The Dark Mountain

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘Hah!’

  ‘She is worried about you. Can you blame her? She wants you to be happy. She wants us all to be happy.’

  If I had been less enraged, I would have pitied Louisa. As it was, I possessed just enough self-restraint to realise that she was speaking from the heart, and was thoroughly well-intentioned. What immense courage she had! For she put her case clearly and gravely, though I held a whip in my hand, and had every advantage over her in height, weight and reach.

  Louisa never betrayed me. All her life, she bowed to my mother’s every whim—though not where I was concerned. With her immense powers of penetration, formidable even in her earliest youth, Louisa saw exactly who I was, and respected me for it.

  I honour her. I miss her. And I wish that I had thanked her, all those years ago.

  But I did not.

  ‘If Mama had wanted us to be happy,’ I spat, ‘she would never have married George Barton.’

  ‘Charlotte—’

  ‘You’ll have to make your own way back. She will have your head when she finds out.’

  ‘Wait! Charlotte!’

  ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’ With a nudge and a slap, I urged Sovereign forward. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘But where? Charlotte? Where are you going?'

  I made no reply. How could I, when I did not know myself?

  All I knew was that I had to reach Thomas.

  Thirty-nine

  Of all the rides that I have ever taken, none remains with me as clearly as my sprint towards Sutton Forest. The day was clear but cold, with an occasional chill breeze.

  The landscape for the most part wore the dull, unvariegated mantle of winter, save for here and there a dusting of early grevillea blossom or the sudden splash of a Banksia flower. White cockatoos soared overhead, and a scrub wren burst from the undergrowth as I thundered past. Four or five wandering cattle, dotted around the pastures like glossy brown anthills, raised their heads in unison at the sound of my approach.

  Apart from these few creatures—and the snorting, sweating hack beneath me—I seemed alone in the universe. Though vaguely worried that I might encounter someone before reaching Thomas, this concern was not foremost in my mind. On the contrary, I was obliged to fix almost my full attention on the horse, and on the terrain opening out in front of him. For having crossed the cleared land, I had to thread my way through a thick stretch of shrubs and trees before I hit the road to Sutton Forest. I have already described your typical bush-ride, with all its attendant perils. Even a stockman’s training is no certain defence against the unexpected obstacle that might bring a horse down on a headlong charge through wooded country: the sudden, steep slope; the hidden wombat-hole; the rearing outcrop of boulders. Commonsense decreed that I slow down during this leg of my journey, and I did. But even at a more deliberate pace I was nearly thrown when Sovereign wheeled unexpectedly, his poor nerves jangled by an explosive flurry of wings.

  I lost my hat at one point. It was dragged off by a clawing branch, and I surrendered it without a second thought. The whip was another matter. I dropped my whip as I fumbled with both hands to wrench Sovereign’s head around when he shied. And this was not to my discredit, let me assure you. But I could not dismount, knowing how difficult it would be to regain my seat unassisted. So I had to press on, snatching at twigs until I secured one supple enough to serve as a decent goad.

  I make no complaint about the hack, incidentally. He was perfectly amenable, though somewhat confused. With a stronger, more experienced hand on his reins he would no doubt have proven a steadier mount. When we reached the road, moreover, he accelerated with only the mildest encouragement, despite the dreadful condition of what was really no more than a goat-track. I tried to keep him on the grass verges, of course. One would hardly choose to canter over ruts and pebbles, no matter how eager one might be to cover a distance. And a lady’s weight cannot compare to a gentleman’s, when all is said and done.

  Nevertheless, I made some unreasonable demands on Sovereign, who rose to the occasion most nobly. Perhaps he was calmed by the familiar surroundings. Perhaps the clear delineation of his route, or the absence of encroaching foliage, invigorated him. Whatever the cause, he seemed all at once to sense my desperation, and threw his whole heart into a fervent but disciplined burst of speed.

  We fairly flew down the road, unhindered and unobserved. I can still feel the power of it. Nowadays, in my last decline, I would exult at such a rhythm beneath my hands and my feet, but I was then engulfed by a terrible fear. As the road unfurled beneath us, and every crest that we gained revealed only another empty stretch of hard-baked dirt, I asked myself: Was I wrong? Has he gone another way? Have I missed him?

  I knew that, if I had miscalculated, I would have to confront my mother. I would have to force directions out of her—since there could be no other way of finding Thomas in all that far, wide country. If he was not heading east, then he could be anywhere.

  And then I saw him.

  We were approaching the more settled district at the edge of Sutton Forest. The roof of All Saints was in clear sight. Fences were beginning to replace thickets and groves. A faint smell of wood-smoke distracted me for an instant, like the buzzing of an importunate fly; I had to shake off a sudden pang of hunger to fix my attention on the shuffling silhouette ahead of me.

  I would not have recognised him by his gait, which had lost all of its fluid confidence. His head was bowed. Each step looked hesitant. He would stop, then move on, only to stop again.

  The angle of his jaunty slouch hat, however, was unmistakable.

  ‘Thomas!’ I screamed, and it was as if all my strength left me with that cry. Sovereign felt it. He began to slow immediately, while my hands dropped and loosened on his neck.

  Thomas spun around. There was not one second’s pause; he discarded his swag and rushed forward to catch me on my way to the ground, so that I slid straight into his arms. We clung to each other without a thought for anyone who might be watching among the fields and gardens. Thomas seemed impervious even to the horse.

  ‘She threatened to set the dogs on me,’ Thomas panted, in tones of despair. ‘What could I do?’

  I was breathless from my energetic ride, and could only clutch at him even more frantically, gulping down lungfuls of air. My knees were beginning to shake.

  ‘I wouldn’t have failed ye,’ he croaked. ‘I swear, I would have found some way—someone to write a letter, or bring a message . . .’

  I burst into tears.

  ‘Ah, don’t—don’t.’ He kissed my hair repeatedly. ‘It breaks my heart.’

  ‘You said you would never leave me!’ I wailed, causing him to clasp me so tightly that he almost crushed my ribs.

  ‘Jaysus, Charlotte, I don’t want to leave ye!’ His voice cracked. ‘I love ye so much—ye’re the finest lass in all the world—I’d marry ye now, if I could, but how can I? Ye’re not twenty-one—t’wouldn’t be legal.’

  ‘You shan’t go.’ I was absolutely determined, though I sobbed and shuddered. ‘You shan’t go!’

  ‘I’ll stay close. I won’t desert ye. I’ll find work at t’Crossroads, or— or down on a station, by here. I’ll come visit whenever I can—’

  ‘No.’ I wiped my damp cheeks as he caught his breath.

  ‘Darlin’, I’ll wait. I swear, I’ll wait. ’Twouldn’t be more’n two years, and I’d wait forever.’

  ‘No,’ I repeated, with a set jaw. ‘I shall not wait. Why should I?’ Peering up into his haggard face, I drummed my fists on his chest. ‘We don’t have to wait! Not if my mother agrees.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘She will if she has to. We can force her to agree. It wouldn’t be hard.’ His stunned expression made me impatient. ‘Don’t you see, Thomas? We can do it now. If we get away from here quickly, and go somewhere for the night, do you think she would object to a wedding afterwards? She will have us married off so quickly, it will knock the breath out of you!’

  ‘Get away?�
� he repeated, in utter perplexity. ‘But—’

  ‘Together! The two of us!’ I wanted to shake him, I was so distraught. ‘Isn’t that what you want?’

  ‘Aye.’ He still seemed dazed, however. ‘Only—where could we go? There’s no one about would take us in, not like this.’

  ‘I know exactly where to go. Except that we must ride there and . . .’ I craned my neck to study Sovereign, who was still heaving like a pair of bellows ‘. . . and we have but one horse,’ I finished.

  Thomas studied me, then the horse. The knot between his brows was beginning to unravel.

  ‘Sovereign’s stout enough,’ he said in a reflective manner. ‘Provided we take it slow. But Charlotte—’tis downright thievery, takin’ this horse.’

  ‘It is not!’ I insisted. ‘Sovereign is as much mine as he is hers. She does not own the estate! In any event, she will know that I have him. And she would rather die than tell the police, I assure you. My only concern is the side-saddle. It will not support both of us.’

  ‘Then I will take it off,’ Thomas decided. And without further ado he began to unfasten the girth and crupper, while I held Sovereign’s bridle. The contents of my saddlebags were transferred to his own modest bundle, which he slung over his shoulder. The bags themselves, and the saddle attached to them, were left abandoned at the roadside.

  ‘You mean to say that we shall be riding bareback?’ was my nervous inquiry, when it became apparent that this would in fact be our only option. At which point I received a smile so warm and tender, I almost melted away in its beam.

  ‘I’ll be doin’ the ridin’,’ Thomas answered. ‘Yer only concern’ll be to hold on tight. Can ye do that for me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And not slide about, nor fret the poor beast wit’ any twitchin’ or squeakin’?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Up ye get, then.’

  It is no easy task, mounting a bare-backed horse, especially when one is clad in long skirts. Thomas had to lift me and follow on behind; even with my feeble assistance, he struggled and heaved as if he were climbing a sheer brick wall. Sovereign was most unimpressed, jibing and staggering and rolling his eyes. The weight must have been considerable, for all that I was so thin, and Thomas as trim as a man of his height could be. I was sure that the creature would baulk. Though Thomas calmed him with a firm hand and a soothing voice, I was convinced that we were courting disaster.

  ‘He will throw us,’ I gasped, perched precariously in front of Thomas, who promptly shook his head.

  ‘Nay, he’ll do us proud. Long as we don’t press ’im too hard, nor take ’im too far.’

  ‘And how far is too far?’ I twisted my head to look my beloved straight in the eye. ‘It is no small distance to Belanglo, Thomas.’

  The word hit him like a slap. His head jerked back, and his mouth dropped open.

  Beneath us, Sovereign shifted uneasily.

  ‘Belanglo!’ Thomas exclaimed.

  ‘Mama will never go there. She will never look for us there, believe me. I know.’

  ‘But Charlotte—Belanglo—that’s a perilous place.’ He reached around me, steadying Sovereign with a pat on the neck. ‘There’s any number o’ thieves in them gullies. Why, I’ve heard tell that yer own mother—’

  ‘What about her?’ I nearly jumped out of my skin. ‘What do you know about my mother?’

  ‘Well—weren’t she bailed up at Belanglo?’ He frowned at me. ‘There’s bin talk of ’t.’

  ‘That was a long time ago.’ Somehow, I could not relinquish this notion of mine. It had taken hold of me with an obsessive force. ‘She was visiting our station there. It is deserted now. We can shelter in the old hut, and no one will ever find us. There is a creek, and I have dried fruit with me. We shall want for nothing.’

  ‘Charlotte—’

  ‘Then tomorrow we shall ride back to the house! It can be no more than ten or fifteen miles! Even if we travel slowly, we should reach it by nightfall!’

  ‘Have y’ever bin there?’

  ‘To Belanglo? No, but there is a road. We must follow the road.’

  ‘Past all o’ them thieves and cutthroats?’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest?’ I was beginning to lose my temper. ‘Put up at an inn? Or at some settler’s house? It will defeat the purpose, don’t you see? We shall find ourselves sleeping in a room with all manner of people, and that will give my mother the perfect excuse! She will say that we were chaperoned—why, she would swear in witnesses to stop us from marrying!’

  ‘Aye, but Charlotte—’

  ‘What do we have that any thief would want, except the horse? And we can always walk back.’ I glared at him. ‘Or perhaps you think the prize is not worth the risk?’

  ‘Ah, no.’

  ‘In which case I shall say goodbye and return to Oldbury! Since I can offer no other solution!’

  My voice cracked on a sob, for I was in a great deal of nervous distress, and quite prepared to launch myself to the ground. I even began to wriggle about in preparation for an impassioned departure. Whereat Sovereign tossed his head in protest, and Thomas grabbed my waist.

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool!’ he barked. ‘Sit still, or ye’ll fall!’

  ‘What do you care? If I’m such a bloody fool?’

  It was, I think, the first time that I had ever used vulgar language. Certainly it surprised Thomas. He blinked, and raised his eyebrows, and cracked a reluctant smile. ‘Ah, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘Them bad words sound so pretty, a-comin’ out o’ yer little mouth.’

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘Not I. Not ever.’ And he planted a kiss on my lips that left me light-headed.

  Then he clicked his tongue, and nudged poor Sovereign into a brisk walk.

  ‘To Belanglo, then,’ he declared. ‘And I pray to all the holy saints and martyrs that we don’t get lost.’

  We did not, as it happened. Our route to the Old South Road was simple enough, if risky for being well frequented. We went out of our way to avoid Mereworth. On the Old South Road itself we stayed well clear of the Kentish Arms (which no longer belonged to my uncle) but encountered a pair of teamsters on a loaded dray, heading for Sydney. They saluted us with speculative looks, their attention caught by Sovereign’s bare back. ‘They’ll report us to the first trap they come across,’ Thomas observed with a sigh. ‘We’d best get off this road right sharpish.’ There was no need for us to tempt fate by passing close to the Wilmots’ handsome spread, or the tumbledown convict stockade closer to Berrima. Instead we rode south for a short distance before reaching a rough track that plunged into the brooding forest to the west. ‘This is it,’ I said. ‘Mama pointed it out once, do you remember? We were on the gig—’

  ‘Aye.’ Thomas slowed our pace as we approached the intersection, which was distinguished by some of the most cavernous ruts and gouges that I have ever seen. It looked as if the world’s heaviest dray had taken a right-hand turn during a thunderstorm of Biblical proportions. ‘I do recall mention of all t’ fine, new work bein’ done to open up this part o’ the country.’ He eyed the jagged folds and corrugations of dried mud. ‘Though I’d have to say, this looks to me as if someone dragged a log through them trees, chained to a team o’ bullocks.’

  ‘Please, Thomas, let us quit the main road. People are always riding along here—the Gordons and the McPhersons and the Morrices. And they all know me by sight.’

  ‘Sure, and we shouldn’t linger,’ Thomas agreed. ‘Last thing we want is the Reverend Stone flaggin’ us down, on his way out to the Crossroads.’

  So we set off, ‘through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways’, with only the vaguest notion of where we were going. It astonishes me to think that we should have been as bold and foolhardy as we were. Believe me when I say that the woods around Belanglo are not easily penetrated. Even now, they present a formidable challenge; something about them repels invasion, and there still exist no thriving communities dotted among the dour stands of shadowy
timber, which seem to absorb all light and sound. Do not assume that my impression of the country is tainted by early associations. Do not doubt my ability to describe without prejudice the sombre, sapless hues and implacable falls of rock. I assure you, that landscape has an identical effect on all those who traverse it. Though the sun might beat down like a hammer, and gentle zephyrs might tease at the glum foliage and long, pendant ribands of ragged bark, and unseen birds might flit and chirrup, still the soul of that forest remains unmoved and disengaged. Not hostile, exactly, but coldly unhelpful. One seems to be labouring perpetually beneath a hard, level stare.

  Even Thomas felt the chill of it.

  ‘Sure, and this is an ill-favoured patch,’ he muttered. ‘As bad as the Bargo Brush, and twice as airless. How long before we reach the station?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Eh?’ He sounded startled.

  ‘There will be a track. The more overgrown it looks, the more likely it is to be connected with our property.’ I gazed around at the disheartening prospect of endless, impenetrable growth. ‘You can see why no one wanted to lease it. Though I daresay our neighbours have been running their stock through it, occasionally.’

  ‘Not to mention the gully-rakers and footpads,’ Thomas muttered. ‘I wish we had a pistol wit’ us.’

  I was beginning to wish the same thing. For this reason I scanned the roadside intently, watching for the slightest break in all that scrub and timber. How slowly it unfolded, as Sovereign trudged along! How wearying it became, to see nothing but the same screen of eucalypt for what felt like miles and miles!

  Then, at last, we stumbled upon a kind of tunnel through the brush, perceptible only as an absence of trees and a slight depression in the earth.

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘This must be it.’

  Forty

  I shall tell you something very strange.

  As you know, my mother almost never spoke of her ordeal at Belanglo. Certainly she never furnished me with any details. So it was not until I read George Barton’s statement, when I was a grown woman on my way to Goulburn, that I was afforded even an inkling of exactly what might have occurred. Or where it might have occurred.