Drummond opened the box and Kitty looked down at the pearl. It was the size of a large marble, with a rose-gold hue of utter perfection. Its magnificent opalescence gave off its own light and pulled one’s eyes towards it.
Kitty drew in her breath. ‘Why, it is beautiful, the most exquisite pearl I have ever seen . . .’ She reached her fingers towards it but Drummond drew the box from her reach.
‘Do not touch it! I do not want your death on my conscience along with the other dreadful things I have done.’ He closed the box. ‘Where should I put it for safekeeping?’
‘In there.’ Kitty went to her writing bureau and unlocked the secret drawer that lay beneath it. Drummond slid the box inside and locked it firmly away.
‘Swear to me you will not touch it,’ he begged her as he pressed the key into her hand.
‘Drummond, surely you of all people cannot believe such a story? There are many that circulate about certain pearls in Broome. They’re all fantasy.’
‘Sadly, after the past few weeks, I do believe it. While I carried that pearl, I believed it had saved my life. And it was while it was in my possession that I came up with my plan. I felt . . . invincible, as though the impossible was possible. I was euphoric. And now, I have lost everything that matters. My soul is as dead as my father and brother. So, I must say goodbye. And if we ever meet again, I hope I will be able to show you that I have learnt from my dreadful mistake. Please try to forgive me. I love you, my Kat. Forever.’ Drummond turned and headed for the door.
Every instinct in Kitty begged her feet to go the few yards towards him, to drag him back to her, to live and take the chance he had created for them to walk to the bedroom now as man and wife. But she stood firm.
‘Goodbye.’ He smiled at her one last time. And then he left.
23
Alicia Hall
Victoria Avenue
Adelaide
5th June 1912
My dear Kitty,
It is with a heavy heart that I write to you, because you alone can imagine the joy I felt when I received Andrew’s telegram from Broome telling me the miraculous news of his survival.
My dear, you are the only other soul I know who truly understands what it is like to go through the gamut of emotions I have suffered in the past few weeks. In truth, for days after the tragedy, I struggled to find a reason to go on. My entire world was lost to me in the space of a few hours, but thankfully I had the Lord.
To have Andrew return to us was a miracle that we could hardly have hoped to receive. But receive it we did, although, as I said above, it will not be on a happy note that I end this letter.
I was fully expecting Andrew to visit me here in Adelaide so that I could see my precious son with my own eyes. Yet, yesterday I received a visit from Mr Angus, the family solicitor, to say that Andrew had been to see him and had asked him to pass on a letter he had written to me. According to Mr Angus, it seems that the blow of losing both his father and brother on a voyage that Andrew himself was meant to take has affected him deeply. He carries dreadful guilt that he still walks the earth while they have been taken. Dear Kitty, perhaps the shock has been simply too much for him, for Mr Angus inferred that he did not seem to have his full faculties and seemed quite unlike himself.
Andrew asked Mr Angus to tell me – and you – that he has decided to go away to recover. To put himself back together, if you will. I only wish he had come to me in person as I would have entreated him to stay. There are many good doctors who can help with a nervous collapse – he always was highly strung as a child – but Andrew apparently insisted he needed to do it alone. He also asked Mr Angus to beg your forgiveness for deserting you so soon after he was returned, but he did not wish to inflict his confused state of mind on you.
I wish I could provide comfort by telling you when he will return to us, but he gave Mr Angus no indication. He also – although I believe it was madness to do so – insisted on putting all the Mercer business interests into a trust for Charlie. Mr Angus brought the documents round to show me and it was quite dreadful to see that the signature hardly resembled Andrew’s at all. If Andrew has not returned, the businesses will pass to Charlie when he is twenty-one.
In Andrew’s letter, he tells me he visited Noel Donovan before he left Broome and told him of his decision. Mr Donovan is a capable man and will no doubt run the business efficiently. Andrew has also made you, Kitty, the sole executor of Charlie’s trust. Again, I queried his decision – the responsibility places a heavy burden upon you – but Andrew tells me he trusts your judgement implicitly.
I should also mention that when Mr Angus read out the wills of my beloved husband and Drummond, made only a few weeks previously when they were here in Adelaide, Charlie’s dear uncle had also endowed his nephew with all his worldly goods, which means that our beloved boy is the soul heir to the Mercer fortune. What a weight lies on his young shoulders, but as it stands, there is nothing we women can do to alter Andrew’s wishes. His letter asked me to assure you that a sizeable monthly sum will be deposited into your Broome account from the trust, which will amply cover your living costs. I realise, however, that it is but cold comfort in the face of – for now at least – losing your husband once more.
Dear Kitty, I am sure that this will come as another shock to your already battered nerves. I beg you to consider bringing yourself and my grandson back to live at Alicia Hall, so we can take comfort and strength from each other as we ride out this new storm.
All we can do is pray for Andrew and his swift return.
Please let me know of your decision forthwith.
Edith
Kitty put down the letter, feeling cold beads of sweat break out over her body and bile rise to her throat, before running to the basin in her bedroom and vomiting into it. Wiping her mouth and face with a towel, she carried the basin to the privy and emptied it into the bowl, as if she was discarding the last, poisonous entrails of Drummond’s deception. Camira found her washing out the bowl in the kitchen.
‘You bin sick again, Missus Kitty? You ill? I gettum doctor fella come and see you. Skin an’ bone, that what you are,’ she clucked as she filled a cup from a pitcher of water and handed it to Kitty.
‘Thank you. I am fine, really.’
‘You look in dat mirror lately, Missus Kitty? You like-a spirit.’
‘Camira, where is Charlie?’
‘In hut with Cat.’
‘Then I must tell you that Mister Boss has gone away for a while.’
Camira eyed her suspiciously. ‘Which “Mister Boss”?’
‘Andrew – my husband, of course.’
‘Maybe for best.’ Camira nodded knowingly. ‘Me an’ Fred takem care of you an’ Charlie. Dem men’ – Camira’s eyebrows drew together – ‘makem big trouble.’
‘They certainly do.’ Kitty smiled weakly at Camira’s understatement.
‘Missus Kitty, I . . .’