Colonial Daughter

by Heather Garside

  ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Forrest?’ Lloyd spoke with assumed gallantry, smiling mockingly at her.

  She looked at her half-empty card, inwardly angry with herself for mentioning a subject that should have been ignored. ‘This is useless, since I don’t know which set they are starting. Very well, Mr Kavanagh. The alternative is to be a wallflower.’

  She quickly discovered that though Lloyd had a good sense of rhythm, he wasn’t an accomplished dancer. Of course, he wouldn’t have endured hours of instruction as she had in preparation for her Sydney debut. It didn’t seem to matter, though, so aware was she of his arm about her waist and his eyes looking into hers, smiling, knowing more than was good for him. His confidence infuriated her, but it was too late to wish she’d refused him. However the music gradually soothed her ruffled feelings and his closeness was intoxicating. By the end of the dance she’d thawed sufficiently to accept his thanks with a gracious smile.

  Between dances she sat against the wall with Mrs Jamieson, Mrs Briton and Mercy, while the men talked in groups or strolled outside to smoke their pipes. Some of them, supposedly unbeknownst to the ladies, had planted bottles outside in the grass so they could refresh themselves between dances. Mercy was flushed and excited, for Lloyd hadn’t forgotten to claim his dance with her. He hadn’t been the only one to seek a space on her card, either. This, her first dance, was beginning to look like a success.

  At ten o’clock supper was provided outside, under the stars. Two coppers were tended by a group of ladies, while several men boiled billies for tea over an open fire. Lloyd got plates for himself and Louise, onto which a woman ladled steaming beef curry from one copper and gluey rice from another.

  ‘Have you been to check on the youngsters yet?’ He settled himself on his heels beside her seat, balancing his plate on his knees.

  ‘No. I shall have to walk up there shortly.’

  ‘Tell me when you’re going, then, if you’d like me to walk with you.’ He grinned and lifted a forkful of curry to his mouth, holding her eyes with his as he chewed it and swallowed. ‘You know, drunks and all that.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, I remember. Drunks. I’m not sure that you’re not fast becoming one yourself.’

  ‘Me?’ He feigned innocence. ‘You know I left the pub a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘You’ve been drinking since then, Lloyd! I’ve noticed you wander outside every time the music stops.’

  He merely laughed and would admit to nothing.

  ‘It’s that Mr Beck. He is a bad influence.’

  Their second dance together was a waltz. As the music came to an end Lloyd swung her around with an exuberance that had never been intended for that sedate dance, so that she came up hard against him. His arm tightened. Then the band was no longer playing and she pulled away, afraid someone might be watching them. A governess of all people could not afford to be seen acting with such abandon.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s time you went up to the house?’ he whispered in her ear, his voice husky.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, desperate to be alone with him, yet knowing in her weakness that he presented more danger to her than a dozen inebriates. ‘I shall meet you outside. I’ll just tell Mrs Jamieson.’

  He waited on the veranda of the Britons’ house while she looked in on the children’s bedroom. Maggie and Annie were sharing one bed, sleeping head to toe, while Agnes and Gertie occupied the other. Maurice, scorning the need for a mattress, was playing tough and was rolled in some blankets on the floor.

  Maggie stirred as Louise surveyed them from the doorway, the kerosene lamp in her hand casting the room into shadow. Louise stepped silently over to the girl’s bed, finding her eyes open.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she whispered. ‘Gertie hasn’t been having one of her nightmares, has she?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Maggie murmured sleepily, rubbing her hand over her eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Twenty past eleven, according to the clock in the hall.’

  ‘What’s the dance like? The music sounds good.’

  ‘It is. Everyone is having a fine old time.’

  ‘I wish I was old enough to go. Has Mr Kavanagh danced with Mercy?’

  ‘Yes, twice, I think. As have several other boys.’

  ‘What about you? It’s you he likes, not Mercy.’

  Louise blushed in the darkness. ‘Now, now, Maggie. Just go back to sleep.’ She tucked the sheets in more securely and brushed her hand over Maggie’s hair. ‘I shall tell you all about it in the morning.’

  She tiptoed outside and settled herself beside Lloyd on the veranda step. He turned to her, smiling. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes. Maggie was awake and wanted to hear all about the dance, but the others are sound asleep.’ She laughed. ‘Maurice is sleeping on the floor. I think he’ll find it a bit hard by morning. He wanted to stay out in the shed with Andrew and Donald.’

  ‘He’s a good little fellow. A bit better than I was at the same age, I think.’ He paused and suddenly said unexpectedly, his voice sober now, ‘Louise, I’m sorry I teased you for bringing that up about Eva. You’ve got a right to be shocked at the way she carried on. But don’t think I’d expect you to be here with me now if I was still seeing her.’

  ‘Oh, Lloyd.’ The gentle apology disarmed her more than anything else could have done.

  He put up his hand and trailed his fingers along her hairline from her forehead to her ear. ‘What would your father say if he knew you were keeping company with a cove like me?’

  ‘It would be brief and to the point.’ She laughed breathlessly; his fingers were caressing her neck now.

  ‘Oh, damn and blast!’ He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. ‘What are we going to do? I don’t want to give you up. Kiss me, Louise.’

  It seemed they could do nothing else. They kissed in a way that would have horrified the respectable matrons up at the dance, until the sound of boots crunching in the gravel caused them to pull guiltily apart. A man walked past the front gate, glancing curiously in their direction.

  ‘This is a bit public,’ Lloyd murmured hoarsely. ‘Are there any dances you have to go back for?’

  ‘Only the one with you. I’m not exactly the most popular girl there tonight, you know.’

  ‘The others are scared of you. They think you’re too good for ‘em.’

  ‘What makes you the exception?’

  ‘You spent a week in the bush with me, remember. Come on, let’s go for a walk. I’ll let you out of that one dance.’

  They wandered down the road towards the lagoon, stepping out of the moonlight into the shadow of a big bottle tree. Lloyd drew her to the far side of the swollen trunk, out of sight of passers-by. He kissed her again, gently at first and then with escalating passion. Louise allowed him to pull her tight, glorying in the closeness of that lean body that pressed so hungrily to hers. The taste of rum in his mouth, mingled with the flavour of pipe tobacco she remembered from that other time, made it all seem somehow wicked and forbidden. Even in her inexperience she almost matched his desire, responding dazedly to his mouth and restless hands.

  She forgot commonsense, duty, morality, putting it all aside as they leaned against the tree-trunk, using its strength to support them while temptation beckoned them one step further. His thigh pressed against her voluminous skirts, finding a space between hers. One of his hands slid to her hip to hold her there, while the other caressed her throat above the neckline of her gown. She murmured encouragingly and as if emboldened by her response he slipped several of the buttons at the front of her bodice, opening it to expose her chemise and tightly-laced corset. His fingers slid under her chemise, stroking the soft rise of her breasts while his mouth dropped to her neck. She tipped her head back and shuddered with pleasure, unable to deny him.

  It was like a weakness in her, a weakness born of the childhood that had known so little love and affection; a weakness bequeathed by a fa
mily that had seldom concerned itself with morality. Now she couldn’t bear to forgo his touch, although she knew the natural ending to their passion would be total folly.

  Lloyd lifted his head and held her for a moment, breathing heavily into her scented hair. Then he resolutely put her away from him and re-buttoned her bodice.

  ‘Louise,’ he murmured huskily, ‘we can’t keep on like this. It’ll only get us into trouble. I know I’m not good enough for you and I haven’t much to offer you, but I want to marry you if you’ll have me.’

  Louise stared up at him hazily, willing him to come back to her. Didn’t he realize that her father would never let her marry him? Couldn’t she at least have this, if nothing else? If the maid from the hotel could have his body, why couldn’t she?

  ‘Oh Lloyd, how can I marry you? I’m under age and my father would never give his consent. It’s impossible until I turn twenty-one.’ She gave a little quivering sigh and moved back close to rest her face against his coat. ‘I never suspected when I first met you at Bauhinia Downs that we’d end up like this. Under normal circumstances we wouldn’t have become acquainted, but it has happened and I’m not sorry.’

  He clasped her shoulders with his hands, moving her away so he could look down at her face. ‘I’m not sorry, either. But if we go too far you’ll have to marry me, whether your parents like it or not. If you’re worried about that little shack, don’t think I’d ask you to live there. I’ll build a decent house, get a couple of black girls to help you. How long is it until you turn twenty-one?’

  ‘It is more than two years. I’ll be nineteen in February.’

  ‘Heavens, I can’t wait two years!’ He gave a little rueful, half-laugh and let his hands slip down her sides to hold her at her hips, pressing her close to demonstrate without words how hard he would find the waiting. ‘Perhaps we should elope.’ He kissed her one last time and loosened his hold. ‘Come on. The Jamiesons will be wondering where we are.’

  ‘I don’t care what the Jamiesons think.’

  ‘You’ll care in the morning when they tell you to pack your bags.’

  ‘I suppose I will.’ She sighed again but made no attempt to move out of his arms, enjoying the warmth and strength of him and a sense of security she hadn’t known before. ‘Oh Lloyd, what are we going to do?’

  ‘We’ll find a way. Just not like this, bringing shame to ourselves with the people who’ve been good to us.’

  She stepped back and attempted to tidy her hair, tucking the stray wisps into place. ‘Walk me back to the house, please Lloyd. I couldn’t face returning to the dance now.’

  There was no sign of life when they stepped onto the veranda. The front door was shut as she’d left it and she stole a nervous glance at it as she went into his arms for one last kiss.

  ‘I hope you don’t get into trouble over this,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll go back to the dance for a while so it doesn’t look so bad.’ He rubbed his cheek against hers and she clung to him. ‘I’m riding home with you all tomorrow, so I’ll see you then. I love you, Louise.’

  The words of love didn’t come so easily to her. She didn’t answer but quickly kissed his cheek before turning to the door. She found a lamp in the hallway and lit it. As she passed the Britons’ open bedroom door she noted with a sigh of relief that the room was still empty. She eased open the children’s door and peeped in. Maurice muttered once in his sleep and rolled over, then once more silence reigned. She closed the door and tiptoed to the empty room she shared with Mercy, where she undressed, brushed out her hair and slipped into bed. Wide awake, she lay there with her thoughts tumbling confusedly upon each other, until eventually she heard the others return.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, the sun was high in the sky when Louise was awakened by the children dressing noisily in the room next door. Immediately her mind flooded with recollections of the previous night and the abandoned embraces she’d shared with Lloyd. She cringed inwardly, wondering if he was thinking the less of her for the liberties she’d permitted him and the further, momentous liberty she’d been prepared to grant him had he been of a mind to take advantage of it.

  Yet worse was the prospect of the interview with Mrs Jamieson to come. She was sure to question why Louise hadn’t returned to the ball after seeing to the children and would no doubt have noticed Lloyd’s coinciding absence. His return an hour or so later would have done little to rectify the situation.

  Mercy was dressed and gone. When Louise entered the dining room, she found her already sitting at the table with the others. Everyone seemed as normal, responding cheerily to her ‘Good morning’. Except for Mrs Jamieson, who glanced up at her and said nothing and Mercy, who looked down at her plate.

  After the breakfast dishes had been cleared away, they made ready for the return journey to Kilbride. When Lloyd rode up, the children were settled in the dray and Louise and Mercy, dressed in their riding habits, waited with their mounts. Mrs Jamieson gave Lloyd a sharp look but Mercy’s welcoming smile was undimmed. Louise supposed she was to bear all the blame for having led him astray.

  Louise was unable to look at Lloyd or meet his eyes. He’d asked her to marry him, but what must he be thinking at this moment?

  At last, after a final visit by Gertie to the “little house” in the back yard, they were ready to leave. Lloyd helped Mercy into her saddle. He seemed withdrawn and uncharacteristically quiet and Louise began to wish the ground would open up and swallow her. That was until he turned to help her to mount and smiled gently into her eyes. The touch of his hand on hers and the warmth of his look instantly set everything right with the world.

  ~*~

  Mrs Jamieson delayed the expected interview until after dinner that night, when all Louise wanted to do was retire to the solitude of her room. ‘I’d like a word with you, Lucy. Come to the study with me, please.’

  Louise followed her employer and waited in rigid silence as the door was shut behind them.

  ‘Why didn’t you return to the dance last night? Am I correct in suspecting you were in the company of Mr Kavanagh?’

  Louise drew a deep breath and managed to look the woman in the eye. ‘Yes, you are. Mr Kavanagh walked with me when I looked in on the children, Mrs Jamieson. I was nervous of going alone when there were so many strange men about, some of them the worse for drink.’ She took another breath. ‘After I had been to the children’s room we sat on the veranda and talked for a while. Then we went for a walk. On our return I was disinclined to return to the dance, so I retired to bed. Mr Kavanagh said he intended to go back to the hall.’

  ‘Yes, he did, eventually. But this was more than an hour after you left. It won’t do, Louise, to behave this way. I was worried about you and if you leave a function in the company of a young man and don’t return you can hardly blame people for thinking the worst.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Jamieson. But I didn’t actually leave the hall with Mr Kavanagh. He waited for me outside.’

  ‘You may be sure that someone noticed it, nevertheless. What is your relationship with him, Lucy? I know you’ve already spent more time in his company than is proper for any young girl, but that is an unfortunate situation we cannot rectify. Unless you intend to marry him, you shouldn’t be sitting about in the dark with him for five minutes, let alone for an hour. While you are in my house, teaching my children, I expect you to abide by my standards.’

  Louise bit her lip, deciding honesty was the best course. ‘He has asked me to marry him, Mrs Jamieson, but I can hardly accept. I’m under age and my parents would never consent to it.’

  Mrs Jamieson shook her head. ‘I’m not surprised. You’re obviously a well-bred girl and Kavanagh’s background couldn’t be much worse. He’s a hard worker and a likeable young man, but he has little to offer you besides more hard work.’ Her lips flattened in a stern line. ‘I find it hard to understand why you’ve given up the life you had to become a governess. And your relationship with your parents is more of a puzz
le, Lucy. You don’t write to them, nor they to you.’

  ‘I’m not close to my family, Mrs Jamieson. If you knew them you would understand why.’

  ‘If you’ve had a disagreement with them, I wish you would try to mend it.’

  Louise shifted restlessly. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve no idea how many of the upper classes live. I hardly saw my parents as a child and if you think they live by the same standards as you do then you are much mistaken. The wealthy make their own rules.’

  Mrs Jamieson’s eyes were cold. ‘Perhaps, but you can’t do so now, my girl. I can understand your attraction to Lloyd Kavanagh, for he’s a very personable young man, but he has lived by a different set of rules also. He has admitted to us that his father was drunken and it dismays me to see that he still drinks himself. Alcohol is at the root of so much evil. I also believe he isn’t above mixing with loose women. I suppose that touch of wildness makes him exciting to you, but physical attraction doesn’t last when you’re bone-tired with bearing babies and hard work. If you haven’t grown up with these hardships, you may end up resenting him in the end.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten one thing, Mrs Jamieson,’ said Louise levelly. ‘That is the love and friendship we share. As you’ve just pointed out, Mr Kavanagh and I have spent more time in each other’s company than most young people are ever allowed to do. I find him attractive, yes, but he’s also the best friend I’ve ever had. Perhaps he does drink and has known loose women, but he has a strong sense of decency for all that. Compared to my brother Charles–’

  ‘I don’t know your brother, but whatever your feelings, Louise, there can be no future in the relationship without your parents’ good will. As I see it, you’ve no alternative but to put an end to it.’

  ‘I know that.’ Louise buried her face in her hands, muffling her next sentence. ‘But I can hardly bear to do so.’

  Mrs Jamieson’s face softened, reminding Louise of her innate kindness. ‘I don’t know what else to advise, my dear. Perhaps you should join your parents in England and hope that distance will help you forget him.’