Verity Sparks, Lost and Found (16 page)

The Fanshawes, I thought, weren’t the only ones who read sensational novels. I understood why Miss Deane was excited. It was almost as if the case was a fascinating puzzle, or a game.

But Alan Ross had been a living, breathing human being, with thoughts and feelings, with loves and perhaps even hatreds … and now he was dead.

I was looking for something. It was near, very near; I could tell. I reached out my hands and to my surprise, the mist parted and I saw that I was standing at the top of a small hill. Smooth green lawns sloped down to a lake. There was a jetty and a boathouse. The boathouse … yes, that’s where it was. I knew I must hurry, so I started to walk faster, and then to run, and suddenly the mist blanketed everything again, and I was falling …

I woke, covered in sweat and looked around my familiar room. That dream again. But something had changed. Now there was a boathouse, and a lake. Why? Perhaps because of what Andrew Ross had said. It was where his brother Alan drowned. That’s the way of dreams, isn’t it? They take scraps and pieces of your waking life –
The Young Ladies’ Treasure Book and Complete Companion
or a confidential inquiry – and turn them into something new and strange.

I sat up in bed and reached for my journal, pen and ink. Dawn wasn’t far away, and I knew I wasn’t going to get to sleep again.

It is now over ten days since Miss Deane and I met with Mr Ross. Tomorrow –

I crossed “tomorrow” out.

Today we are leaving on the train to go to Mount Macedon. Miss Deane and I are taking Poppy and Lucifer with us. Apparently, Forest Edge is staffed by a married couple called Bobbs, who live in a cottage on the property. There is also a maid called Miriam and a few girls who come in to clean. Mr Ross has told us to explain our visit by saying that Papa is a business acquaintance of his. I am not exactly sure what Papa would think of this assignment. I’m not sure he would approve. But I can see no danger in it
.

SP has met with Andrew Ross. He thinks that the poor fellow has allowed his suspicions to get out of hand. After all, accidents do happen. It is entirely possible, said SP, that Mrs O’Day is exceptionally unlucky. He says that all we have to do is observe, and on no account are we to make any accusations. He would, however, like us to kill two birds with one stone, and find out – if possible – why Mrs O’Day has declined to meet with him regarding her father
.

He sent her a letter, introducing his mission from Mr Ecclethorpe and requesting a meeting, but immediately received a very frosty answer. She wrote that she had no intention of ever returning to England, and asked him to trouble her no further. Perhaps we may soften her towards Mr Ecclethorpe. We shall see
.

I chewed on the end of my pen. For some reason, I wasn’t keen on the whole assignment. Perhaps it was just that strange feeling of dread that always followed the nightmare. Miss Deane was very excited by the idea of confidential inquiries. But I wasn’t sure it was a good idea for us to go to Mount Macedon.

Which is odd, I reflected, because only a few months ago, when I’d finished my story, I was feeling cross because I had nothing real to do. I’d been longing for something to get my teeth into. The trouble with you, Verity Sparks, I told myself, is that you’re never satisfied.

The city is so hot and sticky that a holiday in the cool air of the mountains will be very refreshing. And according to Mrs Rowland, all the best people congregate there for the summer. That ought to please Papa, at any rate
.

I knew Poppy should not have had those two cream cakes at the refreshment room at Spencer Street Station. By the time we steamed out of the station and through the sprawl of factories and workingmen’s houses, past open paddocks and scattered settlements and onto the bare, brown plains, she’d had to use the basin a dozen times. When the train began puffing uphill towards the mountains, she’d fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. I looked down at her pale face.

“Poor little kid,” I said, and Miss Deane didn’t even correct me for using vulgar slang. She was pale too. I studied her more carefully.

“Headache?” I asked her.

“Migraine,” she said, pressing her handkerchief to her lips.

Oh, Lord, I thought. Not you as well. Silently I passed her the basin.

“Macedon Station! All passengers for Macedon Station!”

We tumbled out of our carriage and Miss Deane and Poppy stood on the platform, clinging together and blinking like owls in the daylight. They were both exhausted, and I was glad when a short, squat man, very tanned, with a bristly moustache and no-nonsense manner, introduced himself as Mr Bobbs, the Forest Edge caretaker. He led us to the cab he’d hired to take us up to the house. He himself was driving a cart to carry our luggage. Which was just as well, for Lucifer, who’d been very cross about being in the guard’s van, began to swear violently. Miss Deane clutched her aching head and Poppy burst into tears.

“That’s enough of that,” said Mr Bobbs, putting a sack over Lucifer’s cage and placing it with a thump on the cart. “There are ladies present.”

He helped us up into the cab.

“I’ll follow,” he said, “with your trunks and the bird. Mrs Bobbs has everything ready for you.”

“Whereabouts is Forest Edge?” I asked him, looking around. I could see shops and hotels and a church; at the end of the street there were a few cottages and some larger houses. Which one was Forest Edge? I wondered. “Is it far?”

“Oh, you’ve a way to go yet,” he said. “This is Macedon township here. Forest Edge is in Upper Macedon.” He jerked his head upwards. “Right on top of the Mount.”

“Oh no,” said Miss Deane, and at that moment Poppy began to cry again.

Our vehicle simply crawled up the mountain, and though from time to time I got a glimpse of a ferntree gully or a fine view, for the most part I was comforting Poppy. It was nearly dark by the time we drew up on the gravelled drive in front of the house.

A cheerful-looking woman wearing a snowy-white apron came down the front steps to meet us.

“I am Mrs Bobbs,” she said. “Welcome to Forest Edge. I hope you ladies will be comfortable here.”

I was hot, cross and tired, but when I breathed in a lungful of cool air, I suddenly felt a lot better. There was slight breeze, with a delicious peppery tang to it. I looked around me. Forest Edge, which Andrew Ross had described as a cottage, was a two-storey house with a verandah almost all the way around and a second-storey balcony. Even in the dim light, the flowerbeds were ablaze with colour, the lawn was emerald green, and lush shrubberies and tall eucalyptus trees made the whole place seem like a park. Why had I felt a sense of foreboding about this place? How ridiculous. It was beautiful.

“Can I smell fried onions?” said Miss Deane.

I sniffed. “And steak?”

Mrs Bobbs laughed. “Steak and onion pies,” she said. “Just out of the oven.”

And Poppy, who’d brought up breakfast, morning tea and lunch on the train, rubbed her eyes and declared, “I’m ’ungry.”

Next morning Poppy woke very early.

“Verity,” she whispered, poking me with her finger. “Verity! Let’s exasperate.”

I sat up in bed. “Investigate? Is that what you mean?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Let’s ’ave a look, at any rate.”

So we quickly dressed and tiptoed downstairs. A young woman was on her knees in front of the kitchen range, poking at the fire.

“You must be Miriam,” I said, and she jumped up and curtseyed. She was probably a couple of years older than me, tall and lanky, with a long face and a glum expression.

“Oh, miss,” she said with a frown. “I haven’t even put the kettle on. It’s only just gone six.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “We don’t want breakfast yet. We’re going for a walk.”

“Yes, miss.” She bobbed another curtsey and made an attempt at a smile. “Thank you, miss.”

Poppy and I left her to it, and went to stand on the front verandah, listening to the birds performing their dawn chorus. The air was cool and smelled deliciously of forest; the grass was drenched with dew. As you know, I’m a city girl – why, until we left for Australia, I’d never been out of London in my whole life – and I hadn’t been thrilled by what I’d seen of the Australian country from the train. The flat, bare plains covered in dry grass and scrubby trees; the drab dull greens and browns of the bush, with those messy gum trees, stretching on and on. But this was different.

Poppy squeezed my hand excitedly. Time to explore our new domain.

We found out later that Forest Edge was quite small compared with our much grander neighbours – I suppose that’s why Andrew called it a cottage. Forest Edge house was half the size of the Plush family residence Mulberry Hill, but the garden was ten times bigger. It was all primped and prettified close to the house, with flowerbeds and standard roses and clipped hedges. But soon it turned park-like, dotted with tall gum trees and groves of tree ferns.

“Look,” said Poppy and pointed. To our right, a lawn sloped down to a small lake.

“Oh,” I said, letting go of Poppy’s hand. I’d been here before.

“What is it?”

“The boathouse.” A feeling of dread almost overwhelmed me. The boathouse, the lake … I was at the scene of Alan’s death. Or murder, if Andrew was correct. And the scene of my dream as well. I’d foreseen every detail – the waterlilies close to the bank, the little jetty, the white-painted lattice at the front of the shed.

“Is there a boat in it? I’ve never ’ad me a ride in a boat afore.”

I corrected her automatically. “You sail in boats, Poppy, you don’t ride. And it’s ‘before’.”

“No need to be so peculiar.” She pouted.

“Do you mean particular?”

But she’d left my side to go running down the hill towards the water. In my dream, I’d been looking for something and I’d known it was there, in the boathouse. Perhaps … I glanced down at my hands. Would I find something? Was there anything
to
find, or was it just a muddled, mixed-up dream?

There was a chain but no padlock on the door. With a feeling like a cold hand pressing on my heart, I paused. Slowly, I pushed the door, and it creaked open easily. What had I expected? Some kind of Bluebeard’s chamber? There was just a wooden boat, oars and a coil of rope, some folding chairs and a few straw hats hung on hooks. I poked around and found some dead moths, one canvas shoe and a dog’s lead. That was all. It was just an ordinary boathouse.