Wimmera Gold

by Peter Corris

  As Perry trotted back towards the enclosure he noticed that a hush had fallen over the crowd. He allowed the pony's rider to catch him up and discovered with a shock that the young man's face was almost as dark as his own.

  'Bobby Kinnear,' the young man said. 'Great ride, mate.'

  'You too.'

  'Tell you what, they don't like a couple of niggers coming in first and second.'

  'Then they'll just have to lump it,' Perry said. 'I'd like to buy you a drink later.'

  'You're on. My backers had me to place so I'll make a quid. I suppose you backed yourself in.'

  Perry shook his head.

  'Shit, you are a gentleman rider, then?'

  'Not really,' Perry said.

  They reached the enclosure and dismounted. There were muted congratulations and mutterings about a record time for the event but Perry had seen more excitement at horseshoe throwing contests. He shrugged off his feelings of offence and nodded when a committeeman told him who he should see to collect his prize money. He was walking towards that official, engaged in drawing a raffle, when Humphrey Price shouldered his way through the crowd towards him.

  'Capital ride, Perry. Capital. You did me proud. I told you to put something on yourself but I suppose you didn't listen.'

  The doctor was now very drunk. Perry smiled. 'Afraid not, doctor. I'm just off to collect my modest purse. I'm afraid it wasn't a popular result.'

  'To hell with them,' Price fought for his balance as he ushered forward the blonde woman in the yellow silk dress. 'Mr John Perry, heavyweight champion of the Wimmera and winner of the 1872 gentleman's mile, I'd like you to meet Mrs Pauline Drewe.'

  9

  'I'm afraid that my interest is not in your professional services, Mrs Drewe,' John Perry said.

  Pauline Drewe sighed and her soft chin quivered slightly. 'Such a pity. Still, its nice to meet someone with good manners—a rarity in these parts, let me tell you.'

  Perry was sitting in a back room of Mrs Drewe's Hamilton Street house, having accompanied her home from the race meeting. On the way, with Perry riding behind the Drewe trap, they had encountered Henry and Margaret Fanshawe. The squatter had nodded curtly but his wife had stared straight forward as if her head had been held by a surgical brace. Pauline Drewe had laughed at the snub and flicked the whip at her smart chestnut. Perry reflected that sin was paying Mrs Drewe well.

  He had accepted coffee gratefully at Pauline Drewe's house and remarked favourably on the decor and fittings. She had moved closer to him on the sofa and placed her large white hand on his thigh. It was at this point that Perry made his declaration.

  Pauline removed her hand and curled two fingers through the handle of her cup. She appeared not in the least insulted or disappointed, and Perry judged that she had seen every possible outcome of attempted seduction and was unsurprisable. 'If we're not to have any sport what are we to do? You've complimented me on my house and my coffee. I've admired your manners. I confess I'm at a loss.'

  Perry laughed. 'I doubt you're ever at a loss, Pauline. I have it on good authority that an American named Lincoln was a visitor here in recent times.'

  'And if he was?'

  'I'm trying to locate him. I have business with him.'

  Pauline Drewe yawned in a theatrical way. 'Business, men and business. What a bore. I must say Wesley Lincoln never discussed business in this house.'

  'Was there a particular woman he … preferred.'

  'Yes.'

  'I'd like to talk to her. I'd make it worth her while.'

  'Would you now? What an interesting offer.'

  Perry got up and stood in front of the fireplace. The room had grown chilly and his hip was still sore and aching. He moved slightly to allow the warmth of the fire to reach it. 'Yes. I have a few questions I would like to ask her.'

  Pauline Drewe smiled and put down her cup. She smoothed the silk dress down over her knees and adjusted the fall of the skirt before she stood. She was a tall woman and her shoes had heels that lifted her to only a few inches below Perry's commanding height. She moved across to where he stood and put one hand on his shoulder. He could smell her perfume and see the fine lines around her mouth and eyes, skilfully covered by powder and paint. Her teeth were large and white. Her prevailing expression was a mixture of good humour and shrewdness.

  'I happen to be the woman in question,' she said. 'And I'd be happy to answer your questions, sir, but I have one of my own. How would you propose to make it worth my while?'

  Pauline Drewe groaned as Perry withdrew and rolled away from her. His head came to rest on a satin-covered pillow; the sheets that were now tangled on the immense bed were silk. Their clothes lay on the floor along with the satin bed cover and cashmere blankets.

  'You were good. Very, very good,' she said.

  Perry stroked her rounded shoulder which had been slightly reddened where his beard had rubbed it. He had been surprised by his own vigour and enthusiasm. 'You are charming and accomplished,' he said. 'And I haven't been with a woman for quite some time.'

  'I'll ignore the last part of that remark. Let's just say we both had fine sport.'

  'Agreed.'

  'I'll ring for some champagne if you'll share a bottle with me.'

  'Certainly.'

  She left the bed, opened a large, mirrored wardrobe and took out a green silk dressing gown. She carried her excess flesh well and Perry was sorry to see her white nakedness covered. She slipped into the garment, drew the belt tight and turned back towards him. The gown was skimpily cut in the front and her large breasts were almost completely exposed. Perry felt a sudden, almost alarming, renewal of his interest. Pauline Drewe laughed at him. She reached at the bell rope and rolled her eyes lasciviously as she pulled on it.

  They were sitting up in the bed when the maid brought the champagne bottle and glasses on a silver tray. If she was surprised to see a coloured man in her mistress's bed she gave no sign of it.

  'Thank you, Sally. Light the gas and that will be all.'

  The maid stepped over the strewn clothes and lit two wall-mounted gas jets with wax matches she kept in a pocket of her apron. She lowered the covers over the jets and left the room. Perry eased out the cork and poured. The sharp bite of the chilled wine was welcome and immediately contributed to his reaction to the woman reclining on the pillows beside him. He emptied his glass and cupped his hand around her right breast, squeezing the large pink nipple until it hardened.

  'Jesus,' Pauline Drewe said. She kept hold of her glass but slid her hand down onto his penis. She stroked him until he was erect, tilting up the silk sheet. Perry licked the nipple and put his hand between her legs; his thumb pressed her clitoris and his fingers slipped into the cleft between her buttocks and probed.

  'Oh, Christ.' She spilled the contents of her glass as she knocked his hand away. She scrambled forward, rucking up the dressing gown and tuning her wide, pink bottom towards him. 'Do it to me dog fashion. Please, do it!'

  Perry entered her from behind. His hands clutched at the ripe fruit of her breasts as he reared and plunged. She heaved back, throwing her weight against him, until the act was a confused contest of bodily strength and passion. They shouted as the moment of release came for them both and they collapsed, panting and gasping onto the wine-soaked sheet.

  'You made it worth my while,' Pauline Drewe said when they had restored the bed to some order and refilled their glasses. 'And my guess is that you haven't forgotten the other thing you came up here for.'

  Perry, sated, but with his senses still tingling and his mind barely functioning, drank thirstily and tried to focus on something other than the feel and sound of flesh slapping and blood pounding. His hip hurt. That brought him back to some kind of reality. 'Wesley Lincoln,' he murmured.

  'Good,' Pauline Drewe said, 'but too rough, as if he hated himself for liking it.'

  Perry shook his head. 'That's not what I'm interested in.'

  She leaned over and kissed him. She smelled sweet of
sex now as well as of perfume and alcohol. 'I understand. You want pillow talk. Things he might have mumbled in his sleep.'

  Perry was suddenly aware of a sadness in her. The kohl around her eyes and the rouge on her cheeks had been eroded and as a consequence she looked older, faded and tired. Her hair had lost its stylish arrangement and he pulled out one of the combs to allow it to tumble to her shoulders. It was thinner than it appeared when piled up and pinned in place. 'It doesn't matter, Pauline,' he said.

  She struck him hard with her closed fist. The punch landed on his upper arm and made him spill more wine on the bed. 'Don't you dare feel sorry for me, Mister John Perry and don't give yourself airs. You were good but I've had better. I may never have better again but that's my lookout. Ask your questions.'

  'I didn't want to make it feel like … '

  'Business? That's what it is. That's what it always is, one way or another. Your high and mighty Mrs Henry Fanshawe is a whore in her own way, like every married woman in this and every other bloody place. Ask, damn you, ask!'

  'Did Lincoln ever tell you why he came to these parts?'

  'To work with horses and cattle. That, and guns and liquor and women were the only things he knew anything about. Oh, yes, and tricks with knives and cards. He's a rogue, but an amusing one.'

  'Dr Price said Lincoln had been to see him and hadn't paid his bill. Do you have any idea of what that would have been about?'

  Pauline extended her left arm and wiggled the fingers of her hand. Several jewelled rings winked in the light from the covered gas jets. 'It sounds as if you're expecting to get into a fight with him.'

  'That's possible.'

  'How exciting. I suggest you make it a fist fight rather than one with a knife or a gun.'

  'Please explain.'

  She put her left hand to Perry's mouth. He kissed it automatically. 'Wesley wears a glove on his left hand. I never saw him without it. It was damaged in the war, he said, and it troubles him still. Perhaps that's what he saw Humphrey about. I hope it was a simple matter because that old fraud knows next to nothing about doctoring.'

  'What war?'

  'My dear, I know little enough about wars. We are happily free of them here, although I'm told they're good for business. Didn't you Americans have one of your own quite lately?'

  'I'm not an American,' Perry said. 'You'd be a good judge of men, Pauline. Do you believe him? Was Lincoln ever a soldier?'

  She shook her head and the fast-straightening blonde curls trailed over her shoulders. 'I would say not. I've known a few soldiers and know their habits. He probably got shot by another gambler, or a jealous husband. Perhaps a horse bit him. Who knows?'

  Perry smiled. 'Just suppose that he came into a great deal of money. What would he do?'

  Pauline's eyes opened wide and she gazed at Perry with astonishment. 'You've either spent a lot of time in whorehouses or you've got a wonderful imagination. That's a whore's question. You ask it when conversation's flagging.'

  'I didn't know,' Perry said. 'But what's the answer in Lincoln's case?'

  'He'd go back to Texas and raise cattle. I fancy he'd like to kill Indians too.'

  'Did he say anything about the natives here, the blacks?'

  Pauline drank some wine and played with the tie of her dressing gown. 'My god, d'you expect me to remember everything we said up here?'

  'Yes. I'm convinced that you can.'

  'You're right. He said that the blacks were animals like the Indians, but that they knew the country, no, not the country, the … '

  'What?'

  'The caves. I think he said the caves. What caves? There are no caves around here. But, of course, I didn't inquire. Bed talk.'

  'Just so,' Perry said. 'Do you know who he associated with here in Wilding? Did he drink with anyone in particular? Perhaps he met with someone in your splendid house?'

  'He did. Just once. An Irishman. God spare me from the Irish—they either get raging drunk and tear the place apart or fall into weeping fits like babies. Sometimes both.'

  Perry drank the rather flat champagne and set the glass down on the bedside table. 'The Irishman's name, Pauline?'

  'Daniel Bracken,' she said. 'Boastful when drunk which was the only way I saw him. A legal man of some kind from Melbourne. And a terrible weeper.'

  10

  Retiring early, Perry spent the night at Pauline Drewe's in a bedroom which was only a little disturbed by the normal commerce of the house. After his ride, the 'sport' with Pauline, the champagne and a sizeable helping of rabbit pie he would have slept through an armed insurrection. At first light, after coffee and porridge in the kitchen, he retrieved Jamaica from the brothel's stables and rode in the direction of the Hertzberg Mission. He arrived in time to see the residents trooping from the church at the end of a mid-morning service. He reined in at a respectful distance, dismounted and tied the horse to a fence post.

  The boy, Adolph, came running when he saw Perry and Jamaica. Perry took some sugar cubes he had brought from Pauline's kitchen and gave them to Adolph to feed to the horse.

  'Can I ride 'im, Mister Perry?'

  'Not today, son. I can't stay long. Is Sarah about?'

  'She's in church playing the organ. Do you want her?'

  'Where's the pastor?'

  'He's seein' to old Timmy who's goin' to die any minute. Sarah's taking the services today.'

  'Would you run and get her for me? I promise I'll let you take him for a gallop next time.'

  The boy shot off, running barefoot over the cold, damp grass and hard gravel without apparent discomfort. Sarah Braun emerged from the church wearing the same clothes Perry had seen her in before, apart from a green felt bonnet that covered her dark hair. Adolph sprinted ahead and began feeding the sugar to the horse.

  'Good morning, Mr Perry.'

  'Good morning, Miss Braun. I'm sorry to interrupt your organ practice. I'd like to hear you play some time.'

  'I only play in church, I'm afraid.'

  They fell into step, moving towards where Adolph was pulling up tender grass shoots. Perry said, 'I want to ask you about your conversations with the American, Wesley Lincoln.'

  'There was only one conversation. I didn't like him.'

  'Did you talk about caves?'

  Sarah stared. 'Yes. Why?'

  'I haven't time to explain. Miss Braun, I'm going to Melbourne soon to see some legal people. When I'm there I'll do whatever I can to help you with your claim to this land. But I'm asking you to trust me now. It's very important that I know what you told Lincoln.'

  Sarah pulled off her bonnet and shook out her hair which had been tucked up inside it. She began to rearrange the thick curls preparatory to replacing the headgear. Perry admired her quick, deft movements. 'He asked me about the mountains. Those the white men call the Mount Perfect Ranges. He asked me about caves and hiding places in them.'

  'What did you tell him?'

  'The mountains are … were sacred places to the Jardwa. Some of the caves were used for ceremonies … '

  Perry nodded. 'Religious ceremonies?'

  Sarah shrugged. 'We know now that this was all primitive superstition, but I did not want to tell him about those caves. I wouldn't tell any white person.'

  'I understand.'

  'I told him about one cave—not a place in the stories. Not a religious place. You see, I only know about these things from the old people. The old men and the old women. They say different things and tell only so much. But they told me about a cave where all the people, men and women and children, sheltered from the weather and cooked and ate and … '

  Perry dug more sugar cubes from his pocket and tossed them to the boy who was totally engrossed with the horse. 'I want you to tell me how to find this cave. It's very important.

  'Why?'

  'I can't tell you. I wish you could come with me to show me the way, but I suppose that's impossible.'

  Sarah completed her hair arrangement and replaced the bonnet. She kept her eye
s lowered. 'Yes, that is impossible.'

  'Please tell me.'

  'Have you a pencil and some paper?'

  Perry opened a saddlebag and took out the notebook in which he had been making entries on what he thought of as the Fanshawe commission. He opened the book at a blank page and handed it, along with a pencil, to Sarah who rested it on the top rail of the fence and began to make a series of rapid sketches. She tut-tutted several times and corrected some lines, erasing them with a moistened forefinger and redrawing them. When she returned the book to Perry he saw that she had made a detailed map and two sketches of natural features. The map had directional indications and estimates of distances written in neat copperplate, not unlike Perry's own hand, except that the letter seven was crossed in the European manner.

  'This map will take you to the place where you can enter the gorge that leads to the cave. It can be difficult to find at this time of the year after the creeks have risen. It is easier earlier on, so the old people say.'

  'Did you give Lincoln a map?'

  'No. There was no paper, but I wanted to direct him away from the other caves, so I drew it in the dirt. You need good eyes. Have you got good eyes, Mr Perry?'

  'Yes.'

  'You look for these things—the pile of rocks with the three trees and the place where the creek runs in three directions. That could be difficult now with the higher water.'

  Perry studied the sketch. 'I think I understand. Thank you.'

  Sarah turned the pencil in her long, dark fingers. 'Do you have other pencils, Mr Perry?'

  'Yes.'

  'May I keep this one? They are much needed here.'

  'Of course.'

  Adolph had exhausted the sugar cubes and stood awkwardly watching Perry and Sarah. Eventually she became aware of his presence. 'Adolph, please go and change the flowers at the back of the church.'