“We’d better not say anything about Margot then. Don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Keith?”
“What?”
“You could ask for a job on Eumeralla.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “It’d be better than being a postman.”
“Ask Fiona to talk to Greg.”
“No, Gabby. I’ll do my own asking.”
***
Ruth hoped that she was imagining Eleanor’s coldness towards her. She finally caught her alone when she was collecting eggs. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”
“Is it?” Eleanor snarled.
Ruth was taken aback. “It wasn’t me who told Keith and Gabriella about Fiona.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Eleanor put another three eggs into the basket. “Do you think I’m blind as well as stupid? I’m astounded you had the nerve to turn up here today.” She went to the door of the coop and waited impatiently for Ruth to come out.
Hurt and bewildered, Ruth watched her stalk back to the house. She was thankful when Gabriella arrived at Eumeralla that evening. She had hardly seen Fiona, who spent most of the day alone with Alex. Gabriella stayed for an hour and then drove her to Keith’s house. When Ruth saw him she was so shocked she was unable to speak.
He smiled. “I’m like Dad.”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Gabriella isn’t, so I wasn’t ...”
Gabriella smiled ruefully. “No, I take after Mum’s side of the family. People who knew Dad when he was young, and haven’t seen Keith before, think he’s a ghost.”
Ruth saw the photograph of Laurence on the sideboard. It was the same one that had stood on Francesca’s bedside table.
“How did Margot meet our grandfather?” asked Gabriella.
“At a horse sale.”
Keith looked surprised. “What was she doing at a horse sale?”
“Buying horses for Kingower.”
***
Alex had been gone for three days and there had been no word from him. Virginia knew that if the news had been good he would have rung. She went out to the letter-box praying for a letter. It was empty and she almost cried. She was the treasurer of the local branch of the RSPCA and was supposed to attend a committee meeting that afternoon, but she rang and told them she had a cold. If anyone had asked her how Fiona was she would cry and she dreaded making a fool of herself. She felt useless. There was nothing to do. Her cleaning lady had cleaned and tidied the house and done the ironing, and the gardener had mown the lawn. Trying to occupy herself, she went into Alex’s office. On the walls were photographs of houses taken before and after the renovations he had organized. She sat at his desk and studied the details of a red brick house the estate agents had sent them.
‘We could really do something with this,’ she thought.
The estate agent had described it as suitable for demolition, suggesting that units could be built in its place, but she knew that she and Alex could turn it into a comfortable family home and sell it for twice what they paid for it. She studied the plans and looked at the photographs. ‘Paint the window frames and doors, new carpets, it needs a new kitchen and bathroom. Garden’s a bit bare, it needs trees and shrubs. We could build an extension.’ She was working out an estimate of what it would cost to renovate when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was a neighbour wanting to hear about their holiday, she was not going to answer it. When it rang persistently she opened the door.
Gabriella was on the doorstep. “I thought you might need me.”
Virginia burst into tears. Ashamed of her fragility she turned away, struggling to control herself. She felt Gabriella put her arms round her. “Silly me,” she said, dashing away her tears.
“It’s not silly at all,” whispered Gabriella, guiding her into the kitchen and pulling out a chair. “Sit down. Let’s have some tea.”
Virginia found a handkerchief. “Have you seen her?”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“Happy at the moment. I don’t know how long it will last.” When the kettle was on, Gabriella sat at the table. “Aunty Virginia ... she said you told her that her real mother was an alcoholic.”
“I did.” She wiped her eyes, unable to look at Gabriella’s expression. She knew that if she had denied it or fabricated some story, Gabriella would have wanted to believe her. She dreaded what she would think of her when she told the truth. Finding courage, she blew her nose. “Alex and I knew we had to tell her we weren’t her real parents one day, but we kept putting it off. Finding the right time to tell a child something that will disrupt their perceptions is hard. When she was eight we decided to tell her. It was terrible. She was upset because Alex wasn’t her father. We managed to comfort her ... well Alex did. Next morning I asked her how she felt about me not being her real mother. Children are so brutally honest. She said she was pleased, and asked if she and Alex could go and live with her real mother. So I told her that her real mother didn’t want her. I told her she was a drunk. I said she lived in a slum. I wanted her to love me. I tried to be a good mother, but I failed.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I did, Gabby. I was possessive. She once said that this house was her prison and I was her warder. If I’d had more wisdom I would have controlled my possessiveness. I tried to mould her. I smothered her. She would have been happy at Eumeralla and I denied it to her. Worse, I lied about Eleanor and made her unhappy.”
“It’s not that you wanted Fiona to be unhappy. You wanted her to be happy here – with you and Uncle Alex.”
“Yes. But she never was, Gabby. She never was.”
CHAPTER 12
Fiona shrieked. “My God, you were serious.”
Tom put the dead hen on the table.
“That was Blanche. You’ve strangled Blanche. Tom, how could you?”
“Not easily, Sis, but it had to be done. She was too old to lay.”
“Why couldn’t you have let her die of old age?”
“We can’t afford to keep anything that’s not useful. It was quick. Dad taught us how to wring their necks when we were young. I killed my first chook when I was ten. I was so upset I made a botch of it and she suffered. Learned a big lesson that day – one I never forgot. Take them gently out of the coop, walk away with them and then do it – fast. Don’t get sentimental or you’ll hash it up. We say good-bye to them the night before.”
“Do Eleanor and Juju wring their necks too?”
“No. Do you think we’re savages? When there’s killing to be done – the men do it. Now help me pluck her.”
Fiona gulped. “We’re not going to eat her, are we?”
“What do you want us to do? Bury her and sing hymns?” He patted her shoulder. “Come on, this is tonight’s meal. She’ll be tough, but better tough than wasted.”
Fiona decided to be pragmatic. “If we marinate her overnight she’ll be more tender.”
“What’s that?”
“You make a marinade with cider vinegar or lemon juice, olive oil, and herbs. We can have it tomorrow. If you pluck her and cut her up I can make a casserole.” She opened a cupboard. “Where are the casserole dishes?”
“We haven’t got any.”
“Well whatever you make casseroles in.”
He looked nonplussed. “We’ve never made casseroles.”
“Oh. Let’s go into town and buy some.”
“Sis, we can’t afford it.”
“I can,” she said gleefully. “It’s time I started paying my way.”
“Can we take your MG?”
“Yes. Would you like to drive it?”
He grinned. “What do you reckon?”
“I can’t get over how friendly everyone is,” said Fiona as she and Tom left the bank. “They all know you.”
“I couldn’t live anywhere where people were unfriendly, Sis.”
She hesitated in the doorway of the general store. “Eleanor won’t be offen
ded, will she? I don’t want her to think I’m interfering.”
Tom laughed. “She’s been nagging Dad to get new saucepans and things for ages.”
“Hi, Tom,” said the owner.
While he and Tom talked, Fiona explored the store and came back to the counter laden with saucepans, a frying pan, casserole dishes, a measuring jug and a set of sharp knives.
“Is this the lot?” Tom asked.
“No. I want tea towels and mixing bowls.”
The owner helped them carry everything to the MG.
Tom enjoyed having Fiona around. Since her arrival the standard of cooking had dramatically improved. She had introduced them to garlic, yogurt, a variety of herbs, olive oil and real coffee. The Sunday roasts had been transformed. Leg of lamb was now baked on a bed of rosemary, and roast beef was served with horseradish sauce. To the basic salads of lettuce, tomatoes and cucumber, she added carrots, beetroot and potatoes mixed with yogurt, mint and garlic. She taught them how to toss lettuce leaves and make dressings using cider vinegar and olive oil. Coffee no longer came out of a jar, and at mealtimes the kitchen was full of the aroma of ground beans. Before Fiona’s arrival the only herbs in the garden had been mint and parsley. Now two rosemary bushes were flourishing, and there were clumps of thyme, sage, basil and oregano. The garlic she had planted was showing green shoots.
Although she was a year older than Tom was, she was like a younger sister. He and June were equals. June could do most of the things that he could, but Fiona had to be taught. Her joy when she had learnt to ride had touched him and he was proud that he had succeeded where her uncle had failed. She still had a great deal to learn and when she rode he had to accompany her, but she cantered round Eumeralla fearlessly. She was quickly approaching the stage where she and the horse seemed as one, although it would be a year before she would be able to manage a more highly-spirited mount.
“You know, Sis, for someone who’s spent most of her life in cities, you’ve taken to country life faster than I would have thought was possible,” he told her as they drove back to Eumeralla. “Soon I’ll be able to teach you to round up sheep.”
She looked out of the window at the fields. “I belong here. The years I spent away were an accident.”
As Tom had predicted, Eleanor was delighted by the things Fiona bought. Clearing the cupboards of the old saucepans she replaced them with the new ones.
“What can we use the old tea towels for, Mum?” asked Neil.
“Nothing,” she replied. “They’re not even fit to dry the dogs with.”
Tom sat at the table on the verandah and read the paper. “Hey, Neil, look!” he said coming into the kitchen. “A house in Dalby. Just what we’ve been waiting for. It’s got three bedrooms.”
Fiona looked puzzled. “I thought you were never leaving Eumeralla.”
“We’re not,” said Tom. “We want to live in a house that’s in Dalby.”
“What are you going to do? Pull it down and rebuild it here?”
“Sort of.” Neil laughed. “When someone buys an old weatherboard house and they want to demolish it and build a new one, it’s cheaper to get someone to take it away and move it to a new location. Lots of newly-married couples buy a block of land and wait for one of these houses to become available. All they’ve got to pay for is its relocation. They – ”
“Now look here, boys,” said Eleanor. “If a flushing toilet costs too much then we can’t afford to move a house here just so you can have somewhere private to take your girlfriends.”
“We haven’t got any girlfriends at the moment,” said Neil.
“It won’t be long before you do. So we’re not – ”
“Dad said – ”
“I don’t care. If I can’t have a flushing toilet you can’t have a house, and that’s final.”
***
As Greg was riding towards the paddock at the end of the day, he saw Keith approaching slowly on his motor bike.
“Mr. Mitchell, could I talk to you, please,” he asked, turning off the engine.
“What about?”
Keith propped the bike against a tree. “Would you be willing to give me a job?”
The irony that Laurence’s son was asking him for a job saddened Greg. “Doing what?”
“Anything.”
Greg dismounted and led the horse into the paddock. “Can you ride?”
“I can learn.”
“Know anything about wheat, sheep and wool?” he asked, removing the bridle.
“What I’ve read in books and what Dad taught me.”
“We do need help,” Greg said thoughtfully, not wanting to dishearten Keith with an immediate refusal. “But, I can’t afford someone full-time. I sure couldn’t afford to pay you what you get at the Post Office. After we’ve paid the bills there’s hardly anything left. Most of the money goes straight back into the land.”
“What if I bought my way in – like buying a share in a co-operative? I could sell my Mum’s house – ”
“Steady on, Keith. It’s risky.” He undid the girth. “One bad season and you’ve had it.”
“I want to take the risk.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. I love the land and I’ve got faith in you.”
Greg smiled. “I can’t stop droughts or floods. I can’t make it rain at the right time just by looking at the sky and praying.”
“No, but your methods are right. You planted lots of trees, practise crop rotation and feed the land.”
“Yes, and everything I do I learned from your grandfather.”
“Did you like him?”
“Yes. He could have been a snob, but he wasn’t. All his workers had good living conditions and wages. Unusually for round here they had servants – a cook, gardener and a housekeeper, but they were more like part of the family. Your dad’s grandparents had been servants in England and were badly treated, so when they came to Australia they were determined to treat their workers well. They drummed that code into their own children. Even though your dad and Johnny boarded at the most exclusive boys’ school in Sydney, never once did they or Virginia make me feel inferior. I was their friend, and when I dined at Acacia it was at the same table. I’d like to help you, Keith, if I can.”
“Can I ask you one question?”
“Go on.”
“This might sound impertinent, but do you all own Eumeralla outright?”
“Yes.”
Keith stroked the horse. “So, if there is a run of bad seasons and the crops get wiped out and the sheep die, provided we can feed ourselves, I’ll have somewhere to live?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want to take that risk.”
“The house has only got three bedrooms,” said Greg taking the reins and saddle into the tack room. “There’s no space for another bed in Tom’s and Neil’s room. Where would you live?”
“I could buy a caravan.”
Greg washed and dried the bit. “I’ve just thought of something. Come with me.”
They walked along the creek. Greg stopped at a log cabin which was surrounded by trees, and grass that was knee high. “This is the first house Eleanor’s ancestor built on Eumeralla. I used to live here with my dad. We could fix it up for you.” He smiled. “I was used to living in a crude caravan pulled by two horses ... this was luxury. It didn’t leak when it rained and I had a room all to myself. Needs new windows, but the roof’s okay. There are two rooms. No kitchen – my dad and I used to cook meat and fish over the fireplace, but you’d eat with us and use our bathroom. There’s a tap and a sink. Want to take a look inside?”
“Yes.”
They went through the long grass. “Snakes are hibernating, but be careful when we go inside. Don’t disturb anything as they might have found a way in.”
He opened the door. A carriage and dray took up most of the room. “When we got our first car, we kept those in case we ran out of petrol. Now we keep it for fun. Hazel’s friends sometimes want a ride in it wh
en they come for the weekends.”
Keith looked around and smiled. “Yes, I could live here. Doesn’t need much ... just cleaning and fly-screens over the windows and a fly-screen door. How old is it?”
“About a hundred years.”
“Were Eleanor’s family the first owners of Eumeralla?”
Greg nodded. “There’s a convict ancestor somewhere, but I don’t know if the first Osborne was a squatter or a free settler.”
“A pioneer’s house,” said Keith. “It’ll give me a good feeling to be living in a piece of history. When did you start working at Acacia?”
“As soon as I left school. Your grandfather needed someone who knew about horses. He saw I was wanting to learn and get on so he promoted me.” He shook his head. “I never would have thought that his grandson would be living here. I owe a lot to your dad and Virginia. When I came to Eumeralla I’d never been to school. Mum taught me to read and write and add up and subtract, but that was all. I couldn’t multiply or divide, I knew nothing about history or geography or literature.
“Because Laurence, Johnny and Virginia went to school I wanted to go too. So I went with Virginia. The teachers were appalled at my ignorance and the children teased me.” He looked rueful. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell a girl, specially one younger than me, how hopeless I was at lessons, but she found out and she and her mum taught me. When Laurence and Johnny came home from Sydney for the holidays they lent me their books and gave me lessons too. By the end of the year I’d learnt so much I passed all the exams except art.” He sighed. “Queer how things turn out. Come to the house and talk to Eleanor. If she agrees, we’ll have to consult with Tom, Neil and Juju.”
Keith held out his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Call me Greg. Tom and Neil will be crazy about your bike.”
“I’ll sell that too if – ”
“No. It’d be useful in the wet season when the cars and trucks get bogged.”
***
Eumeralla - Secrets, Tragedy and Love Page 17