The Woman In the Green Dress

by Téa Cooper

  Once she’d sat down on the bed she made a table with her knees and ran her hands over the package. It felt flexible beneath her fingers so she carefully unfolded the brown paper. A small box sat balanced on the top of a pocketbook.

  She gave the box a quick shake. It rattled in response; doubtless it would be his identity tag, or maybe the commendation Vera had mentioned. She put it to one side and turned to the pocketbook.

  The stained and dusty leather cover carried no name. She held it to her nose and inhaled, hoping against hope there’d be some trace of Hugh. Nothing, just worn leather and maybe boot polish. Her fingers shook as she opened the cover.

  Pressed between the first page and the flyleaf was a small disc threaded onto a frayed piece of string and a photograph. She turned the disc over.

  Richards, Hugh. Corporal 1st Australian Tunnelling Company AIF 5158

  His identity disc. The final, irrefutable proof.

  Through her tears, Hugh’s face stared up at her from the photograph tucked inside the pocketbook, his arm wrapped snugly around her shoulders.

  Her heart clenched. No matter what name he chose, he hadn’t changed. Wasn’t any different. Hugh, as she remembered him. Laughing eyes and that big broad smile, while she had the most ridiculous grin on her face, her head tucked into his shoulder, just where it fitted so perfectly.

  Searching his face for some sign of duplicity she came up wanting. She’d never met a more honest person.

  The sound of his laugh came to her and goosebumps stippled her skin, her body recalling the feel of his arms around her, the warmth of his breath on her cheek and his gentle drawl, the lilt of his voice.

  We’ll be together. I promise. It’s my Armistice Promise.

  How long she sat with Hugh’s pocketbook resting in her lap, her hand loosely covering it as though she might find some heartbeat beneath the ink-stained cover, she had no idea. When she snapped her eyes open, the day had turned cloudy.

  She put aside the photograph and the disc and turned the closely packed pages one by one. The date, the fine writing with looping tails to the letters bounding across the page as though barely contained. How could handwriting contain the essence of the man?

  She flicked through, not reading, just absorbing his spirit from the paper, the paper he’d touched, the place his arm may have rested.

  When she reached the final page she was ready.

  November 3rd 1918, France

  I love you Fleur. You are my heart and soul, my past and my future. You are with me always. You will have blue skies and freedom—everything I wished for us. Live for me, my love.

  Live and enjoy everything I dreamt would be—but for a random piece of misfortune. If I could change anything it would be to hold you in my arms once more.

  Find Bert Burless—he will show you the way. Don’t be tempted, as we all have, to outrun the inevitable or think you can win. You can’t.

  I pray to God you take my words and act upon them and then, and only then, will my promise be realised. You are the one to heal the past. There is not a bone of greed in your body.

  Farewell, my love.

  She fanned the rest of the pages all blank—no, not all.

  On the final page, at the very back of the book, there was a list. Frowning, she moved closer to the window. The ink on the first entries had faded, the later still bold and bright, added over time.

  Johann Menge 1852

  Primrose Bishop 1852

  Richard Skeffington 1853

  Baron von Hügel 1870

  Stefan von Richter 1876

  Otto von Richter 1898

  Carl von Richter 1916

  Clemens von Richter 1917

  Hugo von Richter 1918

  Hugo von Richter—Hugh Richards. Her Hugh. How had he known he would die?

  Thirty-Six

  Sydney, NSW, 1919

  A sharp rap on the door made Fleur lift her head. Beyond the window the cloud cover made it hard to know how much time had passed. She closed Hugh’s pocketbook with a sigh and gave the small leather box a rattle, then eased off the lid. A heavy gold chain lay on a faded bed of satin. She eased it from the box. The swivel fob twisted and the stone flared, myriad colours blazing as the light angled in.

  Find Bert Burless—he will show you the way. Don’t be tempted, as we all have, to outrun the inevitable or think you can win.

  She had to talk to Bert. Ask him to explain.

  With one last look at Hugh’s smiling eyes and lopsided grin she pushed the fob and chain back into the box, shoved it deep in her pocket and grabbed Hugh’s pocketbook and rammed her hat on her head.

  She’d swear Hugh was asking her to complete some unfinished business. ‘I’m coming.’

  By the time she’d opened the door no one was there. She peered over the banister, down into the hallway and caught sight of Kip’s cloth cap rounding the bottom of the stairs. ‘Kip, wait. Please. I want to talk to you.’ She clattered down the stairs and found him leaning against Mr Sladdin’s desk, his face pale and dark circles scoring the skin beneath his eyes. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here.’ She beamed up at him, making no comment about his dishevelled state.

  Slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, she led him through the door. Much to her surprise he didn’t shake her off, just walked along scuffing at the stones on the pavement, head down and hands in his pockets.

  What did she have to lose? She couldn’t make him any angrier. ‘Why didn’t you say anything when you saw Bert’s name in the ledger? Why did you storm off?’

  ‘Not my business.’

  ‘What do you mean it’s not your business? He’s your grandfather.’ How she wished she had a family. He’d got a mother and a grandfather, more than she had, and he didn’t seem to want to have anything to do with them.

  ‘Why did you have to interfere, stir up the past. It’s too late to fix anything.’

  What was he talking about? Bert or her gruesome discovery in the cellar? ‘Did Vera tell you about the trunk?’

  ‘I was there when the cops called round to question her.’ He pushed his hands further down into his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

  ‘I’m sorry Kip, I would have told you myself, but I didn’t know where to find you.’

  ‘You didn’t need to go and see my mother behind my back, either.’

  A guilty flush blossomed on her cheeks. She had no idea what had possessed her. ‘Because I was worried about you.’

  A scowl darkened Kip’s face. ‘I don’t want anything more to do with the blasted Curio Shop, all it’s done is stir up problems.’

  ‘It’s over. They came and took the trunk, said they may have more questions later.’ She had questions too and there was only one person who could answer them. ‘I’m going to meet your grandfather. Will you come with me?’

  Taking Kip’s grunt as some form of agreement, she turned into Macquarie Street and headed towards the tram terminal. ‘I told him I’d meet him at the top of the steps at the quay, the ones leading down from Macquarie Street. He says that’s where he first met the Captain so it’s a suitable place.’

  Kip shrugged. ‘Don’t know much about him and his mates.’

  ‘Didn’t he tell you stories when you were little? I thought that was the kind of thing grandfathers did.’ Not that she had any idea, she hadn’t known her grandparents on either side, they were long gone before she was born. Bert was more than alive.

  ‘Mum hates him. Says he’s a toffee-nosed bugger who gave himself airs and graces. Sent her off to some posh school. She loathed it so much she ran away. Met me Dad and next thing she knew she’d got two kids and a husband who liked the ’orses. We never knew where the next meal was coming from.’ It was probably the longest sentence Kip had ever uttered. She didn’t want to stop him or interrupt. It didn’t sound like the Bert she’d come to know. And besides, Kip’s mother said she owned the house in Argyle Street—true, it wasn’t much compared to Hugh’s estate, but that must have come from somewher
e.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Kip turned to her. ‘Once Dad shot through things got better. Mum found out she owned the house, she rented out the top and got herself a job at the bakery. Leastways we always had something to eat.’

  ‘She must have loved your grandfather otherwise she wouldn’t have named you after him.’

  He shot her a sideways glance. ‘How do you know that? Don’t tell me—Mum. Let’s get this over and done with.’

  True to his word, Bert was at the top of the steps leaning against the sandstone base that supported the street lamp. A mixture of emotions flickered across his face when he saw Kip but neither of them spoke so Fleur kept her mouth closed.

  ‘Used to climb up there. Can’t do it anymore but let me tell you it’s the best place to keep an eye on things. Bit of extra height gives a man an advantage.’ He attempted to straighten up, leaning heavily on his walking stick. ‘Come on, follow me.’ He took off at a fair gallop towards the tram station. ‘Always liked this place. Macquarie’s Fort it used to be. The Capt’n reckoned it looked like a kid’s cardboard castle. I thought it had a touch of style until I saw some of those castles in Bavaria.’

  They rounded the curve of the corner and reached a sandstone wall at the edge of the harbour where the path to the Botanic Gardens led up the hill. There were steps and a bench built into the rock.

  Standing on the point with the fresh westerly wind blowing across the harbour made Fleur shiver. She pulled the package out of her pocket. The wind whipped at the brown paper and blew it out across the water. She clamped her hand tight around Hugh’s pocketbook. She couldn’t lose it now. His words were waiting for her. She wanted to read the rest.

  ‘You loved him.’ Bert’s statement, not question, broke her reverie and she slipped the book into the safety of her pocket.

  ‘Yes, yes I did.’ She didn’t falter, not as she’d done in the past, not when she’d hidden behind Mr Waterstone and Vera Lyttleton, blaming them, and Hugh, for her own misery. She straightened her shoulders, firming her resolve.

  ‘Then what does it matter what his name was, where his family came from? Hugh was Australian born and bred and he’d have knocked anyone who suggested otherwise from here to kingdom come. He was Australian through and through.’

  ‘Then why change his name? Why pretend to be someone he wasn’t?’

  ‘Pull yourself together, girl. Because it was the only way he could fight for the country he loved. The alternative was an internment camp.’

  Heat rose to her face. She’d behaved like a fool. All that mattered was his heart. He’d fought for his dreams and his beliefs, for their future. There was, however, one thing she didn’t understand. ‘Why did Hugh think he was going to die?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  She foraged in her pocket and brought out Hugh’s pocketbook and flicked to the back page. ‘Because of this.’ She ran her finger down the list of names until she reached Hugh’s name and the date … 1918.

  ‘Ah!’ Bert squinted at the list. ‘Always thought he’d worked it out.’

  ‘Are you saying Hugh knew he would die?’ It was ridiculous.

  ‘Took him a while.’ Bert shuffled along the stone bench. He didn’t acknowledge Kip when he sat next to him, their thighs touching, but she caught the smile ghost across his face. ‘This here—the Professor.’ He pointed to the name at the top of the list. ‘He found the opal. Wasn’t sure at that stage what it was so told the Baron …’

  ‘The Baron?’

  ‘Baron von Hügel, top bloke.’ He stabbed at the fourth name on the list. ‘Pulled the Capt’n up by his bootstraps, made a man of him. Always thought that was why he gave me a go. Paying his debts-like.’

  ‘Tell me more about Stefan von Richter? His name is on the list, too.’

  ‘Will you give a man a chance?’

  Kip smothered a laugh as Fleur cupped her fingers across her lips and nodded her head.

  ‘Right. Where was I?’

  ‘The Professor told the Baron.’ Kip leaned across his grandfather and pointed to the list of names.

  ‘And the Baron told him to send it to a mate of his, Thomas Bishop, which he did just before he died.’

  ‘That was lucky.’

  ‘Oi!’ Bert glared at her. ‘Not so lucky for poor old Primrose. See Bishop thought the light shone out of his wife’s …’ He cleared his throat. ‘Beggin’ your pardon. Bishop let his wife have it and she died. He blamed the opal, used it to pay off some debts to a man named Skeffington and thought he’d got rid of it. Skeffing-ton’s wife used it to buy some tonic for her husband.’

  ‘From the Curio Shop, the bottles in the coffee box?’

  ‘They’re the ones. She used the opal to pay Cordelia. It took a while for me to work that one out. Cordelia never fitted the pattern, we thought she’d done a runner but looks like she hadn’t.’

  It all seemed a bit far-fetched. ‘Are you saying that whoever owned the opal died?’

  ‘That’s what I reckon. Soon as they took responsibility for the wretched thing.’

  A slight breeze blew in across the water, stirring Fleur’s hair and bringing the touch of Hugh’s fingers on her cheek.

  Find Bert Burless—he will show you the way.

  She shrugged away a shiver. It couldn’t be true. Omens like that were for the weak-minded yet there was nothing weak about this craggy old man who sat beside her, his eyes almost black in their intensity.

  ‘Then how did this Baron manage to stay alive until 1870?’

  ‘Interesting chap. By then he was some swanky ambassador in Tuscany and then in Brussels and the opal stayed in Vienna. The Capt’n had taken it to get it assessed, resigned his commission and just as he promised came back for Della. Then the fun started. Best years of me life they were. Reckon we covered more miles than any man had a right to. Right across South Australia, in terrible heat, then through New South Wales, up to Queensland.’

  ‘What happened to Della?’

  ‘She came too. Weren’t no way she was going to be left behind. Young Otto, he was born in Queensland and not long after that we found a little beauty. Sparkled and danced it did in the sunlight, every colour known to man.’

  ‘This Otto?’ She pointed to the list of names.

  ‘That’s the one. Della and Stefan’s son, Hugh’s father. We packed the travelling in after he was born. Took what we had to London, that gave them something to think about. Grand Exhibition.’ Bert pulled his big white handkerchief, gave a derogatory snort. ‘Half of them couldn’t believe their eyes, thought it was a con job, quality was too good. No one had seen anything like it before but we found a jeweller in Hatton Gardens prepared to give it a go. It wasn’t until we got to London, I finally got to see those ravens.’

  ‘Ravens?’ For a horrible moment, the possibility that Bert was spinning some fairytale hovered. She could imagine him rocking back and slapping his thighs telling her it was all a load of rubbish and she’d been well and truly hoodwinked.

  ‘At the Tower. Always been fascinated. Mate told me about them. Then there was one perched on the top of the key to the Curio Shop. Seemed like fate.’

  ‘You met the Baron in London …’ Fleur prompted. She had to keep Bert on track, could see him getting lost in his memories.

  ‘Nah. The Baron had decided to go back to Vienna, he had the opal set, wore it all the time. He didn’t make it to Vienna, died in Brussels. Not good for Stefan.’

  ‘He must have been like a father to him.’

  ‘True. That’s not the point. He left Stefan the opal.’

  ‘And six years later Stefan was dead.’ It was all beginning to make sense—if you believed in fairytales. ‘How did Stefan die?’

  ‘Alfred Nobel’s blasted powder.’

  ‘Dynamite?’ Kip leant forward, his eyes wide as he finally listened to his grandfather’s story.

  ‘Thought it would be a great way to get at the opals. Otto inherited the opal when he was twenty-one. Mana
ged to last a few years, long enough to sire the three boys.’

  ‘Hugh and his brothers.’

  ‘Yep. Della brought them up in Wilcannia in the house by the river. She ran the business from there. I kept the records, became a bit of a habit, didn’t know what to do with them after Della went so I lodged them at the shop.’

  ‘How did you get in? The place was boarded up.’

  Bert tapped the side of his nose. ‘Coal box, round the back. Leads into the basement. Surprised you didn’t find it.’

  Fleur swallowed her groan. How had she missed it? ‘Tell me about Hugh and his brothers.’

  ‘Clem and Carl were born with opal in their blood, I reckon. All they wanted was to mine, they worked at White Cliffs until war broke out. Hugh, he was different. Hated it. Went to school in Sydney and every holiday I’d take him to Mogo, even as a little boy all he wanted to do was run the farm. Didn’t want anything changed.’

  The sun broke through the clouds, warming her face.

  Will you come with me? Marry me and be a farmer’s wife?

  All those words of love. All those promises for the future cut short. Hugh hadn’t believed he would die. They’d made plans and promises, dreamt of their future.

  ‘Never understood how he ended up a tunneller. He hated being underground. Question is—are you going to take the inheritance?’

  ‘If I could think of something worthwhile to do with it I would. I can’t take it just for myself.’

  ‘Good lad, that Hugh, knew what he was doing when he chose you.’

  You are the one to heal the past.

  Bert stretched out his hand. ‘There’s something you have to give me first.’

  What was he talking about? She wouldn’t part with Hugh’s pocketbook, not now, not ever. ‘What?’

  ‘That there box. The little one you have tucked in your pocket.’