Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand (13 page)

“Let’s go,” she said.

Once we were out of the town, we climbed a couple of hills and then went bowling along a dirt road with orchards on either side. Dozens of cockatoos swooped across the road in front of us, croaking and shrieking, and tore leaves and twigs off the trees to get at the fruit.

“How noisy they are,” said Drucilla. “Your peacocks are loud creatures as well, Helen. Sometimes we can hear them all the way up on the hill.”

“What did you say?”

Drucilla repeated her comment. She was only trying to make conversation, but Helen reacted very strangely.

“Don’t talk about India!” she cried. Drucilla and I exchanged a confused glance. She hadn’t mentioned India. “One can’t live in the past,” Helen continued, “it’s gone, it’s over, it can never come back. We must go forwards to meet out destinies. Isn’t that true?”

“Why … yes,” stammered Drucilla. “I suppose so.”

“Oh, I only hope it’s not too late!”

Too late for what? Destiny or morning tea? Helen was in another strange mood. I began to wonder if she knew where she was going. She went left at one crossroads, right at another and then we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Straggling gum trees and thick undergrowth grew beside the track. It would be so easy to lose one’s way, I thought – but then comforted myself with the knowledge that the track must lead
somewhere
. Though rough and potholed, it was not overgrown with grass or weeds, and I could see recent hoof-marks in the dust.

“Is it far to the Rossiters’?” asked Drucilla.

“We’re nearly there.” Helen sounded a bit more normal, thank goodness.

The bush was thinning. The track now led through paddocks and up ahead I sighted the red roof of a farmhouse. Drucilla and I shared a sense of relief, I could tell. I hoped Mrs Rossiter was a sensible sort of woman, with the kettle already on the boil. Perhaps with some tea, Helen would settle down.

“She is expecting you tomorrow, Mrs Petrov.”

We only just caught Mr Rossiter. He was setting off on horseback with one of his shepherds and it was plain he didn’t wish to be delayed. He explained that Mrs Rossiter and the children had gone into Maldon, a small town nearby, to do their shopping.

“Oh dear,” said Helen. “How silly of me; I must have mixed up the days.”

Helen turned the vehicle around and we drove away again.

“How silly of me,” she repeated.

She seemed upset and I tried to reassure her. “Never mind. We all make mistakes.”

“I wonder … I wonder if this is the wrong way …”

What was she talking about? “No, Helen. We passed this way before.”

“Perhaps … perhaps we should turn back …”

We rounded a bend and I glimpsed something moving in the bush beside the track. Seconds later a man on horseback emerged from among the trees. A shiver ran down my spine. Why did he have a scarf hiding the lower part of his face? Then everything seemed to happen all at once.

“Now! Go, go!” he shouted. Two more men joined him. In a flash one of them was down off his horse and holding Beauty by her bridle. The other dismounted too, and was beside the phaeton with one foot on the step. With a scarf tied over his face, all I could see were his eyes. They were a strange light brown.

“Bail up!” he cried.

Even I, new to the colony, knew what “Bail up” meant. Bushrangers. The notorious Kelly Gang had been terrorising the remote north-east of the state, but I’d thought that here, so close to Melbourne, we’d be safe from bandits.

I clutched Drucilla’s arm. I like to think I’m a brave person but there and then I felt utterly helpless.

“Stay calm,” said Drucilla under her breath. She herself was trembling from head to foot but her voice didn’t waver. “How dare you!” She sounded furious. “What do you mean by stopping us like this?”

Instead of answering her, the man holding Beauty just stared.

Drucilla put her arm around me. “You’ve picked the wrong mark. We haven’t any money,” she said. “You’d better be on your way.”

“There’s two of ’em,” he muttered. Which was strange because there were three of us. “What’ll I do?”

The man on horseback answered him. “Get the girl out. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

The girl. My heart plummeted like a shot bird. The girl was me.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” shouted Drucilla.

The brown-eyed man grabbed me by the shoulders. At the same time, Drucilla wrapped her arms around my waist. Helen had been shocked speechless but now, abruptly, she screamed. The man must have been as startled as I was. He let me go and I fell back against Drucilla.

“No, no! Don’t!” cried Helen, and fell down in a dead faint.

“Get her, damn you!” said the man on the horse.

My attacker swore and then reached for me again. For a few seconds I was frozen with fear, but the sound of Drucilla’s voice, using words a governess shouldn’t rightly know, roused me and I struggled, hanging on to the side rail of the phaeton. It was a tug o’ war we couldn’t win, even though Drucilla fought like a tiger. The man was stronger. And he had no qualms about hitting a woman. Especially after Drucilla bit his hand. Hard.

The last thing I saw was Drucilla’s look of surprise as a fist connected with her jaw. A pair of hands yanked me savagely backwards. Something dark was pulled over my head and shoulders, my arms were jerked behind my back and my wrists were bound together with rope. I kicked and thrashed around, but it was no use. My ankles were tied as well and I was tossed like a bag of spuds to the ground.

“Stay still,” said a rough voice. Even without his foot pressed heavily on my back, I would have obeyed. What choice did I have? I was trussed up like a Christmas goose. Feverish thoughts raced through my head. Papa was rich and I was an heiress – these men were kidnappers, not bushrangers. Then it struck me like a blow. Della Parker had an uncanny knowledge of my movements. She’d known I was at Shantigar. Somehow she must have learned that I was out driving on this country road. All that talk with SP was just so much acting. And as for “urgent business” – it was this. My kidnapping. Papa, SP and I – we’d been so gullible. Della Parker was the criminal behind this. She had to be.

A voice said, “All done?”

“Let’s go, then.”

“You can’t leave her in the sun like that, you fool. The poor kid will bake.”

“All right, all right.”

Rough hands dragged me sideways and rolled me over.

I lay still. I could hear footsteps and a confusion of hooves. Then the sounds grew fainter and fainter, further and further away.

It wasn’t me the men had been after. It was Helen and Drucilla.

I was alone.

I was alone, with a hessian sack tied over my head.

It was rough and itchy and smelled of mould. I had to get it off. But how, with my hands tied behind my back? Perhaps if I wriggled my wrists I could loosen the rope … The second I tried, pain seared up my arm and into my left shoulder. Was it dislocated? Or broken? It hurt, terribly. Wincing with every movement, I finally got the rope off, then the sack. I took a deep, ragged breath. The road stretched away from me through bush and bare paddocks. Dust hung in the air where they’d passed, but the phaeton, the horses and riders were gone.

Gone, taking Helen and Drucilla with them. A wave of despair passed over me. I was hurt, alone, miles from anywhere. Would I ever see them again?

“Drucilla, where are you?” I whispered. “Where have they taken you? Please, please let me find you.”

If ever there was a time for my gift to work, it was now. I concentrated. In my mind’s eye I saw her face as if she were right in front of me: flushed and angry, fighting for me like a lioness for her cub, hitting and biting. Then shocked as that fist hit her jaw. I waited. And waited.

Nothing.

“What’s the point of having a gift?” I muttered to myself. Why was I able to find lost spectacles and scissors and cigar cases, but not my friend?

There was no use sitting here by the track tied up like a parcel. I had to raise the alarm.

But first I needed to free my ankles. Even though the ropes weren’t tied tightly, it took a long time. My whole body was shaking, and when I finally stood up and tried to walk, I staggered like a drunk on a spree. My brain wasn’t working properly, for it took me a while to realise that I was in shock. What I needed was hot sweet tea, a nip of brandy and a blanket. But I had none of those things, so what I had to do was keep on walking.

And I had to work out a plan. Mr Rossiter had gone out with his shepherd, so there was no use returning to his farm. I had to get back onto the main road. The sun was almost directly overhead, so I judged it to be around noon. We were expected back at Shantigar for lunch at one, and I wondered how long Papa and Mr Petrov would wait before they began to worry about us. I wasn’t far from Castlemaine – perhaps eight miles – and I knew that when I got over the wobbles I could walk at least three miles an hour. I’d be back in town in two and a half hours’ time. I groaned out loud. The kidnappers would be far away by then.

Ah, there
was
something I could do as I trudged along. The police would want descriptions of the men who’d bailed us up. What could I tell them? I searched my memory and found myself trembling again. Images racketed around in my brain and I felt panic rising. No, no, I told myself. Breathe, breathe …

SP had trained me in observation for our inquiry work. And the Professor had always insisted I had perfect recall. So I cleared my mind and concentrated. Now I could see them. They were dressed alike in brown coats, with printed cotton scarves over the bottom half of their faces. The man who stayed on his horse – the leader, I assumed, since he’d called out the orders – had red hair and a bushy red beard. The one who’d grabbed me was lanky and thin, with a broad-brimmed hat hiding his hair. His eyes were an odd yellowish-brown.

The harsh cry of a crow startled me. It was sitting close by on a fencepost, its black feathers glistening in the sunlight. Its round white eye seemed to regard me with a cold stare. I don’t know why that old crow should have set me off, but it did. I stood there and bawled. Howled. How long for, I don’t know, but after a while no more tears came. I dried my eyes and blew my nose and looked around.

Waa-aa-aaa!
The crow was still there, watching me. With another melancholy cry, it flapped its wings and flew off.

Oh, had I the wings of a turtle-dove

I’d soar on my pinions so high …

That was a song Pa used to sing while he mended shoes. He didn’t have a very good voice but he liked to sing. “It cheers you while you’re hard at work,” he told me. “It makes the time pass and keeps your spirits up.”

My voice was as croaky as the crow’s, and off-key as well, but I sang that song to the finish. I wasn’t exactly cheered, but it did the trick of keeping my mind occupied. For there was no use in giving in to fear. That wouldn’t get me back to Shantigar.

I’d just started another tune when something made me turn around. Way down the road behind me I saw a small moving shape. It quickly became a horse and buggy of some kind, with what looked like a riderless horse cantering behind. They were approaching fast. They were in a tearing hurry – but surely they’d stop. I began waving my good arm and shouting.

“Help! Help!”

My words were lost in the sound of hooves and wheels. I heard my own name and realised who was driving the buggy. Harold jumped down to the ground while the vehicle was still moving.

“Oh, Verity, thank goodness I’ve found you.” He sounded shaken. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my shoulder,” I said. Relief flooded through me and then, without warning, my knees buckled under me and I staggered against him. The next thing I knew, Harold had scooped me up and placed me in the phaeton. He got up beside me. He gently felt along my left arm and shoulder. “I don’t think anything is broken. Does it hurt when I move it?”

It did, but why was he asking about me? It was Drucilla and Helen who were important.

“Harold, there were three men. They tied me up and took Helen and Drucilla in the phaeton.” Then I realised what I was sitting in. “But
you’ve
got the phaeton …”