Since Bear and the cubs had appropriated his bed, Luke resigned himself to sleeping on the floor. He made himself as comfortable as possible by the fire with the help of the wallaby skin rug and blanket. Lying head in hands, he watched the flames, while the day ran over and over in his mind.
So many questions filled his throbbing head. Who was the dead stranger? Why did he come? Did he stumble across the hut or had he come on purpose? Would there be others? Luke got up to check his rifle, but his eyes fell first on the stranger’s firearm, which lay discarded in the corner. He took it back over to the fire.
The biggest, boldest cub stopped gnawing on the lamb shank and hissed at him. What the tigers were doing in his hut was one more puzzle.
Luke opened the breech and checked it was loaded. He couldn’t help being pleased to have acquired such a serviceable firearm, whatever the means. Well-maintained and far more modern than his own inaccurate weapon.
He lay down and the questions began again. What time was it? What would Daniel be thinking? And Belle? She’d been expecting him to arrive bright and early at Binburra with a bag of baby devils. A knot formed in his belly. He’d let her down. She’d spent hours turning his humble enclosure into a devils’ paradise. She’d even picked out names for them after quizzing Luke in meticulous detail about their personalities.
Belle. In spite of her privileged upbringing, she had plenty of compassion and a truly independent spirit. In a world where girls were given little choice other than to conform, Belle defied convention.
And who’d have thought that the serious girl he knew as a child would have grown into such a beauty? Luke stopped himself right there. Belle didn’t even know who he was. He was yearning for something that couldn’t be.
It took Luke a long while to fall asleep, one hand on his new rifle and one eye on the door. The devils growled and wrestled. The tigers wriggled in the bracken. Occasionally one cub explored a little, before hissing and bolting back to Bear. The big dog slept on, snoring softly. Despite his unease, the presence of the animals was a welcome contrast to the standard loneliness of his nights. When sweet sleep finally claimed him, he dreamed he was home with his family.
Several miles to the east, Belle too found sleep didn’t come easily. All day, the tension in the household had risen in a steady, inexorable way. And all because of Adam.
He hadn’t arrived for work, even though she’d waited for him and the little devils all morning. He’d probably made them up and didn’t wish to be caught out in such a stupid lie. This wasn’t the first time a farmhand had proved unreliable – far from it. Why were her parents so upset? She kept finding them huddled together, speculating in whispered tones over Adam’s whereabouts. When Belle interrupted, she was ushered away. Her parents were withholding something from her, that was plain. Adam had been treated more like some long-lost son than hired help ever since he’d arrived. She was sick of being shut out. What was so special about him? Belle burned with curiosity.
A knock came at the door. ‘Still awake, Miss Belle?’
It seemed Millie couldn’t sleep either. The girls were more friends than maid and mistress, and often talked at night. It was how Belle learned all the local chatter: who was sweet on who, who wasn’t talking to their mother, who had tickets on herself. This time however, the gossip was a bit too close to home.
‘So Adam’s gone and done a runner.’ Millie sat down at the dressing table. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if the silver’s gone with him. He’s a dark horse, that one.’
‘He is a bit of a mystery,’ said Belle. ‘But he never struck me as dishonest.’
Millie sprayed a little Eau De Cologne behind her ear. ‘Well, I wouldn’t trust him. Adam swans in here, keeps to himself, barely talks to the rest of us, and before you know he’s the master’s favourite. That’s put a few noses out of joint, especially Davey’s.’
And yours too, Millie? Belle wanted to ask, but was too kind. It was common knowledge that Millie held a particular grudge against Adam. On arrival he’d apparently dismissed her flirtatious advances, and since then she never missed an opportunity to stir up feeling against him.
Millie took two boiled lollies from the silver bonbon dish beside the mirror and popped them in the pocket of her nightgown. ‘You do know what they’re saying, Miss Belle.’
Belle flopped down on the bed. ‘No. Tell me.’
‘They’re saying . . .’ Millie dropped her voice. ‘That Adam is the master’s bastard son.’
Belle let the words sink in, too shocked at first to speak. Her face slowly dissolved into a mask of anger. ‘How dare you say that, to me of all people.’
‘Sorry, Miss. I’m just telling you what they’re saying.’
Belle leapt up and poked Millie hard in the chest. ‘If I hear one whisper of you spreading such vile rumours again, I’ll have you dismissed.’
Millie backed out the door, muttering apologies.
Belle turned the ridiculous proposition over in her mind. Could Adam be her brother? It would explain Papa’s obvious affection for him, but not why her mother, too, held him in such high esteem. No, her father wasn’t a philanderer. This was malicious mischief, nothing more. Yet, there was something special about Adam. Where did the truth lie?
Belle went to the window and looked over the paddocks to the forest beyond. The sky, clear after the storm, sparkled with starry radiance. A fat full moon sailed low over the mountains and rested on a peak, too lazy to climb higher. Sasha padded over to stand side by side with her mistress. Together they stared into the mysterious night. And a plan formed in Belle’s mind. Tomorrow she would find Adam and learn his secret.
CHAPTER 18
In the morning Belle dressed as if she meant to go riding. Elizabeth packed her a picnic lunch, seeming glad to get her out of the way. The rain-washed sky shone pale-blue and free of clouds. Belle waved goodbye to her mother and trotted up the waterfall track, her dog at Whisky’s heels. When they reached the top paddock, which was used to spell the carriage horses, she dismounted, unsaddled Whisky and turned her loose. The filly kicked up her heels and cantered off to join the herd.
Belle doubled back with Sasha at heel. Keeping to the perimeter of trees, she found the place where Adam had left the track two nights ago, marked by broken ferns. Filled with nervous anticipation, she entered the forest.
Tangles of moss-encrusted logs blocked her way. Crowns of mountain ash, myrtle and blackwood formed a high canopy, blotting out the sky. The scrubby understorey of dogwood, laurel and bauera would have proved impenetrable in the steep gullies if not for a rough machete-hewn trail. It would be easier than she’d imagined to track Adam down.
Green starbursts of ancient richeas, some as tall as a man, struggled towards the dim sky. It was eerily quiet. No bird sang. No animal moved. No grass grew in this damp gloom, which seemed empty of life, except for huge leeches. Belle stopped with a grimace to remove one from her arm.
Dozens of little creeks intersected the mountainside, though none large enough to block her way. After mountain storms, these gentle streams turned into swift-flowing torrents, powerful enough to sweep a man away. Alarming evidence of yesterday’s flash flood lay all around. Debris trapped high in branches, a lifeless young wombat smashed against a rocky bank.
At each crossing, Belle half-feared she’d find Adam’s drowned form as well. But Sasha forged on ahead, drawn by a familiar scent.
‘Luke would not leave without telling us,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He’s far too fond of Belle, for one thing. Someone must have turned him in.’
Daniel scowled and slapped at a fly. ‘I should go into town, ask around.’
‘Take Lewis to help you. Find Angus McLeod. He knows where Luke’s shack is, and can be trusted.’
Daniel got ready while Old Bill, who was in charge of the horses, saddled Solomon. Elizabeth sat on the verandah, stomach churning What if Luke had been arrested? What if Daniel were implicated and charged with harbouring an escaped prisoner? Elizabeth watch
ed Daniel and Lewis canter out of the gate, and recede from view. Still she sat, gazing across the forested valley, marking the sun’s measured climb above the hills.
Time slipped by. Morning had crept nearly to noon when Elizabeth saw a group of mounted men approach at a gallop. She stood up, her heart thudding. Stiff with apprehension, she recognised Allan Grant who worked for the Mitchells. With a sinking feeling she also recognised Tom Howard, Abbott’s station manager: a small weasel-faced man with a vicious reputation. He was flanked by a dozen local farmers.
The riders thundered through the gate right up to the verandah steps.
A man she didn’t recognise dismounted, as was customary, and removed his hat. ‘May we speak to your husband, ma’am?’
Elizabeth eyed the rifle hanging from his saddle. She stood as tall as she could and with an assurance that belied her fear. ‘Mr Campbell is away on business.’
The man shifted from one foot to the other, as if unsure how to proceed. ‘We’ll come back later,’ he said at last. ‘This doesn’t concern you, ma’am.’
The others nodded in agreement, all except Tom Howard, who pushed forward to the front of the mob, waving down the protests of those around him
Elizabeth glanced at the house. Millie and Mrs Scott were peering through the front parlour window, while Bill hobbled towards her as fast as his arthritic knees would allow.
Remaining mounted, Howard demanded to speak to Daniel.
Elizabeth breathed deeply and steadied herself. ‘I told you, sir. My husband is not home. What is this about?’
Several of the men wheeled their horses around as if to leave, but not Howard.
‘We’ve come for your dog, ma’am. We mean to shoot it.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ asked Elizabeth, amazed as much by the insolence as the threat.
Howard thrust out his chin. ‘We’ve eyewitnesses among us that can prove your dog’s been leading that pack of killer wolves. You’d best turn the animal over to us now.’
‘That’s absurd,’ she said. ‘Our Sasha spends each night sleeping beside my daughter’s bed. Why, that dog won’t even harm a baby rabbit if she stumbles across one in the garden. You’re mistaken, sir. Go hunt your rogue dog elsewhere.’
‘Could we at least see the dog, ma’am?’ asked another man.
‘You may not. My daughter and her pet are not here.’ Elizabeth did not falter as Howard snorted. ‘Sirs, I assure you, you’re quite wrong. Our dog is no killer. If you wish to take this ridiculous matter further you must speak to my husband when he returns. Good day to you all.’
Old Bill reached the verandah steps and gestured angrily for the men to leave. ‘Don’t come bothering the mistress again with your nonsense. Should be ashamed of yourselves, harassing a woman when her husband’s not about.’
Howard shot him a poisonous look. Then he wheeled his horse around, and the men clattered from the yard.
Elizabeth watched them ride away. ‘How strange.’
Bill frowned and removed his hat. ‘With respect, ma’am, if the truth be known, I’ve been half-expecting this. Word around town is that killer dog’s the spitting image of our Sasha.’
‘How could any other dog be mistaken for . . .?’ The blood drained from Elizabeth’s face. ‘Send Davey to find my daughter and fetch her home.’
A few miles to the west, Belle and Sasha were making good progress. They emerged blinking from the deep forest shade into an open, grassy meadow. On the far side of the clearing stood a tiny ramshackle dwelling with a smoking chimney. Sasha headed straight for it, tail waving. Why on earth would Adam choose to live in this remote place?
Belle glanced up at the dramatic backdrop of mountain peaks, trying to orientate herself. From the angle of the ranges she guessed the hut lay on Abbott land.
‘Adam,’ she called, approaching the shack. ‘Adam, are you there?’
Inside the hut Luke dropped his billy in surprise. He swore as scalding water splashed his arm. Grabbing his rifle, he turned to see Sasha nose her way in.
‘Adam?’ came the call again. Before he had time to think, Belle poked her head around the door. ‘There you are.’ She entered without an invitation. ‘This place smells.’
Holding her nose, Belle looked around the filthy interior, now crowded with two oversized dogs. Her gaze lingered on a bunch of scarlet waratahs gracing the crude fireplace – beauty in contrast to squalor – then settled on Luke.
What must he look like? Bedraggled clothes, caked in mud. Gaunt face and wild eyes. Hands still clutching the rifle. Belle began to back away.
Luke sprang forward, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. He stood, his back to the door, blocking her exit. It hurt to see the fear on her face. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry? Why exactly are you sorry? For disappointing my father or for manhandling me like a common brute?’
‘For both.’
‘If you’re truly sorry, then you’ll lay down your rifle. It frightens me.’
After a long hesitation, Luke placed the rifle at his feet, but remained standing in the doorway. What on earth was Belle doing there? She’d been told he lived in town. How would he explain about the hut? Belle stood, head high and bright eyes blazing, demanding just such an explanation. His mind ran through an assortment of implausible stories, hating the thought of lying to her.
There was another option. He could throw himself on the mercy of his childhood friend. In spite of the promise to Daniel; in spite of the fact that she now seemed to despise him. It suddenly felt so right he could barely breathe.
Belle tried to push past him. Luke took her by the shoulders and sat her firmly down on the plank bench. She watched him warily. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked. ‘What hold do you have on my parents? And why can’t I leave?’
Luke sat down on the floor, his back against the door, his eyes fixed on hers. Belle blushed, but this time she didn’t turn away. ‘I’m going to tell you a true story,’ he said. ‘You can go when I’m finished, but not before. Do you understand me, Belle?’
His bold words stunned her into silence. She managed a nod.
Luke concentrated on letting down his defences, on being as unguarded and stripped bare as he could be. ‘Don’t you remember me?’
A puzzled look swept over Belle’s face. Her green eyes were dark and searching, searching his face.
‘Think harder, Bluebell.’
Her puzzlement turned to wonder. ‘Luke . . .’ His name was barely a whisper on her lips.
He poured out his story, leaving nothing out, including Becky’s rape. Daniel didn’t even know about that.
‘Henry Abbott?’ she said. ‘Oh no . . .’
Belle asked an occasional question here and there, but mainly she just listened. When he’d finished she went to sit beside him with shame in her eyes. ‘I should have known you.’
Luke shrugged. ‘I barely know myself.’
She hugged his broad shoulders, kissed his face and then laid her head against his arm. The tenderness of her response was so unexpected, so precious, that for a long time he dared not move. He touched the fragrant softness of her hair, and she stirred. Again she kissed him, this time on the lips. Drawing her to him, he returned the kiss. The sweetness of her. The feel of her in his arms . . . Then he was reeling from the impropriety of his behaviour.
Shaken, he stood up, turned his back on Belle, and refilled the billy.
‘Would you like some tea?’
Belle looked around the filthy, scantily provisioned shack and laughed. ‘Yes, please. With sugar and lemon and a little iced cake.’
Luke made a face at her. The male cub chose this moment to poke his head out of the bracken and growl.
Belle gave a small scream, and he dived for cover. ‘That wasn’t a devil, was it?’
‘No,’ said Luke. ‘That’s a tiger. You’re sitting on the devils.’
Belle jumped up and peered beneath the bench. The black fur of the little creatures was just visibl
e in the straw of the rusty meat safe.
‘Devils and tigers?’
Luke launched into a new explanation.
‘You mean Bear is that demon dog, the one with the bounty on his head?’ Belle shook her head in astonishment.
‘That’s right. And I’m that desperate escaped criminal with an even bigger bounty on mine.’
‘You’re no criminal, Luke. Don’t you dare call yourself that. It’s Henry Abbott who belongs in prison.’
How good it felt to hear Belle say those words, to hear her so completely on his side. Like a dream.
‘And of course Papa knows who you are. Mama too?’
Luke nodded, handing Belle a mug of tea.
‘So, for all this time they’ve deceived me.’
‘Your parents wished only to protect you. You mustn’t blame them.’
By her expression, she was going to blame them anyway. Luke sipped his tea, feeling light as air, free of so many heavy secrets. But he spared her the story of Bear’s deadly attack on the stranger. No one must ever know about that, not even Belle.
Bear pricked his ears towards the door and growled. In a flash, Luke had the rifle cocked and ready. Motioning Belle to silence, he pushed open the door enough to gain a view across the clearing. Two riders were approaching at speed. Luke recognised the lead horse: Daniel’s rangy black stallion. Angus followed close behind on a bay thoroughbred. Luke lowered his rifle as Daniel reached him. It took Angus some time to wrestle his headstrong mare to a halt.
‘Damn this cantankerous animal. Give me Toro any day.’
‘We didn’t have all week,’ said Daniel.
With a grin, Luke took the reins of the fractious mare. Angus clumsily dismounted, then led the horses off to be tethered. ‘I’m going to get water,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Give you a chance to talk.’
‘What happened to you yesterday?’ said Daniel. ‘We’ve all been worried sick.’
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