The Mistress of Warrigal

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 14, 7 April 1906, Page 8

The Mistress of Warrigal

By

ANNIE AGRELL

w yOL are degenerating into a misogynist,” said Dicky Ferris, looking / through a veil of tobacco smoke w- at Wyndham, who was lounging in a squatter’s chair on the wide, cool verandah. "Do you never intend to marry,- Keith?” "Not until I come across the woman who is indispensable to me—and that will be never,” was the cynical reply. Dicky pulled at his pipe, and regarded the speaker in silence. Wyndham was a tall, well-built man, with a finely-shaped head, keen grey eyes, and resolute mouth. His stern and rather melancholy expression was redeemed by a rare but singularly attractive smile. He was an Englishman, and, shortly after bis arrival in the colony, Ferris o a y> light-hearted, debonnaire Dicky—bad been the means of saving the "new chum’s” life at the risk of his own, and the acquaintance thus commenced had since ripened into a firm friendship. But Wyndham was singularly uncommunicative, and, close as their intimacy had become, Ferris remained ignorant of the motive which bad led him to forsake his native land, and bury himself in the Australian bush. As it was obviously not a question of money, Dick surmised there must be a woman in it —there generally is in such a ease. Hitherto he had respected his friend’s reserve, although the subject had often been in his mind during their long lonely rides over the W arrigal run. “Seems a pity,” he was thinking now. as he studied Wyndham's handsome, bronzed face; "he would make a gland husband for some lucky woman, and Warrigal is simply spoiling for want of a mistress. I wonder how you ve contrived to escape the bonds of matrimony so long, Keith?” he burst forth at last. Wyndham's face hardened a little, and he took a long, slow pull at his pipe, then he said gently : “'l'he only woman 1 ever cared about preferred a "rich. old man to a poor young one; so just Indore the day fixed tor our wedding she threw me over for the old money-bags. It was a case of Love versus Lucre, and the latter won -that’s all.” Dicky marvelled at the unexpected confidence. „ “But there’s as good fish in the sea—he was beginning, when Wyndham cut him short with a grim laugh. "And there they may stay away for me! No, for the future 1 fight shy of the gentler sex. Mother Maenab was the nearest approach to a ‘feminine' that, I could t oh* rate “And she was a hard case, said Dicky, laughing, as he pictured the dour Scotch-woman who until lately had been in charge of Wyndham’s domestic arrangements. “She robbed me, 1 know,’ continued Keith, “but at least she made it her monopoly. She ruled the hands with a rod of iron. Since she left e\(*r\ thing has been at sixes and sevens, and, to crown all, the cook went on the •bust’ a couple of days ago, and when I threatened to kick him out he decamped, taking with him a new saddle and a box of my best cigars.’’ “Phew!” ejaculated Ferris; “and what

are you going to do?” “Wire to Johnson’s Agency.” aid W s ndham. composedly. “'I hey re safe to send up something that can cook, it it isn’t exactly a French chef. But in the

ni.antime j in afraid you’ll have to put up with a very limited cuisine, Dick. I know very little of the culinary art.” ‘Don’t mind me.” cheerfully responded Dicky. “If you like I’ll take over the corned beef and damper department until you get fixed up.” Sight brings counsel, however, and over their early meal the next morning Keith announced his intention of advertising for another housekeeper. “A respectable, middle-aged body,” he was careful to explain, who would relieve him of the distasteful role of domestic overseer, more onerous just now as Christmas was at hand. “I'll give her a liberal ‘screw,’ and she can have whatever help she needs,” he concluded, “and if she’s anything like capable she won’t find me a very exacting taskmaster.” Dicky nodded approval. “Besides, petticoats give such a homelike air to a place,” he added, with a touch of sentiment. “Especially as worn by Mother Maenab, eh?” suggested Wyndham, with a twinkle in his eye. Far away, in a meagerly furnished back bedroom of a Sydney boarding-house, a woman sat eagerly scanning the newspaper columns in search of a “Situation Vacant.” One advertisement in particular seemed to attract her, for she turned to it more than once. “Ilousekeeper wanted for a station. Capable woman, widow or middle-aged.” She lifted her tired eyes to the uncurtained window, through which could be seen only hot, dusty streets, and interminable rows of houses with glaring roofs, on which the December sun beat fiercely. The rattle of vehicles, the roar of passing trams, the turmoil of the great city oppressed and jarred upon her continually; and life in the wild, free bush, with its magnificent distances, its silence ami solitude, seemed greatly to be desired. She had lately been passing through the waters of bitterness, and her bruised spirit longed for peace. “I will apply,” she exclaimed at last, springing to her feet. “If my age is not according to book, I am at any rate a widow, and I feel as old as the hills. My experience here should stand me in good stead, and Mrs. Smith must give me a good recommendation.” Mrs. Smith, the boarding-house keeper, and not one of the most favourable specimens of her class, had engaged Eileen Maynard as “lady help, to ass: st- in light duties,” at wages which a general servant would have scorned. Th.' girl was entirely friendless, almost destitute, and pitiably anxious to “suit.” and a betternatured woman than Mrs. Smith would have been almost irre istibly tempted to take advantage of the position. Day after day Eileen had toiled on, desperately **ager to meet the ever-increasing demands of her employer, until her life had become a perpetual drudgery. At length, however. the knowledge that her health was breaking down under the strain, impelled her to throw off the yoke and seek a change. Mrs. Smith was by no means pleased at the prospect of losing her hard-working “lady slavey.” one who had such a “way” with the boarders, too. and the required recommendation was very grudgingly bestowed; but it was given, and proved satisfactory, for the following week the young widow found herself en route for Warrigal. where a now life amid unfamiliar surroundings awaited her. The railway journey was long and wearisome, and Eileen felt relieved to exchange the hot. stuffy compartment for the mail coach, albeit the cumbrous

vehicle, with its creaking straps and rattling swingle-bars, appeared to portend rather an alarming experience to the city girl. But this portion of her journey proved pleasanter than she anticipated. The mailman. a good-tempered, chatty young fellow, proud to display his skill, sent along his team in fine style, whilst he entertained her with gossipy anecdotes, humorous or pathetic. about the bush and its denizens. There was a light breeze, warm but pleasant. The tall blue-gums which lined the track sent forth an invigorating odour. Eileen’s spirits began to rise, and every moment she felt stronger and more courageous. At length they drew up at a solitary slab-built dwelling of the typical bush pattern. “You’ll have to wait here a bit,” said the driver, as he reached down the one trunk which contained all her worldly possessions. “We’re rather ahead of time to-day. Wyn<l ha m’s buggy ain’t up yet. it seems.” Eileen seated herseP on a log in the shade of the house, and drank a cup of milkless tea, which was the sole refreshment to be obtained within, while she watched the operation of changing horses. Then the driver wished her “Goodday,” giving a friendly nod as he drove away. She felt strangely forlorn as she watched the coach disappearing in the distance. The fitful whirring of the locusts seemed to accentuate the intense stillness, which, after the uproar of the city, made her nervous. Presently came the sound of approaching wheels, and a comfortablelooking buggy came in sight, driven by one of the station hands. The man looked at her curiously. Bli’ me if I didn’t think it was an elderly party 1 was to meet. This 'ore’s a reg’lar little d’isy,” he soliloquised, quick to appreciate her good points, although women of Eileen Maynard’s type were not common in Mason’s experience; and the rough bushman became her slave from that moment. ! As they turned in at the slip-rails of the home-paddock Eileen looked out in some anxiety for the first sight of her future abode. It was low, like most Australian

country-houses; and zinc-roofed, with wide verandahs covered with creepers, and looked delightfully cool and peaceful amid the surrounding shadetrees.

There were the remains of a garden, also, which had once been the pride and joy of some flower-loving mistress of Warrigal. They alighted in the stockyard, and Mason, shouldering the luggage, led his charge into the house. A portly matron was seated on the verandah, and beside her stood a pretty girl of about nineteen, evidently her daughter, talking to a young fellow with merry blue eyes, and a pleasant smile. "Another visitor,” remarked the Dowager, as she caught sight of Eileen. "Who is the young lady, Mr Ferris?” "1 think this must be the neiw housekeeper,” said Dicky, in a puzzled tone. "She was coming to-day.” "The housekeeper! Surely not,” echoed Mrs Meredith, disapprovingly. "Why, she looks quite an inexperienced slip of a girl. Those Sydney agents have just sent her out in order to get their fee.” “She does look rather young,” agreed Dicky, thoughtfully; "but,” after a pause, "she is a widow, 1 understand.” "Not really?” rejoined the lady, with an incredulous stare. "Dear me! I must have a little talk with her before we leave.” Mrs Meredith professed a neighbourly interest (which she would have been glad to exchange for a motherly one) in Wyndham and his bachelor menage. She had several daughters, who were regarded as belles oi the Bush, and would like to have seen one of them installed as mistress at Warrigal Station. The advent of the new housekeeper, so different in appearance from her predecessor, Mrs Maenab, disturbed her. She had a deep-rooted prejudice against widows in general, and looked on them as crafty, designing creatures where the masculine sex was concerned. She therefore resolved to lose no time in giving the master of Warrigal the benefit of her experience and advice. “That lady is Mrs Wyndham, 1 suppose?” Eileen inquired a little anxiously, a.s Mason deposited her box outside. "There ain't any missis ’sire.” re-

■ponded the man, showing his teeth. “Boss is a bachelor,” Then, seeing her mvstitied look, he added, “That s Mrs Meredith, from Toowong Station. She always spells here on her way to Waranga. The boss ain't got in yet, seemingly.” lie went away, and Eileen speedily removed her dusty black dress, thinking deeply the while'she scrutinised herself in the glass. “I look fully six years older than I am,” she reflected, and if I put on that hideous grey print, and flatten my hair, I think I shall pass muster.”

She looked like a demure Quakeress, when shortly afterwards she made her way to the kitehen, where she found Dicky Ferris busily at work making tea. Assuming a big apron and her primmest manner, she announced her readiness to take charge of afflirs. Dicky, however, insisted on remaining to help, and the result of their united efforts was a more appetising meal than had been served at Warrigal for some time. Under Dicky’s general influence the new housekeeper thawed considerably, and once she laughed—a merry, girlish laugh, which Wyndham heard as he crossed from the stockyard. It fell on Iris ear like some half-forgotten music, and he knit his brow as if the memory troubled him. But he was hungry; his mind was full of business matters, and before he had time to realise the sensation it had passed away. After tea Ferris and Mabel Meredith vanished into the billiard-room, while the elder lady took possession of her host, and proceeded, in a motherly way, to take him to task for the youth and general appearance of hie new domestic. “Of course, it is no business of mine,” she said, deprecatingly, “but as an old friend and your nearest neighbour, I thought I might, speak. 1 am sure, dear Mr Wyndham, you will agree with me that, under the circumstances —this being a bachelor establishment —it would be a mistake to allow the young person to remain.” Wyndham, who had not yet seen the new arrival, leaned his stalwart form against a verandah-post, and listened in some surprise. “A middle-aged widow is scarcely to be called a ‘young person.’ ” he observed, in mild self-defence, as soon as he had a chance to speak. “She may be a widow, but I repeat that she is too young, and—er—inexperi-enced-looking for the position. You

know, even we Bush-folk must have twine regard for the proprieties.*’ Mrs Meredith spoke with some warmth, for she felt that she had a personal interest in the matter. Wynd-

ham was quick to perceive the drift of her remarks, and he felt somewhat annoyed. Not that he cared for Mrs Meredith’s opinion—or anyone else’*, but that he. of all men, should be held in need of warning, irritated as well as amused him. He wore a not very amiable expression when a little later he made his way round to the back premises for the purpose uf interviewing his new housekeeper. Jle came upon her suddenly. She was returning from the neglected garden, with a half-blown rose in her hand. As their eyes met her pensive look changed to one of startled surprise, ■while he stared at her as if he thought her a being from another world. •’What brings you here?” he demanded sternly, recovering himself with an obvious effort. “i am Mr Wyndham's new housekeeper,” she replied, simply; then as a thought seemed to strike her: “Oh, 1 did not know 1 never dreamt —” she cried in dismay. “Nor was T a ware —” ho interrupted, brusquely, “that it was you who answered my advertisement, or I should hardly have engaged you.” She coloured deeply, then lifting her head proudly she looked into his pale, troubled face. “And 1 should never have applied, had I known that you were the owner of Warrigal. But how could 1 know? You have changed your name ” “Yes,” he answered, with a bitter Smile. “A distant relative left me his name with his property. You would have made a better bargain than you imagined if you had waited.” Eileen shrank before the scorn in his eyes. “You don’t know the circumstances,” shr? said, in a low voice. “1 couldn’t help myself.” People are not dragged to the altar against their wish in these days,” he retorted. “if 1 sinned, I have suffered,” she said, drearily. “I gained nothing by my marriage. Aly busband knew that T never loved him. that 1 married him solely for my mother’s sake, and he revenged himself by leaving me penniless when he died three years ago. My mother, who lived with us, was an invalid, and I had a hard struggle to keep a roof over our heads afterwards. When she died I drifted out to Australia, and got a situation in Sydney. From Mrs. Smith’s I came here. I daresay she will be willing to have me back again.”

While she spoke Wyndham’s keen eyes had been noting every detail of her appearance; the shabby cotton gown, the workworn hands, the wan face in which the violet eyes looked unnaturally largo and bright. “You have been ill?” lie said, suddenly. “You don’t look fit to go bark to Sydney.” “The journey tired mo a little.” she answered, quietly; “but I am ready to go whenever you wish.” “Ni?xt week is Christmas. li would be inconvenient to be without either cook or housekeeper. You had Indi or stay over then,” he said in a cool, businesslike manner. Then without another word he turned away and strolled with his hands in his pockets in the direction of the billiard-room, from whence came th? sound of laughing voices, It was Christmas Eve, and Eileen had Wandered into the old garden, her favourite haunt in leisure moments. A big, white moon was slowly rising over the outbuildings, and its silvery light dickered through the leaves on to her unturned face as she stood still to watch it and listen to the popular airs which came lloating from the men's quarters, not ill-played on an accordion—* “Good-bye, Doliy.” “Way Down the Swanee, Hiver/’ “Hom<‘, Sweet llonv?,” etc. She had Boon al Warrigal a week, and already there was a distient change for the lietter in her appearance. Her face looked loss haggard and wan; there was a suspicion of rose in her checks; she felt it'no longer incumbent io Hatten her hair unbecomingly. What did her looks signify when she was under marching orders? Lastly, she was wearing a pretty pink cotton frock, the ugly grey garment having bepn handed over to hint ty, the half caste girl, who w as sup-

po>ed to assist in the rougher household duties. Eikvn looked very winsome and sweet as she stood with her bands loosely clasped, the breeze softly ruffling her dusky hair. She bail lost the old vivacity which had once been so charming, but to th’* man who stood a few yards away, watching her with kindling eyes, she appeared lovelier and more desirable than ever. Feelings he had believed Tong dead had come to life again: and the old passion he had striven hard to kill was strong in him once more. Beyond one or two short business-like interviews which were absolutely necessary, the two bail never been alone together. Eileen avoiding her employer as much as was possible under the circumstances, feeling conscious that her presence must be distasteful io him; and as Keith spent the greater* portion of his day out on the Kun. this was not a difficult matter. To-night she was indulging in unprofitable dreams of what might have been if she had remained true to herself, and to the lover, devoted and tender, who had worshipped her in th? dear dead days beyond recall, when he was Keith Beresford. and a poor man. He had loved her with the whole strength of his manhood, and in iv.durn she had done her best to ruin his life! Overcome with emotion, she covered her face and sobbed: “1 can’t bear it. Come back to me. 1 want you. Keith/’ she whispered softly. Something—-what was it ? made her slowly raise her head to behold Wyndham standing before her. pale and statue-like in the moonlight, regarding her .with strange intentness. She stared at him stupidly, with tear-wet eyes, till something in his face made her tremble and Hush. “I’ve been looking for you.” he Raid gently. “J have brought you a little Christmas gift. Open it. and let me know how you like it.” She opened the tiny packet with trembling lingers, and displayed a ring—a

simple ivrget-n. • u<d of pearls and turquoises. It was the self same ring lie bad once given her with tender words, and which she had afterwards r< t nt .-d to him with the cruel letter which to d of her broken troth. He was studying her fat e keenly. . 11 I apparently its >■ \pi s.itis.i<t| h i for bis grave features rcla\<<| into .» smile that made him look like the Ke’t » Of old. “I want a wife. Eileen.” he said g‘ ntly. faking her little rough hands in hi-. “My home needs a mistress badly. C< uhl you be happy here with me. do you think ?’’ One look she gave him. thp next mo incut she was hiding her tear stained face on his breast, and his arnis were c lasping her as if they never meant t » let her go. . . Was it by accident, or from a spirit of pure devilment, that Dicky Ferris appeared on the ><-riic at that moment? “That I should live to s(Y? it!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands in exaggerated surprise. “Are you posing for a tableau, or what?” Wyndham turned round with a tr. ns figured face. “Only making up for lost time.” he said, with a happy laugh. “Congratulate me, old fellow. Warrigal is to have a mistn?ss at last.” And Eileen, as she leans against his broad shoulder, feels that all the loneliness, the misery, and wretchedness, haw passed out of her life for ever, and left, her only a blissful certainty of happiness and love.*