Corroboree (23 page)

‘Conclusions?'

‘Have you decided to go?'

Eyre nodded. ‘Yes, I have.'

‘I see,' she said. ‘I suppose there's no further use in appealing to you.'

‘No.'

She sat down, and stared at him for a very long time. Outside in the street they could hear dogs barking and the
cries of a man who would sharpen knives, and shears, and worm your cat.

‘You're not taking Dogger with you, though?' asked Mrs McConnell.

‘No. I'm afraid he's a little too old. We want to find water and cattle-trails and opals out there; not graves.'

‘Well I suppose I can thank you for that.'

Eyre knelt down beside her chair, and held her arm. ‘Constance,' he said, ‘I'm going to make you one solemn promise. Whatever happens, I'll come back to you. Do you understand me? You've taken care of me. I promise in return that I'll take care of you.'

Constance McConnell lowered her head. Eyre stayed beside her for a little while, and then stood up. ‘Shall we have some lunch?' he asked her.

At that moment, however, there was a sharp banging at the door-knocker. Dogger went to answer it with his jugful of beer in his hand, and it was Christopher Willis, in a baggy linen suit, and Arthur Mortlock, rather incongruously dressed as a waiter, with a red waistcoat and rows of shiny brass buttons.

‘Sorry to barge in,' said Christopher, ‘but do you think we could have a private word? Good morning, Mrs McConnell; fine day. Fine smell from the kitchen, too. Mutton stew?'

‘Cutlets,' Mrs McConnell told him, snappily.

Arthur Mortlock took off his derby hat to reveal his prickly scalp, and grinned at Mrs McConnell with a clash of artificial teeth. ‘Nothing to which I'm more partial than mutton cutlets,' he remarked. ‘Especially when they've been cooked by a fair gentlewoman; near to raw; and then sprinkled with a little mustard-seed.'

Mrs McConnell blinked; unsure of what she ought to say. But Arthur bowed, and sniffed, and said, ‘Please don't think that I was after inviting meself to lunch, mum. As it turns out, I don't have the time. I'm helping out a friend at the Adelaide Hotel just at the moment, waiting on table,
seeing as how he's short of fellows what knows the difference between a fish-fork and a kick in the nostril.'

Eyre reassuringly took Mrs McConnell's arm. ‘Mr Mortlock is an acquaintance of mine, Mrs McConnell. He's quite respectable.'

‘Well, then, a fine good morning to
him
', said Mrs McConnell, and bustled off back to her kitchen.

Dogger poured out beer for everybody, frowning at the jug when it was empty, and then ambled distractedly off to stoke up the kitchen range and lay the table. Christopher peered down the hallway to make sure that he was gone, and then closed the parlour door. He also went to the window, to see if there was anybody watching the house from the street outside.

‘What's up?' asked Eyre.

‘Arthur came to see me this morning and said that two men took rooms at the Adelaide Hotel late last night, presumably off the packet from Sydney. They told the porter they were on the lookout for ticket-of-leave men who had absconded from Botany Bay; and they gave the names Croucher, Philips, Bean, and Mortlock. Then this morning, over breakfast, they told another waiter that they had discovered already that Philips and Croucher were dead, killed and robbed by Aborigines; but that Bean and Mortlock were still at large, and that they were quite determined to run them to earth.'

Eyre said to Arthur, ‘I presume Bean was the other man with you; the man who ran off.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Arthur. ‘I never knew his other name, sir, only Bean; and as far as I know that was the way his mother had him baptised, Bean and nothing more.'

‘Have you heard from Bean since the night of the Ball?'

‘No, sir. But he won't have gone far. He was never the adventurous kind. Nerves of seaweed, sir, had Bean.'

‘If these men were to track Bean down, and question him, do you think you could rely on him not to tell them where you might be found?'

Arthur said, ‘Hard to say, sir. But I doubt it. Bean was
never a hard case, sir, not in that sense of it. And if they threaten him with flogging, well, you can't blame a fellow for wanting to keep the flesh on his back, can you?'

‘You must leave, then,' said Eyre.

Christopher fanned himself with his hat. ‘It's a little more difficult than that, Eyre old chap. Apparently these fellows have got the roads watched, and they've been talking to all the Aborigine constables to make sure that nobody slips out of Adelaide through the bush. I was down at the port this morning, too—in fact, that's where Arthur came to find me—and all sea-captains and fishermen and boat owners have been told to keep a weather-eye open for men who want to leave Adelaide by sea in anything of a hurry. They've been offering rewards, too: bottles of rum for information; gold sovereigns for capture.'

‘Well,' said Eyre, looking at Arthur warily. ‘It seems as if they've made up their minds that they're going to run you down.'

‘So it would seem, sir,' Arthur agreed.

‘Of course, we have another little problem,' said Christopher. ‘It's an offence to harbour a wanted criminal, and that means that both you and I are equally liable to be arrested and charged. And if this Bean decides to describe what happened on the night when Philips and Croucher were killed, why, we might very well find ourselves charged with aiding and abetting murder, too, and conspiracy, and obstructing justice.'

Eyre said, ‘Come on, now, Christopher, we've done nothing criminal.'

‘Oh, haven't we just? If you'd had the sense that night to call the police; or at least let Arthur run off, then we would have been quite all right. But here we are, almost as guilty of absconding from Botany Bay as he is.'

‘Arthur will have to hide,' Eyre decided.

‘Hide? But where?'

‘There must be somewhere at the racecourse.'

‘There's a hut there, which they use to keep the scythes
and the shovels in; but he won't be able to stay there for longer than two or three nights. There's a race meeting on Wednesday afternoon.'

‘That may be as long as we need,' said Eyre.

Christopher frowned. ‘I'm not sure that I follow you.'

‘It's very simple,' said Eyre. ‘In three days, we shall be able to assemble everything we need for my expedition. Food, water, horses; we shan't need to take anything particularly fancy. Joolonga is arriving in Adelaide tomorrow, and the other Aborigines are already here.'

‘I hope you're not suggesting what I
think
you're suggesting,' said Christopher, in a pale voice.

‘It seems to me the very best way of killing two birds with one stone,' said Eyre. ‘I need two companions to come with me on this expedition. I was already thinking of you, Christopher, if I could persuade you; and of Robert Pope. But I am prepared to substitute Arthur here for Robert. After all, Arthur seems to have been something of an expert when it comes to surviving under harsh conditions. We could dress him up, and perhaps give him a large hat and a pair of spectacles to wear, and we could say that he was a cousin of mine from England. Then all three of us could ride out of Adelaide without any trouble or hindrance whatsoever. No bounty-hunters are going to question the departure of a geographical expedition financed by Captain Sturt, of all people.'

Christopher looked at Arthur closely, quite unconvinced. ‘A cousin of yours from England?'

‘Perhaps we can find him a wig,' Eyre suggested.

‘Well, that's all very well,' Christopher protested, ‘but what about me? I don't even want to go on this expedition. I was very much hoping that
you
wouldn't go.'

‘Under the circumstances, I would think it wiser if you changed your mind,' said Eyre. ‘Especially since I am intending to go, whatever happens; and no matter what anyone says to deter me.'

‘You're inordinately stubborn, you know,' Christopher complained.

‘Perhaps.'

‘No
perhaps
about it. When it comes to stubbornness, I'd set you up against two mules and a kangaroo any day of the week.'

Arthur cleared his throat. ‘Is it all right if I say something, sir?'

‘Of course,' said Eyre.

‘Well, sir, the thing is that there's no need for either of you gentlemen to feel in any way obligated to me, sir. I never did nothing for you but try to rob you of what was yours; and that's hardly a worthy recommendation for anyone. If I was to give myself up right away to these two gentlemen what seems to be searching for me, then there wouldn't be any need for either of you to get yourselves tangled up in it; and that would be the end of the matter.'

‘Except that they could take you back to Norfolk Island and flog you so hard that they would probably kill you,' Eyre put in.

‘I took my own risk, sir, when I jumped the boat for Adelaide. I always knew the consequences, should I be caught.'

Eyre was silent for a minute or two. Christopher sat crossing and uncrossing his legs; and staring at Eyre with such concentration that if it had been possible for him to persuade Eyre by thought-transference that Arthur should give himself up, then he certainly would have succeeded.

Eyre, at last, said, ‘I'm not a judge, Arthur. I don't enforce the laws which sentence men to years of transportation for stealing hats, and sheep, and loaves of bread. Nor do I give the orders for men to be flogged, or kept in solitary confinement. It seems to me that you have served out your sentence, and yet the very fact that you have to remain here in Australia means that, in a way, you are serving your sentence still. You broke the conditions of your ticket-of-leave, I suppose, and you did attempt to rob us. But it is not for me to demand that you give yourself up; nor even to expect it; and if you wish to come along on this expedition, then you are welcome.'

Christopher covered his face with his hands. ‘I
knew
it,' he said. ‘I sensed it, the very moment you mentioned the idea of it. I hate camping; and I hate riding horses; and I hate discomfort of all kinds. And yet here I am, condemned to join an expedition into the very harshest country known to man. Eyre Walker, I wish I'd never set eyes on you.'

‘No, you don't,' Eyre smiled at him.

‘No,' said Christopher. ‘The trouble is, I don't.'

Arthur said, ‘If that's a genuine offer, sir, then I feel it in my water to take it, if that's agreeable.'

‘You realise that I may be condemning you to a worse fate than any you might meet at Macquarie Harbour.'

Arthur sat up straight. ‘I'd rather die ten times in the company of gentlemen, sir, than just once by myself, with a cloth bag over my head, in deep disgrace.'

‘Well, wouldn't we all?' said Christopher. ‘Or, I don't know. Perhaps we wouldn't.'

Just then, Mrs McConnell came in and announced that luncheon was almost ready.

‘I don't suppose you'd find it in your heart to root around for a spare cutlet, would you mum?' Arthur spoke up.

Mrs McConnell glared at him; and then at Eyre. Eyre twinkled his eyes at her, and gave her the most winning smile he could manage. And a little nod of his head, as if to say, go on, just for me, give the man a cutlet.

Mrs McConnell hesitated. Then she turned and called down the hallway, ‘Dogger! Lay the table for two more, please! Yes, soup spoons, too!'

On Monday, Eyre and Christopher ate lunch with Captain Sturt at the Wilson's house on Grenfell Street. Mrs Wilson was a plain, flustering woman who baked raised pies that could have been exhibited in a museum, and perhaps should have been: perfect to look at, but tasting of nothing very much at all, except shortening, possibly, and potatoes boiled without any salt. The dining-room was heavily curtained and painted in brown, and on the sideboard there was a huge sorry-looking salmon in a glass case.

Every time Captain Sturt said anything witty, Mrs Wilson would let out a sound like a stepped-on mouse; a quick, suppressed squeak; and then giggle. Captain Sturt obviously found her responses almost intolerable, for every time she squeaked he closed his eyes for a moment, and gripped his fork as if he could cheerfully jab her with it.

Christopher glanced across the table at Eyre with some unease. But Eyre was determined that the expedition should go ahead as he and Captain Sturt had agreed, and as quickly as possible.

Sturt, in fact, had been most industrious since he had last spoken to Eyre. He had already talked to Mr Town-send of the South Australian Company and arranged for Eyre to take whatever leave of absence might be required; and now he knew that Christopher was to accompany Eyre, he would make the same arrangement for him.

He had bought half-a-dozen horses; complete with saddles and saddle-packs; and leather bottles for the carrying of water. He had also arranged for the delivery of jerked meat, dried fruit, flour, salt, rice, and tea. These would be carried on a mule, although he hadn't yet been able to find a satisfactory mule.

The single item of provisions which he plainly considered to be the most valuable, however, was a leather-bound
copy of his own
Expeditions
. This he laid reverently on the table in front of Eyre, and opened the cover to show him the inscription on the title-page. ‘For Mr Eyre Walker, in Trust and Confidence, that he will follow in my footsteps to the very heart of the Australian continent.'

Eyre picked up the book, and leafed through it. He was actually very moved; because for all of Sturt's pomposity, he was still the greatest explorer the Australian continent had yet seen, and he was certainly the most celebrated man in Adelaide.

He said, ‘Thank you, Captain Sturt. I shall treasure this above everything.

‘Not above food and water, I hope,' Sturt grinned at him. ‘Although you will notice that the binding is leather, and that it may always be good for nourishment. Before they started dining on themselves, you may remember, Alexander Pearce and his companions actually devoured their kangaroo-skin jackets. Did you know that? Men can be pushed to extraordinary extremes in the outback.'