Undercurrents Page 10

  Their guide was a cheerful, carroty–headed young man called Bluey MacDonald. The son of a pioneering Scotsman, the eighteen year old Bluey seemed to relish the silence of this awful place. He told the small party of survivors about the vast cattle herds he was used to droving across this desolate land, and of the waterholes that became clay pans and treacherous.

  His eyes were slits beneath the brim of his hat as he stared out across his homeland and told them how the poor beasts had to be forced to continue to the next waterhole, and the next, until they could find water. Thousands of animals died on these treks, but the adventure was to get through, to survive with as many alive as possible.

  He saw the whole enterprise as a personal battle against the land and the elements. Saw it as a yardstick to his bravery and resilience. Men who had survived the Nullabor were legends, to be talked about endlessly in the hotels in the outback towns by their peers – and, despite his tender age, Bluey MacDonald seemed determined to be counted amongst them.

  Eva and Jessie listened in horror to his stories, and Eva wondered what it was about these men of the outback that made them relish it so. For she could hear the love in his voice as he talked about the empty, endless miles they were travelling. And could see the lust for adventure in his eyes that already had the deep etch of lines surrounding them from the infernal sun.

  It was soon obvious that Frederick was enthralled by the stories, and held the young man in awe as he asked endless questions. Eva felt a tremor of misgiving when she was forced to admit her husband was the sort of man who would take to this life with vigour. Her own future was less certain, for life would change once Frederick took up his post as surveyor, and she had a nasty feeling there would be months of loneliness ahead of her.

  The days passed and turned to weeks as the horses and pack–mules plodded across the arid wastelands where the earth was almost white from the salt beneath it. They slept by a fire each night, a saddle for a pillow, a rough blanket the only protection against the cold. Meals were unappetising hunks of what Bluey called damper bread, and salted meat that meant she was constantly thirsty. Tea was boiled in a billy and was digestible only because of the liberal amount of sugar Bluey added.

  They had been travelling for almost two weeks. The sky was still bleached of colour in the furnace blast of heat, but now and again they could hear the seagulls cry as they hovered in the hot wind above the distant jagged coastline.

  Eva had thought when she saw the sea that their journey was almost at an end. But when she climbed down from the horse and stood on the very edge of the cliffs, her spirits tumbled. They were still miles from civilisation.

  The empty landscape came to an abrupt halt and glistening black rocks towered up from a brilliant sea, which splashed thunderously against them. There were no small settlements here. Only the lonely cries of the sea birds and the almost blinding glitter of an empty, treacherous ocean.

  ‘Just thank gawd we’re not out there, no more,’ puffed Jessie as she came to stand beside Eva. ‘I might not take much to sitting on an ‘orse all day, but it’s gotta be better than bobbing about on that,’ she added with a firm nod as she rubbed her back and buttocks. ‘My arse is killing me.’

  Eva struggled to keep her hat on against the wind coming off the sea and cleared her throat to cover up a fit of giggles. ‘Riding to hounds was certainly never as exhausting.’ She stared out to sea as she tried to overcome the giggles. Jessie certainly had a way of putting things succinctly, and she had to admit to feeling the same discomfort – yet her strict upbringing meant she was rather shocked by the other woman’s bluntness, and certainly couldn’t express herself in such a manner.

  Their tenuous friendship had grown during this long trek because of circumstances. They were two women battling to overcome the harsh conditions they found themselves in. Two women who understood the discomforts they suffered because of their gender. The men hardly seemed to notice, they realised, as Frederick and Bluey rode alongside one another and discussed male concerns, their respect and liking for one another growing with every tortuous mile.

  Yet Eva had grown to like this woman, and appreciated her company. She might be rough, with the awful dropped aitches and cockney whine, but she had accepted her husband’s death with stoic realism and maintained a positive outlook. She was tough and indomitable and if anyone could get through this awful journey it would be Jessie.

  ‘Wouldn’t know about ‘unting, luv,’ replied Jessie as she screwed up her eyes and looked out to sea. ‘But as my ‘arry used to say. You never knows what you can do till you have to do it.’

  Olivia nodded and patted her shoulder. Jessie was always quoting her dead husband, but it seemed to bring her comfort to talk about him.

  Jessie looked down at her skirts blowing against her sturdy legs. ‘Gawd I miss ‘im. Don’t know what I’m gunna do when we get to Adelaide. ‘Arry was gunna work for this bloke in somewhere called the Barossa. We was gunna ‘ave an ‘ouse and everything, but now ‘es gorn, I’m gunna ‘ave to sort meself out.’

  Eva looked across at Jessie and remembered the firm, protective arms around her in that dreadful little boat. Remembered her tough resilience as they helped one another up those sand dunes, and her cheerful chattering that kept Eva’s mind off the terrible trek towards the nearest settlement. She would need someone like Jessie when they arrived in Melbourne, she realised. For there would be a great many things to do before they were settled. ‘How about travelling on to Melbourne and working for me?’ she asked.

  Jessie’s eyes sparkled momentarily then her expression grew glum. ‘I ain’t had no training,’ she said gloomily. ‘Wouldn’t know an ‘at pin from an ‘air pin.’

  ‘I can train you as a housekeeper,’ said Eva quickly before she could change her mind. The task would be enormous, but at least she could trust Jessie, who was almost painfully honest. ‘It won’t be too complex, and I’m sure you know how to run a household and look after clothes properly.’

  Jessie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That won’t be too hard,’ she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘Neither of us has a stitch to call our own anyhow.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Eva. It was time to teach Jessie about decorum, and she certainly didn’t need reminding of her lovely trousseau lying at the bottom of the sea. Or that she was wearing another woman’s very shabby cast–offs.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Hamilton,’ said Jessie, her expression unusually solemn. ‘You’re a diamond.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Eva, her voice brisk to disguise the lump in her throat.

  *

  Olivia hugged her knees, garnering the last of the warmth from the dying fire. ‘They arrived in Melbourne almost six weeks after they set off from the western coast. Eva was surprised at the elegance of the house they had been given, and astonished that servants were already hired and furniture bought to replace what had been lost. Jessie rolled up her sleeves and took over managing the house and the maids with a vigour that came as no surprise to either Eva or Frederick.’

  ‘This is the same Jessie you asked about back in Deloraine?’ Giles swallowed a yawn. It was very late and he was obviously exhausted.

  Olivia nodded. ‘She worked for mother until she remarried and settled further north. I always thought of her as old, but she was only a year or two older than Eva.’ She poked another stick into the dying embers and watched it flare.

  ‘Life was good for Eva in those first few months. As Her Majesty’s Surveyor, Frederick was on first name terms with the Governor. As survivors of a wreck, and ‘‘new chums,’’ they were swamped with social invitations. Mother was in her element and once replacement clothes had been sent out from England, she flung herself into Melbourne society.’

  Giles sat deep in thought for a while. ‘She was more like Jessie than she realised,’ he said eventually. ‘Tough, resilient, prepared to begin a new life in a country she mus
t have found very strange compared to what she’d been used to.’

  ‘Melbourne might have had pretensions of grandeur, but it was certainly nothing like London,’ Olivia agreed. ‘It was still being developed, and most of the houses were simple wooden shacks. Society of course was totally alien compared to that of London, and Mother had to compromise a great deal.’ She grinned. ‘You see, society in Melbourne meant that if you were a merchant, a sea captain, explorer or ex–convict made good, you were acceptable. Mother found it very difficult to adjust to talking to men and women with dubious pasts who had prospered in their vineyards or cattle stations and whose convict background was accepted and sometimes even boasted about.’

  Olivia fell silent again and looked at the moon for a long time before continuing. ‘The time came for Father to leave. He was to survey the land further north and into the Territories, and would be gone for almost a year.’ She smiled. ‘Bluey MacDonald went with him of course – the challenge was too tempting for him to ignore. Eva and Jessie settled down to a routine and life moved on with Father returning for a few weeks at a time before leaving again. Mother had two miscarriages, but three years after they arrived in Melbourne she gave birth to Irene.’

  Olivia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘It was 1897, and this longed–for child became the centre of her lonely existence. Jessie adored her and they both spoiled her rotten. When Father came home he fell immediately in love with this golden haired child, but the lure of the outback was a temptation he could no longer resist, and although he was sad to be leaving his little family, he still disappeared for months on end.’

  ‘There’s a big gap between you and Irene. Must have been tough for her as an only child to suddenly have a new baby in the house?’

  Olivia grimaced and stood up. She rammed her hands into the pockets of her trousers and dipped her chin into the warmth of her jacket collar. ‘Eighteen years is a long time to be the spoiled only child. I can’t blame her for resenting me. I must have come as a huge shock.’ She opened the tent flap and wriggled inside the sleeping bag.

  ‘Your father must have been delighted to have another child after so long,’ said Giles as he threw the butt of his cheroot in the fire and struggled to his feet.

  Olivia bit her lip and the silence stretched. She snuggled into the sleeping bag, garnering comfort and warmth – yet she remained cold. ‘I don’t think Father ever knew of my existence,’ she murmured finally.

  *

  Irene wasn’t hungry and certainly not in the mood for an in–depth discussion with William. She pushed away the plate of food and scraped back her chair. ‘I’m going to see to the horses,’ she muttered.

  ‘Reckon you ought to sit down and tell me what all that was about today,’ he said as he caught her arm.

  She jerked away from his grip and glared. ‘It’s none of your damn business,’ she snapped.

  ‘It is when I have to look at that sour face of yours across the table,’ he drawled. ‘Expecting a bigger slice of your mother’s inheritance, were you?’

  It was closer to the truth than she would admit. She didn’t bother to answer him and slammed the door on her way out. Dragging on her boots, she left the homestead and tramped across home yard to the stables. The welcome scent of fresh straw and hay and oats all mingled with the aroma of horse was soothing as she walked down the line of immaculate loose boxes and greeted each animal by name.

  How typical of Eva to die and leave her nothing but a few pieces of old jewellery. How typical of that little bitch Olivia to come out here and rub her nose in it. Her hand was trembling as she checked the bolts on the stable doors and tidied away the feed bags. Olivia had always been the cause of all her troubles, and Irene hated her. Mum had fussed over her and spoiled her, making Irene feel neglected and in the way. Serves Mum right if she died in pain and alone with the saintly Olivia. That would teach her to abandon her and leave her nothing worth talking about.

  Irene’s hand stilled as her heated thoughts whirled. But surely there had to be something she could do to get her rightful inheritance? Surely some way to contest the will, and get her hands on Eva’s money? Why should Olivia have anything at all? It wasn’t as if she deserved it.

  Feeling a little calmer, Irene stood in the darkness and thought about the terms of the will. It had been clear as to why Eva had left her only the jewellery, but that was neither here nor there, she decided. She would drive up to Cairns tomorrow and get some legal advice.

  The thought of Olivia’s face when she’d denied all knowledge of those papers made her smile. ‘Silly bitch,’ she muttered. ‘As if I’d tell her anything.’ She smiled as she left the stable block and headed for the single stall in the far corner of the yard. It was a powerful feeling to know a truth that would never be revealed – a powerful weapon to have in her armoury should she ever need it.

  Pluperfect’s head was poking out above the half–door, ears pricked, eyes gleaming with malice. Eighteen hands of black, glistening strength, the stallion shook his head and showed his teeth in a snarl. He was a bastard, a bad–tempered, evil bugger, and had to be isolated from all the other horses, but Irene adored him. William had wanted him sold and had even threatened to shoot him after he wrecked the stable in a fit of temper and nearly killed one of the jackaroos, but Irene was having none of it. Pluperfect was her horse and they understood one another.

  She ran her hand over his velvet nose and felt the warmth of his breath on her palm as she rested her cheek on his and breathed in his dusty, horsy smell. ‘Good fella,’ she murmured. ‘We won’t let that bitch get under our skins, will we?’

  Pluperfect tossed his head and stamped. His eyes rolled back, and his ears flattened to the finely sculptured head.

  Irene backed off, knowing he would bite if she stood too close. ‘That’s it,’ she encouraged. ‘Show her what we’re made of.’

  She checked the bolt and fastened the top door. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her moleskins she began to make her way back to the homestead. The lights were off and she hoped William was asleep. She needed time to think, to put a plan in place. For despite her brave words to Pluperfect, the shock of seeing Olivia today had been nothing compared to the shock she’d received almost a year ago.

  William had known nothing, thankfully, and she wanted to keep it that way. But something had to be done about Olivia – for her presence here could only cause trouble.

  8

  ‘Maggie.’ The voice was soft, tugging her from a pleasant dream. ‘Maggie, wake up. You’re burning.’

  She opened one eye, reluctant to leave the dream, edgy at being disturbed. Her mouth tasted foul and there was sweat running down her face, but as she turned to see who had woken her, she realised her shoulders were indeed feeling rather tight after the two blissful days of baking in the sun.

  Olivia was kneeling beside her on a colourful towel. She smiled. ‘Sit up and I’ll rub this in for you,’ she offered as she opened a bottle of sun cream. ‘Otherwise that’s going to be painful.’

  Maggie, still half asleep, did as she was told. ‘When did you get back?’ she muttered as she tried to bring some order to her hair and brush the sand and sweat from her face.

  ‘This morning,’ replied Olivia as her cool hands gently massaged the soothing cream into Maggie’s shoulders. ‘Looks like you’ve been getting a gorgeous tan, but you must be careful, Maggie. The sun’s very strong.’

  Maggie nodded as she attempted to regain her equilibrium. I must look a fair old sight, she thought as the capable hands went to work. Sweaty, covered in sand and almost drunk with sunshine and the last vestiges of sleep. Bloody hell, she swore silently. What must this cool, elegant English woman think of me?

  She sneaked a glance at Olivia whose skin was lightly tanned and enhanced by the white costume Maggie suspected had cost a lot of money. Her legs were long and slender, the ankles and wrists delicate. The lo
ng dark hair beneath the straw hat was plaited in a thick rope, which hung over one shoulder. The sight didn’t make Maggie feel much better, and she couldn’t quite forgive Olivia for being so sophisticated.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Olivia as she sat back on her towel. ‘But I’d keep your shoulders covered. They look pretty sore.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Maggie muttered, then realised how churlish she was being. Just because Olivia was everything Maggie had dreamed of being, and was nice into the bargain, she didn’t have the right to be rude. She pulled a thin cotton blouse over her shoulders and shot a sidelong smile at the other woman. ‘That’s lovely stuff,’ she said as she watched Olivia smear the cream into her skin.

  Olivia smiled at her, finished with the cream and handed it over. ‘You keep it. I’ve plenty more.’

  Maggie eyed it, sorely tempted, but reluctant. She hadn’t meant Olivia to give it to her – she was just trying to make amends for her rudeness. ‘I dunno,’ she began.

  ‘Nonsense,’ retorted Olivia as she firmly placed it by Maggie’s hand. ‘I enjoy giving presents. It’s been a long time since I could afford to.’ She grinned. ‘Take it, enjoy it. Every girl needs a bit of pampering.’

  Maggie eyed the pale lavender bottle with the gold cap and ornate writing on the label. It looked very expensive and smelled wonderful. She grinned back. ‘Thanks, and by the way, sorry I was rude the other day.’

  Olivia eyed her for a moment and then shrugged. ‘I didn’t notice,’ she admitted. ‘Had my mind somewhere else.’

  Maggie felt a stab of jealousy. No doubt Olivia’s mind was occupied by her flirtation with Sam. She thrust the idea away. Nothing was going to spoil this beautiful day. Olivia was actually very nice, and there were so few single women of her age in this little seaside town, it would be a shame not to be friends.