Back To Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce
"I suppose she can--but I don't want her to," Bob said.
The brisk office-boy showed him out, and he marched down the grey
streets near Lincoln's Inn with his chin well up. Life had taken a
sudden and magical turn for the better. Three thousand pounds!--surely
that meant no roughing it for Tommy, but a comfortable home and a
chance of success in life. It seemed a sum of enormous possibilities.
Everything was very vague still, but at least the money was certain--it
seemed like fairy gold. He felt a sudden desire to get away somewhere,
with Tommy, away from crowded England to a country where a man could
breathe; his heart rejoiced at the idea, just as he had often exulted
when his aeroplane had lifted him away from the crowded, buzzing camp,
into the wide, free places of the air. Canada called to him temptingly.
His brain was seething with plans to go there when, waiting for a chance
to cross a crowded thoroughfare, he heard his own name.
"Asleep, Rainham?"
Bob looked up with a start. General Harran, the Australian, was beside
him, also waiting for a break in the crawling string of motor-buses and
taxi-cabs. He was smiling under his close-clipped moustache.
"I beg your pardon, sir," stammered the boy, coming to the salute
stiffly. "I was in a brown study, I believe."
"You looked it. I spoke to you twice before you heard me. What is
it?--demobilization problems?"
"Just that, sir," said Bob, grinning. "Most of us have got them, I
suppose--fellows of my age, anyhow. It's a bit difficult to come down to
earth again, after years spent in the air."
"Very difficult," Harran agreed gravely. He glanced down with interest
at the alert face and square-built figure of the boy beside him. There
were so many of them, these boys who had played with Death for years.
They have saved their country from horror and ruin, and now it seemed
very doubtful if their country wanted them. They were in every town in
England, looking for work; their pitiful, plucky advertisements greeted
the eye in every newspaper. The problem of their future interested
General Harran keenly. He liked his boys; their freshness and pluck and
unspoiled enthusiasm had been a tonic to him during the long years of
war. Now it hurt him that they should be looking for the right to live.
"I'm just going to lunch, Rainham," he said. "Would you care to come
with me?"
Bob lifted a quaintly astonished face.
"Thanks, awfully, sir," he stammered.
"Then jump on this 'bus, and we'll go to my club," said the General,
swinging his lean, athletic body up the stairs of a passing motor-'bus
as he spoke. Bob followed, and they sped, rocking, through the packed
traffic until the General, who had sat in silence, jumped up, threaded
his way downstairs, and dropped to the ground again from the footboard
of the hurrying 'bus--with a brief shake of the head to the conductor,
who was prepared to check the speed of his craft to accommodate a
passenger with such distinguished badges of rank. Bob was on the ground
almost as quickly, and they turned out of the crowded street into
a quieter one that presently led them into a silent square, where
dignified grey houses looked out upon green trees, and the only traffic
was that of gliding motors. General Harran led the way into one of the
grey houses, up the steps of which officers were constantly coming
and going. A grizzled porter in uniform, with the Crimean medal on his
tunic, swung the door open and came smartly to attention as they passed
through. The General greeted him kindly.
"How are you, O'Shea? The rheumatism better?"
"It is, sir, thank you." They passed on, through a great hall lined with
oil-paintings of famous soldiers, and trophies of big game from all
over the world; for this was a Service club, bearing a proud record of
soldier and sailor members for a hundred years. Presently they were in
the dining-room, already crowded. The waiter found them a little table
in a quiet corner.
There was a sprinkling of men whom Bob already knew; he caught several
friendly nods of recognition us he glanced round. Then General Harran
pointed out others to him--Generals, whose names were household words in
England--a notable Admiral, and a Captain with the V.C. ribbon--earned
at Zeebrugge. He seemed to know every one, and once or twice he left his
seat to speak to a friend--during which absence Bob's friends shot him
amazed glances, with eyebrows raised in astonishment that he should be
lunching with a real Major-General. Bob was somewhat tongue-tied with
bewilderment over the fact himself. But when their cold beef came,
General Harran soon put him at his ease, leading him to talk of himself
and his plans with quiet tact. Before Bob fairly realized it he had
unfolded all his little story--even to Tommy and her hardships. The
General listened with interest.
"And was it Tommy I saw you with on Saturday?"
"Yes, sir. She was awfully interested because it was you," blurted Bob.
"You see, she and I have always been pals. I'm jolly keen to get some
place to take her to."
"And you think of Canada. Why?"
"Well--I really don't know, except that it would be out of reach of
England and unpleasantness," Bob answered. "And my money would go a lot
further there than here, wouldn't it, sir? Three thousand won't buy much
of a place in England--not to make one's living by, I mean."
"That's true. I advise every youngster to get out to one of the new
countries, and, of course, a man with a little capital has a far greater
chance. But why Canada? Why not Australia?"
"There's no reason why not," said Bob laughing. "Only it seems further
away. I don't know more of one country than the other--except the sort
of vague idea we all have that Canada is all cold and Australia all
heat!"
General Harran laughed.
"Yes--the average Englishman's ideas about the new countries are pretty
sketchy," he said. "People always talk to me about the fearfully hot
climate of Australia, and seem mildly surprised if I remark that we have
about a dozen different climates, and that we have snow and ice, and
very decent winter sports, in Victoria. I don't think they believe me,
either. But seriously, Rainham, if you have no more leaning towards one
country than the other, why not think of Australia? I could help you
there, if you like."
"You, sir!" Bob stammered.
"Well, I can pull strings. I dare say I could manage a passage out for
you and your sister--you see, you were serving with the Australians,
and you're both desirable immigrants--young and energetic people with
a little capital. That would be all right, I think, especially now that
the first rush is over. And I could give you plenty of introductions in
Australia to the right sort of people. You ought to see something of the
country, and what the life and work are, before investing your money.
It would be easy enough to get you on to a station or big farm--you to
learn the business, and your sister to teach or help in the house. She
wouldn't mind that for about a year, with nice people, would she?"
"Not she!" said Bob. "It was her own idea, in fact; only I didn't want
to let her work. But I can see that it might be best. Only I don't know
how to thank you, sir--I never imagined--"
General Harran cut him short.
"Don't worry about that. If I can help you, or any of the flying boys,
out of a difficulty, and at the same time get the right type of settlers
for Australia--she needs them badly--then I'm doing a double-barrelled
job that I like. But see here--do I understand that what you really
want to do is to take your sister without giving your father warning? To
kidnap her, in short?"
"I don't see anything else to do, sir. I spoke to him a while ago about
taking her away, and he only hummed and hawed and said he'd consult Mrs.
Rainham. And my stepmother will never let her go as long as she can keep
her as a drudge. We owe them nothing--he's never been a father to us,
and as for my stepmother--well, she should owe Tommy for two years' hard
work. But honestly, to all intents and purposes, they are strangers
to us--it seems absolutely ridiculous that we should be controlled by
them."
"You say your aunt's family lawyer approves?"
"Yes, or he wouldn't let me have the money. I could get him to see you,
sir, if you like; though I don't see why you should be bothered about
us," said Bob flushing.
"Give me his address--I'll look in on him next time I'm in Lincoln's
Inn," said the General. "Your own, too. Now, if I get you and your
sister passages on a troopship, can you start at short notice--say
forty-eight hours?"
Bob gasped, but recovered himself. After all, his training in the air
had taught him to make swift decisions.
"Any time after the fifteenth, sir. I'll be demobilized then, and a free
agent. I'll get my kit beforehand."
"Don't get much," counselled the General. "You can travel in
uniform--take flannels for the tropics; everything you need in Australia
you can get just as well, or better, out there. Most fellows who go out
take tons of unnecessary stuff. Come into the smoking-room and give me a
few more details."
They came out upon the steps of the club a little later. Bob's head was
whirling. He tried to stammer out more thanks and was cut short, kindly
but decisively.
"That's all right, my boy. I'll send you letters of introduction to
various people who will help you, and a bit of advice about where to go
when you land. Tell your sister not to be nervous--she isn't going to a
wild country, and the people there are much the same as anywhere else.
Now, good-bye, and good luck"; and Bob found himself walking across the
Square in a kind of solemn amazement.
"This morning I was thinking of getting taken on as a farm hand in
Devonshire, with Tommy somewhere handy in a labourer's cottage," he
pondered. "And now I'm a bloated capitalist, and Tommy and I are going
across the world to Australia as calmly as if we were off to Margate
for the day! Well, I suppose it's only a dream, and I'll wake up soon.
I guess I'd better go back and tell Mr. M'Clinton; and I've got to see
Tommy somehow." He bent his brows over the problem as he turned towards
Lincoln's Inn.
CHAPTER VI
SAILING ORDERS
"Are you there, miss?"
The sepulchral whisper came faintly to Cecilia's ears as she sat in her
little room, sewing a frock of Queenie's. The children were out in the
garden at the back of the house. Mrs. Rainham was practising in the
drawing-room. The sound of a high trill floated upwards as she opened
the door.
"What is it, Eliza?"
"It's a letter, miss. A kid brought it to the kitchen door--a bit of a
boy. Arsked for me as if 'e'd known me all 'is life--called me Elizer!
'E's waitin' for an answer. I'll wait in me room, miss, till you calls
me." The little Cockney girl slipped away, revelling in furthering any
scheme to defeat Mrs. Rainham and help Cecilia.
Cecilia opened the letter hurriedly. It contained only one line.
"Can you come at once to Lincoln's Inn? Important.--BOB."
Cecilia knitted her brows. It was nearly a month since the memorable
evening when she and Bob had revolted; and though she was still made
to feel herself in disgrace, and she knew her letters were watched, the
close spying upon her movements had somewhat relaxed. It had been
too uncomfortable for Mrs. Rainham to keep it up, since it made heavy
demands upon her own time, and interfered with too many plans; moreover,
in spite of it, Cecilia had slipped away from the house two or three
times, going and coming openly, and replying to any questions by the
simple answer that she had been to meet Bob. Angry outbreaks on the part
of her stepmother she received in utter silence, against which the waves
of Mrs. Rainham's wrath spent themselves in vain.
Indeed, the girl lived in a kind of waking dream of happy anticipation,
beside which none of the trials of life in Lancaster Gate had power to
trouble her. For on her first stolen visit to Mr. M'Clinton's office the
wonderful plan of flight to Australia had been revealed to her, and the
joy of the prospect blotted out everything else. Mr. M'Clinton, watching
her face, had been amazed by the wave of delight that had swept over it.
"You like it, then?" he had said. "You are not afraid to go so far?"
"Afraid--with Bob? Oh, the farther I can get from England the better,"
she had answered. "I have no friends here; nothing to leave, except the
memory of two bad years. And out there I should feel safe--she could not
get a policeman to bring me back." There was no need to ask who "she"
was.
Cecilia had made her preparations secretly. She had not much to do--Aunt
Margaret had always kept her well dressed, and the simple and pretty
things she had worn two years before, and which had never been unpacked
since she put on mourning for her aunt, still fitted her, and were
perfectly good. It had never seemed worth while to leave off wearing
mourning in Lancaster Gate--only when Bob had come home had she unpacked
some of her old wardrobe. Much was packed still, and in store under Mr.
M'Clinton's direction, together with many of Aunt Margaret's personal
possessions. It was as well that it was so, since Mrs. Rainham had
managed to annex a proportion of Cecilia's things for Avice. To
Lancaster Gate she had only taken a couple of trunks, not dreaming of
staying there more than a short time. So packing and flitting would be
easy, given ordinary luck and the certain co-operation of Eliza. Her few
necessary purchases had been made on one of her hurried excursions with
Bob; she had not dared to have the things sent home, and they had been
consigned in a tin uniform case to Bob's care.
She pondered over his note now, knitting her brows. It would be easy
enough to act defiantly and go at once; but if this meant that the
final flight were near at hand she did not wish to excite anew her
stepmother's anger and suspicion. Then, as she hesitated, she heard a
heavy step on the stairs, and she crushed the note hurriedly into her
pocket.
Mrs. Rainham came into the room without the formality of knocking--a
formality she had never observed where Cecilia was concerned. The
afternoon post had just come, and she carried some letters in her hand.
"Cecilia, I want you to put on your things and go to Balding's for me,"
she said, her voice more civil than it had been for a month. "I'm asked
up to Liverpool for a few days; my sister there is giving a big At
Home--an awfully big thing, with the Lady Mayoress and all the Best
People at it--and she wants me to go up. I suppose she'll want me to
sing."
"That is nice," said Cecilia, speaking with more truth than Mrs. Rainham
guessed. "What will you wear?"
"That's just it," said her stepmother eagerly. "My new evening dress
isn't quite finished--we ran short of trimming. I can't go out, because
the Simons are coming in to afternoon tea; so you just hurry and go over
to Balding's to match it. I got it there, and they had plenty. Here's
a bit." She held out a fragment of gaudy sequin trimming. "I think you
could finish the dress without me getting in the dressmaker again--she's
that run after she makes a regular favour of coming."
"Very well," said Cecilia--who would, at the moment, have agreed to sew
anything or everything that might hasten her stepmother's journey. "When
do you go?"
"The day after to-morrow. I'll stay there a few days, I suppose; not
worth going so far for only one evening. Mind, Cecilia, you're not to
have Bob here while I'm away. When I come back, if I'm satisfied with
you, I'll see about asking him again."
"That is very good of you," said the girl slowly.
"Well, that's all right--you hurry and get ready; there's always a
chance they may have sold out, because it was a bargain line, and if
they have you'll have to try other places. I don't know what on earth
I'll do if you can't match it." She turned to go, and then hesitated. "I
was thinking you might take Avice with you--but you'll get about quicker
alone, and she isn't ready. The tubes and buses are that crowded it's
no catch to take a child about with you." In moments of excitement
Mrs. Rainham's English was apt to slip from her. At other times
she cultivated it carefully, assisted by a dramatic class, which an
enthusiastic maiden lady, with leanings towards the stage, conducted
each winter among neighbouring kindred souls.
Cecilia had caught her breath in alarm, but she breathed a sigh of
relief as the stout, over-dressed figure went down the narrow stairs,
with a final injunction to hurry. There was, indeed, no need to give
Cecilia that particular command. She scribbled one word, "Coming," on
Bob's note, thrust it into an envelope and addressed it hastily, and
then tapped on the wall between the servants' room and her own.
Eliza appeared with the swiftness of a Jack-in-the-box, full of
suppressed excitement.
"Lor! I fought she was never goin'," she breathed. "Got it ready, Miss?
The boy'll fink I've gorn an' eloped wiv it." She took the envelope and
pattered swiftly downstairs.
A very few moments saw Cecilia flying in her wake--to Balding's first,
as quickly as tube and motor-bus could combine to take her, since
she dared not breathe freely until Mrs. Rainham's commission had been
settled. Balding's had never seemed so huge and so complicated, and when
she at length made her way to the right department the suave assistant
regretted that the trimming was sold out. It was Cecilia's face of blank
dismay that made him suddenly remember that there was possibly an odd
length somewhere, and a search revealed it, put away in a box of odds
and ends. Cecilia's thanks were so heartfelt that the assistant was
mildly surprised.
"For she don't seem the sort to wear ghastly stuff like that," he
pondered, glancing after the pretty figure in the well-cut coat and
skirt.
Outside the great shop Cecilia glanced up and caught the eye of a
taxi-driver who had just set down a fare.
"I'll be extravagant for once," she thought. She beckoned to the man,
and in a moment was whirring through the streets in the peculiar comfort
a motor gives to anyone in a hurry in London--since it can take
direct routes instead of following the roundabout methods of buses and
underground railways. She leaned back, closing her eyes. If this summons
to Bob indeed meant that their sailing orders had come, she would need
all her wits and her coolness. For the first time she realized what her
stepmother's absence from home might mean--a thousandfold less plotting
and planning, and no risk of a horrible scene at the end. Cecilia
loathed scenes; they had not existed in Aunt Margaret's scheme of
existence. Since Bob's plans had become at all definite, she had looked
forward with dread to a final collision with Mrs. Rainham--it was untold
relief to know that it might not come.
She hurried up the steps of Mr. M'Clinton's office. The alert office
boy--who had been Bob's messenger to Lancaster Gate--met her.
"You're to go straight in, miss. The Captain's there."
Bob was in the inner sanctum with Mr. M'Clinton. They rose to meet her.
"Well--are you ready, young lady?" the old man asked.
"Is it--are we to sail soon?"
"Next Saturday--and this is Monday. Can you manage it, Tommy?" Bob's
eyes were dancing with excitement.
"Oh, Bobby--truly?" She caught at his coat sleeve. "When did you hear?"
"I had a wire from General Harran this morning. A jolly good ship, too,
Tommy; one of the big Australian liners--the Nauru. You're all ready,
aren't you?"
"Oh, yes. And there's the most tremendous piece of luck, Bobby--Mrs.
Rainham's going away on Wednesday!"
"Going away! How more than tactful!" ejaculated Bob. "Where is she
going?"
"To Liverpool."
"Liverpool? Oh, by Jove!" Bob ended on a low whistle, while his face
assumed a comical expression of dismay. He turned to the lawyer. "Did
you ever hear of anything so queer?"
"Queer? Why?" demanded Cecilia.
"Well, it looks as if she wanted to see the last of you, that's all. The
Nauru sails from Liverpool."
"Bobby!" Cecilia's face fell. "I thought we went from Gravesend or
Tilbury, or somewhere."
"So did I. But the General's wire says Liverpool, so it seems we don't,"
said Bob. "And that she-dragon is going there too!"
"I don't think you need really worry," Mr. M'Clinton said drily.
"Liverpool is not exactly a village. The chances are that if you went
there, trying to meet some one, you would hunt for him for a week in
vain. And you'll probably go straight from the train to the docks, so
that you won't be in the least likely to encounter Mrs. Rainham."
"Why, of course, we'd never run into her in a huge place like
Liverpool," Bob said, laughing. "Don't be afraid, Tommy--you'll have
seen the last of her when you say good-bye on Wednesday."
"It seems too good to be true," said Cecilia solemnly. "I remember how
I felt once before, when she went away to visit her sister in Liverpool;
the beautiful relief when one woke, to think that not all through the
day would one even have to look at her. It's really very terrible to
look at her often; her white face and hard eyes seem to fascinate one.
Oh, I don't suppose I ought to talk like that, especially here." She
looked shamefacedly at Mr. M'Clinton, and blushed scarlet.
Both men laughed.
"The good lady had something of the same effect on me," Mr. M'Clinton
admitted. "I found her a very terrible person. Cheer up, Miss Tommy,
you've nearly finished with her. And, now, what about getting you away?"
Cecilia turned to her brother.
"What am I to do, Bob?"
"We'll have to go to Liverpool on Friday," Bob replied promptly. "I
can't find out the Nauru's sailing time, and it isn't safe to leave it
until Saturday. There's a train somewhere about two o'clock that gets up
somewhere about seven or eight that evening. Mr. M'Clinton and I don't
want to leave it to the last moment to get your luggage away from
Lancaster Gate. Can you have it ready the night before?"
"It would really be safer to take it in the afternoon," Cecilia said
after a moment's thought. "Mrs. Rainham's absence will make that quite
easy, for I know I can depend upon Eliza and Cook. I can get my trunks
ready, leave them in my room, and tell Eliza you will be there to call
for them, say, at four o'clock. Then I take the three children out for a
walk, and when we return everything is gone. Will that do?"
"Perfectly," said Bob, laughing. "And four o'clock suits me all right.
Then you'll saunter out on Friday morning with an inoffensive brown
paper parcel containing the rest of your worldly effects, and meet me
for lunch at the Euston Hotel. Is that clear?"
"Quite. I suppose I had better put no address on my trunks?"
"Not a line--I'll see to that. And don't even mention the word
'Australia' this week, just in case your eye dances unconsciously, and
sets people thinking! I think you'd better cultivate a downtrodden look,
at any rate until Mrs Rainham is out of the house; at present you look
far too cheerful to be natural--doesn't she, sir?"
"You have to see to it that she does not look downtrodden again, after
this week," said Mr. M'Clinton. "Remember that, Captain--she's going a
long way, and she'll have no one but you."
"I know, sir. But, bless you, it's me that will look downtrodden," said
Bob with a grin. "She bullies me horribly--always did." He slipped his
hand through her arm, and they looked up at him with such radiant faces
that the old man smiled involuntarily.
"Ah, I think you'll be all right," he said. "Remember, Miss Tommy, I'll
expect to hear from you--fairly often, too. I shall not say good-bye
now--you'll see me on Friday at luncheon."
They found themselves down in the grey precincts of Lincoln's Inn,
which, it may be, had rarely seen two young things prancing along so
dementedly. In the street they had to sober down, to outward seeming;
but there was still something about them, as they hurried off to find a
teashop to discuss final details, that made people turn to look at
them. Even the waitress beamed on them, and supplied them with her
best cakes--and London waitresses are a bored race. But at the moment,
neither Cecilia nor Bob could have told you whether they were eating
cakes or sausages.
"The money is all right," Bob said. "It'll be available at a Melbourne
bank when we get there; and meanwhile, there's plenty of ready money,
with what I've saved and my war gratuity. So if you want anything,
Tommy, you just say so, and don't go without any pretties just because
you think we'll be in the workhouse."
"Bless you--but I don't really need anything," she told him gratefully.
"It would be nice to have a little money to spend at the ports, but I
think we ought to keep the rest for Australia, don't you, Bob?"
"Oh, yes, of course; but you're not to go without a few pounds if you
want 'em," said Bob. "And, Tommy, don't leave meeting me on Friday until
lunch time. I'll be worrying if you do, just in case things may have
gone wrong. Make it eleven o'clock at the Bond Street tube exit, and if
you're not there in half an hour I'll jolly well go and fetch you."