by Lena Dowling
Chapter 9
‘Have a piece — go on. You deserve it after all your hard work. Thea brought it back for me from a fancy afternoon tea, specially.’
Colleen had cleared away the plates from their evening meal and put a slab of cake, large enough to share, down between them on the table.
When she was covered up he could force himself to ignore the more agreeable aspects of her countenance, but with her hair running wild accentuating her most appealing features that was nigh on impossible.
Since she hadn’t replaced her cap, her glistening locks fell freely around her shoulders in a glorious tumble of chestnut tresses. Samuel steadfastly kept his eyes on his plate, his mind chronicling a list of mundane tasks.
‘Thea?’ Samuel said alarmed, registering somewhere between a mental note to source more posts for the fencing and making plans to muster a mob of straggling sheep, that Colleen had called her ladyship by her Christian name.
Samuel risked a look up to ensure that his disapproving frown would have its full force.
‘Now, don’t be getting all cross. Thea insisted I call her that.’
‘James did the same with me, but I try to avoid it whenever possible.’
Colleen nodded ferociously as if she too shared his concerns about the familiarity James and Thea seemed intent on fostering between the two couples.
‘I did feel awful strange about it. I told her I could only say her name when we’re alone and there’s no one else around to hear. She’s got some funny ideas, that one.’
‘Such as?’
Samuel braced himself. The last time Lady Hunter had tried to put ideas in his wife’s head, it had made for some extremely uncomfortable exchanges. He still regretted having to put a dampener on Colleen’s wedding day, when she had barely crossed the threshold of her new home, but with Lady Hunter’s interference it could hardly have been put off.
‘She says if people work hard they can be whatever they want, and that men and women should be treated the same. She’s nice enough, but a bit of a queer one for someone who was born a proper lady.’
Samuel exhaled, relieved it was only her ladyship’s radical philosophical leanings that Colleen was referring to and not some nonsensical fancy about fate or true love. He was also pleasantly surprised to discover that Colleen could be such a realist when it came to Lady Hunter. He had worried she would be so flattered by the interest the lady was paying her she would be inclined to hold on to her every word.
‘She’s had a lot more education than most women and her father’s a very wealthy earl. He forwards her a generous allowance so she can pretty much do as she pleases. I’d take what Lady Hunter says with a grain of salt, if I was you. All very well for one of her kind to be doing what she likes.’
Colleen picked up a knife gingerly, her hand still troubling her, as she switched it from one to the other in order to cut the dense yellow cake down the middle.
‘You’re not wrong there,’ she said. ‘There’s one set of rules for the haves and another set for the likes of us.’
Then taking up the slice of cake nearest her she stuffed her mouth with a bite that looked to be wildly in excess of the capacity she had available to process it.
The corners of Samuel’s mouth twitched as he battled the urge to smile. It was particularly ungracious yet perversely spellbinding to watch as the fierce concentration required to squash the cake into her mouth gave way to a flush a pleasure, which she then polished off with a backwards swipe of her hand to wipe away the crumbs.
‘That’s my view exactly,’ he said, doing his best to redirect his thoughts onto the topic of conversation and away from Colleen’s dusky pink lips into which she inserted her fingers one by one, licking off the icing.
Samuel took a sharp intake of breath as something tightened in his gut, threatening to descend even lower. Shifting in his chair he forced the feeling back up from whence it came, attempting to convey an appropriate look of disapproval. ‘Since James is the one putting the roof over our head and paying my wages, I’m in no position to criticise him in the management of his domestic affairs, but where my own wife is concerned, I expect more moderate conduct.’
Colleen nodded enthusiastically, while assiduously ignoring his request for modest behaviour, sucking the icing off the final fingertip, until sated she all but lolled back with a sigh that heaved through her breasts with a rollicking wave.
Samuel shook his head.
The unfortunate truth of it was that he’d made something of a miscalculation that day in front of The Factory.
The reality of Colleen was nothing like the unremarkable woman he had first stopped to assist in the prison yard, and worst of all by far was the recent knowledge that she would have made a wonderful mother.
He caught himself. Understanding that it was merely the residual longings of an only child thrust into a happy rambunctious family of half brothers and sisters that made him long to sire a brood of his own didn’t make it any easier.
The betrayal to Amelia by even contemplating replacing her with Colleen was unforgiveable. She had endured so much to give him a child all to no avail and then, her condition weakened by so many ill-fated pregnancies, he had lost her in the epidemic.
For months he had been so beset with grief that no other sensation could permeate. There had been too much loss, too much pain to double back now through the gates of hell.
‘No, you have the rest of the cake,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll take a rum on the porch and then I think I’ll turn in for an early night.’
Why was Mr Biggs so backwards in coming forwards?
They rubbed along well enough together and yet if for even a split second she even thought she might have seen him look at her like a husband should, he looked away, and then whatever she thought she might have seen was gone — like just now when she tried to be seductive — tried to think what Nellie would have done and licked all that icing off her fingers. She hadn’t wanted to eat so much cake, not when she was watching what she put into her belly, but Nellie would have done that, and stuck one of her fingers in the punter’s mouth besides.
For a moment she thought she had seen something in his eyes and then nothing. No — it was worse than nothing — Samuel’s usually bright eyes were dead.
If it was because he was aggrieved for his wife then there was still a chance. But if it was the other thing, if he really was a molly, what could she do then?
When Thea first brought it up she had flicked the idea away thinking there was no chance, but all day the idea had buzzed its way back into her head. What if that was the reason? What if he was ‘one of those’ and she had just missed the signs?
Samuel took a tankard down from a hook on the dresser and raised the stopper from the crock. He was about to pour a little of the spirit in the bottom, when thinking better of it, he hoisted the whole thing plus the tankard out onto the porch with him.
It was still light. The heat of the day had dropped. A breeze had come up — not a cool breeze but nevertheless the ruffle of air over his forearms and at his neck was a welcome diversion from the thick heavy heat.
He looked out around the Hunter’s yard with satisfaction. The place had been let go but now the henhouse was far more robustly protected from predators, unused implements abandoned where they had last been used he’d had Tom tidy away into the barn, and in the distance the partially built fence meandered along a rise between the Hunters’ and their nearest neighbours, marking out his industry.
In little over a week he had already had a tangible effect on the landscape. Changing something, creating something new, making a mark. It was a satisfaction he had never known back home.
From his peripheral vision he caught a movement and Colleen’s shoulder rubbed his as she slumped down beside him on the bench, but he dared not look around.
Keep looking away. That was the thing to do.
Everything would be alright as long as Colleen had no idea of the purgatory having her at such clos
e quarters was putting him in.
‘Thea said you were married before.’
Not wishing to risk even the briefest glance at her, he took a sip of rum. ‘I was. Her name was Amelia.’ He swallowed and coughed, the fire of the spirit scalding the back of his throat.
‘You miss her?’
‘Time passes. Hard work has helped,’ he said, looking out over the yard, not making any move to turn in Colleen’s direction.
‘You’re over it then?’
‘I shouldn’t say exactly over it. I don’t know if you ever get over something like that, but I would say I am now quite reconciled to being without her.’
‘Oh.’
She sounded disappointed and yet it was improbable that her wish would be that he would be pining for his wife. Curiosity got the better of him. He turned to look at her. Her face crinkled up at the corners of her mouth and around her eyes as if she too were curious. He girded himself for the inevitable barrage of questions: what was Amelia like? Did he love her? How long were they married?
He had never seen fit to discuss the fact he had been married with her, but then there was no reason to lie either. But her question, when it came, was none of those.
It knocked him sideways.
‘Are you one of them, then? What they call mollies?’
Samuel’s immediate and involuntary reaction was to clench his buttocks.
He knew precisely what a molly was, but he was so taken aback to hear a woman speaking plainly on the topic he was unable to respond to her question directly.
‘A what?’ he said as he tried to affect as much consternation into the two words as he possibly could, in the hope she would drop the subject.
Undeterred Colleen continued, ‘Do you prefer men? Because if you do, I could dress up as a lad, lie on me stomach — real quiet — and you can close your eyes and pretend. No goin’ up the back passage though. That ain’t natural. Just from behind like. You know what I mean.’
Samuel sputtered before he could take control of his tongue and produce sensible diction.
‘Jesus Christ. No, I’m not a sodomite.’
‘Oh,’ she said her voice wavering.
Samuel shuddered.
‘What the hell happened to you in that place, that b-b-brothel?’ he stammered the word out, barely about to bring himself to say it, sorely tempted to grasp her and draw him into him, warding off the notions of what might have happened to her from assailing them both.
‘Well, I don’t reckon you really want to know about it, Mr Biggs. Best not to think on it too much, I’d say.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said now having had time to absorb what she was saying and gather his wits. He was relieved she’d had more sense than him, preventing him from discovering things he would rather not know, and that she shared his pragmatic approach to dealing with trouble. ‘I quite agree, Colleen. You are perfectly safe here. There is no point dwelling on life’s trials. If one can only get on with things and fill out the days by making ourselves useful, the worst usually passes of its own accord.’
‘I’m here safe now, and that’s all that matters isn’t it?’
She slumped against him, her head nestled into his chest as her silky hair teased his chin.
In the silence between them all he could hear was the rise and fall of her breath.
‘I am safe here, aren’t I?’ she repeated, reaching over to encircle his torso with her arm, gripping on to his side as if she never wanted to let go.
Dear God she was lovely. She smelled sweet and feminine and strangely, yet deliciously, of orange blossom. If only he had realised that first day at The Factory just how lovely, but it was too late now. He sat rigid, undecided as to whether he should allow her to nestle there or push her off.
Before he could reach a decision, she pulled away and sat up of her own accord, scraping a finger across the wedge of cake that until then he hadn’t noticed she’d had cradled down at her side in her other hand.
She held up a finger covered in a dollop of the icing.
‘What does that taste of do you reckon? It’s sort of sweet and sour all at the same time? It’s not like anything I’ve ever had before.’
‘Well — ’
He had been about to say that not having eaten any himself he couldn’t say, but no sooner had been about to speak than Colleen pushed her finger into his mouth.
The initial sensation was a burst of citrus, orange and possibly lemon, which was immediately followed by the sweetness of sugar until it dissolved away and then there was the feeling of her finger against his tongue, a soft slipperiness that tickled and teased as she slowly pulled it way, drawing him after it.
He grasped her by the wrist. ‘Orange, it’s orange,’ the words exploded out of him.
Pulling her to him with one hand, he secured the nape of her neck with the other. The taste of orange was on her lips and as he drew her in, deepening the kiss, the flavour combined enticingly with the flavour of the rum in his own mouth. She responded, pressing her body against hers, her fabulous bosom a crushing softness. She was sending him hard. He lifted her from the bench grasping her to him. He was already walking her backwards towards the door when rational thought reasserted itself. What was he doing? This was madness. If he took her inside, pushed her all the way over to his bed, there would be no going back.
With every ounce of reason he could summon, he pulled away.
‘No Colleen. I’m afraid this will never do. It won’t do at all.’
‘Why won’t it do? One minute you’ve got your tongue half down me throat and now you’re pulling back. I don’t understand you, Samuel Biggs.’
She folded her arms across her chest pushing her lip out in that irresistible pout of hers that damn near undid him all over again.
He had gone and ruined everything. They had been getting along famously and now he might as well have got down on one knee and professed his most ardent admiration.
He wanted her.
He knew it, and now, so did she.
‘Mr Biggs kissed me,’ Colleen said in answer to Thea’s probing the next afternoon as they sewed and gossiped, firstly about the ladies’ afternoon tea, and then once Thea finally found a way to wangle the conversation around to it, about her and Mr Biggs.
Thea lifted her head up, which had been bent over her sewing, to look at her.
‘He did? Well, Colleen, that’s wonderful.’
It was, but only insofar as now she knew for sure Mr Biggs fancied her, and that he definitely wasn’t a molly.
A kiss, even one like that didn’t get a woman knocked up, and straight after, he had done his usual disappearing act into the barn, making out like he had more work to do that would take till after sundown.
And on top of Mr Biggs taking off, the kiss hadn’t agreed with the baby one bit. Afterwards she had felt all shaken up, her stomach all swirling, her heart beating like mad. She had been expecting to feel squiffy in the mornings, but it was a surprise just how much being pregnant was playing havoc with her innards at any time of the day.
It was still possible Mr Biggs might get around to coming to her — eventually — but eventually would be far too late.
Colleen pretended to look pleased.
‘It is wonderful, Thea, and it’s all down to your cake,’ Colleen said, hoping to draw the topic of conversation back around to the gossip from the ladies’ tea party.
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, that was the start of it.’
Thea looked thoughtful for a moment stopping in mid stich, her needle poised in the air, trailing its thread.
‘In that case, you and Samuel should come and have your dinner with James and me tonight. I had been toying with the idea, something of a plan actually, but now I am certain. You must come while the weather is still warm.’
Colleen couldn’t see why summer weather mattered when they would be eating inside, but she said nothing. She was far too nervy, sick at the thought of dining in the big house with all that si
lver and crystal and proper porcelain to be managing to think of anything else.
Chapter 10
‘Are we going to talk about what happened?’ Colleen asked, flipping the fine shawl Thea had given her over her shoulders, knotting one end over the other. Mr Biggs likewise donned his neckcloth, pulling it this way and that as he looked into a little mirror he had set up on the mantelpiece.
Once she had told him about the invitation to dinner, Mr Biggs had gone into his trunk and pulled out a whole set of fancy evening clothes to wear to the Hunters’. Like the clothes he’d worn to The Factory they were a bit on the roomy side, as if they had been loaned to him by someone bigger, and now he was fussing with everything, to make it sit right.
‘It was most regrettable, but it won’t happen again, can’t we just leave it at that?’
He turned towards the door, strode out onto the porch and crooked his arm. She knew what he was up to. If she took it, he would hustle her off to the big house putting an end to their conversation.
Colleen followed him onto the porch but she didn’t take his arm, making out like she hadn’t seen it sticking out like a sore thumb, until finally he gave up and rested it back down by his side.
‘I don’t regret it and I don’t see why you should, neither. We’re married.’
Mr Biggs rubbed a hand back over his finely stubbled head. She could tell he was frustrated with her, but they had to talk. They couldn’t leave things the way they were. Not now.
‘We’ve already been through this, Colleen. We have an arrangement. You are here as my housekeeper.’
Arrangement, arrangement, feckin’ arrangement; if she heard that one more time she was going to scream. She might have thought that was all he wanted from her before, but not now, not after seeing him riled up with wanting. Before she hadn’t even been sure he was capable of it. But now she had seen it, she would never believe that this arrangement business was all he wanted.
‘And anyway, I would have thought you’d be grateful that I haven’t required any more of you,’ he added.
‘What? Grateful not to have to service you, given I’ve spent the last seven years with me legs in the air, you mean?’
