Heart of the Country (37 page)

Jacob's shoulders rose from the droop they'd had since he arrived. “I don't have anything else to do,” he said. “And I have missed my sister's cooking.”

“What are you two grinning about?” Lizzie was back with mugs of hot tea.

“Jacob is staying a while to give us a hand.” Thomas pushed the calico bag into the bush behind his chair.

“Well that's some good news at least,” Lizzie said. “And you can begin by setting a fire here. It's coming in cooler.”

Jacob groaned. “I'd forgotten how good you were at giving orders.”

Thomas listened as the two of them chatted back and forth. He was glad Jacob was staying but he couldn't shake his earlier unease. He didn't like the sound of this rogue, Septimus Wiltshire, who was now to be his neighbour – in name, at least. Something just didn't feel right.

1855

“Septimus, it's perfect.” Harriet threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. They stood in the bigger front room of the stone cottage Septimus had acquired.

“I've a good room at last, separate from the kitchen. And the windows have proper curtains.” She brushed her fingers over the soft white fabric draped in front of the glass. “And padded chairs.” She laughed with delight.

She stood behind one of the two armchairs before the fireplace and brushed the top of it with her hands. “How did you find such a place?”

“I bought the house, complete with furniture, from a sea captain whose wife had died.” Septimus smiled. The man had been in a hurry to return to England and had been too distraught to haggle. He had readily accepted the pittance Septimus had offered. “I promised you a home, my dear,” he said. “For you and Henry.”

At the sound of his name the child dropped the little wooden train he'd been holding and rushed to his mother's side. He grasped her hand and put the thumb of his other hand to his mouth.

“For all of us,” Harriet corrected. “It's our home.”

She picked Henry up and twirled around. He giggled.

“Yes, for all of us. Now put Henry down. He's getting too big for that. I've something else to show you.”

“He's only five,” Harriet retorted, but put the child back on his feet.

Immediately Henry's eyes lost their sparkle. The thumb went back in his mouth.

Septimus wrinkled his brow. Harriet had been too soft with the boy. Henry was wary of him. He jumped when Septimus spoke to him and cried for Harriet in the night. Septimus knew she still secretly fed him like a baby from her breast.

Septimus had coupled with her when he'd been desperate for release but he no longer touched her breasts. He would not share her. Thank goodness for Dulcie. Now that he'd moved Harriet and Henry to Port Augusta, he could have Dulcie whenever he spent time at the little hut in the hills, without the need for secrecy. And when Harriet finally weaned that brat, he'd have her to himself again too.

He was definitely coming up in the world – a new house, two properties and the wool income lining his pockets. He was kept busy managing his investments but he still took his hawking wagon on the road to some of his regular customers. There was no better way to find out who was doing well and who might be in need of financial support. There was always someone who could be hoodwinked and Septimus was always the one to benefit.

“What is it you want to show me, Septimus?”

He came back to Harriet and their new house. “Something very special,” he said and crossed the room to the bedroom door. He turned the latch and let it swing open.

Harriet gasped from behind him. “Oh, Septimus, a four-poster bed.”

She stepped around him into the room and ran her hands over the floral quilt.

“It's beautiful. And proper white pillow cases.”

She drew back the soft netting and sat on the bed. She gave a little bounce up and down.

“And so soft.” She tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh, how different from our first bed.”

The hair fell back from her neck, revealing her pale skin and the locket hanging from the delicate chain. He had a sudden vision of the smooth black of Dulcie's skin against the creamy white of Harriet's. He imagined them together, the three of them in this bed. A shudder went through him.

“Are you all right, Septimus?” Harriet jumped up. “I should light the fire. There's a chill in the air.”

“There are other ways to warm us, Harriet.” He pushed the door shut with his boot.

“Not now, Septimus.” Harriet gave him one of her coy looks. “Tonight.”

He grabbed her arms and pulled her against him. “I've bought you a new bed, wife,” he growled, “and I want to test it out.”

“Mama?” Henry whined from beyond the door.

Harriet twisted in his grasp. “Septimus, you're hurting me.”

“Mama!”

“Septimus.” Harriet struggled.

He let go one hand and slapped her face.

She gasped.

“Shut him up,” he hissed, “or I'll do it.”

Harriet stared at him, then her eyes lowered in compliance. “Mama's all right, Henry,” she called. “Play with your train. I'll be out in a minute.”

There was a whimper then silence.

Septimus smiled and pushed her back onto the bed. Her body was still his for the taking. He leaned over her.

“Unbutton me, Harriet,” he commanded.

Harriet listened to the steady breaths that told her Septimus was asleep. She eased out of bed, made herself decent then let herself quietly out the door.

Henry was asleep on the floor, his head resting on his outstretched arm, the train still clutched in his hand. She bent down to pick him up. Her heart ached at the sight of his face, damp with tears. She kissed his pale cheek. He stirred in her arms but didn't wake.

He became withdrawn and nervy only when Septimus was at home. The rest of the time he was such a good little boy and so happy. She carried him to the small room off the kitchen and laid him on one of the two matching single beds. Even this room was well furnished and had its own small window overlooking the backyard.

She brushed a lock of dark hair from Henry's forehead and kissed him again. She almost wished Septimus would stay away forever. He hardly ever took her to bed any more and today, quite suddenly, he'd forced her. That had never happened before. Or perhaps it was that she'd always complied easily whenever he'd wanted her.

Whatever the case, she didn't want it to happen again while Henry was about. He must have been so frightened. She would have to do her best to satisfy Septimus again at night so that he wouldn't be wanting more during the day.

She sighed and shut the door on her sleeping child. Just for a moment she had her body and her house to herself. She wandered between the two main rooms, checking every corner.

The kitchen had a proper wood oven and griddle top with a separate grate to heat the kettle. Running across the wall above it was a mantel crafted from wood and polished to a shine. The best part of the house, however, was the solid wood of the floors. Harriet closed her eyes and drew in a breath. She couldn't smell dirt. After years of living in a wagon and then in the little hut up in the hills with its rough wooden floor, she was happy to have a house that she could keep free of dirt.

She gave a brief thought to the captain who had built this for his wife. How sad she never got to see it. It was so beautiful and fresh there must have been people lined up to buy it. She wondered how Septimus had come to purchase it. Harriet turned slowly in the middle of the room and banished sad thoughts from her mind. She busied herself setting the fires, one in the kitchen and one in the front room. She had a delightful new house and she knew better than to ask how it had come to be theirs.

By the time Septimus and Henry woke from their afternoon naps she had a mutton stew simmering over the fire – Septimus had brought the meat from their hills property – and she'd prepared a roly-poly to cook in her new oven.

Septimus came into the kitchen. He stepped around Henry, who was once again on the floor with his train. “Can't he play outside?”

“He likes the new house too.” She shuffled Henry to a corner out of the way.

“Hmph!” Septimus snorted. He lifted the lid on the stew. “That smells good, at least.”

“We can have a celebratory dinner.” Harriet smiled at him. “Then an even better celebration later.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

He pounced on her in a flash and pushed her up against the table. Harriet braced herself. Her hands gripped the wooden top.

“You want me to take you again,” he snarled in her ear, “right here in front of the boy?”

She gasped.

“Might do him good to learn what a man does,” Septimus said.

“Mama?” Henry's voice wavered from the corner.

“Mama,” Septimus mimicked and screwed up his face.

He let her go and stepped away from her. Harriet pushed herself upright then moved forward as Septimus lowered his hand towards Henry. She stopped as he roughed up his son's hair.

Henry cowered away from his father.

“Pfff!” Septimus exhaled. “The day will come when I have to take the boy in hand. Can't have him at your apron strings forever, Harriet.”

He strode away from Henry. “Get the food ready,” he snapped as he passed Harriet. “I have to go out later.”

Henry opened his mouth but she put a finger to her lips and he closed it again, watching her intently.

She listened as Septimus settled himself in a chair in the front room. Then she heard the rustle of the newspaper. Finally she kneeled down and Henry fell into her outstretched arms.

Septimus made his way down the alley behind one of the new sheds at the wharf. There was barely a moon, so little light shone to mark his progress and he was glad of it. He had a contact who was going to be his eyes and ears at the port. He didn't want anyone else observing their meeting.

Septimus had learned over the years to keep his business within the law. If, on the odd occasion, something unlawful needed to be done, he'd found others to do the work for him. He'd killed two men and got away with it. He didn't want to risk his luck further.

A shadow emerged from the gloom at the end of the alley. Septimus stopped as a second figure joined the first.

“It's me, Mr Wiltshire, Rix. I've got me friend Pavey with me.”

Septimus let out a breath, hissing over his teeth. He'd come across Rix and Pavey at a roadside inn a few months prior. They were heading to Port Augusta in search of work. He'd picked them as a pair of ex-convicts still willing to cross the line for some extra money. He'd kept in touch and was pleased to find they had secured jobs loading and unloading ships.

“I told you to come alone,” Septimus growled.

“Pavey has seen something,” Rix said. “I thought he should come and tell you himself what he saw. I think you'll be interested.”

Septimus stepped closer. “What is it, man?” He put his sleeve to his nose. There was a rank, fishy smell surrounding the pair.

“There's a load of wool,” Pavey said. “Just been delivered today. I had to help get it off the wagon.”

“That's your job, you fool,” Septimus snapped.

“Yeah, but some of it was unmarked.”

Septimus stared into the eyes of the man opposite him. Pavey shuffled his feet and looked from side to side.

“In what way, unmarked?” Septimus asked.

“There's no name on them. Don't know how it happened but the bales are free of any markings.”

Septimus lowered his arm and rubbed his hands together against the damp chill of the air. “Where are they now?”

“With all the other bales that come in from the property. I thought maybe the owner might pay a reward for having it pointed out to him.”

Pavey yelped as Rix gave him a swift slap over the head.

“Be quiet, man,” Septimus hissed.

“I told Pavey we work for you now, Mr Wiltshire, and that
you
would be rewarding us for this information.”

“Possibly.” Septimus was wary. “How would bales leave a property unmarked?”

“There's a few shearers we've met that does the rounds,” Rix said. “If they were to have a connection with a port …”

Septimus frowned at the man. “But what if the owner notices unmarked bales being loaded on the wagon?”

“If he does then it's a mistake, ain't it? The mark is applied and the deal on the side is lost. For this time.”

“So are you saying you've intercepted someone else's cut?”

“Were only Pavey and the driver unloading this lot,” Rix said.

“He was drunk on slops.” Pavey spat and Septimus took a step back.

Rix hit him again but Pavey stood his ground. “Was barely any help to me at all. I was doing all the hard work.” His eyes glinted in the weak light.

“Where are these unmarked bales now?” Septimus said.

“They're still with the rest from the property, waiting to be loaded on the ship due in tomorrow. I faced all the bales in so no one would notice the unmarked ones.”

“You fool,” Rix said. “How will you find them again without turning them all over?”

“I counted along the row.” Pavey grinned. “There's four of them on the top at the back.”

“Whose property has this load come from?” Septimus knew the shearers had recently been at Smith's Ridge. This fool could have him robbing himself.

“Wildu Creek.”

Septimus blew out a breath that hissed between his teeth. His reluctant and arrogant neighbour had been careless with his wool. It would be a pleasure to fleece Thomas Baker again. He sniggered at his own cunning.

Pavey fidgeted at the sound.

Septimus wondered who'd been fool enough to try to steal from Mr High and Mighty Baker. Not that it mattered: Septimus Wiltshire had intercepted the job. No doubt the drunk in charge of the wagon was Baker's brother-in-law, Isaac Smith. Septimus had kept him on at Smith's Ridge but he'd become a thorn in his side, asking too many questions, always watching. Septimus had paid his other shepherd, Terrett, to rough the lad up, remind him who he worked for. Terrett had done that but the idiot had also filled Isaac with grog and made it a habit. Septimus couldn't abide drinking on the job. He'd kicked Isaac off the property on his last visit there. No doubt his sister had talked her husband into giving him work.