The woman flushed even redder and swept out without a word, gesturing brusquely for Louise to follow. She led her to her husband’s study and shut the door, her chest heaving. ‘You may leave at once.’ She scrabbled in a drawer and finding a pound note, thrust it at Louise. ‘Please go and pack. I shall send for one of the men to take you into town. And don’t ask me for a reference.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you for anything.’ Louise barely restrained herself from slamming the door on her way out.
Chapter Eight
Charles Ashford paced up and down the Barclay’s sitting room, barely restraining the urge to throw something. He could hardly believe his sister’s temerity and stupidity in running away as she had, and her complete defiance of his instructions. Then there was her lack of consideration for the Barclay family. Mary Barclay had been so distressed when he arrived at Sherborne, it had been left to James to explain Louise’s deceitful flight.
To his credit James had glossed over the worst of it–the things she’d to all intents and purposes stolen, regardless of the money left in payment. Mary seemed not to care about the lost possessions at all. The poor woman was hardly coherent, apart from pleading with him to forgive them for not preventing Louise’s rash behaviour.
‘What is there to forgive, Cousin Mary?’ Charles bit back his anger in an effort to be gracious. ‘You’ve done more than enough for that ungrateful baggage. Why should you have suspected what she was planning? When I find her she’ll feel the sting of my whip, I can assure you.’
Mary looked at him, her face pale and pinched with anxiety. She seemed almost afraid of him and he battled to conceal his impatience. Thankfully James seemed to have kept his wits about him.
‘Oh, if we could only know that she’s safe.” Mary was saying. “I could forgive her for behaving so badly, if we could be assured of that. But when I think of her travelling out there, alone and unprotected, with all the ruffians who are on the roads these days, to say nothing of the blacks–and no-one seems to have seen her. It’s as if she has disappeared into thin air.’
For James and the two boys had already searched and asked innumerable questions of travellers and townspeople, with no success. Charles could only hope the girl hadn’t been raped or murdered, or both. Even if she reached this position she was going to without mishap, she would have compromised her good name by travelling unchaperoned. It was difficult to ask questions without creating a scandal, but he was beginning to think a possible scandal was of secondary importance to Louise’s safety.
~*~
Charles borrowed a fresh horse from his cousins and rode into Gainsford. James had told him that he’d already asked discreet questions of the townspeople, but he would have to ask them again. Surely someone had seen her.
An Indian hawker was camping beside the river, his bony, overworked horse hobbled beside his overburdened wagonette. This would be just the person to ask, as the hawkers travelled widely and missed nothing and most of them never seemed to forget a face.
‘Yes, I remember Missy Ashford.’ The man smiled at Charles ingratiatingly. ‘I visit Sherborne on Friday. I bring mail from Gainsford–there two letters for Missy Ashford. She take them and go away–she not buy anything.’
‘You haven’t seen her since then? Travelling on the road, perhaps?’
‘No, sir. She has run away?’
‘We believe she went riding and got herself lost. I would appreciate it if you could keep an eye out for her. Should you happen to see her send me word at this address.’ Charles quickly scribbled his name and address on a scrap of paper. ‘I will make it worth your while.’
The hawker looked at the piece of paper slyly. ‘If she lost, maybe black trackers find her?’
‘We’re about to send for the black trackers. But in the meantime, if you see or hear of anything...’
The hawker put the piece of paper in his pocket. ‘I will look out for her. I travel many miles, I see many people. I never forget.’
Charles could see he was suspicious of the story, but that was too bad. ‘Good man.’ He swung into his saddle. ‘I hope we find her before it’s too late.’
~*~
Gainsford yielded nothing. It seemed she hadn’t ridden this way, or at least not by road. Charles decided to retrace his steps to Westwood, after buying some food from the storekeeper to replenish his saddlebags. He camped by the road that night and embarked on a similar round of questioning when he arrived at the railway terminus. At last he found a lead, although it was a tenuous one and it made him even more frustrated and angry, for it seemed he’d ridden in the wrong direction.
‘I heard a story about a woman travelling alone,’ a bullocky camped at Westwood told him. ‘I was stopped at Gainsford a week ago and these two fellows rode up to the camp. They’d come from Springsure. They mentioned they’d seen a woman riding sidesaddle, coming down the road towards Bauhinia Downs. They said she was young and dressed swanky-like. Not the sort you’d expect to see on her own.’
‘Did they describe her, or her horse?’
The man shrugged. ‘I can’t remember that they did. I had a couple of me bullocks sick and I was full of me own troubles. I didn’t ask no questions.’
‘Do you know these men?’
‘No, we didn’t get ‘round to exchanging names. They said they was going on to Rockhampton. Christ knows where they’d be by now.’
With no more information forthcoming he retraced his steps to Sherborne to inform the Barclays of this latest, hopeful lead. He stayed overnight and caught his own horse in the morning, before setting off towards Bauhinia Downs.
~*~
In her room Louise sat on the bed for a moment, hands clenched, trying to contain the anger that made her whole body tremble. At last she snatched her valise from the top of the wardrobe and roughly bundled her clothes into it, keeping aside one of her dresses and exchanging it for Mrs Greenwood’s gown. She threw the offending garment fiercely to the floor and, gathering her possessions, left the room without a backward glance.
She set her valise on the front step and sat beside it to wait for the station hand who’d been dispatched to take her to town. Gazing about her contemptuously, her eyes fastened on every feature of neglect and indifference. For all Mrs Greenwood’s pretensions her husband apparently couldn’t afford a gardener and “Madam” was too busy playing the grand lady to exert herself to plant a shrub or two. What hope had those children of ever amounting to anything with a mother like that and a father who ignored them all?
At last Pat, the younger of the two station hands, drove up in the buggy and climbed down to take Louise’s valise. She brushed aside his offer of help and stepped unaided into the vehicle. Then she found herself retracing her steps on the road she’d travelled with Lloyd Kavanagh such a short time before.
Pat, ill-mannered at the best of times, seemed to think her status as the dismissed governess made her easy prey. Louise quickly snubbed him and moved as far away from him as her narrow seat would allow. She thought it was typical of Mrs Greenwood to be critical of her choice of escort and then subject her to being alone with this young ruffian, who was more offensive than Lloyd Kavanagh had ever been.
She was still fuming inwardly when they reached Banana. The station hand dropped her off in the main street, outside a hotel named for the town, leaving her to book a room there and transfer her belongings. The hotel was a low, unimposing building, but the room she was shown to was clean and the young maid who brought her water was friendly and pretty in a pert, round-cheeked fashion. Once Louise had freshened herself up she wandered off to look at the town. She knew she must decide what to do with her future. The anger that had carried her through her confrontation with Mrs Greenwood was beginning to ebb, leaving her sick with uncertainty.
Bowen Street was lined with numerous shops and houses: blacksmiths, saddlers, two general stores, a Post Office and another hotel, the Commercial, further down the hill opposite the Police Reserve. Today, being mi
d-week, it was extremely busy. The main street hummed with people and vehicles of every description–horse and bullock wagons, drays, buggies, buckboards and gigs. She watched a Chinaman sell fresh vegetables from his cart and followed the progress of a man, presumably a horse dealer, with a string of horses of all colours and pedigrees.
With nothing else to do, she strolled down the flat towards the lagoon. The long, narrow waterhole stretched for over a quarter of a mile in length, patches of water lilies persisting in it despite the dry season and the churned, muddy edges. She counted six bullock wagons drawn up around it, along with the campsites of other travellers. Pausing for a moment to survey the scene, her mind worked busily.
What was she to do now? Should she stay in Banana and try to obtain another position with children? It would be difficult, if not impossible, with neither credentials nor references. She bit her lip, realising how easily she could find herself slipping into a less acceptable form of employment.
Louise retraced her steps and as she passed Fitzpatrick’s general store she noticed a big creamy horse tied to the rail in front of it. Her pulse tripped.
Stepping closer, she recognised the LK brand on the near shoulder and the splash of white on the off hind pastern. Her heart thumped. She’d thought she wouldn’t see Lloyd again, but that was ill-considered, since he still had the care of her horse, her saddle and her swag. She badly wanted to talk to him, to tell him about Mrs Greenwood and the circumstances of her dismissal as she couldn’t confide in anyone else. Lloyd at least knew something of her background story.
She waited there beside Dynamite, resting her hands on the hitching rail, her back to the store. When she heard his step behind her she turned slowly, reading the surprise on his face and the guarded pleasure.
‘Louise! Er... Miss Forrest.’ He glanced quickly about him as if to assure himself that she was alone. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for another job.’ Her name had never sounded so good as it did on his lips, but it would be foolish to give him leave to use it. She smiled and absently reached out to stroke Dynamite’s neck. The big horse snorted and sidled away. ‘I wasn’t altogether much of a success with Mrs Greenwood.’
‘I told you that you wouldn’t be.’ His tone was sharp. ‘I could see she didn’t like it one bit, the way you turned up there.’
‘Yes, but that was only part of the problem.’ Louise shifted restlessly as a couple strolled past them, glancing curiously in their direction, and entered the store. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk without interruption?’
He grabbed his horse’s reins and took her arm. ‘Let’s walk towards the lagoon.’ As they left the noise and bustle behind them he asked, ‘Now, what’s all this about? And what are you planning to do?’
She laughed. ‘That’s a good question. It is precisely what I’ve been trying to decide.’
‘What happened? Did Mrs Greenwood give you the boot?’
‘To put it crudely, yes. I had the biggest row imaginable with her. Oh, how I detest that woman. And her precious offspring are worse.’ She related the events of that morning, her eyes flashing with renewed fury. Kavanagh listened intently, looking faintly incredulous as she outlined the scene with Maria.
‘Crikey, you’ll never keep a job at this rate. Still,’ he grinned, ‘I wouldn’t have minded being a fly on the wall. I reckon you’d be a match for old Green Ant any day.’
‘Green Ant!’ She had to laugh, knowing the fiery sting of a green ant’s bite. ‘What an apt description!’
Lloyd’s eyes glinted as they shared the moment of humour. Then he sobered. ‘So–she didn’t give you a reference, of course.’
‘Of course. That accounts for my present predicament. Without wishing to sound vain, I don’t lack qualifications–I thought of setting up as a music teacher. That woman would soon blacken my character, though. And I don’t have the finance.’ She sighed. ‘The trouble is, my temperament isn’t suited to being a governess. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the children, providing they can be disciplined, but I just can’t tolerate having to kowtow to women like Mrs Greenwood.’
Lloyd didn’t reply immediately. He seemed deep in thought and after a moment he said, ‘You know, I’ve got an idea. I know a family who might have you. The kids are likeable, though I can’t promise they’re little angels, and their mother is nothing like Mrs Greenwood. The Jamiesons.’
‘Your neighbours?’ Louise’s response was eager. ‘Do you think there’s a possibility?’
‘You never know. They did have a tutor last year, but he left and Mrs Jamieson’s been teaching the children herself, with the help of the oldest girl, Mercy. But Mercy’s not keen. There’s eight of ‘em all together. I don’t remember all their ages, but Mercy’s sixteen and there are two boys who are working with their father now.’
‘But there remains the problem of no reference.’
‘Look, Miss Forrest, we’ll have to tell ‘em the truth. This pack of lies you’ve been spinning will only get you into trouble. I’ll tell ‘em how I met you at Bauhinia Downs and how you helped with the cattle. Young Cec was there to make it decent. I’ll say your job with the Greenwoods didn’t work out and when they hear what she was like they’ll probably give you their full sympathy.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ But she wouldn’t be telling them the whole truth, only the truth as Lloyd knew it and God knew that was fabrication enough.
‘And if they won’t have you, I really think you ought to go to England, to your family. The bush is no place for a girl like you on her own. You’re not likely to meet someone your father would want you to marry around here. I’ll lend you the money for the fare if you haven’t got enough.’
Louise set her mouth stubbornly. ‘Thank you, but I have no intention of going to my family. I’ve already told you, I don’t care for them and I don’t want to live in England. This is where I was born and this is where I mean to stay.’
He gave an exasperated grimace. ‘You know, for bloody pigheadedness you take some beating.’
She raised her eyebrows haughtily. ‘Your language is offensive, Mr Kavanagh.’
‘Sorry. But I’m just a rough and ready ex-teamster, remember. Where are you staying tonight?’
‘I booked a room at the Banana.’
‘I’ll walk you back there, then. I’ll see the Jamiesons in the morning and if they’re interested they can come in and talk to you. Have you got enough money to put up here for a few days?’
‘But of course. I can use the time to organise some clothing.’ She dropped the arrogant tone and looked up at him uncertainly. ‘I hate to put you to so much inconvenience, though. Did you have business in town?’
‘Yes, but I’ve finished it,’ he retorted abruptly.
Louise looked at him curiously. His colour was heightened and his eyes shifted away from her scrutiny. To see Lloyd Kavanagh discomforted was something new. Just what was this business of his?
Outside the hotel she paused, looking up at him uncertainly. ‘You’ll let me know if the Jamiesons don’t require my services?’
‘Of course I will. It’s not far to ride in.’
She smiled wryly. ‘Only twenty-odd miles. I hate to ask more favours of you. I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Kavanagh.’
He swung into his saddle and sat there looking down at her, smiling into her eyes with his usual confidence restored. ‘You can call me Lloyd, like you did the other day.’
Her gaze locked with his and her colour rose with a combination of excitement and embarrassment. She knew he was remembering more than just her use of his Christian name. His eyes gleamed with devilry as he added, ‘But not here in the street.’
He turned his horse away and rode off before she could think of a suitable retort.
~*~
Lloyd rode over to see his neighbours early the next morning, hoping to catch Jock Jamieson before he left the homestead. He was in luck, for Jock was shoeing a horse at the shed when he arrived.
> ‘G’day to ye,’ the Scotsman greeted him, turning from his task of stoking the forge. Sweat ran down the middle-aged man’s flushed face and trickled into a heavy, flowing beard that seemed to diminish the proportions of his slight frame. ‘And what brings ye over so early, lad?’
‘I’d like a word with you if you can spare a moment.’ Lloyd dismounted and propped himself against the shed wall, the heat of the forge reaching out to him in shimmering waves.
‘Well, out with it! This old nag can wait a few minutes.’
‘Jock, it’s about a girl I’ve met back in Banana. She’s looking for a job as a governess and I thought of your family.’
Jock stared at him with an expression of incredulity. ‘Surely ye don’t mean that maid at the hotel that I hear talk ye’ve been messing with?’
‘No, not her.’ Lloyd felt himself flushing at the note of censure in the older man’s voice. He wished it was possible to do anything in Banana without the whole community knowing about it. ‘She’s nothing like her. She’s a young lady. Her name’s Lucy Forrest, from near Rockhampton. She was working for the Barclays of Sherborne and she went to the Greenwood family on the Westwood road, but that didn’t work out.’
‘Ye seem to be going mad for the lassies all of a sudden, Lloyd. How did ye meet this one?’
Shifting uncomfortably, Lloyd began his story, telling how Louise had asked for his escort from Bauhinia Downs. After describing their trip he paused in his uncharacteristic fiddling with his horse’s reins and looked up at his neighbour. ‘Crikey, she’s a girl and a half–as game as they come. And she can ride like the devil.’
Jock Jamieson’s face had registered a number of conflicting emotions during his narrative, but the chief one was amazement. ‘Sounds a pretty wild sort of lass–and ye’re asking us to take her on to look after our bairns?’
Lloyd shook his head. ‘She’s a bit headstrong, I’ll admit, but she is a lady. Her clothes and the way she talks–the family’s got plenty of land and money. Her parents have shifted back to England and she won’t go with ‘em. She hasn’t got anywhere else to go now and that old hag Mrs Greenwood didn’t give her a reference.’
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