The Artist’s Secret

by Sonya Heaney

‘Mostly, safe,’ Peter amended, and she bit her lip.

  ‘I came to apologise.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  She held up a hand. ‘Yes. Yes, I think I do. I daresay you see the Empire’s cause a little differently, and I spoke without thinking.’

  He nearly protested again; Elizabeth lifted a hand again.

  My mother … She wasn’t a happy person a lot of the time.

  ‘Your mother’s people are from here?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, they were, but it seems there’s no one left.’ Peter braced an arm against the wall. His sigh was heavy. ‘Forget what happened. It was an odd day, and I had something else on my mind. I didn’t mean to be an ogre.’

  He was so near to her. Elizabeth wondered if her face looked as hot as it felt.

  ‘You weren’t so very ogre-like. What was on your mind?’

  He didn’t answer for a long time, and then moved away, giving her air, giving her a chance to breathe.

  ‘I want to show you something. You know the area better than I do.’

  He drew her further into the room, closer to the light, then took something from beside his pillow. It was then she saw the letter on the chair beside his bed. Daisy, it said at the bottom, in large and clear lettering.

  Elizabeth discovered she wasn’t brave enough to ask about it, and silently reminded herself she’d not seen a single dishonourable facet of this man yet. He was not Edward.

  Peter came back, looking more hesitant than she’d ever seen him be before.

  ‘Here. This is what I wanted you to see.’ He held an old picture out to her, and pointed to a woman in its centre.

  ‘Who is she?’ she asked, though she was sure she knew.

  ‘My mother. Charity Rowe—née Towner. I don’t know what her family name was before that.’ He ran a hand though his hair and looked apologetic. ‘I’m trying to discover where it was taken. I thought you might recognise the background.’

  He was so hopeful. So optimistic. And Elizabeth had no idea. She was almost desperate enough to make something up, or take a wild guess, but that would only make things worse.

  She gave the woman in the centre a closer inspection, and drew a conclusion based on the ladies’ outdated fashions.

  ‘This woman? She looks like you.’ It was hard to see well in the lamplight, in an image so small, but she believed it to be true.

  Peter was unimpressed. ‘The poor woman. Do you know where it is?’

  She peered harder, wanted badly to help him, but no matter how hard she tried to form the unfamiliar building, and the odd landscape behind it, into a place so that she might know, nothing came to her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Peter, no.’

  He sighed.

  ‘It was a long shot.’ She wasn’t fooled by the false cheer in his voice.

  ‘Peter … Perhaps if I—’

  ‘No.’ One side of his mouth kicked up as he set the picture aside. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  She wanted to ask him how she was supposed to not worry, but he stepped closer and took her upper arm in his hand. She heard her breath catch as he bent, and couldn’t stop herself from resting her hand against his solid, warm chest. Elizabeth closed her eyes as she felt the softest, lightest brush of his lips against the top of her hair.

  He smelt faintly of cologne she noticed absently as she became aware of his size, of the fact she’d never expected … this. Not with him. Not ever. And definitely not with her brother and Alice, aspiring chaperone, a couple of dozen steps away.

  It was hard to speak but if she didn’t, Elizabeth was in danger of being overwhelmed. ‘We’re being pretty naughty, aren’t we, sneaking about in the middle of the night?’

  She managed to say it in the most appropriate and amenable of voices. She hadn’t been a child for a long time, and nobody—not even Robert—could scold her as one, and still …

  Peter murmured something noncommittal, and it would have been a good moment to leave the room with her reputation intact. She’d almost found the motivation to do it when his other hand brushed up from her hip to settle on her waist. Elizabeth gasped quietly and he inched closer.

  Their toes bumped and she stammered out an awkward little apology. His hand at her waist tightened in reaction.

  ‘People have been naughtier. I’d say we’re fine.’

  He lowered his head again, resting his cheek against her hair, and they stayed that way for long, comforting seconds. Elizabeth became acutely aware of his warmth, of her heartbeat.

  Being like that, so close, what had happened out in the paddock seemed a long time ago.

  ‘I think I might be a little boring—in need of some corrupting,’ she admitted.

  ‘Lizzie, if—’

  Her head snapped up fast enough she bumped him on the chin. Such grace, such elegance.

  ‘Ow,’ he said softly while she stammered out another apology.

  ‘Lizzie?’

  He grimaced, and then offered her a rueful smile.

  ‘I thought I’d try it at least once. It doesn’t really suit you, does it?’

  ‘I’m painfully immune to pet names,’ she admitted apologetically. Only Edward had tried before.

  They watched each other. Peter’s hand flexed once, and his head dipped infinitesimally. This, she thought, was exactly the right moment to be kissed.

  Their breaths mingled, and something within Elizabeth swelled and anticipated, and—Peter released her, fast.

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  Confused, a little bit humiliated, Elizabeth stood there uselessly and watched him potter about the room putting the picture back where he’d got it from, and straightening a chair.

  The baby saved her from having to say a thing. The wail, the sort that said he was serious, ricocheted towards them, and bounced off the walls of the room.

  ‘I must go,’ she said, and barely heard his grunted agreement before she was out his door and across to her own.

  She didn’t look back—there wasn’t the time—before throwing herself into her room, jumping at how loudly the door clicked into place, and thanking God Duncan had been granted such an impressive set of lungs. And then she pressed her back against the cool wood and didn’t hear a thing over the pounding in her ears.

  Chapter 15

  There was heavy rain, and then there was what struck them mid-morning the next day: a deluge that felt like punishment from a higher power. Never before had Elizabeth felt so trapped in the valley.

  The animals and grapevines were checked on and worried over, and the roof watched for more leaks. The footpaths surrounding the house became rivers, and everyone was forced to speak at a shout over the relentless drumming of water on the roof.

  Elizabeth returned to the linen closet for more sheets to throw over her canvases, and was in the middle of covering one of her more favoured pieces when through the window she saw a hazy figure moving towards the house. The figure slowly formed into the shape of a man, and by the time he was within twenty feet of her he’d assumed the appearance of John Stanford.

  ‘The town road isn’t going to last much longer,’ he told them all once he was inside and dripping all over the sitting room floor.

  ‘It’s that bad?’ Robert asked, and serious looks were exchanged.

  ‘I’d say that this far out we’ll be fine. The same can’t be said for the centre of town.’ He grimaced. ‘If it goes on much longer the mills will be in trouble. And my house, when it comes to it, but I won’t be thinking about that at the moment.’

  Alice gave the grey haze outside the sitting room window a disgusted perusal.

  ‘We should’ve guessed how bad it was when the house started leakin’.’

  John’s news was ominous, and within minutes most of Endmoor’s men were preparing horses and vehicles. If Barracks Flat was to go be submerged, it wouldn’t be without a fight. Elizabeth watched Peter stride out to the drive with her brother and John, and she followed Alice outside. They stopped a few paces back from t
he steps, but still rain misted the fronts of their gowns.

  ‘We should come with you,’ she called, and she didn’t know which of the men protested first. Perhaps it was all three at the same time.

  ‘You’d better stay here. There ought to be someone at Endmoor just in case.’ Peter attempted to sound diplomatic, but she noticed he didn’t look at either her or Alice as he said it.

  It was then that something clattered to the ground out by the stables. Nobody bothered to look and see what it was; things had been dropping and collapsing for a full day now and they were accustomed to it. The sound reverberated around the clearing and Elizabeth relented.

  ‘Go,’ she told the men. ‘There isn’t time to quarrel about it.’

  Mr Adamson and Mr McCoy emerged from the stables, horses ready to go. When Elizabeth turned her attention back to the others she found Peter watching her, and all she could think was of a strong hand at her waist—and that accidental whack on the chin.

  ‘Be careful.’ It was not loudly said. She didn’t know if he heard her or not.

  And, less than a minute later, the men were gone.

  ***

  Stanford hadn’t exaggerated. The state the town was in when they dismounted near the park was appalling.

  ‘Damn,’ Farrer muttered as they made their way through the surging crowd, down a street that had changed into mud overnight. The Murrumbidgee had already broken its banks. Water seeped up towards them, covering pavements at the southern end.

  Peter hopped over a pond-sized puddle. ‘I take it you’ve never seen something quite like it.’

  ‘No. I’ve not.’

  Stanford was called off somewhere and Peter and Robert stopped side by side, taking in the developing crisis. The southern side of town was bearing the brunt of it. Water welled up and over the bank, rising to touch the base of the bridge, and threatening to rise beyond it. The first few streets had already been struck; Peter hoped the houses’ foundations were solid or else they’d soon be swimming.

  The rest of the residents were lucky nature had provided them with a reasonably steep hill to live on. He saw people across the other side, climbing the slope and congregating at the top, watching hopelessly.

  In a display of his infuriating efficiency Stanford was already wading into the fray, up to his knees in water as he lunged to grip the end of a poorly made boat that had somehow crossed the river with its passengers, surviving the powerful pull of the current.

  Peter stepped up to help. The family had piled in, and they were bloody lucky they hadn’t sunk. Two adults, three children, a dog, and a—good Christ, they’d even brought a budgerigar in a small cage.

  He hoisted one of the children, a frizzy-haired girl clutching a toy soldier, over to dry land, suppressing a curse when a spiky piece of broken bush got him around the ankle as it swirled past. The adults grabbed their possessions, and Robert saved the cage, and then, freed, the family marched away up the street in a flurry of gratitude, the budgerigar chattering the whole way.

  When Peter stepped back the world around him had altered again. He could have sworn the water had been a good yard further off minutes earlier.

  A man he’d never before seen appeared beside him and flashed Peter a grin. There was no humour in it.

  ‘And it’s only getting goin’. This’ll be fun.’

  ***

  At Endmoor buckets were placed anywhere they thought them necessary. When they ran out of buckets, Mrs Adamson allowed them access to the less lovely pieces of china and pottery from the scullery. Elizabeth’s mind had been elsewhere the entire time. It was impossible to feel safe in the homestead when Heaven only knew what was happening to the others in town.

  And then, once everything had been prepared and checked, and then checked again, the women found themselves standing in the corridor, at a complete loss as to what to do next.

  ‘I suppose we still must eat,’ the housekeeper said, and was off to the kitchen.

  Alice turned her attention to Elizabeth. ‘What d’you think we should do?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ she answered honestly. Some things, she’d begun to discover, were well beyond her control. It wasn’t a nice lesson to learn.

  ‘I’m goin’ to go mad if the best we can do is stand in the house starin’ at the ceilin’ and waitin’ for another leak to come through.’

  But standing and staring was about all they had left to do. There were farmhands to care for the land, and there were servants who’d already—silently—been appalled at the sight of Miss and Mrs Farrer crawling about the house, plugging leaks here and catching drips there.

  Alice became ruminative. ‘I wonder how high the water will get this time.’

  It was always this way: an appalling drought broken so thoroughly nobody was able to cope. Thunder rattled the windows.

  ‘At this rate it will probably turn the park into a lake.’ Elizabeth didn’t think she was exaggerating.

  ‘And then there’s Miss Wright’s house right on the river road,’ Alice added. ‘It’s a very nice-lookin’ house from the front. It’d be a pity to see it drown.’

  ‘It’s a very nice house from the inside, too,’ Elizabeth said softly.

  They drifted into thoughtful silence. The rain pelted down around them and plates clattered in the kitchen. The men would be in Barracks Flat by now. The last time conditions had been so bad, back when Elizabeth wasn’t much more than a girl, the river had come halfway up Monaro Street.

  ‘We can’t just sit here while the town drowns.’

  ‘It’d be pretty rude to do so, I reckon.’

  Elizabeth plucked a pin from her hair and used it to fasten a stray curl back into place, and then she removed the borrowed apron she wore, folding it and laying it over the back of a chair, wondering how well her boots would stand up to the elements.

  Alice followed suit, laying her apron beside Elizabeth’s, and then by silent mutual agreement they turned for the hall.

  The wind was so bad the front door almost slammed back in their faces when they opened it, but they wrestled it back again. It slammed closed behind them hard enough to make Endmoor’s foundations rattle, and it was enough to give Elizabeth a moment’s pause.

  ‘Coward,’ she whispered.

  ‘Well then,’ Alice said. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Can you swim?’ Elizabeth asked belatedly as they prepared the old wagon by the stables. She twisted her hair into a more practical style, catching it on something in her haste, and tugging hard in frustration.

  ‘Yes, I can swim. It’s the only good thing my no-good brother ever taught me to do.’ As they settled into place in the vehicle, she glanced sideways. ‘Can you?’

  Elizabeth squared her shoulders. ‘I think I can float.’

  Chapter 16

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Alice said once they’d pulled up near the park, climbed down from the wagon, and rounded the corner onto Monaro Street. ‘This is worse’n ever before.’

  Elizabeth drew up beside her and surveyed the area with cold dread bundling inside her. They’d both lived in the region a long time, and had both seen the Murrumbidgee misbehave, hopeless against the freakish downpours that hit every five or ten years. What they’d never seen before was the town’s main street—wide, long, and lined with sturdy buildings—looking like it wouldn’t survive the afternoon.

  Water edged its way up, heading towards the two of them in murky shades, picking up the foundations of the town as it rose. Already it had come further along the road than Elizabeth could ever remember seeing before.

  ‘It is worse,’ she said, and then they set off towards the rising water, cloaks pulled tightly around them against the conditions—two small figures going unnoticed in the chaos that unfolded around them.

  ‘I hope Robert and John aren’t doin’ stupid things today. They’d better be savin’ their own lives before anyone else’s.’ Alice said fiercely. Their footsteps on the unpaved road sloshed instead of scuffed.

  And what
about Peter, Elizabeth thought. ‘Robert doesn’t do stupid things. And he manages John well enough when he must.’

  ‘You reckon they can save those mills?’

  ‘I hope so.’ Barracks Flat’s livelihood depended on wheat.

  They passed the post office to their left, and the Hobsons’ shop to their right. Though the flooding hadn’t reached them yet, workers from both places were already piling stuffed hessian sacks and anything else they could find to form barricades.

  ‘And what about the fancy houses?’

  Martha’s family lived near the river’s edge, as did anybody in town with the money to build there. All the same, Elizabeth had thought the Wrights would be safe. Their house was up on an obnoxious rise, set back in those grand gardens. But now she’d seen the situation for herself nothing seemed certain.

  ‘Are we just gonna be in the way?’ Alice’s question echoed Elizabeth’s thoughts.

  ‘Perhaps … But now I’ve seen how bad it is I think we should try and do something to help.’ Anything was better than nothing.

  They came to a stop beside each other in the middle of the street, in a place that on a normal day would be a gauntlet of carriages and carts and horses.

  Alice looked from side to side, her gaze falling—and stopping—on the Hobsons’ shop, a place she’d worked years ago, before she’d become a Farrer. They paused to let two burly men pass.

  ‘They’re makin’ more sandbags.’

  Which probably meant they were in danger of running out.

  ‘I think we can help them with that.’

  Elizabeth nearly stumbled over her own feet as she took off again; her boots were much more appropriate for respectable outings than for trudging about in the middle of a disaster.

  ‘Do you think we could heft those bags around?’ Short of lifting the buildings off their bases and moving them half a mile to the north, there was little else anybody could do to stop the impending disaster.

  Alice rubbed her hands together. ‘I think we ought to try.’

  ***

  There was only so much a man—or a town of men, women, and half-grown children—could do, but everyone continued working against the inevitable. It ceased to matter who was whom when they formed a chain of sorts to pass sandbags down to battle the worst of the flood. When all the sandbags were used, they passed anything else that might stop the rising waters and not be too terribly missed in the process.