"My dear Felicity, this is terrible. You must be sensible. I'll get you away. You can stay with me and when I find what I want we can go home together."
"You make it all sound easy. Life is easy for you. You are so fortunate. Raymond loves you ..."
There was something about the manner in which she said his name which told me.
I said: "It is Raymond isn't it. whom you love?"
She was silent for a few moments, then she said: "It was more or less understood. Everyone said that he was just waiting until I grew up. We were always together. There was something special between us. It would all have turned out as they expected, but... he met you. He fell in love with you. You are so different from what I am. You are clever and I am rather stupid. But... Raymond seemed to like me the way I was. He was always so tender, so protective. It seemed as though it was all working out and then ... he met you."
I stared straight ahead. I was seeing it all. It fitted in naturally. Poor, poor Felicity! And I was responsible for her unhappiness.
"Oh, Felicity," I said, "I'm sorry ... so very sorry."
I saw the tears glistening on her cheeks.
"It was not your fault," she said. "I suppose his feelings for me weren't strong enough. It was a sort of habit... and he only had to meet you to realize this. If only ... It would have been so different. And then it all went wrong and now there is... William."
"You married him because of Raymond and me," I said. "Oh, Felicity, how could you?"
"I thought I would get right away. If I had stayed there would have been times when I should have had to see you and Raymond together. I don't think I could have endured that."
"What a mess," I said. "An unholy mess!"
"You have been so good to me. I don't think I could have lived through all this without you. I should have taken a horse and ridden off and lost myself... or perhaps drowned myself in one of the creeks... anything to get away."
"I am more convinced than ever that we should leave here."
"He would find me."
"He wouldn't. The world is a big place. And when we get back to England we can get help. Raymond will help."
"I can't face Raymond."
"What nonsense! He is your friend. He cares a great deal about you."
"He loves you."
"He loves you, too. There is a great deal for you at home. You have suffered a terrible experience, but it is not the end. You're young. You've got the whole of your life before you."
"Annalice, stay with me. I couldn't go on without you."
"Look here. Let us be calm. We have a week to plan. We should not delay. Let us go to the inn and book our places on the first available coach. We'll get to Sydney. We'll go to Cariba on the next ship. Milton Harrington would help us, I am sure. He would know what we should do."
"He is another who is in love with you."
"You talk too lightly of love, Felicity. Milton Harrington is in love with himself—and I imagine it is an abiding passion which would not let anyone else in."
"I think he is in love with you."
"He has been helpful. He wants to help. He would know how best
to deal with your case. One thing I know is that if it is horrible for you, you don't have to endure it."
"It's a comfort talking to you."
"It would be more comforting to take some action. Let's go to the inn.
"Not today. Please, Annalice, leave it for today. Perhaps tomorrow ..."
"I think we should book soon. We might not be able to leave on the first coach. After all they only take nine passengers. What if they were fully booked?"
"I can't decide. Annalice ... please give me until tomorrow."
"Till tomorrow then. Come on. Let's ride. We have a week. Let's enjoy our freedom."
I might have known that she would continue to hesitate. She was always pleading for time. There was no doubt that she was terrified of her husband; her resigned acceptance of his bestiality amazed me. I pictured myself in her circumstances. I would not have endured it for another day. But then I should never have married him in the first place, for I had been aware of his gross sensuality from the moment I met him. I had no doubt that in England he had been on his best behaviour. He had probably been born and bred in a similar environment to that of Felicity and would know what was expected of him. But he would never have deceived me, I was sure.
His absence had lulled Felicity into a sense of security. She was sleeping well at night and that made a great difference. She no longer lay trembling, waiting for his arrival. But she seemed numbed and unable to act.
I realized that he would not easily relinquish her. He had brought her out here for a purpose—to bear sons and provide the means for developing his land; and he was determined that she should fulfil that purpose.
Perhaps in her mind was the thought that if she became pregnant he would desert her for a while. The housekeeper was waiting to supply his comforts, as he called it. Others too, probably. I had seen one or two women about the place.
It was an insupportable situation and Felicity was a fool to go on enduring it.
I talked to her constantly. Again and again I pointed out how simple it would be to go to Sydney, take the boat to Cariba, and ask the advice of Milton Harrington. He would know what was best to be done. If she wished we might put her on a ship to England. Then she would be perfectly safe. I was here to pursue my enquiries about my
brother and would stay. But I had nothing to fear from William Granville.
At one moment she might appear to listen. But always she came up with the excuse: "But he would find me."
And so the days began to pass. Three ... four... five ... and then I was certain that she would not agree to come. I would eagerly have gone myself but she implored me so earnestly to stay and in view of what she had told me about Raymond, I felt impelled to do so.
He returned late one afternoon. Mrs. Maken had cooked a leg of mutton and made many pies pending his return. The entire household changed. Menace had come back into it.
Many of the workers were at the house that evening. They sat outside eating and drinking.
I went to my room and sat there watching... waiting for him to come up.
It was past midnight when he did.
I heard him lumber up the stairs and burst into the bedroom with the balcony.
I could not sleep, thinking of Felicity who had not had the courage to escape when she had the chance.
What would become of her, I wondered.
I thought that one day she might really go out and lose herself or drown herself in a creek.
It could come to that. But she was more likely to fall into the role of acceptance, to bear child after child, to lose her prettiness, to become drab, worn out, without spirit, just accepting, taking for granted the cruel life which had been thrust upon her.
Another week went by. I had been in the house three weeks. It seemed incredible that I could have stayed so long. I wondered whether David Gutheridge had returned to Sydney. Whatever happened I would go soon. I would insist. 1 would tell Felicity that either she came with me or we must say goodbye.
One Sunday afternoon I heard a great commotion below. I looked out of my window and saw a group of men talking excitedly together.
William Granville came out to them. I heard snatches of the conversation. "Over at Pickering's ... Bushrangers... That's it... Only the women there. All the men out working ... Mrs. Pickering and her two daughters..."
"They're only girls ... Thirteen and fifteen, I reckon."
"The devils," said one man.
"They say there were five of them."
"Five and three women ... my God."