Free Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand by Susan Green Page B

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.”

12
PEACOCKS’ EYES
    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.
    Helen came back, leaned over and kissed her husband on the forehead. “Goodnight, dear. Goodnight, everyone.”

    As we ate our supper, the reflected light from the flames flickered and danced on the brass trays and vases. The elephants cast shadows onto the wall and on the mantelpiece; the peacock feathers gleamed blue and gold.
    “They really do look like eyes, don’t they?” said Papa, settling back with his glass of brandy. “They are looking at us.”
    “The evil eye, more like,” said Hannah as she brought in hot milk. “Mr Petrov knows full well it’s bad luck to have