After Nicholas had left me alone on the bench seat, I didn't rejoin the party. I was too emotionally drained to socialise.
Instead, I went upstairs to check on Isabella, who had discarded her gown on the bedroom floor, and was curled up in her bed fast asleep.
It was only seven o'clock when I entered my bedroom, the music from downstairs wafting up the staircase and through the hall.
Closing the door behind me, I was reminded that Constable Doyle had been in my room, touching everything with his filthy hands. I shivered at the thought of it and wasted no time locking the door, not chancing him sneaking in here again.
As I walked over to my desk, I noticed the drawer was slightly ajar, my journal open on the desktop. I made sure to always put my journal away in the drawer when I had finished writing in it, so prying eyes didn't read it. Constable Doyle must have found it when hiding the pocket watch, read it, and didn't have the courtesy to put it back.
Opening the drawer to make sure nothing else was hidden in there, I placed the journal back inside, shutting it firmly.
My paranoid self also checked under the bed and inside my closet for any objects that weren't mine. Satisfied there was nothing else hidden in my room, I removed my gown and corset with a sigh of relief.
I fell back onto the bed, not even bothering to crawl under the blankets.
What a night.
My mind was racing, replaying everything that had happened; thinking Nicholas had proposed, the arrival of Constable Doyle, Desmond being an obnoxious pig, finding out Constable Doyle had been in my room, Robbie's confession of love for Isabella, Constable Doyle hiding expensive items in my room, Constable Doyle blackmailing me, Robbie and Isabella getting caught by Mr. Valentine, Mr. Valentine announcing Isabella is engaged to Nicholas, lots of tears, Nicholas wanting to be more than friends, me turning him down, more tears...
I couldn't face tomorrow.
How was I going to break the news to the family that I was leaving? They would be so disappointed.
How was I going to tell Isabella and Robbie after they'd just found out they'd never be able to marry each other? Talk about kicking them when they're down.
And Nicholas would most likely just flat out refuse to talk to me.
So I decided I wouldn't face tomorrow. I decided I would do what I had planned to do all along.
Travel through the painting. Vanish without a trace, just as I had done when I first arrived here.
Everyone, including Constable Doyle will just think I had gone back to Hobart. Which was technically true; just 150 years into the future.
Tonight was my only chance to do this.
I had to take the cottage painting back to Clay's Cottage. I had to put it back in its original frame and hang it up above the fireplace where it belonged.
That's how it was when I found it. That's how it was when I travelled through it. It had to work, it just had to.
I prayed I could pull it off without getting caught.
Guests had been coming and going all night, so it wouldn't look too unusual for another buggy to leave the party.
Nicholas had mentioned he was staying in one of the guest rooms over night, so I knew I wouldn't run into him at the cottage.
And as far as I knew, Constable Doyle was still downstairs making a nuisance of himself.
I sat up, ready to put my plan into motion.
But first I had to say goodbye, at least, in the best way I knew how; by writing.
Sitting at my desk for the last time, I tore pages out of my journal, planning to write letters to Isabella, Robbie, Mr. Valentine and Nicholas. They had become the four most important people to me in this life, and they deserved a goodbye from me, even if it was only by paper.
So for the next hour, ignoring all sounds coming from downstairs, I scribbled as legible as I could with ink and quill. Satisfied I had written everything I wanted to say, I neatly folded the four pieces of paper and wrote their names on the front. I placed them on my desk, knowing someone would find them there when they eventually came to look for me. Most likely Isabella.
As I dressed in my modern underwear, jumper, jeans and boots, I thought how strange it felt to put them on again after two months of corsets and skirts.
Fetching my journal from the desk, I hoped I could take it with me through the painting. I couldn't bear to leave it behind.
It was time to go.
I crept down the hall, and for the final time, peeked into Isabella's bedroom, her soft snores filling the room.
"Goodbye, friend," I whispered, before making my way to the top of the staircase.
Satisfied there was no one down there, I crept down them, careful my boots didn't make too much sound against the timber.
Heart pounding with the fear of getting caught, I scurried into the living room, eyes and ears open for guests, then wasted no time approaching the fireplace. The painting was hung too high, so grabbing a chair from the room, I placed it in front of the fireplace and stepped up onto it.
Mr. Valentine would have died if he had caught me at that moment, my heels digging into the expensive velvet.
With a slight struggle, I managed to lift the frame off each hook, then rested it on top of the mantelpiece. Getting down from the chair, I reached up and grabbed the painting, using the wire on the back as a handle.
I made my way to the front door, opened it, and peered outside to make sure the coast was clear. I was glad to see a horse and buggy leaving up the driveway, as it wouldn't look too obvious if I left soon after.
Closing the door behind me, I ran over to the barn, as fast as I could go carrying a large object. Before I entered, I listened out for any guests that might be leaving, relieved to hear no one. My next concern was Robbie, but with a bit of luck, he had gone off to bed as well, uninterested in doing his job tonight.
I cautiously stepped inside, on the lookout for anyone. The lanterns were bright enough to see, and the barn was filled with buggies of all shapes and sizes.
"Robbie?" I called out. Thankfully no answer.
I had no idea which was Mr. Valentine's buggy, so I selected one which looked similar in size. It would get returned to the owner, anyway, so I wasn't technically stealing, was I? Just as I was only borrowing the painting.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I placed the painting in the buggy and went to find Ruby.
Thankfully she hadn't been moved and was still in her usual stable. She whinnied as I approached her, not appreciating being disturbed this time of night. "Shh, Ruby. It's just me, Tilly. Am I disturbing your sleep? Hm?" I rubbed her nose and she settled down. I led her over to the buggy and fiddled for several minutes attaching straps and doing up buckles. I was annoyed at how long it was taking, but kept constant eyes and ears out for anyone approaching. My hands were shaking either from the fear of getting caught or the cold. Or perhaps both.
Hopping up onto the buggy, Ruby and I were off, up the driveway, and I noticed a couple exiting the garden. I had made the escape just at the right time, hoping the buggy I had just borrowed was not theirs. I needed a head start before anything was noticed missing.
As I turned onto the road, I couldn't help but glance back, taking one last look at the beautiful place that was my home for the past two months.
I would miss it, and would cherish the memories for the rest of my life. But it would be my secret, as no one back home would ever believe this adventure I had just experienced.
I relaxed into my seat and prepared myself for the long, lonely journey back to Clay's Cottage. I glanced over at the painting beside me; the mysterious object that started it all, and was about to end it all.
But only if my plan was successful.
~
I was struggling to stay awake; the monotonous motion of the buggy lulling me to sleep. I hadn't even passed the half way mark yet, but it was so boring with only darkness to look at and no one to talk to.
I hadn't passed another soul, and it was rather eerie out in the middle of nowhere with no buildings or streetlights.
With that thought, I saw movement in the distance, coming straight towards me.
My heart rate sped up when I noticed it was a man atop a horse, and I panicked a little. Just keep going, I thought to myself. Ignore him and he'll continue on.
But he wasn't prepared to ignore me. He raised his hand and called out, "Halt!" But I was determined not to stop. "I said halt!" he called out again, and his horse came to a standstill in front of me. I was forced to stop, not wanting to end up in a head-on collision. Ruby wouldn't have appreciated it. The man dismounted from his horse and approached me with caution. It was difficult to make out who it was until he said his name, and I almost died on the spot. "Constable Edward Doyle. Say your name, sir." Sir? I realised I must have looked like a male in the darkness with my jumper and jeans. I didn't answer, couldn't answer. I was frozen. Not in a million years did I expect to run into him on this road. I thought he was still at the ball. "Say your name!" he repeated, louder.
My mouth had dried up but I managed to answer him. "Uh- Matilda Fletcher, sir."
He chuckled. "Who did you say you were?" He stepped closer and realisation hit when he recognised me. "What in God's name are you doing here?"
I had to think quick. "I'm leaving like you told me to. I thought there was no point waiting until tomorrow. I hate long, drawn-out goodbyes."
"Are you an idiot, Fletcher? Hobart Town is that way," he informed me, pointing in the direction I just came. He squinted at me. "What are you up to?" It was then he noticed the painting sitting alongside me. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to hide, but I had it faced down, so he didn't know which painting it was. "Whose painting is that?"
"Mine. I'm taking it with me. I did accumulate some stuff these last couple of months, you know."
"You were able to afford a painting that size on a governess' wage?"
"I didn't buy it. It was a gift from Mr. Valentine."
"Well, isn't he generous?" he said, sarcastically. "May I have a look at which painting he supposedly gave you?"
"If you must."
He strode around to the other side of the buggy and tilted the painting forward enough to see it.
"The cottage painting? You expect me to believe he just gave this to you? As far as I'm aware, that old man wouldn't part with this painting until the day he died."
"He knows how much I love the painting."
He walked around the buggy, inspecting it.
"He gave you his buggy, too?"
"Yes. It's one he doesn't use often. He has three others."
"I see," he said, tapping his chin. "So why does it have the name Hogg painted on the back?" Dammit. Trust me to steal a buggy that the owner had labelled. I stayed quiet. I had no idea how to explain that. "I think you'd better come with me to the station. Good thing you were stupid enough to head in that direction," he chuckled. "I might finally have you, Fletcher. And I didn't even have to frame you this time. If Mr. Valentine doesn't vouch for everything you've just told me, then you are in a lot of trouble."
This was bad. This was really bad.
How was I going to get out of this? How would I explain to everyone why I had Mr. Valentine's painting and horse, the Hoggs' buggy, and heading for Clay's Cottage?
The thought of gaol or possible hanging was too much to comprehend.
Even if Mr. Valentine was kind enough to get me out of this mess, I've missed my chance on getting the painting back to Clay's Cottage.
Either way, I was never going home.