Summer at Mount Hope (21 page)

‘Your horse has got an inflamed pedal bone,' he said to her, and her smile fell. She felt very silly.

‘We thought he was just vengeful.'

Rudolph was nonplussed. ‘You didn't check?

' ‘Dad was an accountant,' she shrugged, ‘but I've looked at them and they never look any different.'

‘I suppose you checked before you rode him.'

‘The rest of the time he stands in dams.'

Rudolph laughed and rested his hand on her shoulder lightly, just for a moment.

‘To be fair,' he said, ‘it's only his front feet and pedal foot is only evident after certain distance. The dam is cool. We can ease it by adjusting his shoes.'

She slapped Spot's neck sadly. ‘He's been trying to tell us.'

They walked together towards Mount Hope, Spot and the German horse clopping along behind them, and Phoeba struggling again for something to say. But Rudolph seemed happy with the lack of conversation, so she luxuriated in walking along with a nice man who wasn't Hadley or her father.

‘Have you managed to please yourself so far?' he asked.

‘Yes. And I've displeased almost everyone else.'

He laughed, and then there was another silence. She watched the tips of her boots poke out from under her skirt as she walked.

‘Do you think Marius Overton will marry again?' she blurted.

‘Yes,' he said, ‘but it's … there's a respectable time people should wait, isn't there?'

‘I suppose. If you care what people say.'

He knows, she thought: the whole district must know.

He seemed to read her thoughts and said, ‘There are some things we can't control. Things happen and they can be untimely.'

‘Sometimes people marry for the wrong reasons.'

‘Yes. Or they marry for the right reasons and it turns out to be wrong. You never know the future,' he said, almost to himself.

She wanted to ask him if he'd had a broken heart but decided it was best not to know. She pointed to the vines. ‘There's my future. I'm going to grow excellent grapes and make wine.'

‘You are going to grow the grapes?' He stopped walking and looked slightly taken aback.

‘You don't think I can?' said Phoeba.

‘I'm sure you can. It's just I didn't realise that your future depended quite so much on Mount Hope.' But he seemed suddenly preoccupied. ‘This area is perfect for grape growing for wine but it's a lot to do. Still, you will need help,' he said, as if that solved some sort of problem.

‘I can hire help. And swaggies always want work. What about your future, Mr Steel?'

‘I just want to get this harvest started. It's very important for the future of Overton.' He frowned and looked up to the house, worried. He needed a haircut, thought Phoeba, and toyed with the idea of telling him that Lilith would cut it for him. No. Not Lilith.

‘Won't the itinerants—'

‘No,' he said, waving his hand towards the grounded harvester. ‘They refused because of that.'

The thresher team was still at the church cutting chaff. It could take a week to reach Overton, Phoeba knew: too long to wait when a lot depended on the crop. She laid her hand on his arm and he turned and smiled at her.

‘It's good to see you're recovered.' He handed her the scythe. ‘Hadley Pearson is on the veranda waiting for you.'

Hadley was looking straight at them. His bespectacled face was passive, his hat on the couch beside him and his long fingers wrapped over his grey woollen knees. Resting on his thin thighs was the looking glass.

A rush of fury shot through her, then a wave of terrible pity.

‘Hadley,' she sighed. She turned back to Rudolph Steel. ‘You could stay for tea—'

‘No.' Rudolph took Spot's lead, ‘I'll take this old ungulate to the farrier.'

He got on his horse and nudged the mare but she was anchored fast by Spot, who leaned back, his ears screwed around to Phoeba and the whites of his eyes showing as he pulled against the reins.

‘Off you go, Spot,' she said, patting his rump. He didn't move. She whacked him so hard that her hand stung but it didn't dispel her mood. Bother Hadley, sitting like a spy on her veranda. Spot gave her another, reproachful, tragic look then haltingly followed the dark mare. Phoeba walked up to the house.

‘Hadley,' she called, through gritted teeth. ‘How was the wedding?'

‘Very ordinary,' said Henrietta, clattering out onto the veranda with a tea tray, her mouth already full of plum cake. ‘There's no one here so we made ourselves at home … since we are without a home now. And there is your mother's excellent cake.'

Phoeba took a seat next to Henrietta. Hadley feigned great interest in the tea in his cup.

‘Spot has pedal foot,' she announced. ‘Rudolph helped me—'

‘I saw,' said Hadley, waving the looking glass. ‘You call him Rudolph, do you? You must be on good terms.'

She wanted to be on better terms with Rudolph Steel, she thought. When she was with him she felt elated. The air was fresher, the clouds were whiter, the road was interesting and everything seemed of greater value.

‘Would anyone like wine?' she asked, feeling celebratory, and ran to fetch a jug. When they were settled with a glass each, Hadley said, ‘You know he's a banker.'

‘He's not,' she said, a little too defensively, ‘he's an investor.'

‘Tarred with the same brush,' warned Henrietta. ‘He's sent the scullery maid, the house maid and the housekeeper away—'

‘—and put the cattle on the train to the abattoir,' added Hadley.

‘Overton must be going bad,' said Henrietta, leaning back and resting her foot up on the veranda post.

‘No,' said Hadley, ‘the wool's gone to be sold and there's the crop yet.' He cleared his throat, ‘Speaking of scandal, they say Lilith is having trysts— '

‘With Marius Overton?' said Phoeba, her voice brittle. So it was true. Lilith was probably with him at that moment. Well, thought Phoeba, it would either make them or break them. He would either marry her or abandon her – and then Phoeba would be stuck with her forever.

‘Even the boundary rider knows about it and he's hardly ever back here!' said Henrietta, her brown eyes bright and her cheeks flushing red. Wine always made Henri shine a bit.

‘Well then,' said Phoeba, ‘he has to marry her.' She raised her glass.

‘Mrs Overton has expectations for her only son,' said Hadley sounding strangely like his mother, ‘but I just want you to know I won't be swayed by it, Phoeba. My regard for you stands and my … expectations for us will never change.'

‘Mine too,' said Henrietta and beamed.

‘How's shearing?' Phoeba asked, wanting to move on from marriage.

Henrietta spoke on her little brother's behalf. ‘Hadley's nearly finished the scour. He hates it, but he'll get almost £100 for it.'

‘I wanted more,' he muttered.

‘Did you know he repelled a hundred strikers on his own, Phoeba?'

She shook her head.

‘Well,' said Hadley, sitting a little straighter, ‘a pack of them. I repelled them on my own. They were armed with pikes carved from saplings, and strychnine. They could have thrown it in my eyes! And they had shears strapped to the end of spears.' He got up and moved to the veranda rail, as if he was under a proscenium arch, and by the time he'd got to the end of the saga he was animated. He acted out the scene where he shot the bullet with an invisible rifle, ‘… and they fled, and The General was safe.'

He was no longer Henrietta's little brother, a small, orange boy bearing a dead lizard tearfully to a neat grave under the persimmon tree. And when she saw them off, Phoeba knew he was happy. He'd had three glasses of wine and he felt he'd impressed her, but it made her sad for him. She sat on the front step and pondered Rudolph Steel. Her heart felt faint when she thought of him. Perhaps that was how Lilith felt about Marius, but did he feel that about Lilith?

There was one way to find out.

Phoeba walked up through the boulders to where the trees thickened, careful not to stand on fallen branches. A third of the way up she saw the Arab horse. She stepped behind a tree. Did she really want to know what they were doing? They'd be reading poetry, or something. Holding hands perhaps? Or would it be worse. Through the bush she spied Lilith's skirt and fought an urge to run away. What if they saw her? What would that do?

Her stomach churned. Then her curiosity got the better of her. She crept closer, staying behind the bushes.

Lilith was pinned against a tree, Marius kissing her and grinding his mouth to hers. Phoeba felt vaguely nauseated and the hair on her neck crawled. Then Lilith jolted, her head falling back and her curls shuddering. She raised her knee and Marius's hand searched up under her skirt. The white of her petticoat folded back over her hem. Suddenly, Phoeba wanted to flee, but Marius looked up and saw her – looked straight into her eyes – and she went cold.

He stepped back, wrenching up his trousers. Lilith's skirts fell and she turned and saw her big sister. Her expression settled into one of challenge.

‘Stickybeak,' she spat. Phoeba felt rude and ridiculous. ‘How dare you,' said Lilith, her lip curling.

Phoeba stayed behind the bushes, paralysed, embarrassed.

Marius called, ‘It's not what you think.'

It's not what you think? That was exactly what it was. So ridiculous, she started to giggle. ‘Then what is it?' she asked, stepping from behind the tree.

‘She won't tell,' said Lilith, ‘and anyway, if she does they won't believe her. They never do.' She backed into Marius's arms. ‘Plain old Phoeba.'

‘Everybody knows, Lilith. You're the talk of the district.'

‘Are we?' said Marius, horrified, struggling to button his fly.

‘Yes,' said Phoeba, crossing her arms. ‘Are you going to do the right thing?'

Lilith's chin went up. ‘We're getting married.'

‘We can't!' cried Marius. Then, ‘Not yet.' He looked like a naughty boy, shoving his shirt into his trousers.

‘We can, when the time is right,' said Lilith, in a reasoning tone.

Marius stood beside her, guilt all over his pretty face.

Phoeba shook her head slowly, like Maude had done when they'd been mischievous as children. ‘What about your reputation? What about Mother and Dad's standing in the community? Those things are important to them.' Marius began to wilt a little, flinching under her words. ‘You're so selfish! What will you say to Mother and Dad when they hear about it from Mrs Flynn or Widow Pearson? And what if Marius's parents don't approve?'

‘You think you're so important,' screamed Lilith, ‘but you're sour and you're selfish. You're just jealous because you're plain. You should marry Hadley, because he's the only one who'll ever ask you.'

‘Now now, Lilith, Marius doesn't want to know what you're really like,' said Phoeba, but it still stung. She felt her plainness acutely: her waist was a little too thick, and her hair was straight. But, she reminded herself, she was clever – and Rudolph Steel liked to converse with her.

Lilith's words hung in the air and Marius would remember them. But he wrapped his arms around her, protectively, and Lilith turned and buried her face in his chest. Phoeba had exposed a fraction of her sister's worst and decided that it was the right thing to do. She walked away, her emotions swinging between fear and elation. It was all so brutal, lewd. And Lilith had seemed overpowered, but yet willing. She hoped she hadn't destroyed whatever it was, hoped she had pointed them in the right direction.

That evening, at the tea table, Phoeba watched Lilith eat heartily. She was willing to trade her reputation, her chastity and her parents' expectations for something she wanted; Lilith wanted Marius Overton. It was worthy of respect, thought Phoeba, and with a jolt, she realised that she wanted something just as much. She wanted Lilith gone, life on the farm without her and the freedom that went with it. Someone else supporting Lilith … forever. But she doubted she would compromise those she loved
to make it happen.

She would confront Marius again.

In Geelong, Maude and Margaret were cleaning out their family home, now signed over to the Chinese vegetable gardener next door, for £105. Maude was weeping – she didn't seem to be able to stop herself – blubbering quietly into her sodden handkerchief. She was having another hot flush and she felt bulkier than usual, her thighs chafed from rubbing together under her skirts. Her lower back ached and she felt like sewing pins were stuck in her pelvis. She'd been chucking things from the window boxes into a rubbish bin when she pulled out an ancient, moth-eaten black doll. It was the doll Lilith had taken from the little girl who'd disappeared from next door.

‘Is this your dolly, Margaret?' she sniffed.

‘I refuse to believe I ever played with dolls,' called her sister from the kitchen.

‘I'll keep her for my grandchildren,' said Maude, as its head fell off and hundreds of tiny silverfish ran out of its neck. She let out another sob, tossed the doll away and furiously brushed the tiny creatures from her hands.

Margaret came running. ‘What on earth is the matter?'

‘You wouldn't understand,' Maude snivelled. There was no use trying to explain it to Margaret – she was unfulfilled, hadn't been awakened to the pain, the pathos, the gall and wormwood that marriage, bearing and raising children yielded. And then to find yourself redundant and neglected, forced to travel alone to endure the sad business of selling your childhood home. No, thought Maude, Margaret had only half lived. She wouldn't understand.

At the bottom of the window box she found an old photograph and scraped the dust away. Her hand went to her bosom and she wept: ‘Mummy and Daddy.'