Miles Off Course

by Sulari Gentill

  Rowland, if truth be told, was a little afraid of saying anything now. Milton and Clyde were also conspicuously silent. It was up to Edna.

  “Oh dear, I do hope we haven’t disturbed you too much. Have you written many books?”

  “A few. Of course I’ve always had to fight the patriarchal conspiracy to find publishers. I’ve written under male names, travelled the world in search of more progressive attitudes… every time I met a like-minded gentleman, he’d spoil it all by wanting to marry me!” Sarah Brent pointed at Edna, her gaze intense. “That’s how they do it, Miss Higgins. They enslave you with matrimony—you take their name and lose your self.”

  Edna nodded solemnly. Rowland got up to find a drink. Milton beat him to the decanter of sherry on the mantel. Sarah Brent moved into Rowland’s place on the couch next to Edna and the two fell into earnest conversation. The writer engaged the sculptress with warnings and tirades against the suppression of their gender.

  Rowland glanced at Clyde and Milton. It was clearly time to retreat gracefully.

  12

  OUR MOUNTAIN WONDERLAND

  YARRANGOBILLY

  After a hearty meal at Caves House a party was formed and conducted by Mr. Bradley through the Jersey Cave. Much might be said in praise of Yarrangobilly Caves as to their excellence and wonders, but it will be a long time before these caves will be in the public favour like far-famed Jenolan, owing to the accessibility of the latter. It would be unfair to compare or even to criticise Yarrangobilly Caves, as they scarcely bear any resemblance to the more northern limestone caves. But the writer thinks that the natural scenery without and the famous trout streams in the district will do much to place Yarrangobilly in public favour.

  The Sydney Morning Herald, 1932

  Rowland sprinkled salt liberally over his eggs and bacon. “Where’s Ed?”

  “Still sleeping, I believe,” Milton replied. “She was up most of the night with that writer woman.”

  Rowland sighed.

  Clyde agreed. “This could be ugly.”

  Milton elected to change the subject. “What do we need to do today, Rowly?”

  “We’ll have to get horses from somewhere I expect, and whatever supplies we need to stay out there a couple of nights.”

  “Got any idea where?”

  Clyde spoke up. “We can collect horses and saddles at Long Plain Homestead.”

  “What’s Long Plain Homestead?”

  “Well, it’s a homestead on Long Plain. It’s not too far from here. The chap who runs it keeps horses for hire. The road out to it is rough but we could drive it. We’ll leave the Mercedes at the homestead and take horses from there.”

  “You’re sure he’ll have horses?”

  “He always used to—I’ll check with Mrs. Harris to be sure. He’s a cranky old bugger—he won’t miss you for the hire, Rowly.”

  Rowland smiled. Clyde’s concern for his finances had always been greater than his own.

  Milton looked around at the congested bustle of the dining room. Stockmen were already starting to come in for the Rules Point Sports Day. “Looks like every man and his dog is going to be here tomorrow.”

  Rowland buttered his toast. “You have any idea what this Sports Day is all about, Clyde? I assume they’re not talking about tennis?”

  Clyde laughed. “No, I think it’s more of a rodeo—buck jumping, horse races, gambling and a lot of drinking. Apparently there’s a supper dance afterwards in the stables.”

  “Good thing we have dinner suits with us, then.” Milton dusted the crumbs from his cravat.

  Clyde lowered his voice. “Look, Rowly, today may be a good time to ask around about your man Simpson. Every stockman within cooee will be coming in—someone’s bound to have heard something.”

  Rowland nodded. “I was just thinking that. We might even find out what Moran is up to… if he’s up to anything.”

  Edna came into the dining room just as they finished breakfast and so they lingered over coffee as she ate. It seemed the mountain air had reinvigorated the sculptress’ appetite. Rowland studied her. She was definitely less angular. The gentle curves that so suited his brush had returned. He wondered if he could start a new painting for the exhibition of classical figures—there might still be time if they found Harry Simpson quickly. He started to play with ideas and poses. Edna was more than Aphrodite, the goddess of love… perhaps he could paint her as Pentheselia the warrior queen, or Atalanta who sailed with the Argonauts…

  Edna looked up from her breakfast. She smiled, recognising the intense focus, the darkening of the blue in his eyes. “Stop painting me, Rowly,” she said. “I’m eating.”

  Rowland came back to the present. “Sorry.”

  “Do you suppose we’ll have time to go down to the caves today?” she asked. “I thought since we have a couple of days…”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Oh good. I’ve wanted to see the limestone formations for years. Do you remember Marriott Spencer?”

  “No.”

  “I took a few sculpture classes with him at Ashton’s. I’m surprised you don’t remember him. He’d lost his right hand—had a hook in its place.”

  “And he taught sculpture?” Rowland had met Edna at the Ashton Art School in the late twenties. He couldn’t recall any hook-handed sculptors, however.

  Edna poured a cup of tea. “Yes, he had a rather interesting technique.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “He sculpted with hot wax… dripped it to create the form. Apparently he was inspired by the limestone formations in these caves; his work was so wonderfully fluid.”

  “Sounds like a glorified candle,” Clyde grunted.

  Rowland laughed.

  Edna rolled her eyes. Painters could be frustratingly conventional.

  “We’ll go as soon as you finish breakfast,” Rowland said. “We can ask after Simpson when we come back.”

  Edna’s face fell. “Oh Rowly, I’m sorry, how selfish of me. I know you’re keen to find Mr. Simpson. We don’t need to go to the caves—it was just a whim.”

  Rowland shook his head. “It’s fine, Ed. I daresay these chaps aren’t just going to open up to strangers. Better to wait till they’ve had a chance to get a bit lubricated.”

  Milton grinned. “You’ll just have to entertain yourself this evening while we do a spot of research in the bar.”

  Edna brightened. “That works out well then. I promised Sarah I’d read her manuscript later today.”

  “Sarah…? Oh Miss Brent!”

  “Yes, she’s very interesting.” The sculptress was characteristically enthusiastic. “She’s lived abroad and met all sorts of people. Banjo Paterson proposed to her once. She was a great friend of Henry Lawson too.”

  Milton laughed. “Don’t be too impressed, Ed. Old Lawson would befriend anyone who bought him a drink—his best work was scribbled on the back of beer coasters.”

  “At least he wrote something,” Clyde murmured.

  Milton ignored him.

  “So it’s settled,” Rowland said. “We’ll spend the morning down at the caves, and the rest of the day in the bar.” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose we should invite Miss Brent to join us? At the caves I mean, not the bar.”

  Milton swatted him. “Must you be so bloody civil? The woman’s a harridan!”

  “That’s very kind, Rowly,” Edna intervened, “but I think Sarah’s helping Mrs. Harris with all the food for the Sports Day. She worked as cook in England, and it seems there’ll be all sorts of people here tomorrow.”

  Rowland was clearly relieved.

  Edna leaned over to Rowland and spoke quietly. “You should chat with her if you can though. She corresponded with Aubrey for years… I gather they were quite close.”

  Rowland smiled. To Edna it was wistful.

  “Did you know Aubrey wrote?”

  Rowland shook his head slowly. He had been eleven when Aubrey was killed. He had loved his brother, but Aubrey was a mystery
to him. There were so many people who knew Aubrey Sinclair better than he.

  “Sarah encouraged him.” Edna rubbed Rowland’s hand gently. “She thought he showed great promise.”

  “Miss Brent told you all this?”

  Edna nodded. “Last night. I think she was quite unnerved by you—how much you look like Aubrey. She wanted to talk about him.”

  Rowland said nothing.

  “Ask her about him,” Edna said. “Don’t let her scare you; she’s really very sweet.”

  “I’m not scared of her,” Rowland protested.

  “Of course you’re not.”

  The yellow Mercedes pulled into the grounds of Caves House for the second time in as many days. The limestone caves were just a stroll from the hotel. Rowland spotted the senator whose decision to stay on had affected their reservation. Of the generation that still favoured the top hat, the elderly statesman stood straight backed at the top of the steps. Milton pointed out the primped and painted young blonde in his shadow. “Bet that’s not his wife.”

  Rowland and Clyde looked over. The old senator seemed very happy indeed. Milton laughed. “At least we were turned out for a good cause.”

  Wilson, the manager, spotted them from the steps and hurried over. “I say, Mr. Sinclair, I’m glad I caught you, sir.”

  “Mr. Wilson.”

  “I thought I should tell you, sir, there were some gentlemen here yesterday—I’m afraid I—”

  “Rowly, I say Rowly old man!”

  Abercrombie. The Englishman trotted to join them. Just a half-step behind him was an elderly gentleman in a black suit and bowler.

  “Miss Higgins.” Abercrombie tipped his tweed fedora and introduced the man in the bowler as his valet, Michaels. The valet greeted them politely and said nothing more.

  Rowland’s brow flickered upwards briefly as he glanced at the plus-fours and herringbone jacket ensemble which attired his old friend. Perhaps Abercrombie was planning to golf.

  “What a splendid happenstance to see you all again,” Humphrey stuttered. “Have they sorted out this dreadful cock-up with your rooms then?”

  Wilson cleared his throat. “I might catch up with you a little later, Mr. Sinclair. There is a matter about which I’d like to make you aware.”

  “Certainly Wilson, I’ll stop by your office before we make our return to Rules Point.”

  Wilson nodded and retreated haughtily back up the steps.

  “So they haven’t sorted out your rooms?” Abercrombie sniffed.

  “Afraid not, Humphrey. Miss Higgins wished to see the caves.”

  “I say, that’s not a bad idea. I’ve heard the formations are quite something to see. I might come along if I may.”

  “Of course, Mr. Abercrombie.” Edna sent the Englishman into a crimson flush with her smile. “We’d be delighted to have your company… what’s that?”

  Rowland squinted at the sky as the rattling hum of an airborne motor grew louder. The Tiger Moth was losing altitude, swooping low enough to allow them to spot a package being tossed from the cockpit. It fell into the scrub behind Caves House.

  “What the…?” Rowland started.

  “Oh, I say, this is too bad!” Abercrombie tapped his walking stick on the ground indignantly. “He’s missed again! Michaels, you’ll have to go foraging in the wilderness for my papers again.”

  “Your papers?”

  “Yes, Mama has the London Times dropped off when she can get a copy in Sydney. Keeps one in touch with civilisation, don’t you know. What say, Rowly, I expect you’d love to get your hands on a copy of the Times.”

  Milton started to laugh.

  “Seems a lot of trouble for a newspaper, Humphrey,” Rowland murmured.

  “We mustn’t forget that we’re Englishmen, Rowly.”

  “Rowly’s not English, Mr. Abercrombie,” Edna corrected. “He was born here.”

  “We’re all of us, British, Miss Higgins,” Abercrombie replied stiffly.

  Rowland cleared his throat.

  Milton kept laughing.

  Abercrombie motioned to his valet. “Off you go then, Michaels.” He waved his hands vaguely in the direction of the trees. “You’d better get along and find it… Don’t worry, I’ll be all right.”

  They watched the elderly valet set off into the bush.

  “Perhaps we should help him.” Clyde looked after Michaels, a little concerned.

  Abercrombie shook his head. “No, no, Michaels is quite the resourceful fellow. Shall we see these caves then?” He offered Edna his arm, hesitantly, forcing a nervous smile.

  Milton shook his head, and they fell awkwardly into step on the narrow path that led down to the Glory Hole Cave.

  “I am glad to have run into you, Rowly,” Abercrombie said, craning his neck back. “There is a matter that I really must speak to you about.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I fear my life is in danger, Rowly.”

  Rowland smiled but so briefly that Abercrombie failed to notice. “Why do you say that, Humphrey?”

  “Some unsavoury characters called by Caves House yesterday. That fellow, Wilson, had to show them to the door. I presume that’s what he wishes to discuss with you.”

  “Why does he want to discuss it with me?”

  Abercrombie’s eyes moved fleetingly to Milton and Clyde. “Perhaps he believes you might know them.”

  Rowland gathered that Wilson had come to some conclusions about the company he kept. “What makes you say these fellows were unsavoury?”

  “They had that look, Rowly.”

  “That look?”

  “Yes, that look… a criminal countenance. Clearly ruffians.”

  “I see, and that’s why Wilson showed them to the door?”

  “No. I understand they were making insistent and impertinent enquiries.”

  “About what?”

  “About the guests!”

  “I say, enquiries… that is dangerous!” Milton exclaimed. “Spot of bother, what!”

  Rowland elbowed the poet sharply but Abercrombie thought he’d found a sympathetic ally.

  “It’s been most distressing. I didn’t sleep a wink last night for fear I’d be murdered in my bed.”

  “What makes you believe these men meant to harm you, Mr. Abercrombie?” Edna asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious, dear lady? They were enquiring to ascertain whether I was on the guest list.”

  Rowland looked skyward. “What did these gentlemen look like?”

  “I very much doubt they were gentlemen, Rowly. Badly tailored suits are all I recall. Most undesirable.”

  “Nothing quite as sinister as an ill-fitting jacket,” Milton muttered, adjusting his own. “Some people just have no—oww!” He stopped short as Clyde swatted him.

  They had, by this time, arrived at the mouth of the cavern known as the Glory Hole. Its entrance was arresting, a classical and colossal arch. A large hole in the high roof of the cavern let in light with the kind of structural theatricality that made one stop short. Edna was in awe.

  The temperature dipped dramatically when they entered, and Edna buttoned her coat and detached herself from Abercrombie’s arm. She walked ahead, into the darkness of the smaller winding caverns away from the dramatic entrance. Her eyes wide, she gazed at the formations around them. The cave was gently lit so that the delicate straws and shawls of limestone glistened. Edna’s mind conjured figures and movement in the shapes.

  “I say, look at that!” Abercrombie exclaimed behind her as he pointed at one of the thousands of stalactites. “It looks just like a carrot!”

  Edna sighed.

  “How on earth do they get power down here?” Milton was certain that he had not heard the harsh hum of a generator on the walk down.

  “Hydro-electric system. The wheel’s in the Rules Creek.”

  “And that’s enough for all the lights?” Milton was surprised.

  “Powers Caves House as well, I believe,” Clyde replied.

  Milton whi
stled. “Who would have thought?”

  There were a few other visitors to the caves that morning and so they milled amongst the loose crowds admiring the limestone formations.

  “Careful!” Rowland caught Edna’s arm as she slipped on the damp rock walkway. He glanced dubiously at the prettily heeled shoes she was wearing. “I hope you’re not planning to ride a horse in those, Ed.”

  She smiled up at him. “Of course not. Kate insisted I take her riding boots… they’re in my trunk somewhere. She gave me her riding habits too—they’re rather splendid.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “It’s lovely down here, isn’t it, Rowly? Quite magical. The Glory Hole was—”

  Edna gasped as the cave plunged suddenly into darkness. The blackness was absolute, it seemed to press down upon them. Rowland pulled the sculptress to him as the cavern rang with screams and the crowd began to jostle.

  “Rowly, Rowly—help me!” Rowland felt hands clutch frantically at his shoulders and wrench him back. He tried to regain his balance by reaching for the rail but in the darkness he missed it, and crashed onto the slippery path, taking Edna with him.

  Then Abercrombie fell on top of them. “Rowly, help me! They’ve come for me!”

  Rowland twisted his head away as the Englishman grasped at his face. “For the love of God, Humphrey!”

  “Rowly, it’s you, thank heavens.”

  Rowland pushed the body he assumed was Abercrombie’s away. “Ed—are you all right?” She was still in his arms… well, he hoped it was her.

  “I’m fine, Rowly,” Edna lifted her face from Rowland’s chest and laughed. “I fell on you. Are you okay?”

  “Never better.”

  “Ssshhhh, they’ll hear us, Rowly.” Abercrombie’s face was somewhere close enough for Rowland to feel his breath. “Quickly, Rowly, this way… before they find me, old man.” Abercrombie tugged at his arm.

  Rowland ignored him. “Milt, Clyde?”

  “Right here, Rowly, where the hell are you?”

  “Down here—get Ed off me will you?”

  “Are you sure?” Milton’s voice. Rowland could hear his smile.