Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand (4 page)

I didn’t feel like reading. I couldn’t stop thinking about the lady in the grey dress. As far as I could tell from the miniature portrait, the resemblance to Mama was close. The same pale, oval face, the arched brows and large brown eyes, the dark hair …

Come on, Verity, I told myself. There must be many people in the world who look alike.

But what were the chances that Mama’s double would be in Brandywine’s Book Bazaar at the same time I was? And why had she stared at me like that? I tried to puzzle it out. Perhaps I looked like someone
she
knew, and that was why she’d been staring. I put the miniature back on my dressing table. I’d been looking at Mama’s picture too long. I was imagining things.

The hour was up. Poppy had fallen asleep over the map of India and Connie was still engrossed in her biography of Beethoven so I decided to leave them be. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard voices below me in the hall. One was Drucilla’s. But who was she talking to?

“I am so grateful,” she was saying. “As long as I won’t be a bother …”

“No, no, no. With our six children, you will be a great deal of help to Mrs Leviny, and she will enjoy your company, I assure you.”

So it was Mr Leviny. Neither Papa nor Drucilla had mentioned that he was calling on us. Was this why we’d been sent upstairs after lunch? If I understood rightly, Mr Leviny had invited Drucilla to visit.

“And, Ernö, we will see you very soon in Castlemaine as well,” said Papa.

So we were all invited? I moved down a few steps.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mr Leviny. Then he turned to Drucilla and shook her hand. “I shall meet you at Spencer Street Station tomorrow afternoon.” He clicked his heels as he gave an old-fashioned bow. “Until tomorrow, Miss Deane.”

The door closed behind him, and I ran down the stairs in a fever of curiosity.

“I couldn’t help hearing,” I said. “What’s this about the station? What did Mr Leviny mean?”

“Ernö has made a suggestion that will save our dear Drucilla from her so very horrid Aunt Theodora in Hobart,” said Papa. “He and his wife have invited Drucilla to stay with them in Castlemaine for three or four weeks.” He patted Drucilla’s hand. “It will give her a chance to consider what her next step should be. What is more …” He paused, rather teasingly. He was obviously pleased as Punch with his scheme. “… you and I, Verity – along with Connie and Poppy – are invited to Castlemaine as well.”

“To stay with Mr and Mrs Leviny?” They must have a very large house, I thought, to hold a family and four guests.

“No, we’ll stay with Nicky and his wife. See, has not your papa arranged things suitably?”

“Very suitably, Papa,” I said, standing on tiptoes to kiss him. “We’re all going to Castlemaine, and no one is going to Hobart.”

Hobart is a long way from Melbourne across stormy Bass Strait. A long way from SP too. On the other hand, you could take the train and be in Castlemaine for lunch. Which is much easier for matchmaking.

“SP, what are you doing?” said Judith.

She’d arrived at Alhambra in the late afternoon, saying she needed fresh air. Within minutes, she’d whisked me off for a walk along the Esplanade, but her real purpose was to visit SP. We arrived at his lodgings to find him with his trunk open in the middle of the room. Piles of clothing and books were spread all around. Like Drucilla, he was packing.

“Where are you going?” I asked quietly.

SP threw a pair of boots to the floor and slumped on his bed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.” His hair was standing on end and he looked as if he hadn’t slept. “I was thinking of Western Australia.”

“Oh, SP.” Judith put her arms around her brother and gave him a hug.

“I was very stupid, wasn’t I?”

We both nodded.

“Should I write to her, apologising and promising never to bother her again?”

“No, SP, don’t do that. Not yet, anyway,” said Judith.

It seemed a good time to tell him about Drucilla’s visit to Castlemaine.

SP groaned. “See what I’ve done? I’ve forced her out of her position and her home, because she can’t bear to see me. What am I to do, girls? Go west? Return to England? Jump off a cliff?”

Judith took his hand in hers. “Just hold on, dearest. Don’t do anything silly. She’s embarrassed, that’s all, and feels awkward about seeing you. This visit to Castlemaine is a good thing. It will give her time to settle her thoughts.”

And realise how much she misses you, I added silently. Judith had high hopes of Drucilla’s visit. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she’d explained to me. “I’ve no doubt Drucilla will realise that she loves SP once they’re parted.”

We talked about Drucilla for a while longer – well, SP talked and we listened. He could have gone on all evening, but I knew Mrs Reilly would have something to say if she had to delay dinner again. And Judith had begun to fret about baby Horace.

So we set off at a brisk walk along the Esplanade back towards Alhambra. We passed a gaggle of nursemaids with small children and an elderly couple with a pug, all enjoying the evening. It was too cool for bathing, but there were a few strollers down on the beach. A shiver ran down my spine as I looked at them. I felt cold. It couldn’t be …

No. There was no tall figure down on the sands, no grey costume. I’d been mistaken. Or else she’d vanished. I tried to shrug off my uneasiness.

“Do you mind if we hurry?” said Judith. “I think Horace will be ready for his feed by now.”

We picked up our pace, and I realised that I’d forgotten to tell SP about the mystery lady.

The following afternoon we arrived at Spencer Street Station with Drucilla and her trunk. Lucifer wasn’t having a holiday this time. Drucilla had decided that, since her hosts had young children, Lucifer and his bad language should stay put at Alhambra.

Mr Leviny was waiting with the tickets. There were kisses goodbye, last-minute hugs, and in next to no time the train was steaming down the track. Drucilla leaned out of the window to wave her hand, and then she was gone.

I have to say that my spirits sank. Dear Drucilla; I was going to miss her. We all were – me, Papa, Connie, Poppy … Where
was
Poppy? The little imp was quite capable of jumping into the guard’s van as it sped past. Ah, now I could see her. She was down at the far end of the platform. Was she climbing up a ladder?

“I’ll bring her back,” said Connie, and hurried off.

Papa was strolling towards the exit and as I turned to follow him, I saw her. In the cloud of smoke and steam left by the departing train, she appeared ghostly and indistinct, but as she moved towards us every detail sharpened. The grey dress, the modish hat, the beautiful face with deep brown eyes. My heart began to thump wildly. She
was
following me. It had been her all along, in the train, in Collins Street, in the Book Bazaar, perhaps even on the St Kilda Esplanade. Who was she? Why was she shadowing me? Did I have the courage to confront her?

But in a flash I realised that I didn’t want to. Papa must not see her. This woman looked so much like Mama. It would only upset him.

“Look, Papa, over there,” I cried, steering him away from her. “Isn’t that Mr Rowland?”

“Where? Over there?”

As we made our way towards the gentleman – a perfect stranger – I was fearful that she’d follow. But when I looked over my shoulder, she was nowhere to be seen.

When we arrived back at Alhambra, we found that Papa’s lawyer, Mr Quamby, was waiting for him. They spoke together in low voices for a few seconds, and then disappeared into Papa’s study. Kathleen took in two glasses and the brandy decanter and as the door opened, the smell of cigars wafted out. It was a business meeting.

I drifted into the drawing room. Poppy and Connie were squeezed together on the piano stool and Connie was pointing to some sheet music on the stand.

“What are those notes, Poppy?” Connie was asking. “Do you remember?”

I hadn’t known Connie was teaching Poppy to play. I moved closer.

“Minnows. And them ones is quivers, and them other ones is semi-quivers.”

I stood behind them. “Minims, Poppy,” I corrected. “And quavers.”

“We know,” said Connie. “We just like to give things funny names.”

Oh. Though they both smiled at me, I knew I’d interfered.

“See? Scale of C major.” Stretching her hands as wide as she could, Poppy tinkled up and down the keys. “Connie says I’m gettin’ better all the time. Connie says even if I
didn’t
want to get better, I couldn’t ’elp it. An’ do you know why, Verity?”

“Why?”

“Practice,” said Poppy. How smug she sounded. “Connie says practice makes perfeck.”

They smiled at each other and I realised that somehow the shy, sensitive country girl and the streetwise urchin gave each other something no one else could. They were a perfeck combination, as Poppy would say. I left them to their scales.

My favourite place in Alhambra was the tower. Mrs Morcom said it resembled an upturned chamber pot, but since I didn’t care about architecture I often climbed the circular staircase and sat on the bench looking out over Port Phillip Bay. It was a good place to be alone and think. This evening the sun was sinking amid brilliant red and orange clouds tinged with gold. They looked like fiery dragons in the western sky.

However, I wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the beauties of nature. I had other things to think about. All the way home, I’d debated with myself about whether to tell Papa about the mysterious stranger. I didn’t want to worry him, but neither did I want him suddenly confronted with Mama’s double. Who knew what the shock might do to his heart?

“Veroschka?” It was Papa, calling from the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing up there all by yourself?”

“Just thinking, Papa.”

“Come down,
chérie
. I have something to tell you.”

Papa sounded serious. Had Mr Quamby brought bad news? I took the steps two at a time.

“No, no, nothing is wrong,” said Papa, seeing my face. “Mr Quamby has given me a surprising letter. It was forwarded from my solicitor in London. Come to my study and I will show it to you.”

It was from a firm of lawyers in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and it was dated nearly five months ago. I read the first couple of sentences.