The Shadow of the Lynx (6 page)

Life at sea might have been monotonous to some passengers who longed for their journey’s end; not to me. I was interested in everything and most of all in Stirling. He undoubtedly

chafed over the tediousness and was longing to be home. We breakfasted about nine and dined at twelve; and between that time Stirling and I would pace the decks for exercise while most people wrote their letters home so that they could be dispatched at the next port of call. But I had no one to write to—except a note to poor Mary. I often thought of her in the dreary attic, confined to life at Danesworth House and was sorry for her.

I remember sitting on deck with Stirling when most of the people were confined to their cabins because of the weather and feeling pleased because he admired me for being a good sailor. He was apt to be impatient with people’s failings, I had learned. I wondered how I should match up to his expectations. I gathered that he spent a good deal of time on horseback. My father had taught me to ride when were in the country, but I imagined that hacking through the English country lanes might be different from galloping across the bush.

I mentioned this to Stirling and he hastened to reassure me.

“You’ll be all right,” he told me.

“I’ll find a horse for you. A gentleman of a horse at first, with as fine manners as that Mr. Wakefield you were so taken with. And after that
” A manly horse I suggested.

“As manly as Stirling Herrick.”

We laughed a great deal together. We argued, because there were so many things about which we did not agree. Stirling was often at variance with our fellow passengers; he would allow himself to be drawn into discussions with them and during these never minced his words. He was not very popular with some of the pompous gentlemen, but I noticed that many of the women had a ready smile for him.

Later I realized how good this voyage was for me. It took me completely away from those wretched months when I had first waited anxiously for news of my father and then staggered under the terrible blow when it came.

The pattern of life on board was breakfast in the saloon, the long mornings, luncheon at twelve, the slow afternoons, dinner at four for which passengers put on their more elaborate clothes and during which the band played light music, and then strolling about the decks until tea at seven.

We went ashore at Gibraltar and spent a pleasant morning there. It was wonderful to ride in a carriage with Stirling and see the sights of the place: the shops, the apes, and the rock itself.

“Sometimes,” I said, “I wish this trip could go on for ever.”

Stirling grimaced.

“Suppose we missed the ship,” I suggested.

“Suppose we built a ship of our own and went on sailing round the world wherever the fancy took us.”

“What crazy things you think of!” He was derisive. How different from my father who would have gone on with the wild, impossible story of how we built our ship and the exotic places we sailed to.

“I remember him,” he said.

“He would talk in the most fantastic way, pretending that what he knew was impossible would happen..”

“It was a lovely way to live.”

“It was crazy. What sense is there in pretending something will happen when you know it won’t?”

I would not allow any criticism of my father.

“It made life gay and exciting,” I protested.

“It was false. I think it’s a waste of time to pretend you believe in the impossible.”

“You are very matter-of-fact and … Dull?” I was silent and he urged: “Come on. Tell the truth.”

“I like to think wonderful things can happen.”

“Even when you know they can’t?”

“Who says they can’t?”

“Like coming ashore for a few hours and building a ship and sailing off round the world without a navigator, a captain or a pilot, taking no account of harbour dues and navigation. You’ll have to grow up, Nora, when you’re in Australia,” I was annoyed, seeing in this an attack on my father.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s too early to comment on that.”

If you’re going to think I’m childish . “

We certainly shall if you indulge in childish fantasy as—’ “As my father did. Did you think him childish?”

“We thought him not very practical. His end showed that, didn’t it? If he had handed over the gold he would be alive

today. What sense is there in deluding yourself into thinking that you can hold something and giving your life to prove you’re wrong? “

I was hurt and angry and yet not able to discuss my father logically.

I grew silent and was angry with Stirling for spoiling a perfect day.

But this was typical of my relationship with him. He made no concessions to polite conversation;

he stated what he believed and nothing would make him diverge from it.

I knew that what he said was right but I could not bear that my father should be subjected to censure.

Although at times I disliked his overbearance, when he showed—as he often did—that he was taking care of me, I felt a warm, comfortable emotion.

The weather had grown warm and I loved the tropical evenings. After the seven o’clock meal he would sit on deck and talk. Those were the occasions to which I most looked forward, even more than the sunlit days when we would walk up and down the deck or lean over the rail and he would point out a frolicking porpoise or a flying fish.

One evening as we sat on deck looking out into the warm darkness of the tropical waters I said to Stirling.

“What if Lynx doesn’t like me?”

“He’d still look after you. He’s given his word ” He sounds difficult to please. “

Stirling nodded. This was true. Lynx might be all-powerful but he was not always benevolent.

“He sounds like one of the Roman gods whom people were always placating.”

Stirling grinned at the comparison.

“People do try to please him naturally,” he said.

“And if they don’t?”

“He lets them know.”

“Sometimes I think I should have done better to stay at Danesworth House.”

“You’ll have to learn to be truthful if you want to please Lynx.”

“I’m not sure that I want to. I should hate to be his meek little slave.”

“You wait and see. You’ll want to please him. Everybody does.”

“You’re brutally frank about my father. Why shouldn’t I be about yours?”

“You should always say what’s in your mind, of course.”

“Well, I think your Lynx sounds like a conceited, power-crazy megalomaniac.”

“Let’s consider that. He has a high opinion of himself—he shares that with everyone else. He likes to be in command and there is no one like him. So, slightly modified, your description might not be completely inaccurate.”

“Tell me more about him.”

So he talked of his father as we sat there and I made many pictures in my mind of this powerful man who had so impressed my father that he had left me in his care.

“He was sent out of England as a prisoner thirty-five years ago,” said Stirling.

“It had its effect on him. He’s going back one day … when he’s ready.”

“When will he be ready?”

“He told me once that he will know when the time comes.”

“He does talk to you sometimes like an ordinary human being then?”

Stirling smiled.

“I believe you have made up your mind to dislike him.

That is very unwise. Yes, he is human, very human. “

“And I’ve been thinking of him as a god!”

“He’s like that too.”

“Half-god, half-man,” I mocked because I remembered how Stirling had talked of my father, and I knew that he compared the two of them; and as, in Stirling’s opinion no one on earth could shine beside his father, mine suffered miserably in the comparison.

“Yes,” he went on, “Lynx is human. He’s a man … a real man, but much grander in every way than other men.”

“You tell me so much of your father. What of your mother? Does she subscribe to the general view of your father’s greatness?”

“My mother is dead. She died when I was born.” His face had darkened almost imperceptibly with some emotion.

“I’m sorry. I know you have a sister because she was coming to meet me. Have you any other sisters and brothers?”

“There are only two of us. Adelaide, my sister, is eight years older than I am.”

I wondered about Adelaide. I asked questions, but a very colourless picture emerged. He only glowed when he talked of Lynx. I thought of my own mother who had ‘gone away’;

.

“What of your mother?” I asked.

“Did she go out as a prisoner, too?”

“No. My father was sent to work for hers. Imagine the Lynx being sent to work for anyone!”

“Well, he was a prisoner then, not the great Lynx he is today.” I reminded him.

“He was always a proud man. I suppose my grandfather realized that.”

“Your grandfather?”

“The man my father was sent to work for. Very soon my father had married his daughter—my mother.”

“That was clever of him,” I said ironically.

“It happened,” he replied laconically, unsure, I believed, whether to applaud his father’s cleverness or deny his calculation.

“So he married out of bondage, one might say.”

“You have a sharp tongue, Nora.”

“I thought I was speaking my mind.”

“Certainly. But it’s a pity you must believe the worst of people.”

“I was thinking how clever he was. He was sent as a servant to work out his term of imprisonment, so he made his master his father-in-law.

I consider that clever and just the sort of thing I should expect from “How can you expect anything of him when you don’t know him?”

“I’ve spent quite a long time in your company and to do that is to know quite a bit about this wonderful man, for you talk of nothing else.”

“Very well, I’ll not speak of him. You asked questions and I replied to -them. That’s all.”

“Of course I want to hear about this wonderful godlike creature. But tell me more about your mother.”

“How can I when I never knew her?”

There must have been some stories. “

He frowned and was silent. There were stories, I decided, and he did not want to tell them. Why? Because I imagined they were not very flattering to Lynx.

“And did he never marry again?” I went on.

“He did not marry again.”

“All those years without a wife! I should have thought Lynx

would have wanted a wife. “

“You should not judge him until you know him,” said Stirling rather sourly. Then he changed the subject quickly and talked about the country. It would be the end of winter when we arrived for I must not forget that winter in Australia was summer at home. The wattle would be in bloom and I should see the fine brave eucalypts—red stringy barks and grey ghost gums; and we should have to travel north from Melbourne through parts of the bush. I was not listening very intently. I kept thinking of Lynx’s marrying and becoming his master’s son-in-law. Perhaps, I thought, Fox would have been a better name for him. The more I heard of the perfection of this man the more I set my mind against him because I imagined that in every account of his prowess was some implied criticism of my father.

We sat gazing over the water while Stirling talked of my new home and at last I said: “It’s getting late. I must go in.”

Stirling conducted me to my cabin and said goodnight. When I entered, my companion, who was already in her bunk, remarked that I seemed to find the company of Mr. Herrick very intriguing.

“Naturally we have a great deal to talk about since he is taking me to his country which will be my new home.”

“Mrs. Mullens was saying how odd it was for a young girl to have such a young guardian.”

“There is no law laid down that a guardian should be of a stipulated age. A guardian can be of any age. No one can prevent his being a guardian because he is not middleaged, nor can people be prevented from gossiping. Nor again is there any law to prevent one listening to gossip—only that of good breeding, of course.”

That silenced her and I chuckled to myself. Stirling was right. I had a quick tongue. I must make of it a defensive weapon. Perhaps I should have an opportunity of trying it on Lynx. The thought amused me.

I should not let him command me, I assured myself, though he was my guardian and appointed as such by my own father. I would never be dominated by anyone as this man appeared to dominate people—even Stirling. I would ask no more questions about him. I would shut him out of my mind.

I fell asleep then, but my dreams were haunted by a tall

.

We were three days out of Cape Town when we discovered Jemmy. We had had our usual meal at seven and gone out on to the deck to sit side by side while Stirling talked about his country. I was beginning to build up a clear picture. I saw the bush with its yellow wattle and enormous trees. Stirling was not one to offer glowing descriptions; his conversation was in fact inclined to be terse; but he did make me guess at the beauty of the jarrah tree blossom and the red flowering gum. I could image the red and yellow glory of the flowers they called kangaroo paws; I could see the yellow swamp daisies and the many coloured orchids. He mentioned casually the gay rosellas; and I longed to see the green lorikeets and red-winged parrots. Each day I was learning a little more about the country which would soon be mine.

Suddenly we heard the sound of violent sneezing. We were startled, believing ourselves be alone on deck.

“Who was that?” said Stirling, looking about him.

There was a paroxysm of coughing which could only have come from someone close by. It was clear that the sufferer was desperately attempting to stifle his cough. Stirling and I looked at each other in amazement for we could see no one.

We took a few steps along the deck suspended from which were the lifeboats and as we passed one of these the coughing started again.

“Who’s there?” called Stirling.

There was no answer—but the cough had started again, and this time there was no doubt that it came from the suspended lifeboat.