We rode side by side through the Bush.
“The Trant Homestead is about fifteen miles on,” he said. “The horses will be in need of a rest when we get there and so will we.”
I looked about me at the scenery which was wild and interesting. “What are those pale-looking trees over there?” I asked.
“Ghost gums. Some people believe that when people die violently in the Bush they take up their habitation inside the trees and that where there is a ghost gum there will in time be others to join it. You should see them in moonlight; then you would believe the legend. There are some who won’t pass a clump of ghost gums after dusk. They think the branches will turn into arms and that in the morning there will be another ghost gum to stand beside those who were there the day before.”
“Every country has its legends.”
“And we’re a down-to-earth people here.”
There was a sudden cackle of laughter above us, which startled me so violently that I moved sideways in the saddle. Joss noticed and laughed.
“It’s only a kookaburra,” he said, “the laughing jackass of a kingfisher. Ah, there’s his mate. They are often in pairs. They seem to find life very amusing. You’ll hear them often round Peacock House.”
We rode on over dried-up creeks and gullies.
“The wild flowers would have been a picture,” said Joss, “if it hadn’t been for the drought.”
It must have been about seven in the evening when Joss pulled up on a slight hillock and looked about him at the Bush spread out around us.
“We should be able to see Trant’s from here,” he said, “It’s built in a hollow.”
“It’ll be dark soon.”
“Yes, I want to get there before sundown. The Bush can be treacherous. I know it well, of course, but even old stagers have been known to be lost. You have to be careful, and not wander out alone. You see how the same kind of landscape goes on and on. I’ve known people to be lost in the Bush; they walk miles and often end up literally going around in circles. They can’t make a landmark because the scenery repeats itself again and again. So take care. I think I can see Trant’s. Look. Over there in that hollow.”
We rode on. The sun had sunk below the horizon. The first stars had started to appear and there was a thin crescent of moon.
He galloped on and I followed. Suddenly he pulled up short and I came up beside him.
“Good God!” he cried. “Just look at that!”
It was an eerie sight in the pale light of the moon and stars—a shell of a house. Joss rode on and I followed him, picking my way carefully over the sparse, scorched grass. Fire had ravaged one side of the two-story building; the rest had been severely licked by the flames.
“We’ll look round,” said Joss, “and see what there is.”
We dismounted, and he tethered the horses to a piece of iron fence.
“Careful how you go,” he called over his shoulder. Then he turned and took my hand and together we stepped over the blackened threshold.
“They must have lost everything,” he said. “I wonder where they went.”
“I hope their lives were saved.”
“Who can say?”
“How far are we from Fancy Town?”
“Thirty miles or so. Trant’s! People used to stay here. It was like an oasis in the desert…there’s nothing else for miles around.” He turned and looked at me. “We’ll have to stay here for the night. The horses can’t go on. There’s a river close by. Let’s hope it’s not dried up. The horses could drink and there might be some grass that’s not been scorched by the fire. Wait here. I’ll go and look.”
As I stood in that burned-out shell, I felt a sudden horror of the place. There was an atmosphere of doom about it. Tragedy had happened here, and death and disaster seemed to have clung to the air. I shivered and a sudden coldness came over me. I felt that I was alone with the dead. I touched the blackened walls. This had once been a parlor, I imagined, where people had sat and talked and laughed together; within these four walls they had lived their lives. I imagined their coming from England, settlers who had sought a new life and had hit on the idea of making an inn where travelers through the Bush could stay for a night or so. They would farm the land as well, for not enough people would pass this way to give them a living as innkeepers; they would go for walks without seeing anyone…nothing but wild bush. I wondered if they had lived in fear of bushrangers. Those blackened walls filled me with foreboding and I don’t think I fully realized the loneliness of the Bush until that moment.
I noticed that there were some remains of habitation—a half-burned table, pieces of metal which could have been part of some fitting, two battered candlesticks which had once been shining brass, and a tin box such as the one Maddy had at home. She always referred to it as “my box” and it carried her possessions in it. It had come to Oakland Hall when she had and it would be with her all her life.
A figure loomed up beside me, and I gasped in horror.
“Sorry I scared you,” said Joss. “Why, what’s the matter?”
“It’s this place. There’s something haunted about it.”
“Why, there’s little left but the walls. I found the stream and mercifully there’s grass there. We’ll take the horses down.”
“Are we going to stay here?” I asked.
“It’s shelter, and we’re not equipped for camping.”
“Couldn’t we go on?”
“For thirty miles? The horses need rest. We’ll stay here till dawn and then we’ll get going. Let’s see if there’s anything we can use. We’ll explore. But be careful.”
I said: “There’s a tin box over there. There might be something in that.”
As we moved across the floor, my foot struck something. I stooped and picked up a half-burned candle. Joss took it from me and said: “Someone’s been here recently and must have had the same idea as we have of using it for the night.” He examined the stump and then took matches from his pocket and lighted it. He held the candle high, and the place looked more forbidding than ever in the dim light. His face looked different too. His eyes were darker and the bronze of his skin less obvious. There was something half amused and enigmatic in his expression as he regarded me; I noticed again that his ears were large and faintly pointed at the tips, which gave him the appearance of a satyr. I caught a glint in his eyes which suggested to me that he was not altogether displeased with our situation. This gave me more than a twinge of uneasiness.
“It was lucky to find the candle,” I said.
“I wonder who left it. Some bushranger perhaps.”
“Why shouldn’t it be travelers like ourselves?”
“It might be, of course.” He patted his belt. “Now you see why it’s well to be prepared. Don’t be alarmed. You’re not alone, you know.”
He kept his eyes on my face, and I had an idea that he was trying to frighten me.
“There could be something in the tin box,” I said.
He went over to it and touched it with his foot. “It seems to have stood up to the fire pretty well.” He stooped down and opened it and holding the candle high, peered in.
“Why look. A blanket. It must have escaped the fire. The tin box has protected it. What a find! We can spread it on the floor.” He took it out and sniffed at it. “You can smell the smoke.”
I came over to him and took the blanket. “Do you think whoever used the candle used it too?”
“Who knows? We can’t afford to be fastidious. We’ll have need of it.”
As I lifted it out, I saw a book. It was a kind of ledger. I picked it up and opened it. Inside was written “Trant Homestead, 1875. This book is the property of James and Ethel Trant who left England in the year 1873 and settled here in this house which they called Trant’s Homestead.”
I pictured James and Ethel leaving home full of h
ope and settling in this isolated spot. As I turned over the pages of the book I saw that it had been used as a kind of register. There was one column for the date, a center one for names, and another for comments. There were remarks like “Thanks, James and Ethel. It was good.” And another “Just like Home.” Another said “My third visit. Speaks for itself.”
The discovery of the book had made real people of Ethel and James, and I deeply hoped they had survived the destruction of their property.
Joss was looking over my shoulder. “Oh, I see, a hotel register. Look and see when the last guest was here. That should give us some idea of the date of the fire.” I looked. A Tom Best and Harry Wakers had stayed three months before.
“As recent as that,” commented Joss.
“I wonder what happened to James and Ethel Trant.”
“Who can say? Now we’ve got to rest. Don’t forget we must be up at the crack of dawn.”
“Somehow I don’t like the idea of staying here.”
He laughed aloud. “It’s a shelter. Not much but a bit. There’s water close by for the horses and a bit of grass too. We’re in luck. Oh, I know you were thinking of a comfortable bed, but things don’t always work out that way in the Bush. Here, hold the candle.”
I did so while he spread the blanket on the rough, charred floor. He took the candle from me and, tilting it, let some of its grease drip onto the floor and in this he stuck the candle so that it was held upright.
“How long do you think that will last?” I asked.
“A few hours with luck. It’s amazing good fortune to have found it. You appreciate your luck out here.”
“I should think one should anywhere.”
I sat down on the spread-out blanket, still holding the register in my hand. I turned the pages, glancing idly at the names and comments. Then one name leaped out at me. “Desmond Dereham, June 1879” and his comment: “I shall surely come again.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Joss.
“My father stayed here. His name’s in the book. I think people ought to know the truth, that he did not succeed in stealing the Green Flash and that Ben had it all the time. It’ll have to be known that we have it.”
“We’ll see. It’s not a thing I want to decide quickly about. There’s so much depending on it.”
Perhaps he was right, I thought, and it was better that no one should know that we had the famous stone.
I glanced down at the book and saw David Croissant’s name.
“There’s someone else we know,” I said.
Joss looked. “I dare say I could find many people I know in that book. This place was used by everyone. We might try and make a fire and boil some tea. I thought you and I would be sitting at mine host’s table and perhaps sharing a room as we did last night. Rooms are scarce in these homesteads you know. They don’t cater for people with fastidious notions. That chair was damned uncomfortable. I was telling myself I didn’t fancy repeating the experience, and here am I doomed to spend the night on a smoke-ridden blanket in a burned-out homestead.”
He had stretched himself out full length and was staring upwards at what was left of the roof, which in candlelight looked like some prehistoric insect. I could see stars through the gaps in the roof.
He said: “This is a good introduction to your life here. At least after this you’ll be prepared for anything. Are you sleepy? It wasn’t a very good night last night, was it? A pity…and they said it was such a comfortable feather bed.”
He put out a hand and pulled me down beside him.
“Such a small blanket,” he said quietly.
I shrank to the edge of it.
“You disappoint me, Jessica,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be so easily frightened. Why don’t you be bold. Why don’t you prepare yourself for new experiences?”
“What experiences?”
“I didn’t want to marry you any more than you wanted to marry me. We were two sensible people with eyes open to the main chance. This marriage suited us both. We stood to lose a lot if we didn’t go along with Ben. Well, now it’s done, why don’t we try to make something of it?”
“I intend to learn all I can about the Company. I want to play a part in that.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re frightened. What a dilemma! Here you are alone in the burned-out inn with your husband. Don’t be such a child, Jessica. You’re a woman now.”
“You promised,” I cried. “You said you were too proud…”
“You are the most maddening woman I ever knew.”
“Because I’m not panting for you?”
“Yes,” he cried. “I wish to God…”
“That you had refused Ben. You wouldn’t have done that though, would you? You wanted Oakland, Peacocks, and the Green Flash. It was unfortunate that you had to take me too, but that was part of the bargain. If you could be rid of me you’d be contented. You’ve shown me that. I’m not such a child that I can’t see it. I expect there’s someone else you’d like to marry. That would be just like you…to take the main chance. Do you think I don’t understand you? I’m doing that more and more every day, and I don’t like what I discover. I wish…”
I seemed to see Ben’s face rising before me, admonishing me: “Now tell the truth, Jessie. Did you want to stay behind in the Dower House for the rest of your days?”
Joss had risen. “I’m going to see that the horses are safe,” he said, and he strode out, leaving me alone.
As I looked about that burned-out inn, a feeling of foreboding came to me. He didn’t want me. He resented me. It must have occurred to him how much more convenient it would be if I were not here. He wanted to be free and lose nothing by his freedom.
I could hear his voice echoing through my mind: “This is a country where life is cheap.” Bushrangers roamed the land. How easy it would be for him to kill me. He could find a hundred excuses for it.
“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 bushrangers in the neighborhood…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 g
ets stranger than ever. So you’re here. Where’s Joss?”
“He’s looking after the horses.”
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. “It’s 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 billycan of tea. David produced cold chicken and johnnycakes, 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 Flash 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.