by Janet Woods
The children came running indoors and lined up by the window. Elizabeth took the rifle down. Loading it, as Jed had taught her, she went to join her man.
Making no attempt at stealth, a man and woman were walking towards the house. The strangers stopped a little way off, the man shielding the woman with his body, in much the same way as Jed shielded Elizabeth. ‘My name is Marcus Ibsen. I’m looking for Jed and Elizabeth Hawkins, and it seems as though I’ve found them.’
There was a click as Jed disabled the rifle. ‘Mrs Matheson has told us of you. Welcome to my property, though if you want me to go back and manage Cheverton Estate for you, the answer is no. I’m my own master, now.’
‘I already have a good agent managing the place.’
The two men shook hands, appraising each other all the while. A mutual relaxation between them seemed to take place. Marcus smiled at her. ‘Mrs Hawkins, it’s nice to meet you, at last. Susannah and I have been acquainted for some time. She’s very much resembles you.’
Indeed, Susannah had come forward to gaze up at him, her brothers in tow. With a shy smile on her face as they reacquainted themselves, she then introduced her two brothers.
Elizabeth sensed an odd mixture of menace and dependability about Marcus Ibsen. Siana had told her that Marcus Ibsen was a man who knew his own depths and acted accordingly, much like Jed. His dark eyes were both astute and assessing. ‘I have a message for you. Mrs Matheson sends you her love and hopes you and your family have a prosperous future.’
‘Was Siana well when you last saw her?’
‘I’ve never known her to suffer from any malady. Mrs Matheson has returned to England with her daughter.
‘Her daughter! Siana was expecting a child?’ Elizabeth turned to Jed, remorse in her eyes. ‘Oh Jed, if I’d known I’d have never left her there alone. I’d have insisted she came with us.’
‘Which is probably why she didn’t tell us in the first place. That little lady has always been capable of running her own life, and the lives of everyone else around her, if she can.’
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed when she saw the gleam of a grin in Marcus Ibsen’s face. It was the smile of a man who thought he had the measure of Siana. But then the grin became self-deprecating, and she saw those coal-black eyes of his were intent on her. His head slanted to one side, he regarded her steadily, as though he’d read her thoughts. He was intriguing, and slightly uncomfortable to be with. Siana would like that aspect of him, for she’d find it a challenge.
‘What name did Siana give to her daughter?’
‘Francine Megan. The infant is the very double of her mother.’ He drew the woman with him forward. ‘This is my wife, Julia. We have recently been wed in Sydney and will be returning to England as soon as my business here is finished. I wondered if you would be kind enough to offer her your hospitality for a day or two. We’ve been travelling by foot and she’s tired of living rough, I think.’
Elizabeth held out both hands to Julia, drawing her forward to kiss her cheek. ‘We would be glad to. You do look fatigued. Come indoors, my dear. I’ll make you some refreshment and boil some water so you can bathe.’
Marcus watched Julia being led away. He was well pleased with his wife of two months. She’d turned out to be congenial company, possessing a wry sense of humour in the most trying of circumstances. She had also applied herself with some enthusiasm to her marital duties, which had surprised him greatly, considering her background.
The first night of their marriage had been spent in the open. Being almost strangers, they had become suddenly awkward with each other when it was time to retire. Marcus had just been pondering on how best to approach the subject of intimacy, or indeed, whether he should approach it at all after the debacle of his union with Maryse, when she’d said, ‘Marcus, now we are wed, sooner or later I must become you wife in truth. I would prefer it to be now, so it’s put behind us. I have some knowledge of what is entailed, but no experience. I would be grateful if you would instruct me in my duties.’
So, instruct her, he had. She’d confessed her enjoyment of the experience through the soft pleasurable noises and the involuntary response of her body as she submitted to him. He knew he’d found a willing bed partner in her. That, he intended to exploit to the fullest, for she had a shapely, long-legged body and her skin was as soft as satin.
She’d laughed softly afterwards, and said, ‘I hope your home in Dorset has a soft bed, for there are several stones digging into me and I’ll be peppered with bruises in the morning.’
‘Our home in Dorset,’ he’d said, and although she became curious about Cheverton Manor he wouldn’t tell her any more, for there was a childish urge in him to surprise and please her with the sight of it. Though now Jed had made her aware that it was an estate, no doubt Julia would quiz Elizabeth about it when they were alone, for women were curious creatures.
‘What business can you have on my property, when there is nothing beyond?’ Jed asked.
Marcus didn’t bother to lie, for he sensed that the man has already guessed why he was here. He’d learned enough about Jed Hawkins from Siana to know it was best to be straight with him. ‘I have a score to settle. I’m looking for a convict called Henry Ruddle. You’ve heard of him?’
‘Aye, you know I have. He used to work on the Cheverton Estate as an itinerant labourer.’ The man didn’t betray his thoughts by as much as the flicker of an eyelid.
‘I’ve learned he’s part of a convict clearing gang a few miles inland.’
‘Could be.’
‘There’s no could be about it. I’m going there to kill him.’
Jed nodded. ‘I understand you have cause. There is a trooper guarding that clearing gang. How do you intend to get past him?’
‘I’ll observe the routine of the camp first.’
Jed jerked a head towards the house. ‘Aside from your good woman, who should I inform if you don’t come back?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘I have every intention of coming back. Maryse blessed me with two children to rear. That, I intend to do.’
‘An incentive to be careful, then.’
‘A good incentive.’ The two men exchanged a significant glance, then Jed nodded. ‘Will you be staying for supper, Marcus?’
‘Thank you, Mr Hawkins, but be warned, I have appetite enough to eat a horse.’
‘Mutton will have to suffice. Call me Jed,’ he said, holding out his hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of friendship, for he was rarely drawn so easily to a man.
Marcus departed as soon as it was dark, heading for the line of trees that bordered the property. Two hours later, when everyone but himself and Elizabeth was fast asleep, Jed fetched his warm jacket and picked up his rifle.
‘You’re going after him?’
‘Marcus Ibsen won’t even know I’m there.’
Elizabeth fastened the buttons on his jacket one by one and, holding on to his collar, gazed up at him, worry shining deeply in her eyes. ‘I don’t want you to get involved.’
‘The man has a strong urge in him to avenge Maryse. I can’t blame him for that. After Siana told me what had happened to Maryse, I’d toyed with the same idea myself, till I reckoned it was none of my business. I won’t step in unless I have too.’
‘Be careful then, Jed Hawkins. You’re a stubborn mule, but I love you.’
Jed grinned at that, kissed her lightly on the mouth and said, ‘Unhand me then, woman.’ When she did, he slipped out through the door and closed it gently behind him.
It was the evening of the second day before Marcus found the work gang. He’d slept a little, huddled in his brown robe under the branches of a fallen tree, with the hood pulled over his head, ready to wake in an instant.
He’d kept to the river bank until he’d come to a place where a track was cleared into the bush and the mud was churned by many feet. He’d been drawn to the clearing camp by the smell of woodsmoke.
On the way to the camp he’d had the feeling he was being fol
lowed. His caution and observations came to nought, though. Nothing he could see moved in the shadowy bush land other than the creatures which ought to be there. In the end he’d relaxed. Were there natives out to cause him harm, most certainly they’d have sent a spear thudding into his back by now. They’d had ample opportunity.
After several weeks going from place to place Marcus was used to the noises of the bush. He’d learned to be cautious of snakes, though he’d heard that, at this time of year, the cold weather caused them to be sluggish. They were cold-blooded creatures which concealed themselves in hollow logs or under rocks in the winter.
As he lay in the dawn shadows watching the camp come awake, the trees above him rustled in the wind, or gave faint cracks as loose branches fell. The local eucalyptus trees were not as sturdy as English trees. The foliage was supported by spindly grey trunks and branches soaring skywards. The oil they contained made them highly flammable.
The thorny undergrowth he’d pushed through had scratched his face and hands. Three days of beard decorated his chin. But he was not as disreputable-looking as the convicts with their long matted beards, he noticed, as the camp woke to the sound of groans, rattling coughs and breaking wind. Men shuffled into the undergrowth to relieve themselves, returning to form a ragged line for role-call.
‘Smith . . . Meredith . . . Taggert . . . Ruddle . . .’
Marcus’s eyes honed in on the wretch he’d come to kill. Henry Ruddle was still powerfully built, despite his deprivations, for hard labour had kept him muscular. The very fact that such a man would have forced himself on his gentle Maryse brought the blood roiling in fury to his face. Hard pressed not to rise from the spot and throw himself upon the man, Marcus wished he’d brought a weapon with him, for he could have shot him from concealment.
But his wasn’t the coward’s way. He wanted the man to know the crime he was dying for. He gazed at his slender fingers with doubt in his eyes. Ruddle had a thick, muscular neck, and he’d have to take him by surprise.
The convicts were given a portion of gruel to eat, and chained together. They shuffled off with the overseer in charge of them. Luck was running his way, for Ruddle was left behind with the guard.
The trooper sat on a log, his gun slung over his arm, barking orders at the convict. ‘Tidy up the camp, then put the billy on.’
Ruddle went down to the river with a leather bucket for water, then came back and washed the utensils. The remaining water was set aside.
Marcus saw his chance when the bucket suddenly tipped over, spilling the water into the ground. He grinned when he saw a grey snake retreat into the undergrowth, disturbed by the heavy load placed on it. Moving swiftly towards the river, Marcus stepped out as Ruddle bent to fill the bucket for a second time.
‘Henry Ruddle?’
The man’s head jerked up. ‘What of it?’
‘My name is Marcus Ibsen. I’m the owner of Cheverton Estate, in Dorset.’
‘Come to offer me a job ’ave you? As you can see, I’m otherwise engaged.’
‘Actually, I’ve come to kill you. Remember a girl you raped on the night of the harvest supper, over six years ago?’
The convict’s body tensed and his eyes narrowed as they darted about Marcus’s body, looking for signs of a weapon. ‘A tasty little pie, as I recall. Nice and tight. I nearly skinned my thrasher getting it inside her.’
‘She killed herself because of you, you lump of shit.’
Ruddle grinned as he goaded, ‘The slut didn’t have to do that. She wriggled and sobbed, made it even more exciting. A pity she killed herself, I wouldn’t mind doing her all over again.’
Even knowing he’d probably left it too late, Marcus launched himself at the man.
Sinewy arms wrapped around him in a bear hug. Ruddle might be chained at the ankles but his arms were free, and he was intent on breaking Marcus’s neck.
A knee to his groin loosened the hold and the pair went down. The mud prevented Marcus from getting a good grip as they rolled around grunting and punching at each other.
Nearly felled by a blow to the head, Marcus fell on to this back, dazed.
Staggering to his feet, Ruddle picked up a rock and lifted it over his head. But he seemed to jerk as if he’d been stung. He slipped, and the rock fell from his grasp.
Marcus rolled to one side before the rock landed, scissoring the convict’s ankles with his legs to bring him down on to his stomach. Kneeling on Ruddle’s back and capturing the man’s head with his arm, Marcus applied force with his knee and jerked his neck backwards. The sound of the crack went unheard amongst the sound of axes in the undergrowth.
He checked that the man was dead and, breathing heavily, rose to his feet, aware that luck had been on his side. ‘You can rest easy now, Maryse,’ he whispered. ‘And so can I.’
He saw it then, another thin snake sliding off into the bushes, but this one was brown and braided. ‘Not this time, I think, my friend,’ he breathed.
‘Ruddle,’ the trooper shouted out, ‘get yourself back here.’
Grinning, Marcus melted into the bushes and headed back towards the Hawkins farm at a fast lope. It wasn’t until two hours had passed that he stopped to rest on a fallen log.
Before too long he heard his tracker, who was making no effort to hurry or conceal himself, now. He stepped into Jed’s path, grinning when the rifle swung up, though knowing he wouldn’t have stood a chance if the trigger had been pulled. ‘I thought it was you.’
Jed grinned from ear to ear. ‘You’re good, Marcus.’
Marcus pushed the barrel of the rifle aside with his hand. ‘You’re just as good. That trick with the stick was a new one on me. As for the whip tip stinging Ruddle’s leg . . . I thought a snake had struck him the second time, until I realized I’d never seen a snake made of braided leather before. You’re too familiar with the camp not to have been watching it.’
‘Of course I’m familiar with it. The convicts are assigned to me, and I’ve my wife and children to consider if those convicts get loose.’
‘And Ruddle? You must have known him, since you managed Cheverton for most of your life.’
‘Aye, I recognized him, and Mrs Matheson told me what happened to young Maryse.’ He shook his head. ‘A sad business, for a nicer lass you couldn’t wish to meet. I had the same idea as you, but couldn’t figure out how to kill the scum and get away with it. My instincts were weighted on the side of my own good woman, for I’m no good to her, dead.’
‘They’ll think he slipped and fell on the rock.’
‘There’s no reason for them to think otherwise, is there? They’ll dig a hole and bury him deep and it will be as if he never existed. Is this business over now?’
Soberly, Marcus nodded.
‘Then put it behind you. Go back home. Cheverton is a fine estate and needs a master in residence. Be nice to that sweet woman you’ve wed. I know a good un when I see one. Elizabeth thinks she might be with child.’
‘Already? We’ve only been wed for a few weeks.’
Jed chuckled at his astonishment. ‘When a man takes his ease with a woman he should give some thought to the consequence. Go home. Be a good father and set a decent example for your young uns to follow.’ He grinned widely. ‘Though that father be covered in muck and dressed in a skirt. We’ll have to wash your sins away in the river before we take you home.’
‘I was never much of a preaching man and my sins are part of me. Let them be, so they can warm me when the devil takes me.’ Laughing, for he was exhilarated now his gruesome task was over, Marcus dragged the ragged and muddied robe over his head and threw it away. He wouldn’t be needing it again.
He would be glad to get home to Cheverton. His little Alexander and Jane Louise needed a mother as well as a father. Who better than Julia to set them an example? ‘A good un,’ Jed had called her, and Marcus knew he was right. He smiled at the thought that there might be another child on the way. Cheverton Manor was a big house.
Suddenly,
he couldn’t wait to take her home. He hoped Siana would like Julia, for her opinion was of the greatest importance to him. He began to chuckle at the thought.
‘What’s tickled you?’ Jed said, the beginnings of a smile on his face.
‘I was thinking of Siana Matheson and wondering what she’ll make of Julia.’
‘Grabbed you by the balls, has she?’ Jed said, matter of factly, which made Marcus laugh out loud. He only wished she had.
Siana had returned to Dorset, Francis knew it.
There had been nothing tangible. No note from her, no gossip. He felt her in the dappled shadows under the trees, in the steady beat of his heart, in the very air he breathed. He heard her in the church bells that rang her name to float upon the summer breezes. The grasses seemed to whisper her name. Siana . . . Siana. Sometimes he could smell the faint elusive perfume of her, wild-flowers, wood musk and bergamot.
Odd, he mused, grinning, for it ill behove a sensible man of science, such as himself, to be receptive to such nonsense.
‘’Tis the midsummer moon. You be fair mazed by it,’ Siana’s maid, Rosie, had told him, grinning when he’d asked her if she could smell his wife’s perfume too. But her eyes had slid away from his.
There were subtle changes in the house. The servants stopped whispering together when he came into a room. They put an extra sparkle into their polishing and they sang about the house and laughed. There was an air of secrecy about the children. Pansy had been evasive when he’d asked her if she’d heard any gossip.
‘If Siana has returned, no doubt she’ll let you know in due course, Papa,’ was all she said, then she bustled off to perform some seemingly urgent task.
Francis found an excuse to visit Josh in Poole. Josh’s man, Mr Bentley, ushered him into the hall. ‘I’ll enquire if the master is receiving visitors, sir.’ He shuffled off towards the drawing room with Francis’s card on a silver salver. ‘Dr Matheson wishes to see you, sir,’ Francis heard him say.
‘Thank you, Mr Bentley. Dr Matheson doesn’t need to stand on ceremony. He’s welcome any time.’
