Master of Maramba

by Margaret Way

  “I expect you spare him a lot with your competence.” Carrie offered an olive branch. “He told me you ran the homestead splendidly.”

  That brought an instant reaction. A dark red flush and a complete softening of the rather harsh face with a smile. “Did he now?”

  “Certainly. He must greatly appreciate having the house run so efficiently.”

  “A perfect gentleman he is!” Mrs. Gainsford put real feeling into her voice. “A perfect gentleman. It’s a wonder to work for someone like that.”

  Carrie couldn’t help but agree.

  The room she had been allotted was much more than Carrie had expected. In scale with the rest of the house it was huge. Maybe three times the size of her bedroom at home. Here was the Asian influence Royce McQuillan had spoken about. Thai, she considered thoughtfully. The family had holidayed in Bali several times. A marvellous teak bed occupied centre room, slender four posters holding up the billowing folds of the white mosquito netting, edged top and bottom with heavy white embroidery that matched the white bed linen. There were two carved teak chairs and a small matching table with an eye-catching floral arrangement on top. A comfortable day bed was near the window with an Oriental chest at the foot of the bed. There was a teak cabinet holding a collection of Chinese blue and white porcelain, a deep comfortable armchair upholstered in white Indian cotton, an ottoman with a brilliant throw across it, an Indian-style carved armoire in one corner, and a tall bookcase filled with books in another. She caught a few names: Isabel Allende, Sharon Maas, P.D. James, Kathy Reichs…. On one wall was a brilliant painting executed in oils of outsize golden sunflowers surrounded by colourful foliage set against a cobalt sky.

  “Oh, I’m going to love staying here,” she said, her topaz eyes full of pleasure.

  “I’m not surprised!” Mrs. Gainsford sniffed audibly. “No other governess has been given such a room. But Mr. McQuillan gave orders.”

  “Aren’t I lucky!” Carrie moved across the polished floor decorated with a single exquisite Oriental rug.

  “You are indeed,” Mrs. Gainsford pronounced, back to her reedy tone. “There are some really valuable things in here. All that embroidery on the bed linen was done by hand, you know.”

  “It’s lovely. I’ll look after it.”

  “I change the bedding twice a week. One of my girls will do the cleaning. You don’t have any chores to take up your time.”

  “Thank you for making it so welcoming for me,” Carrie said, giving the older woman a happy smile. “The flower arrangement is quite beautiful.”

  Mrs. Gainsford glanced toward the teak table where the rich red of anthurium lilies glowed against three large dark green leaves, a piece of strangler vine to one side, a burst of grevillea to the other. It was a most unusual arrangement, perfect in its ceramic container with what appeared to be aboriginal motifs.

  “Jada did that,” the housekeeper said without enthusiasm. “She thought you might like it. I prefer a good straightforward bunch of flowers any day, but Mr. McQuillan allows Jada do the flowers for the house. Keeps her busy when she’s not attending to Mrs. McQuillan senior.”

  “I’m so sorry Mrs. McQuillan isn’t well,” Carrie said carefully.

  “A marvellous lady! Never complains. She said something about seeing you when you’re settled. I’ll let you know. Meanwhile we’ve got no other option but to wait for Miss Regina to appear. More than anything else she needs discipline that child.”

  And a mother’s love. If there was anything about Royce McQuillan Carrie might have criticized it was his casual attitude to his little daughter. Couldn’t he have said, I love her deeply, rather than I really care about her. Even Uncle James told her frequently how much he loved her. Yet Royce McQuillan had used the word “cared.” There was a good chance Regina wasn’t getting enough love from him, Carrie thought.

  Mrs. Gainsford went to the door; turning to tell Carrie a light lunch would be served at 1:00 p.m. Meanwhile she was free to settle in and have a rest after her trip. “I expect you’ve done quite a bit of travelling in the last couple of days.”

  “Some,” Carrie smiled. “You never did find my fax?”

  “I apologise if I ever doubted you,” the housekeeper said abruptly. “You look a responsible young woman. It was Regina for sure. She’s always doing silly things. Now I must be off. You should rest now.”

  “I’m sure I won’t be able to nod off without knowing where Regina is,” Carrie said.

  “No chance of your finding her if she doesn’t want to be found,” Mrs. Gainsford said, frown lines forming between her sparse brows. “I wouldn’t have thought she had the brain power to get up to the things she does. She’s a child, yet she gives as much trouble as a woman.”

  “I hope Regina and I are going to be good friends,” Carrie said quietly.

  “Then, my dear, you’re hoping a lot. This is no little sweetheart you’ll be dealing with. This is an exceptionally naughty girl.”

  Again Carrie felt like laughing out loud. Such a very capable woman to be outplayed by a six-year-old. It reminded her of the way Glenda used to call her “an uncontrollable child.”

  With the housekeeper gone Carrie wandered out onto the verandah, looking down its long length. Golden canes in huge pots glazed a deep bronze were set at intervals at either side of the pairs of French doors. She couldn’t wait to see over the house. The entrance hall was enormous, the soaring ceiling the full height of the building with two broad staircases leading off on either side to the upper gallery that ran right around the second floor. Asian influences appeared to be everywhere. She had taken that in at a glance. This was a marvellous tropical house.

  She was humming quietly to herself, unpacking the luggage a gently spoken aboriginal man had brought to her door only a few minutes before. He had introduced himself as Arundi. The same Arundi who had to carry word to Royce McQuillan if Regina didn’t surface by lunchtime. Carrie just hoped she would. She really wanted to meet Miss Regina McQuillan.

  No way did she imagine Regina would be in the armoire.

  Carrie’s heart leapt in shock as she opened the carved door. She had, in passing, noted it wasn’t quite closed, but never did she expect a small girl to confront her, all thin arms and legs, pulling a ferocious face, no doubt meant to be frightening.

  Carrie had to wait a full minute before she could talk. “Heavens, Reggie, you scared the life out of me.”

  “That’s great!” the little girl responded triumphantly. “No one ever looks for me in the right place.”

  “You mean, you were here all along?” Carrie wasn’t happy about what Mrs. Gainsford had said.

  Regina gave her a disgusted look. “I’ve only been here since Ethel checked. That’s her name,” she started to giggle, “Ethel Gainsford.”

  “Are you going to come out?” Carrie asked, putting out a hand. “I want to put my clothes away. You can help me if you like.”

  Regina sprang out, ignoring Carrie’s hand. “Why should I? You’re supposed to be doing it.”

  “That’s okay. You might miss the present I bought for you, though. It’s in with my dresses.”

  Regina’s plain little features—how could she be plain with such good-looking parents—contorted. “Why would you bring a present for me?”

  “Why, to make an occasion of our meeting,” Carrie said cheerfully. “What else? I’m very pleased to meet you, Regina. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I bet.”

  Royce McQuillan hadn’t exaggerated when he said his daughter was going on six hundred.

  “What did you call me when you first opened the door?” Regina now enquired, looking at Carrie’s hair so close to flame.

  “I’ll try to think…”

  “It was Reggie. You called me Reggie.”

  “I won’t if you don’t like it.”

  “I do.” Regina dressed in a simple T-shirt and shorts suddenly jumped into the armchair. “You must have known I wished I was a boy.”

&n
bsp; Carrie was upset by that. “What would you want to be a boy for?” She started to hang up her clothes.

  “Royce would have liked it,” the child said, getting up and absentmindedly handing Carrie another garment. “Royce wants a son.”

  “Okay, he wants a son.” Carrie turned to stare at her. “He wants a daughter, too, Reggie. You call your father Royce?” Carrie asked.

  “Of course,” Regina shrugged her thin shoulders. “He doesn’t mind. I think he likes it. I love him. He’s the best father in the world. You’re going to find out sometime, but my mother hates me. And that’s the truth.”

  “No, Reggie. Don’t think that. Not for a minute,” Carrie protested, distressed.

  “She’s a terrible mother!” said Regina. “She never comes to see me. Ever. She never thinks of sending me a present. Where is it, anyway?” The wrath evaporated into curiosity.

  “At the bottom of the suitcase. It’s wrapped up.”

  “I hope it’s not a doll,” Regina said, sounding like she’d burn it. “I’ll swear if it’s a doll. I know a good few swearwords. I hear the men.”

  “It’s not a doll, Reggie,” Carrie assured her instantly. “There are lots of words you can use besides swearwords, you know.”

  “Oh, sure, and I could use them if I wanted to. I can read.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Carrie said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Do you like the Harry Potter stories?”

  Regina was busy making a mess of Carrie’s careful packing. “If I could ever get anyone to buy me one,” she growled.

  “Well, you’re in luck.” Carrie sat down on the bed. “I brought some with me. We can read them together.”

  Regina looked at her in astonishment. “Why are you being so sweet to me?”

  “Let’s say friendly.” Carrie smiled into the big grey eyes. “I want us to be friends, Reggie. I want that very much.”

  For a moment the child looked pleased: small, soft and vulnerable. Then she nodded darkly. “You’re just after Royce. They all are. Lindsey says there’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t want to grab him.”

  “You’re kidding. She told you that?”

  “No one tells me anything.” Regina dug deeper. “But I find ways to hear. Lindsey doesn’t like me, either. She told Royce I sneaked your fax.”

  “Did you?” Carrie asked simply.

  “No, I didn’t.” Regina stared her in the eyes. “I don’t tell lies. Not one time.”

  “So I believe you.” Carrie shrugged.

  “Those other governesses, they were wicked!” Regina told her with some relish.

  “That’s hard to believe, Reggie,” Carrie protested.

  “You didn’t see the way they acted. Both of them were madly in love with Royce. And there’s more.” She leaned close to Carrie, her whole body confiding. “Lindsey is in love with him, too.” So said, the child began to bounce up and down.

  “Reggie, you can’t say things like that,” Carrie told her.

  “I didn’t say it, Ina did,” Regina corrected her, the gymnastics over. “You don’t know my aunty Ina. Boy, can she talk! They must think I don’t have ears.”

  Or they didn’t care what they said in front of the child. “Here, let me find the present for you,” Carrie offered by way of diverting the child’s attention. Regina had been rifling through the suitcase, upending everything in the process, now Carrie found the package and handed it to the child.

  “What is it?” Regina looked down, somewhat overcome.

  “I won’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

  Regina spoke up. “Listen, I’m not going to tell anyone else, but I like you. You’re beautiful. I just hope you don’t fall in love with Royce.”

  That brought Carrie up sharply. “Reggie, I’m here to be your friend,” she said, ruthlessly suppressing all thought of the child’s father.

  “So how come you’re a governess?” Regina asked. “The other two didn’t care about me.” While she spoke Regina was making short work of opening the thoughtfully wrapped present, her expression puzzled as she looked down at a gold-lacquered toy trunk. “I can’t even guess,” she said softly, then opened the lid.

  Immediately a clown with a brightly painted face dressed in a polka-dotted nightshirt with a matching bed cap on its head sprang up, waving its arms and turning its head from side to side. It startled the child, making her laugh.

  “Isn’t that cute!” The big round eyes were filled with radiant pleasure. “The trunk is the bed. Didn’t they make a great job of his costume and the bedclothes?” She smoothed them with a finger.

  “I’m glad you like it, Reggie.” Carrie was really pleased. She’d spent a lot of time choosing the little clown.

  “It’s cool.” Regina looked so soothed Carrie risked asking, “Don’t you think we’d better tell Mrs. Gainsford you’re found?”

  Regina began waving her arms, perfectly mimicking the clown. “Do we have to?”

  “Everyone is worried, that’s the problem.”

  Regina waved that possibility away. “I’ve hidden lots of times before. They don’t come looking like they used to.”

  “As much as you want them to?” Carrie asked, thinking it was Regina’s way of getting attention. “You wanted to be found today.”

  “Yes, I did,” Regina confessed, polishing the little clown’s red nose. “You wouldn’t have found me otherwise. I wanted to meet you. Royce said you reminded him of the girl in the painting downstairs. It’s supposed to be haunted.” She giggled nervously.

  “So what does it do?” Carrie asked, “make weird noises or spin upside down in the frame?”

  Regina giggled appreciatively. “I don’t know precisely… But Lindsey told me it was haunted when I went to touch it.”

  “You do see she was trying to get you not to touch it? The painting isn’t haunted, Reggie. It’s probably very valuable.”

  “When I told Royce he said, ‘you never can tell,’ then he laughed.”

  They were both sitting on the bed playing with the clown when Regina leaned right over speaking in a loud stage whisper. “Don’t look now, but Lindsey is behind you.”

  “She is not.” Carrie didn’t bother to turn her head.

  “She is so.”

  Carrie was just beginning to wonder if the child was serious when Lindsey McQuillan spoke, her voice as sharp as the crack of a whip.

  “This won’t do at all!” She threw Carrie, who had sprung up off the bed, a look of such severity it would have shaken most governesses to the core.

  Carrie, however, turned to face the older woman full-on. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. McQuillan, Reggie and I were on our way downstairs.”

  Multiple expressions played across Lindsey McQuillan’s hard, good-looking face. “Reggie? Is that supposed to be a nickname? The family won’t be comfortable with that. Personally I detest the habit of shortening names.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Regina said flatly, coming to plant herself beside Carrie. “It’s my name and I like it. Anyway, Royce calls you Lyn. Isn’t that the same?”

  “That’s enough from you, young lady,” Lindsey cautioned, visibly angered by the child’s rudeness. “You’ve had the entire household including your father concerned about your whereabouts while you and your new governess—” she shot Carrie another venomous glance “—are calmly sitting up here playing with a toy.”

  “It was only a few moments, Mrs. McQuillan,” Carrie protested.

  “It’s totally irresponsible,” Lindsey pronounced, looking like she wanted both of them flogged. “If you can’t do better than that, my advice to Royce will be to send you packing.”

  “You’re not the boss around here.” Regina suddenly started to jump up and down. “I hate you.”

  For answer, Lindsey McQuillan looked directly at Carrie and said in disgust, “This child is neurotic. Am I right?”

  “Gabble…gabble…gabble…” Still yelling, Regina darted out of the room and along the verandah.

  Not caring what
the other woman thought, Carrie took off after the child, so fleet of foot she caught her up, grasping her in her arms. “Gotcha!”

  The yelling and screaming broke into guffaws. The little girl began a mock battle with Carrie who made her own mock attempt to subdue her. “I want the cops right now!” Regina cried, laughing hard.

  “I am the cops,” Carrie said.

  “Show me your badge. So where is it?”

  “Your father’s got it. It’s with my references.”

  Abruptly, Regina abandoned the game. “Bloody Lindsey!” she swore, causing Carrie to take the little girl’s thin shoulders and hold them.

  “Reggie, you can’t use any old swearword that pops into your head. It’s not ladylike. Also, you must show your grandaunt the proper respect.”

  “I didn’t tell her to shut up, did I?” Regina asked reasonably. “I didn’t like the way she was talking to you. Blaming you for everything.”

  “She was worried.” Carrie tried to make excuses.

  Regina groaned. “No, she wasn’t. She’s lived here for years. You’ve just arrived.”

  “That’s true. So will we go downstairs and try to smooth things over?” Carrie suggested.

  “Not me.” Regina shook her tangled mop of light brown curls.

  “Fine.” Carrie patted the child’s arm. “I’ll go on my own.”

  “Okay.” Regina cheerfully took Carrie by the hand. “Do you think I could ever get to have a hamburger for lunch?”

  For a moment Carrie stared at her. “Why ever not? I like hamburgers.”

  “That’s good. I got kicked out of the kitchen the last time I asked for one. Ethel is supposed to be this great cook yet she won’t make me a hamburger. With chips. I love chips. I hate vegetables, especially broccoli, and I hate cereal for breakfast and I hate eggs.”

  “Right! I’ve got the message.” Carrie briefly considered Melissa had been a poor eater as a child. “I don’t see why you couldn’t mix up a drink for yourself for breakfast. Use the blender. I’m sure Mrs. Gainsford has one. A banana smoothie, or you could use pawpaw or cantaloupe. Put some honey on it. Ginger, if you like. We could experiment. Add a scoop of ice cream. You need fattening up.”