Flora’s Awakening
WHEN Flora McPherson regained consciousness she found herself lying between cool and clean sheets on a soft mattress supported by a brass-mounted bedstead. The bed was flanked by a table on which burned a petrol lamp, and by a dressing-table bearing a large mirror, and which obviously was a wood packing case covered with pale blue cretonne.
The same coloured material draped the walls, being stretched from the ground of termite nests to the ceiling of what appeared to be stretched white canvas. On the floor beside the bed were blue grass mats. In a part of one wall the cretonne was raised to reveal a wide doorway and no door.
Flora could hear distant voices but could not understand the language being used. A nearer sound, and one more persistent, was a continuous high-pitched whine which originated in the walls of the room. It was not sufficiently loud to be irritating, but was omnipresent and not to be shut away.
Behind her eyes was a dull ache, and she closed them to find relief from the pain and so slept again. She dreamed fearfully of Rex McPherson standing over her, and of an enormous lubra dressed in scarlet, who was wearing a crown of white marble. It was when she awoke free of pain and normally refreshed that she knew she had been lying in the bed for a long time.
The room was exactly the same. The walls were singing a little more loudly than she remembered them to have done. Nothing was altered, but there was an addition in the person of the enormous lubra sitting on the chair. She was dressed not in scarlet but in vivid green material which appeared to be wrapped about her huge body. Her crown of marble was her white and frizzy hair.
On observing Flora looking at her, she rose with much difficulty and panting breath, and trotted out of the room, giving Flora a glimpse of another room beyond the curtained entrance.
Rex McPherson! If the lubra had become real then Rex could become as real here in this very room. Flora’s heart began to pound, and that terrible fear, reborn, hurt her pounding heart. Her world of unreality was invaded by a cawing crow that came and passed on, sounding to her as it would had she been sitting on the south veranda at home.
Then her mouth opened wide to scream, and her right hand flew to her mouth to stifle the scream. In the doorway stood Rex McPherson. Sight of him raised the girl high on the pillows. She rested on an arm in an attitude clearly indicating the urge to escape.
He was dressed in a suit of white duck cut in military style. He was wearing white tennis shoes and he was hatless. His straight black hair was immaculate, in keeping with his immaculate clothes. There was no ignoring his undoubted good looks. Six feet tall and yet not lanky, he carried himself with the grace of his maternal forebears.
Seen in the light produced by the petrol lamp, his eyes were black beads resting on beds of white velvet. His mouth was revealed by the white teeth bared in a smile. His nose was long and straight and his forehead was broad and high. There was strength in his chin. By comparison Bonaparte would appear nondescript, but Rex McPherson’s skin was much darker and appeared like chocolatelaid on a base of crimson.
“Well, my beautiful cousin, how are you this afternoon?” he said in tones like velvet.
Flora’s heart was beating so rapidly she felt she was stifling. No longer wildly longing to scream, recognizing the futility of trying to escape, she drew the clothes higher about her and regarded Rex with that McPherson chin of hers most prominent.
“Where am I?” was naturally her first question.
“You are in the house of Rex McPherson,” he replied, continuing to smile at her. “I am delighted to see that you have recovered from the effects of the nasty blow given you by that scoundrel Itcheroo. I told him not to treat you roughly, and I regret not having taken him aloft before rapping his knuckles as he clung to the side of the cockpit. Would you like a cup of tea and something to eat?”
Without waiting for her reply he clapped his hands and a moment later the enormous lubra entered, bearing a tray of tea and biscuits. Rex lifted the table and lamp to the side of the bed and told the woman to set down the tray. He whisked the chair to the opposite side of the table and sat down in it. Then he poured tea with the elegance of a lounge lizard. Rising to his feet, he leaned towards Flora, placed a filled cup near her and the boat of biscuits beside it.
“I remember you like sugar,” he told her. “Two spoonfuls, isn’t it? Dinner won’t be ready for two hours and so we must satisfy ourselves with the biscuits.”
Laughing, he sat down. When he laughed his face changed to emphasize, or rather to take on, distinctly aboriginal features. While sipping his tea, he said:
“Now compose yourself, Flora, and don’t have hysterics. Drink the tea. Perhaps you would like a couple of aspirin.”
He produced a packet and offered her two tablets, saying:
“Three are too much for sober young women.”
Without comment the girl accepted the tablets and swallowed them with a draught of tea. Her left arm pressed to her side, informed her that the pistol in the soft leather holster was gone. Her eyes were big and round despite her effort to control her beating heart, and between herself and Rex appeared the ghost of Itcheroo. His face was awful and he held high a mulga waddy. She saw her own ghostly hand and knew that the automatic pistol had been knocked away from it. Then the ghost vanished and in its place was the smiling face of a black devil. As though someone else was speaking, she heard herself ask for a cigarette.
“Pardon!” her bedside visitor murmured and, again on his feet, he was offering an opened cigarette case and a burning match. “I did what I could for your head,” he went on conversationally. “I was obliged to cut the hair from the contused part of the scalp to place on it a salve in which I have great faith. You certainly received a nasty crack.”
“I don’t understand,” she told him. “I can’t remember how I came to be about to shoot Itcheroo when he clubbed me.”
“Oh-it will all come back, Flora, my dear. I sent Itcheroo to tell you that the dad urgently wanted you. In fact, I wrote a letter in the dad’s handwriting. My women found it in your blouse, where you must have put it after reading it. In the letter I-or rather the dad-asked you to accompany Itcheroo to Big Cape, where he and the blacks were camped, as he wanted you to carry out an important plan which would reconcile us. This plan would exclude further action by that detective fellow, who was to know of it only when it succeeded. It was quite a long letter. I’ll read it to you sometime.”
“Don’t!” Flora snapped. “I don’t want you to remind me I’ve been taken in by such a simple little trick. I should have had sense enough to remember that forgery is second nature with you.”
“Yes, dear Flora,” he said, purringly, “I am delighted to feast my eyes on you again. Your beauty is breath-taking, and it hasn’t reached its zenith. Damn it, I’m sorry I made you a pawn in my grand game with the old man. Still, even yet I may raise you from a pawn to be a partner, for the dad may continue to be obstinate.”
“And if he is?”
“Oh-I don’t think he will be.”
“But if he is?”
“If he is obstinate, if he does not send up a smoke signal announcing he will give me my inheritance now by six o’clock on the evening of the twentieth, I am going to make you my wife. I told him so in a note I dropped to him.”
“And where was he then?”
“About half way to Duck Lake. I tricked him with smoke signals, indicating that the Illprinka were about to hold a corroboree at Duck Lake. He fell for the trick even after I held him up on the road and tried to persuade him to call you on the telephone.”
“That was the time you tortured him?”
“That was the occasion,” Rex answered. “If father was only as wise as he is courageous, everything would be right in this very bad world.”
“And you are going to marry me? Supposing I refuse.”
“A lubra doesn’t refuse. She may resist-but not for long.”
“A lubra! Me a lubra!” exclaimed Flora.
Rex smiled and blew a smoke ring.
“The word lubra translated is woman,” he said. “All women, black, white, ander -brindle, are lubras. As a matter of fact, my father and mother were married blackfellow’s way when they were children and when neither of them participated in the ceremony. Having foreseen the possibility of your uncle being obstinate, the Illprinka blacks were persuaded by me to marry us some weeks ago.”
Flora’s eyes became hard and her mouth like the grim mouths of her ancestors whose portraits hung on the dining-room walls.
“Well, then supposing uncle does surrender the station to you in exchange for my safe return. You couldn’t accept the property. You couldn’t live on it. You’d be arrested for the murder of Sergeant Errey and Mit-ji.”
“Not a bit of it, Flora,” he countered swiftly. “Who saw me bomb that car? Why, only a half-caste detective, who’s little better than an ordinary police tracker, and old Burning Water. What they might say wouldn’t carry any weight against my word that I wasn’t near the confounded car. The car accidentally caught fire and the driver became panicky and sent it over the edge of the road and down into the gully. I can lay my hands on eight Illprinka men who would swear they saw it happen.
“Oh, I’ll be safe enough, because when father makes the exchange, the station for you, he’ll swear not to prosecute me for forging his signature to cheques, and that’s the only thing he can prove against me. Then, when I own McPherson’s Station, I’m going to take in all this open country, or a big slab of it, and I’ll be the biggest squatter in Australia and will be known as the Australian Cattle King. And then you might consent to marry me white fellow’s fashion.”
So confidently did Rex talk that he almost convinced Flora by his argument. Come to think of it, only Bony and Burning Water saw the sergeant’s car bombed, and therewere Illprinka men near the place, for hadn’t they tried to obtain the sergeant’s attache case from Bony?
“You think all that over, Flora,” he said, slowly. “As I have just told you, I am going to bea somebody in the not distant future with or without your uncle’s submission. As my wife, married white fellow’s fashion and not blackfellow’s fashion, you’d bea somebody too. Make things easier, you know.”
Then she read the look in his eyes. He wanted to marry her with her willing consent: he would take her without her consent and without proper marriage if-
“Then I have really three days, this being the seventeenth I think you said?”
“Yes, three whole days,” he said, to add: “Three long days and nights, dear. Well, I must be off. I’ve had to take the plane engine partly down in an overhaul long overdue. I’ll tell Tootsey to bring you a bath and your clothes. Dinner will be served at seven, and the cook is really good. A Chinaman and more a friend than a servant. Accept my advice. You are free to go where you wish. But don’t be so silly as to try to escape. There is a hundred miles between you and the homestead. You wouldn’t get far before my people caught up with you and brought you back with aching feet. They are fine trackers, you know.”
Nodding coolly and smiling, he walked from the room and disappeared beyond the curtained entrance. She could hear him calling for Tootsey, and presently Tootsey came in, carrying a canvas bath and a huge bucket of hot water.
Refreshed and dressed in clothes which had been washed and ironed, having used a man’s hair brushes and a silver backed comb, all Flora wanted was a pinch of powder.
She had three days. And Rex’s aeroplane was temporarily grounded by an engine overhaul. And he didn’t know about Bony having sent for Captain Loveacre. So conceited was he that he hadn’t even asked her what Bony had done after Dr Whyte’s plane had been destroyed. He was so in love with his own vaunted cleverness that he considered Bony to be only a black tracker employed by the police. In that frightful conceitlay hope of salvation.
She passed from her “room” into the larger one, where she stood with astonishment whilst regarding its details. Scarlet cloth was stretched from floor to ceiling. The ceiling was of the same material and colour. Scarlet grass mats were plentiful over the hard termite cement floor. A polished table was flanked with polished oak chairs. A standard petrol lamp supported a giant red shade. There was a large bookcase filled with volumes, and two massive screens composed entirely of mirror glass.
The wide but rather low entrance to this room attracted her. Standing there, she gazed across a half-mile expanse of level claypan to the bordering range of high sand-dunes. She saw no one, but she could hear the soft clank of iron on iron. Stepping out from the room she looked back at the “house” to see only the waving tops of cane-grass and lantana teased by the high wind, the “house” entrance but a shadow.