Salting the Wound (21 page)

‘The sand is damp up there beyond the tide mark, so there must be fresh water coming down the hill,’ Sam suddenly said, rising to his feet. They staggered after him to the patch of damp and began to dig, piling the sand up behind them like three dogs digging up a bone.

They were rewarded by a handful of sandy water apiece, and it tasted like nectar. Eyeing the rocky slope above, where lush vegetation grew, Nick smiled. ‘It’s coming down the rock from up there. Just a trickle.’

Just a trickle was enough. After they’d licked the moisture on the rocks and had temporarily satisfied their thirst, they filtered moisture from the wet sand through their kerchiefs into the stone jar.

‘What’s for dinner?’ Sam said.

Red smiled as he took a wicked-looking knife from his belt. ‘See that rock over there? Oysters! Keep a couple of the shells apiece. They might come in handy.’

Slurping down the slimy shellfish, they washed their meal down with the filtered water, then made their way to the top of the hill and looked around them. The terrain was thickly treed and mountainous. There were several puddles to keep their thirst slaked.

‘Where the hell are we?’ Red asked.

‘East of Melbourne, I’d say. We’d certainly gone round the promontory, but how far east I couldn’t say, a couple of hundred miles at a rough guess. We have two choices, gentlemen. We can go overland across the mountains as the crow flies and hope we hit Melbourne. If we average ten miles a day in this we’ll reach Melbourne in approximately three weeks. Or we can walk round the coast, which would probably take longer.’

‘Which would you prefer, Captain?’

Nick would prefer to be home, snuggled into his soft bed with his soft woman. But it would be a long time before he saw Aria again. She’d worry about him, and she’d keep watch for the
Samarand
forever from her bedroom at Harbour House – a ship that would never sail into her home port again.

He cursed his romantic meandering as he gazed up at the sky. Although the sun was shining overhead at the moment, halfway towards the horizon towering flat-bottomed clouds spiked into the sky. They were painted in various shades, all of them grey and ominous. And he gazed at the tumbling water that surged against the reef, throwing spray high, and at the teeth of the rocks as the sea was sucked back to reveal their dark, rotting smile before the next wave smashed over it.

Not that the dinghy was going anywhere now. His instinct was nudging him firmly in the ribs, and he decided to trust it.

‘There’s a bastard of a storm brewing on the horizon and coming our way by the looks of it. I think we’d find more shelter, more to drink and more game to eat inland. I’ve heard there’s a way through, so there might be settlers. We might even find some of the gold that Victoria is famous for on the way.’

Red’s eyes began to gleam. ‘Perhaps I’ll stay here in Australia and search for it once we get to civilization. It’s not as if I’ve got anyone waiting for me back in England.’

‘I’ll make sure the ship’s agent pays you off when we get to Melbourne, then . . . not you, young Sam. I intend to deliver you back to your mother in one piece.’

Sam looked so disappointed that the cook laughed, ‘Oh, go on, Captain. The boy’s fifteen, and he’s grown a couple of whiskers over the past couple of days, lessen it’s seaweed hanging off his lip. He can be my partner, and I’ll look after him. You can tell his ma that he’s stayed on to make his fortune, and we’ll come home as toffs. It’s not as though he’s got a ship to join.’

‘He’ll easily be able to pick one up in Melbourne. In fact, I’ll give you both a written reference once we get there.’

Sam shrugged. ‘But I want to dig for gold, too.’

‘I’ll think about it on the way. In the meantime, I’ll go down and fetch the sail. Sam, you can come with me and gather together the things we rescued. We might need them.’

He rolled the canvas, tied the guy rope around it and slung it over his shoulder. ‘There should be an axe stowed under the stern seat. Fetch that as well, then let’s go.’

There was nothing else useful in the boat so they headed back to where they’d left Red.

As promised Nick thought about Sam’s future, not that there was much to think about. Red had always been reliable, and Sam was nearly a man. It was the lad’s decision whether he stayed or not, and at least Nick wouldn’t have to tell his mother that her son had drowned.

They set off towards the west, and leaving the dinghy to her fate headed down into the first valley. It was tough country, filled with ferns and vegetation, and it wasn’t going to be so easy to navigate as Nick had first thought. But they were all fit. At the bottom they set up camp under a moss-covered overhang of rock. Red caught a hopping creature that resembled an overgrown rabbit, cut its throat, then skinned and gutted it.

‘It’s a wallaby,’ Sam told them. ‘I saw a drawing of one in a book.’

Red laughed. ‘Bugger me, if we ain’t got a genius in our midst.’

‘Go and see if you can find anything that looks edible, Sam. There might be some fruit or something. Take the axe to chip the bark off the trees so you can find your way back.’

Gathering some dead wood and piling it high, Nick concentrated the sun through Sam’s magnifying glass to set a light under the fire. He fashioned a spit for the wallaby.

Sam came back with plants that had leaves like a dandelion. The roots were tuberous and resembled potatoes.

‘They’re yams, I reckon,’ Red said. ‘We can cook those in the ashes. And there was a spreading plant that had pretty pale green leaves and pink berries.

Red stared at it. ‘What’s that?’

‘I don’t know, but the berries taste like cooking apples.’

By evening they were all exhausted. The wallaby had tasted vaguely of venison, and the yams had been delicious. There had been enough meat left over to keep for breakfast. Despite the heat of the day the shadows brought with them a cold night. But at least they had the fire, and they built it up to keep insects or animals at bay, and they huddled under the sail for warmth.

Before the light failed Nick took out the portrait of Aria, as he always did.

Red gazed at it over his shoulder and smiled. ‘I know that face, it’s Miss Honeyman.’

Nick couldn’t hide his smile, and it was about time he told someone. He ran a finger over Aria’s innocently childish face, which was capped by a curly mop of dark hair, and he wondered if he’d have a daughter who looked just like her one day. He said in a gruff manner, because tears were just under the surface and emotion didn’t come easily to him since he’d been taught that men didn’t cry, ‘Actually, it’s Mrs Thornton now. We were wed in Boston. If anything happens to me before we reach civilization, make sure she gets this back and tell her . . . tell her that to me, she was as the inscription described.’

‘Aye, I will.’

‘You don’t seem surprised.’

‘No, Captain. We all saw which way the wind was blowing, and the only one to be surprised by that when the time came was you, I reckon.’

Disgruntled, Nick huffed, ‘The devil you did.’

Red and Sam exchanged a grin when he chuckled.

I
t had been a wet winter, and the miserable days passed by slowly.

Charles Barrie had made an equally slow recovery, but recover he had, and was now building up his strength. Certainly, his energy was returning.

Not for the first time he picked up the photograph of his grandson with the family who fostered him. He understood exactly why the photograph had been sent to him. It was to demonstrate that John was happily settled with them.

Edgar had reinforced that . . . had reasoned with him, had made arrangements so they could meet. Edgar had told him that the soldier was prepared to refuse his request to hand John over, and had indicated that he’d go to court over the matter rather than let John go.

Both of them had forgotten one thing. John was not related to the Hardy family. John Charles was a Barrie. His own grandson. His own blood!

He sent a messenger to Adam Chapman’s house with a request that he attend him.

The young man’s self-possession, when coupled with his youth was formidable as well as disconcerting. Adam Chapman stood before him, impassive, showing no trace of what was going on in his mind. His calm grey eyes had darkened slightly while Charles had put forward his proposition.

‘Let me get this clear, Sir Charles. You want me to abduct the child?’

Was that how he saw it? Testily, Charles told him, ‘It’s hardly an abduction when the child is my relative.’ He handed over the photograph. ‘This is what they sent me, with the message that I could see him when I’d recovered from my illness.’

Adam smiled. ‘A sensible precaution, surely, since they wouldn’t want the boy to become infected. Would you do any less if you were in their position? They’re a handsome family. The two women are similar in looks. I imagine they’re sisters.’

Charles’s only interest in the two women was the possibility that they could serve him in some way. ‘Well, if you won’t bring me the child, investigate the background of the family. See if you can find some juicy scandal to discredit them with.’ Charles sighed. He had the feeling he was going to get nowhere with this young man.

Chapman placed the photograph down on the table and engaged his eyes. The distaste in them was all too apparent, and Charles felt a twinge of shame. Nobody had looked at him that way before.

‘You’re not going to do what I ask, are you?’

‘No, sir, I am not. I do not snatch children from their homes, and will not be used as the instrument to bring down the Hardy family. I’d strongly advise that you do not employ another to take such a rash step.’

‘When I need your advice I’ll ask for it, young man.’

‘Nevertheless, it’s offered for your own good. Can you imagine what this will do to your good name and your professional career if it gets out, sir.’

‘Is that a threat, young man?’

Chapman stared at him. ‘Not from me, sir, but I’d be surprised if your colleagues would support you in such an unethical scheme as you propose. But there’s no fool like an old fool, they say, especially one who allows pride to rule his good sense.’

‘Say what?’ Charles spluttered.

‘I think you understood me, Sir Charles. My integrity is not for sale to you, or to anyone. Good day.’

He had gone too far, Charles realized. ‘I’m sorry,’ he called after him, and he was. But the affront in the young man’s eyes told him that it hadn’t come across as sincere, and now was not the time.

Adam Chapman bowed, then turned and left.

Outside, Adam filled his lungs with a breath of damp air and released it slowly, allowing his anger to evaporate. He walked to the corner and glanced about the square. Odd to think he’d grown up in a similar square and had vowed to restore the family’s fortune. It didn’t seem so important now. Whatever the address it still stank of horseshit. Adam now realized that privilege had its price – one he didn’t want to pay. He also realized that if Sir Charles turned his mind to it his career would be ruined.

‘Fine for you to lecture another on pride when you’ve starched your own backbone with it,’ he said out loud.

It began to rain. Deep in thought, Adam didn’t hear the carriage come to a halt until Edgar Wyvern called him over. ‘Good day, Mr Chapman. You’re the very person I was looking for.’

‘Mr Wyvern?’

‘Don’t look so bewildered. Climb in, man, you’re getting soaked.’

‘I’ve just been to your home looking for you,’ he said when Adam settled himself on the opposite seat. Mrs Chapman offered me tea while I waited. Miss Chapman told me you’d be some time, and that you sometimes stayed in town. She suggested that you might be with Sir Charles. Are you coming or going?’

‘Going.’

‘I found your mother and sister to be quite charming company.’

‘My mother enjoys entertaining, and she gets little chance now my father is deceased.’

‘You support them, I understand.’

‘As best I can, since they’re my responsibility.’

‘Very laudable, but I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.’

‘Why did you want to see me, sir?’

‘You have a rather distracted note in your voice. Has Sir Charles upset you?’

‘I’d rather not discuss my business with Sir Charles.’

‘Quite . . . but no doubt I’ll soon be informed of it. You remind him of his son, you know. He had a mind of his own too, and they used to have heated debates. I have a proposition to put to you, young man.’

‘You should wait until you’ve spoken to Sir Charles, perhaps.’

‘Very well, I can see you’re upset about something, and a young man with his blood up is sometimes irrational.’

Exactly what Adam had told Sir Charles he was, except he’d been more to the point. An old fool was indeed an old fool, but then . . . so was a young one. Adam managed a wry smile as Edgar Wyvern handed over his card. ‘I apologize for being churlish,’ he said.

‘There’s no need. Sir Charles sometimes has the same effect on me. Can you be at my chambers tomorrow at ten?’

‘If you so wish.’

‘I do so wish. It’s raining quite hard. Take my umbrella, young man. You can return it tomorrow.’

Adam spent the evening listening to his mother happily extolling the virtues of their visitor, something that would keep her happy for the rest of the week. He exchanged a smile with his sister, and after his mother had gone to bed told her. ‘Mr Wyvern has a proposition to put before me. It may improve our lot in the long term.’

She kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks to your ingenuity we are managing quite well, Adam. I know mother complains sometimes, but she’s very proud of you. She was impressed by the quality of your client, and has quite changed her mind about your profession. She couldn’t stop praising you to Mr Wyvern. He was a very pleasant man.’

The next morning Adam presented himself to the Wyvern chambers. There was a fire in the grate, the flames leaped and danced, keeping the shadows at bay. It was a place of warmth, of gleaming wood panels and leather chairs. Coffee was served, a small dash of brandy added to nurture the spirit and warm the blood.