‘He’ll miss us.’
‘Nonsense. He’s a horse. As long as he gets his daily hymn along with his food, he’ll be quite happy to transfer his affection to the person who feeds him.’
Bursting into tears she threw her arms around Hercules’s neck and wailed, ‘I don’t want to leave him.’
John knew he’d have to be hard with her. ‘Then stay.’ Hefting his trunk on to his shoulder with some difficulty, he began to amble towards the train. He got into a carriage, leaving the door open in case he’d have to jump out again, and gazed back at her, wondering if she’d choose Hercules over him.
The young couple who’d bought the horse along with the claim gazed awkwardly at one another. ‘I’d better carry your trunk to the train for you,’ the man said eventually, and picked it up.
Sarette looked from one to the other, then said to the woman, ‘You’ll look after him, won’t you? And you won’t forget to sing hymns to him?’
‘Of course. You’d better hurry else you’ll miss the train. Your man looks right annoyed at being kept waiting.’
John kept the frown on his face and tried not to grin when Sarry glared at him and said, ‘He isn’t my man. I hate him.’
She gave Hercules a last hug and ran for the train when the whistle blew. Taking the seat opposite him she folded her arms over her chest and looked fierce as the train lurched forward and began to gather speed.
After a while he winked at her.
As John knew she would, she decided to forgive him.
‘What’s Fremantle like?’ she said.
The train journey had been uncomfortable, but when it was over Sarette would have been the first to admit to John’s wisdom of selling Hercules, for completing the three hundred and fifty mile journey by horse and wagon would have been even more uncomfortable.
John had slept. When he woke she gave him something to eat, for she’d made a loaf of bread the night before, hollowed out the middle and had filled it with sliced bacon covered in pickles. To go with it were eggs pickled in vinegar that she’d brought from Benstead’s store, and to wash it down, some water.
After the rain the countryside was pretty, carpeted as it was with multicoloured wildflowers. But she knew the land would soon go back to its dry, scrubby self and the unforgiving sun would evaporate the moisture and bake the earth’s skin to a crust.
The first sight of the ocean was unexpected because she couldn’t remember seeing it before. So blue and so large it was, reaching to the horizon where it joined an even bluer sky, and on it a ship with sails fatly puffed with wind, and another with chimney stacks blowing smoke. Yet despite that, the air was wondrously clear and fresh without the wind-blown dust from the goldfields to spoil it.
‘Look at all the water,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a marvel it is.’
John smiled at that. ‘You’ll be sailing on it for several weeks.’
She laughed at that, for she thought he must be teasing. Nothing could be that big.
When they reached Fremantle John booked them rooms in a hotel that seemed to be in the thick of things. There was a public bar underneath and as the evening progressed the patrons became rowdier and rowdier. But they’d eaten a good dinner earlier, and she was tired, and the roomy bed with its soft mattress was both a novelty and inviting, since she’d never slept in a real bed before.
But Sarette found it hard to get to sleep, and she tossed and turned in its softness before she felt weary enough to give in to the novelty of it. She was worried about John Kern. He looked tired, and now and again he pressed a hand against his stomach.
The next morning she asked him, ‘Are you ill, Mr John?’
‘It’s nothing, just something I ate that disagreed with me. Those pickles, I expect.’
‘Promise me that you’ll stop drinking rot-gut whisky and go and see a doctor.’
‘Stop nagging girl. You’re not my wife.’
‘If I was your wife I’d make you do what you were told. If you don’t see a doctor I’ll find one and bring him to see you.’
‘All right, I promise I’ll see a doctor,’ he’d grumbled.
He honoured his promise.
She was just readying herself for a walk around town when he arrived back, a wide smile on his face. ‘The doctor said it’s nothing serious. You were right about the rot-gut though.’
She couldn’t help but give a smug smile at that, but it was wiped from her face when he chuckled and added, ‘He prescribed medicinal brandy instead.’
She gave him a dark look. ‘What sort of doctor did you go to . . . a witch doctor?’
‘One who knows the nature of men.’
She snorted. ‘You’re incorrigible, John Kern. Do I have to do any lessons today? I thought I might walk around town and look at the shops, so I can write about Fremantle in my journal. I thought the railway station was rather grand, and I thought I might go over to Cliff Street and make a sketch of it.’
‘Better still, I’ll buy you a postcard. My dear, you’re seventeen, and have learned all you needed to have of a formal education months ago. You’re far from stupid. Just keep your eyes and ears open and your reading and writing up, since it will broaden you even more and give you something to discuss with others. Now you need to learn to be a lady . . . and don’t make that ugly face at me. It makes you resemble a prune. We’re not on the diggings now, and although you’re not entirely devoid of manners, better will be expected of you if you wish to function in polite society and marry well.’
‘I could marry you. Then I wouldn’t have to go to that stupid school, or learn any manners. And I wouldn’t have to leave you – not ever.’
He looked taken aback for a moment, then stuttered, ‘On the first score, if I ever decided to settle down I’d certainly expect my wife to be socially acceptable. Secondly . . .’ He shrugged when he realized what she was about. ‘I know that you’re scared, Sarry.’
‘But I’ll miss you,’ she wailed.
‘And I’ll miss you.’ He took her by the shoulders and gazed into her eyes. ‘I’ve never known you to lack courage. Do this for me, Sarry girl. It will only be for a year, then I’ll join you in England.’
‘Why won’t you come with me now?’
His eyes flickered away, then came back to her. They had a slightly yellow tinge to them. ‘I’m going to Melbourne first. I have some business to finalize. I’m sending my trunk with you to save me lugging it around.’ He kissed her cheek and let her go.
‘I could come with you to Melbourne, then we could go to England together.’
‘Enough, girl! When I took you in I didn’t give you permission to run my life. I’m going to book your ticket on a clipper, and I’ve found you a travelling companion who will act as your chaperone. We’re to have tea with her later, so you can meet. You can practise your manners on her if you can be bothered to display that you have some . . . and you can take that sulky look off your face and accept the inevitable.’
‘Sorry, I was worried about you.’
‘Don’t be, my dear. I’ve lived a long time and I know what I’m about.’
Still smarting from the sharp reminder of her status, she murmured, close to tears, ‘I don’t need a chaperone.’
He took her by the shoulders, his voice softer. ‘Remember what happened in the goldfields. A girl your age can’t be too careful. But it works two ways. Mrs Kent is nervous of travelling alone. She’s a mature lady, a widow who has lost her husband and is returning to live with her relatives in England. She has a pleasant nature, and you’ll be doing her a favour, since having you to look after will help take her mind off her own troubles.’
It took all of John’s will to hide his pain from Sarry as he escorted her around the busy little town, with its many fine buildings. Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee was being celebrated. Here and there they saw the occasional window display with the queen looking out at them surrounded by some dusty-looking bunting.
‘Queen Victoria looks like a cross patch,’ Sarette murmured.
‘She wasn’t much older than you when she took the throne, and has been ruling over the British Empire for sixty years.’
Sarette’s eyes widened in the way they always did when she was impressed by something. And it happened often as she examined the goods displayed in every shop, and asked her questions.
‘Why is there a striped pole outside the barber’s shop?’
‘I think it goes back to when barbers were surgeons as well, and the red and white pole signifies blood and bandages.’
She glanced with envy at a pair of button boots in a shop window, situated next to the barber’s shop. Her own boots were clumsy, scuffed and worn out. The clothes she had were good enough for the few weeks she’d be on board, with the addition of a warm coat and shawl, for even here it was midwinter and cold during the night. And he’d made provision for her when she reached England. Ignatious Grimble would handle her expenses from John’s private accounts.
‘The tea room is just a few doors down. Go and secure us a table. I’ll be there soon, I’m just going to get my beard trimmed.’
He did more than that. He had it removed, then he purchased the boots she’d been admiring, with the provision they would be exchanged if they didn’t fit.
Seated near the window, Sarette was gazing out at the street. Her gaze washed over him when he entered the tea room. She frowned and looked puzzled. Then her pretty laugh rang out, causing heads to turn towards her, and smiles to appear.
‘Miss Maitland, may I join you?’
‘You certainly may, Mr John. How handsome you look without your whiskers.’
‘Yes, I must admit I’d forgotten what I looked like.’ He handed her the parcel. ‘I hope they fit. If not we can change them.’
She would have tried them on then and there if he hadn’t stopped her with, ‘Manners, my dear. A lady does not take her shoes off in public.’
Tears trembled in her eyes. ‘I’d marry you if you’d just asked me, you know. I owe you so much and I want to look after you.’
He knew she would. She was young, she was impressionable and she’d be willing to sacrifice her youth looking after an old man who could give her nothing of real value in return. Under different circumstances he might have been selfish enough to allow her to sacrifice herself, but he didn’t really think it was worth it for the little time he had left.
John had always been a convincing liar, it had been part of his stock in trade. ‘I know you would, Sarry. So you’ll do as I ask, and I promise I’ll consider it. Go to England and do your best to improve yourself. When I arrive home we’ll see how we both feel about it then.’
Her eyes rounded in surprise, then he saw doubt creeping into them. Inwardly, he grinned. Now he’d let her know there was a possibility she would begin the process of balancing the good and bad of such a union, then find him lacking, no doubt, and forget it.’
He rose to his feet. ‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Kent. How lovely to see you again. We were just about to order tea. May I introduce you to my . . .
niece
, Miss Sarette Maitland.’
Mischief flirted in her eyes as Sarette gave the woman a smile. Regally, she said, ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, Mrs Kent.’
The following week was exhausting for John. He took Sarette shopping to make sure she was well provisioned for the voyage. He wrote a letter to Magnus. He wrote another, much longer letter to Grimble with his instructions, then another to Iris Lawrence, who had once been an actress and who now coached young ladies in the female arts.
Parting was harder than he’d expected it to be, so he didn’t encourage Sarette to be maudlin. ‘You will hand the letter to Magnus if I’m not at Fierce Eagles to greet you at the end of your year with Iris Lawrence. Here is the key to my trunk. It contains my books and journals, so is heavy. I hope you’ll take good care of it until it’s time to hand it over to Magnus. Whatever else is in it is none of your business, so don’t go poking around in it.’
An injured expression settled on her face. ‘You can say really mean things sometimes, John Kern. Besides, you’ve nailed those metal bands around it, so how could I poke around in it? You know I wouldn’t open it anyway.’
‘I know. Safe journey, Sarry.’ He fished his gold watch out of his pocket, cupped her hand in his, and placed it in her palm. ‘Take this, and look after it. It has my name etched on it and will prove to Magnus that you are who you say you are if I happen to be delayed. If you get stranded anywhere and need extra money you have my permission to sell it.’
‘I’ll never sell it. I’d die first.’ Her hug was as fierce as her voice as she held him tight. ‘I’m going to miss you so much, Mr John.’
He found the strength to put her at arm’s length, took one last look at her sweet, upturned face and placed a kiss on her forehead. ‘Be good now, Sarry girl. Go on. Mrs Kent is already in the boat, and they are waiting to row you out to the ship.’
John stood and watched the passenger boat being rowed out to the ship at anchor, his heart beginning to crack. He saw her go aboard, and lifted his hand in reply to her fluttering handkerchief.
He made his way to Rous Head, seated himself with his back against a sun-warmed limestone boulder and experienced the empty ache inside his pain. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a vial and swallowed the laudanum it contained. After a while the pain subsided into a dull throb. He stayed there, watching the sails unfold and the ship turn towards the horizon. His eyes narrowed as the ship grew smaller and smaller, then he could see her no more.
Sarry had gone. Overcome by a feeling of abject loneliness he began to cry, taking great heaving gulps. What an inglorious end for an adventurer, he thought. He’d been a fool to take her in in the first place. He should have left her to die in the goldfields. She had no relatives that she knew of, and nobody would have missed her.
He said out loud, ‘But no, not only did you take her in, you let her into your heart. Then you did something really noble Saint John. You swapped your own comfort to provide a future for her.’
Never mind that he already regretted sending her away, and would give his right arm to have her back.
Darkness fell and the stars appeared. ‘God, if you exist please give my Sarry a good life with someone who will love her as much as I do.’