‘Hear that?’ exclaimed Ben. ‘The Blacketts and the Larkins – enemies!’
Nina said nothing and Ben read on.
‘“Mr. Larkin, who has been living with his family in a hut on the property at the grace of Mr. Blackett, will take possession by Christmas. The property is to be known as The Springs and will include the new homestead of the same name; sundry outbuildings and infrastructure; the ruins of nearby Durham House (burnt to the ground 12 months ago), natural spring water and Goat’s Rock waterhole. ‘The place was mine by rights and I should not have had to pay a penny,’ said Mr. Larkin of his purchase. The unusually modest sale price is thought to have been in the vicinity of £200. Meanwhile, in time for the arrival of their newest child, the Blacketts will move into a new house on neighbouring Kurrabar – the name they have given to the former Durham western acreage.”’
‘I wonder what made them enemies?’ she asked.
‘Seems like Barkin’ Larkin felt ripped off by my great-great-great-grandfather,’ offered Ben. ‘It actually makes you and Heath a bit like Romeo and Juliet.’
‘Let’s hope for a happier ending.’
Hilary was exasperated.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Nina. I sifted through thousands of documents for this exhibition. I’d be surprised if I’m not invited to the National Library Christmas party,’ she said dismissively. ‘How can you expect me to remember one letter? Who told you about this?’
Nina had managed to corner her mother just after the band had taken a break. Hilary was busy, yes, distracted, yes. But she was also hiding something.
‘Please, this could be important. Another locket.’
‘I think we’ve had enough grief over all that gold business, without you playing amateur detective and trying to dig up more. Don’t you have other things to worry about? Heath’s insane schemes possibly sending you broke for one thing.’
Nina decided to change tack. ‘Fine, don’t bother. I’m pretty sure I know where it is anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’ Hilary snapped.
‘Izzy says her mother has one just like it. With the engraving and everything. Perhaps it’s the one this Sarah says was given to her daughter.’
‘Izzy? The girl who brings the tour groups?’ Hilary seemed suddenly interested. ‘Where is she?’
Nina shrugged. ‘Here somewhere. Last time I saw her she was dancing with Ben.’
‘Well, send her over to me,’ ordered Hilary. ‘The sooner the better.’
‘Hilary, you look divine! Where did you get that dress?’ It was the woman from the paper.
Nina watched as her mother was bundled away to have her photograph taken next to the Durham mural. The elegant ladies having tea on the verandah now joined at last by Hilary in all her finery, just as she had always dreamed.
‘Testing … One, two, three … Struth, Smithy, it’s not working … Oh, hello everyone. It’s Vic Vickers here again – glad to see you all enjoying yourselves. Me and the Hit Kickers’ll be back with more good times later. Till then, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Mayor Francine Mathers, who has some special announcements.’
Nina felt nervous. What could Hilary be up to with this letter business? Surely they were all on the same side. She relaxed as Heath, bearing two beers, joined her again in the crowd.
‘Freed finally from the bar?’ she asked, taking one.
‘Yes, Lobby’s taken the helm,’ he said as he put an arm around her.
‘Don’t forget after supper we have a spectacular spectacle for you, all planned by the one woman in Wandalla who always gets things done – Hilary Flint,’ Vic Vickers’ voice boomed from the microphone again.
There was a resigned mutter and a polite patter of applause.
‘The one woman? What about the CWA ladies and their cakes, you joker?’ yelled a voice from the back of the hall. It was a rotund man with a mouth full of cream sponge.
‘Shut up, Porker – get another butterfly cake into you,’ yelled someone else.
Nina sighed as the crowd laughed.
‘What’s up?’ asked Heath.
‘It’s Lachlan and Moira. They’re up to something,’ she replied. Lachlan had hardly been seen all night and her mind kept going over the pair’s huddled conversations at the waterhole followed by muffled phone calls and unexplained absences.
‘Like what exactly?’ asked Heath.
‘I don’t know. But I don’t think Hilary’s going to like it.’
‘You worry too much,’ said Heath, pulling her closer.
‘Hey, maaate,’ hissed Porker at his elbow. ‘Come and save the keg, would ya? Lobby’s pouring ’em as flat as a grandma’s tit.’
Aaaand there goes another romantic moment, thought Nina.
‘Attention … Attention! Could the owner of a white Hilux, rego AK 85 JO, move it, please? Cos you’ve boxed Neville in. Thank you.’
Izzy stood on tiptoes, searching the crowd. It had been fun dancing with Ben, but what was it about conga lines that reminded her of old people? Right now, though, she had pressing business. Lachlan business.
‘Why don’t you just ask him?’ her father had said, and that’s exactly what she would do tonight. She had stuck to just one glass of wine so far – for courage – and lots of water. Maybe a little too much water. She really needed to go to the loo.
‘… Now, ladies and gentlemen, please form a queue for the supper table. Couple of hot dishes – beef curry, I think, and something on sticks. Some beaut sweets too – I believe Maureen Breen has wrangled up a huge tray of pineapple hedgehog, so brace yourselves for that one. And don’t the CWA ladies look beaut tonight?’
Izzy made her way past the ladies, who were indeed resplendent in their low-cut Bavarian beer-fest costumes – odd, but hey, any port in a storm, she reasoned – and stepped outside.
After the warmth of the hall, the night air was refreshingly brisk. She wasn’t the only one taking a break. A whiff of weed told her someone was firing up nearby, while a group of farmers were gathered in a circle on the footpath. They all held identical poses: one hand on the hip, the other with a beer held at right angles to their chests. From a distance it looked like they were performing some ancient tribal dance. Well, they sort of were, really. In the paddock next to the car park, a gaggle of children ran in and out of a stand of gum trees whose trunks stood stark and white in the moonlight.
Behind the hall, the line for the women’s loo was at least 10 deep, unlike the men’s where revellers were rushing in and out.
‘Typical!’ said the next woman in line, a 20-something bartender Izzy had often chatted to at the pub. She was wearing what looked like a hastily-altered bridesmaid’s dress. ‘If this doesn’t get movin’, I’m goin’ in the blokes’.’
Izzy smiled. ‘It’s always the way, isn’t it?’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Good party though.’
‘Yeah. Not much goes on in this place, so if there’s something like this and it’s free, we’re gonna make the most of it. Even if the invite comes from Queen Hilary.’
‘What do you make of her?’ asked Izzy. ‘She seems a bit … bossy.’
‘Yeah. You don’t say no to Hilary Flint. I mean, she did some bad stuff – everyone reckons she went mental a couple of years ago. Ended up in the nuthouse.’
A red-faced man pushed through the line of women and tacked back and forth along the path in the direction of the men’s toilets. His tight trooper’s jacket reminded Izzy of a bursting sausage on a barbecue. Those brass buttons were destined to take someone’s eye out before the night was over.
‘Sergeant Barry Kemp,’ another woman holding hands with a plump young girl snickered. ‘The only thing standing between this town and lawlessness. God help us. Looks like you’re next,’ she motioned to Izzy as two women exited the block.
Gratefully, Izzy pushed open the toilet door and went to step inside, but found herself rebounding backwards. Her crinoline was at least two feet wider than the cubicle. She tried flattening the sides of
the hoop with her arms, but that just made the front and back pop out to a ridiculous length. The women behind her sighed with impatience.
‘Sorry,’ she stumbled. ‘I just can’t seem to …’
She tried coming in at an angle this time but bounced back again. ‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ tutted the bartender who stepped forward and hauled the whole apparatus – dress, hoop, petticoats and all – over Izzy’s head, exposing her red G-string. She had worn it in anticipation of another night with Lachlan, if she could pin him down.
‘There you go – done,’ Izzy heard the woman’s muffled voice say beyond the frills surrounding her.
‘Um, thanks,’ she replied. Blinded by her fabric prison, she finally managed to bend the upside-down cone enough to free one arm and feel her way forward with a mixture of humiliation and blissful relief.
Hilary paused outside the door of the hall, letting the cool air soothe her flushed face. It was the perfect position. As people passed her going in or out they would either have to offer their thanks or ignore her. And she would remember exactly who did what.
The night was going well. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the supper despite her misgivings at the menu – apparently beef stroganoff followed by trifle was still a hit – and soon it would be time for the highlight of the evening: the pageant.
Hilary blinked into the darkness. Who was that in blue coming from behind the hall? Oh, yes, Nina’s friend Isobel, the supposed owner of this second locket. She would need to have a chat with her but maybe it could wait until tomorrow. She peered again. Well, she was certainly making the most of her impressive bosom with that low neckline.
As she watched, Isobel stopped suddenly in a pool of light from the window and raised her hand to her throat. Someone was in the shadows near the wall. A man in a top hat. As he stepped out of the darkness, she could see it was Lachlan Wright. He took the girl’s hand and led her through the low gate and onto the footpath. Hilary moved inside the hall to a window that overlooked the street.
Under one of the pepper trees that lined the street, Lachlan stood, one arm around the girl’s waist, the other caressing her face. She seemed to be doing the talking. Hilary felt a tinge of disappointment but quickly beat it down. Clearly the resemblance to Jim wasn’t just superficial. If there was a gene dedicated to seduction, it was clearly rampant in the Larkin family. She watched as Lachlan moved in for a kiss. He was attractive, no doubt about that. But obviously not fussy.
Under the tree, Lachlan checked his watch. He said something rapidly and then began running towards the rear of the hall, top hat held in place. Probably late for another assignation, thought Hilary acidly.
Then Esme, from the organising committee, tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You’re on, Hilary.’
On the stage beside the Mayor, Francine Mathers, Hilary’s velvet gown glowed a rich ruby and the jet at her throat sparkled. Although her eyes were cast down modestly, there was no disguising her triumph, thought Nina.
‘… So, on behalf of the Wandalla Council, we would like to present you with this small token of our thanks,’ said Councillor Mathers, resplendent in her mayoral robes and a red and green feathered fascinator. She took a bouquet of irises from her daughter, who was dressed like a porcelain doll in ringlets and lace-up boots, and handed it to Hilary.
‘Just in time for the show,’ whispered Izzy, elbowing her way in next to Nina, Heath and Ben. Lachlan arrived close in her wake, a smile playing on his face.
‘Your frequent generosity to Wandalla has always been much appreciated, and tonight’s celebrations are no exception,’ continued the Mayor.
‘Hilary didn’t pay for all of this, did she?’ whispered Lachlan.
‘Geez, this is play-lunch money to her,’ replied Ben with a mouthful of cheese. ‘Have you been to check out Paramour yet? She’s loaded.’
‘Shh,’ hissed Nina.
‘… and I’d like to thank our Mayor for her gracious opening remarks, Peg, Esme and the committee for their support, and also my daughter, Nina, who painted these wonderful murals.’ Hilary smiled at her audience. Nina felt a shadow pass over her heart. Whatever was in store this evening she hoped it wouldn’t be cruel. Yes, Hilary was thoughtless, but still …
‘And finally, a big thanks to Vic Vickers and the … his band for the music,’ continued Hilary. ‘And now, to the pageant. I’d like to introduce the first of our scenes – the children of Wandalla Primary School will introduce us to the way this area was before settlement. Please give them a round of applause.’
Nina smiled and waved, relieved that Hilary had handled her moment with grace and some humility. The faded red curtains jerked back, revealing a recorder trio, who began playing ‘Morning’ from the Peer Gynt Suite. A child with four broom heads strapped to her back – presumably an echidna, thought Nina – snuffled to the front of the stage. She was soon joined by a curious pair of wallabies and then a wheeling magpie with a yellow clothes-peg beak.
As the piece concluded, the crowd whistled and stamped its applause and the young performers scampered off. Next, a stage-hand dragged in a bale of hay. A ‘settler’ in cabbage tree hat, moleskins and billowing white shirt strode on, followed by a woman in a flounced gown and bonnet, who perched on the hay and looked adoringly up at him. Nina recognised the couple as Robyn and Ted Taylor, owners of the local supermarket. The crowd cheered.
‘Ah Molly, ’tis God’s own land we have found here. I am sure our future is assured,’ said Ted, taking off his hat and looking to the ‘far horizon’ at the back of the hall. ‘We will forge a great grazing empire that will become the backbone of this colony’s fortunes and build a magnificent house that …’
The hall’s lights suddenly went off. There were exasperated tuts from the crowd, and someone at the back called for Johnno, the electrician, to pull his finger out.
From the audience, two spotlights were suddenly thrown centre-stage on the face of Dennis King, the young Aboriginal cashier from the servo. Generally known as a bit of a joker, Dennis’s face was now serious. He wore a suit.
‘I think every true Australian joins me in condemning these English people smugglers who are using leaking, dangerous boats to bring desperate people here to our shores,’ he began. There were hoots and laughter as people recognised the parody of a recent anti-immigration Prime Minister.
Nina peered through the crowd and saw it was Moira and her husband, Roy, who were wielding the two large torches.
‘Who knows what kind of radical stuff these foreigners are bringing with them?’ continued Dennis with a shake of the head. ‘They’ve got weird religious ideas they want to foist on us for starters. And don’t forget that these people are criminals – convicted criminals!’
The hall’s lights came on again and Nina saw that Dennis had been joined onstage by Alfie, dressed as ‘Aborigine Number One’ in a red loincloth and body paint. Another young man – presumably ‘Aborigine Number Two’ – stepped forward, as well as a group of young Indigenous people from the town in jeans and t-shirts.
‘Turn back the boats! Turn back the boats!’ chanted Alfie and his companion, shaking their spears.
Ted and Robyn Taylor seemed marooned on their hay bale, blinking in confusion as the action went on about them.
‘No! This is a tolerant society,’ piped up one of the young women on stage. ‘We can all live together and learn from each other.’
‘Promise?’ asked Alfie.
‘Multiculturalism – it’s the way of the future,’ said the girl, in her school assembly voice.
Nina scanned the hall for a sign of Hilary, but the crowd was packed in around her. She took Heath’s hand and he squeezed it.
Dennis stepped forward to the front of the stage. ‘We were promised they’d stick to the coast but now they’re on the way here with their carts,’ he said. ‘We are in danger of being swamped by foreigners from the north.’
There was another laugh of recognition from the crowd along with a few hisses and low bo
os.
‘Turn back the carts! Turn back the carts!’ chanted Alfie and his friend.
‘No!’ It was the young girl again. ‘This is a big country. We can share it with them. I mean, we were here first. They’ll respect that.’
‘But they didn’t,’ continued Dennis. ‘Did you?’ he asked the Taylors. Mutely, they shook their heads.
‘There was no give, only take. Take, take, take.’
‘Our sacred places.’ The girl stepped to the front of the stage.
‘The land we care for and where we hunt,’ Alfie’s companion said, joining her.
‘The rivers where we fish,’ said another of the actors.
Alfie stepped forward to join them. ‘Our lives,’ he added quietly. ‘You see these pictures here?’ he continued, indicating the murals. Nina felt herself flush scarlet. ‘Where are we? We’ve just been painted out.’
‘You see these little animals you got here?’ the girl added, twitching back the curtain to show the schoolchildren in their costumes. ‘They weren’t all alone here. We were here too.’
‘We’re here. This is our place. And we’re staying,’ said Dennis.
The group stepped down from the stage and walked silently through the throng to the hall’s entrance door, led by Roy and Moira. Some of the audience clapped them on the back or cheered. A few threw dirty looks.
Sergeant Kemp and a couple of other men stepped forward to block their way.
‘Uh-oh.’ Heath dropped Nina’s hand and began pushing his way to where an altercation seemed to be brewing. But before he could reach them, Hilary stepped forward. Even from where she was standing, Nina could see her mother’s face was streaked with mascara, her complexion pallid.
‘Let them go, Barry,’ she said in a clear voice. ‘They’ve done nothing wrong.’
Kemp paused, his red face a picture of confusion.
‘I’m at fault, not them. Let them go,’ she repeated. The men stood aside and the performers stepped through the door and closed it behind them.
The Shifting Light Page 13
