The Woman In the Green Dress

by Téa Cooper

  ‘Please sit up.’ Stefan pushed back the quilt and stroked the hair from her face with his warm hand. ‘I am so sorry. This must have come as a horrible shock. Perhaps Charity has made a mistake.’

  ‘She hasn’t.’ She’d known the moment Charity mentioned Ma’s tonic, understood what Cordelia had done, and why. She’d wanted the shop for herself, the life she’d been denied when she’d been transported to Australia. And she hadn’t seen it. Been so blinded by her grief she’d given Cordelia free rein. ‘I’m the one who has made a mistake. A huge, irreparable mistake.’

  ‘You couldn’t have known what Cordelia was up to. Let Philpott test the tonic and confirm the presence of arsenic. If the test proves positive, he will contact the authorities and they will question Cordelia. I’m sure we can resolve the situation.’

  Ma and Pa’s faces rose in her mind, the realisation of Cordelia’s duplicity making the pain as raw and real as the day they’d died. The same day, within an hour of each other, bound in death as in life.

  Another howl ripped out of her. ‘You don’t understand. I’ve always known, deep down that something wasn’t right. I gave them the tonic every morning and every night.’

  How long she lay there she had no idea but when her weeping settled to hiccuppy sobs, she lifted her head to the gloom of the evening. Stefan still sat on the bed, one hand cupping her head, the other gently rubbing her shoulder. ‘I thought the tonic would help. Ma had sold it for years. She always gave it to me when I was sick.’

  His eyes, wide with grief, reflected her pain. ‘Do you know what was in it?’

  Of course she did. She’d helped make it more times than she could remember, continued to make it at the farm. ‘Gentian root, ginger, hops seeped in lemon balm tea and sweetened with honey.’ Her chest ached as she recalled the familiar ingredients. ‘I can’t believe Cordelia would have let me give the tonic to Ma and Pa if she’d known it was contaminated.’ Unable to stop the tears streaming down her face, she buried her face in the pillow.

  Stefan’s strong arms wrapped around her and he pulled her close against his warmth. ‘It’s not your fault.’ His whispered words grazed her cheek as he rocked her backwards and forwards. ‘When Cordelia returns …’

  ‘I don’t understand where the bottles have gone,’ she murmured against the soft wool of his jacket. ‘They were in the shop yesterday.’

  ‘Are you sure they weren’t sold?’

  She nodded her head and gave a disgusting sniff. ‘And I don’t understand what Sladdin was doing with the key.’

  ‘We’ll worry about all of that tomorrow. You need to sleep.’

  She didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want Stefan to leave. She wanted to stay safely wrapped in his warm arms, where everything seemed so much simpler. ‘There’s so much that doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Let me get you some tea, or maybe some of that lemonade Cordelia …’ His words dried and so did her throat. Cold fingers tiptoed down her spine.

  Stefan pushed her from him, stared deep into her eyes. ‘Della, where is the lemonade?’

  ‘In the back room, beside the chair at the window, I think. Cordelia made me another batch but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a moment to myself.’

  Before she had time to gather her wits Stefan was out of the door. She heard him push open the door and enter the room then leave, his irregular tread clattering down the stairs. Pushing back the quilt, she slipped off the bed.

  Her legs wobbled as though they were jelly as she made her way down the stairs, one step at a time. Much to her surprise the shop was tidy, the cabinet back where it belonged, against the wall, beneath the empty shelf. But for the missing bottles of tonic the entire debacle might all have been a dreadful dream.

  Stefan stood by the window, deep in conversation with Philpott, the lemonade clasped in his hand. Next to them on the table a strange assortment of bottles and tubes balanced on wooden stands; a metallic smell hung in the air.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it. Both the lemonade and the tonic contain significant quantities of arsenic. The concentration is too great to be contamination from the items in the shop.’

  ‘See I told you.’ Charity folded her arms across her ample chest. ‘Up to ’er old tricks.’

  ‘We can’t jump to any conclusions. I’m going to have a chat with Mrs Skeffington.’ Philpott began to pack up his strange assortment of tubes and bottles. ‘And in the meantime, the authorities must be informed. They’ll want to talk to all of you.’

  Charity’s face turned puce. ‘I ain’t done nothing. I weren’t here and neither was Della. Cordelia bundled us off to the farm, got us out of the way.’

  Philpott wrapped a black cloth around one of the glass tubes then lifted his head, a quizzical look on his face, as though he’d forgotten who she was. ‘Miss Atterton, do you know exactly when your aunt left the premises?’

  ‘The day before yesterday. I remember because that’s when the key went missing, after we got back from the Skeffington’s. She was angry because Bert had taken a handful of lozenges and …’ She broke off, trying to stifle the rising sob.

  ‘And you’ve no idea when she’ll be back?’

  ‘She said she had business to attend to. I thought she’d be meeting … oh!’ Gus and Dobbin, where were they? ‘Charity, did Gus and Dobbin return to the Settlers Arms?’

  ‘Nah, just the blackfella. Didn’t see hide nor hair of ‘em. That’s why I got the coach. Anyone like a cup of tea, something stronger?’

  Della swayed, her head suddenly dizzy. Stefan was at her side in a moment supporting her, such sorrow in his soulful gaze.

  ‘I’m certain Cordelia sanctioned the raids on the camps.’ She lowered her voice, not wanting Philpott to overhear her words. ‘If she’s responsible for this, the lemonade and the tonic, then what would she care about Dobbin and Gus’s hunting trips? I don’t understand why. Any of it.’

  ‘That’s easy.’

  Della whipped around. She’d almost forgotten Bert was in the room.

  ‘She got your Ma and Pa out of the picture. Packed you off, had a nice little sideline going. Then you come back to Sydney and stuff up her plans. And while we’re at it what are you going to do about this?’ Bert opened his hand. The peculiar rock sat in the centre of his grubby hand catching the light from the lamp.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  Bert flushed to the roots of his carrot hair. ‘Found it on the floor. It must’ve been in the cabinet.’

  ‘Give it to me.’ A strange look of intensity flickered in Stefan’s eyes as Bert put the stone into his palm. ‘I hope you have everything you need, Philpott. If I can be of any further assistance let me know.’ He held open the door; but for his good manners Della was certain he would have pushed Philpott out into the street.

  With his packed bag in one hand and the bottle of lemonade in the other, Philpott made his way to the door. ‘I’ll go immediately and report my findings to the authorities. I have no doubt they’ll want to talk to Miss Atterton and Charity, but nothing to worry about. When Cordelia returns …’

  ‘If Cordelia returns.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Charity.’

  ‘I said if Cordelia returns. Reckon she’s upped and gone.’ With a flounce of her new skirt Charity spun on her heel and disappeared upstairs.

  Once Stefan had firmly locked the door behind Philpott he turned the sign to closed and delved in his pocket. He brought out a small box and unscrewed the lid.

  ‘What’s that?’ Bert asked the question, saving Della the need.

  ‘Coddington’s invention—a magnifier. I told you. I need to examine the stone and see if it conforms to Menge’s description.’ He brought out a white cylindrical-shaped tube with glass at either end. ‘Two plano convex lenses with a V-shaped groove ground in the centre. Painted black to block light from the edges.’

  ‘Don’t understand.’ Bert scratched at his hair, his head tipped to one side and a frown of concentration on his face.
r />   ‘It magnifies objects, about ten times.’

  Della couldn’t keep silent a moment longer. ‘And you’ll be able to tell whether or not this is an opal?’

  ‘According to the Baron’s instructions, it should have a transparent or white body tone, then we must look at the background colour, a slight tinge of colour, like a spark of fire.’ Stefan gave a satisfied grunt and held it up to the light. ‘It has a wonderful lustre and play of colour.’

  Della peered over his shoulder. ‘Where do they come from? How are they made?’

  ‘Mother Nature at her best. Unique conditions firstly. Heavy seasonal rains in parched desert regions where the ground is rich in silica.’

  ‘What’s sillyka?’

  ‘A colourless chemical compound, one of the most common elements on earth after oxygen.’

  ‘Then what makes this so special? You’d think we’d trip over them all over the place. I ain’t never seen one.’

  ‘Because the conditions must be just right. Rainwater trickles down into the earth and carries silica-rich solutions into the cavities between the rocks. Then hot summers dry the earth, and as the water evaporates the silica stays in place, and over millions of years the opals form. The purity, intensity and brilliance of colour increases the deeper the rock is penetrated.’

  ‘Before it just looked like a dirty white pebble.’

  ‘You’re right. The actual colour is a pearl-grey; sometimes you see a little pale red or yellow tint but with reflected light it presents all the colours of the rainbow.’

  ‘So this is the Baron’s opal?’ Della held out her hand and Stefan dropped it into her palm, then handed her the magnifier. Her breath caught as she stared down at the thousands of gorgeous tints playing through the opal, flashing and sparkling as she turned it this way and that.

  ‘Professor Menge’s opal, in fact.’

  ‘Can’t be his, he’s dead.’

  ‘Sadly that’s true, Bert. I am convinced this is the stone Professor Menge found and I believe his assessment is correct. This is the first opal to be found in Australia.’

  A curl of excitement wound its way through Della’s insides. She could see why men and women through the ages had become besotted with opals. It was as though an almighty hand had scooped a palmful of emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds and pearls and mixed their radiant hues. Fit for a queen. Such a noble stone. ‘And where there is one there will be more?’

  ‘I think we can safely assume more will be found in Australia. But first I must fulfil my obligations and deliver it to the Baron as I promised. It is for him to decide what becomes of it.’

  Bert nudged against her shoulder, his eyes wide as he squinted through the magnifier. ‘How much are these things worth?’

  ‘It depends very much on their quality. Fine opals are of great value, second only to diamonds.’

  ‘Jeez. And you know where we can dig some of these up?’

  ‘Yes, Bert. Yes, I think I do.’ Stefan’s lips twitched.

  ‘It’s an opal, no doubt about it.’ Bert took the stone from Della’s hand and twisted it this way and that. ‘Look at that lustre and play of colours.’

  ‘He’s a quick learner, this boy.’ Della ruffled Bert’s hair. ‘Shall we go opal hunting, Bert?’ She meant it as a joke but as the words left her lips Della knew that it was not only the opal that had captured her heart and her imagination.

  ‘What do you think, Capt’n?’

  ‘It’s a tempting proposition, Bert. A tempting proposition, once I’ve fulfilled my duties. Now off you go and see what Mr Philpott needs of you.’

  ‘Cor blimey! What a bloody brilliant day!’ Bert bolted out onto the street, performed an extraordinary leap and took off down the road.

  The door slammed leaving Della alone with Stefan and a thousand words she couldn’t frame.

  Stefan lifted his gaze to her face, their eyes locked and the true meaning of his words slashed a path of misery across her heart. To fulfil his duties Stefan would leave, return to Vienna or Tuscany or whatever far-flung destination the Baron chose for his aide-de-camp. ‘When will you be leaving?’ Her voice caught and she turned to stare at the passing parade beyond the window, thankful neither Bert nor, heaven forbid, Charity would witness her misery.

  He stepped closer. ‘Not for a week or so, I must seek passage.’

  ‘I see.’ Did she? She could see nothing but an indeterminable future stretching before her. A future without Stefan.

  ‘I’m sorry, Della. I should have been more thoughtful.’ His eyes, crystal clear as a winter sky at Mogo, held such a look of despondency.

  ‘Don’t apologise. I know you must leave. Will you take Bert with you?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I will need his help.’ As she spoke the idea came to her fully formed, something Ma and Pa would thoroughly approve of. ‘A covered wagon, food supplies, new blankets. I’m going to take all the artefacts back to Mogo. Ensure that they are returned to their rightful owners. If the Governor can’t act until Gus and Dobbin are found, I can at least do my part to rectify the situation.’

  ‘And the shop?’

  Right at this moment she couldn’t give a hoot about the shop. Cordelia had tainted her memories, and she’d rather be at Mogo. ‘I shall leave Charity here. She’s quite capable of managing until Cordelia comes back. I think she’d like that.’

  ‘And when I return?’

  ‘Will you?’ She lifted her hand to still the wishful pitter-pattering of her heart.

  His warm hand covered hers and he drew her close, cradling her against his broad chest. ‘Do you need me to answer that question?’

  She wouldn’t want to spend her life living on a promise. She would hold the memory of the time they spent together close. Treasure it and let it strengthen her while she waited for his return, because he would return, of that she was certain. Above all else he was a man of honour, a man of his word.

  Thirty-Four

  Sydney, NSW, 1919

  Fleur rubbed her eyes. Row after row of meaningless numbers jostled for space on the closely packed pages. The figures meant nothing. She hated them, all they did was emphasise the size of the von Richter fortune. A fortune she hadn’t known Hugh possessed and one she wasn’t entitled to. She drummed her fingers against the desk and contemplated her next move.

  Three laps of the room did nothing to ease her frustration. If only Kip would come back and together they could investigate the rest of the boxes in the cellar, maybe find something other than old ledgers that would help her unravel the mystery of Hugh’s bequest. But what were the chances of that happening? Kip had vanished and she’d made matters worse by interfering and going to see Mrs Cassidy, although Vera didn’t seem to be the slightest bit concerned when she’d told her what happened, just shrugged her shoulders and buried her head in a jumble of papers and files. There had to be something she’d missed.

  One more circuit of the room brought her to the top of the cellar stairs. With the back door wide open and the windows unshuttered, light filled the building, tempting her to brave the claustrophobic darkness and the spiders alone.

  She hesitated for only a moment or two longer then pushed aside the fluttering in her stomach, and eased the door open. Dark musty air billowed up to meet her.

  All she had to do was get down the stairs and light Kip’s lantern. It was on the tabletop, she knew it was, she’d blown the candle out and left it with the box of matches when Kip carried the ledgers upstairs.

  Puffing out a series of short breaths she took the steps to the cellar one at a time, hands outstretched to ward off the nasty inhabitants. What she wouldn’t give for Kip’s solid presence and no-nonsense approach.

  When she reached the bottom step, she paused and wiped her clammy palms against her skirt, while she picked out the shadowy outline of the lantern only a few paces ahead.

  A gust of wind billowed, whipped around her ankles. The door slammed closed, stranding
her in an all-encompassing blackness.

  She choked back the scream in her throat. The lantern, she had to find the lantern otherwise she’d never wrestle the rusty door open.

  One pace, then another, and another until her hands met the timber of the tabletop. Snaking her fingers forward she groped for the matches. Where was Kip? She’d take him in any mood, good or bad. She didn’t care. She just needed his comforting presence.

  A crack and a snatch of sulphur. She reached for the lantern, held the match to the wick. The seconds stretched, the flame singed her fingertips before a faint glimmer flickered and steadied.

  She lifted the lantern, scanning the walls, imagining the hairy huntsmen, redbacks and funnel webs, their beady eyes watching and waiting, just beyond the lantern’s glow.

  It wasn’t until she’d reached the top of the stairs and shouldered the door open her breathing settled and her heartbeat returned to normal. Refusing to give in and go back to the ledgers, she propped the door wide and edged back down the stairs.

  Beyond the table, in the wavering pool of candlelight the line of tea chests formed a solid head-height wall, the roof above dripping with lacy cobwebs. Unable to control her trembling, she balanced the lantern to one side, clamped her teeth and tugged at the top tea chest. She could do it. She had to. She couldn’t spend her life waiting for someone to come and help.

  One tremendous heave and the chest toppled into her arms releasing the solid, pungent odour she’d come to associate with the shop, full of the cloying sweetness of decay. Staggering back, she dumped the tea chest on the tabletop and shone the lantern into the cavity.

  A hidey-hole, not much wider than her shoulders, ran the length of the building. It made no sense. Why block off the extra space? She shoved the lower tea chest aside, dropped to her hands and knees and crawled forward, lantern in hand.

  A wooden box, about half the size of one of the tea chests, neatly stencilled with the words Coffee—Kangaroo Point, sat pushed against the wall. But for the name it might have come straight from Mrs Black’s storeroom. Grasping the rope handles she tugged it forward. It couldn’t be coffee, it weighed more than the tea chest she’d lifted. She squatted on her haunches, and ran her fingers around the lid, her nails snatching at the soft timber. It opened with little complaint, releasing a putrid stench.