Tyringham Park (39 page)

“I’ll just go and fetch your little girl,” the nurse said. “What have you decided to call her?”

“Alison, after my favourite aunt.”

“That’s nice. Your aunt will be pleased.”

“I hope so. She’s on her last legs, poor thing. I don’t think there’s a Saint Alison so I’ll give her Rose as a second name just in case.”

“That’s nice. What does that make it?”

“Five boys and four girls.” Nell started to cry. “Three girls.”

Sister Townsend was annoyed with herself for asking such a tactless question.

In the privacy of his office, Lochlann wrote to the old doctor, eighty-three by now, to say the offer was open again and, if he was still available, he could take possession of
the house and the practice within the month. He then applied for a position on a troop ship – he still had the original forms. As he walked in the darkness to the Post Office to post the two
letters, he wondered if he’d ever have a peaceful night again. From this day on he expected never again to sleep the sleep of the just.

Lochlann later assured an anxious Father Daly he had baptised the child correctly with due procedure, relieving the Hogans of the worry their little girl’s soul would be
consigned to Limbo. He thought it better not to mention that the child had been lifeless when he poured the water on her forehead and said the words.

Was there ever such a blackguard as I am? Lochlann asked himself, amazed at how easily the lies rolled off his tongue.

Nell stayed in hospital for the usual two weeks. Lochlann visited her on his daily rounds and, if he was hoping for redemption by her admitting it might have been just as well the twin had died
as she didn’t think she could manage two on top of the number she already had, he was disappointed. She mourned little Dolores as if she were her first. Worse, she told him before she was
discharged that her sister-in-law in Sydney had asked could she adopt Alison as, after six miscarriages, she had given up hope of having a child of her own and thought that the Hogans, with their
eight healthy children, would be pleased to give one of them a huge financial advantage and a secure future.

“What did you say to that?”

“Didn’t consider it. Not for a minute. Dan and I both agreed we couldn’t part with our own flesh and blood, and that if God has willed us to have all these children, He will
provide. Poor Cat will have to settle for being godmother. Not that that will be much consolation to her, poor unhappy woman, but it’s the best we can do. God’s will can be very unfair
at times, Doctor.”

The sister-in-law would have to steel herself against further instances of unfairness, Lochlann reckoned. Nell was only thirty-three and Alison was unlikely to be the last. That projection
didn’t give him any consolation either.

The old doctor wrote to say he could take up duties within the month and hoped he wouldn’t be cancelled this time as he was looking forward to coming back to his old stamping ground.

If Nell and Charlotte continued true to type, Lochlann believed, the next four weeks should pass without the two women meeting each other and comparing babies. Nell, living twenty miles out with
no transport, didn’t come to town except for emergencies, and Charlotte never left the house. His mother’s dictum that all good-looking babies look alike and all ugly babies look alike
didn’t console him. Identical twins would be too particular to be covered by that generality.

Charlotte’s handling of Mary Anne astounded both Lochlann, who since their marriage had only ever seen his wife dispirited and idle, and Mrs Parker who had been expecting
to do most of the childminding but found she wasn’t asked to do any.

Charlotte was alert to Mary Anne’s every signal, tuned in to her every change of mood. She found herself talking to her in a language that she thought came naturally to her until she
realised it was an imitation of the way Manus used to speak to the horses, especially the foals. It worked for the foals and it worked for Mary Anne, who proved to be contented and placid.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Mrs Parker told her friends. “Mrs Carmody doesn’t allow her to cry. The little one’s hardly ever off the breast, and is always in her
mother’s arms. Mrs Carmody has moved into the spare room so the baby can sleep beside her and not disturb the doctor.”

Lochlann was trying not to think or feel or become attached in case some all-knowing arbiter swooped down to pick up Mary Anne to return her to her true family. He couldn’t believe he
could get away with it. If only the twins had been fraternal, rather than identical, he wouldn’t have to live in constant terror. If only they could leave town immediately.

Two days before their departure date, Nell Hogan rang to say Alison had a chesty cough and a temperature of one hundred and two degrees and what would she do? Would she ask a
neighbour to give her a lift in? Was it serious enough for that?

“I’ll tell you what,” said Lochlann. “I have a call to make to old Chippie at the mill, so I’ll call in to you. Just leaving this minute. No trouble at all. No, I
mean it.”

Old Chippie was surprised to be visited by the doctor, as he hadn’t contacted him and was feeling well.

“Will you have a drink with me, Doctor?” he asked, rinsing out a dirty glass.

“Just the one. A farewell drink. I’m heading back home in three days’ time to enlist.”

Chippie was the first to be told, the Hogans the second.

After he attended to Alison, and supplied medication to bring down the temperature, he told them he was leaving the town. They showed their disappointment and said they must organise a send-off
for him. No fuss, said Lochlann, and there was no time now as he was dreadfully busy with the preparations to leave – as was his wife. That was why he wasn’t telling anyone until the
last minute.

He would need to stand guard over Charlotte and the baby until they left, he thought, for fear Dan Hogan would consider it proper to visit to say goodbye.

“You may come back after the war,” Nell said with feeling.

“Please God,” said Dan.

Lochlann asked if he could have some photos of the family. They were flattered to be asked. He made sure Alison was centre stage.

For my eyes only, Lochlann thought.

He wanted to tell them how much he owed them, but thought it might sound peculiar. They would think nothing of the days he’d spent on their farm on horseback.

He didn’t offer to keep in touch and didn’t give them his home address – they wouldn’t have expected either. He left a box of gifts and money for the children, and the
irony of the paltriness of it wasn’t lost on him. If only he could give much more. Half of everything he would ever own wouldn’t come anywhere near paying off his indebtedness to
them.

Lochlann and Scottie packed the luggage into the back of the mail truck.

“By the way, if you’re looking for a hotel in Sydney,” said old Dr Merton, settled in since the previous day, “I can highly recommend one. My dear late wife looked on it
as a home away from home and I can swear by it. The Waratah. Run by two friendly Pommie women.”

“Thank you,” said Lochlann, “but I don’t think we’ll be needing one. We expect to be allowed to embark early.”

“In these uncertain times you can’t be sure of anything and you might be in for a long delay. I kept a magazine article with all the details. Now, what did I do with it?” He
foraged in his black bag. “The younger one used to be a real stunner – part of the attraction of the place – and was still a good sort last time I saw her though my dear late wife
told me I needed new glasses. I think she was a bit jealous, not that she had any cause.” He produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to Lochlann. “No harm in hanging on to it
just in case. Don’t want to see you stranded. The Waratah will take the pain out of the disruption if your ship fails to turn up.”

“Thanks, but I hope we won’t need to avail of it.” Lochlann slipped the page into the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’ll read it on the train.”

The few townspeople driving by at this early hour swivelled their heads when they saw evidence of departure. Lochlann had told only a few at the last minute that he was leaving to forestall any
plans for an official send-off. The risk of Charlotte’s parading Mary Anne around to be admired, especially by the Hogans who would make the effort to attend, made Lochlann feel sick at the
thought.

Wombat, on his way to the butter factory, pulled over when he saw the little group, his face showing as much surprise as it was capable of registering. He joined them and held out his arms for
Mary Anne. Lochlann, remembering Charlotte’s fear of him, made as if to intercept, but Charlotte gave the man a full smile and, handing over the baby, said, “You brought me luck,
Wombat.” She pulled back the shawl so he could get a good look at the baby.

Lochlann wondered what she was talking about.

Wombat examined the baby, looked from it to Charlotte and Lochlann, and then back again.

“Twin,” he mouthed.

Lochlann was the only one who knew what he was trying to say.

“Heard you were out at Hogan’s place yesterday, giving Dan a hand,” Mrs Parker said in the clear tones reserved for the handicapped. Despite her fondness for him she
didn’t like looking at his mouth, so missed his observation. “You’d be an expert on babies after that,” she smiled around the little circle.

“Twin,” Wombat repeated soundlessly.

“Wind,” Lochlann said, taking Mary Anne gently from Wombat and patting her on her back while he held her over his shoulder.

“I thought he said ‘twin’,” said Charlotte.

“No, it was ‘wind’. I talk to him a lot and I’m an expert at knowing what he says, aren’t I, Wombat?” Before the man could answer Lochlann guided him to his
vehicle, jabbering at speed, thanking him for all the work he’d done in the garden and telling him he’d never tasted such vegetables, shaking his hand and saying he would never forget
him, good man himself, all the while feeling as if he was about to vomit and have a brain haemorrhage and suffer a heart attack, all at the same time.

Charlotte appeared at his shoulder. She took Wombat’s hand and kissed him on his scarred cheek. “Thank you for everything,” she said. “I’m frightfully glad I
didn’t miss seeing you before I left to thank you for the good fortune you brought me in the end.”

Wombat shuffled his feet and hung his head to hide his pleasure before swinging into the driver’s seat.

What was all that about? Lochlann wondered, with no intention of asking. “Sound man,” he said, his voice husky, returning to the group, hoping that none of them had noticed how
fearful he was when he’d rushed the poor man off in such a rude fashion. They hadn’t, and they presumed the catch in his voice was due to the sadness of leaving.

Charlotte waved to Wombat until he was out of sight and said to Mrs Parker, “You were right. He is a Good Samaritan.”

Mrs Parker said her final farewells, and Scottie arranged a day’s fishing with Dr Merton.

“Sorry to be going, Doc?” Scottie asked as they took their seats and waved to Mrs Parker and the old doctor.

“Very.” He put his head down, willed the truck to move off before anyone else came along, and kept his head lowered until the truck was well clear of town.

He hoped Nell Hogan wouldn’t come into town for at least a year so that Mrs Parker’s memory of Mary Anne would have faded sufficiently for her not to make a connection between the
two little girls born on the same day and looking so much alike. And he hoped Wombat would begin to doubt what he’d seen, and that the townspeople would continue to treat him with indulgence,
believing that his brain as well as his face had been damaged in the fire and, if he did regain his voice, they would take no notice of his belief that Charlotte Carmody’s baby and Nell
Hogan’s baby were twins.

“Can’t believe that you’ve only been here for just over two years – seems longer,” said Scottie.

Like ten years, Lochlann thought, with so much happening.

“Remember the first operation you did on the day you arrived?”

“The appendix. I remember it well – felt half dead and didn’t know where anything was. I was lucky to have Matron Grainger assisting me.”

“You said he must be destined for great things. Billy Ericsson. Well, he wasn’t. Heard last night he was killed in action. What a bloody waste. You needn’t have
bothered.”

“I hope that wasn’t the case.”

Beside him Mary Anne was asleep in Charlotte’s arms and Charlotte was in her usual pose of smiling down at her.

“Wombat definitely tried to say 'twin', Lorcan. Seems to have confused me with Nell Hogan,” Charlotte said. “I don’t think I look anything like her, do you?”

“Not a bit. Would you like me to take Mary Anne to give you a rest?” asked Lochlann, desperate to change the subject.

“Perhaps later. I don’t want to disturb her sleep just now.”

“Speaking on behalf of the town, seeing you wouldn’t have a send-off,” Scottie said with uncharacteristic seriousness, “you’ll be missed.”

“Thank you,” said Lochlann. “It’s a special place. I loved being here and I’m sorry to be leaving.”

If only they knew, he thought. If they were told that of all the hypocrites in the world I must be the worst, would they believe it? No, not without proof, for when they’d look at me they
would see their own goodness reflected back at themselves.

And of all the people in the world who are in a position of trust, I must be the one who has proven to be the most treacherous.

What mitigation for acting out of pity, with no premeditation, tightening my shackles in the process?

None. None.

What solace from any divine or human source?

None. Not an iota.

If there is a God, and I hope there isn’t, there will be no forgiveness for me as I’m still in possession of my neighbour’s treasure and have no intention of returning it. No
recompense, no absolution. That’s the rule.

Snuggled against Lochlann’s shoulder, Charlotte fantasised that one day she and Lochlann, with their four children, would be celebrating their Silver Anniversary in Tyringham Park, for
that’s where she pictured herself living after Harcourt inherited and was speaking to her again. And she would ask Lochlann, with just the right touch of lightness in her tone, if he
remembered their first anniversary and if it had crossed his mind then to push her into the abyss seeing she was such an albatross around his neck at the time. She could imagine him looking back at
her as if she’d just lost her mind, or laughing, and saying ‘Where did that idea come from?’ and then he would take time to search his memory before he would say, ‘Why would
I be thinking of such a thing? I was studying the geological make-up of the planet and marvelling at the origins of the universe, not contemplating an insignificant thing like murder.’ And
she would be able to smile back, as their relationship by then would be easy, and say, ‘I know that’s what you were thinking. I was the one with the black thoughts. Imagine if that had
happened, little Mary Anne would never have been born and that doesn’t bear thinking of. How could I have known then how happily things would turn out in the end?’