Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘All day, Mama? All this day you’ve known about me and Belle and the baby. Yet you said nothing.’

  ‘I wanted you to tell me yourself, when you were ready.’

  Luke waved the letter in her face. ‘She’s happy, Mama. She’s happy with Edward. Happy with Henry Abbott’s son.’

  He gave an anguished cry, like the howl of a stricken animal. Alice hugged his shoulders and kissed him. ‘Belle still loves you, my darling. I don’t doubt it for a second. It shows in each line, in her shaky hand. In the fact that she cared enough to write me that letter at all, confessing a truth that could bring her undone. But Belle thinks you’re gone, Luke. She’s making the best of things, and bravely too.’

  Luke bowed his head ‘What does Becky know?’

  ‘She’s read the letter.’

  ‘I haven’t abandoned Belle, Mama. I’m going back for her. Once the child is born, once I establish a new identity . . .’

  ‘No,’ said Alice, her voice low and urgent. ‘You’ll be recognised. Not only will you expose the shameful truth about who fathered her child, but you’ll hang for Abbott’s murder. That won’t help Belle. That will destroy her.’

  ‘I have money now. We’ll go away.’

  Alice put a hand on his arm. ‘And tear that sweet girl from everything she knows? A young woman with a first baby needs her family round her, not to be isolated and on the run.’

  ‘I’ll be her family.’

  ‘You’ll be a poor substitute for Belle’s mother when the child has colic, or her breasts throb and swell.’

  Luke shrugged his mother aside and paced round the room, but Alice would not be silenced. ‘This cannot be, Luke. If you love Belle, as I know you do, you’ll let her go. Let her get on with her life, as you must get on with yours.’

  It could just as easily have been Mrs Campbell speaking. Mrs Campbell at the killing gallows, imploring him to leave for Belle’s sake. Luke stopped pacing and re-read the letter one last time. Then he hurled it into the flames. ‘All right, Mama. Nobody will learn the truth from me.’

  Alice breathed a big sigh. ‘You could come and live with Becky and me in our cottage. Use your money to set up as a carpenter like your father. It’s a good, honest trade, Luke, and you were always handy with a hammer.’

  ‘I can’t stay here in Melbourne, knowing that Belle and my child are living just across Bass Strait. I couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘My poor darling Luke. What will you do?’

  ‘I’ll spend Christmas here, Mama, see you and Becky right. After that, in the new year, I’m going as far away from Tasmania as I possibly can.’

  CHAPTER 41

  ‘Won’t be a jiffy, miss.’ Millie collected up the washing. ‘It’s absolutely wonderful to have you home, Miss Belle, even if only for a little while.’ She backed out of the door, beaming broadly.

  Sweet Millie. How she’d missed her. Belle arched her back and exhaled, glad for a moment to herself. She looked around her old bedroom. It was achingly familiar. Ruffled bedspread. Pretty French provincial dressing table. The sunset through the lace curtains in shades of rose and gold.

  An Indian summer had lingered into March. Belle threw open the windows to watch the sun go down. A warm wind kissed her cheek, fragrant with native mint and sassafras. She gazed out to the forests beyond. Wild, unchanging – a view she loved. It reminded her of another sunset that seemed like a lifetime ago. She’d gazed out on this same view, wondering about Adam and where he’d gone. Made up her mind to find him. Had it really been six months since Luke died? It still didn’t seem real. She missed him as fiercely as ever. A sudden surge of energy took hold of her. Perhaps if she walked off through the forest to that little shack in the clearing, she just might find Luke waiting for her.

  Sasha pressed her nose into her mistress’s hand. Concern shone in her big brown eyes. ‘All right.’ She took hold of the dog’s collar. ‘I’ll stay here. Stop worrying about me. You’re as bad as Eddie.’

  Edward was insisting she travel to Hobart for the birth in a few weeks’ time, and her mother had teamed up with him. Belle had reluctantly agreed, but begged for these last few days at home before she left. Edward had gently chided her. ‘Canterbury Downs is your home now, sweetheart. Not Binburra.’ But the Abbott mansion didn’t feel like home. Henry’s ghost roamed its manicured gardens and velvet-draped halls, sucking out the joy.

  A sudden twinge took her mind off the view. She rubbed her belly, still surprised by how large it had grown. Ah . . . there was another one, stronger and low in her back. Sasha whined and led Belle over to the bed. She lay back on the pillows and waited for the strange pain to pass. But although its intensity waned, a nagging ache at her spine remained.

  Millie returned with an untidy vase of native hyacinth orchids, yard-high sprays of spectacular speckled-pink blooms. A golden stag beetle roamed along one stem. Millie placed the vase down on the dressing table, then prattled on as she always did while putting away clothes. Belle didn’t hear a word. Her gaze was fixed on the flowers. Their simple beauty symbolised all that was right with Binburra and all that was wrong with Canterbury Downs.

  Belle had not settled into life at the Abbott estate since the wedding, a low-key affair after the death of Edward’s father. She hated the red roses that appeared like magic on her chiffonier each morning, artfully arranged by some nameless servant, each bloom perfect and beetle-free. She hated the wrought-iron chandeliers, the gothic statues and ivory figurines. The massive Georgian furniture. Her carved four-poster bed of black oak looked like a coffin. It gave her nightmares.

  Edward had tried his best to make her feel at home. Giving Whisky pride of place in the beautiful stables. Giving Belle free rein to update the artwork in their private wing. She’d replaced portraits of stuffy old men with paintings by modern artists such as Arthur Streeton and Tom Roberts: living depictions of rural and outback Australia that looked out of place on the gloomy wood-panelled walls. He’d allowed Sasha to sleep in her bedroom, much to his mother’s chagrin.

  Edward’s room adjoined Belle’s, connected by an internal door. There were a few raised eyebrows at the young couple’s separate sleeping arrangements. However, it wasn’t unusual for husbands and wives to occupy different bedrooms, and Belle’s swift pregnancy put paid to any gossip.

  Jane Abbott indulged her new daughter-in-law in any way she knew how, even withdrawing her opposition to dogs in the house, but it was no use. Belle had been raised with the kind of physical and intellectual freedom that was outside Jane’s understanding. She felt as bored and trapped in the stuffy Abbott mansion as Whisky did in the grand bluestone stables. Each longed for the freedom of Binburra’s mountains.

  The stag beetle reached the top of the stem and waved his iridescent green antlers in the air. Belle wanted a closer look. She tried to stand, but another stab of pain floored her. She fell back on the pillows, this spasm painful enough to make her eyes water. ‘Rescue that beetle, Millie. Put it out the window for me.’

  ‘Yes, Miss, but I’ll never know why you’re so fond of creepy-crawlies.’ Millie turned round, took one look at Belle, then stopped in her tracks. ‘Miss Belle, what’s wrong? You’ve gone all pale.’

  ‘I’m having a few pains,’ she admitted.

  ‘Oh lordy, Miss Belle.’ Millie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘What can that mean?’

  ‘How should I know?’ said Belle. ‘When you’ve put the beetle out, you’d better fetch Mama.’

  Millie squealed in alarm, hurled the unfortunate insect through the window, and ran from the room.

  Five hours later, Belle’s bedroom held quite a crowd. Elizabeth sat on the bed, holding her daughter’s hand. Millie passed around a tray of biscuits and barley sugars, and was taking orders for cups of tea. Mrs Scott fussed about: tidying the already tidy room, piling up fresh towels and disinfecting the washstand and basin with kettles of boiling water.

  A prim nurse sat in the corner and a midwife, whom Belle had not met b
efore, stood at the foot of the bed, complaining about Sasha. Mrs Goetz was an old woman with thinning grey hair, a hooked nose and a German accent. Belle took an instant dislike to her and wished that cheerful Mrs Potter could be there instead. Apparently she was away on a call, and Dr Lovejoy couldn’t be found. Harrison had left to fetch Dr Lark, a physician Belle had little faith in. Nobody was ready. Nobody had expected her to go into labour this early.

  Edward and her father stood muttering together by the door. They fell silent as Belle cried out, another cramp gripping her body.

  Elizabeth put a damp flannel to her daughter’s brow. ‘For Christ’s sake, Daniel. Where’s the doctor?’

  ‘We don’t need a doctor,’ said Mrs Goetz. ‘We just need to clear this room and let Miss Isabelle get on with it.’ She shooed everybody out, except for Elizabeth and the nurse. ‘And take that dog with you.’

  Somebody had closed the window, and the room was insufferably close. Belle lay on a sheet, damp with perspiration. When each contraction came, she moaned and twisted, clamping down on her mother’s hand so hard she feared she’d break it. Her body was out of control, consumed by the baby’s need to be born.

  Time wore on. There would never again be a night as long as this one. She was a twig running rapids on a river of pain. Where was the doctor? Why would this baby not come? Belle had never listened to the gossip of matrons on the subject of childbirth. She’d always found it boring, but she should have paid attention. Then she’d know if there was something seriously wrong, if she was taking too long to have this child. She couldn’t rely on her mother or the midwife. They were treating her like a child herself. One minute they were making soothing noises, reassuring her. Next, they were huddled in the corner, whispering and casting worried glances her way.

  Belle twisted and screamed as another spasm racked her exhausted frame. She seemed to have been in this tortured, sweating nightmare all her life. Belle had once seen a heifer in labour for two days who died without ever having her calf. She couldn’t stand two days of this pain. She’d perish first.

  ‘Thank the Lord.’ Her mother’s voice reached Belle through the fog of pain.

  Dr Lovejoy was suddenly at her side, whispering words of encouragement and placing some kind of mask over her face. She caught the whiff of a familiar smell from her father’s specimen studio. Chloroform. ‘Deep breaths, Belle,’ he whispered. ‘Deep breaths.’ There came a respite from the worst of the contraction, a blessed moment of relief. The next moment it felt like someone was wrenching her insides out. She clawed at the mask as it was dragged from her face.

  Gradually, the quality of her pain changed.

  ‘It’s up to you now, Belle,’ said the doctor. ‘You must bear down. The baby’s coming.’

  This was better. This she could do.

  Dr Lovejoy offered her the mask between pushes, but she barely needed it. ‘One more,’ he urged.

  She heard an animal scream torn from her own throat and, with a final mighty effort, Belle’s son was born. She lapsed into an exhausted sleep before she heard the child’s cry.

  Belle woke with morning light streaming through the window. Her mother dozed in a chair beside the bed. Yesterday’s ordeal seemed like a dream. She tried to sit up, and the truth of what she’d been through came to her. Her body ached as though it had been run over by a steam train. Wait, where was her baby?

  Elizabeth stirred beside her. ‘Mama.’ Belle grabbed her arm and shook it, filled with a sudden dread. ‘Mama, my baby? Is it all right?’

  ‘You have a lovely little boy.’

  Belle sank back, dizzy with wonder. A boy. She would call it Luke. ‘Where is he?’

  Elizabeth offered her a drink of lemon barley water and Belle gulped it down. ‘I’ll bring him to you.’

  Belle gazed down at the tiny cherub that her mother laid in her arms. So quiet, so good. How could something this small have caused so much trouble? Dimpled cheeks. A delicate rosebud mouth that pursed sometimes, then yawned. Downy copper-coloured hair. What colour were his eyes? If only he’d open them. Perhaps he was hungry?

  ‘Should I feed him, Mama?’ Belle fumbled with the ribbon at the front of her gown.

  A knock came at the door, and Edward entered, wearing the proudest smile she’d ever seen. ‘My sweet Belle.’ He kissed her tenderly on the cheek, then did the same to the baby.

  ‘Your wife wants to feed her son,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We should let her try.’

  Edward frowned. ‘Belle must regain her strength, you heard what the doctor said. And with the baby so weak . . .’ He took hold of Belle’s hand. ‘I have an experienced wet nurse waiting downstairs, darling. She comes highly recommended.’

  ‘Wet nurse? I don’t understand,’ said Belle. ‘Why is my baby weak?’

  Belle took a closer look at her sleeping child. So beautiful, so flawless – yet she still hadn’t heard him cry, not even a whimper. ‘Is there something wrong with my baby, Mama? Did I hurt him?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You were wonderful and strong, and braver than I could have been. However, he is early and there was a complication.’

  Belle did not miss the slight shake of Edward’s head. ‘Tell me, Mama.’

  ‘She has a right to know,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The child was born with the cord round his neck. Thank God for the doctor and Mrs Goetz. They worked together to free him, but baby took longer than normal to breathe.’

  ‘But he’s all right now, isn’t he?’

  Edward took the baby, Luke’s baby, from her reluctant arms, murmuring soft nothings. ‘He’s more than all right. He’s absolutely perfect.’ He kissed Belle on the forehead. ‘Now rest, my angel.’ And with that, he disappeared from the room with her son.

  ‘No, come back.’ Belle tried to get out of bed, but was too sore and dizzy to stand. ‘I want my baby.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Why did Edward take him?’

  Elizabeth urged her to lie back down. ‘The baby was breech, and had to be turned. The truth is that both you and the child nearly died,’ she said. ‘And you lost a great deal of blood. Edward’s right to say you must rest.’

  ‘Is he right to engage a wet nurse without consulting me? It’s positively mediaeval.’

  ‘I’m not defending Edward.’ Elizabeth offered Belle another drink. ‘However, the harrowing birth has left Robert extra sleepy, slow at feeding. And you need time to recover.’

  ‘Robert? Why did you call him that?’

  ‘Edward said . . .’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what Edward said. The baby’s name is Luke.’

  ‘Belle, you can’t.’

  A soft knock came at the door. Edward came in with a vase of red roses.

  ‘Take those away.’ What energy Belle had left was knotted in a tight ball of rage. ‘How dare you name my baby. He’s going to be Luke, not Robert.’

  Belle would have welcomed an argument, was ready for a fight. Edward merely smiled and nodded, as if he were humouring a child. ‘We both want to honour Luke.’ He infuriated her further by putting the vase down in front of the orchids. ‘However, the Abbotts name first-born sons in a particular way. Mother would be suspicious if we departed from this tradition. Especially since the baby came so early.’

  ‘What tradition?’

  ‘First-borns are named after their great-grandfathers, in this case, Robert Hiram Abbott.’ Edward’s lips formed a tight line. ‘They inherit their middle name from their grandfather. I’m sorry, Belle, but it must be this way.’

  Belle’s woozy brain tried to process what she was hearing. The baby’s grandfather . . . ‘So by your theory his middle name will be Daniel? I like that.’

  Edward shook his head. ‘I mean his paternal grandfather.’

  It took a moment to sink in. Not Henry. Her anger glowed white-hot. Surely Edward wasn’t proposing that Henry’s name be in any way attached to Luke’s son?

  ‘The birth registration is already on its way to Hobart.’

  ‘Exact
ly what have you named our baby?’

  ‘Robert,’ said Edward. ‘Robert Henry Abbott.’

  CHAPTER 42

  Nothing in sleepy Tasmania had prepared Luke for the melting pot that was Cape Town. So many nationalities, so many clashing cultures. The colony was a hotbed of tension, and the recent discovery of gold and diamonds only heightened this unrest.

  War broke out soon after his arrival. If it had been a native uprising, Luke would have gladly fought for the Africans. Nothing angered him more than the appalling exploitation they suffered at the hands of their colonial rulers. In a battle between the Boers and the British, however, Luke felt no sympathy for either side. He spent his time in restless wandering, avoiding conflict zones and discovering all he could about this astonishing new country.

  Luke roamed from the spectacular Drakensberg ranges in the east to the endless scrublands of the Great Karoo. From the Kalahari Desert in the north to the beaches of the dramatic Elephant Coast. He lived the life of a pioneering naturalist and adventurer. Climbing mountains. Canoeing the courses of wild rivers. Exploring the country’s vast underground cave systems – caves he’d read about in Binburra’s library. They contained bones of early humans. Daniel had called Africa the cradle of mankind, and Luke was thrilled to see it for himself. But however far-flung the mountain or remote the river, it was never far enough to escape his memories of home or his restless yearning for Belle.

  Five years of lonely travels brought him to the little town of Nisopho, in the Transvaal. How Belle would love these wide plains, teeming with wildlife. Daniel, too. Though they wouldn’t like to see the farmers encroaching on the grasslands. Fencing in the waterholes. Fencing out the great herds. Slaughtering lions, leopards, cheetahs and wild dogs along the way.

  At twenty-five years old, Luke finally knew what he wanted to do with his life. How often had Daniel said that the best way to protect the forest was to own the forest? These plains were as unlike Tasmania’s forests as they could possibly be, but the principle remained. Luke would buy up farms surrounding Nisopho and dedicate his life to protecting this savannah, just as Daniel had protected Binburra.