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The Story of Wild Will Enderby

Chapter X. A Roland for an Oliver

page 239

Chapter X. A Roland for an Oliver.

Accounts, more or less garbled, of the events herein-before narrated found their way into the New Zealand newspapers, whence they were copied into the Victorian papers,—and so, in technical phraseology, 'went the round of the press,' greatly to the delight of the members of the 'Mind-your-neighbour's-business Society,' and the pleasurable edification of sensation-mongers generally. Of course, that highly-talented 'organ,' the Tamboura Trumpet, seized upon the delicious morsel, and transferred it to its columns; and thus it came to pass that Florence became acquainted, after a fashion, with the affair.144 Which induced that charming lady to sow a few Cadmean dragons' teeth, in the manner following:—145

"My Dearest Mabel,

"I have only just read of the dreadful misfortune [N.B. This was a fib, and consequently she emphasized it: she had read it a week before she wrote] that has happened to your poor cousin, Mr Enderby. I cannot resist my desire to assure you of my sympathy and regret. Such a very shocking thing! How could he be so foolish as to kill his partner? I do so hope it page 240was in self-defence. But then, dear, you know he was always very passionate and quick-tempered. I cannot help thinking of the lucky escape you have had. I am sure you have reason to be thankful that everything is off between you and him. I would not mention it for the world, only for knowing that; but the silly fellow actually proposed to me, when at the very time he was engaged to you. Only fancy his wickedness and impudence! I gave him such a scolding. I think he was afraid of its coming to your ears, and perhaps that made him fly off in such a silly, mad way to New Zealand.

"Marriage is such a lottery, my dear, that you cannot be too careful. Really, there is no believing these young fellows. Not that dear Justin is old: but then, you know, he is one of a thousand. Such a dear, good man. I think he worships the very ground I walk on. Everyone says we are more like lovers than staid married people."

Here followed gossip of little interest to us; showing how dear Mrs Such-a-one had contributed a new edition of Adam's popular work to Gippsland society; and how it was said that Mr This treated his wife 'in a shocking manner, my dear;' and that there were 'dreadful stories' told about that 'shocking flirt,' Mrs Venus; and wherefore the contemplated silliness between Miss That and Mr Tother had arrived at an abrupt conclusion; together with a dissertation on the weather, and a 'tedious, brief discourse' anent the fashions, &c. &c.; in all, four compactly-written and page 241crossed pages of the best cream-laid note-paper. Finally, the fair scribe concluded thus:—

"And now, my dear girl, let me beg of you not to give way because of this awful trouble. Do try to keep your spirits up, remembering that affliction is sent for our own good. I am sure I thought I should have gone mad when I lost poor dear Melmoth. But we never know what is best for ourselves. Give my love to dear Mrs Grey, and remember me kindly to your excellent papa; and accept assurances of fondest love from

Your sincere friend,

"Florence M'Carthy.

"P.S.—I hope you will write soon, my dear, and pray tell me all about your cousin. I am anxious to know for your sake."

Now, the blue-eyed maiden to whom this precious epistle was addressed was not a whit deceived by Madam Florence's finesse. But I have reason to know that she was somewhat angry. At the hollow pretences of friendship and sympathy she laughed, as she could right well afford to do. But what business had this woman to be so anxious for news of Will?—Of Will, her own treasure, whom that false jade had deluded, and driven forth, and abandoned remorselessly, and whom she—Mabel—had sought and rescued from the very jaws of death! Moreover, the tone of the letter throughout was displeasing to her. It was too intensely patronizing. There was altogether too much of the Governess-to-the-Pupil style about it.

Mabel did the wisest possible thing. She burned the letter, and dismissed the subject from her mind. page 242But she dispatched to Tamboura a brief missive, couched as follows:—

"Dear Florence

,—

"A thousand thanks for your very kind note. Those stupid papers have misled you. Cousin Will never killed anyone; so it is all a mistake, you see. He has been very ill, but he has quite recovered, and is looking better than ever. Indeed, he is quite himself again. I know you will be so pleased to hear this. The dear fellow is staying with us at St. Kilda, which is very jolly. We often talk of old times, when you were here. Will says he must have been mad when he made such furious love to you. Of course, it was only for fun, you know; so I hope you did not take it seriously. That would have been absurd, when one considers the difference between your age and his * *

(Then came all the exquisite nothingnesses of young-lady correspondence.)

Good-bye, dear Florence. Be sure and write again soon. It is always a pleasure to get your letters. They are so amusing.

Yours very affectionately,

Mabel Grey

."

"P.S.—Mamma sends her love, and desires me to say that she is very glad to hear that you are so happy, as some ill-natured people have been circulating very unpleasant reports here. Ta-ta, dear!

"M. G."

I think the younger lady had rather the best of this encounter. That last blow was very deftly administered.

page 243

And the blow struck home; for rumours were indeed current that all was not perfect rural felicity at Tamboura—that, in fact, there was a fly in the matrimonial ointment.

Let us follow Mabel's letter to its destination.

Just where the outlying spurs of the Great Dividing Range stretch down to the Gippsland plains—amidst park-like scenery, where silver-leaved Acacias, with exuberant golden blossoms, made contrast with stately smooth-barked Gum trees, whereon the white flowers peeped forth from dark olive foliage, and the young branches were aglow with flame-coloured leaflets—yellow and red;—where the sombre Honeysuckle tree, alternated with the native Cherry, through the long pendulous spikelets of which, a soft, warm breeze, laden with balsamic odours, swept with a musical, though somewhat mournful, cadence;—where a small creek meandered through tall reeds, and the broad stream, to which it hastened, flashed back the ardent glances of the sun;—there was the home of Florence M'Carthy.

It was a long, wooden, single-storied house, facing to the South, with many windows, and cool, broad verandah, and white walls, standing out in bold relief against the densely wooded ranges that towered in the rear. In front, the natural park sloped away to the river, which there formed an irregular bend, so as to enclose the homestead on three sides. Flocks of gaudy birds in the trees; many horses—bright bay, glossy black, and silvery grey; fragrance-breathing cows—red and dappled—some grazing, others reposing in the grateful shade; and the picture is complete.

page 244

No, not yet complete. Across the creek and under the trees rides a man, bearded, bronzed, handsome,—a perfect type of pastoral manhood—with two beautiful, fawn-eyed collie dogs following 'at heel.' And in the verandah sits a woman, indolent and impassive,—a Juno-like woman, robed in violet satin, whose large black eyes wander vacantly around, with a listless, weary expression.146

The rider approached the house. Leaping from his foam-flecked horse, he produced a packet of letters, and handed, or rather tossed, three of these to the lady. Two of these were closed; of one the envelope was broken.

"Letters for you, Flo.," said he.

She caught them eagerly. Then observing the torn envelope, a bright flush suffused her face as she exclaimed.—"Why have you opened my letter?"

Justin smiled a peculiar smile. "Only by accident, Flo. The address is in a very masculine handwriting, you see, so I thought it might have been intended for myself."

The excuse failed to appease her anger. "I do not believe it was an accident, Justin. You did the same thing last week. That was 'an accident' also, I presume."

"Probably. The fact is, I always do forget not to open your letters when they look as if they came from gentlemen. Ladies should not have gentlemen correspondents—married ladies I mean."

The bright flush grew brighter. "Justin," she said, "you are a barbarian to treat me so. I will not allow page 245you to open my letters. Poor dear Melmoth was never guilty of such ungentlemanly conduct."

"Bother 'poor dear Melmoth!' If there is one thing in this world more provoking than any other, it is the way you always fling 'poor dear Melmoth' at my head when I don't happen to please you. You almost make me wish he was alive."

"As I do, most sincerely. He was a true gentleman."

"And died like one, of course. Now I have no intention of doing anything of the sort, till my proper time comes. So don't look forward to a second widowhood, Flo."

And he strode into the house, triumphant.

Presently Florence opened Mabel's epistle. Its contents did not tend to restore her equanimity. The bright flush spread over neck and forehead, and an angry light pervaded the beautiful eyes.

"Your correspondence does not seem to please you, Flo," said Justin, who had re-appeared on the scene, and was eagerly scanning his wife's countenance. "May I look at it?"

Then the woman cunningly turned the weapon pointed at her own breast, against her lord and master.

She threw Mabel's letter at his feet. "Take it," she cried. "It is excessively complimentary to myself, and no doubt it will please you. You may not be quite so well pleased to find that your brutality is already the talk of Melbourne."

Justin M'Carthy opened his eyes very wide indeed He was very fond of his wife, notwithstanding frequent little skirmishes, such as that I have recorded. But page 246out of the rich soil of love, grew the poisonous weed—jealousy. He felt a real pain whenever she conversed with any other man—an acuter pain if she smiled on that other. And yet his jealousy was altogether unreasonable and causeless, and he knew it to be so.

"My brutality? he repeated, "My dear soul, what have I done to deserve such an accusation?"

"Read the letter, Sir. No doubt you think it kind and proper—of course you think it proper—to open my letters, and to mew me up here in this abominable wilderness, half a universe removed from all and everything I love or care for, with no companions but the wretched station-hands, hearing no conversation except about sheep or cattle, or the price of wool, and seeing nothing but the grass and the trees, and the trees and the grass, from week to week. Oh! of course, you think that this is all as it should be, and that I ought to be satisfied. Read that letter, Sir, and see what other people are saying of it."

"But Florence, dear—"

"Allow me to pass, Sir."—And she swept by him in the old proud style, before which her slaves had been wont to bow in the days of her queenly widowhood.

Thus quickly had the canker-worms of jealousy and discontent nipped the bud of marital happiness; and thus the Lady of Tamboura was less to be envied than the veriest pauper whose scanty fare is supplemented by all-abiding and enduring love.

"And he that tells the tale,
Says that her ever-veering fancy turned
To Pelleas, as the one true knight on earth,
And only lover."147

144 Tamboura Trumpet - A lost edition of Newspaper.

145 Cadmean Dragon Teeth - Cadmus a hero in Greek mythology sowed dragon’s teeth and from them sprang Sparti, fierce warriors.

146 Juno-like - Juno the Roman Goddess connected with all aspects of the life of women, especially marriage. Here Pyke could be hinting at an unhappy marriage as Juno and her husband, Jupiter, were infamously at odds with one another.

147 “And he that tells the tale,....And only lover.” - Alfred Tennyson’s Idylls of the King.