Dorothy Eden (17 page)

‘Lor’!’ said plain Bess Kelly admiringly. ‘I wish someone would say that to me. I have nothing but squalling children at my apron strings all the time.’ She spoke with a contentment that completely lacked smugness.

Mrs Wentworth said, ‘I had my children’s portraits painted recently by a very clever Irishman. I recommend him to you, Mrs Kelly, if you want likenesses of your children. His name is Colm O’Connor. He also paints studies of native birds and flowers. He is making a book of them for a London publisher.’

‘What interesting people you meet in Sydney,’ Eugenia said, rising. ‘Shall we leave the gentlemen to their port. I can see that they are longing to talk politics.’

‘But seriously,’ Mrs Wentworth continued, when the ladies were in the drawing-room. ‘Mr O’Connor is, in my opinion, a most gifted artist.’

‘I have nothing for him to paint but my parrot,’ Eugenia said, laughing. ‘Shall I invite him to Yarrabee for that reason?’

‘Perhaps next year?’ Mrs Wentworth said tentatively, and Eugenia laughed again.

‘You mean when I have a child ? I confess I am longing for one. But in the meantime, if Mr O’Connor passes this way, he will have to make do with Erasmus who is a very paintable subject.’ The wine, first the dry red claret, then the sweet sauterne, had made her feel gay. She was so enjoying the evening and the company. ‘Actually, I consider myself a reasonably accomplished artist and intend to begin sketching seriously now that the weather is cooler. There are flocks of galahs that gather in the gum trees, and are quite lovely. But why are we standing here? Who will be the first to sing or play the piano? The rest of us are permitted to sit comfortably and do nothing more strenuous than pay attention.’

Mrs Wentworth sang quite pleasantly, but the other ladies refused to open their mouths.

‘My dear, if one has a voice like a frog, one keeps it quiet,’ Marion Noakes said. ‘You must be the next to perform, Eugenia.’

‘But how disappointing! Does no one else sing? Then when the gentlemen come in we will get out the cards. Oh, here they are now. Gilbert, none of the ladies except Mrs Wentworth—’

Eugenia’s light prattle was rudely interrupted by a hoarse shout from the passage.

‘Mr Massingham, sir! Mutiny!’

Mrs Ashburton gave a dramatic scream. Gilbert stiffened in the doorway, then abruptly wheeled round and went out, quickly followed by the other men. Their footsteps sounded across the courtyard and died away.

Eugenia hurried to the long windows leading on to the verandah, and flung them open. In the chilly night air, she and the other ladies stood shivering, and listening to the distant sounds of shouts and angry voices.

‘A mutiny?’ Mrs Ashburton said apprehensively. ‘The convicts?’

‘It isn’t uncommon,’ said Marion Noakes.

‘Eugenia, aren’t you alarmed?’ Mrs Ashburton was clutching at Eugenia’s arm.

Eugenia nodded without speaking. She was filled with that too familiar indescribable dread. The night was dark, alien, violent, the cosy drawing-room behind the french doors a myth.

‘It’s probably only a small disturbance,’ Bess Kelly said with brisk good sense. ‘The men will soon have it under control. I really don’t see why we should all die of cold out here.’

‘Yes, let us go in,’ said Eugenia with an immense effort.

She thought the voices were growing calmer. A horse whinnied in its stable. A light flickered, as if someone were carrying a carriage lamp.

A hand plucked at her sleeve. She turned to see Mrs Jarvis in her white cap and apron in the doorway.

‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I thought you’d like to know it’s nothing to get upset about. One of the men had got into the wine cellar and run off a pint of raw wine out of a cask and got drunk. He’s been making a lot of noise. That’s all it is. There’s no mutiny.’

Eugenia gave a deep sigh. She was grateful that the full stiff folds of her skirt hid her trembling knees.

‘Thank you, Mrs Jarvis. I am so glad it’s nothing more serious.’

‘Then what was all that shouting of mutiny?’ Mrs Ashburton wanted to know.

‘It was only that the drunken fellow was making a speech to incite the rest,’ Mrs Jarvis answered. ‘I’ve seen enough of that kind to know they’re all brave words and nothing more.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ Eugenia said emphatically to the other ladies. ‘My husband would never employ a dangerous felon. Let us go in. It’s chilly. I believe I hear the men returning.’

When they came in, the men were animated and excited.

‘A black Irishman from Killarney—never heard his name, did you, Wentworth?’

‘Paddy Donovan. He was roaring drunk, that was all that was the matter. He had quite a turn of eloquence, however.’

‘The Irish always have. They talk themselves into trouble, that’s why they’ve landed in Botany Bay.’

‘Wanted to form a company armed with sticks and stones, and charge the house, Mrs Massingham, if you can imagine such a harebrained scheme,’ said Mr Blaxland. ‘Your husband will be well-advised to keep his cellar more securely locked in future.’

Mr Wentworth laughed in amusement,

‘He’s getting the wrong converts to wine drinking. It’s amusing when you come to think of it. Though I doubt if the fellow would have touched wine if he could have laid his hands on a bottle of rum.’

‘Where is Gilbert?’ Eugenia asked, her fingers digging into the palms of her hands.

The men exchanged a quick glance at one another. Edmund Kelly rubbed his hands together. Mr Blaxland tilted his chin to the ceiling, saying casually, ‘He’ll be here shortly. These disturbances happen, Mrs Massingham. You mustn’t let them upset you. I declare, you’re as white as a sheet.’

‘This would be the time when I lose my smelling salts,’ Mrs Ashburton fussed.

‘I don’t require smelling salts,’ Eugenia heard herself saying with cool contempt.

‘Perhaps not. You’re a heroine, they say. But I’m a coward and I don’t mind admitting I was scared out of my wits.’

‘Mrs Jarvis,’ said Eugenia, ‘will make you a soothing tisane. I’ll go and tell her.’

‘Can’t you ring for her? She was here a moment ago.’

‘It’s a special recipe,’ Eugenia said vaguely. ‘I must go and give her the exact directions.’

She was out of the room and in the hall. She had enough command of her senses to go first to the kitchen and give the order for the tisane before carrying out her real intention.

She felt cold to the centre of her bones, but a compulsion was driving her on, making her walk swiftly down the dark path that led beyond the stables. A path she had never gone down by daylight, because she had never before suffered from this terrible compulsion that overcame even fear.

In front of the row of huts there was a stretch of bare ground and clustered at the end of it a small group of men. One of them was holding a lantern aloft. Its yellow light shone on something that looked like a large dog.

But it wasn’t a dog. Eugenia drew in her breath as she realized that the crouching form was a man bent across a wooden bench. She saw also that the upper part of his body was naked and that his hands were tied behind his back.

Someone had just moved into the shaft of lantern light to stand over him. A tall man in black trousers and a white ruffled shirt who was raising his arm to strike.

‘Stand back!’ Sickness rose in Eugenia’s throat. She had known the man was Gilbert. She hadn’t needed his hard abrupt voice to tell her so. She was about to witness what he had blithely called ‘administering a little punishment’. That was what this torture scene under the high black sky was, with the men shuffling back, the lantern dipping and swaying and the upraised arm in its immaculate white sleeve coming down, followed immediately by the unendurable sound of lashed flesh.

One stroke, two strokes, three, four… the prisoner began to moan. Held rigid by her deadly hypnotic fascination, Eugenia saw the dark welts coming out on the pale skin. Then the man screamed, suddenly and shatteringly, and Eugenia recovered her mobility.

She flew across the intervening ground sobbing,

‘Stop! Stop! Stop! Gilbert, stop, for the love of God!’

Hands held her, bruising her arms. The lantern, swung into her face, dazzled her.

She heard Gilbert exclaim, ‘Good God, Eugenia!’ and she caught a glimpse of his highly flushed face and dishevelled hair. A last fragment of her consciousness told her that the prisoner was stirring and lifting his head out of the dust. Then everything of the nightmare scene had gone. The slowly gathering darkness was blissful.

S
HE WAS IN BED
, the lamplight was shining on her face. She turned her face away and someone came forward to move the lamp.

‘Are you feeling better, ma’am?’

It was Mrs Jarvis, her face calm behind the yellow glow of the lamp.

‘Did I faint? I felt so ill.’

‘You gave everyone a fright, ma’am. Particularly the master. He carried you upstairs himself.’

In those strong arms that had just ceased from wielding the lash?

‘Why aren’t you in the kitchen, Mrs Jarvis?’

‘Because that silly girl Jane is having the vapours, and I thought I could be of more use to you.’

Eugenia put her hand out, clutching at Mrs Jarvis’s hand.

‘My husband was—’ The very word brought back her sickness.

Mrs Jarvis calmly supplied it for her.

‘Flogging the prisoner, ma’am? It was necessary.’

‘There was blood.’

‘Some bleed easily,’

Eugenia winced, closing her eyes. Her feeling of nausea had come back. She wondered if she were ill as well as shocked and repelled by what she had witnessed.

‘I know it’s not my place to say this, ma’am, but what sort of discipline would there be here if the master didn’t keep the upper hand? You have to remember you did so yourself with that dangerous convict at the inn. It was his life or yours, or other innocent lives. I’ve thought of these men as like a hive of angry bees. If they get out of control they sting and they’re poisonous. That’s all the master was doing, keeping them in control. Think of it in that way, and if I may suggest it, ma’am, keep away from places where you might see these sights. Now I’m going to make you a nice cup of tea.’

Tea. The panacea. Even for a hive of stinging bees. But he hadn’t looked dangerous, that boy with his head hanging in the dust.

‘I won’t be kept in a hothouse,’ Eugenia said stubbornly.

The calm brown eyes surveyed her speculatively, and Eugenia thought again what an extraordinary person this woman was. She seemed to know everything and nothing ruffled her.

‘Well, sometimes I think that would be a nice place to be,’ Mrs Jarvis answered. ‘Anyway, rest now. That was what the doctor said.’

‘Doctor?’

‘Doctor Noakes, ma’am. Don’t you remember?’

Eugenia started up. ‘My guests! I should be looking after them. What are they doing?’

‘The last I heard, they were playing cards. But it’s eleven o’clock and I expect they’ll soon be retiring.’

‘Here I am, in fact,’ came Gilbert’s voice from the doorway. He advanced into the light, and stood over Eugenia, an immense shadow, his head almost touching the ceiling.

‘My dearest girl, I can see you are feeling better. Noakes said you were to be left to rest, but I was anxious about you.’

‘What’s happened to that man?’

‘The prisoner? Just put him out of your mind. He’ll go back to work tomorrow congratulating himself that he escaped so lightly. Now let us say no more about it. I’ll save my lecture until you’re better.’

Eugenia struggled up. ‘But I’m not ill.’ She wondered why Gilbert had that small half-amused smile on his lips.

‘No, you’re not ill, but I want Phil Noakes to take a closer look at you. He seems to think you might be in a certain condition.’

Eugenia’s heart jumped. The baby she longed for making its presence known at such an inauspicious moment? Her eyes were dark with remembered horror.

‘Not
now,
Gilbert!’ she begged. ‘Not like this.’

‘How do you mean?’ he said in the gentle teasing voice that usually she enjoyed. ‘What other way is there?’

He hadn’t begun to understand the complexity of her thought. Why should he? He didn’t know her private nightmare. He really didn’t know very much about her at all. Nor she about him. They must really set about mending that situation. Just now she only longed for physical comfort, to be held in loving arms, to have soothing words whispered to her.

But Gilbert hadn’t changed his shirt. There was a small dark splash of blood on its ruffle. She couldn’t let him touch her. She lay back, closing her eyes, waiting for him to go.

‘Eugenia, I’ll send Phil up. He’ll give you a sleeping draught.’

She could make no criticism of Doctor Noakes because she liked his plain blunt manner, his sensitive hands. She could almost have confided her nightmare to him, only he didn’t give her the opportunity. He merely confirmed his suspicion, though he promised no absolute certainty for another two or three weeks.

‘Take things easy,’ he said.

‘But I always do. Gilbert won’t allow me to exert myself.’

‘There are different forms of exertion, my dear. An over-active mind is one of them. Do you miss your family, your home?’

‘Of course I do, doctor. Terribly.’

‘And Yarrabee?’

‘It’s a beautiful house. Don’t you think so? When my garden is made—’

‘Of course. You can’t be expected to settle down in a week, or a year, if it comes to that. My wife still hasn’t settled down entirely. But it would be different if her child had lived. You’re going to be lucky.’

Gilbert must have been waiting in the passage, for when Doctor Noakes went out she couldn’t help overhearing voices.

Gilbert’s was eager and impatient.

‘Well, am I going to have a son?’

‘I can’t speak for the sex of the infant, my dear fellow.’

‘Eugenia?’

‘She’ll be all right. She’s talking about her garden. You might do well to think of her in that way yourself. When you transplant a delicate bloom to unfamiliar soil you must take care of it.’

‘I like that analogy,’ Gilbert said in a pleased voice. ‘You can be sure I will protect her. I wish she hadn’t seen that episode tonight, but when my wife determines to have her own way, she has it. Not that I’d like her to be different. She has spirit.’ The voices were farther off. Eugenia heard Gilbert saying, ‘When I’ve attended to a little unfinished business—’ and Doctor Noakes protesting,