Dust on the Horizon (11 page)

“And tried to take Wildu Creek from us,” Thomas growled

“But his name was Septimus,” Joseph said. “And this Henry Wiltshire is close to my age.”

“Could be his son,” Thomas said. “Especially if he is as offensive as you say.”

“Or he may be no relation at all.” Lizzie got to her feet. “He might be odious but his young wife is lovely and they have delightful items in their shop. Some of it better than I could find in Port Augusta. I'll come with you.”

“We'll all go.” Thomas stood, plucked his hat from the rack and handed Joseph his. “I'm curious to meet this fellow.”

Lizzie stopped in front of them and held up her hand. “Let me go first. I'd like to have a look around before you two go causing trouble. Besides, I can have his family history out of him in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

“Lizzie,” Thomas warned. His wife was adept at unearthing the facts but he didn't want her in harm's way if this Wiltshire fellow was indeed related to his old adversary Septimus.

Thomas knew he should turn the other cheek but he'd had trouble forgiving and forgetting Septimus Wiltshire. The man was dead now but not before he'd caused a lot of grief for both Thomas and Lizzie's families. He'd swindled Thomas in his early days in the colony and been a thorn in his side during their first years at Wildu Creek.

Thomas believed Lizzie's brothers, Zac and Jacob Smith, would both be alive now if they hadn't lost their lease on Smith's Ridge through Wiltshire's trickery. Even though Septimus's wife, Harriet, had tried to make things right after her husband's death by giving back the lease, none of the Smiths had wanted it. The brothers had ended up dying far too young. Jacob lost his life on the goldfields in Victoria and Zac drowned in the hills beyond Adelaide, trying to cross a swollen creek after one too many drinks. Joseph had been the one eager to maintain the lease, which had been done with the help of an overseer. Thomas would have eventually let it go but Joseph had badly wanted to keep it in the family.

Now as Thomas watched his wife disappear inside the shop, his sense of unease strengthened.

“Let's go,” Joseph said.

He made to step from the hotel verandah but Thomas put out a restraining hand. He wanted to rush in like his son but he'd allow Lizzie her chance to meddle. If anyone could get to the bottom of things quickly it was his Lizzie.

“You know your mother is a capable woman,” he said. “We'll give her a few minutes' head start.”

Henry looked up at the jangle of the bell over his door. He'd had a busy morning. In spite of the continuing dry weather, the cooler conditions had brought customers to his door. His general produce was similarly priced to his opposition, Mr Garrat, but Garrat didn't stock quality goods such as the finer haberdashery and the fabric with pretty patterns that Harriet was adept at sourcing. Neither did he have the heavier-duty trousers, the soft felt hats and the superior axe heads that Henry had on his shelves. Some of Henry's customers had money and sales had picked up a little during autumn.

He smiled at the attractive older woman who came through his door.

“Good afternoon madam, how can I be of service?”

“Hello.” The woman beamed at him and studied him with her pretty blue eyes. She was well dressed and wore gloves, something few women seemed to be bothered with out here. He wondered where she'd come from. Perhaps she was someone Catherine could befriend. There was an age difference but the woman may have daughters. Before he could ask, she had advanced across the shop and thrust her hand at him.

“You must be Mr Wiltshire?”

“That's right.”

“Henry, is it?”

“Yes, and you are?”

“You have such wonderful stock here. Such exquisite tablecloths.” She ran a finger over the display of his mother's fine needlework. “Much better than Port Augusta. I've just returned from there.” The woman spoke quickly as she glanced around the shelves, taking it all in with her bright eyes. “I've only been in once before and a delightful young woman served me.” She turned back and fixed him with a piercing gaze. “Your wife perhaps?”

“Catherine.”

“Such a pretty name. Is she well?”

Henry felt his chest swell with pride. “She is very well, thank you, Mrs—”

“Oh that's good. She was most helpful finding a special gift last time I was here. It was for my daughter-in-law. We settled on some of your perfumed soap.”

“Catherine is resting. She is with child.”

“That's wonderful. Is this your first?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations, Henry.” The woman beamed at him. “I do hope it's all right to call you Henry? How long have you been in these parts? I seem to recall there used to be another Mr Wiltshire who travelled the area selling goods from his wagon. He used to have such good quality items like you. I remember his wife was very adept at needlework.” She tapped a finger to her cheek. “Now what was his name?”

Unease prickled at the back of Henry's neck. He watched the woman ponder. He still didn't know her name. His mother had suggested he not mention his father's name in these parts. That's why it wasn't displayed on the front sign. She said there'd been a few business deals that had gone awry and some people held grudges even though she assured Henry it was not his father's fault. That was a long time ago and this woman didn't appear to hold any resentment.

“Septimus.” He said the name of the father he hardly knew and of whom he held his own vague, difficult memories. “He died when I was young. I hardly remember him.”

“I'm sorry. And your mother? I do recall taking tea with her when we were both much younger.”

Henry felt his confidence return. “Harriet. She is quite well thank you and living in Adelaide. She has a business of her own there. Those cloths you admired are hers. Or at least the women who work for her. Mother's eyesight is not the best for close work anymore.”

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that but I do understand. I have to get someone else to thread the needle for me these days.”

The bell above the door jangled. Henry frowned as his eyes adjusted to take in the face of the man framed by the light from the open door.

“Mr Baker.” Henry kept his tone civil for the sake of the lady at the counter. To his surprise she reached out her hand to Baker.

“This is my son,” she said with pride in her voice. “Joseph was born not long after you, Henry.”

Henry pursed his lips. So this woman was a Baker. Another man followed Joseph into the shop. They were a similar height. The older man had a darker head of hair, greying at the temples but there was no denying the likeness to Joseph.

“And this is my husband, Thomas Baker. He knew your father.”

Henry saw the older man stiffen. Beyond him on the verandah, the native girl stood holding the hands of Joseph's two little girls. A boy swung on the hitching rail. Baker had brought his ragtag tribe with him again. Henry wondered where the sullen black man who had been with them last time was hiding. A chilly wind blew through the open door. The afternoon sky had darkened. He would need to light the lamps earlier than usual.

“I believe my son has business to conduct with you, Henry.”

Henry turned back to the sweetly smiling Mrs Baker. What had been the true purpose of all her questions?

“The last time we will do business,” Joseph growled.

“That's as may be, son. You go ahead.” Mrs Baker turned and beckoned to the children. “Mary, bring the girls in please.”

The man at the door, his jaw clenched, still had not spoken. He shifted aside to let the children in. Henry opened his mouth to protest at the native girl being in his shop but Mrs Baker stopped him with her sharp sparkling gaze.

“I wish to buy some ribbons for the girls. I'll pick them out while you and Joseph conduct your business.”

Joseph made a move towards the end of the counter but Henry found his voice at last.

“You can wait here,” he said sharply. “I have everything prepared.” Henry turned away briefly to put his head around the curtain behind him. Catherine was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs reading a book. He sucked in a breath. The remains of their lunch still sat upon the table. “Catherine, my dear,” he said through clenched teeth.

She sat up abruptly, the book slid from her fingers to the floor. “Henry, you startled me.”

“Come and serve.” There was no way he would give the Bakers free range in his shop while he collected the papers and money. He held the curtain for his wife. She made her way slowly. Even though the baby was still some months away Catherine had filled out all over and now wore a loose smock over her skirt. “My wife will see to your needs, Mrs Baker.”

As he went behind the curtain he heard Mrs Baker exclaiming in delight over Catherine's condition. Neither of the men spoke.

By the time he had checked his figures and recounted the money, Catherine had measured out several lengths of brightly coloured ribbon. Henry moved to the end of the counter where Joseph Baker waited. His father still stood, arms folded, just inside the door which was now closed.

Henry handed the papers and the money to Joseph who stayed where he was and studied it carefully. Henry glanced back at the little girls and their native shadow, Mary, who were at the counter with Mrs Baker. He still wanted to protest at the native's presence in his shop but something about Mrs Baker's manner prevented him. The boy had not come inside.

“This is not the amount we agreed on.” Joseph's voice was low and unwavering.

“It was.” Henry drew himself up. He flicked one hand towards the papers. “Less what you owed for the goods you took last time you were in my shop.”

Joseph fixed him with such a hateful stare it was as if his look burned right through Henry but he stood his ground. Behind him there was silence except for the movement of Catherine, cutting the ribbons.

Joseph shuffled through the papers until he reached the itemised list. He looked back at Henry. “These are the most expensive hats I've ever seen.”

“You didn't ask the price at the time.”

Joseph flicked the paper with his fingers. “Everything on this list is overpriced.”

“I run a fine establishment.” Henry had been so angry after Baker's last visit he'd added extra to each item on the account. He clasped the lapels of his jacket in his hands and drew himself up straighter. “Other people are happy with my prices.”

“I can't see how you could have any customers.” Joseph spat the words at him.

“Time to go I think.” Baker senior spoke up. They were the only words he'd uttered since entering the shop. Now he reached for the handle. “There's nothing more to be gained here.”

“Thank you, Mrs Wiltshire.” Mrs Baker's voice was still light and cheerful in comparison to the two Baker men. “I'm not sure when we will be back again.”

“We won't be.” Once again Baker senior spoke. He was obviously siding with his son.

“In the meantime,” Mrs Baker continued without a glance at either of the men. “I do wish you well with your confinement.”

The smallest girl tugged at the ribbons in her grandmother's hands.

“Yes, yes, Esther.” Mrs Baker lifted the child to her hip. “We'll share the ribbons back at the hotel. Good day to you, Mrs Wiltshire, Mr Wiltshire.” She took the other child by the hand and walked out of the shop, closely followed by Mary.

The Baker men, one on either side of the door, glowered back at him, pressed their hats to their heads and stepped outside. The bell jangled overhead as they shut the door firmly behind them.

A smattering of rain began to fall as Lizzie led the group back to the hotel. That had certainly been a most uncomfortable experience. She was glad to get Thomas and Joseph away before they exploded. She gave the ribbons to Mary to put in the girls' hair. William went to the end of the partly completed verandah and watched the rain drop. He had become quite sullen. Perhaps she should have bought him something. She'd forgotten all about sweets in the tense moments they'd just had.

“William,” she called him to her and dug in her purse for a penny. “Take this to Mr Garrat's shop and buy some sweets.”

His face lit up as he reached for the coin. “Thank you Grandma.”

“Make sure you bring one each back for the girls.”

The smile dropped from his face. “And Mary?”

“Of course, Mary.” Joseph cut in. “Don't be long. We have to leave soon.”

Lizzie bent down and whispered in her grandson's ear. “The girls won't know if you were to eat one extra before you return.”

William dashed down the step with the penny firmly clutched in his palm. Lizzie watched him as he paused to wait for a team of bullocks pulling a wagon loaded with wool. The rain got heavier. There were cheers along the street. William hurried between two horses to the rough path that would lead him to the shop. Sometimes he appeared to carry the weight of the world on his young shoulders. She worried he was no longer the happy little boy he'd been as a toddler.

“Well, you were right, son.” Thomas gave back the papers Joseph had handed him. “These prices are highly inflated.”

“Let me see that.” Lizzie forgot William a moment and cast a look down the list of items and the neatly printed amounts next to them. She stopped at the ribbon and pointed to the price. “This is certainly much more than I just paid.”

“Not only was he downright rude to Binda and his children but he treated us like dirt at his feet.” Joseph scrunched the papers in his fist. “Now this. I certainly won't be doing business with him again.”

“If he is Septimus's son you wouldn't want to.” Thomas looked across the verandah in the direction they'd just come.

“He said he was.” Lizzie felt that was enough. She didn't want to think back on the horrible times Septimus had inflicted on her family. “There's no need to get your hackles up any longer. We will shop with Mr Garrat from now on. Pity though, Mr Wiltshire's shop certainly stocked some quality items but we've no need for them.” She linked her arms with those of her husband and her son and jiggled them up and down. “Enough sour faces. We don't ever have to deal with Mr Wiltshire again.”