Chapter 7

Rutherglen, November 1868

At first sight, May was slightly disappointed by the Eskmere homestead. After Gus’s characterisation of the owner as ‘squattocracy’, she had expected something grander, more like some of the big houses she had seen in the Toxteth area of Liverpool; more like, in fact, the house where Angel had lived with her adoptive parents – tall, stucco-fronted, with imposing doorways flanked by columns. Instead, she saw a long, low building with a gabled roof and a veranda running all round it, much like her father’s house in Rutherglen. But as the pony trap swept up the drive she saw that it was considerably larger and set in an extensive garden running down to the banks of a river and planted with shade trees. To the rear, she could see a block of wooden outbuildings set round an inner courtyard. In a paddock to her left five horses were grazing, two of them full grown, one smaller and two long-legged foals.

Rudolph Marshall came down the steps of the veranda as Gus drew the trap to a halt. He held up his hand to help May down and she felt a fresh shiver of excitement as she took it. There was something inside her that responded to his sparkling eyes and wide smile and would not be suppressed.

‘I’m delighted you decided to accept my invitation,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Eskmere.’

‘Thank you,’ she responded, unable to think of any pleasantries to add.

Gus had descended from the trap and he and Rudolph shook hands. If their host was aware of something guarded in his manner, he did not show it. A boy had followed Rudolph out and now stood by the pony’s head.

‘Ben here will take the pony round to the stables and see him fed and watered,’ Rudolph said. ‘Come inside, out of the heat.’

He led them through a wide hall and out to the shaded veranda at the rear. Here a table was set with glasses and jugs, beer for the men, lemonade for May. His eyes met May’s as he handed her a glass.

‘I hope you didn’t find the journey too tiring.’

‘No, not at all,’ she answered. ‘The countryside is lovely at this time of year, isn’t it? Still so green. But it was hot. I’m glad to sit in the shade.’

An older man came out of the stable block and crossed the lawn towards them. It was obvious at a glance that he was Rudolph’s father. He had the same luxuriant dark hair, complemented in his case by sideburns and a neatly trimmed moustache, and the same lithe, athletic movements. Rudolph introduced them and he shook May’s hand with a warm smile.

‘Well, Rudi didn’t exaggerate.’

‘I’m sorry?’ she queried.

‘He told me he’d met a very beautiful young lady.’

May dropped her eyes and blushed.

Mr Marshall turned to Gus. ‘And you are the young man who is interested in breeding thoroughbreds.’

‘I like the idea,’ Gus said, ‘and I admire your Excalibur. But it probably isn’t a practical proposition.’

‘Well, don’t be put off too easily,’ the older man responded. ‘Rudi says you ride well. With the right horse, you could be a winner.’

May saw her brother colour in his turn. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he mumbled, but she could tell that the compliment had further disarmed his suspicions.

‘Why don’t we put him up on Sir Lancelot, let him get the feel of it?’ Rudolph suggested.

‘Yes, why not?’ his father agreed. He looked at Gus. ‘Lancelot is one of our promising youngsters. He’s only a three year old, but we’ve been training him since he was a foal. Would you like to try him?’

‘If … if you think …’ Gus stuttered and then recovered himself. ‘Yes, I should like that.’

May looked at him in some alarm. ‘Are you sure? I mean, you’ve never ridden a horse like that.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Rudolph reassured her. ‘Lancelot has no vices, and we’ll take care of him.’

‘If you’re rested, we could stroll down to the stables and I’ll introduce you,’ Mr Marshall said.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Gus said. May kicked herself mentally, knowing that her doubt had been enough to make him determined to prove himself.

As they walked down towards the stables Rudolph offered her his arm. ‘Don’t worry about your brother. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think he was up to it.’

They reached the stable block and he led her through an archway into a yard. Along one side there was a row of loose boxes, and the heads of four horses were visible over the half-doors. As Mr Marshall and Gus walked in, all of them whickered in greeting.

‘Why do they make that noise?’ May asked nervously.

‘Just saying hello.’ He smiled. ‘And asking if we happen to have a titbit in our pockets for them.’

Mr Marshall led Gus to a stable where a white horse snorted and ducked his head. ‘This is Lancelot. Takes after his sire, the grey over there.’ He nodded to the stable in the corner. ‘That’s Galahad.’

The boy, Ben, was forking manure out of a vacant stall. Marshall called to him.

‘Ben, bring me Lancelot’s tack, will you?’

Gus was stroking the horse’s neck and peering over the door at the rest of his body. ‘He’s got good hocks, like Excalibur.’

Marshall led the horse out and soon he and Gus were deep in conversation about his finer points. May began to wish she had stayed in the house.

Rudi said, ‘Come over here and look at this mare. Her name is Guinevere.’ He led her to a stall where a pale chestnut horse stood. ‘Pretty, isn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ May agreed. ‘But I think I like white horses best.’

‘Not white,’ he corrected. ‘We call them grey. Very few horses are pure white. I think this mare would make a perfect lady’s mount. Would you like to try her?’

‘Oh, I can’t ride,’ May said.

‘No? But you must learn. It’s a great sport. Both my sisters rode. I could teach you.’

She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I really don’t want to.’

He looked at her with his head on one side, and she sensed a challenge, but when she did not respond he said, ‘It’s your choice, of course.’

The grey horse was saddled now and Marshall said, ‘Right you are, Gus. Up you go!’

Gus put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. Rudolph opened a gate on the far side of the yard and they went out into a dusty, fenced area behind.

‘This is our schooling yard,’ Marshall said. ‘Take him round a few times and see how you get on.’

May watched her brother anxiously as he first walked, then trotted the horse round the enclosure. Marshall stood in the centre, occasionally calling out an instruction. Gus rode in a figure of eight, then tried a canter. Halting in the middle of the school, his face glowing, he exclaimed, ‘He’s so willing! You only have to give the lightest touch on the reins.’

‘You’ve got good hands,’ Marshall said. ‘You know how to keep them still and not interfere with his mouth. Well done.’

May discovered that Rudi had left her side. Now he reappeared, mounted on Excalibur.

‘How about it, Gus? Are you up for a race?’

‘Oh no!’ May put her hand to her throat. The three men took no notice.

‘Why not?’ Marshall said. ‘It’ll be good for both of them to open up. What about it, Gus?’

May could tell that her brother was nervous, but she knew he would never back down from a challenge.

‘Yes, great idea!’ he said. ‘Where?’

‘We’ve got a practice track out there,’ Marshall told him. ‘This way.’

The track was marked out with tapes and was roughly oval, much like the one at Rutherglen. As soon as the horses sat foot on it, they began to fidget, prancing and side-stepping and snorting.

‘Shorten up your stirrups,’ Marshall told Gus. ‘Here, I’ll give you a hand.’

When he had finished Rudi called out, ‘Start and finish here, by this post. Right, Gus?’

‘Right!’ Gus sounded breathless.

‘Away you go then!’ Marshall called, and both horses shot forwards.

May watched with her heart in her mouth. The sheer speed terrified her. Excalibur had started in the lead but Gus’s horse soon closed the gap so that they were almost neck and neck. They disappeared from view behind a slight rise in the land, but when they came in sight she was relieved to see that Gus was still in the saddle and only a few yards behind. As they came closer she could see him urging Lancelot on and when they reached the finish his horse’s nose was level with Rudi’s stirrup. Their momentum carried them on past May and their host and for a moment May thought that Gus was not going to be able to stop, but he got his mount under control and came back to them, flushed and panting but with an expression of sheer, unadulterated joy such as she had never seen on his face before.

‘That was fantastic! It was like flying! Thank you, sir. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ Marshall returned.

A bell rang from the house. ‘Time for dinner,’ Marshall said. ‘Rudi, will you show May where she can have a wash and refresh herself? I’ll take Gus to the dunny.’

Rudi took her to a bedroom at the end of a passageway. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t got round to installing modern plumbing,’ he said. ‘But there’s water here and a you-know-what. I hope that will suffice.’

May assured him it would but it struck her as amusing that even in Nan Driscoll’s little house in Liverpool, where she had lodged until a year ago, there had been a water closet, something that did not exist in these grander surroundings. She was glad that her father had installed modern plumbing. She used the chamber pot, washed her hands and face and made her way back to the veranda, where a table was laid for the meal. Eskmere might lack modern facilities, but it certainly did not fall short in food; though in common with many of the households she had visited there was, perhaps, a lack of imagination. Plain roast meat, in large quantities, with boiled potatoes seemed to be the regular menu. May felt glad for Maria’s Spanish influence in her own kitchen. Such thoughts did not, however, disturb the three men, who tucked into the roast mutton with relish.

When the meal was over the men lit cigars – a habit Gus had only recently acquired – and May retired again to the bedroom. When she returned Marshall said, ‘Well, perhaps we’d better have a look at that yearling you are interested in, eh, Gus?’

Gus rose to his feet eagerly, but Rudi said, ‘I think May has had enough of hearing us talk about horses. Perhaps you’d like a stroll by the river, May. It’s cool under the trees and there is usually a breeze off the water.’

‘That sounds lovely,’ she agreed, without considering that it meant some time alone with him.

Gus and Marshall went off together and Rudi gave her his arm and led her through the garden to the edge of the river. It was bordered by the trees the locals called she-oaks, though they had no resemblance to any oak tree that May remembered seeing on her outings to Birkenhead Park with James. The river flowed clear and sparkling and as he had promised there was a light breeze.

‘Why are they called she-oaks?’ she asked.

‘Because of the noise they make when the wind blows,’ he answered. ‘Listen.’

She understood them. The trees did not have leaves, as she knew them, but had long wispy branches that hung down in clusters, and the wind moving through them produced a gentle hushing sound.

‘Oh, now I see,’ she said.

‘The proper name is casuarina,’ he told her, ‘but I prefer she-oak.’

‘Have you lived here all your life?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes. I was born here,’ he said.

To make conversation, she said, ‘Are you and your father … do you have any other family?’

‘My mother died when I was quite small,’ he said. ‘I have two sisters, older than me, but they are not here. One of them married a doctor and lives in Melbourne. The younger one, Bella, went back to England to do the Season and stayed on to be a companion to my maiden aunt.’

May had only the vaguest idea what ‘doing the season’ entailed, but she did not like to ask. ‘You must miss them,’ she said.

‘Yes, we do. But the life out here doesn’t suit everyone, especially ladies. Do you think it would suit you, to live on an up-country station like this?’

‘I don’t know,’ May responded. ‘I have had so little experience of life in Australia. But to my mind, it is much more enjoyable than life back in England.’

‘Really?’ He checked his steps for a moment and looked into her face. ‘You don’t feel deprived of the delights of society?’

She sensed that she was on shaky ground. The last thing she wanted was an inquest into her former life. ‘I miss the concerts,’ she said after a moment. ‘But on the other hand, the weather is much better here.’

‘You are fond of music?’

‘Yes, very. Are you?’

‘My older sister, the one in Melbourne, plays the piano. I used to enjoy listening to her. Of course, there are concerts in Melbourne, you know. Tell you what, maybe I could take you to one.’

Now she was on even more dangerous territory. The idea of going to a concert with Rudi was too appealing for her own comfort. She reminded herself that soon she might be able to go to one with James, but the prospect felt so distant that it seemed to belong to another life altogether.

‘Oh, Melbourne is too far,’ she said. ‘It would not be practical.’

‘If only they would bring the railway through,’ he said. ‘There’s always talk about it, but nothing gets done.’

‘Have you ever been to England?’ she asked.

‘Oh yes. I was sent back to school there,’ he said. ‘Harrow.’

Something about the way he said it made her feel she should recognise the name, but it meant nothing to her.

‘Did you like it?’

‘England, or school?’

‘Both, I suppose.’

‘School was bearable, enjoyable sometimes. But I always longed to be back here. I missed the wide open spaces – and the weather.’

‘I can understand that,’ she said, smiling.

‘Tell me about Liverpool. I never went there.’

She hesitated, wondering how much she could say without revealing too much about her own life there. ‘It’s a great port. Ships from all over the world are coming and going all the time. And that has made some people very rich. Some of them have chosen to spend their money on beautiful buildings, as grand as any you might find in London. There is one, St George’s Hall, in the centre of the city, which has a floor made up of mosaic tiles. The designs are wonderful and specialist terrazzo workers had to be brought over from Italy to execute them.’

The memory brought a second image flashing before her mind’s eye – a dark-haired, black-eyed youth. Armando, with whom she once thought she was in love. She had to make an effort to recall her attention to what her current companion was saying.

‘Have you travelled much, in England?’

‘No, very little.’

They strolled in silence for a few minutes. Then he said, ‘Do you know why this place is called Eskmere?’

‘No. Is it named after somewhere in England – somewhere that means a lot to you or your father?’

‘You might say that. My grandfather is Lord Eskmere.’

May gasped. So what her father had told her about the squattocracy was correct. Aloud she said, ‘Oh, really?’

‘My father is the younger son, needless to say. When Grandpapa dies it is Uncle William who will inherit the title – and the land that goes with it.’

‘And your father gets nothing? That doesn’t seem fair.’

‘It’s the law of primogeniture – the firstborn son inherits everything. But someone told Pa that there was land out here, just waiting for someone to lay claim to it. So we came here.’

‘I see. And you’re glad about that?’

‘Oh yes. It was the best decision he could have made.’

They walked on in silence for a while. Then he said, ‘But here’s the thing – Uncle Will is married but he has only daughters, and they can’t inherit because the estate is entailed.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means it can only be passed down through the male line. So, when Uncle Will dies the next in line is my father – if he is still alive.’

‘And if he is not?’

‘The title and the estate passes to me.’ He stopped suddenly and looked into her face. ‘How do you fancy being Lady Eskmere?’

She stared at him in silence for a moment. Then she laughed. ‘You are not serious.’

He continued to look at her, his head tilted in a way she was coming recognise. ‘I could be, given a little encouragement.’

She turned away, towards the house. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s out of the question. I think we should go back now. Gus and I will have to be starting back soon.’

He said nothing, but took her arm and walked her back the way they had come.

They found Gus and Mr Marshall in the paddock, admiring the smaller of the horses she had seen when they arrived. Close up, she could see that it was young, its slender legs seeming a little too long for its body, but already with muscles rippling beneath the sleek hide.

‘Look, May!’ Gus hailed her. ‘Isn’t he a beauty?’

The colt was a bright, glossy brown with a darker mane and tail, and a white mark down the front of its face. Dark-lined ears twitched alertly as she approached, and the colt whickered softly.

‘His name is Merlin,’ Gus said. ‘But I’d call him Lightning, from that white blaze on his nose.’

It was true that the white mark did look like a streak of lightning, but May said, ‘Merlin was the great wizard, wasn’t he? It’s a magical name.’

‘Thoroughbreds sometimes have two names,’ Mr Marshall said. ‘The stud name they are registered under and what we call a stable name, often something easier to say. This little fellow is registered as Merlin, but if you want to call him Lightning when he’s at home, that’s up to you.’

‘Do you mean …?’ May queried, looking at her brother.

‘I’m going to try to persuade Father to buy him,’ Gus said. ‘Mr Marshall thinks he’s got a great future.’

‘But you don’t know anything about training racehorses,’ May objected.

‘I can learn. Kitty’s father knows a lot about it. He’ll help me.’

‘We can help, too,’ Rudi said. ‘I should like to see how he develops.’

May looked from him to her brother. She knew how determined Gus could be when he set his heart on something, and she could see that Rudi was keen to establish a connection that would give him an excuse for visiting them. She had a feeling that she was being – not driven exactly – but gently nudged in a direction she did not want to take.

‘No hurry to decide,’ Marshall said easily. ‘I’m not in a rush to sell him. Let me know when you and your father have made up your minds.’

They took their leave soon afterwards and on the journey Gus could talk of nothing but the merits of the colt and the great future he saw for him, and for them, if he was theirs. May listened with half an ear. One question repeated itself over and over again in her head. ‘How do you fancy being Lady Eskmere?’