The Road to Paradise Island Read online

  I suggested that we go and look at what horses were available and perhaps take a ride.

  Felicity seemed pleased at the suggestion.

  We found horses and were very soon riding from the house. I thought that in other circumstances I should enjoy exploring the country. There was an undoubted grandeur about it. I loved the wattle and the great eucalyptus trees fascinated me. and the wildness had a strong appeal.

  "Fd like to ride on and on." I told Felicity.

  "You mean as far from this place as possible."

  I looked at her swiftly, "You'll get used to it." I said. "It's just that it is strange at first. Shall we see if we can find that township?"

  "You mean the place with the inn?"

  "Yes. It can't be so very far."

  "Do you think you can find it?"

  "Yes, I think so. There is a road of sorts. We might follow that

  and try to remember the way we came last night. I remember one tree which seemed bigger than all the others. There were some grey ones clustered together. Let's try, and hope we don't lose our way."

  Felicity looked as though she did not care if we did.

  I had meant to broach the subject of my departure but decided I would wait awhile.

  "There must be quite a number of people working on the property,* 1 I said.

  "Yes, I think so. It's so vast. Some of them live in places quite a long way from here. It takes several days to ride all round it."

  "I suppose your husband will have to do that, after being away for so long."

  She was silent.

  I wished she would talk to me. I felt I could be so much more helpful if she did.

  A man came riding by.

  He said: "Hello there."

  I recognized Slim.

  I said: "Good morning, Slim. Is this the way to the township?"

  "Right. Go straight on, past the clump of ghost gums."

  "I remember those from last night's drive. Thanks."

  He rode on.

  "He was quite pleasant," I said. "They are probably all right when you get to know them."

  Felicity said nothing.

  "Look!" I cried. "There it is."

  "What should we do there?" she asked.

  "Explore."

  We came to the inn. There was a post outside to which people could tether their horses.

  "Are you going in?" asked Felicity.

  "Yes."

  "Why, do you want some refreshments?"

  "No. But I want to make some enquiries."

  I opened the door. There were several men sitting about drinking out of tankards. They all looked up as I entered with Felicity behind me.

  I ignored them and went up to the man at the bar.

  "Could you tell me what time the coach calls here on its way to Sydney?" I asked.

  "Can't be sure of times on the road, Miss."

  One of the men shouted: "Ten if it's early ... could be eleven ... or midday. You never know on the roads."

  The men laughed. "Wheels come off," said one of them. 'They might have met Ned Kelly's ghost."

  They all seemed to think this was a great joke and laughed among themselves.

  "No use coming on a Sunday," said one of them. "There's no coach on Sundays. Nor ain't there one on Tuesdays. Mondays there is and Wednesdays and Saturdays. That's the little lot."

  "Thank you. You are very helpful."

  Again they seemed to find the situation very amusing.

  We came out to our horses. Felicity was silent until we were riding away when she said: "You're going, aren't you?"

  "Well, I wasn't supposed to stay, was I?"

  "I did not think you would go so soon."

  "I haven't gone yet. I just wanted to know about the time of the coaches."

  "They would have known at the house."

  "I just thought I should like to enquire for myself."

  "Those horrible men ..." she began.

  "They weren't so bad really. They did tell us what we wanted to know. I expect you get used to them in time. It is just their manners that are different."

  "I don't think I shall ever get used to it here."

  "Oh, you will."

  "Annalice, you won't go home, will you, just yet?"

  I hesitated. "It may be that I shall not be wanted. After all, I am only a visitor."

  "I think ... my husband ... quite likes you."

  "Oh, I hadn't noticed that. I expect he won't want me to overstay my welcome."

  "Promise you won't go ... yet."

  I was silent. "You know I came out here because I wanted to find out about my brother."

  "Yes, I know."

  "I'll never find out anything here."

  "Just for a little while ... And you won't go without telling me, will you? I couldn't bear it if I woke up one morning and found myself—alone."

  "I promise I won't go without telling you."

  We left it at that. She had confirmed the fact that she was very frightened.

  A few days had passed. I was beginning to know something about my surroundings, and the more I discovered, the more I longed to get away.

  Many times I was on the point of telling Felicity that I must go. Then I remembered that I had been glad enough to use her journey out as a means of getting away. Now I could not desert her when she needed me. Only what I could do to save her from the man she had married, I did not know. It was just that I was company during the day.

  I was growing accustomed to the hot midday sun; the swarms of flies which came from everywhere to pester us; the smell of cooking steaks. They seemed to live on steaks. They were part of the scene with the heat of the fire, the cooking dampers—a sort of leavened scone which they baked in the ashes—the hungry-looking dogs which prowled about and looked so ferocious until they got to know us. I was always taking scraps out to them so that after a while they positively fawned on me. There were lots of men about; they all had sunburned faces and wore straw hats—some of them with corks attached to them to keep off the ever-present flies. Sometimes the men would come to the house; or they would sit about outside or in the kitchen playing cards and drinking ale. There was much coming and going. There were sheep on the property—millions of them it seemed, because William Granville was "in wool."

  Often, as Mrs. Maken had said, they cooked out of doors. They had great pails stuffed with paper and the meat was cooked on a grill over this; the fat from the meat kept the paper continually burning— and in any case they ate their steaks half raw. They sang songs: "Botany Bay" and something about a kangaroo; and when they saw us they assumed a somewhat jeering attitude which I believe was half resentment, half admiration.

  William Granville was often with them. They would sit outside in the evenings and I could hear them from my room. They would laugh and talk in loud voices, often breaking into song—and drinking all the time.

  I would lie in bed listening to them, telling myself that I was going to catch the next coach to Sydney. I would stay at the hotel till Wednesday and then I would take the ship to Cariba.

  But when the morning came and 1 saw Felicity 1 knew I could not leave her just yet.

  I had been here a week. It seemed like a month. I went out riding a great deal. Felicity always came with me. Often I thought she was on the verge of confiding in me; but she never did. I had made up my mind that I would tell her I must go and if she hated it so much she must come with me.

  I was not sure of the wisdom of advising a wife to leave her husband.

  Meanwhile I was rather fascinated by the country. It was one of contrasts. There was so much that was beautiful. I gasped with pleasure when I saw the flame trees with their bright coral-coloured flowers and a flight of the grey rose-crested cockatoos which they called galahs. That was sheer beauty. Then there were the miles and miles of scrub land and the swarms of insects unlike anything we had ever encountered at home, like the hairy nannies, little centipedes which came into the house—and the interminable flies. Millie Ma
ken went about watchfully, silent-footed and resentful of us, I believed; but what I disliked most was the presence of William Granville.

  It was a night when I had completed my week. The men were outside drinking and talking. I could hear the sudden bursts of laughter. It was almost midnight.

  I always felt uneasy until I heard William Granville go to the room he shared with Felicity, and it was only some little time after the door shut on him that I felt safe to sleep. There was no key to my door and I was afraid that he might come into my room.

  He lumbered up the stairs, muttering to himself, so I guessed that he had been drinking more than usual.

  I heard the bedroom door shut behind him. I lay there telling myself again that surely now I could begin to plan my departure and I came to the decision that I would speak to Felicity in the morning.

  As I lay there, thinking of what I would say, I heard a door open. I was alert immediately. I got out of bed, waiting.

  The doors were ill-fitting and there was a crack at the side through which I could see into the passage. My heart missed a beat. Coming along the passage was William Granville clad in a nightshirt which reached to his knees. I shivered with apprehension. I was ready to defend myself and I thought: Now I shall go in the morning.

  He had paused and was opening a door halfway down the passage. It was Mrs. Maken's.

  He went in.

  I leaned against the door breathing heavily with relief. It was confirming only what I had guessed already. At least he was not attempting to come to my room.

  So ... Mrs. Maken was his mistress; hence her resentment at the intrusion of his wife. This was monstrous. Under the very roof and only a few doors from that room in which his wife lay!

  "The man is a monster," I said to myself.

  It was no use trying to sleep. I wrapped a dressing gown round me and sat by the window.

  The bright starlight gave a weird look to the country. I could see grey eucalypts in the distance—like ghostly sentinels.

  I must do something, I thought. I have to go, but I can't leave Felicity unprotected.

  Then suddenly I had an idea.

  I took out writing paper and pen. It was just light enough for me to be able to see.

  I wrote:

  "Dear Raymond,

  "I am very anxious. There is something very wrong here. This marriage was a great mistake. It is not just a matter of fitting into a new way of life and a new country. Felicity is frightened. And I understand why.

  "Life here is crude. Felicity would find it very difficult to adjust herself even if she had a good husband. But William Granville is a monster. I know that sounds exaggerated but I do believe it to be so. He is unfaithful to her. There is a housekeeper here who, I am sure, has been his mistress and still is. She resents Felicity and at the moment I am writing this, which must be one o'clock in the morning here, he is with the housekeeper. I want to leave, but Felicity begs me not to. I don't see how I can stay here but when I talk of leaving she is almost hysterical. She has changed a great deal.

  "I think something must be done. Raymond, you have been so good. You have helped me in so many ways. What can be done? Unfortunately Miss Cartwright had to go home. You will know that by now and Felicity has no one to protect her from this man she has married. Please help her. She needs someone to look after her.

  "I will stay as long as I can, but life is very awkward here for me in this house. I am ill at ease with her husband and I find him most offensive.

  "Please Raymond, this is a cri de coeur. Advise me what to do. I want her to leave but she has a strong sense of duty. He is, after all, her husband.

  "I am writing this in my room, in the dark more or less. There is just enough light from the stars—they are brilliant here—to write.

  "I feel desperate. Perhaps I shall feel differently in the morning, but I think I shall post this letter however I feel for 1 know when night comes I shall wish I had. I want you to know what it is like here.

  "Writing to you has made me feel much better. It is like talking to you.

  "I have made a little progress in my search. I think I mentioned to you in my letter which I posted in Sydney, that we had met a man

  named Milton Harrington. Miss Cartwright will have told you about him, I expect. He helped her to get a passage to England from Cape Town. Well, he remembered Philip's staying in a hotel on the island where he has a sugar plantation. It's a place called Cariba. I thought I would go there when I get away from here, but I want first to see David Gutheridge if possible. He is the botanist with whom Philip came out. I called at the Botanical Association's headquarters when I was in Sydney and they knew approximately where he was and when he will be back ... say in a month. I would really like to talk to him before I go to Cariba. Philip stayed at the hotel there according to Mr. Harrington. There is a hotel on the island. Some of the people there must have known him. So I am making progress ... but slowly.

  "My main worry is Felicity. I wish you were here. You would know what ought to be done.

  "It would be wonderful to see you and talk to you. Then everything would seem sane and normal.

  "I hope this doesn't sound hysterical. But I really am worried.

  "Your loving Annalice."

  I sealed the letter.

  Tomorrow was Wednesday. One of the days the coach called, and the coach would take the mail to Sydney—and from there it would be shipped to England.

  It would be a long time before that letter reached Raymond; but it must go tomorrow and I must be at the inn before ten o'clock. I must not miss the coach.

  One of the stockmen took the letters into the township when he collected any that might have come. But I was not going to trust this one to him. William Granville might be curious to see what I was writing about. I could suspect him of opening letters and reading them. I was sure he would stop at nothing.

  I went back to bed. There had been no sound in the passage all the time I had been writing and I had been alert, listening. It was clear that William Granville was spending the night with his housekeeper.

  Finally I slept.

  I awakened early for the events of last night must have been on my mind.

  I went downstairs. Mrs. Maken was not there, as she usually was. The fire was out. There was a spirit stove, so I made some coffee and taking one of yesterday's dampers spread a little butter on it.

  That would suffice.

  Felicity joined me. She looked a little better, I thought. She had

  been spared the attentions of her husband last night which must have been a great relief. I imagined she would be delighted if he spent his nights with an obliging housekeeper.

  I said: "I have a fancy for an early morning ride. I've written a letter and I want to take it into the township. It's Wednesday, so I can catch the coach."

  "I'll come with you," she said.

  "All right. Be quick and change."

  When she came down ready, we set out.

  "Why don't you let one of the men take your letter in."

  "I want to catch the coach. Goodness knows when it will get there."

  "It would only have to wait until Saturday."

  "I want it to go at once."

  She came into the inn with me. There was a small section of the counter where they collected and dispensed mail. Felicity glanced at the letter as I handed it in. So she knew I was writing to Raymond. Well, there was nothing unusual in that. After all I was engaged to him ... unofficially, so it was the most natural thing in the world for me to write to him. I wondered what she would have said if she had known what the letter contained.

  I felt better when the letter had gone off. The responsibility seemed to have lifted a little, although it would be weeks before Raymond received the letter and more weeks before I could have a reply. But still, I had done something. I had taken action—and that always made me feel better.

  We had a stroke of luck that day. One of the jackeroos came to the house at midday. He was one o
f the young apprentices who was learning the way sheep farming was carried out in Australia and one of his tasks had been to ride round the estate to make sure all was well with the sheep, for these were numerous and the grazing land so extensive that there had to be these occasional round trips to make sure all was in order.

  He was a fresh-faced young man—recently out from England— and very eager to learn the business, I should imagine with a hope of owning his own property one day. He had gone off before we arrived in the company of Walloo, an aborigine whose duty it was to instruct the young man. Walloo, I heard later, had been one of the more trusted workers and had been on the property for three years which was a long time for an aborigine. It was said that they all had an inborn urge to wander. They called it "Walkabout"; and suddenly they would leave

  whatever they were doing and without a moment's notice, wander off and not be seen again for months... perhaps never.

  Walloo had gone off with this young apprentice and suddenly decided to "walk about." He had left the young man to fend for himself in unknown territory. That was why he had been delayed in getting back.

  William Granville was deeply concerned by what he had to tell. The young jackeroo might not know the country but he certainly knew sheep. He had found some of them in urgent need of attention if they were not to perish; moreover more repairs were required to certain fences than he had been able to give them.

  Our good luck grew out of this for the result was that William Granville was going off with three of the men and the young jackeroo and he reckoned he would be away for at least a week.

  My spirits rose. A week without him! I would be able to put off that agonizing decision for a little while. Meanwhile my letter would be on its way to Raymond.

  William Granville had to leave that day and I watched the party set out with joy in my heart.

  The change in Felicity was miraculous. She seemed to come alive and I realized how cowed she had been. I dreaded to contemplate what she had to submit to in her marriage.

  That night I slept peacefully. No apprehension. No waiting until he was safe in his room.

  The next morning we went riding. It was a beautiful day. We skirted the township and made our way to a creek which we had discovered. It was a beautiful spot—an oasis among the scrub. The trickling stream glistened silver in the sunlight and in the distance I could see the clump of ghost gums, looking quite uncanny in the shimmering light.