Luke woke in the softest bed, beneath the warmest quilt of the lightest eiderdown. Every bit of his body ached. Each breath hurt. Waves of dizziness forced him to squint his eyes shut. Instantly his thoughts spiralled backwards. Scenes flashed through his mind, terrifying glimpses of darkness and fear and running for his life. Where was Angus? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything.
When he opened his eyes again, he was able to take in his surrounds. He lay in a luxuriously appointed bedroom: fine mahogany wardrobes, elegant chiffoniers and an ornately inlaid toilet stand. His four-poster bed was swathed in heavy crimson curtains edged in gold. A tasselled counterpane of fine, white silk covered him. The view through the casement windows was of wide lawns, dotted with elms and oaks. He hadn’t a clue where he was.
A young woman dressed in maid’s clothes entered the room, a warm smile on her pretty face. For one heart-stopping moment, Luke thought she was his sister. The mistake filled him with shame. What sort of man would mistake a stranger for his own flesh and blood?
She asked how he felt and then fussed about, tidying up, not waiting for a response. Luke’s parched mouth and sore throat made speech difficult. He could still taste the metal from the mine. The girl leaned close, supporting his head with a cool hand, pressing a cup of water to his lips. He took great swallows.
‘I’m Rose, Master Adam. You’re ever so thirsty, aren’t you? Why don’t I fetch you some breakfast and a lovely big pot of sweet tea?’
He put his hand on her arm and tried to say thank you. Rose giggled, looking pleased. As she turned to go, Luke forced a whisper from his swollen lips. ‘Miss. Where am I?’
‘Canterbury Downs, of course. Sir Henry Abbott’s estate. You saved his son’s life and the lives of four others, so I hear. You’re quite the hero, Master Adam. Truthfully, the other girls are all looking to bring you in something just for an excuse. Don’t be surprised if you get plenty of visitors, especially once I tell them how handsome you are.’ With a smile she was gone.
Luke sat up, his head swimming, and tried to swing his legs off the mattress.
‘Steady on, Adam. Where do you think you’re going?’
A surge of nausea made him sink backwards. That voice. Luke opened his eyes. Two men stood at the foot of the bed. Edward Abbott, his right arm braced and bandaged, a concerned look on his face. And a portly, bespectacled man.
‘Dr Lark’s here to see you.’
The doctor proceeded to poke and prod him, all the while addressing his remarks to Edward as if Luke wasn’t in the room. ‘He’s badly knocked about. Broken ribs. Sprained knee and a twisted ankle. Some nasty lacerations, and faintness brought on by concussion and exposure to poisonous gas.’ He cleaned a deep gash in Luke’s thigh. ‘Infection is the main fear.’
A stout matronly woman joined them. Edward introduced her as Nurse Marsh. The doctor placed several apothecary jars on the bedside table and barked out a long list of orders. ‘Follow my directions exactly, woman. Never once make the most trifling alteration. If my patient dies, it will be due to your failure to carry out my medical instructions fully and precisely.’
Nurse Marsh glared at him, but held her tongue.
The doctor snapped shut his black leather bag and made to leave the room. ‘Give him liberal doses of laudanum at the first sign of pain, sleeplessness or nervous fever.’
Edward watched Nurse Marsh expertly dress her patient’s wounds and abrasions. As Adam leaned forward, the terrible scars on his back became visible. Edward and the nurse exchanged glances.
As Adam tried to rise, gritting his teeth against the pain, Edward assisted her to push him gently back down. Then he poured a generous measure of laudanum into a medicine glass and persuaded Adam to drink it. Within a few minutes he seemed calmer and drifted off to sleep.
‘I need to speak to my father,’ said Edward. ‘Tend this young man with the utmost care and see he takes enough laudanum to stay comfortable.’ The nurse nodded and turned to tidy the assortment of ointments, salves and bandages.
Edward took a last look at the miner, both fascinated and horrified by his scars and what they might mean. It was intriguing to think that his own life had almost certainly been saved by a convict.
He found his father in the drawing room. Enormous gilt-edged paintings adorned the walls, scenes of fox-hunting, deer-shooting and falconry. An impressively antlered stag’s head hung over the marble mantel and a twelve-foot white tiger-skin, jaws frozen in a snarl, lay before the fireplace. Henry was inspecting his collection of hunting rifles. He was obsessed with guns, and always wore a loaded pearl-handled pistol at his belt, saying he didn’t feel properly dressed without it.
Henry turned, took the pipe from his mouth. ‘What’s the word on our young friend?’
‘On the improve.’
‘Good, good. That boy has courage and initiative. He could be very useful to me.’
Edward’s ears burned. Unlike me, he thought. He toyed with the idea of mentioning Adam’s scarred back.
Henry took down a rifle and opened the breech. ‘You took a risk, dragging Adam to safety at the last.’ He smiled his close-lipped smile, which Edward rarely saw. ‘It made me proud.’
Edward experienced an unfamiliar shock of pleasure. He’d been waiting all his life for his father to say those words. Now he was doubly grateful to Adam – for rescuing him from the rockfall, and for providing him with the means to impress his father. Perversely, the second felt more important.
‘Your mother wants to know if Adam is well enough for a visit,’ said Henry.
‘He’s yet to be told of his uncle’s death. I’d wait until then.’
‘Very well. I’ll be guided by you on the matter.’
Edward couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Since when had his father ever been guided by him on anything?
A manservant appeared at the door. ‘Lady Jane requires Master Edward to have his injured arm dressed.’
Henry clapped his son on the back. ‘Go on now, before your mother blames me for something.’
Ten days had passed since the mine disaster, and Luke’s physical wounds were healing. Yet his grief at Angus’s death had cast him into a permanent pit of despair, every bit as hellish and dark as the mine. Sixteen men had died that day. Demons of self-loathing consumed him. He’d abandoned Angus to a watery grave, but guided an Abbott to safety. Worse still, he owed Edward for his worthless life.
On the first day at Canterbury Downs he’d resolved to kill Henry Abbott. Here was the perfect opportunity to destroy the man responsible for every cruel loss he’d suffered. But as the days wore on, Luke’s mind grew increasingly muddled. When he tried to think, nothing stayed straight in his head.
One day Luke woke to find he couldn’t remember his sister’s name. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t come. Rose, concerned at his growing agitation, gave him a double dose of his morning laudanum. It tasted terrible, but was well worth forcing down. Then she gave him an extra cup at his request. Ah, there it was, that delicious drowsiness coiling through his mind. His frustration ebbed away and a precious cloud of indifference settled over him. It didn’t matter if he could remember or not.
Luke shut his eyes and relaxed into his soft bed, listening to Rose prattle pleasantly on about her day. His plan to kill Henry Abbott suddenly seemed ridiculous and far too difficult to bother with. The past was losing its grip.
Hours later, through the fog of sleep, Luke heard the barking of dogs. He’d had a dog once. He struggled to remember, fighting to hold the thought . . . Bear. A flood of emotion accompanied the memory, rousing him from his stupor. Luke staggered to the window. A mounted man approached, leading a riderless horse. They looked familiar . . . a coal black stallion with a graceful, arched crest, and an elegant grey. Solomon and Sheba. Daniel had come for him.
A groomsman took the horses’ reins and Daniel moved under the verandah, out of sight. Luke stumbled from his bedroom. A timber-panelled passage led to a broad staircase. He managed the stairs, and found himself in a grandly appointed front hall, punctuated by four oak doors. Luke opened them one by one. Behind the third, in a pine-panelled drawing room, he found Daniel and Henry engaged in a heated argument. He stood in the doorway, wild-eyed and unsteady in a long cotton nightgown. To his immeasurable delight, Daniel hurried to embrace him.
‘Adam, collect your things. You’re coming with me.’
‘Return to your room, Adam. Mr Campbell and I aren’t finished.’
‘There’s nothing here I need,’ said Luke.
‘Then we’ll be off,’ said Daniel. ‘Thank you, Henry, for taking such excellent care of Adam, but we want him home.’
He took Luke’s arm and guided him from the room, and out the front door to where a groom waited with the horses. Fighting waves of dizziness, Luke hitched up his nightgown and clumsily managed to mount Sheba. How good it was to feel the mare under him again.
Luke saw a curtain twitched aside at the house, and Henry Abbot in the frame of the window, a look of astonishment on his face. It would make no sense to him, of course. Of what possible importance could Adam McLeod, the nephew of a poor miner, be to Daniel Campbell?