Lizzie, My Love

by Sara Bennett - Lizzie, My Love

  She thought a breath of fresh air might do her good, so she went out on to the verandah via the side door, walking quietly and slowly around past the dining-room window. It was in darkness, but the sitting-room one wasn’t, and she hesitated nearby, hearing voices. At last she took a deep breath and moved towards it, intending to peep in and see who was there before she made her entrance. If only Zek was in a better mood, she thought, as she moved.

  “So you see,” Zek was saying, “I don’t know what to say to her. She obviously doesn’t know of it or... but maybe she does, maybe she just doesn’t want to think about it...”

  “I can’t believe it,” Edna murmured. “A fever. A... an illness is not necessarily a fatal one!”

  “Oh yes, I told myself that at first. But it’s happening! She’s getting more and more attacks, and they’re getting worse. How can I not believe she’s going to die?”

  “Mr. Gray!”

  He turned from where he was standing in front of the fireplace, and Lizzie caught her breath. He was as white as his shirt, his face drawn with some strain she could only guess at. Edna rose, taking his arm, and Lizzie saw that she also was white-faced. Of Mr Tucker there was no sign, and she could only suppose him to be elsewhere about the house.

  “I thought it might be last night,” he went on, as if Edna hadn’t spoken, and turned his back again, resting his hands on the mantel. “But this morning she seemed so much better. It didn’t last though. All day long it’s been the same. Better, worse, better... I won’t give up though; I’ll take her to the doctor and maybe he’ll be able to treat her.”

  The soft voice faltered. Lizzie saw his shoulders stiffen. When he looked around he was perfectly white, and for a moment Lizzie thought he was going to collapse. Edna made a movement, but he recovered, gripping the mantelpiece, his knuckles shaking with the strain.

  “The thing is,” he said in an oddly dead voice, “she’s dying in front of my eyes, Edna.”

  “Zek, I’m sure... Zek!”

  But he was shaking his head, his black eyes tormented. “I’m going to have to stop and watch it,” he said. “I owe it to her, and... God give me strength, Edna, to bear that final burden!”

  Lizzie spun back against the wall, as white-faced as they. Slowly the truth seemed to dawn on her. They had been speaking of her, Lizzie Gray. And she was dying. She really was dying. There was no way in which she could disbelieve the passionate sound of Zek’s voice, his face... She was dying and he knew it and the thought of what was to come, her getting weaker and more dependent, clinging to him when he didn’t love her, was a source of horror to him. Oh God, she thought, please no! She would be another Mr. Bailey.

  The thought sickened her.

  She bit her knuckles to stop the sudden scream.

  The darkness mocked her, a cool breeze curling her hair about her white face, cooling her hot cheeks, stirring her skirts. Oh Jane, where are you when I need you? Oh Zek... She opened her eyes again, and stared blindly down over the dark road to Bathurst, remembering Thomas Bailey’s eyes, following Angelica about, and his lined, pain-creased face.

  There was only really one way for Lizzie to take. She would go with Zek to see the doctor he secretly knew would be unable to help her, and somehow contrive to slip away from them. Jane would take her in and care for her, until it was over. She would no longer be a burden to Zek then, and... But it was all too much suddenly to take in, and the tears returned, running silently down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SURPRISINGLY, she slept deeply, and woke refreshed and further determined to carry through her plan. She no longer pretended to herself that she was better. She would never be better again. She would have another attack, and then another, until she died.

  She took a deep breath and tried to think clearly. The fact was she was dying, impossible though such a thing seemed, and Zek was to be burdened with her ailing body. Did she want that? Lying in her bed, pathetically awaiting his visits. His kind smile, compassion, the weight of her like a ball and chain about his neck. No! No, she did not want such a thing to happen.

  Last night she had thought of Jane as an escape. This morning she thought of Jane again, and knew it was the only way out. Jane loved her, and would shield her. She would be glad to die, if Jane was with her, and Zek was happy with Angelica.

  A light breakfast on a tray didn’t bring about a return of the awful retching, or the dizzy spells. She rested quietly until she was certain she was all right, then she went out to find Zek.

  He was in his office. She had thought, after what she had witnessed last night, that he would be unable to face her. But when he looked up at her ‘good morning’ his smile seemed genuine. A little strained about the edges, perhaps, as her own was, but then if she hadn’t known differently she would have assumed that was because of Angelica.

  “Lizzie, how are you?”

  “A little better I think,” she replied quietly.

  “In that case I think we’d better get in to Bathurst as soon as possible. Can you get Mary to pack some things for you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He looked down at the letter he had been writing, staring at it as if he didn’t recognize the words. After a moment he said, “Good. We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”

  She went out on to the verandah, watching life go on about her as if she were already dead, and a ghost at the proceedings. She was numb with the shock of it all, and didn’t try very hard to shake it off. Better to be numb until she got to Jane, and then... then she could begin to feel again.

  Mary packed while she sat and watched her. The girl seemed heavy-eyed, but friendly enough, and chattered to Lizzie. Zek, it seemed had ridden off to the Baileys’ place for a short visit, and Lizzie didn’t even allow herself to imagine what might be said between him and Angelica. He was back an hour later, looking unimaginably tired, which only swelled her determination to remove the burden of herself from his shoulders.

  His light affection was the hardest thing to bear. He treated her tenderly even, his black eyes warm and gentle. It made her want to throw herself into his arms and cling to him, begging to be allowed to stay. But how could she? He would keep her, because he was kind, but he would suffer twice the cost if he knew she loved him. Poor Zek. And poor Lizzie.

  She remembered now his watchful looks. Had he known, even then, how it would be? How had he known? It made no sense, but then to die made little sense either. It was best not to think... but despite herself she remembered how he had felt her pulse and said those things about it stopping. The tears would start if she kept this up, she told herself angrily, and concentrated instead on Jane.

  She had saved money from her housekeeper days, and put this in the small bag with her change of clothing and a warm cloak. They would not need more, Zek had said, because after she had seen the doctor he would be bringing her back home. To die, she thought miserably. Only it would be Zek alone who came back... to Angelica.

  They started out around mid-morning. Lizzie felt a little faint at first, but Zek ensured her comfort and tucked a rug solicitously about her knees until the sun grew too hot. He-seemed talkative, but she thought it cost him an effort. He was watchful too, and she pretended not to notice.

  They rested along the way again, and reached Bathurst in the evening. Zek sent her up to rest again before dinner. She told him she wanted to go shopping in the morning, and he let her run on, smiling faintly, though the lines in his face seemed deeper than ever.

  He drew the curtains for her, and covered her with a quilt, smoothing back her curls from her brow. “I’ll be back soon then, Lizzie,” he whispered, and stooping kissed her temple.

  When he had gone she shed tears into her pillow, stifling her sobs as best she could. Why couldn’t he be brutal? Then she might possibly be able to hate him. Instead of which her love grew and grew.

  Lizzie woke the following morning feeling quite strong. Zek had already gone out to make an appointment with the doctor, who had
been out on an emergency the night before. Lizzie slipped out to find a means of transport to Jane. There was no regular coach service to and from Sydney Town, but she found a merchant’s office, and he seemed willing to take her aboard his wagon for a fee. This was agreed upon, and she returned to the hotel for her bag.

  She had climbed the stairs and was reaching for the door knob when she heard the voices. The thought passed through Lizzie’s mind that she seemed to spend much of her time lately eavesdropping. And she didn’t consciously mean to do so this time, but as she hesitated at the door the overheard conversation sank into her mind.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Zek said, and his voice was bitter. “She seems to have withdrawn into herself. She doesn’t need me at all!”

  “Zek, I’m sorry.”

  “I may as well not be there.” Footsteps pacing the floor. “Leigh, what can I do?”

  “Damn it, Zek! What can I say? It seems bloody unfair to me!”

  Unfair, that he was hampered with an ailing wife, when Angelica was waiting. Captain Barrett obviously recognized the injustice of this as much as Zek, and Lizzie bit her lip with sudden self-pity.

  “I’m in a hell of a situation,” Zek muttered. “I feel like I’m being torn in two!’

  “Old man, here, here. Look, come and let me buy you a drink. We’ll try and sort something out. Kitten might be able to help, you know. Kitten’s very good with problems.”

  “God, I just haven’t the heart for it, Leigh...”

  Lizzie flattened herself behind the rather ugly grandfather clock in the passageway, when they came out. They went past her, heads close together, without even noticing her. She let out a deep breath, watching them pass down the stairs and into the entrance hall. Mrs. O’Driscoll trapped them there, her hands waving with animated conversation. After a moment more they got by her, Leigh patted Zek on the back as they went out into the street. Mrs. O’Driscoll went back into her little room behind the desk.

  It took but a moment for Lizzie to get her bag. It took another minute to pen a note to Zek. It was brief and brusque—She would be all right. She was leaving him. She did not wish to see him again, ever. She appreciated all he had done for her, but she did not love him nor want him to come for her or contact her. It was over.

  The black ink on white paper was uncompromising, even harsh, but she knew it was the only way. Guilt and worry for her safety might make him pursue her. This blow to his pride and the relief of knowing she did not love him would stop him. She had freed him, and at the same time destroyed any hope she had of happiness.

  Lizzie was out into the street before she knew it, light-headed, but whether from her illness or the fact of her escape she did not know or care. An hour later, she was aboard the wagon, rumbling on her way back to Jane.

  The journey over the mountains was slow, tedious, and in parts terrifying. The wagon groaned up the slopes and rocked down winding declines. It began to rain halfway over, and the sludge made the wheels slide and slip, while the driver cursed and laid into his horses with his whip. Lizzie, clinging to the seat beside him, felt ill and cold, and almost wished she had never left, despite all she had overheard. Oh Zek, she thought, and lifted her face so that her tears could mingle with the rain. He would have looked after her, been her strength, her crutch. And, a cold voice whispered, he would have hated you for it.

  They made camp after they had passed over the mountains, and Lizzie was given a share in the man’s food. He was about forty, with sharp eyes and a wiry strength. She thought, if she had been pretty and a bit more lively, he might have offered to share his blanket with her. As it was, she curled up in her cloak under the wagon, cramped and cold, but unmolested.

  They set out again as the sun rose, and made their long way on towards Sydney Town. The miles dragged, and Lizzie slumped in her seat, no longer feeling the bumps and rattles, or the pains in her bones. Her head ached dully, but other than that she felt well.

  Evanstown went by at last, and then there it was. The Thirsty Felon. Lizzie had never imagined she would be so glad to see it, and she hardly paused to thank the taciturn driver before she was off, running on light feet towards the open door.

  Johnny looked up, his face startled, and then suddenly it broke into a wide grin. He came hurrying up to her.

  “Lizzie! You’ve come visiting at last! Where’s your man?”

  Lizzie burst into tears.

  Johnny paused, and then wrapped his arms about her. There was something incredibly soothing about being in his arms, and she wept out all her terrors and hurts.

  “Jane!” he called, still holding her. “Jane love!”

  Jane came with a rustle of skirts, flushed and panting. “I was out at the barn and... Lizzie!”

  Jane’s plump bosom was even more comforting than being held by Johnny, and Lizzie held her sister to her as if she would never let her go. Jane led her to a chair and sat her down, fetching water and a handkerchief.

  “Lizzie, Lizzie! What is it... Zek isn’t... Oh Lizzie, he ain’t dead!”

  Lizzie shook her head, snuffling and wiping her face. After a moment she took a long breath and looked up at the two expectant, worried faces—Jane all flushed and glowing, Johnny pale and pleasantly ugly.

  “I’ve left him,” she said huskily.

  Jane moved impatiently. “I can see that, Liz. Why?”

  Lizzie bit her lip.

  “Come on Lizzie,” Jane said sharply. “What’s he done?”

  Something in her sister’s eyes stilled Lizzie’s tongue. Jane looked absolutely riddled with guilt. Lizzie remembered the letter that had puzzled her so with its vague hints and worries. Jane, seeing her sister knit her brow, sighed.

  “Yes, it’s time we both had a bit of a talk, Liz. Come on. Johnny can clean up in here while we go and have a quiet chat in the back room.”

  The back room was new to Lizzie, and quite cozy, though somewhat jumbled with furniture. Lizzie found a space and sat down, eyeing Jane’s flushed face. Her sister looked plumper than before, more matronly somehow. But it suited her, and she seemed happy. Which was more than could be said for Lizzie.

  “He loves someone else,” she said tragically. “He only married me because she was already married, and her husband suspected something between them. He was going to carry on as before, except that...” she twisted the handkerchief between her fingers, wondering how to break the news gently to her sister, who was leaning forward with a rapt expression. “I’m sick, Jane,” she whispered, gulping back more tears. “I overheard him and... oh Jane, he’s sorry for me and is tearing himself in two over me and this other woman. So I’ve left him. I can’t bear him to pity me, Jane. He’s so miserable about it all and... I just couldn’t!”

  “Hush now...”

  Jane took her sister into her arms, rocking her until the sobs quietened. Lizzie broke away, wiping her eyes with a shaking hand. It was only then she realized how quiet Jane had become. She looked up, and saw that her sister was biting her lips, dismay mingling with... yes, her eyes were alight with humor!

  “Jane,” she whispered.

  “Oh Lizzie... Lizzie, I’ve something to confess. Something I’m not at all proud of. Johnny’s told me I was a fool, and so I am. Only I meant it for the best, and I beg you to remember that, when I’m done.”

  The blue eyes searched hers pleadingly, then she stared down at her hands. “Do you remember when Zek Gray arrived for the wedding, Lizzie? Well I had it all planned, you see. I had seen him kiss you, when you were ill here that time, and how gentle he was with you, when you was sick. He seems to be a man who shows gentleness to sick and ailing folk. I thought... well, I thought you were more fond of him than you’d let on.”

  Lizzie was beginning to frown, and Jane hurried on before she lost courage.

  “I thought, in time... oh, it was stupid, Lizzie! A childish thing to do. I never thought of the consequences. Well... the truth now. I told Zek that day that you was ill, Lizzie. Much more ill than you
realized. I only meant to say you was... delicate-like, but somehow me tongue ran away with me—you know what I’m like at telling fibs, love—and before I knew what I was about I’d told him you had a fatal illness.”

  “A fatal–” Lizzie whispered, her mouth dropping open. Oh God, it was beginning to make a terrible sense to her.

  “Yes,” Jane said grimly. “I said that you would keep getting bad attacks like... like the fever you had here, though you’d be perfectly well in between. I said... I said the attacks’d get more and more frequent though, and worse and worse and... you’d die.”

  “Jane!”

  “Oh Lizzie, I’m that sorry. I don’t think he really believed me though, not at first. I saw him watching you later, and maybe he thought it was a joke or something. I hoped though, Lizzie, if he was worried for you he might be kinder to you and... you loved him, didn’t you?”

  Lizzie nodded. “I think I must have all along. I kept telling myself how bad he was and... you remember, Jane, what I thought of him? And all the time I was saying those things, I loved him.”

  “I wanted your happiness, Lizzie. I thought he’d be kinder to you and maybe you’d make a go of it. I thought he’d soon forget my story anyway, when he saw that you didn’t get ill again and everything was all right. Only... Though I kept telling myself I’d explain it to you both years from now and we’d all have a good laugh, it began to worry me more and more, and... no one is laughing, Lizzie.”

  “Oh Jane, Jane, how could you,” Lizzie breathed. “I really thought I was dying! He did, too. Jane!” She turned with huge brown eyes. “If I’m not... if it was all a story... what’s wrong with me then, I’ve been ever so sick, Jane! Jane!”

  “Hush now, Lizzie, calm down. What’s it like then, this sickness?”

  Jane’s brow puckered, as Lizzie started to explain, in a halting, frightened voice. Gradually, however, the frown vanished, and Jane’s lips curved up.

  “Oh Lizzie,’ she cried, giving a peal of laughter, “I know what it must be. You’re such an innocent!”