Destiny's Path

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘I’ll unpack your nightclothes and a towel, shall I, Mrs Kathleen?’ Orla asked quietly. ‘They said they’d send up some hot water when we needed it.’

  ‘Yes. All right.’ Feeling exhausted and miserable, Kathleen sat down on the narrow bed for a moment, closing her eyes to shut everything out.

  Conn had better agree to let his mother come back to England with her, or she’d be driven to desperation, and she never knew what she’d do when her temper took over. She’d been trained in self-control by a very strict governess and a strap wielded with all her mother’s strength, but even so she sometimes couldn’t help letting go of her temper and lashing out at the world.

  She couldn’t cry herself to sleep with a maid in the same room, wouldn’t demean herself. But she ached to weep.

  How long would this nightmare continue? she wondered. How long could she cope on her own? She’d never had to do that before. There had always been someone to tell her what to do.

  There was only Conn left now to turn to. Oh, how she wished she’d never come!

  In the morning Ronan and Bram went out to make enquiries about getting transport to where Conn lived. They found it was over a day’s journey south of Perth so ended up hiring two men and two carts, which would take them first to the south bank of the River Swan, where they’d stay overnight at an inn the men knew, then on to Conn’s homestead, as the men called it, a journey of three days in all, probably, ‘barring accidents’.

  ‘What sort of accidents?’ Ronan asked.

  ‘Could lose a wheel or break an axle but we don’t do that as often nowadays because the roads have been improved. They aren’t bad that way, what with the mail going down from Perth to Albany in the south. It’s a made road, you see, that one, which means the convicts worked on clearing it properly, so it doesn’t have to wind its way round obstacles like big trees.’ He grinned. ‘But it’s still just a dirt track, when all’s said and done.’

  ‘Where shall we stay the second night?’

  ‘We’ll see if we can find a farm or else we’ll have to sleep in the wagons.’

  Ronan almost laughed to see the indignation on Kathleen’s face, but managed to hold back his amusement, because he didn’t want to upset her. She was difficult enough without that.

  A moment or two later she pulled him aside. ‘Can you make no better arrangements than these for my travel?’

  He noticed she only said ‘my’. It was as if she lived in a world of her own and couldn’t see other people’s needs or feelings. ‘No, I can’t make better arrangements. I did ask around in Fremantle and these men were highly recommended for their reliability.’

  ‘They’re impudent wretches!’

  ‘The lower classes are different here, Kathleen. Haven’t you noticed that? Freer, more independent.’

  ‘They don’t know their place and should be soundly whipped. As for the Swan River Colony, it’s not what I would call civilised at all.’

  ‘They’d not send convicts somewhere civilised, now would they?’

  Her face tightened and she turned away.

  A short time later he saw her slap Orla, taking out her temper on the poor maid. He didn’t feel he could intervene, but the sight of the lass’s reddened cheek made him feel angry and he could see that Bram felt the same way. He felt desperately sorry for poor Conn, who’d said in one of his letters that getting free of his wife was the biggest benefit of being transported.

  What a shock her arrival was going to be for his friend!

  What would Conn do with the woman? He’d found it hard enough to live with her before in a large house. From what he’d said in his letters, his Australian home was more like a farmhouse, so they’d not be able to live separate lives here.

  Maia was talking to Mrs Largan on the veranda when she saw two carts turn off the track that passed their house. A woman was sitting bolt upright in the back of one, scowling at the world.

  ‘Oh, dear God, it can’t be! It is!’ Mrs Largan clutched her chest. ‘Go and warn Conn quickly. That’s his wife. What in heaven’s name is Kathleen doing here?’

  Maia gaped at the cart. Wife? Conn’s wife was here?

  ‘Hurry!’

  She ran into the house, calling for Xanthe and explaining breathlessly what Mrs Largan had said, then went rushing out to the fields to find Conn.

  ‘Where’s the master?’ she asked the stable hand.

  ‘Out riding.’

  ‘Which direction?’

  ‘He went to see the Grahams on the next farm. He should be coming back down the side track any time, I reckon, because he went a while ago.’

  Without thinking, Maia set off running to find him.

  To her relief she met Conn after a couple of hundred yards and stopped to try to regain her breath, as he reined in and slid down from the horse.

  ‘What’s the matter? My mother’s all right, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. But she sent me – to warn you. Two wagons arrived – your wife is in one.’

  ‘My wife? Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s what your mother said. I’ve never met your wife. The woman in the cart looked . . . very angry.’

  ‘That’s the right word for Kathleen. She was always angry with the world. Nothing was ever right for her except her horses.’

  He stood for a moment or two like one carved from stone, looking suddenly years older, then let out his breath slowly. ‘Come on. I’ll give you a ride back to the house behind me.’ Without waiting for her answer, he remounted and leaned down. ‘Put your foot on my stirrup. There.’ He pulled Maia up and she managed to get one leg across the horse, heedless that she was showing her lower legs.

  Conn clicked his tongue and the horse set off as soon as she was securely seated. ‘I can’t believe the woman would follow me out here. It’s not as if she cares for me – never did.’

  Maia put her arms round his waist, resting her head against his back and wishing the ride could last longer, but all too soon they arrived at the stables.

  ‘Get down quickly.’

  She slid off the horse, stumbling as her feet touched the ground.

  ‘Sean! You’re needed.’ He was dismounting even as he called for his head groom, and when no one came running, he thrust the reins into her hands. ‘Here. Hold him till Sean can take him off you.’

  So she was left standing in the stable yard with the sun shining down as if it was mocking her and the horse moving restlessly to and fro. She kept wondering what was going on inside the house, worrying about Mrs Largan – and him.

  He had never seemed so far out of her reach.

  6

  Xanthe reached the veranda before the wagons stopped outside the house. ‘Maia’s gone to find Conn,’ she told her mistress in a low voice.

  Mrs Largan nodded, looking relieved. ‘Good. At least he’ll have a little warning.’

  ‘I didn’t know—’

  ‘That he was married? Didn’t your sister tell you? He told her. I insisted he did.’

  ‘No, she didn’t say a word.’ It explained a lot, though.

  ‘His wife is a dreadful woman. She’ll try to take over here and she—don’t let her hit you.’

  Xanthe gaped at this comment. ‘Hit me? Just let her try!’

  ‘She hits out blindly if she’s upset. She has a terrible temper.’

  What sort of a woman was Conn’s wife that such a warning was necessary?

  Her mistress’s face took on an expression of grim distaste as she watched the carts, a look Xanthe didn’t remember seeing on her face before. Normally Mrs Largan was the gentlest of women, with time and a smile for everyone, whatever their faults.

  ‘Remember, I give you your orders here, Xanthe, not her. Don’t be afraid to check with me first about anything that doesn’t seem reasonable. She can cause mischief, as well as messing up domestic arrangements on a whim. We don’t have enough staff here to run round after her. My husband used to find her silly behaviour amusing; I never did.’

>   ‘I’ll remember that. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid to stand up for myself.’

  ‘Tell your sister too.’ Mrs Largan eased herself to her feet, leaning on her walking stick as she studied the newcomers. ‘The gentleman with her is Ronan Maguire, a good friend of Conn’s, the other man is Bram Deagan, who used to work in the stables at Shilmara, and the maid looks like – it must be little Orla. My goodness, how she’s grown! I can’t think what’s brought them all here, but I wish with all my heart they hadn’t come. Wherever Kathleen goes there’s sure to be trouble.’

  It was the second time she’d said that, Xanthe thought, studying Conn’s wife carefully. She was a stocky woman dressed in clothes which didn’t flatter her at all and had a rather plain, masculine-looking face.

  The two women on the cart sat waiting while Ronan jumped lightly down and strode towards the veranda.

  Xanthe saw Conn’s wife look after him indignantly, one hand stretched out to be helped down, but he made no effort to help her. The man called Bram hesitated, then turned to assist her.

  As Ronan Maguire came closer, Xanthe forgot the rest of them. He wasn’t handsome but he was an attractive fellow with his brown hair gleaming in the sun, which lit it to almost auburn. His face looked as if it was made for smiling, though at the moment his expression was as grim as Mrs Largan’s and he seemed full of suppressed anger.

  Ronan? Why did the name sound familiar? Then she realised it was the man who was to bring their money from England and her heart leaped in anticipation. If she had her money, she could start making plans for travelling.

  He took Conn’s mother’s hand, clasping it in his for a moment. ‘Mrs Largan. I’m delighted to see you again. I hope you’ll forgive us for turning up without warning.’ He bent his head to say more quietly, ‘And sorry I am to have brought her. I didn’t know she was on board till after the ship had sailed, or I swear I’d have had her kidnapped and locked away till it left Southampton. We both know she’ll upset everyone. She always does.’ He kept his hostess’s hand clasped in his as he looked questioningly towards her companion.

  ‘This is our housekeeper, Xanthe.’

  He smiled at her, and Xanthe felt a tingle run through her. She’d heard of dazzling smiles before but never seen one. Heard how people could be attracted to one another on sight, but had never expected it to happen to her. As she was fumbling for words, something unusual for her, he spoke again.

  ‘You must be Pandora’s sister. There’s a strong family resemblance. Doesn’t Maia live here too?’

  ‘Yes. She’s my personal maid,’ Mrs Largan said. When neither of them spoke, she looked at them in surprise. They didn’t even seem aware of her. Instead, they were staring at one another with a look of – well, she could only call it recognition, as if they knew each other, which they didn’t. Her heart sank. That could only mean one thing. Wasn’t it bad enough that her son had fallen in love with Maia? Now Ronan had taken one look at Xanthe and forgotten the rest of the world. What was there about these Blake sisters that attracted men so quickly? Thank goodness they weren’t immoral and didn’t encourage men’s attentions.

  Xanthe looked at Ronan eagerly. ‘You’ve seen Pandora?’ At his nod, she asked, ‘How is she? We all miss her so and—’

  A harsh voice interrupted them. ‘I’d not have thought a maid’s gossiping took precedence over greeting a guest.’

  Mrs Largan drew herself up and stared coldly as her daughter-in-law walked towards them. ‘Or that a guest would take it upon herself to speak so rudely to her hostess.’

  ‘If this is Conn’s house, then it’s I who will be mistress here from now on. I’m still his wife.’

  ‘A wife who abandoned him in his hour of need.’

  ‘Papa Largan said he was a traitor and we should all cut him out of our lives.’

  Mrs Largan let out a sound that was so anguished Xanthe wanted to put an arm round her for comfort.

  ‘I can’t believe a father could treat his son so badly.’

  ‘He said Conn deserved it.’

  Xanthe watched the newcomer’s hands clench into fists. What a way to start a visit, by being rude to an older woman who was not only her hostess but her mother-in-law! And what a gargoyle of a face she had! The woman could never have been pretty, even when she was younger, but now lines of discontent were scored across her forehead and down her cheeks. She must be years older than Conn, surely?

  No wonder he’d found gentle Maia attractive.

  But her sister could hardly stay here, because if ever trouble was brewing it was now.

  Conn heard Kathleen’s remarks as he was walking quietly through the house and his step faltered for a moment. He felt almost physically sick at the thought of seeing her again, but he wasn’t going to let her insult his mother – or anyone else. ‘You’re not mistress here, Kathleen, and never will be,’ he said as he stepped out on to the veranda.

  She spun round to stare at her husband, her mouth pinched as if she’d just tasted something sour and spots of red flying across her cheeks. ‘You’ve not changed, Conn Largan. You still have no sense of what’s right. I’d expected them to have taught you a few manners in prison. Your father said they would.’

  She waited but no one spoke. It was as if they were all frozen, not knowing what to do next.

  She moved forward. ‘Well, since you’ve not seen fit to invite me to sit down, I’ll take a seat anyway. The roads in this benighted place leave a lot to be desired. And I’d not mind a cup of tea. Surely that housekeeper of yours can provide some?’

  Conn took his wife’s arm before she could sit down. ‘I think you and I have some talking to do first. On our own.’

  She tried to pull away from him, but he held on tightly because he wanted to get her away from his mother as quickly as possible. As he forced her to walk with him into the house, he remembered other times when she’d fought him and won by using her nails and feet. She had refused point-blank to let him into her bed when he visited her room on their wedding night. The only thing he’d really wanted from her had been children, so he’d tried to persuade her – not force, persuade – but she’d still gouged deep marks down his cheeks and screamed for help at the top of her voice.

  After that, if he so much as entered the bedroom that had always been his before she’d begin to scream and throw things at him.

  She’d quickly revealed her true nature in other ways, the utter disregard for other people’s wishes or needs, the viciousness when someone offended her. Soon he’d been glad the marriage was unconsummated and had spoken to his father about getting it annulled on those grounds. But his father had refused to countenance the idea, saying the family would lose too much if they had to pay back the dowry. Conn wasn’t the heir so it didn’t matter if they never had children. He could always find a village girl to satisfy his needs.

  But Conn couldn’t face a life with Kathleen and made enquiries about arranging an annulment. That caused the greatest row ever with his father, after which he left the family home – without taking his wife. Clearly Kathleen’s parents must have paid James Largan a hell of a lot of money to marry her off to his son. Money was his father’s god, always had been.

  Conn stopped walking as he realised suddenly it was only a few weeks after that final row that he’d been arrested and imprisoned. He’d never connected the two things before but now he had to wonder. No, it couldn’t be. Surely a man wouldn’t do that to his own son?

  But someone had planted false evidence. He didn’t think his cousin Michael was clever enough to do that. And Kathleen had continued to live at Shilmara with his father.

  As he frog-marched his wife into the house, Conn realised he was much stronger than her nowadays – and mentally stronger, too. He’d been far too easy-going before.

  But was he strong enough to get rid of her? He had to be. He wasn’t going to live with her again or impose the misery of her presence on his mother. As well live with the devil. In fact, he’d rather live with the de
vil.

  They met Maia coming along the hall and Kathleen stopped to stare at her in surprise. ‘Didn’t we just leave you outside on the veranda, girl?’

  ‘That was my twin, ma’am. I’m Mrs Largan’s personal maid, Maia; Xanthe’s the housekeeper.’ Maia’s voice was cool, her expression giving nothing away.

  ‘I’ve never seen a matching pair of maids before. Are you convicts too?’

  ‘No, ma’am. We’re free settlers.’

  ‘Excuse us, please, Maia. My wife and I need to talk.’ Taking Kathleen’s arm again, Conn forced her to move into the room he called his library, sparsely furnished as it was with books at the moment.

  He let go of her wrist and shut the door. ‘What the hell do you mean by coming to Australia?’

  ‘I had nowhere else to go and you’re still my husband, after all, so you have a duty to support me.’

  ‘My father gave you a home. Why have you left it?’

  ‘Your father’s dead and your brother threw me out of the house.’

  ‘Father’s dead? How? When? Have you told Mother?’

  She rubbed her wrist. ‘Not yet. You didn’t give me the chance.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain why you’re here. I’m sure Kieran offered you somewhere else to live, even if he didn’t want you at Shilmara, and arranged an allowance too.’

  Her lips curled in that scornful way he remembered so well. ‘A six-room hovel in Dublin! I’m not lowering myself to that, whatever you may have done. You need a bigger house than this.’

  ‘No, I don’t. And never mind that. Why did you really come here, Kathleen? You must have some reason and I’m sure it wasn’t me.’

  ‘I thought to ask your mother to come back and live in Ireland with me, but I can see she won’t make old bones. She’d probably die on the voyage like Ronan’s mother did, then I’d be back where I started, having to live on my own. No one would come to call and—’