Midsummer's Eve

by Philippa Carr

  “Good afternoon,” I said. I knew that he was watching me as I went into the house.

  He made me feel very uneasy. Perhaps it was due to Maud’s assurances that he was certain to get his own way. He always had, she implied; and he always would.

  That evening I was very tired. My illness had left me weaker than I had realized.

  I said I would rest and not join them for the evening meal.

  I had a good deal to think about. The sale of the property must not go through until I had left. I should hate to think that I was under his roof. I supposed that it could be arranged fairly quickly; but by agreeing that the sale should go ahead, I had made it necessary for us to make our plans about leaving.

  Maud came in with a tray.

  I said I was not hungry.

  “I’ve brought you a little soup. It’ll do you good. Try it. It just slips down. And there’s some hot damper to go with it.”

  She sat beside the bed and I took the tray.

  “It’s made from the remains of the lamb … full of goodness. I always like to get the last bit of nourishment out of everything.”

  She watched me while I spooned the soup into my mouth.

  She said: “I hope you don’t think the worse of me after our little talk.”

  “No, Maud, I understand perfectly. I know how you must feel having a daughter like Rosa and wanting the best for her. It’s natural.”

  “Well, there are few chances out here. I sometimes wonder if I ought to try to get back home. But what could we do there? I’d have to work and so would she. It wouldn’t be much better than here.”

  “No. It seems that Gregory Donnelly is the big catch, especially when he owns this place.”

  “Is that going through then?”

  “I think it very likely.”

  “You’re wise. You wouldn’t want to come out here again.”

  “There are too many bitter memories … but there will be at home, too. They are everywhere. There is no escaping them.”

  I had finished the soup. She took the tray and said: “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  That night I was very ill.

  I knew it was the soup.

  Oh, Maud, I thought, how little I knew you! Do you want to be rid of me so much?

  I felt so ill at moments that I thought I was going to die.

  It was about four in the morning before the griping pains and the sickness stopped and I began to feel a little better.

  I sank back into my bed with relief. I was still alive.

  Yet it had not been long ago when I was thinking longingly of death. I had wanted to be with them. I had felt it was unfair that they should go and I be left behind; but now I felt this overwhelming sense of relief. I was alive and I wanted to live.

  Oddly enough it was anger which had begun to lift me out of my abject melancholy and now I had to be nearly poisoned to realize how much I wanted to live.

  I lay there thinking of Maud, for it was Maud who had made the soup and brought it to me, who had been so eager for me to take it, and who had sat there watching me put every spoonful into my mouth.

  She wanted me out of the way. She did not believe that I would not marry Gregory Donnelly; she could not conceive of any woman’s not wanting him. And how desperately she wanted the right marriage for her daughter.

  Who would have believed that she would go to such lengths?

  I was in danger. I must get out of this place. Passions ran high in places like this. Life was not sacred here; there were too many hazards which made it cheap. People were fighting for their existences and if anyone stood in the way of what was the utmost importance to them they eliminated them.

  But Maud! Calm and dignified Maud! Was it possible? Desperately she wanted that marriage for her daughter. She had betrayed herself to me when she talked of it. She wanted to see Rosa secure and in spite of all my protestations she did not believe I was not affected by his charms.

  My body was limp and exhausted but my mind was active.

  I went over that conversation we had had, trying to remember every word. I thought of her sitting by my bed, urging me to eat. Maud had done it. I would not have believed it possible but once again I was faced with the fact that one could never be sure what people would do in what to them was an emergency.

  I felt too weak to get up the next morning. Nobody came, which was extraordinary. At length I got out of bed and went to Helena’s room.

  She was lying on her bed looking ill.

  “Oh, Annora,” she said. “I’ve had such a night. I have been so terribly ill. I am sure it was the soup.”

  “You, too. I thought it was just myself.”

  I went to the kitchen. No one was there. Were they all suffering from the poisonous soup?

  A little later one of the women came over to the house.

  She said: “Maud sent me. Everyone who took that soup last night is ill. I’m glad I didn’t have any of it.”

  I felt a great sense of relief.

  I was glad that I could go on thinking of Maud as I always had.

  It took several days for everyone to recover.

  Maud said: “It was all my fault. I thought the meat might be a bit off. But it didn’t seem much. I might have poisoned the lot of us. I had two helpings. Serves me right. I wanted to finish it up. I hope you are feeling all right, Miss Cadorson?”

  I said I was much better. Fortunately I had not taken a great deal.

  There was no doubt that the soup had not been deliberately poisoned but the incident did have an effect on me; and the fact that I had felt so strongly that there might be a plan to get rid of me stayed with me.

  I would look out of my window at the vast stretch of land and remember the day when I had been lost in the mist. I would awake in the night and listen for sounds. I kept thinking of the way in which Gregory had crept into the house to be with the midwife. There was a growing tension within me.

  I was aware that Gregory watched me with a certain speculation.

  I knew that Maud was watchful of us both.

  There seemed to be a warning in the air. Get away. Get away while there is time.

  We must get to Sydney. We must get a passage for England. There were a number of ships which sailed regularly.

  Gregory was the one who could arrange it and yet I hesitated to speak to him. Somewhere at the back of my mind was the fear that if he knew I was really making plans to leave he might take some drastic action. I don’t know whether it was due to the weakness of my condition or whether there was some uncanny force warning me; but I felt this strongly. I began to feel trapped. It was foolish. I only had to speak to Gregory, to tell him I had made up my mind to leave on such a date and that I wished him to make arrangements for our journey to Sydney. Once there I could book our passages myself.

  Yet I did nothing.

  Helena, too, was overcome by a kind of lethargy. She was uncertain what she felt about going home. There would be so many explanations. True, she was married, but her baby’s age would indicate that he had been well on the way before the ceremony had taken place. And what a strange marriage. Where was her husband? Travelling round Australia looking for material, letting his wife and child go home without him.

  I would have to discuss the matter with Gregory and I knew that when I did he would find some means of thwarting me.

  It was a strange eerie feeling.

  I had a restless night. I was beset by wild dreams; and I knew I had to act quickly.

  I felt limp when I arose in the morning. I would speak to Helena and tell her we must make an effort without delay. This very day we must discuss it with Gregory. I would bring it up at dinner that night.

  It was midafternoon when I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs outside the house. A man had dismounted and was looking about him. I could scarcely believe my eyes. It was a dream. It must be. The fever had come back bringing strange images … some horrifying, some like this one … bringing a sudden incredible comfort, l
ike the materialization of some longed-for dream.

  “Rolf!” I cried.

  I half-expected his image to dissolve before my eyes, but it did not. He came towards me, his arms outstretched.

  I ran to him and flung myself at him.

  “Rolf!” I cried. “Rolf, is it really you?”

  He nodded, smiling. “Oh, Annora, dearest Annora … I have come to take you home.”

  It was truly Rolf. He was as calm and practical as ever. He told me that he had made preparations to leave as soon as he had heard the news because he knew how devastated I would be. I should need someone. I should need him.

  All I could say was: “Oh, Rolf, Rolf, you really are here. Let me hold your hand. I’m afraid I’m dreaming. It’s been like a nightmare … and I feel I’m still in it.”

  “You’ve come out of it now. We are going home just as soon as you are ready. I thought you would want to. It’s best to get right away. I’ve found a man who can take us. He knows the country. He’s got some conveyance he calls a buggy. There will be some baggage. Otherwise we could have gone on horseback. There are two inns we could stay at, and that’s what we’ll do. I’ve planned to leave here the day after tomorrow. He’ll be with us then, buggy and all. We’ll get to Sydney and I have tentative bookings if we can make it in time.”

  “You’ve arranged all that. Oh, Rolf, you’re wonderful!”

  He smiled. “Don’t forget I was brought up to be a lawyer.”

  “And turned landowner instead. Oh, Rolf, it’s so good you are here.”

  “Will you be ready?”

  “Yes, yes. Oh … but there is Helena.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “Helena and the baby. They’ll have to come with us. You know my cousin Helena Lansdon … well, she’s Helena Hume now. She’s got a baby, the dearest little baby. They’ll have to come, too.”

  “Oh,” he said. “We’ll have to do something about her passage.”

  “I couldn’t go without her, Rolf.”

  Helena had come out carrying the baby.

  “Helena,” I cried, “this is Rolf Hanson. You remember him. You met him at Cador.”

  “Yes, of course I remember.”

  “He’s come to take us home.”

  Rolf went to her and shook her hands. He looked at the baby.

  “He’s Jonnie,” I said.

  Rolf looked bewildered. I wondered if that was how people would look when they confronted Helena and her baby. One would see their minds calculating. How could she have a baby so soon?

  “Helena’s husband is away. He’s collecting material for a book on convicts and transportation.”

  “Then he will not be coming home now?”

  “No,” said Helena. “He will be staying awhile. But I and Jonnie will go with Annora.”

  “Could you be ready to leave the day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes, yes, I could,” she answered.

  Jonnie was holding out his hands to me. I took him from his mother and rocked him in my arms. He laughed and pulled at my short hair. I was aware of Rolf, gazing at us intently.

  Maud came out to see what was happening.

  “Oh, Maud,” I cried, “this is a friend of mine who has come to take us back to England.”

  She came forward smiling, holding out her hand. I introduced them.

  Rolf said: “I wasn’t sure whether to write, but letters take so long. I thought the best thing was to come out as soon as possible. It takes a long time to come from the other side of the world. But at last I got here.”

  “You’re very welcome,” said Maud.

  “Mr. Hanson will be here for two nights,” I said.

  I was thinking that there were two rooms which had been left just as they were—my parents’ and Jacco’s. I had asked that this should be so. I did not want anyone to touch any of their things and I did not feel capable of doing it myself just yet.

  Maud seemed to follow my thoughts. She said: “The baby could go in with his mother and that would leave the nursery free.”

  “Yes, Maud. Thanks.”

  “I daresay you could do with something to drink,” said Maud practically, “and to eat too, no doubt.”

  He agreed. “It’s thirsty riding.”

  “Come along in, Rolf,” I said. “How did you find your way?”

  “I knew the address because my father had done considerable business with this place. I was given careful instructions in Sydney. I found the inns where I stayed the nights. Everyone was very helpful.”

  We went into the living room. “So this is where you have been staying.” He turned to me with concern. “You’ve been ill, Annora.”

  “Yes, very ill. I had some sort of fever. That’s why they cut my hair.”

  “It’s becoming. It makes you look unusual.”

  “You’ll get used to it. Oh, Rolf, I’m so glad you came. I’m longing to get home.”

  “I was afraid that I was going to miss you. I thought you might have started off already.”

  “No, because I was ill for so long. It has left me limp and easily tired. They didn’t think I was fit to make the journey.”

  “It’s hard travelling. You’re thinner.”

  “Considerably.”

  “You’ll be better when you get home.”

  “Nothing is going to be the same again.”

  “No. It’s a fresh start though, Annora.”

  Maud was already setting out food. I sat with him while he ate. Maud came in and out with the food. She seemed as though she could not do enough to please him. I knew she was delighted with him because he had come to take me away. Moreover I think she was deciding he was the one for me.

  I really felt I loved him then. He was like a saviour. He was different in every way from Gregory Donnelly; yet not less a man.

  I said: “They are putting you in the nursery.”

  “I suppose there is not much room here.”

  “There are two rooms which I haven’t let them touch yet. Their things are there—my parents’ and Jacco’s.”

  “I understand,” he said. “They’ll have to be cleared out before we go. Perhaps I can do it.”

  “No, I will. It is just that I couldn’t bring myself to before.”

  “It’s understandable. My poor, dearest Annora. How you must have suffered.”

  When he had eaten I took him to the room which would be his for the two nights he would be here. Maud had already taken out Jonnie’s cot and put up the bed.

  “It’s only for two nights,” I said.

  “It will be absolute comfort after those inns.”

  “Rolf, it was so good of you to come.”

  “I had to, Annora. I thought of you all alone … without them. I’m so glad I found you. I pictured myself arriving to find you gone.”

  “I expect I should have gone but for my illness.”

  Maud came in with hot water for him to wash. He had brought a small bag with him and I left him to change.

  It was later when he met Gregory Donnelly.

  They stood face to face and I was aware of a certain bristling resentment in Gregory and a curiosity in Rolf.

  Rolf carried off the situation with a good grace.

  “Rolf Hanson has come to escort us home,” I explained.

  “You’ve come a long way,” commented Gregory.

  “I regret I did not get here earlier. One just can’t step on to a ship without formalities. Arrangements have to be made. My great fear was that I should arrive to find Miss Cadorson had left.”

  “How did you get out to the property?”

  “On horseback. I had instructions and stayed at the two inns on the way—the only two, I fancy.”

  “Oh, the accommodation houses. I know them well. You didn’t lose your way?”

  “I came near to it once or twice, but I had very good instructions and was given a rough map which was of inestimable worth.”

  Gregory was a little taken aback. Rolf had an easy manner. The diffe
rence in them, I decided, was that Gregory felt he had to be constantly reminding people of his superiority; Rolf didn’t have to; it was obvious.

  “When do you propose to go back?” asked Gregory.

  “The day after tomorrow. I’ve arranged for a man to bring a buggy. We shall travel in that.”

  “The best way really. Mind you it takes longer. Who’s your man?”

  “A fellow called Jack Tomlin.”

  “Know him well. He’s one of the best. He’ll take care of everything.”

  “I can see I made a good choice.”

  I wondered what Gregory was feeling. He knew that I was definitely going now and that his grandiose schemes for marrying the little woman and acquiring her fortune were foundering.

  “There will be a good deal to do,” I said to Helena.

  She agreed.

  The evening passed. We sat for a long time over the table, talking. Rolf and Gregory had one passion in common: land. Gregory was greatly interested to hear that Rolf owned a large estate in Cornwall. They talked at great length about the differences in the land here and in England. I could see they were both very curious about each other—possibly regarding their relationships with me—but they talked amicably until it grew dark and Maud brought in the oil lamps.

  When I retired I felt a lightness of spirit. I felt better than I had since the tragedy.

  The tension had lifted, the eerie feeling had disappeared; I was being gently lifted out of a situation which had begun to alarm me. There was nothing to be afraid of now.

  But that night I dreamed of Midsummer’s Eve. Then we were back in Australia and Rolf had just arrived. He was wearing a grey robe. They were cooking out of doors as they sometimes did and he leaped high over the fire and disappeared.

  A strange dream. During the last weeks I had forgotten all about that Midsummer’s Eve.

  I was up early in the morning. Before me lay the task of going through their clothes … something I had shunned until now. But it had to be done. I had to sort out the little jewellery my mother had brought with her and her clothes. I would give the latter away. Many of the people on the property might be glad of them. And the same went for my father’s and Jacco’s.

  I knew it was going to be harrowing and the sooner I did it the better.

  Maud offered to help me. So did Helena; but I declined their assistance and set about the task on my own.