Master of Ransome: An Australian Outback Romance

by Lucy Walker

  Sara, being under twenty-one, had to get permission to marry from a Justice of the Peace since her parents were not present to consent.

  Greg had arranged the special licence, found a fellow-pastoralist at the Palace Hotel to act as best man, and found a church and a clergyman.

  Sara had not seen him in the morning but he sent a message to the Adelphi that he would call at lunch-time.

  Sara went into the city and bought herself a wedding frock. It was a white, hand-embroidered linen and she bought, to go with it, a pale pink hat swathed with a paler shade of chiffon.

  She sent a cable to her parents. It was long and cost a lot of money but she didn’t mind. She still had some of her travelling allowance and Sam Benson had given her her bust-cheque.

  When Greg came at lunch-time he was able to tell Sara and his mother of the arrangements he had made.

  ‘Mrs. Richards, the clergyman’s wife, would like to act as the other witness for you, Sara,’ he said. ‘They’ve only been recently married themselves and are a little romantic about it.’ A small ironic smile hovered at the corners of Greg’s mouth. ‘She would also like to give you some roses from her own garden.’

  His eyes met Sara’s. Was there a hint of apology in them that he himself was not giving her roses?

  It was better this way. Sara was deeply touched with the kindness of the unknown Mrs. Richards. She didn’t feel quite so alone in the world. There was someone who cared about her and yet had never met her. If they’d been married in Adelaide now, there would have been the girls from the office.

  Greg’s eyes dropped to Sara’s hands.

  ‘One has to have a wedding ring,’ he said.

  ‘Have mine,’ said Mrs. Camden gaily, proceeding to take off two jewelled rings to get down to the level of the plain gold band. ‘You’ll be the third Camden to wear that and I don’t really need it any more.’

  Sara felt almost affronted at the carelessness of the gift but Greg picked it up and looked at it. There was a look of momentary strain on his face.

  ‘My father was the finest man I ever met,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Oh, he thought an awful lot of you too, Greg,’ Mrs. Camden said brightly. ‘His very last words were about you and Ransome. Remember? Take care of Ransome, Greg. It’s cost me my life but it was worth it. Remember? After that he collapsed, and he never spoke again.’

  Greg caught Sara’s eyes. She held out her hand.

  ‘I hope it fits,’ she said. ‘I would like to wear it.’

  It was a little loose but not enough to matter.

  ‘I would like to have it, Greg,’ she said.

  Greg left the hotel immediately after lunch, and Sara went into the city again to have her hair shampooed and set.

  ‘I will give you a face massage and make your face up,’ the hairdresser said, delighted to find she had a bride on her hands.

  ‘Why, that would be lovely. I hadn’t thought of it,’ Sara said.

  ‘You come back at four o’clock … all dressed up. We can put your things in a spare room and make a really good job of you. We often make-up brides this way, if they’re not wearing a long dress and a veil.’

  At four o’clock Sara went back to the beauty expert and she found several of the girls all aflutter. They hovered round Sara and her dress and hat and gloves, and even showed curiosity and delight over the new handbag with its lovely fine lace perfumed handkerchief.

  ‘And you don’t know anyone in Perth! What a shame! Never mind, you know us. We’ll make you look really beautiful.’

  And they did. Sara hardly knew herself as they put on her dress again, arranged her hat and then her curls under it. They even dabbed some perfume under her ears and drew on her gloves for her.

  Sara felt almost tearful at such kindness. She was a stranger in a strange town yet these girls had made her feel she was something belonging to them … and several miles over the other side of the city was waiting a young and happy clergyman’s wife with a bouquet of roses for her.

  Sara went to the church in a taxi with Mrs. Camden. Greg had said he would be waiting for them. Sara had never seen Greg in a dark tailored suit before. She was suddenly struck by two separate and conflicting thoughts. It smote her heart to see how handsome and well groomed he was. Thank God the girls in the beauty salon had done their best for her too. At the same time Greg like this was an absolute stranger to her. She almost faltered at the terrifying thought of what the future might hold.

  Who was this man? What madness had brought her in front of the altar to stand by him and take his name?

  What am I doing? What am I doing? Why didn’t I think? I’ve been in a mad daze!

  As Greg put the wedding ring on her finger she swayed. He took her hand and held her. Sara felt as if all her strength was seeping out of her and she leaned on Greg’s arm. He steadied her and held her firm.

  Reassurance began to creep back as the colour was creeping back to her cheeks. His hand was so strong and his arm was so steady.

  She had the idiotic thought that this was how the colt felt when Greg had put the halter round its neck.

  ‘To love, honour and obey, in sickness and in health …’ Sara’s low voice repeated the words.

  ‘Please God, yes,’ she prayed. ‘Let love and honour come. I will try. I will try …’

  The clergyman had said the prayers, the roses were back in Sara’s hands and the clergyman was speaking to them in kindly words. Sara looked fully in his face for the first time and she could see that he believed in their love for one another and it was making him happy too.

  ‘Now kiss your bride,’ he said to Greg.

  Sara turned her face up to Greg and their eyes met.

  Except for that light kiss on her forehead they had not kissed. The colour stole abundantly into Sara’s cheeks. Greg had been holding her elbow in his hand and now gently he slid it round her waist. He bent his head and very gently his lips met hers. For a fraction of a minute it almost seemed as if their lips clung together. Then Greg lifted his head. They looked into one another’s eyes, startled.

  And then the clergyman said, ‘Follow me. We must sign the register.’

  They all returned to the suite in the Adelphi Hotel. Mrs. Camden had insisted she would give this little party and then leave it and go to her Club.

  ‘Darlings, I wouldn’t miss being there for the world,’ she said. ‘Just wait till I tell them all. The gossip. They’ll love it. It will race through the north-west and the Territory like a bush fire. Camdens are known in five States, you know.’

  The staff of the Adelphi Hotel also took a romantic interest in weddings for they had made the little sitting-room beautiful with flowers and now proceeded to serve a beautiful meal. They sat over it long but eventually Mr. and Mrs. Richards and Noel Bautine, Greg’s pastoralist friend, made their farewells.

  ‘Well, I’ll have to go too,’ said Mrs. Camden reluctantly. She loved a party and hated to see it breaking up. ‘I’ll just take some of those flowers with me. The hotel staff won’t mind. They know me and what a taking person I am.’ Her laugh, light, faintly malicious but very clear, rang out. ‘Greg, come down with me and get a taxi for me. Good night, Sara darling … sleep well …’ Her laugh tinkled out again as Greg took her to the door.

  Sara was left alone with the remaining flowers, the empty glasses and the maids now clearing the sitting-room.

  Uncertainly she walked to the larger of the two bedrooms. She had seen when she had come in to take off her hat and gloves that all the cases were there. Her own and Greg’s.

  She sat a moment on the edge of the bed.

  What do I do now? she thought, looking with embarrassment at the cases. Then she got up and opened her own case and took out her night attire and the pretty new dressing-gown she had bought that day. I’ve just got to carry it off … somehow.

  Greg was a long time coming back into the suite. Perhaps he had gone with his mother. The Club was only a few yards up the street. She, Sara, could
not remain for ever sitting on the edge of her bed waiting for instructions from her husband. She took off her dress and put on the dressing-gown over her petticoat. She creamed her face, but not liking the look of its shining smoothness she put on it the faintest dusting of powder. The lipstick she had worn in the afternoon still left its faint glow of red.

  When she heard Greg’s footsteps she involuntarily stood up. When he knocked and then came in she was standing in the middle of the room, her right hand nervously twisting the gold wedding ring.

  ‘There are my cases!’ said Greg. ‘I’d better put them in the other room.’

  He picked his cases up, carried them through the sitting-room into the room Sara had used earlier.

  Sara put out her hand to steady herself against the dressing-table and Greg came back. Sara had half turned away and she could not bring herself to look at him. He was a stranger. He would have to get back into those north-west clothes to look like the Greg Camden she knew. But would she feel any different?

  Greg came across to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and turning her towards him looked at her.

  ‘I think it will be all right, Sara,’ he said quietly.

  The colour ebbed and flowed in her cheeks. He bent his head and kissed her lips. His arms slipped round her and he held her against him.

  ‘Sara … shall I stay with you?’

  For a long moment there was silence. Sara could hear his heart pounding against her cheek. At last the words came out in a whisper.

  ‘Yes, Greg. Stay with me, please.’

  Greg was gone to the Midland cattle sales all the following day. He had risen and bathed, shaved and dressed before Sara was properly awake. Then he came back into the room, dressed now like his old self, and sat on the side of the bed. He took Sara’s hand and held it in his own.

  ‘The maid is just bringing you some breakfast,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I have to leave you … but I must. There’s business I must do since I am down here. I’ve got a booking on tomorrow morning’s plane. It leaves at 4 a.m. I think you had better rest as much as possible. It will probably be dinner time tonight before I’m back.’ He paused, then he smiled at her. There was everything friendly but nothing intimate in his smile.

  ‘Are you all right, Sara?’

  She nodded. How could she say that she would have given Ransome and all the world for him to put his arms around her?

  He bent and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘So long, partner,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll see you at sundown.’

  He got up and went quickly through the door. Sara let the back of her hand lie across her eyes as she listened to his footsteps receding down the corridor.

  Perhaps it was better this way. He had been infinitely kind and tender to her in the night, but except for calling her ‘dear’ no word of love had passed his lips. How could it? People don’t love as suddenly as all that. At least not people who aren’t called Sara. And the Greg Camdens of the world don’t love the Saras, who aren’t very tall and whose noses have a tiny tip-tilt.

  What had Mrs. Camden called her … the little typist from the town. And Greg … tall, handsome, rich, autocratic, king of the million acres he surveyed, would not love Sara. He would need her and be good and kind to her. But he would not love her. She hadn’t the distinction of beauty or the power of money or the prestige of name.

  But he had been infinitely kind to her.

  It was better this way. She had for him this new burgeoning feeling and her great trust in him.

  We like one another and we trust one another. It is better this way.

  Greg came into the hotel, hot, weary and incredibly dusty from the cattle sales, just before dinner. In spite of his weariness which a cold shower and a stiff whisky seemed soon to dispel, he was in good spirits. He seemed almost light-hearted.

  Sara hadn’t seen him like this before either. Her own heart lifted correspondingly. Perhaps Greg, too, was going to be happy in this marriage. Something had made him happy and had seemed to lift the care from his brow.

  He was very nice to Sara. He had not offered to kiss her but then he’d been very dusty when he came in and had shot through to the bathroom at record speed. When he had come back, immaculate and damped down about the head, the drinks steward had been in the room waiting to pour drinks for them both. Greg had sat down in an easy-chair, lit a cigarette, and accepted his drink.

  Sara did not wait for him to inquire how she had spent the day but instead began to ask him about the cattle sales.

  ‘Had to see what was fetching top prices,’ Greg explained. ‘Some of the cattle we overland down the Canning Route is skin and bone when it gets here. I think we’ll concentrate on the air-lift and the Wyndham track in future.’

  Sara listened. He had called her ‘partner’. Well, she would learn all about cattle now.

  They had dinner with Mrs. Camden in the main dining-room downstairs, and Mrs. Camden broke the news to them she was not coming north with them in the morning.

  ‘I’m having a lovely time at the Club,’ she said. ‘Why, I’m the talk of the town. At least you two are. You’ve set the whole place by the ears.’

  Greg took no notice of this.

  ‘Mother, just how many people have you invited to Ransome and who are they?’

  Mrs. Camden affected to look bewildered.

  ‘Greg darling, I don’t invite anybody. You do all that. You know you do. Of course Ransome’s always had a name for open house and there are always a lot of people who drop in when there’s a big muster or races on. You know that. People passing through …’

  ‘People loaded down with cases carrying dinner frocks and party clothes,’ said Greg, but without more than a tinge of bitterness. ‘Oh well, Mother, I suppose I’ll never get it out of you at this stage. You’ve been just airing an open invitation, I expect.’

  ‘Greg, how could you?’ said his mother petulantly.

  After dinner they walked back to the Club with Mrs. Camden and then back to the hotel.

  ‘We’ll have to leave here at 3 a.m. to catch the plane at four,’ Greg said. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi.’

  They were back in the sitting-room now and Greg had ordered some coffee and a liqueur.

  ‘We ought to go to bed forthwith if we want a reasonable night’s sleep …’

  He was interrupted by the telephone. He went across the room and lifted the receiver to his ear.

  ‘Yes?’

  Sara noticed a sudden change in Greg’s manner. He straightened himself and his mouth became a hard line. The contours of his face altered. They were sharper and therefore forbidding.

  ‘No, certainly not,’ he barked. ‘I don’t want anyone brought up here tonight. I’ll come down. Tell them to wait, please. I’ll be down at once.’

  He put down the receiver. His eyes seemed to have become darker. His mouth was set in a hard line.

  ‘I’ll have to leave you, Sara. I hope I won’t be more than a few minutes. I’d go to bed if I were you, Sara. You’ll need rest.’ He spoke absently as he stubbed out his cigarette. He stood irresolute for a minute. ‘I have to see someone on business.’ He turned and walked abruptly out of the room.

  Sara felt taken aback. How quickly Greg’s manner had changed. Not only his manner, but his manners. He had left her as if he had forgotten she existed.

  Sara hoped it wasn’t more Camden trouble. At the worst she thought it was probably an agent who had arrived to say he had bought Mrs. Camden’s yacht for her. Well, Greg would soon get rid of him.

  Sara took a long time having a deep plunge bath. She slipped her dressing-gown on, powdered her nose and set about packing her clothes and squeezing in her new possessions. Then she packed Greg’s clothes, taking a new wifely and somewhat tender interest in the chore.

  She looked in every drawer and cupboard to see they had left nothing. Only Greg’s pyjamas and their morning clothes were left out unpacked.

  Then Sara sat down on the sofa in the sitting-room
and picked up the evening paper.

  What a long time Greg was! She hoped he hadn’t found that Mrs. Camden had committed herself irrevocably to something impossible.

  Her eyes wandered over the paper hardly reading what she saw. Once again her heart was fluttering and her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the leaves. It seemed he was never coming back. Waiting for someone … listening for footsteps! Wasn’t that the hardest thing in the world!

  Someone had once written, ‘He also serves who only stands and waits.’

  Sara laughed at herself. One would think this was a war, she thought.

  Three familiar names sprang out of the printed page before her. Northern Airways … Mr. Jack Brownrigg … Miss Julia Camden.

  Sara started. She folded back the paper and read the paragraph carefully,

  Time and distance have been defeated in the present generation of Australian pastoralists. Mr. Jack Brownrigg, partner in Northern Airways, flew his own Dove aircraft from the far north to Perth Airport in record time last night. He took twelve hours to bring his passenger, Miss Julia Camden, from a station which Miss Camden’s forebears had taken four months to reach from the northwest coast.

  Sara was filled with apprehension. Julia became instantly something more than a too beautiful moneyed young woman who was spoilt and capricious. She became a woman ignored. Aroused. In pursuit. What damage could or would she do to Sara, and how would Sara stand up to it?

  Sara threw the newspaper down on the sofa. She got up and walked to the table where the steward had left the drinks earlier in the evening. She did something she had never done in her life before. She poured herself a whisky. Her eyes fell on Greg’s glass.

  ‘Oh, Greg!’ The cry was almost wrung from her. ‘Without Julia I could manage. Don’t … don’t let her make trouble.’ In her heart she admitted it was not Julia but Julia’s beauty and those undulating contours that would defeat her. It would undermine her own confidence. And Sara needed confidence badly.

  Looking at Greg’s glass again, a dreadful thought assailed her. Who was with Greg now? How terse he had become when that telephone message came through. It was the same way that his face and mouth had become when he had found on his table the impossible demands made from time to time by his family. But it was not the way his face had been when she, Sara, had first seen him. He had been standing by the window in the billiard room, one foot resting on a chair and Julia leaning against his shoulder. His face then had been easy, half amused, affectionate.