Dorothy Eden (33 page)

She swept into the small dark room, trying not to notice that it was desperately untidy and full of the smell of sour spirits.

‘What’s happened to you, alannah? You didn’t used to be like this. Behaving like a duchess.’

‘You didn’t used to be like this either.’

‘The old demon drink,’ he said, grinning.

She couldn’t allow herself to think or she would be unable to endure this dreadful scene. She said quietly, ‘I’ve come for my letters. You must give them to me.’

Behind his drunken bravado, the merest hint of desolation showed.

‘What, my only treasures!’

‘I’ve heard that you boast about them. I can’t allow that.’

‘My God, you’ve become a respectable matron.’

‘Colm, please. I must have them. Or at least I must see them destroyed. Can’t we burn them here and now?’

‘A funeral pyre?’

‘Oh, Colm!’ She laid her hand on his arm. She could feel the bone through the thin flesh. ‘Why did you let this happen to you?’

‘Because I’m a weak fellow. You might have saved me. I don’t know. I should have carried you off that day at the lake.’ He took his arm away from her, quite gently. ‘Don’t touch me. I know I’m disgusting. All right, you can have the letters. Did you really believe I would make a scandal?’

‘Not when you are in possession of your senses.’

‘Which isn’t often, as you’ve probably heard.’

He was fumbling in a box. Presently he produced the small bundle of letters, and throwing them in the ashes on the hearth, stirred them with a poker into a thin blaze. Then he crouched, holding his outspread fingers over the warmth. He seemed to have forgotten that she was there.

Bess was tapping tentatively at the door. Eugenia called to her to wait. She wanted to see the last sheet curl into flame. She felt old. Grown up at last, she thought. A matron, as he had said.

‘Not quite devoid of honour,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I didn’t know I’d boasted. Though it was something to boast about.’

‘Yes,’ Eugenia said pitifully. And added in a whisper, ‘It was.’

He prodded at the curling ashes with his toe, then turned on her fiercely.

‘You’ve got what you came for. Why don’t you go? The world’s waiting for you.’

‘It could be waiting for you, too. They say your book is beautifully done. You have so much talent, Colm.’

‘For the bottle, my dear. Immense talent for the bottle. It’s all right, don’t look upset like that. I was a weak fellow long before you met me. A failing of the Irish. Most of us drink. Some of us do it more thoroughly than others and finish up in an early grave. A short life and a merry one.’ He had picked up a bottle that showed only the dregs of some liquor. ‘I’m a desperate case. Even you couldn’t have saved me, alannah, and that’s the real truth I’m speaking.’

There was nothing to do but go. Bess’s nose was wrinkled in disgust, she took Eugenia’s arm and hurried her away across the sand dunes to the waiting carriage.

‘What were you so long about? Did you get the letters? That dreadful man! So drunken and rude. What was he saying as you left?’

‘Nothing. Nothing that made sense.’

But it had made sense. It had been a brave attempt to relieve her of her guilt and remorse, to tell her that even with her faithful love he would have become that ragged travesty.

She wanted to cry from the sadness of it. But the tears gathered into a hard ache in her throat and refused to be shed. All the way back to the town she sat with a rigid body and frozen face, ignoring Bess’s attempts at reassurance.

But the letters were destroyed. Her reputation had been saved. She would have to live an important, a valuable life to justify what she had just done. At this moment she didn’t know how to live at all.

The next night the ball was a brilliant affair. Eugenia would not have believed there could be so many fine clothes and jewels in a colonial city. She thought she looked a modest figure compared to most of the women who had a distinct tendency to overdress. But someone said behind her, ‘The beautiful Mrs Massingham,’ and she flashed round, hearing echoes of Colm’s voice from another long-ago night. The portly gentleman who had spoken looked surprised at her reaction.

‘Did I startle you, Mrs Massingham? May I have the honour of this dance?’

Her lips trembled uncontrollably as she allowed him to take her arm.

It was after midnight when a small stir ran through the assembly. ‘The Irish artist,’ someone said. ‘That drunken O’Connor,’ someone answered. ‘Fancy him daring to come! He actually looks sober.’

Her breath caught, her heart pounding, Eugenia stood rigid looking across the room at the tall figure in the doorway. Well-groomed, correctly dressed, an elegant wraith who must have been waiting to catch her eye, he bowed to her with grave deliberation and walked on out of sight.

He must have made a tremendous effort to give her this respectable glimpse of himself. It was his farewell. She knew, with certainty, that she would never see him again.

T
HE SITUATION WAS BECOMING
repetitive.

Eugenia wrote, ‘Dear Sarah, Will you be interested to hear that Kit and little Adelaide are to have a brother or a sister early next year. I am quite delighted. I feel now that the more children there are to fill this big house, the better.

‘Since our visit to Sydney I have been more than content to resume my quiet life at Yarrabee. We were the victims of too much gaiety, being drawn into a frenzied social life which I found artificial and empty. We enjoyed renewing old acquaintances, however. Bess Kelly has grown very stout and Marion Noakes looked old and yellow in complexion. It does not suit a woman who so longs for children to be barren. But she had lost nothing of her caustic tongue, and I grow to like her honesty more and more. So much better than the simpering of all those newly-arrived middle and low class creatures with their latest fashions which they hoped would make us pioneers look dowdy…’

She hoped the new baby would be a boy, since that was what Gilbert wished. And the next might be a girl for her own pleasure. She thought that she preferred girls to boys. Kit was a handsome child but difficult, and subject to screaming fits. Eugenia sometimes had the notion that he had never recovered from his attack of scarlet fever and the shock of little Victoria’s death, in his mother’s absence, although it seemed strange that so young a child could have been so affected.

Whatever it was, she now had little control over him. He seemed to love her passionately, but if he was rebuked in the smallest way he screamed for Mrs Jarvis. That Mrs Jarvis could manage him when she, his mother, could not rankled.

Gilbert, however, seemed amused and unconcerned.

‘The little scamp knows you have a tender heart, my love. He plays on it. Mrs Jarvis gives him a good thumping when he needs it.’

‘Is it something to do with her being his foster mother?’ Eugenia brooded. ‘Holding him to her breast as a baby?’

‘That’s advanced thinking.’ Gilbert didn’t seem to want to pursue that subject. ‘Wait until he goes to school. He’ll get out of his baby ways then.’

‘Rosie leads him on,’ Eugenia persisted. ‘That child, in her quiet way, is extraordinarily naughty. All the worst pranks are her idea.’

‘Better get them both out picking grapes at vintage. That’ll take the mischief out of them.’

‘Oh, Gilbert! Child labour! You can’t mean it.’

‘Of course I mean it. The boy can’t start taking an interest in his future too soon.’

‘Don’t you think you might develop a dislike in him for it if he’s forced into it too young?’

‘Nonsense! It will only be a game to him.’

‘It isn’t Rosie’s future.’

‘I know that, of course. You can take charge of that. Get the child trained in whatever you like. Whatever her mother agrees to, naturally.’

‘She’s very bright. She’s much quicker than Kit at reading. I have vague ideas—but it’s looking a long way ahead.’

‘Yes, my love? What are those?’ Gilbert asked politely, without interest.

‘I want to begin organizing a school in Parramatta for the children of the working classes. I know it isn’t usual to educate children of this kind, but I do think, in a new country, we could begin setting a standard that even England might follow.’

Gilbert stifled a yawn. ‘Yes, love. A splendid idea. What has it to do with Rosie?’

‘I thought that she might be able to teach in it. I’m sure Miss Higgins can give her a good enough education to do this. It will be an interesting experiment.’

‘Do whatever amuses you, my love.’

‘It’s not for my amusement,’ Eugenia said strenuously.

As it happened her plans almost came to nothing. Her new baby, another girl, was born prematurely, and she came within a mere breath of dying.

After it was all over she found she had only a hazy memory of pain that had seemed to go on forever, then of deadly swooning weakness. Once she remembered the lamplight fading, and she herself crying for the wick to be turned up, she was suddenly so afraid of the dark. Didn’t anyone realize that she had always found the dark in this country full of terror?

Someone must have heard her, for later the light had grown brighter, and Gilbert’s face was bending over her. It looked so anxious and sad that she had groped for his hand. His strong clasp seemed to stir a little life in her.

She whispered, ‘The baby?’ and saw that he was crying.

‘It—didn’t—live!’ she managed to say in terror.

‘It’s fine. A girl. Looks like you.’

Then he kissed her very gently on the brow, and afterwards she could feel the damp of his tears remaining. She understood the next day, or perhaps the next week, for time had lost meaning, that that had been the moment when they had known she would live.

But there must be no more children for a long time.

Although that was a piece of news they refrained from telling her until she was able to leave her bed and sit in a chair on her balcony. The new baby lay in its basket at her side. She had already begun to feel a great attachment to this tiny fragile creature, and Doctor Noakes’ careful explanation about the danger of having another child made the little one inexpressibly precious.

‘I’ve told Gilbert, Eugenia. It can’t be risked for a couple of years, at least.’

‘What does he say?’

‘He’ll talk to you. He agrees, of course. Now don’t take this badly, Eugenia. You have three children already.’

‘Just when I began to want a house full.’ She was full of pain.

‘Life is full of compromises.’

‘I know. I must be grateful. But after little Victoria I can’t help being nervous. The new baby reminds me so much of Victoria. If she doesn’t thrive I’ll insist on taking her to England.’

Doctor Noakes patted her shoulder.

‘They have a high child mortality in England, too, you know. We’re no worse off here. Better, if the truth be known. I don’t suppose you ever saw a London or a Liverpool slum.’

‘I’m not speaking of slums,’ Eugenia said. ‘I’m speaking of my own home.’

‘Of course. I was only generalizing. I have to talk to my wife in this way. She blames Australia, too.’

‘I ought to be ashamed of myself,’ Eugenia exclaimed in remorse. ‘Here I have three children, and I’m complaining.’

‘Complain as much as you like, my dear. This has been a shock. You’ve taken it very well. We simply can’t do without you, you know. You add a very great deal to the place.’

‘I do?’

‘Haven’t you any vanity either?’

‘I see my faults. Too many of them.’

‘Then start seeing your virtues. We do, I assure you.’

Did Gilbert see them, too? It seemed that he did, for he came to her with a lugubrious face.

‘You have given me the devil of a fright, Genia. We simply can’t risk anything like this again.’

She could only say that she was sorry to have been so stupid. Was it certain that it would happen again?

‘We’re not going to risk finding out.’ He knelt beside her, taking her hands. ‘Look at these. So thin. A puff of wind would blow you away at present.’

She had to blink back her tears.

‘Do you find me too delicate?’

‘To tell the truth I’m afraid of breaking you. And admit it, my love—’ his voice was blunt, ‘you have never cared much for that part of marriage, have you? I didn’t expect you to. Women of your kind don’t.’

‘That is a generalization.’ She tried to speak lightly, but the resentful words burst out. ‘I hate this bed alone.’

‘My dearest!’ He looked startled. ‘Are you still nervous of the dark?’

‘No. I am not nervous. But neither do I want to feel like a widow.’

He laughed, pressing her head against him.

‘We’re neither widow no widower, thank God. But for a few months—’ She remembered how once he had always forced her to look at him. Now he contented himself with stroking her hair. An aching tenderness dissolved her at his touch. She found she could not ask him how the new austerity would suit him. She was too afraid that the prospect suited him too well.

Once again she turned to her baby who had been called Lucy. Since she took a long time to grow strong, she liked to linger in bed in the mornings and have Ellen bring all the children to her.

Kit was growing out of his infant plumpness. He had a wiry thin body and a mop of blonde curls. Adelaide was learning to walk and was fiercely independent. She would make her own way to Mamma’s bedside and clamber on to the bed to play with the carved cupids.

Sometimes another small figure appeared at the door. It was Rosie. She knew she was forbidden to come up here. But at times the temptation was irresistible. She stood with her finger in her mouth staring until Ellen rounded on her and sent her packing. Downstairs, where she belonged.

Eugenia felt unkind, but the child was doing very well. She must realize that some things were forbidden.

For some reason the house was happier. Perhaps it was because of Lucy’s arrival. She was an enchanting baby, as pretty as a picture. Perhaps it was because Mrs Ashburton, sinking into a sleepy old age, had lost her querulous fault-finding tongue, and had become a great favourite of the children. She was a perfect subject for their pranks, for she never guessed that the hat that mysteriously moved across the floor had a kitten beneath it, or the masked face at her doorway was not that of an ogre. She could never win the games they played or guess their riddles. She amiably accepted their laughter at her stupidity and produced sweetmeats from her pockets and told them the fairy tales she had been told as a child. Had she
ever
been a child, they wondered? Fortunately they were not awake to see her uncertain progress up the stairs to bed after her customary half-bottle of claret with her dinner, and another later to help her sleep.