The Mask of the Enchantress (29 page)

It was lost everything. My whole life had been wiped away.

Why had I laughed at the Grumbling Giant? Why had we all? Why hadn we listened to the warnings of the natives who knew far better than we did?

He had destroyed us in the endestroyed my father and his hopes and dreams, my beloved mother, Cougaba, Cougabel, Susannah, Philip.

I had been saved by some miracle in the form of Laura wedding. But saved for what?

I was alone . . , desolate.

I wished that I had been there with them.

The captain looked at me with kindly eyes.

here is nothing you can do. There nothing any of us can do. You must return to Sydney with the ship.

My mind was a blank. I could not think of the future. I could think of nothing but that they were gone they were all dead.

I did not want to go back to Sydney. I wanted to stay there in that spot where we had all been so happy. I wanted to tunnel through the rubble. I wanted to look and look. ust in case I said to the captain.

He shook his head. one could have survived. Where could they have gone to? Can you imagine what it would have been like?

I shook my head and cried: ell me. Tell me.

He put his arm about me and tried to soothe me. ou mustn distress yourself,he said.

ot distress myself! My home all that I loved all that meant anything to me gone and I must not distress myself!

He was silent and I went on: ell me what happened to them. Tell me what it would have been like for them.

t would have happened quickly,he said. hey might not have had any warning. Just a sudden commotion inside the crater.

rumbling,I cried hysterically. t was the Grumbling Giant. We laughed at it laughed. Oh, it was evil and we laughed.

y dear Miss Mateland, it is no use going over it,he said. doubt they would have suffered. It would all have been too quick.

ll over I said. ears of hopes and dreams and all over.

et me take you back to the ship,he said. el go back to Sydney and then you can make plans.

lans?I murmured blankly. lans?

I hadn thought of the future until then. But of course I had to go on living.

I did not want to think of the future. I did not want to think of living without them. I only wanted to know how it happened. I wanted to think of them in their last moments. My mother, best loved of all, Miss Anabel who had brought such happiness to a little girl in a loveless cottage all those years ago, Miss Anabel with the gayest laughter I had ever heard and she was gone. I had known what it meant to be dearly loved and I had loved in return. And now and now

I could not imagine a world without her.

ell me tell me how it happened,I cried again.

ell, it was a volcanic eruption. We thought it was extinct. It hadn erupted for three hundred years. It only sent out dribbles now and then.

t grumbled,I said. t grumbled and grumbled. It was the Grumbling Giant. That what they called it.

know the natives were superstitious about it. Theye always superstitious about anything they don understand. There would have been total darkness. The sea would have been disturbed. You see it has receded from the shores. There are lots of marine animals lying about. There would be flashes of lightning and the lava would start spurting out of the crater and covering the island.

ot glowing lava

nd the volcanic dust would make the paste. The air would be full of steam. But you are distressing yourself, Miss Mateland. Come, I taking you back to the ship. We ought to get away quickly. I just had to make sure there was nothing I could do. Nobody survived. You can see that. Come along now.

want to stay,I cried irrationally. t my home.

o more,he said sadly. ome along. We have to get back. It could be dangerous here. What if it erupted again?

He took me firmly by the arm and put me into the small boat.

We went back to the ship.

I knew I should never forget the sight of the island smoldering, destroyed. The hospital the plantation all the dreams everything that meant anything to me all gone.

I must have been in a sort of daze. The captain took me to the hotel. He was a very kind man and I shall always remember his sympathy with gratitude.

Everyone was kind to me, as people seem to be when there is a major disaster. The manager of the hotel gave me my old room and left me alone there. I wanted to be alone.

I stayed there for two daysot eating, just lying on my bed. The only relief was when I slept, which I did now and then very fitfully from sheer exhaustion. Then there would follow the awakening, which was terrible because then the reality would come flooding back.

At the end of two days I awoke from my stupor. Mrs. Halmer came in from the property, for news of what had happened had reached her. She said I must go back with her. I needed to recover from this terrible shock.

I thought about it; I was not sure whether I wanted to go or not. Hers would be a house of mourning too, for her son Philip was one of the victims.

She said we would share our grief, that we would comfort each other.

When she saw that I was still too bemused to make a decision she said she would come back in a week and in the meantime if I wanted to come there would be a welcome for me at any time.

oul be able to think about what you are going to do,she said. el work it out together. Itl be quiet on the property. No one will worry you.

When she had gone it was as though she had drawn back the curtain which had shut me in with my misery.

What was I going to do? If I were to go on living I had to have a life to lead. My family and my home were lost to me. Where would I go? What should I do?

I tried to push these questions aside.

I don care, I kept saying to myself. I don care what becomes of me.

That was silly. I was here. I was alive. I had to go on living.

How?

With a rush of apprehension I remembered that I was here in the hotel. I had a little money which I had brought with me for my trip but that would not last long.

I was penniless almost. My father had put everything into the hospital and the plantation. They were to be my inheritance.

I could remember my mother saying: our father has put all he has into the hospital and the plantation. It will be yours one day, Suewellyn.

The memory of her voice and those beautiful blue eyes all concern for me was too much to bear. I buried my face in my pillow.

don care. I don care what becomes of me,I muttered.

Then I seemed to hear her voice again: hat silly, darling. Youe got to go on living. Youe got to find some way. It not like you to give up. Wee not that sort of people. Your father me you. When life is cruel we just stand firm against it We fight back, Suewellyn.

She was right. I would have to go on. I would have to fight my way out of this morass of grief and misery. I had to go on living.

I had to have money, so I should have to work. What could I do? What did people in my position do? I had had a good education. My mother had been an excellent governess. I could do something.

I didn want to. I wanted to take the ship back to Vulcan Island and go up the mountain to the crater and tell the Grumbling Giant to kill me as he had killed them.

I could almost feel my mother hands stroking my hair. uewellyn, youe a Mateland. Matelands never give up.

Yes, I was a Mateland. I thought of my ancestors in the picture gallery. I had always wanted to go to the castle. Even now I could feel that. I was astonished. I had a faint interest in life. I must have, for there was a desire in me to see the castle.

Then I remembered the mail I had collected for Susannah. It was in my bag. What should I do with it now? Take it back to Roston, Evans? Explain that I had pretended to be Susannah? I was in no mood to do that.

I took out the letters and turned them over in my hands. It was such a relief not to be thinking of that devastated island for a few moments.

I don know when the impulse came to me. It was like clutching at a life line. I had to stop thinking of my parents and Philip. I had to do something which absorbed me to such an extent that I stopped torturing myself.

I opened the letter, telling myself that Susannah was dead now and I should know something of her affairs.

It was an official-looking letter and it was from a solicitor in Mateland, the Carruthers, Gentle whom Mr. Roston had mentioned.

Dear Miss Mateland [I read],

We have to inform you of the sudden death of Mr. Esmond Mateland which occurred on Thursday last. According to your grandfather will, Mateland Castle with its estates now passes to you as the heir named by your grandfather in the event of your cousin death without issue. Will you please get in touch with us as soon as possible? We shall be in communication with Messrs. Roston, Evans and Company to whom we are sending this letter. On receipt of it perhaps you will call at their offices in 33 Hunter Street, Sydney.

Yours truly,

for Carruthers, Gentle Ltd.

There was a signature which I could not quite decipher.

I sat back. So Susannah was now the owner of the castle. She had intended to be and had planned to marry her cousin Esmond Mateland for that reason. Now Esmond was dead and Susannah had the castle or would have had she been alive. To whom did the castle belong now?

I think it was at that moment that the idea came into my head. It was so wild, so preposterous that I did not at first receive it. But it was there like a seed, germinating, ready to spring forth and strangle my scruples.

I must have been in a strange mood, for it would not have occurred to me a few weeks earlier to open letters not addressed to me.

I picked up the other letter. It was in a rather thin sloping hand. Before I could stop myself I had slit the envelope.

Dear Susannah [I read],

You will have heard the terrible news. As you can guess, I am desolate. He was so well such a short time ago. The doctors are baffled. You can imagine how it is with me. I am prostrate with grief. You must come home at once. I know that you are on the other side of the world and that it will take time. But please leave at once. It seems so long since we have seen you, for, remember, you were away at school that year in France at that finishing place, and then home so briefly before you went away again to Australia. I shall hardly know what you look like soon. It has been so long.

I know how you will be feeling. Your sufferings will be as mine. After all you were the girl he was going to marry and I his mother. Who could be closer than that? He had been threatening to come out to Australia to bring you back. Of course he did spend all that time in Paris when you were there. Things are chaotic here. Carruthers, Gentle say you must come, for only when you are back can everything be settled. You are the mistress of Mateland now. Oh dear, what tragedies beset our family. Esmond to die like that so young. And his father I have had my share of trouble. My eyes, of course, do not improve. It is a gradual process, but I am warned that in five years I shall be blind.

You must make arrangements to come home at once, Susannah.

My love to you.

Your Aunt Emerald

I read the letters through again and for a long time sat staring into space.

When I looked up I saw that I had been sitting there for half an hour. During that time my thoughts had taken me back. I was standing on the edge of the woods looking at the castle. I was there inside, seeing it clearly from what I had heard from Susannah and my mother.

It was amazing.

I had not thought of my tragic circumstances all that time.

The Great Deception

It is a common human characteristic that when one has decided on a course of action which is wrong, dishonest and even criminal the mind of the offender immediately begins to discover reasons why such action is justifiable.

I was a Mateland. My father offspring should surely be in the line of inheritance. I was my father second daughter. Esmond was dead; Susannah was dead. Had my parents been married I should have been the next.

It was no use reminding myself that my parents were not married. I was, as I had frankly been told by the children at school, a bastard; and bastards had no rights.

But, said my persuasive mind, my father had loved my mother more dearly than he had loved anyone else. She was his wife in his eyes. I was a Mateland. I had changed my name when I came to them; surely I was entitled to be recognized as such.

The idea was growing.

But for Susannah, Philip would be with me now. He would have accompanied me to his sister wedding, and we should have married, for he had been in love with me to a certain extent, as I had been with him.

But Susannah had come and stolen my lover. Why should I not take her inheritance? There! It was out.

t fantastic,I said aloud. t impossible. It a wild dream.

And the alternative?

I stared the bleak future blankly in the face. I could go to Roston, Evans; I could confess my little deception. It was nothing very serious at the moment. Then I could go to the Halmers and stay with Mrs. Halmer until I worked out what I was going to do. Perhaps I could borrow the money to go to England and there try some post as a governess or a companion, which seemed to be the only course open to women of some education who suddenly found themselves forced to earn a living. I should be utterly miserable.

On the other hand there was this wild preposterous plan which had presented itself to me. All sorts of notions, ideas, possibilities were thrusting themselves into my mind.

It wrong, I kept telling myself. It fraud. It criminal. It unthinkable.

In some ways to contemplate it acted as a palliative. It took my mind off misery. Of course I won do it, I told myself, but it would be interesting to see how it could be done if it could be done.

An hour slipped by. I was still thinking of it.

I could go to Roston, Evans. The young man did not know me. He was, in fact, of the opinion that I was Susannah. His accosting me in the street had been the beginning of it all. It would never have occurred to me if that had not happened. It was Fate tempting me. It was like a bait. I had taken the first step down the slippery slope when I allowed him to believe I was Susannah. Why had I done that? It was like some prearranged pattern beginning to show itself.