Heart of the Country (40 page)

“Lizzie pulled me out of that waterhole and then last night she sat with me. She was there whenever I woke. I found myself thinking of her instead of myself. She would walk over hot coals for me. I know I have to do more than that in return.”

Thomas gripped Zac's hands and shook them. “You'll be all right, Zac, and so will Lizzie.” He stood up. “I'm going to have it out with this Wiltshire.”

Zac stood too. “But he could be anywhere. I heard enough of his talk to know he's got his greedy fingers in many pies.”

“I'm going to start in Port Augusta. I think he might have a house there.”

“He does. I've seen it. A small whitewashed cottage not far from the wharf.” Zac's eyes flared with excitement. “I'll come with you.”

“No.” Thomas put up a hand. “I want you to stay here with Lizzie and Joseph.”

Zac held his gaze. “Do you trust me?”

Thomas saw the doubt cross his brother-in-law's face. He clapped a hand on Zac's shoulder. “With their lives.”

Zac nodded and they moved up the slope towards the house.

“No a word of any of this to Lizzie,” Thomas said. “She will still think I'm going to the port on business as planned.”

“I'll look out for her.”

“Gulda will help. And Zac –”

They each paused mid stride.

“I'm leaving you the firearm.”

Septimus nestled his head into Dulcie's soft breasts. He sighed. It was so peaceful here in his little hut in the hills. His halfway house, just a few days by horse from his property in the north and a day from his house at Port Augusta. He smiled to himself. A secret hideaway complete with his obliging Dulcie. It didn't matter to her what time of day it was.

She had quickly learned discretion in the early days but as soon as Harriet had moved to Port Augusta she had taken over the little house, seeing to his every need whenever he visited. Dulcie had become his second wife. He enjoyed the thought of being master of two women.

He shifted his head to see the glow of dawn lighting the sky through the window. Dulcie stirred beneath him and began to stroke his hair.

“Ahh. My sweet,” he murmured and rested his head again.

After breakfast he would go and inspect his latest investment. He was having a small stone inn built a mile or so away on the edge of the track that the bullockies had forged through the rugged hills. Not only did the new track shorten his journey north, it also brought a lot more traffic along the road. His inn would be a day's ride from Port Augusta and close to permanent water, the perfect place for bullock teams to break their journey.

Septimus sucked in a breath as Dulcie's hands left his head and slithered down his back and then lower. He rolled over and pulled her on top of him. There was plenty of time before he met with the builder. He smiled up at Dulcie and cupped her beautiful full breasts in his hands. Right now he didn't want to think of anything but the pleasure she brought to his body.

Several hours later, Septimus walked through the building that was to be his inn. From the front door he could see along the track in both directions and down the valley to the creek. It was perfectly positioned to be seen by traffic approaching from either direction. Only problem was it had no roof.

“One more week,” he said to the man he'd put in charge of the building. He'd taken Burrows on because he'd been able to get him cheap. To Septimus's surprise, the construction had initially developed well; but since his last visit, little had been done.

“More like two or three, Mr Wiltshire.”

Septimus stepped down from the verandah that ran right around the building. It was only the builder and him. No workers to be seen.

“Where are your men?” he asked.

Burrows's eyes shifted back and forth. “I gave them the day off. They've hardly stopped in a month.”

Septimus pulled himself up tall. It was hopeless trying to hold the fool's gaze the way his eyes moved. “We had an agreement,” he said. “You signed on it. The inn was to be ready for use by the last day of April.”

“There were some difficulties getting the –”

“Don't give me excuses, Burrows.” Septimus scowled. “You will get your money only when the job is complete – and only what we agreed.”

“But –”

“If it takes longer you work for nothing.” Septimus didn't raise his voice. “I will be back in a week with the supplies and my innkeeper. I expect to be open for business on the first day of May.”

“Yes, Mr Wiltshire.”

“Good. If that's clear, I won't hold you up any longer.”

Burrows nodded and scurried away in the direction of the trees, where his tools were set out in a makeshift work area. Before long, Septimus heard the sound of sawing. If the fool gave his workers a day off, he'd have to do their share and his. It was of no consequence to Septimus. Even if the building wasn't ready as stated, it would cost him no more. He could serve people from the verandah if he had to. One way or another, he expected to be profiting from the passing teamsters by the start of next month.

He turned back to survey the building again. Harriet hadn't been to see it but she had looked at the plan with him. It had been her suggestion to make the verandah wide and have it go all the way around the building. No matter which direction the sun shone or where the wind blew, there would be a place to take shade and either enjoy the breeze or be protected from it.

He had to concede Harriet had a brain for things like that. Strange that he'd tried so hard to get rid of her in those early days on the road together. She had proved to have all kinds of assets that were of use to him. She was never idle. Now that she lived in the town and had more time on her hands, she had begun sewing again. She had offered to make curtains for the inn. He thought that too much expense but she had convinced him that comfortable patrons would take more time – and spend more coin.

He'd been away for a month but the thought of Harriet didn't tempt him as it had. Her body was an asset he no longer desired so much. When he was with her he thought of Dulcie. She was more to his liking – and he didn't have to share her with a lily-livered child.

Septimus cast one last look over the inn then mounted his horse and turned it back towards the farm. Yes, he'd have one more night with the delectable Dulcie before he made the journey to Port Augusta and all the duties that awaited him there.

Harriet put down her sewing and listened. The steady crunch of boots on the gravel path had to be male. She jumped as the door flung open.

“Septimus!” she cried. “I expected you days ago.” The words were out before she could stop them.

“I was delayed in the hills.” He glared at her. “I've been busy looking after my investments.”

“Of course.” Harriet was quick to soften her tone. “I was just concerned for you, that's all.”

“You know my work keeps me on the road.”

“Yes, Septimus.” She hurried to help him out of his jacket. Perhaps something had happened with his new building. “Is everything all right? The inn?”

“The inn is coming along fine.”

She was surprised by his harsh tone. Once she had easily judged his moods but his last few visits home had been short and he'd been hard to read.

Septimus poked his head into the kitchen. “Where's the boy?”

“Henry's outside.”

“Has he been practising his letters and numbers?”

“Yes, Septimus, but you mustn't forget he's still young.” She pulled her face into a smile.

“If he's to take over my business one day,” Septimus thumped the back of his armchair, “he needs to know how to read and count.”

“And he will.” Harriet glanced towards the kitchen. She hoped Henry would stay outside a little longer. She tried to get him to practise every day as Septimus had commanded on his last visit home, but the child much preferred to play.

“He must practise.” Septimus thumped the chair again.

“He does.” Thankfully Henry was a quick learner, but she knew he'd stutter if his father pressed him and that made Septimus angry. “Can I make you a cup of tea? I have some currant buns fresh from the oven.”

“Don't fuss, Harriet,” he snapped.

She looked around for something else to distract him. Her sewing lay on the small table beside her chair.

“I've nearly finished the curtains for the inn.” She picked up the blue and white checked fabric. “Perhaps I could come with you next time you visit. I can hang –”

“No!”

Harriet jumped.

He snatched up his jacket. “I've got business at the port. Save me some supper. I'll eat later. And Harriet …”

He stopped at the door and turned back to her. She looked into his cold grey eyes.

“Don't wait up for me.”

She listened as the crunch of his boots faded. When she was sure he was gone she slid into his armchair. Life was much simpler when Septimus wasn't at home. Henry was happier; she had far less to worry over. She enjoyed having the time to sew and she'd had several new clients just in the last week.

When they'd first moved to Port Augusta she'd been one of the few white women there. Now there were more families and other men were making money too. That meant their wives were spending it on dresses, pretty bonnets, curtains for windows and tablecloths. Harriet particularly enjoyed embroidering delicate flowers on table linen and she was getting a name for it. She was also careful to stash a good portion of the money it brought her. Septimus thought it a small sideline and had never questioned how much she earned. Everything they had, including the house, had been provided by him. She led a simple life but wanted for nothing. He left her money for food and household items. Even so, Harriet never felt entirely safe. Septimus was away more than he was home and she could never fully shake the fear that one day he might not return.

She bent forward and reached under the chair, feeling for the pouch she'd slid into the webbing. It was her nest egg. After all, she was no longer responsible for only herself. Henry would learn to read and write, Septimus expected that as did she, but Henry would also be cultured and refined. None of the rough and dirty beginnings she and Septimus had lived through would touch her son. Harriet would make sure of that.

She looked at the clock as it chimed the hour from the mantelpiece. It had been another of Septimus's acquisitions, and she had to wind it every day. Four o'clock. She was expecting Mrs Forbes, wife of Captain Forbes the harbourmaster, at any moment. She opened the glass cabinet beside the fireplace and lifted out her china tea set. The dainty blue flowers were as pretty as ever in her eyes and she always impressed her customers by offering tea in the delicate china cups. She'd embroidered napkins with flowers to match. Harriet hummed as she prepared for her visitor, Septimus's bad mood gone from her thoughts.

Only a few days later, she was preparing for his departure. It was a grey day. The wind had sprung up from the north, blowing dust and unsettling the horses. Septimus loaded his old bullock wagon with supplies for his new inn. In a horse-drawn cart sat the man he'd employed as a publican and his loud, buxom wife.

Harriet noticed Septimus wince every time the woman let out one of her raucous laughs, which was quite often. In spite of the disagreeable weather, Ethel was in good spirits and apparently looking forward to their new life in the hills.

“Don't you worry about a thing at the inn, Mrs Wiltshire.” Ethel's voice was as bellicose as her laugh. “Ned and me will have it shipshape in no time. Perhaps you'll come up and visit one day.”

“Mrs Wiltshire has plenty to keep her occupied here,” Septimus barked. “She has no need to make the tedious journey to the hills.”

“Ahh, but when she gets there she'll be able to have a little holiday from all her chores. Ned and me will look after her, won't we, Ned?” She dug her husband in the ribs. His serious expression did not so much as twitch but he nodded at Harriet. Ethel let forth another of her laughs.

Septimus stalked off around the wagon, checking again that it was tied down properly, before mounting his horse. Harriet liked Ethel. Most people wilted after one look from Septimus, but not her.

Harriet beamed. “You'll make sure the curtains are hung properly.”

“Course I will, lovey.”

Harriet leaned closer. “And I just might take you up on that holiday,” she said, “if I'm ever not so busy here.”

Ethel winked at her, but Septimus rode up and Harriet was forced to step back from the cart.

“I could be gone for a month or more,” he said.

“I have plenty to keep me busy in your absence.” She put on her sweetest smile.

“Make sure the boy keeps working on those letters. He can't seem to say them properly yet.”

Harriet glanced back at where Henry stood on the verandah, clutching a pole with one hand, thumb in his mouth.

“Of course,” she said and lifted a hand to protect her eyes as a gust of wind drove more dirt through the air. Henry wouldn't miss his father and Harriet realised she wouldn't either. Septimus hadn't looked for the comforts of her body at all on that visit. She had used to enjoy his attentions, but since Henry had been born, Septimus had become less attentive. Their coupling was rougher and over quickly: she was just as happy without. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“Take what time you need,” she said. “Henry and I will be well until your return.”

He raised his hat and stared down at her with his icy eyes, then he tugged the reins and moved away, urging the bullocks forward. The cart with the jovial Ethel and the sombre-faced Ned followed behind.

Harriet watched a moment until Henry let out a whine behind her. She turned away from the procession and hurried him inside out of the dirty day.