‘You’ve had four days to discover who this person is,’ Colin challenged. ‘I gather you have no leads. Nothing.’
‘Actually, we are following a lead, Mr Webber. Over the past couple of years there have been a series of stock thefts out here in the western division. Nothing big. Usually twenty to fifty head. On the bigger places, take yours for example, it can be six months or more before the loss is noticed. And when you’re talking big mobs on large acreage, well, quite often the owners put the loss down to a dry spell or fly-strike. But on a smaller holding, a grower soon notices if fifty head go astray.’
‘Well, that’s not our man,’ Georgia stated. ‘He rode to the river in broad daylight. And he stole the jewellery my late husband gave me, not sheep.’
‘Granted, the patient doesn’t quite fit the bill. But whether our man is a burglar or a stock thief, the two types do have something in common. They’re opportunists. Anyway, our mystery man is but one of your concerns, is he not?’ He picked through the sandwiches before selecting a curried egg. His companions were far less fussy. ‘I’ll be needing property maps.’
Georgia took a step towards Constable Graham. ‘What other concern are you referring to?’
The policeman glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I thought you would have received a telephone call by now.’
Rex, choosing a sandwich, shared a look of bewilderment with the housekeeper.
‘About what?’ asked Georgia.
‘About your son, Mrs Webber.’
Colin frowned. ‘What about our son?’
The constable considered taking a bite of the bread and egg. ‘Your house guests, the Winslows. Their car broke down and it seems your boy took off.’
‘What the hell do you mean “took off”?’ Colin was on his feet.
The constable’s expression never changed. ‘Exactly that. The Winslows fell asleep and when they woke up your son was gone. I can only assume that your young Robbie walked off into the scrub.’ Taking a large bite of the sandwich, he chewed hungrily. ‘We found them broken down on the side of the road on our way out here. That’s why we were delayed. We drove them back to the village, to the hotel. They were meant to contact you.’
Georgia paled. ‘Robbie ran away?’
‘How long ago did they break down?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Early this morning, Miss,’ Officer Atwill replied.
Chapter Forty-three
‘That Sweeny Hall needs a good –’
‘Colin!’ corrected Georgia sharply. Cheeks reddened by the stifling heat, she’d refused a fortifying beverage more than once. ‘If you could stop complaining for one minute we might actually be able to think.’
‘I always said that Sweeny was about as useful as a frog in a sock.’ Rex, leaning on a wooden pillar, chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘The mother was no good either. Set herself up as a laundry woman but couldn’t even get the copper hot enough to wash things proper-like.’
Next to him, Constable Graham suggested that arguing wasn’t assisting the situation. No-one heeded him.
‘No good bloody –’
‘Colin,’ Georgia said loudly, for the fourth time, ‘would you please mind your manners?’
Colin halted in his relentless pacing of the long veranda.
A makeshift centre of sorts had been set up on the porch. Insects fluttered about the lights, swam in coffee cups and floated in water jugs. Eleanor picked a drowned moth from a glass and took a sip of the warm liquid. The previous hub-bub of police and maps, search groups and assumptions was lessened only marginally by the earlier exodus of those determined to begin searching. Some of the shearers were happy to assist in the hunt for the stranger and Robbie, and two groups of men with an officer in charge of each were already rescouring the many station outbuildings before fanning out to check the countryside. No-one said the obvious. That with darkness upon them and endless acres of land stretching out like eternity, there was little chance of finding anyone until morning.
Eleanor waited as her stepfather, once again, attempted to control his raging temper. The anger emanating from Colin was quite palpable, causing her to consider if there was some deeper issue at the root of his fury. His eyes were as round as brass door-knobs, his face puffy and greyer than usual. And, most tellingly, he was now the only one drinking. Whisky, straight up. Every time he ventured towards the silver salver with its crystal decanters of various spirits, the nips grew larger.
Constable Graham, having arrived with the superior air expected of the constabulary, clearly understood that, for the moment, he was relegated to the position of bystander. Eleanor guessed at the officer’s thoughts. Perhaps he considered them superior, decorated as the family was with a long land tenure, power and wealth, an enviable heritage. Or maybe he merely saw the Webbers of River Run as pretentious or, worse, removed from everyday life. The many years of supporting the district over the generations through employment, of family members being active politically for the benefit of society, their war service, of contributing to the nation’s gross domestic product; all accounted for nothing when it came down to bush hierarchy. People were grouped accordingly. The haves and the have-nots, the great landowners and the townies, shearers, the workers and the bosses. The extraordinary thing in Eleanor’s mind was that the only detail that really made people different was money, and with that came envy. As her father once stated, the green eye of the little yellow god.
Constable Graham dragged Eleanor’s mother’s flamboyant peacock chair away from the head of the table and closer to a flyscreen window, savvy to the weak draft of air drifting through the gauze. A platter balancing precariously on a dense thigh, he began to munch his way through mutton and Keen’s mustard sandwiches, the lower portion of his jaw jutting enthusiastically from side to side. ‘You just let me know how you’d like to handle this,’ he spoke between bites. ‘You people will know best. He’s your boy after all.’
In response Georgia looked to her husband, who in turn briskly tapped the glass in his hand. Rex took a drag of the cigarette he smoked. Somewhere nearby a horse whinnied.
Eleanor thought briefly of the Winslows, safely ensconced in the hotel in the village, their broken-down vehicle yet to be towed from the side of the road. Nobody seemed willing to show compassion for the visiting couple, especially Margaret, who, from the accounts of the constable in-charge, was dreadfully weakened by the terrible ordeal, a quite understandable outcome, the policeman emphasised, considering the woman’s delicate constitution.
‘I can’t believe that Robbie would be walking around at night,’ Georgie said doubtfully.
‘Well, he probably isn’t by this stage.’ Colin gave a snort of disagreement. ‘Who knows when the boy took off? Keith and Margaret clearly have no idea.’ He turned to the policeman for confirmation.
‘None, unfortunately.’ Constable Graham flicked crumbs from the leg of his uniform. ‘Mr Winslow believed they dozed on and off for a couple of hours. Your son was sitting on the opposite side of the tree so they assumed he was still there.’
Eleanor glanced shyly at Hugh sitting in a cane chair, the expanse of table between them. He appeared to be dozing, but she knew better. As she studied the man, he met her eyes.
Georgia and Colin were arguing again about Robbie’s disappearance, about the Winslows not keeping an eye on their son.
Twice in the last twenty minutes Eleanor had tried to mention what Lesley had confided and twice she’d been talked down. On each occasion Hugh lifted his hand as if patting the air. But what if Lesley really had seen Robbie? Eleanor articulated her thoughts.
‘Do you really think Lesley saw him? I mean, Rex told me that your sister isn’t quite with us, and I mean no offence when I say that,’ Hugh cautioned. ‘Think about it, Eleanor. She arrives home after five years and Robbie leaves the next day and Lesley doesn’t even get to say goodbye to him. Then she goes walkabout in the heat, feeling sad and sorry for herself and believes she’s seen your brother.’ He grimaced. ‘All I�
�m saying is that I wouldn’t like to create a goose chase for the men. We need to think logically about this.’
Eleanor, torn between wanting to find her brother and the off-chance of proving that Lesley wasn’t mad, bided her time as their collective group, bolstered occasionally by the appearance of the housekeeper, made suggestions and presumptions when the two duelling heads of the household paused for breath.
‘We should never have considered boarding school,’ Georgia accused.
Colin stalked to the opposite end of the veranda.
When it came to Robbie, Hugh was unconcerned. ‘He’ll have hunkered down for the night by now,’ he told Eleanor.
‘I know, but I still worry about him,’ Eleanor quietly replied.
‘Don’t. He’s a tough nut, your brother. He might still think a bit like a kid, but in other ways he’s older than his years. That makes things a touch confusing for him.’ He leant forward. ‘Consider the shooting. Why did he do it? Because he got it into his head that the property, his property, was going to be invaded. Then with Lomax and Billy Wright, he knew they were doing wrong, so he tried to stop them. At the heart of both incidents is a boy doing his best to protect what he loves.’ He gave a quirky smile. ‘Admittedly, the training wheel fell off the bicycle in both instances, but his heart was in the right place.’
‘But he bashes crows to death with a stick,’ argued Eleanor.
‘So did I once, but it’s kinder and easier if you poison the bait.’
The image he conjured was not a pleasant one. ‘So he’s normal?’ Eleanor asked, aware of the surprise in her voice.
‘Depends on your definition of normal, I suppose. Right little bastard, I’d call him.’
Eleanor giggled.
‘We need a pack of cards, Elly,’ Hugh said softly. ‘Can I call you Elly?’ His tone was hopeful.
‘Of course.’
‘Do you play cards?’
‘Not really. Well, I dabbled in Gin Rummy once, and lost badly,’ she added.
Hugh rubbed his hands together. ‘There’s a dollar to be made here,’ he joked.
How pleased she was that Hugh was with her. There was something so solid about him, so normal, so reassuring. This was a man who was relaxed in his own skin, who had direction. The off-shoot of that meant he was comfortable with her, his position on River Run and her family. He held no qualms when it came to reporting to a woman. Maybe people’s attitudes in general, towards everything, had less to do with money and more to do with finding their own place in the world.
‘She’ll be alright you know,’ said Hugh, referring to Lesley.
‘I hope so.’ The more Eleanor thought of Lesley’s admission, of having seen Robbie near the station cemetery, the more she believed that it was too much of a coincidence considering the Winslows’ broken-down car and Robbie’s escape. Her brother was on foot, fleeing boarding school. He would head to one place and one place only. His treehouse by the riverbank. There was food and water there. Safety.
She pictured Robbie waiting until the Winslows were asleep and then heading bush, towards shelter, towards his special place. As long as he stayed in the branches, above the ground, she guessed he’d be quite safe even on a moonless night. Eleanor tried not to revisit Lesley’s words, did her best not to dwell on childhood phobias that sanity told her didn’t exist, but it was difficult, very difficult.
‘I think Lesley is right,’ announced Eleanor. ‘Now that we know Robbie has run away, well, hallucination or not, he’s out there. At the river.’
‘Really?’ Hugh didn’t look persuaded.
‘He has a treehouse. You know that. It’s the spot where he shot Chad. He’s got supplies stashed away there.’
Hugh weighed up the facts. ‘It’s a long way for the boy to walk in the heat. And Lesley still could have been imagining things.’
‘Well, where the hell could he be?’ asked Colin, pacing the veranda.
Hugh uncrossed long legs. The skin on his face was red with dirt and still swollen in places from the morning’s fight. ‘Eleanor suggested that hidey-hole of Robbie’s, the tree by the river.’
Georgia blew a puff of air through her lips. ‘Absurd. It’s much too far to walk. Why, the Winslows were nearly at the boundary. They were past the fourth stock grid near the turn-off to the cemetery.’
‘The cemetery,’ repeated Eleanor, noting the affirmation on Hugh’s face. ‘Mum, Lesley saw Robbie walking through the scrub when she was at the cemetery.’
Her mother was caught off guard. ‘Yes, yes she did say something along those lines, Elly. But I didn’t take her seriously.’
‘Neither did I.’ Eleanor grew excited. ‘The road to the graveyard cuts diagonally cross-country in the direction of the river.’
Georgia’s sun-cracked lips formed a small 0.
‘Makes sense.’ Rex, who’d been quiet, peeled his lanky body from the wooden pillar. ‘Well, I mean the boy may well be a right young rascal but he knows a thing or two about the scrub.’ He scratched his jowly neck. ‘Followed the birds when the sun dropped, he would have. Gone straight to the river and cooled himself down. After that …’ He hunched bony shoulders. ‘I say we all set off after the lad. It’s past eight o’clock already.’
‘Good idea,’ Colin concurred.
Constable Graham rose enthusiastically. ‘We’ll take my car.’
‘We’ll be on horseback,’ Hugh told his employers. ‘And you,’ he said to the police officer, ‘well, your vehicle won’t handle the paddock, Constable. There’s no road. Only a sheep trail and once we reach the river the trees make it hard going, they’re that thick.’
‘Constable Graham, Rex and I will stay here at the house,’ Georgia directed. ‘In case Robbie turns up.’
‘Can I suggest that only Eleanor and I head out?’ asked Hugh. ‘Robbie may well take off otherwise. He does have the advantage, and he’ll have it in his mind that he’ll be packed off to school again once he’s found.’
Georgia nodded slowly, hesitant. ‘You’re right of course, Hugh.’ She turned to Eleanor. ‘Robbie does think the world of you.’
A deep line creased Colin’s forehead. ‘He is my son.’ When this statement brought no response, he lifted saddle-greasy hands in mock surrender. ‘Fine. Go then.’ He turned away, walked a few paces across the timber floor and then headed back to the table where he poured a measure of whisky, as well as one for the police officer. Constable Graham reluctantly accepted the offering, cradling the tumbler in the palm of his hand.
‘Do you think you could find that tree in the dark, Elly? Help me find Robbie?’ asked Hugh.
‘I …’ It was so very black beyond the homestead. ‘If you follow the sheep trail that leads past the crow trap, Hugh, and head straight to the river, you’ll find him. It’s a big tree in a clearing and the branches extend across the water. It’s directly opposite to where Chad was shot.’
Hugh digested this information. ‘I might be able to find the spot, might,’ he emphasised, ‘but it would be easier if you came with me.’
Eleanor looked out at the dense blackness, void of shadows, of depth. Rex and Georgia were staring at Eleanor. Hugh had moved quickly and was waiting for her on the veranda steps.
‘I just don’t –’ Eleanor swallowed. What on earth was she going to say? I’m terribly sorry but I can’t help you find Robbie because I’m afraid of the dark?
‘I don’t blame you, girl.’ Rex finished rolling a cigarette, sticking it above his ear. ‘Black as pitch and twice as dark it is. It’s not the night to be going walkabout. You live in the scrub the length of time I have and you know when they’re out there. The old people roamed this land, still do some say.’ Digging a hand in a pocket, matches were retrieved. He placed a splinter of wood between his teeth and began to chew and talk simultaneously. ‘Crossed from west to east for better hunting, for foraging and such-like. Been doing it since Adam and Eve. Twice a year and back again in the old days, before the whitefella came and then for a bit
afterwards. ’Course back then they made fair use of a full moon, but now’ – he ran a finger along the wiry tendons of his neck – ‘now, they’re out there when it suits and they don’t need no moon to guide them. Been in the wrong place at the wrong time, I have. Winter it was and they held me up at the boundary gate. Couldn’t see a thing, but I knew they were there. I ain’t proud. I turned away right quick and went back the way I came. No point a man messing with things like that.’ Rex turned to Eleanor. ‘If you feel them, girl, you turn around and come straight home. We might have the run of the place during the day, but at night,’ he spat the match into the dark, ‘at night, the land belongs to them.’
‘Rex!’ Georgia exclaimed.
The gardener shook his head innocently. ‘I’m just saying, missus, I’m just saying. I’m just telling the girl how it is. Fair’s fair. And besides, dark of the moon tonight it is, a blood month, and a goddamn albatross to boot.’
Colin, propped on the edge of the table, scowled. ‘Get a grip, Rex.’
‘What albatross?’ asked Georgia. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘I’m just saying.’ Rex brushed past Hugh, his boots crunching gravel. ‘I’ll fetch the horses.’
Hugh beckoned Eleanor. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
Reluctantly, Eleanor walked out into the night.
Chapter Forty-four
They rode with the hot, earthy scents of a land under siege, the countryside gasping for water, for relief as they travelled side by side through wafts of tainted air. Eleanor concentrated on the circle of light formed by Hugh’s torch. He knew their land well, for although it was indeed as black as pitch, as Rex warned, his path rarely strayed and before long they were in the middle of the paddock following the depression made by the trampling of sheep. Their steady progress marked by the occasional squeak of leather and snorting of their mounts.
Ahead, a structure loomed. Hugh flashed the beam of light in the direction of the crow trap. The octagonal chicken-wire glinting metallically. ‘At least we know where the stink was coming from.’ He passed the torch across the battered bodies of the birds within, the light shining briefly on the black-feathered carcasses as they rode by. ‘How are you doing, Elly?’
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