Destiny's Path

by Anna Jacobs

  Ironically, so did he.

  ‘Ah, it’s over now!’ he muttered and turned to the patiently waiting horse, which was munching quietly in the nosebag of oats.

  The big kitchen seemed very quiet that evening. Maia hardly said a word and every now and then swiped at her eyes with the corner of her apron. Nancy’s cooking wasn’t nearly as good as Xanthe’s – or was it that Ronan had lost his appetite?

  He stayed in the kitchen with Bram and the maids, instead of sitting with Conn and his mother that evening, explaining that he felt the two of them appreciated time alone together, now that time itself was running out for Susannah Largan.

  Once he’d decided what to do with himself, Ronan would go back to Ireland. It was strange how difficult he was finding it to make plans, though. Perhaps it was the more relaxed lifestyle here, or he was still sad about his mother, or he was missing Xanthe. His thoughts and emotions had been in a tangle ever since he watched the big mail cart take her south towards Albany.

  He hoped she’d be safe.

  In the end he went to bed early, claiming he was tired. But he didn’t find it easy to sleep, and the book Conn had lent him wasn’t in the least bit interesting.

  When rain began to beat heavily against the window panes, his first thought was that he hoped she was safe and dry somewhere.

  Xanthe was safe indoors but she wasn’t comfortable. She and the other passengers were lying on scratchy straw mattresses in a common lodging room at one of the staging posts. They’d been warned that they’d be expected to rise before dawn and be on the road by first light.

  It seemed strange to be on her own, and it was more frightening than she’d expected. The man driving the cart kept looking at her in a way she detested. Thank goodness there was an older woman passenger, though she too had looked at Xanthe suspiciously until she’d asked the other woman if she minded her staying close by, explaining that the driver made her feel nervous.

  It took several days to get to Albany, in spite of the changes of horses waiting for them at each stop.

  Xanthe had dressed in dark, serviceable clothing and tried to make herself look as plain as possible, but even so, she found men staring at her as she walked to her lodgings in Albany after confirming with the shipping agent that a cabin was indeed available to her.

  The town was in a splendid location on a huge bay dotted with islands. She had forgotten how bracing the sea air was and inhaled deeply as she stopped yet again to stare at the view.

  ‘Are you waiting for someone?’ a voice asked.

  She swung round to see a strange gentleman, rather portly and going bald, smiling at her.

  ‘No.’ She turned round and walked away as quickly as she could.

  Everywhere she went, it seemed, there was someone to stare at her, the gentlemen with admiration and that certain look that said quite clearly what they were thinking, the ladies in disapproval, though why they should look at her like that she didn’t know.

  In the end she went back to her lodgings and sat in her room, since the place was too small to have a parlour. She hadn’t expected to be bored, would have liked to explore Albany.

  She grew angry at herself for being so cowardly and after an hour of fidgeting in her room, she ventured out again, armed with information from the landlady about where she might be able to purchase some books and writing materials.

  This time she glared fiercely at any man who looked like accosting her and walked at a very brisk speed indeed.

  When she found the shop where she hoped to buy books, she found an elderly lady standing outside it, watching her.

  ‘You’re a very fast walker.’

  Xanthe stopped, wondering if it was all right to speak to strange ladies, but then this one had a twinkling smile and looked so friendly, she relaxed a little. ‘If I don’t walk fast, strangers try to talk to me and I don’t like that.’

  ‘You’re too pretty to be on your own.’

  ‘I can’t help how I look.’

  ‘You’re not a resident of the town, are you?’

  ‘No. I’m waiting for the mail steamer.’

  ‘Travelling to England?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So am I.’

  Another of those twinkling smiles had Xanthe smiling back involuntarily.

  ‘Why don’t we stroll around the town together? I’ve been here for two days and I’m very tired of my own company.’ The old lady held out her hand. ‘I’m Drusilla Pearson, Miss, but my friends call me Drue.’

  ‘Xanthe Blake.’

  ‘Now that’s an unusual name.’

  Within half an hour the two of them were fast friends, and they boarded the ship together the next day. She was delighted with the extra comfort afforded by travelling in a cabin, even though she had to share hers with a disapproving spinster who was travelling back to England to keep house for her brother after working as a governess in Australia.

  Xanthe realised almost immediately how fortunate she had been to make Miss Pearson’s acquaintance, because the other cabin class passengers at first looked down their noses at her because of the way she spoke and dressed.

  There was dead silence at the table when someone asked about her family background and she told them the bald truth, scorning to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

  Drue broke the silence. ‘I think you’re a very unusual young woman and your father must have been a remarkable man to be studying Greek.’

  ‘He was a remarkable man.’ Tears came into Xanthe’s eyes. ‘I still miss him greatly. When we read books together, he brought the ideas they contained to life for me as no one else has ever done.’

  She remained very much on guard with these people. They accepted her, after a fashion, because they were all travelling together and it’d have caused more embarrassment to try to snub her. Only with Drue could she fully relax and speak unguardedly, however.

  It reminded her of how comfortable she’d felt with Ronan. She missed him, wished she could stop thinking of him. He was out of her reach in so many ways.

  When they reached Galle, two weeks later, Xanthe was thrilled by the warm climate and the exotic people and food, and chose to stay for a while and catch the next suitable ship. This meant saying goodbye to Drue, but she knew by now that she was merely a novelty to Drue, who was very good-natured, but not the sort of woman you’d turn to in a crisis.

  It still felt strange to be without Maia, and she turned sometimes to share a thought with her sister, then tears would come into her eyes as she remembered how far away Maia was now. At night she shed tears once or twice when the loneliness got her down. But when she asked herself if she’d done the right thing in leaving the Swan River Colony and in striking out on her own, she knew she had.

  With all the loneliness and apprehension about her future, there was also excitement, the joy of learning new things from the people she was travelling with, and the pleasure of looking forward to new sights and experiences.

  She continued to think of Ronan, how he smiled and teased. How he grew sad sometimes about his mother. How sharp his mind was, so that it was a pleasure to discuss something with him. And how good-looking he was. None of the men she’d met since leaving Australia was at all attractive.

  She wasn’t looking for a husband, but if she had been, Ronan would have been exactly the sort of man she’d have chosen. She might have chosen him, but he’d never have chosen to marry her. A gentleman born and bred looked for a woman of birth and fortune when he married.

  And she wasn’t stupid enough to give herself to him outside marriage.

  She worried sometimes that her sister would do that with Conn, give herself to him. There was nothing she could do about it now, though, and anyway, that would always be Maia’s own choice.

  But at least Conn wouldn’t hurt Maia willingly or abandon her if the worst happened.

  14

  Two weeks after Xanthe left Galway House, a neighbour called to bring Conn some letters which had been brought t
o the local shop, which was also the post office for the whole district.

  One of the letters was for Ronan. The envelope was crumpled, as if it had had a hard journey, and it had a black border, the sign of mourning.

  ‘Stop staring at it and give it to him,’ his mother said.

  ‘Someone’s died, by the looks of it. And on top of his mother’s death, too,’ said Conn.

  ‘It happened months ago and nothing you do now will change it.’

  ‘He’s out riding with Sean. I’ll wait till he gets back. No need to hurry with sad news.’ He looked at the letter beneath Ronan’s and sucked in his breath in shock. ‘Look, here’s one from Kieran for you.’ He passed it to her, knowing this was the first time his older brother had written, and hoping it wasn’t carrying bad news.

  She held the envelope in a hand that trembled slightly. ‘I’m surprised to hear from him. Your father said when he wrote to me that no one in the family wanted to speak to me again if I didn’t return.’

  ‘Do you want me to read it for you?’

  ‘No. I can face up to my own news.’ She slit the envelope and pulled two pages out of it, reading them slowly, with the use of a magnifying glass.

  Conn watched anxiously as he saw tears slide down her cheeks. He said nothing, waiting for her to tell him.

  She bent her head for a moment when she came to the end of the letter, not looking at him as she spoke. ‘It seems . . . to be a season for death. Your cousin Michael had an accident while out riding. He broke his back and lingered for a few days. It seems he confessed on his deathbed to having helped your father incriminate you. I brought Michael up like my own son and even though he betrayed you, I’d not have wished him dead. So young. So very young.’

  Conn took her in his arms and held her as she wept against him, then she pulled away and said in a husky voice, ‘There’s more. Michael – he asked the priest to try to right the wrong and – and there was time to bring in a lawyer to take his statement. Kieran says it’ll take a while but he has every hope of seeing you exonerated.’

  Conn felt as if the ground was shaking beneath his feet and couldn’t, for a moment, catch his breath, then he gulped and clapped one hand across his mouth to prevent himself from sobbing even more loudly than she had. Men weren’t supposed to weep, and he hadn’t all through his imprisonment and ordeal, but he couldn’t hold back his emotions now, because the relief was so overwhelming. Sinking to the ground, he put his head in his mother’s lap and let out a tide of pent-up anguish, ragged sobs shaking his whole body.

  He felt her stroke his head gently as she had when he was a child but it was a while before he managed to stop weeping and even then he stayed where he was, taking comfort from that soft hand. As he started to get to his feet, she pushed his hair back from his damp forehead and kissed him there, another habit from childhood. She’d always said she was kissing something better, but no one could kiss away those horrifying years in prison and the stigma that they’d placed on his life.

  ‘I’m so thankful I’ve been spared to hear this news, Conn darling,’ she said as he got to his feet and sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘I was so worried about who would comfort you and keep up your spirits once I wasn’t here. Now, circumstances are going to change, even if it takes some time, and—’

  ‘Don’t talk about that! I can’t bear to think of losing you.’

  ‘Dear boy, I’ve been in severe pain for years and I’m weary of it, so very weary. Now, I’m getting a pain in my chest if I do something. It’s . . . getting hard to cope with it all and I’m more than ready to die. But to have a child die before yourself, well, that seems utterly wrong. Whatever Michael had done to you, death is such a final thing – and he was like a son. He had no time to ask your forgiveness, but at least he spoke to a priest, repented and tried to make amends.’

  ‘I don’t think I could have forgiven him.’

  ‘Was it so very bad? You’ve always refused to talk of that time.’

  ‘Yes. Very bad.’ He changed the subject. He’d promised himself never to talk of that time to her. ‘I’m sorry that you have to grieve for him. I know for certain Michael loved you. We all do. You’ve been the best of mothers. But I don’t want—’

  She put one finger on his lips. ‘Shh. You grow more used to the thought of death as you grow older. I’m quite reconciled to dying, especially now we’ve had this news.’ She kept hold of Conn’s hand. ‘There’s more news for you in the letter. Good news, this time. Here. Read it for yourself.’

  He took the two sheets and they brought back so many memories, because Kieran was writing as he talked, not stiffly, as people do in a duty letter. He read slowly, savouring the sound of his brother’s voice echoing behind the carelessly scrawled words. Then he came to the word ‘Kathleen’ and for a moment or two his mind refused to read on. He had to take several deep breaths before he could force himself to read the next part.

  Have you had any news of Kathleen? I didn’t know she was leaving until she’d gone. I tell you frankly, she’s no loss to us. I never realised what she was like until after Father died and I had to cope with her. He found her amusing and encouraged her arrogance. I didn’t.

  Will you ask Conn if he still wants to seek an annulment? Is he still in a position to do so from non-consummation? If so, I’ll set it in train here and he must do the same in Australia.

  I know you said we should look after her, because she can’t look after herself, but I couldn’t face having her live at Shilmara. I did offer to buy her a house somewhere, and her brother is managing her money for her, though she complained at how little it was. She has no idea of how to manage money.

  She flew into a rage when I refused to let her stay, and remained in a rage for days, smashing things until we had to set a watch on her. She was very attached to Shilmara, I grant you, considered it her home, but it can never be that again.

  Then she packed up and left while I was away, not leaving any indication of where she was going. It wasn’t till later that I found she’d gone off with Mrs Maguire to Australia, and taken poor Orla (do you remember her?) with her. No one has heard any more from either of them since.

  It would be a relief to me and her brother to know Kathleen has arrived safely. I presume she went there to see Conn. Surely even she should realise she’s the last person he would want to see? Or perhaps not. She’d grown very strange.

  Life at Shilmara continues and you’re about to become a grandmother again. This time we hope for a daughter . . .

  Conn finished reading the letter and sighed. ‘Good news for me on both counts, isn’t it, though it’s a sad way for it to happen? If someone’s helping me with an annulment there, then I think I stand a much better chance of obtaining it, though it’ll probably still take years.’

  ‘It’s wonderful news for you. It means that one day you can follow your heart. Maia’s a wonderful young woman, so loving and kind.’ She patted his hand again.

  Once she’d have leaned sideways and given him a kiss, but now her movements were more limited and twisting was something she avoided. There was always a tightness to her smile, as if she was holding back pain. So he twisted round to kiss her instead. ‘You’re the best mother I’ve ever had, the very best.’

  It was an old joke between them and it made her smile, as he’d hoped. She countered, as usual, by saying, ‘And you’re the best son I’ve got in all Australia.’

  ‘Do you want me to write back for you? I know it hurts your hands to write.’

  ‘We’ll both write. I think I should write my own letter this time, don’t you?’

  He knew then that she thought it’d be the last she ever wrote to Kieran but he kept his pain at that thought to himself, as she always tried to hold back her physical pain.

  ‘Well, that was good news in the midst of bad. Let’s write straight away and send the letters up to Perth. I want to make sure Kieran is helping with the annulment and pushing it forward as quickly as possible. That’s far more
important than a pardon to me. Maybe your second cousin, the Bishop, will stir himself on my behalf.’

  His father had forsaken his religion for the one followed by the English establishment, but his mother had remained true to the Catholic Church, even though that had caused considerable trouble with her husband.

  His father had been quite happy for his younger sons to attend their mother’s church, though he’d tried to make his heir change his religious allegiance. But like his mother, Kieran had refused and that was a good thing now if he was to help Conn.

  At a sound outside, she looked up. ‘I think that must be Ronan coming back from his ride. Better give him his letter before you settle into writing to your brother. You’re lost to the world once you get a pen in your hand and you have a beautiful way with words. You should have been a poet, I think.’

  As Ronan was coming back to the house from the stables, he saw Conn waiting for him on the rear veranda.

  His friend handed him a letter, with, ‘Bad news, I think.’

  Ronan took it from him, freezing for a moment as he noticed the black border. ‘It’s Patrick’s handwriting, so it’s not him, at least. He’ll not have had time to get my letter telling him of Mother’s death, so who else have we lost in the family?’ He frowned as he stuffed the letter in his pocket. ‘I’d not have thought he’d have gone into deep mourning for a mere cousin or aunt, but perhaps his wife’s family consider it necessary. Anyway, I’ll read this in private, if you don’t mind.’

  In his bedroom he closed the door carefully then smoothed out the envelope, slitting it open with a feeling of dread. He read the letter, then sat down on the bed to read it again more slowly. He was so shocked by the news it contained that he couldn’t move and sat staring into space for a long time, trying to come to terms with what this meant for him. Huge changes to his life, changes he didn’t welcome, but couldn’t refuse.