Lillipilly Hill (18 page)

‘She'd fret without me,' protested Clay. ‘She ain't never been away from me before.'

Polly shrugged.

‘Do as you please, then. Here's your tea—help yourself to sugar. An' drink yours up quick, Harriet—it's time you were in bed.'

But Harriet managed to make her tea last until Clay gathered up his burden and set off for the cowshed.

‘If you do leave Patchy, we'll all look after her,' she promised. ‘She'll have plenty to eat, and we'll take it in turns to stay with her.'

‘I dunno,' said Clay. ‘I s'pose she ought to stay.'

‘Couldn't you stay, too?' asked Harriet. ‘Father would let you sleep in the cowshed.'

But Clay shook his head.

‘No—there'd be too many questions. I could come back an' see her though, couldn't I? After dark, so as people wouldn't notice me.'

‘Why does it matter if people see you?' demanded Harriet. ‘You're just a boy with a dog.'

‘There you go, asking questions again,' grumbled Clay. ‘I'm off. I'll sleep in your shed tonight, but I'll be gone first thing in the morning.'

He and Patchy disappeared into the darkness, and Polly exclaimed, ‘How d'you like that! Not even
a “thank you”. I reckon he ain't been taught any manners.'

‘I'd love to know who he is, and where he lives, and everything,' said Harriet wistfully. ‘I wonder if Aidan will tell me.'

She was determined to see Clay in the morning, but although she tiptoed out to the cowshed at dawn, it was already empty—save for a frantic Patchy chained to a post. She snarled at Harriet, refused a proffered gift of a crust of bread, and continued to tug at her chain, her mournful eyes focussed on the orchard sliprail through which Clay must have gone.

‘Patchy, you're supposed to be resting,' said Harriet anxiously. ‘Clay will come back tonight, I'm sure he will.'

But Patchy's only answer was a long-drawn howl, which brought Boz in from the paddock.

‘Where on earth did this mongrel come from?' he asked, keeping at a safe distance from Patchy's snapping jaws.

Harriet explained, and Boz gave a scornful grunt.

‘That Polly's gone daft, letting strangers and savage dogs into the house at night. I've heard of a boy that roams round hunting rabbits near Maloney's Hill—always has a blue cattle-dog with him. Could be the thief everyone's talking about.'

‘Clay isn't a thief,' said Harriet indignantly. ‘He's one of Aidan's friends. You wait until Aidan comes back—he'll tell you.'

But when Aidan arrived home with the rest of the family in the middle of the morning, after a damp and muddy drive, he had very little information to offer. It took him some five minutes to unravel Harriet's excited and incoherent story, and then he went immediately to the cowshed to see Patchy.

‘That's Clay's dog, all right,' he said, trying unsuccessfully to pat the animal's head. ‘And I don't wonder she's miserable—she goes everywhere with Clay. He'll be miserable, too.'

‘Who is he? Where does he live? Has he got another name? Do tell me, Aidan—he's like someone out of a story.'

‘I don't know anything about him, except where he lives, and I promised not to tell anyone that. Does Father know about Patchy?'

‘I was going to tell him as soon as I'd seen you,' said Harriet. ‘I do think you're mean, Aidan. Clay might be the missing heir to a fortune—a prince, even—and you could help to return him to his real home. It could be just like a story.'

‘If you want a story, you'll have to make it up yourself,' declared Aidan, thereby giving his sister
a pleasant and absorbing occupation for the rest of her imprisonment. Harriet wandered off to the front garden to think out the details of her plot, while Aidan sought out his father, and explained away the presence of a strange and most unfriendly dog chained up in the cowshed.

‘I think we should know more about this Clay,' said Mr Wilmot. ‘This is a wild country, with unfamiliar ways, but even so I don't believe that it's customary for boys to live alone in the bush. Tell him that we shall keep his dog until it's quite recovered, but that we should prefer him to come to the house openly whenever he calls.'

However, Aidan did not encounter Clay at all in the days that followed. Clay apparently made his visits at night, and not even Boz could discover his comings and goings. Once, after the rain had gone, and a full moon rode proudly across the sky, Aidan thought he caught a glimpse of a figure running from the cowshed towards the orchard, but by the time he had reached the back yard, the figure had vanished. So Mr Wilmot had to leave the mystery of Clay unsolved, and Harriet was free to invent her own highly romantic explanation.

There remained the problem of Patchy. For the entire day after her abandonment in the shed, she
refused to eat or drink, no matter what delicacies were laid before her. She tried to bite Polly, she jumped at Boz's throat, and when left alone she howled incessantly. By sunset, the entire Wilmot household was in despair, and no one expected to sleep.

‘There's only one of us who hasn't tried to make friends with her,' said Harriet at last. ‘Where's Rose-Ann?'

‘She'll be too frightened even to look at her,' said Aidan. ‘Mother told her not to go near Patchy, in case Patchy bit her.'

But Rose-Ann, it appeared, was extremely anxious to make Patchy's acquaintance, and eventually she managed to persuade her mother to let her visit the shed. By now it was almost dark, and Patchy looked quite a fearsome sight, with bared teeth and glittering eyes.

‘Don't go too close, Rose-Ann,' begged Aidan. ‘Just put down the milk and come away.'

‘But I like dogs,' protested Rose-Ann. ‘Just because I'm frightened of spiders and snakes and things, you think I'm frightened of everything.'

‘This isn't an ordinary dog,' Harriet pointed out. ‘She's a wild animal—like a lion or a tiger.'

Rose-Ann approached Patchy very quietly, and set down the dish of milk. Patchy drew back
suspiciously, and the grey-blue hair on her neck bristled like the quills of a porcupine. Rose-Ann crouched beside the dish and talked softly to the dog as she sometimes talked to her dolls when she believed Harriet to be out of earshot. Patchy lay down, her gaze now fixed on the milk. Perhaps she was merely very thirsty, and suddenly decided to give in, or perhaps she really did prefer the presence of Rose-Ann to that of anyone else save Clay—whatever the reason, she began to drag herself forward on her stomach, and, while the onlookers held their breath, she lapped up the entire contents of the dish. ‘She wants some more,' whispered Harriet. ‘I'll go and get it.'

While Patchy had her second drink, Rose-Ann crept closer. Presently her hand was on the dog's neck, and Patchy made no movement of protest. Soon Rose-Ann was stroking the strong, rough back, and Patchy was lying quietly with her nose between her paws. When at last Rose-Ann was called indoors, Patchy was fast asleep.

Thereafter Rose-Ann, highly delighted, was appointed Patchy's nursemaid, friend, and comforter. And although the dog eventually allowed the others to approach her, no one but Rose-Ann was permitted within patting distance. When the leg was pronounced sufficiently well mended for Patchy to return to Clay,
and a note was left in the cowshed to that effect, Rose-Ann cried herself to sleep. The next morning Patchy was gone, and Mr Wilmot had to buy a kitten from a family in Barley Creek in an attempt to assuage his younger daughter's grief.

11

The Swamp

On a windy, boisterous, blustery morning late in June, Harriet went back to school. She felt like a traveller returned from a distant land as she took her place at the long desk, with Dinny beside her—still the old cheerful Dinny, despite her altered garb of worn serge and scuffed, over-large boots. A few changes had occurred in Harriet's absence—Paddy Tolly had been removed from school to help his mother in the shop, Aidan sat in the place of honour at the head of the back form, and one of the twins had broken an arm in a fall from the tallest pine tree. All these events Harriet discussed eagerly with Dinny and Rose-Ann and Maggie during the morning break, inside their old refuge—the disused tank.

‘We all missed you,' Dinny assured the former exile. ‘Rose-Ann told us what your Pa had done to you, an' we all thought it wasn't a bit fair.'

‘My father never minds a bit if I go off anywhere on my own,' declared Maggie. ‘He says I talk too much an' it makes him tired, after he's bin working in the dairy all day, with them cows mooing at him. He sends us all outside so he can have his tea in peace.'

‘You ain't seen Harriet's place, though,' scoffed Dinny. ‘They have a girl to do their cooking and washing an' all that, an' the house is so big you'd get lost in it ever so easy.'

‘It's not nearly as big as our house in London,' said Rose-Ann, but Harriet interrupted her hurriedly.

‘Don't boast, Rose-Ann—it doesn't matter one bit how big that house was, because we're never going back, anyway. And we only have Polly because Mother isn't strong enough to do all the work herself.'

‘Oh, I know you ain't boasting,' said Dinny cheerfully. ‘I'm going to have a much bigger house than yours one day, an' three or four maids all to myself.'

‘I s'pose I'll just stay here an' work in the dairy,' said Maggie gloomily.

‘We'll probably have to move somewhere else when the mill closes,' said Dinny. ‘Pa might go to Blackhill an' work on the new railway. Did your father ever ask Mr Bentley about how to plant orange trees, Harriet?'

‘He's to see Mr Bentley tomorrow,' said Harriet. ‘He wants to plant in the spring. Once the trees are planted, I just
know
we shan't go back to London. And Aidan is to sit for his scholarship in October. If he passes, he's to go to the Grammar School next year.'

But Maggie was bored by this talk of future plans, and brought the conversation back to the present.

‘Did you hear about the bushranger? Only Pa says he's not really a bushranger, just an ordinary old thief. He took some money from Wilkins' dairy out at Deacon's Flat. John Wilkins chased him with a gun, but he got away. Had a dog with him, John said.'

‘Lots of people have dogs,' murmured Harriet, suppressing a feeling of uneasiness. ‘And Deacon's Flat is a long way from here.'

‘Not all that far,' said Dinny. ‘An' there's plenty of scrub to hide in. Well, if he comes looking for money in our place, he'll be out of luck. There's the bell—I'll race you, Harriet.'

The old routine of school, music lessons, sewing and practising was soon taken up again, and the short days of midwinter went rapidly by. Not that it ever seemed like winter here, Harriet thought—although in the early morning frost glittered on the roadside down on the flat, and evening mists wrapped themselves around the foot of Lillipilly Hill, the days were clear and fresh and golden, and the skies a milky blue. It was the sort of weather that made Harriet skip and run and long for adventure, but she managed to keep herself in check, remembering how much was at stake. She capered in a most unladylike way when she accidentally overheard her mother say to Mrs Farmer:

‘I'm so pleased with the improvement in Harriet. It seems she is not turning into a little savage, after all.'

July came, and all seemed well at Lillipilly Hill. Mrs Wilmot appeared to be stronger and more cheerful than at any time since her arrival in New South Wales, Mr Wilmot watched Boz ploughing the orchard slope and planned his campaign for the coming months, Aidan spent happy, solitary hours with his books and his dreams, and Rose-Ann and her kitten grew plump and contented. Polly sang all day, indoors and out, and Steve Jackson, Barley Creek's cricket captain, was always to be seen waiting down on the track with his buggy, whenever Polly had her day off.

In the middle of July the weather changed abruptly. On a Friday morning Harriet woke to hear the shutters rattling and the vines rustling, and looked out to see the trees swooping downwards under a violent southerly gale. Grey rain swept across the garden, and blotted out the hills and valleys.

‘I think you girls had better stay at home this morning,' said Mr Wilmot at breakfast. ‘Aidan can go to school, and stay there for lunch. I'm afraid this weather has set in for the day.'

He was right. Instead of abating, the gale increased in strength, and Harriet spent the morning with her face at the kitchen window, watching the wild swinging and bending of branches, and the fierce onslaught of the rain, which turned the garden into a quagmire, and drenched the veranda floors. Once a limb from one of the blue-gums crashed on to the cowshed roof, and Barrel whinnied in fear.

‘I should love to go out in it,' said Harriet. ‘The wind's so strong it would lift me right off the top of the hill, and take me all the way to Winneroo. Wouldn't it be lovely to see the sea on a day like this, Rose-Ann?'

‘No,' said Rose-Ann, who was sitting by the stove with her kitten. ‘It would be like those awful storms when we were on the boat coming out. I'd much rather be here than outside.'

At dinner Polly reported that the creek had risen over the road at the ford, and Harriet was full of excitement.

‘We'll be marooned up here, and we'll have to build a raft to go out for supplies. How much food have we got left, Polly?'

‘Enough for a week at least,' said Polly witheringly. ‘So you needn't go building no raft. This'll blow itself out by termorrow, you'll see.'

‘And Aidan will be our scout, bringing back news of our position,' continued Harriet, unperturbed. ‘He might have to swim the flooded river to get here.'

‘If he has any sense, he'll come up the back way,' said Polly. ‘He knows better than to get hisself half-drowned—not like some I could mention.'