Текст книги "Beyond The Blue Mountains"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

“Katharine!” said Miss Kelly, turning the lake into a bowl of milk, and the mountains into a porringer.

“Don’t drink so fast!

Milk needs digesting.”

Miss Kelly gave them lessons after breakfast. Reading, writing, arithmetic, a little French and Latin. How dull were lessons as taught by Miss Kelly. The boys were difficult this morning; Katharine’s dream of Christmas had upset them. The heat was intense. Katharine almost dozed. Miss Kelly gave the two boys dictation; it was all about Christmas in the Old Country, the snow on the trees, and the stage coach rattling down the road. It was very dull. That was not the sort of thing she wanted to hear about the Old Country. Edward was scratching on a slate. Edward was very silly, he could not make his letters yet. Katharine was supposed to be reading Monsieur Moliere’s Le Misanthrope, in French; she could not understand a word of it. Through the window she saw Papa and Mamma. They came out into the yard, and Papa was dressed for a journey. Mamma was very beautiful in a dress of muslin with green ribbons. Mamma was one of the most beautiful women in Sydney, she had heard people say. People looked sly when they talked of Mamma. Why? Why? That was the sort of thing she wanted to know; not Latin, not Greek, not French.

A happy couple. They kissed. Katharine had seen them kiss often. Papa kissed Mamma as though he didn’t want to stop a make-it-last-as-long-as-I-can sort of kiss.

She wished she were going out with Papa. How pleasant to ride along on her own mare, a present from Papa who said she rode well enough to be done with ponies! Where was Papa going? Why hadn’t he taken her with him? A day which had begun with a dream of Christmas is not the day to be spent idling over a lesson book.

A smell of coffee came up from below, reminding her of Margery. She sidled off her chair.

“Miss Kelly, I cannot read here; the dictation disturbs me. Could I go to my own room?”

“Yes,” said Miss Kelly, ‘you may.”

Katherine wandered downstairs. Moliere under her arm. On the first floor she paused. First Wife. Did a first wife always have her room on the first floor? Silent it was on the first floor. Margery always hurried past it. If she came up, she liked someone to come with her; she would rather have Edward with her than no one. Katharine opened a door and peeped in. The toilet-room. The guests used that. Papa bad had another toilet-room put on the second floor. Hip-bath and mirror and cupboards and table, with dusting powder on the table. Old haunting perfume. She tiptoed in, and as she looked at herself in the long glass, tried to think of the house without Mamma, and if Mamma was not there neither she nor James, Martin and Edward could be either, for they were all Mamma’s children. Why did grownups try to keep so much from you? There were three doors leading out of the toilet-room. One she had just opened from the corridor; the other two merely led to two rooms, just ordinary bedrooms with big canopied beds. Nothing there to excite one. She went into one of the bedrooms.

A sudden sound startled her. A footstep in the toilet-room. A ghost? Yes, that was it: there were ghosts on the first floor. Not ghosts perhaps, but a ghost; the ghost of Papa’s first wife. She was terrified; she ran to the bed. She got into it and drew the curtains. She peeped through them. Her heart beat so loudly that it was like the strokes of the blacksmith’s hammer. The door was pushed open slowly, and Mamma came into the room-Mamma’s face was working queerly; she had never seen Mamma look like that; had never known Mamma could look frightened just like a child. One could not imagine Mamma like a child. Mamma looked all round the room. She was breathing queerly; her breath made gasping noises. Poor Mamma so frightened. Hastily she pulled back the bed curtains, but in that split second when the curtains began to move. Mamma’s face went white and she caught her breath, so that it whistled like the wind in the eucalyptus trees in the cove.

“Mamma!” cried Katharine; and then Mamma saw who it was behind the curtains, and the colour came back to her face, and she came nearer, and Katharine did not know whether she was very, very angry or not.

“Did you think I was a ghost?” said Katharine.

“What nonsense!” retorted Mamma.

“There are no ghosts.”

“You looked very frightened.”

“You were peeping out at me, you bad girl!” Mamma’s voice was soft and loving, not as though she thought Katharine was a bad girl at all; so Katharine stood on the bed and put her arms round Mamma’s neck, and Mamma hugged her suddenly and fiercely, and when Mamma did that Katharine loved her more than anyone in the world. It meant that Mamma loved her best too, even though she was not a boy and everybody wanted boys.

“Katharine, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in the schoolroom?”

“Because the boys are doing dictation, and I am studying in my own room.”

Mamma raised her eyebrows, and when she did that she did it so funnily that it always made Katharine laugh.

“And I came downstairs and when I got to the first floor I thought I wanted to have a look at it.”

“Katharine, you are always prowling about the first floor.

What is prowling?” , “Well… just going there and peeping about. Why?

“I don’t know,” lied Katharine, because somehow it was impossible to talk of the ghost of the First Wife to Mamma.

“You shouldn’t do things without knowing why you do them.”

“Do grownups always know why they do things?”

Carolan, shaken more than she cared to admit to herself, smiled at this disconcerting daughter who had evidently heard some gossip about these rooms … possibly about Lucille. What? And how could one ask a child without making it seem very important? Was she to be haunted all her life?

“I do not think they do, always.”

Katharine brought her knees up to her chin, and rolled about on the bed that had been Lucille’s This was delightful. This was delicious. A tate-d-tate with the most exciting of all grownups. Mamma!

“Why do they do them if they do not know why?”

“Because they are stupid.”

Stupid? So grownups were stupid as well as children. It was exciting; surely there was nothing you could not ask Mamma when she talked like that. Mamma was unlike herself today.

“Why is it so quiet here, Mamma … on this floor, I mean? Why doesn’t Margery like coming here … even in daylight?”

“What?” said Mamma sharply.

“Margery told you that!”

“She didn’t tell me. She just doesn’t. Why, she would even bring Edward … Edward … rather than come alone. Edward wouldn’t know what to do if he saw a ghost. I don’t suppose he even knows what a ghost is!”

Mamma stood up suddenly. The dignified Mamma, grownup now, no longer ready to share a confidence.

“You are very silly, Katharine. If Edward knows nothing of ghosts he is wiser than you, for there are no ghosts, and let me hear no more of this foolishness. It is time you went back to your lessons. It is cold in here.”

“But Mamma, I am boiling… It is hot!”

“It is cool after the rest of the house,” said Mamma, and Katharine noticed that her hands were very cold.

“Come along,” said Mamma, and pulled her off the bed quite roughly. And then Mamma’s mood changed. Mamma did change quickly all the time.

“What about a pick-a-back?” Katharine leaped onto the bed, and Mamma presented her back, and she put her arms round Mamma’s neck and Mamma ran with her out of the room. Katharine was shrieking with laughter.

“Now, back to your room at once! And see that you learn your lessons.” Mamma started up the stairs with her.

“Miss Kelly is in a bad mood today,” said Katherine.

“It is because I dreamed it was Christmas, and that made her remember about her brother in Van Diemen’s Land, because he will never, never spend Christmas with her again!”

“Be kind to Miss Kelly, because she has been unhappy.”

“You told me that before. I am kind to her. I see that the boys are too.”

Mamma picked her up suddenly and they ran up the rest of the stairs just as though, thought Katharine, Mamma was afraid someone would catch them if they did not hurry.

It was a queer morning.

Mamma had dinner with them because Papa was not at home, and Edward spilled the contents of his plate into his lap.

Then Miss Kelly said that Edward deserved to be whipped, or at least to go without his dinner, which set Edward crying. But Mamma comforted him: she said it was not Edward’s fault, and people should never be blamed unless the wrong things they did were their own faults.

Mamma took Edward onto her lap and fed him with a spoon so that it was as though he had done something clever instead of naughty.

Then followed the drowsy afternoon. Mamma slept; so did Edward. Martin and James went off together. That left Katharine to herself.

She went down to the kitchen. She liked the kitchen in the afternoon. Margery usually dozed in her chair, and it was while dozing that Margery could be relied on to be even more indiscreet than usual. Poll always washed the kitchen floor in the afternoon. Katharine liked to watch her mop swamping the stones.

“Hello, young mischief!” said Margery, She was sitting there, her knees apart, a fat hand on each knee. Amy washed the dishes; Poll was getting ready to start on the floor.

“I dreamed it was Christmas,” said Katharine.

“Glad I’ll be when that’s all over! There was never anything for making work like Christmas. I’d rather have twenty men about the house than Christmas.”

“Twenty is rather a lot.” said Katharine, pulling a chair close to Margery’s.

“I’d manage ‘em,” said Margery with a wink.

“And keen ‘em in order every man jack of ‘em!”

That was where Margery differed from Miss Kelly. Miss Kelly dispelled illusion; Margery developed it.

“Would you make them do all the work, Margery?”

“That I would!”

“Mop the floor and peel potatoes?”

“You bet I would.”

“Then what would Amy and Poll do?”

“They’d run round after the men give “em half a chance! Not that I’d say they was the sort to attract men neither of ‘em!”

“Wouldn’t you, Margery?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Katharine knew about Poll’s baby; she had got that out of Margery.

“And don’t you let on to your Ma or your Papa that I’ve told you,” she had said.

“Why not, Margery?”

“Because it ain’t right you should know such things.”

“Why Margery?”

“You being only a child.”

“How long will it be before I can know things like that?”

“Well, that I can’t say. There’s some as picks it up sharp, and there’s some as don’t. You … being your mother’s daughter… There! Me tongue’s running away with me.”

At the time Katharine had been so intrigued by the thought of Margery’s tongue running away with her, that she had forgotten the real issue. That was like Margery; you had to watch her or she would draw a red herring across the path, which afterwards you would discover was not worth pursuit. But in spite of this trick of Margery’s she had many unguarded moments. Poll had murdered her baby because it wasn’t right that she should have a baby. Amy had been sent out for hiding a highwayman. Amy was middle-aged and cheerful. She didn’t talk very much about herself, but Margery liked to talk about her. Katharine heard quite a lot about Amy; how she had loved the highwayman, but how he was a rollicking, roistering type of fellow who had just made use of her. and when he was hanged by the neck, poor Amy had been sent for transportation for seven years for letting him use her house to hide himself and his plunder.

Margery could give her pictures of the Old Country, that were far more real than anything Miss Kelly taught. Miss Kelly taught words; Margery taught life. Margery could be coaxed into telling of journeys with one of her husbands, a pedlar. Could there be anything more desirable than to be the wife of a pedlar?

“What did you sell, Margery?”

“Everything you can lay your tongue to. lovey.”

“Lay your tongue to! What a lovely way to express yourself.

“Margery, I wish Papa would let you teach us, instead of Miss Kelly.”

“Lor’ love me! I ain’t the scollard she is.”

“Her brother went to Van Diemen’s Land, Margery.”

“So I hear, poor soul.”

“Do you know what it’s like there, Margery?”

“It’s the most terrible thing that could befall a man, I’ve heard.”

What joy there was in talking to her. She suggested a hundred and one forbidden things. When she talked of men, her lips quivered and she pressed them together as though she was afraid something would slip out that you shouldn’t hear because you were a child. She gave away so much that was exciting; how much more exciting must be those things which she suppressed. There was always the hope that she would tell more. Sometimes when she drank and drank she would say something, then clap her hand over her mouth or look over her shoulder and say: “Don’t you get saying a word I tell you, to your Papa or Ma!”

Poll was slopping water all over the kitchen floor. Soon Katharine and Margery, perched on their chairs, would be marooned on islands.

The sea’s getting higher every minute, Margery.”

There now, is it? And then what’ll we do?”

“We’ll be drowned or we may be rescued. Margery, have you ever been marooned?”

“No. But I’ve known plenty of sailors!”

“Sailors! Oh, Margery! Do tell.”

“Sailors is much the same as other men, in a manner of speaking. They go off to sea though, and they comes home again and that makes a bit of difference.”

“Did you ever have a sailor husband, Margery?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Did he go off to sea and come home again?”

“He did. And a bit too soon sometimes. A sailor ought always to let a woman know when he’s coming home.”

“Was he your first, Margery?”

“Oh, no, ducky! Not by a long chalk.”

“Margery, my Papa had a First Wife, didn’t he?” Margery looked over her shoulder. Katharine took the glass from the table and handed it to Margery.

“Here. Margery, have a drink. I know Papa had a First Wife.”

Margery drank and smacked her lips.

“Old-fashioned little thing, you are no bones about it!” Katharine knelt on her chair and leaned towards Margery; she put her face so close that Margery could see the fine texture of child’s skin; like milk it was for whiteness, and she’d got a powdering of freckles across her nose, which made her skin look all the more fair. Dead spit of what her mother must have been at her age. And she’d be such another, with her wheedling ways. Little monkey! Still, Margery looked forward to her visits. It was pleasant to know the child came down so often to see her, to talk to her. She’d had a fondness for the child ever since she was born; had never taken to the boys one half so much. She put out a hand and touched the tender young cheek.

“It is a smut?” said Katharine.

“No, not a smut.” It made you feel funny, thought Margery. Here she was. a lovely bit of flesh and blood. Golly, it did something to you to see her; bright eyes, and what a tongue, eh! What a one for questions! There was no stopping her. What’s this? What’s that? It made you feel sort of powerful to know that you had had a hand in the making of her. But for you, things might have been very different. She might not have been sitting there now. Her mother might have gone off with that Marcus, and the mistress might still have been… Margery shut off from that. Mustn’t think like that … not with the child there, staring at you so close she’d see any flicker of your eyelids. It would be “Margery, what are you thinking of?” in a minute, if she knew anything! Besides, no one could say… All that was done with, had been done with eleven years back.

And now what had the little girl on her mind? She was a regular one for getting things on her mind.

“I know Papa had a First Wife!” What did she mean? Margery knew she ought to turn the conversation, but for the life of her she couldn’t.

“What’s this?” she said.

“What’s this?”

“Papa had a First Wife!” whispered Katharine.

“Well, what of it? What of it? There’s no law in this country to stop a man marrying again if his first wife’s dead, that I know of “Oh.” said Katharine.

“She is dead then!”

“Of course she is.”

“Margery, did you know her?”

“Know her!” said Margery.

“Know her!” Purple colour was in Margery’s cheeks. The children had to know some time, hadn’t they? It was the talk of Sydney at one time. To marry so soon after… People were shocked. She wondered the master did it. But there was something headstrong about the master. Marrying like that two months after she died, and the baby born a cool three and a half months later this Katharine here. No wonder the child felt something was wrong! No wonder people talked! No wonder they were still talking!

“Yes,” said Margery, “I knew her.” This was success undreamed of.

“Oh, Margery, what was she like?”

“Sickly.” Here, this wasn’t the way to talk to a child, this wasn’t. Oh, but things got dull in a kitchen. And since she’d married the master, the excitement seemed to die down. There they were like any other couple, eating together, sleeping together and having children. There was something in those two that overcame scandal, just as it would overcome most things that stood in their way. They fought all the gossipings. all the slanders. For a time Mr. Masterman was very unpopular. And she went about the house, carrying her child with the dignity of a queen. But there had been a certain triumph about her in the last months of her first pregnancy, as though she had worked out something and brought it off. That was the impression she gave. It wasn’t until after the child was born that that room, where the first Mrs. Masterman had died, seemed to take on a special significance. It was only then that she made it into a guest room and moved up to the second floor.

Murder’s a funny thing. It won’t let you test. It would make you feel a bit funny to have had a hand in murder. You’d keep remembering, thinking of the one you’d killed. I wouldn’t like to be no murderer. Did she murder the first Mrs. Masterman? Or did he?

Overdose of a drug she took for sleeplessness. Nobody knew where she’d got it from. Nobody knew she’d been taking it When people took overdoses of drugs just in time to let Their husbands marry girls who were in trouble, you couldn’t help sitting up and taking notice. You couldn’t help feeling this delicious creepy feeling all over you.

“Sickly?” prompted Katharine.

“Always ill.”

“Did Papa love her very much?”

“Now how should I know?”

“You would know. Were you in the kitchen then?”

“Yes I was then.”

“You must have known, Margery. You know everything.”

Such flattery was irresistible.

“And what if I did?”

“Then you shouldn’t say you didn’t know!”

“If I have any cheek from you, Miss, I’ll get down the whip over the mantel.”

“That’s for convicts, Margery, not for me.”

“Well, and are you so far removed from convicts…”

“What, Margery?” . It was getting dangerous, but Margery liked danger.

“What do you mean, Margery? I’m not so far removed…”

“One man’s as good as another. Miss. That’s what I mean.”

“A convict is as good as a free man?”

“As a man he might be.”

As a man! What did she mean? Intriguing Margery!

“Oh, I like talking to you!” She put her arms round Margery’s neck.

“Here, steady! Trying to strangle me?”

“You smell of grog.”

“Well, and it’s a good thing to smell of.”

“My Mamma smells of violets.”

“I’ve no doubt she does. There’s some that gets on better than others in this world.”

“Do you mean Mamma got on better than you? Is that why she smells of violets and you smell of grog?”

Sharp as a packet of needles, this child was. I wish she was mine. Golly, wouldn’t I love her. A regular one she’ll be when she grows up; she’ll be the honey and the men will be the flies. I reckon I see a nice match being made up there for her. Madame Carolan will want the best for her daughter. And where would she be, eh, if the first Mrs. Masterman hadn’t died at exactly the right minute! Did she do it? Or did she egg him on to do it? Not the master! I wouldn’t believe that of the master. But her … “Your Mamma did get on better than me.”

“You mean when the First Wife died, she married my Papa. If he had married you, would you have smelt of violets?”

Margery came as near to blushing as she could. The idea of the master so far forgetting himself as to marry her!

There was never any question of your father’s marrying me, you silly baby!” she said angrily.

There was only a question of his marrying my Mamma?”

“Of course. What do you take him for! He was never one for running after the women.”

“Wasn’t he, Margery?”

“He married, and there was an end of it.”

“No it wasn’t, Margery. There was the First Wife, and then there was Mamma.”

“You’re too sharp by half!”

“Margery, where was Mamma when he was married to the First Wife?”

She was getting to know too much. If Margery let out that her precious Mamma was an ex-convict, there’d be the very devil to pay. And I wouldn’t want to come up against Madame Carolan, no. thank you. At present there was a mocking affection between them, a little light blackmail practised by them both. Margery often thought, when the mistress came to the kitchen to give her orders and across the table their eyes met. Why, I could tell a few things to those children of yours. I could tell ‘em how you first come to my kitchen, a shivering, lousy scrap with your loveliness hid in filth; I could whisper outside how you was always up in the mistress’s room aye, and in the master’s room too. I could give a few hints that it was more than likely you had something to do with that sudden death of hers.

And Carolan’s green eyes said I could tell what you were up to down here … James creeping into the basement… The way you used to squirm and wriggle on that bed … in front of the others. Who is it now? Not James, for he’s married to Jin, and she doubtless keeps him in order by showing him the knife she wears concealed in her clothes. But there is someone. The master would not want that sort of thing going on in his basement!

No, by God he wouldn’t! And when it goes on upstairs it’s different, eh? Even when it’s necessary to put a poor sick lady out of the way to straighten things out! Not that Margery’d tell. Why, she’d half murder anyone who hinted a word of it … anyone from outside. Her master and mistress were the best in Sydney, she’d maintain. And without a doubt it was upstairs Madame Carolan belonged, not down here in the kitchen. Still, there was no harm in thinking about it when you were in your own kitchen, even though sometimes it did give you a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach to think you had, in a way, had a hand in it.

But now this little imp had stumbled on something. Surely the most inquisitive child that ever was. So pretty though … you could eat her, bless her… and fond of old Margery too.

“Margery, where was Mamma__? You know…”

Now that would be dangerous. Keep off that!

“How should I know? A man’s second wife don’t usually put in an appearance till his first’s dead and buried.”

That satisfied her, made her pensive.

“She lived on the first floor, didn’t she ?”

“Who?”

The First Wife.”

“Well, yes… she did.”

“I know what it is. Mamma’s afraid.”

“Afraid? What of?”

Katharine leaned right over and whispered to Margery, because Poll’s mop was getting nearer and nearer.

“Of her ghost!”

Margery was very superstitious; she began to tremble like a jelly. Could it really be? What did the child know? There was something in the house … come to think of it, had been for a long time … She couldn’t lay a name to it, couldn’t explain it. Just something… “Did she tell you?”

“Oh, no! She pretended it wasn’t. You see, I was there.”

“What’s this?”

“I was hiding in the bed and I had the curtains drawn, and poor Mamma thought I was the ghost.”

Margery drew a deep breath.

“You were trying to frighten your poor Mamma. I hope she spanked you hard.”

“She didn’t.”

“She’s saving it up for your Papa to do when he comes home.”

“She isn’t; she laughed. But, Margery, when she came in she must have heard me behind the curtains; she thought I was a ghost… the First Wife!”

“How did you know?”

“I did know, Margery. Perhaps … the First Wife lived down there, didn’t she? And she wouldn’t like Mamma being Papa’s wife now. First Wives don’t, do they?”

“You know too much!”

Margery got to her feet.

“Here, Poll, going to take all day to swab this floor? You’re too slow by half! You’ll be feeling the whip about your shoulders, my girl…”

She wasn’t really thinking of Poll, nor of the floor swabbing, nor of the whip. Madame Carolan had looked frightened, had she! Why? She wasn’t the sort to show fear without a reason. The first Mrs. Masterman … Margery couldn’t remember much what she looked like. Sickly. Fair. Suppose … Oh, just suppose … She had died sudden, hadn’t she! People who’d been wronged came back to haunt them that had wronged them, didn’t they? And Margery had had a hand in it … what you might call an innocent hand. She knew nothing of a drug. It wasn’t likely she’d murder a woman just so as another woman could have her husband! But hadn’t she thrown Esther to that Marcus, and because of that hadn’t Madame Carolan gone to the master!

People would say. Don’t be silly ,.. ‘twasn’t none of your doing! But how could you know that a ghost saw things that way!

I ain’t going to have much peace as long as I live in this house. And what do ghosts care for houses? If I went, mightn’t it follow me? Oh, Lor’, I’m frightened. Proper scared, that’s me! I wouldn’t have done it if I’d knowed how she’d take it. I wouldn’t think anyone would kill themselves just because another woman was in trouble. Turn her out… that’s what I’d have done; not took drugs!

“I believe you’re frightened,” said Katharine.

“You start thinking again, Miss Know-all!”

“Margery, do you think the First Wife is really angry about Mamma’s being here?”

“No, Miss Nosey. I don’t! And what’s more, I don’t want to hear another word about ghosts and your Mamma. Don’t you know ladies don’t discuss such things in kitchens?”

“No,” said Katharine.

“I didn’t.”

“Well, it’s time you learned. Here! You run along. I’ve got work to do.”

“Oh, Margery, you haven’t got work to do!”

“Whose kitchen is this? Do you want me to put you out and complain to your Mamma?”

“Oh, Margery, I thought you liked me here.”

There’s a time for everything. You’ll get your feet wet. We can’t have Poll holding up her cleaning for you!”

“She usually washes all round us!”

“Well, she ain’t today!”

Margery was seriously rattled. She hadn’t liked the talk about ghosts. She was frightened… that’s what she was.

“Get out, you little faggot you!”

By God, she thought, she’ll be worming everything out of me before I know where I am. It ain’t safe with a Miss Nosey like her about.

You simply could not stay in a kitchen where you so obviously were not wanted. Katharine walked gingerly, but with dignity, over the wet floor of the kitchen. She went out into the yard.

It was hot, but she did not feel the heat as Mamma did. nor as Margery did, nor Amy and Poll; she had been born to it. It would be pleasant, riding beyond the town. The sea was. inviting; it was such a beautiful blue; but no, today was a special day. It was afternoon yet … and ages and ages before darkness fell. She could go far… explore! She loved exploring.

She went back into the house by way of the kitchen: Margery was still sitting in her chair.

“Ah! You’re soon back!”

But Katharine would not stay where she was not wanted. Margery should not have an opportunity of turning her out twice in one day.

“I am not staying; I am going riding.”

“In the heat of the day?”

“Call this heat?”

“Oh no, me lady, I call it midwinter!”

Katharine skipped upstairs. Even the first floor interested her but fleetingly. She wanted to be away. When she came down she was in her neat and modish riding kit, wearing the straw hat which she herself felt to be unnecessary, but which was worn as a concession to Mamma.

She went back through the kitchen. Margery softened towards her. Regular little beauty! And of course she wanted to know … Come to think of it, it might be rather fun to tell her.? Take a bit of the tilt out of that head of yours, me love, if you was to hear that your fine Mamma was nothing but a convict when she first come out here.”

“Here …” said Margery.

Katharine paused at the door, one hand on her hip, and in those clothes she looked the dead spit of what her mother must have looked sixteen or so years back.

“I’m in a hurry,” she said.

“Indeed you are, me lady! I tell you it’s too hot to go off riding. Wait till it cools off a bit.”

“I don’t feel hot.”

“Here! Come back and have a talk with old Margery.” But no! Her mind was made up now. She wanted to feel her horse beneath her; she wanted to ride and ride. The time for confidences was past.

“We can talk any time.”

“Oh, can we. Miss? It takes two to have a bit of a conversation.”

“Goodbye, Margery! Goodbye, Poll! Goodbye, Amy!” And she was off. her red hair flying out under the straw hat, her sharp little chin as determined as ever her mother’s was.

She rode out of the town away from the sea. Today she had what Margery would call the wind in her tail. It was all due to waking with that dream of Christmas in her mind. She had thought something really exciting was going to happen when she had hidden behind those bed curtains. She had a feeling that something might have happened, had she not called to Mamma. But then, she could not bear to see Mamma frightened.

It was hot, riding in open country, and when she came to a clump of trees she rested in their shade. Behind her the town lay like a toy town, the buildings all huddled together higgledy-piggledy, an uneven, untidy town; and beyond it the lovely harbour which Papa said was the finest in the world; and Papa ought to know because he had been to the Old Country, and said they had nothing like it there.

It was very lonely out there. There was, she knew, miles and miles of loneliness. She did not feel oppressed by the thought of that, although she did like to have people around her; she liked to watch them, to listen to them, to learn about them. She lay on the grass, musing. She looked, without noticing them, at the scrubby hills and the bush that ran right down to the water’s edge. The silver barks of the gum trees were pretty, she thought vaguely. Far away in the distance she saw a long-legged kangaroo with a baby in her pouch. She watched idly, Kangaroos were good to eat, if you cooked them in their skins; you cooked them in cooking pits. Years and years ago, before Papa and the white men came, there was no township down there. Where did the black men live? She must ask Wando. Mamma did not like her to talk too much to Wando. Young ladies of Sydney did not talk to the natives, did not make friends of them. How could you make friends? Friends were … or weren’t. You didn’t make them. The kangaroo had leaped out of sight. Mamma and Margery told her about animals in the Old Country. There weren’t kangaroos, not koalas. Mamma had never seen those until she came to Sydney; nor had Papa. Fancy never having seen a kangaroo with a baby in her pouch, or two koalas clinging to each other, looking sillier than two babies, sillier than Edward. Fancy never seeing emus on their long funny legs, rushing about as though they were in a very great hurry like Papa, only not really like Papa because they were too scared to come near you, and Papa would never be scared of anything. He wouldn’t be scared of a ghost on the first floor.