A Change for Clancy

by Amanda Doyle

  Clancy put her hand up, and brushed a damp lock of hair back from Jed’s forehead. It was something to do—something she wanted to do—so she kept on doing it.

  Jed opened his eyes. Clancy withdrew her hand hastily, blushing. He regarded her steadily for same moments. Clancy asked hurriedly, “Would you like a cup of hot tea? I could make one.”

  His skin was cold and clammy. She felt it was a sensible suggestion, but he said faintly, “No, thanks, Clancy. I’d rather just keep still at the moment—let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. Unless you’d like to have a go at wrestling with this damn thing for me? No, I never mind,” he added hastily, as Clancy positively blenched with, distress, “we’ll wait for the doc.”

  And wait for the doctor they did. It was some two hours later that Tamara heard the drone of the flying doctor’s plane as it winged in from the south-east and settled on the air-strip. She ran out to meet the doctor and nurse. She knew them both—had done for years—and excitedly related all she knew of the accident as her spindly legs hurried beside the doctor’s longer ones on the way to the house. Jed’s eyes were closed again when they entered the room. A small pile of night-gear, fetched by Tamara, lay at the bottom of the bed, and Clancy was still sitting helplessly beside him. Her own face hadn’t much more colour than the chalk-white one on the pillow, as she rose in relief to greet them.

  It appeared the doctor knew Jed, just like the aboriginal stockmen did. Jed opened his eyes, and said, “Hi, Bill—nice of you to crane,” and the doctor grinned and said, “Well, Jed, what kind of mess have you got yourself into?” after which Clancy and Tamara were sent from the room.

  It seemed a long time before the door opened again. Apart from one muffled groan which made her want to groan herself in sympathy, Clancy had heard nothing in the steady hum of voices to tell her when they would be ready for tea. The kettle was boiling, all was ready.

  “Yes, we could do with a cup, thanks, Clancy lass, and I’m sure you could too,” replied the doctor in answer to her question. He and Sister Lane followed her through to the dining-room.

  “Two lumps for me—none for Nurse. Did you make these scones?” He bit appreciatively into one, went on, mumbling a little because his mouth was full and he’d missed his lunch, “Jed’ll have his cup later. He’s sleeping just now—I gave him a shot of something to keep him quiet. I’ll leave you some tablets—two every four hours, not more than eight in the twenty-four if you can help it. His shoulder is well strapped up and in a sling. A full day’s rest would do him good, but he’ll be up and about tomorrow if I know Jed, and I’ll be back in a few days to check up. O.K., Clancy?”

  “O.K.,” Clancy agreed weakly. She stood up with a visible effort. The nurse said to her kindly, “If I were you, I’d go and lie down for a while too, Clancy. You look all in. It must have been an awful shock for you. Tamara can keep an eye on things, and call you if Mr. Seaforth wakes.”

  Tiredly, Clancy submitted. She heard them go down the steps, the thrum of the propeller as the plane started up for take-off. “An awful shock,” they’d said. Yes. Shock after shock after shock, that’s what she had had over the past few days. And the greatest shock of all, she realised, as she lay down on her bed, was the shock of her true feelings about Jed Seaforth.

  Clancy had never felt this pain around her heart before. The knowledge of her love had exploded within her and spread slowly through her being, to settle finally in a dull, unhappy ache in her chest. In her misery she admitted there .was no possible hope of her feelings ever being returned. She had behaved dreadfully to him, and what he must think of her she was better not to know. His face had been totally unrevealing when she made that shrewish attack on him yesterday, but then Tamara had come out of her room and let slip that Clancy and Johnny didn’t like him, that they wanted to get rid of him. Get rid of him?

  Clancy sat up abruptly and ran a shaking hand through her tousled hair. A terribly unwelcome thought had just come to her, a horrifying thought, an impossible thought. Impossible?

  She slipped her shoes on and ran, out the back door, along the veranda, around the tank, to the windmill. Clancy didn’t know much about windmills. She couldn’t see anything wrong at ground level, except that Jed’s tools were still scattered where they had fallen this morning. Mechanically, she picked them up, slipped them into the leather hold-all, and rolled up the bundle. Then she climbed slowly up the ladder on reluctant legs—up, up, right to the top, till she was level with the wooden platform. Clancy looked around her. She leaned over cautiously, put her hand on the nearest slats. They felt loose beneath her fingers. Clancy stared again, horrified. The bolts on the far side, holding down the sleepers, had been removed. There wasn’t a single bolt in the first four sleepers. Even from here she could see the round black holes where they had been. The ones nearest her had been loosened, and when she pressed down with her hand, the slat went up at the other end like a see-saw.

  Clancy closed her eyes a moment, sickened. With Jed’s weight stepping on to this end, it had gone down more than enough to make him lose his balance. Someone had wanted him to lose his balance. Someone had wanted him to fall. If she hadn’t been making her biscuits, she’d have been down at the bungalow, or somewhere else in the house, and no one would have been there to see Jed falling, falling, till he hit the ground. Clancy uttered a moan of terror at the mental image of Jed’s limp body sprawled on the hard earth down there.

  Hastily she scrambled down herself, and walked back to the house, preoccupied with her thoughts. They were too unpleasant, too frightening, to voice to anyone. It was clear to Clancy now that she was involved in a ghastly, evil plot, to get rid of Jed Seaforth. Those had been Tamara’s words, and they had been prophetic. Johnny Raustmann had been at the windmill, Clancy had seen him coming from it, and it was she, Clancy, who had passed the message to Jed—the message that was intended to get him out of the way, to get rid of him for good.

  Clancy trembled with disbelief. She must be mad to even be thinking such things. It must be reaction from the shock of the morning, and of last night. Surely Jed would never suspect such a thing of her? Surely? But she had told him about the windmill, and Tamara had said that about Johnny and herself, and no doubt, Jed couldn’t help but be aware of their antipathy to him. Oh, it was dreadful, unspeakable. Clancy felt trapped and frightened.

  Dazedly, she went to prepare the dinner, moving automatically about the kitchen in a net of despair. It was nearly six o’clock when Tamara ran to tell her that Jed was stirring. Clancy bade her watch the vegetables, poured boiling water into the teapot, and trod softy to his room with the tray. Truly enough, he was stirring in his sleep, his head moved on the pillow, and he mumbled some words. His face was still grey beneath its deep tan, and it glistened with sweat. He didn’t look very comfortable at all.

  Clancy set down the tray, brought a basin of cold water, flannel and towel from the bathroom, and began gently to bathe his face. Jed’s blue eyes opened, heavy with drugs, but comprehending. He watched her unblinkingly, submitted as she patted his face dry with the towel, wrung out the washer once more, and picked up his hand. His fingers moved suddenly to grasp her wrist. He held it firmly, and water ran down the corner of the cloth and dripped on to the blanket. Clancy removed the flannel with her free hand and put it back in the basin.

  “Jed, are you better now? Has the pain gone away?” she whispered.

  He ignored the question. His eyes hadn’t left her face. He was still holding her wrist as he said hoarsely, his voice a little thick from the sedative, “Clancy, that was a fine thing you did for me today. I want to thank you. You saved my life, you know that, don’t you?”

  Clancy’s pale face flushed. “Jed, don’t,” she begged quickly, thoroughly distressed.

  “It’s true enough,” he insisted gravely. “If you hadn’t come up for me, I wouldn’t have got down. I couldn’t have made it to the ground alone—except by one method, letting go altogether,” he added grimly.

  Clanc
y whitened. He must suspect something—he did, she was sure of it. What must he think of her? What would he believe of her, what could he believe, except that—that—? Clancy’s eyes filled. She stared at him in desperation and hopelessness.

  “Clancy, are you all right yourself?” Jed was gruff with concern. “You’re sure you didn’t strain yourself—hurt yourself in any way? I’m no lightweight, and I seem to remember you were holding on to me when I passed out in here this morning.”

  Clancy pulled herself together determinedly. She smiled palely as she withdrew her hand.

  “I’m fine, Jed,” she assured him gently. “And I’m glad you’re going to be, too. Let me help you with your tea.”

  Carefully she gave him the steaming, sweetened brew. He lay back again then, smiled at her drowsily, and in no time at all was asleep once more.

  CHAPTER 8

  CLANCY watched Johnny Raustmann’s face at dinner-time that night as he learned what had happened. His small eyes were curiously bright as they roved over Clancy’s pinched features. He munched solidly as he listened.

  “So his shoulder’s broken, is that it?”

  “Not broken—dislocated. It’s back in place now, though, and the doctor strapped it up. He—he’s lucky to be alive.”

  Clancy peeped surreptitiously at Johnny when she said those words, but his expression didn’t alter as he grunted in agreement.

  “Lucky? Yeah, he’s lucky all right.”

  Doubts began to assail Clancy once more. Perhaps she was being unfair, perhaps she’d been overwrought, and her imagination had played a trick on her. Ideas could carry you away, when you were tired and shocked and" confused. That’s probably what she was—carried away, by a muddled, farfetched hallucination.

  Only next morning she knew, for sure, that her deductions were more than a little accurate.

  Jed came in for breakfast, punctual to the minute, freshly shaven as usual, one sleeve of his opennecked khaki shirt tucked neatly inside to cover the bulk of his supported arm. His face was perhaps a little drawn, his tan was faded to a malarial yellow, but his voice was as normal, firm and courteous as ever as he replied to her questions one by one. Yes, he was sure he should be up, he had certain things to do. Yes, he had slept pretty well, thanks. Yes, he had taken the tablets she’d left out for him. No, thanks, he wouldn’t have two eggs this morning, one would be enough.

  Clancy gave him no more than a covert look or two—she was overcome with sudden, inexplicable shyness in his presence. It was as she dried the plates and put them on the marble table by the kitchen window that she saw Jed Seaforth striding grimly around the tank towards the mill. Clancy had a horrible feeling that she was about to re-live yesterday’s drama. It was her tea-towel she dropped this time, as she chased breathlessly after him.

  “Jed! Jed!” He stood a moment, waited for her to catch up. “You’re not going up there again, Jed?”

  “That’s precisely what I am doing, Clancy.”

  “But—but I picked up your tools for you yesterday. They’re there, rolled up, and there’s the wrench, too.”

  “Fine, Clancy. That was decent of you.” Clancy hoped she imagined the hint of sarcasm in Jed s voice. She must have, surely. She was extra sensitive about things just now, apt to imagine the stupidest impossibilities.

  Jed had been poking about at the bottom of the shaft again. Now he had his foot on the first rung of the ladder.

  “Jed, you’re not going up there again?” Clancy almost shrieked it this time, in disbelief.

  “I am, Clancy,” Jed replied calmly. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?” He turned, gave her a dissecting look.

  Clancy wet her lips, and said futilely, “Well, no—I mean, yes. You’ve only one hand—you—you might slip again—or—or something. I’m coming up, too,” she announced, with sudden firm decision. Maybe she could be ready to grab him, pull him back somehow.

  Jed shrugged. “As you please,” he agreed, pleasantly enough, as he began to ascend, one step at a time, letting his body rest forward against the ladder as he drew level with the top. Clancy was just below him, as near as she could get. She saw him reach out with his good hand to test the slats. They seemed to be quite firm as he tried to move them. Only Clancy knew better! Paralysed with fear, she watched him go up three more rungs, and start to climb on to the platform.

  “Jed, don’t! Don’t go there, don’t step there!” Clancy screamed the words in anguished pleading. She shut her eyes, screwed them up tight.

  “Clancy, stop acting like a hysterical schoolgirl. Pull yourself together and go down at once. Open your eyes, and hang on properly.” Jed’s voice wasn’t loud, but the severity of it lashed her like a whip. She , opened her eyes, to see him walking round the platform above her. Disbelieving, she climbed the last few steps, and gazed in silence. She couldn’t drag her fascinated eyes from the other end of the sleepers. There were no empty holes there this morning. The bolts were firmly screwed in, even the ones near her appeared to be tight on their threads. Clancy rested her head weakly on her arm. Moisture beaded her brow. She wetted her lips again, in painful relief.

  Jed was squatting down, examining the bolts closely, his face just a little way above her. “What’s the matter, Clancy? Has something upset you?”

  Clancy couldn’t bear those observant eyes upon her, that ironic voice. He had never adopted it with her until this morning. She shook her head wordlessly.

  “Let’s put it another way, then. You seem surprised about something. Care to tell me?” he invited.

  She shook her head again. “It’s—it’s just—oh, Jed, I hate you being up here again, after yesterday. Do come down. I won’t be happy till you do.”

  And not even then, she told herself fearfully, as she climbed down to the ground and Jed followed carefully. Clancy didn’t wait for him. She stumbled back to the kitchen, feeling the coldness of real fear chilling her veins. She knew now, without a doubt, that Johnny Raustmann had removed those bolts. There wasn’t a scrap of evidence—nobody but Clancy knew they’d been taken out. It was borne upon her finally that Johnny Raustmann was ruthless—ruthless, and dangerous. What he had tried once, he might try again, in a different way the next time. It seemed to Clancy, the more she thought about it, that his action in trying to get Jed out of the way had been out of all proportion to what he could possibly hope to gain by its successful result. She could only think that he had been unreasonably angered by Jed’s authoritative stand the day before, and Clancy herself had added fuel to the flames by refusing to fall in with his plans of an engagement. She trembled from head to foot. Guiltily, she realised that she herself might have precipitated this whole thing. For Jed’s sake, because she knew now that she loved him, she would have to string along with Johnny as best she could. The less she did to antagonise him, the better was the chance that he would leave Jed in peace. Clancy poured herself a restoring cup of tea. Having arrived at a decision, she would stick to it, and hope for the best. What else could she do?

  The days wore on. Tamara, subdued, gave no trouble for once. She seemed pale and preoccupied too, her freckles standing out against the unaccustomed whiteness of her skin. She must have had a bad fright, Clancy realised sympathetically. Jed was her hero, and she hung about him as much as she could, doing small services for him, running messages. Once or twice he even sat on the veranda with her, hearing her lessons, explaining her weakest points, pointing out where she was wrong. Clancy, peering out of the window to where the man and girl sat, couldn’t feel jealous any longer. She could only feel grateful to Tamara for loving Jed so openly, for showing him that somebody appreciated him for what he was. She couldn’t reveal her own feelings, but in a way she felt they were passed on through Tamara, and she encouraged Tammy to be with him as often as she could. At least nothing could happen between Jed and Johnny Raustmann when Tamara was around, and that relieved Clancy of her biggest worry.

  Meanwhile, she set about being as nice to Johnny Raustmann as she could, at the
same time attempting never to find herself alone with him again. Jed watched her efforts in this direction with interest. She often caught his intent gaze moving away, and his manner with her was noticeably cooler, firmer. Clancy knew it was the cross she had to bear. She was bound to silence. Unhappily, she realised she had no proof now of anything. Come to that, it had been Clancy herself who first went back to the mill and she had admitted to Jed that she had picked up his tools. Perhaps he thought she had replaced the bolts in the slats. There was no doubt, Jed’s suspicions had not been lulled, and she was included in his mind as a probable culprit. She was sure of that.

  Jed made a quick recovery. The doctor called, and professed himself satisfied with the shoulder. He had come alone this time, having left his nurse at a property on the way, to supervise a course of therapy for a child fracture case, and he himself would see Jed while she was thus engaged.

  Clancy left the men talking on the veranda while she went off to get a cup of tea.

  Bill Wishaw was square-set, greying, possibly in his late forties. In his white drill shorts and spotless shirt, he had a solid, dependable appearance, and Clancy reflected, on her way to the kitchen, that in that respect the two present occupants of the cane loungers were well matched, although, physically, they presented a contrast. Dr. Wishaw’s calling, with its enforced periods of inactivity and consequent lack of exercise, probably accounted for his lethargic good nature and muscular slackness, whereas Jed gave one the idea at all times of a powerfully relaxed tiger, ready to tense and spring on the instant, although he cloaked his watchfulness in a seemingly lazy indifference.