LAURA

17 May 1882, Benevolence Island Lighthouse, Bass Strait between Tasmania and Victoria

‘Can you see it?’

Laura peered through the storm, as lashing rain struck at the thick glass windows of the Wilkins lantern room. Twenty-one small, fragile lamps shone out brightly through their polished reflectors, despite the weather. Well-kept machinery moved steadily, taking the light through its five-minute rotation—fifty seconds of light and fifty seconds of darkness. Every lighthouse was unique in its clockwork movement and this one belonged to Benevolence. The granite lighthouse tower had stood solidly atop rocky cliffs for over thirty years, and it still felt strong and safe, even when the world outside was chaos.

Her father pointed again, shouting to be heard above the screaming wind and the pounding waves that had come with what had started as a westerly gale. Not uncommon at this time of year, but the gale had turned into a raging storm.

Laura caught a glimpse of a small ship. Close to the rocks that stretched out from the base of the cliff below the lighthouse. A faint light blinked as the crests of the waves gave way to troughs.

‘There!’ she shouted back.

Leo Webster nodded, his teeth clenched around the stem of his pipe. It was not lit. It had gone out hours ago. ‘They’re too close,’ he said. ‘They can’t see us.’

It was an unfortunate fact that the lighthouse on Benevolence Island, standing at one thousand feet above sea level, had been built too tall. In good weather, its warning light could be seen for close to thirteen leagues, all the way to the Victorian coast. In bad weather, however, when clouds or fog hung low over the island, it was often invisible.

Laura leaned forward again, trying to catch sight of the vessel she had spotted a moment before. She and her father had been up here, tending to the light and keeping watch for most of the afternoon as the weather closed in and early darkness fell. Now it must be almost midnight and the violent gale showed no sign of abating. Her father’s assistant, Rorie, had refused to leave his fireside to take his turn up here, claiming he had a bad cold, and her stepmother, Miriam, was in the head-keeper’s quarters with Noah, Laura’s five-month-old brother. No doubt Miriam was worried sick, but neither Laura nor her father could leave the lighthouse. There were lives at stake out there on the wild water. Lives that were in their hands.

Benevolence Island lay between Tasmania and Victoria, in the shallow waters of the treacherous Bass Strait. The island’s lighthouse had been built to warn ships away from the savage line of rocks that stretched out from the northern side of the island. The Tiger’s Teeth, as they were known, and for good reason. They could rip out the bottom of a boat and slice open the flesh of its passengers. Since Laura had come to live here nine years ago, there had been several wrecks, one in a storm like this one, where the revolving light had been hidden by the low clouds, and the other when a fog had shrouded them. On both occasions, Laura remembered vividly the wreckage strewn along the shore, and the bodies that her father and his two assistants toiled to give a Christian burial in the island cemetery.

They were down to one assistant these days, and with Rorie playing possum, it was just Laura and her father manning the lighthouse.

‘She’s on the rocks!’ Laura’s gaze shot to her father’s. His face looked greenish in the candlelight, full of anguish and memories of the past as he murmured, ‘God help those poor souls.’

Dread filled her at the sight of the string of sharp-toothed rocks. Briefly, the gusting wind eased and the spray cleared, long enough for her to see the disaster unfolding in front of her. The small ship—it appeared to be a schooner—was definitely on the Tiger’s Teeth. Laura winced to imagine what damage had been done to the hull. Pinned and incapable of escape, the vessel was being thrown about by the elements. Her main mast was down, sails trailing in the boiling sea, and she was listing badly to port as she took in water. It was only a matter of time until she would break apart and sink.

When next the beam of the lighthouse flashed, she could see the frantic efforts of passengers and crew as they struggled to remain aboard, clinging to their tattered ship, while others moved in the water. Her heart ached for them.

Her father’s hand grasped her shoulder and tightened painfully. ‘We must go down and save as many of them as we can.’

‘How?’

‘We’ll go to the cove with a lamp. Guide them to the safety of the beach.’

Thankful Cove was the safest anchorage on the island. It faced to the east, away from the violent westerly and northerly gales, and therefore giving shelter to stricken vessels. On one side, a low headland of flat rocks circled around to shelter the inlet, rather like an arm, while to the north another jutting headland separated it from the fury of the Tiger’s Teeth. Thankful Cove was difficult to spot if one was coming in from the sea during daylight, but at night the lamp would guide survivors.

‘We won’t put the lifeboat out, then?’ Even as she said it, she wished the words back. Such a heroic act was impossibly dangerous in this weather. Ten years ago, on the east coast of Scotland, her parents had gone to the rescue of a sinking vessel in the cold waters of the North Sea, and her mother had drowned. Laura had watched from their lighthouse, and she would never forget her terror and pain, nor her father’s anguish when he returned to shore after a long and fruitless search.

‘We wouldn’t get any boat close enough,’ he said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘When the storm has passed we’ll have more of a chance.’

He did not need to add: If the schooner was still in one piece, and there were still survivors to be saved.

Once more her father checked the lamps and the reflectors, making sure they were working properly, and that the oil burned by the lamps would not need refilling, or the clockwork mechanism rewinding. He would have been happier if Rorie was here—there was always the chance that something could go wrong—but Laura knew they needed to save those who could be saved. She made her way down the narrow set of stairs that led from the lantern room, and then the cast-iron spiral staircase that took up most of the utilitarian inside of the tower. She was sure-footed, and had made this journey many times since they arrived on Benevolence. Her father had brought her to the colonies shortly after her mother’s death, when she was just fifteen, determined to make a new life for himself and his young daughter. He had tried, worked at many jobs, but when push came to shove, lighthouse keeping was what he knew best. And so when he was offered a position as head keeper on isolated Benevolence Island, he had gratefully accepted.

To the surprise of them both, Leo had met Miriam, the daughter of a merchant, while in Hobart three years ago. He had been seeking explanations from the Hobart Marine Board as to why the items he had carefully noted as urgent in his letters to them were either ignored or did not arrive on the quarterly supply steamer.

Leo had been introduced to Miriam when attending a dinner with a former lighthouse superintendent, and, Laura gathered, they had fallen in love between the soup and the pudding. All the same, her father had not asked Miriam to marry him immediately. He had returned to Benevolence and Laura first, looking uncertain and a little sheepish, but happier than she had seen him in a long time. She had given him the blessing he’d asked for, and Miriam had come home with him on his next trip. Laura had expected to love her stepmother for her father’s sake, and so she did, but she also loved Miriam for herself, and she knew that feeling was reciprocated.

Father and daughter had reached the base of the tower. Laura was wearing the loose trousers that Miriam abhorred but which were so much more practical than skirts in situations like this. Now she donned her waterproof coat over her thick sweater, and tied her hood under her chin, tucking back her blonde curls. Her hands were covered with gloves while her feet were encased in strong, sturdy boots. A lighthouse-keeper’s daughter valued warmth and long wear in her clothing rather than fashion. She needed to be prepared to venture out in the foulest of weather, while the social engagements that other young ladies her age dressed to attend were nothing but dreams to her.

‘Ready, lass?’ Her father’s gloved hand was raised to open the thick wooden door. Outside, she could hear the thump of the surf and the wail of the wind. It would be dangerous, but something in her rose to the occasion. Her father often said she had her mother’s courage, which was counterbalanced by her father’s caution.

‘Ready,’ Laura said, and the next moment they were out in the storm. The wind must have been at least nine on the Beaufort scale, probably a ten. It tugged violently at their clothing and whipped their breaths away. She leaned into it, forcing herself forward, as she followed her father’s broad back to the track that led down from Lighthouse Hill to Thankful Cove.

The first section was very steep and slippery, and she took her time, clinging to the rope that had been strung alongside, not willing to risk injury. Soon they were on gentler ground, and to her right she could see the sheltered valley where the head-keeper’s cottage stood, the lights visible through the shuttered windows and the grove of trees. Miriam would be safe inside with Noah.

The cove was beneath them now, and on the far hillside were the trolley rails that led straight down to the jetty. At the top was a whim. When the steamer carrying supplies docked in the cove, and those supplies were unloaded, one of the island’s horses was harnessed to the whim. The turning horse would bring the trolley to the top, and then a bullock-drawn dray would carry the supplies further on to the lighthouse station.

Leo and Laura hurried down the final stretch of track to the beach. She could see the tide was on the turn and the exposed poles of the jetty were covered in foam blown in from the stormy sea. Down here they were sheltered from the full force of the wind, although she could still hear it screaming around the cliffs above.

The oil lamp swung in her father’s hand, the flame inside the metal casing protected from the gale. Laura smiled when she saw that he still had his pipe clenched between his teeth.

‘Let’s hope some poor soul sees this and makes their way to safety!’

On closer inspection, his beard was wet and tangled, and his face pale with cold and exhaustion. Laura’s hood had been tugged off by the wind, despite the cords that were supposed to hold it firm, and now she reached to pull it back over her hair. The rain had stuck strands to her face and her lips were numb with cold. She could taste salt on them. When they got back to the keeper’s quarters, Miriam would fuss about her husband, drawing him to the fire and drying off his clothing. She would fuss about Laura, too, if she let her, and Laura rather thought that she would.

As they made their way further down the beach, Laura could see beyond the steep headland to her left, to the Tiger’s Teeth and the turbulent waters that had brought grief to the schooner. Out there, the salt spray and driving rain made visibility difficult, but above the sound of the storm, she could hear the agonised groans and creaks made by the vessel as she struggled helplessly to free herself from the tiger’s maw. How much longer could anyone stay on board? Once the little ship broke up, the only option was to risk the wild sea. To strike out for calm waters and dry land. In that regard, Thankful Cove was well named.

‘There!’ Her father pointed.

Three dark shapes, moving. Survivors fighting their way through the choppy waves as they waded towards the beach.

As Laura hurried forward, she saw that two of them were supporting the third, who hung slumped between them. As the trio reached the shallows, Laura noted that one of the helpers wore a skirt. A rogue wave hit them as Laura and her father approached, sending the injured man face first into the water. Voices were raised against the wind and rain, and one of the two began to tug the limp body towards firmer ground. The other, the woman, began heading out to sea again.

Quickly, Leo put down the lamp and ran to help support the injured man. At the same time, Laura ran past him to reach the woman, who was by now almost waist deep in the water. Laura caught her, and then grappled with her as the woman tried to force her back.

‘Albert!’ the woman sobbed, struggling to be free. ‘I need to find Albert!’

‘Albert will find you,’ Laura said breathlessly, the first words that came to mind. ‘Now come with me before we both drown.’

The woman’s hands were icy and her teeth were chattering. Her dark hair hung heavy about her face and shoulders, while her sodden clothes clung to her. The coat she was wearing was heavy with water and pulling her down. She looked at Laura with wild eyes just as another wave washed hard against them, and they only just managed to stay upright. She seemed to give up then, and she and Laura fought their way out of the waves to stumble up the beach.

Laura grimaced. Her boots were filled, sloshing, and her wet trousers clung to her legs. She loved swimming, loved the sea, but this was not the weather to be out in it. By now, her father and the other survivor had lain the injured man down onto the sand. Her father was kneeling beside him, trying to reason with him, while the stranger sought to hold the man down as he twisted and groaned, clearly not in his right senses. Eventually he quietened, and Leo ran his hands over limbs and torso, and then carefully examined the fellow’s head.

When they had first come to isolated Benevolence, Laura’s and her father’s medical skills were rudimentary at best, but they had only themselves or a succession of assistants to rely on and help might be weeks away, so they had had to learn. Since Miriam had come, with her soothing voice and gentle hands, she had dealt with many a cut and scrape, and worse. Normally, she was the person they went to when there was need.

The injured man was muttering to himself, but at least now he lay still. The stranger who had been holding him down fell back upon the sand. He lay there for a moment as if too weary to move, and then with a groan he sat up and began to pull off his boots. He tipped the water out of them one at a time, frowning as he did so. Unlike Laura’s boots, they seemed expensive, and were probably more for show than of any real practical use. His clothes, though wet and stuck with sand, looked equally expensive. He could have passed for one of the gentlemen in the books or illustrated papers she kept in her room.

As if he had felt her watching, the man glanced up, and she saw he was young, about her own age. The wet hair he pushed back appeared black in the light of the lamp, his eyes just as dark. He was clean-shaven, unlike most of the men she encountered with their beards and moustaches, and as she continued to stare his mouth quirked at one corner.

Embarrassed, Laura looked away, but his voice, very English, drew her back. As well as dressing like a gentleman, he sounded like one, too.

‘Where are we?’

‘Benevolence Island,’ Laura told him.

‘Not the State of Victoria, then?’

‘No. We are halfway between Victoria and Tasmania.’

As he examined her, she became aware of her drowned-rat appearance, not to mention her male attire. She tugged her waterproof jacket tighter with a shiver. The water had been cold.

‘What is your name?’ he asked, still watching her.

‘Laura Webster.’

‘Edmund Bailey.’ He held out his hand to her. It was probably automatic, something he did all the time, but in these circumstances polite introductions seemed incongruous. He gave a huff of laughter as if he realised it, and dropped his hand just as she was about to take it. The moment felt awkward.

‘Were you alone on board, Mr Bailey?’ she asked, remembering her role. People were drowning and there was no time for silliness.

‘Yes,’ he began, and then frowned again. ‘That is, my dog …’ She saw grief in his eyes, and he opened his mouth as if to say more, but instead bent to tug his boots back on.

Suddenly remembering the woman she had rescued, Laura panicked, fearing she’d gone back into the water. She was relieved to see her standing at the edge of the tide, facing the sea, arms clasped about herself and shoulders hunched. Laura went to her and gently urged her further up the sand to where the oil lamp sat. In its comforting light, she could see that the woman was hollow-eyed and ghostly faced, her teeth chattering violently. She swayed and would have fallen if Laura had not been supporting her. It did not help that she kept twisting her head to try to catch a glimpse of the stricken schooner.

‘Are you hurt?’ Laura asked. ‘Ma’am?’

Rather than answer, she whispered with a wild sort of grief, ‘Albert. Where is Albert?’

Laura gave up trying to get through to her and concentrated on the two men kneeling beside the injured survivor. Leo was speaking to Edmund Bailey, their words broken up by the keening of the wind overhead, but Laura heard enough to make sense of them. ‘He was on deck … unconscious. Got him into the water. To shore. Told to abandon ship, but … we didn’t have time to take to the lifeboat.’

Edmund coughed, his voice grown raspy, no doubt from swallowing sea water. Laura moved closer.

‘What is the name of your vessel?’ Leo asked.

‘The Alvarez. Out of Hobart and bound for Melbourne. Mr Albert Munro chartered her. That is his wife there.’

Leo looked at the huddled figure.

‘Father?’ Laura dropped down beside Leo and the injured man. ‘Can I help? Is he alive?’

‘Yes, lass, he is. But he’s been hit hard on the head and there may be worse. I won’t know until we get him inside.’

Three survivors. It seemed little enough and Laura knew they still had to get these people up to the quarters and out of the weather before they died of cold. A furious gust of wind flung rain against the hillside above the cove, reminding her that before they could reach safety a climb awaited them.

‘Should I fetch Nelly and Ted?’ she said.

The two horses were strong and reliable, used for spinning the whim to pull the trolley up the haulage tracks from the jetty, or performing other tasks about the island that required brute strength. They were stabled on the south side of the island, near Rorie’s cottage, where the lay of the land was lower and tended to be protected even in the worst storms. Unlike the lighthouse, which was built on the highest point. As head keeper, Leo needed to be closer to the light, and although his quarters were comfortable enough, Rorie’s would have been better. But Leo would not change places with a man who could not be trusted.

‘Or we can wait in the boatshed until the storm has passed,’ Laura went on.

The boatshed was tucked into the hillside beside the head of the jetty, and although it would give shelter, time had wrought its toll on the building. There were gaps between the planks that made up the walls, and the repairs her father had planned to finish over the summer were yet to begin. It was certainly no substitute for the solid warmth of the keeper’s quarters.

Laura was not surprised when her father shook his head. ‘The boatshed won’t do, and this is no weather to fetch the horses and bring them down here. We’ll just have to do our best on the track.’

‘Track?’ Edmund, opposite them, was watching and listening.

‘It’s a narrow road, really, and the quickest way up from the cove to my quarters,’ Leo explained. ‘But it means a bit of a climb.’ He looked again at the injured man.

‘We can carry him between us. I doubt he’ll last long out here. The same goes for Mrs Munro.’ Another glance at the woman and he lowered his voice. ‘She and her husband were on deck and he pushed her into my arms. The next thing I knew, he was gone.’

‘Why didn’t he come with you?’ Laura asked.

He ran a hand over his mouth, with an expression on his face that might have been regret.

‘We had had a conversation at dinner before we sailed. I told him I could swim and he told me he could not. I can only speculate that is why he did as he did.’

‘You saved her life.’

He looked as if he wanted to dispute it, but before he could answer his gaze snapped to her side and with a muttered word he lurched to his feet. That was when she realised that Mrs Munro was in the process of fainting. Laura struggled to her feet, hampered by her wet clothing, but he already had hold of the other woman. He sat her carefully down onto the sand and then pressed her head to her knees.

‘That’s it. Wait until the dizziness passes,’ Laura heard him say as she stumbled over to them.

Foaming sea water swept up the beach towards them, stopping just short, before sliding back. Above them, the tall red-and-white tower of the lighthouse stood sentinel, its revolving light illuminating the tragic scene for its allotted time. Edmund glanced at Laura as the illumination washed over them and she realised how close together they were, both hovering over Mrs Munro. She could feel his warm breath on her frozen cheek, and see the shine of his dark eyes.

‘I’m sorry about your dog.’ It sounded awkward, but the kindness was well meant. Laura had had a dog once, only to lose it in tragic circumstances.

‘Thank you.’ He bowed his head and suddenly he seemed even younger than she had thought. Twenty, perhaps. ‘He was in my cabin. I left him there, safe I believed, and went to see what was happening on deck. It was rather chaotic, as you can imagine. The mate informed me that we were abandoning ship and asked me if there was anyone else still below.’ He spoke slowly, as if reliving it. ‘I told him about Seal, my dog, and the other passengers I knew were in their cabins. I thought … Well, the captain was ordering a lifeboat to be launched and I was helping when I realised the mate hadn’t come back. I went to get my dog, but it was too late. The next thing I knew we were being driven onto the rocks.’ He looked up at her. ‘The captain did not see your lighthouse.’

As her father had feared, the storm clouds had hidden the lamp from the Alvarez until it was too late.

‘Do you live here?’ he asked her, and this time when she met his dark eyes she could see they were puzzled. As if the thought of a young woman being here on an island mystified him.

‘I’m the lightkeeper’s daughter. Mr Webster is my father,’ she said with a nod towards Leo, who remained by the injured man’s side. ‘I’ve lived on Benevolence for nine years now.’

‘Nine years?’ he said, astonished. ‘I thought my life was ending when my father sent me to the colonies last year. Nine years. Don’t you get bored, Miss Webster? There cannot be much gaiety here.’

Now it was her turn to be astonished.

He went on in a teasing voice. ‘No parties to attend, no friends to visit, no shops to browse through. My sisters would be wailing to be set free of such purgatory within five minutes of stepping ashore on your island.’

Was he flirting with her? Some of the sailors on the supply steamer liked to flirt, but usually it was in a shy way, and if not the captain soon put them in their places. Laura had a feeling that Edmund Bailey was used to ladies enjoying his company. Young as he was, he had a self-confidence that implied he was also used to getting his own way.

Laura’s voice was stiff and unfriendly. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time to be bored, Mr Bailey. I am far too busy doing things that matter.’

Instead of taking offence, he gave a soft laugh. And he was still staring at her in a way that made her wonder if, like the mate, he too had hit his head.

‘So cold, so cold …’ Mrs Munro was shaking with what Laura knew must be shock as well as the cold. She unbuttoned her wet-weather jacket with numb fingers and put it around the other woman’s shoulders, before slipping an arm around her and holding her against her own warm body. ‘You’re safe now,’ she said, close to the woman’s ear. ‘Can you hear me, Mrs Munro? You’re quite safe.’

‘My husband. Albert … Where is Albert?’

Laura could hear the agony in her voice. At the same time, something about the name struck a chord, as if she had read it recently. Laura was a voracious reader, and as well as her bookshelf, she had a collection of newspapers and magazines, clippings from which she kept in her room. It was her way of being part of the outside world despite her isolation. She had always told herself that she did not need to attend the picnics and parties in Hobart like other girls, because she could read about them. Abruptly, she wondered what Edmund Bailey would think of that. Would he stare at her even more?

‘Albert went out on deck to see what was happening,’ Mrs Munro was speaking again, her voice low and rambling. ‘Then he came back and took me up with him, and I could see how awful things were. There was no hope at all. I thought I was going to drown, but that man,’ she indicated Edmund, ‘saved my life.’

‘Ahoy there!’

The shout brought their heads around. Laura felt a leap of excitement when she saw two men wading through the water towards them. Jumping up as her father heaved himself to his feet, Laura hurried to help. One of the men, a broad-shouldered fellow, wore the practical clothes of a crew member.

‘Are you hurt?’ Leo called.

‘My arm,’ he said in a gravelly voice. He was holding his right arm to his chest, as if it might be broken.

The other man was smaller, his belly protruding beneath his waistcoat as he panted and gasped, stumbling out of the water and onto the beach as if he was at the end of his strength.

‘We would have drowned if the dog hadn’t swum with us,’ the seaman said. ‘He pulled me along, and when I came upon Mr Jones here, about to sink, I dragged him up.’

‘Dog?’ Laura asked, wondering if this was Edmund Bailey’s pet. Just then, a sleek, wet body pounded out of the water and speared past her.

Laura gasped, and then gave a shocked laugh as she realised it was indeed a dog. A large dog. It began to shake itself wildly, sending out a shower of salty droplets.

‘Seal!’ Edmund cried, and she heard the joy in his voice. Seal also heard him, and jumped at him, almost knocking him over with enthusiasm.

The sailor with the broken arm sank down on the sand as if too exhausted to walk another step. ‘He was barking from your cabin, sir,’ he said to Edmund. ‘I let him out.’

‘You have my deepest gratitude.’ Edmund sounded close to tears. ‘I … he may be a mere dog, but he is my dearest friend.’

The portly man shot him a disbelieving look before bending over to catch his breath, back heaving from his exertions.

‘Where’s your coat?’ Leo slung his arm around her shoulders.

‘Mrs Munro needed it more than I did.’

‘Four men and a woman,’ he said, as if cataloguing the extent of the survivors.

‘Do you know how many were aboard?’ She leaned in to share his warmth.

Leo scratched his beard, his handsomely rugged face creased in its weathered lines. ‘Mr Bailey isn’t sure, lass, but I don’t think there were as many as we feared. The Alvarez was chartered by Mr Munro to carry him and his wife to Melbourne, and it was taking only a few paying passengers, along with the usual crew. I’d say eight or ten all up.’

Five saved and perhaps five drowned, Laura thought. No doubt the morning light would reveal the full extent of the tragedy.

‘Don’t forget the dog,’ Laura said with a smile.

Her father grinned back. ‘Aye, our fancy Mr Bailey’s dog.’ He gave her a sideways look as if he wanted to say more about Mr Bailey and then changed his mind. ‘He’s the only able-bodied one among them, so he’ll have to help me get the mate up the track. Can you help Mrs Munro? The rest will have to shift for themselves.’

‘What about …?’ She turned and stared out towards the rocks.

Her father did the same, grim-faced. ‘If there are more poor souls still alive, we can’t do much for them now. I’ll come back after we get this lot to safety. Let us hope that the storm blows itself out soon, and we can put out the lifeboat.’

Times like this must remind him of the past, when Laura’s mother drowned, but he was right. Hard as it was, there was nothing they could do now but care for those who were alive.

Mrs Munro was struggling to her feet and Laura went to help her. ‘Albert should be here now,’ the woman said, looking about wildly. ‘We need to call to him.’

‘Mrs Munro …’

‘He’s alive,’ she insisted. ‘I know he is.’

‘Come with me,’ Laura said gently. ‘Our cottage has a fire to warm you. You can’t help Albert if you’re frozen.’

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’ The woman was staring at Laura now. ‘Our lives were only just beginning. We had so much before us, years of happiness. Years together. Why did this happen? It’s as if we’re being punished.’

Laura had no answer for her.

The small man with the round stomach seemed to have regained his breath and now trotted up alongside them. ‘I need to get to Melbourne,’ he said, peering about him as if he had not heard a word anyone else had spoken. ‘I have urgent business there.’

‘I’m afraid your business will have to wait,’ Leo retorted, bending to heave the mate to his feet with the help of Edmund. The mate groaned, his head dangling, his body slumped between them.

‘But …’ The little man’s eyes were wide. ‘Surely there will be a ship sent to rescue us?’

Leo grunted, holding the mate upright, while Edmund adjusted his own hold. Seal danced around them as if this was a game. Leo shot the man an impatient look. ‘We get supplies by steamer every three months from Hobart, and you’re in luck. We’re due for a visit any day now. But I expect the storm will delay them, and if it does, then maybe we can intercept a passing ship. I can’t promise, though.’

‘I can’t wait! I must insist—’

‘Save your breath for the climb,’ was Leo’s gruff advice.

He and Edmund started up the beach, moving slowly, supporting the injured mate as best they could. Laura and Mrs Munro followed, and then the seaman with the broken arm. The self-important little man stood a moment, glaring at their backs, and then with a huff joined their party. Seal ran ahead only to doubleback again, as if to see what was keeping them.

The beam from the lighthouse shone over the sea, but Laura did not turn to follow its path over the shipwreck. She kept her eyes firmly on the track and gathered her remaining strength. She knew that Miriam would be waiting, with a warm fire and food and sympathy, and that was comforting enough to spur her on.

Mr Edmund Bailey might be horrified at the thought of life on the island—no parties, no shops, no visits to friends. He might look at her as if she was a specimen in a jar, but unless the supply steamer came on time or a passing vessel could be stopped, for the next few weeks he would be sharing that life. Sharing their food and shelter, and their kindness. She hoped he would be suitably humbled.