‘That’s nice, my dear. But why? With your good-looking husband I scarcely thought you would have time for a thought for your friends.’
The airiness of Mrs Ashburton’s voice was not to be misunderstood. She had a clever way of prying into people’s secrets. Eugenia answered with perfect good humour.
‘Gilbert insists on my leading such a lady’s life that I have a great deal of time for my friends. I sometimes wonder how time went by so quickly in England when I did no more than I do now. But I warn you I have a great many activities planned for this weekend. We are going to play cards and have music after dinner this evening. Tomorrow we are to have a picnic at the lake. It’s five miles away, and I haven’t yet been there. But there are the famous black swans to be seen, and it will be cool by the water. The gentlemen will take their fishing rods. Then on Sunday we will all go to church, and in the evening some friends from Parramatta are coming out for a cold supper. On Monday my husband wants to show the men over his property. They will take their guns and hope to shoot some kangaroos that raided the vineyard the other morning. So we women will sit on the verandah and sew and talk, and in the evening I thought it would be amusing to roll back the rugs in the drawing-room and dance a little. You remember how we used to do this on board ship?’
She paused, and said anxiously, ‘How does all this sound to you? I do want to be a good hostess.’
Mrs Ashburton said in her dry manner, ‘Don’t worry, my lamb, you’ll please your husband.’
There was just a few minutes to see that Bess and Marion were comfortably settled before it was time to dress for dinner.
While Eugenia was doing so, Gilbert came in.
Apart from a formal greeting, in front of the newly arrived guests, they had not spoken since Gilbert’s return.
Now he was anxious to kiss her lovingly and comment on her appearance. He seemed to be in the highest spirits.
‘How have you been while I have been away? Dull?’
‘I have hardly had time. We’ve all been so busy preparing for this weekend. Oh, I engaged another maid temporarily. She will wait on table so that Mrs Jarvis is free to remain in the kitchen. Her name is Ellen and she seems brighter than Phoebe.’
‘Splendid. Keep her permanently, if she suits.’
‘Gilbert, you are too generous to me. Isn’t that extravagant?’
‘Don’t worry about extravagance. I had a successful trip with more orders than I could fill. Next year, with more vines bearing, I’ll be able to increase output. I must get Yarrabee wine established before those fellows on the Hunter River get ahead of me. But I didn’t come back to talk business to my wife. Where’s Jane? Isn’t she helping you to dress?’
‘I’ve sent her to Mrs Ashburton. She has already unpacked for the other ladies.’
Gilbert laid his lips on the back of her neck.
‘Then you must allow your husband to help you.’
‘You putting up my hair!’ She had to laugh merrily, the thought was so amusing, but she wished he would leave her to dress quietly. The pleasant spacious room always seemed too small when he was in it.
‘You’re charming when you laugh,’ he said. ‘Is it true that you didn’t miss me at all?’
‘Why, of course I did.
‘And you were not too afraid at nights?’
‘Oh, I have got over that silly childish nervousness. I am sure you will be glad to hear it.’
‘Yes, I am glad to hear it. But not altogether. I like protecting you.’
Eugenia looked at his too bright eyes.
‘Gilbert, have you been sampling the wine for dinner?’
‘Do I seem intoxicated? Then it must be your effect on me. Supposing I were to help you to undress instead of dress?’
She took a step backwards.
‘Oh, no! There isn’t time.’
‘There should always be time for love.’
‘But at six o’clock in the evening when we have a house full of guests! Truly, you are absurd.’
She kept her voice light and friendly, so that it was unreasonable that the fire should go out of his eyes in that way. As if he could have expected her to be tumbled on the bed at such an inconvenient time.
She tried to make amends.
‘I had intended to wear this gown. What do you think?’
He looked at the pale grey silk abstractedly, and then told her to put it on, so that he could judge better. When she had done this and pinned up her heavy dark hair, he ordered her to walk in front of him, then to sit down with the wide skirt spreading gracefully about her.
Now he was no longer looking at her as a lover, but critically, as if she were to walk on to a stage, before an audience.
‘Yes. I like that,’ he said at last. ‘I must buy you some jewellery.’
‘Oh, no, Gilbert. Get your vineyard established first. I have my pearls, and my little fob watch. That’s enough.’
‘It’s far from enough. Besides, I would like you to wear my jewels. But in the meantime you look very well.’
The waist of the silk dress seemed to have grown a little too tight. It was uncomfortable. She wondered if she could sit through dinner in it, maintaining the elegance Gilbert so admired. She had a feeling of despair as she realized that she preferred this discomfort to the time later tonight when she unhooked and unbuttoned herself and waited for that over-brilliant look to come back to her husband’s eyes.
It was cooler tonight. There was even a hint of frost in the air which seemed to be a minor miracle. The dining table, set with silver and crystal which gleamed in the candlelight, would have done credit to a fine London dining-room. Mr Wentworth looked particularly handsome in his dinner jacket. His friend, Mr Blaxland, had a stubborn weather-beaten face that did not lend itself to meticulous dressing. Doctor Noakes wore a jacket that was unashamedly shiny with age, but Edmund Kelly was natty, and Gilbert looked smoothed down and unfamiliar in his formal clothes.
The ladies had put on a brave show, especially Mrs Ashburton in a lavender gown with many layers of lace and her usual slipping cashmere shawl. Mrs Wentworth was elegant but unobtrusive, Marion Noakes just on the verge of dowdiness, and dear Bess Kelly too plump for her bright blue satin.
The conversation was animated. At first it was entirely congratulatory as the appointments of Yarrabee were discussed. An oasis, a miracle, a remarkable piece of admirable extravagance.
‘Even if you are running before you can walk, Massingham,’ said Mr Wentworth, ‘I maintain you have done right. This kind of thing will encourage the better type of settler to Australia. I hope you are writing letters to England describing your home, Mrs Massingham.’
‘Writing letters! She never stops. Do you, my love?’
‘I miss my sisters, I confess,’ Eugenia said. ‘And there is so much to tell them. Sarah wants to know about houses and clothes, and Milly, who is still in the schoolroom, about the strange animals. Papa about the social system—’
‘You mean the convicts?’ said Marion Noakes in her caustic voice.
‘Not at all,’ Gilbert replied quickly. ‘Eugenia has nothing whatever to do with that unfortunate side of the colony.’
‘A side that is scarcely unfortunate for you, my dear fellow.’ Mr Wentworth’s voice was bland. ‘Where would Yarrabee be without them?’
‘I agree. I merely meant that as far as my wife is concerned they don’t exist. I have asked her never to go near their quarters. Especially after her experience on our wedding night.’
‘We heard all about that, Eugenia,’ Bess Kelly said admiringly. ‘I declare I could never have done what you did. Gilbert said you were nearly killed.’
‘And to think we worried about her being such a novice.’ Eugenia had noticed lately that Marion Noakes’ cynicism was softened when directed at her. ‘There was no need to. Was there, Gilbert? You got a wife with steel in her.’
‘Shouldn’t expect Gilbert to choose any other kind. You ought to know him better than that, my dear.’ Philip Noakes raised his gl
ass. ‘Vintage or nothing, eh, Massingham? Let’s drink to our hostess.’
Eugenia was embarrassed that her lips trembled when she tried to smile. She was delighted and flattered that these, her new friends, all approved of her. They must never know, no one must ever know, of her foolish nervousness of the dark, and her terrible divided emotions about the convicts, one part of her hating and resenting the element of danger they represented, the other full of a profound pity for them.
For this reason she had obeyed Gilbert and had not gone near their quarters.
But now Marion was saying, ‘By keeping away from them, can you really pretend they aren’t there?’
‘No. Not altogether,’ she answered. ‘But they are well-treated here.’ It was true. There had never been any outcry, or disturbance in that forbidden area beyond the stables and cowsheds. At least, not to her knowledge. Only the spilt glass of milk when one of them had dared to set foot in the kitchen.
‘Better treated than they deserve to be, the brutes,’ Mrs Ashburton said comfortably. ‘Eugenia, can you possibly tell me how this syllabub is made, or must I seek information from the kitchen?’
‘From the kitchen, I am afraid. I am quite useless as a cook.’
‘My wife has more important things to do,’ Gilbert interposed, ‘such as entertaining us to some music after dinner.’
‘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.
Chapter XII
SHE WAS IN BED, the lamplight was shining on her face. She turned her face away and someone came forward to move the lamp.
Dorothy Eden Page 13