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CHAPTER VIII ~ MYRA AND SHEILA
There was nothing mysterious about Sheila Carolan; her story was a very simple one. Her parents were both dead, and she had no relatives, with the exception of an aunt, and with her she had lived for the last five years. The two, however, did not agree very well, and Sheila being of a very independent spirit, and possessing a few hundred pounds of her own, frankly told her relative that she intended to make her own way in the world. There was living in North Queensland a former great friend of her mother’s—a Mrs. Farrow, whose husband was the owner of a large cattle station near Dalrymple—and to her she wrote asking her if she could help her to obtain a situation as a governess. Six weeks later she received a warmly worded and almost affectionate letter.
“My dear Sheila,—Why did you not write to me long, long ago, and tell me that you and your Aunt Margaret did not get on well together! I remember as a girl that she was somewhat ‘crotchetty.’ I am not going to write you a long letter. I want you to come to us. Be my children’s governess—and I really do want a governess for them—but remember that you are coming to your mother’s friend and schoolmate, and that although you will receive £100 a year—if that is too little let us agree for £160—it does not mean that you will be anything else to me but the daughter of your dear mother. Now I must tell you that Minerva Downs is a difficult place to reach, and that you will have to ride all the way from Townsville—250 miles—but that will be nothing to an Australian-born girl ‘wid Oirish blood in her.’ When you get to Townsville call on Mr. Mallard, the editor of the Champion, who is a friend of ours (I’ve written him), and he will ‘pass’ you on to another friend of ours, a Mr. Grainger, who lives at a mining town called Chinkie’s Flat, ninety miles from here, and Mr. Grainger (don’t lose your heart to him, and defraud my children of their governess) will ‘pass’ you on with the mailman for Minerva Downs. The enclosed will perhaps be useful (it is half a year’s salary you advance), and my husband and all my large and furious family of rough boys and rougher girls will be delighted to see you.
“Very sincerely yours, my dear Sheila,
“Noba Fabbow.”
With the letter was enclosed a cheque for £50 on a Sydney bank.
As the girl descended Melton Hill into hot, dusty, and noisy Flinders Street, she smiled to herself as she thought how very much she had stimulated the curiosity of Mrs. Trappème—to whom she had, almost unconsciously, taken an instinctive dislike.
As she entered the crowded vestibule of the Royal Hotel, a group of men—diggers, sugar planters, storekeepers, bankers, ship captains, and policemen, who were all laughing hilariously at some story which was being told by one of their number—at once made a lane for her to approach the office, for ladies—especially young and pretty ladies—were few in comparison to the men in North Queensland in those days, and a murmured whisper of admiration was quite audible to her as she made her inquiry of the clerk.
“No; Mr. Mallard is with Mr. and, Miss Grainger at the ‘Queen’s.’ He left here a few minutes ago.”
“May I show you the way, miss?” said a huge bearded man, who, booted and spurred, took off his hat to her in an awkward manner. “I’m Dick Scott, one of Mr. Grainger’s men.”
“Thank you,” replied Sheila, “it is very kind of you,” and, escorted by the burly digger, she went out into the street again.
“Are you Miss Caroline, ma’am?” said her guide to her respectfully, as he tried to shorten his lengthy strides.
“Yes, my name is Carolan,” she replied, trying to hide a smile.
“Thought so, ma’am. I heerd the boss a-tellin’ Miss Grainger as you would be a-comin’ to Chinkie’s on yer way up ter Minervy Downs. Here’s the ‘Queen’s,’ miss, an’ there’s the boss and his sister and Mr. Mallard on the verandah there havin’ a cooler,” and then, to her amusement and Grainger’s astonishment, Mr. Dick Scott introduced her.
“This is Miss Caroline, boss. I picked her up at the ‘Royal,’” and then, without another word, he marched off again with a proud consciousness of having “done the perlite thing.”
“I am Sheila Carolan, Mr. Grainger. I was at the ‘Royal ‘asking for Mr. Mallard when Mr. Scott kindly brought me here.”
“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Carolan,” said Grainger, who had risen and extended his hand. “I had not the slightest idea you had arrived.” And then he introduced her to his sister and Mallard.
“Now, Miss Carolan, please let me give you a glass of this—it is simply lovely and cold,” said Myra, pouring some champagne into a glass with some crashed ice in it. “My brother is the proad possessor of a big but rapidly diminishing lump of ice, which was sent to him by the captain of the Corea just now.”
“Thank you, Miss Grainger. I really am very thirsty. I have had quite a lot of walking about to-day. I have a letter to you, Mr. Mallard, from Mrs. Farrow,” and she handed the missive to him.
“I am so very sorry I did not know of your arrival, Miss Carolan,” said Mallard. “I would have met you on board, but, as a matter of fact, I did not expect you in the Corea, as she is a very slow boat.”
“I was anxious to get to Mrs. Farrow,” Sheila explained, “and so took the first steamer.”
“Where are you staying, Miss Carolan?” asked Myra.
“Oh, I’ve been very fortunate. I have actually secured a room at ‘Magnetic Villa,’ on Melton Hill; in fact I went there just after you had left.”
Myra clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, how lovely! I shall be there for a week, and my brother and Mr. Mallard are staying there as well.”
“So Mrs. Lee Trappème informed me,” said Sheila with a bright smile.
Mallard—an irrepressible joker and mimic—at once threw back his head, crossed his hands over his chest, and bowed in such an exact imitation of Mrs. Trappème that a burst of laughter followed.
“Now you two boys can run away and play marbles for a while, as Miss Carolan and I want to have a little talk before we go to the ‘refined family circle’ for dinner,” said Myra to her brother. “It is now six o’clock; our luggage has gone up, and so, if you will come back for us in half an hour, we will let you escort us there—to the envy of all the male population of this horrid, dusty, noisy town.”
“Very well,” said Grainger with a laugh, “Mallard and I will contrive to exist until then,” and the two men went off into the billiard-room.
“Now, Miss Carolan,” said the lively Myra, as she opened the door of the sitting-room and carried in the table on which were the glasses, champagne bottle, and ice, “we’ll put these inside first. The sight of that ice will make every man who may happen to see it and who knows Ted come and introduce himself to me. Oh, this is a very funny country! I’m afraid it rather shocked you to see me drinking champagne on an hotel verandah in full view of passers-by. But, really, the whole town is excited—it has gold-fever on the brain—and then all the men are so nice, although their free and easy ways used to astonish me considerably at first. But diggers especially are such manly men–you know what I mean.”
“Oh, quite. I know I shall like North Queensland. There were quite a number of diggers on board the Carea, and one night we held a concert in the saloon and I sang ‘The Kerry Dance’—I’m an Irishwoman—and next morning a big man named O’Hagan, one of the steerage passengers, came up and asked me if I would ‘moind acceptin’ a wee bit av a stone,’ and he handed me a lovely specimen of quartz with quite two ounces of gold in it. He told me he had found it on the Shotover River, in New Zealand. I didn’t know what to say or do at first, and then he paid me such a compliment that I fairly tingled all over with vanity. ‘Sure an’ ye’ll take the wee bit av a stone from me, miss,’ he said. ‘I’m a Kerry man meself, an’ when I heard yez singin’ “The Kerry Dance,” meself and half a dozen more men from the oold sod felt that if ye were a man we’d have carried yez around the deck in a chair.”
“How nice of him!” said Myra; “but they are all like that. Nearly every one of my brother’s men at Chinkie’s Flat gave me something in the way of gold specimens when I left there.”
“Then,” resumed Sheila, “in the afternoon all the steerage passengers sent me and the captain what they call a ‘round robin,’ and asked if he would let them have a concert in the steerage, and if I would sing. And we did have it—on the deck—and I had to sing that particular song three times.”
“I wish I had been there! Do you know, Miss Carolan, that that big man who brought you here—Dick Scott—rough and uneducated as he is, is a gentleman. On our way down from Chinkie’s Flat we had to swim our horses across the Ross River, which was in flood. When we reached the other side I was, of course, wet through, and my hair had come down, and I looked like a half-drowned cat, I suppose. There is a public-house on this side of the Ross, and we went there at once to change our clothes, which were in canvas saddle bags on a pack-horse, and came over dry. The public-house was full of people, among whom were three commercial travellers, who were doing what is called ‘painting the place red’—they were all half-intoxicated. As I came in wet and dripping they leered at me, and one of them said, ‘Look at the sweet little ducky—poor little darling—with her pitty ickle facey-wacey all wet and coldy-woldy.’ Ted was not near me at the time, but Scott heard, and ten minutes later, as I was changing my clothes, I heard a dreadful noise, and the most awful language, and then a lot of cheering. I dressed as quickly as possible and went out into the dining-room, and there on the floor were the three commercial travellers. Their faces looked simply dreadful, smothered in blood, and I felt quite sick. At the other end of the room were a lot of men, miners and stockmen, who were surrounding Dick Scott, slapping him on the back, and imploring him to drink with them. It seems that as soon as I had gone to my room to change, the valiant Dick had told them that the ‘drummers’ had insulted Mr. Grainger’s sister, and in a few minutes the room was cleared and a ring formed, and Dick actually did what the landlord termed ‘smashed up the whole three in five minutes.’”
“I’m sure I shall like Mr. Dick Scott,” said Sheila. “I had to try hard and not laugh when he pointed to you, and said in his big, deep voice, ‘There they are, having a “cooler”’—I thought at first he meant you were cooling yourselves.”
“Any drink is called a ‘cooler,’ “explained Myra; “but, oh dear, how I do chatter! The fact is, I’m so wildly excited, and want to talk so much that I can’t talk fast enough. But I must first of all tell you this—I’m really most sincerely glad to meet you, for I feel as if I knew you well. Mrs. Farrow—I spent a week at Minerva Downs—told me you were coming, and that she was longing to see you. I am sure you will be very, very happy with her. She is the most lovable, sweet woman in the world, and when she spoke of your mother her eyes filled with tears. And the children are simply splendid. I suppose I am unduly fond of them because they made so much of me, and think that my brother is the finest rider in the world—‘and he is that, indade’—isn’t that Irish?”
“Yes,” said Sheila smilingly, “that is Irish; and I am sure I shall be very happy there.”
Myra Grainger, who was certainly, as she had said, wildly excited, suddenly moved her chair close to that on which Sheila sat.
“Miss Carolan, I’m sure that you and I will always be great ‘chums’—as they say here in North Queensland—and I’m just dying to tell you of something. Within this last hour I have become engaged to Mr. Mallard! Even Ted doesn’t know it yet. Oh, I have heaps and heaps of things to tell you. Can’t we have a real, nice long talk to-night?”
“Indeed we can,” said Sheila, looking into the girl’s bright, happy face.
CHAPTER IX ~ DINNER WITH “THE REFINED FAMILY”
Somewhat to the annoyance of Grainger and his friends, they found on their arrival at “Magnetic Villa” that there were several other visitors there who had apparently come to dine. Whether they were personal friends of Mrs. Trappème or not, or were “paying guests” like themselves, they could not at first discover.
“Dinner will be ready at eight o’clock, Miss Grainger,” said Mrs. Trappème sweetly to Myra, who with Sheila had been shown into their private sitting-room; and then she added quickly, as she heard a footstep in the passage, “You have not met my daughter. Come, Juliette, dear—Miss Grainger, my eldest daughter; Miss Carolan, Miss Trappème.”
The two girls bowed rather coldly to Miss Trappème, who, after the usual commonplaces, asked Miss Grainger if she were not tired.
“Very—and so is Miss Carolan. We shall be glad of an hour’s rest before dinner.”
The hint was unmistakable, and Miss Trappème smiled herself out, inwardly raging at what she told her mother was Sheila’s forwardness in so soon thrusting herself upon Miss Grainger.
As she went out, Sheila looked at Myra and laughed. “We are certainly meant to be treated as members of the family, whether we like it or not. I wonder if the other people we saw are as pushful as ‘Mamma’ and ‘Juliette.’”
“I trust not; that would be awful—even for a week.”
Mallard was in Grainger’s room, sprawled out on the bed, talking to him and smoking, whilst the latter was opening a leather trunk which contained some bottles of whisky and soda water, and a small box which held the remains of the ice.
“We can’t let this ‘melt on as,’ as the Irish would say, Mallard,” and he placed it in the toilet basin in its covering of blanket. “Now move your lazy self and break a piece off with your knife, whilst I open this bottle of Kinahan’s and some soda. I trust the cultured family will not object to the sound of a cork popping at seven o’clock.”
“Not they,” said Mallard, as he rose; “they would not mind if you took the whisky to the table and drank it out of the bottle. Oh, I can gauge the old dame pretty well, I think; avarice is writ large in her face, and she’ll squeeze us all she can. She told me in a mysterious aside that the butler kept all the very best wines and liquor obtainable. I thanked her, and said I usually provided my own. She didn’t like it a bit; but I’m not going to pay her a sovereign for a bottle of whisky or Hennessey when I can get a case of either for a five-pound note. Oh!” he added disgustedly, “they’re all alike.”
“Well, don’t worry, old man,” said his friend philosophically, as he handed him a glass; “there, take this. I wonder if Mrs. Trap—Trapper, or whatever her name is, thinks we are going to dress for dinner. Neither my sister nor Miss Carolan will, and I’m sure I’m not going to establish a bad precedent.”
“Same here. If other people like to waste time dressing for dinner, let them; this town is altogether too new and thriving a place for busy men like ourselves to worry about evening dress. By the way, Grainger, I’ve some news for you that I trust will give you pleasure: your sister has promised to marry me next year.”
Grainger grasped his friend’s hand. “I’m glad, very glad, old man. I was wondering what made her so unusually bright this afternoon; but she has kept it dark.”
“Hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet. I only asked her a couple of hours ago.”
“Well, let us go and see her and Miss Carolan before dinner. I can hear them talking in the sitting-room. Hallo! who is that little fellow out there crossing the lawn with the younger Miss Trappème. He’s in full fig..”
Mallard looked out of the window and saw a very diminutive man in evening dress.
“Oh, that’s little Assheton, the new manager for the Australian Insurance Company. He’s just out from England. He’s a fearfully conceited ape, but a smart fellow at the insurance business. Great fun at the ‘Queen’s’ the other day with him. He came in, dressed in frock coat, tall hat, and carrying a thick, curly stick as big as himself. Of course every one smiled, and he took it badly—couldn’t see what there was to laugh at; and when old Charteris, the Commissioner, asked him how much he would ‘take for the hat,’ he put his monocle up and said freezingly, ‘Sir, I do not know you.’ That made us simply howl, and then, when we had subsided a bit, Morgan the barrister, who is here on circuit with Judge Cooper, said in that fanny, deep, rumbling voice of his—
“‘Are you, sir, one of the—ah—ah—circus company which—ah—arrived to-day?’
“The poor little beggar was furious, lost his temper, and called us a lot of ill-mannered, vulgar fellows, and then some one or other whipped off the offending hat, threw it into the street, and made a cockshy of it.
“‘I’ll have satisfaction for this outrage!’ he piped. ‘Landlord, send for a policeman. I’ll give all these men in charge. Your house is very disorderly. Do you know who I am?’
“‘No, nor do I care,’ said old Cramp, down whose cheeks the tears were running; ‘but if you’ll come here like that every day, I’ll give you a sovereign, and we’ll have the hat. Oh, you’re better than any circus I ever saw. Oh, oh, oh!’ and he went off into another fit.
“The poor little man looked at us in a dazed sort of a way—thought us lunatics, and then when old Char-tens asked him not to mind a bit of miners’ horseplay, but to sit down and have some fizz, he called him ‘an audacious ruffian,’ and shrieked out—
“‘I am Mr. B. D. Assheton—the manager of the Australian Insurance Company. Do you possibly imagine I would drink with a person like you?’”
Grainger laughed: “It must have been great fun.”
“Rather—but the cream of it is to come yet. He rushed oat into Flinders Street, found Sergeant Doyle and a policeman, and came back panting and furious, and pointing, to Charteris, told them to take him in charge. Doyle looked at us blankly, saw we were nearly dead with laughing, and then took Assheton aside, and said in his beautiful brogue—
“‘Me little mahn, it’s drinkin’ ye’ve been. Do yez want me to arrest the Po-liss Magisthrate himsilf? Who are ye at all, at all? Ye’d betther be after goin’ home and lyin’ down, or I’ll lock ye up for making a dishturbance. Do ye moind me now?’”
Grainger could no longer control his laughter, and in the midst of it, Myra tapped vigorously at the door, He rose and opened it.
“Whatever is all this noise about, Ted? You two great boys!”
“Oh, take Mallard away, Myra, for heaven’s sake!”
A little before eight o’clock the deafening clamour of a gong announced dinner, and the company filed in. Mrs. Trappème and the Misses Trappème were in “very much evening dress” as Sheila murmured to Myra, and they seemed somewhat surprised that neither Miss Grainger nor Miss Carolan had donned anything more unusual than perfectly-made dainty gowns of cool white Indian muslin. Grainger and Mallard wore the usual white duck suits (the most suitable and favoured dress for a climate like that of torrid North Queensland), and Sheila could not but admire their big well-set-up figures—both were “six feet men”—and contrast their handsome, bronzed and bearded faces with the insignificant appearance of Assheton and another gentleman in evening dress—a delicate but exceedingly gentlemanly young Scotsman. Of course there were more introductions—all of which were duly and unnecessarily carried out by Mrs. Trappème. Others of that lady’s guests were the local Episcopalian clergyman and his wife—the former was a placid, dreamy-looking, mild creature, with soft, kindly eyes. He smiled at everybody, was evidently in abject terror of his wife—a hard-featured lady about ten years his senior, with high cheek-bones and an exceedingly corrugated neck and shoulders. She eyed Myra and Sheila with cold dissatisfaction, and after dinner had once begun, devoted herself to the task of extracting information from the latter regarding her future movements. She had already discussed her with Mrs. Trappème, and had informed her hostess that she had “suspicions” about a girl who affected mystery in the slightest degree, and who could afford to pay six guineas a week for simple board and lodging.
“Quite so, Mrs. Wooler,” Mrs. Trappème had assented; “I must confess it doesn’t look quite right. Even Juliette thinks it very strange for her to be so reticent as to who she is and where she is going. Of course I could have refused to receive her, and am now rather sorry I did not. I understood from her that Mr. Grainger was an utter stranger to her—and I was quite surprised to see them all come in together as if they had known each other for years. Not quite correct, I think.”
“Mr. Grainger is very rich,” said the clergyman’s wife meditatively.
“Very,” said her friend, who knew that Mrs. Wooler meant to do a little begging (for church purposes) as soon as opportunity offered.
“It would be a pity for him to be involved with such a—a forward-looking young person,” she said charitably.
But for the first quarter of an hour she had no opportunity of satisfying her curiosity, for Sheila was quite hungry enough not to waste too much time in conversation. At last, however, a chance came, when Mr. Assheton said in his mincing voice—
“I believe, Miss Carolan, that like me, you are quite a new arrival in this country.”
“Oh, dear no! I have lived here ever since I was two years old.”
“Heah! in Townsville?”
“I meant Australia,” Sheila observed placidly.
“Then you are not an Australian born, Miss Carolan?” put in Mrs. Wooler with a peculiarly irritating condescension of manner and surprised tone, as if she meant to say, “I am sure you are—you certainly are not lady-like enough to be an English girl.”
“No, I am not,” was the reply. “Do you think you will like Queensland, Mr. Assheton?”
“I really have as yet formed no definite impression. Possibly I may in the end contrive to like it.”
“Do. It would be a great pity for the country if you did not,” said Sheila gravely, without moving an eyelid.
“Do you purpose making a long stay in Queensland, Miss Carolan?” pursued Mrs. Wooler.
“A very long one, perhaps—perhaps on the other hand a very short one. Or it may be that I may adopt a middle course, and do neither.”
Grainger, who was opposite, heard her, and as she looked across at him, he saw that she was “playing” her questioner and quite enjoying it.
Never for one moment did the clergyman’s wife dream that Sheila meant to be anything else but evasive, so she followed up. To her mind it was absolutely incredible that any woman would dare to snub her—Mrs. Wooler—daughter of a dean, and possessing an uncle who had on several occasions been spoken of by the Bishop of Dullington as his probable successor; such a thing was impossible!
“I presume, however, that your stay in Townsville itself will be short, Miss Carolan? You will find it a very expensive place—especially if you have no friends to whom you can go.”
Sheila’s face flushed. Her blood was getting up, and Myra looked at her nervously.
“Is there no ‘Girls’ Friendly Society,’ ‘Young Women’s Christian Association,’ or other kindred institution, where I could ‘be taken in and done for’?” she asked sweetly.
“Not as yet; but I am thinking of taking steps to found a Girls’ Friendly Society. Such an institution will soon be a necessity in a growing place like this.”
“How nice it would be for me to go there instead of staying at—at a boarding house!”
Juliette Trappème’s sallow face flushed with rage, and Mrs. Trappème, who saw that something was occurring, spoke loudly to Mr. Wooler, who answered in his usual soft voice. But Mallard, who was seated next to Miss Lilla Trappème, shot Sheila an encouraging glance.
“Quite so,” went on Mrs. Wooler. “I disapprove most strongly of any young woman incurring risks that can be avoided.”
“What risks?” and Sheila turned and looked steadily at Mrs. Wooler.
The sharp query somewhat upset the inquisitive lady, who hardly knew what she meant herself.
“Oh, the risks of getting into debt—living beyond one’s means—and things like that.”
“Oh, I see, madam,” and Sheila bowed gravely, although the danger signals were showing now on her cheeks. Then she added very clearly and distinctly, “That would be most dreadful to happen to any one, would it not, Mr. Assheton?”
“Oh, howwible—for a lady.”
“But,” she went on—and as she spoke she gazed so intently into Mrs. Wooler’s face that every one at the table saw her change colour—“but I am sure, Mrs. Wooler, that no girl could possibly come to such a sad condition while you are in Townsville, to give her the benefit of your years, your advice, and your experience—even though that advice was thrust upon her in a manner that I believe might possibly cause well-deserved resentment,” and then, with a scornful smile still on her lips, she turned to Mr. Assheton and asked him sweetly if he did not “think it was beginning to be very warm so early in the year?”
“By heavens!” mattered Mallard to Myra, “she has done the parson woman good. Look at her face. It’s unpleasant to look at.”
Mrs. Wooler’s features were a study. Unable to speak, and her hands trembling with rage, she gave the girl one glance of hatred, and then tried to eat; and Viveash, who had the sense to do so, at once began telling her some idiotic and pointless story about himself when he sang in a cathedral choir until his voice “failed him.”
Just then a long ring was heard at the front door, and the butler presently came to Mallard, and said—
“One of the reporters, sir, from the Champion wishes to see you. Most important, sir, he says. Will you please see him at once?”
Making his excuses, Mallard left the dining-room and went into one of the sitting-rooms, where the reporter was awaiting him.
