The Light Between Oceans(75)

Tom nodded again.

The two sat in silence. After a while, Ralph said, ‘If you’d rather I left you …’

‘No, it’s good to see you. Just not much to say, sorry. All right if we don’t talk for a bit?’

Ralph was full of questions, both his own and his wife’s, but he sat out the silence on a rickety chair. The day was warming up and the wooden walls creaked, like a creature stretching as it awoke. Honey-eaters and willy wagtails chirruped outside. Once or twice a vehicle sputtered down the road, drowning out the clicking of the crickets and cicadas.

Thoughts clamoured in Ralph’s mind and made it to his tongue, but he managed to stop them just in time. He put his hands under his thighs, to overcome his urge to shake Tom by the shoulders. Unable to resist any longer, he finally barked out, ‘In God’s name, Tom, what’s going on? What’s all this about Lucy being the Roennfeldt baby?’

‘It’s true.’

‘But – how … What in hell …?’

‘I’ve explained it to the police, Ralph. I’m not proud of what I’ve done.’

‘Is this – is this what you were talking about putting right, that time on Janus?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’ There was a long pause.

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Not much point, Ralph. I made a bad decision, back then, and it’s time for me to pay for it.’

‘For God’s sake, boy, at least let me help you!’

‘There’s nothing you can do. I’m in this one alone.’

‘Whatever you’ve done, you’re a good man and I won’t see you go down like this.’ He stood up. ‘Let me get you a decent lawyer – see what he makes of it all.’

‘Not much a lawyer can do now either, Ralph. A priest might be more use.’

‘But it’s all tommy rot, what’s being said about you!’

‘Not all of it, Ralph.’

‘You tell me straight to my face that this was all your doing! That you threatened Isabel! You look me in the eye and tell me, and I’ll leave you in peace, boy.’

Tom inspected the grain of the timber in the wall.

‘You see?’ exclaimed Ralph in triumph. ‘You can do no such thing!’

‘I was the one with the duty, not her.’ Tom looked at Ralph, and considered if there was anything at all he could tell him, explain to him, without jeopardising Isabel. Finally, he said, ‘Izzy’s suffered enough. She can’t take any more.’

‘Putting yourself in the firing line’s no way of dealing with it. This has all got to be sorted out properly.’

‘There’s no sorting out, Ralph, and there’s no going back. I owe her this.’



Miracles were possible: it was official. In the days following Grace’s return, Reverend Norkells experienced a decided increase in his congregation, particularly amongst the women folk. Many a mother who had given up hope of seeing her darling son again, and many a war widow, took to prayer with renewed vigour, no longer feeling foolish about praying for the hopeless. St Jude had never received so much attention. Dull aches of loss re-awakened, as raw longing was soothed by that balm so long exhausted – hope.



Gerald Fitzgerald was sitting opposite Tom, the table between them strewn with papers and pink legal tape from the brief. Tom’s lawyer was short and balding, like a jockey in a three-piece suit, wiry but nimble. He had come down on the train from Perth the night before, and had read the brief over dinner at The Empress.

‘You’ve been formally charged. Partageuse gets a circuit magistrate every two months, and he’s just been, so you’ll be held in custody here until he’s back. You’re a damn sight better off on remand here than Albany gaol, that’s for sure. We’ll use the time to prepare for the committal hearing.’

Tom looked at him with a question.

‘That’s the preliminary hearing to decide whether you’ve got a case to answer. If you have, you’ll get committed for trial in Albany, or Perth. Depends.’

‘On what?’ asked Tom.

‘Let’s go through the charges,’ said Fitzgerald, ‘and you’ll find out.’ Once again he cast his eye over the list before him. ‘Well, they’ve certainly spread the net wide enough. WA Criminal Code, Commonwealth Public Service Act, WA Coroners Act, Commonwealth Crimes Act. A real dog’s breakfast of State and Commonwealth charges.’ He smiled and rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s what I like to see.’

Tom raised an eyebrow.

‘Means they’re scraping around, not sure what they can get you on,’ the lawyer went on. ‘Neglect of Statutory Duty – that’s two years and a fine. Improperly dealing with a body – two years hard labour. Failing to report a dead body – well,’ he scoffed, ‘that’s just a ten-pound fine. Making a false statement to register a birth – two years hard labour and a two-hundred-pound fine.’ He scratched his chin.

Tom ventured, ‘What about the – the child-stealing charge?’ It was the first time he had used the phrase, and he flinched at the sound of the words.

‘Section 343 of the Criminal Code. Seven years’ hard labour.’ The lawyer screwed up his mouth and nodded to himself. ‘Your advantage, Mr Sherbourne, is that the law covers the usual. Statutes are drafted to catch what happens most of the time. So section 343 applies to …’ he picked up the dog-eared statute and read from it, ‘“any person who, with intent to deprive any parent of the possession of a child … forcibly or fraudulently takes or entices away, or detains the child …”’