"I'll come with you," she said.
"All right. Be quick and change."
When she came down ready, we set out.
"Why don't you let one of the men take your letter in."
"I want to catch the coach. Goodness knows when it will get there."
"It would only have to wait until Saturday."
"I want it to go at once."
She came into the inn with me. There was a small section of the counter where they collected and dispensed mail. Felicity glanced at the letter as I handed it in. So she knew I was writing to Raymond. Well, there was nothing unusual in that. After all I was engaged to him ... unofficially, so it was the most natural thing in the world for me to write to him. I wondered what she would have said if she had known what the letter contained.
I felt better when the letter had gone off. The responsibility seemed to have lifted a little, although it would be weeks before Raymond received the letter and more weeks before I could have a reply. But still, I had done something. I had taken action—and that always made me feel better.
We had a stroke of luck that day. One of the jackeroos came to the house at midday. He was one of the young apprentices who was learning the way sheep farming was carried out in Australia and one of his tasks had been to ride round the estate to make sure all was well with the sheep, for these were numerous and the grazing land so extensive that there had to be these occasional round trips to make sure all was in order.
He was a fresh-faced young man—recently out from England— and very eager to learn the business, I should imagine with a hope of owning his own property one day. He had gone off before we arrived in the company of Walloo, an aborigine whose duty it was to instruct the young man. Walloo, I heard later, had been one of the more trusted workers and had been on the property for three years which was a long time for an aborigine. It was said that they all had an inborn urge to wander. They called it "Walkabout"; and suddenly they would leave whatever they were doing and without a moment's notice, wander off and not be seen again for months... perhaps never.
Walloo had gone off with this young apprentice and suddenly decided to "walk about." He had left the young man to fend for himself in unknown territory. That was why he had been delayed in getting back.
William Granville was deeply concerned by what he had to tell. The young jackeroo might not know the country but he certainly knew sheep. He had found some of them in urgent need of attention if they were not to perish; moreover more repairs were required to certain fences than he had been able to give them.
Our good luck grew out of this for the result was that William Granville was going off with three of the men and the young jackeroo and he reckoned he would be away for at least a week.
My spirits rose. A week without him! I would be able to put off that agonizing decision for a little while. Meanwhile my letter would be on its way to Raymond.
William Granville had to leave that day and I watched the party set out with joy in my heart.
The change in Felicity was miraculous. She seemed to come alive and I realized how cowed she had been. I dreaded to contemplate what she had to submit to in her marriage.
That night I slept peacefully. No apprehension. No waiting until he was safe in his room.
The next morning we went riding. It was a beautiful day. We skirted the township and made our way to a creek which we had discovered. It was a beautiful spot—an oasis among the scrub. The trickling stream glistened silver in the sunlight and in the distance I could see the clump of ghost gums, looking quite uncanny in the shimmering light.
"I could enjoy all this," I said, "if ..."
I had spoken without thinking. Felicity went on: "You mean if it were in different circumstances."
I was silent.
"I'd like to explore," I went on. "I should like to find the Blue Mountains and explore them. Bathurst is on the other side. I heard that years ago they used to believe there were evil spirits in the mountains who would never allow people to cross them. And on the other side is Bathurst... and wonderful sheep country."
"Yes," said Felicity, "I should like to explore them too."
She was looking wistfully towards the horizon. I had meant to broach the subject of my departure to her when she was a little
calmer, but somehow I could not spoil this day... our first of freedom. And we had the whole week.
"Perhaps we shall one day," I said.
"You're planning to go though, aren't you?"
She had brought up the subject so we must talk of it.
"Well, I shall have to, shan't I? This is not my home."
"I suppose you'll go back to England and marry Raymond. I think you are the luckiest person in the world."
"You never know how things are going to turn out."
"Annalice, what can I do?"
"About what?"
"About everything. About my life. I can't endure it here. I can't endure... him. I didn't know married life was like this. The things that are done... I had no idea."
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently.
"I can't bring myself to speak of it. It's unspeakable... every night."
"Last night ..." I began.
"Last night?" she said quickly.
I said: "I know. I heard him come out of your room. He went to Mrs. Maken."
She nodded. "I was glad. I thanked God. Annalice, you have no idea."
"I think I have."
"I never thought..."
"It was a rough awakening."
"If I had known. I thought it was beautiful... romantic ... But I never wanted William."
"I know. You told me there was someone else you loved."
"He would never have done these things. Sometimes I think I shall go mad. I just can't endure it."
"Try to be calm. There's a week's respite. Let's think what we can do. We could go into the township tomorrow. The coach leaves for Sydney. We could get on it... get out of this place."
"He is my husband, Annalice. I'm married to him."
"That does not mean you have to endure the humiliation he subjects you to."
"But I am married to him."
"Well, what are you going to do? Stay here and endure it?"
"I'll have to. Sometimes I think I'll get used to it... and there is Mrs. Maken."
"You would accept that!"
"I have to."
"I wouldn't. I'd walk out. I wouldn't stay another night."
"He would never let me go."
"I would not say that he is besottedly in love."
"He despises me. I think he has from the first."
"Then why ... ?"
"He came to England to find a wife. He wanted one who was meek and had some money. I suppose I fitted into that."
"Money!" I cried.
"Well, my father left me well provided for. 1 never thought much about money before. William wants my money, he has plans for improving the property. All this land belongs to him. I am not sure of the boundaries. He wants to clear the scrub. He thinks he might have gold on the land. He wants to prospect for it. You see, I am very useful in a way ... although in others I am such an ignoramus."
"Oh, my poor Felicity. Now I am sure. You've got to get away. You've got to get help."
I was thankful that I had sent that letter to Raymond. It would be a start. I wished I had known this before. I could have mentioned it to him. I would write another letter—even more urgent than the first.
"Look. There is one thing to do. We'll ride into the township now and book our places on that coach."
"I couldn't go. Annalice. I know he would find me. It would be worse then. He would never forgive me for running away. He'd make sure that I didn't do it again. I'd be a prisoner."
"You're not quite as helpless as that. I can help you. We'll go together."
"It's all very well for you. He can't harm you. Oh, Annalice, you've no idea. When he comes into that bedroom I pray that something awful will happen. Fire perhaps ... anything to save me from him."