‘We’ll be here for a couple of years then?’ asked Connor.
‘At least,’ confirmed Ross. ‘I did warn you that I might not return home.’
‘Och, aye. You said that, it’s true. But a man with responsibilities can’t live as free as a bird forever. Once the roads are open you’ll be receiving mail from Adelaide, I’m sure. Best to keep a mind on duty, Ross, and not get too enamoured with the scenery here at Waybell Station.’
‘What are you referring to?’ he asked, his tone clipped.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
Ross knew Connor was thinking of Maria, and the rightness of his behaviour where Darcey was concerned. All the more reason to keep his thoughts private. The Scotsman only needed the tiniest of scratches to start peeling away at the layers of the situation, and Ross refused to be driven into an argument. He knew what it meant to ignore his marriage. And, in quieter moments, he did stop and consider the ramifications that lay ahead for Darcey. But that was all he could do. Briefly pause before moving on.
That night Ross waited for Maria. For the small sounds of her progress, the warp of boards, the familiar creak of the cot. He thought of the warmth of her fingers beneath his on the ladle. The way her gaze held his. How it had felt when he’d kissed her, as if the world had suddenly become a far better place and that in the future he might well be able to learn to forget those who sought to rule him.
She arrived later than usual. A waxing moon cast her in silvery light.
‘Where have you been?’ asked Ross.
She looked at him steadily. The shy, modest girl she’d been when they first met long gone. ‘Asleep.’
She yawned. Ross extended an arm, spanning a gap of age and space and position. She took his hand.
‘Will you let me lie beside you?’ He waited for a reply, trying not to push her but no longer capable of existing on what they currently shared. ‘Maria?’
Her eyes were closed, leaving Ross with only her breath and the rise and fall of slumber to remind him that she was not some untouchable marble effigy. And he was now too far gone to be saved.
Chapter 25
Late one afternoon, two men arrived at the house. They hollered out, announcing themselves, and Ross came over to meet the strangers where they waited. They were accompanied by a wagon stacked high with crates and other supplies. The horses pulling it were big doughty mares.
‘God’s galoshes!’ one of them called. He dropped the mailbag. ‘Who are you?’
‘Ross Grant, the owner.’
‘The owner? We thought you’d be older.’ He removed his hat, then slapped his friend’s stomach, jolting him into doing the same. ‘I’m Eustace and this here is Parker. We’re stockmen. Well, after Mick, of course. He’s the head stockman and we come under him. Not that he’s better than us. No way. Parker and me, we’ve been gallivanting around these parts for years. We know what’s up and what’s sideways. So anything you need, Boss, just ask.’
Both men had impressive beards but where Eustace was red-haired, skinny and angular, Parker was stocky, with sandy-coloured hair.
‘It’s good to have you back. It’s been wet,’ said Ross sociably.
‘Sure has,’ replied Eustace. ‘Everything’s been in flood. It’ll be a top year.’
‘We would have got here sooner but we ran into trouble,’ said Parker.
‘A few days on the turps and we found ourselves part of a drover’s camp out the back of Katherine. Well, we took off quick-smart, Boss, but how’s a man to know where he is,’ explained Eustace.
‘Lost, we were,’ added Parker.
‘For three days. Spent the dark hours reading an old Bible we found lying on the ground, getting sun-blistered and heat-stroked until the toss of a shilling had us riding in the right direction. I hope Mick isn’t riled up. You’ll be about to go mustering,’ said Eustace.
‘So you two don’t mind working for Mick?’ asked Ross.
‘Good fella,’ declared Parker.
‘Real good bloke,’ confirmed Eustace. ‘And he knows the country like nobody’s business, and most people in it. ’Course he should, it’s his country. Mick’s been here forever and he and Bill are real tight, especially with Annie being Mick’s sister.’
‘Sister, you say,’ said Ross.
‘You do know that Mick’s father was a king?’ continued Eustace. ‘A proper one. You might pay good money for Waybell but it’s Mick and his people who own the land. You couldn’t run it without them. Not that you’d want to.’
‘I see. Can I ask you two, are you men aware of any funny business going on with the stock tally? Some of the figures don’t add up,’ said Ross.
‘Don’t expect nothing to add up here, Boss,’ Eustace replied. ‘Keeping track of the cattle is impossible.’
Perhaps Eustace and Parker were unaware of the severity of the discrepancies, but Ross wondered if they’d be that naïve.
Parker pulled on an ear. ‘So are you paying us a friendly visit or staying for a while?’
‘Haven’t decided,’ Ross informed them.
They seemed to accept that, and got on with unloading the wagon. Eustace pulled back the canvas tarp and clambered up into the rear of the wagon, which was crammed with crates and bags, and began passing the goods down to Parker, who sat them on the ground. He stopped suddenly at the appearance of Maria, who stared back at the new arrivals.
‘Too right.’ Eustace’s skin grew a mottled red from the neck up. ‘A woman. You brung a woman here? Well, now then, that’s one for the books.’ Whipping off his hat he gave a low bow. ‘G’day, missus.’
‘That’s Holder’s girl,’ said Parker to Eustace. ‘Remember?’
‘Off you go, Maria,’ said Ross. She looked at the men and then quickly walked away. ‘Maria works here now,’ Ross told them. ‘I doubt she’ll be leaving.’
‘Righto, Boss,’ said Eustace.
‘Is Bill about?’ asked Parker.
Ross explained the manager’s move to the camp, including the fact that he’d left voluntarily early one morning a few days after Ross’s arrival. There was a brief silence as the men realised the extent of the changes in their absence. They gazed around, as if looking for further evidence of the altered environment they’d returned to.
‘Right. Well this is the standing order,’ Eustace responded. ‘We know exactly what’s needed. It’s the same every year. Except there usually aren’t three more people. But we got Chin-Lee at the store to throw in some extra.’
‘Yep.’ Parker tugged at an ear. One lobe was longer than the other.
‘There’s your mail. You’ll be pleased to get a letter from home,’ said Eustace. ‘There’s also a couple of bottles of rum from Davis the publican, by way of a welcome.’
After the supplies were stacked in the storeroom and Parker and Eustace departed to the men’s quarters, Ross settled down to go through the mail. There was no fizz of excitement in finally receiving word from the outside. Isolation agreed with him. Unenthusiastically, he upended the sack on the dining table. There were accounts for food supplies and other sundries used on the property but nothing to suggest that Sowden had behaved dishonestly when it came to purchases. The remaining post included a large box of Connor’s prized tobacco, mail for Sowden, months-old copies of the Northern Territory Times and Gazette and correspondence for both Connor and himself. Ross was surprised to find that one of Connor’s letters was clearly written in his father’s hand. He held the envelope up to the light and then sat it on the table, where it stared back like an unblinking eye.
There was a parcel from his grandmother. A letter from his father reminding him to send detailed reports, and another note in an unknown hand. Ross examined the handwriting on the off-white parchment, trying to place it. On the back were the details of the sender and for a moment he didn’t comprehend the name.
Darcey Grant. His name and hers together. Intertwined. Darcey Grant.
Ross was as unprepared to receive a letter as he’d been
to meet her last year. He resented her writing to him, reminding him of her existence, of their vows. This was not some pretty, amenable woman set upon by his parents to do as they wished. There was calculation involved. She’d been happy to exploit the Grant family’s desires. Darcey’s decision was made before they’d even met. If only she’d refused the arrangement brokered by his parents. If only she had opted to return to her home country. If only she’d been considerate enough to think of him. If, if, if. Even in the face of downright hostility, Darcey had been willing to become his wife.
Ross knew he must read what she had written, and that a response was required. He thought of the words that should be said and then of their wedding day. The unpleasantness of readying for the occasion, the choking atmosphere of the garden, the twig that caught on the slight train of her gown, the way Darcey flicked the material, expecting his assistance, and the photographer who jostled them to the portico where the family waited, assembled like jurors. Then afterwards of how Darcey came to his side, promising him friendship, reciting some fool’s poem of maturing love until he stepped away from the discomfort of it all. Ross thought of Alastair and his careless love.
With deliberation Ross placed the letter down, opening instead the package sent by his grandmother. It contained two novels. At least Connor would be pleased.
My dear Ross,
It is a comfort to know that you arrived safely in Darwin. I have been told by your father not to expect any correspondence for some time as I believe the monsoon period is very great, leaving the land quite unsuitable for travel. Having read in the paper startling accounts of people being carried down flooded rivers never to be seen again and crocodiles entering homes, I do hope you are well.
Notwithstanding my consternation at your decision to leave Adelaide, my wish is that your new venture is everything that you hoped it would be. The family has every confidence in your success and your father is particularly looking forward to receiving your accounts of life in the North. We are all as well as can be expected with the march of the years, although I fear your mother has declined somewhat recently.
I will close with the pleasure I felt when your gift to Darcey arrived. The camphor box is quite a talking point for visitors to the house and your dear wife is a student these days, filling the hours learning about your new circumstances. I know the two of you were rather thrown together but small steps of kindness lead to firmer things.
You carry the banner for us now, lad. Hold it with pride. We await your news,
Your loving grandmother
Ross reread the letter. How was it possible that the gift purchased for his grandmother was delivered to Darcey? He distinctly recalled writing a note to his grandmother and Connor offering to post the Chinese woodwork. With a furtive glance to ensure he was alone, Ross prised open his father’s letter that was addressed to Connor.
Connor,
Per our agreement, make sure you send me regular updates. I am depending on you for a true account of matters as they stand, as well as the conduct of my boy. Guide him as best you can, Ross will thank you for it in the future.
Morgan Grant
Ross stormed into the storeroom and kicked aside the Scot’s bedding, which had been pushed to one side to make way for the newly arrived supplies.
‘Interfering, meddling, ungrateful! Damn you, Connor.’
What was he supposed to do now? What could he do? He’d been tricked by the one person he thought he could trust to bring north, and what’s more, Darcey had been misled into thinking he cared! Rummaging in the crates for the rum, Ross stared at the label briefly before pulling the cork and drinking straight from the bottle. His personal affairs were no one’s business, least of all that of a paid employee. Ross could have throttled Connor for sending Darcey the gift meant for his grandmother, as he could his meddlesome father. He took another long glug of rum, silently thanking the unknown publican. The drink helped steady his thoughts, gain a more measured response. It was only one gift, reasoned Ross. The business of giving a simple wooden box could hardly be misconstrued for anything else other than a peace offering, for he’d not promised Darcey one thing, not that it mattered if Darcey thought otherwise.
Collecting Darcey’s letter, Ross escaped the house. Outside, a blue sky pressed down on the too-green land. He kept on moving, past the vegetable garden and outhouse, to the place of fallen trees, where he’d been so ill months before. He carefully tore up Darcey’s unread letter, scattering the pieces, and then flung the half-drunk bottle into the scrub. His mind re-ran every conversation with Connor, back to the day permission was granted by his father for the Scotsman to accompany Ross northwards. How easily that approval was given. Too easily. Ross should have known. Connor Andrews was a Grant man, through and through.
The remains of Darcey’s letter circled to the grass, bits of paper catching in the pasture. The thought of never really possessing Connor’s loyalty ate at him, and he decided that the Scotsman should learn that deceitfulness had its repercussions. Ross could do without people like Connor and their plotting. He now understood that in this new place, Maria was the only one he could trust.
Chapter 26
Narrow-eyed, Ross stepped clear of the women, who were surprised by his arrival in the camp, and headed directly to Sowden’s wurley. With the country drying out more every day, he’d expected to be informed of when the annual mustering of the cattle would commence. That hadn’t occurred. Mick, having watched his approach, moved with the swagger of a man who knew his position. He called to Toby and JJ and by the time Ross was standing in front of the lean-to, Sowden was deposited out the front, Annie slightly behind her partner, a possessive hand on his shoulder.
Ross acknowledged them all with a stern nod, waiting for Mick to walk through the gathering tribe where he took up the place next to his sister. The camp heaved with young men who waited expectantly. Ross’s workforce. Mick’s people. Since the truth of Mick’s heritage had been known, Ross realised that there would be no possibility of firing him. The Territory wasn’t the southern states. The stockman and his people were here to stay. And if Ross wanted to keep Mick happy, Annie needed to be appeased as well, which meant Sowden was also saved. Ross faced a triumvirate of power. Everyone knew it. Now he did as well.
‘How long before we start the muster?’ asked Ross. ‘With supplies having arrived, it must be dry enough.’
‘We can be ready in a few days,’ announced Mick. He pointed in a southwesterly direction. ‘Knock-em-down storms nearly finished now. Ragul the red-eyed pigeon is laying her eggs, so it will be dry enough to the south. The first camp is near to where the Mary River and the South Alligator draw close. We catch them there.’
‘You make it sound as if all we need is a butterfly net,’ responded Ross. ‘But it hasn’t been that easy here over the years.’
Sowden gave a snort. Pieces of timber were nailed to the tatty sides of the manager’s chair to provide extra reinforcement, although Sowden appeared leaner since they’d last seen each other close up.
‘I’m hoping to establish the Waybell abattoir in Darwin this year. In the beginning we’ll only be slaughtering our own stock that are fat enough for market,’ explained Ross.
Sowden nodded. ‘That’s keeping a handle on the supply chain. It’s a good idea.’
‘You’ll be staying put, Sowden, while the round-up’s on?’ asked Ross.
‘Yes, me and Annie and a few others.’ He stopped picking at the raffia on the arms of the chair, aware a grudging reprieve had been granted.
‘There’s mail for you.’ Ross passed the manager his letters. ‘While I’m gone you’ll be in charge. We need some extra supplies other than what came today and I want to make a start fencing the southwest boundary. I’ll also be needing a carpenter.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sowden gave what passed for a smile. ‘You’re staying then?’
‘Whether I stay or not, the house needs work. You’ll do as I ask,’ stated Ross. It wasn’t a req
uest.
‘I’ll do as you say,’ said Sowden. ‘I ain’t going anywhere.’
‘No,’ replied Ross. ‘I didn’t think you were.’
Ross chanced on Connor on his return to the house. The Scot was carrying a rifle, and a brace of bloody ducks hung from a shoulder.
‘I would have come with you,’ said Connor, his attention switching back and forth from Ross to Sowden’s camp, where men were milling about starting to pile gear and line up the horses. ‘What’s the matter?’
Ross squinted into the sun. ‘That camphor box was meant for my grandmother.’
‘Aye. You heard from Darcey? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, Ross. The second I addressed it to your wife I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but –’
‘It’s bad enough that you’re up here as my father’s spy but to interfere in my personal business, well, that’s something else entirely.’
Connor rested the stock of the rifle in the dirt. ‘I’m not anyone’s spy.’
‘Who are you loyal to then, me or my father?’
‘That’s unfair,’ Connor protested.
‘Is it?’ asked Ross.
‘Aye, it is. This property belongs to your father. He pays our expenses, yours and mine.’ He swung around, taking in the house and the camp. ‘Everything. He should know exactly what’s going on.’
‘And it’s my right to tell him, not yours,’ said Ross. ‘As long as we have that straight.’
‘Then tell him we need a new manager, but you cannae fire Sowden and Mick. We need them, regardless of what’s happened in the past.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Ross, electing not to share the knowledge he’d gleaned from Eustace for the time being. Connor no longer needed to know everything.
‘Aye. You cannae live up here for the rest of your life when you have a wife in Adelaide. Unless your intention is to bring the poor woman here?’ said Connor.
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