Matilda's Last Waltz (59 page)

Sinking to her knees in the sodden grass, she looked at the small marble cross she'd bought with her first profits. Rain soaked her hair and trailed it across her face. Her dress clung to her like a second icy skin as she began to dig at the earth with her hands. But she was aware of nothing as she muttered the long-forgotten prayer from childhood.

‘Holy Mother of God, blessed art thou amongst women. Pray for my sins.'

Her hands moved faster, scooping out the heavy, rain-soaked earth, flinging it aside until she reached that rough little home-made coffin.

Finn was twenty-four. Finn was twenty-four.

The thought flew round and round in her head as her numb lips prayed. ‘Holy Mother of God, pray for us. Forgive us. Please, God, forgive us.'

The rain and tears were blinding as she scrabbled desperately in the earth to uncover the box. She pushed her hands deeper, grasping the rough sides, coaxing it out of the clinging mud that seemed to want to keep it hidden.

She ignored the pain in her belly and the broken fingernails. Ignored the splinters and the rain. She had to see. Had to find out what Peg and Albert had buried in her graveyard twenty-four years ago.

The penknife slipped between the rusty nails, and with an angry squeal and a splintering of wood the lid came off. Matilda looked down.

The box was empty but for a large brick.

She sat in the rain with the crude coffin in her lap. She was numb. Dead to everything around her. If only the rain could wash away the terrible sin she had committed. If only she could melt into the earth and disappear. If only she could feel nothing for the rest of her life and simply drift into oblivion.

But it was not to be for the deep, persistent vice of pain that came in great, sweeping waves finally broke through her trance, forcing her to move. With the little coffin held tightly to her chest, she began to crawl towards the house. Her innocent child was coming into the world and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Matilda dragged herself up the steps, over the porch and into her bedroom. The pain was all-consuming, driving its way into her chest, making it hard to breathe, to move, to think. She knew she was about to die, and fate would decide whether her unborn baby would survive – but as all her childhood fears of the Catholic hellfires returned, she knew this was fitting punishment for such wickedness as hers.

‘Finn?' she called into the silent house. ‘Finn, where are you?' She lay slumped on the bed, mindless of the mud and filth clinging to her clothes and staining the covers. ‘I have to tell you, Finn. Have to explain,' she gasped through the pain.

Time lost all meaning as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again she could feel the sticky wetness between her legs. Almost bankrupt of strength, she reached for the diary and began to write. Finn had to know. But if the child survived, it must be cared for and loved somewhere far away where it would never discover the awful truth. There had been enough sin in this house.

The pen finally dropped from Matilda's fingers. She had written all she could, and her child wouldn't wait to be born. The end was near.

Chapter Twenty

Jenny let the diary fall to the floor as the tears ran unchecked. She'd been right all along, Churinga was cursed. No wonder Matilda haunted the place. No wonder that waltz echoed each time her dress was worn.

She sat on the bed and grieved for Matilda and Finn as she grasped the locket around her neck. Matilda must have died, but what had happened to Finn? The sobs came to an abrupt halt. And what had become of the child? The true inheritor of Churinga.

She dashed away the tears as the questions in her head demanded to be answered. Finn had left Matilda's diaries behind for a reason. He had meant them to be read.

‘But by whom?' she whispered. ‘Did you hope your child would somehow find its way here to uncover the truth?'

‘Talking to yourself, now, eh? Strewth, things must be bad.'

Diane's voice broke into her thoughts, and with a start Jenny blew her nose and tried to compose herself. She knew her face was ashen and her eyelids swollen.

‘Whatever's the matter?' Diane sank on the bed beside her, a comforting arm around Jenny's shoulders.

‘Matilda married Finn,' she croaked, the onset of more tears threatening.

Diane shrugged. ‘So?' She eyed Jenny sharply, then grinned. ‘Don't tell me the great cynic has finally gone all romantic and soppy? Jen, you surprise me.'

Jenny pulled away from her. ‘You don't understand,' she rasped as she tried to clean up the tears. ‘Finn was Matilda's son.'

Dark brown eyes stared back at her. Then Diane gave a low whistle. ‘Well, that's a turn up,' she breathed.

Jenny picked up the diary and thrust it at her friend. ‘And that's not all, Diane. They had a baby. Peter had no right to this place. Neither do I.' She screwed the handkerchief into a ball then wrestled to take off the locket. ‘Even this isn't mine. It was Matilda's, and her mother's before her. No wonder I've been haunted ever since I picked up the diaries.'

Diane ignored the diary and stared back at her. ‘That's nonsense, Jen. Peter had every right to buy the place if it was on the market. Perhaps the kid didn't want it. And who could blame it with a history like that to follow on?' Her shoulders slumped. ‘Come on, girl. You're just letting things get to you. You've got all worked up over these damn' diaries and let your rather vivid imagination run away with you.'

Jenny slowly shook her head as she thought deeply about Diane's argument. Something didn't feel right. There were still too many questions that hadn't been answered, and having come so far with Matilda, she felt she had to continue until she knew it all.

She snatched back the diary, found the last few pages and held it out to Diane. ‘Read this and tell me what you think.'

Her expression must have made Diane realise there would be no point in refusing. After a moment of silence she began to read. When she'd finished, she closed the book and sat for a long moment in a silence which stretched Jenny's patience.

‘I think the whole thing's tragic and should be put to rest,' she said finally. ‘The child either didn't survive or decided to sell up. No drama. Plain fact. As for the locket…' She took it from Jenny and fingered the delicate filigree. ‘Peter probably found it here when he first decided to buy Churinga and thought it would make a nice present for you.'

Jenny felt her impatience with Diane grow. ‘But don't you see?' she exploded. ‘The diaries were left here for a reason. They had to be.' She took a deep breath. ‘If the child survived, then why leave them here for anybody to read? Why not destroy them?'

‘Jen,' warned Diane. ‘Don't go off on that tack again.'

She clasped Diane's hands between her own, willing her to see things as she did. ‘But what if that child is alive and doesn't know the truth? What if Finn left the diaries here because he knew the child would return one day? What then?'

‘Pure supposition,' Diane retorted.

Jenny snatched up the locket and headed for the door. ‘We'll see about that.'

‘Where are you going?' Her friend's alarmed voice followed her out of the room.

‘To phone John Wainwright,' she called over her shoulder.

Diane hurried after her, pulling her up sharply as she reached for the receiver. ‘What good's that going to do? Let it rest, Jen. Enjoy Churinga, the locket, the story you've been privileged to read and live your own life. All second-hand jewellery has a history. That's what makes it so interesting. But old diaries should be returned where they belong. In the past. Nothing you can say or do will alter facts, Jen. What's done is done.'

‘But I have to find out what became of them all, Diane. Have to know why Peter was able to buy Churinga. I owe Matilda that much.'

She turned away and as she waited for her call to go through, heard Diane say stubbornly, ‘If I can't make you see sense then John Wainwright will.'

Jenny gripped the receiver as the familiar pommy accent drawled at the other end of the line. ‘John? Jennifer.'

‘Hello, my dear. What can I do for you?'

‘How and why did Peter buy Churinga?'

‘I explained that before,' he said smoothly.

‘John,' she said firmly, ‘I know about Matilda and Finn McCauley, and I'm wearing her locket. The locket Peter gave me last Christmas. The locket he said had something to do with my surprise birthday present. Now I want to know how he came by Churinga and the locket, and what happened to the person who should have inherited.'

‘Ah.' There was a long silence.

Jenny shot Diane a glance as they both huddled close to the telephone. She had gone cold despite the heat in the kitchen, and although she was eager to find out more, something almost made her disconnect the call.

‘What is it, John? What are you so reluctant to tell me?'

There was a sigh at the other end of the telephone and the rustling of paper. ‘It's a long, involved story, Jennifer. Perhaps it would be better to come back to Sydney so I can explain?'

She almost smiled at the hopeful note in his voice. ‘I'd prefer it if you'd tell me now, John. After all, it can't be that complicated.'

Another sigh and more rustling of paper. ‘Peter came to me a few years before he died. He'd found a property, Churinga, and wanted me to handle the paperwork. It seemed there was an intriguing history behind the property and he'd spent a long time researching into it before coming to me. Once all the legal work was done, he begged me to keep his new acquisition secret until he'd had time to explain everything to you.'

Jenny frowned. ‘Why keep it a secret if the history was that intriguing? I don't understand.'

There was a long pause. ‘He knew you'd be upset,' was the quiet reply.

‘Then why did he buy the damn' place if he knew that?' She took a deep breath. ‘You're not making much sense, John. Is there something you're not telling me?'

Another long silence. ‘How did you find out about the McCauleys?'

Two could play at that game. She returned his question with another. ‘Did Peter ever come out here, John?'

‘Not as far as I know. He was planning to make his first visit with you on your wedding anniversary. That's when he was going to tell you the history of the place.'

‘But instead of that he died.'

John Wainwright cleared his throat. ‘Peter's death meant I was to oversee the legal handover of Churinga in a particular way. He wanted you to visit the place, see what it was like and get used to the idea before you were told any more.'

‘Yeah, I can see why he'd have wanted me to fall in love with the place first.' Jenny looked down at her hand. The locket was coiled in the palm snake-like – waiting to strike. ‘If Peter never came to Churinga, how come he gave me Matilda's locket?'

‘He came across it during his research into the history of Churinga. But from where, he didn't say,' replied the lawyer quickly. ‘But to get on with the question of your inheritance: Peter was the most careful man I've ever met. He always took every contingency into account and insisted upon making his will and stipulating the order in which things should be done if the unthinkable happened. That's why you've rather caught me on the hop. How did you find out about the McCauleys?'

‘Peter made a mistake. Missed a vital contingency. He didn't come out here first.' Jenny took a deep breath as she thought of the diaries. ‘How much do you know about the McCauleys, John?'

‘Nothing much.' His tone changed, sharpened, and she had a fleeting suspicion that she'd missed something.

‘They were squatters. Some tragedy occurred and the property was put in trust for their child. The trust was being handled by one of our senior partners who's since retired but evidently there had been some communication between the orphanage and this firm over the years because of the way the trust had been set up.'

‘So how did Peter get hold of Churinga? And what happened to the child?'

John's silence stretched for so long Jenny thought the line had been disconnected. ‘John? You still there?'

In a deeply reluctant voice, he answered her. ‘Peter had done a great deal of research before coming to me. I told him all I knew, which wasn't much. The child had disappeared and the convent was no help. The search was extensive, believe me. Peter was very thorough. But I must stress that everything has been handled according to the best legal practice. The deeds are yours and yours alone.'

‘So the trust was revoked?'

‘Something like that, yes. I'm sorry I can't be of more help,' he said lamely. ‘But Peter kept most of the story to himself.'

Jenny thought for a moment. ‘After all his careful planning, I'm surprised he didn't leave a letter or something to explain,' she said hopefully.

‘There was a letter originally,' John Wainwright said slowly. ‘But he destroyed it, saying it was best if the history behind Churinga came from him. I suppose that despite all his carefully laid plans he never believed he wouldn't be around to tell you.'

Frustration lodged like a lump in her throat and she quickly swallowed it. ‘So you never read this letter or knew its contents?'

‘No. It was a sealed letter he left in my safe-keeping to be opened only in the event of his death and after you had visited Churinga. I'm sorry, Jennifer. I can't tell you anything more.'

‘Then it's up to me to find out the rest,' she said firmly. ‘Thanks, John. I'll be in touch.' She put down the receiver, cutting him off in mid-sentence, then turned to Diane. ‘Come on. We're going to see Helen.'

Diane looked at her with wide eyes. ‘Why? What's she got to do with all this?'

‘She'll know where I can find the priest,' Jenny said excitedly as she pulled on jeans and a shirt. ‘Finn would have turned to him, I'm sure of that.'