Ember Island (44 page)

She perched the lantern on the rocks, left the oars in the sand, and returned for the boat, locking the door behind her. Dragging it with all her strength, walking backwards in the dark, praying not to trip or make an alarming noise or be seen. And then equally praying that somebody
would
see her; and that she would be forced to stop before she could commit this crime.

But ten minutes later she was on the beach alone. She hefted the boat over and placed the lantern in it. Took off her shoes and stockings, and put them in the boat, too, and the oars. Tilly hitched her skirts high and tied them in a knot in front of her. Her legs were white in the dark. And then pushed the boat into the water, until the cold sea came up over her knees and the boat cleared the gritty sand. The low waves slapped the wood softly. She climbed in, picked up the oars, and started to splash the oars on the water. She had never rowed a boat before and managed to instantly send the boat back into the sand.

“Curses,” she muttered, climbing out of the boat and pushing it into the water again. The cold was creeping deep inside her now, the fear and the guilt intensifying it and making it icy. Once more the boat was bobbing freely. She climbed in, picked up the oars and lifted them, paddled madly for a little longer, this time somehow getting herself free of the shore and into deeper water, but still not mastering the oars.

She stopped, drifted a little while on the dark water. Breathing deeply. She thought about the sharks that frequented these waters, and it seemed to her that her mind, too, was infested by sharks.
Dark, sharp-toothed thoughts, circling. The lamplight flickered. Her hands on the oars looked like somebody else’s.

“Now,” she said. “Row.”

Lift, drop, push. Lift, drop, push. Arrowing slowly through the water, staying close to the shoreline with her little light the only company. Already Tilly’s shoulders were aching. She hoped Hettie had the strength to row them all the way to the mainland because Tilly certainly didn’t.

Two weak women in a boat. The moment they knew Hettie was missing, somebody would climb up the white towers and sight them. Or they’d send out the other boats, rowed by dozens of strong men, and catch them long before they approached the mainland. Her heart fluttered. Hettie had strong hands. Strong enough to kill a man. She would surely be a strong rower.

Tilly approached the first curve of the island. If she kept going straight from here, she would eventually end up in the Coral Sea. Instead, she intended to take the boat around to the mangroves and hide it there for the escape. She had toyed with the idea of dragging the boat across the island in the dark, but the risk of discovery was greatly increased if she was on land. Besides, she was starting to get the hang of the oars and it felt good to be driving herself through the water. The dark island slipped silently past, its silhouettes made unfamiliar from this perspective. The stockade, the wide flat cane fields, the escarpment, the house where Sterling and Nell were sleeping, warm in their beds, with no idea what she was doing.

Then she passed around the tip of the island and the water grew rougher. The tide was coming back in. The dark, grotesque shadows of the mangroves waited. She rowed hard, on the dark side of the island now, and brought the boat in on the mud.

Tilly climbed out of the boat and pulled it as far up on shore as she could, her feet squelching through mud and shallow
water, and bruising themselves on the spiky roots that stuck up through the ground. She fought off branches and bugs alike, breathing hard and perspiring under her warm dress, even though her bare feet were freezing. The dank smell of the mangrove forest, the moldering shadows. She rested the boat between two trees, then picked her way back down to the water’s edge to find the tree that leaned out the furthest. She unwrapped the ribbon on her wrist, wading calf-deep in the water, and tied the ribbon around an extended branch. Then returned to the boat to collect her lantern and shoes, and trudge back towards the house.

A rocky cliff face separated the swamp from the house, so she had to either come around the bottom of the island or cut through the mangroves and then take a route through the cane fields. The latter was quicker, but didn’t appeal to her. The mangroves were full of spiders, the cane fields full of snakes. Instead, she walked along in the cold ankle-deep water, through mud and roots, until she found the rocky shoreline that took her around past the lime kiln and the sugar mill. She extinguished her lamp then cut up through the cemetery and onto the main track. Her aching feet were caked with mud, so she stopped in the garden on her way back and washed her feet in the pond. It wouldn’t do to return the lantern and the key to Sterling’s office and leave a set of muddy footprints. The sky was growing light in the east, the stars paling. But she sat for a moment in the garden, waiting for her feet to dry, eyes sore from lack of sleep.

Not so long now. Today, then tomorrow’s dawn, and then . . .

Dawn somewhere else. Not on Ember Island.

She dragged herself to her feet, tiptoed up onto the verandah, and let herself back into Sterling’s office. Returned the lamp and the key. She stopped to consider the map of Moreton Bay Sterling
kept on his wall. An idea struck her. She lit a match and held it up, studying the map. So many islands.

She studied the map so long that the match burned down to her fingers and fizzed. Alarmed, she shook it out. But her right thumb and index finger stung with the burn. She sucked on them, eyes watering, trying not to make a noise, wrapped them in her damp skirt.

The house was still quiet and still as she made her way to her bedroom, where she lit her lamp and examined her burnt fingers. Already a big welt was growing on her index fingertip. She touched it and winced.

And thought about Jasper and Chantelle . . .

She touched it again, making the pain ignite all along her nerves. Soon that debt would be cleared; then she could be free of the black-ash shadows of the past.

•

Tilly rolled the red dress as tightly as she could and tucked it under her arm. She was brutally tired from lack of sleep the night before and a full day working with Nell. Nell had asked her what plans Tilly had for schoolwork for the following week, and Tilly had not been able to answer. She had planned no life beyond the escape, as though Ember Island itself would cease to exist the moment she and Hettie rowed away.

Her heartsickness about Nell was crippling her. She had grown to love the girl, and thoughts of her now made her teary and full of dread. She tried to tell herself she was simply tired, but no matter how she viewed her weak knees and heavy heart, she was still about to commit a crime.

The garden was growing slowly now. The prevailing winds had changed; dry winds came from the west now, lifting the
undersides of leaves and making them flicker white and cold. The lazy guard was there again. He saw her and offered a smile, but paid no further attention to her as she went down to the back of the garden to meet Hettie.

She was pacing, her dark head bent.

Tilly stopped a few feet from her, cleared her throat.

“You came,” Hettie said, quietly but relieved.

“Of course I came.”

“I keep thinking you’ll change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“It’s been days since we last spoke. I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything. I keep thinking of the children and I am . . .” Her voice trembled and began to break. “I am tortured by the idea that I won’t see them after all.”

Tilly checked behind her. They were alone. “Here,” she said, thrusting the dress into Hettie’s arms.

“What is it?”

“It’s a dress and scarf, identical to the ones I will wear tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The boat is in place. In the mangroves, about half a mile down from the tip of the island. There is a tree that leans over the water; I’ve marked it with a blue ribbon. We will meet there at sunset.”

Hettie nodded, the dress clutched between desperate hands.

“The best way out is through the cane fields. If you can get changed down here, then slip by the eastern side of the house and down the steep side of the escarpment, you’ll be on flat ground in no time. If anyone sees you from a distance, they’ll think it’s me.”

“But what if they see you too?”

“I’ll go through the western edge of the cane fields. It doesn’t matter who sees either of us; they won’t see both of us. You’ll
probably get to the boat first. Wait for me there. Don’t panic, I will come.” Tilly checked around again. “We will not row to the mainland.”

“No? Then where?”

“There is another island to the north. It’s uninhabited. I will fill the boat tomorrow with food, water and blankets. We will make it our home for a week or so. They will be expecting us to make for the mainland. While they are all searching to the west, we will be heading to the north.”

Hettie’s eyes glimmered sharply. “That is a good plan,” she said, then added, “But you don’t look well.”

“I am tired. I was awake in the night, moving the boat into place.”

“I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“You can thank me by living a happy life.”

Hettie turned her face up to the afternoon sunshine, closed her eyes. “I will be so happy when I hold my babies in my arms. When last I saw them, they were so small. My son little more than a baby, with only a few words. I can see him in my mind’s eye.” She tapped her temple, then opened her eyes. “He will be different. The plumpness will have melted, his limbs grown long. My daughter, too. You cannot imagine how precious the years with them will be to me; years that I thought I had forsaken forever. I thought I might not see them again until they were grown, with no memory or care for who I was. And you have made this possible. God bless you, Tilly. God bless you.”

Tilly’s heart swelled. Yes, this would work. This would absolve her. She was desperate now for the plan to unfold without incident, for Hettie to be returned to the arms of her loved ones without detection. Was she naïve to think either of these things were possible? And what of her own future?

“Hide the dress under a hedge,” Tilly advised. “Even if the dew falls tonight, it will have most of the day to dry out. Tomorrow I will organize the food and blankets. Everything should be in place for sunset.”

Hettie clasped her hands in front of her, trembling visibly. “I will be ready.”

“I will see you at the boat.”

•

Tilly slept like the dead, exhausted from the previous night, and only woke when Nell knocked hard at her door.

“Tilly? Are you there?”

“Come in,” Tilly croaked.

The door opened. Nell’s face was pale with concern. “You weren’t at breakfast and then you didn’t come to class. Are you ill?”

“I . . .” Tilly realized she might need an excuse to get away early today. “I am a little. Yes. But I will dress and come to class. Go and wait for me in the library.”

“Are you certain? Perhaps I should get somebody to bring you breakfast on a tray.”

The thought of eating made her stomach lurch. “I have no appetite. I may feel better once I’m up and about.” She offered a smile. “You may have to be gentle with me today.”

“I will be so gentle,” Nell said, hand on her heart. “And I’ll understand entirely if you want to stay in bed.”

Then Nell was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

By the time Tilly was dressed in her red dress and had arrived at the library, Nell had been to the kitchen and fetched a banana for her.

Tilly picked it up gratefully. “Thank you, dear.”

“I know you’re not hungry, but food may make you feel better. I stayed up late last night writing another chapter, Tilly. Would you like to hear it?”

Tilly peeled the banana and took a bite. “I certainly would,” she said.

“Go and sit on the sofa. You’ll be more comfortable.”

So Tilly took her banana to the leather sofa beside the bookcases, and Nell came and sat on the floor next to her and read. Tilly closed her eyes and listened, allowing herself to be lost in Nell’s world. The girl really was a fine writer, with a big imagination and a wonderful command of language for her age. She wondered what Nell would do in the future, how life would treat her, who would break her heart.

After an hour, Nell stopped, right at a crucial point.

Tilly opened her eyes. “Go on,” she said.

“That’s it. That’s as far as I’ve written.”

“But does Emmeline ever find her mother?”

Nell shrugged. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to wait until I write some more.”

Tilly’s eyes pricked with tears and Nell noticed immediately.

“Tilly? Did I make you cry?”

“Your story is lovely,” Tilly muttered, sniffing the tears back. “That’s all.”

Nell beamed. “Do you really think so?”

Tilly took her hand. “I really think so. You’re a marvelous writer. Imagine the places you might go with it.”

Nell stood and did a little twirl of delight. “Imagine the stories I might write. I don’t really want to go anywhere. There couldn’t be anywhere as beautiful as Ember Island, don’t you think?”

Back to reality, Tilly was swamped by the things she had to get
done. Her stomach twitched. “Nell, would you mind if we canceled lessons for the rest of the day? I can give you some exercises to go on with . . .”

“No, I’m going to my room to write. So I can read you some more tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The tomorrow that wouldn’t come for them. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she murmured.

Nell was gone in a flash, brimming with excitement and imagination.

Tilly lay back again, closed her eyes. One moment of quiet before the storm of apprehension and agitation. Opened her eyes. Stood and went to the kitchen.

The big echoing room was empty. Their cook had left a large pot of soup simmering on the stove, filling the air with the salty smell of ham. Tilly found the largest picnic basket they kept, under the big wooden table in the middle of the room, and placed it on the bench. A hulking bunch of bananas sat on the table, mostly green. She put in a dozen of those, a loaf of bread, a knife. Heard footsteps come and go in the hallway and stood frozen a few moments. Then went searching for more things. Eggs, flour, matches, a small pot. She realized she was grasping things at random, but as long as they could stay alive for a week on the next island, they could eat well when they finally got to the mainland. Tilly closed the picnic basket when it was filled to the brim, piled two blankets rolled around two spare dresses on top, and went out the back door.