Noni was eager for everything he had to give her, taunting him, pleading, spurring him on to higher levels of excitement. Guided by her needs, he transformed her wild, clumsy movements into a rhythm that satisfied them both.
He paused to give her time to catch her breath. ‘I reckon you’ve done this before, girl. Who would have suspected you were so eager?’ His laugh was meant as a gentle tease but she retaliated by biting painfully into his shoulder, so he took his cue from her and played as rough as she wanted.
It was the darkest hour before dawn when he made his move to go. She was lying beneath him, her mouth slack, her eyes narrowed, as he stroked the white skin of her breasts that the sun had never touched.
‘I’d best get back to my own room. Are you all right?’ he asked gently.
Her expression instantly placed him back in a class far beneath her.
‘Yes, I’ve finished with you, Rom Delaney. Get out of this house – now! Before my aunt returns. I’ll make sure she never pays you a penny.’
He almost laughed at the trap he had walked into. ‘Hang on a minute, this was all your idea.’
‘No gentleman would have done the things you did. It was disgusting.’
‘Then don’t beg the next bloke to do it to you.’
The double-handed swipe across his face drew blood at the corner of his mouth.
Rom smiled to heighten her anger. ‘I get the message. You’re willing to couple with me in the dark, but you’ll cut me dead in the street. Don’t worry, Noni, you can return to Hoffnung with your reputation intact. Sonny’s virginal bride – if he’ll have you.’
Too proud to scramble around for his clothes, he grabbed his trousers and boots and hurried down the stairs followed by the insults she hurled at him like a fishwife. She locked the door behind him.
Rom set off down the open road that led to Hoffnung. Luck came his way when he flagged down a lift with the mail cart.
Curly Grogden rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘Hop in, lad. Lost your shirt at poker, did you?’
‘You could say that.’
Rom tried to erase the whole night from his mind. All his work had come to nothing. He could hardly ask Miss James for his wages. There was only one thing left for him to do – volunteer. But first he needed to see Clytie.
The priest’s house was in darkness but moonlight came to his rescue as he climbed through her window . . .
• • •
Now, as he walked the final half-mile to the Jantzen mansion, Rom armed himself with the memory of his humiliating exit that night, in order to steel himself for whatever was to come.
He reminded himself of the anonymous newspaper cuttings he had received in South Africa about the Jantzens’ wedding, and the birth notice that appeared in The Age five months later.
Rom wondered if Sonny had any doubts about his son’s paternity. Let’s hope the kid looks like Noni and not me.
The mine owner’s house appeared in sight over the next rise in the road. The original single-storey building of bluestone had had a second storey added at a later date. The two shades of bluestone, quarried from different places, had not yet blended, but despite this minor imperfection it remained by far the grandest residence in the locality, complete with carriage house, stables, barn, orchard and manicured lawns.
In front of the house was a large paddock, treeless and covered with rich green lucerne. Grazing in the corner, a Shetland pony gave a whinny of either welcome or warning as Rom approached the house.
The road ended abruptly beside the house. Rom took refuge in a clump of golden Black Wattle trees. He needed time to collect his thoughts about how to handle whatever he discovered.
He tried to convince himself the prime factor that had drawn him here was curiosity to see Noni’s kid – his only living son. But was that strictly the truth? Something nagged at the back of his mind.
The doors of the carriage house were wide open, revealing it was empty. Whatever carriages the Jantzens owned would be the most expensive in town. He felt a wave of frustration. If Noni was absent, what the hell was his next move? Should he make himself known to Sonny, a charming, friendly man who had never looked down on him? How could he explain his presence here?
You stupid bastard, Delaney, you didn’t think this whole thing through.
Rom was just about to head back, his mission aborted, when he caught sight of a servant girl hanging washing on the clothesline at the rear of the house. If nothing else, he could enquire about their expected return.
Luck came his way. The imposing front door, framed in leadlight panels, opened to reveal Noni Jantzen. She was dressed in the kind of stylish afternoon gown Rom had seen worn by upper-class English ladies in South Africa. No surprise. Noni was always the first to copy English fashions.
I reckon she’s never been guilty of soiling her hands with housework since the day she dragged Sonny to the altar.
Rom knew he was being unfair but was in no mood to play the gent.
Her shady straw hat protected the pearl white skin he remembered only too well. He had explored every inch of it.
I hope you’re doing the right thing by Sonny, he’s a good bloke. And no doubt a decent father.
That thought was a double-edged sword – both consolation and envy.
He recognised the pretty Aboriginal servant as Alice, the girl he had seen at the back row of the circus and who had smiled shyly when he greeted her by name.
Now enveloped in a long apron she carried a laden tea tray to an iron garden table, dropped a curtsy to Noni before she scurried back inside the house.
To Rom’s surprise Noni did not hesitate. She picked up her skirt in one gloved hand and made her way purposefully towards the wattle trees.
She’s seen me. No backing out now.
Her eyes were blinking rapidly from anger – or was it fear?
‘What do you think you are doing here, Delaney?’ she snapped. ‘My husband shall return at any moment. I strongly advise you not to let him find you here.’
‘What will he do? Shoot me?’ Rom asked laconically.
‘Mr Jantzen wouldn’t lower himself to your level.’
She calls her husband Mr Jantzen. Who does she think she is? One of Jane Austen’s heroines?
Noni darted a nervous glance down the road. ‘Answer me. What are you doing here? I’m happily married. You’d best forget me.’
‘Forget you?’ Rom barely contained himself. ‘Jesus, you have got tickets on yourself. Sorry to disappoint you, girl. I never gave you a passing thought after that night I walked out of your aunt’s house in Bitternbird.’
He was pleased to see her pale cheeks flush pink.
‘Haven’t you heard my good luck?’ he continued. ‘I got myself engaged to a really lovely girl, Clytie Hart.’
‘Yes – and left her to carry your bastard child.’
Rom wanted to wound her in return. ‘Consider yourself lucky, Mrs J. Our little mite died in his cot.’
Noni averted her eyes. ‘So I heard. No woman deserves that, illegitimate or not.’
Rom reminded himself why he was here. ‘Those anonymous newspaper clippings you sent me in South Africa about your wedding and your son’s birth. Why did you bother?’
‘How dare you! I would never dream of contacting you.’
‘Was it Sonny, then?’
‘Mr Jantzen is a gentleman. He would never stoop to an anonymous note.’
‘Does he know?’
‘Know what?’
‘That his son is mine.’
For a moment she looked vulnerable and Rom fought off the danger to go soft on her. It was only at that moment he was one hundred per cent sure he was the boy’s father.
‘So, you’ve come here to blackmail me. Well, I won’t give in to your lust a second time.’
‘Don’t kid yourself. I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole. I only came here to see the kid. Make sure he’s well and happy. What’s his name?’
‘Maximilian George Pete
r Jantzen.’
‘Quite a mouthful. When can I see him?’
‘You can’t!’ she returned crisply.
‘You have no choice, Mrs Jantzen. If you don’t let me see him I shall contact Sonny and tell him the truth. As you say, he’s a true gent. He’d never expose you for your one night of indiscretion with a common labourer – or would he?’
‘Damn you! Wait down there by the horse paddock.’ She glanced nervously back at the house. ‘If the servants see you it will be all over Hoffnung.’
Within minutes she returned, carrying the baby in her arms. Rom felt his throat constrict at the sight of him. The little face was pure sunshine. He wore a white dress and leggings in the style of children of the English gentry. Unlike that of his blonde parents, Maximilian’s hair was dark brown.
Excited by sighting the pony, the child waved and chortled at it. Noni seated him on the pony, steadying him and talking to give him confidence as she led the pony closer to the sliprail fence.
Rom watched their every move. She’s a decent mother, I’ll give her that.
Unprompted, little Maximilian waved a greeting to Rom and patted the pony’s mane.
‘Clever boy!’ Rom said. ‘You’ll be a great rider one day – like your father.’
Noni flinched, recognising the words were aimed at her. She cut across them quickly, pointing to Rom.
‘That man used to shovel coal for your grandfather. Wave goodbye to him, like a good boy.’
The lad obediently gave Rom a cheerful wave and Noni led the pony back to the house. A nursemaid emerged to take charge of the boy. The three re-entered the house.
Rom waited. He knew women. Noni would return, determined to have the final word. She did.
‘Are you satisfied now, Delaney? As you can see he’s healthy, well fed and expensively clothed. He has everything money can buy. When he’s older he’ll attend the best boarding school in Melbourne. My husband adores him, says Maximilian has given him a whole new lease of life.’
Did he detect a pleading note in her voice? It was widely accepted Sonny had weak lungs and was unlikely to make old bones. Had motherhood softened her?
The words seemed to bite in his throat. ‘Glad to hear it. Every boy needs a devoted father to look up to. But what of his mother? Are you planning a brother or sister for Max to play with? If you have any more trouble, I’d be happy to volunteer.’
He regretted the cruel barb the moment the words were out but knew they had struck home and it gave him a measure of satisfaction.
‘Sonny is not a well man. We are lucky to have the child we have,’ she said with such dignity that Rom felt ashamed.
‘Forgive me. I have no right to condemn you. I ran away to enlist. You did the best thing possible for little Max. Thanks for allowing me to see him. I won’t trouble you again – or Sonny. You have my word on that.’
‘Huh! What is that worth?’
‘I never broke a promise to you, Noni, because I never made one. But I’ll go something better than that. I’ll give you the word of a V.M.R. Digger.’
He gave her a mock salute. He had only gone a few paces down the road when he remembered. ‘Just one thing more. What is Max’s birthday?’
‘Maximilian,’ she corrected. ‘No need for you to know. You won’t be in contact again.’
Rom strode down the road whistling The Girl I Left Behind Me in an attempt to raise his spirits. He felt cheated for some reason he could not define.
Sulphur-crested cockatoos squawked and shrieked as they looped-the-loop in the shadows of the bush. Rom made a mental list of the things he planned to do before he returned to Finch in the derelict cabin, the only place he had ever been able to call home.
The sight of the approaching buggy gave him a few desperate seconds to come up with an excuse for his presence on the road that led nowhere but to the Jantzen house. Sonny drew the horse to a halt and extended his hand to Rom with a smile that appeared genuine, free of suspicion. Rom noticed the lines engraved too early in the handsome young face, the indelible signs of a long illness.
‘What a pleasant surprise. Welcome home, Rom. It’s good to see you safe and sound. You’re quite the local hero.’
Rom returned the warm handshake. ‘No hero. Just did my bit like the rest of the V.M.R. lads.’ He added quickly, ‘I came out here hoping to see you and to ask a favour. A mate of mine has just returned from the Front. He’s looking for work. Strong as an ox and full of book learning. He’s got more than one lingo under his belt. I wondered if you were free to give him a bit of advice. His name’s Finch – he’s like a brother to me. He saved my life.’
‘It would be an honour to assist him any way I can. I’m seldom at the mine. Tell him to visit me here and we’ll talk. But what about your own plans? I’m – I’m terribly sorry about your loss –’
Rom cut him short. ‘Don’t worry about me, Sonny. I’ve got several irons in the fire.’ He didn’t want to discuss Robert’s death with the man who was raising his surviving son. There was an odd expression in Sonny’s eyes he had never seen before. Was it wistful? Yearning for something he could never have?
Rom added casually, as if on an afterthought, ‘Just one thing. I haven’t yet contacted Clytie – I’m keeping that as a surprise. So if you should cross her path . . .?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ Sonny smiled and crossed his heart. ‘Good luck, Rom. Don’t hesitate to call if I may be of help.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re a good man.’
Sonny drove off, leaving Rom with mixed feelings.
That was a close call. Quick thinking. Thank God I haven’t lost my touch.
As impatient as he was to see Doc Hundey, Rom knew he could not risk being seen visiting either Doc’s house or his surgery. Word would reach Clytie in a flash. That visit needed to be handled with all due care. First he must beard a lioness in her den.
• • •
The small bush hospital had remained unchanged. Rom had never been a patient here, but the reputation of the battleaxe who ran it was known far and wide. The smell of the place was an instant trigger to the past. The combination of antiseptic, chloroform, iodine, sweat and urine was an unpleasant reminder of his weeks in hospital fighting the enteric fever that had killed more soldiers than Boer bullets had done.
The image of the sweet, freckled face of little Kiwi Macqueen suddenly returned with a warning smile for him to show respect to a member of her profession.
All’s fair in love and war, Heather.
Night was falling when he slipped inside the hospital unobserved. The few beds were occupied by sleeping patients. Sister Bracken was nowhere in sight.
The martinet would be a hard nut to crack, but he was determined not to leave until he had extracted details of the last hours of his son’s life. He crossed to the desk where a medical chart lay open. The sight of it struck him forcibly.
I can’t be sure if it’s the same handwriting as that anonymous letter – but I’d lay odds it is. Why on earth would that crabby nurse bother to contact me?
He seated himself on the windowsill and prepared to wait.
• • •
Sister Bracken stood framed in the doorway. Startled, she took a step backwards.
‘Rom Delaney! I thought you were dead!’
He shrugged it off. ‘Sorry to disappoint you. I’m living proof the reports were exaggerated. I’m the proverbial bad penny – I always turn up.’
Without invitation he seated himself in front of her desk. He gestured to her handwriting then pointed an accusing finger at her.
Her face blanched. Clearly unnerved by his presence, she did not bother to deny the silent accusation.
‘What do you want? Why have you come here?’ She stammered but covered her nerves with a show of arrogance. ‘I have a hospital to run.’
The gall of the woman. Who does she think she is?
‘Doc thinks highly of your expertise – it’d be a pity to disillusion him.’
Rom folded his arms an
d waited, now sure of his ground. His intended silence would unnerve her.
‘If you want to know about Miss Hart’s son I suggest you ask her.’
He leaned forward, his hands flexing with barely controlled anger.
She shrank back in the chair. ‘I presume you want to hear from me how the Hart baby died.’
The Hart baby. Rom steeled himself not to interrupt the nervous flow of her explanation, and kept his eyes fixed on her face. His silence frightened her more than any words could.
Her answer came in a rush. ‘He was five days old, born a few weeks early – but strong and healthy. It was the second night of the mine disaster. Five men were trapped in a flooded shaft. Doctor Hundey was down in the mine for two days and nights, fighting to free them. He performed surgery unaided at the scene. He saved four men’s lives. He could hardly be in two places at once.’
She sounds like she’s giving evidence to a coroner.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘Miss Hart’s baby was perfectly healthy when I checked on him at three in the morning. When it was time for his six o’clock feed I found him in his cot. Cold. His face blue. I tell you I did everything humanly possible to restore his breathing. I massaged him, gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I hate failing. But it was too late. He had slipped away in his sleep.’
Cold. Blue. Rom tried to dismiss the graphic images from his mind.
‘Doctor came straight from the mine. It was a simple case of crib death. Doctor will tell you it was no one’s fault. It sometimes happens to healthy babes – for no known reason. More often to boy babies and in the first months of their life. No known reason,’ she repeated as her voice cracked with strain.
Rom shied off asking the painful question. On the defensive, Sister Bracken supplied the answer unasked.
‘I suppose you want to know if there was an autopsy. There was no need for one. The death was not due to negligence – or murder. Miss Hart was distraught. I gave her physic to help her sleep. She was suffering badly from childbed fever. Doctor removed her to her cabin against my advice, tended to her himself. A selfless man,’ she ended in desperation.
Golden Hope Page 33
