Daughter of the Murray Read online

  Dane knew six years of severe drought had decimated the Mallee, Victoria’s northwestern district. But the rains had returned and rich grassy plains grew from ruddy red dust. Why was Jacaranda still so browned off and shrivelled?

  This was neglect, pure and simple.

  One more year had been his plan. One more year in Sydney. After that he’d return to work the farm, to take over. To put in place new ideas for cropping, perhaps citrus or grapes and irrigation. He’d learned much, and still had much to learn, but now his job looked like a completely different task.

  Damn me, I should’ve have returned a year ago … ‘Pa, what the bloody hell has happened?’

  Tom swung the cart to a halt, dropping a wheel into another deep pothole at the steps of the veranda. Both he and Dane swore loudly.

  Inside, Tom was impatient for everything at once. ‘Yes, yes. But where did you get enough money to buy that place? Surely a hotel is not an easy thing to come by? Where did the money come from, son? Where?’

  ‘Money?’ Dane asked. He stopped short. His mother straightened in her chair. Elspeth, his sister, was oblivious to anything but what was on her plate.

  His father nodded and pushed a forkful of fried egg and bread into his mouth.

  ‘I didn’t buy the place. I won it. At cards.’

  Tom erupted into a coughing fit, his mouthful spilling over his shirt front. Elspeth looked at her father curiously between shovelfuls, and Jemimah jumped up to thump his back and help him mop up. The silence while Tom tried to control his choking was thick. Jemimah stood stony-faced behind him, thumping him again. Elspeth ate on.

  ‘You all right, Pa?’

  ‘Went down the wrong way.’ Tom slurped a dish of tea and swallowed audibly, clearing his throat. ‘You won it at cards,’ he wheezed.

  ‘It was a run-down brothel—sorry, Ma—and this fella challenged me while I sat at his table.’ Dane didn’t mention it was his good friend and business partner, Reuben Cawley. ‘We played cards for it and I won. Simple.’ He began to eat his breakfast.

  ‘Pa plays cards, too.’ Elspeth’s mouth was full. ‘He plays with Charlie Rossmoyne and that riverboat man, Conor Foley, who—’

  ‘That will do, Elspeth,’ Jemimah cut in. ‘Come with me. It’s time to leave your father and your brother to talk alone.’

  ‘I’m not finished.’ Elspeth forked the last scrapings from her plate into her mouth.

  Jemimah glared at her daughter. ‘Where are your manners?’

  Elspeth burst into tears. ‘I have manners. I have manners!’ She rushed out of the room, dragging the tablecloth in her hurry.

  Jemimah drew her lips into a thin line, and left the room.

  Dane stared after her. He remembered his mother as healthy and vital, but now she seemed bowed, and not quite her old self. Her dark blonde hair had bleached and looked brittle, and she was thinner than he recalled. But her eyes still held a spark of life. She’d fussed a little over him, kept holding his hands and hugging him quickly, smiling broadly. Then she’d release him and moments later return to hug him again but the broad smile was a shadow of its former self.

  He turned to his father. ‘Things are not good.’

  Tom rubbed a hand over his mouth. ‘Things have been neglected here of late.’

  Dane frowned. ‘An understatement, I would say.’

  ‘It has been … difficult. Debts. Bad weather. Upkeep of a family. Elspeth is at an age—’

  ‘Clearly.’ Dane knew Elspeth would be about sixteen now, and old enough to be brought into society. But she would not have wrought this havoc of disrepair on the place. Elspeth still seemed a child, untidy in her dress and her hair, which looked as if she’d never gotten a brush near it, let alone pins and a cap. She was tall for her age, but ungainly. Her big doe eyes, hazel and haunting, reminded him of someone who knew life was going to be hard.

  The silence grew. Dane continued to eat. He decided his father could do some more talking.

  Tom pushed his plate away, stood and reached into a cupboard behind him. His hand emerged gripping a bottle and two glasses. He filled one, swallowed its contents in one gulp and poured two more.

  Rum, and it was barely ten in the morning.

  ‘It’s the girl, Dane. This Georgina, your mother’s step-niece.’

  ‘What of her?’ Dane had read in Jemimah’s letters of the girl coming from England to live with the family, but he hardly thought much of it. He had dutifully sent five pounds more each quarter. The letters from his mother had stopped a year or so ago. Perhaps he should have wondered more about that.

  As Dane hadn’t touched the proffered glass, Tom took it back and swallowed the rum. ‘Her father is to blame for why I’ve got no money, son.’

  Dane stared. He sent money, regular payments each few months. Money he had expected was feeding the family, building capital in the place, waiting for him to return. ‘I send you—’

  Tom waved him down. ‘Your mother’s brother, Rupert, is the girl’s stepfather. He’s accrued big debts, gambling and whoring, and I’ve been … sending your money back to England to cover his arse.’ His father rolled the rum tumbler as it stood empty on the table. ‘He’ll go to debtor’s prison unless I can pay off his debts. So, for your mother’s sake, I send drafts to him.’ Tom shook his head slowly. ‘It would be a shock to you, I know. Your mother wasn’t to tell you before now, wasn’t to worry you.’ He kept his eyes downcast. ‘It’s been going on for a while and as you can see, the place is deteriorating, too fast now. I need your help, son. I need more financial assistance.’ He reached across and poured himself another tot.

  ‘How much more?’

  ‘They want to foreclose. I’ll need—’

  ‘Foreclose?’ Dane exhaled loudly. ‘Why didn’t you get me to come earlier?’

  ‘I needed what you were sending.’ Tom hesitated. ‘You do have more money, don’t you, son?’

  Dane shook his head to clear it. Jacaranda was in jeopardy because of his uncle’s transgressions in England while his daughter was supported here? At least in that regard the girl was safe with his family and not forced to beg in the streets—or worse—but was his family safe now? ‘How much?’

  ‘Five hundred pounds.’ Tom’s speech slurred.

  ‘Five—!’ Dane leapt to his feet, knocking the rum to the floor. ‘That’s a bloody fortune.’

  Tom gurgled as he rushed to retrieve the bottle.

  Dane kicked it out of reach. ‘Leave it, Pa. I send you twenty pounds a quarter. Why has that not been enough?’ He glanced about the house, aware his mother and his sister—and the help—would be nearby, and lowered his voice. ‘There is more to this story, and I will hear it. We’ll go out and ride. Now.’

  Tom still would not meet his eye. Instead, he bent to pick up the nearly empty bottle.

  Dane stalked out of the house.

  He reached the stable long before Tom.

  Joe greeted him warmly. ‘’Tis good to see you back again, Mr Dane. You’re a welcome sight, you are.’

  Dane gripped the other man’s hand. ‘Good to see you’re still here, Joe.’

  Joe shrugged. ‘We only come back an’ forth these days. Someone’s got to do the heavy work for me horses.’

  Watti made his way over from Douglas’s stall. ‘Mista Dane.’ He took both Dane’s hands in a shake. ‘Good on yer, fella.’ He beamed at Dane, one tooth missing from the top row.

  ‘Good on yer, fella, Watti. Good to see you, too, old man.’

  ‘Look at MacNamara now, Mr Dane. Just look at him.’ Joe beckoned Dane to MacNamara’s stall.

  ‘Jus’ look at him, that one, that horse.’ Watti leaned over the stall rail.

  ‘Just look at him,’ Dane repeated. His gaze roamed over the big horse. ‘He looks very fine.’ MacNamara’s black coat glistened, his eyes were wide and clear, and the smell of his breath was clean. Inside the stall, Dane ran his hand down a foreleg. ‘He’s still a beauty, Joe. I’ve sorely missed him.’ He glanced arou
nd. ‘And the stables, man. They look better than the house. You’ve done it proud. All thanks to you two.’

  ‘Not entirely me and Watti, Mr Dane. We’re only here now for the heavy work, as I said. No, sir, not all us.’

  ‘I’ll lay a bet it isn’t old Tom yonder.’ Dane hitched a thumb towards his father as he stumbled in through the stable doors.

  ‘’Tis the young lady, Miss Georgina.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘She’s in here mucking out, scrubbing the place, oiling the timbers. I bring her fresh hay and she spreads it, she feeds them. Never seen a lady work like that before.’ He turned to stroke the big horse’s neck. ‘And she’s rubbed all them horses down, talks to ’em all day an’ night.’ He shook his head. ‘She rides MacNamara like she was a part of him and they whip through them paddocks like the wind itself. He gets a good run from her, and well he needs it, too.’

  ‘A good thing for the horse.’

  ‘It is that.’

  Dane turned to his swaying father. ‘Can you ride in that state?’ he asked.

  ‘Coursh I can.’

  ‘Joe, will you change that sidesaddle—’ Dane indicated Brandy, ‘—and saddle up for Pa?’

  ‘I can do it meshelf.’ Tom leaned on the stall door.

  Joe handed MacNamara’s reins to Dane and then reached into Brandy’s stall. ‘Mr Tom, perhaps you would hand me up your saddle?’

  Dane led MacNamara out of his stall. The big horse shied and as Dane swung up onto the broad back, the horse danced under the unaccustomed weight. Dane barely touched him with the stirrup and MacNamara was off.

  ‘Jesus,’ he yelled and managed to halt ten yards from the gates. ‘I’d forgotten how keen he is.’

  Joe laughed behind him. ‘He’s lost none of his fire. It’s Miss Georgie keeps him at his finest.’

  Dane grudgingly admired the girl if she could handle his powerful horse. He trotted back to Joe, waiting for his father to steady himself.

  Joe gave the older man a leg-up into the saddle. Tom gripped Brandy’s mane as he thrust his feet into the stirrups. He pitched forward to remove his foot from a stirrup twisted by his carelessness then tried to replace it. It proved difficult.

  Watti stepped up to grip Tom’s ankle and pushed it into the stirrup.

  Dane leaned down to Joe. ‘He has been paying you, Joe?’

  Joe nodded. ‘He has, Mr Dane. ’Tis in his best interests.’

  Dane lifted his chin towards his father and spoke quietly. ‘How many people know of this?’

  Joe glanced at Tom, who still concentrated on the stirrup though Watti had stepped back. He hesitated only moment. ‘About everyone in the district.’

  Tom trotted past them. ‘Come on, then, lad. Don’t keep your old dad waiting on yer.’ He rode with one foot lolling out of its stirrup.

  Watti threw his hands in the air.

  Dane wheeled MacNamara and followed his father out.

  About everyone in the district.

  He didn’t have five hundred pounds, dammit. He’d have to sell his tavern for that sort of money, and it was too early yet. There’d have to be another way. Then he’d have to find funds on top of the debt to re-stock, buy seed …

  He would forestall the bank, speak to his business partner.

  They cantered out of the home paddock. ‘Tell me everything, Pa, right from the start.’

  Tom bumped in the saddle, at odds with the horse. ‘I’ll tell you one thing: he’s ruined me, and your mother, and Elspeth,’ he wailed. ‘The damned game he plays, he’s too good … and I lost my head. All that money.’

  ‘My uncle?’

  Tom frowned then shook his head. ‘Yes. I mean your uncle.’

  ‘You don’t sound like you know who it is you’re talking about. Sober up so I can get sense out of you.’ Dane rode west to look over some of the property. It would give Tom time to clear his head.

  Keeping the river on his right, Dane took them through a couple of paddocks. He leaned down from the saddle to unhook the gates and shut each behind them as Tom came through.

  Tom swayed atop Brandy. ‘Wouldn’t bother wi’ that. There’s no stock.’

  ‘I can see. There’s no feed here for stock, either. Place is as dry as a chip.’ Every direction Dane turned a barren red landscape stretched before them. The dust of the land disheartened him. His heart thumped. This degradation, in just over four years. Why had Jemimah not written and informed him?

  ‘Do the windmills still run?’ Dane stared at a silhouette in the distance. He remembered the excitement years ago when his father first purchased one from the engineer, Mr Alston, in the Western Districts.

  ‘When I need them to. I haven’t let sheep out here for a year or more.’

  It wouldn’t take much to fix this paddock. A few good men, some tools, weekly maintenance, unless otherwise required. Small stock levels to begin with … fence off a few paddocks to sow seed …

  He swung MacNamara and looked east towards the river banks lined with trees. ‘Let’s head to the river.’

  ‘Good idea. I’m hot as hell.’ Tom wiped his forehead with his sleeve, which came away damp.

  Sweat ran down Dane’s back as the sun rose higher. He headed for the shade of the mighty river red gums, and for the cooler air lifting off the water.

  They stopped on the bank, overlooking a bend in the river, one of Dane’s favourite places as a boy. He gazed across the slow flow of muddy water then dismounted and walked to where the river lapped the dun-coloured bank. His past leapt back to him.

  Tom said, ‘I’m right now, son, but for a big headache. If you don’t mind, I might piss then have a smoke.’ He slid off Brandy and stepped to the nearest bush.

  Dane tethered the two horses then sat on his heels staring at the river. ‘I don’t have five hundred pounds, Pa,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘Can you get it?’

  ‘You’d better tell me all of it.’

  Tom returned buttoning his pants, sweat gleaming on his face. He slid down the trunk of a sturdy gum and sat heavily, pulling a pouch from his pocket. He rolled a smoke. ‘It began just as soon as the girl arrived from England, not long after your last visit. Your uncle, Jem’s brother—you only met him when you were two or three—bit toffee but all right, I suppose. Er, back then.’ He scratched a match to light his smoke, took a draw and looked at Dane. He’d gone as white as a sheet. ‘Lad, can you get me a cup of water? Cup’s in Brandy’s bag.’

  Dane opened the rawhide bag slung on Brandy’s saddle and pulled out a tin pannikin. He took it to the river, dipped it and returned to Tom.

  Tom swallowed the water. ‘He married a widow in Melbourne. The girl is his dead wife’s daughter. When the wife died, he went back to England, took the girl with him. Schooled her there for ten years, thereabouts. His new wife came along and she didn’t want a young unmarried colonial around, especially a step-daughter. He begged Jemimah and me to take her and said he’d send money to … ’ He shrugged, and stared at the ground. ‘God alone knows how, at eighteen, the poor girl … ’ His voice drifted off again.

  ‘And she’s been living here ever since? You should have put her to work.’ Dane sat beside his father, picked up a pebble and hurled it into the water.

  ‘Your ma hoped we’d find a suitable husband, but no one around here’s good enough. Georgina was a bit above us all when she first arrived, but not so much now. Still, these days she has some damned notion about the vote for women. That’d scare any man off.’ Tom held up a hand to Dane’s querying glance. ‘Anyhow, your mother’s repaid a good deed, trying to help her brother, who’d helped her when no one else would.’ His lip curled; he hawked and spat. ‘But let that story be for now.’

  ‘Story?’

  ‘It’s your mother’s to tell. Not important now.’

  Dane shrugged that off. So, the girl was living here while the family struggled to pay her father’s bills. A breath of fresh air, his mother had written long ago, and certainl
y nothing since. Elspeth had written, at the very least I used to get her old dresses … And in Tom’s letters, only a fleeting mention.

  ‘Pa, something doesn’t sound right. I’ve sent you money. You said it went to England, for Rupert.’

  Tom looked as if he were thinking. ‘Not all your money, now I recollect. Some to pay off loans here.’

  ‘What loans?’

  Tom lifted a shoulder. ‘I borrowed from the lads. The neighbours.’

  Dane stared at him. ‘Are they paid back? You’ve kept careful books?’

  His father shrugged again. ‘No point now.’

  ‘No point—? We will pay them back once I see the books.’ Dane rubbed his face. Things were going from bad to worse. ‘If I went to our solicitors in Melbourne with papers, and with financial backing, would the bank still foreclose?’

  Tom closed his eyes and leaned on a tree trunk. He flicked the rolled smoke away from him and crushed it with his boot. ‘I don’t know, Dane. Can you get anything?’

  ‘I can try. I can’t get five hundred pounds, perhaps one-fifty.’ He thought for a moment. ‘You need to be relieved of the girl’s care.’

  His father looked up, blinked into the light then squeezed his eyes shut. ‘It has already been—’

  ‘She will have to go elsewhere. To work as a governess, perhaps, or some such thing.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I will think on a solution.’

  Tom’s eyes remained closed for a moment longer. ‘You do that.’ He didn’t look at Dane when he said, ‘Until then, not a word to your mother.’

  The sound of an approaching rider interrupted them. A young, reed-slender youth on a big roan crashed through the light scrub and burst onto the banks of the river close to the tree under which Tom slumped.

  ‘Uncle Tom,’ the rider shouted, and the huge horse wheeled about, narrowly missing Dane as he leapt out of the way.

  ‘You bloody idiot,’ he yelled.

  The rider jumped from the saddle, rushed to the older man sitting under the tree and squatted beside him, laying a hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘What happened, are you all right?’