One of Us Buried by Johanna Craven (year 2 reading books TXT) 📕

He looked at me with that infuriating expressionlessness I had come to know so well. I felt a flicker of annoyance. Why had he bothered coming to see me if he was to be so closed up?

“Yes,” he said finally, as though sensing my irritation. “I suppose I have.”

“When will you leave?” I tried to keep my voice light.

“I believe the next ship leaves in a fortnight.”

“A fortnight?” I repeated. “And why did you come to see me now?”

His lips parted, as though caught off guard by my question. “Because I wished to see you,” he said finally. “Forgive me. It was out of place. I—”

He stopped abruptly as Flynn reappeared at the table, two cannikins of rum in his hand. He set one in front of Blackwell, then slid into the chair beside me.

Flynn lifted his cup. “Well then, a toast perhaps? To this fair colony.”

Blackwell smiled thinly. “And to your happy marriage.” He gave me a sideways glance.

I suddenly had no idea what to do with my hands. I willed Charlie to hurry the hell up so I could at least hold my teacup.

Flynn beamed. “Indeed.” He tossed back a mouthful of liquor.

Blackwell set his cannikin back on the table. His presence seemed to fill the room, and squeeze the air from my lungs.

“You’re stationed in Parramatta then?” Flynn asked, crossing one leg over the other.

“I was,” said Blackwell. “For the past five years.”

“And do you have many women from the factory lodge with you?”

“No.” Blackwell held his gaze. “Very few.” He looked too tall for the chair.

Flynn took another mouthful. “I see.”

“Lieutenant Blackwell is to return to England in a fortnight,” I said, far too loudly.

Flynn’s face lit up. “Really? How wonderful.” I could tell his excitement came mostly from having found a conversation topic that did not revolve around my time in Parramatta. Out came a barrage of questions that felt as though he had prepared them in advance. Which ship was he travelling on? Which route was to be taken? Was he to be deployed to Europe on his return? Blackwell answered them all as though he were being quizzed by a magistrate.

“Tea for you, Nell,” Charlie bellowed across the bar. Clumsily, I made to stand, but Flynn pressed a hand to my wrist, keeping me in place.

“Ann will fetch it,” he said.

His housekeeper shuffled to the bar and returned with a tin cup filled with lukewarm tea. She slapped it down in front of me. I peered at it in disinterest.

“And you’ve a place to stay in the meantime, Lieutenant?” asked Flynn. “I assume you’ve somewhere more appropriate than this fine establishment.”

Blackwell gave a thin smile. “I’ve lodgings at the home of a colleague. He and his wife are due to leave for Van Diemen’s Land shortly.”

“Ah,” said Flynn, his face lighting with recognition. “Captain Grant’s house perhaps?”

“That’s right.”

He chuckled. “I’ve been hearing about this little jaunt from Grant over cards for months now. At these very tables, in fact. He says the farmland’s better down that way. I told him his wife would take one look at the settlement and curl up in horror. I’ve heard this place feels like Paris compared to how primitive things are down there.”

I turned my teacup around in my hands. Ann shifted on her chair, making it squeak loudly. I wondered if I ought to offer her my tea.

“Give Captain Grant my regards,” Flynn continued. “I regret that he’s to miss our wedding celebrations.”

“Of course.” Blackwell tossed back the last of his liquor and stood a little too abruptly. “I’ll not keep you. I only came to say goodbye.” His eyes met mine. “And to wish you all the best.”

My throat tightened.

What was I to say? How did you farewell a person you knew you were never going to see again? I couldn’t bear the finality of it. I looked up at him. It felt as though Flynn and Ann were watching me; every nuance of my face under scrutiny.

“Have a safe journey home,” I managed, my voice sounding hollow and completely unlike myself.

“Thank you.” Blackwell opened his mouth to say more, then stopped. I could tell he too had no thought of how to proceed. “Take care.”

I swallowed heavily, forcing down a sudden swell of tears. “And you.”

Blackwell gave a short nod. And then he was gone.

The hollowness of it stayed with me into the afternoon. When Flynn and Ann returned to the farmhouse, I took a broom up to my room, biding time until work started that evening. I tried to focus on my cleaning, tried to let the rhythm of the sweeping still the commotion of my thoughts. I knew I was being foolish. How lucky I was to have a man like Arthur Flynn as my husband-to-be. But I couldn’t help feeling empty.

I leant the broom up against the wall and picked up my empty wash basin for refilling. I trudged out of the tavern and headed for Tank Stream, waving wildly at the flies as they circled my face. The heat was making my skin itch beneath my stays and I felt inexplicably close to tears.

As I stepped onto the muddy bank of the stream, an arm grabbed me from behind. I thrashed against my captor and whirled around, coming face to face with Patrick Owen and Dan Brady. My washbin thudded dully into the mud.

I knew it no coincidence they had appeared the same day as Blackwell. Had they seen him at the tavern? Or had they simply caught word he was in Sydney? Assumed they might find him with me? I had little doubt Lottie had told Owen where I was living.

I knew what they wanted, of course. A chance to go after