Midsummer's Eve Page 21

  Matthew listened intently. He said: “I’ll find him. His story would be worth recording—particularly as I know something of his origins.”

  “How I should love to know what became of him,” I went on. “I should be relieved if I could hear that he had settled down … perhaps acquired a bit of land.”

  “Let’s hope that he came through,” said my father. “He was a boy who wanted to be alone. He did not seem to care much for the companionship of others.”

  “It was because of his circumstances,” I said hotly. “Who was there?”

  “You and Jacco did a good deal for him.”

  “And so did you.”

  “I don’t recall that he was particularly grateful.”

  “He didn’t know how to show it.”

  “He showed it by stealing … unnecessarily. I could have understood it if he had been hungry. I’m afraid what happened to Digory was inevitable.”

  “I shall see if I can find him and get his story,” said Matthew.

  He was leaving the next morning for Sydney.

  “I shall make the Grand Hotel my headquarters while I’m there,” he told us. “So that is where you can find me if I am wanted. From there I hope to be going to various parts of Australia … at least where I am likely to find the information I need.”

  “Have you any idea how long you’ll be away?” asked my mother.

  “So much depends on my success. When I have collected enough material I shall want to set about the writing.”

  “And Helena … her time is not so far off.”

  He smiled at me. “I know she will be safe with you.”

  Words trembled on my mother’s lips. I knew she wanted to say that at such a time a woman wanted her husband with her. But of course this was no ordinary marriage and I supposed we should all be grateful to Matthew. We must remind ourselves that he was an earnest philanthropist and there was not time in his busy life to be delayed in his work by anyone—even though it be his wife.

  The next morning we said goodbye to Matthew. I think Helena was relieved to see him go. It must be trying to be continually reminded that you owed so much to one person. Not that he reminded her; but Helena could not forget.

  My father was out a great deal with Gregory and Jacco was invariably with them. They would sometimes leave before we rose in the morning and come back before dark. Often we would sit out of doors in the evenings. The men made fires and cooked in the open air and it was quite pleasant when it was cooler after sundown. The men would sing songs which they had brought from home. “Coming Through the Rye,” “Sally in Our Alley” and “In Good King Charles’s Golden Days.” One of the men had a musical instrument which he called a Didgeridoo. It was a long wooden tube which boomed when blown; another had a banjo. They would grow very merry.

  Gregory was always there. I would hear his voice above the rest. He had said that the convivial evenings were part of his duties.

  “You’ve got a group of men about working hard all day … they’ve got to have something to look forward to in the evenings. A little get-together with a bit of singing gets us all friendly,” he had explained. “It keeps their minds off the women and there are not enough of them to go round. It’s a consideration.”

  Our arrival had added considerably to the female population. I had seen some of the men and girls together and I guessed that they were more than normally friendly. I noticed the way in which the men looked at the women … even us. I felt that there was a certain amount of tension in such a situation.

  That Maud felt it I knew, because of her careful watch on her daughter. If any man talked to Rosa her mother’s eyes would be immediately upon them. It must be worrying to have a pretty young daughter in such a community.

  Gregory determined to show us the country. We saw a great deal of him for although he had given up the house when we came and had gone to one of the shacks, he dined with us every day.

  One day he told us about the boat.

  “You see we are not very far from the sea. An hour or so on horseback gets us there. I often take a trip. I like to get some good sea breezes. We are less than two hours from Smoky Cape. You can bathe there if you’ve a fancy to. We must go there one day. I’ve got a little boat house there and my boat, well … she’s a humdinger, I can tell you.”

  I went with my father, Gregory and Jacco. Helena was unable to ride and my mother stayed behind with her. We had a picnic and then Gregory took us sailing. He managed the boat with skill and it was a wonderful feeling to be sailing along on the open sea.

  We kept close to the coast.

  “Storms can blow up pretty fast,” Gregory told us, “and we’ve got precious cargo aboard.” This with a wink at me.

  He still disturbed me. I would find his eyes watching me, calculating almost.

  I thought of what he had said about the men and women and I felt he was summing me up, waiting. That made me very uneasy and when I was in my room alone at night I was thankful that my father and brother were close by.

  That was a very enjoyable day in spite of the few uncomfortable moments Gregory gave me. I thought that perhaps I was imagining something which was not there. Sometimes I would think of myself alone in the house with him and that filled me with something like terror … a certain sort of horror, like that which I had felt as a child when I had conjured up images of giants and hobgoblins and trembled at the thought of them … and in a way longed to see them in reality.

  “We must use the boat more often, Greg,” said my father.

  “It is at your disposal, Sir Jake. Please use it when you feel the desire to do so.”

  After that my father often went out in the boat, sometimes with Gregory, sometimes without him. My mother and I sometimes accompanied him. Jacco, of course, was very keen on sailing. Helena did not go at all. Her time was getting very near.

  Maud told us that she herself had helped to deliver babies on the property. “They arrive now and then as you’d expect and sometimes the midwife doesn’t get here in time, so I’ve had to learn something about it.”

  “My mother says that we must have the midwife in residence several weeks before the baby is due.”

  She agreed with this and it was arranged that one of the men should go over to a township some fifty miles away and bring back Polly Winters with him.

  This was done. She was small and plump with merry dark eyes, high-pitched laughter and a continual flow of chatter. She was in her mid-thirties, a widow. Men died often in this country.

  “Don’t be put off by her frivolous manner,” said Maud. “She is a good midwife. She likes what she calls a good time but when she is doing her job she really is very good indeed.”

  Polly Winters examined Helena and declared herself satisfied: then she set about entertaining us with tales about the many children she had brought into the world.

  She slept in the empty room which was conveniently next to Helena’s; she went through the layette and said what else was needed. When she talked of the coming baby she was intensely serious; and then as soon as she stopped she would be giggling and one would have thought she was incapable of her delicate task.

  I saw her often from my window. She was always talking to one of the men; and the nature of her conversation was obvious. She would roll her eyes and assume an archness which seemed very girlish and did not fit one of her age; she would almost caress them as she talked; and they responded readily.

  My mother said she did wonder whether we had chosen wisely.

  I reminded her that there was no choice. Polly Winters was the only midwife around and she had had to be fetched from fifty miles away.

  But we could not help liking Polly. She was so good-natured, ready to help in anything that came along, full of laughter and seeming to find life very enjoyable. It was only when a man appeared that she became giggly and rather stupid.

  We did not expect the birth for another three weeks but as my mother said—and Maud agreed with her—in view of the fact
that Helena seemed a little delicate and it was so difficult to get help quickly, it was right to keep Polly with us.

  I did enjoy riding and often went out with my father or my brother. We never strayed far from the house. My father was always careful to make sure of the landmarks. He said Gregory was right to warn us for it was the easiest thing in the world to get lost in such country.

  There came a day when my father and Jacco had gone off to examine some aspect of the property with one of the men; Helena was resting. Polly liked her to and, as she said, put her own feet up in the afternoon. Whether she rested or not I could not be sure, but on one occasion I heard whispering coming from behind her door and now and then a suppressed giggle. I guessed that Polly was giving expression to her appreciation of one of the men about the property. It was not what one would have expected of a midwife with this very important task looming close; but I had to remember that this was not home. Life was different here. No one could reproach Polly for her conduct; her services were too important to us. If Polly entertained men in her bedroom when she was “putting her feet up,” it was not for us to complain.

  The house was quiet. I felt restless. I had a longing then for home … not for London where so many dramatic and unpleasant incidents had recently taken place, but for Cador.

  I pictured myself riding out of the stables and meeting Rolf. I had to remind myself that things were not always as they seemed and that people hid their true natures behind a veneer of good manners. Here at least people were more frank. Polly and her men … Maud and her desire for her daughter’s welfare … even Gregory. At least he did not pretend to be a courteous knight.

  I felt the need for fresh air. I would go for a ride. Not far, of course. It would be the first time I had gone out alone. But I had a desire to go by myself.

  There was a faint breeze which was pleasant. I broke into a gallop and was soon in the heart of shrub land.

  There was something grand about the landscape. Gregory had talked a great deal about it. He had told us about the natives—“abos” he called them. He had several of them working on the land. “Good workers when they work,” he said. “But you don’t know what to expect. They suddenly take it into their heads to get up and go … ‘go walk-about,’ they call it. Sometimes they come back, but like as not you’ll never see them again.”

  I thought about them. Bewildered perhaps, trying to change their lives to fit in with these people who had come and taken possession of their land.

  He had told us about the animals; the kangaroos with their young in their pouches. We had seen several; and the little ones they called wallabies.

  There was so much to see that was new to us. We used to sit and talk over meals when my mother liked to keep everyone at the table for as long as possible.

  Gregory always talked glowingly. It became more and more clear that he loved the land and had made it his own. Through him we heard of the plagues of locusts which destroyed the crops, the raging forest fires which could encircle a hamlet and destroy it and even threaten the towns, of the most frequent threat of all to the farms: the dreaded drought.

  He talked of koalas and wombats and the beautifully plumaged birds seen in some parts. We did not see many of these at Sealands Creek, but occasionally he would point out a flying mouse or a lyre bird.

  I enjoyed hearing Gregory talk about the country.

  I rode on thinking of him. The property extended for miles and I felt that while I was on my father’s land I was safe.

  All the same there had been many warnings and I had to be careful.

  I looked back. Far in the distance I could see the house. I dismounted, tied my horse to a dwarf shrub and sat down.

  I thought about the strangeness of everything since I had come to London and once again I found myself going over it all.

  Soon, I thought, we shall go home, and things will be normal again. And Helena … where would she go? Would she live with Matthew … help him with his book perhaps? She had shown no interest in it. But she would have the baby. I had a feeling that when that child came all her attention would be for it.

  The heat was intense. I had been rather silly to come out at this time of day. I closed my eyes and dozed.

  I awoke with a start and for the moment wondered where I was. Remembering, I rose to my feet. There was a mist in the air. I could not see the house now. I was not disturbed. I knew the direction. I would ride back at once.

  Then I saw that my horse was not where I had left it and I began to feel afraid. I had not tethered him securely enough and he must have wandered off. The mist had obscured the sun and it was not so hot now. That was a blessing. But I wished I could see the house.

  I started to walk. Soon the house must be in sight.

  I went on. Time passed. The mist had not thickened but I could still not see the house. A group of eucalyptus loomed up beside me. Had I noticed them before? I was not sure. There was such a similarity about the landscape wherever one was.

  A terrible fear came to me then that I might be lost. I remembered Gregory’s warning. People walked for miles and then found they had been going round in circles.

  I sank down beside a clump of shrubs.

  Was I walking round in circles? Was I walking farther away from the house? I had no way of knowing.

  The best thing was to wait until the mist cleared. That might be hours. Oh, how foolish I had been. I should have started back as soon as the mist began to rise; I should never have sat down and dozed. I should have taken the warnings more seriously. I should never have gone out alone.

  Must I stay all night here? What of the dingoes? I should imagine they would be rather unfriendly. There were native cats … wild, I expected.

  I was now very frightened. There is nothing worse than being undecided in such a situation. If only I knew what to do … to go on walking or to stay where I was.

  And while I was trying to make up my mind I heard a sound which seemed to come from a long way off. It was the call I had heard one man give to another when they wanted their whereabouts known. “Cooee.”

  With all my strength I called back: “Cooee.”

  I waited tensely; and then the call came again. I answered it. It was coming nearer. I went on calling and the answer came back.

  Then Gregory came riding through the mist.

  He leaped from his horse and with his hands on his hips stood regarding me sardonically.

  Then he said: “You little idiot. How many times have I told you …?”

  “I know. I know. But who would have thought it would suddenly be misty like this?”

  “Anyone with any sense,” he retorted.

  He took me by the shoulders and shook me.

  “You ought to be spanked,” he said. He laughed familiarly. “And I’d like to be the one to do it.”

  I tried to wriggle free but he would not let me go. Then he bent his head and kissed me firmly on the lips.

  I was furiously angry. I had been very frightened, almost on the verge of despair, and my relief had been intense when he had ridden out of the mist, and now here I was out here … in this mysterious land, and he had dared to do what I knew he had been threatening to ever since we met.

  I freed myself and stood a few paces back from him.

  “I’m glad you came, but …” I began.

  “Well that’s a nice start,” he replied, mocking me I knew.

  “How did you know I was lost?”

  “The horse came back. He had more sense than some.”

  “He … came back?”

  “Thank your stars he did. Otherwise you’d have been in for an uncomfortable time, young Annie.”

  “I have told you I don’t answer to that name which is not mine.”

  “You’re in no position to give orders now are you, Annie? You’ve got to knuckle under now and do what dear kind Greg tells you.”

  “Take me back to the house.”

  “Say please, Greg.”

  “Please.”
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  “All right. That’ll do. Come here.”

  “Please do not attempt to do that again.”

  “What if you were to ask me to?”

  “That I can assure you will never happen.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that.”

  “Do my parents know I’m lost?”

  “No. No one knows. They would have been out of their minds to think their little daughter was lost in the outback. You’re a precious little chick, you know.”

  “Perhaps you should remember that.”

  “Oh, I do. I do. Otherwise I wouldn’t be handling you with the kid gloves. I’d be giving you something to remember me by.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Would you like me to show you?”

  “I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “You will, Annie. One day you will.”

  “Are we going back?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ll have to ride with me. I don’t know if that will offend your ladyship’s finer feelings … but there is only one horse.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Come on then.” He leaped onto the horse, then leaned over to lift me up beside him. He kept his hands on me longer than necessary. “You’ll have to hold me round the waist,” he said. “Hang on … tightly.”

  “I know.”

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  My relief was intense. Soon I would be home. The mist would not deter him.

  He walked the horse through the scrub.

  “You must have felt very pleased to see me,” he said. “You were getting scared, weren’t you? And you were right, too. It’s no picnic spending a night in the outback, I can assure you, unless you are in the right company. That was a pleasant night we spent on the way out. Do you remember how I guarded you? Well, you wouldn’t have had me there if I hadn’t come out to look after you, would you?”

  I was silent.

  “Hold tighter,” he said. “Don’t want to fall off, do you? Do you know, I am really rather enjoying this. Riding to the homestead with my Annie’s arms around me.”

  I took them away.