Dust on the Horizon (30 page)

He followed her into the sitting room where she put out the candles, keeping one to guide her. Henry turned off the lamp in the window and followed her to the bedroom. Once more he encircled her with his arms.

“Henry.” She pushed him away. “It has been such a busy week and now today with all our guests I am simply exhausted. I must get some sleep.”

“Charles sleeps all night now.”

“I know but it's after midnight and he will still be awake at dawn. I am so desperately tired, my love, and my head aches. You understand, don't you?”

Her big round eyes shimmered in the candlelight. It only served to inflame his desire for her. He took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, trying to arouse that same desire in her but she struggled against him.

“Henry, stop.” She stepped back. “I am your wife, not a common strumpet to be taken at your pleasure.”

Henry was so shocked at her words he was speechless.

She turned away. “I am going to bed to sleep,” she snapped. “I think perhaps you should take the spare bed tonight.”

He watched her in disbelief as she removed the pins from her hair. What had happened to his sweet malleable wife? And where had such language come from? Damn, he felt not the least bit tired. Part of him wanted to slap her, show her she was his woman to be taken to his bed whenever he chose but he thought better of it. She was tired, overwrought from all the preparations. He would leave her be for the moment. He turned and left the bedroom. Down the hall there was light shining from the kitchen. Behind him the bedroom door closed. Henry walked towards the light.

It was extremely warm in the kitchen. Flora Nixon was standing at the scullery washing the last of the dishes. The jug of mead sat on the table. He loosened his necktie and poured himself a glass. Flora spun at the sound. Her sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons of her shirt were undone revealing the pink skin of her neck. One wet hand reached for the gap in her open shirt.

“Mr Wiltshire, you startled me.”

“I'm sorry.” He raised the glass of mead. “Care to join me?”

“No, thank you. I have a few more jobs to do before I retire.”

“I give you permission to have the rest of the evening off. It's Christmas.” He poured another glass. “Come, join me.”

Flora hesitated then she wiped her hands on her apron and accepted the glass.

He raised his higher. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

She took a sip from her glass. Henry half-emptied his.

“This is very good mead, Flora.”

“Thank you, Mr Wiltshire.”

She took another sip and Henry drained his glass and refilled it.

“You must miss your husband.”

Flora met his glance as she put her glass to her lips. She took another mouthful of mead.

“My husband is a hard worker but circumstances … well let us say they haven't made him an easy man to live with.”

Henry thought about that. His only memories of his own father conjured up thoughts of a man, gruff and remote. Was that why his mother never spoke of him? Perhaps her life had been similar to Flora's. Often alone, raising a child; and yet his mother had done well and provided for all his needs.

“Did you say he was trapping rabbits?”

“Yes. He has to go a long way south. He says the farmers there are having terrible trouble with them.” Flora smiled. “But he called on us a few days ago. Brought the children some sweets. The Aberdeen rabbit sausages I served tonight were courtesy of my husband.”

“That was very generous.”

“Mrs Wiltshire paid for them.”

“Indeed.”

“He could only stay the day and then he set off again.” Flora drained her glass and set it on the table. “I was going to talk to you about that. He's not bringing in very much money. It is a struggle.”

“You have free accommodation in exchange for the debt your family owes.”

“For which I'm very grateful but the children are growing so fast and young Hugh especially is always hungry. Mrs Wiltshire is so kind about letting me take leftovers home …” Her voice trailed away. It was one of her rare vulnerable moments.

“But still it's not enough.” Henry's eyes roamed from Flora's pink cheeks, down her neck and took in the curve of her breasts. Not full like Catherine's but shapely all the same. “Perhaps your husband should take the children with him.”

“Oh no. That would be no life for them. He does the best for us he can …”

Once again the unspoken ‘but' hung in the air.

An idea began to take shape in Henry's brain. Perhaps it was the mead; it was so brazen he shocked himself and yet like Flora he had his own desperate needs. “It must get very lonely for you without your husband.”

“We manage.”

“The nights must be …” He waved a hand in the air. “Empty.”

Flora lifted her chin. “My children are the most important thing, Mr Wiltshire.”

“Of course, and you would do anything for them.” Henry moved into the space occupied by Flora between the table and the scullery.

“Yes, but …”

Henry took another step towards her. Only a few inches separated them. Flora Nixon stared back at him, not backing away further. Excitement coursed through him at the boldness of

his idea.

“Perhaps there is a way that would benefit us both.”

Flora's eyes widened. He slipped a hand around her waist. She met his gaze but she didn't move.

“In what way?”

Henry barely registered her question. He could tell from her look she understood him and she wasn't pulling away. He lifted one hand to her breast. She gripped it with her own hand and stared into his eyes. “What would be the benefit for my children, Mr Wiltshire?”

“We can work it out.” He leaned in closer. There was a faint smell of perspiration mingled with lavender.

She pressed herself against him. “We work out the arrangement first.” She murmured in his ear.

Henry growled. “Very well.” He lifted his head from the kiss he'd been about to plant on her neck. “What is it you require?”

Flora drew herself up. “My debt paid in full.”

“What!” Henry almost choked.

“And a full wage.”

“You ask too much.”

Flora placed a hand on his chest and then moved it slowly down to his waist. Her look was shameless. “Not for what I am offering in return.” Her hand slid lower.

Henry groaned. Right now he would give the damned woman anything she wanted as long as she came willingly to bed. “This will need to be a very regular occurrence.”

Flora lifted her hand. “As long as my children and your wife are unaware of our … arrangement.”

“Of course.” Stupid woman. As if he'd tell his wife he was bedding another woman. He grabbed her hand and pushed it back to where she had removed it from his rigid cock.

Once more she lifted her hand. She stepped away and turned off the lamp. He hurried to blow out the candles. He was fed up with delay. He caught her arm and pressed her to the wall, one hand on her breast and the other pulling her head to meet his lips. He would have some relief for his manly needs at last.

“The spare bedroom would be best I think,” she spoke softly in his ear.

He lifted her skirts, grabbed her buttocks and hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around him. The sensation drove him wilder with desire. He carried her across the hall into the small bedroom and closed the door behind them.

Twenty-five

1883

Dust hung in the air, stirred up by several horses and carts ahead of them on the track to Bennie's paddock. There had been some rain a week back but the pleasant autumn sunshine had soon dried the ground. Catherine flicked her fan despondently in front of her face. Her silence conveyed her displeasure. Henry had insisted she accompany him to the races. It was the opening meeting of the Hawker Jockey Club and most important that they be seen there.

He found a place to tether their horse and cart and offered Catherine his arm to get down. She was slow in doing so and almost collapsed against him as her feet reached the ground.

“My dear.” He put two steadying hands on her shoulders.

“I'm all right.” She adjusted her hat and looked around. “I didn't think there would be many here.”

Like Catherine he swept his gaze over the scene before them. There were already groups of people gathered under the tall trees at the edge of the paddock and many more lined up at the refreshment booths that had been erected. Horses were being led around a yard to one end of the paddock with several others tethered nearby. Flags fluttered from fence posts and temporary poles. The whole affair was quite festive.

“The who's who of our district.” Henry puffed out his chest. “Today is a very important occasion. Holding our own race meeting marks what a progressive community Hawker is.”

“I do hope there will be a place for me in the shade.” Once more Catherine fanned her face, which looked pale and puffy under the delightful tall hat with a narrow brim his mother had sent from Adelaide. It was black with red plumes on the side which matched the red trim of her grey jacket. His wife was bound to be one of the best-dressed women here.

Henry had thought she had feigned illness to get out of accompanying him but now that he studied her more closely she didn't look her usual self. He offered his arm. “I will make sure of it, my dear.”

They passed through the gate. Henry was a little taken aback that they should have to pay six pence each to enter; he was after all a sponsor of one of the races. They strolled past the refreshment booths and a tent that had been erected over a wooden floor for dancing for those who wished to stay on once the races were over, until they reached the stand of large gums. There Henry spied Ellis Prosser's red hair near one of the larger trees. He steered Catherine in that direction.

“Here you are at last, Wiltshire.” Prosser thrust out a hand.

“My fault we're late, Ellis.” Catherine smiled and her face lost its vexed look. “I was a little slow in my preparations.”

Prosser took her arm and looked her up and down brazenly. If they weren't such good friends Henry would take offence.

“Well it was worth the wait.” Prosser said. “You look resplendent as always, Mrs Wiltshire. We have saved you a seat. Come and meet everyone.”

Johanna Prosser greeted them. She was very smartly dressed in a black-and-white jacket and skirt with a matching hat. No expense had been spared on her outfit Henry wagered.

“Have you met our new medical resident?” Prosser indicated a thin young man talking to the Taylors.

“Not yet.”

“Dr Bruehl, allow me to introduce the best merchant in our area, Mr Henry Wiltshire and his wife, Catherine.”

“Doctor.” Henry offered his hand to the doctor, admiring his two-piece tweed suit. The doctor had no doubt brought it with him. Harriet had only recently sent Henry sketches of similar jackets and suits that were becoming common in Europe.

“Please, you must call me Siegwart,” the doctor replied, his English heavy with a German accent.

“Lovely to meet you, Siegwart.” Catherine turned her charming smile on the serious-faced doctor who gave a quick upturn of his lips in response.

“You know the Taylors of course, and our head teacher Mr Harry. Have you met the Marchants?”

“Of course.” Henry nodded to the others and shook the pastoralist's hand. He had a property south of Prosser's and was a good customer.

“Well what a fine day.” Prosser tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat and strutted forward rather like a peacock. “Now that you're here Henry I think it's time we gentlemen inspected the horses. There are to be three races and we have a total of eighteen entries. Not a bad effort for our first meeting.”

Henry showed Catherine to a chair with the ladies. He watched as she settled herself carefully. Catherine wasn't usually one to pout but she was certainly acting in a fragile manner.

“Off you go, Henry.” Agnes Taylor waved at him. “We will look after your lovely wife.”

Henry turned away to follow the men.

“Your husband is one of the most devoted I've come across.” Agnes's voice prattled behind him.

“They are still only a few years married, Agnes. You remember those days.” Johanna Prosser chuckled.

Henry strode after the men, wondering at the boldness of her conversation with her young daughter sitting nearby. He smirked. If Johanna Prosser only knew the truth she'd have something to natter about. He troubled his wife less these days when it came to fulfilling his needs. The accommodating Flora Nixon knew all the right ways to please him in bed and that their coupling was clandestine made it all the more desirable.

“My horse is in the first race.” Prosser indicated a bright bay horse of fine proportions being led around by a lad. “I purchased Duke from a breeder in New South Wales.”

“A fine animal indeed.” Sydney Taylor turned a triumphant smile on the group. “I can see there would be no need to place a wager anywhere else, gentlemen.”

In spite of that assurance, Prosser insisted on inspecting the other runners, after which they retired to the refreshment booth. One of the enterprising local publicans had set up a tent and brought some barrels of ale. They all partook except for the doctor and Mr Harry who both chose lemonade.

“Quite a turn out,” Mr Harry declared once they had found a place away from the crush at the bar. “I recognise some from quite a distance away.”

“Everyone from farmers, to blacksmiths and saddlers, to the likes of us fine fellows.” Sydney raised his glass to the others. “To the Hawker Jockey Club.”

They all echoed his sentiment and took a drink.

Henry gave Prosser a wary look as he nearly choked on his ale.

“The audacity of the man.” Prosser's already florid hue darkened to crimson. “Bringing his black woman here amongst decent folk.”