Hester Waring's Marriage (24 page)

‘Hard for me!' He kissed her hand again and looked at her wonderingly. ‘You say that while you lie there, helpless. Oh, Hester, what are my transient needs compared to the state to which I have brought you?'

Her face lit up. ‘Why, I thought that I contributed more than a little to my state myself, Mr Dilhorne.'

‘So you did, Mrs Dilhorne. But it is you who bear the consequences, I don't. The least honour which I can do you is to bear any consequences for me as patiently as you bear the child.'

He released her hand to place his own gently on her stomach. He felt the child thresh beneath it. ‘Active little fellow, isn't he?'

Hester laughed. ‘He, or she, nearly kicks me to pieces at times. He's as big as an elephant, but a lot more lively.' Her face twisted as the child rioted again, her stomach moving like a wave beneath his hand.

It could not be long now, Tom thought, before the child was born—Alan had warned that it might be early. ‘Try to make her take a little light exercise,' he had said, ‘it will go hard with her if she lies down too often.'

‘Time for a stroll,' Tom said. He helped her from the settle and walked with her down the long room and back again. Driving into Sydney had stopped, the motion of the carriage distressed her—as walking did.

Whatever else, she needed his protection more than ever—and she must not learn of Cameron's villainy.

T
om moved against Jack Cameron with all the speed, cunning and cold calculation which he could summon to the task. The sooner he was disposed of, the sooner he could rest easy. Once the threat to his life had receded, he could concentrate on looking after Hester, and he would no longer need to deceive her.

He was as secret as he could be while he set in motion the events which would ensnare Jack, and which would bear no trace of his own involvement. Returning from one such errand, he met Lieutenant Wright, Lucy on his arm, walking down Macquarie Street.

Tom was careful not to share with them his worries over Hester's health. He was privately and sardonically amused by the warm way in which they spoke to him—such a contrast to their manner a year before. He told them that, although house-bound, she was always pleased to receive visitors herself.

‘Then I shall propose a visit at once,' exclaimed Lucy, who, in the face of Hester's remarkable transformation after her marriage to Tom, felt ashamed that Sydney's elite had done so little for her after Fred's death.

Frank's contribution to the conversation was more
downright, ‘I suppose you haven't heard of Pat Ramsey's splendid news,' he offered, ‘seeing that he only received it when the latest boat docked yesterday.

‘He's succeeded to the family title and, more to the point, its great estates. We shall have to call him Sir Pat now—but not for long. He's wanted back home and will doubtless be resigning his commission.'

Fortune's wheel had turned in Pat's favour. Tom hoped that it would not turn in Jack's. He must have learned by now that his latest attack on his interests had failed.

 

Jack, indeed, was well aware of that. Kaye had never turned up for his pay in kind, nor made any attempt to contact him to explain what had gone wrong. The days passed and his impatience grew. Discreet investigations revealed that Kaye was lurking in The Rocks, his right arm in a sling.

‘The result of an accident,' he told all and sundry. Jack thereupon prowled The Rocks himself, and finally cornered Kaye.

‘Do I know you, sir?' whined Kaye when Jack began to question him fiercely.

‘Damn you,' roared Jack whose vocabulary was limited. ‘You know full well that you were doing a job for me over Dilhorne.'

‘Dilhorne, is it?' Kaye's face grew long. ‘I never tangle with Dilhorne. Dangerous man that. Should be careful in any dealings you have with him, Captain.'

Was it Jack's imagination or did Kaye's gaze rest on his broken nose? He flung away in anger. Useless to pursue the matter, and dangerous, too. Dilhorne had won that round and frightened Kaye off into the bargain. He had also frightened everyone else off, too.

Worse still, he had no sooner returned to the Barracks
than he found that he had more to worry about than attacking Dilhorne again. That ass Ramsey, now a baronet, damn him, told him that O'Connell wanted to see him as soon as possible.

‘Messenger boy, are you…
Sir
Pat,' he sneered.

Little ever ruffled Pat, and that slid off him like water off a duck's back. He shrugged, turned on his heel and left Jack to fume his way to O'Connell's room where he found him waiting at his desk, Menzies beside him. Damn them both for canting hypocrites!

‘We can do this rough,' began O'Connell, without preamble, ‘or we can do it smooth. Depends on you, Cameron.'

‘If I knew what you were talking about,' muttered Jack—who did.

‘Don't be a fool,' O'Connell snarled at him. ‘I've got proof positive that you've been robbing the liquor stores among other things. The garrison's liquor is awash around Sydney—and you are responsible.'

‘I suppose it's that damned swine, Dilhorne, who's told you this.'

‘Dilhorne? What's Dilhorne got to do with this? No, the Quartermaster you bribed was caught red-handed yesterday, selling it in Sydney. He's confessed and has implicated you, among others, although you're the only officer involved, thank God. It all fits, Jack, including the fact that you've been full of money lately.'

Jack's face twisted. ‘What about the Government stores you siphon off to Dilhorne and others? Are you going to be broke for that, too?'

‘You're light in the attic, Jack. What the Regiment disposes of to the traders here is all above board, as you well know.'

‘Including the sweeteners to and from Dilhorne and the
others, I suppose. And then he has the gall to inform on me!'

‘You're hipped on the man, Jack. He has nothing to do with this. I've not so much as seen him in months. What sweeteners? What evidence do you offer for such a claim? Now I've affidavits here testifying to your guilt, evidence enough to break you. But I'm not going to do that if you're sensible. Are you going to be sensible, Jack?'

‘Depends on what you mean…sir.'

‘I'll tell you what I mean.' O'Connell's voice was weary. ‘I'm breaking the Quartermaster down to the ranks—for insubordination, not theft. That way there'll be no open scandal. He's only too grateful for not getting a flogging and a discharge. As for you, you can hand in your papers and go home on the next boat. I'm not having you running loose round Sydney.'

‘Resign, you mean?'

‘What else—or you can have it rough and be court-martialled. It's up to you: I don't mind which.'

‘What choice is that?' Jack's face contorted. ‘It's that damned Dilhorne who is responsible for this. I know it is.'

O'Connell sighed heavily. ‘You don't deny anything, do you, Cameron? Let me give you some advice. Since you fought with Dilhorne, your judgement, never very steady, seems to have gone completely awry.'

‘Fought with him!' Jack almost screamed. ‘I never fought with him. The damned swine attacked me brutally and without warning. I know he's behind this.'

His face stern, O'Connell stood up. ‘No one is behind this. You brought it upon yourself by your own stupidity, and ruined another man into the bargain. Now get out of my sight, and if you don't hand your papers in by tomorrow morning I'll have you arrested and court-martialled.
Even if you do, you'll be confined to quarters until the next ship leaves for home—taking you with it.'

Drinking himself into oblivion, Jack was well aware who had ruined him, and who was going to pay for it before he left Sydney if that were the last thing he did. There's no order which O'Connell can make which will keep me from getting at him.

 

Tom knew that his machinations had succeeded when he met Pat Ramsey in George Street the following afternoon. The warmth of Pat's greeting was the measure of how far he had travelled from his beginnings.

‘Ah, a word with you, Dilhorne. I have the notion that you will not be surprised to learn that Jack Cameron's handed in his papers and is going home. Seems he's had enough of Sydney—at least, that's the official story.'

Tom raised negligent eyebrows. ‘Has he so, Captain Ramsey? Though I suppose I ought to call you Sir Patrick now.'

‘Oh, be damned to that, Dilhorne. Ramsey will do. I shall be leaving soon, and the one thing which I shall miss is the pleasure of your recent company. A pity you can't come with me.'

‘A pity, indeed,' returned Tom smoothly. ‘As for Cameron, Sydney will be pleased to see the back of him.'

And you as well, thought Pat, watching Tom stride away, and congratulations to you, Dilhorne, for arranging it. The Regiment will be better off without him.

The best of it is, thought Tom, that I can go to Hester with the load off my back and with no need to deceive her further: I can concentrate on looking after her.

 

Hester was to remember afterwards how busy that particular day was. Tom told her that he had hired a nurse to
care for her until the baby came. She would arrive at the weekend.

He looked at Hester across the breakfast table. She was cheerful, but paler than ever—her eyes were dark in her wan face.

‘I've a mind to stay at home with you until the nurse comes. I don't care for you to be lonely,' he said abruptly, fear gnawing at his heart.

He might have expected that she would refuse his offer. ‘Oh, no, Tom. I know that you are busy today. You are arranging the business of the flour mill, are you not?'

He nodded, ‘Trouble is, dear Mrs Dilhorne, there is a dinner arranged as well, and there'll be drinking afterwards, so I fear I shall be late home tonight. One thing, though, I shall not stay out late again until after the baby arrives.'

His troubles with Cameron might be over, but he would not rest easy until she had been safely confined.

‘Besides,' she went on, ‘I shan't be lonely today. This morning the Ladies Sewing Circle is meeting here, and Lucy is bringing Frank, Stephen Parker, Pat Ramsey and all their friends in the Regiment over this afternoon. So, you see, we are accepted at last by the Exclusives.'

Tom opened his mouth to argue with her and then remembered Pat Ramsey's friendliness the day before.

‘I give in,' he said, rising and kissing her on the cheek, ‘but don't tire yourself.'

The ‘we' in her last little speech pleased him greatly. If there were times when he feared that Hester's love for him was merely gratitude for her salvation and not a true passion for the man, Tom Dilhorne, he took heart from such statements made so easily and without conscious thought.

‘I still wish that the nurse was here already. I do not care for you to be alone.'

‘Do not trouble yourself about that—I have Miller to guard me.'

At that Tom did not persist, but throughout the day his usual singlemindedness was overlaid by his memory of her, chained to the settle, so different from the Hester she had once been. The Hester who had shot at targets, had run and jumped as they threw the ball about in the garden and in the bush: he was fearful that he might never see that Hester again.

Hester had been right to tell Tom that she would not be lonely. This was particularly true when Lucy and her friends arrived. She could not help remembering, while they laughed and chattered with her, how different her life had been a year ago when she had been a lonely and neglected waif at Mrs Cooke's. That it had been so transformed was due to one man alone, and that man Tom Dilhorne, her father's ogre.

Pat Ramsey kissed her hand before they left. ‘It has been a pleasure to visit you, but I fear that we may have been too much for you.'

Hester shook her head. ‘No, not at all. It has been my pleasure to have you, particularly as Tom says that there is talk that the Regiment will soon be called home, and then I shall lose you all.'

The house seemed strangely silent after their departure, but she was not sorry to be alone after the bustle of the day. She lay and mused about the officers' admiration for her, despite her condition, and wondered what her life might have been like if they had looked at her like that before she had met Tom.

Which was a stupid thought, for it had taken Tom to transform her, and for the first time she thought of her mother and father without rancour or regret for their treat
ment of her because if they had cared for her, she would never have met him.

She would never have known the excitements and passions of living with a difficult, demanding and complex man who asked of her only—only!—that she match him and meet him on level terms. Yet at the same time when she was stricken down, as she now was, he cared for her selflessly and would have stayed with her had she not sent him on his way.

Dusk fell, and then night. Miller had taken up his station in the hall. He quartered the interior of the house to see that all was well before he did so. Hester dozed a little—and was woken by a sound.

Tom, it was Tom returning.

A smile of pleasure lifted the corner of her mouth. She dragged herself to the tantalus on a small side-table to pour him a tot of brandy and herself a glass of water. She had the brandy glass in her hand when the door opened.

But the man who entered was not Tom.

At the sight of him she dropped the brandy. The glass fell to the floor, the liquor staining the delicate Chinese rug.

‘What a pity, my dear,' said Jack Cameron, his eyes devouring her. ‘I could have done with that.'

He advanced into the room, his eyes glittering, one pistol in his belt, the other in his hand, pointed at her.

‘Sit down, my darling,' he said. ‘And if you're tempted to call to that man of yours for help, I won't hurt you, but I'll shoot him down like a dog.'

He pointed the pistol at a small table before the hearth, and dragged up a chair for Hester to sit in, bowing her into it with a deference which she thought at first was mockery—until his manner and his look convinced her that it was only too dreadfully real.

He dragged up another chair to sit opposite to her and pulled the pistol from his belt to lay it on the table while holding the other loosely in his hand. He directed it at the door.

Hester stared at him. She was astonished by her self-control. Even her voice was steady when she spoke.

‘What are you doing here, Captain Cameron?'

‘Oh, I like that,' he said, smiling a ghastly smile. ‘It's what I would expect from a true lady like yourself. Not Guinea Jack, or the way your damned husband speaks to me.'

He paused before saying, his face twisted, ‘I've come to kill him. Preferably in front of you.'

He could scarcely bear to look at her swollen body.

It was what Hester had expected from the moment that she had seen that he was armed. It was why she was so calm. He intended to kill Tom and she must prevent him from doing so: choose how, as Tom would have said. She remembered what he had once told her about magic and misdirection. Well, she would misdirect Jack—if she could.

‘How did you get in?'

‘I like that, too. You're cool, my dearest dear. Most women would have been in hysterics by now. Your black-guard of a husband doesn't deserve such a treasure as you, Hester.'