Destiny's Path (7 page)

‘Anyway, you aren’t the only one who gets bored in the country or who longs for sunshine. Ah, come on now, darlin’. There’s no use staying angry with me, because I can hardly turn back now, can I?’ She gave him one of her twinkling smiles as she added, ‘I never did learn to swim.’

He rolled his eyes at heaven for what it had thrown at him, then gave her a hug anyway. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to enjoy this journey.’

‘Of course I will. I know it’s going to be uncomfortable sometimes, especially when the weather’s rough, but at least I shall be with people. I shan’t be sitting in that parlour on my own hoping someone will call, anyone, even Kathleen, who is not the most amusing companion in the world.’

His voice grew gentler. ‘Is that what you do when I’m not at home?’

She smiled and gave a quick shrug. ‘Sometimes. I’ve missed your father sorely, for all his faults.’

He put one arm round her shoulders and gave her another hug. ‘Then we’ll have to make the most of travelling together, shan’t we?’

‘Indeed we shall. I intend to enjoy myself. And Ronan, darlin’, you’ll do your best to get on with Kathleen, won’t you? Just for me?’

‘A saint couldn’t get on with that woman for more than a few minutes. She’s the one who’s not speaking to me, you know. It takes two to hold a conversation.’

‘I’ll have a word with her. By the time we get to Australia, you two will be on good terms again, I’m sure. After all, she is your best friend’s wife.’

He wished his mother wouldn’t try to reconcile them. He didn’t trust Kathleen. She was so chancy, you never knew what she’d do next.

What the hell was Conn going to say when she turned up at his house in Australia out of the blue? He only hoped his friend didn’t blame it on him.

Something had changed between Conn and Maia, Xanthe was sure of it, but couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was. Her sister wasn’t sleeping with him, she was fairly sure of that. She caught Mrs Largan watching them, too, with her forehead furrowed in thought.

In the end she could stand it no longer. ‘What’s happened between you and Conn?’ she asked her sister as they lay in the bed they shared each night.

‘Nothing. What should be going on?’

‘Exactly that – nothing. But I can sense something and you won’t persuade me otherwise.’

Maia rolled over to stare at her sister. ‘What’s between Conn and me is nothing to do with you or anyone else.’

‘But surely you’re not—’

‘Sharing his bed?’ Maia sighed. ‘I wish I was.’

‘He’ll never marry you.’

‘I know that. But I’d go to him anyway, if he’d take me. Only he won’t.’

Xanthe gasped in shock. ‘You can’t mean that?’

‘I do.’

‘You offered yourself to him?’

‘Yes.’

‘That isn’t love; it’s insanity.’

‘You’ve never really loved anyone, so you don’t understand. And I’m not discussing this again. You’re going off travelling, so grant me the right to do what I choose with my own life.’

Xanthe knew her decision to leave and her insistence on going alone had hurt her twin badly, but she couldn’t bear to waste her life like this, not when she had the resources to do other things. There didn’t seem to be any way out of this tangle. If Conn really loved Maia, he’d marry her and be damned to what people said. After all, he was a convict and that would place restrictions on who would associate with his wife, however well-born she was. And it wasn’t as if they met many people here in the middle of nowhere.

Oh, why hadn’t her home-loving sister met someone else? Anyone but a gentleman who clearly didn’t think of her as a potential wife.

A few days before the ship reached Alexandria, Fenella woke in the night with a pain so great she couldn’t help moaning. She tried to stifle the sound in the pillow but it got worse and worse, till she found herself screaming helplessly.

She could sense Kathleen trying to speak to her, but she couldn’t listen let alone answer, couldn’t think of anything but the pain that was surely tearing her belly apart.

Someone else came into the cabin and she heard Ronan’s voice, felt him lift her and clung to him for a brief intermission when the pain had abated enough not to take away her senses.

‘I love you, son,’ she gasped.

‘I love you too, Mother. We’ve sent for the doctor. He’ll be here in a minute.’

It took the man five minutes to get there and Ronan realised in horror that he was drunk.

The doctor asked questions, palpated Fenella’s abdomen then sat with bowed head next to her, seeming impervious to her screams and writhing.

‘For heaven’s sake, can you do nothing to help her?’ Ronan asked.

The doctor looked at him sadly. ‘No. There are doctors in America who advocate a laparotomy, cutting open the abdomen to remove the corrupted portion of the intestines. Hancock did this in 1848. And it worked.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I enjoy reading about such advances. When I was younger I used to think I’d be like those doctors.’

‘Can you not try the same thing, then?’

‘No. This is a bold treatment, still controversial, and only to be assayed by surgeons of considerably more expertise than myself.’

‘Maybe if you were sober you might make the attempt,’ Ronan flung at him.

‘Not even if I were stone cold sober would I attempt this. I do not have the skill and I do not have the equipment. All I can offer is to stupefy her with laudanum and let her die peacefully.’

‘
Die?
’ Ronan stared at him in horror. ‘You’d let my mother die?’

‘I can’t prevent it. All I can prevent is the pain – well, most of it.’

When Ronan didn’t speak, Kathleen moved forward from the far corner. ‘Then do it, doctor. We can’t let her suffer like this. My mother took laudanum when she was dying.’

Even with the drug, Fenella was clearly still in pain, but at least she wasn’t screaming now.

Kathleen stayed with her, but it was the maid Orla who cared for his mother and kept her clean. All he could do, for decency’s sake, because he knew his mother would hate him to see her naked body, was to turn away when she needed cleaning. The rest of the time he stayed, helpless to do anything but be with her.

Food was brought for them and his went away largely untasted, though Kathleen continued to eat with her usual hearty appetite.

It took Fenella two days to die, by which time Ronan was praying for her to be released from this travail and the doctor was grimly sober. Kathleen’s face was mostly expressionless except when she was scowling.

When his mother eventually breathed her last, Ronan bowed his head and wept, not caring who saw him.

In the end they had to bring Bram to force him to leave the cabin while Orla laid out the body and a sailor sewed it into a canvas shroud.

Ronan came back only to kiss his mother’s cheek before they finished their sad task.

He looked across her body at Orla. ‘I’m grateful to you for your help.’

‘She was a kind lady.’

‘If I can ever help you in any way . . . ?’

‘Thank you, sir. Who knows what we’ll need in Australia?’

Kathleen stood cold and tearless on the deck as the passengers all gathered to see Ronan’s mother’s body consigned to the deep the following morning. He was relieved that his mother was blessed by a clergyman, at least, a man travelling to the Swan River Colony. He couldn’t help shedding a few tears as the solemn words were spoken and the canvas bag containing his mother’s body was tipped into the water. He felt as guilty as if he’d killed his mother himself. She’d not have been on this ship but for him.

That evening he tried to get drunk and couldn’t do it. He’d never been a drinker and alcohol made him sick well before it could blunt his senses.

The following day, his mother’s possessions were delivered to his cabin by the steward.

He stared at them in horror. ‘Why did you bring these?’

‘On Mrs Largan’s instructions, sir.’

Kathleen had to be the most insensitive woman in the world. He shook his head, not wanting to touch them, and almost told the man to toss them over the side of the ship. But then he realised they contained valuable items like her jewellery. ‘Put them over there, then. I’ll go through them later, then you can toss what I don’t want over the side of the ship.’

The steward did as he’d asked and left. A few minutes later Bram came into the room without knocking.

Ronan scowled. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘That poor ould steward doesn’t know what to do with you,’ Bram said.

‘My instructions to him were quite plain.’

‘Only a rich man would even think of tossing all that stuff over the side of the ship.’

‘I’m not rich.’

‘You seem rich to people like me.’

Ronan shrugged. ‘That’s easy then. Once I’ve gone through them,
you
can have my mother’s things, to keep or to throw away, whatever you choose.’

His childhood friend didn’t move, just stared thoughtfully at him. ‘Are you sure about that, Mr Ronan?’

His calm patience made Ronan feel ashamed and he looked down at the trunks then back at Bram pleadingly. ‘Will you help me go through her things?’

‘Of course I will.’

It felt like a violation to go through the trunks and bags, fumbling through underwear and corsets, stockings and gloves, fans and shawls.

Ronan found her jewel case and set it aside. There were a few other bits and pieces that he thought he should keep, including her Bible. It seemed to take them a long time.

Once the steward knocked on the door and put his head round to ask, ‘Anything I can get you, sir? It’s mealtime.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

Bram intervened. ‘How about a tray of sandwiches and cakes, and a pot of tea?’

‘I’ll bring it right away.’

‘You can eat it,’ Ronan told his friend. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Well, I am.’

When it arrived Bram ate some of the food and cajoled Ronan into eating a little too. He continued to open the boxes and trunks, rendered speechless at how many clothes Mrs Maguire, bless her soul, had considered necessary for this voyage. ‘It doesn’t seem right for me to be doing this,’ he muttered at one stage.

‘Nor me,’ Ronan said, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes.

When they’d finished, he got out a bottle of cognac and poured them both a drink. ‘Slàinte.’

‘To your mother’s memory,’ Bram said quietly.

Ronan raised his glass and sipped, then sat down on the bed. ‘What are you going to do with those things?’

‘Sell them. They’re worth quite a bit of money. Do you mind?’

‘No.’ And somehow, he felt his mother would not begrudge them to Bram now. She’d always had a kind heart, even though she didn’t like Ronan being friends with people from the lower classes. Her servants had thought the world of her.

It didn’t escape his notice that Kathleen came nowhere near him, let alone offering to help sort out his mother’s possessions. She didn’t even send her maid.

After they’d finished, Bram stared at his new possessions and couldn’t help feeling a sense of elation. This represented more money than he’d ever seen or hoped to see in his life before. For the first time he began to wonder what opportunities he’d meet with in his new life, what he could make of himself. He was in an anomalous position with Ronan and it’d be the same with Conn, neither friend nor merely a servant.

But on his own, could he do more?

What if he earned enough money to buy himself a smallholding, or a shop, or found some other way of being independent? He’d talked to people on the ship who said others had made a fortune in Australia. Could he do it too?

He smacked one fist into the palm of his other hand. He could try, couldn’t he? What had he to lose? He’d left Ireland with only a few clothes and the family’s tattered Bible, which his mother had insisted he take, as eldest son.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. If he ever had children, he didn’t want them to be treated like a possession of the estate owner, as he had been. He’d want them to be educated and free to make what they chose of their lives.

He didn’t need to make a fortune, which would be asking too much of fate, just a decent living. He wasn’t a stupid man but he’d never run a business, wasn’t even sure how to start.

But he could try, couldn’t he? Some of his travelling companions had worked in shops. He’d talk to them more carefully. There were self-improvement classes on the ship. He’d attend more of them, however boring they were.

He could try, couldn’t he?

The doctor came and stood beside Ronan at the rail the day after the burial. ‘It’s no use blaming yourself,’ he said abruptly.

‘But I am to blame. If I hadn’t come to Australia, she might still be alive.’

There was silence, then the doctor said, ‘I doubt it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘With cramp colic like that, most people do die, wherever they are. If they recover, it’s due to their own bodies not the doctor’s efforts. As I said when I first examined her, some doctors are starting to cut the abdomen open, but unless your mother lived in a city where there were skilled surgeons experimenting in this treatment, she’d not have been likely to be operated on and would still have died. And even with the wonders of chloroform to block the pain of an operation, a large percentage of patients die from sepsis, an infection carried, some think, by the air.’