Whispers Through the Pines

by Lynne Wilding

  Sue nodded. ‘You’re right.’ She thought back on her own family life, how they’d tried to help her mother with her alcohol problem. In the end nothing had helped. ‘She needs further investigation, and probably therapy.’

  Simon sighed as he threw down the pen he’d been fiddling with. ‘That means we’re going to have to leave Norfolk. There’s no professional here who can give Jessica the attention she needs.’

  ‘You might want to think twice about that—leaving, I mean. Isn’t there a hefty penalty clause if you break your contract without what the board considers suitable reason?’

  Simon rubbed his chin. ‘I think you’re right. No doubt it’s in the fine print somewhere. It won’t break the bank, I’m sure.’ He hated like hell to back out of a contract though. He’d given his word and he was enjoying the work here, even though it wasn’t as medically challenging as his private practice. But everyone would expect him to do what was best for Jessica, not for himself. So, if it cost money to get out of the contract, then so be it. Jessica was loaded anyway, so there really wasn’t a problem.

  Simon leaving Norfolk Island was not part of Sue’s plan, at all! As he had gone over what had been happening to Jessica, she had seen everything in a new light. Originally, with Simon, her intention had been to milk him for information and, if she could, use his influence to get a better job off the island. However, he had, though he didn’t know it, presented a better, bolder opportunity. Simon was an attractive man, and he deserved more than what he was getting from Jessica. She was pulling him down, limiting him. What he needed was someone who understood the problems of the medical world, someone who would work beside him to achieve the highest goals possible. It came to her almost like a divine revelation. What he needed was her.

  The Pearces’ marriage was almost on the rocks, especially with Jessica’s mental problems escalating rather than improving. So, how hard would it be for her to wean Simon completely away from Jessica, but by cunning and stealth, not by cutting the other woman down? Oh, yes, she could do it. She would be crazy not to do it and, if there was one thing Sue Levinski wasn’t, it was crazy!

  ‘I might have a solution. At least an alternative for you to consider,’ she said quietly, as if she had been giving his problem much thought.

  ‘I’m open to any suggestions.’

  ‘Marcus Hunter.’

  ‘Marcus?’ Simon frowned. ‘What help could he be?’

  Sue gave him a confident smile. ‘Up until seven years ago, he was a practising clinical psychologist with at least ten years’ experience. Nan told me his practice was in Christchurch. Why not ask Marcus to see Jessica, make an assessment of her mental state, and go from there? Or, if that doesn’t appeal, we have the names of a few psychiatrists on file. You could fly one in from Brisbane.’

  ‘Marcus,’ Simon repeated his name in a considering tone. ‘But he’s more of a friend, and he’s not practising now. It would be an impertinence to ask him, surely?’

  Personally Sue didn’t have a lot of faith in Marcus being able to do a good job of it, but what did that matter? It would suit her purposes better if he botched things up. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Perhaps you’re right. It was just a thought. But he knows Jessica on a personal level, he was there when she had that experience in the cemetery and again, afterwards at Nan’s house, when she cut her hand.’ Her eyes darkened with intensity, and she leant forward to briefly touch his hand. ‘Simon, what have you got to lose?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I should impose on Marcus’ good nature.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said promptly as she stood up. ‘I’m sure you’ll do what’s best, for Jessica.’ That he hadn’t immediately taken up her idea irked her, but she decided that she had said enough on the subject. Now she’d simply let him mull it over.

  Wearing a thoughtful expression, Simon watched Sue leave the office.

  Just talking to her had lightened his anxieties. Sue was a compassionate, intelligent woman and, even if Jessica didn’t like her, at least she had given him some constructive ideas. Maybe—as he thought, his fingers tapped a rhythm on the desk top—he would talk to Marcus.

  Curiously, Simon found it easy to discuss Jessica’s problems with both Marcus and Nan. Though he hadn’t known either of them for long, they were such warm-hearted, caring people that he knew their sympathy for his wife’s problem was sincere. And, while he didn’t want to dwell too deeply on it, a part of him was relieved to turn the problem over to someone else, because he had convinced himself that he was too close to deal with her objectively, as Marcus would be able to do.

  ‘I’ll be happy to help, if I can,’ Marcus said, after Simon laid out his proposal to him. ‘Nan and I, we think a lot of Jessica. It would help if I had notes on her breakdown, and the family’s insanity link.’

  Simon winced at Marcus’ businesslike tone. Breakdown. Insanity link. The words almost made him spiral into a depression. That was his wife he was talking so clinically about. Hold on! You’ve asked for his help. You need it. You can’t afford to get sensitive about Marcus’ choice of words.

  ‘Naturally. I’ll have Nikko fax the relevant notes to the hospital and give them to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Good. I should read through them before I see Jessica.’ He looked at Simon. ‘How do you want to handle this? Are you going to tell her I’m seeing her as a psychologist, or do you want to adopt a more subtle approach?’

  Nan interrupted. ‘Marcus, Jessica knows you’ve practised as a psychologist, and she’s not stupid. As soon as you start probing into her problem, she’ll wake up to what’s going on. Tell her the truth, that you’re concerned and that you are going to try to get to the bottom of what’s happening to her.’

  ‘Nan’s right,’ Simon agreed. ‘Jessica’s worst fear—though she’s never expressed the thought out loud—is that she may end up like her grandfather. I’m certain she’ll do everything she can to cooperate.’

  ‘Right, so long as you understand that when dealing with disturbances of the mind, a solution or a cure doesn’t come along in a couple of days.’

  As Marcus saw Simon to his car and waved him off, mixed feelings ran through him: elation because he now had a genuine reason to visit Jessica every day, and concern that whatever was disturbing her mentally was, potentially, very serious.

  Sarah, standing at the foot of the bed, stared at Jessica’s sleeping form and that of the man who lay beside her. His name was Simon, she’d heard Jessica call him that, and she knew he was a doctor. He had given Jessica a draught and she could not be roused, which was damned annoying.

  She, they, had much to accomplish, and she also had much to tell this woman. A smile spread slowly across her full lips. If she could not be wakened, then she could achieve her goal another way.

  She would tell Jessica her story through the medium of her dreams…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jessica tossed under the sheet as images in her subconscious became more vivid. She saw a woman who was vaguely familiar to her penning a letter on thick paper, which resembled a kind of parchment. Her implement for writing was, yes, a quill, which she dipped into a glass inkwell. Jessica scrunched her eyes up in her sleep as she peered to read the words.

  Norfolk Island, September, 1853

  Dear Bridget,

  Meggie and I have been on this place for almost two months, and it has been the longest period of my life. Many parts of the island are beautiful (though we do not venture far from the settlement of Kingston) to behold, but the plight and treatment of the convicts by their overseers, and by much of the military, shrouds the island’s inhabitants in permanent misery.

  Animals are generally treated better than the convicts, and it is said to be not unusual for a man to take his own life, aware that his soul may be damned forever, rather than continue to live in this place, called by most of them hell on earth.

  My mistress, Mrs Stewart, who is a kind and understanding lady, has a deep affection for Meggie, and is
with child again. We, the entire household, all pray that this time she will be delivered of a healthy babe. She was most appreciative of the portrait I painted of the Captain and says she will have it framed when we return to Sydney Town.

  I do miss my dear Will so much, Bridget and, if it were not for my Meggie, there would be many days when I cared not to go on.

  I do so solely for her sake, for her future and, when our time here is completed, I will decide whether to make our home in Sydney Town or return to Dublin.

  I rush to finish this letter to you. The ship, which has been standing off Point Hunter to unload its cargo, will sail with the tide.

  With deep affection, as always,

  Sarah

  ‘Come on, Meggie, love, let’s be goin’ down ta the bay ta give my letter ta the sailin’ master.’ Sarah took Meggie’s hand as they left by the back kitchen door, walked around the paved side passage and down the steps into Quality Row.

  It was late in the afternoon and shadows from the huge pine trees patterned their path as they passed beneath the walls of the military barracks and then skirted around the forbidding prison walls which, at night, housed almost all the convicts on the island. A gang was returning from their day’s work at the lime kiln and, though they risked the ‘tickle’ of the lash, several men waved to young Meggie as they passed.

  Sarah wanted to but could not ignore one of the soldiers accompanying the gang. He tipped his hat and spoke to her.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs O’Riley. Are you takin’ young Meggie to the seashore to search for shells? ’Tis an agreeable outing for small ones.’

  ‘No, Private Dowd, it’s unlikely there’ll be time for shell-seekin’ today,’ Sarah remarked, tight-lipped.

  ‘Oh, Mamma, can we? For a little while,’ Meggie entreated.

  Sarah scarcely gave the soldier a nod as she passed, for she knew the man by name—Private Thomas Dowd—and she cared not a whit for him. The look of him reminded her of the ferret her brother Paddy had kept as a child, and she disliked the fact that he was always contriving to speak to her. He would appear at the Stewarts’ kitchen door on some pretext and the hope that she might give him a kind word, which she never did. Instead, she would send him away sour-faced, much to Maude Prentiss’ amusement.

  Unfortunately, she could not abide Dowd also because the man had a furtiveness about him that annoyed her and reminded her of the horrid Elijah Waugh. Dowd’s eyes would dart here and there all the time, and he had not the courage to meet her own gaze. As well, he made no effort to appear tidy or even clean and close proximity to him would cause her to wrinkle her nose at his offensive odour.

  She and Maude, who spoiled Meggie dreadfully, got along very well. Cynthia Stewart was an undemanding mistress and, between the two of them, and the occasional help of Frederick, one of the trusted convicts who did the heavy work, they cared for the three-bedroom house on Quality Row tolerably well.

  ‘Please, Mamma, can we look for shells?’

  Sarah gave her daughter an indulgent smile. How could she refuse the dear child anything? ‘Very well, for a little while.’

  In the distance she could see activity at the beach as the ship’s crew made the lighter ready. She looked at the Laird of Dalgleish lying safe beyond the treacherous coral reef and wished most sincerely that she and Meggie were passengers on the craft. How she longed to be free of this place, away from the sadness that permeated everyone’s life, except for Meggie and the other children. They, in their childish innocence, were oblivious to the cruelty that abounded on Norfolk. Even her master, Captain Stewart, had become inured to the callousness of the prison commandant and his regime.

  Several soldiers lounged around on the beach in various attitudes of relaxation beneath the shade of the pines, while their superior spoke to the ship’s master. Sarah paid them scant notice as she walked by.

  However, one of the soldiers noticed her. He straightened as if jerked by an imaginary marionette’s strings, his gaze drawn to the woman’s fullsome figure, clad in a sensible grey gown which splayed out, due to the two stiff petticoats beneath it. The only relief from the drab grey were white cuffs at the sleeves, a white lace-edged collar and pearl buttons down to her slim waistline, around which sat the apron she had not bothered to remove. On her head sat a white cap, which only partially captured her crown of red hair.

  She’s here, Elijah whispered to himself, so shocked that he could scarcely believe his luck. Up until now he’d thought this island the worst hellhole he had ever served in. Worse than India, worse than the Newcastle mines, but now he saw a divine hand—the thought was blasphemous and he knew it—in his being sent here as a form of discipline because of his drunk and disrespectful behaviour at the mines. That poncy Lieutenant Forbes had said it was his last chance and that if he didn’t change his ways, he’d be drummed out of the army. His lip curled scornfully. As if that scared him.

  Since he’d lost his stripes, been flogged and transferred to the mines, his affection for army life had run its race. There was only one thing he longed for and that was to get even with the person who’d brought this ruination upon him. Sarah O’Riley. Suddenly, seeing her, the world looked brighter. The bitch was here, within his grasp! He almost laughed out loud.

  A soldier dug Elijah in the ribs. ‘Eh, what I wouldn’t like to do with that!’ He bent close to his companion to whisper precisely what he would do with the woman if he had the opportunity of an hour with her.

  The scar on Elijah Waugh’s face glowed at the man’s lurid description of how he would take Sarah. Enraged, he grabbed the front of the soldier’s tunic and thundered back at him, ‘McLean, keep yer eyes and yer hands off her if yer don’t want yer throat slit one dark night. The woman’s mine. See,’ he touched the scar on his cheek, ‘she gave me this and one day I’ll be payin’ her back.’

  The soldier named McLean paled at the animosity in Waugh’s voice. ‘Whatever you say, matey. She’s all yours.’

  Having won that skirmish, Elijah sidled closer as he watched Sarah give a letter to the first mate of the vessel anchored beyond the reef. A smile of anticipation at her surprise creased his coarse features as he waited for her to turn and see him.

  Elijah was not disappointed.

  ‘Good afternoon to yer, Mrs O’Riley,’ he said, his mouth curling in a sneer as he said her married name. But, cunningly, he doffed his hat in mock respect, just in case the sergeant supervising them was watching. His narrowed gaze noted how her face paled, and her lips thinned, not in annoyance but something else. He hoped the feeling was fear. Oh, yes, he hoped that very much.

  As Sarah gazed at the man who had almost succeeded in raping her over four months ago, a premonition sent a shiver down her spine. Holy Mary, Mother of God, what was the devil himself doing here? As the sergeant yelled for his men to come to attention, she watched Elijah about-face and fall into line with the others.

  Her heart was beating like a hummingbird inside her breast, and she struggled to contain the fear which spread like numbing tentacles through her, rendering her motionless. The advantage, the only advantage, she had believed, of being on Norfolk was that she could consider herself safe from his ill-mannered gaze, his taunts, the threat of him. Now, was that to be forsaken? Oh, dear God, what was he doing here?

  ‘Those soldiers,’ Sarah whispered to the first mate, ‘why are they here? Why are they not in the barracks or on other duties?’

  ‘Oh, them,’ the first mate gave the company a cursory glance. ‘They’ve been supervising the cons loading the Laird of Dalgleish.’ He gave her a brief smile and some free advice, ‘A rum lot they are, ma’am. Almost as bad as the convicts themselves. I’d steer clear of them if I waz you.’

  Sarah stared at Elijah’s profile, noted the scar still livid on his cheek. She turned her back on all the soldiers. ‘Oh, I shall, sir. You may be sure of that.’

  Holding Meggie’s hand, she walked away fast, her back ramrod straight. Sweet Jesus, had all the prayers she had utter
ed over these last months been to no avail? Only recently had the nightmares relating to Elijah’s attack on her lessened, and now he was here. What grave misfortune was about to visit her because of his presence? She had begun to feel safe…And, oh, what was it he had said as the constables had fettered him and dragged him away that terrible night? Her forehead creased in a frown as she tried to remember.

  ‘There will be a reckonin’, Sarah O’Riley. Yer shall not escape me.’ She shivered as the words came back to her.

  Meggie pulled her hand out of Sarah’s as they reached the seashore.

  ‘Shells, Mamma, look. Here’s a pretty one.’

  Fighting back the tears, Sarah knelt down on the dry sand and tried with all her heart to believe that her life was not in jeopardy. ‘Yes, my darlin’, they’re very pretty.’ She could hardly raise a smile as she watched her daughter race off to find more.

  She would have to speak to the Captain, it was the only thing she could do. If he couldn’t arrange for Elijah Waugh to leave Norfolk, then she and Meggie must.

  ‘No, Sarah, I have no idea how Waugh came to be posted here. Occasionally, difficult soldiers are sent here as a form of discipline. In Waugh’s case that seems the most likely reason, I should think.’ Captain Stewart attempted to calm his housekeeper, who stood opposite him wringing her hands with anxiety.

  ‘Captain, I cannot stay on the island with him here. I will be frank with you, sir. The man alarms me. I believe he means me harm.’

  ‘Sarah, Waugh would be a fool to try something when there’s a record of his crime and subsequent punishment. He risks death to do so. I will order his return to Sydney Town on the next ship.’ Then he added before she had time to speak, ‘And until that time, I will make sure he is kept on duties well away from Kingston. He can be sent to one of the timber-cutting camps. ’