‘You would have liked her,’ Alec said. ‘Everyone who met her loved her.’ Eliza passed him the frame and he touched the ghostly image of his dead wife with his forefinger. ‘We talked of leaving Wishaw for Australia so often but I was reluctant to leave a good job for uncertainty. If only …’
Eliza reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers in her own. ‘No. Don’t ever talk like that, Alec. We none of us know our fates or the consequences of our actions.’
He turned away from her. ‘I—I miss her. Every day that passes, it’s as if she died yesterday.’
Eliza knew those were words that he would never have spoken in daylight, nor if he’d been hale and hearty. She searched for the right response to convey that she understood loneliness, but she had never known the close companionship of a partner, had never been in love …
In the short time she had known Alec McLeod, she had come to see him as more than just her confidante in the puzzle of her brother’s death—she had come to rely on his quiet solidity and his strength. More than that. Her heart and her breathing quickened at the sight of him, and when away from him, she yearned to be in his company. Was it possible that she was falling in love?
That thought frightened her. Everyone she had ever loved had abandoned her. What if Alec were to do the same? What if he did not return her feelings? How could she ever hope to replace the memory of Catriona?
She looked down at her hand, her fingers twined in his. His eyes had closed and his breathing slowed. She tucked his hand under the blanket and, with only the dozing cat for company, sat in the chill dark, her feet tucked under her and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching as he slept.
Twenty-One
20 July 1873
The grey early morning light had begun to creep over the hills as Eliza, leaving Alec in his brother’s care, picked her way along the treacherous path to her uncle’s house on the hill. It would have looked strange if she had taken lodgings at one of the hotels, and she needed a bed and time to gather her thoughts before she tried once more to get to Melbourne.
She climbed the steep path, went around to the back and knocked on the kitchen door. Not hearing any movement inside, she knocked again. Mrs Harris answered the door, dressed only in her nightgown with a shawl clutched over her shoulders. The woman’s eyes widened and she glanced at the door to her bedroom. Eliza glimpsed the neatly made bed while the door to her uncle’s bedroom stood ajar, and she understood. Eliza wondered why she hadn’t noticed the arrangement before. Perhaps this was another reason her uncle had been so anxious for her to leave.
Not that it mattered. She had no interest in his domestic arrangements.
‘Forgive the hour,’ she said. ‘I’ve been sitting with Mr McLeod and I’m very tired.’
Mrs Harris nodded. ‘Your room is made up. After your uncle told me what you had been through, I expected you home. Just let me heat the coals for a warming pan and I’ll fix you something to eat.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs Harris. I just want to sleep.’
Her uncle came out of his bedroom, tying his dressing gown. ‘I thought I heard voices. Eliza, my dear, how is McLeod?’
‘He’ll be fine, Uncle.’
‘And you?’
He laid a hand on her shoulder, his eyes earnestly searching her face. Her flesh shrank from his touch but she forced herself not to flinch. The hypocrisy of his concern sparked the flame of anger and she had to fight the urge to rail at him for what he had done. Now was not the time to bring the accusations that were mounting against him.
‘Just very tired. Excuse me.’
She pushed past him and retreated to her room, shutting the door behind her. She threw her carpet bag into a corner, pulled off her boots and outer garments and fell onto the bed, curling into a ball as the tears of exhaustion and betrayal trickled unchecked from her eyes.
She woke to full daylight. Someone had pulled a quilt over her. Mrs Harris, she supposed. She threw the quilt to one side, conscious of her stiff, aching muscles. The drama of the hold-up and a night spent in an uncomfortable chair at Alec McLeod’s bedside had taken their toll.
A jug of clean but cold water stood on the washstand along with a towel. She looked at her filthy bag and her flesh crawled at the thought of those vile men touching her intimate garments and worse, parading around with them. Her ruined clothes could go on the fire at the first opportunity. Fortunately Eliza had left sufficient clean clothes in her travelling box and she selected a dark green gown.
Washed and dressed, Eliza stepped out to face the world.
She found Mrs Harris in the kitchen, humming to herself as she peeled potatoes. Tom sat in his favourite place by the stove, absorbed in the task of scraping carrots. He looked up and smiled at Eliza.
The housekeeper brushed her hands on her apron and set the kettle on the stove.
‘You look quite washed out,’ she said. ‘A good cup of tea will see you right, and I’ve a pie in the oven that’ll be ready shortly. Your uncle has been detained at the church.’
Eliza sniffed the air, the delectable scent of pastry reminding her she hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. She picked up a wizened apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it. The floury texture would normally have repelled her but it filled the gap until the pie would be done.
A loud rapping on the front door caused both women to start. Smoothing down her apron, Mrs Harris left the room, returning with Sergeant Maidment.
‘Good morning, Miss Penrose. I trust you are recovered from your ordeal of yesterday?’ the policeman asked.
She nodded. ‘A little sleep works wonders.’
‘I have some questions for you. Is there somewhere we can talk?’
Eliza took him through to the parlour and they sat at the small table. At the policeman’s prompting she recounted everything she could recall of the previous day’s events. She glossed over the unpleasant advance Jennings made on her but when Maidment asked how Alec had sustained his injury she admitted that one of the men had threatened her.
Maidment shook his head. ‘You were fortunate the Guichard woman came along.’
‘Have you found Jennings?’
‘Constable Prewitt went up to the Shenandoah at first light, but no one claims to have seen him and if Jennings knows you recognised him, he’ll be halfway to Melbourne by now, if he’s any sense.’ Maidment scowled. ‘That one’s been trouble since he arrived. Nothing that can be proved, mind. Now, apart from Jennings, did you recognise any of the others?’
She shook her head.
‘What did the rogues take?’
Eliza’s hand went to the place where her locket had hung. ‘My gold locket and our money.’
Maidment’s mouth tightened and he nodded his understanding. ‘Nothing else?’
As Eliza hesitated, they were interrupted by the arrival of Charles Cowper.
‘Eliza, good to see you up and around.’ He turned to the policeman. ‘Maidment, why are you bothering my poor niece? Shouldn’t you be out trying to find these ruffians?’
Eliza couldn’t help but stare at the effrontery of the man. In all probability he had been the one to set the rogues on them.
‘I assure you, Mr Cowper,’ Maidment said, ‘I have men out there now but it helps to get a better description of who we are looking for. Miss Penrose is of the opinion that at least one may have come from the Shenandoah Mine. That’s your mine these days, isn’t it?’
Cowper sighed. ‘Which of the fellows are you looking for?’
‘Jennings.’
Cowper shook his head. ‘I told Tehan that one would be trouble, but as you and I both know, we can’t always pick and choose our men the way we would wish. Good miners are worth their price and if one or two of them have turned to the bad to supplement their income, that is hardly the fault of their employer. Do you want me to speak to Tehan?’
Maidment stood. ‘No need, I’ve got men out there. Now if you’ll excuse me …’
Eliza pushed he
r chair back and stood up. ‘I will see you to the door, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘I haven’t given you a full description of my stolen locket.’
She walked with him until they were out of earshot of the house.
‘Is there something else bothering you, Miss Penrose?’ Maidment enquired after she had supplied the missing description.
‘Sergeant, this is nothing to do with the robbery but is it possible my brother did not die by accident?’
Maidment frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just a feeling, but there are aspects of his death that simply don’t make sense to me.’
Maidment gave her a sympathetic look. ‘We all look for reasons for such tragic events, but your brother had no enemies, Miss Penrose. There’s no reason that I could discover why anyone would want to take his life. Do you have proof to support any conclusion other than that reached by the coroner?’
What could she say? She had no concrete evidence that Will’s death itself had been brought about by a third person, despite the plots against him. Eliza could go through the growing list of inconsistencies: the falling out with her uncle; the gold being channelled from the Shenandoah to the Maiden’s Creek Mine; the theft of the valuable plans. There were elements that pointed to foul play but nothing concrete, nothing that would convict anyone.
‘If I could produce some evidence, would you reopen the case?’
‘Of course, but Miss Penrose—’
She held up a hand. ‘I know. You think I am being a foolish woman grieving her brother’s death, Sergeant. Forget I spoke.’
His shrewd eyes studied her face. ‘I don’t think you’re foolish, Miss Penrose, and between us, there were certain matters that concerned me. No one was able to furnish a reason as to why your brother was up at the mine at that hour of the night, for example. You be sure to tell me if you find something, won’t you. In the meantime, I will speak with McLeod.’ He raised fingers to the peak of his hat and nodded to her. ‘Good day, Miss Penrose.’
Eliza returned to the house, where her uncle waited in the parlour. He greeted her with a frown.
‘What other matters did you have to discuss with Maidment?’
‘You interrupted us before I had given him a description of my locket.’ She poured them tea from the teapot on the table and sat down beside the fire. ‘I mourn the locket. It was a piece my father gave me and it contained the only images I have of Mama and Will.’
‘I’m sorry, my dear, but if a stolen locket is the worst of the events of yesterday … I was foolish agreeing to let you go to Melbourne without the coach and I am angry with McLeod for not taking better care of you.’
She stared at him. ‘There were five of them, Uncle. Five. I assure you, Mr McLeod was injured in the very act of taking care of me. If anything, he deserves commendation rather than condemnation.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The robbery was not the worst of the whole business. I believe that Jennings had the intention of … of—if it hadn’t been for McLeod’s intervention, I shudder to think what would have happened.’
Cowper’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned. ‘Oh, my poor girl.’ He shook his head. ‘That is unthinkable. Not here. I hope they catch the scoundrel.’
‘As the sergeant says, he will be long gone and I must still get to Melbourne. If it is agreeable with you, I will be on the Shady Creek coach tomorrow morning.’
Cowper took a sip of his tea. ‘Yes, of course. As long as it doesn’t rain, Burrell is a sturdy fellow and I very much doubt there will be a reoccurrence of such an unnerving incident.’
Eliza studied her uncle over the rim of her cup.
No, because you now have the plans.
Alec woke with a splitting headache and a mouth that felt like sandpaper. Windlass had managed to manoeuvre himself so he took up most of the bed, leaving Alec with what felt like a few inches. He pulled himself up, shifting the unprotesting cat, and squinted at the window. It had to be late morning or early afternoon.
He swung his feet out of bed, shivering as they touched the cold floor. He stood up with care but even so the world lurched and tilted and he had to grab the bed to steady himself.
‘What are you doing?’ Ian leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed.
Alec glared at his brother. ‘By my reckoning I’ve spent long enough in bed and nature calls.’
Ian left him to it, returning with a jug of warm water for the wash basin. Alec unwound the bandage and inspected the damage in his mirror. Blood had matted his hair and he gently washed out as much as he dared, wincing as he worked.
His brother helped him dress and Alec sank gratefully into a chair by the fire in the main room where he was immediately joined by Windlass, who seemed determined not to miss a single moment of attention. Alec leaned his head against the back of the chair and stared into the fire. The headache had subsided to a manageable throbbing and he didn’t feel nauseous, all of which he took to be good signs. He did, however, have the strength of a kitten and a nagging suspicion that he may have said things to Eliza in the dark of the night that he now could not take back.
Ian lifted the lid on a pot on the stove and stirred the contents. ‘Bridget O’Grady came around first thing this morning. She’d heard about what happened and she’s left some broth.’
While Alec had not felt nauseous before, the aroma drifting from the pot turned his stomach. ‘What sort of broth?’
Ian pulled a face. ‘I have no idea. Want some?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘I’ll try and find something more appetising to eat.’
As Ian organised bread and cheese Alec closed his eyes, trying to recall the events of the previous day, but he saw only the fear in Eliza’s eyes and Jennings’s lascivious leer. If they hadn’t been interrupted by the arrival of the peculiar Frenchwoman, what would have happened?
The gentle crackle of the flames and the warmth worked into his bones and he drifted off to sleep. A knock on the door woke him from his doze.
Ian went to answer it.
‘I heard what happened and I’ve brought some barley broth, fresh baked bread and oatmeal biscuits. Nothing like food from the old country to strengthen a body,’ Flora Donald said from the doorstep.
‘My brother is not up to visitors,’ Ian insisted. Flora pushed past Ian—evidently she did not consider herself part of that category—set her basket on the table and turned to Alec.
‘Oh, you poor man.’ Flora’s hands flew to her breast at the sight of him. ‘You’re as white as a sheet. I heard at church what had happened and when Ian did not turn up for the service, I feared the worst. You just sit there and I’ll warm the broth for you.’
Ian shot his brother an apologetic glance. Alec glared back.
‘That’s very kind of you, Miss Donald, but really I’m fine. And Bridget O’Grady has left us some broth,’ Alec said, but Flora had already lifted the lid on the pan supplied by the brothers’ housekeeper and recoiled.
She thrust the pan at Ian. ‘Throw that out,’ she ordered and to Alec’s horror, she divested herself of her outer garments and tied a pristine white apron over her dress.
Alec endured Flora’s fussing for the next hour. She put pillows at his back, tucked blankets around his legs and fed him barley broth and oatcakes. He had to admit he was hungry and the soup and the oatcakes, lathered with fresh butter, were a huge improvement on anything Bridget had provided. But there was a price to pay and Flora had just settled into Ian’s chair with the bible open on her knee when a knock on the door saved him from a reading from the good book, no doubt followed by a suitable homily.
Sergeant Maidment ducked his head under the lintel as he entered. The house had been built for miners and Alec had learned by hard experience that anyone over six feet had to duck to enter.
‘Ah, Mr McLeod, it’s good to see you up and around.’
Maidment cast a glance at Flora, who showed no sign of moving. ‘Miss Donald, I must speak with Mr McLeod
in private,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ Flora said. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing he can’t say in my presence.’
‘Please, Miss Donald,’ Alec said. ‘Thank you for your kind attentions but I assure I shall be quite all right.’
Flora closed the bible with a thump and stood up, setting the book and her apron back in the basket. ‘I shall call again tomorrow,’ she promised.
‘There really is no need …’ Alec began, but she had gone, closing the door behind her with a bang that rattled the windows.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ Alec said, throwing off the rug and removing the pillows from his chair.
‘She’s a good-hearted woman,’ Maidment said, taking the seat Flora had vacated.
‘You are being ironic, I trust, Sergeant,’ Alec said.
Maidment shrugged. ‘Maybe I should say, a good Christian woman.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve just come from speaking with Miss Penrose. She believes the ringleader was one of the men from the Shenandoah: Jennings.’
Alec nodded. A mistake. He winced and touched the lump on his head. ‘He shouldn’t be too hard to find. He has a broken nose.’
‘That’s the problem with these remote mines,’ Maidment said. ‘Got to take workers where they can get them.’
Alec hesitated. ‘I have no proof, but I believe Jack Tehan may have been behind the robbery.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘The bushrangers took something from Miss Penrose. Something very specific.’
Maidment cocked his head to one side. ‘Her locket?’
‘They also took a set of designs done by Miss Penrose’s brother.’
Maidment raised an eyebrow. ‘She didn’t mention those. What are the designs for?’
Alec silently cursed himself but he’d committed now. ‘An industrial design. She was taking it to Melbourne.’ He paused. ‘Penrose left them with me before he died and I suspect that the men who ransacked my home were possibly the same as those who held us up yesterday.’
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