An Unconventional Heiress Page 24

  This heartless comment wrenched a faint smile from John, his first since Tom had brought Carter back.

  ‘You will let me know at once if there is any news of Sarah. I went into church on the way here and prayed that she would be safe. It seems hard to believe that someone as strong as Sarah could be lost forever.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have encouraged her to go to Grimes’s Farm. I should have listened to Tom Dilhorne…’

  Kind Lucy told him not to worry. ‘You weren’t to know that the Rising would trap Sarah. She could have gone to the farm a hundred times without mishap.’

  John could not immediately answer her. He could not tell Lucy of the worst thing he had done—lied to Kerr about Sarah going home. She might never want to speak to him again. Indeed, the more he thought of it, the worse his conduct seemed to him. It was this that was making it difficult for him to eat or drink.

  ‘Useless to tell me that,’ he said at last, ‘but next time that you go to church, pray for me as well. I need God’s forgiveness.’

  She gave him her promise and left him to face the long lonely hours alone. He and Sukie were taking it in turns to sit by Carter who, a little after night fell, recovered consciousness for a few minutes, giving them both some hopes that he might yet recover.

  Alan and Sarah walked steadily on, unaware that a search party was already on its way. Their progress through the bush that stretched around them was slow. They were walking beneath a rising moon, which on other nights Sarah would have admired for its beauty, but which she now valued for the help it gave them. They had rested in the worst heat of the day, but tiredness held them both in thrall.

  Sarah’s painful feet prevented them from keeping up a rapid pace; after they had travelled for some distance, Alan called a halt. He had noticed that she was walking more and more slowly.

  ‘You’re growing over-tired, I think, my darling.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah protested, ‘I can keep walking a little longer.’

  ‘I know,’ he answered, ‘but at a price that I do not wish you to pay—and I, too, need to rest.’

  Despite her exhaustion she began, to Alan’s surprise, to laugh a little when he helped her to become comfortable on the hard ground. Her reserves of strength were fast diminishing, but her spirit remained undaunted and, lying in his arms, she explained why she had laughed.

  ‘It’s odd. I was thinking of something that Frank Wright said to me not long after we first arrived in Sydney: that I did not need to know anything about the bush because I was never likely to be lost in it—and look at me now!’

  Her laughter became unsteady when she considered their situation and the change in their appearance that their time in the wilds had created. They were both grimy and travel-stained: their clothes were in ruins and Sarah’s hair was like that of a chimney-sweeper’s boy, so dusty was it. Alan’s cheek against her own was rough with a heavy growth of beard and she hardly dared to look at her damaged feet.

  It was difficult not to think of them. Alan gave her a little more water and tried to get her to chew on one of the ship’s biscuits that he had brought with him, but she gagged on it and he refrained from urging her further.

  Despite his brave words to her he had little notion of exactly where they were, but if his rusty woodcraft were to be trusted they were nearer to Sydney than they had been. He had, however, still no idea of whether they were any nearer to the track to Grimes’s Farm, which was their best hope of reaching safety.

  ‘I’m assuming that a search party will come after us,’ Alan said to reassure her while they rested. ‘Perhaps Tom and his men, or the soldiers, or both. It’s also likely that they started out some time late yesterday. I left your stockings near the camp and can only hope that someone saw them.’

  He put his arms around her shoulders and kissed her gently, ‘Come, my love, let us both try to sleep a little so that we might start again soon, a little refreshed.’

  Alan slept in fits and starts, but Sarah fell into an exhausted slumber, her hand in his. He had often dreamed of being alone with her, telling her of his love, of protecting her even, but he had never visualised doing so in such circumstances as these.

  He woke her just before sunrise, so that they could be well on their way again before the day grew too hot. The sun’s position would tell him where they were. Sarah looked sleepily at him.

  ‘Oh, Alan, I thought for a moment that this was all a dream and that I was waking up in my bedroom back in Sydney. How could I sleep as soundly as I did? It must have been exhaustion.’

  She looked up at him. ‘You do not look as though you have slept at all.’ She laughed weakly at yet another sudden thought. ‘You do know, my darling, that if we ever get back to Sydney you will have to marry me. I am quite, quite ruined. I have spent two nights in the company of a man without a chaperon—and what is worse, in the open! I shall have no reputation left—not that I had much before. Mrs O’Connell will say that this is a judgement on me.’

  Alan sat down beside her to take her in his arms again. ‘My dearest love, I would marry you with or without your reputation, with or without a dowry. What Mrs O’Connell or anyone else may think of you is of no consequence. Here, in the bush, there are only the two of us, and that is all that matters.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, closing her eyes and trying to smile at him: speech was becoming difficult.

  He kissed her, trying to suppress the genuine passion that he felt for her. He could see that she was on the verge of collapse: her eyes and cheeks were glazed, her lips were cracked and he knew that he must do nothing to tax her overmuch. He dare not even propose to her for fear it would excite her too much and drain her of even more of the few reserves that she had left.

  He moistened her lips again—noting sadly that their food and water were almost used up. What was important was that he must not push her beyond the limit of her endurance, and she was very near to that. He also knew that her gallant spirit might cause her to walk until she dropped. He remembered Tom’s advice about surviving in the bush too well to knowingly allow that.

  They walked on, but it was not long before Alan made her rest again. His own reserves of strength were running out, and this time he lay beside her, in the shade of a hedge of scented flowers, her hand in his again.

  ‘My love,’ she said drowsily, ‘if we do not survive this strange adventure I shall, before I die, have only one regret: that we were never truly lovers, that we never shared in the grand passion of which the poets sing—and the birds, too. On the other hand, if we don’t survive, we shall go into the great unknown together, and for that I shall be truly grateful—for I shall not be alone.’

  ‘Nor I,’ he said. ‘But do not despair. I may be wrong, but I think that we are not far from our first destination and, if so, the search party may yet find us.’

  She pressed his hand, whispered, ‘I love you,’ and then was silent. She had fallen into something between sleep and waking, aware that he was there, beside her, but of little else.

  Alan looked down at her beloved face—it might yet be the last thing he saw. Once he would have railed against Fate, against the ill chance that had brought them together, only to lose one another again. But he could not, for to have known her was enough, and if this was all that they were ever to have, then that must be sufficient.

  Like Sarah he fell into a light doze, but remained vaguely aware of his surroundings, so that when, suddenly, he heard the noise of men marching and the sound of their voices grew nearer and nearer, he jerked fully awake and sat up sharply.

  Friends or enemies? Which were they? This time he and Sarah had lain down so that they might not easily be seen. He wriggled forward to peer through the undergrowth to find out who might be approaching them. It was the sight of On and Off Abe and Tom Dilhorne tracking ahead of the soldiers and reading the trail as they went that told Alan deliverance was at hand.

  He rose, shouting, to his feet, waking up Sarah, who pulled herself unsteadily erect, reeling for
ward at the last minute to clutch at him, wondering what it was that was exciting him so. The moment that she, too, saw Abe and Tom, and the red coats of the soldiers, the fighting spirit that had kept her going for over two days fled completely at the prospect of safety and she fell against Alan, unconscious.

  The effects of pain, fear and exhaustion, so long held at bay, overwhelmed her. At last Sarah could allow herself the luxury of collapse.

  The luxury of sleep was to follow as soon as Sarah reached her own bed again. Lost in semi-consciousness, she remembered very little of the long journey back to Sydney, or of arriving home. Alan was to tell her later that the soldiers improvised a stretcher for her out of their coats and muskets, once it was realised that her exhaustion, combined with her damaged feet, made it impossible for her to walk any further.

  She vaguely recalled John’s relief and Sukie’s crying over her. She thought that it was Tom who carried her up to her room, for Alan was also in a state of near collapse before the little party reached Sydney. Even when she opened her eyes after her long rest to find Lucy by her bed, she was not quite sure where she was, or whether she was still dreaming.

  Lucy’s robust reception of her left Sarah in no doubt that she was safe home at last. ‘Oh, Sarah, you’re awake again. You’ve slept for nearly twenty-four hours. Doctor Kerr came around a little while ago to find out how you were. He wouldn’t let us wake you.’

  Sarah ignored her bruised body and tried to sit up. She wanted, above all things, to see Alan. She wanted to be assured that she had not dreamed their reconciliation and that they had truly found each other in the wilderness. Alas, her head reeled and she sank back against the pillows.

  ‘Is Dr Kerr here now?’

  ‘Yes, he’s with John. He said that he wouldn’t leave until you woke up. You can’t imagine how relieved we all were when we heard that you were safe home again. You can’t imagine what it has been like here. First the Rising, then the news that you were coming home along the very path which the fleeing rebels were taking. After that, Tom Dilhorne and Dr Kerr went to try to reach you before they did, only for Tom to return with poor Carter and the news that Dr Kerr had gone into the bush to try to find you. The Governor then ordered Colonel O’Connell to send out a search party under Pat Ramsey to try to rescue you both and round up the rebels.

  ‘Everyone began to cheer when the lookouts reported that Lieutenant Macleod, Tom and On and Off Abe were on their way back with you and Dr Kerr. Until then we had no idea whether you were alive or dead. Pat Ramsey had taken all of the soldiers, other than those carrying you, further into the bush to try to capture the remaining rebels—he’s not back yet.’

  ‘I’m not sure how alive I am at the moment,’ said Sarah cautiously, trying to smile. ‘Every limb aches and my poor feet feel as though I shall never be able to walk again. You haven’t told me yet how Carter is.’

  ‘He’s holding his own and both Dr Kerr and Mr Wentworth think that he will live.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. I was so sure that the wretches had killed him. I kept thinking about poor Sukie and how she was to be married soon after you and Frank.’

  She did not ask after John. The thought that he had wilfully and wickedly lied to Alan to keep them apart was too painful. She knew, as a Christian, that she ought to forgive him, but her proud spirit rebelled at the very idea. He should have known better than to play with her life and happiness so lightly—and so she would tell him. Perhaps, after that, she might feel a little more forgiving, but only time would tell.

  Lucy was plainly curious about what had happened to Sarah’s relationship with Alan Kerr once they were alone in the bush. She knew, without Sarah having said very much to her, that his sudden disappearance from her life had hurt her greatly. She had sometimes wondered how much John had had to do with Alan’s behaviour, but it would not have been either tactful or comme il faut to question Sarah about it.

  Sarah’s wanting to know everything about everybody but her brother was another odd thing. Lucy decided on a direct question about the Doctor, who had been haunting the Langleys’ home ever since Sarah had been carried into it.

  ‘Sarah, I must say this—from his behaviour, have you become reconciled with Dr Kerr?’

  When Sarah heard this, her face glowed, but all she felt it right to say was, ‘I can’t speak about that until I have seen him again. So much happened in the bush that I am not quite sure how much was real and how much I dreamt.’

  ‘I’ll go and get him for you.’ Lucy turned at the door and said, shyly this time, ‘You’ve been so brave, Sarah. From what Dr Kerr has said, I don’t think that I could have borne what you did. He says that you might have died if you hadn’t been so determined to survive.’

  Sarah laughed again. ‘As to that, my feet feel as though I have died. You know, Lucy, the most surprising thing is that what I remember most is not the dreadful things that happened to me, but my poor feet, and how much they hurt all the time!’

  She waited for Alan half-expectantly and half-shyly. Perhaps she had dreamed all that loving time with him, too: their exchange of endearments once they had discovered John’s duplicity. Her own declaration of love—and his. Had she really been so forward and he so caring of her?

  When he did arrive John was with him, but Alan did not let that deter him. He dropped on his knees by her bed and took her hand in his, as he had done so many times in the bush.

  ‘My own darling, you look so much better already. My heart failed me on the journey home, you looked nearly as ill as poor Carter.’

  To her surprise Sarah was so overcome at seeing him, clean, shaved, in his good clothes, his dear face so full of love for her, that she found it difficult to speak. Before she could do so, John, who had been standing by the window, came over to the bed.

  ‘Sarah, before we say anything more, I must ask you for your forgiveness.’

  He did not say what the forgiveness was for and the look she gave him was a painful one. ‘What you ask, I must grant, but I cannot forget. I can only hope that time might yet soften my feelings towards you. Even if what you did was done out of mistaken love, you had no right to make my decisions for me without asking my permission. What was most unforgivable was that you should lie to Alan about my intentions so that he thought that I had been playing with his feelings. I hope that you have apologised to him, because he was the worst sufferer.’

  ‘What has recently happened,’ John replied painfully, ‘has taught me how wrong I was. I cannot argue with your feelings. They are most natural. Now I must inform you that Dr Kerr has told me that he wishes to ask for your hand in marriage and hopes that I shall consent to be his brother-in-law. I have agreed to that, for God knows, that without him, you would not be here at all, but lying dead in the bush. I have also come to understand how miserable you have been since I led him to believe that you intended to return home and marry Charles.’

  Sarah knew how much it had cost him to confess to this. Nevertheless, she could not forget that he had not only sought to part her permanently from Alan, but had also thoughtlessly sent her into great danger of losing both her honour and her life.

  ‘You know very well that I do not need your consent to marry Alan,’ she said coldly, ‘since I am my own mistress, in control of my fortune, and may therefore determine my own destiny. His asking you for it is typical of the integrity that he shows in all his actions. What I would like is your blessing, and your active goodwill towards us both—not just to me. Only then may I be able to forgive you a little for the wrongs you have committed, which nearly lost both of us our lives.’

  Alan looked up quickly. ‘Langley, I must add my voice to Sarah’s. Do as she asks and then we may all forget the past.’

  John, his face working, stared at the pair of them. Most of all he stared at the man who had saved his sister’s life. He would always believe that she demeaned herself by marrying Kerr, but he could not deny the man’s courage—and the integrity of which Sarah ha
s spoken so movingly. To deny Sarah what she had asked for—his blessing—after he had treated them both so badly would reflect on his own integrity.

  ‘Of course, you have my blessing,’ he said at last. ‘How could I refuse it when you mean so much to each other? Moreover, I must also apologise to you, Kerr, for having deceived you so grossly. I am particularly pleased to learn that you did not propose to Sarah until you had spoken to me.’

  He put out his hand to Alan, ‘Let us shake hands on it. Kerr, and forget the past—as you suggested.’

  Alan took the proffered hand reflecting that Sarah’s plain speaking had brought about this revolution in her brother’s behaviour.

  ‘I could not offer for her in the bush,’ he said simply. ‘It would not have been right. I told her of my love and I knew that I had hers. To speak to you first was, it seemed to me, the proper thing to do, even if it were not strictly necessary that I should. I shall remedy that now. Sarah, my darling, will you marry me?’

  His delicacy of feeling brought tears to Sarah’s eyes. ‘My dearest Alan, you know that you have my answer already—and besides, after two nights in the bush, you also know that you must make an honest woman of me,’

  She was half-laughing and half-crying when he kissed her again on the cheek.

  ‘Now, my own dear Sarah, I must leave you to rest for a little longer. I will visit you again when you are more restored.’

  ‘No,’ she said urgently, kissing him back and tightening her grip on his hand. ‘You are not to leave me so soon. The more I see of you, the more rapidly I shall recover. I know that you will show me every consideration, and since you risked your life to save mine, and I’ve not yet really thanked you, this is a splendid time for me to do so before the busy world descends on us once more.’

  John’s smile at this sign that his sister was her own lively self again was a forced one, but Alan’s was genuine. Alone at last, after John’s reluctant departure, all that they both wanted for the moment was to feel their arms around one another. More than that, Alan wanted to be in the bed with her, showing her how much he loved her, but in her present condition that was impossible—he would have to wait. Merely to be with her roused him, but he would have to be resigned to that until they were married.