‘Ah, yes. You see, Elly, there’s that word again, hope. It is starting to be empty of meaning for me. If it isn’t already.’
Georgia looked at Eleanor as if maybe she could provide an answer, but it appeared that there were no solutions to Lesley’s grief. Maybe her older sister should have undergone some of the therapies mentioned, for it occurred to Eleanor that Lesley needed to be jolted out of the overly sentimental thoughts that were destroying her young life. This was an illness for which there was no medication, and although Eleanor had read about such things in romantic novels, the kind of stories where women actually did pine away from a broken heart, she would forever be astonished to have witnessed so heart-rending an example in real life. Fiction had become fact, and yet this wasn’t the Middle Ages, this wasn’t even the nineteen hundreds. It was 1951. ‘Religion can’t save anyone, Mum.’
‘No, you’re right, it can’t. Religion is supposed to give us hope, and it is hope that has the ability to save. But I look at Lesley and I know that despair has replaced faith.’
Lesley emitted the softest of moans.
‘Hush, Lesley,’ comforted Eleanor, ‘you’ll get better. I promise you will.’
‘When Lesley is sufficiently recovered, I will take her back to Sydney myself,’ Georgia stated pragmatically. ‘I’ll return her to the care of the nuns.’
With Georgia’s ministrations finally completed, Lesley was swathed in tea-damp material, the only parts of her skin visible were her eyes and mouth. Opening the distinctive gold pot of Rawleigh’s Salve, Georgia gently dabbed a little of the antiseptic cream on her daughter’s blistered lips. ‘Well, we can do no more. The cold bath brought her temperature down and she was able to swallow a Bex powder before sleeping. There is little else we can do for her at the moment.’
‘You should rest, Mum,’ suggested Eleanor. ‘I can sit with Lesley for a while. At least until the cloths need to be dampened with tea again.’
‘Yes, you’re right of course,’ her mother said tiredly. ‘I guess there’s nothing that can be done until one of the men return or the police arrive. Actually, I thought they would have been here already.’ Georgia patted Eleanor’s arm. ‘Thank you, Elly. Thank you for coming home.’ It was some time since they’d hugged, but they did so now, Eleanor feeling a surge of ferocious protection.
With her mother’s departure, Eleanor sat quietly by her sister as the light through the sheets screening the French door began to fade. She noticed how quiet it was. Apart from the generator, there were no twittering birds or yelping dogs, or the distant call of sheep or men. Even the windmill with its clunky mechanism and screeching whirr was silent. It was easy to be contemplative within such an environment. Eleanor found herself replaying her mother’s words in her mind as the fans whirled and the sheets rustled. Rex was right, she decided, a person could think too much out here.
When the material swathing Lesley finally dried, Eleanor carefully peeled off each of the strips and moistened them in the tea, before repositioning them on her sister’s damaged skin. The last piece, the one across her forehead, needed to be removed and Eleanor leant over Lesley, dabbing at the strip with a wet cloth before carefully prising the rag free. She could feel the heat emanating from her sister’s body, Lesley’s breath coming in little puffs.
‘Elly?’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘Robbie.’ Lesley reached out, clasping her wrist. ‘You have to find Robbie.’
‘Shush now,’ Eleanor replied soothingly, laying her sister’s arm on the bedclothes. ‘Robbie’s gone to school. He left this morning. But we can go visit him when you’re feeling better.’ Dunking the cloth in the tea, she wrung it out and then lay the dripping material across Lesley’s brow.
‘No, no, you don’t understand.’ The patient tugged at the newly placed rag, so that it fell onto the pillow. ‘I saw him. I saw him walking in the bush.’
‘Don’t upset yourself, Lesley. Please lie back and let me place the cloth on you. It will make you feel better.’
‘I tried to call out, but my throat …’ Lesley swallowed noisily.
There was water by the bed. Eleanor brought the glass to her sister’s lips. Lesley barely moistened her tongue before brushing the drink aside. ‘He’s out there, Elly,’ she pleaded. ‘He’s out there, in the dark, without a moon. You know what happens to our family when there isn’t a moon.’
The last time Lesley voiced the same fear that haunted Eleanor, was after Marcus’s death. It was, as if in trying to make sense of the loss of their father and then Marcus, they had fixated on the night of their deaths, on the new moon and in doing so had called up their childhood phobia of the night. Out there, in the dark, lay the unknown and the unknowable. And into this void had been taken those they loved.
Trying to comfort her sister, Eleanor lay a gentle hand on a shoulder, while replacing the damp cloth. ‘Remember when we were young, Lesley, we always had our little night lights. Scaredy-cats, weren’t we, you and I? There really isn’t anything to be afraid about when it’s dark, you know.’ Did she sound convincing?
‘But Robbie –’
‘Hush, you’re upsetting yourself for no reason,’ Eleanor said firmly. ‘He’ll be in Sydney by now. He’s to stay with Uncle Colin’s sister until he starts at the King’s School next week.’
‘No, he’s not, I tell you.’ Rising on an arm, Lesley wobbled and then fell back onto the bedclothes, exhausted. ‘He’s not. He’s here. Find him.’ Her eyes were wide and dark with fear. ‘We can’t lose anyone else, Elly. We can’t lose Robbie.’
Eleanor couldn’t remember ever having seen her sister so convinced, so desperate.
‘Find him.’
‘Rest now, Lesley, I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.’ Outside the bedroom, in the darkening hallway, Eleanor stopped. It was all too much. Her sister, her beloved older sister, was delusional.
Chapter Forty-one
A deep red smeared the sky, spreading across the treetops. The multicoloured birdlife drinking and bathing in the dying light took flight at his approach, as did the sheep and kangaroos on the opposite bank, only to return moments later. Stripping off his clothes, Robbie walked straight into the water, collapsing beneath the surface like a stone. He lay on the sandy bottom, feeling the delight of cooling skin and the gentle lifting of dirt from the whorls of eyes, nose and ears. Through the brown tinge, light filtered downwards. He lifted a hand, as if he could touch the fracturing rays, before rising from the depths, spluttering and coughing, pushing dripping hair from his face.
In the shallows, water lapped at Robbie’s chest in gentle waves. Leaves and twigs and tiny pieces of floating gunk gradually formed a high tide mark around his body, as insects gathered on the green-brown surface. Gradually the shadows began to stretch out across the scrub. By the time he crawled from the river, his fingers and toes were wrinkly, his limbs were stiff with cold, but he was cool again. Robbie could breathe.
He lay on the sandy edge, studying the dappled light patterning the riverbank, the heels of his feet resting in the water. The walk from the road and the Winslows’ broken-down car had been long and hot. It was rough going, travelling across country, following his line of sight, and after the day’s walk Robbie experienced a grudging respect for his old nag and even more for the stubborn cattle-pup, who would drop dead from exhaustion rather than be left behind.
The distance from road to river was probably only seven miles, however, on setting out that morning Robbie knew he would have to have frequent stops if he were ever going to make it to water by dark. Walking, resting, walking, resting, surely this was the longest day ever. Every time he thought he was nearing the destination, the scrub would open up and he would drop his chin and grimace. Even the distant sight of the station cemetery hadn’t cheered him, for there were still a further three miles to tramp. It was only when a flock of birds flew overhead that he knew his objective was close. But he was here now. He was safe. He
’d survive.
Robbie wasn’t so sure about the Winslows. He didn’t mind the mister so much, actually he didn’t mind him at all. But the missus, well, if she died, he was beginning to think that it wouldn’t be much of a loss. He’d never heard someone grumble so much. They didn’t even carry a waterbag with them and he doubted that the lady would drink from the radiator as he’d suggested. No, she was too toffy-nosed for that.
Dressing, he dipped his hat in the river, waiting as the fluid soaked into the felt crown so that he could suck the filtered liquid from it. It wasn’t much of a drink. And Robbie couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t some dead animal contaminating the water, but he didn’t slurp up much and it was better than nothing.
‘Right,’ he said loudly. His voice echoed along the waterway, startling the animals dipping thirsty mouths in the river water and causing the birds to take flight. ‘Sorry about that,’ he stated, bending to select some river pebbles and putting them in his pocket. He began to trudge along the riverbank. Now that he’d cooled down a little and it was nearly dark, his objective hadn’t altered.
Soon he was passing the cray-bob traps and navigating the lumpy roots and sprawling, fallen branches that lined the river’s banks. Robbie dug his toes in the dirt when the verge grew steep, and moved to where the ground evened out and made for easier walking. The tree – his tree – when it finally appeared, stood tall and safe, just as he’d imagined.
Clambering up the knobbly trunk, Robbie swung between the sturdy branches, grunting as he hefted his weight over another limb, frowning with concentration as he reached for the next bough, puffing when his fingers grasped the wooden plank and he could finally roll onto the board and laugh at success.
The bush settled for the night. Robbie drank from the waterbag hidden within the woody confines of the tree and then savoured one of the tins of baked beans, sucking out the remnants of juicy goodness from the rim of the container, careful not to cut his tongue. Once finished, he tossed the tin as far away as possible so the ants would not find him, and stretched out on the narrow platform. Through the leafy canopy, the sky steadily turned from a pale reddish light to a purplish-blue velvet. The stars appeared slowly, growing in number and brightness, twisting across the darkness in clusters and ribbons, twirling and dancing as the wind lifted and Robbie’s eyes closed.
Chapter Forty-two
The sound of horses on the gravel drive drew Eleanor downstairs. Mrs Howell was already on the front veranda, rubbing her hands anxiously as she hovered near the table.
‘How’s your sister?’
‘Resting,’ replied Eleanor. ‘The police still haven’t arrived?’
‘Not a sign of them.’
Hugh Goward, trailed by the other searchers, Dawson, Billy, Archie and Murph, rode straight up to the homestead and dismounted while Colin spoke to the four remaining men.
At the sight of Hugh, Eleanor’s anxiety eased a little. ‘Did you find Chad?’ she asked, moving forward to meet him as he walked up the front steps to the house.
Removing his wide-brimmed hat in greeting, Hugh shook his head. ‘No. Not yet.’ Gratefully accepting the glass of water the housekeeper offered, he asked, ‘And Lesley?’
‘Mrs Webber found her at the cemetery,’ Mrs Howell explained. ‘Badly sunstruck.’
‘I’m not surprised. It wasn’t a good afternoon to be outside. But I’m pleased to hear that she’s safe.’ Hugh registered Eleanor’s expression of concern. ‘What is it? What’s the matter, Eleanor?’
‘She’s not herself,’ was all she could reply.
‘Well of course she’s not herself,’ Mrs Howell said with a condemnatory huff. ‘She’s been out on the flat baking in the sun for half the day.’
Colin limped up the stairs, collecting his walking stick from where he’d left it on the veranda earlier. The butcher, shearer and jackeroos trotted their horses around the corner of the building. ‘Any news?’ he asked gruffly. He was leaning heavily on the stick, clearly his leg was giving him pain.
‘Lesley’s been found, the police are yet to arrive and Georgia’s freshening up,’ answered Mrs Howell.
‘And Lesley’s alright?’
The housekeeper gave a perfunctory nod.
‘Good.’ Colin sat in one of the chairs and looked disinterestedly at the water jug. ‘We might invest in something a little more medicinal, Mrs Howell.’
‘Of course, Mr Webber.’ The housekeeper returned inside the house.
‘Hugh said you didn’t find anything,’ Eleanor commented to her uncle.
‘Nothing. Lesley?’
Eleanor decided not to go into details with her stepfather. ‘Badly sunburnt.’
‘Silly girl.’ Colin nodded his approval as the housekeeper returned to sit a large silver salver on the table. Selecting the whisky decanter from among the rum and gin, he poured a good nip and drank it down. ‘I don’t want to upset your mother but it is nearly dark, Eleanor. It’s possible that we might never find her jewellery or the culprit who thieved it.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Georgia appeared on the veranda in a clean shirt and jeans. ‘I mean, the man is on foot.’
Colin poured another shot. ‘I’m sorry, Georgia, but so far we’ve found nothing. At least Lesley’s home.’
‘Yes, she’s home. I found her at the cemetery.’ Georgia joined her husband at the table. ‘Lesley isn’t very well, Colin. She’s rambling on about Marcus and Robbie. She’s going to need medical attention if she’s not better in the morning.’
‘I told you not to bring her back out here,’ he accused.
Husband and wife stared at each other.
‘If the stranger is still recovering from his wounds,’ Hugh contributed from where he stood, some feet away, ‘I can’t imagine he’d get too far.’
‘Maybe.’ Colin didn’t sound convinced. ‘I sent the men back to have a break, something to eat. A drink, Hugh?’ he offered.
‘I’d be grateful for a small rum.’
‘Righto.’ Colin poured out a neat measure of the sugary spirit, handing it to the Stud Master.
‘I’ve made some sandwiches and coffee,’ the housekeeper said to no-one in particular, retreating to her domain.
Hugh joined Eleanor where she sat apart from her mother and stepfather. ‘How did shearing go?’
‘No problems,’ she replied. ‘Actually, the lot of them were on their best behaviour.’
He took a sip of the rum. ‘Good. And you? How are you holding up?’
Eleanor watched the birds in the stone fountain, their wings outstretched as the last of the day’s glow dissipated. ‘Considering I’m to blame for this mess, pretty average, but at least Lesley is safe. It’s just –’
‘What?’ Hugh questioned, clearly concerned.
Eleanor studied his fight-damaged face. ‘She’s pretty mixed up. Lesley thinks she saw Robbie when she was at the cemetery.’
‘Well, Robbie’s one problem we don’t have to worry about.’
‘For once.’ Eleanor gave a weak smile. ‘I’m worried about her, Hugh. Lesley honestly believes that she saw Robbie out in the bush this afternoon. She was quite upset about it, especially with it being dark soon.’
They both looked out at the quietening garden.
‘It was a mirage, a hallucination,’ Hugh told her. ‘Robbie would be in Sydney by now.’
‘But she was so convinced.’
‘Trust me, Eleanor. I know you worry about Lesley. Your whole family does. But look at the weather she’s been out in. The heat can scramble a person’s head if you’re subjected to it for long enough. And at the very least Lesley would be suffering from dehydration. Give her time to rest and recover.’
‘That’s just the problem, Hugh. What if she can’t?’ How could Eleanor possibly explain to someone as level-headed as Hugh Goward that Lesley’s ailments went beyond the physical kind? ‘Can I get some ointment for you to put on those cuts?’ she offered.
‘Thanks, but you have enough on your
plate without worrying about me. I’ll be alright.’
Headlights shone from the direction of the road that passed through the bougainvillea hedge. As the black car drew up in front of the house, Rex appeared. Climbing the steps, he thumbed unenthusiastically towards the policemen alighting from the vehicle. ‘The cavalry’s here,’ he said dryly.
Georgia and Colin rose to meet the officers.
Constable Graham, a peppy fellow with a narrow chin, introduced the two younger members of his team, Rogers and Atwill.
‘My apologies,’ the constable said with barely a hint of regret or the offer of an excuse. ‘Mrs Howell says you’ve had a robbery. It’s the patient, eh?’
‘Yes, we believe so,’ Colin admitted. ‘Eleanor left the door unlocked to his room this morning and he hightailed it out of here.’
The police officer glanced conspicuously in Eleanor’s direction. The two younger officers were absorbed by the arrival of the housekeeper carrying a platter of sandwiches.
‘But not before taking my jewels with him,’ Georgia added.
Constable Graham wrote the details down in a notebook as Georgia described the rifled drawers in her bedroom. ‘And no-one else has been in the house?’
Georgia shook her head. ‘Not this morning. Look, the men have been out searching for the thief all afternoon.’
‘We didn’t find a single track,’ Colin conceded, ‘nothing.’ Choosing a sandwich from Mrs Howell’s selection, he gestured for her to offer the food to everyone.
‘I can’t imagine he could have got very far in this heat,’ added Hugh. ‘I mean, the man is still recovering from his injuries.’
‘That’s assuming he hasn’t got an accomplice,’ the constable told them.
‘Out here?’ Colin spoke with his mouth full. ‘You’re telling me that he was laid up here for,’ he counted his fingers, ‘four nights and he has someone waiting out in the scrub?’ He snorted. ‘Highly unlikely.’
‘Is it?’ Now it was the officer’s turn to sound disdainful.
River Run Page 32
