Flight of the Jabiru (5 page)

Winston did not have any cases over which to adjudicate the following day, so he telephoned a dear friend who was in town and arranged to lunch together. He'd had a terrible night's sleep, but he planned to seek Paul Fitzsimons counsel on Lara Penrose's case, which was troubling him. Of course he couldn't divulge personal details on the case, but there was always a way around that.

The Hot Pot Cafe was near Winston's home and the food was delicious. Mrs. Fellowes served hearty soups and mouth-watering pies. Since the war began, business had been so much quieter, and today was no exception, especially as it was raining heavily. But Winston was actually quite pleased that the cafe was almost deserted. He didn't want anyone to overhear his conversation with Paul. He arrived early and took a seat in the bay window.

At midday, Paul came in, removing his raincoat, and hanging it up by the door. He came over to Winston's table with an extended hand and a huge smile. Winston had missed his friend and was overjoyed to see him.

“Your face is as brown as a hazelnut,” Winston observed.

“And yours is as familiarly white as flour,” Paul laughed. “Tell me, has it stopped raining at all since I left England?”

Winston smiled. “We did have one day of summer. Where've you been on your travels?”

“In Northern Australia, where it's always hot. The mornings were predictably sunny and the afternoons terribly hot. It only rained in the wet season and then it poured, but it's never cold. This is the first time I've worn a coat and a long-sleeved shirt in months.”

“Lucky you,” Winston commented. They ordered hearty chicken and vegetable soup and beef pies.

“You look worried about something, my friend,” Paul said as they waited for their food. “Is there a case you wish to discuss with me?”

“You know me well,” Winston replied. “I'll be soon hearing a case that is troubling me.” He had no intention of mentioning the connection to his sister or her husband. Paul was a very good friend, but he couldn't risk that.

“What's it about?”

“A young woman who's being accused of assaulting a member of the aristocracy and a police officer.”

“I'd say she's looking at a jail sentence,” Paul said without hesitation.

“She claims she's innocent of the first charge and the second charge was an accident. I actually believe her, but there are no witnesses to support her case. She's a well-respected member of society, a teacher actually. Her pupils love her, their parents love her, and she's never been in trouble before.”

“Then give her a bond. As she has no prior record that would be the most practical thing to do.”

“It's not that simple. Both of her so-called victims want her to receive a custodial sentence.”

“That's for the court to decide, not them,” Paul stated.

“If only it were that simple,” Winston mumbled, thinking of his sister. He would have liked to tell his friend about the problem, but that was impossible without revealing the difficulties of his sister. Instead he changed the subject. “Where should lead your next trip?” “Where will your travels take you next?” he added, wanting to change the subject.

“I'm here to see if there's any way I can recruit teachers who would be willing to work in Northern Australia.”

“Teachers? Why?”

“With so many men serving in the war, the children in Northern Australia are running amok. They hardly ever attend school so they get up to mischief and end up in trouble with the law. I fear most of them will be in jail as soon as they're adults.”

“Why don't they attend school?”

“The lifestyle is different in Northern Australia. The children want to be outside more. They are distracted by pursuits such as fishing and swimming. The schools are so short staffed that the numbers in the classes are double what they should be. So when students are missing, nothing is done about it. Some of the smaller schools don't even have teachers, so they are forced to close.”

“Thankfully that problem does not exist here,” Winston said thoughtfully.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sleeting rain washed over Lara's face, plastering her hair to her head. She was hoeing weeds between a long line of cabbages and carrots. Her hands were raw with blisters and her back ached, but she was outside. That was all that mattered.

Lara was wearing an oversized raincoat and wellington boots, as were three other prisoners working between different rows of vegetables. Neither was adequate protection. Raindrops from her hair trickled down her neck and under the raincoat, soaking her back. The inside of her worn-out boots had also become damp. She wouldn't complain though. She was able to breathe fresh air, something she'd never again take for granted. If it had been blowing a gale she still wouldn't complain or go inside.

As someone being held without bail, it wasn't mandatory for Lara to perform labor. For the first three days of being incarcerated she stared at the four walls in her cell in the Hollesley Bay Prison in a state of near panic. Finally, she begged the prison staff to let her work outside. It didn't matter that she'd never tended a vegetable in her life. She volunteered to weed. That had been a week ago and four of the seven days since had been wet.

Lara would've done anything to avoid her claustrophobic, damp cell, inhabited by scuttling insects, where twenty-four hours felt like a week. Her bed was as hard as a plank of wood; her blankets smelt like dogs had slept on them, and they were itchy against her skin. They provided no warmth, so she shivered through sleepless nights with a cold breeze coming through the bars of the tiny window too high to afford a view. She'd cried so much that she felt she had no tears left. Fortunately, she didn't share a cell, but she could still hear screams and anguished cries echoing in the corridors at all hours of the night. It was like being awake in the worst nightmare imaginable.

“Penrose! You've got a visitor,” one of the guards called from the shelter of an overhanging doorway on C block.

Lara dropped her hoe and trudged towards the androgynous guard dressed in navy blue, aware of the squelching mud beneath her boots. “Is it my solicitor?”

“No,” the guard said curtly.

“Is it my father?”

“No.”

“Then who is it?” Lara was baffled as the guard jangled keys, unlocking and locking doors as they went down corridors.

“Do I look like your social director? You'll find out soon enough.”

Lara was still taken aback each time she was spoken to with such hostility. She didn't think she'd ever get used to being treated like a common criminal. She prayed she wouldn't have to.

Dressed in a tunic as gray and drab as the day, Lara was escorted into a room twice the size of her cell. Like the rest of the prison, the walls were gray, the floor was gray, and the door was gray. The room was furnished with two old wooden chairs on either side of a wooden table, but had no window. A man was seated on one of the chairs, with his back to her. She was very surprised when he turned to face her. It was Judge Mitchell. He was wearing a well-cut, black suit and a burgundy scarf around his neck, which contrasted beautifully with his snow-white hair. He actually brightened up the room, but that didn't stop Lara's heart from thudding wildly. Why was he here, waiting to see her?

“Miss Penrose,” he said less formally than she expected, despite being quite startled by her appearance. He stood up courteously. He'd been prepared to see her appear tired, but her eyes were almost hollow in her overly pale face. Even though she was wearing a loose tunic, he could tell she'd lost a few pounds, weight she could ill afford to lose. He felt a twinge of guilt that he tried to ignore. “You're wet,” he commented, noting her damp hair that she hadn't had time to comb. Her tunic also had damp patches on her shoulders and back. She hadn't seen her reflection for ten days, so she'd become unaware of her appearance. “Have you been out in the exercise yard in the rain?”

Having someone comment on her appearance made Lara self-conscious so she smoothed her hair with her hand. “I've been working in the vegetable garden,” she said softly.

Winston noted her blistered hands as she touched her hair. “In this weather? Are you being mistreated?” He glanced at the surly guard accusingly.

“No, I volunteered to go outside,” she said a little surprised he cared. “I like the fresh air.”

“You'll catch your death of cold out there in this weather.”

“Right now a cold is the least of my problems. You wouldn't have any idea what's it's like to be confined in a tiny space for days on end.” Her voice shook with emotion.

“No,” Winston admitted. “I wouldn't. But then law abiding people don't usually find themselves in that situation.”

Lara considered herself a law-abiding person, but she didn't say so out loud. The look she gave the judge deemed it unnecessary. “You are the last person I expected to see, Judge Mitchell.” She immediately worried something was wrong. “Is my father all right?”

“As far as I know, Miss Penrose. I've no doubt my visit is unexpected. I can assure you I do not make a habit of visiting people who have appeared before me in court.”

“Then what makes me the exception?” Lara asked. She was curious.

“Please leave us alone,” Judge Mitchell asked the guard who left the room and locked the door behind her.

“Be seated, Miss Penrose.”

“Are you aware that you are due to face me in court in two days?”

“No,” Lara said, her heart racing. She hadn't been told the date.

“Your lawyer will no doubt be notifying you later today.”

More than likely you will receive a custodial sentence.”

Lara gasped. “But I'm innocent!”

“Both of your victims do not see it that way.”

“So I will be spending years in this...” Lara couldn't say the words that stuck in her throat.

“There might be an alternative. How would you feel about a teaching position at a different school instead of a jail sentence?”

Lara was gobsmacked. She lifted her chin and looked at him. “I don't understand,” she said.

“If you were to accept, I would be willing to make that your punishment, but there is a stipulation.”

“What's that?” she asked in a small voice.

“If at any time you leave the employment of that school before the end of two years, you'd be brought back here where you'd be incarcerated for two years.”

This was unexpected.
Lara stared at Judge Mitchell, trying to work out why this offer sounded too good to be true. “It sounds as if you've made up your mind that I'm guilty before hearing any new evidence to prove my innocence,” she said.

“It will be a miracle if your solicitor comes up with anything to actually prove your innocence, with only Harrison Hornsby as a witness to what took place between you and his father. You know that and I know that. As for the other assault charge, even if the gypsies are found by Mr. Irving, they are generally not considered reliable witnesses.”

Lara knew he was right. Short of a miracle, she had no hope of being found innocent. “What is the difference between the school where I'm currently employed and the school you are referring to?” She suspected he was going to say it was in the Welsh mountains or the Scottish highlands, miles from a town. Or perhaps it was a school for students with severe problems. She didn't know what to think.

“The school is in a small community a long way from here.”

Lara couldn't believe she was right. “How far?”

“Many thousands of miles,” Winston admitted.

Lara's mouth dropped open again. That distance ruled out Wales or Scotland. “Where exactly?” It crossed her mind he was banishing her to Iceland or Siberia, somewhere even more intolerable than the Hollesley Bay Prison.

“Northern Australia,” Winston said.

“Australia!” Lara was shocked. That was perhaps not as bad as Iceland or Siberia, but not far from it. “You want to banish me to a country on the other side of the world ... for something I didn't do?”

“You shouldn't look at it that way. From what I've learnt about you, you are a good teacher. It would be a terrible shame to allow your talents to be wasted when there are children in Australia who could benefit immensely. And Australia is not involved in the war.”

“What about my students here?”

“There's no shortage of good teachers here, but apparently in remote communities in the Northern Territory it's quite a different story. Think of the difference you could make to these children's' lives.”

Confused and angry, Lara stood up again. She loved her life in England. She didn't want to leave her father. She began pacing, her thoughts in turmoil. On the other hand ... what choice did she have? Her condemnation was almost sure and she knew herself well enough to know that she never would be able to stay at this place for full two years. The alternative was to live in freedom and to work in the profession she loved — although it would be in a place she only knew from her schoolbooks. Wasn't that clearly better? She felt that the judge waited for her decision.

“How would I get to Australia?” she asked, thinking of practicalities. “There is a war going on. Surely it's dangerous to be travelling across the world.”

“A friend of mine has just returned from Australia by ship. It wasn't a passenger liner because most of them are now troop carriers. It was a cargo ship also carrying passengers. He said it's quite safe to travel across the Indian Ocean. I wouldn't consider this option otherwise.”

“I'd be so far away from my father,” Lara muttered to herself. The thought was unbearable.

“That's true, but apparently the weather in Northern Australia is always warm, even when it rains. I believe there are white, sandy beaches that stretch for miles and amazing plants and animals. My friend said it's a most beautiful place. You'd be teaching in a small community at Shady Camp billabong, near the port of Darwin.”

“I'd be so far away from my father,” Lara muttered to herself. The thought was unbearable. It had been the two of them ever since she lost her mother.

“I need to speak to my father about this,” she said. It was a huge decision to make alone and it involved him, too.

“I want an answer from you before your court appearance,” Judge Mitchell said, getting to his feet. “If I don't get word from you, then you know what to expect when you come to court on Thursday morning.”

“If I do agree to going to Australia, I want some reassurance that my father won't lose his position at Fitzroy stables, if he hasn't already.” She knew she was being brazen, but it was worth a try. “I'll speak to Lord Hornsby and do my best to ensure your father keeps his position.” He knew from Nicole that Roy had allowed Walter to stay on for the time being, but only because he couldn't find anyone as talented with horses to take his place. “Would you like me to arrange for you to see your father?”

“Yes, if you would, I'd be grateful.”

Lara's tumultuous thoughts kept her awake all night. She wanted to be loyal to her pupils, but the hope of a miracle was slight. So she was in reality facing a two-year term in prison or the alternative, two years in a school in Australia. The next morning, however, the decision became a lot easier: her headmaster Richard Dunn sent her a letter of notice through his attorney. He said he could not employ a teacher who had been charged with a violent crime, innocent or not. Her heart broke just a little more, but that meant there was no reason not to accept the offer put forward by Judge Mitchell.

“Dad.” Lara was overwhelmed with emotion when she entered the visiting room later that day to find her father waiting for her. She wanted to rush into his outstretched arms, but a guard stepped between them, reinstating that they could not have physical contact. “It's so wonderful to see you, Dad. How've you been?” she asked sitting down at the wooden table. When she noticed the trembling of his hands she added: “Oh, that was a silly question. I know how you've been.”

“I've been so worried, Lara. Is something wrong, other than the terrible situation you are in?”

“No, Dad. I need to discuss something with you.”

“What is it?”

“Judge Mitchell was here yesterday. He told me I'm looking at a custodial sentence of two years,” Lara said.

“Oh, Lara.” Walter went pale.

“Wait, Dad, there's something more.” Her hand reached for his, but the guard cleared her throat, so Lara withdrew it. “He offered a two year teaching position in a different school as an alternative.”

Walter straightened up. “That sounds wonderful,” he said. “Is there a twist?”

“Sort of, Dad. The school is in another country,” Lara said, gauging his features carefully.

“Another country!” Walter looked concerned again.

His first thoughts were of the war and the danger to Lara.

“Australia, Dad. I would be sent to a remote community in Northern Australia for two years.”