Going Home by Valerie Wood Page A

whispered, moving away from the door. ‘He’s got a touch of gout, that’s all.’
    Captain Boyle poured himself a brandy whilst his wife stared at the mutton on the serving salver. The meat was growing cold, and fat was congealing around its edges. Her appetite was quite gone and she made a mental note to tell Cook to send the joint down to one of the Aboriginal reserves.
    ‘That young woman,’ her husband was saying. ‘She’s quite spoilt my surprise. Completely ruined it!’
    Lucinda looked up. ‘Surprise? What surprise?’
    Captain Boyle leaned over the table and pulled off a piece of pink meat from the joint. He put it in his mouth and chewed. ‘Why, what we were talking about last night.’
    She waited. His humour seemed to be returning.
    ‘I said I’d think about this trip to England that you mentioned, to see your mother, you know.’ He eased a piece of meat from his teeth with his fingernail and she turned her eyes away. ‘Well, I did think about it. Last night at the club, and I decided that perhaps you should go.’
    She looked up, hoping. Hoping that he wasn’t just playing a cruel joke on her.
    ‘And now that young minx has spoilt it.’
    ‘She wasn’t to know what you were planning, dear,’ she pleaded, and knew now that he was going to change his mind, if he had ever made it up in the first place.
    ‘No, I suppose not,’ he conceded. ‘She’s a thorn in my side, that young woman. I don’t know what will become of her. No man will have her, that’s for sure, in spite of her fine looks. I can’t think of one family with sons who would welcome her as a daughter.’
    If she had a fortune they would, Lucinda mused. But she hasn’t. At least not until my own mother dies.
    He stood in front of the unlit fireplace which was filled with fresh flowers. ‘So what I had decided was that you should go to England; and now, when I think again about it, whilst you are there you can try and marry Phoebe off to some rich gentry or other. Your mother knows the best families, she’ll know of somebody. They like eccentrics in England and Phoebe is certainly one of those.’
    Lucinda felt herself grow hot. Her face was burning. Did he mean it? Would he change his mind?
    ‘I shan’t go of course. I’ve no wish to go back. Damned cold, wet country that it is, and I’ve plenty to do here. I can’t take the time off. No, you go, my dear.’ He smiled with an unaccustomed show of affection which made her uneasy. ‘Take as long as you want, I shall be all right on my own, just me and Edwin.’
    ‘You mean that we are to go alone? Without an escort?’ she stammered. ‘But how will we manage, with baggage and everything?’
    ‘I’ll book you on a ship where I know the captain; you’ll be all right. Why dammit, Luce! Women are travelling on their own all the time these days. Where’s your spirit of adventure?’
    His eyes ran over her and she shivered. He wanted rid of her and she knew the reason why.
    ‘Just make sure, before you return, that you marry off your daughter and that your old mother leaves you plenty in her will.’
    She swallowed and smiled. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said quietly. The journey would be hard for a woman such as her, she had hardly travelled anywhere since coming to Australia. But it would be worth any kind of hardship just to go home. Any hardship at all.
    The next morning after her husband had gone out, she dressed in a sprigged muslin day dress and put on her large straw hat, for the day promised to be very hot. Already there was a heat haze shimmering over the land. She called for the trap to be brought round to the door.
    ‘You want me to come, Mrs Boyle?’ The Aborigine who looked after the two horses, one which her husband rode and the other which was used for the trap, tipped his hat.
    ‘No, thank you, Smith. I’m not going far.’ She shook the reins and set off towards the Sydney road, then when she was out of sight of the house she turned, cutting back up