Keeping equal distance between hair and shirt collar, Edwina did her best to curtail the thoughts that came with each snip of the scissors. Novelty mixed with self-consciousness, as her fingers grazed sun-burnt skin. She cut slowly and methodically, noticing the twirl of his ear, the thinness of the lobe, the fine creases on a neck that for some inexplicable reason she wanted to touch, and all the while brown hair fell in clumps onto the towel about Will’s shoulders. She dusted away the thick locks, blowing softly on his neck, watching as the silky tufts fell to the ground.
‘Stop fussing, Edwina,’ complained her father.
This was the second time Edwina had been in close proximity to Will. She was reminded of the strength of his touch as they’d ridden home together and then, later, his grip about her waist strong and sure as he helped her from the saddle. Stop it, Edwina berated herself. Was she really so sheltered, so keen for the company of someone beyond that of her father and brother that she would ponder over an inappropriate stranger?
Will began to whistle, softly and melodiously. Heavens, thought Edwina, he’s enjoying this, enjoying her discomfort. He sat with his legs outstretched, with a pleased if drowsy expression, an attitude that rather infuriated her. She straightened her spine, before getting to her knees so that she was at exactly the right height and angle, level with him.
‘Stop that,’ she hissed into his ear.
‘Don’t you like music?’ asked Will, his head never moving.
‘Hurry up, Edwina,’ stated her father, walking inside the house.
‘You have to do the sides as well,’ whispered Will. ‘Not straight across but a bit of a curve around my ears. I don’t want the girls thinking I had my hair cut by an amateur.’
‘Shush,’ came Edwina’s reply. She wanted to ask what girls he referred to, but instead she shuffled sideways, wincing at the discomfort of the boards against her knees. With her hand steadying the sideways tilt of Will’s head, she continued cutting, stopping occasionally to check her handiwork. Having got over her initial apprehension, Edwina quite enjoyed the challenge of the task set her. She was one for doing things properly, carefully.
‘I’ll not look like I can’t afford to visit a barber,’ Will told her, his voice low.
‘But you can’t,’ said Edwina quietly, stating the obvious.
‘That’s not the point,’ replied Will a little more loudly.
Edwina looked to the door leading into the house. ‘Keep your voice down. For someone with no money, you’re very proud, aren’t you?’
‘And for someone with a bit of money you’re very haughty. I’d not expected that of you, not after the caper you pulled at the circus.’
‘Hold still,’ she replied brusquely, wondering if a little nick to his ear would be so terribly wrong. Finally satisfied, Edwina stood. ‘Look at me.’ Will did so and she blinked away his scrutiny as she cut the fringe of hair that fell across his brow, noticing the healthy glow of freshly shaven skin.
‘Now that I’m presentable will you walk out with me one day?’ he asked.
Edwina frowned at the audacity.
Will scooped up some of the cut hair. ‘You can put that in your locket as well if you like.’
Edwina was about to tell the young man what he could do with the locks when her father reappeared.
‘Are you finished?’
Edwina answered her father, ‘Quite finished.’ Will winked at her.
‘Good,’ replied Hamilton. ‘And you can use a rifle, Will?’
Will shook out the towel, handing it to Edwina. ‘I know how they work, sir.’
‘Then we’ll do very well indeed.’ Hamilton passed Will a jacket and waited until he’d put it on. ‘That will do nicely. Well, come on, lad. Aiden and Davidson are waiting.’
‘Where are you going, Father?’ asked Edwina. ‘Into Wywanna?’
At the mention of the town, a troubled look crossed Will’s face. Through the orchard Davidson could be seen readying the horses. Her father left to join the aboriginal, Will following with a shrug of his shoulders.
‘No, my dear,’ Hamilton called back, ‘I’m going to pick a fight and then stop it before it begins.’
Chapter Fifteen
With the men’s departure, Edwina decided that there was no reason why she shouldn’t take a peek at the cub. After all, visiting the baby lion didn’t mean she agreed with Will’s theft. It was simply a case of checking on a creature who, through no fault of its own, suddenly found itself bereft of a mother and the environment it had been born into. Besides, Edwina reasoned, she didn’t have to tell Will what she was about to do. An important consideration when he was likely to view her interest as concern and then further cajole her into caring for the animal. Not that she was drawn to doing any such thing. In fact, the less contact she had with the cub, the better.
Walking through the orchard, Edwina reached the stables, sliding the heavy bolt open. ‘Stay,’ she told Jed, before closing the door behind her. Edwina waited for her sight to adjust to the dim light, half expecting the stolen cat to appear out of a shadowy corner to growl hungrily at her feet. But there was no movement within the building and, apart from the odd bird scuttling across the iron roof, no doubt picking through the leaf-litter, the shed was quiet. Bright angles of sunlight filtered through the timber walls, highlighting the row of boxes that stabled the horses. Opposite were a number of crates holding oranges and lemons, while at the far end a stack of hay was piled against the wall. It was in this direction Edwina walked, sidestepping lumps of manure, noticing that each of the stalls were already mucked out and strewn with fresh hay.
Will’s belongings, a narrow furled swag, were sitting neatly on the ground near the hay but there was no sign of the lion. Edwina peered into each stall, checked under a pile of empty hessian wheat bags and behind the oat-filled feed bin. The only place she hadn’t investigated was the hay stacked next to where Will slept. Stepping onto one of the bales, Edwina climbed up the shaky pyramid-shaped mound. Once at the top she steadied herself and looked over the edge. By the drag marks in the dirt below it appeared that the bales had been recently rearranged so that there was a gap next to the wall and in the semi-darkness she could just make out a container that held water. A crease formed above Edwina’s nose. There was no sign of the cub. That was all they needed – a baby lion running wild on the property.
Then she heard it. A noise. Similar to a purr but almost like a snore. It came from the adjoining tack room where all the saddlery items were stored. In her haste to climb down the stack of bales, Edwina stumbled, rolled awkwardly to one side and then fell, landing heavily on the ground as a number of the bales fell down beside her. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Edwina got to her feet slowly, holding her lower back as she walked out of the stables, shielding her face from the morning glare.
Outside the tack room, she met Jed, who was busy sniffing the ground. ‘Found something, have you?’ The dog immediately sat, waiting patiently. Edwina drew the bolt as quietly as possible and stepped inside. At first it was far too dark to make out anything and she left the door slightly ajar, allowing a slither of light to enter the room. Gradually the surrounds came into focus. Saddles were lined up along one wall on an A-shaped stand. Yokes, harnesses, leads, saddle blankets, ropes and reins hung from a beam and in another corner sat a variety of parts for their various horse-drawn vehicles, wagon, dray, plough and the buggy. Wheels, snigging ropes for dragging logs, broken lengths of leather and two piles of horseshoes, old and new, was just some of the gear Edwina identified. The air smelt of grease, oil and leather and dust particles floated in the air, illuminated by streaks of sunlight that criss-crossed the room through numerous gaps.
Edwina scanned the walls and floor, finally noticing that one of the saddles was lying on the ground. The surcingle had been chewed, teeth marks visible in the well-oiled leather. After examining the damage, she looked carefully under the row of saddles next to the dividing stable wall. A deep hole made a neat tunnel un
der the wall and staring out at her from the other side was a pair of eyes. Edwina’s breath caught in her throat.
Within reach of the lion was a sack. Plainly the cub was not willing to wait for a meal for the bag had been dragged close to the hole and a meaty bloodstain marked the canvas. Edwina slowly reached out a hand and picked up the bag. It was clearly stamped with the name Colby’s Circus. When she next looked up, the cub was sitting a couple of feet away, regarding her with large inquisitive eyes.
‘Oh my. You really are very beautiful.’
The creature before her was covered in tawny fur with white spots that Edwina could only describe as being slightly faded. The cub surveyed her steadily, its amber-coloured eyes unblinking.
His nose twitching, the lion moved a little closer. Edwina slowly upturned the bag, shaking the material to empty it, and a few chunks of dark meat fell to the ground. The animal reached out a paw, scrabbling across the dirt, and with a lunge pulled one of the pieces of meat towards him. As he ate Edwina moved the remaining flesh a little closer to her. The cub seemed to regard her thoughtfully, tilting its head just slightly as if weighing up the outcome of moving closer to the last of the meat.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ said Edwina. They remained quite still, regarding each other quietly, before the cub slowly got to its feet. This time the cat moved deliberately towards her, baring its teeth on approach. Edwina wanted to tell the animal that he could trust her, but noting the lion’s obvious caution remained silent. Eventually temptation gave way to action and the cub moved quickly, snatching up the meat and swallowing it immediately.
‘You’ll have to go back inside your hidey-hole,’ said Edwina, turning to see Jed by her side. Having pushed through the door left ajar, the old dog stared at the cub and then sat tiredly, his tail wagging happily. ‘I’m not sure he’ll want to be friends, Jed,’ warned Edwina. The animals regarded each other with interest until the lion cub backed away, scrambling through the tunnel and out of sight. ‘Just as well,’ commented Edwina, moving to gather up some of the broken leather and old horseshoes and using the material to block the entrance.
Outside Edwina wondered what on earth Will thought he was going to do with the lion cub once he left here. The animal was already built like a small dog. In a few weeks she guessed he’d be far too heavy to cart around on horseback, let alone have running or walking beside Will as he wandered the countryside in search of work. As she called to Jed to follow her back to the house, Edwina hoped the week went quickly so that Will and the cub could be on their way. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. She just knew that with the lion cub holed up only feet away from the homestead things would become worse before they got better.
Chapter Sixteen
It was nearing noon by the time Hamilton reached Ridgeway Station homestead. The building sat squarely in an area cleared of trees, the bush kept at a distance from the house by the continual felling of timber. Hamilton had visited the homestead on two previous occasions and, as before, he was immediately struck by the imposing building which spread low and long across a flood-safe ridge. Made of mud brick and plastered with whitewash, the structure still carried the telltale signs of early settlement. There were small holes in the outside walls made for rifles and the outbuildings were situated some distance from the house, ensuring that should a structure be fired, such a disaster did not spread immediately to the other buildings. It struck Hamilton that, for all the station’s impressiveness and endurance, having survived intact through the years, it remained a lonely looking place.
A lawn, patchy but recognisable, was the extent of the garden, except for the line of trees that bordered the stone path leading to the front door. On a previous visit, from within the dark interior of the gloomy station office, Hamilton had once glimpsed a substantial vegetable garden through the window, being tended to by a Chinaman of advanced years. He wondered if the plants still thrived or if the lack of a family at Ridgeway over the last decade had rendered the plot redundant.
‘It’s grander than I imagined,’ announced Aiden as Davidson lifted the latch on the gate. The men rode through in single file, Will at the rear. ‘Bit of a waste though, isn’t it? With no-one living here permanently.’
‘Remember what I told you all,’ said Hamilton, halting briefly. ‘If Fernleigh appears, a show of force is all that’s necessary.’ His initial inclination to give the upstart manager a lesson by having Davidson punch the man squarely in the face was regrettably replaced with the decision to report the altercation to the local constabulary and Somerville. This was a far better approach. Firstly, it would hopefully deter the manager from carrying out his threat and, most importantly, the incident provided the perfect opportunity to catch Somerville on the day of his arrival under the guise of complaint and in doing so discover just who exactly had been inspecting the station last week.
‘I won’t be involved in any shooting, Mr Baker,’ Will reminded his employer as they stayed their mounts at the verandah’s edge.
Hamilton frowned. ‘So you’ve said.’ Now was not the time to give the young whippersnapper a lesson in talking back to one’s employer. ‘But I do expect you to sit astride your horse and look the part, Will. Otherwise you’ll be back in Wywanna by nightfall.’
‘Yes, Mr Baker, sir.’
Hamilton admitted that the lad was much improved by a haircut and the addition of a coat, but he still didn’t like him. Boys such as he were fine to employ as ringbarkers and odd-jobbers, but he could tell this one was an opportunist and a smart talker to boot, based on his recent ability to coerce Aiden into giving him a job. And the very fact he’d left a man’s job for the circus suggested a tendency to laziness. Hamilton was not partial to having him near his daughter for long. Edwina was quite removed from the wiles of the modern world and, although she was generally a sensible girl, even the epitome of females was not immune to advances from the male sex. Hamilton knew that from bitter experience. He’d already decided that once Will completed digging out the well he would be on his way.
The men were lined up appropriately. Still on horseback, Davidson held his rifle, cocked and ready to fire, while Aiden and Will flanked the aboriginal on either side. ‘Good,’ stated Hamilton, dismounting. Wrapping the reins around the rail, he climbed the two slab stairs, crossed the verandah and, pounding the brass doorknob, stepped to one side. ‘Don’t hesitate to shoot, Davidson, if the recalcitrant comes to the door armed. Leg wound only, mind.’
A young woman dressed in a rather old-fashioned maid’s uniform of white and black answered the door with a curt, ‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’
‘Hamilton Baker to see Mr Somerville.’ He thought the girl looked a bit too pale for country life, her tone was citified, the gaze coolly professional. She was quick to take in his attire and those of the men waiting on horseback.
‘I’m afraid Mr Somerville isn’t in, sir,’ the maid announced.
‘What do you mean he isn’t in?’ Hamilton thought back to the note handed to him by Andrew at the Guild. It clearly stated this was the day of Somerville’s arrival. ‘I have it on good authority that he was due to arrive on this morning’s train.’ Hamilton made a show of checking his fob watch, wondering if the Western Mail was late.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but Mr Somerville was taken ill. His nephew is here, however, if you would like to see Mr Ridgeway.’
Excellent – the son and heir. Hamilton offered the girl his most gracious smile. ‘I would indeed like to see the young master.’
Cumbersome footsteps in the hallway heralded the arrival of Mr Fernleigh. He pushed past the maid. ‘Ah, if it isn’t the money-lender,’ the manager said with a leery tone, scratching his beard. ‘And look, Donella, the Englishman’s brought his black factotum, the white-eyed crow.’ Mr Fernleigh reached inside the hallway and walked out onto the verandah clutching his rifle.
Twenty feet away Davidson lifted his own firearm in response.
The maid moved a little, increasing the space
between herself and the manager. Unsure as to what to do, she waited for Mr Fernleigh to take charge of the situation.
‘I’m here to see Mr Ridgeway.’ Hamilton directed his request to the maid, ignoring Mr Fernleigh.
The girl looked at the three men on horseback as the manager took up a position in a squatter’s chair, the rifle resting casually across his thighs.
‘You best come in.’ The maid stepped back, allowing Hamilton to pass.
‘Come here, Aiden,’ bellowed Hamilton, leaving the stockman and Will to face off with the manager.
Hamilton followed the girl the length of the hallway, scowling at his son to keep pace when the boy stopped at one of the bearded portraits that lined the dark passage. The place smelt musty and was sparsely furnished with a few occasional tables. They passed the door leading to the station office, left the entrance hall and then turned down a series of smaller halls that gradually suggested more frequent habitation. Music and laughter could be heard as the maid led them through the rabbit warren of rooms and passages. Some of the walls were tongue and groove, others cracked mud brick, while the floors were a mix of worn stone pavers and timber boards. The homestead had seen many changes over the decades and Hamilton guessed that most of the rooms would have long been invaded by spiders and cobwebs, the furniture sheathed in dust sheets. Aiden was right. It was a waste of a fine home.
Donella opened a door and they entered an airy room filled with white wicker furniture. Clearly this was the living area the family inhabited when in residence. The timber floor was covered in rugs and a mixture of furniture filled the room. Round gilt mirrors, large Chinese patterned vases and silk-covered cushions were prominent along with the tasselled throws on the scrolled arms of the daybed. He recognised the tooled leather desk from the station office, placed in a sunlit corner, an item he’d coveted on first sight some years prior, and wondered at the character of the son and heir, who was clearly responsible for the altered state of the house. It certainly wasn’t to Somerville’s taste. The little Hamilton knew of the man suggested he wasn’t the type to be bothered with such rearrangements. Especially to this extent. He could only guess at the number of rooms that had been ransacked to create such a semblance of cluttered eclectic sophistication. Gloria would undoubtedly be quite impressed.
An Uncommon Woman Page 14
