After the quadrille, however, as Christopher came stalking over to argue with him some more, Eyre immediately swept May out on to the floor to dance a long, slow, clockwork waltz, around and around, with Christopher’s indignant face appearing with bright-red regularity on the third beat of every tenth bar.
Eyre found May quite provocative; and his britches tightened as they danced. But provocative as she was, her conversation was nothing but a shopping-basket of confusions, worries, second-hand notions, and unrelated facts about nothing of any importance. With his imagination already widening to encompass the ‘calling’ which Captain Sturt had spoken about; with his mind’s-eye repeating for him again and again the sweep of the arm with which Sturt had outlined the furthest reaches of the Ghastly Blank; Eyre found it difficult to follow what May was saying, and even more difficult to come up with any sensible replies.
‘Everybody knows that Aborigines are little more than dirty children,’ said May, as Christopher’s face swung past her shoulder, followed by the glittering chandelier, and a footman carrying punch, nd a white-faced young man with fiery red hair.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Eyre.
‘They steal, and they lie, and they’re no use at all to man or beast.’
‘What? Who do?’
‘Oh, Eyre,’ protested May, ‘you’re being absolutely impossible.’
Eyre kissed her on the forehead, just at the moment that Mrs Palgrave was peering at them both like a custodial bandicoot. ‘Forgive me: let’s go and find something to eat.’
Christopher caught up with them in the dining-room, where the long walnut table had been laid out with terraces of food.
‘Eyre, you’re being quite impossible.’
‘I know. May has just told me that.’
‘But to talk to Captain Sturt like that; really. What on earth did he think?’
‘He didn’t think I was insane, or anything of that nature, if that’s what you imagine.’
‘But you’re going through with this ridiculous idea?’
Eyre picked a chicken vol-au-vent from the very top of a mountain of vol-au-vents, and bit into it. ‘Of course I am. Especially now that Captain Sturt seems to think that I could have all the makings of an explorer.’
‘That’s nonsense. He was only being polite.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Eyre, shaking his head.
‘Well, even if he wasn’t, what would you explore?’
Eyre stared at him. ‘What do you think I would explore? Australia, of course! There are countless thousands of square miles of quite uncharted territory out there. For all we know, there may be a vast inland sea. Or a huge tropical forest. Or an undiscovered range of mountains.’
They walked along the whole length of the table. There were smoked hams, tureens of white cockatoo soup, wild ducks stuffed with beef and apricots, chickens, Goolwa cockles, roasted emu thighs, and lamb cutlets with crisp golden fat on beds of wild celery and spinach. There were boiled crabs, glistening oysters, and freshly-opened lampreys, as well as silvery smoked sea-perch, baked snapper, and steaming tureens of green-turtle broth. Eyre picked here and there; and forked up tidbits for May and Daisy; while Christopher hovered around him and sulked.
‘I really can’t understand why you’re so upset,’ said Eyre, with his mouth full.
‘You’re making a fool of yourself, that’s why. Chasing off after Aborigines.’
‘I’ve invited you to come with me. Then we can both make fools of ourselves.’
Christopher said nothing, but forked himself up a slice of emu meat, which was coarse and lean and rather like mutton; and chewed it with concentrated aggression.
Eyre said, ‘I haven’t really worked out what I’m going to do yet. Tomorrow, after I’ve spoken to Captain Sturt again, perhaps I shall know more clearly. But I shall go in search of Yonguldye; and, as I go, I shall chart whatever countryside I come across, and make maps.’
Christopher swallowed his meat, and looked away.
Eyre touched his back. ‘You could come with me, you know. It would be quite an adventure; and, who knows, we might come back from it as heroes. Look at Captain Sturt.’
Christopher shrugged, and still didn’t answer.
‘I have to go,’ said Eyre. ‘I owe it not only to Yanluga, but to myself, too.’
‘If you must,’ retorted Christopher.
Eyre hesitated, and then took Christopher aside, where they could be overheard only by a large bronze bust of Matthew Flinders, the man who had discovered the site of Adelaide in 1801. ‘Something is upsetting you,’ said Eyre. ‘I think you should explain to me just what it is.’
Christopher looked at him, watery-eyed. ‘It is not an easy matter to explain without your misunderstanding it altogether.’
‘Can you try?’
Christopher shrugged. ‘The fact of the matter is that I have formed a considerable affection for you. Not a physical affection—please don’t think that it is anything to do with matters of that nature. But, I suppose I must say that I love you.’
Eyre held his friend’s hand. ‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I love you, too, with all my heart.’
‘Not quite as I do, my dear chap. I love you—’ and here he swallowed as if he were still trying to force down his mouthful of emu flesh, ‘—romantically.’
Eyre couldn’t find any words to answer him; but he kept hold of his hand, and gripped it firmly, to show that he was neither disgusted nor repelled.
After a moment or two, Christopher said, ‘This has only happened to me once before in my life, at college, and I never imagined for a single instant that it would ever happen again. But during the year in which I have known you, I have become as attached to you as a young girl might have done. That is why the thought of your leaving on this incredible expedition to find Yonguldye fills me with such dread. There have been many explorers, Eyre; and very few of them have been as lucky and as successful as Captain Sturt. There may be an inland sea. There may be a wonderful forest. But those who have tried to penetrate the interior and survived have come back with stories of nothing but treeless desert, and of unimaginable heat, and death.’
Eyre licked his lips, to moisten them. The dining-room suddenly felt dry, and stuffy, like a brick oven. ‘I have already said that you could come with me. Your feelings about me give me no cause whatsoever to change my mind.’
Christopher said, ‘No. I am afraid that such ventures are not for me. If I were to go, I would die just as surely as you would survive. I am not a hero, Eyre, for all of my bombast, and for all of my womanising. You said to me once that you envied me and my ability to court girls without becoming over-attached to them. Well, now you know why.’
Eyre insisted, ‘You must come with me; because you will never persuade me not to go.’
‘No,’ said Christopher.
‘But we will be properly equipped. Captain Sturt will give us all the advice we need. We will take plenty of water with us, and at least two other companions; and an Aboriginal guide. How can we fail? And if we do fail, then all we have to do is to turn back.’
‘Do you think that those poor souls whose bones lie out on the sand-dunes didn’t believe the same thing? You know how hot it can be here in the summer: further north the heat becomes more and more intense. No, Eyre, it is a land of death, and when you speak about this expedition I can feel death itself on my shoulder.’
May came over, her white breasts bouncing, and said brightly, ‘You two do look serious. For myself, I think this ball has quite recovered my spirits. And that dear Lance Baxter has asked me to dance with him, twice!’
‘A cataclysm,’ complained Mrs Palgrave, whose hair had begun to slip sideways. ‘The way they fell upon the food like orang-utangs. All eating with their fingers, greasy lamb cutlets and all, even soup it wouldn’t surprise me. Civilisation all gone to pot.’
Daisy pouted, ‘Eyre, you haven’t danced with me at all yet. I do believe that you’re becoming miserable, and mean.’
‘Very well, then, we shall dance,’ Eyre agreed. He gave Christopher’s hand one last reassuring press, and then he tugged on his white evening gloves so that he and Daisy could gavotte.
Daisy was a peculiarly cater-footed dancer, and Eyre kept finding himself in corners of the dance floor where he hadn’t intended to be; but she chattered about all the latest scandal in Adelaide; Mimsy Giles had been sent by her parents to Perth for kissing one of the gardeners; and the Stewart family were in a terrible furore over Mr Stewart’s affair with Doris King; and Eyre found the gavotte unusually instructive, even if it wasn’t particularly accurate.
Christopher watched them morosely from the corner of the room, but Eyre determined to himself that nobody was going to be sad on his account, for any reason; and he made up his mind that he would persuade Christopher to come with him on his expedition to find Yonguldye, whatever happened.
It was odd, to find himself loved by a man, especially a man he knew so well. But he thought of his father’s favourite proverb, from the Bible: ‘Hatred stirs up strife, But love covers all transgressions.’
The gavotte was almost finished when Eyre noticed a familiar face on the far side of the room. Big, and boiledlooking, the face of Lathrop Lindsay. He twirled Daisy around, so extravagantly that she almost lost her balance; searching quickly from left to right for a sign of Charlotte. At first he couldn’t see her there, and he began to think that Lathrop might have come to the Spring Ball with nobody but his wife, and left Charlotte at home at Waikerie Lodge.
When the music came to a scraping, irregular finish, however, and he escorted Daisy back to the custody of Mrs Palgrave, Christopher came over and said, tersely, ‘Lathrop Lindsay’s here.’
‘Yes,’ Eyre acknowledged. ‘I’ve seen him.’
‘Charlotte’s here too.’
‘I didn’t see her.’
‘She’s taking some supper. But, Eyre—’
Eyre looked at Christopher sharply; but Christopher simply raised his hands in surrender. He wasn’t going to interfere in Eyre’s affections for Charlotte, no matter how tempted he might be. Nor was he going to allow this evening’s admission of his unnatural love for Eyre destroy their friendship. Perhaps it would, in time. Perhaps it would strengthen it. It would certainly alter it irrevocably. But just for this evening, Christopher knew that it was better to leave well enough alone.
Eyre walked into the dining-room, looking around for Charlotte. He didn’t recognise her at first, because she was wearing a white lace mantilla over her loose, fair curls. But then she turned, and he saw that remarkable profile, and those long eyelashes; and that half-dreamy innocent-sinful look of hers that had attracted him right from the very first moment he had caught sight of her on the wharf. She was helping herself to fillets of smoked fish, with whipped mayonnaise; and he said not loudly, but clearly ‘Charlotte!’
She turned at once but so did the tall young man standing beside her, a square-faced fellow with the pale golden tan of a natural-born Australian. He was one of those vigorous, healthy, confident young colonists whom later arrivals skeptically called ‘cornstalks’, because of the upright way in which they walked about.
‘Eyre!’ said Charlotte, blushing. ‘I didn’t imagine that you would be here!’
Eyre defiantly looked across at Charlotte’s escort, and kissed Charlotte on both cheeks. ‘I came to see Captain Sturt,’ he said. ‘Christopher arranged it.’
Charlotte drew the young Australian boy forward, and in a flustered voice, announced, ‘Eyre, this is Humphrey Clacy. Humphrey, this is Mr Eyre Walker. Humphrey is a friend of the family, Eyre; son of a Sydney family with whom father does business.’
‘How do you do?’ Eyre asked Clacy.
Humphrey Clacy said, uncertainly, ‘Well, thanks.’
‘Can we talk?’ Eyre asked Charlotte. ‘Your father’s busy for the moment, trying to make himself known to Captain Sturt. Perhaps we could go out on the terrace.’
‘Eyre, really, I don’t think I can,’ said Charlotte, hesitantly.
‘Charlotte, we must talk; even if it’s only for a moment or two.’
Charlotte took his hand. ‘Eyre, please. It’s all so difficult.’
‘I’m only asking for two or three minutes, Charlotte. But I must tell you what I plan to do.’
‘Eyre, you must understand. Father was so adamant that you and I should never see each other again. I’ve—I’ve grown resigned to it. Well, I’ve tried to grow resigned to it. You don’t want me to go through any more pain, do you? You don’t want me to suffer any more than I have already? Please, Eyre, I do love you; I’m terribly fond of you; but if we can never be together, what is the point of torturing ourselves so? Believe me, my dear, I’m thinking of you, too.’
Eyre breathed crossly, ‘Charlotte, for goodness’ sake. All I want to do is talk to you for five minutes.’
‘Eyre, I’m sorry.’
Humphrey Clacy laid his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, and said in a strong ‘flash’ accent, ‘I think you’d better leave the lydy alone, Mr Walker.’
Eyre stared at him in exaggerated surprise. ‘He speaks!’ he cried.
‘Eyre, please, don’t make one of your scenes,’ begged Charlotte. ‘We can talk later perhaps; or tomorrow. But, please, try to think of the pain that I’ve been feeling. It must be as sharp as your own. Please, let it be; and leave us.’
‘Come on, Mr Walker,’ Humphrey Clacy urged him; his cheeks suddenly firing up. The other guests were beginning to turn around now, and whisper to each other, and over in the far corner somebody dropped a plateful of potato salad on to the carpet.
‘He speaks again!’ Eyre shouted, angrily. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this indigenous animal has the power of communication!’
Charlotte hissed, ‘Eyre, please! I must do what my father says. Eyre, please don’t make me cry.’
‘Ah, but that’s the trouble,’ said Eyre. ‘I never make anyone cry. Not real tears, anyway. You can only cry for those you love, and those you respect; and neither you nor your father ever respected me, my love, for all of your sentimental words.’
‘Eyre, of course I respect you.’
‘You don’t, Charlotte! You don’t! Not for one moment! And I will never believe that you do until your father does; for you will never stand against him. A clerk, at the port? A newly-arrived burrower? You don’t respect me in the least. All you cared for was my nonchalance, and my bicycle, and most of all the fact that I irritated your father.’
Humphrey Clacy took hold of Eyre’s shoulder, and twisted his jacket. ‘Mr Walker,’ he said, in a tone which he obviously believed was very menacing, ‘if you don’t leave here immediately, and allow Miss Lindsay to finish her supper in peace, then I regret very much that I shall be obliged to hit you.’
Eyre looked this way and that, in furious mock-astonishment. ‘I declare that it’s miraculous! Why, I knew they could dig; and I knew that they could drink; and I knew that they could spit. But nobody told me that they could come along to parties, and make real conversation, even if it is offensive to listen to.’
There was sudden laughter. Eyre realised that he might be drunk. He was certainly very angry. The orchestra struck up with a polonaise, erratic and harsh. There was more laughter. And then Lathrop Lindsay appeared through the throng in the doorway of the dining-room, his face volcanic.
‘Colonel Gawler, sir!’ he called.
Somebody said, ‘Fetch the Governor.’
Lathrop stepped forward like an elderly fighting-cock. He was dressed in full formal evening wear, with a wide pink cummerbund. He beckoned Charlotte to stand aside, and then he addressed himself directly to Eyre, his forehead shiny with perspiration, his lower lip protruding with stubborn rage.
‘I tried to get him to leave, sir,’ ventured Humphrey Clacy. ‘He wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘That,’ boiled Lathrop, ‘is because he is chronically deaf. Deaf to advice, deaf to warnings and entreaties of all kinds, and above all
deaf to the moral guidance of his betters, of whom there are very many.’
‘I was simply asking to speak to Charlotte,’ said Eyre.
‘Well, you may not speak to Charlotte,’ Lathrop retorted. ‘You may neither speak to her nor see her. She has no desire to have any further to do with you. She finds you unspeakably offensive; as do I. I have called for Colonel Gawler, as I know that you will make trouble if any of us attempt to eject you forcibly; but you will probably understand that it would be far more satisfactory for you to leave quietly, and to leave at once, of your own volition.’
‘I have a ticket and I shall stay,’ Eyre declared. ‘And let me say that if Charlotte does not wish to speak to me, then she can quite easily say so herself. She is an intelligent and spirited girl who has no need of a frothing father to speak for her; nor the company of a barely literate wheat-farmer with all the social graces of a duck-billed platypus.’
This was too much for Humphrey Clacy, who had already become over-excited by the appearance of Lathrop, and by the amusement of those who were standing around listening, and by the prospect of seeing Eyre ejected from the Ball by Colonel Gawler’s footmen. He struck Eyre quite suddenly in the right ear, without warning, a sharp painful knock that sent Eyre staggering two or three steps sideways.
Eyre turned, stunned, not even sure what had happened. But then he saw Humphrey with his fists raised in the classic pose of a prizefighter, his blue eyes staring, his mouth pugnaciously pursed, and the frustration of everything that had happened to him in the past week burst out, with spectacular consequences.
He pushed Humphrey Clacy smartly in the chest; and Humphrey Clacy fell heavily backwards, the back of his legs striking the dining-table, so that he overbalanced. For one split-second everybody believed that he could save himself. But then he toppled with a tremendous crash of plates and silverware, right into a display of fresh fruit and shellfish and savoury jellies, bringing down rumbling pineapples and avalanches of ice and then a whole fragile castle of glass dishes filled with compôte of pears and charlotte russe. Some of the women screamed. Charlotte herself gave a cry like a wounded dove. Many of the drunker men gasped helplessly with laughter; and one of them, still laughing, offered Humphrey Clacy a hand up, only to let him slip back again, knocking over a tall arrangement of crab’s-claws and plums and stuffed poussins.
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