Grace chewed her thumbnail. “He didn’t say nothing to you?”
Maryann shook her head. The baby grizzled and pawed at her neck. She dumped him on Emma’s sleeping pallet and pressed a sliver of bread into his pudgy fist. “Are you sure?” she asked Grace finally.
She nodded. “He left with Alexander.”
“The man you were with. The one with the wild eyes.”
“You ain’t got no idea where they’ve gone? Or why?”
Maryann sighed. “Daniel’s a no-hoper. Got caught duffing cattle a few years back but earned himself a ticket of leave. Only had six months til his sentence were up. We talked about making a go of it. Land of our own and all. Few sheep or something. Anything so I don’t have to do this no more. Then the stupid scab knocked out his overseer. Now he’s a lifer. He thought of bolting before. I thought I’d talked him out of it. Don’t know what I was thinking pinning my hopes on him. So, no, I got no idea where they are. But I sure ain’t surprised.”
Hatred for Howell simmered beneath Grace’s skin. He’d taken Alexander from her. Left his children without a second thought. “All right,” she said finally. “Thank you.” She turned to leave.
“You find your girl, then?” asked Maryann.
Grace avoided her eyes. “Violet disappeared in the bush a few months ago. When I saw Emma, I just wanted to believe…”
“How does someone just disappear?"
Grace hesitated, taken aback by Maryann’s bluntness. “She got up in the night, I suppose. Got herself lost.”
“She got up in the night? Wandered into the bush on her own? Is that really what you believe?”
Grace wrapped her arms around herself. “Perhaps.”
“And this Alexander. Was he there?”
“Why?” she demanded.
Maryann shrugged.
“He didn’t kill her,” said Grace, surprising herself with the intensity of her voice.
“You said it. Not me.”
She swallowed heavily. “I trust Alexander.”
“Well. I trusted Daniel too. And look where that got me.”
“Why would he kill Violet?” The words fell out scratchy and half-formed. She’d convinced herself of Alexander’s innocence. How deep had this doubt been hiding?
Maryann shrugged with infuriating nonchalance. “Perhaps he wanted you all to himself.”
Heat washed over her. “No.” She felt her carefully cultivated ignorance about to topple. “No, that ain’t true.” The baby let out a long, high wail. Grace felt the muscles in her neck tighten. She had to leave. Now. She hurried towards the door.
“You looking for a reason for him to disappear?” said Maryann. “Perhaps he was afraid you were going to find him out.”
Grace felt anger flare inside her. She shoved Maryann against the wall. “Shut your damn mouth! You ain’t got no idea what you’re talking about!”
Maryann pushed her away. “Get your bloody hands off me. And stay away from my daughter.”
*
They trudged into the hills until Dalton’s eyes were straining in the twilight. He dropped the pack. “Get us some kindling. Lay a fire.”
“Here? You reckon we’re far enough away from the settlement? They’ll not see the smoke?”
Dalton sat. “Can’t go any further in the dark. Ground’s too steep.”
With a thin flame licking the wood, Howell lay back on his elbows and stretched out his legs. He pulled a loaf from the pack and broke off two large pieces. Dalton took the bread and tore the first piece in half.
“Too much. The food has to last.”
Howell chewed slowly. He took one of the candlesticks from the pack and traced a finger over the face of the sculpted angel. “What’s it feel like, then? To do such a thing?”
Dalton felt his breath coming thick and fast.
You want to know how it feels?
This is how it feels.
Thomas Bodenham was just twenty years old. Arrived at Macquarie Harbour a few months before Dalton. The harbour was not a place where men bonded, but Dalton and Bodenham had shared words over the supper tables many a night. They’d shared their desperation for liberty, shared excitement when they’d fled the harbour. The first night of their escape, they’d talked about the women they’d met in Hobart Town. Two young men with dreams of freedom.
This is how it feels, Daniel Howell, to steal a friend’s life for your own survival.
Self-hatred. Revulsion. Terrified by the knowledge that you’ll be forever haunted. Afraid to look into the shadows in case there are dead men lurking there. You hide yourself away from the world in the hope that the solitude might steal your memories. But you know that what you’ve done is buried so deep within you that you’ll go back there every time the sun goes down.
“Would you do it again?” asked Howell. “If you had to?”
Never.
Dalton chewed the bread slowly. He knew the land now. How many edible plants must they have passed in those fifteen days after they had left the harbour? How much wattle seed that could be ground into flour? How many men would still be alive if Dalton had known then the things he did now?
“Stop talking about it,” he mumbled.
Howell chuckled. “You understand my fascination, mate, surely.”
Dalton stared through the trees to the scattered stars. He wondered if Howell knew how to read the sky. Could he tell they were walking in circles?
He lay awake long after Howell began to snore. The crescent moon hung directly above his head. Midnight. He took Grace’s shilling from his pocket. He had to get back to her before whatever fragile trust she had in him was shattered forever. Before she drew her own conclusions about his disappearance. Her own conclusions about the girl.
Dalton looked across at Howell. He stood and reached for the gun. Howell moved suddenly and snatched the rifle before Dalton could get a hand to it.
“Don’t you try, silent man. You’re getting me out of this place.”
“Give me my gun.”
Howell rolled over, back to Dalton, clutching the rifle to his body. “No, mate. I need a little security.”
*
It said plenty about the village of Hamilton, thought Grace, that there were countless grog shops and no church. She and God had never seen eye-to-eye, but she felt the need to cram into the inn with the rest of the villagers each Sunday and listen to the reverend spout the dangers of a liquored-up life. It gave her a sense of belonging, she realised. A fragile sense of community to which she could try and belong.
Maryann was waiting outside for her when she left the service that morning. The baby was dangling from her hip and she had a hand clamped around Emma’s wrist. She was dressed in a threadbare cloak and the low-cut blue dress she’d obviously been wearing the night before. The lampblack intended for her eyelids had made its way across one cheek.
Grace walked faster. “If you’ve come to convince me of Alexander’s guilt, I ain’t interested.”
“I ain’t come to convince you of anything.” Maryann tossed Grace her shawl. “Thought you might want this back.”
“Thank you.” Grace slowed her pace slightly and let Maryann walk beside her. Emma ran ahead, leaping over puddles and enormous piles of horse dung. Two older women shuffled past them, whispering and shooting black glares.
Maryann grabbed Grace’s arm. “This way.” She guided her off the main street and down the track towards the creek. She snorted. “Bloody toffs looking at me like I ain’t worth the time of day. Think they know I seen more of their husbands than they have?”
“They know,” said Grace. “That’s why they’re looking at you like you ain’t worth the time of day.”
Maryann chuckled humourlessly.
Grace watched Emma swing her rag doll in her fist. It was threadbare and misshapen like Violet’s Rosie had been.
Rosie was the obstacle in Grace’s sleepwalking theory. The doll, like Violet, was gone without a trace. Had she carried it in her sleep? They�
��d searched for weeks. Every inch of the land, she was sure of it. There had been no Rosie.
Images came to her fleetingly: hands flinging the doll into the river. Into the fire. Whose ashes lay in the fireplace outside Alexander’s hut? She forced the thoughts away.
“Daniel left me some money,” said Maryann. “Some of what he’d made from that tobacco crop. Found it last night behind the flour pot.” She heaved the baby onto her other hip and sighed. “I know we’re better off without him. Just wish he’d said goodbye.” She touched Grace’s elbow. “Listen. I know you don’t want to think nothing bad about your Alexander. I went through the same with Daniel. But it got to a point that I couldn’t deny it no more.”
How could she manage anything but denial? There’s no one else, Alexander had said. And he was right. She had no one else, so how could she ever think about those dead bolters, or the glassy eyes of the murdered marines? How could she believe Violet’s death had been anything but an accident?
She sucked in her breath. “The man I love struck me, then threw me in the madhouse when I tried to leave him.”
“Christ,” said Maryann. “I thought I were a bad judge of character.”
“I left my family on the other side of the world to come out here and make a life with him. Now I have nothing. Alexander is the only person I can trust.”
“Alexander left you,” said Maryann. She gripped Grace’s shoulder with her free hand. “Look. I ain’t trying to make trouble. You’ve been through hell, I can see that. And we’re all afraid of being alone. Especially in this place. It’s natural to want to cling to someone. But sometimes you got to open your eyes. Or else what happened to your Violet might just happen to you.” Maryann tried to catch her glance. “Don’t you owe it to her to admit to yourself what really happened?”
Grace swallowed hard. “I don’t know what really happened.” She looked up to see Emma tottering down the muddy bank into the creek. Grace’s heart shot into her throat. She raced towards the water. “Emma! Get out of there!”
Maryann planted a hand on her hip. “Leave her. She’s just playing.”
Grace splashed into the water and swung Emma into her arms. The girl screeched in shock and kicked against her. Maryann sat the baby on the bank and yanked Emma out of Grace’s grip. The doll tumbled to the grass.
“What the hell d’you think you’re doing? You’ve bloody terrified her!”
Grace gulped down her breath. “How could you let her out there? She could have drowned!”
“Drowned?” Maryann set Emma down and rubbed her back. “She weren’t in an inch of water! You’re off your bloody head, you are!”
“We got a problem here?”
“Oh look,” drawled Maryann. “If it ain’t Jim Berry, world’s crookedest bloody police lag.”
He strode towards them, chest puffed out like he’d swallowed a cat. Grace pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. Her hands were shaking violently.
“Bugger off, Berry,” Maryann hissed. “This ain’t got nothing to do with you.”
“You watch your mouth, Maryann Fairlie.”
She unhooked Emma’s arms from around her waist. “Why? What you going to do?”
“Could think of plenty nice things to do to a woman like you.” Chuckling, Berry stepped close and slid a hand inside her cloak. Maryann yanked away and punched him hard in the nose. Blood spurted down the front of his uniform. He snatched her wrists and wrestled her to the ground. Howls from Emma and the baby.
“Let go of me!” shrieked Maryann, kicking under him. “She’s the one you want! The loony won’t leave my bloody kids alone!”
Grace stood with her spine pressed against the trunk of a tree. The children sprawled on the grass, red-faced and screaming. A second policeman came running towards the creek. Berry yanked Maryann to her feet and wrenched her arms behind her back.
“Hand her over, Berry,” said the sergeant. He grabbed hold of Maryann’s arm and led her back towards the town. Berry wiped his nose with back of his hand. He pulled the children from the mud and tucked one under each arm.
Grace watched blankly as they left, the children’s cries disappearing beneath the sigh of the creek. She sank to her knees, wet skirts tangling around her legs. Beside her, Emma’s doll lay face down in the grass. Grace picked it up and held it to her chest. Tried to slow her speeding heart.
*
Again, the river.
Howell stopped walking. “You bastard. You’ve led us back to Hamilton.” He wrenched an arm around Dalton’s neck and threw him backwards. Arms flying, stumbling, hands in the mud. They scrambled for the weapons. Howell came away with the rifle. Dalton, the axe.
Howell raised the gun. “Think I won’t tell anyone who you are?”
“Just try. You’re a bolter now too. Open your mouth and you’ll be on the scaffold beside me.”
Howell paused, breathing heavily through his nose. Dalton swung the axe into the barrel of the gun. Howell’s shot flew across the river. Head down, Dalton charged, knocking Howell onto his back. His money pouch spilled into the mud. Dalton threw a wild fist to the side of Howell’s head. His cheek split, blood spurting down his face. Dalton punched again, leaving Howell on the edge of consciousness. He grabbed the rifle and rummaged in his pack for the powder and shot. Rammed in the ball. He snatched the money pouch and ran without looking back.
He tore across the plains, past Annie’s cottage and over the bridge. Up the hill towards the Porters’. He threw open the kitchen door and charged inside, the rifle in his hand.
The cook swallowed a shriek. She pressed a hand to her heart. “You. What do you want?”
“Where’s Grace?”
“She’s not here.”
“You’re lying.”
The cook narrowed her eyes. “I never lie. Mrs Porter sent her packing. Her and that dollymop Maryann Fairlie caused a right scene at the creek this morning.”
“What?” Dalton gulped down his breath. “Where’d she go?”
“Couldn’t tell you. But you’d best leave too. Mr Porter’ll have your head if he catches you here.”
He found her sitting at the edge of the creek. Her hands were clasped in her lap and she wore her tattered tartan cloak, the hood pulled up over her choppy curls.
She turned as he approached. “You came back.”
“Aye. Of course.” He sat beside her. A dirty rag doll lay in her lap. Dalton took the shilling from his pocket and held it out to her. Grace looked at it, but kept her hands tightly clasped. He placed it between them. “Howell knew who I was. He recognised me from the cattle ring. Said he’d turn me in if I didn’t help him get away. But I couldn’t go without you.”
Grace said nothing.
“The Porters let you go?”
She nodded.
“What happened?”
She didn’t look at him. “Emma… Maryann’s daughter. She ran off and jumped in the river… the creek. I was afraid she’d drown. I jumped in there after her and Maryann went mad. Started screaming at me. She punched that police lag when he came to see what was going on.” She sniffed. “Mrs Porter heard about it. Said she didn’t want no-one working for her who spent their time with easy women like Maryann.” She stared into the water. “Thing is, I don’t know why I behaved the way I did. When I saw Emma in the creek, it was like something else took a hold of me. Like something else was making me act. You ever feel that way?”
Dalton nodded faintly. He’d felt that way more times than he could remember. “You think that’s what happened to Violet? You think she fell in the river?”
Grace looked at her hands. “You tell me what happened to Violet.”
Dalton’s stomach tightened.
Finally, she turned to face him. “Am I to believe she just wandered out into the bush on her own? How could she just disappear? How could there be no trace of her?”
Dalton watched the brown water bubble over the rocks. He pulled Howell’s pouch from his coat pocket and tossed it into
Grace’s lap. “Here. Enough for passage to London. And more.”
She frowned, opening the pouch. “Where did you get all this?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You stole it? From who?”
“I stole it for you. For us. So we can forget this place.”
Grace sucked in her breath and placed the pouch on the ground.
Dalton slid it into his pocket. “We’ll go back to Hobart Town. Get Nora. And then we’ll be on the first ship back to London. No more Harris. No more asylum. That’s what you want, aye?” He put a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to face him. “Grace? Isn’t that what you want?” He glimpsed Howell’s blood on his knuckles and pulled away. “Would you bloody well speak to me?”
She laughed thinly. “Silence is a real bastard, ain’t it.”
“She won’t go, Dalton. Not with an animal like you.”
They turned at the sound of Howell’s voice. Grace’s eyes fixed on the blood snaking down his cheek. She stood hurriedly, the rag doll tumbling into the water.
Dalton leapt up, clutching the rifle. “Leave us be,” he said darkly.
Howell glared. “Give me my fucking money.”
Dalton felt Grace’s eyes on him.
“Give him the money, Alexander,” she said.
He stood motionless, his hand tight around the gun.
Finally, Howell took a step towards Grace. “Ask him about the man they killed.”
She looked at Dalton. “What is he talking about?”
Sickness rose in his throat. He reached into his pocket, clasped his fingers over the pouch and held it out to Howell.
No.
He couldn’t do it. The money was his ticket out of this place. His ticket to give Grace what she longed for. He shoved the pouch back in his pocket and raised the gun. “Get away from us.”
Howell laughed. “You won’t shoot me here. You’d hang in a second.” He turned to Grace. “Ask him about Tom Bodenham. Ask him what they did to the body.”
Dalton stared down the barrel of the rifle. Anything to avoid Grace’s eyes. His finger on the trigger. Howell in his line of sight.
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