Colonial Daughter

by Heather Garside

  Lloyd carefully threaded his horse through the herd, looking for the strays that belonged to him and Jock. He found a red steer with his earmark and set about cutting it out. Old Dynamite watched the beast with pricked ears, muscles quivering, swinging with each turn of the beast with a rough, choppy motion that would have unseated a lesser rider.

  At last he had them together. The cows and calves had taken considerable time and patience to separate from the herd, as it was essential to bring a cow and her offspring out together. A lone calf was usually impossible to handle on horseback.

  ‘I’ll send someone with you to see you on your way,’ Naylor told him. ‘I hope you don’t have too much trouble with ‘em. I’m sorry now I couldn’t spare another man the other day to take them over for you and Jock, but we were pretty flat out. I wouldn’t have trusted ‘em to the Abo on his own.’

  ‘That’s all right, Naylor. What happened to Jock could have happened at any time. Thanks for your help.’

  ‘I just hope Jamieson gets over it. He’s too good a man to die.’

  ~*~

  Louise was dreaming. Andrew and Donald had brought Lloyd’s broken, bloodstained body home. The tattered, filthy clothes hadn’t hidden the spear wounds in his body and his skull had been hideously crushed by a nulla nulla. The familiar, beloved features were barely recognisable under a layer of dried, encrusted blood.

  She jerked into wakefulness, shuddering and crying with the horror of her nightmare. Still under its spell, it all seemed too real to be dismissed. Trying to divert herself, she threw back the sheet and buttoned her robe over her nightgown. She put a trembling match to the kerosene lamp that stood on the duchess beside her bed and glanced at the clock beside it. It was only half-past ten. She felt as if she’d been sleeping for hours.

  Holding the lamp in her hand, she trod softly along the hall to Mr Jamieson’s room. The flickering light revealed Mercy asleep in a stretcher beside her father’s bed, curled up on her side with the bedclothes thrown back. Mercy had insisted on staying, rejecting Louise’s suggestion they both look in at intervals during the night.

  Mr Jamieson was neither asleep nor awake as he fought a war of entanglement with the blankets. He was muttering deliriously, his forehead hot and fevered under Louise’s hand and her stomach churned with sickening apprehension. When they’d last changed the bandages, the wound was red and festering, inducing them to pack it with a mixture of sugar and soap to draw out the infection. Louise was dreadfully afraid there might be another burial in the family.

  She straightened the covers and took the empty water jug to the kitchen to fill, using the lamp to light her way. As she retraced her steps along the landing that connected this building to the main part of the house, she heard a sound that made her pause, heart thumping. It came from somewhere near the saddle-room–a horse blowing wearily through its nostrils, a voice murmuring some soft, indistinguishable word. She set the jug on the railing, hurrying back through the kitchen and down the steps.

  ‘Lloyd, is that you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His voice came from inside the saddle-room, accompanied by the clinking of stirrup irons. Louise gave a sob of relief and abandoned the lamp, running towards the building in complete heedlessness of the dark. She bumped into him coming out the doorway and clutched at him, crying. Hard to believe that he was here under her hands, living and breathing flesh and blood, when that vivid nightmare had convinced her he’d met with some gruesome fate.

  ‘Oh, Lloyd, thank God you’re back!’

  He hugged her briefly, his voice anxious. ‘Is Jock all right?’ It was obvious that he’d misconstrued her tears.

  Her moment of pleasure dissipated. ‘It’s bad news, Lloyd. He’s extremely ill. Mercy’s sleeping in the room with him. I just looked in and he’s very feverish.’

  ‘I’ll take a look at him.’

  She retrieved the lamp and the jug and accompanied him, bypassing the kitchen this time. ‘How did you manage?’ she asked. ‘Did you find the Aborigines?’

  ‘No, they’ve cleared out. I went and got those cattle from Bauhinia Downs. I left them on Roundstone Creek. There were a couple of cows and calves of Jock’s that couldn’t come any further. At least they’re a bit closer to home. The calves made it slow travelling and I had to make a bit of a yard to hold ‘em all last night.’

  ‘You must be exhausted.’ In the bobbing lamplight Louise looked anxiously at his whiskered face. ‘I’ll make up a bed for you on the veranda.’

  ‘No, don’t bother. I’ve got me swag. I’ll sleep in the saddle-room.’

  Mercy stirred as they entered Jock’s room, hastily pulling the covers over herself when she saw Lloyd. She watched them silently as he bent over the sick man. ‘How do you think he is?’ she whispered at last. ‘I didn’t mean to go to sleep.’

  ‘You can’t stay awake all night, Mercy.’ Louise spoke as gently as she could. ‘You did your share of the vigil last night, too.’

  Suddenly tears were streaming down the girl’s face. ‘But if he were to die while I was asleep...’

  ‘Oh, Mercy.’ Lloyd crossed to her in one swift, compassionate stride, sitting on the edge of her bed to hold her against him, stroking her hair. ‘Shush. Your father’s not going to die. He’s as tough as old boots.’

  He sat there with Mercy, holding her and soothing her, while Louise tried to stifle her irrational jealousy. She knew Mercy’s need was greater than her own, but somehow that didn’t make it any easier.

  She moistened Jock’s mouth with water and bathed his face and arms to cool him. At last Lloyd got to his feet and pulled up chairs for himself and Louise, side by side. ‘We’ll stay here and help you watch him, Mercy.’

  And then, while they watched, there was a change in the sick man. His fever seemed to abate and he roused enough to drink from the glass Louise held to his lips. Eventually he slipped into a restful sleep, the delirium easing at least for the moment.

  Lloyd pushed back his chair, yawning. ‘I think that’s the worst of it over. Go back to sleep, Mercy and don’t fret. He’s going to be all right. I could do with some sleep meself.’

  Anxious to be alone with him, Louise followed him out of the room and he turned to face her. ‘Could you fetch me a pillow and another blanket, Louise?’

  She went to the linen cupboard and followed him out to the saddle-room, where he was laying his thin swag on a pile of old sacks. He took the bedding from her and set it down, pulling her into his arms and holding her so tight she knew he must feel the thud of her wildly beating heart. As he held her, she sensed the weariness in him begin to ebb. Obviously he also needed the comfort and closeness of another human being, but the way he was holding her was very different from the way he’d held Mercy.

  ‘Will you stay with me, Louise?’

  She nodded and pressed closer, knowing what he was asking, but the emotions surging through her were too strong to be denied. The events of the last weeks had shown her how quickly life could be snatched away, making the moral issues seem less relevant.

  He lifted her face with his fingers so he could look into her eyes. ‘Do you mind waiting while I have a wash?’

  Behind the kitchen was the dray with the iron ship’s tank Mr Jamieson used to carry water from the river. The men often washed here before entering the house and a towel and cake of soap lay beside it in readiness. Louise stood and watched, holding the lamp, as Lloyd removed his shirt and bathed under the trickling water. She was fascinated, her eyes riveted in open flagrance of modesty. She hadn’t seen him without a shirt before, despite those nights in the bush when they’d slept in the same droving camp. As she’d envisaged, his body was lean but well-muscled, with a light growth of hair on his chest glistening wet in the shadowy light.

  Then he bent to slip off his boots and socks, balancing himself with one hand on the shaft of the dray. He looked up at her and grinned.

  ‘I’m going to strip right off now. Turn your back if you want to.’

  Louise
’s blood rushed to her face, her heightened senses responding with an unnerving blend of arousal and embarrassment. She set the lamp on the bed of the dray and swung away, trembling. She was still standing rigidly with her back to him, long after all sounds of splashing water had ceased, when his hand fell on her shoulder.

  ‘Louise...’

  She turned nervously, her eyes dropping in spite of herself. To her relief he’d replaced his trousers but was carrying his boots and shirt in one hand. He drew her to him with his free arm and kissed her, his bare chest damp against her robe.

  ‘Don’t be scared. I love you, Louise.’

  Louise hesitated, caught between desire and inexperience. Briefly she wondered what she was letting herself in for, if she was ready for this. But that was absurd after the way she’d tempted him at the Race Ball.

  Back in the saddle-room, she slipped off her outer robe and let him draw her down to his meagre bed. The odour of leather and neats-foot oil from the saddles mingled with dusty chaff and the scent of his bare skin, smooth under her quivering fingers. He raised himself above her to kiss her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, while his calloused hands stroked and gentled her. Then his fingers were at the front of her nightgown, slipping the buttons, and nervous anticipation held her enthralled.

  She wore nothing but a chemise beneath the garment; there were no corsets and petticoats this time to deter him. As he cupped her bare breast in his hand for the first time he seemed to momentarily lose control, uttering some soft, unintelligible exclamation. Then his mouth was there where his hand had been while she ran her fingers restlessly through his hair, moaning with pleasure.

  He touched her in other places she hadn’t anticipated, reassuring her in her uncertainty, taking her past her natural shyness into a state of abandoned sensuality. In a haze of desire Louise clung to him, caressing the smooth play of muscles on his back and shoulders but afraid to explore further. He left his trousers until the last moment, unbuttoning himself to take her with her nightgown bundled above her breasts and her dark hair spread over the pillow.

  Louise had expected pain, but her desire almost took her beyond it as she surrendered to his pleasure and hers. At last he shuddered against her and was still, growing heavy as his languorous body lay over hers. Then he rolled her to her side with him, still joined with her, whispering words of love and stroking the damp tangled hair back from her face.

  ~*~

  Lloyd was the first to sleep, but he was also the first to wake in the dim light of dawn with Louise’s head pillowed on his shoulder. The memories of last night rushed in as he gazed at the soft sleeping face, Sam Naylor’s warning disregarded. He’d never taken a virgin before and he’d been nervous of hurting her, but mostly afraid that she might change her mind and stop him at the last moment. But she’d given herself bravely, responding to him with a mixture of eagerness and innocence that he’d found curiously touching. The whole encounter had moved him in a way he’d never experienced before.

  He moved cautiously, easing his arm which had grown numb. She was instantly awake, turning her head to look at him after the first moment of disorientation. Lloyd saw the morning-after uncertainty and guilt reflected in her face and decided not to give her too much time for reflection. He kissed her and slid his arm about her waist to pull her tightly against him.

  This time he was a little bolder, drawing her nightgown over her head and slipping off the remainder of his own clothes. He felt irresponsible and careless of the consequences, almost overwhelmed with excitement as he enjoyed every detail of her slim, firm body in the dim light. He admired it as he’d never admired the plump, dimpled curves that were considered fashionable. That brief hesitation past, Louise was passionate and eager, readily obeying his gentle instructions. She wrapped her legs around him and held him to her as if she might never let him go.

  For a few moments Lloyd forgot the threat of death and sorrow and found relief from the strain of the past weeks. Later, they drifted in a satiated haze until he murmured drowsily, ‘I heard the other day that the Catholic priest was in Banana on his rounds. He’s probably still in the district somewhere. Once Jock’s well, we should try an’ track him down.’

  Louise hesitated, her voice husky. ‘I couldn’t leave the Jamiesons just now, Lloyd. Not until Mrs Jamieson comes home. And unless I lie about my age, I’m sure he won’t marry us without my father’s permission.’

  ‘Perhaps he might. If he knows your parents are on the other side of the world. And if we hint that we’ve...well...jumped the gun.’ He kissed her and smoothed her hair away from her face, smiling a little. ‘Anything to stop us living in sin.’

  Louise didn’t return his smile. He felt her body tense and for an instant he wondered if she planned to marry him at all. But that was ridiculous, after the way she’d just responded to him.

  ‘We’ll see when Mrs Jamieson arrives home,’ was all she said.

  ~*~

  When the first rays of sun peeped through the open door, Louise knew she could stay no longer. She reached for her nightgown and slipped it over her head, looking away uncertainly in the half dark as Lloyd stood to pull on his trousers. His male body was still so new to her. He smiled at her covert glances and pulled her to him to kiss her one last time.

  ‘You’d better go quickly, before the house wakes up.’

  ‘Yes.’ She sobered. ‘I must see how Mr Jamieson is.’

  When she looked in Mercy’s bed was empty, but Jock was sound asleep. His skin was clammy to the touch, but the burning heat of fever had gone. Perhaps it was too early to celebrate, with the possibility of a relapse; but for the moment they could be a little less anxious.

  She took the jug from the washstand in her bedroom and went to the kitchen to fetch hot water from the tank on the side of the stove. She found Mercy there, beginning the preparations for breakfast. Mercy was the last person she wanted to face now, so she quickly filled the jug and escaped to her room. Here she stripped off and washed herself all over, looking apprehensively in the small mirror at her duchess, wondering if the evidence of the night’s lovemaking was there for all to see. Her face and lips were reddened from the abrasive effect of Lloyd’s unshaved beard, but fortunately the soreness of her body was something only she need know about. Otherwise she looked the same and she wondered how that could be so, when she felt irrevocably changed.

  Perhaps Lloyd was right and a priest would marry them now, with or without her parents’ permission. In the eyes of the world she’d ruined herself and her parents would surely wash their hands of her if they knew. But before they could wed there were certain confessions she had to make. Confessions that had only become harder with the passing of time.

  It was difficult to face Lloyd at the breakfast table. His hair was damp and he’d shaved with Jock’s razor, but he looked exhausted, with dark smudges under his eyes. That wasn’t surprising, for she knew how little sleep he’d had. She wondered if he was reacting, as she was, to this houseful of innocent children which made the intimacies of last night seem indecent.

  But he managed to eat hugely, demolishing a full plate of porridge and four or five chops before sending Maggie back to the kitchen to toast more bread over the fire. ‘I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday dinnertime,’ he said.

  Louise looked up quickly, her cheeks flaming. ‘You should have asked me to fetch you something last night. I didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten.’

  He brushed aside the suggestion, smothering a yawn as he leaned back in his chair. He smiled at her, a touch of mischief in his eyes. ‘I wasn’t that hungry for food last night.’

  She hastily began gathering plates to take to the kitchen, clattering the china noisily in her confusion. She knew the children would be oblivious to his double meaning, but perhaps Mercy would be suspicious and Louise hardly needed to be reminded of their transgressions right now.

  Andrew, from the other end of the table, looked up at her and gave a little crow of delight. There’d
been precious little laughter in this household lately, but with the easing of the boy’s dreadful anxiety about his father he obviously needed some lighthearted relief.

  ‘Miss Forrest’s as red as a beetroot! She’s sweet on you, Lloyd!’

  In spite of herself she met Lloyd’s eyes across the table. He kept on looking at her, smiling, while he answered Andrew. ‘All the girls are sweet on me, Andrew.’

  Louise quickly made her escape to the kitchen. As she stacked dishes in the sink she heard him farewelling the children and then he was there on the landing as she returned to finish clearing the table. He didn’t speak but paused a moment, looking solemnly into her upturned, indignant face. He lifted his hand and gently trailed his fingers across her cheek in a caress that said more than any words. Then he stepped past her and, with a brief ‘goodbye’ to Mercy who was waiting in the doorway, watching, he was gone.

  ~*~

  By lunchtime the improvement in Jock’s condition was noticeable and the next morning he was able to sit up in bed and take a little food. As they were finishing breakfast, Lloyd arrived to ask after the patient.

  ‘He’s as bad-tempered as an old bull!’ Mercy sniffed. ‘He won’t eat anything I cook for him.’

  Lloyd laughed. ‘He must be better if he’s well enough to complain.’

  He visited Jock’s room and found the invalid propped up in bed with several pillows, picking with distaste at the eggs Mercy had placed on his breakfast tray.

  ‘Och, this flaming egg’s raw!’ Jock greeted him irascibly. ‘If they’d send a man something decent to eat. I’m that weak I can hardly lift the spoon and they give me something that turns me belly to look at it! What were they having in there?’

  Lloyd told him, at length.

  ‘Chops,’ Jock growled. ‘Aye, I might have known it. Now, if the lassies had cooked me a chop, it might have tempted me appetite. Something to put a bit of strength back into a man.’