Flight of the Eagle (10 page)

‘I'd better be going,’ Luke said gruffly as he reluctantly turned away from Kate. ‘Sun will be up soon and it looks like it's going to be a hot one.’

Kate let him slip from her arms and he strode to the horse waiting patiently for the chance to leave the fenced paddock. With years of experience he swung himself into the saddle and pulled down on the reins to wheel away. Kate waved and he acknowledged her wave with a broad smile. Then the bush swallowed him as he rode away.

Kate lingered for a short time in the paddock as the early morning shadows touched the dry grass. He would keep his promise she told herself. He would be with her when their baby came.

Kate was to farewell a second person that day.

The hoofbeats of a horse, the clink of bridle metal and the heavy clomp of boots on the verandah told her that young Gordon James was visiting. The sounds were familiar as Gordon often visited – not to see Kate but Sarah.

‘Good morning,’ Kate said, addressing the young, grim-faced police officer at the door. ‘I …’ She did not have a chance to finish her words as Sarah bounded down the stairs to stand at her shoulder.

‘Gordon!’ she exclaimed, as if surprised. ‘Why are you visiting so early in the day?’

Gordon's face reflected his pleasure at seeing Sarah but he did not smile. ‘I came over to say I may be away for some time. Maybe months,’ he replied. ‘I have to ride to Cloncurry. We got word that Inspector Potter's patrol was ambushed and that he is dead along with nearly all his men.’

Both Sarah and Kate paled.

‘Was Peter with him?’ Kate asked in a whisper. She had never approved of her nephew – whom she had raised as she would her own – joining the Native Mounted Police. But she knew the bond between Gordon and Peter had been stronger than her concern for Peter's choice of careers.

‘Peter is safe,’ Gordon reassured. ‘It was he who rode back to Cloncurry to tell us what happened.’

‘Thank God,’ Kate whispered.

‘I just came over on my way out to say goodbye.’

Kate glanced at her niece and noticed that she was impatient to be alone with Gordon. ‘Would you like to come in?’

‘Ah, no thank you, Missus Tracy’ he mumbled. ‘I had better get going. They want me in Cloncurry as soon as possible to organise an expedition to hunt down Inspector Potter's killers.’

‘Then I will leave Sarah to wish you a safe journey and know that you go with my fondest regards. When you see Peter please tell him that he has our love and prayers.’

‘I will,’ Gordon replied and added, ‘I would ask a favour before I go, Missus Tracy.’

‘I hope that I may oblige,’ Kate answered, with just the faintest trace of reservation in her expression.

‘I was hoping that you might look in on my mother from time to time. She is not always well.’

Kate's expression instantly softened. ‘That does not require a favour,’ she replied. ‘Your mother remains one of my dearest friends despite my expressed feelings towards you convincing Peter to join your damned police.’

Gordon glanced with a touch of guilt at a space beyond Kate but his guilt dissipated when he noticed Sarah step past her aunt. Kate fell silent. It seemed like only yesterday that Gordon's father had brought a chubby little girl to her, along with her brothers Peter and Tim. Now she stood as a young woman beside the man whose frequent visits were her reason for the day existing. They were a striking couple, Kate reflected. He, dashing in his neatly pressed Native Mounted Police uniform, with his knee-length boots and pistol at his side. She, with her striking golden skin and jet black hair flowing past her shoulders. Kate knew that the exotic beauty of her niece had been noticed by more than one or two eligible young men around town but her eyes had always been for the son of Henry and Emma James. It had been that way since they had left the innocence of their childhood behind and realised it was the attraction between a man and a woman that they had for each other. Gordon was in his twentieth year and Sarah a year younger. At that age passion ran deep and commitment for life was a presumption. Kate left the young couple alone to say their farewells.

Gordon took Sarah's hands in his own. ‘I don't like going and being away from you,’ he said. ‘But I have to do my duty.’

Sarah felt the warmth of his hands and the calluses brought about by his years of horsemanship. ‘You know that my wish is that you and Peter were not part of the Native Mounted Police,’ she said gently. ‘You know how I feel about them.’

Gordon looked away. His own father had been present when the Native Mounted Police had hunted and killed both her parents years earlier.

‘That was a long time ago,’ he said. ‘Things are different now.’

Sarah did not answer his statement as she knew the argument that would follow. Instead, she preferred to separate Gordon, the officer of the police she hated, from the man she loved with a passion. ‘If we are ever to be together,’ she said quietly, ‘then you will have to choose me over your love for your bloody police.’

Gordon looked into her eyes and saw the fire of her convictions. He knew she had good reason to hate his job. ‘I love you more than anything else in this world,’ he replied lamely, although he also knew that he loved his job as a leader of men living a life of adventure away from such dreary jobs as clerks in stores or tellers in banks.

‘Words are cheap,’ Sarah flashed. ‘I would be yours if you proved your love by giving up the Mounted Police.’

‘I came to tell you of my love,’ Gordon pleaded. ‘But all you do in return is rebuff my words with your insistence. Sarah, it is not an easy thing that you ask. My father was a policeman and I honour his memory by being one myself. I even owe my commission to his memory.’

Sarah could see the pain in his eyes and wished that it was not so. Especially as he was riding away for such a long time. But she also knew the ghosts of her parents would forever divide them as long as the man she loved remained with the force that had killed them. She let her hands slip from his and turned her back on him. ‘Please be careful,’ she choked, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I cannot say anymore to you than that.’

Gordon watched her walk away and felt the turmoil of the parting.

‘Sarah,’ he called, but she did not respond as she closed the door behind her to go to her room where she would watch him ride from her life.

Kate watched her niece stumble up the stairs and guessed what had transpired in the parting. She heard Gordon depart and listened at the bottom of the stairs as the muffled sobs echoed in the house. Kate sighed and began to make her way up the stairs to Sarah's room. Why was it that love was never easy, she questioned. Would it be as hard for Sarah to find love as it had been for her?

Later in the day Kate realised her promise to Gordon.

Emma lived alone in a cottage at the edge of town and when Kate announced her arrival she was ushered inside with hugs and exclamations of joy. As Kate's business interests expanded she had less opportunity to visit and chat. For a moment she felt apprehension when she disengaged herself from the embraces to gaze at Emma. She noticed the dark rings around her friend's eyes and how much her once flame-red hair had greyed. Emma was growing old and the observation only reinforced their shared past.

‘You must join me for tea,’ Emma said. ‘I insist.’

‘I wish I could but I must return home before dark,’ Kate replied. ‘I just wanted to see how you were coping with Gordon's departure.’

Emma smiled sadly and turned to lead Kate into her tiny kitchen. ‘More that I should ask you how you are faring,’ she said. ‘You must be very close to your time.’

Kate unconsciously placed her hand on her swollen stomach. ‘Yes, very soon from the way he kicks.’

‘So you feel it will be a boy,’ Emma said, as she poured hot water into a china teapot.

‘Well, if it isn't a boy then it is going to be a very strong girl.’

Emma laughed and for a moment Kate saw the young girl she had first met over fifteen years earlier – a vibrant, fun – loving girl just off the boat from England who had loved, married and buried Henry James. At least buried him in her memory as his body was never found.

Both women had been close but in recent years Peter's decision to join his boyhood friend riding with the Native Mounted Police had put a wedge in the friendship. It had been Emma's support for Peter's decision that had rankled Kate. She perceived Emma's obtuse attitude as being blind to Peter's best interests in favour of supporting his happiness above all else. After Peter foolishly enlisted, Kate had found excuses to visit less and less. But their friendship prevailed and Kate often missed the easy company and conversation they had always shared.

‘I think that it was not a good idea for Peter to follow Gordon,’ Emma said, as she poured the tea for them.

Kate glanced at her friend with a start – it was as if she had read her mind! ‘I have always thought that,’ she replied. And the barrier that had been the wedge between them seemed to crumble.

‘I was blind to how unwittingly my support for Peter to be with Gordon might place Peter in danger,’ Emma said. ‘Gordon told me how fortunate Peter was to survive that terrible massacre of Inspector Potter's patrol.’

‘It is more than that,’ Kate said quietly. ‘Peter could lose his soul if he continues with the Mounted Police. They were, as you may remember, responsible for the deaths of his parents in Burkesland back in ′68.’

Emma winced and Kate knew that it would be better to drop the subject lest it open a fresh wound between them. It had been Emma's husband who had been with the patrol that hunted Peter's parents and was eventually responsible for their deaths. Kate had not held Henry James accountable as he had proved earlier in a hunt that he would have prevented the deaths had it been within his power to do so.

‘I wish we could go back to that year and change everything,’ Emma said in a whisper edged with tears. ‘So much tragedy seemed to come to us both from that year on. I would like to remember how it was when we were younger and living down at Rockhampton. Do you remember the picnics and how we all used to sing around your piano? Henry had such an awful singing voice …’

She trailed away and the tears flowed. Kate reached across the table. Emma grasped her friend's hand and with the other swiped at the tears. ‘Oh Kate, I have this terrible feeling in my stomach that we have not seen the last of the tragedies in our lives,’ she gasped. ‘I feel that we may lose those close to us very soon.’

Kate gripped Emma's hand reassuringly. ‘I pray that the curse that has come to us has run its course. We have good health and we have our children.’

Emma withdrew her hand and stood to wipe away the tears with her apron. ‘I pray that you are right,’ she said, with an attempt at a smile. ‘Maybe Peter will see that it is in his best interests to return to Townsville and work with you in the company.’

‘I pray he does,’ Kate said without much confidence. She knew her nephew placed great stock in friendship. That Australian concept of mateship.

The two women chatted until the tea was cold and when Kate at last departed she did so with Emma's words of foreboding echoing in her memory. Superstitiously she placed her hand on her stomach and uttered a prayer to the Virgin Mary.
Please Mother Mary, protect all those born – and unborn – in my life.

EIGHT

T
he cool night air helped clear Patrick's head as he set off along the road from the impressive Fitzgerald manor. His footsteps echoed loudly in the eerie silence that was broken only by the hoot of an owl hunting nocturnal mice.

After he had walked a half mile along the road he could see in the distance the sombre outline of the tree-covered dome, outlined by the soft light of an almost full moon. It was foolish, he knew, but he still strained to see if Catherine was standing on the summit.

On an impulse he cut across the field towards the dome-shaped feature and in a short time, after wading through a sea of grass wet with the early dew, the hill loomed over him. From the copses of trees on the hill where a low, creeping mist had gathered, the scent of firs wafted to him, a rich, antiseptic perfume.

As he stared up at the grove Patrick felt the mist swirl around his bare knees with its cold damp fingers. Why was he contemplating a climb to the summit? He frowned and shook his head. Maybe he just wanted to see why the mound had such an appeal to Catherine.

The climb was not difficult as the hill was not very high and the dark firs enveloped him in hushed and brooding silence until he reached the summit. At the top the firs retreated from a small clearing of stark white, flat stones.

Limestone, Patrick thought, as he entered the mysterious circle. And obviously man-made as they had a distinctive, geometric pattern which was almost concealed by the grass that struggled to break the lines and circles designed by some ancient race of people.

Patrick stood expectantly at the centre of the stones from where he could see, through a gap in the trees, the moon as a silver slivered path across the cold still Atlantic sea. But he was bitterly disappointed as the mystical experience he half-expected to occur did not eventuate. Instead he felt only a coolness creep up his legs – and a loneliness enter his soul.

The silence of the hill was broken by the sinister sound of dead fir needles crackling. Patrick slid a dirk from inside his long sock, a practical weapon of first resort. The huge shape padded towards him with a low, threatening growl and Patrick crouched with the dagger in his hand.

A wolf! No, not a wolf. A wolfhound!

‘Lugh! No!’

Catherine's command brought the big dog to a halt and it propped obediently, awaiting the next command. Patrick relaxed and in the dim light of the moon glimpsed Catherine as she emerged into the clearing holding the hem of her long red dress up from the dewy grass. Behind her followed the second of her huge hounds and Patrick eased the knife back down the side of his leg.

Catherine dropped her hands away and the hem of the dress fell around her ankles to fall on a flat white stone. ‘You did not bid me goodnight, Captain Duffy,’ she said quietly. The big hounds padded to the edge of the clearing where they took up positions staring into the copses.