‘Did he say anything?’
‘Just that he got caught in the fire and hid in a hole. Probably a wombat hole.’
Caleb slapped the man on the shoulder. ‘Go and get some rest. You look done in.’
The miner handed Caleb the singed remains of a heavy woollen jacket. ‘He was carrying this. Would’ve been better if he’d been wearing it.’
Posy already waited at the table beside the man with a bowl of water and clean cloths.
Caleb set the jacket to one side, washed his hands with carbolic and forced himself to look down at the patient. The face, which gives a man his humanity, had been scorched by the fire, and his hair burned away leaving only raw, red scalp.
A cursory examination told him all he needed to know. The burns the man had suffered were extensive and deep. The man’s eyes opened, scarlet slashes in the ravaged face, and Caleb drew a ragged breath, his suspicions confirmed.
‘Did you think I was dead?’ Richard Barnwell whispered.
Caleb looked up at Posy. ‘Leave us, Posy.’
The girl frowned. ‘But—’
‘I’ll call you when I need you.’
The door clicked behind Posy and Caleb turned back to the dying man. ‘You may not be dead yet, Barnwell, but you will be. There’s nothing I can do to save you.’
‘I know that.’
Finding the vial of morphine and the syringe busied Caleb’s hands and calmed his mind.
Barnwell’s eyes followed every movement, the blue of those eyes, so like Danny’s, already dimming. ‘You can ease my way,’ he said.
Caleb stopped and looked down at him. ‘All I can do is ease your suffering in this world. It’s for God to ease your way to the next.’ He flicked the syringe and administered the drug, watching the pain fade from the Barnwell’s features.
‘Bloody horse threw me. I lost my way in the smoke … the rest you know …’
Barnwell closed his eyes as the morphine began to take effect. ‘I want to see her, Hunt. Adelaide … I want to tell her I’m sorry.’ The bloodshot eyes opened again and the man’s clawlike hand grabbed at Caleb’s sleeve. ‘Would you do that for me?’
‘Why should I do anything for you? If you were not already dying I would summon the police sergeant and have you charged with kidnap and attempted murder.’ He leaned into the dying man. ‘You held a weapon to your own child. I hope you believe in a forgiving God because no judge here on earth would let you walk free.’
Barnwell made a choking noise and Caleb gently eased the man’s head into a better position.
‘I am going to summon my nurse and we will do our best to dress the burns and make you comfortable. As to whether Adelaide wants to see you, that is her decision not mine.’
A single candle lit the small bedroom on the first floor of the Britannia Hotel, where Richard Barnwell had been placed away from the less seriously injured. Outside, a cool wind tossed the burned trees and the moon cast a thin, cold light over the silent, slumbering valley. Even the stampers had stopped at midnight in respect for the Sabbath.
Adelaide stood at the door, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light and to the smell of carbolic and burned flesh.
Caleb sat on a hard chair beside the bed, his sleeves rolled up, his forearms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on his patient. He looked up and, seeing her, rose to his feet with a weariness that made him look twice his age.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he said.
Adelaide swallowed. ‘I was needed at the post office,’ she said. ‘And then …’
And then?
She had sat beside her sleeping son for a long time, wrestling with her conscience and with her God. Forgiveness had been a tenet of her faith all her life, but it seemed she had been called upon to forgive in circumstances where forgiveness came with a price.
She found her voice. ‘How long has he got?’
Caleb glanced at the man on the bed covered by only an old sheet, his face and body heavily bandaged. ‘He won’t see morning,’ he said.
Adelaide stretched out a hand and Caleb took it, guiding her to the chair he had vacated.
‘I’ll leave you,’ he said.
She turned to him. ‘No, don’t leave me alone with him. I want you to hear whatever it is he has to say to me.’
Caleb nodded and retreated to a dark corner of the room where he leaned against the wall, his arms folded.
Swallowing her revulsion, Adelaide bent over Richard, her nose catching the stench of burned, rotting flesh. ‘You wanted to see me, Richard?’
The man stirred and his eyes, almost lost in the bandaging, opened. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘How’s Daniel?’
Adelaide glanced at Caleb. ‘Have you told him?’
Caleb shook his head.
‘When you left us …’ She took a steadying breath and began again. ‘We could have died, but mercifully we found shelter down by the river. Daniel—your son, the boy you held a weapon to—was bitten by a tiger snake. He almost died but I am pleased to say he is recovering.’
Barnwell made a gurgling noise that could have been a sob. ‘He … he … is a fine boy, Addy. A credit to you. I’m sorry for what happened up there.’
‘It is easy to feel regret in retrospect, Richard. But this is not about what happened out there. I’m here for one reason,’ Adelaide said, her resolve strengthening. ‘I want to know why you seduced me. What was it you wanted?’
‘That’s … the easy question,’ Richard whispered. ‘When you are a youngest son with gambling debts to pay … an heiress is a beautiful thing … but I knew your father had designs on … more suitable matches for you. So it seemed the only … way to get to your fortune was through your virtue … I had hoped someone might find us … in that blasted conservatory. Your reputation would have been … at stake and I would have been forced … to marry you. I didn’t mean for you to get pregnant.’ He took a painful breath and closed his eyes.
Adelaide waited. She had all night and no wish to make this easy for him.
‘When I got back … and your father told me you were dead … all my plans … Had to flee the country to escape the debts. Went to India, like I said … made a complete hash of it there. Your father’s letter … I couldn’t believe what he told me. You … alive … with a son … my son. And then … I knew if I could only persuade you to marry me … like you should have done, I could pay the debts … we could start a new life. You … me … Daniel.’
A silence descended on the room, broken only when someone in a nearby room coughed.
Adelaide let out a deep breath. ‘I’ve changed, Richard.’
He opened his eyes again and turned his head on the pillow to look at her. ‘You have changed. You are a stronger person than I am, Addy.’ His eyes closed. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry … for everything …’
Adelaide gently laid her hand over his. ‘There is a part of me that will never forgive you for threatening my—our—son’s life but I have had time to think and I realise that I must thank you. Thank you for saving me from a pointless existence. Without you, I would have no Daniel. Without you, I would have married some stiff-necked English earl who would have consigned me to tea in a drawing room for the rest of my life. You gave me something I could never have achieved on my own. You gave me my freedom.’
The fingers beneath her hand shifted. ‘There’s one last thing,’ he said. ‘Your father … in my pocket book … letters … money too. Solicitor arranged a bank draft.’ His back arched and he cried out in pain. Adelaide glanced around at Caleb who shook his head. When the spasm passed, Richard whispered. ‘Forgive me, Adelaide … for everything.’
‘You want forgiveness, Richard, then I give it to you. Go in peace.’
She stood and, with a quick glance at Caleb indicating for him to follow, she left the room.
‘What did he mean about a pocket book?’ she asked when they stood in the darkened corridor.
Caleb shrugged. ‘He had a jacket with him. It’s about
the only bit of clothing he had still in one piece. Ask Posy.’
Posy gave her the singed and filthy article of clothing. In the inside pocket she found a leather pocket book, untouched by the fire. Adelaide turned it over in her hand but could not bring herself to open it. It could wait till the bright, light of day.
As she walked away from the Britannia, Adelaide raised her eyes to the clear sky above her, the stars brighter than she had ever seen them. She had worn mourning for her old life for long enough. She would never wear black again.
Tomorrow she would wear a bright colour.
Tomorrow her new life would begin.
Forty
19 February 1872
Adelaide sat at the table in her parlour, staring at the contents of Richard’s pocket book spread out before her: several papers and envelopes and a large handful of pound notes. With shaking fingers she withdrew the letters from their envelopes. Apart from the original of the letter Sissy had copied, she found a banker’s draft addressed to the manager of the Bank of Victoria in Melbourne, requesting that Miss Adelaide Lewis be paid the sum of five hundred pounds—an enormous sum, particularly to someone whose hard work over years had resulted in fifty pounds in savings.
There remained one final document. The seal on the envelope had been broken, presumably by Barnwell, but Adelaide knew the hand that had written her name on the front of the envelope. Her father.
She picked it up and turned it over several times before finding the courage to draw out the folded paper. She recognised the embossed letterhead of Oldham House. It was dated 8 August 1871. Her father must have been close to death but his hand still held a familiar force and, for a long moment, the words written in the black ink he favoured danced in front of her eyes before resolving into a short note.
My dearest Adelaide,
When you read this I will have passed to my maker and I go with the greatest regret that we will never meet again. When you first left my house, I was filled with rage, and discovering the shameful circumstances in which you took this step, my rage only increased. Despite knowing your whereabouts in the years that have passed, I fuelled my anger towards you.
But as my days are numbered, I see now the folly of not offering you forgiveness and allowing myself the honour of knowing my only grandson. I have made provision for you both in my will, and you and young Daniel will want for nothing in the years to come. I have been an unloving parent whose coldness drove my only child away and denied me the comfort of your presence in these, my last months. It is too much to ask for your forgiveness, only that in the years to come you think kindly of me.
Your father
Daniel Lewis
A sharp knock on the door made her start. She wiped her eyes and opened the door to Caleb. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Adelaide held her breath for a long moment before she found the strength she needed.
‘He’s dead?’
He nodded. ‘Just before daybreak. Reverend Johnson was with him at the end.’ He shrugged. ‘In my heart I hope he found some peace.’ He glanced at the papers on the table. ‘Is that what Barnwell was carrying around with him?’
Adelaide nodded and handed him her father’s letter. He read it through and set it back on the table without comment. He held out a hand and Adelaide came to him, grateful for the solace he offered, solace that needed no words, just the comfort of human touch.
‘You look exhausted,’ she said, running her hand along his unshaven cheek.
‘Can’t rightly remember the last time I slept in my own bed,’ he agreed, releasing her and raising a hand to his whiskers. ‘You, on the other hand, look … different.’
Adelaide smiled and touched the soft curls that framed her face. Before she had gone to bed, Netty had tied her hair in rags, just as she used to do when Adelaide was a girl. The simple blue sprig cotton dress she wore had been lingering in the bottom of a trunk since she had left England. It had been made when fashion dictated much wider skirts so Netty had pinned the fabric up behind her in a makeshift bustle. It would do for the time being.
She smoothed down the skirts. ‘It’s a young girl’s dress,’ she said. ‘I’m not that girl any more.’
‘It looks lovely—you look lovely,’ he said and a rush of joy surged through her. Perhaps she was still that young girl after all.
His gaze did not move from her face. ‘We have to talk, Adelaide.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I need to know if you want to go back to England? Make a proper English gentleman of Dan?’
‘Why, would I—’ Adelaide began. ‘Oh, my father’s will, you mean. I am not going to let him control my life from the grave and why would I go back to England? My heart is here.’ She laid a hand on his chest and repeated, ‘Here.’
He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. His mouth curled in a smile as he drew her to him. ‘Adelaide …’ he repeated, so softly she could hardly hear it.
She twisted in his embrace, turning her face to his. His fingers meshed in her hair, causing pins to drop to the floor in a succession of soft pings. As his lips touched hers, flesh and bone dissolved, leaving only a delicious warmth that rushed through her from the top of her head to her toes. She drank in the sweet taste of him, like a traveller on a long journey coming across a well. Her body ached in ways she barely remembered, if she remembered at all. The wanton, forgotten Adelaide yearned for him.
‘Mama!’
Danny’s voice cut her heart like a knife and she jumped away from Caleb as if he were a tiger snake, her hand flying to her unruly hair.
Her son stood in the doorway clad only in his nightshirt, his bandaged right hand clutching the door frame, his eyes wide with what she could only assume was horror.
Caleb coughed and straightened. ‘Daniel, I have something real important to ask you,’ he said.
Danny looked up at him and frowned.
‘Daniel, would you consent to me marrying your mother?’
Danny looked from one to the other. ‘I think,’ he said at last. ‘That would be a good idea—on one condition.’
‘What would that be?’ Adelaide asked.
‘That I could take your name too, Caleb,’ Danny said. ‘Greaves is not my name. I don’t know what my name is.’
‘I would be honoured,’ Caleb said, inclining his head, ‘but it’s for your mother to agree.’
He looked at Adelaide who smiled. ‘I would like that,’ she said.
‘Master Daniel Hunt it shall be,’ Caleb said.
‘Good. When are you getting married?’
Adelaide glanced at Caleb and pushed the hair back from her face. ‘I don’t know. As soon as possible, I suppose … unless …?’
Caleb took her hand. ‘There’s no “unless” I can think of.’ He turned her to face him, and bent to kiss her again, softly and chastely on the lips. ‘As soon as possible suits me just fine.’
‘Will we leave Maiden’s Creek?’ Danny asked.
Caleb glanced at Adelaide and his fingers clasped hers, the action hidden by her voluminous skirts. ‘We’ve got a lot of talking to do … the three of us,’ Caleb said. ‘Now, how about you go back to your bed and I’ll come and have a look at your hand in a minute or two.’
Danny looked from one to the other. ‘Are you going to kiss again?’
‘Probably,’ Caleb said.
Danny sniffed and stalked out of the room with as much dignity as a boy in a nightshirt could manage.
Adelaide folded her father’s letter and restored it to the envelope. ‘I don’t want to go back to England and you’d hate it.’
‘I know I would. But there’s no reason to stay in Maiden’s Creek. Adelaide, I have long had a mind to buy a farm and settle to the land again. My father would have liked that.’
‘Conversations for another day, when you are less tired. But can I ask you one last thing?’ Adelaide straightened. ‘What will be done with Richard’s body?’
C
aleb shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. He’s at the undertaker’s now.’
Adelaide folded the banknotes from Richard’s pocket book and handed them to him. ‘There should be sufficient here to see to the cost of a decent burial and a simple memorial stone.’
Caleb nodded. ‘I’ll ask Osborne Russell to write to his folks back in England. No need for them to know anything about you or me. Now I better see to the lad and then—’
‘And then you are going to lie down on that day bed and have a sleep while I return to my duties,’ Adelaide said.
Forty-One
21 February 1872
Caleb turned away from the cemetery where Richard Barnwell had been interred. He and Adelaide had been the only people beside the lonely grave besides Reverend Johnson. A sad end to a sad life, Caleb thought as he stood looking down at the raw wood of Richard Barnwell’s coffin.
He left Adelaide at the post office so he could return to check on the burns victims still lodging at the Britannia and those requiring attention at his surgery. There he found Will Penrose waiting for him.
‘Can you spare me a couple of minutes?’ Penrose asked, glancing at the crowded bench of patients waiting on the verandah. ‘It’s important.’
Caleb made his apologies to his patients and ushered Penrose into the front bar of the Britannia where they found a seat in a quiet corner. ‘What’s so important?’
Penrose grinned. ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hand.’
Caleb obliged and Penrose dropped a small rock into the palm.
It took a moment to realise what he held. The weight alone should have told him. He opened his eyes. ‘Gold.’
‘Your gold,’ Penrose said. ‘The assayer’s been through the extra samples I took in the new year and reckons the reef could return in excess of three ounces per ton. Do you know what that means?’
When Caleb didn’t answer, Penrose continued, ‘You have a viable claim. The investors will flock to it.’
Caleb hefted a heavy sigh and held up the small nugget of gold.
‘Enough for a ring,’ Penrose said, with a knowing arch of his eyebrow.
The Postmistress Page 33
