A HAZARD OF HEARTS (38 page)

‘I don’t believe –’

‘You do realise that she recently lost her
mother, overnight stepping from the role of daughter to housekeeper/companion
to a stricken man, and forced literally from child to adult. Now she’s been
made a child again, a negligible piece of property to be quickly disposed of. No
wonder she’s angry and confused.’

Barton paused, his expression irresolute. Before
he could reply Paul had picked up the bag standing at the door and pushed it
and Lucy outside. He re-joined the others to add his thanks and farewells, and bustled
Elly out again.

‘This
is
your bag, Lucy? Good. Now let’s
depart this mausoleum before the owner decides to air more grievances.’ He
grinned at Lucy. ‘You really have been tiresome, haven’t you? The Reverend
Barton has my sympathy.’ He trotted the two women up the street to the inn, not
giving Elly a chance to remonstrate.

The temperature had dropped overnight, leaving
the road iron-hard where the wheel-ruts had frozen with ice as thick as a shilling,
although it hadn’t yet snowed. Paul eyed the threatening clouds and chose to
gamble on the weather holding until they were through the mountains.

‘I don’t want to be held here for a week or
more. We’ll risk it,’ he said, and went to arrange their seats on the coach.

They left early, without seeing much of the
town. Although disappointed, Elly had resigned herself. There would be no
chance of intimacy with Paul now that Lucy had joined them, but she couldn’t
dislike the girl, so bright, with a mischievous expression which reminded her
of Peanut when up to his antics. Except that Lucy was far prettier, if just as
curious. She had taken a liking to Elly, peppering her with a thousand
questions about Sydney Town, which she had barely seen on her arrival from
England before going upcountry.

‘It’s a lively place,’ Elly told her. ‘I think
you’ll be happy there. Paul and I will introduce you to our friends and there
will be the people where you work.’

Lucy’s face, framed in a fur-lined hood, bore a
frown. ‘I don’t want to make hats for other women. I’d like to have pretty
clothes and ride every day in a carriage.’ She fingered her plain woollen gown
with distaste. Elly could almost see visions of silken furbelows dancing in
Lucy’s head.

‘One day you shall. But most people have to earn
these rewards. There’s a lot of satisfaction in working towards a solid future.’

‘Do you work? I thought you were a lady.’

So Elly explained about the hospital and time
passed quickly, with Lucy entranced by stories of minor disasters and funny
happenings. In some ways, Elly realised, she was younger than her seventeen
years, a little spoilt, and eager to taste life to the full. However, in
appearance she was fully a woman, with a body men would notice and blue eyes big
enough to drown in. All in all, Elly thought, Paul would have a lively time
caring for his young cousin.

While he sat in his corner seat and listened,
looking positively patriarchal, Lucy made friendly overtures to a woman with a new
baby and began to interrogate her. The woman’s husband, a government agent,
plus an elderly man with gout and a temperament to match, made up the remainder
of the inside passengers. Elly pictured those on the roof as rigid as frozen
dolls, their hands permanently tightened on the sidebars. For their sake she
hoped the snow would hold off.

They spent the night at the foot of the pass,
next day beginning the steep climb early when the sun hid behind the crags and
frost still lay in the shadows of the tablelands two thousand feet above sea
level. Today the passengers huddled into shawls and under rugs and conversation
remained sporadic, except with the volatile Lucy. Expired breath hung like a
mist in the air and the crack of the driver’s whip rang like shattered crystal
above the clatter of hooves.

Half-way up the pass they caught up with a
bullock dray from the inland laden with wool gathered from the last clip and
headed for English mills. The sixteen great beasts heaved and strained against
the yokes, their strong necks stretched under the tremendous weight, their
hooves slipping on the icy slope. The driver cracked his whip and bellowed, pulling
his team against the cliff face so that the coach could edge by. Elly peered
out over a dizzy drop to the valley floor and closed her eyes, refusing to open
them until Lucy told her they had the road to themselves again.

‘Wasn’t it exciting, Miss Ballard?’ The girl
bounced in her seat. ‘Do you think the poor beasts will make it to the top
before nightfall? I’d hate to travel so slowly. Cousin Paul, how long do you
think it will be before we reach Sydney Town?’

Answering these and other questions kept Elly
and Paul occupied for the morning. The sun eventually appeared to drive away
the mist and the forest echoed with the crazy call of the laughing jackass, who
had frightened many a settler into reaching for his gun before he realised it
was only a bird. The day dragged out, even for Lucy, and Elly looked forward to
the morrow’s final lap, down the eastern slopes onto the plains, with a clear
run through to Parramatta.

The public nature of their travels had scotched
her plan to draw emotionally closer to Paul, although she believed he could
have arranged it somehow. He hadn’t wanted to. He seemed happy to retreat into
friendship; and clearly for him the incident at Botany Bay was not merely
closed, but erased. Longing to confront him, to force some kind of reaction,
she found she couldn’t do it. What if he were embarrassed? What if she made an
utter fool of herself yet had to remain by his side, her thigh pressed against
his with each lurch of the coach?

She slept badly, waking to a silent,
white-blanketed world compressed beneath a canopy of snow-laden cloud. The ostler
and coachman cursed as they poled up the team, carefully checking all the
equipment. Elly didn’t blame the coachman for downing a couple of rums against
the cold before he heaved himself onto the box seat, but watched doubtfully as
he pocketed a whole bottle. The government agent queried the chances of them
getting through, although their driver was sanguine.

‘It’s downhill all the way, and Jack Tyler and
his team have never been stopped yet.’ He wound his muffler around his chin and
picked up the reins. The passengers scrambled aboard and they were off.

Paul fastened the leather window covers carefully,
winking at Lucy. ‘I’d sooner not spend another night with the fleas. What do
you think?’

She smiled at him sleepily and snuggled her head
into her hood, prepared to join the rest of the passengers who were drifting
off. By the time the carriage reverberated with snores, Elly knew by Paul’s
manner that he had something particular to say to her. Her pulse beat faster,
while she clasped her hands in her muff to hide their tremor.

Eventually he brought his head down near hers,
saying softly, ‘I want to speak to you about D’Arcy Cornwallis.’

Stabbed with disappointment, she took time to
control her voice. ‘Yes? I haven’t seen him since that regrettable incident,
although he’s written to apologise, many times.’

‘How much do you know about him, Elly?’

She said ruefully, ‘Only that I’ll miss his
support at the Hospital Board Meetings. He’s a powerful orator, able to sway
the other members as he wills.’

‘I know a good deal about him, in his capacity
as a landowner, a business entrepreneur, a lobbyist. He gives generously of
time and money to charity, presenting an altogether admirable figure to the
world.’

Elly waited, aware that he had not finished.

‘However, there’s another side to his character
which is not so well known, and which you’ve seen.’

‘J.G. did hint as much to me. I refused to
listen, to my regret.’

‘He’s dangerous, believe me. There are stories
of what goes on in his town house and down on his Camden property, although he
pays heavily to hide the truth. He also deals in fear. His business activities
are questionable, at the least, while his character with women is appalling. A
man has ways of knowing these things.’

‘That’s monstrous, Paul. Surely some of these
tales are jealous gossip spread by his business opponents.’ Light and shade,
she thought. Putting aside her own experience, how much of the originally
courteous and intelligent Cornwallis was the real man, and how much the villain
painted by report?

‘There’s always gossip about prominent men, I’ll
admit. But this is something more. I have definite knowledge of this man, Elly,
and I beg you not to have dealings with him, no matter how apologetic he is, no
matter how many matters he may wish to discuss with you privately concerning
the hospital. You have seen him humiliated. He won’t forgive that.’

Elly, disappointed at his choice of topic, yet
pleased by his care for her safety, could only thank Paul while promising to be
particularly watchful. She assured him that she had no wish to see Cornwallis
again, and hoped that he’d take no further interest in her battles with the
Board.

Yet after Paul leaned into the corner, composing
himself for a doze, she found she couldn’t dismiss the subject. He had opened a
closed box in her mind, recalling her last meeting with Cornwallis and his
expression before he limped off into the night.

A shiver of more than apprehension ran through
her. Something inhuman had looked out of his eyes, something she’d never seen
in any other person, however angry or humiliated. It had challenged her with
its promise of vengeance. She’d known she was marked for future pain and regret,
and had been so frightened she’d buried the knowledge, closing it off while she
went on with her busy life, coping with the drama and heartbreak of others. Now
Paul had forced her to remember, bringing apprehension sweeping in like a dark
wind to chill her from head to foot.

By mid-afternoon snow gusted past the windows in
icy veils, bringing early night with it. The forest on either side of the track
had formed impenetrable walls, hemming the coach in, enclosing the passengers
in a silent deserted world. Where had all the other travellers gone? Surely the
horses picked their way by instinct alone. Could they be trusted to bring them
all safely home?

Elly saw her misgivings echoed in her companions’
uneasy faces, while the baby, clearly sensitive to the atmosphere, began to
wail.

‘Should we not, perhaps, turn back to wait out
the storm?’ the government agent suggested. A small man, a sparrow to his wife’s
mother hen, he fussed attentively over his family. Now he’d reached the stage
of agitation.

If Paul was anxious, he hid it well. ‘I judge it
would be as far to go back as forward to shelter, and it would mean the team
straining uphill. It’s best to conserve their energy.’

‘Those poor men on the roof,’ Elly said. ‘Could
we not squeeze up and let one or two share our shelter for a time?’ She gazed
around questioningly.

The gout-plagued passenger frowned, while the
mother of the baby smiled dubiously, no doubt opposed to wet snow being brought
inside.

Again Paul answered. ‘It might not be wise to
stop the coach, even if we could attract the driver’s attention. The men do
have a canvas to pull over them. Not really adequate, I know, but –’ He broke
off to clutch at the door beside him, his other hand outthrust to hold Elly as
the coach lurched to the right, swerved again, then began to tip. It stopped, righted
itself. Then, wheels locked, it started to slide.

Outside through the swirling snow Elly heard
muffled shouts.

‘We’ve hit ice,’ cried the government agent,
grasping his wife.

The baby wailed even louder. Its mother pressed it
to her in terror, and Lucy clutched at Elly, crying ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know. We seem to be slipping, without
brakes.’

‘Hold on,’ shouted Paul. He threw himself across
the two women as the coach rocked and slid, gathering momentum.

With a terrific crunch the front wheels struck
some rigid object, tipped to the left, hovered on the brink of recovery, then
crashed over an incline to bump its way down-hill, tearing out rocks and brush,
until finally it came to rest against a tree.

In the ensuing silence a horse screamed, a
terrible sound. Dazed, Elly tried to thrust herself up against the weight
pinning her between the seat and another body. Her right elbow vibrated in
agony and she’d bitten her cheek. It was Paul’s knee in her stomach. She heard
him struggle with the coach door above his head, tearing away the leather
curtain over the window. The weight on her stomach lifted as he scrambled out
through the gap and snow leaked in to fall on her face, cold and stinging.

Her head cleared and she remembered they’d come
off the road, overturned, smashed into something.

Was everyone all right? She felt around in the
darkness. The soft body beneath her must be Lucy. Her fingers found a fur-lined
hood and a cold face within.

‘Lucy, can you hear me?’

‘I ... hear. Can’t breathe ...’

Elly moved aside, dragging Lucy into a sitting
position against the upended squab. She could hear heavy breathing somewhere in
the coach. The baby had fallen silent. There were no further sounds from
outside. Then the door above her head was wrenched open and Paul said, ‘Reach
up, Elly, and I’ll lift you out.’