Lyrebird Hill by Anna Romer Read Free Book Online Page B

Jindera’s shadow in the doorway of her hut, hoping to give her a wave.
    The only movement was a breeze ruffling the animal hides strung on the branches. The camp looked deserted, as though its inhabitants had fled.

    Sitting at my dressing table, I hurriedly brushed my hair. It was more tangled than usual, and soon my brush was full of knots. I emptied some sweet almond oil from a bottle into my hands, and smoothed the oil over my wayward strands. As I pinned my chignon, I heard a shuffle in the doorway.
    Aunt Ida moved into my bedroom, clutching a jar of cornflour. Pink blotches coloured each sharp cheekbone, and her eyes were as sharp as a bird’s. ‘I declare, Brenna. The sooner you’re married off and away from those people, the better for all of us.’
    I made a sour face in the mirror. ‘Jindera’s my friend. I’ve no intention of staying away from her.’
    Aunt Ida’s frown carved crevices between her brows. ‘I’ve got Carsten Whitby in the room downstairs, of which I’m sure you are aware. I’ve spent the last hour apologising for your absence.’
    Taking out a handkerchief, I wiped it over my face, getting rid of the dusty smears. ‘Did he bring news of my father? When is he coming home?’
    ‘Whitby didn’t say.’
    Something in her voice made me glance at her. It was no secret that she disapproved of my frequent visits to the encampment, and we often had words. But today she seemed subdued, almost depressed.
    ‘What is it, Aunt?’
    There was a long silence. Finally she said quietly, ‘The clan doesn’t want you there. Jindera is indulging you by letting you visit, but the elders resent your presence. They see you as a threat. You might not care about putting yourself at risk, but when are you going to learn to think about others?’
    ‘Fa Fa lets me go.’
    Aunt Ida shook her head, and placed the jar of cornflower on my dresser. ‘Rub that into your face. You’ve neglected to wear your hat again. You’ve already got colour on your cheeks. My word, Brenna, don’t you ever listen? Your Mama’s last words to me were to keep you out of the sun, so you wouldn’t end up—’ She made a clearing sound in her throat. ‘And look at your hair! I’d not be surprised if Whitby caught one glimpse of you and ran for the hills.’
    Tucking away my handkerchief, I opened the jar of cornflour. White clouds puffed out as I swirled my wad of lamb’s wool in the powder, then daubed it on my face. Sitting back, I examined the effect in the mirror, tilting my head to the side.
    ‘What brings Whitby here, anyway?’
    ‘He has come to speak to you.’
    I whirled on my seat. ‘Whatever about?’
    My aunt’s lips thinned against her teeth, but she did not reply.
    Lately, the topic of Whitby had become something of an obsession for her; she sang his praises at every opportunity, and was constantly reminding me of his various virtues. Did you know , she would say, her eyebrows shooting up as if the thought had just occurred to her, Whitby has a stable of fine horses? You like horses, don’t you, Brenna?
    Why was she suddenly so restrained?
    As I changed out of my dusty clothes, I studied her in the mirror. Sweat patches had formed on her blouse, and her face looked puffy and unusually pale. She was frowning fixedly at the cornflour, as if it were somehow responsible for her woes.
    I sighed. ‘Oh Aunt, I do wish you’d stop worrying. I’m sure you’re wrong about Jindera’s clan. They don’t mind me being there.’
    Aunt Ida stood silently for a time, then hurried out the door and vanished into the shadows of the hallway, the volume of her skirts whispering after her like an eddy of dry leaves. A moment later she returned carrying a small burlap-wrapped parcel.
    ‘Here,’ she said, placing the bundle on my dressing table. ‘If you insist on visiting the encampment, then for heaven’s sake keep your wits about you. And make sure you carry that on you at all times.’
    I caught a whiff of gun oil,