‘The child ‒ your daughter?’ Sara prompted.
‘I know almost nothing of her. Her mother has singularly little talent for letter-writing. I imagine, though, that she will learn to ride a horse long before she can spell with any certainty.’
‘It’s sad,’ Sara murmured. ‘So wasted …’
‘Wasted … exactly! Both our lives are wasted. She was cold as a splinter of ice. Her greed and selfishness I could have forgiven her readily ‒ but not her lack of warmth. I could not live with a woman to whom a husband was something merely to be suffered …’
Sudden pity for him touched Sara. She had never imagined that she could pity Louis ‒ the assured and cynical; from that moment her feeling towards him was changed. She could sense the frustration and bitterness where before she had only seen his light, charming manners ‒ his amusing conversation ‒ only those and his bored acceptance of whatever came his way. In a few seconds she knew he would revert to them, but at least he had shown her a glimpse of something else beyond them.
Abruptly she rose and came across to him. A flash of lightning played above the trees on the opposite bank of the river. It lit up Kintyre’s well-laid acres, and every detail of Louis’s appearance, every feature. He was waiting, a detached smile about his lips, for her to speak.
She held out her hand.
‘Thank you for telling me this,’ she said. ‘My curiosity didn’t deserve such rewards.’
He took her hand, not holding it upwards as he had always done previously, but gripping it as if she were a man.
‘Reward?’ he said. ‘Ah, no, Sara! I cared what you and Andrew believed of me. The rest …’ He shrugged. ‘Well, let them have their little gossip, if it makes them happy. But if I am to remain in this country, then I must have you both for my friends. You and Andrew ‒ you are the spirit of this place …’
He broke off as the thunder crashed about their heads. On a sudden rush of cool wind the rain came down off the mountains. It hit them with a tropical violence and density, slashing against their faces and bodies before they could move back from the rail.
Louis reached quickly to gather up Sara’s sewing-bag from the chair, and followed her at a run along the veranda to the door. The noise of the rain was heavy as it hit the sunbaked earth; the lightning lit up the garden brilliantly. They both paused for a few moments to watch it, looking backwards with wonder, as to something they had been lucky to escape. Then Sara turned, trying to smooth down her damp hair with her hand, and stepped into the hall. Louis held the door for her, then followed. As he passed behind her, his eyes held a rare look of softness and pleasure.
III
It had rained all night, the sound drumming and monotonous against Kintyre’s roof. But by noon the next day, when Sara took her daily ride along the road in the direction of Parramatta, the rough storm-water ditches by the side of the road were already drying out. The smell of the rain lingered in the scrub, in the eucalyptus trees, giving the bush almost the freshness of a spring morning. As she rode along she noticed the curved, prominent heads of a dozen or more kookaburras perched on a high bough of a ragged gum on her left. They remained motionless until she drew level; then their heads went back, beaks opened, and the bush for a mile around was abruptly regaled with their mad, wild laughter. Not in all the years that she had been familiar with this sound, had Sara been able to accept it as natural, nor had she schooled herself not to laugh with them. Her mouth curved delightedly; she threw her head back as they did, and laughed inelegantly, and without restraint. The noise they made followed her down the road, infectious, mocking; as strange and different as the country that had bred it.
The next bend would bring her just over two miles from Kintyre. Peering up at the sun, she judged that it was more than time she returned. But at the bend itself she halted, wrinkling her forehead and staring down the road, where the heat conjured up a mirage like water, and the midday haze was thickening. Two horsemen, no more yet than specks, held her attention. She stared at them, shielding her eyes against the glare; then, in a few moments, she raised her crop to wave excitedly.
Both men answered her wave immediately, and urged their horses into a canter. She drew into the shade of a big blue gum to wait for them.
‘Richard! Jeremy!’ she called, as they came close enough to hear.
And while she sat her horse with an easy smile on her lips, she was pondering the reason for their being on this journey together. There was no feeling of friendship between Richard and Jeremy; their antagonism towards each other was too obvious for them to willingly ride side by side up from Parramatta. As far as she knew, Jeremy had had no intention of leaving Priest’s; he was busy there and had even refused Sara’s request that he should come to Kintyre for Christmas. The two men must have met on the road, and a desire for company had prompted Richard to stay by Jeremy’s side. It would have been more in keeping with Richard’s feelings about the Maclay overseer if he had given a brief nod and ridden on.
In the last few yards Richard moved ahead of Jeremy; he was the first to come to her side. His clothes were covered in fine dust, and there were rivulets of sweat on his face.
He smiled his pleasure at seeing her, leaning over in the saddle and taking her outstretched hand.
‘Sara! How are you?’
‘I’m well, Richard, thank you.’ Her answer was smooth, and cool. ‘And yourself ‒ and Alison?’
‘Well enough,’ he said impatiently, staring into her face with a look of disappointment. Then he swung round, only half-stifling an exclamation of annoyance, as Jeremy’s horse jostled his own.
‘Can’t you mind …’
Richard didn’t say any more. He sullenly watched Sara’s hand go out to grip Jeremy’s.
‘We’ll be glad to see you at Kintyre, Jeremy,’ she said. ‘But what brings you? Something important, surely ‒ I was beginning to think nothing would ever shift you from Priest’s, when you wouldn’t even come back at Christmas.’
‘In ordinary circumstances nothing would move me from Priest’s yet,’ Jeremy said. ‘But this happens to concern the great John Macarthur.’ He tilted his hat back a little, and went on. ‘It seems that Andrew did him some service a short while ago ‒ and now he’s pleased to inform me that he’s changed his mind about selling some of the ewes and a ram from the merino flock. That is, he says, if Mr. Maclay still has a mind to have them. I can’t help thinking that Macarthur may want yet another favour from Andrew ‒ his merino flock are almost as precious to him as his own children.’
Sara’s eyes opened wide. ‘The merino flock! Andrew will be delighted! Macarthur’s sheep are beginning to produce wool that he believes will better the Spanish merino. We’ve been hoping to get a few more …’
Richard broke in. ‘Must you talk wool and sheep the very moment one sees you, Sara?’ His tone was light as he said it; obviously he repented the impatience he had let her see. But his horse moved sideways, and he made little attempt to hold it. The movement, and his words, effectively ended the conversation between the other two, and turned their attention back to him.
Sara laughed, though she could feel a flush of annoyance mounting in her cheeks. ‘Why, Richard! I imagined such a farmer as you would be more than interested in the prospects for wool!’
His lips folded slightly, and he shrugged. ‘Oh, I leave the experiments in wool to the Macarthurs and the Maclays ‒ to the really important people of the colony. Hyde Farm occupies quite enough of my time in its own humble fashion. I’ll be content to follow in ten years’ time where the pioneers of today lead.’
He intercepted the glance that passed between Sara and Jeremy, and it seemed to infuriate him.
‘Well, are we going to loiter about here in the sun all afternoon? Let’s get on, shall we?’
Without waiting for them, he wheeled his horse, and started at a trot down the road.
They followed, and as they drew level, he addressed Sara again.
‘I hear that you have the Fr
enchman staying at Kintyre?’
‘Yes, he spent Christmas with us.’
He nodded vaguely. ‘He’s trying out the colony, I suppose. What do you think of him?’
‘Andrew and I both like him. So will you, I’m sure, when you know him better.’ Sara glanced sideways at him. ‘He never discusses wool and sheep.’
‘Obviously not,’ Richard said shortly. ‘He has enough money to hold himself aloof from matters of mere commerce. But I wonder was he so disinterested in making a little money at any time prior to the Revolution? From what I hear, he suffered an embarrassing lack of the commodity until then.’
‘People, no doubt, tell a great many tales of Louis de Bourget,’ Sara returned coldly. ‘The pity is that they don’t tell the full story. What is left out in his history is quite as important as the few facts already brought forward. If one has the inclination to learn it ‒ that is, if prejudice hasn’t blinded one ‒ there’s a great deal more to Louis than the smooth fit of his coat.’
They rounded a bend and were now within sight of the fork leading to Hyde Farm. Looking at Richard, Sara saw his face twist, and then his hands, usually so confident and relaxed on the reins, grew taut. Richard was contemptuous of nervous hands on a horse, but he seemed quite unaware of his own at the moment.
‘I don’t find this Frenchman’s story plausible at all,’ he said, looking straight ahead. ‘What brings him to a place like this ‒ without introductions, and without any stated purpose? He left a wife and child behind him, too, I believe. It’s suspicious ‒ I tell you, no honest man behaves in that way. And if he has all the wealth rumour gives him, why didn’t he remain in London where he could enjoy it?’
‘It’s just possible that he may not regard London as the paradise you found it to be, Richard.’ She spoke savagely, and then was furious with herself for letting him see her disturbance.
‘I imagine you’ll be at Hyde Farm for a few days?’ she continued quickly. ‘Doubtless you’ll come to Kintyre to see Andrew. I advise you to talk to Louis then and judge him for yourself. You’ll be in danger of becoming as narrow-minded as the rest of us colonials, Richard, if you continue to place such a trust in gossip.’
He swerved in his saddle so suddenly that Sara’s horse halted without warning, nearly unseating her.
‘If your husband wishes to see me on business matters,’ Richard said, ‘I’ll be found at Hyde Farm for the next two days. But I’ll be damned if I’ll come to Kintyre to quarrel with you over that bloody upstart. You and Andrew make me sick with your grovelling to a turncoat Frenchman, who was more than likely a Jacobin before his money forced him to be a royalist. You can find your friends in any doubtful place you choose, Sara ‒ but don’t expect them to be my friends as well!’
‘You’ve said enough, Barwell!’ Jeremy’s voice was thick with anger. He leant across and caught the other man’s bridle.
Richard turned on him furiously, unbelievingly.
‘What the devil do you mean?’
‘I mean that Mrs. Maclay expects an apology!’
‘Jeremy …!’ In alarm Sara cried out. ‘You …’
‘An apology is just what Mrs. Maclay is not going to get!’ Richard snapped. ‘I meant every word I said ‒ and, by God, I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my affairs! I’d like to know what right any damned convict has to dictate to me! Take care that I don’t have you before a magistrate for this piece of work.’
Jeremy’s eyes were glazed with anger. ‘Threaten me with what you like, Captain Barwell. But when you insult Mrs. Maclay, you insult her husband ‒ and you’ll find neither he, nor myself, afraid of you, or a magistrate’s court, or anything else you care to threaten.’
‘Why, you …’
With a muffled oath, Richard raised his crop high, and brought it down with his full weight on Jeremy’s hand, which still held his bridle. The other winced, and his horse pulled away, almost dragging him from the saddle. But he clung on, managing to bring the animal under control again.
Richard struck his hand once again, and when the fingers didn’t slacken, he swung his crop sideways, slashing it across Jeremy’s face. At the same time he dug his heels in hard, and his horse sprang forward. Jeremy was forced to let the bridle go.
Richard galloped away, making for the fork that led to Hyde Farm.
‘Curse him!’ Jeremy muttered, enraged. ‘I’ll beat that …’
His face was white with fury, and blood was already trickling from the corner of his mouth. His hat had been knocked to the back of his head, giving him a wild, half-crazy appearance that terrified Sara. She saw him dig in his spurs to go after Richard, and at the same moment she hit her own horse smartly. It shot forward in a sudden lurch directly in Jeremy’s path. They cannoned together, both almost unseating. Sara managed to pull up before she reached the ditch; Jeremy’s horse reared, and he had to fight with it for control. By the time it was quietened, Richard was far down the road.
‘For God’s sake, Jeremy, don’t be such a fool!’
In her anxiety, Sara snapped at him. The fear of the moment had shaken her violently; she was angry now to think of what passion the two men had unleashed in the matter of a few seconds, and over a Frenchman neither of them knew. She was panting, and her fear made her sharp and scathing.
‘Don’t you know that if you touched him you’d be flogged and sent to a chain gang? In heaven’s name, why do you lose your head like that? You’re not a child ‒ and you’ve had more than enough practice in schooling your temper!’
Jeremy brought his horse beside hers. He said tensely, ‘There’s some things that no amount of schooling will rid one of, Sara ‒ and nothing will ever let one forgive. If I were free, I’d call him out and kill him for that.’
‘But you’re not free!’ she reminded him tartly. ‘And you’re not in a position to make a fool of yourself by challenging him.’
‘But, all the same …’
‘A nice figure you’d make, Jeremy Hogan,’ she cut in, ‘swinging from the gallows. Now, let’s have no more of this mad talk. There’s been enough heroics for one morning to defend the Maclay honour. We’ll get back to Kintyre, and do something to your face before Andrew sees it.’
Very slowly he ran the reins through his hands. ‘You’re a woman without a heart, Sara,’ he said. ‘I doubt that you’ve a natural feeling in your whole body. What a general England has missed because you’re not a man! Rashness would never have outplayed strategy in your cool head. Even Nelson has his human side in Emma Hamilton, but there would have been no such indulgence for you. I wish that you could see yourself just once …’
Jeremy’s words trailed off; he stopped and looked at her in amazement.
‘Why, Sara … You’re crying!’
She dashed a hand furiously across her eyes. ‘Yes ‒ and I can’t help it! I’m crying because …’ Her voice rose in an aggrieved tone. ‘Because Richard made such a fool of himself ‒ and because you frightened me to death by putting yourself in danger over him. Oh, Jeremy, can’t you see ‒ he just isn’t worth it! Men are supposed to be able to keep their wits about them pretty well, but no sensible woman would dream of behaving as you’ve just done!’
She began searching in one of the pockets of her habit for a handkerchief. Taking it out, she dabbed her eyes, and then said sharply. ‘Well … don’t just sit there like that! We’d better go down to the river and do something about washing that cut. It’s bleeding worse now. It would be a nice thing, wouldn’t it, if someone rode along and found me snivelling like a five-year-old brat, and Master Jeremy with the blood running down into his collar! A pretty pair we make, I’ve no doubt!’
A ghost of a smile played on his lips, as he followed her off the road and into the scrub. A Sara who was frightened and shaken was a rare spectacle; he looked at her gently heaving shoulders ahead of him, and was not displeased that he himself was half the cause of her upset ‒ even if he had to share it with that arrogant upstart, Barwell. His hot anger again
st Barwell was fading ‒ shocked almost out of existence by Sara’s tearful reaction to it. He wished he could again see her face, with the tears sliding down it, and the look, half of tenderness, half contempt for her own weakness, that it had worn.
She was following a vaguely defined path down to the river, refusing to allow him to go ahead to pick the way through the undergrowth, clinging to the lead, as if she felt the need to assert her own authority. The sound of the river reached them clearly; the banks here were low, but the trees screened it completely, until almost the very moment when they broke through, and it lay, broad and deep, with the sun on it casting a dazzle that, for a minute, hurt their eyes. On the opposite bank the land had been partly cleared, and a small herd of cattle grazed quietly. Beyond, on a slight rise, was a whitewashed house that Jeremy recognized as belonging to Michael Macarthy, who had come out with Governor Phillip as a marine, and had stayed to take up land. The scene before them was peaceful, and all signs of the rain of the night were gone.
Jeremy dismounted and tethered both horses to the low bush. Then he lifted Sara down.
‘Give me your handkerchief,’ she said stiffly. ‘Mine’s useless.’
He offered it, and she took it without a word, scrambling down the sandy incline of the river bank with it rolled up in her hand. He watched her bend and wring it out in the water, and then come back to him.
‘Let me look at that cut.’ Her voice was gentler now; it was a little hoarse and rasping in her throat, as if, perhaps, she still held back tears. She dabbed at the congealing blood at the corner of his mouth, making clicking sounds with her tongue, and shaking her head.
‘You won’t mention this to Andrew, will you, Jeremy?’
She stood on tiptoe as she pressed the handkerchief against his mouth, murmuring absently, as to a child.
He drew back abruptly. ‘Mention it to Andrew? You take me for a greater fool than ever!’
She followed his withdrawal, and began to dab again with the handkerchief. ‘Oh, hush, Jeremy!’ she said. ‘You know I didn’t mean that. I was merely trying to reassure myself. Richard behaved like a madman ‒ and the sooner forgotten, the better.’
Sara Dane Page 31