Our silence was construed as grief, and we went back to the house in the buggy, with Slim driving us. as he did on our arrival.
It transpired that William Granville had borrowed heavily on the strength of having married a woman of fortune. His debts would have to be met. and this could only be done by the sale of his property after which there would be very little left. Felicity agreed listlessly to all that was suggested and was glad that the matter could pass out of her hands. She told me she wanted nothing of her late husband's estate. All she wanted to do was get away, and for things to be as though this had never happened.
I had packed our things and made the arrangements.
Felicity would not stay in the house alone; nor would she go to the township. When I went in I had to leave her some little way off. She could not bear the condolences which were offered her. She was in a highly nervous state.
I made the bookings on the coach for a Wednesday which was eleven days after the death of William Granville.
Felicity was exhausted and for that I was grateful because it meant she slept heavily at night. I used to sit by the window watching her and trying not to imagine all that she must have endured in that room.
The balcony had been repaired. I went into the room once. It seemed evil to me because I knew something of what had happened there. I shuddered as I looked at the brownish curtains at the french
windows which opened onto the balcony, the big cupboard, the dressing table and the two chairs. My eyes came to rest on the bed and I shivered again.
I stepped out onto the balcony and looked down. The new staves shone brightly among the old ones.
How had it happened? I wondered. Perhaps Felicity would tell me one day.
I should never ask her.
There was a menace in this place and it was centred in this room. This was where Felicity had suffered her ultimate humiliation.
I felt myself turn cold. There was a tingling sensation in my scalp. Was this what was called one's hair standing on end?
I was not alone.
I swung round, clutching the balcony just as he may have done. I fully expected to see him standing there with that lustful grin on his face.
I was looking into the enigmatic eyes of Mrs. Maken.
"Oh," she said, "taking a last look at the place?"
I replied: "The balcony looks firm now." My voice sounded high-pitched and unnatural.
"It was a terrible thing to happen," she said. "Those bushrangers have a lot to answer for."
I nodded.
"It will make changes round here."
"I daresay. What plans have you, Mrs. Maken?"
"I'm to stay till it's all cleared up. The solicitors have asked me to. There's got to be someone here... and as things are with Mrs. Granville..."
"It seems an excellent arrangement. I was thinking of after that."
"I've had an offer from a very nice gentleman in Sydney. Housekeeper and all that."
She was smiling at me complacently.
"I'm glad," I said.
"And you'll go off. Well, it's the best thing for Mrs. Granville. She never took to our ways out here."
She was looking round the room reminiscently, but I could see she was already making plans for her life at the establishment of the nice gentleman in Sydney.
"They'll catch those men," she said. "There's an outcry about it. This makes them more determined than ever. Just think, if Mr. Granville hadn't heard them prowling about he'd be here now. Well, you'll soon be off. You were going on that Monday ... well, then you had to stay for a bit when all this happened. But if it hadn't been for those men..."
I said: "Yes, indeed." I had come back into the room from the balcony and I had to walk past her to get to the door. I kept seeing images of her in that room with Felicity and William Granville.
She looked at me sardonically and I wondered if she read my thoughts.
She was an uncomfortable woman. But on Wednesday we should be on our way.
Our last night. Felicity lay in bed, but she was not asleep.
I sat on a chair watching her. The bed was not really big enough for two and I usually lay on the edge so as not to disturb her.
She had always been fast asleep by the time I retired. I think she was really worn out with fear and emotion. Sometimes I would sit at the window until past midnight looking out and thinking over the time I had spent here. Since the death of William Granville a touch of unreality had crept into everything. When I finally left here I hoped it would become vague in my memory—a nightmare, grotesque, terrifying while it lasted but which faded from memory in daylight and the return to normal life.
That was what I hoped at least.
Felicity's trunks had already gone to Sydney where they would be stored at the docks until her departure for England. My baggage and Felicity's lighter possessions had already gone to the township to be put into the coach when it arrived. All that was left for us to take was one capacious piece of hand luggage each.
I went to the window and sat there. I had no inclination for sleep. I should make up for that when I had left this place.
Felicity spoke to me then. "Why are you sitting at the window, Annalice?"
"I don't feel sleepy. Our last night, Felicity. I feel so relieved that we are going together."
"Oh, Annalice, it was dreadful when you were going without me."
"I know. I had to do it though."
"I understand that."
There was silence for a while, then she said: "It's all over. I can't believe it."
"There is only tomorrow morning. We will leave in good time for the coach."
"And then we shall say goodbye to this place forever."
"Forever. We shall put it right out of our minds."
"Do you think we shall ever be able to do that."
"I'm going to have a jolly good try."
"It's easy for you."
"In time it will be for you."
"I shall never forget, Annalice."
"I suppose the memories will come back. But they will get fainter ... more remote..."
"I don't think they ever will ... not of that night."
"Well, for a time of course ... But when you are away from this place, it'll fade. It will, I promise you."
"Not that night. It is there forever... stamped on my mind. I shall never forget that."
I was silent and she went on: "It wasn't as they said, Annalice."
"No," I replied.
"It wasn't the truth. I have to tell someone. I can't keep it to myself."
"If you have to tell someone it had better be me."
"That night... he came up ... he was laughing to himself. He had drunk a lot of whisky but he was not drunk ... not like he was later. He went out ... I thought he was going to Mrs. Maken. He did, you know, often."
"Yes, I know."
"He was always saying how much better she was than I was... things I can't talk about."
"Then don't."
"I've got to tell you. I think once I have told you I may be able to stop thinking about it... at least not so much."
"Tell me then."
"He was away a long time. I thought he would stay the night. He usually did. I liked that. It was wonderful when he was away. I was grateful to Mrs. Maken for being so much better... at that sort of thing... than I was."
"Oh, Felicity," I cried, "I don't care what brought you out of this... but I'm glad it happened."
"I'm glad, too. It's wicked, but I'm glad he's dead."
"The world is a better place without him and his kind. Let's rejoice he is no longer in it."
She shivered and sat up suddenly, her eyes coming to rest on the door.
I said: "He can't come in. He's dead. You're not afraid of his ghost, are you?"
"I would be in this place. I think one of the eucalyptus trees will turn grey and he'll be in it."