Lillipilly Hill (9 page)

Had Harriet walked alone again with Aidan that morning, her conscience would probably have forced her into telling him all about Charles's plan, thereby
giving him a chance to avoid the coming fight, or at least prepare himself for it. But today Mr Wilmot decided to walk, leaving Boz to drive, with the two girls squeezed into a space meant for one.

‘Couldn't I walk home, Mother?' pleaded Harriet. ‘It's so hot like this.'

‘I haven't heard you complain of the heat before, Harriet,' said her mother. ‘It's much more suitable for young ladies to ride than to walk. I only wish we could have a real carriage, with room enough for all of us.'

Poor Mrs Wilmot was trying very hard to like her new surroundings, knowing that her husband wished to make Lillipilly Hill their permanent home. But she could not help but find it strange to be driving to church in a somewhat ancient open buggy, with a hard leather seat, under a blazing sun whose heat seemed to grow no less fierce although it was already autumn. Autumn, however, meant little here where the trees were almost all ever-greens, and in any case, how could one associate early April with any season but spring?

Word had been passed around that the Wilmots were to make their first appearance at the church that morning, and the tiny stone building was quite full as the family walked in single file to their pew at the front. Heads turned openly as they passed, and many a feminine gaze was directed at Mrs Wilmot's bright
blue taffeta gown, with its fashionable tulle overskirt, and her small beribboned hat. Harriet glimpsed a few familiar faces—Bill and Annie Mackenzie sat with their parents, and Paddy Tolly, in his best suit, accompanied his mother, a fat, comfortable-looking woman who knew the entire family history of everyone in the district.

Charles and his mother were just across the aisle from the Wilmots, and the grin that Charles gave to Harriet was that of a fellow-conspirator. Harriet tried to concentrate on the service, but occasionally she would glance sideways at Aidan, so handsome and tidy in his Sunday clothes, and think of the burly Paddy only a few yards away. It hardly seemed a fair match.

‘I'll speak to Charles afterwards,' Harriet decided, fumbling through the hymn-book to find the place, ‘and tell him I've changed my mind about the fight.'

As they left the church, however, they were met by a small reception committee of Barley Creek folk, led by Mrs Tolly.

‘We've been wanting to say how-d'ye-do,' said the storekeeper, beaming. ‘We've not had a chance so far. But we've heard all about you from the children at school. Paddy here sits on the same bench as your boy, don't you, Paddy?'

Paddy muttered something unintelligible, and
escaped to the farthest corner of the churchyard. Harriet looked round for Charles, only to see him climbing through the fence that divided the church from the Rectory. Mrs Tolly's voice flowed evenly on, while Mrs Wilmot made polite rejoinders, and Mr Mackenzie took it upon himself to explain to Mr Wilmot just what Lillipilly Hill needed in the way of agricultural development. The children shifted from foot to foot, longing to be off, until a remark of Mr Mackenzie's finally caught their attention.

‘And another thing,' said the postmaster. ‘There's a rumour of a bushranger being in the district. I don't believe it myself—hasn't been a bushranger here for about ten years. There's not enough in it for them now that most of the big mills have shut down, and the roads have opened up the district. But better keep your doors locked, and your stock penned in.'

‘Our stock consists of two cows and one horse,' said Mr Wilmot with a rueful smile. ‘Still, I'll take your advice—we can't afford to lose them.'

‘And do please call on us whenever you wish,' added his wife, moving gradually towards the waiting buggy. ‘We are seldom away from home. Come along, children.'

Harriet had forgotten Aidan and Paddy for the time being. In the buggy she turned eagerly to Boz.

‘Boz, do you think it's true about the bushranger? Mr Mackenzie said he'd heard of one. What do bush-rangers
do
?'

‘Gee-up, there!' Boz called to Barrel, who did not alter his leisurely pace in the least. ‘I reckon there ain't any bushranger within fifty mile of here. Wilsons out on Deacon's Flat Road lost a few chickens, and someone else lost some apples off their trees, but that could've been swaggies.'

‘Do bushrangers ride big black horses, and rob rich people to help the poor?' asked Harriet hopefully.

Boz uttered a sort of grunt which was his only form of laughter.

‘Not on your life! Just common thieves, they are, and born to be hung, most of 'em. Cut your throat for two-pence, more than likely.'

‘Really, Harriet, this hardly seems a subject for you to be discussing,' said Mrs Wilmot. ‘You're frightening Rose-Ann.'

‘Everything frightens
her
,' muttered Harriet rebelliously, deciding to question Boz further when he was alone in the cowshed. The rest of the drive was made in silence, broken only by Boz's whistling of some tune which might or might not have been
The Wild Colonial Boy.

After the midday meal, a lengthy affair involving a leg of lamb—the only fresh meat served during the week—and some of Polly's stickiest treacle tart, Harriet felt too sleepy to do anything more energetic than retire to the side veranda with
Treasure Island
. It was tea-time before she thought again of Aidan and the fight, and by that time her conscience had been dulled. On Sundays Aidan stayed up to have supper with his parents, so Harriet went to bed without having mentioned Charles's plan to anyone.

‘After all,' she told herself drowsily, as she lay in bed listening to the mournful night-song of a mopoke, ‘I can always tell him in the morning. That will be time enough.'

6

The Scheme that Failed

Aidan was not in an approachable mood next morning. The quiet Saturday and Sunday, with their generous opportunities for the reading and idling which he so much enjoyed, had been greatly to his taste. By contrast, Monday had nothing to offer but further dreary, lonely hours of school, and the contempt of his schoolfellows. Too proud by far to show his sisters how miserable he was, he stalked ahead of them down the hill, his books clutched tightly to his chest.

‘It's a lovely morning,' said Harriet tentatively, skipping down beside him.

Indeed it was. The sky had suddenly lost its harshness, and the wind from the south breathed a seasonable
coolness. It ruffled the plumes of the tree-ferns, and set the shadowed creek dancing over the pebbles of the ford. A Jacky Winter hopped and sang cheerfully beside the path; Rose-Ann searched her pinafore pocket for crumbs, and lingered to watch him gather them.

‘I suppose it is,' said Aidan indifferently. ‘All the mornings seem the same here.'

‘Oh, but they're not—' began Harriet, then stopped. This was not the time to be argumentative. She went on, in sudden inspiration: ‘Don't you feel well? Shall I go back and tell Mother you ought to stay at home?'

‘Of course not,' said Aidan crossly. ‘Do stop fussing, Harriet. I'm quite all right. You don't usually worry about my health.'

‘But I
am
worried,' insisted Harriet. ‘I just have a queer feeling that you shouldn't go to school today.'

Aidan stopped and turned to look at her.

‘Why?' he demanded suspiciously.

Harriet refused to meet the accusing stare of her brother's clear, blue eyes.

‘I don't know,' she mumbled. ‘You might get into trouble, or get hurt, or something.'

‘You're being ridiculous,' said Aidan scornfully. ‘It will be just another dull old day, with no one decent to talk to.'

‘There's Charles, don't forget,' said Harriet. ‘You like Charles, don't you?'

‘Yes,' answered Aidan, without enthusiasm. Charles, he felt, was more likely to be friendly with Bill or Paddy than with him—the Barley Creek boys had much more in common with the minister's son than did the studious youth newly arrived from England.

‘Charles likes
you
,' said Harriet, feeling a little desperate now, for the schoolhouse was already in sight. ‘He wants to help you.'

‘I don't want anyone's help, thank you,' said Aidan coldly, and walked rapidly away.

Harriet sighed. She knew she could have been more tactful, but discretion was not her strong point. And Aidan had been even more prickly than she had expected. All she could do now was stand back and wait.

She did not have to wait long. At break Charles came up to her with a look of triumph on his round, brown face.

‘It's all arranged. It was a bit difficult, but I managed it. The fight's on after school this afternoon, in the clearing at the back of Tolly's. Bill's to be in charge.'

‘Whatever did you say to Aidan?' asked Harriet, glancing round for her brother, who was nowhere in sight.

‘I just told him Paddy wanted to fight him—that's true enough, isn't it?—and where Paddy would be at four o'clock. He'll have to come.'

‘I wish we hadn't done it,' said Harriet miserably. ‘It seems so mean, now.'

‘Of course it's not,' declared Charles. ‘It's the best thing that could happen. Aidan won't get hurt at all—you'll see.'

But how was she to see? This was the problem which beset Harriet all morning, so seriously that her lessons were neglected, and Mr Burnie stood her out in front of the class for ten minutes, as a penalty for being inattentive.

As soon as the morning classes were over, Harriet consulted Rose-Ann. Harriet knew that their first music lesson with Mrs Farmer had been arranged for that afternoon, but she had not been sufficiently interested to find out all the details.

‘What time do we have to be at the Rectory, Rose-Ann?'

‘Half past two,' said her sister. ‘Mrs Farmer will give us each half an hour, then Polly will come and take us home.'

Trailing along the dusty road, watching Aidan striding silently ahead, Harriet set her ready mind to work.

‘Let's see, then—if we made each lesson last longer than half an hour, and kept Polly waiting a little, we could leave the Rectory just before four o'clock. I wonder how long the fight will take?'

‘What
are
you talking about?' demanded Rose-Ann.

‘Aidan's fighting Paddy Tolly after school today,' Harriet explained. ‘And we
must
see it.'

Rose-Ann gaped at her.

‘Why must we? I don't want to, not a bit. However did poor Aidan get into a fight?'

‘Never mind that,' said Harriet impatiently. ‘We have to be there, to cheer Aidan on. We're his sisters, aren't we? Now listen, Rose-Ann—you must play all the pieces you know for Mrs Farmer, and I'll make lots of mistakes. That should make the lessons last longer. Then we'll watch the fight, and go home by the back way, up the hill. Dinny showed it to me, and it's much quicker.'

As always, Rose-Ann became a reluctant partner to Harriet in her well-laid scheme. To Mrs Farmer's mild surprise, Rose-Ann went through her entire repertoire of piano pieces, including several which she had not yet completely mastered.

‘I thought she was such a quiet, retiring little thing,' Mrs Farmer remarked afterwards to her husband. ‘But
she almost insisted on playing everything she knew—she even gave me some pieces twice. Fortunately she plays quite nicely—not like poor Harriet. That child will never be musical.'

It was not at all difficult for Harriet to make mistakes that afternoon. She was not at the best of times an accomplished performer, and today, with the thought of Aidan's ordeal continually on her mind, she alternately rushed and stumbled through her pieces in a manner that made Mrs Farmer shudder. While Rose-Ann sat at the piano, rendering a Haydn minuet, with her fair, curly head bent over the keyboard, and the tip of her tongue protruding as a sign of intense concentration, Harriet perched on the edge of an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair, staring at what was visible of the outside world between the heavy green plush curtains of the sitting-room window. How was Aidan feeling now? Was Paddy leering at him over his book? Would Bill Mackenzie see that all was fair and properly conducted?

‘Excuse me, Mrs Farmer,' she said politely, suddenly noticing a familiar figure on the front path, ‘would you mind if I went out and told Polly we might be a little late?'

‘Certainly you may go and speak to Polly,' said Mrs Farmer. ‘But there is no need for you to be late. You have had your full time.'

‘Couldn't we play our duet for you?' asked Harriet. ‘Polly won't mind waiting.'

Rose-Ann plunged dutifully into a Mozart waltz as Harriet hurried outside. It did not take her long to explain the situation to Polly, nor was Polly slow to offer her help.

‘You mean our Aidan's fighting that fat Tolly boy? I always hoped he would. Of course we must all go and cheer for him—don't you worry. You go back to your pianner, and I'll go and talk to Sarah.'

Sarah, the Rectory maid, was a girl of Polly's own age, and she could be depended upon to provide a cup of tea and plenty of gossip for her friend. It was ten minutes to four when Mrs Farmer finally rose from her chair beside the piano.

‘You girls really must go home now. It's growing quite late. And don't forget to practise your scales and exercises—you especially, Harriet.'

The township was very quiet as Polly and her charges made their way back to the school. Mrs Tolly was sitting in the slanting sunlight at the front door of the store, which was empty of customers.

‘What's happened to all the schoolchildren?' she demanded of Polly. ‘Store's always full of 'em at this time of day.'

‘Must of found something else to do,' said Polly cheerfully. ‘Come on, girls.'

They followed the road well past the schoolhouse, then turned aside into the scrub. The noisy chatter of a dozen young voices guided them to a leaf-strewn clearing among the gums and wattles. Most of Mr Burnie's pupils had come to see the fray, and had perched themselves in a rough circle on stumps and fallen branches. Dinny was there, with a small brother on either side, and Charles leant against a blackbutt, talking earnestly with Bill.