A little later, McKeith having tubbed and changed his riding clothes,
came to his wife's room. He looked very large and clean and fair, and
the worst of his temper had worn off in a colloquy with Ninnis, and the
imparting and receiving of local news. But his eyes were still gloomy,
and his mouth sullenly determined. And he had remembered with remorse
that he should have softened to Bridget the sudden news of her friend's
death. The sight of her now--a small tragic figure with a white face
and burning eyes, in a black dress into which she had changed, deepened
his compunction.
'I am very sorry, Biddy.' He tried to put his arm round her shoulder,
but she drew back.
'What are you sorry for, Colin--that Rosamond Tallant is dead, and that
you forgot to tell me, and let me hear it from--Willoughby Maule?' She
paused perceptibly before pronouncing the christian name, 'Or that you
behaved like an inhuman monster to those wretched Blacks, and refused
me the only thing I have asked you for a good time past?'
Her tone roused his rancour anew.
'I think we'll drop the subject of the Blacks; there is no earthly use
in talking about them, I make it a rule never to threaten without
performing, and I'd punish them again, just the same--or more
severely--under similar circumstances.'
'Very well. You will do as you please, and I shall do as I please, too.'
'What do you mean?'
'Just what I say. I agree with you that there's no use in discussing
things about which we hold such different opinions. Quite simply, I
can't forgive you for this afternoon's work.'
'Biddy, you exaggerate things.'
'Perhaps. But I don't think so in this case. Let me go out, Colin.
Dinner must be ready by now.'
'No. I've got something to ask you first. I want to know why you looked
so upset--as if you were going to faint--when that man came up to you
to-day?'
'Naturally, I was startled. I had no idea he was in Australia.'
'But why should that have affected you. One might have imagined he had
been your lover. Was he ever your lover, Biddy? I must know.'
'And if he had been, do you think I should tell you,' she answered
coldly.
McKeith's face turned a dark red. His eyes literally blazed.
'That's enough.' He said, 'I shall not ask you another question about
him. I am answered already.'
He stood aside to let her pass out into the veranda, and she walked
along to the sitting-room.
Dinner went off, however, more agreeably than might have been expected.
Lady Bridget's manner was simple and to the guest charming. The black
dress, the touch of pensiveness was in keeping with the shadow of
tragedy. But she spoke in a natural way, and with tender regret of Lady
Tallant--questioning Maule as to when he had last seen her, and
learning from him how it had been at Rosamond's instigation that he had
cabled proposing himself as a companion in Sir Luke's loneliness. It
had been only a week after his arrival in Leichardt's Town that the
blow had fallen.
'You know, Tallant and I always hit it off very well together,'he
observed explanatorily, addressing McKeith. 'It was at their house that
I used to meet Lady Bridget during the few months that I had the honour
of her acquaintance in England.'
McKeith looked at his guest in a resentful but half puzzled way. A
spasm of doubt shook him. Suppose he had been making a fool of
himself--insulting his wife by unreasoning suspicions? A vague contempt
in her courteous aloofness had stung him to the quick. And the other
man's easy self assurance, the light interchange of conversation
between them about things and people of which McKeith knew nothing--all
gave the Australian a sense of bafflement--the feeling that these two
were ruled by another social code, belonged to a different world, in
which he had no part. He had been sitting at the head of his table,
perfunctorily doing his duty as host, wounded in his
self-esteem--almost the tenderest part on him, morose and miserable.
Now he snatched at the idea that he had been mistaken, as if it were a
life-buoy thrown him in deep waters. He began to talk, to assert
himself, to prove himself cock of his own walk. And Maule suavely
encouraged him to lay down the law on things Australian, while Lady
Bridget withdrew into herself, baffling and enraging McKeith still more
hopelessly. He did not seem now to know his wife! A catastrophe had
happened. What? How? Why? .... Nothing was the same, or could be the
same again.
It was a relief when dinner was over. The men pulled out their pipes in
the veranda. Lady Bridget, just within the sitting room window, smoked
a cigarette, her small form extended in a squatter's chair, listening
to, but taking scarcely any part in the conversation. The two outside
discussed local topics--McKeith's failure to trace the perpetrators of
the outrage on his horses. Maule's impressions of Tunumburra--where he
had met McKeith in the township hotel, and the two had apparently, in
the usual Bush fashion, got on intimate terms--the rumours of an armed
camp of Unionists, and the expected conflict between them and the sheep
owners and free shearers at Breeza Downs, whither the Government
specials were bound. Lady Bridget gleaned that Maule had placed himself
under McKeith's directions.
'What are your immediate movements to be?' he asked his host.
'Remember, I am ready to fall in with any plans you may have for making
me useful.'
McKeith did not answer at once. He took his pipe from his mouth, and
knocked the ashes out of it against the arm of his chair, while he
seemed to be considering the question. Then, as if he had formed a
definite determination, he leaned forward and addressed his wife in a
forcedly matter-of-fact tone.
'I don't suppose you know much about what has been going on, Biddy. The
same boat that brought up the specials brought a hundred or more free
labourers, and they're on their way up to the different sheep-stations
along the river--a lot of them for Breeza Downs, where Windeatt has
begun shearing. Windeatt is in a blue funk because a report that a
little army of Unionists, all mounted and armed, are camped that way
and threatening to burn down his wool-shed and sack his store. The
burned old Duppo's wool-shed last week.'
'He's a skinflint, and I'm sure he deserved it,' put in Lady Bridget
indifferently.
McKeith check a dry sarcasm. He became aware of Maule's eyes turning
from one to the other.
'Well--' He got up and leaned his great frame against the lintel
between Maule and Lady Bridget. 'The Pastoralist Executive at
Tunumburra have asked us cattle-owners who--are more likely to be let
alone than the sheep-men, to help in garrisoning the sheep-stations;
and I've promised to ride over to Breeza Downs to-morrow and do my
share in protecting the place. Harris and I are going together.'
Lady Bridge seemed more interested in blowing smoke-rings than in her
husband's news.
'I may have to be away several days,' continued McKeith. 'Then there's
the new bore we're sinking--the water is badly wanted--cattle are
dying--I can't run any risk of the bore-plant being wrecked. The men
who are working there must be sent off because we're short of
rations--thanks to those murderous brutes keeping back the drays--and
the muster has to be stopped for the same reason. I won't answer for
when I can be back.' ... As she made no answer, he asked sharply: 'Do
you understand, Biddy?'
'Yes, of course. I have no doubt, Colin, that you'll find it all highly
stimulating. And perhaps you will be able to shoot somebody with a
clear conscience, which will be more stimulating still. Really Mr
Maule, you are lucky to have come in for a civil war--I heard that in
South America that was your particular interest. Do you carry civil
wars about with you? Only, there's nothing very romantic in fighting
for mere freedom of contract--it seems so obvious that people should be
free to make or decline a contract. I wonder which side you would take.'
Her levity called forth an impatient ejaculation from McKeith.
'I'm afraid in my wars it's generally been what your husband would
consider the wrong side,' said Maule with a laugh. 'I've usually fought
with the rebels.'
'Then you'd better not go to Breeza Downs. You'd better stop and fight
for me,' exclaimed Bridget.
'That's just what I was about to propose your friend should do,' said
McKeith in hard deliberate tones. He looked straight at his
wife--shoulders and jaws squared, eyes like flashing steel under the
grim brows. The expression of his face gave Bridget a little sense of
shock. She raised herself abruptly, and her eyes flashed pride and
defiance too.
'How very considerate of you, Colin--if Mr Maule LIKES to be disposed
of in that way. HE is to be allowed freedom of contract I presume,
though the shearers are not.'
'You needn't be afraid that I shall strike, Lady Bridget,' laughed
Maule. 'It will suit my general principles to keep out of the
scrimmage. I don't know anything about the rights and wrongs of your
labour question, but I confess that, speaking broadly, my sympathies
are usually rather with Labour than with Capital.'
'Capital!' echoed McKeith derisively. 'It's blithering irony to talk of
us Leura squatters as representing capital. We're all playing a sort of
battledore and shuttlecock game--tossed about between drought and
plenty--boom and slump. A kick in the beam and one end is up and the
other end down. There's Windeatt, who will be ruined if his wool-shed
is destroyed and his shearing spoiled. No rain, and the banks would
foreclose on most of us. Take myself. Two years ago the skies were all
smiling on my fortunes. This last year, it's as if the hosts of heaven
had a down on me.'
'The stars in their courses fought against Sisera,' murmured Lady
Bridget.
'I'm Sisera, am I?' He gave her a fierce look and crossed to the
veranda-railing, where he began cutting tobacco into the palm of his
hand. 'Well, there is something in that. But the stars have never
licked me yet. Sisera was a coward, or they wouldn't have DOWNED him.'
'Ah, but there was Jael to be reckoned with,' put in Maule softly.
'Jael!' McKeith plugged his pipe energetically. 'The more fool Sisera
for not giving Jael a wide berth. He should have gone his way and kept
her out of his affairs.'
A hard little laugh rang from the depths of the squatter's chair. Maule
got up and strolled into the sitting-room, where he seemed engrossed in
the pictures on the wall. Just then Cudgee, the black boy, hailed
McKeith from the foot of the steps.
'That fellow pollis man want'ing Massa. He sit down long-a Old Humpey.'
'All right.'
McKeith looked into the parlour. 'My wife will entertain you, Maule. I
daresay you've got plenty to talk about. I'll see you later.'
Presently they heard him outside speaking to the Police Inspector.
'Come into the office, Harris, and have a smoke and a glass of grog.'