At the end of the summer it was Mrs Bourke, the Governor’s wife, who was overcome by the heat. She took to her bed, her thin sweet face that had been slowly growing more and more waxy and delicate turned the colour of candle tallow, and in three short weeks she was dead.
Gilbert wanted to keep the news from Eugenia. Mrs Ashburton said bluntly, ‘How?’ So the sad information was imparted, and Eugenia said, ‘Gilbert, if I die when the baby is born I would like to be buried near to Mrs Bourke. She was my dearest friend in this wilderness.’
‘What absolute poppycock!’ Gilbert exploded with outrage. He didn’t know what else to say. He hated melancholy, he would have protected Eugenia from it, if he could. Her white face looked like a pearl in the shaded room. She was entirely too quiet. Why didn’t she cry or have the vapours or something, and get rid of her grief?
He could only tell her that the second baby would be easier than the first. Hadn’t Phil Noakes said so?
And there was to be absolutely no question of her going to Mrs Bourke’s funeral. She could have Peabody pick a sheaf of flowers from the garden and he would take them to Parramatta.
Eugenia stirred at last. ‘I will choose them myself.’
This task, however, was not finished, for before Peabody could complete cutting the lilies and the delphiniums, Eugenia had to tell him apologetically that she would have to go indoors, she had a sudden severe attack of cramp.
Her baby, a fragile little female creature not much bigger than a tadpole, with her mother’s enormous smoky-blue eyes, was born that night. She was six weeks too early, but she had a lusty cry. When the tiny head lay in the crook of her arm, Eugenia had a feeling of tenderness so deep that it was almost pain. She had not felt like that about her first baby. She wondered why.
‘I want her called Victoria,’ she said.
‘Such a big name for such a shrimp,’ said Mrs Ashburton.
‘If she is little she will need an important name.’
‘Then that’s settled,’ Gilbert said.
Chapter XIX
BY THE TIME THE grapes were ready for picking the baby had overcome the disadvantage of her premature birth and was thriving. To Eugenia’s delight, she had been able to feed her for the important first weeks of her life, after which the change to cow’s milk was made with reasonably little trouble.
The cow Daisy, a placid brindled creature with a crooked horn, was milked morning and evening by Ellen who had taken on this task at her own request. She didn’t want any of those convicts whose hands might not have been clean touching the milk that was to feed the new baby. Little Victoria was her especial charge. After all, Mrs Jarvis had Rosie, and Christopher too, by tacit consent, since he screamed when he was separated from Rosie.
Eugenia’s strong possessiveness about Victoria still puzzled her. The little large-eyed creature was ineffably precious. She was almost secretive about her love for the baby, and kept all mention of her arrival out of her letters to Colm.
How could she have told a lover that she was having another man’s child? How could she inflict such pain on someone who was as sensitive as herself? Better that they should both bury themselves deeper in their dream and write things like,
‘Yarrabee has acquired a ghost. I thought only old houses had them, but I can swear I sometimes see a tall thin Irish shadow on the wall…’
But how explain that she was aware of the ghost less frequently now that she had the new baby to occupy so much of her time? She thought that the intensity of her feeling for Victoria was due to the fact that she had had to accept her as a substitute for her lover. If she couldn’t have Colm and that vividly remembered delight he had given her, she would pour all her emotion into maternal love. If was a defensive device nature had created in her.
She was really surprisingly contented. A return of savage heat as late as the middle of March affected her far less than usual. She was too busy to think too much about it. Baby must be kept as cool as possible, and Christopher, or Kit, as he was beginning to call himself, must be taught to use up less energy in the middle of the day when the heat was at its worst, otherwise he was too cantankerous to be endured by evening.
It was fortunate that Sarah’s latest box arrived from England at this time. It took everyone’s mind off the sweltering weather.
They all clustered round it, Eugenia on her knees on the floor, Mrs Ashburton poking and prying, the maids giving gasps of excitement as the contents were displayed.
A length of grey taffeta—Eugenia made a mental note to write and tell Sarah that grey was a little insipid in this country. One was outshone by the birds.
An exquisitely fine lacy shawl for Baby. A jack-in-the-box for Kit (he screamed with excitement), and a wooden doll for Rosie. Sarah was always eminently fair.
There were lengths of striped gingham for dresses for the maids, and a great assortment of ribbons and coloured silk. And books, which Eugenia seized with delight. And at the bottom of the box half a dozen cravats for Gilbert.
Eugenia, flushed with excitement, sat back on her heels.
‘Kit, darling, fetch Papa. Show him your new toy. Tell him there’s a gift for him.’
She clapped her hands with pleasure when the little boy understood and toddled off calling, ‘Papa, Papa,’ in his high voice.
Presently he returned, followed by Gilbert.
‘What’s this? When did this arrive?’
‘Not half an hour ago. I’m afraid we have made short work of it. Look, I am to have a new gown and you have six new cravats.’
Gilbert folded one round his neck consideringly.
‘Seems I’ll be the best-dressed man in Parramatta.’
‘And about time. You were getting decidedly shabby. Perhaps we might give a dinner party?’
‘Papa, Papa, look!’ Kit cried, holding up his toy.
Gilbert nodded, but his eyes were on Eugenia.
‘You’re looking very pretty. I believe you’re as excited as the children.’
‘Indeed I am. I do so love a box from England. Look at these books. They’ll last all the winter.’ She brushed damp curls from her brow. ‘It’s so hot. As usual, I can’t believe winter exists in this country.’
‘But you’re getting accustomed to the heat, aren’t you? You have quite a colour. You used to be so pale when the temperature was this high.’
‘I admit I can stand it better. That doesn’t mean I like it any better.’
Gilbert laughed and swung her to him. Briefly, his hand lay over one breast. She could not quite prevent her tremor as a shatteringly vivid recollection of Colm’s exactly similar action that long-ago day by the lake came to her.
Her face contorted. She had thought she had successfully forgotten that forbidden pleasure. Gilbert dropped his hand. He had seen her look of pain. She was sorry about that. She was afraid she hurt him too often, and she could never tell him why. It was a pity, because at moments like this she could not help thinking what a pleasant family they were, and that if her marriage did not hold the rapture that only Colm could have brought to it, it was probably as successful as most.
The idea for a dinner party was discussed again, but Gilbert had had a much more ambitious idea. He wanted to take a consignment of wine to Sydney and proposed doing so by ship and having Eugenia accompany him. The sea air would do her good. So would a little social life in Sydney. She must pack her prettiest gowns.
Eugenia’s excitement was spoiled by her reluctance to leave the baby. She wanted to go, of course, but how was she to tear herself away from the cradle?
Gilbert was impatient. Privately he intended this to be a second marriage trip. It was time he and Eugenia grew closer again. She had recovered from the baby’s birth, and there was an air of maturity about her. After Kit’s birth she had still seemed young and girlish, but now, suddenly, she had this indefinable air of being completely a woman. Gilbert found it exciting but tantalizing, for there was too often a far-off look in her eyes that he didn’t understand.
It was her eternal homesickness he supposed. He must make renewed efforts on this journey, to persuade her to fall in love with this entirely wonderful country.
‘The baby will thrive just as much without you,’ he said in answer to her protestations. ‘You know that Ellen dotes on her. If it comes to that, aren’t you worrying about Kit, too?’
She frowned a little.
‘No, I don’t think I will ever need to worry about him. He’s so healthy. And Mrs Jarvis takes such good care of him. But he has an awfully strong will, Gilbert. He has very naughty tantrums. You will have to take him in charge shortly.’
Gilbert laughed. ‘He’s only a baby.’
‘He’s nearly two years old. It’s time he learned to obey.’
‘We’ll settle that on our return. Young Christopher shall learn his manners. I must confess I dote on the little fellow.’
‘He’s exactly like you, that’s why,’ she teased him. ‘You’re seeing yourself all over again.’
‘Am I as vain as that?’
She gave her little curling smile that always delighted him.
‘Perhaps. At least you boast enough. About your wine, your home, your family. You quite embarrass me sometimes.’
‘I’m an honest fellow. I say what is true, no more, no less. With you, I have to guess at all your unsaid thoughts.’
Eugenia evaded answering that by saying, ‘When I come back I intend to take over Mrs Bourke’s charities. There’s a great deal to be done. I shall need to drive to Parramatta at least once a week.’
‘Well, that’s a fine way of not answering me.’
She laughed and said mischievously,
‘I am very proud of my home and my boastful husband and my pretty babies. There. Is that better?’
It was unfortunate that Kit caught a cold just before they were due to leave. It made him fretful, and he screamed loudly when he saw his mother dressed in her travelling clothes.
‘Mamma! no! Mamma, no!’
Eugenia gathered him into her arms where he clung to her, sobbing.
‘Put the boy down,’ Gilbert ordered. ‘You’re perfectly right, he is spoiled.’
‘No, Papa! No, Papa!’ The little boy’s yells grew to a crescendo as he was taken from his mother’s arms.
‘Gilbert, he isn’t well. His forehead feels hot. I don’t think I should leave him.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with him but a sniffle. Christopher, stop that noise at once.’
Such an imperious voice from his father struck enough awe in the child to dry up his sobs. He stood hiccuping miserably, his angry blue eyes fixed imploringly on his mother. He was very flushed, but that was probably from his rage.
Eugenia tried to loosen the hot fingers that clung to hers.
‘Gilbert, I am a little alarmed. Could we not postpone our trip and catch the next vessel?’
‘That’s out of the question. I have my wine being loaded on board. I want to see that the barrels are lashed down securely. What sort of a wine can I present if it’s been tossed all ways on the voyage? It has to be treated carefully, like a baby. I’ve explained that to you before.’
‘Your son is a baby, too.’
‘And I don’t want him mollycoddled. Where are the servants? Get Ellen to take him to the nursery.’
‘Now I wasn’t being too hard,’ Gilbert said as they sat side by side in the buggy. ‘The child has a cold, and he was shrewd enough to play on it. You told me yourself that I needed to take him in hand. So don’t sulk now that I have made a beginning.’
‘Anyway,’ he added presently, in a milder voice, ‘he has Mrs Jarvis, who has plenty of common sense, and Mrs Ashburton.’
‘Mrs Ashburton!’ Eugenia said worriedly. ‘Haven’t you noticed how much wine she drinks? She’s practically in a stupor every night.’
‘What of it? She’s an old woman. It comforts her. I like to see her enjoy it.’
‘And you encourage her, my love.’
‘Certainly.’ Suddenly Gilbert was in a good humour again. ‘I encourage everybody to drink Yarrabee wine. I intend to have it served at the captain’s table every evening of the voyage. And I hope you will show the ladies in Sydney that a glass of sauterne or a light burgundy is a very suitable drink for the fair sex.’
The firm conviction that she should not have come clung to Eugenia until they were on board the Tasman Star. Then the cool sea breezes and the lift of the deck beneath her feet exhilarated her and her anxiety began to fade. Gilbert was perfectly right. She was a too anxious mother. The babies would do very well without her. She needed the stimulation of a sea voyage. It was so wonderful to get away from the parching dusty heat, and to be surrounded by sparkling blue water. She was a good sailor. She enjoyed the dip and swell of the waves. There was room in the little cabin to unpack and hang her gowns. She would wear her prettiest one tonight, and drink Gilbert’s wine to please him. She would even try not to think too much about her children.
It was possible that she could even escape from her dream about Colm O’Connor, and the letter that came every two or three months, by whatever means Colm could find to send it. Her own replies were a long satisfying outpouring of her spirit. She sometimes wondered if she could exist without this mental communication. It had become a necessary release.
She had moments of despising Gilbert for being so entirely unaware of her secret life.
And moments of deep remorse, when she determined to make greater efforts to please him.
The trip was a great success. They stayed with the Kellys, who now had five children, visited other old friends, talked round dinner tables until the early hours. Everything was growing so rapidly. The country was being opened up, and men such as Sturt and Hume were beginning to explore. There was talk of the possibility of finding gold. The future was unknowable.
Anticipating its riches produced a constant state of frenetic excitement. It seemed that there were valleys thousands of miles away to the south where grapes might be grown even more successfully than in the Hunter River area. But in the meantime there was nothing to stop the enjoyment of Yarrabee wines. Gilbert had tremendous pleasure in persuading even the hardened rum and whisky drinkers to pronounce favourably on his claret.
On their last evening in Sydney, Gilbert presented Eugenia with diamond ear-rings to match her brooch. She made herself shut out the thought of the unpaid debt to Mrs Ashburton, and thanked Gilbert warmly. The ear-rings were beautiful. She would have the greatest pride in wearing them.
She also made a private resolution to be less critical of Gilbert—for instance it had been mean-minded of her to think of Mrs Ashburton’s debt. Gilbert was impulsively generous and deserved a generous response. She must also be practical and philosophical about the more intimate aspect of this gift. Gilbert would expect a loving wife in his arms tonight, and there was no use in allowing her whole body to stiffen with the knowledge of her disloyalty to Colm. This was how her life was, and she must now decide to make the best of it.
Besides, she had lately formed the surprising notion that if Colm were not so vividly in her mind, she might be able to turn to Gilbert whole-heartedly. That old nightmare was no longer so irrevocably associated with him. It was strange how it was slipping away. All the same, she was desperately eager to get home to her children. And to her writing desk.
Her thoughts were pleasurably occupied with the possibility of there being a letter awaiting her at Yarrabee as the Tasman Star dropped anchor in the little harbour at Parramatta. Ellen had instructions that if any traveller arrived, as one had done several times previously, carrying a communication from ‘a friend in Bathurst’ she was to take personal charge of the letter until the mistress returned.
Unexpectedly, Ellen was one of the little group waving from the jetty.
Eugenia saw her at once and clutched at Gilbert’s arm.
‘Gilbert, there’s Ellen! Who can have given her permission to leave Baby? I wish they would hurry with the gangway. I can’t wait to hear a
bout the children. It’s been so long. Not a word for three weeks.’
‘You knew that had to be, my love. Be careful! Don’t fall overboard.’
Gilbert pulled her back as she leaned too far, struck by a stabbing fear. For she had suddenly noticed that Ellen’s round face was wet with tears. And Mrs Ashburton, dressed in black, stood beside her.
‘There’s something wrong,’ she said. ‘It must be Kit! You remember he had a cold. Oh, please don’t let it be—’ She was biting her gloved fingers, her mind filled with all the small graves that were talked about so much, with Marion Noakes’ empty face, with Bess Kelly stoically filling a too suddenly vacated cradle.
Gilbert leaned forward, calling vigorously,
‘Mrs Ashburton! Everything all right?’ He put an arm round Eugenia. ‘You jump to conclusions too quickly.’ But his grip was unnaturally hard. He had felt the tension, too. There wasn’t a smile among the small waiting group of people.
He called again, attempting a joke. ‘Don’t tell me that Yarrabee has burnt to the ground.’
Mrs Ashburton started to say something, but her voice came out in an unintelligible croak. She was a great plump crow in her black garments in the brilliant sunshine.
The gangway was secured. The passengers began to press down it. A hand held Eugenia back.
‘Mrs Massingham.’ It was the captain. His round red-bearded face was suddenly different, seared with compassion.
‘Will you step into my cabin? I have some news for you.’
‘Tell us here,’ Eugenia said tightly. ‘It’s our little boy, isn’t it?’
‘Not your little boy, ma’am. He’s recovering. It’s your baby. Your friends have sent a message asking me to break the news.’
Eugenia put her face in her hands. The blackness surged up inside her. Behind her closed eyelids a picture was printed so vividly, that she might have been standing in the dried cracked bed of the creek, reading the inscription burnt into the crooked cross. The child’s grave. And the letters now read Victoria…
Dorothy Eden Page 21