LAURA

19 May 1882, Benevolence

Next morning, two bodies had washed up in Thankful Cove. Albert Munro made his way carefully down the track to the beach, his wife clinging to his arm, to see if he recognised either of them.

Time in the sea had marked the poor souls, unlike the seemingly untouched body of Elsie Wright when Laura first saw her. Mrs Munro hung back while her husband went over to where Leo and Edmund had laid out the corpses on the sand. Laura stood with her, having no wish to see the corpses, either. Mrs Munro had been attached to Albert’s side since he had made his remarkable escape from death. Understandably, it was as if she was afraid to take her eyes or hands off him in case he vanished. Now Laura could feel her trembling, her breath coming quickly, and took her hand, meaning to comfort her.

‘Oh.’ Mrs Munro startled at the contact, but before Laura could withdraw, her fingers clung tightly. ‘I wish …’ she said, and then bit her lip and began again. ‘Why couldn’t everything have turned out as we planned? I just wish …’

‘They were seamen on the Alvarez,’ they could hear Albert’s sombre voice. ‘Captain Roberts’ men. God rest them.’

‘Elsie?’ Mrs Munro said. ‘You said you saw her. Where is she now?’

‘She was washed out to sea again,’ Laura said. It was the story her father had decided upon. ‘We thought she was safe, but the tide took her, Mrs Munro.’

Mrs Munro searched her face as if seeking a lie. At last she nodded. ‘Perhaps that was for the best. She loved the sea. Couldn’t wait to visit Hobart to go down to the harbour and see the ships sail in. She always hoped to see someone she knew. A familiar face.’ She laughed oddly.

‘Elsie didn’t suffer from seasickness like you?’ Laura remembered that that was why Elsie had stayed below in the cabin with Mrs Munro, to keep her company in her affliction.

Mrs Munro’s gaze was fixed on her husband, where he stood with the others. When she spoke her voice was soft and a little dreamy. ‘Elsie knew she could never go home even had she wanted to. There was nothing for her there. She missed it, though. Missed her family and the places she loved. She always hoped that one day …’ She bit her lip.

‘Sometimes I miss the place I came from,’ Laura said. ‘But only because my mother is buried there and I know I will never see her grave again.’

Mrs Munro’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘All those ties broken. It was a relief when she met … That is …’ She stumbled to a stop.

‘You must have been close?’

‘Close? She was a servant.’ She blinked, as if she had remembered where she was. Then her husband was standing before them, frowning slightly.

‘My love?’ He took her arm in his, and Laura could see the way his bandaged fingers dug into her. He looked concerned, but more than that. He seemed eager to keep Laura from seeing the full extent of his wife’s trauma. ‘My wife is very tired,’ he said. ‘This has been a terrible time for her. Come and rest, Rochelle.’

Rochelle Munro gave Laura a forced smile. ‘I am tired,’ she agreed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. ‘I think … I think I was talking nonsense. I do apologise, Miss Webster.’

She had been, but it was understandable, and so Laura said. As they walked away, she wondered if the wonderful new life the Munros had planned would ever be quite what they hoped, or would memories of the shipwreck hang over them forever more. While Mrs Munro was grieving her husband, before he was found, she had seemed unbalanced, but Laura had thought she would soon recover now he was reunited with her. Perhaps she was wrong, perhaps that damage would take far longer to repair.

Later in the morning, they held the burial service for Captain Roberts and the two men who had sailed alongside him. The island graveyard was situated above the cove and below the lighthouse, in a section of ground that gave solitude to those interred there as well as those who came to mourn them. The former burials on Benevolence were an eclectic group and included a lighthouse keeper from the 1850s and his wife and child, who had died when a ship brought typhoid to the island, as well as the child of a later keeper and several unknown souls who had washed ashore and were unclaimed. Those were the graves that had been marked by wooden crosses or small cairns of stones. No doubt there were unmarked graves, too, those hastily buried with no thought given to marking the spot.

When it came to digging the graves, Laura’s father sent Isaac to fetch Rorie from his cottage, only for him to return to say the assistant keeper was not there. He also mentioned that the chickens were running free. Leo muttered that was typical and he would be glad when the other man was gone. Without being asked, Edmund took one of the shovels and Leo the pick and the two of them dug down through the hard earth. Laura took over when her father needed a break, and Isaac did what he could with one arm. Mr Jones had wandered away when it looked as if he might be called upon to perform any physical labour, and Leo protested when Miriam made an attempt to take the pick from him.

‘Good God, woman,’ he huffed. ‘I’m not ready to hang up my boots yet.’

She smiled at him. ‘Oh I know that, but even a man of your stamina needs to sleep.’

‘I need to tend the light first.’

Leo had been up all night with Edmund, doing a double watch when Rorie did not appear. Last time Laura had seen him had been outside the cottage, with that horrible smirk on his face.

Albert Munro interrupted her thoughts. A chair had been placed for him a little way from the graveside, and he looked pale and shaky. As usual his wife was by his side, his bandaged hand clasped in hers.

‘I wonder if you could show me around your lighthouse, Mr Webster? If it isn’t too much trouble. I’d be interested to know the workings of it.’

Leo’s eyes brightened with pleasure. ‘No trouble at all, Mr Munro,’ he said. ‘As soon as we are done here. The spiral staircase is very steep,’ he added.

‘Do you think you can climb so many stairs?’ Mrs Munro asked him anxiously. ‘It is so tall.’ She squinted up at the lantern on top of the tower, shading her eyes. ‘Should I come with you, Albert?’

‘I’m sure I can manage. Don’t worry, my love, I will take my time.’

They exchanged a look and she nodded, dropping her gaze back to the grave.

‘Let’s hope we don’t have to dig another one for poor Tom Burrows,’ Isaac said matter-of-factly.

Grim silence followed this, but Laura knew they were all wondering if the mate would pull through.

After the burial service—Mr Munro spoke a few solemn words and Leo offered a prayer—Laura set off to Rorie’s cottage to repair his neglect. And to give him a piece of her mind. She should never have trusted him to do as she asked, and she would not put it past him to have refused her request from sheer vindictiveness.

She was so immersed in her angry thoughts, it was not until Seal ran past at full gallop that she realised Edmund had followed her.

‘I don’t need any help,’ she called back. ‘You should sleep, too.’

‘I slept more than your father,’ he responded, confirming her suspicions that Leo would not have left an inexperienced man alone with his precious lamp. ‘And I want to see you give Rorie a good telling off.’ He was slightly breathless when he reached her. Dark eyes examined her as if he found her endlessly fascinating. ‘I’m not trying to take your place, you know,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m only trying to help. At home … no one much wants my help, or needs it. When I was with my cousin in Richmond, he seemed to prefer I stay out of the way. I am enjoying the unique feeling of being useful, Laura.’

Now Laura felt guilty for behaving like a sullen child. She should be glad of his help for her own sake as well as her father’s. ‘Of course,’ she said briskly. ‘We’re all grateful for your help, Mr Bailey.’

He smiled at his feet—he seemed to do that often—and then shook his head as if he did not believe her. They walked on a little way in silence, and she was tempted to ask him whom he had been meeting with last night. She was not positive that he was one of the conspirators whispering outside her window, far from it, but perhaps she could trick him into giving himself away. Eventually she said, ‘Did you stay up in the lighthouse all night?’

‘Yes. Apart from taking Seal out for a walk,’ he said easily, as if he had no trouble confessing to it. ‘The sea was quite beautiful. I could see phosphorescence in the waves. I stood and watched them for some time. I never thought I would find solitude so addictive.’

‘I imagine you didn’t get much solitude at home,’ she said when he fell silent.

He grimaced. ‘None at all. Part of that was my own fault, I suppose. I grew up thinking I must fill every moment with pointless activity. There are always horse races and card games, drinking with others in my position. A gentleman’s son does not work. It is not the done thing, you see. Until I was sent out here, I was not encouraged to do anything but be idle, while upholding my position and avoiding scandal.’

‘Did you? Uphold your position and avoid scandal?’

He stared at the ground. ‘I think you know the answer to that question. Up in the lighthouse, last night, it was as if I could hear my thoughts for the first time.’

‘And what were they telling you?’

He gave her a look that was almost awkward. ‘If you don’t mind, that’s between my thoughts and me. To be frank, I felt a little out of my depth. I do not usually delve into my inner workings.’ Then, as if her previous question had only just struck a chord with him, he asked, ‘Why? Did Seal wake you?’

Again, it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the voices outside her window. She had planned to tell her father, but with the burials and his tired face she had kept it back. The whispers last night had worried her, though, in a way she could not remember being worried before. Laura was used to physical challenges; she lived a difficult life on an island where the weather was bad to very bad, and self-reliance kept her alive. But this seemed something more. Last night, when she had climbed back into bed beside Miriam, she had found it difficult to sleep. Over the years, Laura had learned to trust that niggling doubt when it told her something was wrong and to take care, and now the niggle had turned into a frantic scream.

‘No, Seal didn’t wake me. I was already awake. I got up and looked through the shutters and saw you and Seal outside. I wondered … Were you alone?’

He frowned at her. ‘I was, but now you ask me that, I did think I heard someone else. In the trees behind the cottage. I couldn’t see anyone. Is that what you mean? Was there someone outside besides me? Did you see them?’

‘No. I didn’t see anyone, but …’

‘But?’ He was not going to give up, and suddenly Laura was tired of prevaricating.

‘There was someone else. Before you and Seal arrived, I heard them talking, although their voices were so low I couldn’t understand much of what they said. But it sounded … it was as if they were worried about someone on the island. “Him,” they said. They were worried about “him” knowing something he shouldn’t know. And that they’d have to stop him.’

Edmund stared at her. ‘Stop him?’ he repeated sharply. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. Have you told your father?’

‘Not yet.’

‘What exactly did you hear, Laura?’ he asked her.

She recited the words as best she could remember, feeling a little foolish as she did so. Perhaps it meant nothing, perhaps she was imagining a desperate situation when there was none. Perhaps the voice in her head was wrong. But she knew it was not.

When she’d finished, they continued to walk in silence and she could see he was turning over her words because his frown was back. Laura decided she did feel better for having told him. There was still a small doubt in her mind concerning him, but she couldn’t think of anyone Edmund would be meeting with in the dark, or whom he might want to ‘stop’. He had been a passenger on the Alvarez without companions. Whom could he be conspiring with? No, strange as it felt to admit it, if there was anyone she trusted besides her family, then it was Edmund Bailey.

The assistant-keeper’s cottage appeared to be empty. No smoke rose from the chimney, which was strange as Rorie always had a fire going, no matter the weather. He said he felt the cold on this godforsaken lump of rock. There was washing hanging on a line strung up under the verandah. The place was generally untidy and uncared for, and Laura knew her father would not be happy. He was the sort of head keeper who insisted his light station be shipshape.

The two horses had spotted her and Ted crowded towards the fence, Nelly not far behind. She could see that Rorie had not filled their water troughs or given them fresh oats. Despite his lack of enthusiasm for work in the lighthouse, he was fond of the horses and could usually be relied upon to care for them. It looked as if he had done nothing. And Isaac was right, the chickens were still running free. Angry now, she stepped up onto the verandah and thudded her fist against the door.

‘Rorie! Come out here right now! Rorie!’

The door creaked open. It had not even been closed properly.

Silence greeted her. No sound of the occupant scuttling off to hide. She stepped inside, Edmund breathing at her back. As she had expected, the fire was out. There was a feeling of emptiness about the place, too. She already knew there was no one here.

‘Rorie?’ Edmund called. He moved around her and went towards the closed door of Rorie’s bedroom. Laura hoped she was wrong and he would find the man asleep in there, but Edmund shook his head.

They proceeded to search the cottage from top to bottom, to no avail. A pot of stew sat on the stove, and a dirty bowl on the table. Last night’s supper, but nothing to show Rorie had eaten breakfast this morning. Had he left in the night, and if so why? Laura took another look around the room, and something in the fireplace caught her eye. A pale gleam. Proof that there had been a fire yesterday and Rorie was yet to clear it out. Approaching the hearth, she knelt and snatched up the poker, stirring the pile of ashes.

A scrap of creamy-coloured cloth. It was not completely destroyed, although it was shrivelled at the edges. Laura touched the undamaged section with her fingertip and it felt silky and soft. A fancy frill, half burned, had been torn almost completely off, and there was a button. It must have been the button that caught her eye.

She knew at once that this was part of the blouse Elsie Wright had been wearing when they found her washed up on the beach. Laura had leaned over the woman’s body, felt her cold skin, and she knew she was not mistaken.

Edmund was standing behind her. ‘What is it?’ he asked, puzzled, glancing from the remnant to Laura.

‘Elsie, Mrs Munro’s maid. This is her blouse. A piece of it, anyway.’

He crouched down beside her, taking the poker from her hand, and used it to push the piece of cloth out of the ashes and onto the hearth. ‘Odd,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t there a brooch that she was fond of? Wasn’t it pinned to her blouse? Is that there, too?’

The orange-coloured stone. A cairngorm, her father had called it. Laura and Edmund searched carefully through the ashes, sifting them from one side to the other, but the brooch was not there.

‘Would it have burned in the fire? Although I think if it had, if it melted, then there would be signs of it.’

‘Yes.’

Edmund watched her, waiting for more, and she knew he was thinking the same as she was.

‘Rorie must have taken Elsie,’ Laura said it aloud, shocked and yet she was not surprised. ‘Was that him last night, whispering outside the window? But who was with him?’ As far as she knew, Rorie did not make friends easily and there was no one on the island he was close to. Apart from Mrs Munro. She remembered how he had comforted her, stayed close to her, spoke of his past and of knowing her and Elsie. Was it Rorie and Mrs Munro plotting outside her window?

Edmund spoke before she could put her thoughts into words.

‘If he took Elsie’s body and stole her brooch, then where is she now?’

Laura remembered the overgrown garden and the general disarray of the cottage and its surrounds. Surely, if there was a grave she would be able to see it? The thought led her outside and she shaded her eyes, whirling around slowly to survey the area. The vegetable patch was undisturbed and grass grew thick elsewhere. There was nothing to suggest someone had been buried here, recently.

‘Do you think that’s where he is now?’ Edmund said. ‘Burying the poor woman’s body?’

‘He would have done it last night. It’s odd. I know Rorie is not to be trusted, and I can’t say I like him much, but for him to have gone out and not come back? It doesn’t feel right.’

When Edmund looked at her, she could see he felt the same. ‘We should finish up here and then tell your father,’ he decided. ‘We might need to start a search of the island. He can’t have gone far, can he?’

She shook her head. The only way off Benevolence was by boat and Rorie was no sailor. The last time he had gone with her father in the lifeboat he had been sick as a dog, and the water had not even been very rough. He would not take the risk.

Meanwhile, the animals still had to be taken care of, and she set to feeding and watering them, and counted the chickens to see if any were missing. Apart from being disgruntled from their night out of their comfortable coop, they appeared not to have suffered anything worse. Edmund helped her without being asked, but she could tell his thoughts were as engaged as hers on the question of Rorie.

‘He’s probably hiding under a rock somewhere,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘He’ll come out when the steamer arrives.’

Something else niggled at her then. Seasickness. Mrs Munro’s dreamy voice at the graveyard, and Mr Munro’s protective hold on her. But at that moment Seal ran up to them, panting and demanding attention, and the question was lost.