Dorothy Eden

by Vines of Yarrabee

  By midnight she still had not been found, and the search widened. The master joined it. The maids were told to search every room and cupboard in the house. Mrs Jarvis came as near to breaking down as anyone had seen her. She was always calm on the surface, her feelings locked deep inside her. Emmy said she had no deep feelings, but Ellen, older and wiser, said that her self-discipline came from her years of dreadful experiences.

  ‘Who knows what’s inside the poor creature? Anyway, she doesn’t deserve a little scamp like that Rosie for a daughter.’

  It was dawn before the child was discovered, and then of her own volition. She came across the courtyard, a skinny little scarecrow, dragging her feet, straws in her hair and a furtive wild look in her eyes. She said she had slept in a haystack.

  When her mother demanded, ‘Why did you do it, you naughty girl? Don’t you know we’ve been up all night looking for you?’ she hung her head, scuffed her feet and said nothing.

  ‘Rosie! Were you frightened of the poor dead lady? Tell Mammie.’ Mrs Jarvis held out her arms and drew the rigid little body into them. But Rosie still remained silent.

  It wasn’t until she had been persuaded to drink some hot milk and a bit of colour had come back to her cheeks that she confessed she had been more frightened of the flying foxes than dead Mrs Ashburton. They had squeaked in a branch above her head. There had been possums, too. She had been afraid one would drop on her and sniff at her with its bulbous pink nose.

  She wouldn’t sleep outdoors again, she promised. Or not, at least, until Kit came home. She was recovering her bravado. She didn’t need to confide in anybody.

  Chapter XXVI

  THIS STORY WAS SAD telling for Sarah in England. Eugenia wrote,

  ‘Gilbert has been deeply distressed by Mrs Ashburton’s death. He seems to have felt it more sharply than anyone. He says he once promised her a fine tombstone, so this has been ordered, and it is intended to recount all her virtues. To be a little cynical, one of her greatest virtues was her financial help, as she literally has saved the vineyard for Gilbert. Now she has also made him the sole beneficiary in her will. She describes him as the person in this world of whom she was most fond, and this was true. I am even suspicious that her regard for Gilbert was not just maternal although that sounds a strange thing to say of someone of her age. She had become very possessive, and was jealous of their evenings together.

  ‘Now, however, it appears that her estate was not nearly as large as she had given us to expect. I never did want Mrs Ashburton’s money, and was painfully embarrassed by our debt to her, but I must admit I am now suffering a great disappointment. Gilbert had promised that I could at last have my long-awaited trip home, leaving in the early summer so as to escape the heat, and taking Adelaide and Lucy with me. Now, however, it appears that Yarrabee, that hungry monster, needs all this shrunken windfall, as Gilbert terms it. So once again I must postpone my trip.

  ‘But I must not complain. We have had the enormous benefit of Mrs Ashburton’s help, and Gilbert tells me that the market for wine is improving at last after the disastrous depression. So let us be optimistic…’

  It was sad that there were always secrets to be kept from Sarah, indeed from everyone. For whom could she tell that she now suspected Gilbert’s kindness to Mrs Ashburton had never been for any other purpose than getting her money, that his obsession for his vineyard would drive him to any immorality?

  With suspicion nagging at her Eugenia sat across the table from him in the evenings, studying his face for signs of the corruption that this business of viticulture was producing in him. His face was imperceptibly changing. There were lines grooved on either side of his mouth and between his eyes. The sun and wind had bitten into his flesh, leaving it a permanent brick colour, so that the blaze of his blue eyes was startling. His face was even more the map of Australia, Eugenia thought, the blue sky, the stony cracked red earth.

  When he sat at the table he had a tense restless look as if he could not wait to get back to his own affairs. Was it because he had a nagging conscience, and constantly saw a bloated genial tipsy ghost in the empty chair between them?

  It was, obvious that he genuinely missed Mrs Ashburton. He scarcely touched wine. It wasn’t worth opening a bottle just for himself, he said. But the abstention, or his conscience, made him irritable and explosive. Eugenia thought miserably that they had never been farther apart. She began to allow the little girls to stay up later so that they could sit at the table with Papa for the first course. They nibbled sweet biscuits while the soup was served. Adelaide prattled happily. She adored her father. But Lucy was nervous of his loud voice and his sudden jovial jokes. She hung her head and could scarcely be persuaded to speak.

  Gilbert refrained from showing his impatience with her because she was such a perfect miniature of her mother. But he didn’t admire timidity and shyness. He liked his children to speak up for themselves, as Kit and Adelaide did. They were bold and forward and had to be punished frequently, but tantrums were much preferable to timidity.

  Kit had written from school,

  Dearest Mamma and Papa,

  This is a fritful place. I am fritfully unhappy. Mr Jenkins says my spelling is appalling but my sums better. My friend is James Burton. His father has a sheeprun in Victoria. He is fritfully unhappy, too.

  Only Rosie may play with my things. Not Addie or Lucy. They are too yung. How is old Erasmus? And old Higgie? James and I are going seeking for gold when we are grown up. I am sorry about Grandmamma Ashburton, but you always said she would fall downstairs one day.

  Your loving son, Christopher.

  Gilbert roared with laughter at the letter. Eugenia answered it lovingly, ‘My darling, you must work hard at your spelling. And I must ask you not to refer to Miss Higgins so disrespectfully.

  Erasmus is well and talking as much as ever. But I wish he would forget the things poor Grandmamma Ashburton said as it gives me quite a turn to hear what seems to be her voice coming from the verandah…’

  Then suddenly news arrived from London that at a gathering of wine connoisseurs, Gilbert’s 1834 claret had won special mention. In addition, some bottles of the same vintage sent to that most critical of vignerons, Eugenia’s Uncle Henri in France, had elicited guarded approval from the old man. One couldn’t expect high enthusiasm from France, the vain queen of the wine industry. Uncle Henri’s grudging praise was enough.

  This was the turning point, Gilbert said exultantly. Now Australian wines would begin to be recognized in Europe. It made all the anxieties and difficulties worthwhile. Wouldn’t life be dull without this challenging exciting profession? Could Eugenia truthfully say she would prefer him to be a sheep breeder?

  Gloom was dispatched. It was impossible not to catch Gilbert’s enthusiasm when he suggested a celebration. They had never had a ball at Yarrabee. Money had always been too short. But now he had a credit with the bank, and an assured future. They could spend a hundred pounds or so on furbishing up the house and hiring musicians and extra servants. The rugs could be taken up in the drawing-room and the floor polished. The room was big enough for thirty couples. Those who sat out could use the library or Eugenia’s writing room, or the verandah. It would probably be a warm night, so people would want to stroll in the garden.

  Yarrabee’s first ball…

  ‘I had always imagined it,’ Eugenia said, her eyes shining.

  ‘So had I, but I was afraid we might have to wait until the children were grown-up. I didn’t get rich quickly, did I, my love?’

  Gilbert pulled her to him and kissed her warmly. She felt a sharp throb of her heart. But his mind was full of the gaiety ahead. He let her go, talking rapidly.

  ‘You and the girls must get new party dresses. Kit must be home, of course. He’s old enough to take a turn on the dance floor. He’ll want to learn that new dance everyone is talking about. The polka. You’ll want your garden at its best.’

  ‘Yes, when the roses are out. I’ll tell Peabody. And you m
ust let me have Jem permanently until then. Poor Peabody has got dreadfully slow, but he can still give orders. He will enjoy having his garden admired.’

  ‘Your garden, my love. Peabody might have planted it, but you’ve added the touch of genius.’

  She was back on her pedestal, she recognized. But perhaps after all it was better than the guilt-ridden unhappiness of the last few weeks.

  Dearest Sarah, [she wrote three weeks later]

  The ball is over and it was the greatest success. Everyone came. There were no less than ten carriages driving up to the front door at one juncture. You can imagine the scene with the horses fidgetting and the ladies in their ball dresses alighting. Some of the guests brought their children who were put to sleep in the nursery. Ellen had a very busy happy evening with all her charges. The Kellys and the Noakes came from Sydney and stayed over the weekend. They left this morning, so I have some time to myself again. Bess brought her three girls who are old enough to go to balls. Alice is just the right age for Kit, but she is a dumpy plain girl and I fear Kit was rather rude to her. At least not rude, but neglectful of her.

  Eugenia paused, sighing. It was hot and she was very tired. And as usual there were things she couldn’t tell Sarah. She looked round the room, still filled with flowers from the gaiety of the weekend, although the wattle was wilting. It went a dirty mustard colour when its blooms shrivelled. Some people said it was unlucky to have indoors. All she had noticed was that it had made one of the Governor’s aides sneeze violently.

  Everyone had admired the decorations, the refreshments, the house, the furniture, the portrait of herself and her baby son hanging over the fireplace. (What a look of dreamy innocence her face had had.) The house had come to life as it never had before. This was the kind of occasion Gilbert had had in mind when he had insisted that the drawing-room be large enough in which to hold a ball.

  It had been a triumphant night. Except for that one thing which she didn’t intend discussing with Sarah.

  ‘Kit wore his first grown-up suit,’ she wrote. ‘He looked so handsome. He is very tall for his age, and he knows how to charm people already. He danced with his mother very prettily. I discovered that there was no need for me to guide him. He knew the steps already. He quite enslaved Alice Kelly who looked at him with cow eyes, but, as I said, did not get much attention from the object of her devotion…’

  How could she have, because Eugenia, taking a turn in the garden with the young man who had been so much afflicted by the pollen in the wattle, had seen a flicker of white in the shrubbery.

  Peabody’s rhododendrons had done well after a slow start. They now made a dense green hedge that enclosed the bottom of the garden and provided not only a dim shady walk but also, it seemed, protection for lovers.

  The young aide, also glimpsing the movement in the dimness, wanted to turn back tactfully. But Eugenia had a sudden suspicion too strong to be ignored. She had been trying to keep an eye on Kit, hoping that he enjoyed his first ball, anxious that his father would not encourage him to drink too much wine. Gilbert had so much enthusiasm and so little sense where his wine was concerned.

  But her duties as a hostess took all her time.

  She realized that she hadn’t seen Kit for the last hour. She was almost certain that he was concerned with the flickering white dress in the shrubbery.

  ‘Kit, is that you?’ she called.

  For a moment there was complete stillness in the dark screen of bushes.

  Then, slowly, Kit emerged, dragging by the hand a slim scrap of a girl in a white dress.

  Rosie !

  ‘It’s all right, Mamma,’ he said easily. ‘We came down to feed the opossums in the tree.’ He did, in truth, have some scraps of food wrapped in a linen napkin. Eugenia, striving against alarm, remembered that as a little boy Kit had liked to feed the nocturnal animals that came slithering down the branches in the dark. But she could not help observing the possessive way in which Rosie clung to him. Perhaps the girl thought that in the dark of the moonlit garden Eugenia would not notice the handclasp, or jump to the conclusion that the two had been kissing. She recognized the defiant lift of Kit’s chin, a sure sign that he intended to defy any accusation of misbehaviour.

  How could she accuse him now? The matter must wait until the morning.

  But Rosie! That little vixen with her slanting eyes.

  Eugenia knew that Mrs Jarvis had made her a new dress for the occasion. It hadn’t seemed fair that Adelaide and Lucy should be elaborately dressed in their bows and sashes without Rosie also having a pretty dress. But it had been understood, naturally, that the girl would be in the background. She could watch the arrivals from the stairs, just as Adelaide and Lucy did. She could even linger on to catch glimpses of the dancing after the younger girls had gone to bed.

  But to lure Kit into the garden! That was unforgivable. She was his foster sister. It was highly indecent that she should be clinging to him like this. A childhood affection was one thing, but this was becoming too significant. Something would have to be done about Rosie Jarvis.

  ‘Now don’t get in a state, Mamma,’ Kit had said the next morning when she had called him into her sitting-room. ‘I told you that Rosie and I were only feeding the ’possums.’

  ‘You were absent from the ballroom for over an hour,’ Eugenia said. ‘As it happens, Adelaide saw you and Rosie go out.’

  ‘That little telltale!’ Kit said furiously.

  ‘We are speaking of you and Rosie. You can’t have been feeding the opossums for over an hour. Anyway, you know your father has forbidden you to encourage them. They’re pests. They get into the vines. Apart from that, where were your manners? Leaving your guests for so long.’

  ‘They were yours and Papa’s guests, Mamma.’

  ‘Kit, don’t contradict me, please. You were hiding in the dark with a servant girl. It was in the worst possible taste.’

  Kit’s fair skin showed too vividly his change of colour. His mouth went sullen.

  ‘Rosie isn’t a servant girl.’

  ‘Then what is she, pray?’

  ‘They might talk like that in England, but not in Australia.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting it’s I who have bad manners!’

  ‘No, Mamma, your manners are perfect, but old-fashioned. Rosie’s my friend. She’s not a servant, she’s an equal.’

  Eugenia held her back a little straighter. ‘I don’t pretend to make the laws in Australia, but I do in my own house. I shall be speaking to Rosie’s mother about her future. Now you may go.’

  He had failed to make the defence she had hoped he would. He had not insisted that Rosie was only his foster sister, and therefore their meeting in the dark was harmless. Instead, he made an appeal to his father. Gilbert sought Eugenia out in her sitting-room.

  ‘Eugenia, what’s this about sending Rosie away?’

  ‘Is that what Kit has been telling you?’

  ‘Something to that effect. The boy was upset. Thought you wanted to punish Rosie for something. Has she been offending you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eugenia briefly.

  ‘Then have it out with the girl.’

  ‘Since Kit thinks I’m being so harsh, he might have told you the whole story. Didn’t he?’

  Gilbert said cagily, ‘Oh, something about the pair of them sneaking out to feed the ’possums the night of the ball. I told him he’d do better to take a gun and shoot the pests. He could knock down a few roos at the same time.’

  ‘At midnight by moonlight? I thought that was much more a time for lovers.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Kit and Rosie—but, good lord, they’re practically brother and sister.’ Gilbert laughed heartily, then stopped. A flicker of uneasiness crossed his face. ‘And still children,’ he added.

  ‘Did you think yourself a child at fourteen?’ Eugenia asked.

  ‘No, but I—’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Well, I’d had to get out and fend for myself. I had to grow up you
ng. I wasn’t pampered like Kit. Now look here, Eugenia, forget this escapade. The boy must have had a glass too many of wine. He hasn’t a head for it yet.’

  Eugenia stood up, not attempting to control the temper flaring through her. For once she would forget the good manners with which Kit had taunted her.

  ‘In one breath you say Kit is a child, and in the next you admit you have been encouraging him to drink too much wine. It’s your wretched wine all the time! You helped both Colm O’Connor and Mrs Ashburton to their deaths. No, don’t deny it. Indirectly you did so. Perhaps not so indirectly with poor old Mrs Ashburton. And now you laugh because your son is fumbling with servant girls in the shrubbery because he has had too much to drink. Kit! Only fourteen! For heaven’s sake, Gilbert, teach him discipline and discrimination. Don’t allow him to ruin himself because you think you can brew a good wine and therefore everyone must drink it. Don’t you see?

  ‘I see you’ve got yourself in a state.’

  ‘Gilbert. Listen to me!’

  ‘I’ve listened.’ Gilbert ran his hand wearily over his forehead. ‘Everything always comes back to my wine, doesn’t it? Every disaster. You must forgive me for saying you are a little fanatical on that point.’

  ‘But you admitted yourself that Kit must have had a glass too many.’

  ‘Oh, very well. I concede that. But I do not concede the comment on Mrs Ashburton’s death.’

  ‘I meant every word of it.’

  ‘My God! You can be an implacable woman, can’t you?’

  ‘When necessary. I intend speaking to Mrs Jarvis today. I’ll have Rosie placed in a position. She’s quite old enough. I’ve been thinking for some time that she should go. Miss Higgins has given her a reasonable education. She has us to thank for that. But I don’t think she has much gratitude. She neglects the duties she was given in the house. The maids say she always disappears when she’s wanted, and they find her sitting in the tree at the bottom of the garden. The same tree where the opossums were supposed to be the other night. It’s her favourite spot. Of course she must have lured Kit down there. There’s no question about that. So I won’t have her in the house any longer.’