Read Dream Time (historical): Book I Online
Authors: Parris Afton Bonds
Dream Time (historical): Book I (33 page)
Tom Livingston’s office was elegant with dark mahogany furniture imported in New South Wales Traders ships from Africa. A gold clipper served as an inkwell, its sails a concealed pen. The enormous desk was practically bare of paperwork.
Tom had put on a great deal of weight and wore spectacles, but altogether he appeared a man whom life had treated well—Amaris supposed because he had treated life well. From all that she knew of him and heard about him, he had done his best, hurting no one in the process. Nan would have undoubtedly pronounced her husband a man of mediocrity, but staring into those mild eyes, Amaris would have to say he was a success. Undoubtedly, he went to bed at night and slept easily.
More than she could do these days. She was so damned tired. Tired of hoping. Tired of losing at every turn. If she lost Sin . . . well, only the twins were left her. In a way, they were everything to her because they were the best of her and Sin combined.
“I need your help, Mr. Livingston. I was your daughter’s best friend. Sin loved Celeste and she loved him. I know that you thought highly of Sin. Even though your wife was against their marriage, for Celeste’s memory, will you help him?”
Tom’s head drooped. “Randolph is after a sacrificial lamb. New South Wales Traders doesn’t have that much influence.”
Heart beating like a death knell, Amaris knocked on the same door she had knocked on at the age of twelve. Not that much had changed about the Georgian mansion. A patina of charm had come with its age. The rural surroundings were gone, and shops and businesses jostled for room along the cobble-stoned street that now fronted it.
Another Irish maid, as homely as Molly had been, greeted her. She closed her parasol. “Would you tell Mrs. Livingston that Amaris Tremayne is calling on her.”
Once again Amaris waited in the parlor, her gaze traveling over different paintings, different statues and objets d’art.
And Amaris was different. She was a grown woman now, fighting for the man she loved. Her fingers rose to touch the brooch on her morning coat. She was converting the brooch to a talisman against her most formidable opponent.
The maid returned and led her down the hallway to Nan’s office.
Behind a desk litte
red with papers sat the commanding old woman. Her mouth was seamed and heavily rouged, as were her cheeks. Yet the power of a young person emanated from her eyes. She nodded toward the wing chair opposite her desk. For a moment, the women stared at each other.
Nan and Amaris dominated their respective elements of society: the commercial and the pastoral. Mother and daughter—each unable to forgive the other. Nan peered over her tented fingertips. “So, at last you co
me begging.”
Amaris’s stomach was a twisting, wreathing knot. “For someone who dislikes me so, you appear pleased by my presence.”
“I’ve waited a long time for this.” Her smile grew wider, thinning even more her thin mouth. “I know, of course, why you’re here.”
Amaris leaned forward. Her throat was full to choking. “In all of Australia, only you have the power to get Sin released.”
Nan settled back in her chair, her veined hands resting on its padded arms. “You know what I want in exchange?”
“I can guess. You want us to leave Australia. Sin would never agree to being exiled. Not as long as there is a breath left in him.”
“He won’t have that choice. He's to be transported to Norfolk Island.”
“Norfolk Island?” She knew she sounded like a parrot, but her heart froze like a heavy block of ice. Norfolk Island was a thousand miles away and infamous for cruelty. Two thousand prisoners were crowded onto the island in despicable conditions. The administering regime promoted torture that filled the mind with horror.
Nan’s eyes were crystal orbs of satisfaction. “I see you understand the grave situation facing Sin. ’Tis my opinion he’d rather swing from the gallows than endure a life sentence on Norfolk Island.”
Her words were a bare whisper. “What is your price?”
“Think of the ultimate price.” She paused. “That you give up what was your sister’s: Sin.”
Her breath turned to stone. Tears stung her eyes. She should have known it would come to this. Nan Livingston never lost. Nan Livingston was as strong and indomitable as legend made her out to be. “Well?”
She bowed her head. “Aye.” The choked sob escaped her.
“That brooch,” Nan whispered. “It was my mother’s, you know.”
Amaris steeled herself. “It was my mother’s, also.”
For a long moment, the silence filled the office
like a heartbeat does the ear. Then Nan sighed and rubbed her temple. “I find no pleasure in my victory. There must be an end to this bitterness between us. I can promise nothing. But I shall see what I can do.”
Amaris stared at Nan Livingston. She refused to let the joy of relief fill her heart. After all these years, she did not know if she could trust the old woman, could trust her mother.
The two faced each other across the dining table. The two most powerful and influential people in Australia. The man, Miles Randolph, openly acknowledged for his political power; the woman, Nan Livingston, heralded for the clout she wielded behind the scenes.
“Release Sin Tremayne from Fort Dennison?” A silver brow climbed the wrinkles laddering Miles Randolph’s forehead. He found it difficult to believe that he had ever been the lover of the old woman across from him, spry and well preserved though she was. “Why should I?”
“I won’t insult your intelligence by saying ‘for old times’ sake.’ I meant nothing to you
, did I?”
He took a pinch of snuff from the back of his hand and inhaled it up one nostril. “You revolted me with those eyes that were always begging, ‘Love me, love me, love me.”’
She appeared not in the least affected by his cruel words. “Did I? Well, life is a trade-off. Send your butler away. What I have to say requires the utmost privacy, as you will soon agree, I am sure.”
He snapped his fingers, nodded toward the door, and the hovering butler vanished as if by magic. Then
Miles turned back to her. “Your statement is highly intriguing. Do proceed.”
“I want Sin Tremayne freed. I could ask you to do it out of fatherly interest.”
“Fatherly interest? I find it hardly plausible that the Irish blackguard could be an offspring of mine.”
“Amaris Tremayne is our daughter, Miles.”
Mild curiosity rippled through him. “So that’s what is behind this appeal.”
“Not exactly. She and I have been at cross-purposes since the moment of her birth. Nevertheless, I want her husband freed of all charges.”
“What you want is vastly different from what I may choose to—”
“What I want is what I get
. . . sooner or later. Free him. Or else I shall use this with relish.” She fished a piece of time-yellowed parchment from her reticule and tossed it on the table.
He unfolded the scrap and read the scribble. He could feel the color draining from his face. His heart muscles squeezed painfully. “No one will believe this piece of fodder. A man who claims I raped him nearly forty years ago when he was only a boy—a man who can barely sign his name.”
The old woman shrugged. “You are doubtless correct. Most people will not only disbelieve the evidence but most likely not even care, to judge by Sydney’s morals. But your wife will certainly be influenced by my witness. He’s still alive, you know. Living safely in England at my expense. I knew one day I would have need of his testimony. Tell me, Miles, do you think your wife would continue to support you as I have Morton Freely all these years?”
From her view from the office window, Nan Livingston watched the scene being enacted below. A small boat was rowed by a red-jacketed sailor from a brig toward the wharf.
The prisoner, his hands manacled, sat at the boat’s far end beneath the muzzle point of a lax guard. A tall, lithe woman, her ebony hair burnished with moon-silver streaks, waited on the quay. When the prisoner’s cuffs were removed and he was ushered ashore, the woman flung herself at him. The couple kissed in a passionate embrace that Nan had never known and had forever and ever yearned for.
She had dreamed the scene before her into a reality. Ah, well, one may get one’s wishes in this Dream Time land, but not always in the way one anticipates.
As she watched the performance, she thought that her daughter was very grateful for her intercession on Sin’s behalf. Grateful enough to allow her to see her grandchildren. Nan patted Anne’s head indulgently as the tot played with the doll Nan had bought for her.
Nan turned her attention to Daniel, who sat on her knee. She jogged her knee and recited in a raspy voice, “Horsey, horsey go to town. Horsey, horsey don’t fall down.”
The boy gurgled in delight.
Here was a strong spirit that with the right guidance could take the boy to the top of Australian politics, Nan thought. Sin was too selfless. But with her backing and her connections, well, who knew. Perhaps her grandson would become Australia’s answer to the British prime minister.
Nan smiled.
T H E E N D
The first chapter of DREAM TIME’s sequel, DREAM KEEPER, follows. And
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