Dust on the Horizon (34 page)

“Yes, Mrs Baker. Annie is doing a fine job.”

The maid nodded her agreement and Annie's face broke into a proud smile. Harriet waited a moment, listening to their discussion over the merits of one cotton over another. The maid had black hair and her skin was dark but her features were not native, perhaps oriental. Harriet had made it very clear to her staff they were not to allow coloured people of any description in her shop but this woman appeared exotic and had been newly appointed to her position as lady's maid to the mayor's wife.

Harriet still felt prickles on the back of her neck when she thought of the evening nearly four years ago when a dark hand had slipped around her door and Jack Aldridge had paid her a visit. For a long time after she'd hardly ventured outside her premises alone. Then whole days and in more recent times whole weeks would go by and she wouldn't think of him and yet the sight of the dark-haired woman had sent her recollecting again.

At the next counter another of her senior assistants was helping a well-dressed lady to adjust a new lace collar she was trying and along from them another assistant was showing a customer a range of hosiery.

Harriet's silk day dress rustled softly as she walked. She glimpsed an image of the pale green fabric as she passed one of the small mirrors installed on the side wall. She was more than happy with the colour and the design was perfect for her petite figure. It had been quite some time since she'd allowed herself a new dress after being fleeced of so much of her hard-earned money by the vile Jack Aldridge.

She had lived life watching over her shoulder ever since but he'd never returned. It had taken a lot of hard work and careful money management to keep her business on track but she'd succeeded. She had a nice amount of money in the bank again and her nest egg which she wouldn't touch unless there was absolutely no other way.

Harriet moved to the side counter and straightened some bolts of fabric. When she had first begun her dressmaking business in Port Augusta she had got into the habit of putting a small amount away as a safeguard. By then Septimus was a rare visitor to their home and while he usually made sure they were taken care of she couldn't trust that he would always provide for her and Henry. The money had been useful setting them up in Adelaide after Septimus had died. Since then Harriet had stashed little bits away again as she could spare it. Slipped into a silk purse and tucked up in the springs of the sitting-room chair, it was her assurance of a comfortable future should something happen to her business.

She thought of Henry and the letter he had sent which awaited her in the kitchen. He didn't write often but when he did he regaled her with stories of Hawker life, his business and the latest achievements of Charles Henry.

“Time to close up, Mrs Wiltshire?”

Harriet turned at Miss Wicksteed's question. The customers had gone and the girls were gathering their bags and hats.

“Yes, Miss Wicksteed, thank you. I will lock the door behind you.”

She stood beside the door saying goodnight to each one. Annie was the last before Miss Wicksteed who brought up the rear.

“Well done today, Annie.” Harriet smiled and nodded. “You have the makings of a fine sales assistant.”

“Thank you, Mrs Wiltshire. I do enjoy working in your beautiful shop. Good night.”

Miss Wicksteed said her goodnights and Harriet was quick to shut the door behind her and push the bolts across. She felt uneasy tonight. She didn't know why but it made her hurry through her tasks, tallying the day's takings against the dockets and making sure all was ready for business the next day. Finally she went through the door into the workroom. Her leg was giving her pain today which didn't help her mood. She shut the door behind her and cast a quick glance over the silent machines and cutting table. All was tidy but still odorous and warm. She hoped for a breeze overnight and she would rise early and open the windows to air the room before the girls arrived to start work. She stepped into her sitting room and shut the door on the stuffy workroom.

Her house was warm and airless. She decided to open her sitting-room window. It faced a narrow path at the side of the building and although there was no cool air yet it might be fresher at least. The kitchen was even warmer with the fire and she resented having to add a little more wood to boil her kettle. She picked up Henry's letter and crossed to the back door. It was early evening and her kitchen only had a small window. It was hard to read in the gloom and she was not prepared to light a lantern yet. Keeping a fire going was bad enough.

She slid the letter from the envelope and opened the door. She stood just inside the frame where there was more light for reading while she waited for the kettle to boil. She fanned herself with the envelope and glanced over his opening words and his detailed description of Charles's new teeth. She stopped at the next paragraph. Catherine had miscarried again. She re-read his words. It was obvious he was sorely disappointed Charles was still to be an only child. Catherine was slow to recover this time and because the heat was still excessive she was going to take Charles and stay with her parents at Glenelg for a short holiday. She hoped to call on Harriet when she was feeling better.

Harriet looked at the date at the top of the letter then put it aside while she made a pot of tea. Poor Catherine, this was her second miscarriage. As a mother Harriet felt for her but she had warned Henry she didn't think Catherine was a strong person. Harriet didn't particularly want to see Catherine, they had so little in common, but she would be pleased to see her grandson again.

She set everything out on a small tray, added the letter and carried it out to the back of her house, into the tiny walled yard with a plum tree and a locked gate that led to the lane behind. There was some small movement of air at least. With the window and door open Harriet hoped some fresh air might be drawn through the house.

She set her tea tray down on the small table beside the chair she kept outside and settled herself. Her leg felt instantly better once she sat. Harriet poured a cup of tea and took up the letter again.

Henry wrote of the booming trade he was doing and urged her to send more of her fine linens as soon as she was able and any shawls and hats she could source. Harriet flicked her eyes over his details about the town. He was very effusive in his description of the opening of one of the two new flour mills in Hawker and also of the new stone railway station to replace the wooden building that had burned down. He attended every official function in Hawker and was full of praise for the town. Harriet held little hope that he might sell his business any time soon and return to Adelaide.

The last page was in the way of a request. The light was fading fast now and Harriet had to peer closely to make out his words. He needed capital to be able to take up a lease in the hill country near Hawker. All of the pastoral leases ran out this year and he was keen to take one up. Harriet shook her head. He was yet to repay her for her previous loans. He had built Catherine a fine house and was furnishing it lavishly by all accounts. He already had a smattering of smaller properties. Harriet worried he was overstretching himself but he seemed to think diversification was the way. His letter was most insistent. He wanted her help with money again.

Harriet put the letter in her lap and sighed. She had only recently built up some savings again since Jack had cleaned her out.

A movement at the door startled her.

“What are you doing sitting out here in the dark?”

Her heart filled with dread at the voice. She peered through the gloom at the smiling face of Jack Aldridge. It was if her earlier thoughts of him had conjured him up. His tall body was framed inside her open back door.

“How did you get in?”

“A very convenient open window.”

Harriet's hand went to her throat. She had forgotten to put the chock in the window to stop it opening further.

Jack dug his hand in his pocket. Harriet was startled by the sudden flare of a match. He held it towards her.

“I think it's time to light the candle.”

He reached down and lit the candle she kept on the table, flicked the match away and leaned back against the kitchen wall. Harriet watched his every move as if he were a snake about to strike.

“That's better. You have very clear eyes, Harriet. I like to be able to see them. I've become very good at telling when people are lying to me by studying their eyes.”

Harriet's gaze narrowed. She could hardly see his eyes. His face was in shadow while she knew hers would be illuminated by the candlelight.

“What do you want, Mr Aldridge? I hope it's not money because I've had little chance to build up any savings since you were here last.”

He remained silent, watching her from the shadows. Suddenly he moved and she jumped.

“Oh dear, you are excitable tonight.” He smirked. The shadows gave his face a gruesome twist. “I hope you haven't had bad news.”

Harriet looked down at the letter in her lap. Her heart beat faster. He had simply shifted from one foot to the other but she was so wound up it had alarmed her. She took a slow deep breath. She couldn't let Jack find out about Henry. Now there was young Charles to think about as well. She slid the letter under her teacup.

“A friend sending news. Nothing alarming. However your presence here is. I gave you a great deal of money for your silence. What have you done with it?”

“All gone.” He laughed. It was a mirthless sound.

“Have you tried finding work?”

“Many times, Mrs Wiltshire, but it never lasts. My employers always seem to find issue with me. Something to do with the colour of my skin I think.”

Harriet felt a pang of guilt. She would most certainly not employ or entertain as a customer anyone of native skin. Still there were plenty of people who did. It was not her problem if Jack Aldridge couldn't get work.

“You don't look like a man without employment.” She had noted the fine cut of his jacket, the quality of his pants and boots, and the grooming of his beard.

“With thanks to my benefactress.” He bowed slightly and she could see his face more clearly. He was mocking her. In spite of his dark skin there was no doubting he was Septimus's son. He had the same strong lines of the narrow nose and the piercing eyes.

She sat back in her chair and stared at his shadowy face. “We had a deal, Mr Aldridge. I paid you well. You were never to come back.”

“Perhaps you can't trust me. But then again maybe I can't trust you.”

Harriet's brain scrambled. He'd come from the house. Had he found her money stash in the chair?

“You have a very nice sitting room.”

In spite of the warm night Harriet's blood ran cold. Not her nest egg. He can't have her nest egg.

“Nice portraits on your mantel.”

“Portraits?” Harriet could only think of her money.

“A younger you. You're still a very striking woman, Harriet. Then there's a boy and another of the boy, now a man, on his wedding day perhaps?”

Oh no, Henry. Harriet reached for the locket that was no longer around her neck, she glanced at the letter under the teacup. “I told you my husband died a long time ago.”

“Yes you did but you neglected to mention you have a son who it appears is very much alive.”

“The portraits are a friend's son.”

Jack was very still then he crossed the small space between them in an instant and leaned in. He smelled of cigars and liquor.

“I'm not much of a reader, Harriet. The Aldridges didn't think it important for me to learn but I can manage the basics.”

He tugged the letter from under the cup and opened it out. Harriet knew it was the last page she had read that he would be seeing.

Holding the letter close to the candle Jack peered at the paper. He began to read, his voice slow as he stumbled over the words. “I do hope this finds you in good health Mother, your loving son, Henry.” Jack turned cold eyes on her. “Shame on you, Harriet. I have a brother and you tried to keep him from me.”

Dread spread through Harriet and a terrible realisation. She was never going to be rid of Jack Aldridge. No matter how much she paid him he would always come back for more and now he had extra bargaining power.

Jack tossed the letter back on the table but it slid and the pages fell to the ground at her feet.

“I will give you more money.” Harriet lifted her chin and focused her gaze on his. “But you are to leave my son alone.”

Jack stroked his neatly clipped beard as if he were contemplating her words. He turned and paced the small backyard. The next time his back was to her, she pushed the pages under her chair, hidden by her skirt. It appeared he wasn't a proficient reader but if he did peruse the letter further he would discover where Henry was.

Jack came to a stop in front of her again. “Money alone is not enough. It is gone so easily.”

He smirked and Harriet knew his pacing had all been an act.

“What do you want, Mr Aldridge?” Her bravado had deserted her.

“I think I am entitled to at least half of whatever my brother has. I am sure you have set him up well. My father would want the same for me.”

“You've cleaned me out once already. How am I to set you up in a business?”

“Oh no, Harriet. I don't want my own business.” He stood tall and once more his face was in shadow. “I want half of yours.”

Harriet felt the blood drain from her face. “How can … how will …” Words failed her. Once more she grasped for the necklace that was no longer there.

“It's simple: you will give me half your daily takings.”

“Half. You don't know about business, Mr Aldridge. I told you I have to pay staff, pay for goods. Some days there is very little left over for me.”

“You will pay me a wage.”

“A wage? What for?”

“I will be your new employee. It will make a change from shearing sheep, lugging wheat bags and chasing stock. I am sure there must be the odd job you can find me. I am not averse to heavy lifting. I will be an official employee who receives a wage and half of whatever your daily take is.”