Striking Gold

6. The Light in Darkness

When Hilda shivered, Henry, without thinking, shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She glanced up at him in mild surprise but said nothing as he pulled her closer, his warmth easing the bite of the evening air.

Henry broke the silence as they sat there, pressed against each other for warmth. "So," he said quietly, "how do you know this place? You seemed pretty sure when we were running from the fire."

Hilda hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly. "This island? My sisters and I- Ophelia, Philomena, and Edith- used to come here when we were little. It was our secret spot. We'd spend hours here, pretending it was our kingdom, free from all the rules." She paused, her fingers brushing the bark of one of the trees near them. "We carved our initials into that tree." She pointed to the faint letters on the trunk, now weathered with time. "HOPE. Hilda, Ophelia, Philomena, Edith."

Feeling the moment's weight, Henry gently reached out with his bandaged hand and traced the letters. A soft smile tugged at his lips. "Hope," he murmured, the word holding a quiet significance in the night's stillness.

Hilda chuckled, but there was a hint of sadness beneath it. "Yeah, hope. Actually, our names spell out hopeful because our parents wanted us to always have hope for the future, and what better place for hope than in Australia?"

Henry smiles at her, "That sounds lovely."

She shook her head, her smile fading. "It feels far away now. After that disaster the other night, Mother is determined that I am sent to England to be properly trained to be a lady and behave like her and Ophelia." Hilda nodded, her smile turning into a frown as she remembered her mother's harsh words and actions.

"She's been pressuring me and my sisters to behave like perfect ladies, like we're part of some grand society, but I'm not like that." She glanced at Henry, her expression unreadable. "Mother will be relieved there'll be one less daughter to worry about. I've been nothing but a disappointment to her."

Henry shook his head, still tracing the letters on the tree. "You're not a disappointment, Hilda. You're just... different. And that's not a bad thing."

She smiled faintly but said nothing, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

After a moment, Henry broke the silence, his voice quieter now. "My aunt and uncle would be glad to see me gone, too." He let out a small, humourless laugh. "My aunt made it clear enough that my mother would be ashamed of how I've treated you so far."

Hilda looked over at him, her brow knitting together. "Your mother?" she asked softly, curiosity clear.

Henry's expression darkened slightly, and he shook his head, pulling something out of his pocket. The handkerchief she had taken from him was now creased and wet. He held it up with a small, knowing smile.

Hilda's blue-green eyes widen as he recognises the small embroidered fabric in his wrapped hands. "Is that... her handkerchief?"

Henry's silent nod gave her the answer.

Hilda froze, gasping at the significance of such a small cloth she had thoughtlessly snatched away, before looking up at him with her pale eyes filled with embarrassment, "I stole it from you! I made you chase me for it."

Hilda groans and covers her face with her palm, "Oh god, I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright. You didn't know. You assumed I was another lord who couldn't stomach this strange new world," Henry laments gloomily.

Hilda pauses before asking hesitatingly, "W-what happened to your mother?"

"She died. She... she..." Henry shakily inhales before continuing, with Hilda looking up at him, "She got in an accident. Mama got caught in a thunderstorm while riding her horse, and the mud was slippery. She thought she could get back before the storm hit, but her horse, Nova, got spooked by the lightning when it struck close by, and Mama fell. Someone found her, and she was rushed home and cared for by the doctors, but she died a few days later."