Belle and Clara went laughing to the rescue. However, it seemed Anne didn’t want rescuing. ‘I’m calling this one Crusoe, after the dog in that book you read us, Mama.’
Clara frowned. ‘You can’t. That dog in the book is a boy.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Does it matter, Colonel?’
‘Not at all,’ said Luke.
Clara struggled to pick up the pink-collared pup. ‘I’m naming this one Princess Irene like in The Princess and the Goblin. Do you think it’s a good name, Mama?’
‘The best.’
‘Can we take them with us when we go to Papa’s house on Saturday?’
Crusoe was burying Anne’s shoe in a bed of petunias, showering soil behind her. Bruno was busy demolishing a cane garden chair and Princess Irene was using the verandah as a toilet. Together they were a three-puppy demolition crew.
‘What an excellent idea,’ said Luke.
On Saturday Luke waited anxiously for Edward to come, hoping to exchange a few words with Robbie. He was on tenterhooks to discover what the boy knew. But when Edward arrived, Robbie wasn’t in the car.
‘I told him,’ said Edward. ‘He knows you’re his father. It was the toughest thing I’ve ever done.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘Pretty hard, but Robbie has a generous spirit. He forgave me.’
‘Will he forgive me?’ asked Luke.
‘I don’t know.’
Luke studied him, his expression, his manner. He looked healthier, stronger. ‘You still chasing the dragon?’
Edward shook his head. ‘I’m not even drinking. It’s bloody impossible at times, but Robbie’s not going back to Scotch College. He wants to live at home with me. It’s the least I can do for him, considering . . . I want to set a better example.’
‘You should know,’ said Luke, struggling to get the words out. ‘That I appreciate what you’ve done for my son.’
Edward nodded an acknowledgement.
The three puppies ran out on leads, dragging the girls behind them. ‘We have to make room for Bruno and Crusoe and Princess Irene,’ said Anne. ‘Bruno’s for Robbie.’
Edward looked on doubtfully as Clara dragged the pups aboard. ‘I’ll have to get a bigger car.’
Belle came outside with the girls’ bags.
‘Can’t the servants do that?’ asked Edward.
‘We don’t have servants at Coomalong,’ said Anne. ‘We do things for ourselves, even cook. It’s fun. When we get home, I’m going to bake you and the puppies some bread.’
‘Mrs Tibbs might have something to say about that,’ said Edward, as he jumped out to help Belle with the bags.
‘Are you all right?’ Belle asked him.
‘I will be.’ Edward climbed up beside Clara, surrounded by a sea of puppies. ‘Can I have the girls until Sunday? It’s Aunt Hilda’s birthday party.’
‘Certainly,’ said Belle. ‘We’re going on a short trip anyway. I’ll telephone you when we get back.’
Edward started to ask where she was going, but didn’t finish the question. Instead he saluted her. ‘Goodbye, Belle.’ He honked the horn as they drove away.
‘He told Robbie that I’m his father,’ said Luke.
Belle took his hand. ‘That was good of Edward. Brave. You don’t know how much he loves that boy.’
Luke kicked at the ground. ‘I’m beginning to realise.’
‘Cheer up.’ Belle pulled him towards the house. ‘Let’s go to Binburra and walk to Tiger Pass. Do you know I’ve never been?’
CHAPTER 68
The trek to the pass was bittersweet. Ghosts of lost friends travelled with them. Bear and Daniel. The bafflingly beautiful tiger cubs. Yet this time Luke had Belle by his side, and there was no longer any obstacle to their love. The greatest consolation of all.
She let down her hair, wore boots and men’s trousers, threw off the trappings of civilisation. He revelled in her wild beauty. At night they shared a swag, her body melting into him beneath the burning Southern Cross.
‘It feels like we’re marching to the roof of the world,’ she said, gazing over the distant peaks. ‘We’ll take the dogs next year. Show Bruno his great-grandfather’s grave. We’ll be pilgrims.’
Luke loved the idea. He loved it even more that Belle was making plans for a future together. It made their relationship seem less like a dream.
On the third day, with eyes wide open, he led her into Tiger Pass. Nothing had changed. Still the hushed expectancy as the birds fell quiet. Still the sense of hallowed reverence sending shivers up his spine. Belle sighed and they exchanged glances. The pass was working its magic on them both.
‘You were being hunted last time,’ said Belle. ‘Does this place scare you now?’
He gestured wide, to the blue ceiling of sky. To the craggy cliff walls of the natural cathedral. To the ancient forest and timeless stream. Each seemed to whisper: In our end lies our beginning.
‘Scare me?’ he said. ‘It would be like being scared of heaven.’
He led Belle to the rock platform above the waterfall. The stream broke into a rainbow as it cascaded down the overhang.
‘It really is a hanging valley.’ She turned to him with bright eyes. ‘And I thought our little waterfall back at Binburra was lovely.’
The time had finally come. Luke took the rose-cut diamond ring from his pocket and slipped it on her finger.
It was dark and still in the cave by the old Huon pine tree. Belle collected some waratahs and Luke found an old pot for water. They placed the makeshift vase of flowers before the cairn Daniel had built to mark Bear’s grave. They took off their hats, and stood a long while in silence, each thinking private thoughts.
Luke turned on his torch, showed her the rock art on the ceiling, the drawing of the tiger. Then he aimed it at the ground. The square stone-set brass plate gleamed on the rock floor.
Belle read the words out loud. ‘In loving memory of Luke Tyler and his loyal dog Bear. My heart is forever yours. Bluebell.’ She knelt to touch the letters. ‘I asked Papa to put it there. I was never sure if he did or not.’
‘When I came here and read that plaque, it gave me courage to hope.’
He felt for her hand, and they moved through the shored-up tunnel, through the immense rockfall that could so easily have been his tomb. Down the ancient stone steps that led to the valley below.
Luke took Belle on a tour. ‘This is where I found Old Clarry’s treasure.’ He pointed to the high stone ledge. ‘The man lived like a penniless hermit, when he was surrounded by riches. See here?’ He scrubbed away at the cave wall with the sleeve of his shirt, then trained his torch on it. A shining vein ran diagonally across the rocks. ‘This is a valley of gold.’
Belle trailed her fingers along the bright seam. ‘Edward can never find out about this place. Nobody can.’
They camped that night beside the singing falls. Luke lit a fire. He could almost see King and his sisters coming back from the hunt, flinging their panting bodies down in the circle of warmth cast by the flames.
They stayed up late, talking, reconnecting. The moon rode high in the sky when they finally crept into their swag.
‘I’m taking you to Africa to see Themba,’ said Luke, as Belle fitted her body to his. ‘I want you to come face-to-face with an elephant. I want you to hold a lion cub and see giraffes drink by the river at sunset. I want to share the last sixteen years of my life.’
‘Shh . . .’ whispered Belle. ‘Listen.’
All he could hear was the waterfall and the throaty music of frogs. Then, echoing through the night, came the eerie call of a tiger.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are many people to thank upon the publication of Fortune’s Son. This book has been a long time coming.
Thanks to the legendary Peter Bishop, Varuna’s founding creative director. He was the book’s first champion, back when it was called Tiger Pass. A residential manuscript development week at Varuna, the National Writers House, p
ut the story on strong foundations. Thanks also to Andrea Goldsmith for her wise guidance during a Year of the Novel course at Writers Victoria.
I pay tribute to the late nineteenth century naturalist, Rev. Henry Dresser Atkinson, who inspired the character of Daniel Campbell. In The Woodpecker Papers, a collection of Dresser’s published newspaper articles, he revealed himself to be one of Tasmania’s first environmentalists – worrying over the fate of thylacines when farmers still shot them as pests, and wishing to preserve native habitats.
I’d also like to thank the following people:
My wonderful publisher, Ali Watts. Sarah Fairhall, who believed in the book and encouraged me along the way. Editors Ali Arnold and Amanda Martin, and all the team at Penguin Random House.
My lovely agent, Clare Forster of Curtis Brown.
My talented writing friends, the Varuna Darklings and the Little Lonsdale Group for their friendship and support.
Finally, I’d like to thank my family for their patience and willingness to brainstorm ideas. I love you all!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jennifer Scoullar has always harboured a deep appreciation and respect for the natural world. Her house, which was left to her by her father, is on a hilltop overlooking valleys of messmate and mountain ash. She lives there with her family. A pair of old eagles live there too. Black-tailed wallabies graze by the creek. Eastern spinebills hover among the callistemon. Horses have always been her passion. She grew up on the books of Elyne Mitchell, and all her life she’s ridden and bred horses, in particular Australian stock horses.
Also by Jennifer Scoullar
Brumby’s Run
Currawong Creek
Billabong Bend
Turtle Reef
Journey’s End
MICHAEL JOSEPH
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
India | New Zealand | South Africa | China
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies
whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, 2017
Text copyright © Jennifer Scoullar 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover design by Alex Ross © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Text design by Samantha Jayaweera © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Cover photograph by Getty Images / Australian Scenics
ISBN: 978-1-76014-341-1
penguin.com.au
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