You’ll be pleased to know,’ said Vane as we sat at lunch that afternoon, ‘that Bullen has made arrangements for your expedition to the mountains.’
‘He was here this morning?’
‘He called by on his way to the store. You’ll be starting out on Thursday, first thing. I suggested he join us for dinner this evening to discuss details with you.’
Bullen and I had, it was true, worked our way round, after a little unpleasantness and a certain amount of further haggling, to a broad agreement on the matter but I found myself vaguely disconcerted, not only by the fellow’s high-handed assumption that he might plan our itinerary without further consultation with me, but also by the news that we were to leave so soon. I was debating the wisdom of saying anything on the subject when Eleanor spoke up.
‘Mr Redbourne has scarcely been here a week,’ she said. ‘You’re bundling him off into the bush before he’s had a chance to settle.’
‘Mr Redbourne is here with a purpose,’ said Vane with a flicker of irritation, ‘and Mr Bullen has kindly agreed to help him. It’s not for you to interfere in their business.’ And then, turning to me before Eleanor had time to reply: ‘There’ll be four of us tonight – I’ve invited Merivale.’
‘Five,’ said Eleanor. ‘Five of us.’
‘Male company,’ said Vane brusquely. ‘I think you might-prefer to take supper in the kitchen with Mrs Denham.’
‘And then again,’ she retorted, the colour rising to her cheeks, ‘I might not.’
Vane gave her a long, hard stare. ‘As you please,’ he said, ‘but I want no nonsense from you. You know what I mean. If you’re addressed, you may speak. Otherwise, keep your thoughts to yourself.’
‘Thank you, Father’ – under her breath, the words themselves innocuous enough, but the insolence unmistakable. She laid her knife and fork carefully on the rim of her plate, rose to her feet and swept out of the room.
From the moment we sat down at the table that evening it was clear to me how profoundly Eleanor had subverted her father’s plans: seating herself at Vane’s side with Merivale to the left of her, she effectively isolated the young man from our company. I could see, glancing across as he bent smiling towards her, that he himself was by no means dissatisfied with the arrangement, but Eleanor’s apparent determination to engage him in private conversation was plainly an irritant to her father. At intervals during the main course Vane would attempt to draw Merivale away, seeking his opinion on this or that matter of concern, but on each occasion Eleanor drew the young man back again, reeling him in as an angler plays a hooked fish, and Vane eventually abandoned him to her.
‘The thing is,’ said Bullen, glancing up as the maidservant reached over to set the fruit bowl on the table, ‘that we’ll have more equipment than we can carry. The train journey poses no problem, of course, but once we’re out there we shall need assistance. I’ve made arrangements for one of the local guides to go out with us – fellow by the name of Billy Preece, highly recommended by one of my contacts in the area. More than willing to shoulder his share, I’m told, and knows the region like the back of his hand.’
I have a naturally romantic outlook, and Bullen’s reference to the railway gave me a moment’s pause. I had imagined us setting out from the villa on horseback, and plunging almost at once into the unknown: a train journey seemed altogether too mundane.
‘Oh, you’ll get your fill of the wilderness,’ said Bullen, when I touched on the matter, ‘once we’re in the mountains. On ponyback first, and then on foot. By the time we return to civilisation you’ll be more than ready to take advantage of its comforts.’
‘No doubt,’ I answered, ‘but sometimes I think how the face of England has changed since my childhood – the railways reaching into all those quiet corners, the cities spreading outward like dirty stains – and I find myself wondering whether we may not be paying too high a price for the comforts of civilisation. Out here, with so much splendid scenery still unspoiled—’
‘That’s precisely the point,’ interrupted Vane. ‘There’s so much of it that our own petty activities – railway construction, tree clearance, mining – make scarcely any impression. If I were to return to England now, I might well share some of your anxieties, but Australia’s a different matter. You can’t imagine it, Redbourne – the sheer immensity of the land, the resources we’ve scarcely begun to draw upon.’
‘Besides,’ said Bullen, ‘there’s nothing wrong with taking Nature in hand and letting her know we mean business. As a culture we possess certain skills, certain powers. They’re the reason we’re here – I mean, they’re the reason we own the country and the blackfellow doesn’t.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘we own it at the moment, but who’s to say we won’t be dislodged a century or two from now?’
Bullen shook his head. ‘If we are,’ he said, ‘it won’t be by a race of barefoot dreamers but by a civilisation even more forceful in its dealings with the world than we are.’
‘True enough,’ said Vane, selecting a ripe peach from the fruit bowl. ‘I’m with Darwin there – it’s the strong who inherit the earth. That’s the way things work. And there’s no doubt that the native tribes here have had their day.’
I sensed, rather than saw, that Eleanor had turned to look in our direction. ‘Forgive me if I’m wrong, Father,’ she said, cutting in with chilly precision,‘but isn’t it the meek who are to inherit the earth? Or has that text had its day too?’
Vane ran his knife round the soft flesh of the peach, twisted the halves apart and set them carefully on his plate. ‘I wasn’t aware,’ he said, ‘that meekness was a quality you held in particularly high esteem, Eleanor.’ He leaned forward and took up the decanter. ‘More wine, gentlemen?’
As he reached across to fill Merivale’s glass, Eleanor interposed her own. ‘Thank you,’ she said. I saw Vane hesitate.
Eleanor looked around the table. ‘My father believes that good wine is wasted on young ladies,’ she said.
‘Your father believes,’ said Vane, gruffly, ‘that one glass is ample for any young lady worthy of the name.’
‘But not,’ Eleanor persisted, ‘for a young gentleman.’ She turned to Merivale. ‘Do you think that’s fair, William?’
The young man’s confusion was almost comical. Undoubtedly flattered by her appeal, yet clearly conscious of his obligation to his host, he stuttered and goggled until Vane, perhaps out of pity for his predicament or perhaps simply in hope of restoring order to the proceedings, replenished Eleanor’s glass.
‘I don’t think,’ said Eleanor, picking up her thread as deftly as if the interruption had not taken place, ‘that meekness means letting other people have their way at your expense, or being silent when you’ve a right or a duty to speak. I think it means being humble in the face of a universe we can hardly begin to understand. I think it means knowing when we should stop trying to set our stamp on everything we see – knowing when to stand back and admire the world instead of forcing ourselves on it.’
She took a gulp of wine and set her glass back on the table with clumsy emphasis. ‘Mr Bullen seems to imagine,’ she continued, ‘that our culture will have fulfilled its destiny once it has taken everything else – the wilderness, other cultures, life itself – by the scruff of the neck and shaken it into submission.’ Merivale shifted uneasily at her side and leaned forward as though to intervene, but if she saw the movement she chose to ignore it. ‘We’re cut out for better things, Mr Bullen – for higher things – but we live blindly, striking out at whatever displeases us, gathering up whatever takes our fancy. We don’t see the damage we’re doing or the suffering we cause. And until we do—’
‘Whoa there, young lady,’ cried Bullen, good-humouredly enough, I thought, given the circumstances. ‘You can’t hold me responsible for all the ills of the world.’
‘I don’t. Of course not. But when I hear you talk, I know where you stand – not in the clear light I want to stand in, but in some dark place, among all the other lost souls who’ve confused power with progress.’
Vane made a little lunge across the table, rapping lightly on the cloth with his knuckles. ‘It seems to me,’ he said with forced playfulness, ‘that the ladies might reasonably retire now.’
Eleanor glanced at her father with an expression of such undisguised contempt that I felt myself wince on his behalf. ‘I’ll retire when I’m ready,’ she said.
‘In that case,’ said Vane, reddening slightly but without faltering for a second, ‘may I suggest that the gentlemen retire.’ He drained his glass and rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘If you’d care to join me on the terrace …’
Bullen and I fell in behind him but, looking round as I stepped out on to the veranda, I saw that Merivale was still in his seat. With one hand gripping his sleeve, Eleanor was literally holding him there, addressing him in low, urgent tones, her eyes fixed on his as though defying him to move. It crossed my mind that-he might welcome my intervention but I couldn’t be sure, and after a moment’s hesitation I followed Vane and Bullen out into the darkness.
‘… a mind of her own,’Vane was saying as I rejoined them, ‘and I accepted that long ago. What I won’t tolerate is being made a fool of at my own table, or having my guests insulted.’ He turned as though to include me in the conversation, but seemed to think better of continuing. He felt in his breast pocket and withdrew his cigarette case.
‘I believe Merivale will be with us directly,’ I said after a moment, anxious to break the awkward silence. In the flare of his match I saw Vane’s eyes lift towards the house. ‘He’s been detained by Eleanor,’ I added.
‘Detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure,’ said Vane sardonically. ‘After an evening of my daughter’s nonsense, I should think you’ll be only too glad to get out into the bush for a couple of weeks.’
‘It was an excellent evening,’ I said.
Vane grunted and turned away, staring into the night. ‘Fatherhood,’ he said bitterly, ‘is a mixed blessing.’ And then, shifting his shoulders like a man easing away the afterweight of a slipped burden: ‘You’ll need the buggy early on Thursday, Bullen. What time shall we say?’
As they talked, I saw Merivale emerge on to the veranda, closely followed by Eleanor. The young man set his back against the rail and stood, starkly silhouetted against the french windows, his face turned towards his companion. As Eleanor closed in I lost sight of her behind his bulky form, but it was clear that she had not yet done with him: I heard her voice – not the words but the soft, insistent murmur of it – drifting out on the warm air. Merivale seemed to have little to say but his stance suggested that the girl had his undivided attention, and I was surprised when she broke abruptly away and stepped back into the house. He started after her, stumbling on the threshold so that he had to put out his hand to support himself.
What was it I saw then? I was tired and my mind was faintly clouded by the wine, but I thought Merivale reached out and grasped Eleanor by the shoulder, swinging her round – but her slight frame was scarcely visible at that point – to face him. I scarcely had time to register the movement before they were gone, passing swiftly across the windows and out of sight.
Bullen and Vane were discussing train times. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ I said, ‘I think I’ll turn in for the night.’ My voice was thick in my throat and I was shaking with passion, as though the gripped shoulder or the grasping hand had been my own, but Vane, barely glancing my way as he bade me goodnight, appeared to notice nothing.
There was no sign of the couple in the dining-room, but as I stepped into the hallway I saw them there, in the half-light at the foot of the stairs. Merivale had been speaking but fell silent as I approached, shrinking further into the shadows, while Eleanor came towards me with a faint smile on her lips. I don’t know quite what I had expected, but something in the assurance of her movements surprised and disconcerted me.
‘I’m on my way to bed,’ I said awkwardly, as though it were my own actions that required an explanation.
‘Goodnight, Charles.’
Just that. I stood for a moment with one hand on the stair-rail, scanning her face for whatever clue might be visible in the dim lamplight. Not a flicker as she returned my gaze.
‘Goodnight, Eleanor. Goodnight, Merivale.’ I climbed slowly, my whole body suddenly slack with fatigue. As I reached the turn of the stair I almost looked back, but thought better of it.