by Jane Rawson
‘Do you have bad dreams?’ he asked his son. ‘Strange dreams? Ever?’
‘Strange …? Sometimes things are chasing me and I can’t run, or I’m at school and I have to go up in front of the class and I don’t have any clothes on.’
George flushed with relief at the normality of it, smiled at the boy. ‘I still have that dream and I hardly went to school at all. Haven’t been there for at least twenty-five years.’
His smile faded as he remembered he was not to let himself be comforted. He tried to explain himself. ‘Maybe, I mean, do you have dreams, times, where you don’t feel like you? Where it’s as though someone else is in your brain?’
‘I don’t have those dreams.’
‘Not thoughts, feelings, either?’
‘No, never.’
‘Well, all right then. Still, it has to go.’ He gestured towards Henry’s shoulder. ‘That thing. I’m having it removed.’
‘Oh! Please don’t!’ The boy had half got up from his chair, and his fingers flew again to the collar of his shirt, dove inside.
‘What’s the problem, boy? You want to keep it?’
Why would he want to keep it? Why would he want to clutch such a thing so close to his skin?
‘It’s …’ George wanted to say that it was a monster, a curse, a demonic possession. He stopped himself. ‘It’s a deformity.’
‘But …’ Henry sat back again. ‘Won’t it hurt?’
‘Hurt? No, it won’t hurt, if that’s what you’re so worried about. It won’t hurt. It will go. It will just … be gone. Are you crying?’
‘No!’ Henry dropped his hand from his face and took a deep breath. ‘No, Father.’
‘Good.’
George sat quietly for a while and Henry rose as though to leave the room. George stopped him. ‘The thing is, you can’t say anything to your mother. Don’t go running to her asking where your mark has gone, all right? Just keep quiet. She’ll notice sooner or later, but just act as though you know nothing. You understand?’ He knew that Henry lied all the time, to both of them.
‘When will it happen?’
‘I still want to know what you’re up to in that cupboard – don’t think you got away with that. Thursday. Probably Thursday. Never you mind. But you tell me when it goes.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Off you go, then. Try to be a good boy for a while, will you?’
Henry didn’t answer, but he left and shut the door behind him, and after a while George could hear him yelling out to his little brother about some kind of experiment.
He folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, wrote her name and ‘Deeper Plane’, then crossed it out so it could still be read and readdressed it to the Unley post office. Funny, he thought. Pretty funny. Could he get Henry to post it? Best not, chances are the boy would open it. Well, maybe the walk would do him good. Maybe Eliza could come for a walk with him. He had some business letters to post too, Home business. Slip the letter in with those and she’d never notice. A little walk with his wife would be lovely.
‘Eliza!’ he yelled, gathering up the envelopes and slipping them into the inner pocket of his jacket. ‘Are you here, Eliza?’
Her head popped around the door, her hair all ruffled from one thing or another, and he couldn’t help smile. She held baby Wills on her hip and George reached out to stroke the child’s cheek.
‘Hello, lovely wife,’ he said.
‘Hello, dearest husband. You yelled?’
‘I yelled? That wasn’t yelling. A gentle call. A soft song.’
‘A terrific yell.’
‘Well, perhaps I was overexcited at the prospect of seeing you. Will you come for a walk with me to the post office? Chances are I will need to steal some flowers from this garden and that and perhaps you could help me carry them.’
Eliza smiled back. ‘Of course. Just let me comb my hair and put some clothes on this baby,’ she said and George heard her call to the boy, ‘Henry, can you watch your brother, please?’
7
The curved glass of Victoria House was hurting his eyes, gleaming in the low wintery sun. He sat on a bench at a safe distance, watching people enter and leave the glasshouse. He remembered Eliza had once loved to come here when the waterlily was blooming. She and Sarah would catch the train in and meet two of their old schoolfriends to see the lily, then lunch and some shopping. Why didn’t she do that anymore? The children, probably. Three children would be too many to drag around the hot, noisy streets of Adelaide. No sense in their heads, either: they’d probably fall in the lily pond and drown. Maybe Wills has some sense, he reflected. He might turn out all right. Those other boys, though, honestly. He didn’t doubt he was their father – no one could think such a thing of Eliza – but he couldn’t see himself in them at all. Henry was more like William, in love with words and ideas. Someone should steer him towards a sensible idea or two; the ones he had now were largely crazy. And Georgie, his namesake. That boy was off with the fairies. The number of times George had seen him involved in a serious conversation with a butterfly …
Women passing, each of them much like the last, their long skirts and high collars, their long hair bound high on their heads. A hat here and there. Cinched in at the waist, raised up at the heel. How would he know the woman? He’d know her because his face would feel like it was on fire and his guts would churn green bile. That’s how he’d know.
‘George, this isn’t the lily pond,’ she said as she sat down next to him, and his face kept its normal composition and so did his guts.
He forced himself not to turn and stare. He forced himself not to bawl fury at whoever this woman was.
Instead, ‘Is that you, Miss Ledwith?’ he asked.
‘I believe you suggested we meet by the lily pond at two o’clock. It’s after two o’clock and you’re still sitting out here watching the door.’
‘I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Wait while I close my eyes then.’
He did turn to look and she had closed her eyes.
‘Boo,’ he said.
He knew this woman but not the way he knew that woman.
‘You look different,’ he said.
She opened her eyes. ‘I’m wearing clothes. If you want to, we can change that.’
‘Not right now.’ He might keep that as a possibility. ‘It was too warm in there,’ he said, meaning the glasshouse. ‘I had to get some fresh air. You found me anyway, so it doesn’t matter.’
‘No, it doesn’t matter. You look well, George.’
‘I’m not dying of exposure, which may be why.’
‘Old, though. You definitely look old.’
‘Thank you. Everyone’s been looking for you, did you know? Or at least they were. For years. Newspapers, lawyers, wellwishers. Why have you come out of hiding for me? I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after.’
‘I knew. None of them interested me. You, on the other hand –’ she touched him lightly on the arm – ‘have always interested me. We were quite the team back then, weren’t we? Quite …’ she paused, perhaps looking for the right word, ‘tight.’
‘I suppose. Of course, it would probably have been better had I died. Rather than team up with you, that is.’
‘George! So bleak. Here we are on this beautiful day, the glorious young city of Adelaide buzzing around us, all the ladies out walking, a pretty girl by your side. How could you wish yourself dead?’ The smile went out of her voice and she turned to look him in the eye. ‘Not everyone would survive a thing like that, George. The facts bear me out – most did not. But we did. Because we are made of special stuff. Strong stuff. We do what’s needed. There should be more like you and me.’
‘You’re quite convincing, but I can still tell that you’re not her. Who are you?’
‘Would you like to interrogate me, make me prove I am who I say I am? I am, George. Do you want me to tell you about the scar you have running from your knee up your thigh?’ and she actua
lly ran a fingertip along his very scar.
‘Yes, very impressive. I don’t wish to interrogate you. You say you’re Bridget Ledwith. There must be ten other women across the colonies say the same. The reason I’m meeting you here —’
‘Rather than by the lily pond, where you said you would meet me.’
‘The reason I’m meeting you here, rather than meeting any of those other Bridgets, is that you seem to know you’re an evil spirit from the bowels of hell. The others think Bridget Ledwith is a woman.’
‘Spirit woman, you said, George. You did not specify evil. And nor am I. I may be able to dwell on a deeper plane and to affect the inner workings of your mind and heart, but let us not leap to any conclusions that I am evil.’ She leaned in closer, almost whispering in his ear. ‘Do you want to talk about how I can help you sleep at night?’
‘Do you have any party tricks other than the scar?’ he said, and removed her hand from his thigh. ‘Stand up in front of me, will you?’
‘I’m not a shop mannequin, George.’
‘Will you just do it?’
She stood.
‘Turn, slowly.’
At the nape of her neck her deep brown hair, the colour of Bridget’s, was betrayed by blond curls escaping from beneath a wig. Why would he be surprised? He had known all along it wasn’t her.
‘Well then, sit down. Your hair hasn’t changed, anyway. Your face is close enough, though you’ve enough powder on there to choke a miner. As to the shape of you, who would know? You’re all corseted up and covered in lawn and muslin or whatever that nonsense is, so let’s leave that be. So what’s your plan for lifting the curse of the Admella?’
‘Finally,’ she said, and she sat next to him again. ‘Can you tell me a little more about what afflicts you?’
‘You placed the curse,’ he said. ‘Surely you remember what afflictions you chose.’
‘You cannot sleep at night, you have trouble breathing. I did not place the curse, George. We all have it. The curse was carried in the boat. I saved you from the worst of it. I took your heart and your mind in my loving spiritual hands and guided you through those long days and nights. You wish to be where those other drowned souls are now? Oh, I’m sure you imagine them sleeping soft in the bosom of heaven, having cast off the cares of the earth. It’s a fantasy, George. They’re thrashing about in agony far worse than anything you can imagine.’
‘But they —’
‘But they didn’t eat some other human’s flesh – I know. Part of the curse, George, that we did that. It wasn’t our fault, the ship made us do it. That ship was possessed. It ate the souls of the wrecked. I saved you, I kept you alive, I got you back to land and let you repair yourself with good works. You have a family now, don’t you? Two boys and a girl?’
‘Something like that.’
‘A wife, a job, an income. You can spend every single day in church if you want to, George – you have time to gain God’s forgiveness. None of the dead have that. You have time, time that I bought for you.’
‘So I should just go to church and all this will be fixed?’ Church was for Christmas, Easter and whenever Eliza got a bee in her bonnet and made him go. If they were going to talk church it was time he went home.
‘You can try. I don’t believe it will work.’
‘Then what?’
‘I know an incredible hypnotist. He will —’
‘You too?’
‘Don’t interrupt. While my spiritual gifts are already strong, there were parts of myself even I could not scrub clean. He has helped me do that. That ship, that reef, no longer have any hold over me. We will visit him and he will make you whole.’
‘For a considerable sum, I suppose?’
‘His rates are perfectly reasonable, particularly when you consider the miracles he can work.’
‘Would you mind if we took a turn about the park, Miss Ledwith? My aged joints are stiffening on this bench.’
He felt a little more comfortable walking with the woman than he did sitting like ducks waiting to be found and shot. Walking was explicable. The wife of a friend. They had simply crossed paths and were now strolling and chatting for a spell, catching up on old times.
‘Don’t these trees cast a beautiful pattern of shadow?’ she asked.
‘I suppose they do. So this hypnotist – boyfriend of yours, is he?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Is he your man? You take me in there, like some rube hick, he waggles a watch or whatever it is they do these days, I take a little nap, he fleeces me and you split the proceeds? Something like that?’
‘Mister Hills! How dare you! I’m a respectable woman.’
‘That you certainly are not and nor have you ever been, even if you are who you claim to be. Either you’re some kind of oceangoing witch-siren, or you’re a shyster. Your choice, Miss Ledwith.’
‘I think you’re a little hysterical. Now look, George. You have problems, and I am trying to help. Of course there may be some expense involved, but for me that is neither here nor there. I simply replied to your call for assistance and am doing my utmost to help you get well. What is there in it for me? Nothing but knowing a fellow shipmate is in good hands. We did have something once, George. I am driven by –’ she paused – ‘let’s call it affection.’
‘Yes, very nice. I do need to get home soon, so perhaps we could come clean with one another. I know you’re not Bridget Ledwith. That is disappointing for me. However it is that you’ve come across the information, you clearly know that I carry a weight of sin from my time on that wreck, and I had honestly hoped you may be able to help me lift that weight. Unfortunately, you have turned out to be some kind of confidence artist and not the very strange woman I spent eight days with on that infernal reef.’
‘Who else would know about your scar? Who else would know the things you did to stay alive? If you want to throw away your last chance at salvation, then that is your choice. But you need not accuse me of lying!’ The woman was raising her voice quite effectively and drawing some very curious stares. She’d stopped dead in the path, her arms crossed over her breasts and a ferocious stare on her face. Whoever she was, she wasn’t afraid of a little publicity.
‘Oh!’ George said. ‘I know how it is I know you!’
‘From the Admella! Are you losing your mind?’
‘No! I saw you last year. A musical production, with my brother-in-law. You had the lead. A fabulous performance, we both said so. That girl is quite something, I remember thinking it. And you still are. What a privilege to meet you in the flesh.’ George grinned widely and held out his hand.
‘Oh, I told Davey this would never work,’ she muttered. ‘I couldn’t convince you Miss Ledwith had taken to the stage, I suppose?’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘Well, that’s that then. Are you very rich?’
‘Me? No. You thought I was rich? You really did mean to fleece me. You’re a terrible person, Miss … Miss …’
‘Jarvis. Alice.’
‘You are a terrible person, Miss Alice Jarvis. Do you spend much of your spare time preying on desperate men?’
‘Very little. You are the first.’ She slumped onto a nearby bench. ‘Are you going to call the police?’
‘Come off it.’ He sat beside her. ‘How did you know about the scar?’
‘Davey remembered. David Peters. He was on the wreck with you. He’s my man. He saw your notice in the paper. You shouldn’t have put your name on it, George.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘You put your name in your mailing address. The rest was very easy to figure out. There was only one woman survived that wreck, George. Anyone reading the notice would have known who you meant. I’m surprised you haven’t heard from the real Miss Ledwith, ordering you to stop smearing her good name. Or have you?’
‘You’re the third I’ve heard from, but the other two weren’t even convincing enough to get me out of the house. I don’t think she actual
ly exists.’
‘No one knows what became of her, do they?’
‘She’s a monster. That’s why. She isn’t human.’
‘This is a very strange obsession you have, Mister Hills.’
‘You’d have it too if you’d seen what I’d seen. I think I remember Peters. I suppose that’s how you know about …’ and he mimed putting a piece of meat to his mouth.
She nodded.
‘Hm.’ Yes, he had a vague picture of Peters in his head. ‘He was the fireman?’ he asked.
‘That’s him. Though not anymore. Like you, Mister Hills, he has struggled. More than you. You have a job and a family. He can’t manage either.’
‘So he thought he’d try to get some of mine.’ But George was sympathetic. It was a filthy feeling, having seen what they’d seen. ‘He was the hypnotist?’
She nodded.
‘So, what? I’d keep coming back for more and more sessions, looking for a cure, and I’d keep paying, and you two would spend the money until I finally admitted I couldn’t be fixed?’
‘Something like that. Or perhaps you’d fall for my charms and we would find a way to blackmail you.’
‘Savage, Miss Jarvis. Unpleasant of the both of you.’
‘Well –’ she smiled – ‘had you chosen the latter it would not have been entirely unpleasant for you.’
‘I can imagine,’ he said, ‘and later, I probably will, at least once or twice.’
‘You needn’t imagine.’ She held his gaze. ‘Perhaps I could make all this up to you. My rooms aren’t far from here —’
‘I thought you lived in Unley?’
‘Unley! I certainly couldn’t afford that. No, that was just a respectable mailing address. I’m around the corner, near the theatre. Would you like to pop back? I wouldn’t mind seeing that scar in real life.’
George stilled the insistent voice in his trousers suggesting that there was no real reason not to, why not after all, she seemed like a fine young woman, no one would ever know, she owed him that, and so on. ‘You shouldn’t have warned me about the blackmail. Now I know that, I’m a little reluctant. No, thank you, I’ll head home now. But look, give this to Peters.’ He pulled a small wad of notes from his pocket. ‘I know how rough it can be. Don’t spend it on yourself, mind. Give it to your man.’