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They returned to the Split Rock, where Wally sat Norah down in the shade and made her a proper breakfast. She was still heavy-eyed and lethargic, but some of the colour began to return to her face after a mug of hot tea and some toast.
Norah then retired to the comfort of the bracken bed, and slept until late morning. When she woke, the camp was considerably cleaner, and Wally was starting to load up the little pony. She sat up, drawing her knees up to her chest, and hailed him.
Wally turned with a sudden smile. “Nor – you’re awake! Feeling better?”
“Much,” she said, returning his smile. “Have you eaten, though?”
“Oh, yes,” Wally answered. “I had some toast after you went to sleep and then set about cleaning up the camp.” He gestured to the neat caves and the pack pony, standing patiently at his side. “We could do worse than have a quick lunch and then go below – what do you think?”
Norah sat up properly now, starting to fold up her blanket. “I would rather go now, to be honest with you,” she said, “and break for lunch at Horseshoe Cove. That way we are fortified for the rest of the journey back.”
She tidied up quickly, darting into the light, airy cave to change and then, blankets and pyjamas loaded into her pack, she and Wally stood together at the mouth of the Split Rock, Wally’s arm a comforting weight about her shoulders.
“I feel a little sad, leaving here,” Norah said wistfully, looking about them. “I know that we are going to go and find Jim and have an adventure together, but – I was rather enjoying the adventure you and I were having.”
“We’ll have more,” Wally said comfortably, his grip on her tightening. “We’ll just have to come back here one day and spend a good fortnight lazing around and exploring properly.”
Norah smiled up at him, seeing her own feelings of nostalgia mirrored in his eyes. “It’s settled, then – we shall have our honeymoon in two parts!”
Thus agreed, they heaved their packs to their shoulders – considerably lighter than when they had first arrived, thanks in large part due to the presence of the pony – and made for the downward track towards Horseshoe Cove.
It was early afternoon when they arrived at the base of the semicircle-shaped cliffs, where they cast aside their packs and dove into the cool mountain water for a swim. It was with regret that they climbed out, a refreshing half-hour later, to fix a quick lunch before pressing on to their first camp-site, where the faithful Singer still sat quietly in the shade.
They took to the road gratefully, their bodies sore and aching from the arduous journey down from the plateau. The horses were turned out, following Jerrold’s advice that they would find their own way home with ease.
Darkness was falling when the headlights of the little Singer lit up the red-roofed house, nestled in the valley. As they drove towards it, there was an excited shout from beside the car, and Benny came running out of the darkness towards them.
“Hi! What are you doing here?”
Wally slowed the car. “Coming back to see you, old son. Hop on.”
Benny hopped on, hanging to the door as Wally drove up to the house. Mrs Jerrold came out to meet them, surprise written across her kind face, and stood watching from the verandah as Wally helped Norah out of the car. “You’re to go in and have a wash and get some dinner,” he told her. “I’ll put the car away and bring in some of our things.”
Too tired to argue, Norah went to meet Mrs Jerrold, and found herself engulfed in a warm hug. They held each other for a moment, before breaking away. “What are you doing here?” asked Mrs Jerrold. “I thought you were going to be up on that plateau for a while yet!”
“So did we,” answered Norah, “but a lot has happened since we saw you last. Come in, Mrs Jerrold, and I’ll help you make dinner.”
Dinner was a social affair, as they traded stories of the plateau and happenings down in the valley. Benny told Wally and Norah of how he had fallen out of a tree, bird-watching, and cut his arm.
“It was pretty bad,” he told them gleefully, starting to roll up his shirt-sleeve, but his father spoke sharply across him:
“Not at the table, mate. You can show them later, if they want you to.”
In exchange, Wally and Norah shared stories of their adventure. They told of the treacherous journey in the car to their first campsite, and of how they had left the car behind and trekked on foot to Horseshoe Cove.
When they described the plateau, the Jerrolds hung on to their every word. None of them had been so far in that direction, with Mr Jerrold content to stay at lower elevations. They laughed when Wally described the rabbits that would pop in and out of holes across the plateau, in search of food and sunlight.
Dinner was over, and Benny sent to bed. The adults moved into the sitting-room with hot tea, and when they were all settled in comfortable armchairs, Mr Jerrold said, “What happened up there, that brought you back here?”
Wally and Norah exchanged a glance. During the drive down from the campsite, they had agreed on the version of events that they would share with the Jerrolds. It was a sensitive matter, and both were reluctant to draw the older couple into a dangerous game of hide-and-seek.
“We stumbled across an old man,” Wally said, “or rather, Norah did. She went off exploring one evening, while I was down at Horseshoe Cove, and found a chap hidden in a cave. He’d fallen pretty badly on some rocks out on the plateau, whilst exploring, and he was in a pretty bad way.”
Norah went on, “I tried to get back to Wally to get help, but it got very dark very quickly, and I could not see my way. So I stayed with him all night, caring for him, and went to find Wally as soon as the sun rose. We returned to him, and he died not long after.”
Mrs Jerrold’s eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth. Wally said, “We came back because we need to notify the authorities in Meerim Flat of his death.” He hesitated. “There’s one other thing. The chap had a kid with him – his grandson, he said, who he thinks must have made his way down off the other side of the plateau and found help. He has sent us to find a family friend in Melbourne who he thinks the boy will have looked for.”
“What if he’s still up there?” asked Jerrold. “We can’t just leave a kid up there on his own.”
“We aren’t going to,” Norah answered. “Wally will go to Meerim Flat tomorrow – he was rather counting on your help in that endeavour, by the way – and the following day we intend to depart for Melbourne to find the family friend, and meet my brother. We will return here with my brother at all speed, if the boy has not reached Melbourne, so we can go up and search for him.”
The Jerrolds digested this information in silence. Then Mr Jerrold spoke up again, “Shouldn’t we tell the police all this, and leave them to it?”
“They don’t know the plateau,” Wally said. “I can guarantee, Mr Jerrold, that no-one in Meerim Flat or any of the next-nearest towns have ever been up on Wallaby Flat. Besides,” and he chanced a quick, mischievous grin sideways at Norah, “it isn’t our first experience finding a kid on a mountain.”
Norah smiled, nursing her mug, remembering the exciting trip to Ben Athol, years before, when she and Wally had found and reunited a missing toddler with her parents. “No, it isn’t.”
“Very well,” capitulated Mr Jerrold. “I trust your judgement, Meadows. Is there anything that we can do to help?”
“Mrs Meadows will be annoyed at me for saying this, but she is fairly knocked-up and needs a good rest.” Wally studiously ignored the little frown he could see in his peripheral vision, embracing instead the little leap of his heart at speaking Norah’s new surname, a leap that had not faltered since their wedding-day, two months ago. “Could she stay here, Mrs Jerrold, whilst your husband and I go to Meerim Flat tomorrow?”
Mrs Jerrold smiled, that gentle, kindly smile they had come to appreciate. “Of course, Mr Meadows. I’ll take care of her as if she were my own sister.”
“The day after tomorrow we intend to leave for Melbourne to meet my brother-in-law. We will, of course, wire as soon as possible once we know whether we are coming back here – we suspect we will be. Would it be possible to set aside a room for Mr Linton?”
“Consider it done, Mr Meadows.” Mrs Jerrold looked at Norah. “Didn’t you once say that your brother is taller than Mr Meadows?
“And wider, too,” Norah laughed. “But he is low-maintenance, Mrs Jerrold. He doesn’t ask for much more than a roof over his head and a hot meal.”
Mr Jerrold leaned forward in his chair. “How is Mrs Meadows going to give a statement to the police, if she is to remain here tomorrow?”
“I think she ought to write it tonight – don’t you, Nor?” Wally looked to Norah for confirmation, and she nodded slowly. “We may as well do it now, in fact.”
“Please, use my study, if you wish,” offered Mr Jerrold. He stood up. “I’ll show you where it is.”
When they were alone in the study, Wally guided Norah toward the wooden chair behind the rather quaint desk. It was a smaller room by some margins than Mr Linton’s study at home, but it was a cosy one.
Norah sat down gratefully. She hadn’t been willing to tell the Jerrolds, but she was rather looking forward to a warm bath and the comfort of bed. “What do I need to do?” She reached for the ink pen, nestled in its stand, and tugged a sheet of paper towards her.
Behind her, Wally rested his hands on her shoulders, the heat of his fingers burning through her shirt. “Just write down the facts. What happened and when. And then sign it. Surely that will be all they need.”
There was silence as Norah wrote steadily, the pen scratching across the paper. Wally did not move, his thumbs massaging the knots in her shoulders and in the back of her neck, allowing her her privacy to write. If she wanted to share it, he knew, she would.
By and by, she straightened her back with a sigh, arching it like a cat, stretching. “There – all done. What do you think?”
Wally leaned over her shoulder, scanning the neat handwriting quickly. She had written of her exploration of the plateau, getting lost and finding Li Ning. What followed was a detailed description of his injuries, the first-aid she had provided, and his eventual death. However, she had cleverly omitted the truth of how his injuries were gained, citing a careless fall in rapidly worsening light; she had also spared the police the information about the jewels and Li Chang. To all the world, it would seem like a harmless old prospector had simply taken a wrong turn and paid for it with his life.
“It’s good,” said Wally, after a few moments. “You’ll need to sign and date it, and then we’ll seal it in an envelope for me to take to Meerim Flat tomorrow.”
Norah had to think for a moment, lest she accidentally sign with her maiden name: muscle memory was unforgiving sometimes. She signed, and returned the pen delicately to its spot.
When the ink had dried and the envelope was sealed, they took it with them to their bedroom. On their way, they stopped in to the sitting-room to thank the Jerrolds and bid them good-night.
Norah almost did not want to have a bath now, for the neatly-made bed was inviting her in, a haven of peace. Wally steered her towards the bathroom, where Mrs Jerrold had taken the liberty of filling the bath only moments before, knowing how tired Norah was.
She stood in dazed silence, exhausted beyond words, as Wally’s gentle hands stripped her of her clothes. He helped her by the hand into the bath, and crouched behind her with a face-washer while she lay back against the smooth porcelain.
“I don’t know why I am so tired,” she murmured, closing her eyes and tipping her head back, feeling the face-washer run across her neck. “I don’t remember the last time I was this tired.”
“Well, you didn’t sleep at all, last night,” Wally said, “and only two or three hours this morning. It stands to reason that you’re tired.”
Norah sat up suddenly, twisting to face him, the strands of her hair falling about her face in a manner he thought was rather attractive. “Did you sleep? I don’t remember you sleeping!”
“No, but I’ll sleep when I’ve taken care of you. Now sit back and let me clean you up.”
Ten minutes later, Wally was helping Norah out of the bath and wrapping her in a large towel, tugging her into his arms and rubbing her with the towel in efforts to dry her off quickly. She laid her head on his shoulder, giving herself up entirely to his ministrations, and the pleasure he felt from this was tempered by worry, that she should be so tired. It was so unlike Norah, to be so helpless.
He helped her into her pyjamas and put her to bed, tucking the covers closely around her slender frame and drawing the curtains tightly. When he turned around, Norah was fast asleep.
The bath water had cooled, but he did not bother to go to the kitchen for more. Like Norah, he was tired, and he preferred the simplicity of a quick bath followed by sleep.
Not until he was laying his head on the soft pillow, drawing the covers up over him and reaching for Norah, did he think about what a long day it had been. Already, the previous night, where he had searched in vain for Norah and fought down his rising fear, was a distant memory.
She curled around him, awoken by his movements, but fast falling asleep again, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head, resting on his shoulder. “I’ll look after you, Norah asthore,” he murmured, feeling her arm tighten across his sternum in response.
And, tired out from the events of the previous twenty-four hours, they slept.