Master of Ransome: An Australian Outback Romance

by Lucy Walker

  Sara walked to the door. Mrs. Whittle followed her.

  ‘Are you … are you all right, Miss Sara?’

  ‘Do you mean did I get a bump on my head, or something? And that I’m a little mad?’

  ‘No, my dear, of course not.’

  ‘Because I didn’t. All that happened was that I got my confidence back. I had to face something pretty bad. And I did it without any effort at all. Now I can face everyone on Ransome. Even …’ She looked uncertainly at her husband for a moment. ‘Even Greg,’ she finished with a sweep and left the room.

  ‘I think I’d better go after her, Mr. Greg,’ Mrs. Whittle said anxiously.

  ‘We’ll go together,’ Greg replied.

  They entered the office just as Sara was about to quit it for her own room.

  ‘Is there anything you want, Miss Sara?’ Mrs. Whittle began lamely.

  ‘Just say, Sara. The whole homestead’s yours,’ said Greg. His eyes weren’t quite such limpid pools now. There was something dark in them. Mrs. Whittle, catching a glimpse of them, looked suddenly worried.

  ‘Now, Mr. Greg …’ she began.

  He hushed her with a gesture of his hand.

  ‘Say what you want, Sara,’ said Greg. ‘We’re here to please you.’

  Sara wasn’t sure whether he was making fun of her or not. She drew herself up.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that door between your room and the office closed. All I see from my bed is a vista of doors, particularly the bathroom door which you nearly always leave open, Greg. I’m sorry if it means your room will be airless but it’s not unendurable. Mine wasn’t when I had to have it closed while the family party was on.’

  ‘But what if I do find it unendurable?’ said Greg with an ominous quiet in his voice.

  ‘Why then, Mrs. Whittle could fix up that big bedroom at the front of the house for you. There’s room for you to sprawl over the bed your own way, Greg. Or put your friends in it when they’ve drunk too much. And there’s three windows, besides the door. Plenty of room and plenty of air, even if it is a little old-fashioned.’

  She turned away, half waiting for the repercussions of such a bomb.

  Mrs. Whittle’s eyes flew to Greg’s face, where she expected the explosion first to ignite. To her surprise all that Greg did was stand still and blink. Then his eye caught Mrs. Whittle’s. Something passed between them.

  ‘Yes,’ said Greg slowly. ‘That’s just what I think I’ll have. Plenty of room and plenty of air. Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to get Nellie or one of the girls to fix that bedroom up, Mrs. Whittle?’

  ‘Why yes, Mr. Greg. I’ll do it right away.’

  Mrs. Whittle literally hurried away. Sara had never seen her hurry before.

  Without a word Greg turned away and went into his own room, the one from which he was to be banished. He closed the door very gently behind him.

  Sara sat down suddenly in front of her dressing-table. She looked at herself in the mirror. She put her hand to her forehead.

  ‘I’m mad,’ she said. ‘I’ve gone mad. I must have had a bump after all.’

  Conversation at dinner was sparse. The company seemed to be constrained, though they all ate fried rice in diminutive helpings. Two of the jackaroos had gone south to the sheep run and Sam, for the first time in history, had absented himself. Sara had lost her aggressiveness, and though she made a few attempts at polite conversation with the other two jackaroos she soon gave up. Every now and again she put her hand to her head.

  ‘Is something wrong with your head?’ Greg asked.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Sara. ‘I feel quite well.’

  Her voice was so docile it startled everyone all over again. Mrs. Camden shook her head at Marion, and Marion in her turn shook her head at her mother. As if forcing the conversation, such as it was, in other directions they began to talk of Turra. It seemed as if Marion was, after all, a little interested in the elder of the MacKensie boys. Sara, looking at her, noticed for the first time the irony had gone out of Marion’s smile and there was something more of a tender nature in it when she spoke of Turra.

  Lucky Marion! She would be marrying for love. What a wonderful thing that was! Moreover, Mrs. Camden said they couldn’t afford a yacht and a big wedding. She supposed it would have to be the wedding. Well, thought Sara, that disposes of the yacht.

  For politeness’ sake to Marion Sara sat a little with them in the billiard room after dinner. All the time her thoughts kept drifting to that barred room that would be the other side of the office. Why had she done it? Why had she said that? What madness had possessed her?

  If she couldn’t have Greg beside her she liked him near. She had been miserable when her own door had been closed when he had used the office late at night during the party.

  He had been so kind and gentle, almost loving to her, that morning after their rescue! That morning when the stars had been fading and they’d sat drinking tea together at the table in the old homestead! This was the second time she had banished him. Maybe it was a mistake all along. Maybe she should never have done it that night in the Adelphi Hotel. She should have taken what little there was to offer … and tried to build on it.

  But how could she with Julia?

  Julia!

  Odd, how Greg had said nothing when she, Sara, had virtually banished Julia from Ransome. It was almost as if he had been glad!

  Two hours dragged by while Sara listened without listening to Mrs. Camden’s prattle and watched Marion’s absent-minded fender-gazing.

  Sam Benson, who had absented himself from dinner, now came into the billiard room for a night-cap. Sara decided it was time for her to retire with dignity. If Sam was going to be silly enough to be hurt, then it would take more than a late hour appearance to condone his offence in taking offence and staying away from dinner.

  ‘Good night, everybody,’ Sara said. ‘I’m afraid I am rather tired.’

  Sam watched her go with a smile. It was not at all the shamefaced smile he should have worn considering he had behaved badly.

  He himself thought he had behaved rather well.

  After dinner Greg had come down to the main office to find out why Sam had gone dinnerless. Sam had guessed that this was the most effective way of bringing Greg to him in the privacy of Sam’s own world.

  He had taken the fatherly line with Greg too. The same way he had done with the young ’un. He’d told Greg to treat Sara with great affection and care during this period when she was so obviously suffering from shock.

  ‘She might do and say a few odd things for a while, Greg. But she’ll get over it.’

  To this Greg listened in a silence due to his respect for old Sam. Whatever his own thoughts were he did not communicate them to Sam. Sam didn’t expect he would. He knew Greg too well.

  ‘You see, she’s worth salvaging,’ Sam went on. ‘I’ll never forget the day you brought her home to Ransome as your bride. Came right into the garden to see me. She stood there, straight as you like, that chin of hers in the air and eyes like saucers. Pretty, and proud and serious they were. Her heart was shining out of ’em the same way as the devil does when she laughs. Yes, Sam, I love him. That’s what she said.’

  Sam saw the sudden flicker in Greg’s eyes.

  That’s got him, Sam thought. That’s what I meant to tell him. He couldn’t see what that baggage of a Julia was up to.

  ‘So you see,’ Sam was saying aloud, ‘just treat her carefully.’

  ‘Carefully be blowed!’ said Greg suddenly. ‘Who do you think is the boss around here that I have to treat anyone carefully?’ He pushed back his chair and went to the door. ‘Sara sounded to me in the last four hours mighty like looking after herself,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her, Sam.’ With that he said good night abruptly and went off into the night in the direction of the homestead garden.

  It was after that that Sam had gone up to the house for his night-cap.

  He
had smiled on Sara’s retreating back because she had told him to mind his own business and he had gone about minding hers to no mean purpose, he felt.

  When Sara had undressed and gone through the now forbidden territory to the bathroom, she saw signs of great upheaval both there and in the bedroom. As a parting gesture Greg seemed to have made more splash on the bathroom floor than usual. And the towels were thrown down wet. In his room his clothes had been taken off and thrown across the bed. He, who had always been scrupulously tidy, had suddenly left his things lying all over the place.

  So he had gone to bed!

  Not even a polite good night!

  He had gone off to the room at the top of the house!

  Sara felt she would never see him again. That he had gone out of her life altogether.

  She went through the two doors into her own room and stopped dead in the middle of the floor.

  Greg, in pyjamas and dressing-gown, was sitting on the stool in front of her dressing-table. One knee was crossed over the other and he was examining from an aloof height the toe of his slipper. On the table beside him was the bottle of Chanel 5 and her new dangling ear-rings.

  ‘What are you doing with those things?’ she asked.

  ‘Collecting,’ Greg said. ‘And I haven’t forgotten the dress either.’

  ‘The dress?’

  ‘That grey thing.’

  He stubbed out his cigarette, got up slowly and purposefully and walked to her dress cupboard. He pulled aside hangers till he found the pearl grey satin dress she had worn at the masked dance and at the farewell party. He took it off its hanger and dropped it in the middle of the floor. The ear-rings and the bottle of perfume followed.

  Sara sat down with a jerk on her bed.

  ‘I didn’t dance with that thing at Marion’s party,’ Greg said, ‘because I thought Julia was inside it. And Julia at close quarters is overpowering.’

  Sara’s eyes opened so wide they seemed to dominate her whole face.

  He picked the bundle up from the floor now and tossed it into the shoe cupboard.

  ‘That’s where they belong,’ he said with satisfaction.

  He was about to close the cupboard when he caught sight of Sara’s old pair of red slippers. He stooped and brought them out. He was like a young boy with a plaything. He carried the slippers over to the dressing-table and put them on the floor. He looked at them with his head sideways and then he bent down and placed them at a tizzy angle to one another, with their toes turned inward. He smiled.

  Then he looked at Sara’s feet across the room. She had on a new pair of feathery mules. The smile disappeared from his face and he went across the room, bent down and took the slippers off Sara’s feet and threw them after the dress and ear-rings into the shoe cupboard. Then he dusted his hands. ‘Have you gone mad, Greg?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, turning round.

  ‘Then what on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Just clearing up a small mistake that’s been in your mind all day. I’m demonstrating who is the master of Ransome.’

  He walked over to the door that led into the passage and opened it. Then he walked back to Sara. He took the towel and soap bag from her and threw them on the bed. Then he took her hands and pulled her up to the standing position.

  Sara was galvanised into life. She tried to push him away with her hands.

  ‘Greg! What are you doing?’

  ‘This!’

  He swung her off her feet and up in his arms. He carried her towards the door.

  ‘Greg … Greg. What are you doing? Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Where you belong.’

  They went down the short passage and into the hall. Greg kicked open the door of the big front bedroom and in three strides had dumped Sara on the bed.

  ‘Where my wife belongs.’ Greg said. ‘By my side.’

  With one hand he pushed Sara back against the pillows and in another minute he was leaning over her, his arms around her and his mouth on hers.

  ‘Sara, you darling little fool. I love you. Now stay there, while I turn out the light.’

  He strode over to the door switch and flicked it off. The moonlight flooded the room. Sara was sitting up:

  ‘Oh, Greg … Greg darling, I love you too!’

  ‘High time you said so.’

  He sat on the side of the bed. He was loosening his slippers from his feet. One slipper slid across the floor and hit the wall.

  ‘And I don’t want to hear about Clifford or Jack Brownrigg either. They bore me too,’ he said.

  The other slipper hit the door with a clatter.

  ‘Darling, you didn’t think I’d ever thought about them?’

  ‘Tell me in the morning. There isn’t time tonight.’

  ‘But Julia …’

  ‘Damn Julia. She’s the biggest nuisance that ever set foot on Ransome. I’ll tell you about her in the morning.’

  He punched his pillows into shape, turned them upside down and punched them again. Greg had blown up … but oh! in what a lovely way!

  ‘Greg darling …’

  ‘Sara, you sweet, brave little wretch. And darling, even if you say you weren’t brave, you were. Very, very brave.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Me? I was just madly in love with those lights in your eyes and bent on saving your life. I had to save Jack’s, which was chivalrous of me, but a nuisance.’

  ‘Oh, Greg! You see, Julia came to the Adelphi …’

  ‘Yes, and I pushed her out.’

  ‘I thought …’

  ‘Ssh! Say no more. Only sleep.’

  His mouth was hard pressed on hers again, his arms around her.

  ‘You’re quoting Robert Browning,’ she said, muffled because his mouth was in the way.

  ‘Yes, but I’m loving you. That’s much more important. Now do you know who’s boss round here?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’

  ‘Then don’t forget it.’

  ‘I never will. Cross my heart.’

  ‘And you love me?’

  ‘I love you, Greg.’

  Books by Lucy Walker

  from Wyndham Books

  The Call of the Pines

  Reaching for the Stars

  The River is Down

  Girl Alone

  The One Who Kisses

  The Ranger in the Hills

  Come Home, Dear

  Love in a Cloud

  Home at Sundown

  Master of Ransome

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