The Tartan Touch (18 page)

“Is it worth your while coming all this way?” I asked him politely.

He stopped counting his money and looked up at me, “The
C
ockies make it worth while,” he said.

I handed him the roll of notes that Andrew had given
me. “I want to put it on Birrahlee of Mirrabooka,” I said.

He shook his head at me. “You might as well kiss it goodbye! Not that I mind!” he added.

“No,” I assured him seriously. “It will be all right. You see, I’m riding him myself.”

Bridget looked ready to die
.
“This is Mrs. Fraser from Mirrabooka,” she muttered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her.

But the bookie ignored her, looking me up and down. “All right, Mrs. Fraser,” he said. “That’s forty dollars on the nose!”

I nodded demurely. “Why don’t you put something yourself on us?” I asked him.

He wiped his brow with an enormous handkerchief. Bridget plucked at my sleeve. “For heaven’s sake, Kirsty!”

“Reckon I will at that!” the bookie said. “Thanks for
the
tip, Mrs. Fraser.”

I smiled happily back at him. “It will be much nicer if everyone wins, won’t it?” I said.

“Too right it would!” he laughed. “But it doesn’t happen quite like that!”

“No,” I observed thoughtfully. “I can see that
.”

“Well, good on you!” Bridget said crossly. “Are you coming, Kirsty? You ought to go and get changed!”

“Yes, I’m coming,” I said.

The racecourse lay half a mile out of town, so I changed into my jeans
and the hated Fraser shirt before we scrambled back into the car to go out
there, The red, dusty track went close to the ‘pearling ground’, where
they had once mined for gold alluvial. Mounds of white quartz lay in the
sun, forgotten now by those who had made
the
m, and almost covered by
the red dust that flew everywhere as the cars went bade and forth. Beside
the road lay the Tabletops, two relics of a prehistoric plateau that had
once covered the area. They rose to some thirty feet of red laterite and were about the only feature that stood out in the dull landscape.

The grandstand was a permanency—a fact of which we were all extremely proud, even though some of us wondered how it stood up from year to year. In front of it lay the oval track, bright and crunchy under the horses’ hooves. Above the sun beat down on all o
f
us, stifling the small breeze that played here and there across the plain.

I went straight away to find Birrahlee, wondering if he was as nervous as I. Mary was walking him slowly up and down, looking as white as a sheet, with her freckles standing out like orange spots on her face.

“Have you changed your mind that we’ll win?” I asked her immediately, my mind on the forty dollars I had left with the bookie.

She shook her head, her skin looking greyer and more transparent by the second
.

“What is it, then?” I inquired gently.

The tears started into her eyes and her shoulders slumped.

“He hasn’t come!” she moaned.

“Of course he’s come!” I said, bewildered. “He drove Miss Rowlatt and me here in the Holden.”

But Mary only shook her head. “Not
Andrew
!”
she exclaimed miserably. “Frank! Frank Connor!” The tears spilled out of her eyes and down her cheeks. “He promised he’d be here today! He
promised
!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“
WHO
?”

“Frank Connor. You met him in London, remember?”

“Oh yes!” I said. “I liked him.”

Mary cried harder than ever. “He
promised
!”

“But does he write to you?” I asked with disapproval.

“Oh, Kirsty, you know he does!”

“I know nothing of the sort!” I said stiffly. “What would Andrew say?”

“Andy
knows
!”
Mary exclaimed impatiently
. I
thought she looked quite ill with unhappiness.

“He can’t know!” I breathed. “Mary, aren’t you in love with him?”

She looked completely defeated. “I’ve loved him ever since I can remember,” she said flatly. “And for just as long everyone has been telling me that I’m too young for him! But I’m not! I can’t live without him
!
”

I was as pale now as she. “He’s waiting for you to come of age,” I burst out
.

“How do you know?” she demanded. “He couldn’t be so silly! The difference in our ages won’t grow any less!”

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to make the decision for you,” I said coldly.

Mary laughed briefly, crying at the same time. “That’s good!” she said. “But if anyone makes the decision it will be Andrew. I have to have my guardian’s consent. And
he
doesn’t mind!”

My knees buckled and I sat down in a hurry. “Is it Frank Connor you’re wanting to marry?” I asked her.

She tossed her flaming hair impatien
tl
y. “Of course it is! D’you think I want to marry
Andy
?”

That was, of course, exactly what I had thought!

“But Andy is in love with you!” I protested feebly.

“Nonsense!” she returned brusquely. “Andy likes me well enough as a
k
ind of niece—he’d go mad if he had me for a wife!”

“Do you think so?” I asked, intrigued.

She wiped the tears off her pale face. “Oh, Kirsty, don’t be silly
!
”

That shook me a little bit
.
Silly!
I tried to still the trembling that had seized me.
C
ould it, just possibly, be true?

“But how could you?” I demanded hotly.

“How could I what?” Mary asked, sniffing miserably.

“Want to marry Frank Connor, when there’s
Andrew
?”

Her laughter mixed with her tears and I thought she was going to choke. “I thought you knew,” she said at last.

“I did too,” I sighed,

“You
seemed
to know!”

I felt unaccountably sad. “Has it always been Frank Connor?” I asked her.

“
Always
.”

“And Andrew has always known?”

“Of course. It was he who talked me into some sort of resignation when Frank took off for England. Mother kept saying how young I am and he got cold feet and went all noble and said I had to have time to think—”

“Well, he is a bit older than you,” I said reasonably. “Maybe he wanted time to think too.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mary admitted on a sob. “Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t come? Because he’s changed his mind!”

I shook my head. “It’s too early to despair,” I said. “Why don’t you look for him after the race?”

Mary searched erratically for a handkerchief. “I wanted to stand beside him by the winning post when you came in first!” she exclaimed. “He hasn’t got a horse running today. It would have been so
fine
!”

“I suppose it would,” I said uncertainly
.

There was a long silence between us. Then a curious tension crept into Mary’s body and she stared at me, her green eyes free of any further tears.

“Kirsty dear,” she said softly, “what on earth did you think Andy was playing at?”

I blushed. “Waiting for you to come of age,” I said matter-of-factly.

“But why?” She blinked.
“
Andrew
?”

“There’s the property,” I explained.

“Oh, my word, was that it?” she exclaimed. “But Andrew wouldn’t fool around waiting for me to come of age! He
knows
he’s a fine catch! He wouldn’t have bothered about my feelings if he had wanted me. He never considers
anyone’s
feelings,” she added admiringly.

But he had, I thought. He had considered mine—and he had been gentle.

“And when I had come of age, what then?” she went on indignantly.

“I should have been free,” I told her. “He promised he would pay for any training I wanted.”

“Big deal!”

“It is when one has nothing,” I reminded her. “I was grateful. Though,” I remembered fiercely, “I still think he might have said he was sorry that my father was lying there dead and waiting to be buried!”

To my consternation Mary began to laugh. “And you really thought that Andrew would let you go?” she asked me.

I nodded my head, puzzled, “Why should he want me to stay?”

She chuckled again. “Now that would be telling!” she said.

I didn’t try to sort out her meaning, for the loudspeakers blared and then a voice announced the start of the first race.

“I must talk to Birrahlee before the race,” I said. “I want him to get it into his head how important it is for him to win!”

Mary grinned. “Has Andy put a lot of money on it?” she asked cheekily.

“I don’t know,” I said grimly, “but I have forty dollars!”

“Kirsty! How could you?” she demanded in mock disapproval. “A
whole
forty dollars?”

“I borrowed twenty from Andrew,” I confessed, shamefaced. “I borrowed it against what he will pay me next week
.
”

The pale, lost look had gone from Mary’s face and her freckles no longer looked foreign to her face. She gave me a curious look and then she said suddenly, “You know, Kirsty, you’ve given me something to think about. There’s my share of the mine and Mirrabooka, whether I like it or not. Frank is always going on about it too. You know, I think I’d rather just be Mrs. Frank Connor and have a share in
his
station. Is that silly? I think I’ll g
i
ve my share of Mirrabooka away!”

“To Andrew?” I demanded. I knew that he would never accept it.

Mary shook her head. “It crossed my mind to give it to you,” she began slowly, “but that would spoil Andy’s fun! No, I think I’ll give it to Mother
.
”

I hugged her happily. “Oh, do, Mary!” I exclaimed enthusiastically. “Why don’t you go and tell her at once!” I hugged her again. “Only—”

“Only what?” she asked, her g
r
een eves glinting in the sunlight.

“Don’t make her feel that she has to be
grateful
!”

“Darling Kirsty!” she said with real pleasure. “I won’t!” She
hesitated.
“Only
what
shall I do if Frank doesn’t want me after all?”

A giggle caught in the back of my throat. “Plead poverty!” I suggested
!
“
He won’t be able to resist that!”

“If he comes!” Mary sighed.

“He’ll come,” I said with certainty. He had to come, because suddenly I was happier than I had ever been in my whole life, and I couldn’t bear it unless everybody else was happy too.
Andrew hadn’t been waiting for Mary to grow up!
He couldn’t have been, because he knew all about her romance with Frank Connor! And that was something to be happy about!

The first race had started. I heard
the
thunder of the horses’ hooves as they tore along the crumbled laterite surface of the track. My heart sang its own rhythm to
wh
ich the noise of cheering was a mere accompaniment. There was only one thing needed to make the whole complete and that was for Birrahlee to win his race for Mirrabooka.

“I
must go and get ready,” I said to Mary.

She winked at me. “Good luck!” she wished me
.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

Birrahlee was badly irritated by the flies. I wiped him down with a damp cloth to ease him from their bites. He even allowed me to wipe his nose and flaring nostrils, grateful for the attention.

“Birrahlee,
bodach,
old man, you see how important it is! We must do it for Andrew!”

The horse snorted. The flies gathered round the horses in increasing numbers. They were beginning to bother me too. They were so persistent. I would brush them away from my eyes and mouth, but they took no notice, fluttering back as my hand moved. I could sympathise with those who wore bobbing corks round the brims of their hats to keep the plaguey things away.

“Kirsty, you have to report to the stewards,” Bridget came over to tell me. “Shall I hold the horse for you?” I handed him over with reluctance. I wanted to keep on talking to him. The great mullock might take it into his head not to try and there would be nothing that I could do about it!

Andrew was waiting for me by the home-made saddling enclosure
.
He smiled w
hen
he saw me and I was quite overcome with sheer pleasure.

“I see you’ve got Bridie working for you,” he drawled.

“I had to see the stewards,” I explained importantly. “Bridget
offered
to look after Birrahlee.”

“I expect she’s got her shirt riding on his back,” he said unsympathetically.

For some reason the mention of the word shirt made me blush. “They—they don’t seem to mind a woman riding,” I said hurriedly.

“It has some advantages,” he explained. “Most of the men round here are too heavy to make good jockeys
.
Besides, women are prettier. Mirrabooka never had a better-looking jockey!”

“Not even Mary?” I asked shyly.

He looked me straight in the eyes. “Reckon she’d rather ride under another label,” he said.

I was about to exclaim that she would have to be mad to prefer any other station to Mirrabooka when I remembered that she did. If she rode for anyone, it would be for Frank Connor!

“Is—is Bridget’s brother home yet?” I asked him, pretending that I had only just thought that he might be there.

“He’ll be around,” he said indifferently.

He mounted me on his hand and I sat up on Birrahlee as proud as a peacock. Andrew led us slowly round the enclosed space and I was glad then that I was wearing the Fraser tartan, and sat up very straight to show it off to the best advantage. I had the hat he had given me, rammed on to my head and held in place by a leather strap under my chin. It no longer looked brand new and I felt a real Australian in it, which was confusing, for I was as Scottish as the glen where I had been
born
. It was Andrew who was the Australian.

Then, suddenly, everything seemed to happen at once, and Birrahlee and I were cantering up the track towards the start, the hot sun blazing down on our backs.

“Now look, Birrahlee,” I said to him, “this is
it
! Never mind the flies and never mind anything else! We’ve got to do it!”

I glanced nervously at the competition. There were a couple of station brumbies, entered by the local Cockies, and one or two racehorses who had never proved themselves quite good enough to be taken to Perth, or even to Melbourne. None of them looked much competition for Birrahlee. But then, just as we were turning, a lone horse came up the course towards us, his jockey wearing real silk and looking, to my mind, quite out of place here at Cue. But the horse was something else! Birrahlee stumbled beneath me and I very nearly came off. I grasped the pommel of my saddle and regained my balance.