Two further incidents took place before the end actually came. The first occurred on a pleasant evening when she had taken Rebecca for a walk. She no longer walked by the river bank; the paths from the garden were overgrown. The usual daily walk was to the Dower House to visit Jessica or, if the day was bright and dry and she wanted exercise, she would walk to the village. But she hadn’t taken that road for some time now, because she could not face the tradesmen to whom money was owing. So, if they went out of the main gates, she would walk along the coach road in the opposite direction. And this is what she was doing this evening.
She was holding Rebecca’s hand and her daughter startled her by saying, ‘You know something, Mama?’
‘No,’ she had answered. ‘What is the something that I should know?’
‘I was just going to say, wouldn’t it be lovely if we could live with Great-Grandmama.’
She had remained silent for a moment; then she had said, ‘Yes, my dear, it would be lovely if we could live with her.’
She did not treat her daughter as a child: Rebecca at ten might still look a child of ten, a beautiful child, but her mind and disposition seemed at times almost adult.
The day her brother had drowned had changed her too. She’d had intermittent screaming fits for a year afterwards, but when they stopped, so stopped her childish games. She had in a way, become a sedate little girl. She had stopped running to her father when she saw him. She had not laughed much, except with David, and when he had gone to Australia, she had cried for days afterwards.
Her daughter was saying now, ‘It is always bright there, Mama. Great-Grandmama is always cheery.’
‘Yes, yes, she is, my dear, she is always cheery. She’s a wonderful woman.’
‘You know what she said to me yesterday?’
‘No; what did she say?’
‘She said that when I was sixteen I would be married and live happy ever after.’
Nancy Ann came to a dead stop and looked down on her daughter. She could not believe that her grandmama had said that, but she must have, for her daughter didn’t lie, nor was she given to making up fairy tales.
‘Grandmama said that to you?’
‘Yes, yes, she did.’
‘What a strange thing to say.’
‘Not really, Mama, because I had been asking her about Great-Grandpapa, and if she had a happy life, and was that why she was happy now?’
‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ They were walking on again when she saw, coming round the curve of the road, a carriage approaching. As the vehicle came nearer she could see there were two people seated in it. Then, to her consternation she recognised one of them, the fat face under the high hat, the voluptuous body. She also recognised instantly that the woman had espied her, for she was now leaning over the side of the carriage, her mouth wide open, one hand waving.
When the carriage came abreast of Nancy Ann, the woman cried at her, ‘You know nothing yet. There’s more to come. I promised you. By God! I promised you.’
The carriage passed on but the fat body twisted round and was still hanging over the side, her words loud but unintelligible now.
Nancy Ann was shaking from head to foot. There was a high grass bank behind her, and she leant against it. The last time she had looked on that woman’s face she had been aware of the beauty of the skin and that it hadn’t been painted. But the face that had just thrown hate at her was like a mask, with deep pink cheeks, red lips and darkened eyes. And there was proof that she was on the same escape route as Dennison, for she was drunk.
‘What is it, Mama? Who is that lady? Are you all right, Mama?’
Nancy Ann pulled herself up from the bank and stepped onto the road again and, looking down into her daughter’s concerned face, she said, ‘It’s all right. Let us go home.’
‘But the lady, who is she?’
‘Oh, she is a person who lives some distance away and she…she is ill.’
‘Ill?’ The girl frowned. ‘Like Nelly Sand in the village?’
‘No, no, not that kind of ill. She…she is just unwell. Come. Come, my dear.’ And she began to hurry now back towards the house, each step seeming to beat out the woman’s words: There is more to come.
The second happening brought surprise and pleasure…at first. She was in her office going over yet again the accounts and the bills. She was worrying about not only the staff’s wages and how they were to be met, but also the fact that she would have to dismiss some of them, either the first or second housemaid, either the vegetable maid or the scullery maid, and, too, one of the laundresses. They were already down to one seamstress. When two had left to go to America with their parents she had not replaced them. There were now only two gardeners, and three of the men from the farm had been dismissed since the horses had gone. She was telling herself that when he returned from town and whether he was drunk or sober, she would insist that he find some means of paying the staff when her thoughts were interrupted by the excited voice of her daughter, crying, ‘Mama! Mama!’ and before the office door had opened she was on her feet and moving towards it.
‘What is it? What is it?’ She held Rebecca by her shoulders and looked into the beaming face.
‘It’s…it’s David. He’s come by cab. I…I saw him from the window. Come. Come.’ She was pulling her mother forward; but there was really no need, for Nancy Ann too was hurrying.
At the open door she looked onto the drive where a man was handing boxes and packages to Robertson, who, laden down but smiling, carried them up the steps. She watched the cabby raise his hat to his passenger, and then there he was, striding towards them, a tall handsome man, no vestige of the youth or boy left.
She put her hand firmly on Rebecca’s shoulder, to stop her running forward, and under her breath she said, ‘Wait. Wait.’
Then he was standing in front of them, looking from one to the other, and her being was filled with a mixture of emotions that was impossible to sort out, at least at the moment. And she could restrain Rebecca no longer, for her daughter now had her arms tight about his waist and was looking up at him, saying over and over again, ‘Oh, Davey, Davey. Oh, Davey, Davey.’
‘Well, let me in. Am I permitted?’ Even his voice had changed. It was deep, so pleasant sounding, and he had said, ‘Let me in.’ It was the first time he had entered this house by the front door. He had made no attempt to go round the back. Evidently he had told the cabby to stop on the drive. Thank God Dennison was away. Did David know he was away? How could he? He had just arrived. Or had he?
She motioned with her hand towards the door, asking the question now, ‘When did you arrive?’
‘Oh’—he was walking into the hall now, his arm around Rebecca’s shoulders—‘six days ago. No…no, a week.’
‘A week?’ she repeated questioningly. And, he turned fully and looked at her, saying, ‘Yes, a week. I’ve been doing business in Newcastle. But yesterday I booked into an hotel in Durham, and…and here I am.’ He turned from her and looked round the hall, his head back. But then Robertson’s voice came, saying, ‘Can I take your coat, Dav…Mr David?’
The two men exchanged glances for a moment. Then smiling, David said, ‘Yes, Henry, you can take my coat.’
The fact that Robertson had addressed him as if he were the young master of the house was not lost on Nancy Ann. And again she thought, Thank God Dennison is not here, for she realised she was being confronted by someone who would not be confined to the kitchen quarters ever again. But where should she receive him? In the drawing room of course.
As she attempted to speak casually, saying, ‘Well, come along in, and let me hear all your news,’ he turned from her and, going to where the parcels and boxes stood on the floor, he picked up two of the largest and, handing them to Robertson, said, ‘Pass them around, will you, please? There’s a number inside; they’ve all got names on. Are all the old ones still here?’
The man hesitated, glanced at Nancy Ann, then said, ‘One or two have left.’
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��Oh well, you’ll have to raffle those. And these two’—he pointed down to two small packages—‘these are for Mary and Agnes. Where are they?’
It was Rebecca who answered, saying, ‘It’s Mary’s time off. I think she has gone to the village. Agnes is upstairs. Shall I take them up?’
‘Yes, you can. But first of all, this one’s for you. Take that too. Can you manage it? Or perhaps Henry here will take it up for you. Open it upstairs, then let me see how they look.’
She went to take the parcel but, first, reaching up, she threw her arms around his neck and, pulling his head down to her, she kissed him; then, grabbing the long box, she ran from him. Robertson followed her, and he followed Nancy Ann into the drawing room.
Inside the room he put his hand behind him to close the door, then stood in that position for a full minute while he looked round the room. She was already standing at the fireplace when he moved slowly towards her, saying, ‘This is the first time I’ve seen this room. Splendid, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a nice room. Sit down.’ She pointed to a seat, an armchair, while she sat down at the end of the couch. And when he stared at her without speaking, she said, ‘If you’ve been back a week, why didn’t you call in before?’
‘As I said, I had business to do and, you may as well know, I have been here before, at least as far as the lodge. But—’ His face lost its pleasant look and now he said stiffly, ‘Your lord and master was at home and I was determined that this time I wasn’t going to crawl in through the kitchen.’
‘Oh, David.’
‘Why do you say, “Oh David” like that? Do you wish me always to keep to the kitchen quarters? In London I have a suite of rooms. In Newcastle I have a suite of rooms. In Durham I have booked into something similar. But here I have to crawl through the back door. No more. No more.’ He looked hard at her for a moment, then said, ‘I’m a comparatively rich man—do you know that?—and hope to be richer.’
‘I’m glad for you.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Knowing how things stand with him and that he’s on the verge of bankruptcy, you can honestly say the tables have turned, and you’re glad for…?’
‘Who said he was on the verge of bankruptcy?’
‘Who said? It’s a well-known fact. If you don’t know it, you must be the last person not to.’
When she bowed her head, he went on, ‘I can’t say I’m sorry, except that I wish you weren’t involved in it, that it wasn’t going to have repercussions on you. But his state of affairs is like salve on the sores that he inflicted on me. Can you understand that?’
Yes, she could understand it. But she couldn’t tell him so; she had to defend Dennison in some small way, so she said, ‘You can’t blame him entirely for what happened to you. It was your father’s doing in the first place.’
‘By all accounts my father would have been willing to marry Jennie, my mother. That was something, too, that was painful to discover. I knew from the beginning that I was different because I hadn’t a mother and father like other people. I was tied up in the corner of that roof; I wasn’t allowed out; I mustn’t go in the yard when the master was about; the master mustn’t set eyes on me or on Jennie. And who was Jennie? Jennie was the woman who slept with me. Jennie was the woman who cried herself to sleep night after night and who took me in her arms and hugged me to give herself comfort. But where were my mother and father? I got the answer to this when I was seven. One of the maids told me. For a long time after that I didn’t like Jennie. She was my mother and she hadn’t told me that she was my mother. But even then it hadn’t dawned on me that we were kept in that state because he ordained it. And you tell me he wasn’t to blame.’
She bowed her head now, saying softly, ‘I’m sorry. I…I blame myself. I should have done more.’
‘No, no.’ He put his hand out towards her. ‘Anyway, you saved my life. Before we had a penny you sent me to school. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t taken that brave step, because at that stage I was ready to do something desperate, even setting fire to this house.’ He poked his head towards her now and smiled, a wide smile, showing a mouthful of even white teeth. ‘Yes, yes’—he nodded at her—‘I had considered it. And I was situated in the best place to do it, wasn’t I? Up in the roof among all that junk and debris of years. But it would have been such a pity if I had, because I wouldn’t be sitting here now.’
When he paused and kept his eyes fixed on her, she said, ‘How long do you intend to stay?’
‘Oh, a week or so, perhaps a month. I must get back because things are moving so fast out there they could run away with me. And to think that I am where I am this day because my uncle was persuaded to buy three pieces of land, arid stretches of nothing. Fools’ land, they called it. Some of the sages laughed and said it would only show profit when the rains came, and, as everyone knew, water was rarer than gold, and still is in that part of the world. Oh, if a man could dig a well and find water, he’d be a millionaire overnight. Then shortly after my uncle died, in eighteen eighty-seven and eighty-eight gold was discovered. Oh, not in one of his patches, but not so far away. And from then the fever started. And now they’re rushing in like lemmings, but not to death, to life. It’s sad to think though that where one man will strike it rich a hundred might go on digging until their beards grow down to their pants.’
‘Has gold been found on your land?’
‘A little, on a bit I sold, but they expect more. Of course until recently, a man didn’t actually buy the land, he leased it. But it’s the same thing, because when the ore runs out it’s not worth the ownership.’
‘What do they call the place again?’
‘Kalgoorlie. It’s situated in the western part.’
‘What is it like to live there. Have you nice houses?’
He laughed at this. ‘Not what you would call nice.’ He stretched the word. ‘But they’ll come. You wouldn’t think much of it as a town if you were to see it: beer halls, dance halls, Chinese wash-houses. But civilisation is definitely making an inroad. We have our preachers…oh, of all denominations, and they’re going to build a big hospital there which will take care of the whole district, a certain religious order called Saint John of God. Oh’—he made a face now—‘we will soon be civilised. Our only real need is water, but that’ll come. Nothing can deter an Australian once he has set his mind on it. I’ve learned that much. They’re rough, tough, coarse individuals, but get on the right side of them and you couldn’t wish for better men; get on the wrong side of them, though, and God help you. But then, you look around and you ask who are the real Australians, for there’s Irish, Scots, Germans, Swedes, French, Chinese. Oh yes, Chinese. And, of course, our breed, and among our lot you’ll find the most experienced tricksters and swindlers.’
When he stopped talking he continued to stare at her, and after a while she said, ‘You seem to enjoy the life.’
‘I do. Yes, I do. It’s free; there’s no restriction. That’s the best part of it for me.’ The bitterness had come back into his voice, and he asked again, ‘Can you understand that? Being able to walk where I like, and now do as I like. Money is power. Before I had any I recognised that truth and determined, in some way, to get it. Through writing, I thought. And I still might: I’m halfway through a book on my particular small section of that vast country. Who knows but that some day it, too, may bring me fortune, and perhaps fame?’
She looked away from him towards the fire. She didn’t know if she liked this new David, this cocksure man. Yet, he wasn’t new: the facets of his character showing now had been there years ago, and were but replicas of his despised uncle, but with strength attached to them and an honesty that likely had been part of his own father’s character, a young man who would have gladly married beneath him for love.
She was startled when he jumped up from the chair, saying, ‘What’s the matter with me! Your present is still in the hall.’
; She watched him stride down the room, pull open the door and disappear for a moment; then he was walking back towards her, an oblong parcel in his hand. And bending over her, he placed it on her knees, saying, ‘I hope you like it.’
Slowly, she undid the wrapping to disclose a fancy striped-coloured box done up with ribbon. When she undid this and lifted the lid she stared down at the brilliant rose and blue patterned garment lying there. When she took it out she had to raise her arms well up in front of her, but even then the bottom of it fell in folds on the carpet. But now she stood up and held the garment to the side.
‘Well, do you like it?’
‘It’s…it’s beautiful. I…I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it a dressing gown?’
‘No, it is what is called a kimono, a Japanese kimono. All the work on it is hand-done. I bought the silk and an old Chinese woman did the work. It took her many months.’
The garment had a high collar, and now her fingers touched what looked at first like a buckle attached to it. Then she saw it was a brooch, and she turned her gaze on him and said, ‘This…this is a brooch?’
‘Yes, it is a brooch.’
She unpinned it, then let the garment drop across one arm while she examined the brooch where it lay in the palm of her hand.
It was of an intricate design in filigree bands of gold, and on them were two ruby-studded hearts. ‘Oh! David.’ She looked up at him. ‘I couldn’t accept…’
‘Don’t’—he jerked his head to the side—‘don’t for goodness’ sake be coy, not you. The question is, do you like it?’
Her lips trembled; she felt her teeth chattering against each other. She had to steady her whole body before she could say, ‘Yes, yes, of course I like it. Who wouldn’t?’
‘Well then, that’s done.’
She had to sit down. As she sank onto the couch she knew he was about to take a seat beside her. But she was saved from whatever this might lead to when the door burst open and Rebecca stood there poised.
The Parson's Daughter Page 39