by Amanda Doyle
‘Never mind,’ Kevin told her kindly. ‘Ridd’ll put you on the nine-fifty on Thursday, and you’ll be able to forget it ever happened. Right now, you might as well make up your mind to enjoy your couple of days with us, beginning this minute. Help yourself to eggs and some steak. On that covered hot-plate on the sideboard.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Go on, Emmie. Please. Ridd’ll give me hell if you don’t.’ ‘Where is—er— Ridd?’
She must speak to him! He’d promised, hadn’t he? Promised that he’d sort things out this morning. He wasn’t going to pack her off on the train again, as he thought, so the sooner they had this discussion the better.
‘He’s out.’
‘Out?’
‘Well, of course. He’s out cutting scrub for the ewes on the Bradley’s Plains block, the same as he was yesterday. Rode out at piccaninny daylight.’
So there hadbeen sounds in that pre-dawn hush, after all! The muffled sounds of elastic-sided boots on the veranda boards outside her room! The faintest squeak of the hinged gauze door as Riddley Fenton let himself out of his house and crossed the lawn in the direction of the yards. He’d gone without even speaking to her, without waiting to see her this morning. He didn’t even intend that there should be a discussion.
‘Ridd was thinking Miss Millicent’s beneficiary would be an older person,’ Kevin was saying now, conversationally. ‘I mean, we all did, naturally.’
‘Did you know Millie, Kev? Miss Millicent, I mean?’
‘Yes, we all did,’ he said again. ‘I mean, we got all our stores there, y’see. She took it over from the Bradys, and we kept on going for our supplies. Everything from a crochet- hook to a tin of dip, she stocked, the same as the Bradys did before her. She was a quaint old dear, eccentric, but we all liked her, and the kids themselves doted on her. For an elderly spinster she certainly had a way with children. I reckon that’s what settled her to staying in the first place, the chance of being a mother to those three kids from the Far-out Homes. She said the district wasn’t what she’d been looking for exactly, but I think the kids won her over to retiring here.’
‘She’d been used to children all her life.’ Emmie nodded to herself, her eyes suddenly misty as she recalled Millie’s great kindness, her sense of fun, her justice, her extraordinary understanding of the very young. ‘Kevin, where are those children?’
He wiped his lips, slipped his napkin into its wooden ring and laid it to one side, standing up.
‘The kids? Susan Wensley has them at the moment.’
‘Who is Susan Wensley?’
‘The schoolteacher at Koolonga. Just over the rise from the store, as a matter of fact. Look, Emmie, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I’ll have to be off.’
‘Is she old, this Susan Wensley? Like Miss Millicent?’
‘Susan? Good lord, no! Anything but!’
Something in the way he spoke, an odd inflection, together with the faint wave of colour that crept up beneath his tan, made Kevin Condor look suddenly self-conscious and a whole five years younger at the same time. Instinct told Emmie, always sensitive to the feelings of others, that the topic of Susan Wensley was not a welcome one at that moment. Her intuition was reinforced by the manner in which her companion grabbed his hat, and with a muttered ‘See you at lunch,’ disappeared hurriedly out the door.
Moments later she heard him whistling as he went down the path. Whatever had upset him, Kevin Condor hadn’t been long in recovering his equilibrium. Or was that jaunty whistling a pose? She hoped she had not unwittingly offended him in some way, because he was a likeable man, and could perhaps prove a useful ally. Emmie had a feeling that she was going to need all the allies she could muster!
With a sigh, she went back to her room, tidied her few unpacked possessions, and then walked in the direction of the kitchen.
It occupied a separate block, reached by a narrow, covered path of cement. Basketed geraniums hung on either side, and a grapevine wove pale tendrils amongst the wires that enclosed the path. It was leafy, cool, enclosed. Even that utilitarian corridor possessed the same rambling attraction as the shaded lawns, dappled arbours and shrouded shrubberies that abounded beyond the gauzed verandas of the house itself.
Mrs. Bexley was folding sheets at a long wooden table. When Emmie offered to help she was handed a pair of folded ends without demur. The housekeeper was that sort of person—forthright, capable, with a strong-featured face, and a natural dignity which Emmie immediately appreciated. She felt that here was a person who would be unquestionably loyal, without pretence or deviousness, and she supposed that it was for these qualities, as well as for sheer capability, that Riddley
Fenton must have chosen this woman to run his straggling and complicated homestead for him.
‘Can you manage with that hand?’ Mrs. Bexley smiled. ‘I think you’re better today, Miss Montfort. Ridd was quite concerned about you last night. Said you looked as if you’d blow away as easy as a piece of thistledown.’
‘I’m a lot sturdier than I look, I can assure you,’ Emmie told her quickly, adding a little grimly, ‘And I don’t blow away too easily, either. Nor do I intend to be sent away, Mrs. Bexley, and that’s what I came to see you about just now. I don’t want to go on that train on Thursday, so there are a few things I’ll need to know, you see.’
‘I’m not sure that I do see.’ The older woman gave her a direct look. ‘That, surely, is a matter between yourself and Ridd, my dear? It’s up to Ridd entirely what he chooses to do. He’s the boss here, you know.’
‘But not my boss.’
‘Ridd knows what’s best. Whatever he decides, I’m sure it’ll be the right thing. And, as I said, it’s nothing whatever to do with me, and knowing him as I do I wouldn’t dare to question whatever line he takes. Neither is it my place to do so, you must see that.’
Mrs. Bexley1 s lips were now firmly pursed, and there was an adamant glint in her eye as she brought her hands together over the sheet-ends which Emmie was holding, and took them from her.
‘I’m—I’m not suggesting that you actually do anything,’ Emmie defended herself miserably. ‘I just want to ask a few questions, that’s all.’
‘Ask away, then,’ was the brisk retort. ‘But if you expect me to go behind Ridd’s back in any way, you’ll have to think again, Miss Montfort. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. He’s the best employer I’ve ever had, and I’m not alone in saying that. Every single person on this station would tell you the same thing—and beyond it as well. And what he says goes. One doesn’t argue with Ridd Fenton—not if one has any sense at all!
Emmie swallowed.
‘You know why I came here, Mrs. Bexley?’
‘It seems you came to claim that store, the one at the siding that Miss Millicent had. Funny, I got to know Miss Millicent quite well, but never once did she even mention you. It was only when the will turned up that any of us heard your name for the first time, so you can hardly blame Ridd for being a bit bowled over when he found you there in the shop last night— just a slip of a kid, he said, and a city one at that, and looking as lost as a kitten in a woodpile.’
‘Yes—well, never mind that just now.’ Emmie shifted her position uncomfortably. She didn’t specially want to hear what Riddley Fenton’s exact words had been! ‘All I need, Mrs. Bexley, is just to know a few things. It’s not very easy, coming to a completely new district.’ She paused, smiled appeasingly. ‘You can guess how different it is from the city, can’t you? I just wondered about the people, the general layout, I mean—if they had been going to be my neighbours,’ she hastened to emphasise, and was rewarded at last to see a more co-operative light appear in the other’s wrinkled face.
‘What, for instance’—Emmie pursued her advantage— ‘happened to those three children when Millie went? I thought perhaps they’d have been sent back to the Homes where they came from?’
‘No, Ridd wanted to avoid that if he possibly could. He’d have taken them here hi
mself permanently, rather than risk them being split up again at the Orphanage. Not that children aren’t well cared for there, you understand, but having been in a private home they1 d got a taste of being together in a family unit, so to speak, and there’d have been a distinct likelihood of their being sent out again to different places if they’d gone back. We did have them here for a couple of nights, as a matter of fact, and then Susan offered to have them.’
‘Susan Wensley?’
‘That’s right. It’s worked out quite well so far. She’s a very capable girl, is Susan—enormously so, in fact—and there’s plenty of room in the house that goes along with her job as schoolteacher. Their education is automatically taken care of, too. That’s another thing that was important to Ridd.’
‘Doesn’t she mind being—er—saddled with three children, when she’s already got her teaching to cope with as well?’
Mrs. Bexley gave Emmie an odd look.
‘Not that you’d notice. Susan would do anything for Ridd — and why should she mind, when the “something” she’s doing in this case brings him over to see her? He goes over now far more often than ever before. She won’t complain, not even about a parcel of children, if they bring him a bit nearer. And I don’t suppose he will, either.’
‘He—he goes to see the children?’
‘He goes to see them all.’ Mrs. Bexley put away the last sheet with an air of finality. ‘There’s plenty of speculation about who he likes to see best once he gets there, though! But that’s not for me to repeat, so I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t, either. Ridd has made himself responsible for these children, and he’ll see the thing through in whatever way he has to. So will Susan. She’s a fine girl, that, and she’s been through a sad time. I don’t suppose either of them was actually wanting to be landed with Miss Millicent’s foster children, but they’re in kind hands, I can assure you. You needn’t give them another thought.’
But Emmie was giving them another thought. She was thinking very hard indeed, right then.
‘Used Mr.—er—Fenton go over to visit Susan before the children went there?’ she asked now, idly.
‘Well, yes, sometimes he did. As I said, Susan’s had a bad time, and naturally Ridd was counted upon to help her in whatever way he could. He’s always helping folk, that man. You’ve no idea the number of people who come to him for advice of one sort and another, from all over the west.’
And I bet he just loves giving it, thought Emmie sourly to herself. How that man revelled in being the king-pin, the boss-cocky of the whole area ! You could see it a mile off!
And now he thought he was going to boss her, too, in the same way as he did those others. But if he expected that she was going to be just as grateful and submissive and obedient as the rest, then Mr. Riddley Fenton was in for something of a shock.
Thistledown, indeed!
Emmie wandered around the garden for a while, lost in thought. Her surroundings bathed her in a green, soothing tranquillity that enabled her to assemble her ideas. Indeed, the gardens, watered by the piped taps and hoses that were supplied from the adjacent bore, were the only green and growing things in the way of vegetation around here. Outside the homestead fence, everything was brown and beaten and dry. Inside, it was like a bright oasis.
It was the heat of that fierce sun beating down upon her bare head that finally drove her indoors again, and when lunchtime came it was a relief to find that the meal was an entirely cold one—a simple salad to accompany the thin slices of corned silverside, and an interesting selection of cheeses displayed on a polished wooden board with an assortment of biscuits and a dish of butter-pats.
Emmie must have shown her surprise at the varied array, for Kevin grinned and explained with a certain satisfied pride that there was always a decent choice of cheeses at Koolonga homestead because they were something for which the boss happened to cherish a particular fondness.
‘The boss? You mean—er—Ridd?’
‘Who else?’
Emmie was thinking automatically of that store again. She hadn’t naturally, had time to check the muddle of dust-laden stock, and of course there’d be no perishables left over after this long interval, but if she were going to supply the homestead it might be diplomatic to discover what the owner liked. Choice, and quality, he had told her, were better at Berroola Junction. She must see to it that he could not validly make such a comment once she took over.
‘Where, in Berroola, do you get cheeses like that?’ she asked. ‘Stone the flipping crows, girl! They’re not from Berroola, those ones!’ Kev seemed amused at her naive assumption. ‘Those are from the city. The Big Smoke.’
‘Does he order them, to come up on the train?’
‘No, he doesn’t order them. He chooses them himself when he’s down. Ridd’s often there on business, you see. And he doesn’t go by train when he does go, either. It’d take much too long.’
‘How, then?’
‘The same way as he goes almost everywhere, Emmie. By plane.’
‘His own plane?’
‘Well, of course—one of his company’s, anyway. He’s got a lot of country to keep an eye on, you know. Different properties, in widely scattered areas. The plane’s the thing these days, when time is so precious. It’s an easy way to collect one’s cheese, too.’
Now he was teasing her!
Emmie flushed, pink at her own sheer ignorance. She was pondering her chances of bluffing her way into what she intended to do. Perhaps she could actually turn her own innocence to good account. One never suspects the innocent of being unscrupulously scheming!
‘I’ve a lot to learn,’ she heard herself admitting with convincing humility. ‘And the sooner I start, the better, I should think, Kevin. Could you take me back to the store now, please, if it’s convenient?’
‘Back? But I thought you were staying here. That’s what Ridd gave me to understand.’
‘Did he? No, surely not. You must have mistaken what he meant. We sorted it all out last night, you see. I’ll just get my things together, if it wouldn’t be a bother.’
‘No bother. It’s just------’ The young man scratched his
head in perplexity. ‘I was sure Ridd said that you were staying here and going back on the train on Thursday.’
‘No, you’ve got it wrong, truly. I told him yesterday what my intentions were.’ She managed a well-feigned surprise. Well, it was true, that bit, wasn’t it, anyway? She had told him what her intentions were. It wasn’t her fault if he had refused to believe her, or to agree.
She really didn’t need his agreement, either. There was a lot to be said for a fait accompli. Present him with that, and there’d be no further point in discussing the matter. Emmie suspected that ‘discussions’ with a man like Ridd Fenton could prove to be curiously one-sided affairs, best avoided if one could manage it.
It was less difficult than she had anticipated, that getaway from the Koolonga homestead.
On the final assumption that the master of the house had already known and approved, Kevin Condor set himself out to be as helpful as possible. He not only carried her luggage from the bedroom to the long, shining Chevrolet—Ridd Fenton’s, no less!—that was now waiting at the front steps, but he also brought her some eggs and a side of bacon from the kitchen block, and a basket of freshly picked tomatoes from the garden.
‘Take some of that cheese too,’ he offered, with somewhat reckless generosity.
‘Oh no, I couldn t do that!’ Emmie was aghast. Her conscience was giving her a few painful twinges at accepting this other bounty, in any case, and now, as she recalled precisely whose cheeses they were, it tugged her afresh. Bad enough that he should find her gone, but—his cheeses as well? Oh no!
‘No cheese,’ she said firmly. ‘But I’m very grateful for the rest, if it can be spared. I’ll pay it back, of course,’ she assured Kevin gravely.
‘Good heavens, you don’t need to do that—not out in these parts, Emmie. You can look on that little bit of
tucker as buckshee. A traveller’s rights, no strings attached. Why, even a swagman gets his hand-out if he calls, although it’s tea and sugar and flour he’ll settle for, more than likely. So why shouldn’t you?’
Emmie could have replied that a swagman wasn’t usually employed in intentionally deceiving the station boss, like she was, but she somehow refrained. Instead she climbed into the saloon, settled herself back comfortably in the spacious interior, and they were off.
It was warm in the car, even with the window open. The tyres threw up a wake of dust when they left the shaded seclusion of the tree-lined avenue and sped over the ramp and on to the open track. The country shimmered in a blue haze of heat. Now she could see the dearth of green, the dryness of the desiccated landscape, the arid creek-beds, stony and bare, the wilted matt of yellowing vegetation that in the jeep’s headlights last night she had assumed to be lush with life. No feeding there, he had said, and Ridd Fenton had certainly been right!
The memory of his grim, preoccupied profile as he had spoken those words caused Emmie a small pang of contrition, almost of pure guilt. How tired he had looked! How dusty and begrimed! Weary in mind and sinewy limb. Depressed, no doubt, by the sight of his weakened stock and the lack of feed for his starving animals. It couldn’t be a pleasant occupation, wielding an axe all day in this dust and heat, lopping down branches for those pathetic, scraggy, dying creatures, while the crows wheeled nearer, nearer, waiting, waiting, for the moment when yet another animal would give up the struggle and succumb, a bloated brown carcass on the bare brown plain.
Well, in a way, she was doing Riddley Fenton a favour by leaving just now, wasn’t she? At least she wasn’t adding to his problems, but subtracting one of them by her own removal. Just as soon as she got that store-cum-dwelling place scrubbed out and in order, she would take the children back, and that would be another thing off the man’s mind, too. Yes, she was actually doing Ridd Fenton a turn, asserting her independence like this. She’d make a happy home for those children once again, too. Not that they weren’t being looked after, but it would be nice for them to be able to leave the little school each afternoon, like all the others, wouldn’t it? Nicer than just going back inside the schoolhouse again. There wasn’t much variety about that! Much better to come running back over the rise and along the rutted road to Millie’s little store, where Emmie would have nice things waiting for their tea—freshly baked delicious-smelling things that Susan Wensley couldn’t possibly be expected to have ready, not when she was teaching all day herself as well.
