‘Whatever’s wrong with Adam?’ asked Belle, staring after him. ‘He’s a very strange person, Papa.’
‘Leave the boy alone,’ said Daniel. ‘Perhaps he has a set against the Abbotts for some reason. Lord knows I do.’
Belle smarted at the rebuke, feeling the sharp sting of tears in her eyes. She retreated with Sasha to the upstairs verandah, her favourite thinking spot, with its stunning view of Binburra’s ranges. She wished Papa would get along with the Abbotts. Henry’s son, eighteen-year-old Edward, was Belle’s firm friend. It was to him she turned when small-town life threatened to smother her. Edward always understood. Giving their chaperones the slip, they’d lie by the duck pond or hide in the conservatory, planning the exciting lives they’d lead.
‘I’ll join the Navy,’ said Edward. ‘Explore the coasts of Africa and India, maybe discover whole new countries.’
‘I’ll sail to Europe,’ said Belle. ‘Live in Paris, study at la Sorbonne . . . Graduate in botany and biology, earn the eternal admiration of my father . . . then marry a struggling zoologist of whom Mama thoroughly disapproves.’
‘I’ll become a zoologist then,’ offered Edward.
‘No. You must marry an exotic African princess, swathed in gold jewellery, with a diamond-encrusted bone through her nose.’
Belle loved their talks. She cared for Edward like a brother. It upset her that Papa had no time for him, and for no better reason than that he didn’t like his father. Granted, Sir Henry was an arrogant man. Contemptuous of his wife. Hard on Edward, his youngest child and only son. Dismissive of his daughters, who’d been sent to England to find suitable matches and married off as soon as they were of age. He was unpleasant, but as far as Belle knew, Henry had done nothing to hurt their family. Why, then, did Papa despise him so? His hatred seemed almost personal.
Sasha pricked her ears and trotted to the railing. From their vantage point they could see Adam trudging out the gate with Bear at his side. Why didn’t he bunk in the old shearers’ quarters or the cart shed like their other farmhands? He must have some reason to make the long trek into town each night. A girl?
Adam and Bear had almost disappeared from sight when she saw them veer off the beaten track and turn west, straight into the forest. There was nothing in that direction, no settlement – no human habitation of any kind. How odd. She watched for a long time, but they didn’t return to the road. Where were they going?
Her mother called from downstairs. ‘Hurry and change please, Belle.’
Belle enjoyed social evenings, but she hated dressing for them. Millie, their housemaid, doubled as a lady’s maid on such occasions, dutifully laying out her young mistress’s clothes in the bedroom. Belle grimaced at the blue velvet dinner dress, with its wide bell-shaped sleeves and elaborately draped skirt. She absolutely refused to wear a corset, a decision her mother supported, although she still wore one herself. She said she liked her fashionable twenty-two-inch waist too much. But she had no wish to inflict this torture upon her daughter, pointing out that many modern doctors denounced the use of these undergarments.
The two halves of the corset were reinforced with whalebone, hooked together in front and laced up at the back. Belle couldn’t breathe in them, and hated that countless whales had died in the advancement of the ideal female figure. They made girls look ridiculous, with breasts pushed unnaturally forward to balance an equally exaggerated behind. Bustles, wool-stuffed pads or tiers of stiff frills were worn to further plump out the rump. Squashing all that flesh in was no easy task, hence the need for a lady’s maid – someone to stand behind and strain the laces tight. Mama told horror stories of the damage they sometimes caused: fractured ribs, collapsed lungs and the displacement of livers and spleens.
‘Don’t complain so,’ said Elizabeth, as Millie eased Belle into layers of petticoats, chemises and drawers. ‘When I was a child, Grandmama insisted I wear crinolines. They were made out of starched linen and horsehair and were so rough and stiff that they rubbed my skin raw in places. They were better than the fashion that followed, though. Cage crinolines – they looked more like trellises for grapevines than articles of clothing. Honestly, Belle, I couldn’t sit down or fit through doorways. When the wind caught underneath, I feared I might fly away. And when I walked, the thing bounced up and down like a monstrous, swinging birdcage, unless I took dainty, mincing steps like this.’
Elizabeth demonstrated the technique, accompanied by peals of laughter from Millie and Belle.
‘I’d be grateful, if I were you, Miss Belle,’ said Millie, as she sprinkled her mistress with lavender water. ‘Dressing up in all this fine silk and velvet and lace. Your corsets are lovely too. I’d look right pretty in one, wouldn’t I, ma’am?’
Elizabeth smiled and agreed. Belle went to the wardrobe and fished out several of the offending garments. ‘Here, have them, if you like pain so much.’
She tossed them to the delighted Millie, who immediately held them up one by one against her body. Apparently she didn’t see that cinching the tiny undergarments upon her full figure would be an impossible task.
Now Elizabeth joined in the laughter. ‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘You may have them, Millie. Perhaps you can alter them in some way. Now, Belle, we must do something with your hair. Up, do you think?’
At precisely six o’clock, the coachman, Harrison, drew the dark-blue double-brougham to a halt in front of Binburra’s homestead. The stylish pair of matched greys set off on the trip to the Mitchell estate at a spanking trot. Two elegant brass lamps, mounted either side of the cabin, cast swaying rays of light, their hazy radiance competing with the twilight. Moths and beetles drawn to the soft glow kept pace with the horses, zooming around in a fine display of aerial acrobatics.
Ancient trees loomed strange and mysterious in the gloom. Belle gazed out the window at the dark forest that had swallowed Adam, searching for some trace of his passage. She longed suddenly to shake off her frills and flounces and follow him into the wild mountains.
Elizabeth observed her daughter as she stared out the carriage window, lost in thought. Hard to believe this elegantly dressed young lady was the same girl who’d been swimming her horse in the creek a few hours earlier. Belle would not easily fit the mould society had ready for her. She was too strong-willed, too boldly intelligent. Elizabeth had been the same, struggling against the constraints imposed upon girls. How fortunate she’d been to find Daniel, a man who not only tolerated her independent spirit, but admired her for it. Belle was growing up. When she married, she’d need a husband with those same qualities.
Elizabeth very much approved of Belle’s friendship with Edward Abbott and hoped one day it might lead to more. A love match was her dearest hope for Belle. By anyone’s standards other than Daniel’s, Lord Campbell’s granddaughter paired with Sir Henry’s son equalled a highly desirable union. Edward’s mother, Jane Abbott, was also for the match. She and Elizabeth had talked of it privately. They felt sure that, considering the obvious affection between them, Belle and Edward’s engagement was merely a matter of time.
The tired team trotted up the curved driveway of Clarendon Hall. It had started to rain. Grace and Edward waved to Belle from the broad bluestone verandah. Elizabeth eyed the young man approvingly. He cut a handsome figure. Tall with a sunny, open smile. Casually handsome in buff breeches and soft open-necked shirt. Sandy hair tousled by the breeze.
Edward ran to meet the carriage, with eyes only for Belle. He took her hand, helped her down. She wasn’t very good at walking in those heeled kid-leather boots.
‘Let’s go see the new colt,’ said Belle.
The three young friends headed down to the stables, laughing and talking.
Elizabeth smiled. Next thing, Belle would be kneeling in the straw to pat the foal, and smelling of manure instead of lavender. ‘Take your coat. And try to look after that dress,’ she called after them, then hurried inside to see if Ada Mitchell could use a hand.
These dinners were an ordeal for Ada. She strived so hard to achieve the comfort and enjoyment of her guests that she ruined her own. Elizabeth discovered Ada anxiously supervising last-minute meal preparations. Her capable staff took the opportunity provided by Elizabeth’s arrival to usher the lady of the house respectfully from the kitchen, thus allowing them to get on with their work.
Daniel joined the men smoking on the verandah. Henry Abbott was talking business as usual, complaining loudly to his host about a new pumping unit that had broken down. Water was always a problem in the mines. Reefs of gold-bearing quartz lay within immensely hard rock. Five hundred million years ago, superheated water had flowed down fault lines and fissures in the earth’s crust, dissolving gold from the surrounding stone. As the boiling streams cooled, they formed rich deposits that followed the course of these ancient flows. The danger of flooding inevitably accompanied any attempt to exploit such inaccessible veins of gold.
Mother Earth would not easily concede her riches, but Abbott planned to defy nature. He’d invested in four immense pumps, imported from Cornwall. They were the latest innovation and had cost a fortune. But for Henry, no price was too high if it meant the power of the underground rivers might be defeated.
The massive machines spewed eight million gallons from the mine every twenty-four hours, reaching depths of fifteen hundred feet. Enormous steam engines provided power. Each engine moved two pump rods down the shaft and each rod worked three pumps, swallowing vast amounts of water. The combined weight of the rods and pumps exceeded a thousand tons.
Despite this impressive display of engineering, pumps and flows constantly battled each other. All too often the subterranean rivers won, cutting production and company profits. Incensed by these delays, Henry pressured his managers to extend the hours of the miners. Sometimes men laboured knee-deep in water or were sent down shafts subject to unexpected flooding. Even so, failed pumps inevitably left productive pits unmined for days and even weeks. James Mitchell was listening sympathetically to Henry’s grievances.
Daniel poured himself a drink and stood close enough to eavesdrop. He quite enjoyed listening to Abbott’s misfortunes. Soon the topic shifted to one far closer to his heart. Henry wanted a local levy on sheep. Funds would go to the newly formed Hills End Tiger and Eagle Extermination Society, of which Henry was president. Stock protection associations, comprising wealthy members of the squattocracy, were becoming fashionable. Although purporting to speak on behalf of the entire farming community, Daniel noted their agenda invariably suited the wool kings best.
Abbott’s levy was no exception. He proposed that farmers pay a halfpenny per head if they owned under a thousand sheep. Those with over a thousand head paid a farthing, half the tariff of their smaller, poorer neighbours. On top of this obvious inequity, the funding flowed directly back into the hands of the very wealthy pastoralists who were behind the associations in the first place.
Daniel couldn’t leave such nonsense unchallenged. Downing his whisky, he strode over to join the conversation.
‘Don’t be taken in by this garbage, James. Henry’s running his own agenda. This levy amounts to compulsory subscription of every farmer hereabouts to his damned association. We all know its membership is falling. Little wonder, thanks to the rarity of tigers and eagles and the abundance of ways Henry invents to line his own pockets.’
James slapped his thigh and laughed. ‘By George, he might be right, Henry. Parliament won’t raise a levy based on the odd rogue tiger.’
‘I’d hardly call it the odd rogue tiger,’ said another man. ‘I’ve eyewitness accounts from my musterers, all trustworthy men. They tell of a dozen or more bloodthirsty beasts, hunting in an organised pack, led by a colossal black dog standing as high as a horse. The demon dog, they call him. It’s not unusual for them to leave twenty sheep, dead or dying, for the shepherds to find in the morning.’
‘It’s true,’ offered another. ‘I’ve lost fifty sheep these past two weeks. A few killed or maimed, the remainder entirely devoured.’
Daniel’s laugh was filled with scorn. ‘What? Sheep entirely devoured by tigers, bones and all? Utter rubbish! You’ll find wild dogs and thieves more likely candidates.’
‘I confess to taking Daniel’s side in this.’ James opened an edition of The Mercury and read aloud from a letter to the editor:
There are more enemies to sheep and lambs than tigers and eagles. Wild dogs for one. But I believe we have a greater evil to contend with . . . a greater pest, namely ‘the Duffer’, who travels far and fast, and can’t be snared or trapped. Tigers rarely kill more than one sheep a night. Whereas Mr Duffer removes sheep in fifties, aye, and in hundreds, and leaves neither skin, bone nor sign behind him.
James passed the newspaper around the group of farmers. Henry snorted in disgust, took a goose-liver appetiser and marched inside. As he went, he cast a look of pure malice at Daniel, who smiled and raised his glass.
Beneath his breath Daniel muttered, ‘Hope you choke on your pâté.’