confused in his mind. That’s what you said.”
“Yes, it was random and because it was random it was more terrifying. I could not have predicted his behavior. There is nothing to say a similar thing won’t happen again, but worse. I’ve always believed Nell was safe up here on the escarpment. But now . . . I don’t know.”
Tilly sipped the sherry. “What would you do then?”
“Boarding school on the mainland.”
“She would hate it.”
“She would be safe.”
“It would stifle her spirit. She isn’t made for rules.”
“She’ll have to learn them sooner or later.”
Tilly considered Sterling by the lamplight. What she wanted to ask was what he expected would happen to her, Tilly, if Nell was shipped off to boarding school. But she tried to focus on giving good advice. “Sterling, the business with the escapee was only one night ago. You are still understandably shaken up. It may take us all some time to feel safe again. I don’t think it wise to make a decision under such circumstances.”
He smiled, touched her cheek. “You are wise, my Tilly.”
She dropped her voice low. “Will you kiss me?” she said, putting aside her sherry glass. “I have urgent need for kisses.”
“Of course I will.”
•
Tilly woke in the gray before dawn, still in Sterling’s bed. Alarm lit up in her veins. They had decided they wouldn’t sleep, that she would be back in her own bed long before Nell woke. She reassured herself it was still very early and rose, turned back to look at Sterling, sleeping. How divine it had been to lie, her back curled against his front, and drift off. The night enveloping them in its balmy warmth, the shushing sounds of the sea beyond the open window, the retreating passion leaving joy in its wake along her skin. She smiled—wouldn’t have been able to stop herself smiling—and returned to her own cool bed.
•
In the four months she had been on Ember Island, she had never been late to class. This morning was an exception. Her late night adventures meant a late morning, waking after breakfast, dressing quickly and pinning her hair unevenly, and arriving at the library with a growling stomach.
But Nell wasn’t there.
Tilly sat and looked through the day’s lesson. Now all the excitement was over, it was time to return to the lesson plan she had written in January. Today would be double Greek translation, then she allotted a few hours for Nell’s creative writing, which Tilly counted as practice in rhetoric.
Still Nell didn’t come. Now Tilly grew curious, prickled lightly with worry. She left the library and went out onto the verandah. The sky was churning with dark clouds. It looked like rain was about to set in. Down into the garden, looking between the rows of flowers and hedges. Then back to circle the whole verandah, eyes searching the distance. The prisoners in their white uniforms were back in the cane fields, which were bright gold against the dark gray sky. She hoped to see a flash of blue or red, Nell’s favorite dress colors, but she saw nothing.
Back inside, she went to Nell’s room, knocked lightly. Perhaps she was sick. “Nell?” she asked. “Nell?”
No answer. Gently, Tilly opened the door. The room was empty, the bed either made neatly or never slept in. Pangur Ban was missing from his usual place on the bedside table.
Nell was gone.
•
Tilly waited until eleven, then decided she couldn’t go another moment without telling Sterling. It had started raining now, heavy mournful rain that hammered on the roof and pooled on the verandahs. She went to the office and knocked lightly. She could hear voices within: no doubt more questions and paperwork related to the escaped prisoner.
“Come in,” he shouted gruffly, and it was so different from the soft loving words he had said to her last night that she caught her breath. Then she pushed the door open.
Sterling sat at his desk, Dr. Groom opposite. A warder stood at the side of the desk, clutching a sheaf of papers. Tilly had the strong sense that she had entered a men’s world, where she and her news would be unwelcome.
“Tilly?” Sterling said, warmly enough that Dr. Groom gave him a suspicious glance.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you. But Nell’s gone missing.”
Sterling jumped to his feet, then winced, clutching his side. “What? When?”
“She hasn’t been in the library all morning.”
“Have you checked her room?”
“Of course. Her bed is either made or never slept in. I wasn’t sure when to start worrying, but . . .”
“Now, we start worrying now. There are prisoners all over this island, most of them under heavy guard or in leg irons, but there are also armed warders with twitchy fingers who might shoot at a body that’s not accounted for.”
Tilly flushed, angry at herself for not saying anything earlier. “I’m sorry. I’ve left it too late.”
Sterling began to pace. “If her bed wasn’t slept in, she might have been out all night. She might have gone down to the mangroves and been caught in the incoming tide. She might—”
“Get yourself under control, Sterling,” boomed the doctor. “That child is a handful of trouble. Two short days after a prison escape, she’s going to drain all your resources searching for her. I say leave her out there. She’ll come back when she gets wet or hungry.”
Sterling stopped pacing, anger in check, but immovable. “Thank you for your suggestion, Dr. Groom.” Then he turned to the warder and said, “Alert everybody. Prisoners should be locked down. Somebody make sure every one of them is accounted for. All staff are to be out there searching for the child. I want a team combing the mangroves particularly. Get the men up the towers too, in case she’s gone in the . . .” Sterling couldn’t finish and Tilly’s heart squeezed tight.
“Sterling,” she said, longing to touch him and comfort him, “Nell’s smart enough to know not to go in the water.”
“I know that,” Sterling replied. “She’s also smart enough to know which drawer in my office I keep the key to the boat shed. But not strong enough to row on a stormy day.” He brushed past her and outside, pulling his raincoat off the hook by the door and thundering off down the stairs.
The warder ran after him. Dr. Groom stayed, gave Tilly a wry smil
e and a lift of the eyebrows. “Uncontrollable. You remember I told you that?”
Tilly didn’t return his smile. “I’m going out to look for Nell.”
She went to her room for an umbrella and headed outside. She couldn’t see Sterling anymore, so she presumed he’d gone down to the stockade, where she knew she wasn’t allowed. The rain fell hard on the ground and bounced up, soaking her hem. She closed her eyes and tried to think like Nell. Where would she be hiding?
Tilly opened her eyes. Her shoes were filling with water. She squelched down through the garden, searching under every hedge, up every tree. The wind rose up in a squall and turned her umbrella inside out, so she discarded it, surrendering to the heavy rain. She certainly wasn’t anywhere in the garden. The white uniforms had disappeared from the fields now, blue uniforms replacing them. Tilly headed down the path and through the graveyard, around towards the mangroves to help search there.
As the path ran out and she crossed the long, muddy strip that led down to the water, the chief warder, Mr. Donaghy, was briefing a party of men. He saw Tilly and said, “You should really go inside, Miss Lejeune.”
“I can’t just be inside doing nothing. Please, let me help.”
He smiled kindly. “You can accompany me, then. You will get muddy.”
“I’m already muddy.”
The men went off in different directions, and she followed Mr. Donaghy, whose sturdy boots were much more suited to this task, into the saltwater forest. The mangrove trees were dank, their roots shooting up like pointed stones through the stinking mud that sucked at her feet as she picked her way along beside Mr. Donaghy. The trees crowded close together, and would be a wonderful place to hide if the mud wasn’t so thick and sour-smelling. Tilly couldn’t imagine Nell being happy to hide out here, especially not in the rain.
“Is there nowhere on the island where there is shelter?” she asked Mr. Donaghy, rain streaming down her face.
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