Outlaw and Lawmaker/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX.
A BUSH HOUSE PARTY.
Tunimba was considered one of the most beautiful statons on the Luya. It was almost in the shadow of Mount Luya and of the twin peaks of the Burrum. Baròlin Gorge—a misty cleft—stretched up between the two into the dividing range, and seemed to Elsie's imagination the passage to a realm of mystery.
Mrs. Jem Hallett had the reputation of being a most accomplished hostess. She was always called Mrs. Jem, because the elder Mrs. Hallett, mother of the two brothers, was still alive and occupied a pretty cottage about a stone's throw from the big house. But the old lady was an invalid, and took no part in the domestic management of the station, leaving everything to her clever daughter-in-law. Mrs. Jem was very handsome—a little self-conscious, but that was hardly surprising. She had big black eyes and, unlike most Australians, a rich colour. She was tall also and elegant, and always dressed with great care and taste.
Nothing more unlike the Humpey could be imagined. Tunimba head-station was an imposing stone house with deep verandahs trellised with creepers, a beautifully kept garden, a gravelled courtyard, and beds planted with flowering shrubs and pomegranate trees and camellias. It had outbuildings after the newest and most improved pattern, stables, a retinue of smartly got up black boys and grooms, trim fences and white gates, and last, but greatest of all, a Chinese cook. The head station stood on a small hill, and the garden sloped down to a lagoon, as is the case in many Australian homesteads. Beyond the lagoon was the race-course, and on this particular occasion—the tenth anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Jem's wedding day—there were to be given some bush races—a sort of friendly competition among the horse-owners of the district, which was rather noted for its races and the horses they intended to run at the forthcoming Leichardt's Town Races.
Mrs. Jem received her principal guests on the verandah facing the courtyard, and herself conducted them to the drawing-room. It was her great aim to be considered English, and she always made a great deal of Lord Horace, who was at his best on these occasions, and imported something of the British country-house element into these bush gatherings. She had been accustomed to rather patronize the Valliant girls in the days before Ina's marriage, and it had been at her house that Lord Horace first met Ina. She, therefore, took credit to herself for the match.
"I am so glad you came, dear. Thank you both, love, for your good wishes. Wasn't it a happy idea putting the races on to our wedding day? Of course we couldn't possibly have had them at the election time. Oh, such a pity, isn't it, about Frank? We had made so sure. But he is quite certain to get in for Wallaroo, and we must just make the best of Mr. Blake, who is quite charming. Such a pity he is on the wrong side, but Jem says, Elsie, that you must convert him."
Mrs. Jem had quite a number of people already assembled when the Gages and Miss Valliant arrived. Jem Hallett was a handsome, rather heavy squatter, excessively good-natured, but not as clever and enterprising as his brother. He was far too lazy to go into politics, and contented himself with having the best breed of cattle on the Luya.
Mrs. Jem interrupted her husband's heavy jokes, and sent him off to look after the gentlemen and bring them in to tea. Her drawing-room looked extremely English, with its daintily laid tea-table, and pretty silver things, and with its art muslin draperies, and upholstered lounges and armchairs. Several ladies were sitting there, and others were playing about in the verandah and on the tennis lawn. Those in the drawing-room were for the most part matrons, and among them were one or two Leichardt's Town magnates—Lady Garfit, the wife of the Minister for Lands, and her daughter; there was pretty Mrs. Allanby, who gave parties in Leichardt's Town, and whose husband was a stock and station agent; two or three of the neighbouring squatteresses, several young ladies, rivals of Elsie as popular belles, who came in from the verandah when the Gage party appeared. Lady Horace's marriage had produced a certain access of cordiality in the manner of the Leichardfs Town dames, especially now that it was known that Lord and Lady Waveryng were coming out, and would be guests at Government House during the time of the Prince's visit. Formerly Mrs. Valliant and her pretty daughters had only been admitted on sufferance into the more select circle of Leichardt's Town society, and this gave Elsie Valliant's manner a dash of defiance as she acknowledged their greetings. The girl was full of hatred and malice—at least so she told Ina—and it flashed through her mind that there might be some great person in the Prince's suite who would fall in love with her and marry her, and that she might revenge herself on these second rate people for all their slights. She was an undeveloped creature, this poor Elsie. There was nothing very great in her, or very noble. She was full of meannesses and littlenesses and jealousies, for which she despised herself in her more exalted moments, but there had never come anything into her life to call forth higher sentiments. She sometimes fancied that if such thing did come she, too, could prove herself heroic. Ina was better than she. No one acknowledged that more readily than Elsie. But then Ina had not been the idol of a foolish mother, and Ina had never been a beauty.
Elsie had never looked more lovely than she did that evening when she went into the drawing-room dressed for dinner. She and Ina had spent some time in the concoction of the costume, and then Elsie had had a fit of penitence, and had insisted on making something lovely for Ina, too. It struck Elsie that Ina seemed shy and agitated, and she wondered if Lord Horace had been cross. Now that the blush of the honeymoon was over, Lord Horace had fits of downright crossness. And Lord Horace was certainly selfish and exacting. He made his wife do things for him that he would not have required from a Lady Clara Vere-de-Vere. This Elsie resented. What right had he to expect that her sister would act as his valet? Ina did everything that he asked her, and was patient and sweet as far famed Grizzel. But she always said that she was happy.
Frank Hallett took Elsie in to dinner. Lord Horace naturally conducted Mrs. Jem, and Mr. Blake was given to Lady Horace. Mrs. Jem had waived the rules of strict etiquette so far as to give Lady Garfit the precedence over some time Ina Valliant. Blake and Ina were seated opposite Elsie and Frank. Somehow, whenever she glanced across the table, Elsie seemed to meet Blake's eyes. He had such odd eyes—so deep and piercing. She could never forget their wild gleam on that strange night at Goondi. Blake had a stephanotis flower in his buttonhole. So had Frank Hallett. She remembered having said to Blake one day at Goondi—the day after the declaration of the poll, when they had walked down the street of the township while waiting for the coach, and to hear the latest news of Moonlight—or rather to hear the news of Moonlight's vain pursuers—that the stephanotis was her favourite flower. Blake's voice enchained her attention, and made her listen carelessly to what Frank Hallett was saying. She wondered what Blake was talking about to Ina. She felt almost certain from the way they both looked at her that she herself was the subject of conversation.
She was the subject also of Mr. Dominic Trant's regard. He was on her other side, and devoted much more consideration to her than to his legitimate partner. He would insist upon discoursing about Blake in what Elsie felt to be rather a crude fashion.
"You remember what I said to you the other night, Miss Valliant?"
"I am not sure that I do, Mr. Trent."
"I told you that my partner was rather a dangerous customer. You know there's such a thing as the biter getting bit. Any woman who plays with Blake will find that she is playing with fire."
"I don't understand you, Mr. Trant; or how what you say can in any way apply to me."
"They say you are a flirt. So is Blake."
"Well?"
"He never cared for a woman in his life, Miss Valliant; but it has always been with him as it is with the sportsman after game. The more difficult it is to get, the more fellows there are after it, the more determined he is that it should fall to his gun. Blake would follow a woman he thought worth his trouble through thick and thin till he had got her down at his feet."
"And then?"
"Why, then, Miss Valliant, he'd tell her that he had no heart to give, and he would leave her to further enjoy the excitement of going after other game. That is all Blake cares for—the excitement of doing what other people have failed to do."
"And so," said Elsie, "Mr. Blake goes about with women's scalps at his belt, and you fancy that he might do me the honour of wishing to adorn himself with mine. It is very kind of you to warn me. Why are you so interested in my welfare?"
"Because I want you for myself," said Trant, brutally.
"That is very kind of you, too," said Elsie. "I like your way of playing a game, Mr. Trant. It is honest, at any rate." She turned to Frank Hallett and pointedly avoided Trant.
He came up to her, however, as soon as dinner was over.
"I have come to beg your pardon. I'm a rough brute. I throw myself on your mercy."
"Please don't offend again then," said Elsie.
"I'll go on my knees to you, if you like. I'll promise anything. The only thing I'm good for is to sing. Mrs. Jem Hallett has asked me to sing. You'll forgive me when you hear me sing. I am going to sing something to you."
The man was right. His merit lay in his voice. It was impossible not to be moved by his singing. They were all sitting out in the verandah or strolling about the star-lit garden, which was full of the scent of stephanotis, verbena, and Cape jasmine. Mrs. Jem had started music in the drawing-room while the dining-room, which was a great room with a polished floor, was being got ready for dancing. Elsie had already a little crowd of men round her. Several were Leichardt's Town admirers. The old fever for admiration was upon her. From one she accepted a flower. To another she gave one. She had smiles for all. Then Trant began to sing. A vague emotion seized her, a sudden irresistible longing for the deeper drama of life. There was so much beyond all this flirting and dancing and dressing, so much of which she was totally ignorant. Even Trant with the coarse passion in his voice represented a world of feeling that she had never entered. She became silent, and would not answer the young men's banal remarks.
"Hush—go away, I want to listen," she said, and sat there, her profile outlined against the dark night, the light from the drawing-room upon her serious face and shining eyes and slender girlish form; she sat with her hands folded, quite still. Someone came and leaned against the verandah post by her side. She knew without looking at him that it was Blake. She knew, too, that he was watching her, and the feeling gave her an odd thrill and presently drew her eyes to his. Trant's songs ceased; and his accompanist went on playing desultory chords.
Mr. Blake said suddenly: "Do you do anything—I mean in the way of music?"
"No," answered Elsie. "I do nothing—nothing at least that gives people pleasure."
"I should say that you did a great deal which gave people pleasure. You exist—that is something."
"I wish you wouldn't pay me compliments in that unmeaning way. I hate it. It is like everybody else."
"You would like me then to be unlike everybody else. Thank you. I like you to say that."
"Why?"
"Because it shows that you think about me."
"I don't see that that matters."
"Oh, yes, it does—to me. I have been watching you, Miss Valliant, wondering"
"Wondering what?"
"Wondering what lies underneath the butterfly existence you seem to lead."
"Ah! you think I am a butterfly."
"I think that you know how to papillonner la vie—as one says, but that is a different thing from being a butterfly."
"I don't understand much French, but I understand enough to know what that means."
"It's a great art—to papillonner la vie."
"Do you practice it?" she asked.
"I try to. But I have moods in which life seems deadly serious."
"Were you in one of those moods that night?"
"Ah! No, I was in a reckless mood that night. I have quite got over it now."
"And you are in the butterfly phase," she said, a little bitterly.
"Why do you say that in such a contemptuous way?"
"I was thinking of something Mr. Trant told me about you."
"What was that?"
"I don't think I ought to tell you."
"I can guess what it was. Trant reproaches me with liking ladies' society too much. I am sure he told you that I was a flirt."
"Yes, he said something of that kind, only he put it more strongly."
"How? You needn't mind telling me what Trant said about me. I am sure that he has often said the same things to my face."
"So he told me."
"He warned you against me, didn't he?"
"Yes"
"And he described me as a conceited cad who tried to be a lady-killer?"
"No, he didn't say that. He described you as a person who liked to make women fall in love with him, and who went about with hearts as trophies in the way that an Indian carries scalps."
"Oh! That was putting it melodramatically. Miss Valliant, perhaps you will think me a conceited cad when I say that the game of love—or flirtation—has given me some amusement in my life, but that when I found it becoming serious for myself, or for the other person, I have always stopped short, unless"
"Well, unless?"
"Unless it was a fair contest. Hearts not in it. The best fighter wins—and friends when the fight is over; like our election the other day. Isn't that your idea of a flirtation tournament?"
"Yes—perhaps—I haven't any theory about it."
"You only practise the game. Well, don't you think that two skilled players might get a good deal of fun out of such a game?"
"I don't know." Elsie was getting a little uncomfortable, and at the same time was deeply interested.
"Oh yes, you do. Because Trant implied that in this instance it is a case of Greek meeting Greek. Well, Miss Valliant, is it a challenge?"
"If you like to take it so," she answered recklessly. There was a silence.
"Yes, I do," he answered seriously. "I think it is very likely that I shall get beaten; but I accept the challenge. Will you dance this with me," he asked in a matter of fact tone. "That is a waltz, isn't it?"
She got up. At that moment Frank Hallett came up.
"Miss Valliant, you will give me this?"
Elsie hesitated. Blake said nothing, but his eyes were on her. "I am engaged to Mr. Blake," she said at last.
Frank Hallett drew back.
"The one after the next, then? I am going to dance the next with your sister."
Elsie nodded. "Yes, the one after the next."
She took Blake's arm and they went into the dancing room. He danced extremely well. So did she. Elsie had never felt before during a dance as she felt now. She had at once a sense of intoxication and terror. She had begun to be afraid of Blake, and she had never in her life been afraid of any man. What had he meant by asking her if she had given him a challenge. What did he think of her? What had he heard about her? Well, she would show him that she could take care of herself.
The waltz ended, and they strolled into the garden. The moon was rising, and threw fantastic shadows upon the gravelled walk.
"Mr. Blake," Elsie said, suddenly, "will you please tell me what you meant when you told me—that day by the creek—the day I threw the flower at your horse—that you had been wishing to make my acquaintance for a particular reason? Will you tell me what the reason was?"
"If you wish it," he said; "but it is rather a long story. I don't think I can get it into the interval between this and the next dance."
"I am not engaged for the next dance. We will sit it out—unless you want to dance."
"No. It seems absurd to say that I would much rather sit it out with you."
"Why absurd?"
"You forbade me to pay you compliments," he answered.
They turned towards the lagoon, out of the track of promenaders. There was an avenue of bunyas leading to the boathouse, and the dark pyramidal pine trees looked strangely solemn in the moonlight. Elsie gave a little shiver.
"I hate this walk. It puts me in mind of a churchyard. Come down here. There's a seat close to the house, and I shall be able to hear when the waltz begins."
She took him into a vine trellis to the right, and they sat down oh a bench which was placed in a sort of arbour.