Hearts of Gold (9 page)

It occurred to him that he could shorten the time he had left, find oblivion in that mythical medicinal brandy bottle he’d told Sarry about. After all, he had sod all left to live for. Painfully rising to his feet, he turned and lumbered towards the lights of the town.

Three hours later and he’d drunk just enough to keep the nagging pain at bay, when there came a burst of raucous laughter from a group of four men at the end of the bar. Someone shouted, ‘Here’s to Ireland and the Irish.’

‘I’ll second that, Flynn Collins. Just see if I don’t.’

Flynn Collins? Where had he heard that name before? John remembered. Kicking his stool aside he staggered to his feet. ‘Were you ever on the Coolgardie diggings, Collins?’

‘To be sure. What’s it to you?’

‘Remember Sarry Maitland.’

The Irishman grinned round at his companions. ‘One woman is the same as the rest, and I can’t say her name sounds familiar. What of her?’

‘You were her father’s partner. When he died you stole all she had and left her destitute, that’s
what of her
.’

‘You’re a fecking liar and so is the woman. She was a goldfields whore.’

‘She was a child, only fourteen years old. Her father died from snakebite, remember? You buried him, then sold everything out from under the girl and took off. She had to work her fingers to the bone to pay off her father’s debts, and was wandering and almost dead from thirst when I found her.’

‘Irish scum,’ somebody in the crowd shouted.

Collins’s face mottled a dull red. ‘I was going to take her to the orphanage in Perth, but the girl ran off . . . Ithought she’d gone.’

‘You bloody liar. You crept back into camp that night and while she was sleeping you stole the small amount of gold her father had left her. Not only that, she was turned away from her own claim by the people you sold it to, and the woman was wearing her dead mother’s dress.’

Collins turned away. ‘Aw, shut your clack. You don’t know nothing?’

‘Aye, I do. I was there. And I’m going to beat the living daylights out of you.’

‘Go back to your brandy, old man.’

‘He’s a coward as well as a thief,’ said the same person who’d shouted before, and this time there were mutters of agreement.

‘Coward yourself. I’m leaving, I don’t like the company in here.’

‘Not without answering to me for what you did.’

Collins turned, pulling a gun out from under his jacket. ‘Get out of my path.’

The bar owner walked between them, a shotgun aimed at the Irishman. ‘We don’t allow weapons in here, Collins. Put it on the bar, you can pick it up when you leave.’ When it was handed over he said. ‘Right, Outside, all of you. Let’s make this a fair fight. I’ll run the book. My money’s on the big man. He looks as though he can handle hisself.’

‘Mine’s on the Irishman. He’s younger.’

‘Mine too.’

It wasn’t much of a fight, lasting only five minutes before John floored Collins. That was enough to exhaust him, and it set up a dull throbbing in his stomach, so he turned and was sick into the grass. He wiped his mouth, picked up his bottle and took a pull, before walking off and leaving the man with his companions.

John saw Flynn Collins only once more. It was a month later and the bar was just about to close for the night. The Irishman was waiting for him in a doorway, a belligerent look on his face.

John’s strength had deserted him rapidly over the past month, and he knew he couldn’t take on the Irishman again. ‘The score’s settled as far as I’m concerned,’ he said, and walked past the man.

The next day a second notice appeared.

It was the early September when Sarette stepped ashore in Southampton. She had enjoyed every moment of the journey, and knew that if she was a man she would choose the sea as a profession. The captain had been jolly, both by name and by nature. He was a rotund, but nimble-footed man, and despite his responsibilities, had answered her questions with no hint of impatience.

‘The ocean seems endless, Captain Jolly. How do you know where we are?’ she’d asked, and he’d showed her how to plot a course, using the sextant and the horizon. She’d written it all down in her journal. Indeed, she’d had so many exciting things to write about and sketch, that she’d begun to run out of space towards the end of the journey.

Mrs Kent had proved to be tedious. The woman was scared of her own shadow, and every small creak or snap of the sail served only to convince her that they were about to be shipwrecked. She also suffered from nerves, which made her physically sick, so Sarette was kept chasing back and forth with buckets and clothes. Mrs Kent’s cabin began to smell unpleasant. Sarette didn’t want to be mean to her though, for the woman was grieving for her husband, and Sarette knew what it was like to lose someone you loved.

‘It’s a fine day, you should come on deck, mingle with the other passengers and breathe in some fresh air, Mrs Kent. It will do you the world of good,’ she told her.

‘And be washed overboard by a wave and drowned?’

‘But the swell is very gentle, and the breeze has just enough puff in it to fill the sails and move us nicely along. I’m so glad Mr John booked me on a clipper ship instead of those steam ships that need a fire burning in them to make the engines work. Captain Jolly said that the wind sailors call them steam kettles, and if the engines break down they are at the mercy of the weather and tides. And sometimes the boilers blow up.’

‘Oh dear. How dreadful,’ Mrs Kent said greyly. ‘I’m such a bad sailor. I shall be glad when we reach dry land.’

And now she had, and was being greeted by a rather bored-looking man and a twittering woman. The two females cried on each other’s shoulders then stood back and blew their noses.

Mrs Kent drew her forward and introduced them, explaining to her sister, ‘Miss Maitland was placed in my charge for the duration of the trip.’

The sister twittered something at her.

Sarette smiled graciously, and wondered if she could keep up this polite talk, which was a bit of a strain. She twittered back, ‘I’m sure I shall, Mrs Petty.’

The man gave a bit of a chuckle.

‘It was kind of you to look after me,’ Sarette added. ‘Please don’t wait. I’m sure I’ll be met quite soon.’

‘It’s the least I can do, my dear. A young woman of your age needs to be looked after. Oh dear, I do hope your uncle’s solicitor will not be long now.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t, Mrs Kent. In fact, I believe this might be him now,’ and she grinned slightly, for if it were indeed Ignatious Grimble then John’s description of him was highly accurate, right down to the long neck. She waved at the rather reptilian-looking man, who appeared to be examining the various faces in the thinning crowd. She called out, ‘Is that you, Mr Grimble? Are you looking for me?’

He quickly made his way across and a pair of hooded eyes gave her a thorough scrutiny. ‘Tsk-tsk,’ he said as he observed the sea water stains on her skirt, and bowed slightly. ‘If you are Miss Maitland, then yes, I am Mr Grimble. I expected you to be alone.’

‘Mrs Kent chaperoned me on the voyage.’ She gave the woman a quick hug. ‘There, you are, Mrs Kent. You needn’t worry about me any more. I am claimed by Mr Grimble here.’

Mrs Kent’s party bustled off in a flurry of final hugs, waves and twitters, eager to be rid of the responsibility of her and on their way.

Mr Grimble cleared his throat. ‘Is this your luggage, Miss Maitland? The cab is not far away and will take us to the train station.’

‘I forbid you to lift that trunk by yourself. It’s extremely heavy and you look as though a puff of wind would blow you away.’

Faded blue eyes widened considerably and her grin faded at his outraged expression. ‘Your pardon, Mr Grimble. Mr John said I must learn to be a lady.’

‘Yes . . . well, of course you must. After all, that is why you’re here. I shall overlook the breach of etiquette this time, but shall keep an eye on your progress from time to time on John Kern’s behalf and report back to him.’

‘I owe Mr John so much and I’ll make him proud of me, just see if I don’t,’ she said fiercely, and determined to look up etiquette in the dictionary her mentor had given her.

‘Actually, I had no intention of lifting your luggage myself.’ He beckoned to two brawny men, who came forward and accepted the coins he held out. They took an end each of John’s trunk and grunted as they lifted it.

‘It has books in it so is very heavy,’ she said by way of explanation.

Soon they were in the train and heading out of the city. The English countryside was pretty and the land so softly green that it was a balm to her eyes.

‘Even though I was born here, I had no idea that England was so beautiful.’

‘It is a pretty time of year,’ Mr Grimble said with a smile. ‘Soon the leaves will be turning into their autumn colours, and it will be prettier still. Before then we must make sure you are properly clothed, for soon it will be winter and cold. Miss Lawrence will see to that, since she’s a lady with a good eye for fashion.’

She stuck out her foot. ‘Mr John bought me these new boots to wear on the journey.’

‘They are . . .
sturdy
.’

‘Since I have never had a pair of new boots before, I feel very fine in them.’

‘Yes, of course, under such circumstances one would. Miss Maitland,’ he said, ‘I must ask. What is John Kern to you? Why has he taken such an interest?’

She smiled. ‘He took me in after my pa had died and I was left destitute. He became my friend, my teacher, my mentor and protector.’ When Mr Grimble sucked in a breath she gently told him, ‘Mr John was a gentleman in the true sense of the word, if that’s what you wish to know. I reminded him of his daughter, Margaret, when he first came across me. You have no need to worry about my . . .
morals
.’

‘On this occasion, thank you for being so frank.’ She was subjected to an intense scrutiny. ‘I can see only a passing resemblance to Margaret.’

‘I’ve grown from a child into a woman since then.’

‘You’ve known Mr Kern that long?’

‘Three years.’

‘All that time, and he didn’t inform me about you until I got that last telegraph from him.’

‘I have a letter from him to give you. It’s in my trunk.’

‘What does it say?’

‘It’s addressed to you, so I haven’t opened it. He gave me instructions, you see. And I always do exactly what he tells me. He has a ferocious frown when he’s cross.’

‘John is the kind of man who expects to be obeyed,’ Grimble said with a wry smile. ‘What do you know about John Kern? What did he tell you of his life?’

‘I know he was an adventurer – though I didn’t believe it at first – but he has told me many tales of his exploits. He also told me about Fierce Eagles and that his estate now belongs to his nephew, who has studied law and is a barrister. Mr John is very fond of this Magnus Kern, who he says will bring respectability to the Kern family. The man sounds like a priggish bore to me, and is probably severe and disagreeable by nature.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I beg your pardon, I shouldn’t have said that.’

At first she thought Ignatious Grimble was choking, then she realized he was laughing. She was unaccountably miffed. ‘I didn’t set out to amuse you, Mr Grimble. Mr John is the finest man I’ve ever met, and I admire him more than anyone I’ve ever known.’ Which when all was said and done was not many people, though she wasn’t going to tell him that. ‘If he says that Magnus Kern is a good man, then I should respect his words.’ Her shrug was followed by a wide grin. ‘Though as I remember, Mr John would be the first to admit that he was a fine, convincing liar at times.’

With difficulty the man composed himself. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t be quite so quick to pass judgement on Magnus Kern, since he’s someone you’ve never met.’

‘And hope never to meet.’ She turned to stare out of the window. ‘What’s that pretty tree over there with the big red leaves?’

‘A copper beech. There are many of them in the New Forest.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘We’re passing through it.’

‘If this is the New Forest, what happened to the old one?’

‘Goodness me, young lady. Must you ask so many questions?’

She sighed. It was obvious that Mr Grimble didn’t know the answer, so why didn’t he just say so? Mr John had told her that admitting ignorance usually brought enlightenment, and you learned something new. She wondered if she should point that out to Mr Grimble, but decided against it. By trial and error she was learning that on some occasions it was better to keep her mouth firmly shut.

By the time they alighted at the station at Weymouth Sarette was hungry and tired, and the novelty of travel had well and truly worn off. ‘You look weary, Mr Grimble. Do we have much further to go?’

‘Luckily no. I admit, I’m a little fatigued myself, but I’ve arranged to meet one of my sons here and he’ll take me back to Bournemouth, where I live.’

‘How many sons do you have?’

‘Seven . . . and four daughters.’

‘Goodness! So many. It must be wonderful to be part of such a large family.’

‘I admit, they’re a source of great pride to me.’

‘I never had any siblings, except the one who died with my mother, but that one doesn’t count because it was never born.’