by Lucy Walker
‘What’s wrong with Mrs. Willy?’ asked Kate.
‘Out, out damned spot!’ quoted Hal. There was something springy and almost joyous about him.
‘Hal loves a halo of women round him,’ Beatrix said. ‘He’s got three admirers for the afternoon and no prospects of Mother interfering. We ought to pass a vote of thanks to Mrs. Willy … just for existing.’
‘Couldn’t we have Annabel?’ suggested Peg.
‘No hope,’ said Beatrix. ‘She does what Mother says. And Mother says, “Go to Mrs. Willy’s”.’
Peg sighed deeply.
‘Such a shame!’
‘Such a ruddy shame,’ said Hal. He was making a business of swishing flies now.
‘We’ll take tea down the orchard …’ he suggested.
‘We’ll take the kid’s …’ said Peg.
‘We’ll take Kate and lots of food …’
‘And Riley to clear up the mess and wash up the mugs.’
‘Whacko!’
‘Three cheers for Mrs. Willy!’
Kate was infected with their spirits, but bewildered. Was Mrs. Weston such an ogre round the place that an afternoon free of her presence should have such an exhilarating effect on the spirits of Hal and Beatrix and Peg?
As they neared the homestead a conspiratorial silence fell upon the quartet.
‘Do we take the stockade by assault?’ whispered Peg.
‘No,’ said Beatrix. ‘We just sneak in the kitchen and lie low till they’ve gone. Judity will be dressing the kids.’
They approached the lean-to porch of the kitchen.
‘Ssh!’ said Hal, laying his finger along the side of his nose.
‘But why?’ begged Kate.
‘If she knew she’d stop us.’
‘But how?’
‘Dunno,’ said Beatrix. ‘But she’d find a way.’
‘Shh, ssh, ssh!’
In single file, nearly doubled up with giggles, they tiptoed into the kitchen.
The next day the homestead went into action preparing for the Arundel dance.
Kate found that everyone, including the servants, went to the dance. Everyone was occupied with what he or she was going to wear.
Kate had a beautiful ball gown with her, but she was afraid it might be too sophisticated. She asked Beatrix and Annabel about their frocks before she mentioned her own. Beatrix had a beautiful dress of midnight blue nearly covered in sequins. Kate felt she need not blush for the sophistication of her own gown. Annabel’s dress, however, had seen several seasons’ wear. It was graceful but nondescript. Kate decided after all against the ball gown. She had another dress … very lovely too … but more youthful. It had a different kind of lacy charm from the satin ball gown.
All the dresses, including the children’s, were taken out and pressed … little pieces of lace stitched, a loose sequin here and there returned to its place. Sugar’s party dress had to be let down and a new satin sash ribbon found.
In the kitchen the servant girls were shrieking with laughter as they chatted to one another and washed and ironed their bright new cotton dresses.
On the day of the dance, the day’s routine was advanced by nearly two hours. Breakfast was at six o’clock, lunch at eleven-thirty. Dinner was in the middle of the afternoon. It was cold lamb with fresh bowls of satsuma plums and cream. Satsuma plums and cream had appeared at every meal. Kate thought she would never grow tired of them. Everyone else, she noticed, ate lavish quantities without seeming to tire of the dish.
The Weston party was not due to leave Appleton until after dark, but the servants and farm hands had to bring in the cows and horses before decking themselves out. Some had to be over at Arundel ahead of time. It seems it was the custom to lend help to the homestead that was giving a wool-shed dance. Hal had sent Mick over to Arundel for the day to help with the shifting of furniture, the decorations … the providing of accommodation for cars, horses and spring carts that would bring all and sundry from far and wide.
All day Hal had seemed to keep aloof from Kate. His mood of yesterday had disappeared as inexplicably as it had come. He might have been a different person. Kate’s spirits would not be entirely damped, however. There was expectation in the air. A dance was always good fun and in Sydney she had learned that Hal was a beautiful dancer.
There would be the night and the music …!
As Kate dressed Hal came to her bedroom door. He was struggling with a stud in his starched shirt.
‘Come on, Kate,’ he said. ‘Get your hand in. Fix my stud.’
Kate had a light wrap around her shoulders. As she lifted her hands to his collar the wrap slipped and Hal took hold of her bare arm and kissed it. It was as light as a butterfly’s kiss.
She looked up into his eyes. He was smiling. His manner was debonair again.
She screwed up her eyes.
‘Who fixed your studs before I came?’
‘Beatrix, or Mater … or someone.’
‘Hal, I’ve been here four days and that is the fourth kiss you’ve given me. It’s just not natural. Aren’t I kissable any more?’
His eyebrows arched.
Kate fixed the stud and dropped her arms. She looked at him steadily. He put his arms round her and kissed her gently on her lips.
Sadly Kate realised she could not kiss him back with her heart in it.
He dropped his arms and picked up one of her hands.
‘Mother wants you to come into her room when you’re dressed, Kate. She’s got her jewel case out of the safe. She wants you to have a family ring.’
Kate turned away, embarrassed.
‘Don’t you think you ought to leave it? Perhaps it was a mistake thinking about that ring. It sounded romantic before. But now …’
‘It was the mater’s idea,’ he said carelessly.
‘Well, I’d like to see her jewels anyway.’ She turned towards the door. With one hand she gently propelled him backwards.
‘We’re not married yet. If you don’t mind, I’ll dress in private.’
‘I just don’t understand …’ she thought.
She massaged the cream gently into her skin. She used the powder puff delicately.
(‘Look as nice as you did when you got off the train …’ When had Rick said that?)
She wondered how she was going to handle the situation when presently Mrs. Weston bestowed on her the talked-of ring. Had it been her idea, or a feather-brained thought of Hal’s? Kate didn’t want the ring now. She wasn’t sure about Hal any more. A ring would be such a complication … She didn’t like Mrs. Weston well enough to want to wear her ring as a love token.
When Kate rustled along the passage and knocked at Mrs. Weston’s bedroom Annabel and Beatrix both put their heads out of their respective doors.
‘Oh, lovely,’ Annabel said. Her voice was full of generous admiration. ‘Kate, you look like a chocolate box.’
‘Mn … mn!’ said Beatrix. ‘You smell like a bunch of wild flowers.’
Hal then came into the passage from the veranda. He put his hands in his pockets and walked round Kate admiringly. In his eyes Kate saw again the lighted look she had grown to interpret as meaning love.
Annabel wrapped a dressing-gown around herself.
‘You do look a lovely pair,’ she said. Impulsively she took a few steps and kissed her brother warmly. ‘Hal darling. Be happy with Kate.’
Mrs. Weston’s querulous voice could be heard calling, ‘Come in!’
Hal turned the door knob and bowed Kate in.
It was a large square room with long windows looking out over the eastern paddocks. Besides the great old-fashioned bed there was a suite of chintz-covered furniture. It was grouped on a thick Indian carpet in front of the fireplace. The muslin curtains stirred faintly in the evening air.
Mrs. Weston was sitting on a small chair drawn up beside her bed. On the bed were her evening gloves, a chain evening purse, a fan and a delicate lace scarf lying in a row. In front of her was a square black box
. The jewel case.
Kate turned around on the carpet.
‘Do I pass?’
Mrs. Weston was not in the habit of being unnecessarily kind.
‘Have you got a scarf for those shoulders? You’ll catch a chill if you go out like that.’ Her fingers twitched on the little lace scarf lying on the bed as if she was debating whether to give it to Kate.
‘I have a stole,’ Kate said, coming across the room. ‘Please don’t worry about me. I never catch cold.’
‘Everyone catches cold. You don’t know Blackwood air. Besides, the de Berhans’ wool-shed is the draughtiest in the district.’
‘Nonsense, Mother,’ Hal said. ‘All wool-sheds are the same when it comes to dancing in them. And in summer time they’re not draughty enough anyway.’
Mrs. Weston’s dress was of black and silver brocade. Kate now dutifully admired it. But nothing, she reflected, could make Mrs. Weston look really attractive. Her face was too lined and too querulous.
‘Are you going to show Kate your jewels, Mother?’ Hal asked.
Mrs. Weston, still sitting, opened the black box on the bed. She dipped her fingers in it and brought out two or three strands of pearls all wound together. Then she took a lovely diamond and emerald necklace and laid it out in a glittering hoop on the bed.
Kate leaned over it.
‘Oh, how lovely!’ she breathed.
‘My husband negotiated a land purchase for some property buyers in England,’ Mrs. Weston said. ‘As it was government land he didn’t care to accept a fee. So the Board of Directors made me a present of this set.’
Out of the jewel case came a ring, earrings and brooch to match. She laid them preciously beside the necklace. The light from the lamps shone on them and they lay, a pool of glittering stones, on the dark blue of the bed coverlet.
Kate picked up the bracelet.
‘How exquisite!’
She would have liked to try it against the smooth whiteness of her own skin but thought Mrs. Weston might take offence. With a sigh she put the jewels down.
Then one at a time there came from the box brooches, earrings, and rings. All were beautiful, but none equalled in splendour or delicacy of setting the emerald set.
Hal picked up a small ring. It was a gold band with a turquoise set in diamonds. It was a pretty ring.
‘Is this the one you’re going to give me?’ Hal asked.
‘All in good time, all in good time,’ Mrs. Weston said testily. She went on showing other treasures. An old-fashioned cameo; some unset black opals; the little blue and diamond ring sat by itself on the pillow.
This, Kate knew, was the talked-of engagement ring. She felt embarrassed.
At that moment Annabel and Beatrix came into the room and they all stood in a group admiring the emerald set lying on the bed.
‘Mother, why don’t you wear it to-night?’ Annabel said.
‘What? Wear that here amongst Blackwood yokels? I never heard such nonsense!’
‘Then let Annabel wear it,’ Beatrix said suddenly and with a touch of malice in her voice. ‘The colour is dead right for Annabel and emeralds are her birthday stones. They’ll be hers some day, so you might as well let her have them occasionally now. After all, she hasn’t a ring or a brooch to her name’
Annabel flushed.
‘Oh no. I wouldn’t wear them,’ she said hurriedly. ‘They’re Mother’s. Besides, even if I am the eldest they’ll be Hal’s eventually … not mine.’
‘Nobody’ll wear them,’ Mrs. Weston said curtly. ‘As for who’ll get them someday, wait till I’m dead … and see.’
Hal picked the necklace up and let it dangle from his hand. He turned and held the necklace against Kate’s throat.
‘Maybe they’ll be yours someday,’ he said. ‘Mother, I think you ought to let Kate wear them.’
‘Oh no … no,’ said Kate hurriedly. She pushed Hal’s hand away.
‘I don’t think she ought to wear anything till she’s a Weston. Then we can see,’ Mrs. Weston said. ‘As for the turquoise ring … well … it’s not of much value. But why should Kate have a ring and not Annabel?’
Kate looked very steadily at Mrs. Weston.
‘I think the turquoise ring is a pet,’ she said. ‘It is small and delicate. Just like Annabel’s fingers. Why don’t you give it to her, Mrs. Weston? You have such a lot of rings … Annabel would surely love to have one.’
Mrs. Weston made a noise that was half a laugh and half a snort.
‘She should have married someone capable of giving her a ring. After all, I did … didn’t I?’
She began to put the jewels back in the case, including the turquoise ring.
Kate raised her eyes to Hal’s. She smiled gently.
‘I think your mother gives very good advice,’ she said.
The incident of the ring had to be pushed into the background as they drove the nine miles along a bush track to Arundel. Before and behind them were the gleams of headlights. When they came through a clearing on the hillside they could see the cars in front of them curving around the brow of the hill like a necklace of lights.
Hal was driving the ‘super-sonic’. Mrs. Weston sat beside him. Kate, Beatrix and Annabel sat in the back seat. The two little children varied from one lap to another. Beatrix kept up a running fire of imprecations as they alternately crushed her dress or dug leather heels into her nylon stockings. Annabel occasionally scolded and Kate sat in a corner saying nothing.
The car was big enough to take them all without a child having to crush a lap, but Annabel had moments of indulging her children and this was one of them. Kate and Beatrix had to put up with the inconvenience of it.
Mrs. Weston had peevishly demanded to sit in the front and equally peevishly had refused to let Sugar sit beside her.
‘The child will crush my dress,’ she said. ‘Can’t understand what you’re thinking of, Annabel.’
So the children were loaded into the back, and instead of sitting on the dickie seats, were allowed to get on with the business of crushing the frocks of the three young women. Hal had not spoken again to Kate after his mother had put away the jewel case. At that moment Burns had brought the car around and Hal had gone outside to put on his coat. When Kate emerged from her room scarfed and cloaked, Hal was holding the door open for his mother. Solicitously he wrapped a light rug round her legs, enquired after her comfort, and without paying any attention whatever to the three young women had gone around to the driver’s seat.
Kate felt something hard in her throat. It was not a lump of tears. She was too angry for that.
Never again would she allow a Weston to humiliate her. It was some kind of cruel game they played amongst themselves. She could see that. They were as unpredictable as selfish children.
She must extricate herself from this ambiguous situation. As she leaned back in the corner of the car she wondered how she could do it with dignity. She was exclusively concerned with face-saving at the moment. Sometime, when she had stopped being angry, she would ask herself how she really felt about Hal.
‘Can’t think why that car in front crawls,’ Mrs. Weston complained. ‘We’re getting all their dust.’
‘It’s the Cricks,’ Hal said.
‘What would you expect? People like that owning … let alone being allowed to drive … a car.’
‘It’s a beauty,’ Beatrix volunteered from the back. ‘The latest Ford Custom Line.’
‘Interesting to know where they got the money from to buy a car at all,’ Mrs. Weston said.
There was a hoot of laughter from Beatrix.
‘Same place as you did, Mater,’ Hal said. ‘And not by sending the wool into the wool sales and paying taxation on the cheque.’
‘That’s silly talk, Hal. You’d better keep quiet if you can’t talk sense.’
‘You’re not afraid of Kate, are you, Mater? Everyone at Arundel to-night will tell her if we don’t. Specially if Castillon turns up and an argument starts.’
‘What is it all about?’ Kate asked.
‘The wool clip is supposed to go into the auctions. The taxation is taken off the cheque. So if there’s some other way of selling part of the wool clip … there’s no taxation paid. So most people find “some other way” … even it it’s only bartering for wanted goods.’
‘Surely bales are very big things to smuggle round the countryside?’
‘It’s simpler to get rid of the sheep in fleece, sometimes. The flock comes back sheared. No bother about bales in that.’
The car crawled towards the homestead. Lights flooded the whole area. Hal was nosing along the line of limousines to find a parking place.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I’m going up to Kattanup next week-end to bring down that flock from Jennings’ place.’
Something that sounded like satisfaction came from Mrs. Weston. Beatrix said: ‘I’m coming with you, Hal.’
‘I don’t know why you don’t let John run after you instead of you after John,’ Mrs. Weston said.
‘Oh, don’t go while Kate’s here,’ Annabel pleaded. ‘The flock is just as safe at Jennings’ as here.’
‘Sheep shorn this late are only safe in the forest paddocks where they can’t be seen.’
‘You going to bring them down by the back road, Hal?’ his mother asked.
Hal eased the car into a parking space under some jarrah trees.
Kate had not spoken. She wondered that anger could feel so cold. She felt very cold.
Hal fixed the hand brake, opened the door and walked round to the other side of the car and opened the door for his mother.
‘I’ll come down the back road,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two men. Burns and another. I’ll take three days.’
Kate opened the door of the car and bent her head as she gathered up her many yards of skirt.
‘He does it on purpose,’ she thought. ‘When he’s finished with one cruel thrust he thinks up another. And they all know it.’
She straightened up.
Rick Benallen was coming between the cars towards them. The lights made his white teeth flash in the dark shadowed brown of his face.
‘Hullo, Peaches!’ he said.
For a fraction of a second Kate closed her eyes. She must have swayed, for Rick’s hand went under her arm. But he wasn’t looking at her.
