“I went down to the horses …” I could hear his explanations.
“When I came back she was lying there dead … strangled … or shot.
There were bush rangers in the neighbourhood . Some jewels she was wearing were missing . so was some money she had . ” Or: ” She was not accustomed to riding in rough country. I’d given her lessons in England but this was different. She took a toss. I saw that her neck was broken . so I buried her close to the burned-out inn. “
Had he wanted to make love to me? Perhaps. Ben had implied that he was something of a rake. To make love and then to kill. There were people like that.
O God, help me, I whispered and I thought: again I am asking Him when I’m in trouble. It’s the only time I pray, so what help can I expect ?
There was something about this place. Was it the dark, the pungent smell, was it the eeriness? My father had stayed here. Where was he now? Perhaps he was dead and his spirit haunted the place and he was warning me now. After all, I was his daughter.
Had Joss really gone to see the horses or would he come creeping up behind me. Nonsense, I told myself, this man is your husband.
My husband who was forced to marry me because he would gain a good deal if he did and lose it if he didn’t. He stood to keep everything and my share too if he disposed of me. I started. Footsteps, slow, stealthy, creeping up to the inn-and not from the direction of the river.
I was on my feet. I was at the door, crouching there. What was left of the door creaked as it was pushed open.
A man stepped into the inn. I heard his quick intake of breath, then he said: “Good God.”
I cried out and he spun round. I thought I was dreaming for it was David Croissant.
Mr. Croissant. ” I stammered. He stared at me.
“What… in God’s name…” I said: The inn was burned out. Joss and I had planned to stay here. “
Why, it’s Mrs. Madden. It gets stranger than ever. So you’re here.
Where’s Joss? We heard Joss coming then and David Croissant called out to him.
There were explanations. He had caught a ship in Cape Town about a week after he had seen us. He was on his way to the Fancy and had planned to stay at Trant’s.
“I was hoping for a plate of Ethel’s stew,” he said.
“My horses have had just about enough for today.”
“Strange you should turn up,” said Joss.
“We saw your name in an old register we found here.”
“Not surprising. I often stayed here. The most comfortable homestead for miles round. I wonder what became of poor James and Ethel.”
“I’ll show you where I’ve put our horses,” said Joss.
“Ifs a good spot. What have you got in your saddlebags?”
“We’ll see,” said David Croissant, and he went down to the water with Joss leading the way.
My feeling was one of immense relief because I was no longer alone with my husband.
It was not long before the two men were back from the horses and Joss made a fire and boiled a billy-can of tea. David produced cold chicken and Johnny cakes and we all ate, ravenously.
David talked as we ate about the many times he had stayed at the Trant Homestead.
“Used to make a regular thing of it. I stayed here once with Desmond Dereham. I wonder what happened to him and where he went with the Green Flash. His name will never be forgotten.”
“Not while people remember that Fancy Town was really named for him.”
“Ah, Desmond’s Fancy. That was what it was called, Mrs. Madden, before they got to work on it. That was before he’d stolen the Plash and disgraced himself. I’d like to know what happened to him and the stone. An opal like that shouldn’t be allowed to fall into oblivion in my opinion. I wonder if we shall ever see it again.”
“I wonder,” said Joss, and it was all I could do to keep quiet and not cry out that my father had not stolen the stone. It was only the fact that, according to Ben, he had intended to, which kept me quiet.
David Croissant had several blankets with him, so we were able to sleep more comfortably in the shelter of the burned-out inn.
We set out at dawn and I rode between the two men into the sunrise; and later that day we arrived at the town which was so named because of my father’s certainty that he had found a prosperous opal field. And that day, for the first time, I saw my new home:
Peacocks.
7.
PEACOCKS
Fancy Town had sprung up on the banks of a creek which Nature, by great good fortune, had set near the opal field. Some of the workers lived in calico tents, but there were a few huts made of logs or mud bricks with rough chimneys of clay or bark; and the shops were like sheds, open on one side that their goods might be displayed. After the wide open spaces it was rather a depressing sight.
It was late afternoon when we arrived and the excitement our coming aroused indicated that visits were rare occurrences. Children came running out to stare at us-rather unkempt, most of them, which wasn’t surprising since the only homes they had were those huts and tents.
A man called to Joss: “Glad to see you back, sir.”
Thanks, Mac,” answered Joss.
“Sorry about Mr. Henniker, sir.”
Joss said that it was indeed sad news.
Peacocks was about a mile from the town, and what a contrast to that poor place. We tamed into a gate and before us lay a drive of about a quarter of a mile to the house, which was built in the old Colonial style-gradous and shining white in the clean air. The porch and terrace were supported by rather ornate pillars which had a Grecian touch, but the house itself was period less-it had something Gothic, Queen Anne and Tudor about it-and the intermingling was not without charm.
A peacock appropriately appeared on the lawn followed by his meek little peahen; he strutted along beside the terrace as though asking for our admiration. The lawns were so immaculately kept that one would have thought they had been there for hundreds of years. In fact the immediate impression was that the house was posing as an ancient mansion, which it obviously could not have been, but was not quite sure which age it was meant to represent.
Take the horses, Tom,” said Joss.
“Who’s at home?”
Mrs. Laud, sir, Mr. Jimson and Miss Lilias. “
“Well, let someone tell them we’ve arrived.”
We dismounted and Joss took my arm as we went up the steps to the porch, David Croissant following. The door was open so we stepped into the hall. It was cool inside the house for the thin wooden Venetian blinds were slatted to shut out the fierce sunlight. The hall was large and lofty with a floor of mosaic paving all in peacock blue. In the centre was one large flagstone in which was depicted a magnificent peacock.
The motif of the house,” said Joss, following my gaze.
“Ben decided to call the house Peacocks and to have plenty of the aforementioned strutting around. I’d like to tell you that Peacocks will always belong to this family as long as there are peacocks here, but it wouldn’t be any use, for we don’t have those legends and old traditions here. We’re too young a country. One thing Ben was determined on, and that was that everyone who set foot in the house would know it was Peacocks. There’s something to remind you everywhere.”
There was a wide staircase winding up from the hall, and I saw a woman standing there watching us. She must have been standing there for some seconds listening to Joss’s explanation.
He saw her as soon as I did.
“Ah, Mrs. Laud,” he said.
She came down the stairs a tall, slender woman with fine greying hair which she wore parted in the centre and brought down to a knob in the nape of her neck. Her gown was of grey-high-necked with a very clean white collar and cuffs. The utmost simplicity of her dress gave her the appearance of a Quaker.