Lizzie, My Love

by Sara Bennett - Lizzie, My Love

  “Lizzie Banister,” he whispered, “have I ever told you you’ve the longest lashes of any woman of my acquaintance?”

  She felt his lips on her cheek, gently caressing. Her heart had begun to beat irregularly, and her body stiffened in self-defense.

  “Don’t,” she said in a strangled voice.

  He laughed, and nibbled at her ear, sending a series of shocking thrills over the sensitive skin. “I’d like to meet the man who finally tames you,” he told her.

  “You needn’t be afraid it’ll be you,” she said jerkily, and heard him catch his breath.

  “If I wanted to, I could have had you on collar and lead by now,” he told her after a moment. “Eating out of my hand, Lizzie!”

  Her furious silence challenged that statement.

  He tilted up her chin, and bending kissed her lightly on the lips. “If I want something badly enough, I take it,” he said.

  With a twist of her body she was free, standing facing him angrily. “How dare you presume I would want. . . that I would... how dare you!”

  But he laughed. “If I wanted a mistress, I would find myself a soft, pliant kitten of a woman. Not an alley cat with claws. As it so happens I want a housekeeper, nothing more.”

  “And an... an alley cat will do for that?” she spat.

  “Oh, admirably.”

  ‘Lizzie? Mr. Gray?” Jane appeared in the doorway, looking from one to the other uncertainly. Zek Gray stepped forward with a smile.

  “Jane. Or is it Mrs. Duff, now?”

  “Jane, Mr. Gray. You know I consider you a proper friend.”

  “Then Zek, please, Jane. Lizzie and I have had a little chat, and she has been kind enough to offer to help me out of difficulty. I need a housekeeper, and your sister has accepted that position.”

  Jane looked at Lizzie wide-eyed. “Lizzie, you know you don’t have to go. You know that Johnny and I would only be too glad…” And yet, underneath it all, did Jane not seem relieved?

  Lizzie came forward to take her sister’s hands. “I know, love, and I’m grateful. But... Mr. Gray has work for me, and I am someone who needs to work. You and Johnny don’t need me now. I’d only be in the way.”

  “Oh Lizzie.” Jane hugged her so hard she was smothered.

  Behind them Zek Gray said dryly, “I think we should start tonight, Miss Banister. There’s no point in dawdling. And besides, in a few hours it’ll be daylight.”

  Lizzie glared at him. “I will collect my bag.”

  Jane met his eyes when she had gone. “You will look after her, Mr. ... Zek?”

  “Don’t you trust me, Jane?” The dark eyes mocked. “You did, once.”

  She hung her head. “Lizzie is not like me. She’s like a child, sometimes. And she speaks her mind, and can be... unreasonable. But she’s loyal and honest and...”

  “All things admirable, I’m sure.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t hit her. I promise you that, and believe me such a promise will exhaust my will-power!”

  She smiled.

  “And I’ll remember what you said to me in confidence before,” he added in a softer voice. “Jane, she doesn’t seem—“

  She flushed, opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Johnny appeared at her side, a little the worse for drink. He kissed her on the mouth, grinning rather idiotically. Jane chuckled, and slipped away to help Lizzie pack.

  Lizzie had already changed into her old brown gown, and was sitting staring at her bag.

  “Liz? Are you quite sure?”

  Her sister looked up, brown eyes sparkling with the light of battle. “Sure as I can be. And don’t worry, I’ll show Mr. Gray what a proper housekeeper is. And I’ll show him, too, what a proper lady is. He’ll be sorry he... well, he’ll be sorry.”

  The two girls went outside, and Johnny helped Lizzie up on to the saddle, fixing her bag in place. Zek mounted in front.

  “Put your arms around me, Miss Banister,” he said silkily, and even contrived to make that simple request improper.

  “Must I?”

  “Unless you wish to fall off.”

  She put her arms around him as though he was a sack of potatoes, her muscles rigid with disgust. He smiled down at Bess and Johnny, and touched his heels to the horse’s sides, sending it galloping off on to the road. Lizzie clung on, straining back over her shoulder to see the last of the tavern and her little sister. They were swallowed up in a moment, in the darkness of the bush. She had an urge to weep.

  “I beg you not to dampen my coat,” came a sarcastic voice from in front of her.

  “You... I hate you!”

  “Hardly sentiments an employee should be expressing to her employer.”

  She bit her lip. “I was worrying. About Jane and... Did you know Mr. Duff is... was transported?”

  There was a pause. “I take it that fact upsets your snobbish, narrow little mind, Lizzie?”

  He sounded cold, and scornful, the caressing note quite gone from his deep voice. She didn’t think she liked it as well; she certainly didn’t like the implied criticism.

  “I just don’t think it’s proper, that’s all!”

  “And would you consider it more proper if Jane had found herself a rich merchant who was everything he should be in the eyes of the world, but who had the unfortunate habit of beating her in private and making her the most miserable girl in the colony?”

  “I didn’t mean that! You twist my words.”

  He shrugged. “Then make your judgments with the things that matter.”

  “I was trying to!”

  “Lizzie,” he said quietly, “sometimes I find myself disliking you intensely.”

  They rode on in silence. After a time the anger left her, and she became drowsy, and her head nodded, eyelids drooping. At some stage she half woke, aware that she was no longer riding pillion, but had somehow been transferred to the front and was lying across the saddle, her head turned into his chest while one strong arm supported her. But she was too tired to be outraged by this fact, and fell asleep again almost at once.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE woke to full daylight, blinking like a possum in a tree.

  “Here,” said Zek Gray, and something soft and aromatic was placed in her hand. Bread? She took a bite of the thick slices and tasted cheese. She began to look about her with more interest.

  They were in a town. One wide street and a few cottages with verandahs. A group of men by a blacksmith’s open doors eyed them with the interest of people who rarely saw strangers. She cuddled closer before she realized what she was doing, and jerked away, looking at him accusingly.

  An eyebrow lifted mockingly. “You’ve slept like a child, Miss Banister.”

  She wasn’t certain if that was a compliment or otherwise. Knowing Zek Gray, she suspected it was otherwise. She cleared her throat.

  “Do you think I may stretch my legs, Mr. Gray?”

  After a moment he nodded. They were outside the town now, and she found shelter for her bodily concerns. When she returned he was sitting on a stump, smoking something foul-smelling she rather thought was a cigar.

  “There’s water here,” he said, and she saw the water-bottle beside him. It tasted rather warm, but it was good.

  Her limbs were stiff and cramped, and she stretched a moment, grateful for the freedom from the horse, until she caught him watching her, rather like a circus ringmaster watches one of his acts. He rose to his feet then, and remounted, holding down his hand. His fingers closed hard on hers, and he swung her up with ease, so that she sat behind him again, her arms about his waist. The horse pranced a little, evidently feeling more refreshed from the break than Lizzie. She clung tighter, feeling the thud of his heart, and the rigid control of his body as he set the animal back on the road.

  Lizzie sighed. She was quite sure Cook would never have approved of this sort of thing. It was quite unladylike to ride pillion with a man of his character. But this was not England, and things were just not the same, no m
atter how hard she tried to pretend they were. Perhaps that was what made it so difficult to continue acting in a manner befitting a woman of good morals and principles?

  His voice interrupted these cogitations.

  “We have to cross the mountains before we can get to Bathurst, which is on the other side,” he said.

  Looking ahead she saw them. Quite blue they were too, seemingly covered in impenetrable bush, and dauntingly alien to an eye used to seeing nature under control by man.

  “It’s not that they’re particularly high mountains,” he went on. “But they consist of lots of ridges and ravines, so the going can be slow and tedious, if the weather’s at all bad.”

  Lizzie swallowed. “Aren’t... aren’t there bushrangers?”

  His smile was sardonic, as he glanced at her pale face over his shoulder. “You’d be a match for any bushrangers, Miss Banister.”

  She stiffened up with anger, like the alley cat he’d likened her to.

  After a moment he added, “Put your hand in the saddle-bag on the left. That’s it. Now what do you feel?”

  She looked at him. “A gun!”

  “Precisely,” he said, and she knew that her breathless statement had amused him. She was constantly amusing him, it seemed! Well, once they reached this farm of his and she settled in to the way of things, this journey would be but a bad dream.

  She imagined how it would be, the two-storey farmhouse with roses at the door, and... and green fields for cows and sheep. A stream nearby, maybe, and a village a brisk walk down the road. She smiled, the fact that she was thinking in terms of an English scene not disturbing her in the least.

  As the day wore on, the land grew much hillier, and the bush much denser. They climbed, twisting this way and that, past gullies and ravines, sometimes the inclines by the road were littered with half-covered rocks and boulders, precariously poised. They stopped around noon for some salted meat and more of the bread. Zek Gray started a small fire with leisurely expertise, and began to brew some tea. The silence was quite frightening, and apart from the call of birds, they might have been the only two people left in the world.

  Lizzie walked into the trees a little, until she came to a mighty chasm, and stood gazing down at the sheer, crumbling rock face, studded with tall, green-grey gums. Far below, trees massed in the narrow bottom, their tops effectively screening her sight from what lay beneath. She felt her heart catch at the sight, and for the first time since her arrival in Sydney Town, Lizzie did not feel quite so distrustful of the country.

  When she returned, the tea was ready, and she took it uncomplainingly, watching Zek over the wave of rising heat which the flames made in the still, hot air.

  “It might make a storm if it doesn’t cool down,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Are you frightened of thunder, Miss Banister?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be.” He looked away, missing her glare.

  She sipped the tea, shifting her boots away as a number of ants began to move purposefully towards them. The ground seemed dry, and she perched on a boulder to keep her skirts as clean as possible. The trees hovered about them, rising far into the overcast sky, their trunks smooth and white. Ghost gums, Zek Gray had called them. And there were blue gums, and iron barks. All strange to poor Lizzie.

  “How long have you been in Australia, Mr. Gray?”

  “Almost fifteen years,” he said. “I came out when I was not quite twenty, and I’ve only been on a few business trips out of the country since.” He smiled mockingly. “Not that I have spent all that time in this part of the colony, Miss Banister. I have had rather a... eh, chequered career.”

  She gave him a look. “So I should imagine.”

  He laughed softly. “A man can make quite a bit of money from sheep, though the work’s hard. That’s what I mainly farm, Miss Banister. Sheep.”

  “I see.”

  He eyed her consideringly. “Do you? I’m beginning to wonder if I do. I enjoy it, I suppose, or I wouldn’t have stuck it this long, but sometimes I wonder how I’ll feel in another twenty years or so. I suppose I could sell up now, and move on, but... I’m thirty-five, Miss Banister. I suppose I should be thinking of settling down permanently. But somehow a wife and brats has never appealed much to me.”

  She flushed indignantly. “Brats! You mean children, Mr. Gray.”

  He smiled. “For all your righteous anger, Miss Banister, I didn’t notice you having much success with the... eh, child, at your sister’s wedding.”

  “I’m sure,” she said maliciously, “you’d make an excellent father.”

  He watched her for a moment, black eyes narrowing. “Why aren’t you married, Miss Banister?”

  “I...” her look was accusing, “I did not have the opportunity while I was younger, and now of course I am too old.”

  He laughed, tossing the dregs from his cup to one side. “Oh indeed, you’re nearly four score and ten years, I take it?”

  “Hardly that.”

  “No lovers? No tragic stories to tell me? No sweethearts tragically struck down before the banns could be called?”

  She remembered the stolen kiss in the passageway, and bowed her head so that he wouldn’t see her flush.

  His smile was crooked. “I see.”

  “It’s not... that is... I have not...” But he looked so smug she was suddenly angry, and looked up with sparkling brown eyes. “You, of course, have led a blameless life, Mr. Gray?”

  “Well, Miss Banister, I hardly expected anything like this from you! Can it be you’re hinting you want to hear about my amours? All of them? Have we the time?”

  “You know very well I don’t wish to hear your sordid stories.”

  His smile mocked her. “No? Another time then?”

  He turned away before she could retort. She was burning with contempt and frustration, but she kept it inside, bubbling, while they rode off. She was his housekeeper. His lecherous life was nothing to do with her. If some women were willing to respond to his black, bold looks then let them make fools of themselves. Lizzie Banister had far too much good sense.

  They reached Bathurst in the darkness. The thunder had been rumbling about them, and lightning showed them the way. Lizzie had dozed against his back, her arms aching, her legs cramped from the unfamiliar position. The town was revealed to her as a number of impressive-looking stone buildings and smaller houses, in a wide dusty street. It was quite a large settlement and if it hadn’t been for the daggers of lightning piercing the sky she might have gazed about with more interest.

  “This is the York Hotel,” Zek said, his voice startling her.

  She saw the bulk of a two-storey building, and was grateful to slide down and cling to the railings while a youngish man came running to take the horse. Doors opened, lamplight shone, and somehow they were inside a modest, clean entrance hall. A woman with a big white apron came forward, smiling.

  “Mr. Gray!”

  He spoke with her, while Lizzie leaned with exhaustion against the wall, and watched him a little dizzily. He looked tired too, and a little the worse for wear; his face was dark with stubble, his hair dusty. She herself felt gritty and dusty, and longed for nothing so much as a wash and bed.

  “Miss Banister?” She looked up. The woman, who was introduced to her as Mrs. O’Driscoll, was smiling. “Your room is this way.”

  Upstairs they went, and it was not until she turned on the landing that she realized Zek Gray was still standing down in the hall. He grinned up at her, looking more than ever like a dangerous rake in his dishevelled condition.

  “I have business to attend to in the morning,” he said. “We will meet for luncheon, hmm?”

  “Thank you.”

  His mouth curled a little into laughter. “‘My pleasure! Sleep well, Lizzie.”

  Her room was small but clean, and Lizzie was glad of the privacy to wash and fall into bed. She was more tired than she had ever been before in her life, and soon fell asleep.

 
***

  She woke suddenly, lying and blinking at her surroundings. The room was light, because she had forgotten to draw the curtains, and she rose, various aches and pains causing her to groan as she made her way to the window.

  The room looked out to the stables and courtyard at the back of the York Hotel. It seemed quite busy, and she could hear clatter and voices from the lower storey of the building.

  The water from last night had cooled, but she washed again, sponging herself all over, and dressed in her grey serge. Housekeeper material, she felt, brushing her hair and fixing it rigorously into a knot at her nape.

  Breakfast was brought to her on a tray, and she ate well, feeling ravenous after her previous exertions. She wondered what business Zek Gray had to perform, but put him from her mind as swiftly as possible. She thought instead of her sister and new husband, as she descended the stairs to the hall.

  Mrs. O’Driscoll came, smiling good mornings. “Mr. Gray was up early,” she offered. “Perhaps you’ll see him at lunch?”

  “Yes, he said something of the sort.”

  She smiled warmly, and Lizzie knew Zek had taken another victim hook, line and sinker.

  “Mr. Gray is quite often a visitor here. I must say I look forward to seeing him—he has a way with the ladies of Bathurst, has Mr. Gray. Quite a heartbreaker.”

  “So I believe,” Lizzie murmured dryly.

  Mrs. O’Driscoll was dying to find out who or what Lizzie was, but when Lizzie didn’t enlighten her she made excuses of work to be done and went away.

  With a sigh of relief, Lizzie slipped outside into the street.

  The sun was warm on her head, and she made her way with a leisurely tread along the building fronts, gazing about her with wide-eyed interest. There were plenty of people about, and vehicles and horses. Everything seemed in a bustle this morning. There were a lot of red-coated soldiers about, too, and she remembered hearing somewhere that Bathurst was a military post.

  It seemed quite fashionable for such a provincial centre. There were lots of shops, and she spent some time gazing a little enviously at the lacy gowns and daring hats. “Of course, they would look quite ridiculous on me,” she said briskly to herself, “like a ... a hedge sparrow done up as a peacock.” But her voice was a little mournful.