Читать книгу Dinky Darbison - Edwin J Welch - Страница 4

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Shortly after breakfast, a meal at which Darbison alone put in an appearance, in an unmistakably shaky condition, Robson beckoned to Armstead from the door of his pantry, which he carefully closed on them and said:—

"Asking your pardon, sir, for the liberty I'm taking, but I can't keep quiet any longer. You see sir, it's this way. Man and boy I've been in the family for close on forty years, and Master Aubrey growed up with me from the time he was a little chap so high, except when he was away at sea. Well, sir, Mr. Aubrey tells me you are an old shipmate of his, and I can see you ain't a drinker, so I thought I'd just up and tell you. Things is all wrong here, and they're going from bad to worse, and he knows it, and that makes him keep on drinking, and God knows what the end of it will be. That Evesham, ever since he come here a year ago, have been carrying on with the missus, and it's just shameful. She is a vain, silly fool, and what Mr. Aubrey married her for I could never make out. She married him for his money, I know that, because I know all about her people, and she was a pretty girl, I don't deny, and you know the way it is with sailors, sir, when there's a petticoat around! (a most unjustifiable assumption, by the way, although an extremely popular delusion). Well, they got on all right till this Evesham came, and things has been getting worse ever since. I've got my eyes open, of course, but Alice—and a right good girl she is—sees everything, and tells her mother, and then I get it all, and lately the missus has been making her presents of clothes and things by way of bribes not to let on what she knows, and pretty soon there'll be a great bust up, and what to do I don't know. Perhaps you can help me, sir, if you would be so kind, but whatever you do, don't let Mr. Aubrey know that I have been talking to you."

"This is all very terrible, Robson, but I really don't see how I can help you. It is painfully evident that Mr. Darbison is drinking too much, but he would very properly resent my even hinting at such a thing. Do you think he could be persuaded to take her down to Sydney, or even Brisbane, for a short holiday. That might break the spell, eh?"

"He tried that, sir, months ago, when he first began to get suspicious, but she wouldn't listen to it. Said her health was too delicate and couldn't stand the journey. No, that's no use, sir."

"Well, Robson, I don't see any way out of the trouble at present. I must think it over and watch for an opportunity to speak if I can. Mr. Darbison has pressed me to stay on here for a few days, and after what you have told me I must try and arrange to do so. Now, before I return to the house, I should like to have a little talk with Mrs. Geffel, who, I dare say, will remember me, as we came out in the same ship. Can you arrange that? And, by the way, where is Mr. Evesham just now?"

"He went off to one of the out-stations before sunrise, sir. To give him his due, he don't ever neglect his work. Come this way, sir, if you please."

Mrs. Geffel was found hard at work, "tidying up," as she called it, in the spotless kitchen, and mutual recognition soon took place. She had aged considerably, and her face wore a sad and worried look, but Alice, who soon after made her appearance, was a revelation of the change that a few years can make when the child becomes developed into the perfect woman. The premise of her early youth had been amply fulfilled, the same winning smile, the same honest glance from her bluish-grey eyes, and the same charming, self-possessed manner which was markedly genuine. In figure, stature, and, above all, in the carriage of her well-poised, shapely head, crowned with its wealth of rippling, golden hair, she could have held her own in the stateliest ranks of the world's aristocracy. But this is not a love story, merely a record of everyday facts in the lives of a few everyday sort of people. One of those facts, however, must have been patent to everybody, namely, that Carl Geffel and his wife could not possibly have been the progenitors of such a splendid type of woman-hood.

"Leave us, Alice dear, please, for a little while. I want to talk to Mr. Armstead." Which was true only within certain well-defined limits. Not a word of blame for anybody, merely hints, given with much reticence, that things were not precisely what they ought to be, and that the responsibility, whatever might be its extent, rested chiefly on the shoulders of Mr. Evesham. Evidently that gentleman was no great favorite.

What might have transpired had it been possible to prolong the interview cannot be told, for it was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Morrison on a hard-ridden horse, from which he dismounted and made straight for Darbison's room with a startling piece of information.

"Old Carl has been killed by the blacks, sir. Mr. Evesham sent me in to tell you. We found him near the Seven-mile, quite dead, with a spear sticking in him, his head battered in, and his flock scattered all over the country. And Mr. Evesham says I am to go up the river at once for the native police, and will you please send a man out with a pick and shovel!"

"Sorry, indeed, to hear that, Morrison, but in the meantime say nothing about it outside, and I'll ask Robson to break it gently to the poor woman after you've gone. Get a fresh horse and start for the barracks as soon as you can, and call at Ivy Downs on your way, and if Mr. Somers is at home ask him to try and come over. Get some lunch before you start, and be off with you."

The dainty luncheon set at 1 o'clock had no patrons except Armstead and Darbison; the latter merely trifled with the food placed before him, but helped himself far too liberally to brandy and soda, greatly to the manifest discomfiture of honest old Robson. Evesham and Morrison were both away, Mrs. Darbison was indisposed, and had not yet left her room, which, by the way, was at the opposite end of the verandah to that occupied by her husband. So that what little conversation there was referred solely to the sad fate of old Carl Geffel and the prospects of a successful raid on the camp by the police. Evesham returned during the afternoon, having buried the remains of the murdered shepherd, and brought with him the spear and what little property the old man had left in his hut. Morrison was not expected until the following day, and Mrs. Geffel was in a state of collapse, with Alice in close attendance, Mrs. Darbison being apparently too unconcerned about the troubles of such very ordinary people to seek to offer consolation. Dinner, as on the previous night, was an even more mournful function, and again Armstead was invited to go to the den for a smoke. They had not been there long before music was heard in an adjoining room, and two voices, harmoniously blended, joined in a duet from "Trovatore."

"They do that sort of thing nearly every night," said Darbison, "but they might have given a thought to the grief of that poor woman in the kitchen, this night above all others. ——it, I can't stand it, and I won't have it. Excuse me a minute, old man, and I'll go and speak to them."

The lull was of short duration, and was quickly followed by angry voices, which momentarily increased in volume until a final shriek in a woman's voice brought Armstead to his feet in a hurry, and immediately afterwards Darbison appeared, white with anger, threw the key of the piano on the table, buried his face in his hands, and said: "—— the scoundrel, and the woman too, and myself for being the biggest fool on this continent. Do you hear me, Armstead?"

"With the deepest regret I do. But perhaps I had better go away. Evidently something is wrong, but nothing in which I can take part. If I could serve you I would gladly, but I fear that is out of the question."

"Quite; but don't go just yet. I must talk to somebody or I shall go mad. Bear with me for a little, old man, and I shall pull myself together directly."

After a short silence and a sharp inward struggle, he went on:—

"I wrote to my agents last week to put Barumbah on the market. I ought to have done so before. But it may take some time to effect a sale, and in the meantime I am helpless. I have smashed one side of his face in to-night, but that only helps to publish my disgrace and show me up as the craven, spiritless thing I am. Good heavens! to think that Aubrey Darbison should have to say that of himself!"

"Stop it at that, Darbison. I positively won't sit here to listen to such talk. If, as I suppose, you are referring to Evesham, why allow him to remain on the place?"

"Why? You may well ask why! He has an agreement for three years, only one of which has expired. But I believe he would be perfectly willing to go if she went with him. Without her, he would drag me through the court for breach of contract. He has suggested as much, although I offered him more than double the two years' salary to go. It is a case of diabolical infatuation on both sides, and I see no way of escape from the disgrace. She has her own rooms, and I never see her except at the table, and not always there. She follows him about all over the place, takes long bush rides with him, and laughs in my face when I remonstrate, which, however, I no longer do."

"Had they met before he came here?"

"That's where the infernal cunning of the thing appears, but I only learnt that part of it about a couple of months back, from a dear old friend in London. I knew nothing of the wretch before he was sent up to me by a Sydney firm to whom I had written, and his fitness for the position was extolled to the skies. When he arrived the pair of them met as absolute strangers. That was part of the game. She had been corresponding with him, and he knew when and to whom to make his application. However, to do him but scant justice, he is a good bushman—been out here for many years—and has a certain aptitude for management that carries him through. He was well-connected, and a subaltern in one of the Household regiments when he first met her, and dangled about after her at all times and places. He would have married her, I believe, but she and her people wanted money, and he had little more than his pay, which doesn't go far in a crack regiment. So he took to gambling, came a cropper, and cleared out in a hurry to this country. That's a general outline only—fill it in for yourself."

"May I speak plainly, Darbison, without fear of giving offence?"

"Be sure you may, old chap, but I think I know what you want to say. You think I drink too much? Quite true. I have done, but will do so no longer. I have no love for it—never had—but it served to kill thought and drown memory. After what happened to-night, I realise the danger for the first time."

He touched the bell at his elbow, and old Robson came to the door. "Come in, Robson, you faithful old soul, and do exactly as I tell you. Put that tantalus back in the cellaret, and with it any other bottles or decanters containing spirits, lock it up, put the key in your pocket, and refuse possession to every soul on the place, except Mr. Armstead, if he asks for it. No, I include myself as well. You need have no fear. If at any time I should want it I will come to you for it. Good-night, Robson, it's time you were in your bed."

"Good-night, and thank God, for I never knew you to break your word, Mr. Aubrey," and the old man's eyes glistened as he left the room.

"And about Mr. Morrison," said Armstead, when the door closed behind him. "Has he been with you long?"

"I brought him up here when I bought the place. He's a decent young fellow, has been well educated, and belongs to a well-to-do family somewhere in Tasmania. I understand he will have money some day, and the agents, who knew his people, sent him up to get experience. He's a good worker and worth far more than the small screw he gets, but he appears to be quite contented, and old Robson swears by him. That's a strong point in his favor, and another is that I know there is no love lost between him and that scoundrel Evesham, whose measure, if I'm not deceived, he was shrewd enough to take some time back."

"That's all right, then. But really, Darbison, I must get on with my work, sorry though I am to go just at this crisis, but I can't fake my reports, you know, and I shall be hauled over the coals for this delay."

"Just one more day, there's a good fellow. It won't make much difference, if any, in the coaling process, and there's a lot I want to say to you yet."

To this Armstead at length consented, and the "crisis"—which had not yet arrived—they were destined to face together.

It was nearly noon on the next day when Morrison returned with word that the native police were absent from barracks on duty in another direction, but would come over as soon as possible; and Mr. Somers was away from home, and not expected back for a week.

Evesham had gone out at grey dawn, having previously been to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee in the "conjurer." Mrs. Geffel had peeped out, however, and, seeing his head was tied up, supposed he had "a bad attack of neuralgia!"

Mrs. Darbison remained invisible to everybody except Alice throughout the day, but appeared at dinner time as usual, only a trifle more elaborately dressed. For whose benefit did not appear, as Evesham did not return till after sundown, and had dinner in his own room.

The meal was hurriedly disposed of in silence, which was broken only occasionally by Robson in the performance of his customary duties. An air of restraint was over all until it was interrupted by a piercing shriek from the kitchen.