Forgotten Places

by Johanna Craven

  She looked up at him. His face had narrowed; the lines around his eyes become more pronounced. Thread of grey had appeared at his temples. Hobart Town had been nothing of the fresh start he had hoped it would be; anyone could see that by looking at his face.

  Grace blinked away a fresh rush of tears. “I’ve got to try and save him.”

  “No.” Harris’s voice hardened. “You don’t. A man like this ought to be shot on sight. Your duty is not to him. It’s to Nora and I.” He gripped her shoulders. “I love you, Grace. Nora loves you. I don’t want to have to put you back in the asylum. But I won’t hesitate to do what I think is best for you. And what’s best for my daughter.”

  Grace swallowed hard. She nodded. Understood.

  She wiped her eyes and walked back into the dining room. Sat at the table opposite the policemen.

  “I hope your husband has talked a little sense into you,” said the sergeant. He leant across the table. “Who killed the marines, Mrs Harris?”

  She stared into her clasped hands. “He did. Alexander Dalton.”

  “Would you be willing to state this in a court of law?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” The sergeant folded his arms across his thick chest. “Now, where can we find him?”

  How to find a man who’d hidden from the world for more than a decade? She’d been looking in the wrong place, she saw that now. She’d have to bury herself in that tunnel of trees she’d once been afraid of. Enter the forest on the fringe of Harris’s land. Return to the wilds where she’d found him the first time.

  “You can’t,” Grace told the sergeant. “He’s too good at hiding.”

  XXIX

  They’ve been walking for sixteen days. Macquarie Harbour lies behind them and who knows what lies ahead. The last of the bread they’d eaten days ago. Dalton’s steps are crooked with hunger. His vision is blurred, his throat dry.

  “Dalton,” Greenhill whispers. “Dalton, the flogger.”

  What if it were to end here? What if he is the sacrifice? There would be no guilt, no hiding. A better end, surely.

  Dalton stands, looking Greenhill in the eye. “Do it,” he says.

  The axe comes towards him slowly. Why so slow? What’s wrong with time?

  No. If it ends here, he will never climb the mountains and see the valleys unfold below him. Never stand beneath an electric black and gold sky. He will never feel Grace’s heart thud beneath his fingertips, or hold her in the night. And Dalton realises he’d go through all that guilt and hiding a hundred times over so he might know how it feels to come back to life.

  He lurches away from Greenhill’s axe. Feels a shock of pain as the blade clips his shoulder.

  Dalton heard himself cry out. The pain at the top of his arm, it was different now. Sharper, hotter.

  And the light. That was different too. Flickering lamplight, not purple dusk.

  Grace. Why was Grace here? There was blood on her cheek. What was she doing amongst all this carnage? He couldn’t make sense of it. He reached out, sure she’d vanish if he touched her. Her skin was hot beneath his fingers.

  “I told him to kill me,” he said. “But then I thought of you.”

  “You’re delirious,” she said. “Try not to move. I got the ball out. Lie still and let me sew it up.” She crouched over his shoulder, needle in hand. She frowned in concentration, lamplight flickering on her cheeks.

  Dalton swallowed a grunt of pain. He felt lines of blood run across his bare chest. “Greenhill. He was here. But you made him leave.” Relief washed over him. The men were in their graves. And the blood on his hands belonged only to him.

  Grace cut the thread carefully. She rinsed her hands from a canteen of water and wrapped a length of cloth around his upper arm. Her cheeks were pale. “I watched the doctor stitch a cut on Violet’s head once,” she said. “I done the best I can.” She dampened a second cloth and wiped it across Dalton’s chest.

  He tried to sit. She held a hand against his other shoulder.

  “Stay down. I think I made it worse.”

  Dalton grabbed a fistful of her chemise and drew her towards him until her face was inches from his.

  She swallowed hard. “Violet… I let her drown… in London. I know you… I don’t understand, Alexander. Why let me believe you killed her?”

  “You found out what we did to Bodenham. You were going to leave me. But I knew you’d stay if you thought I could show you where Violet was buried.”

  She sat. “Christ. Do you have any idea of the trouble—”

  Dalton said to the sky: “And I thought you’d stop blaming yourself if you believed I was responsible.”

  Grace closed her eyes. “Alexander…”

  “I don’t want you to carry that guilt every day,” he said. “It will destroy you.”

  “So you thought you’d carry it for me?” She shuffled on the earth and lay beside him. “That was really bloody stupid.”

  “Aye,” said Dalton. “I know.”

  “But it was also very kind.” She turned her head to face him. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  He smiled. She’d searched for him. She knew what he’d done to Bodenham and still she’d come. Trying to fix her own mistakes, yes, but the fact she cared enough to ask his forgiveness brought him a step closer to his own absolution. He touched the coil of hair that hung across her cheek. She flinched and pulled the coin pouch from her bag.

  “The Enchantress leaves tomorrow for London. You need to be on it. The police will find you here. You got to go, you understand me?”

  “Come with me. You and the girl. Like we planned.”

  She looked away. “You’re better off without me, Alexander. Look at all I’ve done to you. You’re lying here in pain. The police know you’re alive. They want you on the scaffold.”

  “It was my fault. All of it.”

  Grace said nothing. She busied herself wrapping the scissors and tweezers in the remains of his shirt. “I’m not going back to London,” she said finally. “I’m sorry.”

  Dalton felt suddenly cold. Sick. “Is it because of him? Harris? That bastard who locked you up?”

  “He was right to do it!” she cried. “You know that! You knew that all along! And you let me go on planning my miserable revenge! Did you never think to tell me the truth?”

  “Tell you?” He laughed coldly. “In what world would you have believed such a thing from a madman like me?”

  “You’re no madman,” she mumbled.

  Dalton sat, dizziness coursing through him. Pain radiated down his arm, across his chest. It seared through his head, tangling his thoughts. “Christ,” he hissed. “What in hell have you done to me?” He clenched his teeth. “You trying to finish the job?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I knew I couldn’t get help. I—” She fumbled in her bag and pulled out a bottle. “Drink this. It’ll help a little.” She held the flask to his lips and drizzled brandy down his throat. He felt warmth rise in his chest. The pain remained hot and sharp. Grace pressed a hunk of bread into his hand. “Eat. You’re weak.”

  He chewed slowly, not taking his eyes off her. “He know you’re here then? Creeping around the bush at night?”

  She looked away. “Of course not.”

  “So you’ll give up home for a man you speak to in lies.”

  “I’ve told him no lies.” She picked at the blood beneath her fingernails. “He’s sleeping.”

  Dalton glared at her. “He lays a hand on you. He takes away your chance to be a mother. All those things you said he’s done. Were they real?”

  “Yes. But I know he’d never set out to hurt me. And I know he’d never hurt his girls. Violet weren’t even there!” She sighed. “He’s no angel. But I’m not neither. And, Alexander, you of all people should know the value of forgiveness.”

  “Forgiveness? I’d kill him for what he did to you. I’d make him suffer like he made you suffer. And then I’d kill him.”

  Grace swallowed hard. “You
don’t mean that. I know you don’t. You wouldn’t do that to me.” She met his eyes challengingly, waiting for his anger to fade. Or perhaps explode. “Why do you despise a man who wants nothing but the best for me?”

  For a moment, Dalton didn’t answer. Finally, he said: “I hate him because you love him.”

  Grace let out her breath. “Well. At least now we’re getting somewhere.” She stood and brushed the leaves from her skirt. Held out her hand. “Stand up.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t stay out here. Not in this state. I’m bringing you back to the house. And tomorrow I’m going to take you to the harbour. See you get on that ship.”

  Dalton began to laugh, slowly, without humour. “You want to take me back to your house? You want to lead me straight to him?” He stood slowly, shakily. “As you wish, my Grace.”

  Her jaw tightened. She slid his battered coat over his shoulders. “I can’t leave you here. Not after all you’ve done for me.” She picked up the lantern and the shadows shifted. “Please don’t make me regret it.”

  *

  Grace shouldered open the door of the cellar and helped Alexander down the stairs. She left him sitting up against the wall and hurried through the dark house, gathering up food and blankets. She returned with her arms full and lit a candle. In the orange light, she could see blood splashed across her skirt and chemise. She pulled off her soiled clothing and tossed it beside Alexander’s bloodied shirt. She crouched at his side in her petticoats. “I’ve brought you food and water. A little brandy. You need anything else?”

  Alexander said nothing.

  Grace tensed at his silence. She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. “I need to trust you. Please. If you truly care for me, you’ll stay down here and not let no one see you.”

  “He’d never forgive you for keeping me down here.”

  “No.” Grace stood. “He would never forgive me.”

  She climbed the stairs, heart thumping. Glanced back over her shoulder. “There’s good in you, Alexander. I know it. Please don’t let the darkness win.”

  She pulled the cellar door closed. Stupidity, she knew it. But how could she leave him at the mercy of the forest?

  She crept up the staircase, her neck and shoulders aching with tension. Nora’s bedroom door hung open, the ribbons motionless in the still night. A girl sat in the middle of the room, clutching a rag doll to her chest. Grace tiptoed towards her.

  The scarred forehead.

  Grace’s breath left her. “Violet?”

  The girl turned and smiled. “Yes, Nanny Grace?”

  Grace’s eyes overflowed with sudden tears. “I thought you were dead. The sideshow…”

  “I liked the sideshow,” said Violet.

  Tears dripped from Grace’s chin. She knelt on the rug, afraid to touch Violet in case she vanished forever. “You disappeared. Why did you disappear, angel? Was it because of Alexander? Did he scare you?”

  “I thought you wanted me to leave. You said you wouldn’t carry me anymore.”

  Grace stifled a sob and pulled Violet into her. Clung tightly in case she should ever slide away from her again.

  “Grace?” Harris’s voice in the doorway made her start. “What are you doing?”

  “Violet,” she whispered. “Violet, angel, it’s Papa.”

  Harris knelt beside them.

  “James, it’s Violet. See?”

  Harris sucked in his breath. He lifted the lamp to the little face on Grace’s shoulder. Now she was sleeping. Now the scar on her forehead was gone.

  “It’s Nora, Grace. You know that. Violet is gone.” A tremor in his voice. He lifted his daughter from Grace’s arms and laid her back on the bed. Grace stayed on the floor, staring at the rug.

  She had seen that scar. Heard that little voice.

  She felt suddenly cold. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes,” she said, forcing a steadiness into her voice. “Nora. Of course.” She heard the clunk and groan of the New Norfolk water pipes. She stumbled to her feet. “I was dreaming, that’s all. I was sleepwalking or something. James… I—”

  Harris kissed her forehead with unnerving kindness. “I dream of her sometimes too.”

  But he wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

  XXX

  The cellar door creaked as it opened. Dalton squinted. A silhouetted figure stood at the top of the stairs. A girl.

  “Are you a ghost?” She gripped the bannister and edged towards him. “I told them there was ghosts down here! And monsters.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of ghosts?” asked Dalton.

  She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of anything.” She peered at him with wide blue eyes, a spellbound smile in the corner of her lips. A messy blonde plait hung down her back, loose pieces clinging to her cheeks.

  So this was the face Grace had seen in the river. The face that haunted her. It was like looking into her mind.

  “Is it morning?” he asked.

  The girl nodded.

  “Where’s Grace? Tell her to come and see me.”

  Nora shook her head. “I’m not supposed to be down here. And besides, she can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s going away again.”

  Dalton stood, clutching at the wall to keep his balance. Pain shot through his shoulder and made his stomach turn. “Away where?”

  “To the place.”

  Dalton felt his breathing quicken. “Why?”

  Nora shrugged. “Papa said.”

  He reached into the pocket of his coat and handed her the carving of Grace. She peered at it curiously.

  “Do you like it?”

  She nodded.

  He took it back and slid it inside his pocket. “I’ll make you one of your sister.”

  “My sister is in Heaven,” she said.

  “I need you to bring me some things. A piece of wood. And a knife. Can you do that?”

  A nod.

  “Good.” Dalton stepped towards her and she shuffled backwards. “Go on now. Quickly. Before someone catches you here.”

  *

  “I’m sorry, Gracie,” said Harris, pacing across the parlour. “Believe me, this is as hard for me as it is for you.”

  Grace sat on the couch and chewed her thumbnail. “I doubt that.”

  Harris knelt in front of her. “This is for the best. You know that as well as I do. I wanted you home with me so badly I refused to see you were still unwell.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She pulled away quickly before he saw the bloodstains from the previous night she’d not managed to remove.

  “Violet is gone,” she said. “I know that. Please don’t send me back to that place.”

  Harris sat beside her on the couch and sighed. “You can’t spend your life seeing ghosts. Please, Grace. Just go and get your things.”

  The maid was dragging a trunk out of the bedroom. She smiled awkwardly at Grace and bobbed a curtsey. “You need help with anything, Mrs Harris?”

  Grace shook her head stiffly.

  “All right, ma’am.” The trunk thudded as the girl dragged it down the stairs.

  Grace opened the wardrobe and yanked two of Harris’s clean shirts from their hangers. Waistcoat, scarf and a heavy woollen overcoat she hadn’t seen him wear since London. Gloves, neck cloth, scissors. If she was to be locked back up, she’d at least make sure Alexander got away.

  She ran downstairs with the clothes in her arms and tried to slip through the parlour.

  Harris stood suddenly. “What are you doing with my clothes?”

  She tried to edge past him. “I’m sorry, James. I’ll explain everything, I swear it. Just not now. I can’t.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Go and get in the carriage.” He took the bundle and placed it on the side table. Grace hid her hands hurriedly in the folds of her skirts. Harris frowned. He took her hand and turned it over in his. Faint brown blood was streaked across her palm.

  Harris looked up slowly
. “Grace?”

  “Don’t go with him.”

  She whirled around. Alexander walked slowly towards them, a kitchen knife in his fist. His greatcoat was buttoned loosely over his bare chest. “Come with me.”

  Harris face darkened. “Jessie!”

  The maid hurried inside. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of Alexander.

  “Get my pistol,” said Harris. “From my desk drawer.”

  Jessie thundered up the stairs. Grace took a step towards Alexander, holding out her hand for the knife. She stopped abruptly.

  A girl in the corner of her eye.

  She glanced out the window. Beside the chopping log sat Violet, Rosie in her lap, building a bed of leaves as she had done in the forest. Grace felt heat flood her.

  The maid returned breathlessly and Harris snatched the gun. “Go for the police, Jessie. Now.” He glared at Alexander. “Grace? You would risk your life for this monster?”

  “He ain’t no monster.”

  “The police sergeant told me about this dog, Grace. He’s done more than kill those marines. He’s done things no right-minded human would ever consider.”

  Grace stood protectively in front of Alexander.

  Harris let out a humourless chuckle. “You know. You know what he’s has done and still you’re trying to save him.”

  She met his eyes. “I’m still trying to save him. Because if he’s hanged it will be my fault. And I ain’t living with any more death on my conscience.”

  “How dare you think of this bastard’s death in the same way as my daughter’s! You’ll be doing the world a service by seeing him hanged.”

  Anger bubbled inside her. “He saved my life. Ain’t that worth nothing to you?”

  “And what about the lives he’s taken?”

  “There’s good in him. I know it. He’s a decent man.”

  “A man? How can you see a scrap of humanity in a beast who’s done what he has?”

  Grace’s voice began to rise. “How can we ever know we wouldn’t have done the same? I know what damned, desperate things a person will do to survive. How do you know where you’d draw the line?”