"I was trained to be a physician at the Royal Academy of Medicine, a most prestigious school." With an almost conspiratorial air, he leaned forward in his chair.
"You see, one must have connections even to be admitted to the school." Laughing to himself at some private joke, he leaned his head into his hands. "My father wanted me to be a country gentleman, marry well. I had delusions of a profession, to the great horror of my aristocratic family." There was a note of derision to the last words. "But they finally relented. After all, I was not the firstborn son, merely the second. I was allowed to enroll at the Academy, where I quickly earned my degree. A most promising career loomed ahead of me.
"That is,” he paused, "until the day I accepted a very prominent and influential gentleman and his family as my patients." Tobias shifted, uncomfortable with the memory as he continued.
"The son was taken ill with a severe fever. The family delayed in contacting me, refusing to accept the seriousness of the boy's illness. When I was finally summoned, he was already very weak. He died two days later. Suffice it to say, the family was deeply grieved at the loss of their only son and heir. As a result, I was brought up on charges before the local magistrate. Because of the man's position in the House of Lords, I was tried and convicted of contributing to the boy's death. A brilliant career was shattered, a family ruined." With an absent wave of a hand, he continued, only the faintest trembling of his fingers giving any indication of the emotions that still held him prisoner.
"Because of my family's position, my sentence was reduced from hanging to a seven-year term at the penal colony at New South Wales, and permanent exile from England. I arrived in Sydney in the spring of 1817 to begin my sentence. I met your father there. We were men of a similar past. He told me only that he'd been wrongly accused of a crime. I never questioned him about it, and he never chose to speak of it again." Tobias opened a drawer to rummage for another bottle of whiskey.
"You're drunk," Zach accused, wondering how much he should believe.
"And I plan on getting a lot more so before the night is over," Tobias announced, finding the bottle and turning it over appreciatively in his unsteady hands. "As a physician of dubious reputation, I'm certain of one thing," he said, squinting an eye. "This is the only thing that dulls the pain."
Zach grabbed the bottle and heaved it against the far wall. "No you don't!" He pulled Tobias out of the chair, dragging him across the office and out into the open yard. Hauling him to a stop in front of a large wooden trough, he shook the old man until his head wobbled back and forth on his shoulders.
"I want some answers and I want you sober enough to give them!" he spat out the words with choking fury. Ignoring Tobias’ feeble protests, he plunged him headfirst into the cool water, holding him under until bubbles frantically broke the surface.
Tobias’ arms flailed wildly as he tried to free himself. Finally, Zach jerked him up, coughing and spewing, allowing him only enough time to inhale a small amount of air before plunging him back in again. He dunked the old man three more times, until his arms hung limply at his sides. Relenting then, Zach jerked him out for the last time and dropped him into the dust at his feet.
Gasping for air, Tobias clutched at his throat. "You tried to drown me!" he rasped between gulps for air. His reddened nose held the only distinguishable color in his face. The rest of his skin was a sickly, pasty green. Finally, drawing a deep breath, he fell silent. Then his eyes widened. Scrambling to his knees, he crawled as fast as he could across the yard and rounded the corner of the horse barn.
Zach listened in disgust as Tobias was sick again and again behind the shelter of the barn. When he heard nothing but silence for a couple of minutes, he started around the barn, suddenly afraid he might have been too hard on the old man. Rounding the corner, he was stopped by a well-laid punch that caught him in the midsection.
The air slammed out of Zach's lungs in a whoosh. Surprise quickly turning to anger, he staggered backward into the dirt.
"What the bloody hell...!" His gray eyes turned the color of slate.
Tobias stood over him, legs spread, chest puffed up like a rooster. His clothes were soaked, his hair rumpled, but he'd obviously fully recovered from the unexpected bath Zach had given him.
"Just remember, boy," he roared, his head beginning to clear, "I can still take you any day of the week!"
"Is that right?" Zach propelled himself up out of the dirt. "Right!" The older man stood his ground as they came nose to nose, or rather nose to chest; he refused to be intimidated by Zach's height. "I seem to recall takin' yer father down a peg or two in me youth. I'm not too old that I can't put you in yer place as well," he shouted.
Zach reconsidered, knowing he could beat Tobias in a fair fight. But what would it prove? That he was stronger and younger? He shook his head. "Not today, old man. I want you in one piece to answer some questions." He turned away, unaware that Tobias’ shoulders sagged in relief.
Tobias followed Zach back to the barn, keeping a cautious distance between them. They collapsed into chairs on opposite sides of the desk. More stubborn than cautious, Tobias reached inside the bottom drawer, retrieving a third bottle. He held it up. "Drink?"
"Don't mind if I do." Zach winced faintly as he felt the bruised ribs that had taken Tobias’ punch. He shook his head. "You throw one helluva punch for an old man." He frowned as he accepted the bottle, taking a healthy swig. He and Tobias had shared more than one bottle over the years. This was the first time they'd ever shared one as a peace offering to one another.
"You've got a wee bit more muscle than the last time I took you on," Tobias conceded. "I'll have to remember that next time." Taking the bottle back, he raised it in salute.
"You drink too much," Zach told him.
"Aye," Tobias agreed, "that might be true. I can't seem to throw as good a punch as I used to. A few years back, if you'd tried that stunt at the trough, you'd have been picking yerself outta the dirt."
"I did pick myself out of the dirt," Zach reminded him with a wry smile, picking at the stained cloth of his shirt. His expression sobered.
"Who was Felicia? What did she have to do with my father?" Tobias’ eyes widened at the name. "Your father always spoke of returning to England, until the day a letter arrived from her. Her name was Barrington. I never knew the contents of that letter, but after that your father changed. He never spoke of her or England again. It was as if that letter cut off any ties he had there. But she meant somethin' important to him. I'm certain Megan never knew about her."
"The letter wasn't in the trunk."
"He destroyed it. I watched him as he tore it into pieces and burned it. I think most of your father's dreams must have been destroyed along with that letter. Not long after that, he accepted a post on a journey inland over the mountains from Sydney. He talked me into going with him. We traveled for months. Then we found this place, and your father named it Resolute. The provisional government saw to it he had an unconditional, full deed of title to as much land as he wanted out here. I suppose they thought, if he was buried in the interior, they were well rid of both of us. And your father was content to remain here, except for occasional trips to Sydney. I think it was all because of her. Lady Felicia Barrington."
Zach leaned across the desk, retrieving the whiskey bottle. He took a long drink, then reached into his shirt pocket.
"What do you know about this?" He opened his fingers, revealing a diamond and pearl pendant. The fine metal and sparkling stones seemed to burn into his skin.
Tobias shook his head. "It never belonged to your mother. If your father had given her something like that, I'd have seen it."
