Page 34 of My Brilliant Career

I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.

‘Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?’ I inquired.

‘No. They have gone over an hour,’ he replied.

‘Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?’

‘On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,’ he said mischievously.

‘Where am I going tonight?’

‘To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,’ he replied.

‘I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.’

‘We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,’ he said.

‘Oh, bother you!’ I retorted. ‘Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.’

‘At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,’ he said good-humouredly.

On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together — for ever! Till death!

Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me.

A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree — nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray.

20 SAME YARN — CONTINUED

Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentleman guests.

Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet.

I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornments — roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.

‘By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature!’ enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me.

I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon.

She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffied self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one.

This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room — twenty-two all told — thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex.

Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic.

The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom.

When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was ‘Leppin” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations.

I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of the long room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear of snakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneself between dances.

A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dance the two old squatters, the horse-buyer, the clergyman, and Mr Benson disappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their demeanour and the killing odour of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, during their absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents of every whisky decanter on the dining-room sideboard.

I could not dance, but had no lack of partners, as, ladies being in the minority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex in a dance.

‘Let’s take a breeze now and have a song or two, but no more dancing for a while,’ said some of them; but Harold Beecham said, ‘One more turn, and then we will have a long spell and a change of programme.’

He ordered Joe Archer to play a waltz, and the floor soon held several whirling couples. Harold ‘requested the pleasure’ of me — the first time that night. I demurred. He would not take a refusal.