Cobram
Friday 30 September
Fitz was much better; his head still carried stitches but the wound was repairing well. He’d been walking through the day, careful of the new flesh, pink and clean, emerging under the dead flaky skin. To rest, he’d take a seat on a bench in the shade. Sometimes, he’d made it to the bar. Thankfully, he could now wield a nib pen comfortably. Evie returned his first article, the one he’d handed to Jenny Robinson for safekeeping, and helped him amend it, bringing it up to date.
Nothing had changed in Evie’s situation. Meryl was dead and buried. Died of natural causes, the doctor had said, and written up a death certificate to that effect. When not with Fitz, Evie wandered the town. She considered borrowing a horse to visit her sister’s grave, but her energy flagged at the thought. Meryl wasn’t there; no need to revisit where her body had been laid to rest, where memories Evie didn’t even own would haunt her. Raff was gone, and Fitz didn’t need her. More than anything, she longed to be back in the studio in Bendigo, chatting to Mrs Downing, creating her masterpieces of millinery for the local ladies, or taking afternoon tea with Ann and Posie.
With her thoughts turned to home, and to the problem that would still face her there, she headed for the post office. For too long, she’d put off a visit there. Goodness knows what news awaited her. It was with trepidation that she collected her mail.
Oh yes, there was the telegram: a summons awaited her at home. Evie had to accept the inevitable. There was also a letter addressed to her in Mrs Downing’s handwriting, sent later than the telegram; the sender was Lucille, Mrs David Kingsley of his address, which did bring a rueful smile. Evie was happy for her mentor. She hoped Mrs D wouldn’t lose too much of her independence. Mr Kingsley seemed a nice man, but husbands didn’t seem to enjoy having wives who were too self-reliant.
Finding a seat near the river, under a tree and shaded from the late afternoon sun, she read the contents of the brief note, then the clipping of Edwin’s vitriolic letter to the editor. Her heart sank. Not only had he made his lies about her public, but he’d dragged Fitz into it as well. In the early days in Edwin’s company, being an open and honest person, she’d confided of her friendship with Fitz. Edwin had used it in a most despicable way. She sighed sadly. What an evil, nasty man. Fitz needed to know what Edwin had done, that a court case was imminent, and that she’d have to leave Cobram soon, but he’d already retired early today, pleading a headache. She’d have to catch him early tomorrow before he used all his energy.
She tucked the pages back into the envelope and faced the water, its serene flow not the distraction she’d hoped. What day is it? Surely the MacHenrys were due back on their paddle-steamer tomorrow.
Where is Raff?
The next morning, she shot awake. Sitting up in bed, she hugged her knees and hoped today Raff would arrive and return to Echuca on the boat with her. If he was coming back.
He had to. Where was he? Had that awful man McCosker caught him somewhere? No, no, no. She rubbed her face. Despite sleeping, she was tired, not refreshed, not rested at all.
She’d dressed, and was about to go in search of some breakfast when she found Fitz at her door, his fist raised ready to knock.
‘Are you off somewhere?’ she asked, glancing at the bag at his feet.
‘I’m leaving,’ he said, blithely. ‘It’s time. Patto’s been well cared for by the boys at the pub, he’s fit as a fiddle, and so am I. Nearly,’ he conceded, flexing the fingers on his right hand. ‘So there’s no reason for me to stay.’ Tiny bits of dried flaky skin clung to the middle of his forehead and dusted his cheeks.
‘Leaving,’ she echoed. ‘I’m to be here by myself, am I?’
‘Get on the next boat to Echuca and go back to Bendigo before this business with Edwin Cooper blows up.’
The letter from Mrs Downing, um, Kingsley, and the summons certainly meant she had to agree with him. ‘I will, I have to, but about that in a minute. What of your stitches?’
He shrugged. ‘Someone along the way will help, or I could just do it myself.’ At her protest he cut in. ‘It’s best I leave sooner than later. I’ll mail off my story to the papers, requesting that they telegraph it to other mastheads.’ He smiled. ‘There’ll be plenty who don’t like it, so I need to keep moving.’
‘Fitz, first there’s something I need to tell you, to discuss. And … there’s Raff. Where could he be?’ She went quiet.
‘Raff? Hmm.’ He inclined his head. ‘I’m ordering tea and eggs for breakfast in the dining room before I leave. Join me.’ At her hesitation, he said, ‘Constable Stillard has given me some information.’
It was futile to demand he tell her there in the hallway. She retrieved her purse, and a hat she’d purchased locally, an unimaginative little navy blue cap-like thing with a dull-coloured feather sticking out of it (nothing she could do about it without her sewing kit) and followed Fitz downstairs. She wore a plain clean dress in tiny checks of blue and white that she’d brought from home, and although it was a little creased, it would have to do. Still, she couldn’t help brushing it down every so often, hoping to banish the wrinkles …
Oh, for goodness’ sake, Evie. It wasn’t the dowdy hat, it wasn’t the wrinkly dress, it was having to tell Fitz—somehow—what Edwin had inferred in the newspaper.
Fitz asked to be seated at a table away from others, which suited her. Better not to have ears flapping for what she had to impart. The waitress took their order for eggs, poured tea and left for the kitchen.
He eyed her. ‘That thing’s not one of your creations, is it?’ he asked and nodded at her hat. When she shook her head, he said, ‘Didn’t think so. You should start up your own brand, Evie.’
‘The thought has crossed my mind. It’s not impossible. I’d do well, I think.’
‘You would.’ He smiled at her. ‘I present the renowned Milliner of Bendigo.’ He waved an arm, a theatrical flourish.
Evie could stand it no longer. ‘What information did the constable have for you?’
He lowered his chin. ‘Before we get to that, I want to say a few things. The first, how sorry I am about Meryl.’
Her throat bobbed. ‘You wrote me a beautiful letter of condolence.’ No tears came but she blinked anyway.
‘That was in lieu of seeing you in person. I had no idea we’d meet again here.’ He didn’t elaborate and, clearly a little ill-atease, fidgeted in the chair. ‘I take it you knew nothing of your sister’s son.’
Evie shook her head. ‘She hadn’t said a thing. I don’t know why. But she … There was something wrong, a melancholy that seemed to consume her and, in the end, she turned away from Mama and me. Not even a letter.’ All their years growing up, had they ever really known each other? They’d grown apart, she admitted. The saddest thought was that Evie didn’t believe anything would have changed even if Meryl had lived. ‘You never really know someone, not even your own sibling.’
Fitz shrugged. ‘Hmm.’ There was a silence then he leaned forward, his linked fingers resting on the table. ‘I need to tell you something else. The truth, Evie. My truth.’ He studied his hands a moment, turning them over and back, brushing off a minute piece of flaked skin. When she raised her brows, he continued. ‘There might be letters to the editor in the Ballarat and Bendigo newspapers from people defending the police and maybe, also, articles in retaliation.’ He stopped a moment. ‘So I want you to be … prepared if certain things about me come to light.’
‘Worse than the things Edwin has accused me?’ Evie asked. She took a sip of tea, still too hot.
Fitz smiled his lovely smile, only now it was a little sheepish. ‘Well, yes.’ He dropped his voice. ‘You remember—of course you do—our many discussions about why we shouldn’t marry.’
Evie stared. What on earth did this have to do with anything? Unless he thought Edwin was going to name him as a third party or something ridiculous. So, Edwin’s reasons were misguided by jealousy or … Oh, for heaven’s sake. That wouldn’t be it. Or—oh no—God forbid, Fitz. Did he want to marry her after all? Oh, good Lord, no. She had to set him straight.
She whispered furiously. ‘Fitz, I do remember, and before you say anything more, if the truth be known, you and I … it didn’t feel right to me.’ She ploughed on. ‘For you, either, if we’re both honest. Nothing’s changed for me in that regard. I see no point marrying you even though we are really good friends. I’m told it’s the best basis for marriage, but not when what we want from our lives isn’t at all compatible.’ Breathless, she said, ‘You have to agree, it’s true.’ Had she made it plain enough?
He held her gaze for long moments. ‘Of course it’s true. Absolutely true,’ he said. ‘I certainly agree.’
Oh, thank heavens.
‘But there’s more to it,’ Fitz said. ‘There’s a bigger reason it wouldn’t have been right.’ He took up his cup and swallowed a big drink of tea before checking she was ready to listen. ‘Then or now, just to be doubly clear.’
Well, it can only have been one thing. ‘You loved someone else.’ She couldn’t be cross about that; of course not. ‘It would’ve been disastrous to marry if your heart was elsewhere.’
He nodded, bemused, then shook his head slightly. ‘But not like you think.’ He stopped, was—unusually—struggling to find the words.
‘It’s quite all right, Fitz.’ She knew she was missing something, but for the life of her Evie couldn’t grasp what it was.
He took a breath, then reached across to cover her hand with his. ‘You see, that particular someone else, well, he left me because of our love.’
His touch was light on her hand, it lay over hers, warm, a comfort. He was her friend …
Wait. Did I just hear him correctly?
‘Evie,’ he said patiently. ‘He was my lover. I loved him with all my heart and I know Augustus loved me.’ Fitz inhaled deeply. ‘But he turned away, the family pressure was too much, and he married. A woman,’ he clarified unnecessarily. ‘By my nature, I love men. Not women, not like that. Only men.’
Her friend, Fitzmorgan O’Shea, had loved another man. I love men. Not women. Evie wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t know of it, only … She glanced at their clasped hands then at Fitz’s handsome face; his solemn gaze was intent on her, expectant.
‘Oh, Fitz. I’m—’ Confused, stunned. She wondered why he’d ever talked of marrying her. Turning her hand under his, she tentatively gripped his fingers. ‘I’m sorry I’m thick,’ she whispered. ‘I wouldn’t have ever— I didn’t know.’
‘Augie was before your time, a while ago now.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘We have to hide who we are to the outside world, you know.’ She gave a short nod and he sat back. ‘So when he left me, I thought about what he’d done by marrying and why. I wondered if I could do the same. I met you and thought you’d be the perfect foil for me.’
Perfect foil. Her friend had just said that.
He held her stare. ‘But in the end, I couldn’t see myself living a lie, Evie. I couldn’t do it to you either.’ Squeezing her hand, he said, ‘I can only imagine the agony Augie’s living. At first, I thought he’d be able to carry it off, but I don’t think that now. I couldn’t have.’ Fitz’s grip tightened a little more. ‘Even knowing there’s the threat of death by a mob, or worse, imprisonment, and being attacked in there if I’d continued on my merry way, I still couldn’t go ahead and marry. You see, my father—’ He cut off, patted her hand as she sniffed, bit her lip. ‘Now, stop that. Don’t you dare snivel. I’ll find somewhere that suits me. I’ll find my people.’
My people. But who were she and Raff— Oh. ‘And … Raff?’
Fitz burst a laugh. ‘God, Evie, your face.’ He tapped their hands on the table. ‘Never, ever Raff. Ever. He’s my friend, only that, and the big lug is a ladies’ man through and through. You must know that.’
Of course she did. Relief swept through her. Other thoughts whirled but she couldn’t catch them all at once. Tugging gently out of Fitz’s hand, she lifted the teacup and carefully took a few sips, trying to steady her racing mind. The first thought to slow down and form was that Mrs Kingsley had cut off the rest of Edwin’s letter to the editor. He must have alluded to something. Groping in her little bag, she withdrew the newspaper clipping and handed it to Fitz. ‘This was sent to me.’
Reading a few lines, he closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. ‘So, there you are. Cooper has found something and it’s already started. I wonder what the rest of the letter said.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Christ,’ he muttered then blinked at her. ‘Sorry, Evie. I just hope the police don’t take any notice of it. I’ll have to be on the move, more than ever now.’
‘I was hoping you’d be at my hearing,’ she said. ‘I’ve been summonsed to appear on the tenth of next month.’
‘Maybe. If I can. But I should move along, stay out of the way.’
‘Where will you go?’ Evie cried. ‘Why not wait for Raff? What if—’
‘I’ll go wherever I end up. As for Raff, he could be ages returning, though I strongly suspect not.’ He gave her a grin, raised his eyebrows. ‘I see how he looks at you. All that smouldering masculinity, all that fire in his blood just for you. Good thing I like ’em lean, not big and muscly.’ Evie’s face bloomed. ‘Oh, stop it,’ he said, a gleam in his eye. ‘Raff is just itching to snatch you up and … gobble.’
She blurted a laugh despite a suspicion he was being … lewd somehow. Was he? Oh, she had no idea.
‘That’s better,’ Fitz said. ‘And it’s as clear as it’s always been. He wants you, Evie. He’s carried a blazing torch for you for years.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘Of course you didn’t. You were in love with me—’
‘I was not.’
‘—and the noble sod thought you were pining for me ever thereafter.’ His eyes lit up, then at her frown he held up his hands in protest. He sobered then. ‘So, I have more to confess. I still haven’t told Raff that I’d—we’d—absolutely finished talk of marrying.’
‘What?’ Evie was catching that other thread of thought that had skimmed by her moments ago. ‘But that was nearly two years ago.’
‘You were the perfect shield for me. I told no one otherwise. Who knows, I might yet have come around to the idea of marrying you.’ He smiled at her. ‘You are the nicest woman I know, a friend, a woman with a pleasant disposition who is gracious and smart, independent.’
Pleasant disposition. Evie sucked in a breath. ‘I’d have had some say in the matter.’ She was becoming a little tetchy.
He ducked from her glare. ‘I know you would. I had to finally let the idea go, and I realise the wrong I’ve done you. And to Raff, the honourable bugger.’
‘You’ve realised?’ she cried, seething. ‘Did you and Raff, your friend, never speak about it? Fitz, that’s downright—’ What words were the right ones? At least he looked uncomfortable. ‘Selfish, to say the very least.’
Bristling then, he shrugged. ‘Don’t put all the blame on me, you said all along that marrying me wouldn’t be right,’ he said.
‘Don’t dismiss this,’ she said, her voice low. ‘You knew Raff would never declare for me if he believed you and I—’
‘Then why didn’t you tell Raff?’ he asked baldly.
Her mouth dropped open.
Fitz held up a hand. ‘You’re right, I was selfish. Sorry.’ He didn’t sound remorseful. ‘He’s his own man, though. I didn’t need to give him permission.’
‘You should have said—’
‘Truth be known, he went back to Ballarat to his business—as he would’ve done anyway—without asking me a thing, and I didn’t offer a word either. Then I took off. So, status quo. We both dodged Bendigo afterwards for the same reason: you were there. Me, to avoid your disappointment—’
‘No, not that,’ she said, yielding only a little with the squeeze of her hand again on his.
‘—and Raff to avoid unrequited love.’
‘Did he say that?’
‘Never. I just knew.’
‘You should have told him,’ Evie stormed between her teeth.
‘I wasn’t going to risk losing my chance at a so-called acceptable life until I was sure it wasn’t for me. And if the big lug couldn’t work out to carry you off for himself, who was I to tell him? He still hasn’t done anything about it, has he?’
‘Fitz.’ A chide.
‘Don’t go all school-marmy on me. A clever woman like you should have figured out how to show him you were keen.’
‘Don’t turn it around. You’re not off the hook here, Fitzmorgan O’Shea.’
He shrugged again, not the least concerned. ‘Neither are you. I know you noticed how he looked at you.’
‘I thought there was a you and me at the time,’ she huffed, and withdrew her hand, unsure now what she’d been thinking way back then. ‘And, if I had taken any notice of Raff, we both would have been betraying you.’
‘Oh, come on, Evie. A little dramatic,’ he admonished, sitting back.
Were her reasons for letting Raff slip by her wispy and weak? She’d been seen with Fitz with whom she’d talked marriage, had enjoyed long walks and afternoon teas and dinners out in the public eye. Come to think of that, Raff was there for a lot of those times. Then, when it ended with Fitz, there was the gossip. That was hard enough to live down, but there’d have been more gossip if she’d taken up with someone else too soon, especially Fitz’s best friend. Not that she’d thought it was an option at the time: Raff had left town.
The distance from her home in Bendigo to Raff’s home in Ballarat was two days—oh, that excuse is so lame now—and she’d had no chaperone if she were to have visited. Besides, Raff certainly hadn’t given her any reason, any indication to think … She’d buried herself in her work with Mrs Downing, trying to pull the measly threads of her life together. Her sister gone to the river, her mother passed away. Then Edwin Cooper. Oh, damn Edwin Cooper.
‘Your silence is surprisingly unusual,’ Fitz said. ‘Are you thinking again?’
‘Very funny, Fitzmorgan. I’m angry at you.’
‘You’re angry at yourself.’
‘At you,’ she confirmed, testy and on edge.
His tone changed, softened. ‘About who I am?’
She slumped at that, but it wasn’t difficult to answer truthfully. ‘Who you are is the person I’ve always thought you to be: my friend,’ she said and stared at her hands in her lap. ‘What I can’t understand is that as my friend you didn’t—’ She fixed her gaze on him. ‘My life married to you would have been a bewildering, unhappy one.’
‘But we didn’t get there, Evie. Desperation drove me after Augie, survival shifted my focus for a while. In the end, I couldn’t go through with it. It was my father who really changed my mind. I clearly recall how resentful my mother was of him.’
‘Your father. How?’
‘My strong opinion is that I’m very much like him. Not meant to marry a woman.’
‘Oh, but they had your brothers and you—’ She stopped.
‘A biological urge I have to assume, the type of which I’ve never experienced.’
So damned naïve, Evie. She didn’t know where to look.
‘Are you horrified about who I prefer to live with?’ he asked. He wasn’t sparing her.
Taking a breath, she said, ‘I’m not … I don’t …’ She floundered. How does a man love—live—with another man that way? Then she blushed, a heatwave on her cheeks.
Oh.
A little laugh escaped him. ‘So, we won’t talk of that,’ he said. ‘Not for a lady’s ears, is it, and hardly a convivial subject at the dining table.’
‘I’m … out of my depth, Fitz.’
‘Polite.’
She hesitated, fiddled with her serviette. ‘Should you even be telling me these things?’
He leaned back, swiped a crumb from the table, eyes downcast. When he looked at her, eyes bright, he said, ‘You’re my friend, are you not, Evie? I need my friends.’
Awkward and disconcerted, she was caught short, couldn’t articulate, not yet. Talk of relations between men and women were not for a lady’s ears—on any occasion, she’d been told. Oh, she knew more about that than some, thanks to her married friends. But not this. It brought another furious blush.
He clearly had no remorse about the fate he might have dealt her. But, no matter, it hadn’t happened, thanks to good sense, hers as much as his. He was right; it was as much her responsibility. She would always have listened to the voice inside that said marriage to Fitz would not be right. But he was her much-loved friend, she knew it, her happy, charming, attractive, clever Fitz.
‘Just be honest in future,’ she said.
‘I’ll try my best.’ After a moment, he gave her a broad smile. ‘We should write more now we’re not betrothed.’
‘That sounds so odd.’ She couldn’t help allowing her own smile.
He dropped the mirth. ‘You are my friend, Evie. I don’t want to lose you.’
Beats of silence slipped by before she spoke what she knew to be true. ‘You haven’t.’ She pressed his hand closing over the newspaper clipping. ‘And be careful. Whatever he’s written, it’s so awful of Edwin.’
He read it again briefly, mouth pinched before pocketing it. He sat back and stared into the distance across the dining room.
All this had made her giddy. A silence lengthened. Then she remembered what he’d said at her door. ‘You said you had information from Constable Stillard.’
‘Seems tame now after our conversation.’ Fitz trailed his fingers on the tablecloth as the waitress brought two plates of scrambled eggs with warm bread and butter on the side. She set the dishes in front of them and he tucked in as soon as she left. ‘A body has been found on the river, still dressed in police uniform.’
Evie had just taken up her knife and fork. ‘McCosker.’
‘Apparently.’
‘Drowned?’
He shrugged. ‘Initial report says his neck was broken before he went into the water.’
‘That’s not tame.’
He pointed at her plate. ‘Eat, Evie.’
‘Raff wouldn’t—’
‘Raff didn’t kill McCosker. He could have, and with bare hands, but he wouldn’t have. We just have to hope the coroner finds no reason to call foul play.’