Jay looked puzzled. ‘I had no idea of the connection,’ he spluttered. ‘Not until I came home and told the family about you.’
Sophie was furious with him then. The worry over Cordelia, and the shock of what she’d learned tonight welled up in a wave of rage. ‘You might have had the bloody decency to explain instead of shooting through without a bloody word,’ she yelled into his startled face. ‘But that’s typical of men, isn’t it? All balls and no bloody brains.’
She was about to storm back into the house when Wal slammed through the screen and grinned toothlessly at them. ‘’Bout time yous got sorted,’ he grumbled as he sagged into a verandah chair.
‘It’s not what you think,’ she retorted furiously.
‘Maybe – maybe not,’ he muttered as he stared at the distant hills. Lightning was flashing, throwing trees and rock pinnacles into black relief. ‘Reckon the doc won’t be coming just yet. Fair crook trying to land a plane in all this, and Cordy ain’t too bad – just wore out.’
The three of them stood on the verandah, the tension as electric as the storm. Sophie at last broke the silence. ‘Jay was telling me about Granny Mu,’ she said during a lull in the thunder. ‘He also said she was responsible for the split in the family. Why was that?’
Wal took his time lighting his pipe. ‘Reckon Jay’s better at tellin’ it. Knows as much as me.’
Sophie reluctantly turned to the man beside her. ‘Looks like you drew the short straw.’
He leaned back in his chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his flat-heeled boots resting on the verandah railings as he stared nonchalantly over the land.
‘Great-granny Mu was a woman born before her time. She was independent and almost ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted and wouldn’t be bound by the strait-laced rules of the times she lived in. But if you want the whole story, then we have to go back to London and the mid-eighteen hundreds.’
Sophie frowned. ‘But I already know about John Tanner leaving England. I’ve seen the little book and the Champion’s Belt. There isn’t anyone else left in England who could have anything to do with our family – unless it’s Big Billy Clarke.’
Jay grinned as he shook his head. ‘Not even warm. Big Billy eventually went to the States to become a very successful fight promoter there. He and John wrote occasionally, but they never saw one another again.’
Sophie nudged him none too playfully in the ribs. ‘Stop stringing it out.’
‘Fair go, Soph,’ he moaned. ‘That bloody hurt.’
‘Jay,’ she warned.
‘Righto. The third and final piece of the puzzle which makes up our extraordinary family is Isobel and Gilbert Fairbrother.’
Sophie gasped. ‘You’re kidding?’
‘If you shut up long enough,’ he said gently, ‘I’ll tell you all about it.’
*
Isobel and Gilbert spent their wedding night in a coaching inn on the road to London. Gilbert had left his bride in their suite of rooms above the bar to prepare for his return and she sat a long while on the lumpy bed, listening to the raucous noises coming from below as she waited for her maid to assist her. The room’s low ceiling and dark beams seemed to be closing in. Although the tiny window opened a crack, there was little air to freshen the fetid stench of previous occupants and Isobel felt the first pang of homesickness.
Having slipped on a delicate, hand-embroidered night-shift, she dismissed Sarah her maid and sat up in bed brushing her hair. It glinted pale brown in the lamplight and she arranged it fetchingly so it fell in ripples over the see-through material of her nightgown and hid her breasts. She blushed at the thought of Gilbert’s caresses, and smiled as she remembered their stolen kisses as they’d walked in the grounds back at home. Married love couldn’t possibly be as bad as Mama had hinted – not when her new husband was so gentle, so attentive.
Time passed and still there was no sign of Gilbert. What could be keeping him? she wondered as her eyelids drooped and she sank back into the nest of pillows. It had been an exhausting day and the journey from Wilmington to East Grinstead had taken its toll. Her eyelids fluttered. She settled further into the pillows, congratulating herself on the triumph of her wedding day. The guests might not have been as grand as Charlotte’s would surely be, and their vows hadn’t been taken in a cathedral, but nevertheless she was a lucky girl, she thought as she began to drift towards sleep. Gilbert was handsome and popular, their stolen kisses exciting. The nervous tension drifted away. She wished he would hurry up.
The wick had burned low in the lamp when the door was slammed back on its hinges and Gilbert stood silhouetted in the frame.
Isobel was instantly awake, the sheet clutched to her chin as she cowered against the pillows. She watched him prowl around the room, shedding his clothes, dropping them to the floor. He was unsteady on his feet and a strong smell of ale hung around him like a pall. She slid further beneath the sheet.
Gilbert made the bed springs groan as he flopped on to the bed and struggled with his boots. After much cursing, he finally pulled them off and dropped them with a clatter to the floor. Standing, he shucked off his breeches and stood naked before her.
Isobel stared at the thing between his legs, her eyes wide, the colour rising in her face.
Gilbert fondled himself and the thing grew massive. ‘Like the look of it, do you, Isobel?’ he growled. ‘Well, you wait and see what it can do.’
She shivered. Mama hadn’t mentioned anything like this and she wondered if Gilbert was normal.
He ripped back the sheet, tearing it from her clutching fingers. Swaying in the guttering lamplight, his gaze roamed over her body in the diaphanous night-shift. ‘We can get rid of that for a start,’ he muttered.
The delicate fabric tore in his hands and Isobel cowered away from him, her hands fluttering over her nakedness. This was not the Gilbert who’d been such a gentle, thoughtful suitor. Not the man she’d thought she’d married. For the first time in her life she was afraid. He was demented – out of control.
Gilbert climbed on to the bed, his hairy nakedness looming over her as he straddled her hips. ‘Let me show you how it’s done – then it can be your turn. You’ll enjoy it, I promise. Had no complaints so far.’
His weight pressed down on her, breath foul in her face, knees cruelly jabbing her legs apart as he wriggled between them. She began to struggle.
‘Lie still, woman,’ he snarled, his hands tearing away the last shreds of her gown, mauling her breasts, touching secret places that made her blush furiously. ‘For God’s sake, relax. I’m not going to kill you.’
The pain was excruciating, and if she hadn’t been so aware of the rowdy bar beneath her, and the people in the next room, Isobel would have cried out. She smothered her screams with her hands as the bedsprings squeaked and the bed-posts banged against the wall.
Gilbert’s face was contorted, his breath ragged, his grip on her knees ferocious as he pressed them against her chest and plunged deeper.
Isobel thought she was going to die. She couldn’t breathe for the weight of him. Couldn’t see for the tears. Couldn’t hear for the blood roaring in her ears.
Then at last it was over, and to her deepest mortification there were shouts and whistles from the bar below and a knocking on the wall from next door. They’d heard it all. Heard her shame. Known what they had done. How could she face them in the morning?
As the sky lightened Isobel fell into a troubled sleep, only to be woken by Gilbert fondling her. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, at once tense and alert. Surely he didn’t want to repeat what he’d done last night?
‘I’m partaking of my conjugal rights,’ he murmured lazily as his fingers explored her. ‘Nothing like a tumble in the mornings.’
‘But we did it last night,’ she stammered. ‘You can’t want to again?’
He fell back on the pillows, his shout of laughter lifting to the beamed ceiling.
Isobel snatched the opportunity to cover
herself with the sheet, and sat up, confused and very aware of the sounds of the other guests stirring. ‘Hush, Gilbert,’ she whispered furiously. ‘Everyone will hear.’
His laughter came to an abrupt halt and he leaned on one elbow and surveyed her. ‘What does it matter? We’re husband and wife, and if I want to have you, I will.’ He rolled on to her and pinned her arms to the pillow.
Isobel tensed, waiting for the pain. Waiting for that dreadful moment when it began all over again. And when it did, she realised her husband didn’t love her at all – and it broke her heart.
*
The storm had begun to lessen, the lightning grew pale and less frequent, the rumbles more distant. Sophie stared out into the darkness. ‘Poor Isobel. What a bastard.’
‘Too right,’ muttered Wal. ‘But she was stuck with him. Not like today, when any sane woman would have packed her bags and got out. The disgrace of a failed marriage or divorce would have ruined her sister’s chance of marriage to Sir James and brought dishonour to her family.’ He sucked on his pipe. ‘Honour was a big thing in them days. Even when I was a young bloke.’
‘Life must have been hell for her, living with a man like that.’
Jay nodded. ‘She found things tough if her letters are anything to go by. She wrote to her family regularly, and as the years went on, it was as if they were the only outlet for her isolation and unhappiness.’
‘Letters? I didn’t see any letters in the box Wal gave me.’
‘Beatty’s got ’em in her room. I’ll get her to give them to you, then you can finish the story for yourself,’ muttered Wal.
He struggled to get out of the chair and with a muffled curse finally made it on to his feet. ‘Flamin’ war wound,’ he muttered. ‘Gets so crook sometimes.’
They all turned at the distant throb of a light aircraft. ‘Doc’s here. I’ll warn Cordy and take the flak, you go out and bring him in.’ Wal slammed through the screens and limped into the house.
Jay and Sophie went down the steps and climbed into the jeep. ‘Gran’s going to be furious. I feel sorry for Wal,’ she yelled above the noise of the engine as they tore through the night.
‘He’ll be right. He’s handled far more dangerous things than a ninety-year-old woman in a bad mood.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ she retorted grimly. ‘You don’t know Gran when she’s roused.’
*
Cordelia was dozing when she became aware of someone in the room. Opening her eyes, she realised Wal was standing at the foot of her bed, his disgusting old pipe smoking in his hand. She smiled, too weary to speak.
‘We got the doc, Cordy. He’s just coming in.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be right, Wal,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Leave me alone.’
He approached the bed and took her hand, his seamed face close to hers. ‘Don’t be a stubborn bloody woman all yer life, Cordy. If it means keeping you with us for a while longer, then why not see him?’
She glared back at him, but kept her hand in his. ‘Silly old fool,’ she muttered. ‘Never did listen to good advice.’ She closed her eyes, willing the strength back into her body, the band of pain around her heart to ease up. ‘I suppose if he’s come all this way, he might as well have a chat,’ she added grudgingly.
‘That’s my girl,’ he rasped as he patted her head.
Her eyes opened and she smiled up at him. ‘Yes. I always was, wasn’t I?’ she whispered. ‘Despite the way things turned out.’
‘Reckon so,’ he said gruffly before he kissed her cheek. ‘Now you rest. Doc’ll be here in a minute.’
‘I haven’t got time to rest, Wal,’ she said, energy momentarily returning. ‘Sophie has to know the full story, and I can’t afford to go dying until I’ve sorted out the mess Jock and I left behind.’
‘John Jay and the boy have done all they can in that direction, Cordy. You rest easy. It’s up to them now.’ He bent closer. ‘By the way, looks like your girl and Jay are starting to sort themselves out though they’re aways from knowing it. But give ’em time.’
The colour flowed back into her pale face and her eyes gleamed. ‘At last,’ she sighed.
*
They were all waiting on the verandah. ‘How is she?’ demanded Sophie.
‘Mighty fine for a woman her age,’ the doctor replied, his eyes dark-ringed from a sleepless night. His medical round encompassed hundreds of miles, and tonight he’d been on call and on the move since he’d checked in to base at three o’clock the previous afternoon. The flying doctor service was manned twenty-four hours a day and until just recently been run on public donations. Now the government had stepped in and there was more money, but that didn’t ease the amount of work to be done in his far-flung domain. Women still gave birth in the bush, men still got kicked by horses or trampled by cattle. Fires still burned and rivers ran bankers – and the people who lived in the great wide still got sick.
He dumped his medical bag and accepted a cup of tea from Beatty. ‘The long journey out here probably wore her out. Her heart is struggling a bit. I’ve given her something to help her sleep, and here are some pills if the angina pain gets too much.’
‘She won’t take them,’ said Sophie. ‘She hates pills.’
He grinned through his weariness. ‘I got the picture there all right. Gave her an injection just in case. Should see her through the next twenty-four hours. The pills are down to you. Crush them up in her food if necessary and keep an eye on her.’
‘That’s it?’
He nodded and picked up his medical bag. The nurse was already looking at her watch. They still had other calls to make tonight. ‘She has a heart murmur, but it’s not too serious as long as she doesn’t do anything stressful like another long journey.’
‘But we have to get back to Melbourne,’ said Sophie.
‘Not if you want her to stay alive,’ he replied firmly. ‘I suggest you stay here and make her as comfortable as possible.’
Sophie began to tremble. ‘What is it you’re saying exactly, doctor?’
‘Mrs Witney is very frail. You should prepare yourselves for the worst.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but she’s lived a long and full life. Although none of us wants to see our loved ones go, there comes a time when we cannot defy the inevitable.’ He shook hands and he and the nurse stepped into the darkness where Jay was waiting in the jeep.
Sophie watched the lights disappear down the lane and the cloud of dust rise from beneath the wheels. She couldn’t imagine life without Gran. Could hardly bear to think of a future which didn’t include her loving kindness.
Beatty put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Here, Sophie. Take these and read them. I don’t reckon any of us will be getting much sleep tonight, and I sometimes find it helps to ease our own troubles to learn about others whose problems were far deeper.’
The little plane was already taking off. It circled overhead before disappearing into the gloom. When the buzz of its engine had faded, Sophie looked down at the pile of letters neatly bound with ribbon.
‘I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate, but thanks,’ she mumbled. Turning away, she went into the house and quietly peeked around her grandmother’s door.
The old lady was asleep, her thick white hair spread over the pillow, her gnarled hands resting lightly on the covers. Wal was beside her, his soft murmur inaudible as he stroked her fingers.
Sophie gently closed the door and went to her own room.
There was a stillness about the house, an aura of watchfulness after the storm. The humidity lay heavy, making the outback gasp for water, for the precious, life-giving rain – and yet if that rain came, harvest would be ruined.
They lived on a knife edge, she realised. Life and death was with them all. In the elements, in the very earth they used to grow their grapes, even in the surrounding bush and the lush pastures. They were captive in the circle of life that never ceased – perhaps Cordelia was finally ready to step out of that circle and be free – perhaps they s
hould let her go, regardless of the void she would leave behind.
A distant kookaburra chortled, and Sophie smiled. How she loved the sounds and the sights and scents of this vast land of hers. How wise Cordelia was to realise she needed to reacquaint herself with it and learn to look within herself. For it had somehow given her the strength to accept the shock of Cordelia’s revelation, prepared her for the changes that would surely come.
She leaned on the windowsill and stared out into the soft grey of another dawn. The distant hills were capped in a veil of mist, their dark pines blue in the deep shadows. The thousands of terraced acres slowly revealed themselves in the thin line of light that was appearing on the horizon, and as the sun touched the tips of the vines it was as if they stretched up to embrace it. The scent of ripened grapes grew with the sun, mingling with the aroma of warming paprika earth and the sound of the rolling warble of the waking magpies. A deep sense of peace filled her as she looked out on this wonderful place. She had indeed come home.
Sophie finally left her window, stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot needles of water sluice away the dust and sweat of the day. Exhaustion had set in, and yet her mind was alive with all she’d learned and experienced in the past few hours, her senses piqued by the knowledge that life was always surprising.
She knew she wouldn’t sleep, and yet she was almost reluctant to read the tightly covered pages with their delicate copperplate swirls. Her fingers plucked at the ribbons, and before she realised what she’d done, she’d placed every letter in chronological order.
She reached for the earliest. The paper was thick and creamy, the folds worn. Charlotte had read her sister’s letters often. As the tiny bedside clock ticked away the minutes, the sun burst over the hills and Sophie became lost in another world.
*
Life in London was a bitter disappointment to Isobel. The women gossiped and spread rumours, made trouble for their enemies and used their influence to promote their friends – but only if it led to a higher position for themselves. The talk was of fashion, of the court and the new young Queen, with much speculation as to her marriage and possible lovers. There were few who wished to discuss literature or politics, few who even read at all, and Isobel found herself once again on the sidelines.
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