Dark Torment (38 page)

The ground felt hot beneath her feet as she went up the bank and
along the creek. Tall, blackened corpses of what had once been trees stood
smoldering, steam rising from their lifeless limbs as the rain doused the last
remaining sparks. Ashes lay thick on the charred ground as she walked through
the remains of what less than an hour before had been a living grove of ghost
gums. An unnatural stillness lay over everything. There was absolutely no sound
except for the slapping of the rain.

Then, from directly overhead, came a sharp crack. Sarah glanced up
to see a huge black branch hurtling like a bolt from heaven. She didn’t
have time to cry out before it struck her. And for her, the world ceased to
exist.

Sarah opened her eyes, winced, and promptly shut them again. Even
that tiny movement caused blinding pain to stab through her head. She moaned.
Immediately a cold cloth was pressed to her forehead, her eyes, and then wiped
carefully over her face.

“It’s all right, my lamb. It’s all right.”

Sarah knew that soothing voice. Despite the pain, she forced her
eyes open to stare with amazement at Mrs. Abbott’s homely face bent over
her. Then her eyes went beyond Mrs. Abbott to the familiar peaches and creams
and greens of the room: her room. The bedroom she had slept in since she was
small, at Lowella.

“What happened?” Her voice was so faint that it
alarmed her.

“You were caught out in that bush fire, and a limb fell and
hit you on the head. But you’re safe home now, Miss Sarah, and
you’re going to be all right. All you need is rest.”

“But how did I get home?” She was too tired to talk,
and her eyes were closing even as she said it.

Before Mrs. Abbott could attempt to answer, Sarah was asleep. When
she woke again, she did not know how much later, Mrs. Abbott still sat beside
her. After drinking thirstily from a glass of barley water the housekeeper held
to her lips, Sarah determinedly repeated her question. Disjointed memories
tugged at the edge of her consciousness; there was something important that she
should recall. . . .

“How did I get home, Mrs. Abbott?”

“Miss Sarah, you shouldn’t be talking.”

“Then you talk, Mrs. Abbott. Tell me what happened. Please,
I need to know.”

Mrs. Abbott leaned nearer, concern and indecision plain in her
plump face.

“You were carried home, Miss Sarah. Your pa’s face lit
up like a candle when ’e saw that you were safe. ’E was beside
’imself when we found you’d been taken, you know. ’E had all
the men out looking for you, and was even ready to offer a reward for your safe
return—and you know how ’e is about money. We were all sore afraid
for you, Miss Sarah.”

“But who carried me home?”

Mrs. Abbott moistened her lips, looking uncharacteristically
nervous. “Miss Liza was sitting on the porch when she saw this man riding
in with you ’eld in front of ’im in the saddle. Lord, she let out a
scream that must near ’ave shattered the windows! And we all came
running, thinking something awful ’ad ’appened to ’er. And we
saw you. You looked like you were dead, Miss Sarah. It was near dinnertime, and
your pa and Mr. Percival were in the ’ouse. Your pa snatched you down
from the ’orse and carried you inside. ’E was yelling for Madeline
to be brought to tend you—”

“But who was the man on the horse?” Sarah interrupted.
She was beginning to feel considerably better. The pain in her head
wasn’t quite so acute, and her thought processes were clearing. And still
that niggling memory nagged at her. . . .

Mrs. Abbott looked uncomfortable. “We can talk more when
you’re better, Miss Sarah.” She stood up, brushing nervously at her
skirt. “I’ll go fetch you some more barley water.”

“Mrs. Abbott!” Sarah’s voice was sharp. Mrs.
Abbott backed toward the door, looking hunted. “It was
Dom—Gallagher, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, my, oh, my! Lamb, don’t get yourself upset! When
you’re better . . .”

“
Wasn’t it?
” That was the memory that
had plagued her. Dominic’s strong arms around her, lifting her, carrying
her . . . He had somehow found her and brought her home. When he had been so
adamant that he would never return to Lowella.

“Miss Sarah . . .” Mrs. Abbott sounded really upset.

Sarah sat bolt upright in the bed, ignoring the throbbing in her
head. “How long ago was that?
What’s happened to
him?
”
A terrible fear was coiling in her belly. Had he been right about her father
after all? Surely Dominic wasn’t—they hadn’t harmed him?

“Miss Sarah, you ’ave to lie down! All right,
I’ll tell you, though your pa will likely ’ave my ’ide. But
you must lie down!” Mrs. Abbott was hovering anxiously over her now, her
round face creased with worry. Sarah fixed her with smoldering eyes as she lay
tensely back against the pillows.

“Tell me.” Was that her voice, that near-toneless
command?

“You’ve been ’ome near a week, Miss Sarah.
Gallagher came riding up bold as brass with you across ’is saddle on
Tuesday last. Your pa grabbed you away from ’im, and ’e turned to
ride out again. But Mr. Percival . . .” She hesitated a moment, then went
on, her voice clearly reluctant, “ ’E ordered ’im to stop.
When Gallagher just kept riding, ’e shot ’im clean out of the
saddle.” At Sarah’s alarmed sound, she continued hastily,
“’E didn’t kill ’im, or even ’urt ’im bad.
Just caught ’im in the shoulder.”

“Dear God!” Sarah was no longer concerned about
concealing from Mrs. Abbott the secret of her love for Dominic. Besides, she
guessed from the woman’s reluctance to tell her what had happened to
Dominic that Mrs. Abbott had shrewdly surmised much of how she felt.
“Where is he now?” The question was a strangled croak.

Mrs. Abbott looked even more uncomfortable. “Mr. Percival
locked ’im up in one of the sheep byres. You know, that one nearest the
house. Mr. Percival was all set to ’ang ’im, for escaping, but your
pa said to wait. ’E said ’anging couldn’t be undone just by
wishing it. They argued for a bit, with Mr. Percival saying, ’ow did they
know what the convict had done to you?—but still your pa said to wait.
Until you were well enough to tell what ’appened. Then, if ’anging
was deserved, Gallagher’d be ’anged.”

Sarah had sat up again as Mrs. Abbott spoke, ignoring the
housekeeper’s worried expression. Now she swung her legs determinedly
over the side of the bed. Her head spun for a moment, making her close her
eyes. When she opened them again, the room slowly settled into place.

“Miss Sarah, you can’t get up! You’ll do
yourself an injury! Please, Miss Sarah!” Mrs. Abbott’s hands were
on her shoulders, trying to push her gently back into the bed.

Sarah gritted her teeth and shrugged free of Mrs. Abbott’s
grip. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to give in and lie back on her
soft nest of pillows; her head was throbbing so that made her wince. But
Dominic was hurt, too, more badly than she, Sarah had no doubt. He had no soft
nest of pillows to lie on. But she meant to remedy that without delay. And she
didn’t give a damn what her father, or anyone else for that matter,
thought.

“Mrs. Abbott, you go tell Tess or Mary to fetch that chair
with wheels that Pa had brought out from England for my mother. Tell them to
have it waiting at the foot of the stairs. Then you help me get dressed. I may
need you to help me downstairs, too, and out to the byre. Call Jagger or one of
the other men—it doesn’t matter who—to come along with us. If
Dom—Gallagher is badly hurt, we’ll need a man to push the chair
with him in it. Hear?”

Mrs. Abbott protested mightily, insisting that she would go
herself to check on Dominic—she was fond of the boy herself, she said.
But Sarah was determined, and she had her way. They made a curious procession
crossing the yard, Mrs. Abbott supporting Sarah on her arm while Jagger
followed, pushing the invalid chair with one hand and holding a rifle in the
other. The rifle was for insurance. She doubted that there was any need for it,
but she meant to get Dominic out of that byre. No matter what—or
who—stood in her way.

By the time they reached the byre—a small shed erected near
where the stable, now a blackened ruin, had stood; it was used to house any
sheep that might need to be kept close at hand, for, say, a difficult
lambing—the skirt of Sarah’s faded blue gingham dress was wet to
the knees from brushing across the soggy ground. Mrs. Abbott’s skirts
were in a similar condition, while the invalid chair made tracks in the field,
which was still muddy from the torrential downpour that had ended the drought.

Heart hammering, Sarah had Jagger remove the thick plank that had
been used to wedge the byre door shut, then, still supported by Mrs. Abbott,
she stepped inside. For a moment she could see nothing in the pitch-dark
interior of the small shed. Her nose wrinkled as a pervading stench assailed
her nostrils. Mrs. Abbott’s arm beneath hers trembled as the woman was
struck by the odor. Jagger, following them with the rifle, whistled softly in
consternation. As Sarah’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw
why.

Dominic lay on his back on a heap of matted straw, his eyes
closed, his body bare from the waist up except for a dirty, bloodied bandage
that bound his shoulder. His beard was thick now, obscuring the lines of his
jaw and chin. His hair, waving wildly around his head, was filthy. Chains
linked his wrists and ankles, and more chains secured him to iron rings set
into the wall. His feet were bare and as dirty as the rest of him; his breeches
were torn and ragged. Dampness pervaded the air as noticeably as the stench,
which to her horror Sarah began to perceive emanated from one corner, which he
had used for his physical needs. The shed floor on which the thin layer of
straw was strewn was cold, clammy earth.

“Dominic!” Uncaring of her audience, Sarah pulled free
of Mrs. Abbott’s hold to take two tottering steps forward and drop to her
knees at Dominic’s side.

His eyes opened as she said his name. They stared at her blankly
for a moment, then filled with a terrible anger.

“Get the hell out of here, Sarah.” The voice was
hoarse and weak, but, accompanied by the glittering stare he raked her with, it
had the impact of a shout.

Once, Sarah would have been affronted by that hostile growl. But
now that she had come to know Dominic almost as well as she knew herself, she
realized that his anger stemmed less from the quarrel they had had—he
must have forgiven her for that, if he had been willing to jeopardize his
safety to bring her home to be cared for—than from shame at having her
see him in such a state.

“Don’t be a fool, Dominic,” she said quietly.
And, ignoring the vivid string of curses he flung at her, she calmly instructed
Jagger to fit keys into the shackles until he found one that worked, and then
to help Dominic to the house. Dominic could use the blue bedroom just along the
hall from hers. . . .

“You can’t be meaning to let ’im stay in the
’ouse. Think of what your pa will say!” Mrs. Abbott whispered, upon
hearing this last.

But Sarah ignored her, and Jagger’s equally alarmed face as
he searched for and finally found a key that would work the lock on the
shackles. When Dominic’s arms and legs were free, he struggled into a
sitting position, and would have stood up if his strength had permitted. It did
not, so he fell back, leaning against the shed wall and glaring ferociously at
Sarah. Eyes narrowing, he deliberately called her a string of names that would
have made a saloonkeeper wince. Mrs. Abbott gasped, clapped her hands to her
ears, and stared at him with horror. Jagger stepped back a pace, jerking the
rifle to his shoulder and pointing it at Dominic’s middle.

“You an’ me is friends, Gallagher, an’ I
don’t wanta shoot ya, but I will if you keep talkin’ to Miss Sarah
like that. She don’t deserve it.”

“It’s all right, Jagger,” Sarah assured him over
her shoulder. Unconvinced, Jagger lowered the rifle with obvious reluctance. To
Dominic, Sarah added calmly, “If you say another filthy word, I’ll
have you hog-tied, and gagged, and carried to the house that way.” She
fixed him with a long, cool look. He scowled back.

“Back to being a Good Samaritan, are we?” He was
smiling nastily, hostility plain in his eyes. The hostility deepened as she
reached to touch his bandage. As she suspected, it was damp.

“When necessary,” she answered calmly, and smiled when
his only reply was a gritting of his teeth.

He could not walk unassisted, and Jagger was too slight a man to
support Dominic’s much greater weight for any distance, so he ended up
being transported to the house—with some difficulty because of the mud,
which in places was inches deep—in the invalid chair that Sarah had
brought along for that purpose. Dominic maintained a sullen, glaring silence
throughout the short journey, which was a relief to Sarah. Her family would be
horrified enough when they discovered what she meant to do, without him being
carted through the house cursing like a sailor.

Lydia and Liza, the first tight-lipped, the latter wide-eyed, were
standing together on the porch as they returned to the house. Sarah, with Mrs.
Abbott supporting her with an arm around her waist, was in the lead. She
faltered only slightly when she saw the reception committee that awaited them,
then walked steadily on. Jagger, pushing Dominic in the chair, followed. As
they neared the porch, Sarah spoke over her shoulder, instructing Jagger to
take Dominic in and make him as comfortable as possible in the bedroom she had
designated. Mrs. Abbott could show him where it was. Then she shrugged off Mrs.
Abbott’s support, finding that as her battle-readiness mounted so did her
physical strength.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lydia said
with icy outrage as Sarah indicated with a gesture that Jagger should help
Dominic into the house. They had stopped just below the porch, and Lydia and
Liza were staring down at them over the rail. Jagger helped Dominic from the
chair and up the stairs, while Sarah hovered at Dominic’s other side.
Lydia moved to confront them as they reached the top of the steps, an ugly
expression on her softly dimpled face. “You can’t come in
here!” she said to Dominic. Then, to Jagger, who looked distinctly
alarmed, she added regally, “Take him elsewhere at once.”