Sarah Thornhill (18 page)

He had something for me, six pair of kid gloves in a box with a gold edge. Different colours, best quality. He wasn't to know I never liked the feel of a glove on my hand, no matter if they were the best kid. Didn't tell him, smiled and thanked. Should of done him the courtesy of saying, Thank you, John Daunt, but I got no use for gloves.

Him and Campbell could talk for an hour together about what a bale of extra fine was worth. But Daunt hadn't come to talk about the price of wool. The night he arrived he was already remarking on what fine country it was for riding, and would Miss Thornhill care to join him on a mount in the morning?

We went quietly along one of the tracks, stopped in a shady clearing by a creek, let the horses walk into the water and twitch their whiskery lips at their reflections. Sat on some rocks that went down into the creek, regular as a set of steps. The water so clear and shining over the stones of its bed, like a moving jewel. I took my boots off to watch my feet pale and wavery under the current.

That eyebrow going off at an angle made you think Daunt was on the edge of some wry remark. Made it hard to tell when he really was. I wondered if he was thinking about that other ride, the way I was. Oh, I'd been full of sauce that day. So full of what was starting between me and Jack, so sure nothing could go wrong.

I haven't ever lost the memory of the ride we had at your father's house, Daunt said. The four of us, a grand day. I was new to it, Miss Thornhill, and relished it then, but three years more has confirmed it to me, New South Wales is the finest country in the world.

I'm glad to hear that, Mr Daunt, I said. Never known any place but this, so of course I think the same.

I have to say this, though, Miss Thornhill, Daunt said. That it's a place requires a man to share, whether he wish it or not. Such as I was recently, a man well-known in my district, goes by the name of the Jewboy, thought I must have enough for him as well as myself.

Held up! I said. That what you mean, Mr Daunt?

Sitting down to our meal, myself and the men, Daunt said. Had a couple of nice young fowl, and some new peas, we'd coaxed them up, carried the water to them, our first few peas. I'm telling you our mouths were watering. Hardly sat down when one of the men looks out the doorway and says, ‘There is a drunken constable' but it was no constable, it was this feller with a pistol in each hand and another feller with a damn great musket. They sat down and ate the lot, every bit of fowl and every last pea. Gathered up our watches and coin, such as we had, then as the final insult went to the pantry and took possession of a cheese. A sad bad day, Miss Thornhill, when a man can't defend his own cheese!

I laughed, glad to be able to like him, if only for telling a good tale.

You'd be well set up on your place by now, I said. It's slipped my mind what you've called it.

Glenmire, he said. You'd remember, perhaps, that's the place in Ireland I come from. I'm a sentimental fellow you know, Miss Thornhill. Contrary to appearances.

It was true, he looked about as sentimental as a block of wood. I thought of how he must shave every morning and see that heavy-browed thick-jawed face and wish he looked more like the man he knew he was.

It's as lovely a place as you could ever hope to see, he said. The grass as thick as the hairs on a cat's back, the sheep as fat as a suet pudding and the soil in such good heart.

That blarney! As he talked I found myself wondering what it would be like in bed with him. Would he do? If he asked, would he do?

The house a solid place, he said. And remarkable fine ventilation, owing to the fact that the rogue of a carpenter has left me in the lurch with the windows. Full of promises to come back, mark you, then it will be the snuggest of places.

No need to charm me, John Daunt, I thought. Got my reasons for being here with you, and they're nothing to do with your grand place or your winning Irish ways.

I was very sorry to hear the terrible news of your brother, Miss Thornhill, he said. Quite some time ago now, I know. But please accept my deepest sympathy.

A chilly formal sort of phrase but he said it with feeling.

Thank you, Mr Daunt, I said. It was a sad loss.

I should not of made use of poor Will, but I was impatient to get things clear with Daunt before they went any further.

You might remember Jack Langland? I said. That was with Will when he died?

I felt the blood rise, saying
Jack Langland
.

Oh yes, he said.

Vague as a cloud, but I felt him paying attention.

I do remember Mr Langland, he said. Very well indeed. Although Campbell and I had only the one night at your father's house and as I remember we had to get away early. Still quite dark when we rose. Not a soul stirring anywhere in the house.

Met my eye for longer than was quite natural. If I'd ever wondered had he seen me come out of Jack's room, there was my answer. He had.

Jack went away, I said. Back to New Zealand.

I did hear so, he said. I heard he had gone.

We saw a lot of him at one time, I said. When Will was alive. But I wouldn't expect to see him again ever. Gone our different ways, you could say.

There was something shocking in putting it into words. I saw how you could know something and believe it but still in some pocket of yourself not know and not believe.

It's a painful thing, to say goodbye, Daunt said. But you and I have seen enough of the world to know there are times when a farewell has to be made. I'm glad to know about Mr Langland. I wondered what had become of him.

Bent forward, held his hand in the water, watching the flow change shape as he turned his palm, first one way, then the other.

We made our farewells at your father's, all that time ago, he said. You and I. But I always had in my mind that it was not farewell so much as
au revoir
.

I saw him wonder if I knew the word.

I thought we might meet again, too, Mr Daunt, I said, and smiled at him so there could be no doubt what I wanted him to know.

I'd had my chance. Known what it was like to be so close to another person you were cut in half without them. That only happened once in your life. Daunt was a good enough feller. Many was the woman had to settle for worse.

If he asked, I was going to say yes.

By the end of the week Daunt was fretting about being away from his own place. We rode most days and he'd tell me about his government men, what a poor lot they were, not bad in them-selves, but had to be stood over to get the work out of them. I could feel his impatience to be back.

I had no need of a long courtship, was impatient myself. Not that I was afraid I'd change my mind, or that Daunt would change his. But wanted to get the thing over with. If this man was my future, why wait?

I did all I could by way of smiles and looks, and let Mary fuss about my hair in a new way that she said was more becoming. When she asked, I told her yes, I liked John Daunt, he was a fine man, knowing she would tell Archibald, and Archibald would tell Daunt.

So when he joined me one morning in the summer-house I had a pretty good idea why. He sat down opposite me, on the edge of the seat. A little pale, and his hands, I saw, a little unsteady. I had a pang for him and for all men, risking the smart of a knock-back. Even Jack, wondering if
a certain person
might of seen
something she liked better
. Being a woman and having to wait was enough to drive you dilly, but being the feller was hard too.

Miss Thornhill, he said. There's a thing I'd like to have a talk with you about. If you'd be willing.

Yes, Mr Daunt, I said. More than willing.

I've told you about Glenmire, he said. The grandest place it will be. As I've said.

Yes, I said. Glenmire sounds to be a grand place.

In short words I've everything a man could ask for, he said. Nothing is troubling me but for one thing.

What woman wouldn't know what was coming?
Out with it,
Daunt, for God's sake!
I urged in my mind. What was the obstacle that stopped him from saying he had
everything except a wife to share
his blessings
?

The fact is, he said, I'm duty bound, Miss Thornhill, to warn you that I am not yet in as settled a way as Archibald is here. In a pecuniary point of view, you understand me. The house not finished, and the present miserable price of wool keeping me from any large improvements as yet.

Ah, it's just the money he's worrying about, I thought. When, if he only knew, I'd once been glad to go into married life with nothing but a shawl and a hairbrush.

My situation can only improve, he said. The price of wool will come back, how can it not, and then there'll be nothing lacking that any person might desire. Only patience called for at the start, and the turning of a blind eye to some of the present shortcomings.

Poor man, he could not seem to make himself stop talking, as if afraid of my answer.

You're an honourable man, Mr Daunt, I said. Being so frank with me.

Oh, honourable! he said. If honours were pounds, Miss Thornhill, I'd never need to do a hand's turn. I'll not beat around the bush, it's a laborious life at the present time. Leisure not yet much known at Glenmire, and that's a fact.

I know about labour, Mr Daunt, I said. Never been afraid of hard work. Be surprised what I can turn my hand to.

Of all the words I might of chosen, it was that echo of Jack!

Ah no, Miss Thornhill, he said. That's where you're wrong, if you don't mind me saying so. Nothing whatever you could do could surprise me. You're a woman of many parts, from my knowledge of you. And every part much to my liking, if I might say.

He quirked his eyebrow at me, and I thought, what heavy weather a gentleman has to make of saying
I fancy you
! Smiled at him and he took heart.

Now what I want to ask is this, Miss Thornhill, he said. It would make me the happiest of men. But should you not wish, please have the candour to say so. What I have to say is, would you do me the honour to become my wife?

Thank you Mr Daunt, I said. Yes, I do wish.

He jumped up, went to kiss my hand. Must of been the Irish way. But it took me by surprise and I flinched. We laughed and that sealed the bargain, but neither one of us laughed from joy. It was that we both saw the same thing, that we were as different as fish from possum.

P
A AND
Ma and the girl travelled up to Garlogie for the wedding. Pa jumped down out of the cart beaming so his face crinkled up like old leather. Hugged me, not often he did that.

Well done, Dolly, he said into my ear. Done real good for yourself. And Mr Daunt, here we all are again and what a fine thing it is!

I'd never seen him so buoyed up. As if he'd been holding himself tight all these years, his grip hard round all the things that stood between him and his hungry past. Now he could ease that grip.

Ma pulled the girl down out of the cart. Sullen but limp. No fight left in her.

I went to kiss her but Ma got between us.

Dolly dearest, she said. Such a happy time! So pleased for you!

Her eyes flicking between Archibald and Daunt, her fine sons-in-law, as proud as if she'd made them with her own hands.

The gentlemen laid themselves out to charm Pa and Ma. Archibald settled them in the armchairs, fussed about giving Ma a cushion for her back and a bolster for her feet. Her eyes everywhere, on the big black piano in the corner, the velvet curtains, the silver candlesticks.

Leaned over to whisper to me.

You see, Dolly, sometimes the clouds look black, don't they, she said. And then the sun comes out. Aren't you glad you waited, Dolly?

I was almost sorry for having said yes to Daunt.

There's the baby crying, I said. No, Mary, I'll go.

I waited out in the hall looking at the pattern on the heavy embossed wallpaper, wishing the baby really would cry.

When I went back in, Campbell was at the drinks trolley.

Mrs Thornhill, he was saying. Will you try a wee drop of this madeira, I think you'll find it satisfactory. And Mr Thornhill, I had a fine madeira at your house, I remember, I'd value your opinion of this particular one.

Then the parlourmaid was at the door holding the girl by the wrist.

Pardon me, Mrs Thornhill, she said, I found your lass wandering about, she had the linen press open, Lord knows what she wanted in there.

Ma had her glass in her hand, comfortable in the armchair. It was Pa that got up and put his arm round the girl.

My granddaughter, he said, as if the maid needed to know. From New Zealand.

And how is she getting along, Daunt said. Is she settling, now?

Middling, Pa said. A great one for wandering. Can't go past a cupboard, not without she has a look inside. Can you, Rachel?

Restless as a cat, Ma said.

She'll come good, Pa said. Won't you, pet? Talk the leg off a chair once you get started.