Five days later, Kitty and Sarah left Adelaide with Ralph at the break of dawn to travel to Port Augusta, where they boarded the Ghan train, their luggage neatly stowed in their sleepers by the porters. Over the three-day journey, they settled into a calm routine, accompanied by the rhythmic chug of the train as it pulled them through the increasingly rugged and empty red desert. Kitty was happy to have Sarah with her, not only for her practical nature, but also for her enthusiasm – her constant delight at every turn of the journey helped Kitty to see the landscape through fresh eyes.
They spent the long afternoons in the observation car, Sarah’s face glued to the window as she announced each new sight and sound to her mistress.
‘Camels!’ she gasped, pointing to a line of them snaking through the landscape.
‘Yes, the steward mentioned they’re most likely travelling to meet the train at the next station,’ said Ralph without glancing up from his papers. And sure enough, when they stopped at Oodnadatta, Sarah watched with rapt attention as the Afghan cameleers, dressed in their white turbans and flowing robes, collected supplies from the train and packed them onto their own stalwart and elegant chauffeurs of the desert.
With Sarah by her side, Kitty too watched the changing scenery of red mountains, shining white salt flats and azure blue rivers, marvelling that, after all these decades in Australia, its interior had passed her by.
They arrived in Alice Springs onto a packed platform, where it seemed as if the entire town had arrived to greet the train. They squeezed through the clamouring crowd and Ralph organised a pony and cart to take them to the main street of the town.
They were deposited in front of what proudly named itself the Springs Hotel. With their driver bringing up the rear carrying their cases, they stepped into a dark and dusty reception area.
‘Not quite what you’re used to, is it, Missus M?’ Sarah whispered into her ear as Ralph asked if the proprietor, Mrs Randall – a grizzled woman who looked as though she bathed in gin regularly – had any spare rooms. She did, and they were each given a key.
‘Privy’s out the back, an’ there’s a water barrel for washing in.’
‘Thank you,’ Kitty said, nodding at the woman as Sarah pulled a face to show what she thought of the sanitary arrangements.
‘Blimey, even the orphanage ’ad an inside privy,’ she whispered.
‘I’m sure we’ll survive,’ said Kitty as they made their way up the wooden stairs.
All three of them were exhausted that night and ate dinner early in the tiny downstairs parlour.
‘Mrs Randall says that Kilgarra cattle station is two days’ ride away. So I’ll set about finding someone to take me there. Will you be accompanying me?’ asked Ralph.
‘No,’ Kitty said firmly. ‘We only have ten days here and I wish to see Ayers Rock. I’m sure you’ll be able to report back to me on the situation, Ralph. Now, I think I will retire for the night. The journey here has quite exhausted me.’
Upstairs in her basic room, she lay on the hard horsehair mattress and gazed through the pane of glass that wore its outer dust as a second skin. She knew Drummond wouldn’t be at the cattle station – he couldn’t have risked being recognised. Yet however much logic told her he could be anywhere in this vast landscape, being here in the Outback made him feel close, somehow.
This is his place, his land . . .
‘Kitty,’ she spoke fiercely to herself, ‘you have just officially had him declared dead. Besides, he is almost certainly no more than bones by now . . .’
With this stern talking-to administered, Kitty rolled over and fell asleep.
*
Outside the hotel the following morning Ralph looked more than a little nervous as he sat on a cart next to his Aboriginal driver.
‘This’ll be an adventure to tell Ruth and Eddie about, won’t it?’ he said, giving Kitty and Sarah a strained smile. ‘God willing, I’ll see you both at the end of the week. Right, let’s be on our way.’
The driver gave the pony a tap and the cart rumbled off down the dusty street.
‘Rather ’im than me, Missus M. Blimey, it’s ’ot!’ Sarah fanned herself. ‘I were thinking I should go to the draper’s across the road and see if I can buy some material to make us a couple o’ sun bonnets, with netting across ’em to keep these blinkin’ flies out o’ me face.’ Sarah swatted one that had landed on her cheek.
‘Good idea,’ Kitty agreed. ‘I suggest we spend the day here in town and travel to Ayers Rock tomorrow.’
‘Right you are, Missus M. When I come back, I’ll do me best to wash your smalls in that barrel outside.’
Having given Sarah some coins from her purse, she watched the girl disappear into the crowded street. It was bustling with a mixture of white and Aboriginal people, the road busy with men on horseback, ponies and carts and the odd car. The scene took her back to her early days in Broome – a multicultural mix of humanity, determined to make its way in a harsh, unforgiving environment.
Having eaten lunch and unused these days to the sweltering heat, Kitty went back inside the hotel and took refuge under the ceiling fan above her bed. As dusk fell and the heat of the day abated, she decided she would take a walk outside or she would never sleep tonight. Arriving downstairs in the tiny reception, Mrs Randall looked up from a man she was talking to over the counter.
‘Good evening, Mrs Mercer. Marshall says he’ll be here bright and early to take you out ta the Rock. Best if you travel before the sun’s up, so he suggests four o’clock tomorrow morning. That all right with you?’
‘Thank you. That will be perfect.’
Kitty had just turned the door handle when Mrs Randall added, ‘Just the two of you for supper tonight, is it? Maybe Mr D here can join you.’
‘I . . .’
The man had turned round and was now staring straight at her, his blue eyes wide in his nut-brown skin above a fuzz of grey beard.
Kitty clutched the front door for support, her gaze unable to leave his.
‘O’ course, if you would prefer to eat separately, I can arrange it.’ Mrs Randall looked bemused as her two guests continued to stare at each other.
‘It’s up to the lady,’ he said eventually.
Kitty tried to form a reply, but her brain was simply scrambled.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Mercer, love? You’ve gone ever such a funny colour, you have.’
‘Yes . . .’ She tried hard to release her hand from the doorknob, but knew she may well fall over if she did. With an almighty effort, she turned it to pull the door open. ‘I’m going out.’
In the street, Kitty turned blindly and began to walk briskly away from the hotel.
It cannot be . . . it just cannot be . . .
‘Kitty!’
At the sound of his voice behind her, her legs broke into a run. She turned down a narrow lane, not caring where she was going as long as he couldn’t catch her.