Hannah returned an hour later, as she said she would. But she wasn’t alone. Doctor Judd was with her.
“Go and get Harold, lassie,” he told me. “This concerns him too. Bring him to the kitchen, will you? But first, I’ll put this muck where it belongs.” And he threw the whole newspaper into the fire.
Harold and Mohan were sitting with Mr Petrov. I opened the door slightly and beckoned. “Harold,” I whispered. “Doctor Judd wants you.”
Harold slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly. “What is it?” he asked. His voice had a tense edge to it. “Is it about Uncle?”
“No. I’m sorry, Harold; I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m not sure, but I think it’s about the Red Gauntlet.”
Doctor Judd was sitting at the kitchen table and he motioned for us to join him. He began. “I’ve nothing against Ernest Leviny but it was a mistake bringing in that Detective Melmoth. He’s a … a …” Doctor Judd looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Never mind what he is. This search for the Red Gauntlet is all nonsense. We – Hannah and I – know for a fact that he couldn’t have done it.” The doctor looked across at Hannah. She nodded. “It is impossible for the Red Gauntlet to have kidnapped the ladies. You have seen the proof for yourself, in the cellar at Blumberg.”
What could Doctor Judd mean? Bizarre thoughts flew through my mind. Was someone buried underneath the flagstones? Or pickled in a barrel? And then suddenly I understood.
“It’s Hermann, isn’t it?”
“Yes, lassie,” said Doctor Judd. “You picked it. Hermann Schroeder is the Red Gauntlet.”
Hannah’s accent grew stronger as she told us the story. “He is my half-brother. Jack Munro is his real name. He wasn’t a bad laddie. But he was bold, hot-tempered, and – to be honest with you – none too bright. I tried to keep him on the straight and narrow, but once he fell in with bad company he didn’t have a chance. I won’t make excuses for him; he liked the excitement of it. He was in too deep before he realised that he was heading for the gallows if he was caught.”
“What happened?” asked Harold.
“The doctor will tell it.”
Doctor Judd nodded. “Well, in 1861 Melmoth started his hunt in earnest. With his network of spies and informers, he nearly caught them several times, and it was only due to luck that they got away. Jack decided the life was not for him. He didn’t want to die on the end of a rope so he decided to go west. But the others had a hold over him – his sister. You see, Hannah had hidden stolen goods in her house. All unknowingly, as a favour for Jack, but ignorance is no excuse in the eyes of the law. Jack was caught in a trap of his own making.
“The gang did one last robbery. You know the story. Ernest Leviny offered a reward. The gang took to the hills and then, as far as I can understand it, they decided to split up and go their separate ways. But the thing was, none of them trusted the others. Each of them was sure that he’d be betrayed for money. A fight broke out and one man was killed outright. Jack was shot in the face and pushed off the hillside onto the rocks below. But he wasn’t dead.”
“I don’t know how he did it,” said Hannah. “But he walked and staggered and crawled to Blumberg. It took him three days.”
The doctor took off his steel-rimmed spectacles and rubbed them with his handkerchief. “And this is where I come into the story. The Dohnts had a man named Hermann Schroeder working for them in the vineyard. They were clearing up the vine prunings one day and this Schroeder had been drinking. He fell into the fire and was badly burned. I attended him. He died a few days after Jack staggered to Blumberg. He was secretly buried and–”
“And you did a switch,” I said.
“Yes. It was my husband Gottfried’s idea,” said Hannah. “Hermann had emigrated to South Australia but him being a drinker, you see, it made him hot-tempered and hasty. He quarrelled with everyone. He’d made his way to Castlemaine and we’d given him work at Blumberg. He had no relatives. There was no one to miss him.”
Such a sad and lonely life, I thought.
“We buried him at the end of a row of vines, and I planted a rosebush to remember him by,” said Hannah.
Those red rosehips I’d admired – perhaps the bush was on top of Hermann’s body.
“As for Jack – well, you saw for yourself.”
“So he’s been pretending to be Schroeder all these years?” said Harold.
There was one last twist to the tale. “No,” said the doctor. “With all his injuries a massive infection set in and for weeks he lay in a high fever. When the crisis was over, he was a changed man. Gentle, timid, almost like a child. He’d lost his memory completely. As far as he knows, he is Hermann Schroeder. How can we let him be tried for the Red Gauntlet’s crimes?”
“We need to tell Papa and Mr Leviny,” I said.
“Ernest Leviny is a fine, law-abiding citizen. He’d think it was his duty to tell the police. Jack would be jailed, or even hanged. And that’s not the end of it. The Dohnt family – including Hannah here – have all broken the law.” He gave a wry smile. “Not to mention myself.”
“This is very serious,” said Harold.
“It is that. I’ve taken a risk and told you a secret that’s been hidden for nearly twenty years. Somehow we have to stop that reptile Melmoth. If he stirs up enough trouble, someone may remember something and that poor broken laddie–”
“Melmoth must not get hold of Hermann,” I said. “So what we have to do is find Helen and Drucilla.”
“Verity? Are you all right?”
“Drucilla …” I felt myself swaying. Then darkness.
Drucilla. Her face dirty and bruised. Dark shadows under her eyes; a look of great concentration on her face. What was that in her hand? A card. A playing card. She was laying them out in a game of Patience. But it was very odd. Every card she turned over was the same – the Queen of Spades.
There was a crunching sound. She was munching into an apple, a large green apple, and turning over the cards. Queen of Spades, Queen of Spades …
Harold’s arms were around me. “You nearly fell off your chair.”
“It’s my fault. I’m mortified,” said Doctor Judd. “A horrible story such as this – why, no wonder she fainted.”
“I didn’t faint,” I said.
“You did,” he said. “Harold, help her to the sofa. I insist that you stay there all day, Verity.” His eyebrows bristled as he fixed me with a stern look. “All day.”
How frustrating. Like it or not, I was tucked up on the sofa like an invalid and the others were shooed out of the room. Harold poked his head around the door, but Doctor Judd waved him away. I had to listen to another ridiculous lecture on feminine frailty, and as if Hannah hadn’t enough to do, she had to bring me in a tray. Weak tea and dry toast. Very unappetising.
However, solitude wouldn’t hurt me. I needed to think.
I tried to put this latest vision together with the others. In the first one, I’d seen Drucilla looking watchful and afraid. Then grey stones – gravestones. When Harold and I had gone to the cemetery, I’d seen the name “Redpath” carved into them and known right away it was a clue. But according to Hannah and George, Redpath the stonemason was long gone or even dead …
I was so deep in thought I barely noticed the doorbell. Now I heard footsteps and voices.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s quite impossible for you to see Miss Verity.”
“Has she gone out?”
“She must stay quiet. Doctor’s orders.”
Doctor’s poppycock. I recognised that voice. “Mrs Brandywine!” I called, jumping off the sofa and sending the plate of uneaten toast flying. “I’m in here.”
Mrs Brandywine burst into the room. She was wearing a deep orange travelling cloak over her dress, and with her short squat figure she resembled a jar of marmalade. I was so pleased to see her I ignored polite manners and gave her a big hug. She hugged me back.
“It’s all right, Hannah,” I said. “This lady is a friend.”
“But the doctor said you were to stay quiet.”
“I’ll keep her very quiet,” whispered Mrs Brandywine.
Hannah regarded her suspiciously for a second or two, and then relaxed. “I will get you some refreshments, ma’am,” she said. “You’ll be famished from your journey.”
“I am indeed. Thank you.” Mrs Brandywine took off her hat and cloak and sat down next to me on the sofa. She looked around, taking in the carvings and elephants and brass trays and peacock feathers. “How my husband would enjoy this room,” she said. “Or would he? There’s something very sad about it, isn’t there?” She shook her head. “But that’s not why I’m here. Now, my dear, what’s the matter with you? Are you ill?”
“No. The doctor is very fussy about young females, that’s all. But Mrs Brandywine, why are you here?”
“My dear, I have learned something very interesting and dramatic that concerns you.”
Interesting … dramatic … Oh, how wonderful it would be if Mrs Brandywine’s gift – for I was convinced she had one – had come to the rescue. Did I dare hope? “Is it about Drucilla?” I asked. My heart began thumping with excitement. “And Helen?”
“No, it’s not.”
I slumped back against the sofa cushions.
She waited for a few seconds and then said, “Do you want to tell me about it, Verity?”
I shook my head. “Later, Mrs Brandywine.”
She began to insist, and then changed her mind. “Last Friday night, I held a séance upstairs at the Book Bazaar.” Why wasn’t I surprised? “It’s usually the same set of people, but every now and then a stranger arrives. Somehow or other they hear about me.” Mrs Brandywine gave a modest shrug. “This happened at our last meeting, Verity. She was a tall dark-haired woman, very beautiful, dressed quite strikingly in grey.”
“Della Parker,” I whispered.
“She didn’t give her name. But as it turned out, I did have a message for her. Please excuse the language. Sometimes the spirits can be rather crude. That damned lying red-headed snake. Legal or not, it don’t change nothing. Family is family. You tell them, girl. Tell them everything you know.”
Mrs Brandywine sat placidly while thoughts whirled around in my brain. Family is family. Legal or not. This was about the Parker Pork Packing fortune. Who had lied? What did she know?
She patted my hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Verity. There is more. We always gather for supper afterwards, but this woman left straightaway. When she shook my hand on leaving, I felt some extremely strong vibrations connecting her to you. There is deception, concealment, death and sorrow. And money. Money is definitely involved.”
My brain was buzzing. Money is definitely involved. “Mrs Brandywine, could you repeat the spirit message?”
“That damned lying red-headed snake …” she began.
The leader of the bushrangers was a red-head. Red hair, red glove, Redpath … They were all connected. But how? Was Della behind the kidnapping, after all?