Era of Understanding

By Stella McMillan

Book 3 in the Trilogy Era /Error of Understanding . Oblivious to her own predicament and her own life with her husband and her son, in an American setting, Paula remains transfixed as she views the lives of Louisa, Sylvia and Elizabeth in early Australian history. Their interaction with the one man, Charles Lyndhurst, continues to fascinate her. These events play themselves out to their final conclusion, in the State of Victoria, during the latter half of the nineteenth century. Paula knows them all oh-so-well Eventually, she will be forced to face up to the reality of her own needs and her own circumstances. This is Paula's dilemma now. However, for the time being, she is content to focus her undivided attention on these 'Victorian Victorians', thereby delaying her own inevitable moment-of-truth for just a little longer. But for how long remains to be seen. After all the twenty-first century is about to dawn in her 'real world'!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781447569084

Book preview

BOOK THREE

ERA of UNDERSTANDING

BOOK THREE — ERA of UNDERSTANDING

PROLOGUE

Paula

Gold Coast Hospital — 10 September, 1999

Paula opened her eyes. Tentatively, she moved her head slightly and surveyed the room, in which she was resting. Brilliant sunlight was streaming through the two windows on the wall opposite her bed while illuminating the stark, white hospital room, in which stood two beds. Paula’s bed was the second one from the door leading to what she assumed was the hospital corridor and the nurses’ station. There was another door, with several glass panels, and this one opened onto a patio of some description. Lying partially on her left side now, while peering out through this other doorway, she noticed a concrete ramp leading to manicured lawns, beyond which were gardens and, in the distance, a stand of tall trees.

Stretching her limbs gingerly, Paula realised that there was a cannular inserted in her left arm so, with utmost care, while moving in slow motion, she eased her body back onto her back as her gaze followed the plastic tubing to locate the source of this medication. Obviously, it was this medication she was receiving that was responsible for sending her into a deep, almost comatose state where she had been dreaming of another time in history. It must have been a dream, for what else could it have been, she queried of her drug-induced, semiconscious mind.

Suddenly, a slight movement on the neighbouring bed — to the right of her own bed — caught her eye briefly. She turned her attention to the person reclining there, while her bleary eyes fought hard to focus on this new arrival in her ward. She was a young girl of possibly seven years of age and she was lying on her side, at the foot of the bed and on top of the quilt, while her head was resting on her hand, which was being propped up by her elbow.

The child possessed enormous, piercing brown eyes while her skin was very white — almost translucent — and she had straight, shoulder-length, sandy-coloured hair that was tumbling over her face at present, slightly covering her pretty countenance. There was a petulant look on that face as it studied Paula in all seriousness. She was wearing pale pink pyjamas, which were covered in bright pink and purple fairies, and her feet were bare.

Hello, Paula murmured, and then somewhat irrationally, she questioned the child. Are you my new neighbour?

No, the girl stated emphatically. ‘Course not, ‘cause this isn’t a children’s ward, y’know.

Oh! I see. Yes, of course, you’re right. So, you’re visiting, right? I’m ‘Paula’ and what’s your name?

The girl gave a deep sigh, almost as though she felt that she was dealing with someone of very low intelligence who did not have the capacity to think rationally. Paula was beginning to agree with that assumption, for she had no idea where she was, or how long she had been here in this bed, in this place — whatever it was — although she was presuming that it was a hospital.

Leisel! she said, in an exasperated tone. And I know your name. It’s on your bed and your chart. I’ve been talking to you for ages, but you wouldn’t wake up. I hav’ta talk to you before Gerard comes, so stay awake, please.

Suitably admonished, Paula gave her a weak smile and a slight nod of her head as she studied the child, realising that, in all probability, the girl was but two years younger than her own son, Byron, who she needed to see desperately, all of a sudden.

How long have I been here, do you know, Leisel?

In reply, Leisel shrugged her shoulders while continuing to watch Paula intently as she lifted her arm slowly to reach for the buzzer.

"No! Don’t! Don’t do that, Paula. I told you I need to talk to you before he comes!"

"Is he the nurse? Is that a man called ‘Gerard’?" Paula asked.

Leisel nodded her head furiously while her eyes pleaded with Paula who lowered her arm instinctively — and possibly a little unwisely, she felt.

Well, I’ll delay a minute or so, but I need to see him urgently, so let’s make this quick, eh? Paula said.

Don’t you know me at all? she asked, with the petulance returning.

Umm, I can’t say I do, but I’m not thinking too clearly, at the moment, so it’s probably the medication causing my memory loss and it’s only temporary . . . I hope! Tell me again then.

As Paula spoke, the door from the hospital corridor opened abruptly and the male nurse strode in, giving Paula a beaming smile. Leisel swivelled her head quickly to look over at him; then, she turned her attention back to Paula, while giving her a look that spoke of annoyance, hurt and possibly even betrayal, all in that one swift glance of disapproval.

Now, everything’s ruined, the child mumbled.

"So, you’ve returned to us?" Gerard asked, addressing Paula.

It would seem so, she murmured in reply.

He tugged on a few strands of Leisel’s hair as he walked by her, coming to the side of Paula’s bed; then, he turned slightly, looking directly at Leisel with a stern expression on his face.

You, Missy, are not supposed to be in here, as you know, and there’s a search party out scouring the gardens for you now. Haven’t you something special to do today?

I want to talk to Paula, she stated, pouting noticeably.

Well, we can’t always have what we want, can we? he said, adding with a friendly grin. Be off with you, or we’ll all be in trouble, and you don’t want that, do you?

Giving another glance of definite disapproval — this time directed at the nurse — Leisel jumped from the bed and walked by Paula’s bed on the way to the glass door leading to the patio. In defiance, she looked quickly at Paula.

I’ll be back! she promised her.

Don’t count on it! Gerard called after her.

It was nice to meet you, Leisel, Paula called to the departing child; then, turning to the nurse, she directed questions at him. I want to see my son, so where is he? Was he in the accident? Has he been injured at all?

Not to my knowledge. You were alone; I’m sure of it.

Once again, Paula fought to make some sense of her surroundings and of what had brought her here, but she could not do so, for she could not recall anything, other than her son, her husband and her home in Los Angeles. Everything else was a blank page and this, more than anything else, frightened her considerably.

Don’t worry about anything. It’ll all come back to you soon, as it always does . . . just wait and see. Okay? Rest now and I’ll come back to you in a few minutes.

Paula heard a buzzer ringing and this persistent sound was echoing from the corridor outside of her room. Instantly, the nurse was striding towards the doorway to the corridor before she realised his intention. Her eyelids were very heavy, but she tried to force them to stay open for a little longer as she called after him.

Wait!

Do you need something? he queried, while stopping abruptly and glancing back at her.

Yes, answers!

Gerard laughed. Then, he shook his head at her as though appreciating some secret joke, which was eluding her at present. This caused her to experience some annoyance, but it was short-lived, because her eyes closed completely and she could not see him at all momentarily.

When, with great determination and endurance, she forced them to open again, the nurse was disappearing through the doorway. Paula decided to reach for her own buzzer to bring him back to her bedside, so that she could interrogate him some more, but her arm seemed to be paralysed by her side. While she was puzzling over this fact, a haunting melody from her childhood memory swamped her mind and intoxicated her senses. Once again, consciousness left her.

Paula found herself drifting from the bed in that empty hospital ward and she was floating on air, far from the scene below her; then, she left the building altogether — albeit somewhat abruptly. She became aware of another reality superimposed upon the one, in which she had been resting but recently. Then, with great interest, she observed the proceedings from a distance, for a time, before becoming a part of the scene that she had been witnessing.

To her surprise, Paula found herself standing in the sitting room of the honeymoon suite at the guest house at Anglesea in Victoria.

Glancing down, she realised that she was not alone. She was even more astounded to find that she was standing beside Charles Lyndhurst, who was seated comfortably in an armchair while studying a newspaper, the date of which was obscured from her view. With interest, the silent and unseen Paula, watched intently as Louisa Lyndhurst walked briskly into the room.

Accepting this occurrence as being nothing more than a dream-sequence that she was experiencing — probably during a deep, deep sleep — Paula relaxed a little as she became a part of the drama that was being played out around her in Victorian Victoria.

PART FIVE

Victorian Victorians

Victorian Victorians

Partings — Private, Personal, Permanent

Chapter 1

The year was 1868, in the month of November, to be precise. The season was summer, that being a Southern Hemisphere summer. The country was the one known now as Australian, and in the State of Victoria,.

Louisa

Charles was seated in one of the armchairs by the fire in the private sitting room, adjoining the bedroom, at their honeymoon guest house, high on the cliffs. Louisa returned to their suite with a large white box in her hands. He glanced up from the newspaper that he was reading as the warm glow from the fire spread its feather-fingers throughout the whole room. He smiled at her as she gasped for breath. She came to him, dropped to her knees in front of him and placed the package on his lap.

Charles discarded the newspaper immediately as Louisa’s breathing returned slowly to normal. The exercise of ascending the stairs hurriedly, in her present condition, was the cause of her breathlessness. Earlier in the morning, she had sent her maid on a treasure hunt to find ribbon and paper to wrap her gift. Then, with careful precision, Louisa had wrapped the package. Charles was staring at it in some surprise.

What’s this? he asked.

Your wedding present. You’re forever giving me gifts and you’ve sprung our surprise marriage on me, so I was at a loss to know what to give to you to remember our wedding day. Now, I have . . . see!

Gingerly, he pulled on the gold ribbon that was tied securely around the large box; then, he lifted the lid and, reaching inside, he extracted a large parcel wrapped in newspaper. He eyed her in some trepidation.

This is about to explode in my face. I know it!

Louisa laughed as he unravelled the newspaper, rolling it into a ball and throwing it onto the fire where it exploded in a ball of flame, only to be consumed instantly. She giggled as he unravelled yet another parcel wrapped in newspaper and he shook his head in mock exasperation. Displaying the utmost patience, he continued to unravel package after package while his wife, sitting in child-like anticipation at his feet, bubbled with excitement.

Charles’ amusement came not so much from the expectation of what he was to uncover in his hands, but from the expression of anticipation and excitement registering on Louisa’s face.

Am I to miss lunch and dinner before I reach my goal, Louisa?

You’re almost through, she advised, in a secretive tone.

Charles located finally a small gift, wrapped in brightly-coloured paper and tied with white ribbon. He smiled at her in mock relief as she held her breath, awaiting his discovery. Instead of opening it immediately, he placed it aside, looking down at her.

After that effort, I’m exhausted. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to find me a drink . . . over there on the cabinet, there’s a decanter of . . .

Her fists began striking him on the arm and it was some moments before, laughing with her, he grappled with her, securing her wrists.

Whisky, I was about to request.

Open it now! I demand it!

Laughing again, he released her wrists and followed her command. Inside, he found a smaller box, then raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes heavenwards, he lifted its lid. At the conclusion of this exercise, he began to laugh heartily as he lifted the gift from the box while Louisa laughed with him.

"So, madam, you think you’ve no further use for this? Am I to accept a second-hand gift? Perhaps I shall, as it’s safer in my hands than in your unpredictable ones! he stated firmly. I’ll lock it securely in my safe!"

He reached down and tugged on her hair; then, he leaned forward and kissed her. Still laughing, he shook his head at her - as though unable to believe that she could surprise him even after all this time together. Suddenly, he held up her dagger to the light while studying it in detail. With the flick of his thumb, the razor-sharp blade shot into view and Louisa giggled again.

How did you come by it? he inquired, in an innocent tone.

I’m sworn to secrecy, so my lips are sealed. Suffice to say, it was a treasured wedding gift to me from a dear friend who had my interests at heart, at the time.

But not mine . . . obviously! And the good Robert springs to mind, Charles murmured, fingering the sharp blade as he spoke.

Oh! No! Uncle Robert wouldn’t do that, for he’d be too cautious, as he knows me so very well and he’d know I’d have no hesitation in using it. He did try to persuade me to cancel the marriage; but then, he accepted defeat graciously after that. The secret of who gave it to me will go to the grave with me, she declared forcefully.

For someone who promised there’d be no secrets between us, you do seem to have accumulated much that’s going to the grave with you. Come here to me.

He reached down, lifting her onto his lap. He flicked the knife closed, placing it on the table by him. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her in his arms.

"Thank you. From deep within my heart, I thank you, because it symbolises to me that you accept that all this turmoil between us is at an end. And that, more so than anything else, means a great deal."

He kissed her on the top of her head and she snuggled into his chest while staring at the fire and knowing contentment again. It was an unusual feeling and one that she had lost on the day her mother died. But, it was more than contentment that died with Mary Howard. It was a feeling of security, as well, that she lost then. Perhaps now, with Charles, she may be able to regain both. Time would tell on that score. It was early days yet in their marriage. Besides, there was the ghost of someone else who kept wandering into her mind and permeating her senses when she was expecting it the least. She could do no more than to push him away every time he arrived unexpectedly and unannounced into her consciousness. If this was Phillip’s child she was carrying, he would be a part of her future life and she knew she would never be free of his memory.

A penny for them, Charles murmured, in a serious tone.

Louisa sat up abruptly and looked directly at him. Then, laughing, she shook her head as he watched her intently.

You may have my body, Mr. Lyndhurst, but my mind is my own! Louisa stated, attempting to lighten the serious question by teasing him.

And what of your heart? he inquired softly.

She snuggled against his chest again, avoiding eye contact with him and, perhaps, because of it, he held her a little more tightly.

It’s in little pieces and I’ve given a small piece to everyone I love, she confessed.

Is my share larger than what Hilton has? Charles asked in innocence.

Louisa began to giggle and to gurgle, all at the same time. It was then that her laughter exploded while filling the room. Charles smiled quietly at the sound.

Oh! The return of the kookaburra! That’s the end of any serious discussion today, he muttered; then, seriously, he asked of her. Are you happy, my love?

Louisa was silent for quite some time as she stared into the fire without acknowledging that she had heard his whispered question.

Mama said happiness is something most people don’t realise they have until it’s gone from them. Then, they spend the rest of their lives trying to retrieve that state-of-mind, which they discarded . . . sometimes so casually and so easily . . . at an earlier moment. But often, it’s taken away quite unexpectedly, in one, swift instant and against our will.

And, in the philosophy of the wise Mary Howard, what was the explanation for such a tragic occurrence? he asked softly, without any sarcasm or a teasing tone.

Louisa considered his question most seriously, trying to recall her mother’s words of wisdom on such a subject, for they had discussed much while sitting together on that old log. This was on the river bank in the moonlight, bearing silent witness, as the waters of the Murray River made their slow progress towards the river mouth at Goolwa in South Australia. In her consciousness, Louisa was there now, listening intently and attentively to her mother’s words - and these she revealed to Charles.

"Life resembles a steam train and about every seven years, our own personal train pulls into a station and we’re required to change to the next compartment. If we fight that change, then we risk falling down in a heap on the carriage floor before we arrive at the following station where the change is compulsory, usually."

"And is that how you view your life thus far?" Charles asked.

In response to his whispered question, she nodded her head slowly; then, Louisa continued with the explanation that he had requested.

"Assuming we do make the change, of our own free will, and at the appointed hour . . . thus accepting that life moves on and we must move with it . . . then, the changes are not quite so catastrophic as if we fight them furiously and religiously at the outset. So, that’s the secret, you see, for cross-roads happen to us all. They’re unavoidable," she stated, in a wistful tone.

"When those railway signals next cross for you, presumably at age twenty-one by your allegorical timetable, will you love me by then, do you think?" he whispered in all seriousness.

Louisa took a deep breath and she waited some moments before answering him, because, in truth, she did not know the answer to that question herself. For the first time, she wished with all her heart that she had never met Phillip Carstairs at all. Perhaps, had that been the case, then she would have been able to give Charles the answer that he was seeking and, obviously, desired so desperately to hear from her.

"No one knows the future and I, for one, can’t predict anything. But, for me, God is the Engine Driver of my train, while in the rear carriage is the guard who is there to guide me until it’s my time to steam away forever. Jesus is both my guide and my guard. Probably, that doesn’t answer your question as you would wish it, but I’ve spent the past year fighting fiercely against all the changes that have happened, as I did during the previous three years. I can’t do so any more."

Nor can I, he confessed softly.

My last compulsory change-over was when I was fourteen and Yvette left us, Louisa stated simply; then, softly and a little shyly, she queried him. "And who drives your train, Charles?"

"I do! I am the engine driver, the guard and the passenger. No one else is in control. There is only me . . . no one else at all," he stated clearly and most emphatically.

Then, I find that very sad, Louisa stated seriously; then, moving from his lap and standing over him, she made her suggestion quietly. Perhaps, we’d better go down to lunch.

He did not answer her, but continued to watch her closely as she walked slowly to the bedroom to tidy herself for lunch in the downstairs dining room.

In the afternoon, at Charles’ suggestion, they played chess in their private sitting room, because the weather outside had deteriorated markedly since their visit to the rotunda. As he had twenty years more experience than she had, Louisa found that she could not match his skill in this game.

"I’ll spend the next twenty years schooling you in this game and on the pianoforte, as you’ve lost your other tutor there permanently. Speaking of whom, that’s yet another change, with which you’ve had to contend and I’m proud of you for the way you coped with that situation."

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Charles grasped her hand, whispering as he did so.

I’d be shattered if I lost you now.

She glanced at him in surprise, but Louisa did not reply. There was a tiredness overtaking her. She decided that perhaps this was due to the weather, with its dark grey skies and its constantly dripping tears that were visible outside the window - as well as from the warmth inside the room. This was emanating from the fire that Charles kept burning permanently to ensure her comfort and warmth. He was watching her constantly, she knew, for any signs that her condition was beginning to resemble the last pregnancy, but Louisa knew that she was stronger now. There would not be complications this time, as she was free of those terrible premonitions, which she had received previously. That was the great difference, from her perspective.

I may rest awhile. Do you mind? Louisa asked, giving a deep sigh.

It would ease my mind greatly, he replied. You look very tired and you’re quite pale, so go to bed now. I’ll not disturb you until just prior to dinner.

Charles kissed her; then, pulling her to her feet, he escorted her to the bedroom. He left her, closing the door quietly as he moved from the room. Louisa slept soundly all afternoon.

Later in the evening - sometime after they had dined together in the downstairs dining room - Louisa left Charles sitting by the fire in their sitting room. There, he was reading a newspaper while sipping periodically on the liquid in the brandy balloon-glass positioned on the table by the armchair. Standing by the end of the bed, she studied him intently through the open doorway.

Louisa was undecided on the course of action that she was about to take this night. Her plan filled her with trepidation and not a little discomfort. However, she reasoned within herself that Charles had been so caring and so giving of late - while asking for so little in return - that he deserved some consideration, in this regard. His greatest desire appeared to be his wish that she would declare her love for him. To give him a silly, little pocket knife as a wedding gift did seem paltry in return for all that he had given to her during the past year. The knife had been presented to him more as a secret joke between them than as anything else.

Now, she began to tremble at the step that she was about to take. Firstly, she did not know if she would be able to carry through with the necessary action, once the decision was made. Secondly, she was uncertain of Charles’ reaction to her proposition. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders as she came to — what was for her - a somewhat momentous decision.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Louisa, she mumbled inaudibly.

Their small sitting room, as with the remainder of the guest house, was in darkness. She dismissed Bridgit earlier in the night, because she had needed to be alone to determine whether or not she possessed the courage to carry through with this plan. Perhaps, its instigation was triggered by Charles’ question, directed at her earlier in the afternoon, regarding her feelings for him.

Louisa did not know the reason, but she did know that she was unable, at this stage of her life, to give him the honest answer that Charles was seeking from her. Turning swiftly, before her courage left her completely, she entered the dressing room where she undressed. Wearing a white lace dressing gown, she took a deep breath and, quietly, she asked for the strength to carry out that which she felt she needed to do.

On returning to the fireplace in the sitting room, she was surprised to find her husband had drifted into a light sleep. The newspaper was on the floor some distance away from the fire, which was little more than softly-glowing embers at this moment, while the fine brandy in his glass remained almost untouched. On impulse and in one, swift movement, she lifted the glass to her lips and emptied its contents into her mouth. As she swallowed the fiery, amber liquid, she wondered why she had done so, having made a pledge to herself - after that dreadful night at Stanton - to never touch brandy again in her life. She wondered how many more pledges she would break before her life was over. Then, she felt her body relax noticeably with the downward progression of the alcohol. Perhaps, she mused, this was a question of her great need for Dutch-courage at this time.

Reaching down, she took a hold of Charles’ shoulder and shook him gently. When that did not elicit a response, she knelt beside the chair and kissed him on the lips. His eyes opened slowly, momentarily staring uncomprehendingly into her own eyes; then, he smiled at her, as she endeavoured to bring him to his feet.

Come with me. I’ve a surprise for you. It’s another gift I wish to give to you this evening.

He resisted momentarily, pursing his lips together and licking them; then, he swivelled his head around to stare at the empty glass on the table beside him. He sniffed the air in a pronounced manner, watching her closely as he rose to his feet.

You smell of lavender, but you taste of brandy. There! My powers of detection are alive and well. Have you been stealing my drink while I slept?

Guilty as charged! Louisa admitted, with a nervous giggle, as she led him towards the bedroom.

What games are you playing now? he asked, somewhat drowsily.

Louisa did not reply. In response, she began to undress him. If he was surprised by her actions - slow and deliberate as they were - he did not mention the fact. However, he did appear to react, with some astonishment, as she led him across the room and pushed him gently onto the bed. This was the action that she had witnessed Colleen McBryde doing to Captain Bill on the evening when Louisa was trapped outside that bedroom, on the tree branch, witnessing an event that astounded and shocked her at the time, but one that she was desirous of repeating presently with Charles. She closed her eyes for a moment, reliving that scene in her mind, as she removed her dressing gown and moved, in her naked state, towards him on the bed.

With accuracy and precision, she began to perform everything, which Brydie had carried out that evening and which the Captain did not attempt to resist at all. Her husband did not resist either, she found - after his initial shocked reaction subsided, that is. Charles relinquished his body to her, as she had done to him often of late. At the outset, the difference between Brydie’s endeavours and her own hinged solely on Louisa’s lack of agility, being encumbered by the child within her, to a small degree.

Undeterred, she pressed on. Louisa discovered that Charles had even less complaints than Captain Bill Bartlett as he moved with her, giving in to her deftly-executed ministrations in this matter. Unbeknownst to Mrs. McBryde, she had been a proficient teacher and role-model for Louisa, in this instance, although her pupil felt that there would not come a time when she would be able to thank her tutor for the excellent lesson she had given to her - so unwittingly - some fourteen months earlier.

Dear God in heaven! Charles muttered, mumbling almost inaudibly. "You’re certaintly full of surprises."

Perhaps, it was his somewhat stunned statement that brought her back to face the enormity of what she was doing. Suddenly and inexplicably, all of her courage - Dutch or otherwise - drained from her, in that instant. Louisa stopped still, staring down at Charles and wondering what on earth had possessed her to begin this pantomime in the first place.

I can’t, she spluttered. I cannot do this . . . you’ll need to . . .

Spontaneously and without any extra prodding on her part, Charles resumed the exercise, thus completing what Louisa had commenced so earnestly — if somewhat nervously — a little earlier.

Afterwards, Louisa slept soundly, satisfied that her latest gift to her husband appeared to have been well received. She may have been surprised to know that the effect that this unexpected endeavour had had on him was slightly different from what she supposed. Snuggling closer to him, she remained deep in sleep. But not so Charles Lyndhurst though, for he remained awake, staring at the ceiling as he pondered on his wife’s gift to him this evening. Her wedding present in the morning may have surprised and delighted him - as did the one this evening, of course. But now, her attempted execution of it was having a different and disturbing effect on him.

When Louisa awoke from a deep sleep, sometime just before dawn, she discovered that she was alone in the bed. Sitting up abruptly, Louisa noticed Charles in the armchair in the sitting room, staring into the blazing fire, which he had rekindled obviously. Perhaps, it was the heat in those rooms that had awoken her so suddenly from her pleasant dreams. Crawling from the bed, she slipped into her dressing gown and joined him, sitting on the floor at his feet. He looked down at her and smiled.

Go back to bed, he whispered, stating these words in an apologetic tone, although there was a deep frown on his forehead. I didn’t mean to wake you.

Well, seeing as I am awake now, why are you whispering? she inquired, in a hushed tone.

He laughed and, reaching over, he ruffled her hair, but the frown did not leave his forehead and she saw him raise his hand to brush away the hair from his face. Slowly, she was coming to realise that this was a sign of frustration, which sometimes forewarned of an angry outburst. Puzzled, she could not comprehend what she could have done to upset him this time. As, always, she seemed to be the one who was the cause of his anger, she assumed then that she was to blame once again.

What is it? What’ve I done to upset you? Louisa queried.

Nothing . . . nothing at all. Go back to bed.

No! I won’t! Not until you tell me what’s wrong, she stated defiantly.

He heaved a deep sigh and stared into the fire for a few moments. All the while, Louisa was turning over and over in her mind all the possibilities of her perceived misdemeanours this time.

Tell me now, Charles; or, take me back to Melbourne this day!

Very well, he murmured; then, reaching down and grasping her hand, he broached the subject that was troubling him. What you did last evening . . . who taught you?

"You didn’t want me to . . . to do that? I’m sorry . . . I thought . . ."

She stopped abruptly while biting her lip. Then, taking a deep breath, she continued with her response to his question.

"I don’t understand. You seemed to be . . . umm . . . happy about it . . . at the time, that is."

"That wasn’t my question. Who was it, Louisa? You were so ignorant and so very naive about such matters at the time of our marriage, so how do you know what you know now, as I so obviously was not the one to teach you?" he asked, very, very quietly - in fact, dangerously so.

Oh! That? I can’t tell you. It’s another of those secrets I’ll need to take with me to the grave, I’m afraid, she muttered, in an off-hand manner.

Then, as he watched her intently for any sign of deceit or subterfuge, she stared up at him in horror, which was mingled with not a little astonishment, as she took note of his thinly-veiled accusation and his stern countenance.

"No! You couldn’t . . . you wouldn’t . . . didn’t think I’ve ever done that before now! I didn’t even have the nerve to continue. How could you? How dare you insult me so! And isn’t that just like you? You just have to spoil everything, Charles Lyndhurst!" she shouted at him.

"What else am I to think? It was hardly the work of a novice!"

Louisa studied him momentarily. Then, her anger subsided suddenly, being replaced almost immediately by a tinge of pride. Innocently, she cocked her head on one side as she surveyed him, while watching him closely.

Is that true? Did I really seem such an expert?

Louisa! he snapped, before demanding of her. Tell me at once.

She threw back her head and laughed at him. This act did little to change his attitude towards her - in a positive manner, that is.

"Oh! Alright! I may as well tell you, for you’ll persist for the whole fortnight otherwise and I won’t have any peace at all. It was something . . . a spectacle, I suppose you would call it . . . I watched inadvertently once. But, back then, I really didn’t understand what its significance was. Of course, if I’d made a correlation then between that and what Aunt Sophie warned me about - calling it a ‘damn, messy business’ while directing me not to smash the hotel furniture - then, I wouldn’t have taken a dagger to bed that night in Echuca. I’d have had a finely-sharpened axe! Trust me on that!"

"I’m fortunate indeed then," he muttered, while pursing his lips noticeably.

Slowly, and in a highly embarrassed state, Louisa began her tale of how she had come to be where she was and what she had witnessed there, on the evening of Charles’ first visit to her father’s home, in September of the previous year.

At first, Charles frowned severely at her. After that, he began to shake his head in some surprise, it would seem. The colour in Louisa’s face changed from pale pink to a shade of bright red, as she proceeded with her story. Charles’ expression appeared to change from one of astonishment to one of disbelief, bordering on incredulity.

It was at that moment that he retrieved his newspaper from the floor. He opened it, holding it in his two hands in front of his face. He tried unsuccessfully to give the pretence of being absorbed in its contents while, at the same time, listening in an abstracted manner to his wife’s storytelling. However, the telltale sign that Louisa detected was the shaking of his hands - not to mention his shoulders - as her story unfolded while she sat child-like at his feet. Finally, it all became too much for her.

Louisa lifted her right hand before bringing it down forcefully onto the newspaper, behind which Charles had been attempting to hide. The paper crumbled before her - as he did - and then, he was exposed completely.

When she did so, she found that there were tears streaming down his face and he was laughing uncontrollably. Resting his right elbow on the arm of the chair, he brought his right hand over to cover his face and, in particular, his eyes as his laughter continued unabated and unashamedly. Louisa could feel her temper rising dangerously.

What? What are you laughing at? Are you smirking at me again, Mr. Lyndhurst? For, if you are, I swear I’ll never come near you again and you’ll not touch me ever, ever again!

Still, his laughter continued; but, valiantly, he did try to stem the flow as he attempted to communicate with her. It was all to no avail. He broke down again, laughing as he watched her through eyes that were streaming with tears of amusement.

"Oh! Louisa . . . Louisa, whatever am I to do with you? Only you could come up with a story such as that!" he stammered.

"What? You don’t believe me now? Is that it?" she demanded.

Believe you? Of course, I believe you. Not even you could concoct such an outlandish tale. Therefore, it has to be true, although I don’t know how I’m ever to face those two people again . . . in all seriousness, that is, Charles stated, before descending into laughter once again.

Charles continued to laugh, shaking his head every time he looked down at her, while Louisa remained sitting on the floor at his feet, wondering why she had bothered to attempt her first act of seduction and vowing it would be her last one. Finally, almost appearing to regain some composure, he questioned her again.

How could you stand there on that side verandah, on our wedding day, while watching them both acting as witnesses to our marriage and, at the same time, keeping a straight face? he stammered, struggling with his emotions again.

It was extremely difficult. In fact, it still is, she admitted, biting her lip; then, as an after-thought, she challenged him hastily. "You must never tell them! Please, Charles, promise me!"

"Oh! I promise you, on my mother’s life, I’ll not breathe a word of this to anyone at all, much less to the couple in question. Honestly, my love, how do you get yourself into such situations?" he asked, still seemingly stunned by her revelations.

It doesn’t seem to be all that difficult for me. After all, have you not climbed a tree and been stuck there, because the current circumstances dictate you can’t move away? she asked, in complete innocence.

"I swear this to you, my darling. Whenever I found it necessary to scale a tree, particularly if it were beneath a lady’s bedroom, then certainly it would not have been to bear silent witness outside to events occurring inside. I assure you I’d be an energetic player in all that was happening within those walls! Trust me on that score!" Charles stated, very emphatically while laughing as he did so.

Louisa looked down at her hands and shrugged her shoulders, all the while chiding herself for her stupidity in bringing this situation about in the first place. You just never learn, do you, Louisa? This was an inquiry from her logical self. Her intuitive self did not deign to reply to such a question, for really, there was no answer.

Whatever am I to do with you? he murmured, as he gazed lovingly down at her while she struggled to her knees at his feet.

He reached down then and lifted her gently onto his lap, clutching her to his chest, as would a father cradling a most beloved daughter in his protective arms.

The blaze of the fire subsided slowly, as did the emotional state of both of them, and they remained together while lost in their own individual and silent worlds. When the first rays of the morning sun broke through the dawn sky, thus dispersing the rain clouds with the promise of sunshine - as summer approached this region of the Southern Hemisphere - Charles and Louisa were oblivious to the changing light.

Chapter 2 — Victorian Victorians

Louisa

If Charles Lyndhurst hoped for a new bond of friendship and closeness to develop with his wife during their fortnight at Swampy Creek, he was rewarded a thousand times, for their relationship blossomed to a greater extent than even he could have thought possible. If he had believed in miracles, he may have labelled this occurrence as such, placing it in that particular category. Then, on the first Sunday after their return to Melbourne, he surprised Louisa by arriving in her bedroom dressed ready to attend Holy Mass with her.

Louisa was even more shocked when, on entering her uncle’s church, she found Margaret and Hugh Travis, along with their two young daughters and infant son, occupying the front pew. Charles led her to them and that is where they sat during Mass.

Charles did not rise when the congregation did. He did not kneel when the congregation did. Instead, he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded and, for the entire duration, he gave the appearance of fighting boredom constantly. However, what he was doing was making Father Francis Bourke very uncomfortable under his constant and unwavering gaze. If that had been his sole intent this morning, he achieved remarkable success, Louisa felt.

When most of the congregation walked to the altar rails to kneel side-by-side to receive Holy Communion from the priest’s hands, Charles whispered to Louisa to join them. In some trepidation, she followed Margaret and Hugh who, to Charles’ astonishment, placed a squirming baby on his lap. That particular sight made Louisa giggle, because Charles did not seem to know what to do with the struggling, gurgling infant, while the two little girls sat perfectly still for the entirety of the Mass, as no doubt had been the instruction that they received beforehand from their parents.

Louisa found she was trembling when she knelt at the altar rails, beside the other parishioners who were there to receive Communion, as she had not done so since the Requiem Mass for her mother. She was fearful that the priest would bypass her. Had he done so, she resolved to never attend his church again. For her, the magical moment came and she returned to her seat in joyous delight. Charles, relieved of the baby, resumed his former position, with his arms folded and his eyes scrutinising the priest.

At the conclusion, Louisa and Charles, having murmured a brief farewell to their friends, left immediately and she found her feet were skimming the pavement as she was whisked to their waiting carriage. Once she was seated inside, Charles threw himself down opposite her as the carriage headed in the direction of the Collins’ residence where they were to partake of Sunday lunch.

"That’s my first and last time! What an ordeal! For the life of me, I can’t fathom why you’d put yourself through the agony of that! "

No, I don’t expect you can, Louisa murmured. But, thank you for coming. I don’t know how you did it, but Father Frank was a docile pussy cat by comparison with what he is usually. It meant so much to me.

He smiled at her and, reaching over, he took a hold of her hands in his hands.

"It was a mere trifle when compared with what you’ve given me, but let this be an end to all the nonsense with your uncle. Don’t ever allow him to hold anything over you again. If he tries, just one word in my ear is all it’ll take, for I have his measure . . . and he knows it!" Charles stated emphatically.

"You were bored, for I don’t expect you understood much of it."

"Louisa, I’m as proficient in Latin as I am in English, for I’ve studied the language since childhood. Be assured that today, nothing escaped my notice. Believe me, he wouldn’t have dared to refuse you your Communion, which meant so much to you, as he was fully expecting a bullet to the heart if he did."

Charles! she exclaimed; then, in a shocked tone, she questioned. You didn’t take a pistol into the House of God? I don’t believe it! That’s truly outrageous.

Of course not. The mere threat of it was sufficient for my purposes. Fear, when coupled with an illusion, is a powerful weapon, not to mention the fear of public exposure and censure. So, your uncle was putty in my hands.

Charles was silent for quite some time and Louisa was lost in her own thoughts. She was wondering at Charles’ words regarding her uncle’s fear of public exposure and censure and she could not think of any reason for him to make a statement such as that, regarding Father Frank. Charles interrupted her thoughts.

"What puzzles me greatly is how someone with your obvious intelligence can swallow, without question, the nonsense that this man has fed to you for all of these years. Now, let that be an end to it!"

I can’t understand your antagonism towards Father Frank. After all, you hardly know him.

I know him better than you think you do. Let’s leave the subject there, Louisa. It’s a matter, on which we’ll never reach an agreement, even if we are together for the next one hundred years. You don’t want to be in the throes of a heated discussion, regarding your uncle-priest, when we arrive at your uncle’s home, do you?

Slowly, Louisa shook her head, biting her lip as she did so. Whether this was to prevent any hasty words from escaping; or, if it was a small sign of her troubled state of mind over the matter under discussion by them, she did not know. She could not decide if Charles’ reaction to Father Francis Bourke stemmed from his intense dislike of the man, or of the religious views that the priest expressed so vehemently and so authoritatively to all who would listen. Charles’ next forcefully-delivered directive brought her wayward mind back into the carriage with a start.

"And, as far as your aunt and uncle are concerned, I did not set foot in that place! Is that understood?"

Louisa nodded, thus electing for peace on this Sunday morning in December. He released her hands, settling back on the seat as their journey continued. Silence reigned between them for a time. Charles’ quietly spoken words broke the silence again as the horses were brought to a halt outside the home of Robert and Sophie Collins.

I did enjoy watching him squirm though, Charles admitted ruefully.

Elizabeth

Alone in the carriage, Elizabeth felt the butterflies in her stomach and the excitement rippling throughout her entire body as the gates of the family estate came into view. Peering forward, her eyes soaked in the scene in moments; then, she spent the next few minutes devouring the sight that she had waited almost forty years to witness. What she could not fathom - now that her freedom was secured - was why she had waited as long as she had.

Those endless weeks alone on the ship had given her ample time to think and to ponder on this question. Fear was a soul-destroying emotion that had kept her frozen for so long in a prison that, in the end, was made of nothing more than the substance contained within the fluffy white clouds above her. At this moment, she could not keep the smile from her face and her laughter, suppressed for so long, was threatening to erupt completely. In the carriage that was following, she knew Martin Tomms would be experiencing similar emotions and she was as happy for him as she was for herself.

As the carriage came to a halt in front of the imposing stone building that had been her family home for all of her formative years, an older man came running down the steps — two at a time - followed more sedately by the lady of the manor. Elizabeth did laugh then as the door swung open and, somehow, she was down the step and in his arms. They were both laughing and hugging each other at the same time. Then, Edward pulled her over to his wife, Clarissa, who Elizabeth had known well for many years before her marriage to Edward and with whom she had corresponded often over the years. Clarissa’s arms engulfed them both, as Edward had no intention of allowing his younger sister to escape from his clutches this day.

Edward did leave her abruptly, though briefly. This was the moment when he saw Martin alight from the other carriage and Edward rushed to him, shaking his hand firmly and welcoming him home. While this was not the reaction that was normal when addressing an employee of Martin Tomm’s standing, Edward dispensed with such formalities on this day, knowing that if it had not been for Martin’s protection and devotion, then his sister would not have returned to him at all. In all probability, she would have died in a foreign land. He requested that Martin attend him in the library later in the afternoon, because there was much to be discussed. Edward released him so that he could go immediately to visit with Martin’s younger sister who was their cook. Edward returned to Elizabeth, placing a possessive arm around her shoulders.

Elizabeth watched as Martin - almost at a trot - hurried in the direction of the rear of the mansion and, in particular, to the kitchen. She noticed that his wife, Miranda, was having difficulty keeping pace with him. This promised to be a homecoming to remember.

Having sent word on ahead from London, advising of the estimated time of their arrival, Elizabeth knew that they would be expected. However, to find all of her nieces and nephews in attendance, along with their spouses and their children, was thrilling for her, because she had never met any of them before today. She knew them by name and she knew the children of all of them from details Clarissa and Edward sent periodically by mail, but to meet them in the flesh was the most wonderful of experiences.

Finally, seated in an armchair and sipping on her first hot cup of tea since their early luncheon stop at an inn en route, she surveyed the drawing room and all those who were assembled there, especially for her benefit. She was overwhelmed. Then, Edward came to her and he sat beside her on the arm of the chair.

I’ve produced a wonderful crop, wouldn’t you agree, Eliza? he asked.

Goodness! I’ve not been called that in almost half-a-century. But truly, you’ve a marvellous family and there’s just so much love here. I could feel it the moment I came through the front door. And you and Clarissa seem so happy together still, she said, in an almost wistful tone.

Edward reached over and squeezed her hand. She smiled up at him in acknowledgment before continuing.

You’re the image of Papa, did you know that? I almost thought it was him running down the front steps to greet me. It certainly took me back in time, Edward.

"You’re not the first one to comment on the likeness, although I can’t see it myself. Now, you and I have much to discuss, so I hope you’ve not arranged to leave me at any time in the foreseeable future. But, today is definitely not the day! Come, I’ll escort you to your bedchamber . . . your old one, by the way. You can rest until dinner, if you wish."

Oh! I wish that very much, for it’s been a long day and the excitement is almost too much to bear at present, Elizabeth revealed quietly.

Then, let’s steal away now while no one is watching.

Elizabeth allowed him to pull her to her feet and, with her arm tucked in his arm, he led her through the doorway and up the sweeping staircase to the upper level. When he opened the door, her heart skipped a little at the sight of her old room, even though it appeared to have been refurbished quite recently. Sitting on the pillows of the large four-poster bed was her old porcelain doll from her childhood days.

Clarissa made a new gown for her, especially for your homecoming, Edward confided, with a soft laugh as he pointed