This Golden Land (54 page)

     The audience was instantly hers. Without musical accompaniment, with only her angelic looks and golden voice, Alice Star, née Starky, who had once mopped floors in an Adelaide whorehouse, so captured her audience that it was as if she sang to a collection of statues. And she sang so sweetly that no one would guess Alice's painful secret, that only Hannah knew: that although she was the toast of Melbourne, and lived in a beautiful home with servants and a carriage, Alice Star was a very lonely woman.

     As Hannah watched with pride, never ceasing to be amazed at her friend's ease of enchantment, she saw the hotel's front door, on the other side of Alice, open and swing closed as two people entered. They stopped when they heard the singing, and waited politely in opera cape and cloak, top hat and bonnet.

     The woman of the pair, young, slender, an emerald green gown glimpsed beneath her cloak, kept her eyes on Alice. But the man with her, top hat still on his head, allowed his eyes to rove the room until they came to a rest upon Hannah.

     She nearly cried out. She wanted to run to him, deliver herself into his
arms and thank him for being alive. But she had to remain where she was, while Alice sang and Neal stood by the front door, his eyes fixed on Hannah.

     Blanche, standing at Hannah's side, inclined her head slightly and whispered, "So that's where Mr. Scott disappeared to. He went to fetch his fiancée."

But I also dreamt which charmed me most
That you loved me still the same
That you loved me
You loved me still the same,
That you loved me
You loved me still the same.

     Hannah was in agony as Alice sang and no one could move. Memories washed over her, from the
Caprica
, from the dusty road in front of the Australia Hotel. Intense longing returned, and a sweet, painful ache.

     Neal was very handsome in a smart black cut-away coat with tails over black trousers, a starched white shirt and white cravat. His brown hair was longer than when she had seen him last, and she noticed a natural curl over his white collar. He was clean shaven, although his sideburns were fashionably long.

     She thought of their kiss, their moment of lovemaking in the carriage, the feel and taste of him. She did not think she could endure the agony of this reunion, being introduced to the beautiful creature in the emerald gown.

     Hannah was wondering if she could invent an excuse to leave—a patient needing her—when Alice's song came to an end. There was a moment of silence as the audience realized it had been released from the spell, and then came the applause and shouts of "Brava!"

     The quartet started up again, conversation resumed, and people gathered around Alice to praise her. Neal removed his cape and hat and handed them to one of the maids. Hannah saw him murmur something to the young lady in green, who nodded with a smile, and then he wasted no time in crossing the vast lobby to where Hannah stood.

     Speechless with emotion, she reached for him, arms extended, slipping
her gloved hands into his. They were in the midst of a sea of noisy humanity, yet Hannah was aware of only one other person. "Neal, I thought you were dead." He was tanned, there were new creases on his face. He smelled of familiar shaving soap. "What happened?"

     "Hannah, I am so sorry. I have been trying to find you. I knew you would have seen the news story, that you thought I was dead."

     He told her briefly about Galagandra, the attack and the chemical explosions, but he omitted mention of the sandstorm, Sir Reginald's treachery and his sojourn with Jallara's clan. This was not the time or place. "I didn't know it, but when the natives attacked, one man, a surveyor named Archie Tice, managed to ride as far as an Aboriginal mission where he told them he got about half a mile away when he heard the explosions and looked back to see the black clouds. He told the missionaries it was a massacre, and then he himself died a few days later of an infected spear wound. It was the missionaries who reported the sad fate of the expedition to the authorities in Perth. They didn't know that Fintan and I survived."

     "Fintan!" Hannah said, remembering the handsome youth back in Adelaide.

     "After the smoke cleared, we found our camp still intact, with horses, food and water. It took me three days to bury the dead. I guess the explosions frightened the Aborigines because they never came back. Fintan was injured. We were out there for weeks before fossickers found us and took us to the same Aboriginal mission where a Christian couple much like the Merriwethers nursed us back to health. Hannah, it was a year before we returned to Perth. We had had no idea that our story had been reported in the meantime!"

     "Why didn't you set them straight?"

     "I started to, and then I realized that someone sharp enough would realize we had been out there for gold, and Galagandra would be overrun with gold seekers. Luckily, Archie never said anything about us discovering gold. It was sacred land, Hannah, I couldn't do that. Fintan and I went to Adelaide as soon as we could. I searched all over for you. I knew you thought I was dead. But I thought I would find you! I went to the Australia Hotel, but it was under new ownership. I went to Seven Oaks and the McKeeghans had
no idea where you were. Finally I did get information on your whereabouts, that you had gone to Sydney."

     She swallowed painfully. "I didn't think to leave you a message at the Adelaide post office, or on Mr. Day's public board. I thought you were dead!"

     Hannah was vaguely aware of space being cleared in the vast lobby, and couples taking up a waltz. Aromas drifted on the air as a buffet table was set, bringing delicious aromas of roast beef and spring lamb from the hotel kitchen. The lobby was hot and noisy, people passing by murmured, "Good evening, Miss Conroy," but Hannah was aware of none of these.

     "I only got your note this afternoon," she said. "I have been out in the country, visiting patients. But why did you ask if I was the same Hannah Conroy who had sailed on the
Caprica?"

     He laughed softly. "You wouldn't believe how many women share your name. In Sydney, I put up notices on public boards and adverts in newspapers. I checked with hospitals, doctors, chemist shops, other midwives. I even offered a reward for information on your whereabouts. I followed two leads to Hannah Conroy, both taking me far off the track into the Outback, only to find very different Hannah Conroys. Finally, I decided to try my luck in Melbourne. I sent Fintan ahead to find a studio for us, while I came the overland route with my equipment and supplies." He added with a smile, "I don't trust ships."

     Hannah saw changes in Neal. He seemed more subdued, not as brash as he had been when he had started out on the expedition with his scientific instruments. She wondered what had happened to him during his journey through the wilderness. Even physically, he was different—the closely cropped hair now grew long and curled loosely around his ears. His skin was tan, with lines at the eyes and framing his mouth. Strangely, the sunwrinkles did not make him look older, but wiser. Hannah looked at the photographs displayed on the wall and wondered if it was Australia itself that had wrought the changes.

     She also wondered about the fiancée, her name, how they met. But she was afraid to ask.

     "But look at you, Hannah," Neal said softly. "You are obviously doing well. I take it you are a success as a midwife?"

     "I have had to make some adjustments," she said, reaching into her small bag and bringing out her card. "I had difficulty getting established at first, and I blamed society. And then one day I realized that it wasn't society that was confining me to a narrowly defined role, I was doing it to myself. Once I redefined my role in life, success followed."

     Hannah had changed, he thought as he looked at the card, and it was more than a mere re-titling of her occupation. When they first met, over six years ago, he had thought of her as a girl. Now she was a woman. On the
Caprica
she had had only a vague idea of her direction. Now she was in charge of her destiny.

     "I say, are you the photographer, sir?"

     Neal turned, blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

     A whiskered gentleman with a portly belly and red cheeks said, "That picture up there, can you tell me where it was taken? I've never seen anything like it." Hannah recognized the man as Mr. Beechworth, a wealthy entrepreneur who had recently formed Melbourne's first railway company.

     Blanche materialized at that moment to say, "Did you know the bidding has reached fifty pounds on that piece, Mr. Beechworth? If you want it, you must enter your bid right away. The auction will close soon."

     Blanche looked at Neal for a long moment, and then at Hannah. She knew there had been someone in Hannah's past, a gentleman with whom Hannah had sailed from England. But there had been few details, little of the story, only that he was the reason Hannah was not interested in being introduced to eligible gentlemen in Melbourne. And now, as she led Mr. Beechworth to the auction table, she wondered if this intriguing American might be the mysterious someone from Hannah's past. . .

     Across the crowded lobby, Dr. Marcus Iverson watched the pair at the photographic exhibition.

     He had observed Miss Conroy and the American for the past few minutes, noting in their body language an ease and familiarity that denoted friendship, yet at times a tension and nervousness that might indicate
deeper and more intimate sentiments not yet requited. Sir Marcus was surprised to feel a stab of jealousy, an emotion he had not experienced since the days when his beloved Caroline had been the belle of many balls and the center of male attention.

     He decided to pay his respects to the American photographer who had donated his time and presence for such a deserving cause.

     They were standing a little closer than decorum called for, Sir Marcus thought as he neared Miss Conroy and Mr. Scott. And the way their eyes were locked, the way the gentleman touched Hannah's arm, as if the world did not exist—

     Sir Marcus was nonplussed by his feelings. All he could think was that Hannah Conroy reminded him somehow of his own cherished Caroline, who had died of typhoid. Caroline had been a widely read, highly educated woman with opinions of her own, and while he had not always agreed with her, he had enjoyed their debates. Sir Marcus did not deny that he admired smart women, found such minds very attractive in fact, and suspected that there were far more intelligent women in the world than they themselves let on.

     "Hello again, Miss Conroy," he said.

     After Hannah conducted an introduction, Sir Marcus turned to Neal, extending his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, sir."

     While the two men spoke for a moment about photography, Hannah espied Neal's fiancée across the lobby, stunning red-hair shining beneath the chandeliers. Hannah could see what Neal saw in the young lady. But it hurt. Hannah felt sick. She had grieved for him, mentally laid him to rest, only to have him stride back into her life in all his power and virility—to lose him all over again to another woman. It was more than she could bear. And she did not want to be introduced to the fiancée. Not yet. She wasn't ready.

     Dr. Iverson addressed Hannah. "I am afraid I must leave this delightful event," he began, and suddenly an idea came to him. "When I left the hospital this afternoon, there was a new case of childbed fever."

     "Oh no!"

     Sir Marcus cleared his throat, a little ashamed at his obvious ploy to
break up the tête-à-tête, and not sure why he had done it. But he was also pleased that it had worked, because Miss Conroy said, "Perhaps, doctor, I should pay a visit to Nellie Turner?"

     Unaware that Hannah's eyes were on a woman in green coming their way, Sir Marcus said, "That would be a good idea, Miss Conroy, and I should welcome your opinion on the new case. Shall I meet you at the front doors?"

     When Sir Marcus left, Hannah said, "Neal, I really must go, and people are going to want to talk to you about your photography."

     "Hannah we have to talk," he said quickly. "Tomorrow morning. The very first thing. My studio?"

     "Tomorrow is my morning to staff the Quaker Meeting house for the distribution of clothing to the poor. But I am available in the afternoon."

     She slipped her gloved hand into his, her heart rising in her throat at his touch. "I want to hear everything you have been doing," she said, dreading to hear about the fiancée, "and I shall tell you a rather extraordinary story in return."