‘I hear the abattoirs is a going concern,’ Ross said to Connor.
‘Aye. There’ll be no shortage of Waybell steaks in Darwin.’
‘Good.’
Connor took the reins of Ross and Maria’s horses. ‘It’s good to see you, Ross,’ he called out as he walked towards the stables. ‘I see you’ve kept the fine piece of horse-flesh Mick selected.’
‘Nugget. The gelding’s name is Nugget.’
‘Clearly a great deal of thought went into that.’
‘Connor?’
The Scotsman turned, his expression wary. ‘Aye?’
‘I wanted to thank you for getting the slaughterhouse operational so quickly.’
‘You dinnae need to thank me for doing my job. But I’m pleased you did,’ he added with a smile.
‘You better see to those horses,’ said Ross, trying to sound authoritative but failing at the sight of Connor’s cheeky grin.
He found Maria in the newly constructed room he’d promised her prior to their leaving. Brian the carpenter had done an excellent job. Ross closed the door, lifted her in his arms and sat her on the bed, and together they lay down on the narrow cot face-to-face.
‘Do you like it?’
‘Oh, yes. No one’s slept in here before?’
‘No,’ said Ross. ‘You’re the very first.’
‘Imagine that.’
‘Sowden’s old bedroom is now my office and through it is my room.’
‘A bedroom each,’ said Maria. ‘Not for long.’
Maria’s face grew crimson. She sat up abruptly. ‘Ross, I –’
‘I know what you said, Maria.’ He ran his hands along her shoulders and down her forearms. The sweat of his palms stuck to the material of her blouse as he pulled the shirt free of the waistband of the trousers she wore. He expected her to stop him, but she watched mesmerised as if she couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, what she was letting him do. Beneath her chemise her skin was damp. Ross lifted the material and lowered his head to her breast. He grew muddled-headed by the scent of her, and when he finally looked at her again he was laying on top of her and her eyes were glazed. He reached down to where the tops of her thighs met, his fingers searching for buttons to undo.
‘Boss, we out here. Mick sent us,’ a woman called.
‘Damn it.’ Ross pushed hair back from his face, waiting until Maria had leapt to stand behind the door so that when it opened no one would see her.
‘Yes? What do you want?’ he asked, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him. Five women were standing in the dining room.
‘Sorry, Boss. Mick sent us. I’m Becky. We cook and clean for you from now on. You have any trouble then you come to Becky first. I fix things.’
‘Great,’ Ross said, with annoyance. ‘Thank you.’
The women giggled. ‘We’ll cook up a plenty big supper for you and the missus, eh?’
‘The missus?’ repeated Ross, finally concentrating on what the woman was saying. ‘No. Maria is my cook.’
‘Then we help,’ said Becky. The women giggled again and then left.
He opened the bedroom door, but the space was empty, and the window was wide open.
Ross stood in the sleep-out as the sun struggled through the clouds. The beds were stacked in a corner, and the wire netting was gone, partially replaced by a wall of lattice work. Eventually there would be a proper doorway to match the new fixtures inside the homestead, as well as gauze to keep out the insects and glass for the windows in the two new bedrooms at either end of the house. Connor now slept in the men’s quarters in a room of his own. The line of credit extended by his father was generous and Brian, the carpenter, who’d already departed, was keen to come back in the new year to keep working on the homestead once the dry season arrived.
In the few days since their return he’d sorted through the mail that had been delivered in his absence and, after having dutifully responded to his grandmother’s many letters, Ross could feel a loosening of the ties binding him to the South. Apart from his mother, everyone else enjoyed good health and, other than ensuring his father’s financial support was guaranteed, that was as much as Ross needed to know. Darcey’s letters he left unread. Ross hoped that his lack of communication might make her reconsider her position, and he was beginning to formulate a plan. Surely another marriage would suit her better and Ross would be happy to assist.
Maria came into view. Little Bill was at her side, drawing a branch along the ground. He ran off towards the chicken roost and, kicking off her shoes and lifting her skirt, Maria followed the boy, dirt flicking up onto her bare legs. She’d kept away from Ross the last few days since their brief time together in the bedroom and he considered he may well have frightened her with the strength of his passion. But had she not been willing?
‘Boss, we clean here.’ Becky was waiting with a broom in hand, and Ross retreated to the veranda. He’d organised to go out riding with Connor to exercise their horses, and set about getting ready to leave.
The women had arrived, arguing among themselves who would be the one to give out orders, and had then set to rights what Ross considered a perfectly tidy home. Confronted with this feminine onslaught, he left the housekeeping routine to Maria to sort through. He figured the arrangement to be a simple one and Maria proved quick to delegate and then disappear into the bush, or retreat into her newly built bedroom. Little Bill remained one of the few people from the camp that Maria bothered speaking with beyond giving instructions.
The women continued sweeping out rooms and washing floors, arguing and laughing as they went about their tasks. The young women giggled if they caught sight of Ross seeking peace in the stables with Nugget, while Eustace only laughed when Ross complained about the intrusion. And Mick, such a frequent visitor during the first wet season, now only appeared after dark. Connor spoke of the benefit of everyone getting along, and the tentative peace between them that they’d forged on meeting again meant much to Ross. He hoped the Scotsman had learnt from his meddling.
‘Ross?’
Maria returned from the chicken shed, drawing nearer to him as he sat on the top step of the veranda pulling on his boots.
‘I have to go, Maria, Connor’s waiting for me. And it’s best I leave now before Becky comes out here and complains about me dirtying her clean floor.’
‘Ross.’ She looked demurely at the ground.
‘What?’ asked Ross, clamping a hat on his head.
‘You’re angry with me.’
Ross checked his belt, making sure the pocketknife was attached in its leather case. ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’
‘I … yes, I have,’ she admitted.
‘You’ll have to make up your mind about what you want, because I won’t put up with your childish games.’ He took the stockwhip down from the nail on the wall.
Maria reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘I’m scared.’
There it was. That little sign of interest. How was it that Maria knew exactly when to reach out to him?
‘And I’m late,’ said Ross, ignoring the quickening of his pulse. He stood and walked away.
Maria caught up with him at the edge of the yard, where a small pile of cut cyprus timber lay waiting for the carpenter’s return. She caught his hand and then stood on the stacked wood so that for once they were of similar height.
‘What?’ said Ross. ‘You know I’m busy.’
‘Do you think this is easy for me? It’s different for men. They take what they want and then leave. For some, everything is a right.’ Maria stood on her tiptoes, holding onto Ross’s shoulder for balance. ‘I know who you are, Ross, and I wish I didn’t, for a part of me also hates you for making me want you, for being prepared to be the person I swore I’d never become. So you must promise me that you’ll keep me from Mr Holder and that you’ll find a way to be rid of your wife so that what we have can be made legal one day.’
‘What are you saying?’
Her mouth was soft as sh
e kissed him on the lips. ‘That I’ll be yours. That I’ll wait for you to come to me tonight.’ She jumped from the stack of timber and walked away.
Ross looked about to see if anyone had seen them. Washing fluttered on a line strung from the corner of the house to a tree. One of Sowden’s dogs lay asleep in the dirt. A chicken gave an egg-laying cackle. Ross was struck by the sameness of things.
He walked across to the stables where Connor waited with their horses. The Scotsman gave him a knowing look.
‘Now what’s happened? I suppose it’s the girl?’
Ross didn’t respond. Not one hostile word had passed between them since his return from the muster and Ross was determined to maintain peace. He tightened the girth strap, placed a boot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. His hands gripped Nugget’s reins.
‘It must be hard to have such a pretty thing dangled in front of you every day. I suggest a trip to Darwin, mate,’ said Connor. ‘A man can’t live on bread alone.’
‘And did you find something to go with your bread?’ asked Ross lightly.
‘I did,’ replied Connor, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiled.
Ross knew Connor would think him strange were he ever to discover that he’d never lain with a woman. But it seemed that part of his life was about to change. He clucked the gelding into a trot and began to whistle a tune.
‘You’re in a grand mood this morning,’ Connor observed.
‘And why not? It’s as fine a day as I can remember.’
‘Is it now?’ Connor looked at him with interest.
Changing the subject, Ross remarked on the reduced size of the billabong. The country waited for rain.
‘So are you sending me away to Darwin again next year?’ asked Connor. ‘I’d rather like to go on the muster.’
‘It won’t be like this season was,’ Ross told him. ‘I don’t intend to stay away for months on end. We’ll plan it and do one or two mustering camps at a time and come back to the homestead in between. It’s only when we head to the far north of the station that distance obliges us to stay out there and get the job done. Besides, I want to keep an eye on the carpenter and those Chinese fencing contractors. And I was thinking that we should sink a couple of new bores in the far south.’
‘And the Darwin abattoir?’ asked Connor.
‘We’ll have to pay it a visit, yes,’ answered Ross. ‘There’ll be time. The only reason we were away for so long this year was because of the yards that needed to be built.’
‘You kept a good eye on everyone as well,’ commented Connor.
‘And after the year’s results I’ll keep my counsel and see what else we can catch with our nets, come mustering time,’ Ross explained.
‘I was surprised to return and find Sowden still here,’ said Connor. ‘Knowing how convinced you were of their shenanigans.’
‘Annie is Mick’s sister,’ said Ross.
‘Really? I didnae expect that. What a tight little ruling party we have. I can understand why you decided against Sowden leaving.’
Ross’s palm brushed the tops of tall grass. ‘It’s tough country to manage. But with that escarpment in the east and the Mary River to the west forming natural boundaries, the losses can’t simply be put down to a lack of proper infrastructure.’ He was no longer the novice pretending to understand this new environment, but nor did he doubt that there was far more to learn in the years ahead.
‘It’s not all Sowden’s fault then?’
‘No, it’s not. The country’s too wet in the north for cattle. We’ll have to try and keep that enterprise in the south and look at hunting buffalo in the north.’
‘Really?’ said Connor.
‘Yes. Really.’
Behind them the snap of twigs alerted them to Toby’s arrival. ‘Hey, Boss. You come now, eh? Visitors at the big house.’
‘A bit early for a caller, isn’t it?’ answered Connor.
The three men turned their horses in the direction of the homestead.
‘Who is it?’ asked Ross. Although he had a terrible suspicion.
‘It’s Mr Holder, Boss,’ answered Toby warily. ‘He said he’s come for his bride.’
Chapter 33
Ross would have preferred to have told Marcus Holder to be on his way. Instead, he was obliged to be civil to his neighbour, inviting the man inside his home, where tea was offered along with damper spread with honey from the native sugarbags.
‘Good to meet you, Grant,’ said Holder. ‘I’ve heard grand things about what you’ve being doing here at Waybell. There’s nothing like an owner’s footsteps for putting a mark on a place. And you’ve been doing it in spades, I hear.’
‘It’s been a busy first year,’ replied Ross. Holder dunked a wedge of damper into the pot of honey and then crammed it into his mouth, the golden threads glistening on his greying beard. The man was grizzled in appearance, cracked and sunbaked like dried fruit. Ross spread his own bread carefully with a knife and then passed some of the freshly baked dough to Connor. The Scotsman concentrated on stirring his black tea. He’d done as Ross asked, forewarning Maria to stay clear of the house and getting one of the Aboriginal women to serve up the food.
Holder cast a hollow-eyed gaze around the room and stomped on the floor testing the boards. ‘My place isn’t quite as fancy. I’ve got floorboards in the bedroom.’ He gave a wink. ‘But the rest is antbed. Nothing quite like it for a good sturdy surface.’
‘You received my telegram?’ Ross pushed the half-eaten food to one side.
‘Eventually. I picked up the fever early in the year and I can tell you at one stage I reckoned someone was lowering the sliprail and readying to push me through the Pearly Gates. He spared me, though.’ Holder looked upwards. ‘God bless him.’
Connor gave a sceptical glance heavenwards. ‘You’re a religious man?’
‘I’m Irish,’ said Holder. ‘I say what I mean.’
Connor looked at Ross and began plugging his pipe with tobacco.
‘Here’s hoping for a good wet season,’ continued Holder. ‘Mind you, it was a beauty last year or so I heard. Can’t remember most of it. I spent five months laying on my back in Darwin hospital. Still, while I was there I saw the plans for the soldiers’ memorial that’s to be erected at Liberty Square opposite Government House. A fine monument it’ll be too. Lost my eldest in France. Harry was a good lad.’
‘But you did receive my telegram?’ Ross asked again, wondering if the reference to the war memorial was a pointed reminder at his own lack of service.
Holder laced his fingers across a concave stomach and gave a belch. ‘I did, although I wondered at it. You met Hugh Carment. You agreed to deliver the girl to me.’
Connor took a sip of tea. ‘Mr Carment didn’t give us much choice.’
‘He’s like that, Hugh is. Does his best to help a mate out,’ replied Holder. ‘That’s how things are up here, Ross. I don’t mind telling you that Hugh’s not the type of man who likes to be taken advantage of or to leave unfinished business. I’m the same.’
‘The telegram,’ answered Ross testily. He now knew extricating Maria from this man’s grasp would be difficult. ‘You know what I want.’
‘I do. Indeed, were I not a man understanding of certain needs I would be quite in my rights to take you outside and give you a flogging.’
‘You’re right, and I would deserve it, Mr Holder,’ agreed Ross amiably, deciding to change his approach. ‘Particularly as you paid for a virgin and she no longer is one.’
Connor’s mouth dropped open, the pipe hanging precariously on his lower lip.
The Irishman burst out laughing, his sun-aged skin turning bright red.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered between gasps. ‘Strike me round if I didn’t expect that to come out of your mouth. You coming from a gentlemanly family and all. Is that what she told you?’
Ross felt his insides constrict.
‘Well, I thought she’d be a canny one.’ Holder wip
ed away tears of mirth. ‘I’ll give her marks, I will, for trying to save herself for me. To do the right thing.’
‘What are you insinuating?’ Ross felt the familiar stretch of skin as his knuckles tightened.
‘You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? Is she a lass willing to sleep with a man for money?’ Holder banged a fist on the table, spilling the tea and sending cutlery clattering. ‘How long did it take before you forced yourself on her, eh? Or did you pay her?’
Across the table Connor’s pipe was moving up and down as he chewed on the stem.
Ross toyed with the crumbs on his plate, pushing them into a neat pile. Holder could try to rile him all he liked, but Ross knew Maria. ‘How much money do you want, Holder? Whatever you paid, I’ll gladly double it.’
‘Where is she?’ asked Holder. ‘I’d be in my rights to shoot you here and now.’
Connor reached down, retrieving a revolver from his side and sat it on the table. ‘There’ll be no shooting, Mr Holder.’
‘Give me a price,’ demanded Ross, more calmly than he felt. ‘You’re old enough to be her grandfather.’
‘It’s not about the damn money, or age for that matter,’ replied Holder. ‘Do you know how many white women there are in these parts? Do you? You can count them on your hands, boy. The ones who do follow their husbands out here either take off like Sowden’s Harriet did, or they die trying to birth lifeless children like my Vanessa. The ones who stay and stick it out are like gold. And they’re worth more to a man than any alluvial reef or tin mine. So don’t sit there with that it’s my right to make an offer on your tongue. The deal’s already been struck. The money paid. The Chinaman was good to his word and I was good to mine.’
‘Slavery was abolished some years ago,’ noted Connor drily.
‘It’s not slavery, you fool,’ argued Holder.
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