Lloyd’s homestead, visible from the road, stood deserted as they passed. Donald commented, ‘It looks as if Lloyd’s left already.’
Mercy blushed and slid her gloved hand along her horse’s mane, playing with the coarse tufts of hair. ‘Yes, I think he was riding in yesterday afternoon.’ She turned to look at Louise. ‘I suppose he’s having a reunion with some of his teamster friends. Most of them make a point of being in Banana for the races.’
Louise decided this information was intended to remind her she was the outsider, the newcomer who didn’t know Lloyd’s habits as she, Mercy, did. She didn’t respond, knowing Mercy could wish all she liked, but if Lloyd wasn’t attracted to her there was little she could do about it.
While still outside of town, in the shelter of the trees, Louise and Mercy exchanged their riding habits for race-going gowns. Then they squeezed into the wagonette with the others, tying their horses behind. Fortunately it was only a matter of five minutes in the hot, jolting wagonette, cramped uncomfortably amongst the baggage, before they arrived in Banana.
The racetrack was situated on the creek flat, close to the lagoon. Rough bough sheds had been built for shade and to house the bar which was easily distinguished by the noisy crowd of men surrounding it. The carts and buggies, their horses unhitched and tied in the shade, were outnumbered by the saddle-horses, both racehorses and spectators’ mounts, tethered randomly to trees and posts. The ladies were colourful in their best hats and frocks, while the men wore either coats and waistcoats or more casual riding apparel. Some of the race-goers placed bets on their favourites and cheered enthusiastically at the winning post, while others sat under the bough shelters and chatted amongst friends.
It was a hot, cloudless day and the thrashing hooves quickly whipped the dry track to dust. It wafted over the heads of the spectators, settling in a thin layer on buggy seats and picnic baskets, coating faces and clothes with grit.
At lunch-time the Jamiesons clustered in the shade beside the wagonette, far from the noisy bar, to eat the food Mrs Jamieson had packed earlier. Lloyd walked up, looking sober and presentable in his good corduroys and blue-striped shirt. It seemed Jock had invited him to eat with them.
Lloyd admitted to losing a crown on the previous race. ‘Fool of a horse played up at the start and was going backwards when they dropped the flag. He never did catch up.’
A conversation with Jock followed, concerning Lloyd’s teamster friends and the way the railways were pushing the carriers further out. After the initial greeting he paid no attention to Louise and she tried to ignore the niggle of hurt, knowing his neglect was necessary.
Once they had eaten Lloyd disappeared into the crowd and Louise took Maggie and Agnes to the rail to watch the next race, the Publican’s Purse. The man standing near her seemed vaguely familiar. Then her fingers gripped the rail as she realized it was Sam Naylor, the Bauhinia Downs head stockman.
He turned and saw her at almost the same moment and approached her, raising his hat.
‘Miss Forrest, isn’t it? How do you do?’
‘I’m well, thank-you, Mr Naylor.’ Louise tried to speak calmly, though her body was as taut as fencing wire. She moved away from the girls who were totally absorbed in the event in progress. ‘You’ve travelled quite a distance for the races.’
He smiled. ‘It doesn’t seem so far without a mob of cattle to slow you down. How did you manage, that trip?’
‘It was quite an experience, but we got the cattle there safely.’ Louise described the storm and the resulting cattle rush.
‘You were lucky to get off so lightly. I saw Kavanagh in the distance before, but I haven’t been talking to him yet. And what about yourself, Miss Forrest? Are you still governessing?’
‘Yes. I’m with the Jamieson family now, from Kilbride. My first position didn’t suit.’
‘The Jamiesons...they’re neighbours of Kavanagh’s.’
She nodded. ‘Mr Kavanagh was good enough to secure the position for me. He’s been very helpful.’
Naylor looked relieved. Perhaps his conscience had been bothering him at sending her into the bush with such an inadequate escort. ‘Yeah, he’s a decent young chap.’ He glanced about him as if to ascertain there were no listening ears and lowered his voice. ‘A fellow came looking for you about a week after you’d gone. I didn’t see him–I was away mustering–but he talked to the Boss. A gentleman, a real flash young cove, Mr Dutton said.’
Louise’s throat went dry. Her heart hammered painfully and she almost choked over the words. ‘What did your employer tell him?’
‘He couldn’t tell him anything. He’d only just got home and we’d been busy with cattle. I hadn’t got around to telling him about you and Mrs Black had got the sickness from that fellow Thompson she was looking after. So she wasn’t available for questioning. Mr Dutton couldn’t help the man, so he went away.’
‘Did the man name me, or say why he was looking for me?’
‘No. I don’t think so. He didn’t even tell the boss his own name. He just gave a description that fitted you.’
That would be Charles all over, Louise thought. He would hardly want to advertise the fact that he was Charles Ashford, searching for a runaway sister. Fortunately for her.
She was silent. After a moment Naylor asked awkwardly, as if the time for minding his own business was past, ‘Who’s this chap to you? Did you run away, or something?’
Louise ignored the second question. ‘He’s a man who made something of a nuisance of himself while I was at my last position. I’m pleased he didn’t discover my whereabouts. If he should come your way again, I beg you not to tell him the truth.’
‘Of course.’ Naylor appeared both disconcerted and embarrassed, obviously unable to decide what he should make of her. ‘I’ll tell Mr Dutton, too. Goodbye, Miss Forrest.’
As he strode away, she turned back to the racetrack. The race was over by this time; she’d been dimly aware of much cheering in the background. An excited group of people were clustered about a jockey on a big grey horse, shaking the man’s hand and congratulating him loudly. The horse’s nostrils were lined with red, his coat sweat-darkening as he fidgeted and sidestepped restlessly.
Louise let out her breath in a gusty sigh of relief. Her stomach was churning and her heart was banging against her ribs. What a close call! If Naylor had been at home, or if the housekeeper hadn’t been ill... Charles had evidently been just as relentless in his search as she’d feared. If he’d ridden as far as Bauhinia Downs, where else might he have travelled? She felt a momentary twinge of conscience. However, he was no doubt safely on his way to England by now.
At that moment Lloyd joined her, smiling down at her. ‘Did you see that? A mate of mine rode the winner! A beautiful finish. And damn it, I never even put a penny on him.’
Louise forgot her misgivings about Charles. There was something reassuring about Lloyd’s presence that made her choose to ignore his language. Besides, she’d once used the same word in his hearing, so she could hardly afford the high moral ground. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t even see it. I just met Mr Naylor from Bauhinia Downs and was talking to him while the race was in progress.’
Before Lloyd could respond, Maggie and Agnes joined them, looking for their mother. They declined Lloyd’s offer of a lemonade and went on their way, leaving Louise alone with him. He purchased soft drinks for them both and they moved to an unoccupied patch of shade, sipping their drinks and watching the crowd. Just the pleasure of his company was enough, making words unnecessary. When they were approached by a young man whom Lloyd introduced as Clive Beck, a friend from his teamster days, Louise sighed inwardly, resenting the interruption.
As Beck’s brother had just ridden the winning horse, he was in a high humour, looking askance at Lloyd’s lemonade. ‘Don’t tell me you’re off the grog, Kavanagh. I’ll shout us a rum to celebrate.’
‘Not just now, Clive. We’re in the company of a lady, remember.’
Clive ma
de a gallant bow in her direction. ‘My apologies, Miss Forrest. Ladies are so scarce around here, us coves forget how to behave. Oh, here comes the jockey.’
The latest arrival seemed even more intent on celebratory drinks than his brother. Clive was of medium height and build but Fred stood not much over five feet. He made Louise feel like an Amazon with her excess of inches.
She stayed long enough to congratulate the man on his win, but had noticed Mrs Jamieson looking in her direction. The group was unsuitable company for a governess intent on keeping her good name. She excused herself, guessing they’d make their way to the bar as soon as she’d gone.
Her employer glanced at her curiously. ‘Was that the head stockman from Bauhinia Downs you were talking to earlier?’
‘Yes, Mr Naylor. It was he who assisted me when I arrived there from Gainsford, as the owner was away at the time.’
‘I hope he doesn’t gossip about you. We hardly want all of Banana knowing how you came here.’
Louise flushed. ‘I shouldn’t think so. He seems very much the gentleman.’
‘I hope so, Louise, for your sake.’
~*~
The family had been offered accommodation that night with friends who lived in Banana. Lloyd was camping beside the lagoon as he’d presumably done the previous night, in the company of the Becks, other teamsters and station workers. Louise imagined them carousing into the early hours, earning the disapproval of respectable people like Mrs Jamieson.
The races continued the following day. The crowd was larger and the dust more pervasive. There was one event that jarred Louise’s pleasure in the day, troubling her long after she should have been able to put it from her mind.
Probably she shouldn’t have witnessed it at all. She seemed to have developed the annoying habit of watching Lloyd, her gaze straying in the hope of sighting him. Most of the time when a race wasn’t in progress, she would find him in the vicinity of the bar, in the company of Clive Beck. Not that he appeared to be suffering too much as a consequence. He’d certainly been sober at lunch and surprisingly he still seemed to be more or less so.
Louise was sitting under one of the bough sheds with Mrs Jamieson and some other ladies when her attention was drawn to the nearby bar. A young woman had joined the men there. She was no more than a girl, actually, perhaps Louise’s own age and she was plump and round-cheeked, with chestnut hair. Louise had seen her before; her name was Eva and she worked as a chambermaid at the Banana Hotel, where Louise had stayed after leaving the Greenwoods’ employment. She was flashily dressed in bright yellow and the pert little hat she wore tilted forward over her eyes was decorated with an excess of ribbon and an unlikely bunch of yellow flowers. Her behaviour was fittingly extroverted as she laughed and flirted with the men. It was obviously Lloyd who held her chief interest, for after a moment she gave him her full attention, moving close to him and whispering something in his ear. Her smile held an invitation that was unmistakable, even to Louise.
Lloyd seemed unimpressed. He laughed at her and bought her a drink, exchanging a few brief words with her before turning back to his mates. However, she wasn’t so easily dismissed. She pressed close to him, putting her hand on his arm and apparently entreating him, making play with her eyes. Then she lifted her other hand to the front opening of his shirt, fingering the material and playing intimately with one of the buttons. Louise stared, unable to look away as she knew she should, shock and disbelief coursing through her. Who was this girl to him?
Lloyd brushed her hand away, obviously embarrassed now, while his companions watched the scene with ribald grins. He bent down to her and whispered something in her ear. His meaning must have been clearly expressed, for the girl’s smile disappeared and she flounced away, disappearing into the crowd.
Louise jumped to her feet, murmuring something to Mrs Jamieson about the children. She found Maurice and Gertie playing in the dirt near the wagonette, their best clothes filthy, and took them to watch the horses being led around the saddling paddock in preparation for the next race. When Lloyd’s voice spoke near her ear, she stiffened, her nerves tangling in disagreeable knots. Looking up at him, she caught a whiff of something on his breath and knew it was spirits of some sort. It was the first time he’d spoken with her that day, but now she almost wished he’d stayed away.
‘Are you going to the dance tonight, Miss Forrest?’
‘Well, yes, Mrs Jamieson said I may. But I must put the children to bed first and stay with them until the little ones have fallen asleep.’ She was pleased with the cool, controlled tone of her voice, betraying nothing of her inner turmoil.
‘Can I take you to the hall when you’re ready? You shouldn’t be walking the streets on your own. There’ll be drunks about tonight.’
Remembering the scene between him and that fancy piece she’d just witnessed, she thought she should refuse. But he was right about the drunks and she was uneasy about arriving unescorted at the dance. ‘We’re staying only a few houses from the hall. But very well, if you wish. I hope the children will be asleep by half-past eight.’
‘I’ll meet you then. Whose house are you staying at?’
‘It’s the Britons.’
He nodded, flashing her his quick smile. ‘Will you write me name against some of the dances on your card? Make sure there’s a waltz or two, if you have some spare.’
She couldn’t admit she had most of them spare. Perhaps accepting his offer was preferable to being a wallflower. ‘All right, you may have two or three and let us hope it doesn’t set the gossips talking. Now you had better go and extract the same from Mercy. It’s her first ball.’
He glanced at her sideways. ‘Of course I’ll dance with Mercy. She’s a good little kid.’
‘Don’t tell her so, or she’ll probably do you an injury. It must be difficult to have so many females dangling after you.’
He looked at her quickly, as if surprised at her acerbic tone, then turned to walk away. At the last moment he paused and spoke over his shoulder. ‘But there’s only one of ‘em I fancy.
Chapter Eleven
Lloyd arrived for her at half-past eight. Louise was dressed in her uninspiring new muslin, which in deference to evening was cut to expose her throat and was trimmed with a frothing of lace. The effect was pretty but demure; hardly stylish or elegant like the gowns she had once worn.
She satisfied herself with a last peep at the children tucked safely in their beds before joining Lloyd on the veranda. ‘They’re all asleep,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to look in on them sometime during the night.’
He’d been smoking, leaning casually over the rail, but now he straightened and knocked out his pipe, returning it to his pocket. It was the first time she’d seen him wear a coat and waistcoat and the effect was surprisingly elegant. ‘Let’s go, then, before one of the little brats wakes up.’
She had to laugh, in spite of herself. ‘I thought you liked them.’
‘I do, but they’ve got their place. At the moment I’m in the mood for dancing.’
He held out his arm to her and she laid her hand on it, accompanying him down the steps. She sniffed suspiciously. ‘I didn’t think alcohol was served at the ball, Mr Kavanagh!’
‘I haven’t been there yet. I’ve been playing billiards for the last hour.’
‘Well, I hope you’re sober. Don’t expect to dance with me if you’re three sheets to the wind.’
He looked down at her with a crooked half-smile. ‘Louise, I wouldn’t insult you like that. You must’ve been living with the Jamiesons too long. You’re beginning to sound like ‘em.’ He changed the subject. ‘You look nice tonight. I see you’ve been making use of the local dressmaker. Very pretty.’
‘Very suitable for a governess, you mean.’ She pulled her hand away from his elbow, giving way at last to the indignation simmering inside her. ‘Not a bit like that maid from the hotel who was attempting to seduce you today.’
Her words fell into an echoing silence. She stoppe
d in her tracks, aghast, putting up her hands to her flaming cheeks. What had possessed her to say that? Finally she forced her gaze up to Lloyd’s, to find him smiling down at her, an intent, suggestive look to his eye.
‘What did you say?’
‘I think you heard me.’ Her voice was muffled.
‘I don’t think Mrs Jamieson would approve.’
‘You’re a fine one to preach. If Mrs Jamieson had seen the way that girl was making up to you she wouldn’t be allowing you to dance with her Mercy.’
His smile faded. ‘Hell, Louise, I told her to shove off, didn’t I? I wish she wouldn’t make a fool of herself in front of everyone.’
‘You must have encouraged her in the first instance.’
‘More’s the pity. It’s over and done with now.’
‘Yes and I’m sorry I raised the subject. It’s really none of my business and it was most unladylike of me to mention it.’
In truth it wasn’t prudishness that had motivated her censure, for she was accustomed to Charles and his light o’ loves. If she was honest, she knew her outburst had been prompted by jealousy and she had an uneasy feeling Lloyd guessed it.
The band was playing enthusiastically when they arrived and the floor was full of dancing couples. To Louise’s ear the fiddle, piano and concertina were played with gusto rather than skill, but the locals were evidently uncritical. The hall itself was primitive, hinting of a recent, more violent past. It had been built with slits in the walls between the slabs, for the purposes of shooting marauding blacks. After all, it was only a few short years since the Aborigines in the area had been hostile. The walls were now lined with hessian and people danced in complete unconcern, forgetting those days when it had been necessary to safeguard against attack.
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