Bliss nestled into the linen sheets for a few more precious seconds, letting memories of the night just past glide over her. When Jamie had gone downstairs, she dragged herself out of bed.
Reeve, Jamie, and Peony were all in the kitchen when she reached it, sipping coffee and talking among themselves.
“I’ll fix breakfast,” Bliss said brightly.
“No!” chorused the three people seated at the table.
At Bliss’s expression, Jamie was quick to smile and get to his feet. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and said, “What we meant was, there’s no need to worry about food now. You can eat on the train.”
Bliss glanced suspiciously at Reeve and Peony, but they were looking away and she could tell nothing from their expressions. “Well,” she finally began uncertainly, “if none of you are hungry—”
Too soon, Jamie and Reeve were loading Bliss’s trunks, which she’d never bothered to unpack after her return from Auckland, into the wagon. She and Peony would travel with Jamie, while Reeve would ride the horse he’d hired in town.
In daylight, Bliss could see that the railroad station was flanked by one hotel and a few houses and shops, by means of which the place generously dubbed itself a town. This, then, was where Jamie had bought the cookbook, and the chocolates, and the golden band for her finger.
Bliss looked down at that wedding band through a blur of tears. There was no point in pleading with Jamie not to make her go, for he’d already made up his mind, but he couldn’t stop her heart from breaking.
Reeve lifted Peony down from the wagon seat, and the two of them wandered discreetly into the ramshackle station house. In the distance, the train whistle howled plaintively, as though it shared Bliss’s grief.
Jamie’s hand cupped her chin and raised it, so that her eyes met his. “Don’t make it ’arder than it is, Duchess,” he said. “It’s nearly more than I can bear now.”
Bliss didn’t trust herself to speak. She bit down on her lower lip and nodded, and a tear tickled her cheek.
Jamie brushed it away with his thumb. “You’ll like Australia,” he promised.
Bliss let her forehead rest against his shoulder, drawing in the scent of him, memorizing his substance and his strength. The train whistle grew louder and louder, and she had to fight against more tears and a rising sense of panic. “Don’t let it be a long time, Jamie,” she finally managed to say. “Please, don’t let it be a long time until you come and get me.”
He put his arms around her and held her close, and she knew that he didn’t trust himself to speak.
When the train pulled in, Jamie was still holding her, and she was praying that he would change his mind and let her stay. Instead, he gave her a lingering kiss, jumped to the ground, and extended his arms to her.
It was all a blur, the last good-bye. Peony was emotional and Bliss felt frozen inside. She allowed Reeve to help her onto the train, along an aisle, into a seat beside a window.
“It’s all for the best, lass,” her brother-in-law assured her, but his voice sounded sad, as though he might be inclined to shed a few tears himself if he’d had the privacy for it.
Peony sat down in the seat across the aisle, her handkerchief pressed to her eyes, and one or two other passengers found their places as the whistle shrieked a farewell to the little town huddled beside the railroad tracks.
Reeve took Bliss’s hand awkwardly into his and patted it. “You’ll like Maggie,” he said, in a touching effort to console her. “For all that she’s a Yank, she’s not ’ard to put up with.”
Bliss nodded, unable to respond, and looked out through the sooty glass window. Steam billowed past and, through it, she saw Jamie climb back into the seat of his wagon and take the reins into his hands.
Bliss laid her fingers to her lips and pressed them to the glass, whispering a soundless, “Good-bye.”
Jamie touched the brim of his hat in a farewell of his own, and then the train was moving steadily away from the station. Soon, Bliss couldn’t see him anymore.
Chapter 22
THE FARM HAD NEVER SEEMED SO EMPTY OR SO ISOLATED AS IT DID when Jamie returned to it that day. If he’d had anywhere else to go, he might have driven right on past.
As it was, Dog came bounding out to the road to meet the wagon, and there was smoke curling from a couple of the chimneys. Jamie reined in the team and pushed the brake lever down with an automatic motion of his left leg, grinning as the sheepdog gave a yip of delight and bounded up into the bed of the wagon.
“’Ello, you worthless old ‘Ound,” Jamie said, as Dog gave a short, joyous bark. When they reached the barn, Cutter was waiting to help unhitch the team, a pipe between his teeth.
“Dog and me,” he began gruffly, “we thought you might be needin’ a mate or two right about now.”
Jamie nodded and got down from the wagon. He felt all raw and broken inside, as though something vital had been dragged out of him, thoroughly crushed, and then stuffed back into place.
The two men worked in silence for the next few minutes, taking care of the team. Cutter hung up the harness and Jamie led the two horses to their stalls and gave them food and water.
Just walking into his own house was an ordeal for Jamie; if he’d been alone, it might have proven impossible. As it was, Cutter plopped down in a kitchen chair and sighed. “I was just gettin’ used to the way she made coffee.”
Jamie ached. “Aye,” he said as Dog wandered into the next room and began whimpering when he didn’t find Bliss. His despair was an uncomfortable reflection of Jamie’s own feelings. “Is ’e goin’ to keep that up?” he demanded shortly as Dog continued his mournful search.
Cutter shrugged. “Been through the house once already, Dog has. I should be grudged over that, I reckon. Raised that scapegrace from a pup, I did, and here he is whinin’ over a red-haired woman.”
Jamie shoved a hand through his hair, took the coffeepot from the stove, and then set it down again with a crash. He didn’t have the heart to drink that brew, knowing that Bliss had made it and wondering how long it would be before he had any that bad again. “I’d like to do a bit of whinin’ meself,” he confessed quietly.
Cutter crossed the room to give his friend a slap on the back and collect the coffeepot. While he was outside getting water, Jamie whistled for Dog, unable to stand the animal’s grief any longer.
Dog came and laid his head on Jamie’s knee, making a melancholy sound in his throat.
“She’ll be back,” Jamie promised, hoping to God it was true.
For two nights before boarding the steamer bound for Brisbane, Reeve, Peony, and Bliss stayed at the Victoria Hotel, and there Bliss had seen Walter Davis again. Once she’d told him about her impending trip to Australia, Walter said that he and his grandfather planned to return soon themselves.
It was nice, she thought to herself as she stood at the railing for a long look at Auckland, to encounter friends unexpectedly. A surprise like that had a way of cheering a person, distracting them from their miseries.
And Bliss, missing Jamie as she did, was awash in misery.
“There now,” Reeve said proudly, pointing to a majestic boat swaying at anchor in the distance. “That ship belongs to me. Bound for the States, she is.”
Bliss’s interest was piqued. She thought of Sam, the man who’d brought Peony out from Auckland, and peered toward the ship, squinting as she tried to make out the name painted on the bow.
“She’s the Elisabeth Lee,” Reeve said, looking at Bliss with mingled concern and amusement. “Do you need spectacles?”
“No,” Bliss said, offended, even as Peony nodded in the affirmative.
Reeve chuckled and shook his head.
“The Elisabeth Lee is the name of the ship Sam was so worried about catching!” Bliss cried, delighted by the small coincidence. “He said she used to be a whaler.”
It seemed to Bliss that a shadow moved in Reeve’s blue-green eyes, but like Jamie, he was quick to hide his emotions. �
��Aye,” he said remotely. “She was a whaler. Now she carries trade goods.”
“Who’s Sam?” Peony asked, frowning.
Bliss gave her traveling companion an impatient look. “He’s the man who brought you to the country—your carriage driver’s brother-in-law, or some such.”
Peony sighed. She’d been recovering steadily from her ordeal, but there was still a wan look about her and she tended to weaken easily. “I can’t be expected to remember everything,” she muttered. One of her hands tightened on the railing, Bliss noted, and the other rose to her forehead.
“You’re tired,” Bliss said quickly, taking Peony’s arm. “Come along—we’ll go to our cabin and you can lie down and rest.”
After a few words with Reeve, Bliss led Peony away. Their quarters were easy to find, being on that same deck, and Peony was soon settled into her bed for a nap. Bliss immediately went back out to explore—to keep her mind off Jamie for a little while.
When the ship set sail, Bliss was standing at the starboard railing, impervious to the brisk wind, watching New Zealand recede into the distance. Her eyes burned and her throat was thick; leaving home wasn’t nearly so grand as she’d once dreamed it would be.
A gentleman’s handkerchief was extended, and Bliss looked up through a mist of tears to see Walter Davis standing beside her. She accepted the neatly folded cloth and dabbed at her eyes. It seemed a remarkable thing that Mr. Davis should be on board the very same ship, but Bliss’s surprise faded quickly.
After all, he’d said that he and his grandfather wanted to return to Australia.
“I used to long to travel far and wide,” she confessed in a sniffle, after several minutes of sheer misery had passed. “When I lived at the lighthouse, I’d see the ships passing in the distance and cry because I wanted so badly to be aboard one. Now here I am blubbering away because I’ve gotten my wish.”
Walter’s smile was gentle. He looked as though he might have patted Bliss’s hand, had he dared to be so familiar. He nodded in response to her words and then ventured to change the subject. “That man you’re traveling with—he’s a Queenslander, isn’t he?”
Bliss had gone a long way toward composing herself. “Of sorts, I guess. That’s my husband’s brother, Reeve, and he does own a plantation near Brisbane. It’s my understanding, though, that he and his wife spend just as much time in Sydney as they do in the country.”
“Now that I think of it,” Walter reflected, his expression faraway, on the roofs of Auckland, “I recall your husband telling me that he had a brother there. It’s strange that Mr.—that Grandfather hasn’t spoken of Mr. McKenna, having considerable holdings in the Brisbane area himself.”
Secretly, Bliss was relieved that the elder Davis wasn’t a confederate of Reeve and Maggie’s; she thought him odious, though she’d never have been so rude as to say so, and would have found it a trial to have to be polite to him on a regular basis. She managed a smile and a shrug, turning her attention back to the sea.
She sensed that Walter was working up his courage long before he spoke again.
“Bliss, what happened? Why are you aboard this ship without your husband?”
Bliss looked down at the handkerchief wadded between her hands. Walter had a gift for asking questions that were entirely too personal, but he did it in such a way that one felt it would be mean-spirited not to answer. “There’s a man Jamie hates,” she said miserably. “A terribly cruel, vindictive man.”
Walter looked distinctly uncomfortable, and he didn’t speak, but his knuckles were white, so tight was his grip on the railing. There was still a faint bruise around his eye, a reminder of his own encounter with Jamie.
Bliss drew in a deep breath and let it out again. She’d begun, she might as well finish. “I’m so frightened, Walter. This man laid Jamie’s back open with a whip, years ago, and he had the most horrid thing done to our—our friend, Mrs. Ryan. Now Jamie’s determined to find him.”
“And do what?”
Bliss closed her eyes for a moment. She knew that Jamie would kill Increase Pipher if he came face-to-face with him, and she was terrified that her husband would either be hanged for the crime or die in the process of taking vengeance. “I don’t even want to think about it,” she said.
“I believe I’d better look in on Grandfather,” Walter replied, and as abruptly as that, he was gone.
Bliss kept her vigil at the railing until she could no longer see New Zealand. Then, because she needed so much to feel close to Jamie, she hurried back to the cabin to record the day’s experiences in the letter she’d begun aboard the train.
Jamie spent three days and nights in the worst part of Auckland, the welter of pubs, opium dens, and whorehouses encircling the harbor, before he was approached by one of the men he’d been waiting for.
“Is it about Mrs. Ryan, mate?” the man asked, dropping into a chair across the table from Jamie’s. He was a little bleeder, wearing a layer of filth that probably dated back to his childhood, and he looked familiar.
Jamie’s right hand rested idly on the hilt of his blade, still in its scabbard on his hip. With his left, he raised a glass of whiskey to his mouth, took an unhurried sip while he studied the man with a thoughtfulness he knew was unnerving. “What’s your name?” he finally asked.
“Johnson,” replied the emissary from the city’s underbelly. “Nate Johnson, Mr. McKenna.”
Jamie smiled, slowly and viciously, and took another draft of his whiskey. He remembered Johnson now; he’d been with Dunnigan on the road that day. He’d been brave enough then, the bastard, with Jamie sprawled on the ground, half-conscious. Aye, Johnson had been pleased to put a boot to him.
But he was sweating now. Copiously. “I weren’t in on burnin’ the lady,” he sputtered, shaken by Jamie’s silence. “I swear to God I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that, Mr. McKenna.”
Jamie sat back in his chair, at the same time reaching for the whiskey bottle and refilling his glass. The stale stench of Johnson’s sweat throbbed in his nostrils and turned his stomach. God, but it would be good to get out of this place and have a bath and a shave.
“Who sent you ’ere?” he asked when the little man across from him was squirming.
“I ain’t s’posed to tell you that.”
Jamie’s fingers flexed over the handle of the blade. “If I ’ave to, mate,” he muttered, his shark’s smile never wavering, “I’ll cut the name out of you.”
Johnson paled beneath his coating of grime; clearly, Jamie’s reputation had preceded him. “Now, you just keep that blade right where it’s at. I don’t need no trouble. ’Twas Bert Dunnigan what made me do it. Said he’d tangled with you once too often.”
“Aye,” Jamie reflected. “He did that, for a fact. Tell me, was it Bert that put Pipher’s mark on Peony Ryan?”
Johnson shook his head wildly. “No! That were just some scum off a ship from the States, lookin’ for easy money.”
Easy money. Jamie felt sick, and he marveled that he’d ever been a part of this man’s world, lifting wallets and watches and eventually learning less subtle thievery from Cutter. “They’re gone again, I suppose,” he prompted, setting aside his own shame to deal with Johnson.
The little man shrugged. “Dunno, mate. They might be, and they might not.” There were crescents of sweat under Johnson’s arms. The stuff stood out in beads on his upper lip, and he was having trouble meeting Jamie’s gaze.
Jamie sighed and sipped languidly at his whiskey, lulling Johnson into a false state of security. In the next instant, however, he’d not only drawn his blade, but planted it firmly in the tabletop between two of his companion’s grubby fingers. “Names,” he breathed.
His meaning was obviously clear to Johnson. “Mig Wilbertson and H. P. Cook!” he spat. “They’re holed up down at Shallie’s place—probably drunk as lords in the bargain!”
Jamie knew Shallie’s—it was a pub at the end of the street, close on the water. Idly, he worked the knife free,
but his lack of hurry was deceptive. He ached to find Wilbertson and Cook. “If you warn them,” he said quietly to Johnson, “I’ll break all ten of your toes, one at a time. And when I’ve finished that, mate, I’ll start on your fingers. Now, did you get all that, or do I ’ave to repeat meself?”
Johnson shook his head. “No, sir, I heard you clearlike.”
“Fine,” Jamie said with a smile that was at once affable and quietly lethal, and he kept his knife in his hand as he rose to his feet. “There’s just one more thing I want to know. Where do I find Increase Pipher?”
The thug swallowed visibly. He couldn’t have guessed, from Jamie’s manner, how important the answer was to him. “Pipher had a room at the Victoria Hotel, uptown, but he’s gone now. Dunnigan said the old man went back to Brisbane.”
Jamie’s face was still impassive, giving no indication that his mind was reeling. Pipher had probably been in the Victoria Hotel all the time that he and Bliss were there. He’d been watching, and waiting, and when he’d seen how much Bliss mattered to Jamie, he’d sent the whip as a grisly wedding present.
Now he was on his way to Australia, like Bliss, and the width of the Tasman Sea separated the both of them from Jamie.
He strode out of the tavern where he’d encountered Johnson without so much as a look back, and started toward Shallie’s. He’d think things through while he took care of his business there.
Johnson had been right about the Yanks. They were both at Shallie’s, grogged to their eyeballs and sharing a whore when Jamie kicked in the door of their room.
The whore squealed in alarm and scrambled out from between her clients, her painted face contorted with fear. “I ain’t done nothin’, love,” she wailed to Jamie. “I swear I ain’t!”
Jamie had no quarrel with the woman. He gestured toward the door and muttered, “Get out.”
The whore didn’t need to be told twice.
Wilbertson and Cook, meanwhile, were just sitting up on that flea-ridden, sloping mattress, gazing blearily in Jamie’s direction.
Angelfire Page 29
