The Cedar Cutter (27 page)

Not again. He wouldn't hurt her again. She'd been young, unknowing, a mere girl, just shy of her fifteenth birthday. Not now. She'd lost too much at this man's hands and she wouldn't lose again. She drew herself up, standing on the tips of her toes, breathing deep until their eyes were level. ‘You can't have him. He is not
your
son.'

His arm snaked around her waist, gripped tighter, squeezing the air from her lungs, forcing her to inhale another sickening gulp of his rancid odour.

‘He is my son and I'll have him.' The vile man nuzzled her neck, and then dropped his voice until his foul breath dampened her skin and he whispered, ‘Don't be so foolish, my dear. You have tried to run and hide, but I have found you. I'll always find you. And I have the law on my side. He is my son.'

His hand slid from her cheek to her throat and squeezed. She dragged her gaze away from the growing bulge in his trousers and prayed it was her imagination resurrecting those horrific moments. He'd taken her once, before she'd known better. It wouldn't happen again. For a moment the picture of Lady Alice rose in her mind. The corset she had wanted to woo her husband with. Why could they not produce a child of their own? There was nothing lacking in Dankworth. Ruan was the living proof of that.

‘You will not have him.' Her fingers reached out, closer to the scissors.

‘My dear,' his voice, almost cajoling, wrapped around her, a diamond python squeezing the very breath from her lungs. ‘Don't be so selfish. Think what I can do for the boy. I can give him more than you ever dreamed. He is my heir. You will be well cared for. I want nothing from you other than my son.'

‘He is not here.'

A pale-tinged eyebrow disappeared into his shock of strawberry-blond hair, so like Ruan's it made her heart shudder. She'd blotted out all memory of this man, blocked the vision of him, yet every day she looked at his mirror image.

The patter of feet. A cry and the door flew open. Ruan stood, a smile creasing his face, his hair on end from the night's sleep and dangling from his hand, a possum tail. ‘Look, look, another present. I found it on the end of my bed when I woke. It's a possum tail.'

She stepped in front of Dankworth, shielding Ruan, the scissors forgotten. ‘Go. Leave now. You are not wanted.' The imprint of the harshness of her words scored Ruan's face as if she'd hit him and his lower lip trembled. Why? Why in God's name had she spoiled him so? Why wasn't he a child who never dared to speak, never interrupted, and lived his life believing he had no right? It was her fault. She'd brought him up to be so confident, without that he'd be in no danger now.

‘Young man.' Dankworth took a step towards him, the expression on his face half tender, half lascivious, one hand reaching out to stroke Ruan's hair. Cold dread raked her as Ruan's eyes sought hers in a mute plea.

‘Go now. Go to Jane.' She glared at Ruan. What harm would a little hurt do now, compared to what might happen if Dankworth got his way?

Ruan stared at her, his wide eyes full of tears and his lower lip trembling, then turned and ran down the hallway. Dear God, let him find Jane. Let Jane have the sense to take him away. If only Carrick were here.

She slammed the door behind Ruan, turned and stood, arms outstretched. It was a futile gesture, yet it gave her strength. He could have her. Do what he would with her, but he wouldn't touch Ruan.

‘Tempting, my dear, but unnecessary. He's mine and I'll have him. You are tarnished goods and do not interest me.'

She licked her lips, her throat dry as dust. She had no more words.

‘The law is on my side. He is my son and I have every right to claim him.' His hand reached into his pocket and he withdrew a handful of notes and coins and threw them onto the table. ‘There's a lot more when you hand over the boy.' He tucked his cane under his arm and grasped the box and stepped closer to her.

The fetid smell of sweat, or perhaps her own fear, enveloped her.

‘Think on it and we will speak again now I know where to find you.' His backhanded slap sent her sprawling, her mind spinning, her legs no longer capable of holding her upright.

The sound of his retreating footsteps reverberated inside her head and her eyes blurred. Her thoughts reduced to nothing more than a jumble of confused and conflicting emotions. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the insurmountable task of dragging air into her lungs.

How long she stayed there curled in a ball, she didn't know. It wasn't until the cold wind worked its way into her consciousness that she dragged herself to her feet and closed the door. Would that it were so easy to shut out the past.

She staggered down the hallway, her hands on either wall for support, until she reached the kitchen. Nothing had changed. The room appeared cosy, the fire burned in the grate, the billy whistled on the hob, yet she was cold, so very, very cold. She clutched her hands around her shoulders and pushed against the back door. It swung free. ‘Ruan. Ruan! Where are you?' Please let him be with Jane.

‘Mam!' He flew across the yard, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. She clutched him close and let out a long, shuddering sigh and then held him away from her. ‘Are you all right? Where's Jane?'

‘I didn't get her. Carrick said I had to keep an eye out for you while he was away with Slinger.' He hugged her even tighter. ‘Has the man gone?'

She groaned and placed one hand flat against the wall for support. ‘Where did you go?'

‘Who was that man? Why was he so angry?'

‘He came to collect something. Something I'd made.' Something she wished she'd never become involved in. ‘He wasn't happy with my work.' She hated lying to Ruan, but what else could she say?

He's your father, the most awful man who ever drew breath, the man who raped me and killed your grandmother. The only person I have ever wished dead.

‘I like your sewing. You're very clever.' He led her to the chair by the fire. ‘Shall I make you some breakfast?' Concern plastered his little face.

‘Jane will be here in a minute. Go and get dressed. You'll be late for school.'

‘I'm not going to school. I have to stay here with you.'

She started to shake her head, then stopped. No, she wouldn't send him to school. Not with Dankworth in town. She needed to keep Ruan close where she could see him. ‘Thank you.' She gave a feeble smile as he stroked the hair back from her forehead, his small hand soft against her clammy skin.

The back door swung open and she jumped to her feet, sending the chair flying backwards. ‘Jane!' Her legs began to shake. She hugged herself tight, closed her eyes and rocked to and fro, willing away the memory of Dankworth's face.

‘What happened? Oh my goodness. Sit down.'

She collapsed into the chair, her heart thundering, and buried her face in her hands.

‘A man came. He didn't like Mam's work and he got angry.'

She lifted her head in time to see the frown cross Jane's forehead, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.

‘Go and get dressed, Ruan. I'll make some breakfast.' Jane busied herself at the fire, pouring milk over the porridge and emptying the tealeaves from the billy. ‘Go now, Ruan. Hurry up. I'll take care of your mam.'

Appeased, Ruan vanished, his feet pattering up the ladder to the attic.

Jane knelt at her side. ‘What happened?' she hissed. ‘Who was it?'

‘Lady Alice's husband. Mr Dankworth.'

‘And he wasn't happy with our work? It was perfect. Was he angry? Because of the corset?'

What could she say? She shook her head, more in despair than anything else. If she told Jane the truth then what would she think?

‘Drink this.' Jane pushed a cup of steaming tea into her shaking hands. ‘I'll see to Ruan's breakfast. So he can get to school.'

‘No school. Not today.'

‘He won't like that.'

‘He says he's going to take care of me. Carrick told him to.' She gave a paltry smile, more of a grimace really. What she wouldn't give for Carrick to be here, to wrap his big, strong arms around her and hold her tight.

Dankworth's shadow hung over Roisin like a miasma, stripping the joy from her life. Dreams laced with dread and foreboding haunted her nights. If she glanced out of the window she saw shadows lurking in the frosty moonlight, only to discover it was the wind, the movement of the trees—an illusion. It didn't feel like an illusion.

When she slept she jolted awake twenty times a night with her heart hammering and her breath burning in her lungs. Wrapped in her quilt, she sat in front of the dying embers of the fire until the shaking stopped.

Was it him she'd felt watching her? Watching from the shadows. He'd be back. He always came back. The knowledge made her cold and queasy.

Even when Elsie presented her with the news that the Winchesters and their highfalutin friends had left the valley and returned to Sydney for the Governor's Ball, she still couldn't shake the sense of doom sitting like a lead weight in her stomach.

In the end she let Ruan go to school, insisting on accompanying him both ways. Her eyes constantly scanning the village for any sight of Dankworth, or worse, some henchman sent to do his squalid work. Searching the street as she'd done in Sydney. Looking over her shoulder, anxiety sparking at the slightest sound or footfall.

Without Jane, the work she had wouldn't have been done. She fussed over her like a mother hen, trying to make her eat. Roisin wasn't sick, though she might as well be. Dark shadows ringed her eyes and her cheekbones stood out like one of Ruan's skeletons. Even he was quiet, subdued, keeping the kindling pile high and stacking the logs in the basket by the fire. Somehow she had to get through this until Carrick returned. She couldn't keep running, and besides, she didn't want to. She wanted Carrick.

A gentle rain pattered against the shutter and Roisin rolled out of bed. As the days passed and Dankworth failed to reappear, she'd settled back into a familiar routine and finally slept the night through.