Maud told us that she herself had helped to deliver babies on the property. “They arrive now and then as you’d expect and sometimes the midwife doesn’t get here in time, so I’ve had to learn something about it.”

“My mother says that we must have the midwife in residence several weeks before the baby is due.”

She agreed with this and it was arranged that one of the men should go over to a township some fifty miles away and bring back Polly Winters with him.

This was done. She was small and plump with merry dark eyes, high-pitched laughter and a continual flow of chatter. She was in her mid-thirties, a widow. Men died often in this country.

“Don’t be put off by her frivolous manner,” said Maud. “She is a good midwife. She likes what she calls a good time but when she is doing her job she really is very good indeed.”

Polly Winters examined Helena and declared herself satisfied: then she set about entertaining us with tales about the many children she had brought into the world.

She slept in the empty room which was conveniently next to Helena’s; she went through the layette and said what else was needed. When she talked of the coming baby she was intensely serious; and then as soon as she stopped she would be giggling and one would have thought she was incapable of her delicate task.

I saw her often from my window. She was always talking to one of the men; and the nature of her conversation was obvious. She would roll her eyes and assume an archness which seemed very girlish and did not fit one of her age; she would almost caress them as she talked; and they responded readily.

My mother said she did wonder whether we had chosen wisely.

I reminded her that there was no choice. Polly Winters was the only midwife around and she had had to be fetched from fifty miles away.

But we could not help liking Polly. She was so good-natured, ready to help in anything that came along, full of laughter and seeming to find life very enjoyable. It was only when a man appeared that she became giggly and rather stupid.

We did not expect the birth for another three weeks but as my mother said—and Maud agreed with her—in view of the fact that Helena seemed a little delicate and it was so difficult to get help quickly, it was right to keep Polly with us.

I did enjoy riding and often went out with my father or my brother. We never strayed far from the house. My father was always careful to make sure of the landmarks. He said Gregory was right to warn us for it was the easiest thing in the world to get lost in such country.

There came a day when my father and Jacco had gone off to examine some aspect of the property with one of the men; Helena was resting. Polly liked her to and, as she said, put her own feet up in the afternoon. Whether she rested or not I could not be sure, but on one occasion I heard whispering coming from behind her door and now and then a suppressed giggle. I guessed that Polly was giving expression to her appreciation of one of the men about the property. It was not what one would have expected of a midwife with this very important task looming close; but I had to remember that this was not home. Life was different here. No one could reproach Polly for her conduct; her services were too important to us. If Polly entertained men in her bedroom when she was “putting her feet up,” it was not for us to complain.

The house was quiet. I felt restless. I had a longing then for home … not for London where so many dramatic and unpleasant incidents had recently taken place, but for Cador.

I pictured myself riding out of the stables and meeting Rolf. I had to remind myself that things were not always as they seemed and that people hid their true natures behind a veneer of good manners. Here at least people were more frank. Polly and her men … Maud and her desire for her daughter’s welfare … even Gregory. At least he did not pretend to be a courteous knight.

I felt the need for fresh air. I would go for a ride. Not far, of course. It would be the first time I had gone out alone. But I had a desire to go by myself.

There was a faint breeze which was pleasant. I broke into a gallop and was soon in the heart of shrub land.

There was something grand about the landscape. Gregory had talked a great deal about it. He had told us about the natives—“abos” he called them. He had several of them working on the land. “Good workers when they work,” he said. “But you don’t know what to expect. They suddenly take it into their heads to get up and go … ‘go walk-about,’ they call it. Sometimes they come back, but like as not you’ll never see them again.”

I thought about them. Bewildered perhaps, trying to change their lives to fit in with these people who had come and taken possession of their land.

He had told us about the animals; the kangaroos with their young in their pouches. We had seen several; and the little ones they called wallabies.

There was so much to see that was new to us. We used to sit and talk over meals when my mother liked to keep everyone at the table for as long as possible.

Gregory always talked glowingly. It became more and more clear that he loved the land and had made it his own. Through him we heard of the plagues of locusts which destroyed the crops, the raging forest fires which could encircle a hamlet and destroy it and even threaten the towns, of the most frequent threat of all to the farms: the dreaded drought.

He talked of koalas and wombats and the beautifully plumaged birds seen in some parts. We did not see many of these at Sealands Creek, but occasionally he would point out a flying mouse or a lyre bird.

I enjoyed hearing Gregory talk about the country.

I rode on thinking of him. The property extended for miles and I felt that while I was on my father’s land I was safe.

All the same there had been many warnings and I had to be careful.

I looked back. Far in the distance I could see the house. I dismounted, tied my horse to a dwarf shrub and sat down.

I thought about the strangeness of everything since I had come to London and once again I found myself going over it all.

Soon, I thought, we shall go home, and things will be normal again. And Helena … where would she go? Would she live with Matthew … help him with his book perhaps? She had shown no interest in it. But she would have the baby. I had a feeling that when that child came all her attention would be for it.

The heat was intense. I had been rather silly to come out at this time of day. I closed my eyes and dozed.

I awoke with a start and for the moment wondered where I was. Remembering, I rose to my feet. There was a mist in the air. I could not see the house now. I was not disturbed. I knew the direction. I would ride back at once.

Then I saw that my horse was not where I had left it and I began to feel afraid. I had not tethered him securely enough and he must have wandered off. The mist had obscured the sun and it was not so hot now. That was a blessing. But I wished I could see the house.

I started to walk. Soon the house must be in sight.

I went on. Time passed. The mist had not thickened but I could still not see the house. A group of eucalyptus loomed up beside me. Had I noticed them before? I was not sure. There was such a similarity about the landscape wherever one was.

A terrible fear came to me then that I might be lost. I remembered Gregory’s warning. People walked for miles and then found they had been going round in circles.

I sank down beside a clump of shrubs.

Was I walking round in circles? Was I walking farther away from the house? I had no way of knowing.

The best thing was to wait until the mist cleared. That might be hours. Oh, how foolish I had been. I should have started back as soon as the mist began to rise; I should never have sat down and dozed. I should have taken the warnings more seriously. I should never have gone out alone.

Must I stay all night here? What of the dingoes? I should imagine they would be rather unfriendly. There were native cats … wild, I expected.

I was now very frightened. There is nothing worse than being undecided in such a situation. If only I knew what to do … to go on walking or to stay where I was.

And while I was trying to make up my mind I heard a sound which seemed to come from a long way off. It was the call I had heard one man give to another when they wanted their whereabouts known. “Cooee.”

With all my strength I called back: “Cooee.”

I waited tensely; and then the call came again. I answered it. It was coming nearer. I went on calling and the answer came back.

Then Gregory came riding through the mist.

He leaped from his horse and with his hands on his hips stood regarding me sardonically.

Then he said: “You little idiot. How many times have I told you …?”

“I know. I know. But who would have thought it would suddenly be misty like this?”

“Anyone with any sense,” he retorted.

He took me by the shoulders and shook me.

“You ought to be spanked,” he said. He laughed familiarly. “And I’d like to be the one to do it.”

I tried to wriggle free but he would not let me go. Then he bent his head and kissed me firmly on the lips.

I was furiously angry. I had been very frightened, almost on the verge of despair, and my relief had been intense when he had ridden out of the mist, and now here I was out here … in this mysterious land, and he had dared to do what I knew he had been threatening to ever since we met.

I freed myself and stood a few paces back from him.

“I’m glad you came, but …” I began.

“Well that’s a nice start,” he replied, mocking me I knew.

“How did you know I was lost?”

“The horse came back. He had more sense than some.”

“He … came back?”

“Thank your stars he did. Otherwise you’d have been in for an uncomfortable time, young Annie.”

“I have told you I don’t answer to that name which is not mine.”

“You’re in no position to give orders now are you, Annie? You’ve got to knuckle under now and do what dear kind Greg tells you.”

“Take me back to the house.”

“Say please, Greg.”

“Please.”

“All right. That’ll do. Come here.”

“Please do not attempt to do that again.”

“What if you were to ask me to?”

“That I can assure you will never happen.”

“Don’t be too sure of that.”

“Do my parents know I’m lost?”

“No. No one knows. They would have been out of their minds to think their little daughter was lost in the outback. You’re a precious little chick, you know.”

“Perhaps you should remember that.”

“Oh, I do. I do. Otherwise I wouldn’t be handling you with the kid gloves. I’d be giving you something to remember me by.”

“What would that be?”

“Would you like me to show you?”

“I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You will, Annie. One day you will.”

“Are we going back?”

He nodded.

“You’ll have to ride with me. I don’t know if that will offend your ladyship’s finer feelings … but there is only one horse.”

“I realize that.”

“Come on then.” He leaped onto the horse, then leaned over to lift me up beside him. He kept his hands on me longer than necessary. “You’ll have to hold me round the waist,” he said. “Hang on … tightly.”

“I know.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

My relief was intense. Soon I would be home. The mist would not deter him.

He walked the horse through the scrub.

“You must have felt very pleased to see me,” he said. “You were getting scared, weren’t you? And you were right, too. It’s no picnic spending a night in the outback, I can assure you, unless you are in the right company. That was a pleasant night we spent on the way out. Do you remember how I guarded you? Well, you wouldn’t have had me there if I hadn’t come out to look after you, would you?”

I was silent.

“Hold tighter,” he said. “Don’t want to fall off, do you? Do you know, I am really rather enjoying this. Riding to the homestead with my Annie’s arms around me.”

I took them away.

“Hey! Be careful,” he said. “A sudden jolt and you’d be off.”

I put my arms back. He patted one of my hands. “Do you know, Annie,” he said. “I’m very fond of you.”

I said: “How far are we from the house?”

“Far enough to give us time for a little chat.”

“There is nothing to be said which cannot be said in the house. Let’s go faster.”