Sleep in the Woods

by Dorothy Eden

  “I come again one day.”

  “Rangi! You can’t just go like that!”

  “I have to go. But you will be all right, little Rata Flower. Your house will be all right.”

  Then, leaping swiftly across the long grass towards the bush, he was gone.

  Her dress was ruined, of course. And her apron. Both crushed and smeared with grass stains and damp. And her hair was tumbling down. In a daze she reached her room, and lighting the candle with trembling fingers sat reliving her intoxication.

  After a little while the sound of music penetrated her hearing. Goodness, she thought vaguely, the party was still going on. It had seemed a whole lifetime away. What should she do? She couldn’t present herself in this disheveled state. But in a moment Mabel or somebody would be looking for her. What should she do? Climb into bed and say she was suddenly sick? Or change into her working dress and pretend something had been spilled on her good one.

  Yes, that was the better idea, though how she could manage to pass plates of food with steady hands she did not know.

  Yet somehow she managed. Somehow, with her hair still inclined to fall down, and a vacant smile on her lips, she got through the rest of the evening. There were two plates broken, but Mrs. Whitmore had expected some accidents and was not angry. And her clumsiness in helping the departing guests into their wraps was put down to the fact that, poor child, she had been working like a slave all the evening, and looked worn out.

  At last, without any worse mishap, she reached the haven of her bed. But then in the silence her thinking powers began to return. What had Rangi been doing in these parts? Why had he said that she and this house would be all right? Was it because other houses would not? Was he with a war party? He had had a tomahawk, but no gun. Why had he slipped away so quickly and secretly? Were dreadful things being planned for this night? Should she have told Mr. Whitmore and the other settlers, so that they could be prepared?

  Should she? The remorseless question pounded at her tired brain.

  But if they got up a search party and went off with guns Rangi would be killed. She couldn’t bear him to be killed. She had saved him once, and now she could not destroy him. Besides she loved him. He filled her with that terrifying irresistible excitement. She couldn’t bear never to see him again.

  She couldn’t tell anybody about his visit. How could she explain it, anyway? Everything would be all right. Anyway, suddenly, she was just too tired to worry.…

  XXIII

  BRIAR WAS tired, too. At least the moment she entered her bedroom she knew that she was. Before that she had been full of energy, not wanting the dancing to stop or anyone to go home. But the fun had to be over some time, and now it was over. She was in her bedroom, and Saul unexpectedly was there before her. He looked as if he were waiting for her.

  Uneasily she rememberd that unanswered question when they had been dancing. But surely he wasn’t going to start cross-examining her now. It was late, nearly three o’clock, and she really was very tired. Exhausted.

  She yawned experimentally. “Oh, dear! I’m nearly dead.”

  He made no answer. All at once he was a very vital presence in the room, although he made no sound or movement.

  “Did you enjoy our first party, Saul?”

  He did not answer her question. Instead he repeated his former one. “Why did you marry me, Briar?”

  It was as if they were still dancing in the crowded room, and nothing had happened since except his impatient waiting for her reply.

  “Really, Saul! At this time of night. To start being so intense.”

  “Stop acting! If you can. Stop borrowing fine phrases and be yourself.”

  Briar’s eyes flashed. “Myself? Well, that’s simply a servant girl. I didn’t think you would want your wife to behave like a servant.”

  “I’m not asking you to behave like your profession, but like yourself. The woman in your heart. There is one there. I catch a glimpse of her sometimes. Not often. She shows herself more to certain other people.”

  “Saul, really—” There was no humor in his face, no tenderness. It was hard and tense. It was even a little frightening. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” she finished lamely.

  “Why did you marry me, Briar? Go on, tell me. I want to hear you say it yourself. Tell me that you married me for this house, for instance, for the pleasure of giving a party as you did tonight—”

  “I hadn’t seen this house when I promised to marry you,” she interrupted.

  “But you knew it was here. And the other things.”

  The color rose in her cheeks. She was beginning to grow angry, too. Frightened of him? As Sophie would be? She would never never allow herself to be frightened of any man.

  “What else did I know of you?” she flared. “You were a complete stranger. You were, after all, prepared to marry me on those terms.”

  “I was not aware I was making any terms. I was marrying a woman I thought was there. Someone warm and loving and full of spirit. I was sure I was right, even though my mother said I was wrong. She said you were just a little nobody seeking your fortune. I guessed that, but I still believed I would find a real person beneath the mercenary one.”

  “You should have believed your mother, shouldn’t you? Since now you’ve discovered it’s true.”

  He had come towards her to stare at her intently. His face in the candlelight was craggy, deeply lined, full of shadows.

  “Is it true, Briar? Is it true?”

  “Sophie says love comes after marriage,” she faltered.

  “But it hasn’t for you. Has it?” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Oh, yes, you can sparkle for other men. Peter Fanshawe was the man you wanted to marry, wasn’t he? The one you meant to trap instead of me. Well, if you’d got him, I’d have wished him joy. And you, too. Because he’s a namby pamby, and in a week you’d have despised him.”

  “So you don’t think I despise you?” Briar asked icily.

  “No, you might hate me, but that’s very different. That can come close to love.”

  “You flatter yourself!” she exclaimed, with intense scorn.

  “Oh, I know all your pretense to ladylike ways. But I’ll stop you bringing them into bed with you!”

  “Saul! Don’t speak to me like that!”

  His eyes glinted dangerously. “I’ll speak to you exactly as I please. You’re my wife. You belong to me. And my God, I’ll make you love me!”

  “Saul, you’re tearing my dress!”

  She was angry as he, her cheeks flaming, her eyes shining with hate. She tried to escape his grip. “I ask you not to touch me, if you’re a gentleman.”

  “No ladies or gentlemen tonight,” Saul muttered, pulling at the fastenings of her dress, and when they evaded his impatient fingers, giving a sharp tug that ripped the material. “Just a man and a woman. And no false modesty. You’re not shocked. You’re not that kind. You’re made of flesh and blood and fire and passion, and I’ll prove that to you this very moment.”

  “Saul, I warn you I’ll scream!”

  “Scream if you like.” He had picked her up, and flung her on to the bed. The movement set the candles flickering madly, and almost putting them out. His face above her swung crazily.

  “I’ve been too patient with you, that’s the trouble. God dammit, how many petticoats does a woman wear! Now scream! But after I’ve kissed you.”

  And then, of course, it was too late. And she didn’t want to any longer, even had she had the breath. For she had no breath. It had been swept away on a hurricane. She lay, small, spent, wondering confusedly what had been pain and what pleasure. And knowing that she never, never wanted to raise herself to get up out of this bed again …

  XXIV

  MORNING SEEMED to come before she had closed her eyes. At least, Saul was out of bed to watch the rising sun, so it must be after seven o’clock.

  She couldn’t face the day nor her husband’s face yet, and turning over buried herself
deeply beneath the warm blankets.

  “Get up!” came his voice.

  She heard in astonishment. Was he going to continue to speak to her as he had last night?

  “Briar, get up!”

  She emerged indignantly from the bedclothes. “Is the sun up already?”

  “It’s scarcely five o’clock. That isn’t the sun. It’s a fire.”

  “A fire! Where?” She was wide awake now. She leaped from bed to rush to the window.

  Yes, it was still night. The trees were black against the sky, the ground a vast shadow. But the sinister pink and orange glow on the horizon grew brighter.

  “Hauhaus!” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. Get dressed. I’m going to rouse everyone. Go down to the hall. See that everyone’s there within ten minutes. I’ll scout around.”

  He was already half dressed and pulling on his boots.

  “But there hasn’t been any noise! I thought they shouted and barked—” Her voice faltered. When the terror had burst on her that other time she had not had time to be afraid. But now, if there was to be waiting and listening for hours, she did not know how she would behave.

  “They’ll yell in an attack,” Saul told her briefly. “If they’re going about in small bands looting and burning they creep up silently. Only the birds or the dogs tell you. Hurry and get dressed.”

  He had picked up his rifle which she had grown accustomed to seeing at his bedside.

  “Don’t be too alarmed,” he paused to say with belated reassurance. “This may not be the Hauhaus. It may be a completely accidental fire.”

  Then he had gone, and she heard him walk down the passage to knock on other doors.

  Instantly the house was full of noise, thumps and excited voices and a high pitched scream that could only be Sophie’s. Heavens! Sophie’s baby! The next thing would be its premature appearance.

  She was surprised that she could think even as coherently as that. Her hands trembled so violently that she could not cope with buttons or laces. She dragged on a warm petticoat and a woollen dress, then flew to the window again to watch that ominous glow in the sky.

  Could she hear wild yelling far far off in the still dawn?

  The glow seemed to have spread, as if the fire grew larger. No, it was another fire. Probably about a mile from the first one. The sky flickered orange and red.

  Briar clutched at the windowsill. It was the Hauhaus! They had come at last, just as Uncle Hubert and Saul had always predicted they would. The false security was over. She was cold and shivering with fear.

  “Briar!”

  That was Saul’s urgent voice at the door. She turned, wanting for the first time to rush into his arms, not for love but for protection, because he was strong and brave and the only one who knew how to fight these devils.

  “Aren’t you dressed yet? Go and help my mother. She’s stiff with rheumatism. Hurry!”

  “Saul, it is the Hauhaus. There’s another fire. I’m frightened to death!”

  By the light of the single candle that he held she could see his face, set in grim lines, despising her.

  “You’ve no time to be frightened. My mother is an old woman and needs help. So does Sophie who’s in no condition for this sort of thing.”

  There had been no word of comfort or reassurance for her. He had gone leaping down the stairs, shouting through the opened door to rouse the shepherds.

  But he had spoken the truth. There was no time to be frightened, for the other women, bundling into their clothes, did need looking after. Sophie was a trembling jelly, swearing that she was shaking too much to put any clothes on, that she felt ill and was certainly going to have her baby at any moment. Aunt Charity had struggled into the elaborate dark red velvet gown trimmed with lace and flounces that she had worn for the ball, and was standing, dazed and bewildered, a large incongruous figure, as if prepared for macabre festivities. Prudence, white and trembling, was trying to protest effectively, “That gown isn’t suitable, Aunt Charity!”

  “Why not? Why shouldn’t I wear my best gown to die?”

  “But you’re not going to die. We’re just going to the stockade.”

  “I’ve no doubt that will be the same thing, if all your uncle has told me is true.”

  “Don’t be silly, Aunt Charity,” Briar said with a calm of which she had thought she was incapable. “We’re merely to go downstairs until Saul’ comes back. He’s been through this sort of thing before. He knows what to do. Get her downstairs, Prue. Take warm cloaks. It will be cold outdoors.”

  Old Mrs. Whitmore was another matter. There was no panic or hysteria here. But the night set her rheumatic bones into a stiffness that made quick movement impossible. Briar had not known this, and silently paid tribute to the old lady’s fortitude.

  “I’ll help you with your dress, Mrs. Whitmore.”

  The deep dark eyes stared at her. “Why aren’t you screaming, too?”

  Involuntarily Briar answered, “Saul wouldn’t let me.” And wondered dazedly if she were thinking of the Hauhaus, or of Saul’s extraordinary behavior last night.

  And that was only two hours ago?

  “I’d like to,” she said shakily. “Is this your warmest cloak, Mrs. Whitmore? We might have to hide in the forest.”

  “Give me my stick. There, that’s better. Now, don’t worry about me. I’ve seen howling dervishes before today. Look after Sophie. She’s the one who’ll need care. Go along, then.”

  Her autocratic voice was like her son’s. The pair of them, Briar thought bitterly, behaved as if she were their despised slave. Very well, then, she’d let the old woman fend for herself, and go down to rouse Katie and Mabel.

  She met Peter Fanshawe on the stairs. He, too, carried a lighted candle, for the hour before dawn was very dark. She noticed absently that it trembled violently in his hands.

  “Is this really a Hauhau attack?”

  His face was pale, but his eyes were dilated with excitement. The shaking of his hands may have been from cold and anticipation, not from fear.

  “Saul will tell you what to do,” she said briefly. “Bring Sophie down and see that she’s well wrapped up.”

  When Saul came back they were all huddled in the hall, and there was a horseman galloping down the track to the house.

  In the very early dawn they could not distinguish who he was until he reined in his horse at the door.

  It was Tom Galloway.

  “Hauhaus!” he shouted. “They’ve burned the Masefield homestead, and there’s another fire starting. Arthur Masefield and his wife are dead. They were ambushed going home from here last night. The devils tomahawked—” He stopped, realizing that most of his listeners were women. His face was haggard and hectically flushed. “I’m trying to warn everyone. Get the women to the stockade, Saul. We’re all heading there.”

  “Has anyone gone for the militia?” Saul asked curtly.

  “There’s been no time—”

  “I’ll send a man on my fastest horse. They may have seen the fires by now, anyway. Have you any idea how many of the enemy there are?”

  “About fifty, I think. Bring all the guns and ammunition you’ve got.”

  Briar pressed forward. “Tom, are your wife and baby all right?”

  “On their way to the stockade. You’ll probably catch up with them. Good luck!”

  He was gone, a feverish figure galloping into the paling sky, and one of the shepherds was coming around the house leading the horse and dray.

  Instantly Sophie began to scream. “I must have some luggage. I can’t leave all my clothes here. They’ll be burned.”

  “Get into the dray!” ordered Saul curtly.

  “But they’re my best gowns! I’ll never replace them. And what will I wrap the baby in?”

  “Your petticoat! Mother, give me your arm. Aunt Charity.” Saul’s eyes did linger a moment on Aunt Charity’s magnificent preposterous figure. “Well, there’s a good soul. The only one to turn this into a party.”<
br />
  Aunt Charity gave a wan smile. “That’s what I said. Prudence didn’t agree.”

  “Saul!” cried Briar, clinging suddenly to his arm, “will our house be burned down?”

  “Perhaps.” His gaze was inscrutable. “Will it matter, if we’re still alive?”

  Everyone else was in the dray. Briar hesitated, ignoring the orange splendor in the sky, but turning to look at the house which last night had been so full of light and gaiety, and of which she had been so proud. Her eyes filled with tears. If the house were lost she had lost her newly-found identity, she thought incoherently. She would rather stay here and defend it …

  With a quick movement Saul lifted her in his arms and flung her, not gently, into the cart.

  “Be sentimental at some other time,” he said briefly.

  The front door was left swinging open as they moved off. It was as if the house had been discarded like a piece of unwanted clothing.

  But Saul, who had gone back to mount his horse, paused to shut the door, and Briar felt vaguely happier.

  Then there was no time to think any more about it, for Katie began to have hysterics.

  “Make that girl be quiet!” snapped Mrs. Whitmore, and Briar had a sudden memory of the tiny Rose wailing as they rode through the forest, and Saul commanding silence. Now the baby occupied her minute plot in the new churchyard, lying beneath the encroaching ferns and toe toe grass, and it didn’t matter much about the noise Katie made, for wherever the enemy was, he was no longer silent.

  Nevertheless, Katie’s loud sobbing was infinitely distressing, and Briar spoke sharply to her.

  “Be quiet, Katie. Pull yourself together.”

  “Oh, ma’am. This is all my fault. If only I’d told you!”

  “Told us what?”

  But at that blunt question Katie broke into a fresh noisy burst of sobbing, and it was Mabel who made a laconic answer.

  “The spirits must have talked to her, missus.”

  “Spirits!” echoed Aunt Charity incredulously. “To Katie! What would a spirit have to say to that empty little head? And what spirits?”

  “In the owls, missus. The moreporks. That’s where they live.”