Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand (10 page)

“I often think … how lovely it would have been,” she whispered, almost to herself, “… to have a daughter.”

As well as a nanny goat, the Petrovs kept a horse. She was a big brown mare called Beauty and she pulled the Petrovs’ phaeton. It was a roomy four-wheeler with slat sides and two seats facing each other. It could carry four people but we wouldn’t all fit in, so rather than do two trips, we girls volunteered to walk to the Levinys’ house with Harold while Helen and Papa went in style. Mr Petrov wasn’t going. According to Helen, he rarely went out in the evenings any more. Helen herself took the reins, and I was surprised. I’d never seen a woman drive before.

As she walked, Connie hummed to herself and I knew she was mentally rehearsing her music. Poppy held Connie’s hand and trotted along beside her. Harold and I would have to make conversation, or else walk in silence. Which was it going to be? I wasn’t often shy, but I’d never known any boys before. What could we talk about?

As it turned out, conversation was not a problem. Harold was curious. He was much more curious than Judith would consider polite. (Judith had rather strict ideas about etiquette.) He didn’t seem to know that one shouldn’t ask personal questions of a new acquaintance.

“You and your father – I’ve noticed you have different surnames,” he said. “How did that come about?”

“It’s rather a long story,” I said. “I was adopted.”

“Oh, so Mr Savinov is not your real father?”

“Yes, he is. Ma and Pa – their names were Thomas and Elizabeth Sparks – took me in when I was only a few months old.” I paused. How could I tell such a complicated tale in a few brief sentences? “It was meant to be temporary but Mama died in a fire and my father was told that I’d died too.”

Harold’s eyes were on my face. “Go on,” he said.

“Ma and Pa died of typhoid fever when I was eleven. My aunt and uncle couldn’t keep me, so I was apprenticed to a milliner.” I paused again. “I lost my job and the Plush family took me in. Professor Plush and my father were friends and … well, eventually we discovered the truth.”

His face registered surprise. Well, the truth
was
surprising. Here in the colonies, people knew me only as rich Mr Savinov’s daughter, but my real story was almost incredible. I was a bit choked up and changed the subject.

“Your aunt seems much happier now that you are here.”

“Yes,” he said. “And you girls have cheered her up. Especially Poppy. Auntie Nell loves children.”

“Even schoolboys who don’t behave themselves,” I said demurely.

“And sharp-eyed young ladies.”

“Sharp-eyed?” I looked at him sideways. Was that a compliment – or not? “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I get the impression that you are a very noticing sort of person.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

For some reason, we both found that very funny. We were still laughing when we arrived at the Levinys’.

Mrs Leviny stood greeting the guests just outside the music room. She was a small, pretty woman with dark hair and, despite all those children, a fine figure. Like Helen, she was married to a much older gentleman. Unlike her, she seemed to radiate happiness and contentment.

“So glad you could come. It’s quite a crush in here tonight. Squeeze in wherever you can, my dears.” She waved her hand towards the crowded room, and I noted the magnificent garnet-and-gold bracelet on her wrist. Mr Leviny must be a very successful businessman indeed, I thought.

There was a bit of hushing and shooshing as everyone got settled, and then Mr Leviny walked up to stand by the piano.

He beamed at the audience. “Welcome, my dear friends, to our
soirée musicale
.”

I only really began to pay attention when Connie got up to accompany Helen. She played beautifully, as usual. When Helen, after singing her three songs, returned to her seat I was surprised to see Connie remain sitting at the piano. I hadn’t known she was going to perform a solo. She took a deep breath, poised her hands over the keyboard and began.

I’d often listened as Connie accompanied singers or played tunes for dancing. But this … this was different. The music was pure emotion, deep and mysterious and strange, as if each note was played in our hearts, not just on the piano keys. The whole room was spellbound. I sneaked a glance at Harold. I could tell he felt it too.

It was as clear as daylight that Connie was made for music. As Papa said, she was a real
artiste
. I thought of Mama. She’d had the determination to follow her gift. Did Connie?

One last lingering chord. Connie lifted her hands from the keys and the room erupted with clapping, cheers and excited chatter.

“Magnificent! And so young. Who is she?”

“Where is she from?”

“Encore! Encore!”

With all the fuss and attention, Connie began to look like a trapped animal. Poppy darted to her side and put her arm around Connie’s waist. Papa followed and embraced her with one of his protective bear hugs.

“Encore!”

Mrs Leviny, thank goodness, stepped in. She thanked Connie and then announced supper.

I felt Harold’s hand lightly on my elbow.

“May I take you in to supper, Verity?”

“I wish you would,” I said. “I’m starving.”

“But first, would you like me to get those flowers out of your hair?”

I stared at him, astonished. The wire stems of Helen’s rosebuds were sticking into my scalp and I’d been uncomfortable all evening. He was indeed a noticing sort of person.

“Turn your head towards me and stand still.”

I am not quite sure what I felt as Harold, standing close, removed the rosebuds one by one. Now suddenly I had a special awareness of him. I noticed the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, the gentleness of his hands, how careful he was not to tug at my hair. It was a new feeling for me, and I didn’t know what it was.

“There we are. Better?”

I rubbed my head. “Much better,” I said.

Trust. That’s what the feeling was. Trust and an odd intuition that our friendship was going to be very important to me.

“They didn’t suit you, anyway. Too fussy.” He popped the rosebuds in his pocket and we went to get our supper.

While everyone else ate supper, Papa, with Connie and Poppy at his side, spent a long time in conversation with an elderly lady. In her old-fashioned black costume with her hair pulled back in a severe bun, she seemed nothing out of the ordinary. Yet something made me take another look. Was she a great lady, perhaps? An aristocrat who’d come down in the world? And what were she and Papa talking about?

After ten minutes or so, Papa bustled up to us with Connie and Poppy close behind. Connie looked exhausted but happy, and Papa was obviously beside himself with excitement.

“I have some wonderful news. Madame Fodor has asked Connie to call on her tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

It didn’t sound all that wonderful to me, but when Papa explained that Madame had been a famous music teacher in Budapest in the 1860s, I understood.

“She is visiting from Melbourne, and listen to this – she still teaches a few special students. You see?”

“I see, Papa.” I gave Connie a hug. “This
is
wonderful news.”

“Well done, Connie,” said Harold.

“It’s … it’s like a dream come true,” she stammered.

Poppy, who was stuck to Connie like a limpet, had the last word. “It’s like I always say – practice makes perfeck.”

Soon after, the party began to break up. Poppy and Connie were drooping with tiredness, so they went ahead with Papa and Helen in the phaeton while Harold and I walked back to Shantigar. The new moon gave hardly any light, but the road shone pale in front of us, leading us home.

Harold tucked my arm in his. “You told me a little about yourself,” he said. “So it’s only fair that I tell you my story. My father died four years ago. Mother remarried, and my stepfather is a very horrible man.” Harold paused. “That’s not entirely true. The General loves Mama very dearly. He is just so different from my father. He wanted me to go into the army, and I refused and … well, in the end it was decided I should come out to Australia to live with Uncle Nick. And very happy I am too – especially now I’m out of that wretched school.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Oh, we’ve got that all worked out. Doctor Judd – that’s Uncle’s doctor here in Castlemaine – is going to tutor me, and when I am eighteen, I plan to enrol at Melbourne University. I want to be a doctor. You see, Father died from blood poisoning. It was caused by an infected splinter. It seemed such a pointless way to die.”

Pointless. Just like Ma and Pa’s deaths. They say typhoid fever is caused by dirty drinking water.

“I want to save people from–”

Suddenly, a shrieking noise shrilled through the night air. I was so startled I let out a shriek of my own.

“Goodness, what’s that?”

“One of Uncle’s peacocks. Haven’t you heard them already?”

“Yes, but they don’t sound so bad in the daylight.” Echoing in the darkness, the peacock’s call sounded like a woman being murdered. In spite of myself, I shivered.

“You’re not frightened?”

“No, I’m cold.”

“We’d better get you home, then, quick smart,” said Harold. “I noticed you’re wearing sensible boots. I approve.” He tucked my hand into his. “Let’s run.”

We found Papa, Helen and Mr Petrov in the Indian room. Mr Petrov, swathed in a shawl with a blanket over his knees, was sitting close to the fire. He had waited up for us. Poppy and Connie had gone straight to bed, and Helen was about to do the same.

“It was a lovely evening,” she said. “And I’m so glad for Connie. A great opportunity.”

“And you sang beautifully too,” said Papa, gallantly.

“Thank you.” She paused at the door. “Shall I leave it open, Nicholas? It’s so hot in here.”

“But I am always cold,” said Mr Petrov. He looked at her with a strange expression on his face. Was it regret, tenderness, sorrow … or all three? “Forgive me, my dear.”

“Of course,” she said. “You are in pain.”

“All the time, Helen.”

I’d been feeling sorry for Helen, married to such a sick and grumpy old man. Now I felt for Mr Petrov too. Life could be so very complicated.