Salt Creek (37 page)

Fred said, ‘Papa is expecting that money. It's not for you. In any case, it's not enough for a lease. What other money do you have?'

‘From selling fish to Mr Martin. My family and I shared the money. We built another fish trap where Stanton could not find it.'

‘Where?'

He shrugged.

Fred dropped his head at that and when he lifted it he said, ‘It doesn't matter, Tull,' he said. ‘They will never sell you or Addie a lease. And what of your family? Addie will not live like that. She is not born to that life. You shouldn't expect it. It's wrong.'

I wished then as now that Fred had not said those things. But it was the truth. What life would there have been for Addie cut off from all company but Tull's? I wonder now that I never considered what a life with her might be like for him. It is not easy to turn your back on your family and deny them, if that was what he planned. ‘And if you did get a lease, would people do business with you?'

‘Will they always hate me?'

‘I don't know. Perhaps not hate. They don't see you.' But it was that they would not stop seeing him.

Tull fell back into silence.

The Travellers Rest came into view before mid-morning. We slowed at the sight and called the dogs close. It had been almost picturesque when I visited with Mama and Addie those years ago; now the yard was untidy, the wagon gate swinging loose so that anything might stray in or out, the flowering plants about the doorway straggling out thin arms, and there were sacks of grain leaning against a stable wall, two with mouths agape – an invitation to spoil. I could not feel easy.

We tethered the horses to the outside of the railing, none of us mentioning that flight might be necessary, and brought the dogs within and shut the gate behind us, leaving the musket strapped to Fred's horse. When no one came out we went into the inn, pushing the door and stepping down into the vestibule. Some leaves had blown under the door and crunched underfoot. The paint at the doors had chipped. We first looked in the dining hall, a gloomy space. Its wooden walls were weeping sap and the rough tables were marked and scarred from careless use. No one was there. We returned to the vestibule.

‘The parlour's this way,' I said, and began down the hallway to the left. There was no runner to soften our footfall. Our boots sounded against the rough boards.

‘What will he do if surprised?' I whispered.

Fred shook his head. ‘Mr Martin?' he called. His voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and it came out firmer. ‘Mr Martin?'

‘What?' The voice that came from further within was deep, rough, a trifle slurred.

We stopped.

‘Come on, come on now,' came the voice again from the end of the hall on the other side of a door. ‘Don't be shy, you'll find me if you just keep walking. Not open for business quite yet, but open for conversation right enough.'

We went on and pushed the door open and Fred stepped into the room, with me a pace behind him. Tull remained in the hallway, though there was space for him to enter, if he wished. The room had changed so since last I was there. It had been neat and pretty. The chairs had faded now, and the dresser was shoved awkwardly into a corner. The rug at its feet had been moved there not so long ago, by my estimation, since the large area of pale wood in the room's centre where the sun had not touched it corresponded exactly with the dimensions of the rug. The room had recently been whitewashed; the smell of it lingered. But all these things were by way of framing Mr Martin who now heaved himself from his easy chair in front of the dresser. At its side stood a little table with a single glass and a bottle of rum. Mr Martin looked at it, and looked away. He had the air of one who was guarding something, though I could not see what that might be.

He was not tall, but was deep chested and wide shouldered and his moustaches were like horns, being massive and curved, sweeping across his wide cheeks to join his side whiskers. He was like a bear in a dollhouse. He lowered himself with a grunt and poured a glass of rum.

‘I know you, boy, do I not?' Mr Martin said.

‘Frederick Finch.'

‘And who would that make you?' he said to me.

‘Hester Finch, sir.'

‘Another Finch, eh?' At that, he rubbed his hands together, which were white and hairy knuckled and hairy backed, and their fingers long for a person of his bullish build. He rubbed them together as if there were something inside he wished to squash. His small dark wet eyes watched unwavering and made me wonder if the thing that he was grinding in his hands was the thought of a creature or person and the thought pleased him. ‘Come to see that sister of yours? You do not favour her overmuch.'

‘Is she about?'

‘About, about. She should be, what I pay her, but if you've not seen her yet she's run off again into the bushes to see that black bastard of hers, I'll wager. And there'll be trouble when she returns, I tell you that, and pay will be docked. Said she'd be a willing worker, your father. Mr Finch.'

‘We'll step out to see if we can find her,' I said. ‘We have to take her home. Our grandmother is visiting and wishes to see her.'

‘A fucking good riddance to the little miss then.'

Fred said, ‘If you would get the money that is owed her, we—' He turned his head a little, glancing over his shoulder. I wished that we had brought the musket inside with us.

‘Who else is there?' Mr Martin said. He peered around me, leaning from the side of his chair. ‘The black bastard himself. You should leave now. Get out. I'll have no blacks in here. Thieving scum. She'll have your hands on her, will she, and turn down decent white folk? So high and mighty is she. I'll be glad to see her gone. But as to money, I don't believe I can see my way clear to that. Board and lodging, time taken off to see your good self' – he sneered at Tull – ‘leaves, let me see. Nothing. I should kill you now. It would not take but a minute.'

At this, Tull stepped into the room, casual, standing next to me. His face was still and his gaze almost lazy. He could have been thinking anything. He bent over, reaching for his boot with the utmost calm so that we all watched with nothing more than idle curiosity. I would have said his trousers had caught at the back of his boot or something of the sort. When he straightened, there was a knife in his hand: bone-handled and with a sharp blade. He swung it there between thumb and finger, in a very particular way, and we were all transfixed.

I backed up to the door and Fred moved to one side. Mr Martin blinked several times in rapid succession and half-closed his eyes and a grin twisted his mouth as if the scene provided an unexpected amusement. He put a hand to his glass and with a single finger began to rub its side up and down, steady, so it was hard to look away.

‘Well, well,' he said. ‘That puts a different complexion on things. What are you proposing exactly? To stab into my heart or slice across me neck?' He lifted his chin to expose his black-whiskered throat and drew one long finger from behind his ear to the bulge in his throat. ‘You must mean it, don't be shy about it, and get the place right, here' – his finger found the hollow point beneath his chin – ‘do not miss it and you will succeed. And then a small matter: I am not easy to move. Fifteen stone I would say. Would you be thinking a horse? Over the saddle? The two of you – maybe you could do it. And as to disposal, a good deep suck and the body weighted down, the bottom of a sand hill dug in, wombat holes, the entire peninsula if you could row me across unseen. Quite a choice I would say.' He lifted the glass and sipped and his marked Adam's apple bulged and receded, and with scarcely a change in the tension of his body or a shift in his position the glass flew from his hand at Tull. I cried out, but Tull swayed out of its path as easy as if it had been a ball of feathers, as if he had seen it coming minutes before, and the glass smashed the wall directly behind his head. Mr Martin lunged from his chair at Tull, but before he reached him Tull lifted his blade. Mr Martin stopped, panting.

‘We won't kill you,' Tull said, ‘or harm you, if you will give us Adelaide's money and tell us where she is.'

‘Money first,' I said. I felt a little better seeing how cool Tull was. ‘Three months' wages.'

Mr Martin drew himself up, almost calm, as if Tull's knife had punctured his rage, and regarded me: ‘You Finches – I include the black Finch here, listen to him speak as if he's a lord or an admiral – you think yourselves so fine, so superior, but you're the same as people the world over. All of you with your eye on the main chance. Mark what I say, for I am a judge of character.' He swayed, the weight of him shifting from one foot to the other, as if trying to decide what to do next. And then he moved forward in small steps of resignation. ‘Men, women, blacks, I hate them all, what is one less?' He clomped between us through the doorway, his words become indistinct. We followed him to the dining room where he knelt behind the counter and taking a long iron key from his pocket unlocked a trapdoor concealed beneath a foot mat and pulled out a calico bag which by the weight and sound of it must contain coins.

‘Now, what will we say she was worth, eh? Give you too much and I shall have to accuse you of theft and what would happen to a black accused of such a thing? So, not too much for the sake of your own good selves.'

‘What is fair,' Tull said.

‘Fair is nothing. Has she ever worked a day in her life? The hands on her, smooth and dainty as you please, and the complaining.'

‘What was agreed, then,' I said. ‘If you could not make her work to your satisfaction, that is your fault I think.'

‘Oh, you think that do you, Miss Finch? Right enough then, I'll let you be the boss, shall I?' He shoved some coins towards me. ‘Take that and that will be the end of it and do not ask for a penny more.'

I scraped them into my hand and felt the weight of them and handed them to Tull who dropped them into his pocket.

‘Where is Adelaide?' Tull said.

‘Stupid girl took fright. She's out there somewhere, I daresay.' He waved a hand towards the grimy windows, and the yard and trees beyond. ‘Told her a little story was all.'

‘We'll collect her things then and go looking,' Fred said.

‘You will keep us company, I hope, Mr Martin, until we are gone,' I said.

Tull inspected the blade of the knife.

Mr Martin swore very freely then and after that took us – the dogs
at our sides – to the room that had been Addie's and the other maid's before her. It
was small and dark and unpainted and contained nothing but two narrow iron beds and
a rough plank wardrobe and a plain washbasin and jug. ‘Everything here is the fine
young lady's. Take it. Take it all.' He sat on one of the beds and watched while we
gathered Addie's clothes. I looked about and found Mama's little case shoved under
the bed. I pulled it out and threw Addie's clothes into it.

Mr Martin came out to the horses then, with not overmuch encouragement I would say, though some grumbling, and leaned up against a fence post, one leg crossed over the other with the greatest nonchalance while we strapped Addie's case to one of the horses. Fred held the musket to Mr Martin, which he snorted at the sight of. Tull took the dogs and walked into the trees.

‘Nice bit of horseflesh,' Mr Martin said. ‘Happen you want to sell it, I might know a buyer.'

‘We don't wish to sell it,' I said. ‘It's mine.'

‘Oh yes? I've heard of you, you know. The tall one, proud, disdainful.'

‘How would you have? Your wife, I suppose.' It stung, if that were true. I had liked Mrs Robinson.

‘Nellie likes you well enough. No, it was not she. Word has a way of spreading, Miss Finch, about all sorts of things up and down here.' His smile stretched his face.

Every word that came from his mouth seemed to insinuate something other than what the words said, but I could not guess at all his meanings. He was an uncomfortable, uneasy sort of person to converse with: friendly almost, and not altogether unpleasant.

When Tull did not immediately return Mr Martin directed Fred inside to collect some chairs and some bread and cheese. It seemed safer outside, and Tull would know immediately that all was well with us on his return. Fred handed me the musket. ‘She knows how to use it, Mr Martin,' he said.

When Fred had gone into the house Mr Martin uncrossed his legs and by degrees straightened a little.

‘I would not disdain to shoot you, Mr Martin. I think you would not be mourned,' I said.

He smiled at that. ‘I believe you. You would keep a man on his toes – or in his bed, I daresay. I'd not get rid of you hasty.'

I aimed the musket at his chest.

‘Bitch,' he said, in a mild way.

By degrees Fred brought the things out. It was almost pleasant sitting in the April warmth. I ate some bread, but declined the cheese since I still felt a trifle ill. Mr Martin put his feet on the fence railings and tipped his hat lower at the front. He chewed heartily. Presently he held his bread and cheese aloft. ‘It's a good cheese your father makes. I'll say that for him. He's paid for many a bottle of grog with one of them. I've not seen him of late, though. Is he well then?'

‘Quite well, Mr Martin,' I said.

‘Ale, young Mr Finch?' he said.

‘I thank you, no,' Fred said.

‘I remember. Water it is then.'

A lake of parrots flew overhead, all calling to each other. There were distinct notes to their conversation: a sort of music, though I would not know how to write it. They were desirous of company and careful to stay together. Finally, late in the afternoon, Skip and Sal wriggled beneath the fence and came tearing down the slope to us, and Tull emerged from the bush beyond the fence with Addie. I had thought she might be hysterical, but she was quite sensible and walked contained and her face did not show much of what she might be feeling – neither frightened nor relieved. I ran to them and embraced her. Her hair was tangled and her face smudged with dirt. ‘Where were you?'