Miles Off Course

by Sulari Gentill

  “Just help her up.”

  Edna was lifted to her feet. Fumbling briefly, Rowland found Clyde’s hand and tried to pull himself up too, but Abercrombie held him back. “No, Rowly, get down. I think I can see a way out before they find us. They’re here, I tell you, they’re here!”

  Rowland grabbed the lapel of Abercrombie’s jacket and dragged the terrified Englishman up with him.

  Bodies crushed against them in the blackness.

  “They’re here! There’s a murderer in here!” Abercrombie was near hysterical. Predictably, his declaration started a panic within the cave and soon they were nearly deafened by a cacophony of distress and fear which bounced and echoed against the cavern walls. The shoving and jostling began in earnest as people scrambled to escape.

  “Ed?”

  “We’ve got her, Rowly.” Clyde’s voice.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Rowland shouted in the general direction of the voice, his grip still firmly on Abercrombie’s lapel. An elbow caught him in the stomach as someone pushed past. There was a crack. It was louder than the screams, the sound nearly physical in its impact. At first, it startled everyone into shocked silence and then the panic intensified. Abercrombie pushed Rowland to the ground. There were many others there now.

  Abercrombie started to pray. A few people joined him. Rowland might have shot the Englishman himself if he’d been armed.

  A beam of light cut through the darkness. Then another. The caretaker had arrived with torches. “Calm down now, folks, there’s nothing to worry about. Just a bit of a problem with the lights. No harm done. Now if you just follow me—careful now—there’s no need to push folks!”

  13

  ELECTRIC LIGHTING AT YARRANGOBILLY CAVES

  The Hon. C. C. Lazzarini, Chief Secretary, had intended visiting Yarrangobilly Caves at the coming week end for the purpose of officially switching on the electricity to the Caves. Afterwards it was his intention to motor to the Hotel Kosciusko, via Kiandra and Adaminaby to open the summer season of golf, trout fishing and other Alpine pastimes for which Kosciusko is so well known. In view, however, of his necessity to remain in Sydney at the present juncture, Mr. Lazzarini has been reluctantly obliged to cancel the arrangements for his official tour. Arrangements for the public to view the Yarrongobilly Caves by electric light will not be delayed. It is the intention of the Minister to perform the official opening ceremony at a later date.

  Queanbeyan Age, 1926

  Rowland used his hat to slap the grit of the cave floor off his suit. Abercrombie sat on the low stone wall trembling and mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief. Rowland was too annoyed to speak to him.

  Edna adjusted her hat back into place, but having been protected from the ground by Rowland’s body, she was otherwise unsoiled. “Well, that was a little alarming.”

  “Do you think it was a gunshot?” Clyde asked, keeping his voice low in the wake of the recent panic.

  Rowland shrugged. “Hard to tell. Maybe.”

  “Of course it was!” Abercrombie exploded. “My life is in danger, I tell you!” He looked around. “They could still be here…”

  Rowland sighed.

  Everyone was out of the cave now, essentially unhurt. A few people reported seeing apparitions, but according to the caretaker that was not an unusual reaction to the complete darkness of the caves. “The mind plays tricks when yer eyes ain’t no use.”

  The crack, which may or may not have been a gunshot, was, however, not an hallucination—unless it was one shared by every person in the cave. A telephone call had been made from Caves House through to the Kiandra courthouse for police assistance, but it was unlikely that any sort of constabulary would arrive soon.

  Shocked visitors milled around the entrance while the caretaker assured them that there was nothing to worry about and that lighting would be restored to the caves as soon as possible.

  Rowland’s attention was caught by a smartly dressed man who was speaking with the caretaker a short distance away. He strode towards them. “Babbington? Charlie Babbington?”

  The man turned, his face creasing into recognition. “I say, Sinclair, fancy seeing you up here!”

  Milton, Edna and Clyde left Abercrombie, still complaining, and joined Rowland who was shaking the hand of Charles Babbington.

  Rowland introduced the various parties. “Charlie works at Dangars.”

  Babbington looked a little pained. He lifted his nose and sniffed indignantly. “I have the pleasure of serving with Mr. Sinclair as a director on the Governing Board of Dangar, Gedye and Company.”

  “Yes… Of course. Sorry, old boy… I didn’t mean to suggest you actually worked.”

  “Quite all right, Sinclair—a mere slip, I’m sure.”

  “What brings you to the caves, Charlie?”

  “My good lady’s from the area—a little place called Tumbarumba, no less!” Babbington laughed loudly, shaking his head as if the name of his wife’s hometown was beyond belief. “I’m doing a bit of fishing while she visits her relatives.”

  “You were in the cave then, when—”

  “Yes, that was rather a spot of bother, wasn’t it? I’ve just been telling that caretaker chap about our new Listers. I daresay this sort of inconvenience could be avoided with a proper diesel generator. I say, Sinclair, are you planning to attend the April meeting? I could take your apologies…”

  “No need, Charlie. I’ll be back in Sydney by then.”

  “Well if you find you’d like to stay on longer…” Babbington glanced fleetingly at Edna, “I’ll be at Caves House for a couple of weeks.”

  Rowland cleared his throat. “Terribly decent of you, Charlie, I’ll bear that in mind.” He looked back at Abercrombie who was still sitting woebegone on the low stone wall. “We’d better get Humphrey back to Caves House—he’s had a rather trying morning. Will you join us for luncheon, Charlie?”

  “Thank you, Sinclair, but no.” Babbington flipped open his pocket watch and checked the time. “I have some business to attend to, I’m afraid.”

  “Some other time then.” Rowland offered Babbington his hand and they took their leave.

  “What’s worrying you, Rowly?” Edna whispered, having noted the slight furrow of his brow as they walked back to Caves House.

  He smiled as she hooked her arm through his. “Nothing really. Just never known Charlie to be so easygoing about my attendance at board meetings. It’s rather strange—he’s a bit of a scorekeeper generally.”

  Milton nudged him. “Perhaps he’s doing a bit more than fishing himself.”

  Rowland smiled. “I wouldn’t have thought it of Charlie. He’s somewhat inhibited.”

  Milton shook his head. “Nope, he’s up to no good, he’s trying to get you on side by getting you out of a board meeting.”

  Clyde grinned. “He’s worked Rowly out then.”

  “Wil’s adamant I be at the April meeting.”

  “Why?”

  “No idea, but I’m sure he’ll tell me.”

  “Mr. Babbington could just be trying to be congenial,” Edna suggested. “Not everybody has a sinister motive, Rowly.”

  “Sinister? Of course it’s sinister.” Abercrombie had heard her last words. “Surely this morning’s events are evidence that my life is in danger.”

  “He might have a point, Rowly,” Clyde murmured. Rowland was not prone to overreact at the best of times, but he seemed particularly dismissive of Humphrey Abercrombie’s predicament.

  Rowland exhaled slowly. “Perhaps a spot of lunch will make a course of action clearer.”

  “Of course, luncheon…” Abercrombie visibly cheered at the suggestion, and the implication that some action would be taken. His step quickened. Rowland’s did not.

  “Righto, Rowly, what gives?” Clyde demanded, as they sat down in the dining room which was already abuzz with conversation about the blackout at the caves. Humphrey Abercrombie had departed to don fresh clothes, apparently unable to countenance eating in his
morning attire.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem a little unconcerned about your friend’s safety. He’s a bit of an old woman, but given the shooting…”

  “We don’t know that it was a gunshot,” Rowland replied. “I imagine sounds amplify and resonate in the caves.”

  “Still…”

  Rowland leaned back in his chair and rubbed his brow. “Sorry, you’re right… it’s just that Humphrey’s always been completely paranoid, convinced that danger was just round every corner.”

  “Was he wrong?”

  Rowland smiled. “Not always… but then it’s not entirely surprising that the odd person wants to kill him, is it?”

  “The caves, this incident with the men in bad suits,” Clyde persisted, “surely it’s more than a coincidence.”

  Milton glanced up from his menu card. “Clyde’s right, it is more than a coincidence though I don’t know that it has anything to do with the Honourable Lord Abercrombie. I think we should be more worried about Rowly.”

  “Me?”

  “Why?” Edna asked, alarmed.

  “Well, these chaps in the cheap suits—they sound like the goons that tried to take Rowly at the Hydro Majestic.”

  “A lot of men wear cheap suits, Milt.” Clyde glanced briefly at his own rather worn jacket. “Particularly these days.”

  “Still, they were asking about the guest list—they might have been trying to find out if Rowly was here.”

  “And the caves?”

  “Maybe it was a bungled attempt to snatch him there.”

  “I think we’re getting a bit carried away,” Rowland murmured. “I’ll tell Humphrey to chuff off back to Sydney. He’s only going to work himself into some kind of hysterical breakdown here.”

  “Poor Mr. Abercrombie,” Edna said softly. “But what about you, Rowly? Maybe we should head back as well.”

  Rowland’s eyes darkened a little. “We will, as soon as I find out what happened to Harry.”

  Edna touched his sleeve. “You’re really worried about him aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t think…?”

  “I don’t know… God, I hope not. I hope Moran is right and he just walked off.”

  Humphrey Abercrombie strutted into the dining room at that point. He had swapped his plus-fours for the smart tweed suit, and made his way quickly over to their table. He dropped his face into his hands as soon as he’d sat down. “Not a constable in sight!” he said. “A man is nearly murdered and the authorities still haven’t arrived.”

  “What man?” Rowland barely masked his impatience.

  “Why me, of course.”

  Rowland pushed his hair back from his face and paused a few seconds before he answered. “Perhaps you’re right, Humphrey. It might be prudent to head back to Sydney as soon as possible.”

  Abercrombie’s face lightened. “Do you really believe so, Rowly? One doesn’t like to seem like one isn’t—”

  Milton couldn’t help himself. “Courage, poor stupid heart of stone, or if I ask thee why, care not thou to reply, she is but dead and the time is at hand when thou shalt more than die.”

  Abercrombie blustered, confused.

  “Lord Tennyson.” Rowland turned back to Abercrombie. “What Milt is trying to say is that there doesn’t seem any other sensible course of action, considering there’ve been so many attempts on your life.”

  Abercrombie’s face lifted further. “You may be right, Rowly.” He nodded emphatically. “There’s no point being foolhardy, as you say. Clearly these fiends will stop at nothing.”

  “Clearly.”

  “But I say, Rowly, we’ve only just renewed our acquaintance.” He seemed quite disconcerted. “Why don’t you return to Sydney as well? What do you say? Let’s jolly well leave this godforsaken place to the savages.”

  “I’m afraid I have some business to attend to first,” Rowland said quickly. “I’ll look you up as soon as we get back.”

  Abercrombie pouted. “I don’t know that I’ll be much safer in Sydney on my own. Perhaps I should stay here until you’re ready to go too. I could help you with this business of yours… help you deal with this chap Moran.”

  “I really think it’s best if you go.” Rowland reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. He scrawled a name on the back and handed it to Abercrombie. “When you get back, call on the Sydney Police Headquarters. Ask for Detective Sergeant Delaney—he’s an old friend of mine—I’m sure he’ll be able to help.”

  “But…”

  “Trust me, Humphrey,” Rowland said firmly.

  Abercrombie sighed. “Very well, Rowly, if you’re determined to exclude me from this expedition of yours.”

  “I am,” Rowland said, a little brusquely.

  Abercrombie returned sulkily to his meal.

  Milton leaned over to Rowland. “Delaney’s going to kill you.”

  It was late afternoon by the time they returned to the Rules Point Guesthouse. After an initial period of petulance, Abercrombie seemed to buoy and became quite celebratory. Luncheon turned into rather an extended affair peppered with reminiscences. Rowland had been inclined to truncate the conversation but Milton had refilled Abercrombie’s glass and encouraged the Englishman’s revelations about life at Pembroke House. Consequently, it was well past three by the time they managed to extricate themselves, promising to catch up with Abercrombie in Sydney. Once back at Rules Point, Rowland realised he hadn’t gone to see Wilson, but since he was now aware of the incident about which the manager wished to speak to him, he decided it was probably no longer important.

  Crowds had started to come in for the Sports Day. The perimeter of the guesthouse blazed with campfires, around which sat the men who couldn’t be accommodated within the hotel. The atmosphere was already boisterous and loud.

  “Looks like things are warming up.” Milton grinned, as he observed a clearly inebriated young stockman riding a horse out of the bar onto the verandah. Mrs. Harris followed him brandishing a broom to a chorus of cheers and laughter.

  “I’ll just walk Ed to her room,” Rowland said, as he watched the ruckus. “I’ll meet you chaps in the bar if you like.”

  Another stockman was hurled out of the bar to applause.

  Milton laughed. “Don’t be too long—we might need you.”

  Despite the commotion centred around the bar, the accommodations maintained some order and decorum. The sitting room was crowded with women and children as well as the more consciously respectable men. Rowland was much relieved. He was beginning to worry that leaving Edna alone amongst so many wild drunken stockmen would be ill advised. There seemed, however, to be some kind of respectful line drawn through Rules Point dividing the High Country cattlemen from the more sober patrons.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Rowland started, as they stood by the door to Edna’s room.

  “Of course not, Rowly.” Edna smiled. “I promised Sarah Brent I’d read her manuscript, remember? I’m quite looking forward to it—I’m sure it will be brilliant.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’ll have something in here, I’ll be fine.” She stopped and regarded him sternly. “You will be careful won’t you, Rowly? Don’t let Milt get you boys into a fight—you know what he’s like.”

  Rowland laughed. “We’ll keep him in line. Enjoy your book, Ed.”

  Getting into the bar proved to be quite the feat. It was full, as were the men within it. If it were not for the fact that Milton was in the middle of a recitation—Wordsworth, though he failed to mention that—Rowland might never have found his friends in the overcrowded room.

  “Rowly!” Clyde grabbed his shoulder as he pushed past.

  Milton was, to Rowland’s surprise, playing to an appreciative crowd who encouraged his rendition with raised glasses.

  “Keep at it, son. You ain’t no Banjo Paterson but it’s not a bad little ditty.”

  Rowland shook his head as Clyde handed him a b
eer. “Who would have thought?”

  Clyde quietly pointed out the gangs of men who mixed around the room: those who had come in from the snow leases, those who were locals of sorts, and transients who had arrived just for the Sports Day. The distinctions in attire, stance and hygiene were sometimes subtle, but they were a map to where each man belonged.

  “Have you seen Moran?” Rowland asked, scanning the room.

  “Afraid not. Barman says he was in here earlier, but he took off.”

  “Makes it easier to ask around, I suppose,” Rowland sipped his beer. Inebriated applause broke out as Milton finished reciting an ode to the daffodil. It appeared the men of the High Country liked flowers.

  A sudden clatter of chairs and startled swearing took the attention from the poet. Men jostled to retreat from something near the door. Milton, who’d been standing on a chair, was knocked from his makeshift podium, and landed in an ungainly heap. Rowland and Clyde pushed forward towards him, only to freeze. The snake was within striking distance of the poet and it did not seem inclined to withdraw.

  14

  COUNCILS AND RABBITS

  The risks some men will take to help a fellow man in distress were fully demonstrated at Adelong recently, when Mr. August Eichorn offered to allow himself to be bitten by any snake the public liked to bring along, providing a fair collection would be contributed to assist M. Broadhurst who is crippled for life, the result of an accident at Burrenjuck some time ago.

  Mr. Trude succeeded in bagging a monstrous black snake, one of the red-belly species, and Mr. Eichorn offered to wager fifty pound that the reptile would kill a rabbit immediately after it had bitten him. Needless to say there were no takers, as it is well known, and has been proved several times, that that species of snake will kill six or seven rabbits in succession.

  The monster was unbagged and put to Mr. Eichorn’s arm, which it struck and hung to for several seconds in mid air, then dropped to the ground. There was a scatter among the people and none were able to bag the reptile, but the Professor hopped down off the box and bagged the brute before he attempted to treat himself.