Heart of the Country (2 page)

“I can work as hard as any man.” Thomas pulled back his shoulders and lifted his head as the older man looked him over. This was not how he'd intended to approach his prospective employer.

“Well, Thomas, since we're sharing a drink, is it all right if I move myself to your table?”

Before he could answer, Mr Browne took up his bowl and moved it across, then shifted his large frame into the chair alongside. The smell of some kind of stew reached Thomas's nostrils. His mouth watered and his eyes were drawn to the bowl.

Another pot of ale appeared at the table.

“Mary, bring us another bowl of whatever this is.” Mr Browne waved his hand over his food and dropped more coins on the table.

“It's Irish stew, Mr Browne, me old mam's recipe.”

“Whatever it is, we'll have another for my new friend.”

Once again Thomas began to protest but Mary had taken the coins and gone.

“You look like you could do with a good feed.”

“It's very kind of you, Mr Browne, but –”

“The name's Andrew James Browne. People call me AJ.” He reached out and gripped Thomas's hand in a firm shake. His face crinkled into a smile then he pointed to his bowl. “You'll be hard pressed to find much mutton in the stew. Mostly potatoes and onion, but it's tasty all the same.”

“Thank you. I'm not sure how I can repay your kindness.”

“It's not necessary.”

Thomas sat back quickly as Mary plonked a bowl of stew in front of him. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

“Eat your fill.” A deep chuckle gurgled from AJ's throat and he ate from his own bowl.

Thomas did the same, and by the time he'd swallowed the last mouthful the stew had warmed his insides and the ale had warmed his blood.

AJ sat back and folded his arms across his broad chest. “So Thomas Baker. What brings you to the new colony of South Australia?”

“It was my father's idea originally.” Thomas paused, not sure how much of his story he should tell his prospective employer. “He worked back in England managing a farm. After my mother died he decided we should make a new start.”

“I'm sorry for you loss. What kind of work are you and your father looking for or has he already found employment?”

Thomas hesitated. “My father died aboard ship on the way here.”

The sharp gaze that studied Thomas softened. “Once more, I am sorry,” AJ said.

Thomas clenched his jaw. The promise of a new start had been the only thing to brighten their days since his mother's death. They'd heard Australia was a wonderful new land with plenty of work and money to be made. His father had taken their meagre savings and accepted cheap passage to South Australia but he had not taken to ship life, succumbing to constant sea sickness which had finally killed him just before they'd reached Adelaide. For a moment, Thomas was transported to his father's burial and the memory of the weighted shroud as it slid from the board and plunged into the rough ocean below. The mournful tolling of the bell marked the moment, as Thomas braced himself against the railing, gusts of wind ripping at his coat and wailing through the rigging. The waves had swallowed his father's body, and slammed against the wooden hull.

He took a deep breath. Their employers, the Dowlings, had made a mockery of his father's decision, called them both fools as they'd left and warned them not to come crawling back looking for handouts. Perhaps the Dowlings had been right … Now there was only Thomas, the last of their money hidden inside his shirt, and the two trunks of basic items they'd brought with them.

“Have you worked before with animals?” AJ's question cut into Thomas's thoughts.

He swallowed his grief once more and gave his full attention to the man opposite. “Yes. The farm I worked on had sheep and there were cows to be milked. We also helped with the horses.”

AJ studied him closely. “You're not quite what I was expecting.”

Thomas felt as if his deception was written all over his face. His job at the Dowlings had been footman. He'd only assisted his father in his rare moments of spare time.

“In what way?”

“I was hoping for someone more robust.”

“I was very sea sick on the trip out,” Thomas said quickly. “I've lost weight but I'm strong.” He hoped the good Lord would forgive him his lies but he needed this job and after the labouring work of the last few weeks he had certainly built up some strength. The rain that had fallen on his arrival in South Australia had hardly let up and the streets of Adelaide had turned to slush. He'd been given rough lodgings in Emigration Square and in return he'd been sent to work with a few other men. No sooner had they shovelled and scraped the roads into a traversable surface than it rained again and a fresh lot of horses and drays passed by, causing the ruts and pot holes to return.

AJ pursed his lips and drew a watch from his top pocket. He opened it, peered at the face, then snapped it shut. “I'm sorry for all that's befallen you, Thomas, but I don't know if you're suited to my needs.”

Thomas drew himself up. “I am quite used to hard work if that's what bothers you.”

“Rest assured,” AJ reached across and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, “I didn't take you as a man not prepared to work for his living. I was hoping for someone with a little more experience. There were a couple of men interested.”

Thomas held AJ's gaze. He could see the older man was weighing something up.

“Whatever the work is, I am sure I am up to it,” Thomas said.

AJ studied him a moment longer then his face relaxed into a smile. “You remind me of myself ten years ago. I came to Australia in similar circumstances, although not orphaned, I had only the clothes on my back and little money. I learned as I went. Hard work has stood me well.” He leaned forward and the smile dropped from his face. “I'll tell you what I need, Thomas Baker. You may well change your mind once you've heard me out.”

Thomas recalled his father had used nearly the same words before he'd told of his plan to leave England. He needed to do this, not only for himself but for his father. He pulled back his shoulders and clasped his hands firmly together.

“I don't believe I will, Mr Browne.”

“Very well. There's plenty to be made from this land if you are prepared to work. I have property in the north and I've stocked it with three thousand sheep. It's rugged country. Water's not so abundant and it's no place for the faint hearted. There are wild dogs up there and there's also been trouble with the natives. In spite of that the sheep don't need shepherding as you would know it in England.” AJ leaned closer. “I have other land to see to and I need an overseer.”

The word hung in the air between them.

Finally Thomas spoke. “So you would want me to be your overseer?”

“I need someone reliable. It's no easy job. I've left one shepherd up there, a redheaded Scot with a quick temper. McKenzie's his name but he's little more than useless when left to his own devices. He needs a master.”

Thomas held Mr Browne's look across the table. He was a footman. What did he know about shepherding in the bush of South Australia?

“So now you know,” AJ said. “I need a man I can trust. I am in a hurry but I can wait for the others.” He paused. “Unless you believe you could be that man.”

Thomas swallowed his doubts. “Will there be some guidance?” he asked.

“You seem a bright enough fellow to me. McKenzie knows sheep; you'll learn from him. He's just not what I call reliable.” AJ lowered his voice. “I'll pay you sixty pounds a year.”

Thomas's reply died in his throat. That was a decent sum of money. It would come with a lot of hard work but he had nothing to lose and he needed the experience a job like this would give him.

AJ was watching him closely. “I'll loan you the money to buy a horse and saddle. If you do well, I'll increase your salary each year.”

Thomas's mind raced as he calculated the income. Maybe he could make enough to get his own place one day. His father would have been proud. “It's a good offer, Mr Browne.”

“Call me AJ.” The older man reached his hand across the space between them. “Do we have a deal?”

Thomas hesitated then thrust his own into the firm grip of his new employer. With not much to lose and a lot to gain, he felt a surge of optimism.

“Well done, Thomas. It's a good opportunity I'm offering you. It won't be a ride in your English countryside but I'm sure you're up to it. Come on.” AJ rose to his feet. “No need to wait around here any longer. There's a lot to organise. We might as well make a start.”

Thomas reached for his jacket. No longer would he have to wield a shovel in the endless job of keeping Adelaide's streets passable. He would still be working for someone else but for a good wage and AJ was already proving to be a most agreeable employer. Outside, the heavy clouds had lifted and broken apart. Sunlight reached his patch of the street. Thomas was happy to take that as a sign his life was improving. He pushed his battered hat firmly onto his head and strode purposefully after Mr Browne.

Septimus Wiltshire crawled out from under his wagon. He stretched his arms high then wide, extending his tall frame after a night in the cramped hollow. The damp mist clung to him and shrouded the surrounding bush in its veil. He stood still and listened. The soft snort of Clover, his horse, tethered beyond the wagon, was the only sound. Not even any birds yet. He swept a dark lock of hair from his face and peered into the shadows of the pre-dawn gloom. Nothing. He shrugged his shoulders then stretched again. Maybe it was the cold that had woken him rather than a noise.

Hoofbeats echoed behind him then stopped. He turned on silent feet, keeping his back to his wagon. The place he'd chosen for his overnight camp wasn't far from the road that ran from Adelaide to the port. He knew well enough the types who might be afoot at this hour. He eased down, picked up a thick branch and gripped it with both hands.

Clover gave another snort. A short whicker echoed in return. The hoofbeats came closer and a large shape loomed out of the mist. Septimus lowered his weapon. The horse was riderless. It had a bridle with a short piece of frayed rope hanging from it but no saddle. Clover snorted and shifted behind the wagon.

“Easy.” Septimus hoped to reassure both beasts. The newcomer pricked its ears and lifted its head.

“Are you lost, my beauty?” He kept his tone low and took a tentative step, offering his upturned palm.

The horse eyeballed his hand then gave a small toss of its head.

“Where's your master?”

Septimus cast a look over the horse then behind it. Whoever had lost this magnificent animal would surely be searching for it. He took another step and reached forward. The horse watched him closely but didn't shift. Septimus gripped the rope.

“There you are my beauty, safe now.”

The elegant creature lifted its head but didn't pull away as he stroked its neck.

“You were lost but now you're found. Septimus will look after you.”

He ran his hand down the horse's shoulder then along its back to its flank. It was a fine creature. He was already imagining how much he could get for it. More money than he made in a month of selling his lotions and potions. He led the horse to the wagon and secured it with another piece of rope then hurried to his campfire.

The small fire he'd made to boil his billy the night before was cold. He scraped bark and leaves from the dry area under the wagon and soon had flames flickering. His stomach rumbled and he went in search of the last of his bread. He'd scrounged a loaf from a baker in exchange for a couple of hair-restorer pills. The baker had very little hair left on his head but Septimus was hopeful the two pills and his convincing talk would be enough to encourage the man to buy a whole bottle today.

While he was at the food bag he dug out the last shrivelled carrot, pilfered from a garden, and broke it in two. He gave the smallest piece to his faithful Clover and the rest to the prize beauty tethered to the back of the wagon. The urge to run his hand over the animal's fine rump was too great to resist. In the sunlight just beginning to filter through the trees, he could see no distinctive markings. It would be easy to find a buyer for this fine beast.

“Perhaps I should name you Treasure,” he murmured and patted its neck again. “With the profits from your sale, I can buy a range of wares.”

Septimus left the horse and returned to his fire, his mind racing with possibilities. South Australia was the land of opportunity and Septimus was an opportunist. There were many settlers spreading out into the country beyond Adelaide. They were isolated and in need of supplies. He would have to move swiftly; find someone to buy the horse, stock his wagon and move on.

He warmed his hands over the flames and contemplated the money the horse would bring.

“Steady up, Septimus,” he muttered. “You need a strong plan.” It might not be his usual form of theft but this mission was tinged with danger all the same. He squatted down to think it through.

Just a few hours later he hovered outside the Horse Bazaar. He'd dressed in his only set of fine clothes for the occasion. Under his long black jacket he wore a green patterned waistcoat over a white shirt. A neatly tied cravat sat around his neck and a broad-brimmed black hat sat atop his head. Not only did he want to give the impression he was indeed the owner of the horse, he wouldn't be easily recognised by the young girl who lived in the whore house nearby.

He'd bedded Harriet several times in the stables at the back of the Horse Bazaar before discovering that she was younger than she appeared. She wasn't worth losing his newly gained freedom over. He'd served out his time in New South Wales and now he was a free man with a fresh start in South Australia. No one here knew his history or anything about him and that's the way he planned to keep it. He liked his women unsullied and Harriet had been a virgin. A pity to give up the pleasures of her body but he didn't want some young whore, nor the old madam who kept her, tripping him up.