Читать книгу The Mystery of Murrawang - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 7

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Station people, whether in sub-tropical Queensland or among the snowcaps of Monaro, are usually astir at daybreak; and Broonah was no exception to the rule. A mob of horses galloped up the home paddock into the yard; there was the crack of a stock-whip here and there, mingled with the barking of dogs and the calling of cows; whilst from the back part of the house came a rattle and clatter of utensils and the noise of tables and chairs being moved about.

The general activity within aroused Ellis Rhea, and, though it was not yet sunrise, he had already had his bath and a cup of hot coffee—prepared by that interesting factotum, Lydia Munce, who put it down on the table so roughly that some of it spilled over into the saucer; and now he was perambulating the broad walk around the front garden, enjoying one of his host's choice cigars—which his host never smoked himself. As before stated, he stuck faithfully to the old dudeen.

Rhea had been for some time curiously eyeing a small tent that was pitched in the centre of the lawn. "I am sure it wasn't there yesterday evening," he soliloquised. "Some tramp, I suppose, arrived late last night. But what a place to pitch a tent!"

He walked round the strange habitat once or twice more, then resolved upon an interview with the inmate. Sauntering up, he slapped the back of his hand against the flaps, at the same time calling out;—

"Anybody within?"

"Hello!" a voice answered.

"Do you know that you're in the very middle of Mr. Borrn's garden?"

"Have you been taking measurements?" asked the occupant of the tent.

"Indeed, I have not." answered Rhea, irritated at the man's seeming impudence. "But you'd better shift your camp down the paddock and be quick about it."

"Good heavens!"—and there was a rustling of sheets and the creaking of a stretcher. "Is the house on fire?"

"No, it isn't."

"What's the matter then?"

"Don't I tell you you're in Mr. Borrn's garden. Where the deuce will you want to camp next?"

"What the deuce has that got to do with you?" was the retort.

At this juncture Mrs. Borrn appeared, attired for walking.

"What's this I hear? Are you two quarrelling?"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Borrn. Do you know this fellow?"

"Fellow! Why, goodness me!"—she burst in to a hearty laugh—"that is my son—Rory!"

"Ror—"

"Here, you scamp, come out of that. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"What have I been doing now?" asked Rory with meek innocence.

"It's what you haven't been doing. Do you want the sun to burn a hole in your blanket? Get up, you sleepy head."

"My dear Mrs. Borrn," said Rhea, much confused. "I had no idea—I thought—really—I beg your pardon!"

"Oh, that's an old game of Rory's," Mrs. Borrn broke in, with another merry laugh. "He always sleeps out on summer nights."

Rhea surveyed the young man's healthy, muscular proportions with a disapproving eye.

"I'd imagine soldiering would be into his hand," he said, meaningly. "He's just the stamp the recruiting officers are looking for."

Mrs. Borrn's head went up a little stiffly, and there was a flash of anger in the look she gave him. The big war had been in progress for three years at the time, and Broonah, like other squattages, had been stripped of its handy rouseabouts and skilled horsemen.

"Rory is my only son, and he's indispensable," she retorted with warmth. "He wouldn't be here only for me, let me tell you," she added.

"Mr. Rhea is unfortunately among the ineligibles," said Rory, "or he'd be in khaki himself."

Rhea winced. Criminals and men of bad character were not admitted into the Australian Army.

"It is certainly unfortunate in the case of a man who has no responsibilities," Mrs. Borrn suavely remarked, a thrust which set Mr. Rhea biting at his lip. "But come with me. I'm going for a walk. It's such a lovely morning, and I have something to say to you."

Rhea acquiesced, though with some misgivings as to the nature of the conference. He was a man of ordinary stature, with prominent cheekbones and a thick, short-clipped black moustache. He had seen many ups and downs, and from a beggar and gaol-bird he had come to be the king of the Tiaro squatters.

He had been intended for a solicitor, but the demise of his father, who died insolvent, compelled him to abandon his forensic studies to seek employment in some capacity that would ensure immediate remuneration.

He had a wealthy uncle, Garratt Rhea, of Murrawang—a large sheep station adjoining Broonah. The two brothers had been at variance for more than a decade, and after the death of Fergus the family feud continued between young Ellis and his cousins Egbert and Reuben, especially the former, who was a casual sort, somewhat restless in disposition, and inclined to be wild. Garratt bestowed upon his prodigal son with a lavish hand. He was also most liberal with Reuben, who was practically his working manager. But he would have none of Ellis. The latter, so far as his own kin was concerned, was an outcast. Small wonder, then, that his nature soured. Everything around him became hateful to him. His ear could detect no note of gladness among the sweet-voiced birds of the bush; the cheeriest sounds had to him a sad and lonely ring.

Adversity soon forced him on to the track. As he trudged along with his swag and billy, he met his uncle on the way to Moreena.

"Hullo!" cried Garratt, reining in his big grey; "looking for a job, young man?"

"I am!" Ellis answered, defiance in his look and tone.

"Well," said Garratt, stroking his beard meditatively, "I want a man; in fact, I want two or three. Ever do any tank-sinking?"

"You know well I haven't!" Ellis, who had never once taken his eyes off his rich relative, spoke with much feeling.

"H'm!" said Garratt, unruffled. "Perhaps you'd help with some fencing. Can sink post holes, can't you?"

"If I could ram you into one of them, you miserable old dog, I'd sink them with pleasure." With which remark he hitched up his swag and passed on.

At Broonah he found the goal he sought, being employed as bookkeeper to Angus Ralston. Here, at long intervals, he met his unfriendly uncle, but if ever they took any notice of each other it was only of a hostile character. Sometimes, too, he met his cousin Reuben, but they never spoke—except once; and then there was a brief and spirited exchange of compliments. Shortly after this, Reuben, who had been to Moreena, was lost and perished in the bush. At least, that was the surmise. It was known that he had set out on horseback for Murrawang, via Broonah, and that was the last that was seen or heard of him. He was a good bushman, but good bushmen in plenty had gone the same way in the backblocks, and no one had been able to tell the manner of their death or the place of their tragic end.

Ellis remained for a considerable time with the Ralstons, acquiring some immunity from the feud canker by applying himself sedulously to his duties; whilst his more fortunate cousin Egbert was travelling round the world and enjoying all the pleasures of life. But the life was short.

Egbert had been globe-trotting a couple of years or more when the blow fell. First came the announcement that he had booked for home per steamship Solent. Next came the news that the Solent had foundered in a storm with the loss of nearly all on board.

Later the names of crew and passengers appeared in the papers. Anxiously Garratt perused the list of survivors. The name he sought was not there. But under the heading of missing he read, "Egbert Rhea, Queensland." There was that faint hope held out to him—a hope that grew ever fainter with the gathering years.

Meanwhile Ellis had received an appointment in the bank at Berrinong. For awhile he was contented, for things were looking considerably brighter, and, with his cousins removed, there was none to dispute his claim to the Murrawang estates.

At this stage he wooed and won the flower of Berrinong—so it was said. Her name was Esther Borrn. Her parents had reason to view the engagement with favor. They were helping all they could to complete the match when irregularities were discovered in the bank accounts, and Ellis Rhea was arrested. Subsequently he was arraigned on two indictments charging him with forgery and embezzlement; and though the depositions of Lydia Munce tended to incriminate the teller, the proud Ellis Rhea was found guilty by an unsympathising jury, and sentenced in all to seven years in the island prison in Moreton Bay.

This was a death-blow to the expectations of the Borrns. Yet what followed rendered the incarceration of Rhea but a secondary consideration. The malefactor had been four years in prison, and war had just broken out, when Esther Borrn disappeared as suddenly and completely as a burst bubble. Though the country was searched, and money freely expended in town and bush, no trace of her was discovered.

Events were happening swiftly in the career of Ellis Rhea. His sentence was all but completed when the chaplain informed him that his venerable uncle had gone to his long sleep. He had died intestate, the prisoner was told, so all his real and personal estate went to his next of kin, who was then Ellis, the thief.

One of the first to welcome him back to freedom was Hoey Borrn, who, shortly after his release, invited him to Broonah so that he might spend his first Christmas in the vicinity of his future home.

The clouds now appeared to have been dispersed for ever, and the ignominy of the past, it was confidently expected, would be forgotten in the halo of a roseate future. There was only one beknown to him who might take a heinous delight in resuscitating disagreeable incidents, and harping upon certain chords that would bring back each little act of bygone years, and transform the peaceful prospect into wretchedness. The thought was ever with him, and he pondered, with a grim compression of his lips, as to how he might obtain complete relief.