Dorothy Eden (32 page)

‘He has an obsessive nature,’ Mrs Ashburton replied enigmatically.

‘Oh, you mean his passion for his vineyard. I have accepted that. I realize it will always come first with him.’

‘It doesn’t need to, my dear.’

‘But it will,’ Eugenia said hopelessly. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘And I so long to go home.’

Mrs Ashburton patted her hand. Eugenia noticed how the rings cut into the old lady’s swollen flesh.

‘I know, child, I know. Although sometimes I suspect you confuse homesickness with another thing altogether. But don’t blame me for this state of affairs. If I didn’t help Gilbert he would find other means. Much better to be in debt to me. And it’s time you realized that you didn’t only marry a man, you married a country. For better or for worse. Eh, my dear?’

E
UGENIA HAD NOT BEEN
to Sydney since that ill-fated journey when little Victoria had died in her absence. Before that tragedy, there had been the terrifying events of her wedding journey. She could not help associating the trip with disaster.

Now, however, the recently knighted Governor, Sir Richard Bourke, was returning to England and a farewell ball was being given in his honour. It was unthinkable, Gilbert said, that they should not attend.

‘We’ll leave on Saturday and return a week later. You can buy yourself some new clothes in Sydney. A ball gown in the latest fashion.’

His assumption that the untidy colonial town would have the latest fashions, as well as his irresponsibility about money, jerked her out of her worry about leaving the children, and also about the possibility of meeting Colm again, a prospect that both elated and alarmed her. She turned on him, scolding.

‘How can you suggest such a thing! We have no money except Mrs Ashburton’s. I imagined that was for more important things than clothes.’

Gilbert shook his head impatiently.

‘You’re too honest for this catch-as-catch-can country. You say that your new maid is a good needlewoman. Then see what she can do with your clothes if you won’t agree to buying new ones.’

Once he would have said that he wanted to show her off. He was growing out of those small courtesies.

But he did want her to shine, even if he didn’t say so, for he supervised her packing, and insisted on studying every detail of the gown which she and Emmy concocted from a length of French brocade, bought at a bargain price in Parramatta.

Finally he said, as she revolved before him,

‘I think you were right after all, Genia. You don’t need to worry about fashion. You can make your own.’

‘You may think so, but the Sydney ladies won’t,’ Eugenia said worriedly, fingering the low-cut neck. Was it too low? It was exactly as in the fashions in the English journals sent by Sarah.

‘Who cares about the Sydney ladies?’ Gilbert’s eyes were approving. He only called her Genia when he was pleased. ‘You look fine to me. Don’t forget your diamonds.’

Three days later Mrs Jarvis watched them drive off, Eugenia laying her gloved hand on her husband’s arm as the buggy swayed round a curve, Emmy and Tom Sloan in the back to mind the baggage and the crates of Yarrabee 1830 claret, a vintage that had so far not been surpassed.

Her eyes narrowed as the equipage was lost in a cloud of dust. She stood a few moments longer, a pleasant figure with her well-rounded bosom, her luxuriant fair hair parted in smooth curves over each side of the forehead. There was a far-off look in her eyes, as if she were wondering what it would be like to be driving off to Sydney to a week of gaiety, to be wearing elegant clothes, and to being, as Mrs Massingham always was, the centre of attention.

But she didn’t linger long to watch the dispersing cloud of dust. No one need think that discipline would be relaxed because the master and mistress were away.

A flicker of pink caught her eye in the acacia tree.

‘Rosie! Why aren’t you in the schoolroom?’

Her daughter was still a moment, then guiltily slid out of the tree.

‘Mammie, Kit said—’

‘Kit needn’t think, because his mother’s away, that he can do as he pleases. It’s half past nine and Miss Higgins will be waiting for you both.’

‘But Kit’s mother said he could have a holiday today.’

‘That doesn’t mean that you can.’

The child pouted rebelliously. ‘It isn’t fair. I don’t like to learn to read
all
the time.’

‘But you’re going to, my lamb. To please your Mammie.’

It was pleasant, after all, to be in Sydney again. The changes were enormous. There were many more streets built with small neat brick or sandstone houses. In the centre of the town some fine public buildings had been erected. The harbour was full of vessels of all sizes from four-masted schooners to the little rowing boats that took people on pleasure expeditions. Carriages rattled down the dusty streets. There was a constant hubbub that was exhilarating after living so long in the country. Eugenia noticed the many new and thriving shops, the improved quality and variety of merchandise, and the modish clothes the women wore.

She was agreeably surprised by the comfort of the hotel. The bedroom reserved for Gilbert and herself was large and cool, the linen immaculate, the washstand and dressing table contained everything she could need. When she pulled the bellrope, a polite cheerful chambermaid came and indicated her willingness to do anything required. Water for a bath in the flowered tub behind the screen, a tea tray with freshly brewed tea and freshly baked cakes, travel-soiled clothes removed for laundering and ironing. Anything for Eugenia’s comfort seemed possible.

‘Happy, my love?’ Gilbert enquired in the pleasant unemotional voice that he all to frequently used to her. They scarcely even quarrelled now, for he would not be drawn. She supposed, unhappily, that there was no zest to quarrelling with someone for whom he no longer had any passion.

The old guilt nagged at her.

And alarmingly it wasn’t yet finished with. Or so she learned from Bess Kelly.

Bess had got comfortably fat. Edmund had prospered and they now lived in a larger house in a more fashionable part of the town. Tom was away at school. The girls were cheerful and plain, with colonial accents. (Adelaide should never be permitted to speak like that.)

‘Well, I declare, Eugenia. We were all discussing whether you would have got countrified, but we might have known better.’

‘Nonsense! I can’t pretend to keep up with the latest fashions.’

‘Yes, there’ll be some showy dressing at the ball. But I don’t imagine you’ll pass unnoticed. Gilbert wouldn’t allow you to. Is he just as proud of you as ever?’

‘Well, yes, I believe I come somewhere between Yarrabee and his wine, and his children.’

‘Was that a cynical tone in your voice, Eugenia? Have you and Gilbert quarrelled?’ Bess looked uneasy. There was something distrait in her manner. She had curtly told the children to leave the room.

‘Naturally we have, now and then,’ Eugenia answered. ‘Don’t all husbands and wives? Why do you ask?’

‘Only—there are rumours—people have evil tongues.’

‘Dear Bess! What are you trying to tell me?’

‘That Irishman who painted your portrait. He talks when he’s had too much brandy. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to. He’s perfectly charming when he’s sober.’

Eugenia flushed, then went pale.

‘He’s in Sydney?’

‘Yes. They say his book’s to be published soon and that it’s a valuable record of Australian flora and fauna. But he won’t be at the ball, so you don’t need to worry about that embarrassment.’

‘He wasn’t invited?’

‘Not with his—unpredictable behaviour.’

Eugenia gave a faint sad smile. ‘That’s a charitable way of putting it, Bess. But I imagine there will be plenty of Australian or English or Irish gentlemen at the ball whose behaviour won’t be entirely predictable. I haven’t noticed a marked tendency to sobriety in this country, not even excluding my own husband.’

‘So long as you don’t still care for him,’ Bess murmured.

‘Care for whom?’ Eugenia’s chin was in the air. ‘Mr O’Connor?’

‘He’s supposed to have said something about letters he has,’ Bess said uneasily. ‘I just hope they won’t get exhibited around.’

Eugenia hid her shock, although she couldn’t speak for a moment.

‘Then they mustn’t be allowed to, must they?’

‘I thought I should warn you. You might hear it from a less charitable source. This town’s a dreadful place for gossip.’

Eugenia straightened her shoulders. She found that she was very tired from the long journey, after all. Her heart was throbbing uncomfortably.

‘I expect all towns are full of gossip. It will be all right. Colm is a gentleman.’

‘When he’s sober,’ Bess said. ‘Which isn’t often.’ Reluctantly she added, ‘I must say this to you, Eugenia. You’ll have to do more than depend on his being a gentleman.’

Eugenia’s eyes widened. ‘Are you telling me I ought to ask him for my letters back?’

‘It would be wisest, love.’

‘See him!’

‘I’d come with you if you want me to. We could take the carriage and drive round the bays. You ought to see them. They’re very pretty. Rose Bay, Double Bay, Rushcutters Bay.’

‘Colm told me he lived in a shack.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen it from a distance. It’s not much of a place. Lonely. Sam can look after the horses while we walk down to the beach for half an hour.’

‘Sam?’

‘We have a coachman now,’ Bess said with pride. ‘He’s a surly old fellow, but he doesn’t gossip. Anyway, he’ll only think we want to get a breath of sea air.’

‘You have this all arranged!’

‘Edmund told me to,’ Bess confessed. ‘He said it would be an awful pity if this gossip flared up while you and Gilbert are in Sydney. You’re such an innocent, Eugenia. You’ve been too sheltered all your life. You don’t know how mean people can be, especially if they’re jealous. And I can assure you the ladies here—if you can call them ladies—will be jealous. The men, too. I know Gilbert’s having trouble with his vineyards, but he cuts such a figure. You’re both such assets to the colony, and I love you. I won’t let you be in the middle of a wicked scandal, especially one caused by a drunken Irishman.’

‘That’s what Gilbert called him. You’re on Gilbert’s side, Bess.’

‘Oh, you silly little innocent, I’m on both your sides. Marriage is for a lifetime, you know. So you ought to give it a chance to be happy. If you have to have a lover, wait until you’re older, at least.’

Eugenia tried to laugh.

‘Bess! You so worldly!’

‘Well, worldly is a thing you are not, my dear. It’s time you woke up.’

‘I have. Can’t you see I’m no longer young and naïve? It was only because I was homesick for so long.’ Her eyes were anguished. ‘Colm understood. I took refuge in those letters not thinking what I was doing to him. It preys on me that I’ve driven him back to drinking.’

Bess shook her head, her eyes cynical.

‘You don’t know much about the curse of strong drink either, do you?’

‘Don’t despise me, Bess.’

‘I don’t despise you. I despise Colm O’Connor for taking advantage of an innocent.’

‘I think he’s an innocent, too.’

‘Then it’s time he also woke up. I’ll call for you at your hotel tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock. Tell Gilbert I’m taking you driving.’

‘Must
I
do it?’ Eugenia asked painfully.

‘No one else can. Can they?’

Though Eugenia tensely and nervously kept her ears alert she heard no other whisper of this scandal. There was a dinner at Vaucluse that night. Eugenia and Gilbert were welcomed warmly and given flattering attention. Eugenia thought that Marion Noakes kept rather persistently and protectively at her side, making her tart amusing comments, and that Mrs Wentworth sometimes darted her an anxious glance. But the conversation remained on safe general topics, the state of the colony, unsubstantiated rumours of a gold strike, the type of immigrants who were arriving in constantly increasing numbers, the possibility of the cessation of convict transportation. And children and schools and servants and fashions.

The dream that had kept her at her writing desk was far away and insubstantial, the necessity of a meeting with Colm O’Connor a fact she had to face.

For once she was glad that the gentlemen spent so much time commiserating with Gilbert on the ruin of his harvest, and expressing their admiration for his stubborn determination to continue when so many vignerons were giving up. They appreciated his wine, sniffing it, holding it up to the candlelight, rolling it over their tongues. It was exactly the kind of evening Gilbert enjoyed. He was in the greatest of good humour when they returned to the hotel, but the rather substantial amount of wine he had consumed had made him lethargic: He undressed and fell into bed and was instantly asleep. Weariness made Eugenia sleep, too. Although she woke once in the night, crying from a sad dream that she couldn’t remember.

But the next day shock and pity had taken the place of tears.

The shack was truly a shack. It must have been one of the earliest dwellings erected in Botany Bay, its earthen walls sagging and cracking, its roof a piece of rusty iron.

Eugenia lost courage and could not knock at the door, and it was Bess who rapped briskly for her.

After a long interval a blurred voice called, ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’

Bess nudged Eugenia sharply.

‘Tell him.’

There was no need, for a moment later the door opened and a scarecrow figure stood blinking in the light. Haggard, unkempt, distressingly thin, aged beyond belief.

Eugenia cried, ‘Colm!’ in a shocked whisper.

Colm straightened himself, with a shadow of his old dignity, then sketched a bow.

‘Mrs Massingham! To what do I owe the honour?’

‘Colm, you look so ill.’

‘Not ill, ma’am. Just dissipated.’

‘Let me come in.’

He stood across the doorway, swaying a little.

‘Not fit for a lady in here.’

‘Oh, hush that nonsense. I’m coming in.’

Bess protested, taking her arm, but Eugenia impatiently shook it off.

‘You stay outside, Bess. I won’t be long.’