HOUSE IN THE TIMBERWOODS Joyce Dingwell
Dinah had urgent reasons for wanting to go to Australia, and she jumped at th...
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HOUSE IN THE TIMBERWOODS Joyce Dingwell
Dinah had urgent reasons for wanting to go to Australia, and she jumped at the chance of a job in New South Wales, even if it meant supervising three unruly "brats" in the back of beyond. Despite their antagonism, she felt fairly confident of holding her own with the children. At least they were less of a problem than her employer, Timber Marlow, whose scathing manner revealed only too clearly his contempt for all women.
ONE THE advertisement attracted through its utter unattractiveness. "WANTED: PERSON TO SUPERVISE CORRESPONDENCE LESSONS FOR LOCATION REMOTE, ASPECT LONELY, THREE CHILDREN; ENTERTAINMENT NIL, REMUNERATION INADEQUATE FOR TIME AND FRUSTRATION, PUPILS BRATS. APPLY MARLOW, TALLWOODS, WARRIGAL, NEW SOUTH WALES." New South Wales ... her fingers that held the sheet of newspaper trembled slightly. That was where Kevin was ... that was where she was to have gone. Deliberately, analytically, she checked the words once more. "WANTED: PERSON TO SUPERVISE CORRESPONDENCE LESSONS ." No stipulation as to sex, she noted, no specification as to capability. ''LOCATION REMOTE . . The end of the world, thought Dinah, could not prove too remote for her just now. "ASPECT weeks?
LONELY
..Could there be loneliness after these last few
"ENTERTAINMENT NIL, REMUNERATION INADEQUATE, PUPILS BRATS ..Of these last Dinah said aloud and with bitter conviction, "They couldn't matter, they couldn't matter at all." She crossed over to the window-seat, sat down and looked at the paper again. I'm mad, she told the sheet of newsprint, if I'm really thinking what I suspect I'm thinking ... this is an old edition, eight weeks old; by this time the position is filled, the successful applicant settled in. I'm two months behind.
All the same, something despairing urged inside of her, it is an unattractive notice, it could have failed to lure a bidder, it might still be vacant, and it's in New South Wales. The paper went down on Dinah's knee. She stared unseeing at the scene outside. I could go, she thought feverishly, I could go as I planned all along. No one here need know about it; there need be no little notes of tactful condolence, no telephone enquiries as to how "dear Dinah" is standing up to it, no sympathetic eyes as I shop in the town, most of all no swansong to Aunt Sarah's, Aunt Mildred's and Aunt Emily's dreams. She looked down on the garden below, but seeing It this time. It was an overcrowded garden. That was the main reason the three aunts were looking forward to a country niche. "Six green thumbs between us," Aunt Sarah had laughed once to Dinah, "and no space left to show what we can produce." "It will be different. Aunty, when I go out to Australia to Kevin and you move to the hills." "I rather fancied the lake country," Aunt Mildred had suggested. "A fold of the downs," Aunt Emily had proposed. The three of them had argued amicably over it. They did everything amicably, her dear old aunts, even their arguing. They were growing quite aged now. Too aged soon for gardening? For that country niche? Unconsciously Dinah fumbled for and retrieved the sheet of newspaper that had enfolded the Delft jug, the jug which was to have accompanied her, as a Wedding gift, to Australia, and no longer need go now that Kevin had changed his heart and their plans. Too old? she asked a little fiercely. Never. They must have, they simply must have that country house. She looked beyond the crammed garden to the picket fence.
One of the raggy suburban lilacs, for want of space, was wasting most of its sweetness on the pavement outside. Dinah noted it despairingly, thought again, as she always thought, Why did Daddy make such a foolish will? then looked back at the paper in her hand. But instead of "wanted" she saw in memory that last testament of her father, William Venness. "To my sisters Sarah, Mildred and Emily in gratefulness for the love I know they will give my daughter Dinah," it had read, and then it had named an ample sum. Not an extravagant sum, for Father had been by no means rich, but a nice sum, a round sum, a sum sufficient to permit six green thumbs to expand their greenness, sufficient for that house in the hills* or the lakes, or the downs,.. but also an entailed sum. ". . . Such amount not to be payable," had stipulated the foolish will, "until the fledgling has left the nest." Marriage, of course, was what Father had meant, and marriage had seemed rather remote in small, suburban Lilac Hill where there was little young life at all. Then all at once, rather like sunrise she had thought rapturously at the time, like spring, like birds singing, there was Kevin, and she was in love, so the fledgling would leave the nest, weddings, or so Dinah innocently had believed, being the natural follow-up for two people who cared for each other as she and Kevin cared. Kevin Sandley had come down to do a term with the big engineering company in the next town. He was tall and fair and very good looking - and the moment the two of them had met they had known - or had Kevin thought he had known ... or had it not even been thought, but just a small-town diversion on his part? And what, thought Dinah now, did it matter which?
By the end of his term they were engaged and the aunts were beginning to argue amicably over the hills, the lakes, the downs. "Funny old girls," Kevin had commented once. "Why didn't they rusticate before?" "It was the foolish will," Dinah had told him. "Daddy left them a sum, but it was not payable until the fledgling left the nest." She had smiled at his obvious puzzlement and explained, "I was the fledgling, of course." Not smiling back, Kevin had agreed, "That was a foolish will." "Yes, they could have been away years ago." "I didn't mean your way, Dee, I meant the stupidity of your father leaving any of his money to them. We could have used that. . . ." Odd, thought Dinah now, this was the first time since Kevin had said it that she had remembered those words. Later that evening her fiance had asked her how she was financially placed. "The firm are sending me to Australia, Dee." "Australia! Oh, Kevin, how marvellous. When do we leave?" He had twisted a strand of her soft ash hair round his finger into a curl and watched it straighten again as soon as he let go. "You want a permanent, my pet." "I look awful with curls, I have the straight-hair sort of face." "Well, your hair's certainly straight," he had conceded, and. let the soft floss fall.
She had felt somehow inadequate. She had decided anxiously that she would have a perm if he wanted it, the right face or not. "Kevin, when?" she had asked. "Australia, I mean." "I go in three weeks. I go to New South Wales." "And when... I mean... well..." "When can you come, is that it, Dinah?" She had nodded, but she had not spoken, simply waited for him to say. He had taken his time. "Well, it all depends on you, Dee. You see . , he had hesitated another moment."... I couldn't bring you out, dear, you'd have to come yourself." He had meant money, of course. At the time she had wondered for a quick flash what Kevin did with his money - he was a top-ranking engineer - but loyally the flash had passed. "I'll have enough," she had told him readily. He had approved the readiness . . . had he also marked it down in his mind? "Good girl! Dee ...?" "Yes, darling?" "I wonder ... I wonder, could you help me a little before I go?... You see, I'll be up against a lot of expense.. "Doesn't the firm finance you out?"
"I didn't mean that, I meant when I got to Sydney and set about finding us a house." A house. All her brief doubts had dissolved like mist in the sun. She saw Kevin looking for the house, finding the house, their house. "Oh, Kevin," she said. She had hugged him, knowing as she did that she loved him more than ever ... and she had given her fall quarter's allowance that came regularly out of her fetter's and mother's estates. He had written when he had reached Sydney, telling her how difficult to obtain and how dear the places were, hinting for more help. She had sent it. The next time he had not hinted, he had asked, and she had sent it again. The fourth time she had put the draft in the envelope thai taken it out, oddly, curiously, with no reason she knew of for doing so but just taking it out. For fun, she had thought, for a practical joke I'll tell him there's no money left. Meanwhile her boxes were being packed, her gown being made, Aunt Emily piping sugar lovers' knots and candy rosebuds for the cake that also was to travel out. ... And then Kevin's letter had come. How many such letters had been written since time began? she had wondered vaguely . . . "All a mistake" . . . "good friends" ... "better to come to an agreement now"... "always remember you fondly, Dee." Yes, thought Dinah, almost without feeling, you'll remember my quarterly allowances, Kevin. And then she had cried, because, for
all the blankness of feeling, she knew she still loved him in the same sunrise, springtime, bird-singing way. The wedding presents had been rolling in by then. Mostly small unimportant gifts from girl friends, thank goodness, who, because she was going right away, had chosen for sentiment rather than value. She had been glad of that. She would have hated to return each gift and explain. But the aunts had dipped deeply into their slender resources. There was a lovely Japanese print, a tooled leather attache-case, a blue Delft jug. The jug was the one she had been unpacking. For days she had wondered how she could tell the aunts the news, then she had decided to lay their gifts silently before them. She knew that they would understand. But she knew, too, that the country house would be pushed bade to where it had been before, that they would have to take their six green thumbs to the crowded garden again. Oh, darlings, I can't deprive you, her heart sorrowed, and yet what else can I do? There is no other way out. She glanced at the page again, at the unattractive offer. When Kevin had gone to Australia, to New South Wales, she had ordered Sydney papers and read them assiduously. She had wanted to know all about her future home. But, she thought wryly, she had never read this page. More unaware than aware of what she was doing, Dinah got up from the window-seat and crossed to her little bureau. There was air-mail equipment there, stationery, stamps. She had written every day to Kevin.
Briefly she wrote across the thin blue sheet. She said, "Dear Sir or Madam" . . . "read your advertisement" ... "realize several months have gone by" ... "possibly the situation is still unfilled or not filled satisfactorily" ... "perhaps you could place me"... "would you answer yes or no." She licked round the edges, folded it up, wrote the address^ ran down to the box between their own and the next house knowing she would catch the mail. It was all over, consulting her watch, in seven minutes flat. When she came back to the house, she heard the aunts in the drawing-room. They were taking tea, and there was a cup poured for her. "Dinah, we've practically decided," beamed Aunt Sarah. "It's a sort of compromise, dear, a tiny bit of the three," announced Aunt Em. "Not hills, lakes and downs, Aunties, that's impossible." "Some of them in the distance," Aunt Mildred said. 'The only thing," regretted Aunt Sarah, "is that you won't be here to visit us. But perhaps some day ... Kevin gets quite good money, I should think." Dinah said dully, "Yes." She listened to their schemes, she wondered if she should still go upstairs and bring down their presents before they planned too much, if she should forget about the letter she had impulsively written, impulsively despatched. But she was a coward. Either that
or she loved them too dearly. She simply stopped on in the drawingroom, nibbling cake, sipping tea, listening to their dreams . .. ... And ten days later she was there again, the news still unbroken. Aunt Mildred saying, "Dinah, dear, have you fixed that date yet when you sail?" Aunt Sarah, hearing the doorbell, bustled off and came back at once with an important-looking envelope. "A cable, from Australia. Kevin must be getting impatient, dear." Dinah accepted the envelope, tore it open. She wondered how she did it so calmly, and then she thought, It's because I have no feeling left. The office of origin on the top of the cable said Warrigal. There was her name, Venness, no initial, no Miss, but then she had not put Miss when she had written her application, simply B. Venness. She had scrawled briefly "read your advertisement" ... ''perhaps you could place me"... "would you answer yes or no." This cable did answer it. It answered it as succinctly and barely as possible. "Is Sarah right? Does Kevin want you to come soon?" begged Aunt Emily romantically . . . Aunt Em was the sentimental aunt. Dinah was silent a moment, then she looked up from the Warrigal cable and said, "Yes."
TWO "VENNESS, Blair Avenue, Lilac Hill, London. Yes. Marlow, Tallwoods, Warrigal, New South Wales." A cablegram of thirteen words and twelve of them names and addresses. But it didn't matter because in the middle was the allimportant "Yes". Yes, we can place you: yes, we will have you; yes, Aunts, you can go ahead with your plans; yes, Dinah, you can go ahead with yours; yes, yes, yes. It seemed all at once to Dinah that the aunts must hear the hysterical voice rising within her. She folded the cablegram^ put it in her pocket and looked around. The old ladies were nodding lovingly at her. They were quite unruffled, so they could not have heard. "When, dear?" asked Aunt Sarah. "Soon - next week." As she said it Dinah knew she must make that come true. "Next week! But the ship - " "I'm flying, Aunts." It would be expensive, it would drain her resources, but it would get her away at once. She escaped up to her room at last, hearing the country house being lovingly brought out again. Opening her cablegram, she studied it once more. So there was a position waiting for a supervisor of correspondence lessons for three children, the location remote, the aspect-lonely, the
salary inadequate, the pupils brats. So much, anyway, was confirmed in that bare unadorned "Yes". She went out to the hall phone and rang the airlines office. They found they could include her in Wednesday's departure, but she must please report in at once. She went in the next morning after drawing out all her money. With the quarterly allowance she had not sent Kevin she should have just enough. By late afternoon she had completed everything; she even had the tickets in her hand. That night Mildred said, "Rome ... Singapore ... ail those exciting places. Dinah, aren't you thrilled?" Odd, but she still felt nothing, only urgency, urgency to get away before anything was known. "Of course," she had assured them. "As thrilled as you are with your country niche." They all came to see her off, some of her friends as well. The cake and the dress accompanied her in separate parcels. Try as she had, Dinah had not prevented the aunts from seeing to that. "But dear, you'll need them at once, they simply can't come later by ship." The plane door had closed, the engines had whirred* the craft had moved forward. A thrill had cut into Dinah's lethargy, the brief soaring thrill of one's first experience of wings. She had turned to wave to Aunt Sarah, Aunt Mildred, Aunt Emily, but the aunts had gone - or rather she had gone. She was in the air. She had left. Someone across the aisle laughed at her obvious surprise. She turned to smile ruefully in return. It was a man whom she had
amused, tall, fair, rather like Kevin in a way, only this mouth was wider, the eyes bluer, around the eyes the smile crinkles were more evident, and there still remained some of the rather endearing freckles of youth. He was pleasant and friendly and she warmed to him at once. She laughed back. By coffee they were sitting together, by luncheon they knew each other's names. 'Don't say what everyone does, that Dinah is for a cat," she warned him lazily, the motion of the plane soothing her, the last few weeks of worry seeming for a while dim and far away. "I could say the same, only substitute a dog. My name is Jock." "I like Jock, but it is a dog, a big shaggy dog." "I like Dinah, but it is a cat, a nice sleek cat." She had looked enquiringly at him. "Don't you like fluffy cats?" "No, I don't." "Girls with fluffy hair?" Jock Ferrell - she had learned the Ferrell part first - said earnestly, "I like your hair - soft, silken." Dinah said, remembering Kevin, "You mean straight." It was not until the last day of the journey that they abandoned trivialities, often absurdities, and came to facts. "You never said where you were bound, Dinah." "New South Wales."
He had grinned at that. "It's a big place. Can't you be more explicit?" "If it's a big place, I doubt if you'll know about this place. It's remote, it's lonely, entertainment is nil." "And its name?" "Warrigal," Dinah said. Jock Ferrell had stared at her, then laughed. "Coincidences and all that," he marvelled. "I certainly know Warrigal. I live in its valley - we call it Hop Valley . . . and Warrigal is the mountain that either smiles or scowls on us all day." "Then - then you might know the Marlows —" "Marlow? There's only one there now. Yes, I know Timber." "Timber ...!" She stared at Jock as Jock had stared at her. "There's another name," he explained, "probably long forgotten. He's just Timber Marlow of the Warrigal down our way." "Tell me about it." , He told her, but when he finished she could not have said much of what he had related. She was still tired for all the relaxation of the last few days. Her final week at Lilac Hill had been chaotic, her departure enervating; this journey, though wonderfully luxurious, was not unlike a kaleidoscope of never-ceasing mirrors and colours, or a whirlpool of which she was the vortex, she thought. "So when we put down at Mascot you still have another journey, Dinah," Jock Ferrell was relating. "You take either a local plane or the Warrigal Mail. The train is fairly central,
but the plane has to put down some miles out because of the range. Most of us patronize the railway for that reason. Warrigal is near the Victorian border, it's as close to Melbourne as it is to Sydney, really." He paused, then enquired of her, "Which way appeals, Dinah, plane or train?" "Which way are you going? And, Jock, are you in timber, too?" He answered the last question first. "I'm in the valley beneath Warrigal Mountain; I just told you, Dinah." He grinned and added, "I'm a hop-man." "Hop-man?" "I garden hops. Most of Australia is too warm for hops, but it's a cool corner down at Warrigal and we boast a pretty big picking." "Oh." She paused a moment, then asked, "And - and Timber Marlow, is he a hop gardener as well ?" "Timber Marlow is on the timbered range itself, as his name implies. Unfortunately" - his eyes were regretful as he answered her first question now - "I'm not returning immediately Dinah, otherwise I'd deliver you to Timber's door." "The three children . . Dinah ventured next, a little nervously. "Pete, Keith and Andy." "Are those their names?" Boys, she thought to herself. Jock nodded. "Are - are they brats?"
Jock obviously wanted to talk about his hop-garden, but he paused long enough to admit an honest "Yes". Dinah decided to be resigned about it all "Well, I can't say I wasn't warned," she shrugged. "What does Warrigal mean, Jock - is it an aboriginal name?" "It isn't just a name, Dinah, though of course you'd know that." "I'm afraid I don't." "You don't know what a warrigal is?" "Should I?" "You should at Tallwoods, it's dingo ground there." "Dingo? Isn't that a species of wild dog?" Jock Ferrell nodded. "When you get to Tallwoods you'll find yourself in a world offences… dingo fences to keep the dogs out." "Are they savage?" "Maybe, if you cornered one, which would be very unlikely. They're a sheep hazard, you see." "But are there sheep at Tallwoods, at a timber centre ?" "No, but they wander in occasionally from Plateau, which is sheep terrain. Plateau is on the western side of the mountain as opposed to Hop Valley on the east. It's to Plateau that the train plies. Officially there is no Plateau, no Hop Valley, the name Warrigal covers all. However, we locals use the tags for convenience. Think of it as a
triangle, Dinah, with Warrigal Mountain the highest point and the exact centre, and Tallwoods, or should I say Timber Marlow, the king of the castle in the middle of us all." Dinah did not comment on the "king". She asked, "Do you have any sheep in the valley ?" '"I have hops, a little tobacco, a few cows, but no sheep and therefore no dingoes. Also Timber Marlow keeps his fences in perfect order, which helps considerably. He might get a dingo from Plateau occasionally, but we would never get one from him." Dinah tried to listen, but her mind began to rove. Where is Kevin? she found herself thinking. The last she had heard, he had been in Sydney. How was she to explain, when she wrote to the aunts, her very remote address? Remote from Sydney... from everywhere, it appeared. "So which way do you think you'll go, then?" Jock Ferrell was asking her. "The plane or train, Dinah, which appeals?" She answered hopefully, "Possibly he - Mr. Marlow - might meet me." Without any consideration of the matter at all, Jock Ferrell corrected knowledgeably, "Oh, no, Timber won't." She longed to ask Jock about this man who seemed so definite a character, so much the king of the castle, but again she was discouraged, as discouraged as she had been by that unadorned "Yes" in the cablegram, discouraged now by Jock's confident reply to her suggestion that her future employer might meet her of "Oh, no, Timber won't."
The last leg of the journey was finishing. In half an hour, the hostess announced, they would be putting down. Dinah began collecting things. Apart from her light luggage there was very little - she had gathered few journey mementoes - but there were two parcels; a gown, a cake. If only, she thought longingly, aeroplane windows opened like train windows, then she could have thrown her two parcels right out. That was what she wanted to do more than anything else just now, to throw the wretched packages away, forget them, begin uncluttered again. "Jock," she asked eagerly, "what sort of train is Warrigal's?" "Well, it's not exactly the Spirit of Progress," apologized Jock. "You mean - just a train?" "I'm afraid so." "Then it will do." He grinned appreciatively at that. "I like the old type myself, Dinah; I expect it's something left over from my youth. We looked for grunt and puff then, not air-conditioning. Lode, would you like me to wire Timber you're on your way when we put down?" She considered that. "Can I get a conveyance from this Plateau which is realty Warrigal station?" He smiled. "We are remote, but we do have a hire-car, my girl,"
As the belt-fastening instructions were being flashed on the screen, as the plane wheels came down, Jock said shyly, "I'm glad you're going that way - overland, I mean. It will give you a fair idea of the country, my country; it will let you see how lucky I am, how lucky you could be -1 mean - well, if- when He flushed boyishly and looked appealingly at her. "Yes," she said politely, not paying much attention. All she was thinking of now was an open window in a train and an unwanted cake, a hated dress. They parted on the tarmac. "It's not good-bye, of course, I'll see you in Warrigal. You'll be all right, now, Dinah; a taxi to Central Railway and tonight's train. No difficulty in getting a seat, it's not a crowded line." "Not the Spirit of Progress," she smiled. "I'm glad of that." She came out of Clearances and looked around her. Jock had told her it was early summer now in Australia ... ''warm in Sydney, still cool down our corner," he had grinned. Mascot was a vast airport, she found a little ruefully, more an indifferent busy world than a welcoming journey's end. And it was certainly warm. Although it was not a crowded line, she found, when she called at the railway ticket office, that there were no sleeping berths left. She accepted a window seat thankfully, then wait down into the city to fill in the intervening hours. At seven-thirty the Warrigal Mail departed. Hers was not a full carriage. Apart from a garrulous old lady, there was only one other passenger beside herself, a man. He was tall, broad, so bronzed he appeared almost dark- skinned, even Indian. He did not talk at all. He read his paper and, when he finished that, he went into the corridor and smoked a pipe. Every
time Dinah opened her eyes through the night she saw him in the corridor leaning against a window, his pipe between those big teeth that appeared so much whiter against the Indian brown of his skin. He looked, she thought, like a brave, like a warrior. He seemed every inch a chief. The little old lady dozed and chattered, chattered and dozed. Once, when she seemed to go right off to sleep, Dinah struggled with the window. Now I'll get rid of you, she said to the cake. The man in the corridor came in. Without speaking, he crossed and leaned over her and effortlessly raised the window a bare inch. "Thank you." She wanted it up much more than that - she wanted it up the width of one one-tier wedding cake; besides, she could never throw the thing out while he was there. "You could have asked," he answered tersely. Feeling childish, she huddled in the corner and closed her eyes, pretending oblivion. Evidently not wanting to smoke as the women slept, the man got up and went outside once more. Now was her chance; she grabbed it at once. She knelt determinedly on the seat and struggled more forcefully with the window than before. He came back into the compartment and said, "What's wrong with you, can't you make up your mind?" ''Yes... I mean..." "Up or down?" "Up." "You had it up before."
"Not enough." "You were shivering." "I -1 wanted to throw something out." "That," he remarked laconically, nodding his head to a , notice, "is not advised." "I-" "Up or down, madam ?" "Oh ... down," Dinah said. At eight o'clock they drew into Warrigal... or Plateau, as Jock had said. Dinah did not look out at Jock's beloved country; she simply collected her rug, her coat, her bags ... left the parcels where they were. With a little luck, she thought, she could abandon them unnoticed. But luck was not to be hers. The little lady, too, was alighting. She made a careful elderly check to see that nothing at all was left behind. "Your parcels, dear, or are they yours, Mr. - er-?" "Not mine." Dinah said quickly, "Not mine," as well. "They must be yours," persisted the old lady. "They are yours; I particularly remember now you had two parcels as well as your bags."
She poked at them with her umbrella and suddenly they were balancing perilously, then falling down. The dress was all right, but not the other package. It not only fell, it burst out of its wrapping. Aunt Emily certainly had wrapped it carefully, but it had travelled thousands of miles since then. The icing, the sugar lovers' knots, the candy rosebuds, were strewn over the floor. "Why, it's a cake ... a wedding cake ..." The little lady looked excitedly, then sympathetically at Dinah. "Oh, you poor dear!" "It's nothing... I mean... it doesn't matter... that is..." "Just as well," came the man's cool voice, "because it's certainly beyond repair." Relatives were claiming the old lady; Dinah looked at the cake and then at the man. She looked appealingly. "What can I do?" "Nothing, I'm afraid. It's a dead loss." "The mess, I mean. Can - can I clean it up ?" "Leave that to the railways. I've no doubt they can conjure up a broom - or even a railway dog if necessary." He seemed totally uninterested as to why she was carrying a cake; he was simply gathering up his own belongings. A tag on his own portmanteau caught her eye, and Dinah stiffened. Oh, no, it couldn't be ... Fate could not be as cruel as that. It was bad enough to arrive at this unknown place without arriving so ridiculously, ridiculous in his eyes, she thought.
He saw the direction of her gaze, and he nodded idly. "Yes, I'm Marlow of Tallwoods," he drawled in a rather bored tone. "I ascertained earlier," his voice was even cooler, even more bored as he nodded to her own tagged case, 4