Henry flicked the reins, urging the horses on. Dawn had long since broken, revealing grass and scrub at the roadsides frozen white from a late frost. Slackening his hold on the reins, he blew hot breath over his numbed fingers.
The chatter of his passengers, over the clatter of hooves and rumbling wheels, was a dull drone in his ears. He shot a surreptitious glance at Arnold Price, unimpressed at the cut of him. Possessed of a head of thick, dark hair and well-shaped features, he should have been handsome, but there was a mean set to his mouth and a flicker in his eyes that strongly hinted at slyness.
Henry had never shared Will Budd’s regard for Price, though he would never have said so. He was suspicious of his motives in marrying Sylvia. She’d been left well off and there was nothing surer than that the man had wed her to line his pockets. Still, it was none of his business, and provided Price treated her well, what did his opinion matter?
He concentrated on the road ahead, though his eyes itched and burned from lack of sleep and he could no longer feel his backside. He’d had a growing sense of foreboding from the time they had picked up the Prices and he was eager to get home.
The turn-off for the asylum came into view, but he kept the horses at a steady canter, passing it and heading for town. ‘I need to get home,’ he said over the howls of protest from his passengers. ‘You’ll have to come with me to the shop, then borrow the wagon and take it up to Seaview.’
Anne, red-eyed, clearly upset, was waiting for him when they reached the shop. ‘Henry, thank God you’re back. You have a daughter, but Mai …’
Henry’s heart missed a beat as she broke off, too wretched to continue. He ran through the shop, hesitating at the bedroom door. The midwife, bent over Mai, looked up and caught his eye, her expression pitying and sombre.
‘She’s not —’ Henry’s legs threatened to melt from under him.
‘No, she’s not,’ the midwife replied, knowing what he’d been too afraid to ask. ‘But it’s best you prepare yourself.’ She turned to Anne. ‘Fetch the boys.’
Wiremu and Don trailed slowly behind Anne as she led them into the bedroom. Subdued and tearful, they stared at their mother. Her eyes were closed, her skin had a tallow-like transparency. Henry feared the midwife had been wrong, that she’d already passed away, but he saw the faint rise and fall of her chest. ‘Oh Jesus, Mai,’ he choked.
Eyes swimming with tears, Anne tapped him gently. ‘Henry … your daughter …’
Henry brushed his lips to Mai’s, then walked over to the cradle in the corner of the room. The baby lay quiet and unmoving, her eyelashes a fringe of red-gold gossamer on her cheeks. Henry gently touched her fine wisps of hair, the same colour as Wiremu’s and his own, traced a finger over her face, and knew she had died.
‘She’s already been taken,’ he told the boys. Picking her up, he carried her to the bed. ‘Your little Alyssa Mai,’ he said, gently touching the baby’s cheek to Mai’s.
Certain he’d never be able to eat again, Wiremu eyed his porridge with distaste and pushed it aside. Don sat opposite him, his breakfast also untouched.
‘Ma’s not going to die, is she, Wiremu?’
‘No, stupid. Our Ma’s tough.’ Wiremu wished he truly believed that. He thought of the baby sister who’d lived for such a short while. A lump formed in his throat. Ma had wanted a little girl so badly. But he and Don had secretly hoped it would be a boy, and now, because of that, it was their fault the baby had died — they had made it happen.
He knew Mrs Gilpin had been afraid Ma would die before their father got back from Stafford. She’d hadn’t said so, but she’d been so fretful, he’d known something was badly wrong. He’d prayed then, bargained with God. Promised him he’d never, ever do anything wrong again in his life, never so much as tell a lie, if God would only let Ma live.
That’s when he’d remembered Libby, out in the storeroom still waiting for him to come back with a blanket and pillow. Libby for whom he’d lied.
‘She ran away again after I went looking for the men from the asylum and I couldn’t find her,’ he’d told Mrs Gilpin after he’d left Libby in the storeroom the previous night.
Arnold longed to cover his ears and block out Sylvia’s harping as they made their way down Seaview Terrace from the asylum. It was her eternally flapping tongue that caused the tic in his eye and made his gut burn. She hadn’t stopped her whinging and blubbering since they’d spoken to Superintendent Gribben at Seaview Hospital. He caught his breath on a cynical snort. Hospital? They could dress it up with fancy titles all they liked, but it was still a place to keep mad buggers where they belonged, locked up and out of sane folks’ way.
‘Arnold, what if she’s wandered off into the bush and we never find her? She could have fallen into a river and drowned or had a bad fit.’
‘Sylvia, you’re only upsetting yourself with these foolish ideas. She’s probably found a warm, snug place and is asleep at this very moment.’
The sooner they found Libby, the sooner Sylvia’s carping and wailing would stop. Never more sincere in his life, Arnold turned to her. ‘Sylvia, I promise you I will not rest until we have found her.’
And, no matter what Sylvia’s wishes, he’d see the brat was sent back to the asylum quick smart.
Sylvia stopped sobbing long enough to wipe a hand across her puffy eyes. ‘I’m sure you will, Arnold, but I never should have left her there. It’s a judgement on me that she’s run off. As God is my witness, I will never let anyone take her away again.’
Arnold’s tic galloped. He tried squinting to stop it but it jumped all the more, and the pain in his gut worsened, as it always did whenever he thought of Libby. The little bitch, her evil-eyed stare always on him, knowing what he’d done. A choking sensation pressed against his throat. He could feel the rope squeezing his neck, jerking and breaking it …
Sylvia placed a hand on his forearm, startling him.
‘I have something to tell you,’ she said, shedding her glum expression.
Arnold listened with half an ear.
‘I didn’t want to tell you until I was absolutely sure, you see, as I had thought to have passed that time in my life.’ She pressed his arm, expecting some comment from him.
He grunted.
‘It seems we are to have an addition to our family.’
What in hell’s name? He turned sharply to face her. ‘What was that you were saying?’
‘I’m with child, Arnold. Isn’t that wonderful?’
A heated dagger sliced through Arnold’s gut. He stared at Sylvia, grimacing, unable to speak for the pain.
‘I knew you’d be overjoyed.’ Sylvia beamed. ‘Oh, Arnold … think upon it. It may be a boy, your very own son! We’ve been truly blessed.’
Jesus! His gut burned hotter than an iron and his eyelid skipped in time to his jigging heartbeat.
Wiremu stepped inside the storeroom and called softly. A rustle came from behind the stacks of boxes and sacks and Libby peered around the corner, eyes huge in her pinched face.
‘Here, I’ve got some breakfast for you.’ Wiremu handed her his uneaten breakfast as she cautiously stepped out from her hiding place.
‘I couldn’t bring you anything else in case they saw me,’ he said, guiltily realising how hungry she must be as she spooned the oats into her mouth, barely swallowing before cramming in another spoonful.
‘More?’ Libby asked, putting the bowl to her mouth and licking it clean.
His promise to God uppermost in his mind, Wiremu glanced back over his shoulder, in the direction of his parents’ bedroom where his mother lay so ill. ‘Libby, I cannot steal anything more for you to eat. You must not stay here any longer. You’ll have to go back to the asylum.’
Libby backed away from him as if she’d been struck.
Wiremu grasped her shoulders. ‘Please, please, Libby, don’t upset yourself,’ he begged, pushing her down so she sat on the floor. Her breath came in harsh jerking gulps.
‘Ar-Arnold Price ki-kill m-m—’
‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Hush now,’ Wiremu soothed, fearing someone might hear and come looking. He crouched beside Libby, impulsively hugging her. If Mr Price had been nearby, he would have kicked the man’s backside, and be damned to the hiding he’d receive for doing so. He was a mean bugger for putting such fear into Libby.
‘Mr Price won’t kill you, Libby. You only think that because you know he and your mother will be angry with you for running away.’
‘K-kill M-M-M if Libby t-tell.’
‘Tell what?’
Libby shook her head.
Wiremu turned away. He couldn’t bear to see the trust in Libby’s eyes. Trust that he would help her when he knew he could not. He hated the thought of telling on her, and had he not bargained with God for his mother’s life, he would have helped Libby hide forever if need be. But a promise was a promise, never to be broken, especially a promise to God. He couldn’t tell any more lies and he couldn’t hide Libby.
‘Come now, Libby.’ He reached for her hand. She cringed and backed away.
‘You can’t hide forever. Even if you were to stay here, they would find you,’ he said, easing his conscience. ‘You have to come with me now.’
‘Arnold k-kill m-man.’
Wiremu stood stock still.
‘H-he bad. H-hurt M-Mother if Libby t-tell.’
Wiremu stared at her in dismay. She was speaking clearly, as if there was nothing wrong with her. Yet she must really be mad to say such terrible things.
But her eyes — honest, lacking in guile — were pleading with him. Should he believe her? There wasn’t the slightest trace of madness in her face. Wiremu chewed his bottom lip, stricken.
They both jumped as Don barged into the storeroom.
‘Mrs Gilpin wants —’ Don stopped short, his eyes widening at the sight of Libby. ‘Pa!’ he yelled, running back into the kitchen.
Libby dashed past Wiremu and out of the storeroom. He ran outside in time to see her climb on top of a stack of boxes before shinnying over the back fence.
Later, he was thankful his father assumed he’d only just discovered Libby in the storeroom that morning and didn’t question him further. That meant he didn’t have to confess to helping her hide.
Anne told Jimmy of the baby’s death and Mai’s illness the minute he set foot in the shop. ‘It was a wee girl. She was beautiful, but so tiny and not meant for this world, poor mite. And we near as this …’ she held her forefinger and thumb a fraction apart, ‘… lost Mai as well.
‘It was a dreadful night, I can tell you, and with me afraid she would pass away before Henry got back. Thank heavens, she seems a little better this morning.’ Anne sniffed and brushed a hand under her nose. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bleat at you. I’m no good to anyone like this.’
‘You’ve done well. Thank goodness you were here.’ Jimmy felt the need to say more, but the right words eluded him. Even if Anne hadn’t told him what had happened during the night, he’d have known something was badly amiss. The air of sorrow had met him at the door, thick and crushing. He could almost smell it.
He found Henry sitting at the kitchen table. He’d aged ten years in a single night.
What did a person say to a man who had so recently lost a child and who, it seemed, might be about to lose his wife? Jimmy stepped forward, holding out his hand. ‘Dammit, Henry, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am to hear of the baby’s passing.’
Henry stood, ignored Jimmy’s hand and grasped his arms, seeking strength from him. ‘It wasn’t meant to be, Jimmy.’ His eyes held so much pain, Jimmy blanched.
‘What am I to do about Mai? What if she should die, Jimmy? I’m nothing without her. If only I’d been with her she might not be lying there next to death.’
Anne had entered the room. ‘You weren’t to know Mai would go into labour, and it wouldn’t have made a scrap of difference to the outcome if you’d been here. Even if the midwife had come earlier it wouldn’t have changed what happened,’ she said quietly. ‘You mustn’t despair. Mai has spirit. She’ll not give in to this without a fight. She loves you and her boys too dearly.’
Jimmy was grateful for Anne’s presence. She had a knack for knowing what needed to be said and done.
It was decided that Henry should stay with Mai while Jimmy and Anne tended the shop. Careful to keep their distance from each other, Jimmy busied himself behind the counter while Anne worked out the front, tidying the garden tools, brushes and brooms displayed around an empty beer barrel. There was an uneasy silence. Much as Jimmy disliked Arnold Price, he was thankful to see him and Sylvia enter the shop.
Sylvia looked as if she hadn’t slept in nights, Jimmy thought, watching her sink onto the chair in front of the counter.
‘And how are you both this morning?’ he asked politely.
Price ignored his greeting. ‘I’m leaving Sylvia here with you while I join the search for Libby.’
‘Have you not heard of Mr and Mrs Bramwell’s bereavement?’ Jimmy asked, his hackles rising at the man’s rudeness.
Sylvia looked mortified. ‘Oh my goodness, no … not Mai …’
‘No, the baby,’ Jimmy said in a kinder tone to Sylvia. ‘But we nearly lost Mai as well.’
Sylvia stood, took a step towards the kitchen. ‘How is she now?’
‘Not much better, as far as I can tell. Henry’s beside himself.’
‘Is there nothing I can do, Jimmy?’
‘No, nothing. Mrs Gilpin and I are managing between us. Mai’s not well enough for visitors,’ Jimmy said, seeing Sylvia’s gaze wandering to the back of the shop.
Not an ounce of sympathy crossed Price’s face. The man looked impatient to be gone.
‘Jimmy, do please pass on our condolences to Henry. And don’t worry on my account. I shall wait at a hotel while Arnold’s gone.’
‘Libby was here last night,’ Anne volunteered, approaching Sylvia.
‘That’s wonderful news!’ Sylvia turned to her husband. ‘Did you hear that, Arnold? Libby is here. We’ll be able to take her home with us.’
Flicking a dismayed look at Jimmy, Anne clasped Sylvia’s hands. ‘Sylvia, I am so sorry, but she’s not here any more. She ran off after breakfast and we’ve not been able to find her.’
Price’s sallow features suffused with anger. ‘You had the girl here last night, gave her breakfast this morning, then let her get away? You damn fools! Why have you not reported this?’
‘You misunderstand, Mr Price. Wiremu found her hiding in the storeroom this morning. After breakfast.’ Her tone curt, Anne released Sylvia’s hands and looked coldly at Price.
‘She’ll be making for home,’ Price grunted at Sylvia. ‘You may as well come with me in that case. It’ll save me having to come back for you once she’s been found.’
‘But we’ve no wagon until someone is sent to repair it …’
‘I’ll hire one from the livery stables.’
After the Prices’ departure, Jimmy said to Anne, ‘You cannot help feel a good measure of sympathy for that young girl having him for a stepfather.’
Anne nodded. Nothing else was said for the next hour or so, but the silence had lost its awkwardness. For all the business they did they might well have closed the door, Jimmy decided later that morning. And the customer who walked in as that very thought ran through his mind, they could have done without. Bracing himself, he watched Minnie Cullen bustle up to the counter.
‘She’s got a damned hide coming in here after what she had to say the last time she graced the shop,’ he muttered to Anne.
Busy polishing the counter, Anne hadn’t seen Minnie come in. She glanced around, saw her ex-employer, and turned ashen.
Jimmy gave her a nudge. ‘Go on, out the back with you. I’ll deal with her.’
But Anne stood, mesmerised, as if Minnie Cullen had shone a lamp into her eyes.
‘’Tis a sad house here today. Full of sorrow and trouble, I hear,’ said Minnie. ‘I know Mr Bramwell and his wife and m’self have had our differences in the past, Mr Edwards, but at times like this we have to pull together.’ Her gaze ranged over Anne, then back to Jimmy. ‘D’you think what’s happened might be a judgement on Mr Bramwell and his wife for taking in a mad criminal woman?’
Anne fled out the back.
Was there no end to this woman’s brass? ‘Is there something you need, Mrs Cullen, or is it only your tongue you’ve come to exercise?’
‘Well!’ Minnie huffed. ‘That’s no way to treat a customer. I’ve spent a good sum of money in this store since it’s been open.’
Jimmy had thought his remark would see the back of the publican, but instead she leaned forward, a smug look about her as if hugging a great secret to herself. ‘Indeed, I’ve come to do you a good turn, Mr Edwards.’
Jimmy seriously doubted that.
She stood, saying nothing, clearly expecting his curiosity to prompt him into enquiring further.
But he was damned if he’d give her the satisfaction. Turning his back, Jimmy walked to the far side of the shop and began sorting boxes of buttons and cards of lace that had been muddled by a previous customer.
Minnie trotted after him. ‘Your — ah — fiancée,’ her lips curved with amusement, ‘is staying at the Niagara Hotel in Greymouth.’
A box of mother-of-pearl buttons slipped through Jimmy’s fingers, scattering the tiny nacre-topped objects over the floor.