Mia’s eyes were topaz in the flickering light of the flames as she regarded the ancient drawings on the cavern walls. ‘Spirit of the Rainbow Serpent bring me,’ she said. ‘Is my totem.’ She reached into the woven bag at her waist and pulled out a few berries she’d collected earlier and handed some to Maggie.
Maggie was about to ask more about the snake when she heard a noise. Both girls froze, senses alert.
There it was again. It was the sound of horses’ hoofs on rocks. The sound of men talking as they stumbled over the scree. The smell of cigarette smoke and sweat, and the warmth of hard–ridden horses drifted in to them from outside.
Mia smothered the fire with the soft dirt on the cavern floor and they were plunged into darkness.
The men were nearer now, moving about close to the mouth of the tunnel. Maggie could make out what they were saying, could recognise each voice as the Granger sons searched for them. Then she heard another voice, one that was unfamiliar.
‘Women not come this far, boss. Bad place. Bad spirit.’
‘Don’t give me that bullshit,’ yelled the eldest Granger boy. ‘You tracked them this far. They’ve gotta be up here somewhere.’
‘No boss,’ the Aborigine was firm. ‘Mia from Wombat tribe. Enemy of Rainbow Serpent. She never come here.’
The sound of boots scrabbling over the boulders made Maggie shiver and she felt the comfort of Mia’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Manuwa not tell,’ Mia whispered in her ear. ‘We same totem. He know spirit sing ‘im if he break law of Rainbow Serpent.’
Maggie didn’t understand. She knew only that the men were close and that any moment now they would find the hidden entrance to the cave. She shivered and clamped her teeth together to stop them chattering, as she and Mia sat huddled in the profound blackness.
‘I reckon you’ve been wasting our bloody time,’ snarled the Granger youth. ‘You bloody Aboes stick together, and if I find you’ve been lying to me, by god you’ll regret it, Manuwa.’
‘Boss know best,’ retorted the tracker. ‘But this place taboo. If stay now, spirit death will come.’
The two girls clung to one another as they strained to hear what was being said. Then there was the rattle of small stones in the narrow entrance tunnel and the ring of boots on stone as their pursuers milled around outside. Surely it would only be a matter of time before they were discovered? Maggie had visions of what would happen to them and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to blot out the terrible scenes.
‘Better go down and make camp, boss,’ said Manuwa. ‘Track in morning. Reckon they gone through bush alonga river. Good tucker there. Plenty water.’
‘It’s a flamin’ waste of bloody time,’ stormed the eldest Granger. ‘Come on. Let’s get down before we break our bloody necks.’
‘What if we don’t fine ‘em?’
‘Who flamin’ cares? We can always get another one from the nuns.’ There was a shout of laughter and they continued joking as they clambered back down the steep hill, their voices becoming fainter until they died away.
Mia gave Maggie’s shoulder a squeeze and edged away. ‘Manuwa of my tribe,’ she whispered. ‘He know bad taboo bring white men alonga here.’
‘What about me?’ Maggie whispered, the image of that giant serpent clear in her mind.
‘You alonga me, Maggie. Spirit keep safe.’
*
Maggie fell asleep thinking of Mia and their long journey away from Grangers Hill Station. The spirit of the Rainbow Serpent had indeed protected them on that occasion, and even now she could feel its comforting presence. For she remembered her time with Mia with fondness and the dark memories no longer had the power to wound.
10
Giles came out of his bedroom to find Olivia sitting in their lounge, a magazine discarded on her lap. ‘Good morning,’ he said as cheerfully as he could.
‘Morning,’ she replied. ‘Got everything?’
He nodded and hitched the towel over his shoulder. He felt foolish standing there in a borrowed pair of swimming trunks and a shirt, all too aware of how white and thin his legs looked. He’d once been quite proud of his muscular physique, now, to his way of thinking he just looked pathetic. ‘Better go,’ he muttered. ‘The others will be waiting.’
Olivia stood and kissed him softly on his cheek. ‘Good luck,’ she murmured.
Giles nodded and swiftly left the room. Running down the stairs he let himself out of the side door and walked purposefully down the street to the beach. It was still early, the sky a pearl grey laced with streaks of blue, the sun still below the horizon. Nothing stirred and there was nobody around, for which he was grateful. He was still unsure of exactly what he thought he was doing. But he’d said he would swim this morning, and he had to begin to take a proper grasp of life if he was going to have any kind of future. This was his first step – but by God he was nervous.
‘G’day, mate,’ came the chorus as he reached the sand and dumped his towel beneath a palm tree.
Giles’ grin was sickly as he nodded to the two amputees. ‘I don’t know about this,’ he began.
‘You’ll be right, mate,’ said Hopalong as he sat beneath the palm tree, unfastened the leather straps of his wooden peg leg and threw it aside. ‘At least you can bloody walk into the water. We’ve gotta hitch down on our arses!’
Smokey nodded in encouragement as he unbuckled the tin prosthesis and put it to one side. Grinning, Giles began to unbutton his shirt, and after only a momentary hesitation, stripped it off and dropped it beside the towel. He glanced over his shoulder. The beach was still deserted.
‘Ready?’ Smokey grinned up at him.
Giles nodded and the three of them began the short journey to the water’s edge. He was aware of what a strange sight they must be, but somehow it no longer mattered. For in his concern for the other two, he’d almost forgotten his own disability.
Hopalong and Smokey crabbed into the water until they were afloat, then struck out for the rocks on the far side of the bay. Giles stood in the water up to his waist and watched them enviously. How he would have loved to join them, to power his way through the water with strong, deep strokes and feel the pull of muscle again.
He eyed the sea that rippled around his midriff, took a deep breath and plunged beneath it.
The water caressed him, its silky smoothness welcoming him as he kicked out and edged along the seabed. It felt strange being in this underwater world after so long, and the loss of his arm made balance awkward. His lungs felt as if they would burst and he emerged spluttering and coughing, shaking the water from his hair, breathing deeply of the cool morning air. He looked around him. The beach was still deserted, the sun just peeking over the horizon, and the other two men were almost on the other side of the bay, tiny black specks in a rainbow of splashing water.
By the time Smokey and Hopalong had swum back to him, Giles had learned to float in the water, and to propel himself with his legs. His teeth were chattering and he was covered in goose pimples, but he was determined to show the others what he could do.
‘Good on yer, mate,’ said Hopalong. ‘See, we told ya it would be easy.’
‘Time for tucker,’ said an out–of–breath Smokey. ‘You lost the race, you’re buying,’ he added to Hopalong.
The three of them made their strange progress back up the beach and Giles collapsed into the sand. He was exhausted, but it felt good after so many months of inactivity, and he had a roaring appetite. ‘Same time tomorrow?’ he asked.
*
‘No worries, Olivia,’ said Maggie as she put the plate of breakfast on the table. ‘He’ll be right. The others will look after him.’
Olivia eyed the heaped plate and realised she had little appetite. ‘I know,’ she said, pushing the plate away. ‘Even so, I can’t help but worry. Giles isn’t as strong as he thinks he is.’
Maggie look
ed down at her and shook her head. ‘Eat your tucker,’ she ordered. ‘He’ll be right.’
Olivia watched her move away and serve the other diners. It was all very well for Maggie – she didn’t understand, she thought darkly. Giles was her responsibility, and if anything happened to him she couldn’t bear to think of the consequences. She should have gone down to the beach. Should have insisted upon swimming with him in case he got into trouble.
The dining–room door crashed back and the three men came in, calling for food. Giles pulled out a chair and sat down, his face radiant.
Olivia watched him as he told her about his swim, and she was forcibly reminded of the little boy he’d once been. For his enthusiasm had returned and there was a light in his eyes that had been missing for too long. An appetite for life as well as an enormous breakfast, she noted wryly as he took her plate and ploughed his way through it.
She reached across the table, her affection for him warm in her smile. ‘Well done,’ she murmured. ‘I’m very proud of you, Giles.’
His gaze held her for a long moment before he returned to his breakfast. ‘This is just the start, Ollie,’ he said as he loaded his fork. ‘When we get back to England, I’m going to see about getting back into law.’ He looked at her again. ‘I’ve wasted too much time feeling sorry for myself. Those two proved to me this morning that nothing is impossible, and it’s time to get back into the real world.’
Her heart went out to him and she felt tears threaten. This was the old Giles. The Giles with plans for a future. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said softly, her eyes blurring as she reached for her cup of tea.
They were discussing plans to go down to the beach again that evening when a terrible scream tore through the hotel. The crash that followed had them all on their feet.
Maggie appeared, her face white with shock. ‘Olivia,’ she called. ‘We need some help, here.’
Olivia shoved back her chair and raced into the kitchen. Lila was screaming, her plump hands tearing at her hair as her daughter howled. The noise was deafening, the heat from the ancient range almost unbearable. She took in the scene with a professional eye, ordered Lila to leave the room, and stepped swiftly over the litter of broken china to the Aboriginal girl in the corner.
The knife lay on the floor, bloodied to the hilt. The girl had her mouth wide open, the screams coming one after the other in crescendo as she swayed back and forth over her bloody arm.
‘Stop that noise,’ she ordered.
The girl’s screams came to an abrupt halt at the authoritative tone, her eyes wide and terror–filled as Olivia took her hand and examined the deep cut.
‘Take your belt off,’ she commanded Sam. ‘And fetch me a clean tea towel, water and bandages.’ Using the belt as a tourniquet, Olivia tightened it around the young girl’s arm and gave it another twist. ‘You’ll need a doctor to stitch this,’ she said as she cleaned the gaping wound. ‘She’s severed the artery.’
‘You’ll have to deal with it,’ muttered Sam as he handed her the clean towels and bowl of water. ‘We ain’t gotta doc here.’
Olivia looked at him in horror. ‘What!?’ She saw the nods of agreement and returned her attention to the girl who was starting to wail again. ‘I’m not qualified to give anaesthetic,’ she snapped, giving the belt another twist. ‘She could bleed to death if something isn’t done immediately.’
‘You’re all we got,’ he said in his matter–of–fact way. ‘So you’d better get on with it.’
Olivia gritted her teeth as she glared back at him. ‘How?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve got no medical supplies.’
Sam dumped a cardboard box on the floor beside her. ‘Should find everything you need in there,’ he drawled.
She looked in despair at the rolls of bandage, the grubby bottles of pills that no doubt were well past their prime, and the hypodermic needles that probably hadn’t ever seen the inside of a sterilizer. ‘Take this and keep turning it,’ she ordered. Scrabbling around in the box, she found a phial of morphine, a tobacco tin containing rusty needles and a twist of catgut, and a packet of cotton pads and dressings. There was iodine, aspirin, a half bottle of brandy and a hacksaw. She took this fearsome object out and held it up.
‘Last owner had to use that once,’ muttered Sam. ‘Cane cutter mistook his leg for the cane. Had to chop it off.’
‘Bloody hell,’ she swore softly. ‘You’re living in the dark ages.’ Gathering what she needed, she turned to look at the cluster of people milling around in the kitchen. ‘Maggie, you stay. The rest of you get out.’
She squatted down and gently brushed back the tangle of red–brown hair from the frightened girl’s face. ‘We’ll soon have you fixed up,’ she soothed. ‘Just try and sit still, there’s a good girl.’
The heat in the kitchen was stifling, yet her years of experience meant her mind was clear, the order of priorities instinctive. ‘Open the door and windows, and put these in boiling water,’ she said to Maggie as she handed her the hypodermic, the scissors, a pair of tongs and two rolls of bandage. ‘Then see if you can find me a darning needle and some cotton.’
Taking charge of the tourniquet again, she turned to Sam. ‘Use bleach and scrub down that table. When you’ve done that, find me some freshly laundered towels.’
As they did as she asked, Olivia examined the wound. She had managed to stop the bleeding for now, and the girl had mercifully fainted so at least she wasn’t screaming any more. ‘Let’s hope she stays out for a while,’ she muttered to no–one in particular.
‘I found a needle and cotton,’ said Maggie as she returned laden with towels. ‘You’re not going to stitch her up with that, are you?’
Olivia eyed the reel of black cotton and the darning needle and nodded before dropping them both in the boiling water. ‘That table ready yet, Sam? Then you can help me get her up. Maggie, you put the towels down.’
Sam lifted the limp figure from the floor and gently deposited her on the table. Olivia tied back her hair and covered it with a clean teacloth. She lit a candle, then scrubbed her hands and made the others do the same. Using the tongs, she carefully took the things from the boiling water and laid them in a row along the clean towel before holding the needle in the candle flame until it turned black.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said.
*
Maggie felt a strange kind of pride in Olivia as she passed the scissors, threaded the needle and swabbed the wound. A pride that was tinged with envy, for she would never have dared do something like this and would probably have panicked. Olivia’s hands were sure and steady, her pace, unhurried but deliberate as time ticked away.
She watched as Olivia eased the tourniquet and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Looks like we’ve done it,’ she said as she administered a shot of morphine before stepping away from the table to wash her hands. ‘Better take her to a room upstairs so I can keep an eye on her,’ she added.
Maggie and Sam exchanged glances. ‘Reckon she’d be happier in her own place,’ he muttered.
‘Where is that exactly?’ Olivia’s tone was icy.
‘Out back,’ he replied.
‘She’d be better off in a nice clean bed upstairs,’ she retorted.
‘We’d lose all our customers,’ Maggie intervened. ‘She wouldn’t feel right, and neither would they.’
‘Are you telling me she isn’t allowed upstairs?’ Olivia’s voice held a dangerous calm.
Maggie swallowed. ‘Not exactly,’ she said finally. ‘This is a small town. The lubras prefer to keep themselves to themselves.’ She blushed as Olivia glared at her. ‘They aren’t banned from coming in here to drink or anything,’ she blustered. ‘They just prefer not to in case it causes trouble.’
Olivia looked down at the girl on the table. ‘If there had been a doctor, would he have come out to see her?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘Reckon so. But most of them prefer to see their own medicine men.’
Olivia raised an eyebrow as she felt the girl’s pulse. ‘I see,’ she muttered.
Maggie wondered what was going through the other woman’s mind, but hesitated to ask. ‘The medicine men are real clever,’ she said hurriedly. ‘They know much more than any white doctor. You know, herbs and leaves and things.’ Her voice tailed off. It was a sticky subject, and she knew the incident had not put Trinity in a good light.
*
Olivia paced back and forth as Giles poured her a drink in their lounge. ‘I admit it was fairly pleasant,’ she said. ‘But it was still a compound.’
‘Tell me about it,’ offered Giles.
Olivia stopped by the verandah window and stared out over the roofs to the sea. ‘It’s down a narrow path and through a gate at the back of the hotel,’ she said. ‘It’s quite large, and pleasantly shady, with a line of shacks all down one side.’
She fell silent, remembering the curious eyes watching the small cavalcade as they took the girl to her cabin. There had been naked children happily playing in the long grass while the men lounged in the shade of the verandahs. The gossiping women beneath the trees had seemed cheerful if their laughter was anything to go by.
‘They have a laundry and a cookhouse,’ she went on. ‘And the shacks themselves are quite big. But their idea of hygiene makes me shudder.’
‘At least they’re cared for,’ muttered Giles as he poured tonic into the gin. ‘Surely that’s better than being on the streets?’
Olivia nodded as she took the proffered glass. ‘I suppose so. But they’re still treated as second–class citizens, however one looks at it,’ she persisted.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said with a gentle sigh as he sat down. ‘You’re not going to start one of your blasted crusades, are you?’
She looked down at him and remembering her childhood crusade to rescue every tramp in London by offering them her pocket money, suddenly saw the funny side of things. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But the children need to be educated if they are to become anything but servants. The missionaries do their best, evidently, but it’s just not enough.’
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