Colonial Daughter

by Heather Garside

  ‘It’s good to see you looking better,’ Lloyd said, grinning. ‘How’s the leg?’

  ‘Pretty sore. I’m as sick as a black fellow’s dog and that’s a sight better than I was yesterday. But enough about that. How did ye manage with those cattle? Mercy told me ye’d gone and got them.’

  Lloyd stayed long enough to tell him and then, seeing that he was tiring, carried the unfinished breakfast away. Mercy looked at it anxiously.

  ‘How does he expect to get better if he won’t eat?’

  ‘Perhaps you should try him with something else. Those eggs were nearly raw. He might prefer something he’s used to, like a bit of good old mutton.’

  Mercy looked at him in open horror. ‘He can’t be expected to eat meat when he’s had nothing for days. He needs something that’s easily digested. Mother’s recipe book has a section on invalid cookery and it suggested coddled eggs. But I’ve got some broth boiling on the stove, that might tempt him.’

  At least soup should be less nauseating than raw egg. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.’ He paused. ‘Where’s Louise?’

  Mercy’s thin little face stiffened. ‘Miss Forrest is in the schoolroom with the girls.’

  ‘Oh, in that case I’d better not disturb her. I’ll come over again in a couple of days to see how your father is. But in the meantime send one of the boys over for me if you need help, won’t you?’ He looked in concern at her pale, drawn face and added in a different, gentler tone, ‘It’ll be all right, Mercy. Soon your mother will be home and things won’t seem so bad.’

  She nodded mutely and he turned from her and left the house. He badly wanted to see Louise, but he wouldn’t intrude on the schoolroom. He didn’t regret their night together; the very memory of it made his blood quicken with excitement and his longing for a repeat performance made his lonely bed at the shack oppressive. But he was acutely aware of how shocked and dismayed Jock would be if he knew, which made it more difficult than ever to pursue his relationship with her in her employer’s house. Their plans would have to wait for a better time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  If it had been difficult before to conduct their relationship under the Jamieson’s watchful gaze, their own guilt made it even harder now. Louise found their separations painful and their brief meetings tantalising and frustrating. It seemed Lloyd felt the same way, for one day while visiting the Jamiesons he slipped her a note when no-one was looking. Louise made some excuse to leave the room so she could read it.

  It was brief enough, but as she perused it her stomach muscles clenched with a mixture of nerves and excitement. She hadn’t seen his handwriting before, but although the hand appeared a little childish, the spelling was better than she would have expected of someone who hadn’t had a formal education.

  ‘Louise, can you make up some excuse to go riding and meet me at the boundry gate on Sunday morning? About ten o’clock? I love you. Lloyd.’

  She managed to signal the affirmative with a nod, accepting their relationship had gone beyond what was sensible or circumspect. After he’d gone, she folded the note carefully and hid it in her drawer amongst her underclothes, before spending the remainder of the week in a fever of anticipation.

  It was usual for her to go riding on a Sunday. Mr Jamieson, who had left his bed and was sprawled on the front veranda in a squatter’s chair, didn’t even comment when she announced her intention of saddling Shadow that morning. Thankfully the children didn’t clamour to accompany her. She trotted and cantered her horse, wondering if Lloyd would be waiting for her, fearing that perhaps he would be late.

  He was there however, mounted on the chestnut mare she had ridden on that droving trip from Bauhinia Downs, with his dogs Buster and Soda at his horse’s heels. He opened the gate for her without dismounting and kneed his horse close enough to kiss her, while their mounts fidgeted restlessly. His eyes were dark with desire as he smiled down at her.

  ‘Where are we going, Louise? Back to the shack?’

  Louise’s heart did a quick pitter-pat. She knew what they would end up doing, wherever they were, and staying away from his shack would be no more than a futile and uncomfortable pretence at decency.

  She nodded and he swiftly turned his horse about. With one accord they set up the road towards his homestead. At the horse-yards they unsaddled and turned the horses loose before she fell into his arms.

  It was so different now to that night at Kilbride. Their mood was light-hearted, carefree, without the threat of death hanging over them. At the doorway to his shack he scooped her up and held her to his chest, laughing down at her as she squealed in mock terror, grunting a little at the weight of her.

  ‘Crikey, you’re heavy!’

  She laughed back at him. ‘You’re full of compliments today, sir.’

  ‘Heavy, but beautiful,’ he amended, his eyes glinting mischievously.

  He kicked the door closed behind them, carrying her to the other room where she’d slept once before, so long ago it seemed now. She briefly remembered that time, thinking she would have been aghast if she’d known then that she would one day be here with him like this.

  The old makeshift bed had been replaced with a wrought-iron bedstead and horsehair mattress, much to her relief, as she feared the original contraption might not have supported them both. There were even sheets under the rough grey blanket, crisp and cool against her bare skin.

  She commented on the addition to his furniture later as they lay in each other’s arms. ‘When did you acquire the bed, Lloyd?’

  He smiled at her, trailing his fingers contentedly across her breast. ‘Just after New Year. I ordered it up from Rockhampton. Just in case.’

  ‘Just in case... of what? That I visited you here?’

  He nodded, watching for her reaction. ‘I needed it anyway. But the sheets were just for you. First time I’ve ever slept in sheets.’

  Heat rose to her cheeks. ‘You’re shameless, Lloyd Kavanagh.’

  ‘Look who’s talking.’

  ‘I know. I feel most awfully sinful.’

  Lloyd looked at her searchingly. ‘Louise, I love you and I’m going to marry you as soon as I can. I wouldn’t want the Jamiesons to know about this, but I’m not ashamed of it. I know we should have waited until we were married, but I’ve seen people do a lot of worse things.’

  ‘So have I.’ She thought of Charles and the pregnant girl he’d cast aside. ‘Once Mrs Jamieson comes home we can make our plans.’

  She put aside her misgivings then, allowing him to arouse her again. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this way about a man, to enjoy or want his body so much. Perhaps she was immoral and certainly unladylike, but she couldn’t help thinking a marriage that encompassed this much pleasure must have a fighting chance of success.

  They left the bed eventually and made themselves a cosy lunch, eating it with her sitting on Lloyd’s lap at the rough table. Louise wore her chemise, with the frilly legs of her drawers peeping out beneath it, while he’d abandoned his shirt and was clad in nothing but his trousers. A certain wickedness about it all only added to her excitement, but there was also an atmosphere of loving closeness that enchanted her. The rapport between them was so intense that she couldn’t bear to spoil it with unwelcome confessions, so the words she’d planned to say to him remained unsaid.

  The intimate meal rekindled their desire and they retired to the bedroom again. At last Lloyd filled the tub in the corner for her and she made herself respectable.

  It was so hard to leave him; it was as if he’d become a part of her. When he finally farewelled her at the boundary gate it was early afternoon. Louise rode forlornly back to Kilbride, stepping quietly past Jock who was snoring in that same chair on the veranda. The voices of the older children, apparently engaged in a game of cribbage, drifted from the sitting room. She entered the house through a side door, going straight to the privacy of her room, where she spent the rest of the afternoon reading and dreaming, needin
g the solitude of her own thoughts. Please God Mrs Jamieson would be home soon so she and Lloyd could make their plans. She was tired of being furtive, tired of feeling guilty. She wanted to announce their love to the world so they could be together for more than just a few stolen hours.

  ~*~

  Mrs Jamieson returned a month later, travelling on the train to Westwood and then on the coach to Banana. Jock insisted on driving in himself in the wagonette to meet her, limping because his leg still hadn’t properly healed. It plagued him constantly by, as he put it, ‘itching like the devil’, but he’d been lucky to survive the blood poisoning and to escape tetanus, a possible complication that had secretly worried Louise. She could only guess the profuse way the wound had bled had helped to cleanse it of infection.

  Mrs Jamieson appeared very drawn and tired, with a new look of sorrow on her face. She was also obviously with child, much to the surprise and even shock of everyone excepting Jock and the younger girls. Of these, even Maggie who was twelve years old, didn’t appear to realize the significance of their mother’s protruding stomach. The older ones had been told nothing and even now everyone preserved a discreet silence, pretending to be unaware there would soon be a new addition to the family.

  Maurice was thin and pale and still weak. It would be a long time, if ever, before he regained his old exuberance. He’d been too ill to know when his sister died, but he’d been closer to the tragedy than the other children and it had obviously affected him deeply. After all, he’d only narrowly escaped the same fate himself.

  When a hawker drove up to the homestead one day in a covered wagonette, Mrs Jamieson seemed unenthusiastic. But the children were excited at this rare novelty so she took them outside to greet him. Louise followed them out of the schoolroom, thinking of few personal items she needed to buy.

  The man was standing with his back to Louise, sorting through a battered suitcase, when she joined Mrs Jamieson. Then he turned, holding up a length of dress fabric. Louise went very still. The blood drained from her face and she stood there mutely staring at him.

  She couldn’t help but recognise those smooth dark Indian features and the greasy black hair, even though she’d only seen him once before and briefly at that. This was the same hawker who had plied the Barclays with his wares some seven months ago, two days before her flight that had been precipitated by the letters the man had carried to her. Oh God, if he should remember her!

  But it was too late to hide. ‘This muslin, Missus Jamieson, would make very charming frock for one of your lil’ girls.’ He held it up for closer inspection. ‘See quality , an’ colour! Such pretty shade, don’ you think?’ He glanced towards Louise as he spoke and paused abruptly. A startled expression lit his eyes, to be replaced by a slower one of pure cunning. He smiled blandly. ‘Why, Missy – Ashford, isn’ it?’

  Louise stared coldly back at him, hoping he couldn’t read her dismay. Surely he shouldn’t have remembered her name. Beside her she sensed Mrs Jamieson start and heard one of the girls give a soft exclamation.

  ‘You must be mistaken.’ She kept her tone cool, interjecting just a faint note of surprise. ‘I’m Lucy Forrest. Have we met before?’

  ‘At first I think...’ The man considered her, his lips still spread in that sly smile. ‘But no, perhaps not. As you say, I make mistake.’

  ‘You must meet such a lot of people in your travels,’ observed Mrs Jamieson calmly. ‘It wouldn’t be much wonder if you confused a few faces.’

  ‘Very so,’ responded the hawker smoothly. ‘It has happened before. My apologies, Missy Forrest.’

  Louise heaved a sigh of relief. Heavens, he’d startled her there for a moment. But he appeared to have accepted her denial. She made a few small purchases but didn’t linger, fearing that her continued presence may serve to jog his memory further. She was relieved he didn’t stay long enough to be offered accommodation for the night, but continued on his way with his larder replenished by some fresh mutton. As usual he would make camp by the roadside when it grew dark.

  That night she lay awake after the others had retired, worrying about this unexpected development. For the first time she realized she could not hope to remain undetected for much longer. It was disconcerting that the man had known her name, for there had been no introductions made that day at Sherborne. He obviously had learned it somehow and remembered her more than superficially–possibly because he’d heard the story of her disappearance.

  The incident had also brought home to her the likelihood of encountering some day, perhaps in the streets of Banana, a past acquaintance who would know Charles had been searching for her, or who would unwittingly betray her to the people who had become important to her. The answer was to be done with the pretence and marry Lloyd as soon as possible, for what could Charles or anyone else do then?

  There was another, more urgent reason for not delaying their marriage plans. Unlike many girls of her age and class she knew one didn’t have to be married to have a baby. Seeing Mrs Jamieson’s evident pregnancy had brought home to her the realisation that the same thing could happen to her. She didn’t want the shame of an infant born a few months early, knowing how people whispered and stared. Her behaviour had been both foolish and wanton and she’d given Lloyd a power over her that would have been frightening if she’d trusted him any less. She had no doubt of his love for her, but she would have to test that love to the limit before they could become man and wife.

  There was no chance of seeing him during the week, but she resolved to ride over to his shack at the weekend even if it meant taking Mrs Jamieson into her confidence. But then something happened that made all her plans come to naught.

  Louise was reading aloud to the children on the Friday afternoon, seated on a rug in the cool of the front garden, when Agnes stood up, looking down the road.

  ‘Miss Forrest, there’s someone coming!’ She pointed excitedly at a puff of dust. Visitors at Kilbride were not frequent and two in a week were certainly the exception.

  Louise twisted to gain a better view, watching as the lone occupant of the buggy grew gradually distinct. As she sat there her heart began to thud and muscles spasmed in her stomach.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she whispered under her breath. She looked down at her hands clenched together in her lap. They were trembling. Suddenly she was filled with a mad, fear-filled impulse to run and hide. But what was the use?

  She stood slowly and turned to face the visitor. He reined his horses at the gate Maurice had already opened and stepped down. In the casual manner of one who was accustomed to having such services performed for him, he handed the reins to Maurice. He stretched his slim, elegant form and turned to smile easily at the governess as if he’d seen her only yesterday.

  ‘Why, good afternoon, Louise.’

  She could only stare at him, speechless. He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘What is this? Haven’t you a warmer welcome for your brother? I thought you’d be pleased to see me after all this time.’

  Like a sleepwalker, she moved to him and presented her cheek for his kiss. He clasped her very briefly, his lips cool on her skin. She was stupidly aware that the children were gazing at them both in amazed fascination.

  She jumped at the sound of Mrs Jamieson’s voice at her elbow. Mercy was just behind her. ‘Who have we here, Lucy?’

  It was rare for Louise to be bereft of words, but now she found herself barely coherent. ‘Mrs Jamieson, th...this is my brother Charles.’ She put her hand on the woman’s arm in a panic-stricken plea. ‘Could I have a word with you in private, please?’

  ‘No.’ Charles Ashford’s voice cut in, hard and emphatic. ‘You’ve had months to make your explanations, Louise!’ He’d already removed his hat and now he held out his hand to Mrs Jamieson, smiling briefly. ‘You must be Mrs Jamieson. I apologise for this intrusion, but our parents have asked me to take Louise to England. I’m Charles Ashford.’

  Mrs Jamieson, staring dumbfounded from one to the other, took his outstretch
ed hand. But at his last words she started and dropped it. ‘Did you say–Ashford?’

  ‘That is correct.’ He grinned maliciously at Louise. ‘I’m afraid my sister has been practising a small deception on all of you.’

  Mrs Jamieson gasped. ‘Then that hawker was right!’ She turned to stare at Louise with sudden hostility. ‘So you’ve been using a false name all this time?’

  ‘Yes.’ Louise retorted fiercely, stung to anger by her brother’s deliberate cruelty. ‘I’m Louise Ashford. If Charles would only allow me to explain –’

  ‘You’ve had six months to explain.’ Charles cut in. ‘You’ve left it a bit late, my girl. Right now you’re going inside to pack your bags. Come along.’ He turned to Louise’s employer. ‘Once again, my apologies, Mrs Jamieson. I hope this doesn’t inconvenience you too much. But my sister should never have been here at all.’

  They left the others gaping after them, the children looking bewildered, Mrs Jamieson and Mercy wearing expressions of incredulous anger.

  ‘Which is your room?’

  ‘In here.’

  Charles propelled her inside and shut the door behind them. He glanced about him and grabbed a portmanteau from the top of the wardrobe, throwing it onto the bed. ‘Now, pack.’

  ‘No!’ She glared at him. ‘I’m not going with you. I can’t leave them like this.’ She laughed harshly, mimicking him. ‘‘I hope it doesn’t inconvenience you too much.’ A jolly lot you care.’

  ‘You’re right, dear sister. I don’t care. Exactly what you think you, an Ashford, is doing working for middle-class settlers like these I can’t imagine.’ He looked about him disdainfully. ‘Good solid farming stock, I daresay. But the sort of people we normally would have working for us.’

  ‘I don’t care what you think of them, but they’re my very good friends. You may cast me off if you like, but I’m staying here. I intend to marry a young man from the neighbouring property.’