have, of course.’
The blankets were tossed back, and he had lain heavily beside her, his hands dragging at her nightgown, his face almost smothering her.
‘Gilbert, you said—’
‘What did I say? Something I’ve since regretted.’ His breath smelled heavily of wine, one of his arms was round her neck like an iron bar. Her head swimming with brandy and shock and exhaustion, she recognized a horrifyingly familiar sensation, the grip of the convict’s bony arm making her prisoner, the feeling of suffocation when his hard hand had held her mouth.
Crazy! This was her husband kissing her, murmuring endearments.
‘I meant to leave you to rest tonight. But I can’t resist you. That’s the simple truth. You’re so lovely. You don’t want me to resist you, do you, my darling?’
She started up tensely.
‘What’s that noise?’
‘Only a dingo howling.’
‘Dingo?’
‘A wild dog. They roam around.’ His voice was impatient. He had no ears for anything outside the confines of this room. He playfully loosened her hair and pulled it over her ears to deaden sound. Then, smiling, his lips came down on hers, his hands pulled at her nightgown again. She could no longer even protest. She was not permitted the breath. And the melancholy howl, half human (could it really be what she fantastically imagined it was, the miserable wretch tied to the tree howling for mercy?), came again, and later again, echoing her own sudden startled cry of pain.
The room went black. She was only half-conscious, struggling with the fantasy that it was the thin savage face of the convict above her, and his body performing this unbelievable intimacy.
She fought the darkness, opening her eyes wide to stare at the flickering candlelight, telling herself that it was her own loved husband whose body, slippery with sweat, was sliding off hers. There was his familiar red hair, his loving eyes, his voice murmuring inaudible endearments.
When she said nothing he settled down beside her, one hand entangled in her hair. Almost at once he was asleep, and she, too exhausted to move, too feeble even to loosen his hold on her hair, thought that she was as much a prisoner as the man tied to the tree.
In the end her exhaustion was a blessing, for it made her sleep. She awoke to a tremendous cacophony of noise as kookaburras in a gum tree outside her window saluted the morning. She was alone. Gilbert’s rising had not disturbed her, but the harsh uncanny laughter from the squat kingfisher-like birds was something she was sure she would never grow used to. It had a primeval sound, just as the animals here were primeval. In what civilized country would one find a creature as awkwardly shaped as the kangaroo, for instance? Or the giant lizards that looked a million years old. She must remember to tell Sarah about the lizard she had encountered on the stairs at Bess Kelly’s, both of them so frightened that neither could move.
But nothing of last night must be recorded.
It was better to pretend that it had never been, shutting out the shocking painful memory. The dog had stopped barking, the convict was no longer howling for mercy, the dark secret pain between her legs had gone. There were dishes rattling in the kitchen, and loud cheerful voices. A smell of frying bacon drifted upstairs. The sunlight lying across the floor was already hot.
She must get up and groom herself as well as possible. Daylight made the rust-coloured water in the jug look even more distasteful. But the sooner she was dressed, the sooner they could leave this horrible place.
She noticed, as she got out of bed, that the gown she had worn yesterday had been neatly laid over a chair. All trace of the dust that had smeared it had gone. Her under things were also laid out.
Jane was proving more capable than one would have expected her to be, after her prostrate state last evening. She must have been surprisingly quiet, too, since her movements in the room had not disturbed
The blankets were tossed back, and he had lain heavily beside her, his hands dragging at her nightgown, his face almost smothering her.
‘Gilbert, you said—’
‘What did I say? Something I’ve since regretted.’ His breath smelled heavily of wine, one of his arms was round her neck like an iron bar. Her head swimming with brandy and shock and exhaustion, she recognized a horrifyingly familiar sensation, the grip of the convict’s bony arm making her prisoner, the feeling of suffocation when his hard hand had held her mouth.
Crazy! This was her husband kissing her, murmuring endearments.
‘I meant to leave you to rest tonight. But I can’t resist you. That’s the simple truth. You’re so lovely. You don’t want me to resist you, do you, my darling?’
She started up tensely.
‘What’s that noise?’
‘Only a dingo howling.’
‘Dingo?’
‘A wild dog. They roam around.’ His voice was impatient. He had no ears for anything outside the confines of this room. He playfully loosened her hair and pulled it over her ears to deaden sound. Then, smiling, his lips came down on hers, his hands pulled at her nightgown again. She could no longer even protest. She was not permitted the breath. And the melancholy howl, half human (could it really be what she fantastically imagined it was, the miserable wretch tied to the tree howling for mercy?), came again, and later again, echoing her own sudden startled cry of pain.
The room went black. She was only half-conscious, struggling with the fantasy that it was the thin savage face of the convict above her, and his body performing this unbelievable intimacy.
She fought the darkness, opening her eyes wide to stare at the flickering candlelight, telling herself that it was her own loved husband whose body, slippery with sweat, was sliding off hers. There was his familiar red hair, his loving eyes, his voice murmuring inaudible endearments.
When she said nothing he settled down beside her, one hand entangled in her hair. Almost at once he was asleep, and she, too exhausted to move, too feeble even to loosen his hold on her hair, thought that she was as much a prisoner as the man tied to the tree.
In the end her exhaustion was a blessing, for it made her sleep. She awoke to a tremendous cacophony of noise as kookaburras in a gum tree outside her window saluted the morning. She was alone. Gilbert’s rising had not disturbed her, but the harsh uncanny laughter from the squat kingfisher-like birds was something she was sure she would never grow used to. It had a primeval sound, just as the animals here were primeval. In what civilized country would one find a creature as awkwardly shaped as the kangaroo, for instance? Or the giant lizards that looked a million years old. She must remember to tell Sarah about the lizard she had encountered on the stairs at Bess Kelly’s, both of them so frightened that neither could move.
But nothing of last night must be recorded.
It was better to pretend that it had never been, shutting out the shocking painful memory. The dog had stopped barking, the convict was no longer howling for mercy, the dark secret pain between her legs had gone. There were dishes rattling in the kitchen, and loud cheerful voices. A smell of frying bacon drifted upstairs. The sunlight lying across the floor was already hot.
She must get up and groom herself as well as possible. Daylight made the rust-coloured water in the jug look even more distasteful. But the sooner she was dressed, the sooner they could leave this horrible place.
She noticed, as she got out of bed, that the gown she had worn yesterday had been neatly laid over a chair. All trace of the dust that had smeared it had gone. Her under things were also laid out.
Jane was proving more capable than one would have expected her to be, after her prostrate state last evening. She must have been surprisingly quiet, too, since her movements in the room had not disturbed
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