by Lucy Walker
Mrs. Camden gathered together her bag, her lace, her crochet hook and her handkerchief in her beautiful ringed hands, and stood up hastily. Her necklaces chattered together.
‘Yes, I must come at once. Clifford must see everything at its best. Mind you …’ she was saying to Mrs. Whittle as they left the room, ‘when Clifford sees how splendidly we’ve got everything here he’ll probably think we’re very much more expensive than we are. I must remember to tell him the tea service is mine. And that I made the lace.’
Sara sighed. What a family.
She walked to the open window and out on to the veranda to watch the utility go down to the plane.
It was overcast today. The air was hot and humid and she could smell the overpowering magnolias in the garden. Away on a distant horizon was a cloud of dust and she knew it was Blue-Bag bringing in a mob of horses to be grassed and quietened down for the invasion of the family.
There was a touch of the south-easterly trade winds in the sky for even as Sara watched a breath of cool air stole over the plain, dispelling some of the humidity.
It was rather a wonderful thing to reflect that for a thousand square miles around men were hunting Ransome cattle out of the hills, the timbered country, the scrub and the remoter water-holes. Here and there in all that vast territory Ransome stockmen were galloping, wheeling, swinging stockwhips, throwing themselves from their horses to swing on to the tail of a bull or bullock and throw it to the ground. Ears were being nicked with the Ransome marking, and branding-irons were smoking by isolated camp-fires.
The only reason Sara had had to miss all this was because Mrs. Camden had wanted to get information from Sara!
Sara swallowed her disappointment. Pity to come so far and not see it all. Perhaps if she accepted Greg’s invitation to stay she might see other musters. Sara was sure she would love station life. She saw herself galloping on the wings of great cattle mobs and sitting round the camp-fire at night listening to the mouth organ and the cattle songs. And when the stars were brilliant in a purple sky and the songs had died away, to the yarns, old and new, that came out of every cattle camp.
The utility was coming up the slope in a cloud of dust. Sara shook herself. She went back into the house to her room and powdered her nose and added some fresh lipstick.
‘And that’s for Jack Brownrigg … and not Clifford Camden!’ she said.
By the time she had come out into the hall she heard sounds of the men coming up the garden path. Mrs. Whittle appeared from the kitchen regions and proceeded in her usual regal way to the front door. She passed Sara without a word. Sara realised, just in time, it was not advisable to join Mrs. Whittle in a welcoming party at the front door. Sara was not a Camden and Mrs. Whittle would not permit her to step out of place. So instead of going to the door Sara went to the drawing-room.
It was undoubtedly a beautiful room, and as Mrs. Whittle had said, the great gleaming silver tea service looked magnificent set out on the delicate lace cloth on the dark round table. Mrs. Camden, erect in her chair, her face carefully made up, her hair piled prettily on top of her head, was making lace.
‘Sit down, Sara,’ she said. ‘The young men will be here presently.’
She looked at Sara very coldly and Sara’s heart sank. In her refusal to help the other she had perhaps not only lost a friend but made an enemy. Mrs. Camden’s manner was one of aloof annoyance.
‘I can’t understand why all young girls are so idle,’ she said. ‘Why haven’t you something in your hands, Sara? Even Marion knits. She is too clumsy by far for lace-making, of course. But take Julia! All that Julia ever has in her hand is a gin and lemon or that dreadful cigarette-holder of hers. Of course, it’s all done to impress Greg …’ She paused. ‘I shall certainly warn Clifford about that.’
At that moment Clifford Camden and Jack Brownrigg came into the room. They were both carrying their coats over their arms.
‘Don’t have to wear that thing in here, do I, Aunt Louise?’ said Clifford, throwing his coat on to a chair. ‘Why didn’t we have tea on the veranda? There’s more air outside.’
Mrs. Camden pursed her lips.
‘We have tea where my mother had it, Clifford.’
Then she unbent and used her rather sweet smile on Jack Brownrigg. She held out her hand in the manner of royalty and Sara thought it looked as if she expected Jack to bend and kiss it. He was taller, leaner and browner than Sara had remembered, and though he did not kiss Mrs. Camden’s hand at least he bent over it in a friendly manner as he shook it.
Clifford, who had barely pecked his aunt’s cheek, came across the room to Sara.
‘Well? And how’s our Miss Brent?’
His eyes indulged his old habit of flicking over her in a manner that suggested familiarity. Sara gathered her professional air about her like a cloak.
‘Very well, thank you, Mr. Camden.’ She then looked past him and smiled at Jack Brownrigg. ‘Do you remember me, Mr. Brownrigg? The girl who didn’t give up her air tickets?’
‘I remember you all right,’ he said with a grin. ‘But not for that reason.’
‘Hey! Steady on with the compliments,’ said Clifford. ‘This is my territory.’
‘I think I will leave you to a family conclave, Mrs. Camden,’ Sara said. ‘If you will excuse me, please.’
Jack Brownrigg looked disappointed as Sara got up and moved to the door.
‘Yes. Get something to do, my dear,’ Mrs. Camden said. ‘It doesn’t do for girls to sit around idle.’
Sara passed Mrs. Whittle in the hall.
‘I won’t have tea this morning, thank you, Mrs. Whittle,’ Sara said. ‘I’m going for a ride.’
Let who liked call her idle!
Sara put on her jeans and a straw hat and found her way down to the stables. She paused by Andy Patterson where he was unloading the utility by the garages.
‘I thought you’d gone out to the cattle camp, Andy,’ Sara said.
‘Tomorrow night. Had to go in with the station plane to the Airways to meet Clifford and Jack. Looks like I’m going to have company too. Clifford and Jack reckon they’re coming out to the camp.’
‘Oh!’ Sara’s disappointment was unmistakable.
‘What’s the “Oh!” for, Sara?’
‘I hardly know myself, except that the homestead seems so empty with everyone away.’
‘Why don’t you come too?’
Sara was silent a minute.
‘I think I was expected to stay and keep Mrs. Camden company. It’s rather hard on her to be left alone.’
‘Mrs. Whittle has been company enough for her in times past. Anyhow she won’t be needing any company up at the homestead after tomorrow morning. Kitchen Mary came down five minutes ago with a message that Mrs. Camden was to be taken out to the plane tomorrow morning. She’s going to the coast.’
‘The coast!’ said Sara, astonished.
‘No one ever goes as far from Ransome without remembering that another twelve hours’ll get ’em to Perth. Nothing surprising in that, Sara. Mrs. Camden often does it.’
‘But I was with her an hour ago. There was no talk then of her going away.’
‘Maybe you didn’t turn out such good company after all. Better come out to the cattle camp with me and the boys. You’ll sure be appreciated out there.’
‘Oh, Andy … I would like to. But perhaps I’d better not. Greg expected me to stay in case Mrs. Camden or Mrs. Whittle needed me.’
‘I’ll fix Mrs. Whittle.’
‘No, Andy, you’d better not. Thanks for the thought anyway. Is there someone in the stable can catch Trash for me? I’m going for a ride.’
‘Then don’t go out of sight of the river or the homestead. You can get lost and never found on Ransome.’
‘I can well believe that.’
Andy shouted for a stable boy, and in no time Trash was in the stable and the boy had helped Sara to saddle up.
‘You plenty good this time. Nother time you catch ’um this
fella too,’ the boy said with a grin.
‘I think I’ll try.’
She exchanged smiles with the boy and felt rather proud of herself as she mounted the horse unaided. She did not know Andy had been watching till she heard him give a whoop.
‘Attagirl!’ he said.
Once over the rise and amongst the cadgebutt trees she was in the grasslands … those lovely pastures still lush from the lifting of the Wet. In another month they, too, would be harsh and brown.
The breeze that had come in with the movement of air from the south-east rippled the grasses in silver, brown and green waves. Sara rode a mile or two up the creek and then turned Trash’s head to walk back along the bank. Only once did she have an uneasy moment at riding alone and that was when Trash suddenly shied to the side.
‘What’s worrying you, Trash? Is it a snake?’
Sara could see nothing in her path to frighten the horse but she decided to rest on the mare’s judgment. She turned her head a little to the south and some yards farther away from the river bank. At that moment one of the many logs that were left lying about by the floods and storms plunged into the river and disappeared.
‘My goodness! A crocodile!’
Sara gave Trash her head and did not ease the gallop till she came into the stable yards. Andy was just coming down from the direction of Sam Benson’s office.
‘Whacko!’ he said, both surprised and pleased. ‘Who taught you to ride like that? Next thing is we’ll have you mounted on a mountain brumby.’
‘The best teacher in the world. Necessity.’
‘Necessity? For what?’
‘A crocodile.’
‘Get down off that horse and tell me just where you been riding.’
‘Along the river bank.’
‘All right. Now you know not to do it again without me or a gun alongside.’
‘Yes, I do know. But now I’m not frightened to gallop madly any more. I can really ride, can’t I, Andy?’
‘You can ride all right. I hope you have nightmares tonight … just to teach you not to play with crocodiles. By the way, Clifford says it’s a good idea for you to come out to the camp tomorrow night. Now go and have nice dreams instead.’
Sara was on the ground now and Andy was helping her to remove Trash’s saddle.
‘I would like to go …’ she said dubiously.
‘Isn’t Clifford your boss? Well, you just take your orders from him.’
‘I think I’m Greg’s possession just now.’
‘Oh, Greg won’t mind. He and Clifford get on like a house on fire. Besides, he won’t even notice you’re there. Not with Julia around. Cut your hair and you can come out as my rouseabout.’
Sara laughed.
‘That’s the girl. You know what, Sara? When you laugh you got the nicest teeth in the north. And as for those eyes …!’
‘Thanks very much, Andy. I’ll take it all as said. And maybe … just maybe … I’ll come. I think I’ll consult Mrs. Whittle first.’
‘I’ll fix her,’ Andy said under his breath. Sara’s feelings were very mixed as she walked back to the homestead gardens. She would love to go to the camp. Would Greg mind? Would Mrs. Whittle mind? Would she be leaving undone anything she should have done? And moreover, how and when was she going to consult Clifford about remaining on Ransome?
It was in the billiard room before dinner that Sara saw Clifford and Jack Brownrigg again. She had kept out of their way all day … not a hard feat since they had spent most of their time cracking a bottle of whisky down at the main office with Sam Benson.
‘Ah! Our Miss Brent!’ Clifford said as Sara came into the room. ‘Heard you played handies with a crocodile …’
‘I was at least fifty yards away from it, and it was much more frightened of Trash and me than we were of it …’
‘Never heard of a crocodile frightened of a plump girl before.’
‘What will you have, Miss Brent?’ Jack Brownrigg asked, waving a glass at her.
‘Just a lemon drink tonight, thank you.’
‘Well, how you getting on with Greg, our Miss Brent?’ Clifford asked with a sly grin. ‘First time me and Greg’s ever shared a woman.’
Sara passed over the last part of his remark.
‘I think we get on very well …’ Then, taking the bull by the horns, she added quickly, ‘He would like me to stay on for some time.’
‘Oh, he would, would he?’
‘He suggested I consult you.’
‘I think you ought to consult me,’ Jack Brownrigg said. ‘I’d answer in the affirmative at once. I’ll bring you roses every time one of my pilots brings a plane up from the south.’
‘What? Once a day? I can see the Airways sporting that one,’ said Clifford. Then, turning to Sara, ‘How long does Greg want you for?’
‘He didn’t say. I thought perhaps he ought to discuss it with you first. If you’re going out tomorrow night you could perhaps mention it to him.’
‘We’re taking you when we go out. We’ve fixed that one up. I think we’ll look this proposition over first. What do you think. Jack? Would you hand over a nice sweet young thing like our Miss Brent to Greg just for the asking?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Jack chivalrously. ‘But then I’d want your Miss Brent to be my Miss Brent.’
Sam had been pushing half a dozen billiard balls into pockets on the table and he now came and joined the group.
‘Our Miss Brent and your Miss Brent is everybody’s Sara,’ said Sam. ‘And she’s my particular young ’un. So the majority will keep her. That means she stays on Ransome.’
Sara laughed and the elf came back and sat in her eyes. She was beginning to like her company tonight.
In the evening of the following day Sara rode out of the homestead paddock with Andy, Clifford, and Jack. They would reach the first staging camp by ten o’clock. Then if the moon was high and she, Sara, was not too tired they would ride on to the main camp, which they should reach about twelve midnight.
Clifford and Jack laid bets that Sara would not make the distance, but Andy, who had seen her galloping away from a crocodile, decided he’d take whatever odds they liked to make it. As betting was a serious business between men in the Far North, they settled down to steady and silent riding.
‘You keep behind me, Sara,’ Andy said. ‘I’ll pick the pad so it’ll be good and easy. I’m going to win twenty pounds on you before the moon wanes.’
‘I hope you do, Andy.’
Pride and her liking for Andy made her determined to ride the whole distance to the far camp.
They made the first stage in good and easy time, and when they slid off their horses to have billy tea by the stockman’s camp she would not admit even to herself she was tired.
‘I’ll get there if you have to tie me in the saddle,’ she promised Andy.
‘That won’t be the first time that’s happened on Ransome,’ said Andy.
Some distance away from the fire a mob of cattle had been quietened down for the night. Every now and again Sara could see the black silhouette of a stockman against the white, moon-washed sky as he rode round and round the mob telling them tales and occasionally singing them a song.
‘What does he say to the cattle?’ Sara asked.
‘Not fit for ladies’ ears,’ a stockman said.
‘Anyhow you wouldn’t understand it, miss. It’s all swear words. That’s the only thing cattle understands … and it keeps ’em quiet.’
As they mounted again Andy explained that stockmen always sang and talked to the cattle in the night watch.
They were riding single file along the cattle pad now, so there was no chance for conversation. Every now and again Andy in the lead would turn round and shout a word of advice. Coming into a clear he would advise a gallop, or turning into a twisted and humpy part of the trail he would slow them all down to a trot or a jog. Every now and again, out of consideration for Sara, he would ease into a walk and the men would light cigarettes.
>
Faithful to schedule, they trotted quietly into camp within five minutes of midnight.
Someone had heard them coming, for already there were boots kicking the campfire into glowing coals and the rattle of billycans as they were set to boil.
‘I heard you coming so I rolled me swag,’ one of the stockmen said. ‘Greg’s gone down to the drovers’ camp. He’ll be back any time.’
The men were tumbling from their saddles, but Sara sat still and silent. Movement was beyond her. She ached in every muscle and she was falling asleep from weariness where she sat.
It was Jack Brownrigg who lifted her down, and it was thus Greg Camden came on Sara being carried to the campfire in someone’s arms.
‘Who in …?’ he began to ask.
‘Miss Brent. Sara. She’s all in.’
‘What in the great snake’s name is she doing here? What made you bring her? She couldn’t make that raking distance on horseback?’
Sara had never heard Greg in explosive anger before. She had seen him distant and ominously cold, and that she had thought was his way of showing displeasure. Now she knew a more fiery side of him.
She was too tired, almost unconscious with weariness, to worry. She sat where Jack Brownrigg put her, her back against a tree with some rugs piled hastily around her.
She closed her eyes and thought, Somehow I knew he wouldn’t want me to come …
‘Andy’s idea,’ said Clifford carelessly. ‘It broke his soft heart to leave her all alone in the homestead. Aunt Louise has gone to the coast.’
Greg was silent a minute. He kicked a log into the fire and then spoke sharply to one of the rouseabouts.
‘Get cracking with that tea, Simes. You’d better see if there’s a usable swag under the fly net with Marion. She’ll have to sleep somewhere, and I hope you fellows told her there were no mattresses and pillows along with the cattle.’
They talked about Sara as if she were somewhere else. In point of fact she was. She could hear what they said but she could not feel it. It was as if she was listening while partly under an anaesthetic.