Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand

by Susan Green

  The harsh cry of a crow startled me. It was sitting close by on a fencepost, its black feathers glistening in the sunlight. Its round white eye seemed to regard me with a cold stare. I don’t know why that old crow should have set me off, but it did. I stood there and bawled. Howled. How long for, I don’t know, but after a while no more tears came. I dried my eyes and blew my nose and looked around.

  Waa-aa-aaa! The crow was still there, watching me. With another melancholy cry, it flapped its wings and flew off.

  Oh, had I the wings of a turtle-dove

  I’d soar on my pinions so high …

  That was a song Pa used to sing while he mended shoes. He didn’t have a very good voice but he liked to sing. “It cheers you while you’re hard at work,” he told me. “It makes the time pass and keeps your spirits up.”

  My voice was as croaky as the crow’s, and off-key as well, but I sang that song to the finish. I wasn’t exactly cheered, but it did the trick of keeping my mind occupied. For there was no use in giving in to fear. That wouldn’t get me back to Shantigar.

  I’d just started another tune when something made me turn around. Way down the road behind me I saw a small moving shape. It quickly became a horse and buggy of some kind, with what looked like a riderless horse cantering behind. They were approaching fast. They were in a tearing hurry – but surely they’d stop. I began waving my good arm and shouting.

  “Help! Help!”

  My words were lost in the sound of hooves and wheels. I heard my own name and realised who was driving the buggy. Harold jumped down to the ground while the vehicle was still moving.

  “Oh, Verity, thank goodness I’ve found you.” He sounded shaken. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just my shoulder,” I said. Relief flooded through me and then, without warning, my knees buckled under me and I staggered against him. The next thing I knew, Harold had scooped me up and placed me in the phaeton. He got up beside me. He gently felt along my left arm and shoulder. “I don’t think anything is broken. Does it hurt when I move it?”

  It did, but why was he asking about me? It was Drucilla and Helen who were important.

  “Harold, there were three men. They tied me up and took Helen and Drucilla in the phaeton.” Then I realised what I was sitting in. “But you’ve got the phaeton …”

  With one arm around me, Harold turned the vehicle around. “I found Beauty and phaeton under a big tree near the Rossiters’ farm and came looking for you. Verity, where were you going?”

  “To Castlemaine.”

  “But you were heading in the wrong direction.”

  “The wrong …? Oh no.” I began to shiver and there again was Drucilla’s face.

  “Here.” With his spare hand Harold reached into a bag on the floor of the vehicle and pulled out a small bottle. He uncorked it with his teeth and handed it to me. “Have some. It’s blackberry cordial. Hannah made me bring it.” It was sweet but had a very strong flavour, a bit like medicine. “Have some more. You’re as white as a sheet and as cold as a …”

  “As a frog?” I suggested with a weak smile. I took another sip and handed the bottle back to him. He took a swig too.

  “Would you like my jacket?”

  Whether it was the cordial or Harold’s jacket or just relief, I don’t know, but in a few minutes I began to feel better. And then I felt worse again. For Harold showed me the note he’d found pinned to the seat of the phaeton.

  AWAIT RANSOM INSTRUCTIONS FOR MRS PETROV DO NOT CONTACT POLICE TO DO SO WOULD BE TO PLACE THE LIFE OF OUR CAPTIVE AT RISK YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

  16

  THE RED GLOVE

  I stared at the crude black letters. Ransom. Captive. It was like a bad dream. Who could have predicted when we set off this morning for a country drive that it would end like this? The three of us should have been back at Shantigar by now, eating our lunch.

  Our lunch … It suddenly occurred to me that Helen, Drucilla and I had not been expected back at Shantigar until one o’clock. It was too soon for anyone to worry. So how had Harold known we were in trouble?

  “Harold,” I said slowly. “Why did you come looking for us?”

  Harold took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “Your father asked me to.”

  “Papa?”

  “Yes. Somehow he had the idea that you were in danger. Uncle tried to talk him out of it but he wouldn’t rest until I offered to come after you.”

  Papa had known. In all those years of belonging to the Society for the Investigation of Psychic Phenomena, Papa had never shown a pinch of supernatural power … until today. There was no real mystery about it. It was love. Tears filled my eyes. Papa loved me so much that he just knew.

  “We pass the police station, Verity. It’s on our way. I know what the note said, but if we tell the police, perhaps some mounted men could ride out and track them down.”

  I wasn’t sure what we should do. “Harold, the note said not to contact the police or …” I didn’t want to spell it out.

  “But if they go after them straightaway, they might catch them.”

  Perhaps I was being stubborn, but I didn’t think Harold and I should act before we told Mr Petrov. I shook my head. “We must let your uncle know what’s happened first.”

  “Well, at least let me stop at Doctor Judd’s surgery and ask him to come up to Shantigar to look at your shoulder. I have to return his horse to him, anyway.”

  “All right. Please, hurry.”

  He did. Only a minute or so after Harold led the doctor’s horse down the side lane to the stable, he reappeared at the front gate with the doctor. I’d already met Doctor Judd at Shantigar, for he came every few days to check on Mr Petrov. He was a thin, elderly Scotsman with sparse, close-clipped grey hair and whiskery eyebrows.

  He looked me up and down. “The lad tells me you’ve had a fall.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I fell from the phaeton and I … I landed awkwardly.”

  “Well, I’d best have a look at you.” He climbed up beside me, took my pulse, looked into my eyes and checked my head for bumps and swellings.

  “No concussion. Your shoulder is not broken, thank goodness.” His hands were gentle, but I still had to grit my teeth against the pain as he examined me. “It’s most likely a sprain.” He stared for a few seconds at my wrist. It was chafed and raw where the rope had been. “And what have you done to yourself there?”

  “Oh, that’s nothing. I … I …” I couldn’t think of an explanation.

  Dr Judd gave me a shrewd look. “Very well then, Harold. Take her home, and I’ll be up as soon as I’ve seen this last patient.”

  Papa was sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigar. He jumped up as soon as we drew near and lifted me down as if I were made of spun glass.

  “Veroschka, Veroschka,” he crooned. “I am a foolish old papa – but I was so worried. Never have I been worried like this before; I could not rest until Harold rode out to find you. Thank you, my boy.” He gave Harold such a bear hug it’s a wonder there were no cracked ribs. “And here you are. It was much ado about nothing …” Then Papa stopped. “But Helen and Drucilla, where are they?”

  “Yes, where are they?” It was Mr Petrov. Had he been watching and waiting as well? Mohan wheeled him out onto the verandah.

  “Oh, Mr Petrov,” I began. “Something dreadful has happened.”

  The old man gazed at me steadily. “Go on,” he prompted.

  When I finished the story, Mr Petrov shut his eyes and bowed his head. He slumped in his wheelchair like a bag of bones. Mohan put his hand on Mr Petrov’s shoulder and they stayed like that for a few seconds. I wondered what Mohan was feeling. After all, he had been with Mr Petrov for over twenty years. He seemed devoted to him; at times they seemed more like friends than master and servant. This blow would hit them both hard.

  Hannah too. I hadn’t noticed her standing in the shadows just inside the door.

  “Oh, sir!” With a sob she stepped forwards. “You poor, poor man.”
Then she turned away and ran back into the house, murmuring something about lunch.

  Lunch! How could any of us eat?

  “Uncle,” said Harold. “Don’t you think it would be wisest to send for the police?”

  “No,” said the old man. “No. And I forbid you to do it.”

  “But it’s not just Helen, Uncle. Miss Deane has been kidnapped as well. What about her family?”

  “She has no family in Victoria,” said Papa. “There are an aunt and a few cousins in Tasmania, but they aren’t close. And I agree with Nicky. No police. We must wait for our instructions. But immediately I will telegraph for SP.”

  SP. How could I have forgotten? With Drucilla in danger, he would come rushing up to Castlemaine. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I was sure he’d find Drucilla and Helen safe and sound, almost as if the kidnapping was some terrible mistake.

  “Mohan, please call for George,” said Mr Petrov. “Ask him to go down to the telegraph station. And to the Levinys’ house as well. He must ask Ernö to come to see me on urgent business.” Mohan went off in search of George, and Mr Petrov sank back in his chair, breathing rapidly. “Harold I need to go back inside.”

  Papa and I followed them into the Indian room and I sat down. My arm and shoulder were throbbing and I hoped Doctor Judd could give me something for the pain. I knew there was nothing he could give me for the strange sense of unreality that was sweeping over me like a wave. Surely this was all a dream, and I’d wake up soon?

  Papa noticed that I was cradling my arm. “You are hurt, Veroschka? Then you must go to bed immediately. We must call for Doctor Judd.”

  “I’ve already seen him,” I said. “He said it’s only a sprain.”

  “You saw him?” Mr Petrov looked alarmed. “Did you tell him about the kidnapping?”

  Harold replied on my behalf. “No, Uncle. He saw that Helen and Drucilla weren’t in the phaeton but he didn’t ask any questions.”

  “Good. The note, Harold – where is it?”

  “Here it is. I wouldn’t disobey you, Uncle.” Harold flushed. “I won’t go to the police without your permission.”

  “I know that, my boy. I just want to see it.”

  As Harold fished the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, something else fell out onto the floor. It was a glove, a red leather glove. It lay on the carpet like a bloody handprint.

  Mr Petrov sat bolt upright in his chair, his eyes fixed on the red glove. “Where did you get that?” He sounded half-strangled.

  “It was on the seat of the phaeton,” Harold began, and then he paused. “Uncle … Uncle, are you all right?”

  Papa caught Mr Petrov as he pitched forwards out of his chair. Mr Petrov opened his mouth as if to speak. With a choking sound he clutched at his throat and his face contorted like a wax mask melting in flames.

  “He’s having a fit,” said Harold. “Let’s get him to the sofa.”

  “We need a doctor,” said Papa. “Harold, can you run for Doctor Judd?”

  “I can,” said Harold. “But he’s coming anyway. He should be here by now.”

  As if it were a play, not a deadly real-life drama, the doorbell rang right on cue.

  Papa opened the drawing room door. “We are in here, doctor,” he called down the passage.

  Doctor Judd paused in the doorway, sized up the situation, then strode to the sofa and kneeled beside Mr Petrov. It took him half a minute to tell us what was wrong.

  “This is apoplexy – commonly called a stroke. The signs are unmistakable. Let’s get him to bed. Harold, you take this side and I’ll take the other. Excuse me, Mr Savinov.”

  Papa stepped aside, and I noticed he turned his face away as if he could not bear to look. Had he been reunited with his oldest friend, only to lose him again?

  “Ring for Hannah, will you, Verity?” added the doctor as they carried him through the doorway. “And I will want Mohan too. That man is the finest nurse I know.”

  “Mon Dieu,” said Papa, putting his head in his hands. “This is unbelievable. First a kidnapping and now Nicky has had a stroke!” His eyes settled on the glove, which was still lying on the carpet. “It was this, wasn’t it, that upset him so?” He stooped and picked it up. “I suppose it belonged to Helen.”

  “No,” I said, tugging at the bellpull. “Helen’s were grey. So the bushrangers must have left it. It’s strange, isn’t it? A red glove …”

  “A red glove?” repeated Hannah. She’d come into the room so quietly I hadn’t noticed her. She stared at the glove with a bewildered expression. “Why would they leave that? It makes no sense.”

  Papa put the glove on the mantlepiece, but Hannah could not stop looking at it, even as she asked Papa, “You rang for me? What was it you needed?”

  “Not me, but Doctor Judd,” I said. “He and Harold have taken Mr Petrov to his room. He’s very ill.”

  “It is a stroke, Hannah,” said Papa.

  “Oh, dear Lord.” She put her hand on her chest and took a deep breath. “Troubles come in threes, they say. What’s next?” And she ran out of the room.

  17

  MR LEVINY & THE BISHOP’S EGG

  After a while, the sound of cutlery on china seemed abnormally loud. The beef stew may as well have been sawdust and I only managed a couple of mouthfuls before a tetchy voice called from down the hall. “Where is the young lady with the hurt arm?”

  While Hannah stood by, Doctor Judd examined me. “A sprain, as I thought,” he proclaimed. “Hannah, can you please make a sling for Verity’s arm? And Verity, I want you to rub this on your shoulder morning and night.” He held out a small brown bottle and I wrinkled my nose at the smell. “It’s a formula of my own making; it contains goanna oil.”

  Wasn’t a goanna a kind of lizard?

  “Harold told me what happened. This kind of mental and physical stimulation is most injurious to the female system. You must rest. You must not exert yourself any further.”

  How could I rest? I kept seeing Drucilla’s face. I kept hearing Helen scream.

  “You’re to do as I say.” He packed up his bag. “To bed, lass – doctor’s orders.” He turned to Hannah. “Please give her a cup of chamomile tea.” He patted her hand before he picked up his bag to leave. “Have courage, my dearie.”

  Hannah put the kettle on the hob and went to the dresser for a teacup. But somehow in getting it down she fumbled and it fell. Her hands were shaking as she picked up the pieces.

  I tried to reassure her. “Papa has called in our friend Saddington Plush. He’s an experienced detective. He’ll find them, Hannah.” Was I just trying to convince myself? “He might even be able to catch the kidnappers.”

  My words didn’t have the effect I’d hoped for. Hannah went white. She stared down at the smashed cup as if she was seeing something else. “Oh no,” she whispered. Then she came to herself again. “I’ll bring you your tea as soon as the kettle boils.” She sounded cross. “Off to bed with you, right now.”

  I was sure I wouldn’t sleep, but I did. Deeply, heavily, for almost an hour. When I woke, my shoulder still ached but I felt better. More like myself. I knew that we faced not a nightmare but a real-life challenge. Did I really have to stay in bed? Doctor’s orders – pooh! I thought. Like many men, Doctor Judd thought females couldn’t cope with excitement or danger. Well, I could tell him a thing or two about both that would curl his hair.

  I put my arm into the sling Hannah had made for me from a torn-up sheet, and went to find Papa.

  He was sitting with Harold and Mr Leviny in the Indian room.

  “Oh, ma pauvre petite! Look what they did to her, Ernö.”

  Mr Leviny nodded sympathetically.

  “Why are you not in bed?” said Papa. “You should be resting.”

  “I had a sleep, Papa. Now I feel quite well again.” There must have been something convincing in my voice, for after a feeble attempt to make me lie on the sofa, Papa gave up fussing and began to tell me what was happening.

&nb
sp; “Ernö came at once, as you can see,” said Papa. “We are discussing how to proceed.”

  “I have power of attorney over Nicky’s affairs,” said Mr Leviny. “This is good, because it means we will be able to get the money for the ransom.”

  Money? I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The kidnappers would demand money before they returned Helen and Drucilla.

  “Mr Leviny and Uncle both think that we mustn’t involve the police at this stage,” said Harold. I could tell he disagreed.

  “And we will keep this a secret among ourselves. I will tell Mrs Leviny that Miss Deane was suddenly called away,” said Mr Leviny.

  “Won’t she suspect something?” I said. “After all, Drucilla’s things are still at your house.”

  “No, no, she won’t even think about it. You see, Doctor Judd has confirmed that Kate has the measles and no doubt soon all the others will have it too.”

  “And it is good that Poppy and Connie are with Judith,” said Papa. “We will be able to keep this to ourselves for a while longer.”

  “Indeed,” said Mr Leviny.

  “So we can do nothing?” asked Harold. Like me, he wanted to take action.

  Mr Leviny nodded. “We must be patient.” He took a sip of sherry and settled back into his armchair. “Did you know, Pierre, that I was bailed up once? It was twenty years ago. The goldfields were rough and dangerous in those days. Why, when I left London one of my friends, thinking I would need to protect myself, gave me a pair of duelling pistols.” Mr Leviny stroked his silvery beard. “He said they once belonged to Admiral Nelson.”

  “Astonishing!” said Papa.

  Were they going to sit there, patting their beards and telling tales? I shifted restlessly in my seat.