Breakfast at Midnight

by Fiona MacFarlane

CHAPTER FORTY

  A New Beginning

  Upstairs in her old bedroom, a tearful Frances gathered together her few treasured possessions and clothes, and bundled them into a small case. After passing Agnes’s bedroom, she descended the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, however, she paused briefly, and took one final look around Wintersleigh, the house she had called ‘home’ for the last few weeks. For the sake of her own fragile emotions, she did not allow herself to remain behind, and after placing her straw hat on her head, she exited the house, setting forth on her long walk to the ferry terminal.

  As Frances traipsed down Wintersleigh’s entrance drive, lined with overshadowing eucalypt trees, her mind began to drift, and her ears began echoing with her aunt’s cruel and insulting words. These words served only to heighten her resolve, and she tightened her grip on the handle of her case. In less than a quarter of an hour she had reached the junction to the Bellerive bound road; a brief stretch of road shaded by a luscious green canopy of leaves. In the cool shade of the trees, Frances set her case down and looked about her. Around her, the languid summer air, perfumed with the scent of grass, soon imbued her with a strange feeling of calm. Soon, all thoughts of her aunt and Wintersleigh swiftly dissolved.

  Almost an hour later, and with only a short distance left to walk, Frances spotted a pony carriage juddering up ahead on the road, coming towards her with great celerity. As she had done all morning, she migrated to the side of the road to let the vehicle pass, but this time it did not. If anything, it was slowing down. Memories of her earlier bicycling escapade returned to haunt her, and for one unpleasant moment she thought the man she had encountered several weeks back, had returned to ridicule her. She then reminded herself that her bicycle was safely lodged at Wintersleigh, and unless someone took offence to her walking alone, no-one could have just cause to insult her.

  Frances strained her eyes through the diffused glare of the sun to see what was happening, but at that moment the horse and carriage were momentarily enshrouded in a plume of dirt and dust. In the next second, a tempestuous gust of wind lifted her hat from her head, and hurled it carelessly into the roadside ditch. Without thinking, she leapt forward to retrieve it, but a shout of warning from the male driver, made her think twice, and she prudently took a step backwards. Suddenly, through the swirling roadside dust, the statuesque figure of Doctor Michael Brearly emerged. In one hand he was holding the reins of his horse, and in the other he held her battered hat.

  ‘God in heaven!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Frances was equally astounded to see the doctor, and for some moments the right words eluded her. ‘I’m leaving,’ she announced. She then leant forward to reclaim her hat. She could not bring herself to look at him, and dropping her case at her feet, busied herself with fastening her hat back onto her head.

  The portmanteau beside Frances’s feet caught Michael’s attention, and he studied it with a look of consternation. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Norwood, but that looks like a travelling case.’

  ‘You’re perfectly correct in your observation, Doctor Brearly,’ Frances replied, ‘and it contains all my worldly possessions. I, I have just left Wintersleigh, you see. For the last time, it would appear.’

  Michael’s mouth dropped. ‘Surely you’re not serious?’

  ‘I’m afraid I am. My aunt and I have just had a dreadful quarrel. Consequently, she has banished me from the house.’

  Michael listened composedly, but said nothing. He simply watched her in a silent state of disbelief. At one point Frances thought she glimpsed a new expression pass across his face, but it was so disguised and so fleeting, that she did not have time to read it. It wasn’t quite the reaction she had expected, and unable to bear the uncomfortable silence for another moment, Frances bade him a curt farewell, and set off once more down the road. She had only managed to take three steps before she heard the doctor call out her name. She faltered, but she dared not turn around.

  ‘Miss Norwood,’ Michael repeated with more urgency. ‘Please, wait.’ He stepped closer to her. Still, she did not turn around. ‘I, I don’t understand,’ he stammered. ‘I just don’t understand.’

  Frances could feel him by her side. She turned to face him and their eyes met. This time there was no mistaking the expression in his eyes. They were filled with pain and confusion.

  ‘What happened? Why did you quarrel?’

  Frances vacillated. ‘I made a decision that my aunt didn’t agree with. She begged me to change my mind, and when I didn’t, she asked me to leave the house.’

  ‘Louisa, as you know, has a very quick temper,’ Michael explained, ‘and often speaks before she thinks. Perhaps you should wait for a day or so until she has calmed down. I daresay that by the end of two days everything will be as it was.’

  ‘I wish I could share your optimism, but I don’t. Even if she did offer to take me back, I would refuse her without hesitation. She offended me deeply, and as far as I can see, I did nothing to warrant such abuse.’

  Michael nibbled his lip thoughtfully. Beside him, his horse began to neigh in impatience. ‘May I ask you the cause of this argument? You said that it stemmed from a decision you had made.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Just before we quarrelled, I informed her of my intention to leave Wintersleigh. I had already finalised my preparations to move out.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ Michael groaned, before running his hand through his hair. ‘Why leave Wintersleigh? I thought that things had improved. I thought you were happier there.’

  ‘Yes, well I wasn’t.’

  Michael studied her carefully. ‘I hope,’ he began, ‘rather I…that I.’ He tried speaking for a second time. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I hope I haven’t contributed in some way to your decision to leave.’ He noticed the reddening of Frances’s cheeks, and he lowered his voice. ‘Something happened to you on New Year’s Eve, didn’t it? Something that upset you. I couldn’t find you before the countdown, and then when I asked Agnes and George where you were, they told me they hadn’t seen you since supper. I kept waiting for you to return to the ball-room, but you never did. Then you disappeared the next day. I thought it all very odd.’

  Frances hurriedly stooped down to pick up her case. ‘I can see how odd it looks, Doctor Brearly, but there is a simple explanation. I was listless that evening. Nothing more.’ She tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. ‘As I seem to recall, I was too tired even to crawl under my bed sheets.’ She feigned a smile. ‘There is nothing for you to be alarmed about. The decision to leave was mine to make, and mine alone. Now please, I beg you, do not ask me any more questions. I have a ferry to catch at Bellerive, and at this rate, I will miss it.’

  Michael watched her for a moment then turned away. ‘All right, I shall let you be. But please, just answer me this one last question. Where are you going?’

  ‘I, I can’t tell you,’ Frances replied, beginning to walk off.

  ‘Why?’ Michael cried. He abandoned the horse and buggy to follow her. ‘Why can’t you tell me? I thought we were friends.’

  ‘We are friends,’ Frances assured him, ‘but sometimes there are things one ought not to know.’ Michael kept a polite silence, but inside his mind, he doubted such sentiments. ‘All I will say is that I have decided to make a new life for myself.’

  ‘So you’re leaving Hobart?’

  ‘No, not at all. I intend to remain here.’

  ‘Then, will I get to see you?’ he asked, abruptly taking hold of her arm.

  Frances stopped walking. She looked up at the doctor, and noticed that his face looked tense. His breathing seemed irregular, and there was agitation in his eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘Possibly.’ She turned away from Michael’s shrewd glance. ‘I must go,’ Frances said, feeling a rising anguish. ‘Goodbye, Doctor Brearly, and take care.’

  ‘No, wait! Please wait. At least let me drive you to the terminal.’

  No
t wanting to miss her ferry, Frances willingly accepted his offer. The journey to Bellerive was a silent and rather awkward one, and grew increasingly so, when, at the terminal, Michael insisted on escorting Frances on the ferry to Hobart. Again she reluctantly let herself be persuaded, and once the doctor’s conveyance was secured in nearby stables, they made their way to the ferry.

  By the time the ferry reached the wharf in Hobart, Mount Wellington, and much of the town, was shrouded by grey, low-lying clouds. The gloomy weather did nothing to improve Frances’s spirits, and as she walked up Elizabeth Street, into the heart of town, she felt her trepidation increase. Riverview was getting closer with every second, as was her new life without Michael Brearly.

  Frances turned tentatively towards the doctor. It had just started to rain and he was trying to open his umbrella. Frances smiled at the look of determination on his handsome face as he grappled with the recalcitrant device, and for some moments she doubted whether she could leave him. The umbrella, however, eventually decided to behave itself, and Michael placed it over Frances’s head, to shield her from the elements. Despite Frances’s second thoughts, she allowed Michael to walk her to the tram stop, which was positioned at the corner of Elizabeth and Macquarie Streets. There was no-one else at the stopping-place when they reached it, and for several awkward moments they were forced to stand together in virtual silence. Above them, the rain plashed down on top of Michael’s umbrella, and in the distance, a street echoed with the sound of horses’ hooves.

  ‘Well,’ the doctor began at length, ‘I suppose this is it.’

  Frances stared miserably at the New Town-bound tram, as it snaked its way slowly towards her. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, fixing her eyes to the approaching vehicle. ‘I suppose it is.’

  The doctor emitted a nervous cough. ‘And I don’t even know why.’

  Frances noticed his voice was tinged with anger, and she cast him a quick, sidelong glance. ‘I know this is of no comfort to you now, Doctor Brearly, but I will tell you one day.’

  ‘But not just now,’ he broke in rather peevishly. He tightened his grip on the umbrella handle. ‘You obviously don’t think I deserve such explanations.’

  Frances was intrigued by the sudden intensity of his emotion, and again she turned to face him. This time their eyes met. ‘I hardly think that’s fair. How can you honestly believe that? Do you think our friendship means nothing to me?’

  Michael turned away from Frances’s scrutiny, and stepped back as the double-decker electric tram came to a grinding halt in front of them. ‘I’m sorry,’ he cut in, ‘but I have to leave now.’ He looked about him impatiently. ‘If I don’t go now, you’ll miss your tram.’

  ‘But, I,’ Frances stammered. ‘Don’t…’

  ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting his umbrella into her hands, ‘take this.’ Frances refused his offer by a shake of the head. ‘No, please,’ he insisted. ‘Have it. I don’t want you to get wet.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, Miss Norwood,’ he said sadly, ‘I’ll get by.’

  Frances unwillingly took the umbrella, and smiled gratefully as Michael assisted her onto the tram. In the next moment, and before she could bid him a final farewell, he was gone. By the time she spotted him, he was half running down the street, with nothing but a hand over his head to protect him from the onslaught of the rain. He did not look back.