"Poor mite, is it?" Tiger grunted. "Something tells me I should have left her to go with Malloy. He wanted to take her."
"Malloy? He's the foulest person in the colony, bar none."
"She would have preferred to go with Tonkins, it seems. The wench has a grudge against the gentry." Tiger lifted his brows at Thelma's surprised look. As she opened her mouth to say something the door in the corner opened.
"Ah, there you are, Bella," Thelma said, smiling, as the girl came tentatively into the kitchen. "Come in now, girl, an' we'll start to fatten you up a bit."
"Fatten me up? Am I to be filled out an' sent off to market like a farm beast?"
"Heavens above, you're an ungrateful bundle!" Tiger gave her a reproving look. "Thelma's just wanting to give you a taste of some decent food. We ought to send you packing, and that's a fact. Now, come sit and eat."
She sat, her head bowed, hands folded demurely in her lap.
Tiger didn't trust the meek and subservient attitude at all. Obviously she'd worked out that it would pay her to show some respect. The chit was like a fire waiting to be ignited, she wouldn't know how to be demure. But he'd always been one to play with fire, and taming this shrew should prove amusing.
"I must say you smell sweeter now. Of course the garments don't exactly make you a lady of quality but they're a step up from what you were wearing." He let his eyes rove over her from her head to her toes in a desultory way he knew would anger her. Her cheeks flared, and he knew she itched to fling an insult at him. Poor mite, indeed.
"Thank you for these," Isabella muttered as she fingered the coarse woven material of the frock. It reached her ankles and was a bit on the roomy side, but the near white apron Thelma had given her helped to pull it in round the middle. She'd never owned a petticoat in her life, and the soft material of that felt wondrous. The shoes were on the big side too, but they were the only decent foot coverings she'd ever worn. Hopefully her feet would grow into them as her body grew into the dress, and the stockings helped fill up some of the space in them. It was too hot for the hose, but she hadn't been able to resist the novelty of wearing them.
How blissful it was to be clean. She would put up with his taunts for that alone. Tears clogged her throat.
"How did you get the limp?" her new master asked, and she quickly swallowed the tears.
For a minute Tiger thought she wasn't going to answer. My God, but she held a grudge about something. He'd solve the puzzle or die in the attempt.
"I was fighting for bread," she said softly. "A baker's cart went over a large cobblestone, spilling its load everywhere across the street. We were squabbling over our share of the bread. The baker began to chase us off an' I bumped into a nob's horse. One of its hooves caught me and my toes were broken." Her expression was as flat as her words.
"I see, and because you were so poor you couldn't get a surgeon's care, right?" Tiger asked.
"That's right." She raised defiant eyes and chin. "But what would you know of being so poor that you had to fight for a crust?"
"Tiger knows well enough—" Thelma began.
Tiger lifted a hand. "Hush, Thelma." He gave her a wink and she pulled a face at him, which the wench didn't see, she was busy looking at her hands. "The sharp-tongued termagant wants to see me as a slave-driving member of the upper class. Let's leave her with her own ideas, eh?" He chuckled and the chit gave him a look of such contempt he was momentarily stunned.
"But she ought to know, Tiger," Thelma insisted as he turned the chair about and sat on it when she put his meal on the table.
"Time enough. Now, eat." Tiger waved his fork. "By the way . . . Bella . . . where did you come by the nasty bruise on your chin?"
She touched it with her fingertips. "One of the whores who shared our mess tripped me up. The rat faced harlot did it on purpose. I hit my face on a post."
"Poor girl." Thelma clicked her tongue.
"You should have seen her lovely black eye after Gracie had finished with her." Isabella smiled at the memory, and the small movement of her lips sent Tiger's insides into a strange spin. He dragged his eyes away.
Dougal came in with Gillie. "Ah, here comes your lover, and my right-hand man," he said. Her smile disappeared instantly and fresh color flooded her face.
"Don't call Dougal that." She scowled at him.
"Oh, I beg your pardon. So, 'tis a secret, is it?" Tiger winked at Thelma as she set a plate of food in front of the girl. Her sour look clearly said she thought he was going too far.
Thelma smiled at Gillie, then gestured for Dougal to sit at the table. "Come, you sit beside Bella," she invited. "You look like you need a decent bit of food inside you too."
"Thank you, ma'am." Dougal gave Isabella a wide smile as he sat, rubbing his palms over his thighs.
Thelma waved a hand. "Bless my soul, I'm Thelma to everyone, including you."
"Thank you . . . Thelma." Dougal's beaming grin seemed fixed on his plain face.
"When the weather's so hot we cook and bake early in the day, Bella. That's why we have cold meat and greens now. 'Tis too warm to be eating stews and the like anyway," Thelma said, passing a platter of buttered bread along the table.
"We must be the luckiest from the whole bunch off the ship, eh Bella?" Dougal said quietly. "I'm to sleep alongside the horses in the stable. And I'm to help Gillie with the animals. There aren't that many sheep yet, but he's going to teach me all about the cattle and the horses until the flock grows. How are you settled in then?"
"I have a room of my own too," Isabella said in a low voice, refusing to look at her master, whose eyes she could feel on her as she lifted a slice of roasted lamb on her fork. She was still coming to terms with the fact that he ate along with his servants, talking to them as if they were of the same station.
"That's grand then, isn't it?" Dougal began to eat with relish. Isabella agreed with him as she savored the tasty meat. This was grand when put alongside the picture she'd painted of what her life would likely hold for her in this hell of a place. But she'd not own up to it. She'd not give this 'Englishman' the satisfaction of knowing she was so happy at this moment she felt like crying.
"What was your crime, Bella?" Gillie asked.
Thelma's husband was as thin as his wife. But where Thelma's bones stuck out at her elbows and wrists, his arms were muscular. Thelma was pale as well as skinny, but Gillie looked fit and brown, his back straight. Like his master's. Isabella couldn't believe their luck. This couple seemed to be really pleased to have her and Dougal here. Their English master could be tolerated; as long as he didn't prove to be the tyrant she'd expected and start to make a claim on her after the sun went down.
"I attacked a nob with a knife," she said, swallowing a mouthful of food.
"Ye gods!" Her owner narrowed his eyes and Thelma and Gillie sat staring at her in a peculiar way.
"And how did that come about?" Thelma asked after a brief pause.
"It's all right, you don't have to worry I'm going to kill you all in your beds. I don't make a habit of coming at people with knives. This so-called gent deserved all he got. It was his luck I was a rotten hand with a weapon. I was aiming below his belt, and he put his hand in the way. I almost chopped his thumb off." Isabella pushed a potato about her plate. "I suppose it was my lucky day too, for if I'd chopped off what I'd intended I'd have swung and that's for sure."
Tiger Carstairs let out a hoot of laughter.
"So, we don't have to lock up all the sharp implements then, miss?" he asked, turning serious.
"I may look silly but I'm not that daft," she retorted. "I heard on the ship about the way things are run here in the colony. I do realize I'm likely to be strung up if I don't stick to the rules."
"Good. As long as we know where we stand." Another unreadable look passed between her master and Thelma.
"And have you a family left behind in the old country, girl?" Thelma asked as she seated herself beside her husband.
"Aye, me Ma and three bro
thers and sisters; all younger than me." Her voice dropped as she lowered her head, remembering the pain at leaving her Ma and the little ones. She would not cry for them. The time for tears had long passed. There was naught she could do to change anything. But oh how it hurt; her fear for them and her longing to see them again was like an ache deep inside her. How were they faring without her? No doubt Jeremy would be out stealing for them now. He was fifteen, and would probably end up over here in this godforsaken country afore long. It shouldn't have done, but that thought brightened her considerably.
"And what of your father?" Tiger asked.
"Papa's in Newgate. Leastwise he was when I went up for trial. Put there by an English magistrate." She out-stared her new owner. "He could be dead now for all I know."
"Were you out stealing to feed the rest of your family, then, girl?" Thelma asked.
"Aye." Finishing her meal, she wiped the dish clean with a chunk of bread. Putting the fork down, she sat back and stared at the painting of a horse jumping a fence that graced the wall. "Trying to. And I was doing all right 'til this nob came along and ruined everything."
"You can write to your ma if you wish, Bella," Tiger allowed, also sitting back and patting his stomach. "Thelma will give you some paper, pen and ink. You can write, can't you?"
"Course I can. Me ma taught us all our letters. She may have only been a housemaid, but her dad taught her and she passed it on to all of us. Papa never quite picked it up though. Still, 'tis likely he'll not be worrying about such things anymore. 'Tis a fact that not many survive Newgate." Her mouth set in a grim line.
"Perhaps he'll get transported, and you'll be together again." Tiger tried to inject his voice with a touch of optimism he didn't feel.
"I doubt it."
Tiger saw her swallow hard, saw the defeat in her eyes. The quelled fury at the injustice of the penal system rose up to enrage him again. So many honest folk were torn from their families and imprisoned and transported, often for no other reason than their desire to be spared the pangs of hunger. Memories of his own trial and banishment came back to remind him that once he'd been in the same position as she.
Was she speaking the truth? Ye gods—he hoped he hadn't brought home a murderess. She'd been brought to trial for attempting to unman a member of the gentry, but she might have gotten away with murder in the past. He knew well enough how the riffraff protected its own in the hordes populating the streets of London.
"Last we heard Papa was eaten up with fever an' not given much chance," she muttered. Tiger hoped she wasn't a good actress and a liar. She certainly appeared to be filled with misery at her father's plight, but it could all be an act to gain sympathy.
"Dear lord. Poor soul." Thelma sighed, and Tiger knew Isabella had succeeded in getting Thelma well and truly on her side.
Everyone stared down at their plates in silence, until Thelma urged, "Here now, eat your apple pie," as she cut a large pie into eight segments and passed them each a slice. "Help yourselves to cream." She pointed to the china jug in the centre of the table.
Tiger sighed and reassessed his opinion. At least the pair of newcomers couldn't hide their surprise and pleasure at being presented with edible food. The wench was positively drooling.
One thing he'd promised himself during his own years of suffering and want: once he could afford it no one beneath his wing would ever starve.
Chapter Five
"No, no, Bella, not like that." Thelma softened her rebuke with a smile as she moved Isabella away from the kitchen table, where she'd been doing her best to prepare a pudding mixture. "Here, let me do it."
Isabella shrugged. "I'm sorry, Thelma, I just don't seem to have the knack, do I?"
"Don't matter none, dear." Thelma flapped a hand her way. "Look, you go and pick them apples for me, then you can peel them. 'Tis clear as the nose on your face you'll never make a cook. From now on you just stick to the laundering and fetching and carrying. There are plenty of tasks to keep you busy. You get on with them all right and I shan't be disappointed."
"Oh, Thelma. I've never had to do much in the way of cooking before, 'cept making stews with the barest of food scraps. Most things we ate were pinched. I'd never eaten apple pie 'til I came here. There's no apple trees in Stepney, are there? The only fruit I ate was what I nicked off the barrows down the market."
"I know, I know." Thelma took up the wooden spoon.
Isabella and Dougal had been in Tiger Carstairs' house a week. Life had settled into a pleasant routine. Isabella often expected to find she'd been dreaming. She went to her bed in the tiny room each night feeling tired but happy. Not about to question the strange quirk of fate that prompted Tiger Carstairs to pick her out of the bunch that fateful day, she got on with her tasks without argument.
It was her job to look after the chickens and the large birds she'd found out were turkeys. She'd taken over the washing and ironing, changing of the bed linen, butter making, collecting the eggs, and the pulling of vegetables from the kitchen garden. She took food slops to the pigs and filled the water troughs for them and the goats. The days sped past. It was hard to believe no one stood over her or ordered her about. Thelma seemed happy with her.
As for her English owner, he seemed to have forgotten her. This annoyed her, though she wasn't sure why.
Most days Dougal was off early with Gillie and the master working with the animals and helping with the farm chores. He told her they had movable fences for keeping the sheep safely penned at night, and these had to be shifted all the time. Whenever Isabella saw her friend he wore a contented grin.
Dougal had to make sure the woodpile was kept high to stoke the stove where Thelma did all the cooking. They'd found out Tiger planted two crops each year, one of wheat and one Indian corn. Dougal looked after the small hut where the meat was smoked and had learnt how to do the salting. He admitted he wasn't fond of helping with the slaughtering but had to learn to live with it. After all, they had to kill beasts to eat.
Tiger Carstairs owned his house and tract of land and Isabella surmised he'd won the money gambling. The nights he went off until all hours she guessed he went to the area known as The Rocks. Here men won and lost large sums of money playing cards, and women sold their bodies to these men who flocked to what Thelma called a 'Den of Iniquity'.
So far Isabella had attended church on Sunday and gone once to the store with Thelma. Tiger Carstairs remained a mystery. Thelma told her he was well liked among his own set, and was obviously a favorite of the Governor, whose residence he visited occasionally. Isabella also learnt Tiger was known to have a way with the ladies. This fact irritated her so much she was infuriated with herself.
Sometimes Isabella would wake from a dreamless slumber to hear him going to his bed in the room beside hers. One night he'd stayed away until dawn, and she suspected he'd been with his mistress. She hadn't been able to prize that lady's name from Thelma, who kept her counsel on that side of their master's business.
Going out through the garden gate Isabella passed the hog's enclosure. Following the path through the long grass she went to the small orchard at the end of the home paddock where there were apricot, plum and cherry trees as well as the ones with the green apples for cooking and the sweet rosy ones for eating. Lifting the corner of her apron to wipe a few drops of sweat from her forehead she looked up to the tree bearing the pie apples.
Damnation! The fruit she wanted was just out of her reach. It was too hot to go back for the ladder, then drag it over. The climb looked easy enough.
Hitching her skirt, she tucked it under her apron ties then reached up. With arms and legs swinging she hoisted herself onto the lowest limb, then with tongue caught between her teeth she hauled a leg up and over. With one leg up and the other scrabbling about for a foothold, she nearly swooned when Tiger Carstairs' voice came from behind and below her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing up there, woman? You'll break your bloody neck!" He sounded genuinely worried.
<
br /> Isabella loosened her grip as embarrassment enveloped her. Sweet heavens—her bottom was likely on show. With a small squeal she began to fall.
But instead of hitting the hard-packed ground bottom first as expected she was enfolded in a pair of strong arms. She wriggled, but he held her fast, lowering her to the ground, her back pressed against his front.
He gave a shout of laughter as she began to fight. But when she caught him on his shin with a foot, his amusement died.
"Ouch! Upon my soul, you are the wildest little cat I've ever come across," he growled. "What's the fighting for? I've just saved your life."
"Saved my life?" she spluttered. "I was trying to get up the tree, not down. Let me go!"
Isabella could feel every inch of his hard body pressed against hers, and to her humiliation she felt a strange stirring deep inside. His hands were beneath her skirt, spanning her waist. Their heat burned through the thin material of her camisole. Mortified she wasn't disgusted at being held by an Englishman, she hit out with her elbows. One caught him square in the ribs and he grunted. But still he held her fast.
"So, you're filling out a bit, I see." He tightened his grip just below her breasts. "A full belly hasn't improved your temper though. Now, be still, little bundle. I'm your master an' I have the right to do as I like with you."
"Do as you like?" Isabella squirmed away from him. With violently shaking hands she straightened her skirt. Her cheeks flamed when she looked up to see he watched her every movement closely, as if it was his right. The twinkle in his eyes made her temper rise. "I'll kill myself if you take what you see as your rights. Anyway, what would you want with the likes of me when you have so many other women chasing after you?"
"Oho, so you've heard the tales of my exploits with the fair sex, have you? I feel I must set you straight on that account. There aren't that many. But you're right on one thing. I wouldn't fancy you in a fit. I prefer my women to be amenable." He placed his hands on his hips, returning her stare with the arrogance that set her teeth on edge.
Mystic Mountains Page 5
