Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (274 page)

Billy, who was reading expressions as much as listening to their words, was confused until William explained what his wife had said. Yaraay looked up and smiled, a twinkle of knowing in her deep brown eyes. Electra winked at her.

William explained he was expecting the lawyer mid-afternoon and wanted to put on paper relevant aspects of the case. Callum and Billy had work to do, as did Shelagh. The two native women agreed they would come whenever possible for news and headed back to their camp.

As William took a step into the house, Electra called to him. “How was Molly?”

“Who?”

“You know, Molly Preston. You said you always visit when in town.”

He looked at her quizzically, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, did you?”

“Not this time. There were a few more pressing issues.”

“Oh. Perhaps you’ll call next time then.”

“Yes, perhaps I will.”

Biting her lip, she turned away and inwardly cursed her lack of restraint. How could she have been so transparent with her jealousy? And at a time like this. She held onto the vain hope that he may have missed the nuance behind her questions, but his slight smile told her the truth of it.

“Electra?”

She turned to face him.

He hesitated and took a deep breath before speaking. “I-I’m so dreadfully sorry for the other night. What I did was unforgivable and I do not expect your forgiveness. But I ask for it nonetheless and — er,” he shook his head, “God, that’s it, I suppose.” He didn’t wait for her response and rushed inside as if he had important matters to attend to.

It was a start at least.

• • •

Electra guided her horse toward the small Purnell home. Shelagh explained before she left that Charles Purnell had arrived as a convict fifteen years earlier, served his time and been awarded fifty acres of land near the Parramatta River. Another ten acres had been awarded by the Crown when he took Celia Hodges, also an emancipist, for his wife. This knowledge allowed Electra to assume she would be welcome in their home.

As she approached the home, a young child playing on the front lawn, skipped into the house and soon appeared back at the door with her mother. Celia Purnell peered suspiciously out at Electra. Straightening her mousy brown hair in a self-conscious gesture, she stepped out onto the doorstep.

Electra slipped off her horse and approached the house. “Mrs. Purnell, I’m Electra Radcliffe. I thought it was time we met and I wanted to express my sympathy for your troubles.”

She blinked owlishly. “Oh, yes — er I had heard Mr. Radcliffe married. I probably should have made a visit myself but I’m — er kept very busy at home, you see. Please come in.”

The small house was sparsely furnished and scrupulously clean. While Celia Purnell scurried off to make tea, Electra turned to look at the child. She had once seen Charles Purnell, a gaunt, bowlegged man. Now after meeting his wife she was surprised that two quite homely parents had produced a child of such beauty.

“My name is Lucinda,” she said circling Electra, “and I’m six years old. You’re very pretty. Do you think I am too?”

Electra raised her eyebrows. “Yes, you certainly are pretty but are you smart as well?” she asked.

“Mama says when I’m this pretty I don’t have to be smart.” She pirouetted, exhibiting her many petticoats under the immaculately starched dress.

“That’s a lovely dress, are you going out somewhere?”

“No, but Mama says it’s important to look nice all the time.” She leant toward Electra to whisper, “I’m not allowed to run about and get dirty, but I sneaked out and went to the river. Mama and Papa were very angry.”

Electra glanced in the direction she had seen the woman disappear and turned back to the child. “I expect you got nice and dirty.”

She giggled. “Oh yes. But not only that, I fell in the river and got very wet as well. I could have drowned and my pretty dress was quite ruined.” She saw the small cakes in Electra’s basket. “I love cakes. Could I have one?”

Electra, taken aback by the child’s nonchalance over the event, tried to collect her thoughts to probe further when Mrs. Purnell returned.

“That’s enough of bothering Mrs. Radcliffe, Lucinda,” said Celia Purnell, bustling into the room with the teapot and cups.

“No, we were having a lovely talk. I hope you don’t mind, I have given her a small cake.”

Celia Purnell’s face twitched in response. “Not a crumb on my clean floor now, or on your pretty dress. In fact, eat it on the veranda.”

Behind her mother’s back, Lucinda grimaced and skipped out to the veranda.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying, but Lucinda appears in good spirits despite her ordeal,” said Electra carefully.

The woman looked down, nervously fingering the folds of her skirt. “Mr. Purnell says it is only because she was too young to realize the horror of the event.”

Electra picked up her cup, carefully sipping the tea. She was not sure how to broach the subject of Bulanggi’s impending hanging. Celia Purnell looked as if she would run like a scared rabbit if the conversation became difficult.

The woman looked down, pushing the handle of her cup backwards and forwards on the saucer. She took a deep breath and her words tumbled out. “What will they do to him? You know, the one who — ”

Electra nearly spilt her tea in surprise. “They mean to hang him,” she said, holding the woman’s gaze.

Celia Purnell blanched. “Oh dear. But couldn’t they do something else? Perhaps imprison him for a good while or send him away?”

There would not be a more perfect opportunity to make her appeal.

“Or perhaps set him free,” said Electra.

The woman looked up, frowning at her statement. “Why would you say that?”

“I need to speak with you candidly and directly. Is that acceptable?”

The woman nodded, her eyes avoiding Electra’s.

“The man’s family says he did not act in any way inappropriately with your daughter. I don’t know if this is so. Only he and Lucinda know the truth. He told them he was spearing fish when she ran to the river and slipped in. Without a thought for consequences, he jumped in and saved Lucinda from drowning and when he pulled her out and tried to calm her, you came out, followed by your husband. The rest you know.”

The woman’s lips had tightened into a thin line and her knuckles were white as she gripped her cup.

Electra laid a hand on her arm. “Mrs. Purnell, if there is anything you know about what happened you must speak up. The governor has agreed to a trial and it will be your and your husband’s evidence that will determine whether he lives or dies.”

Celia Purnell jumped to her feet and her cup clattered to the table. “I think you had better leave, Mrs. Radcliffe. My husband has been clear about what happened and will most certainly repeat what he has said at any trial. I cannot contradict him.”

“Thank you for your hospitality. I am truly sorry to have distressed you,” said Electra, standing to leave. As she reached the door, she turned around, pleading with the woman. “Do you really want your beautiful daughter to go through her life believing her innocence was soiled? And can you live with the fact that you may be sending an innocent man, one who saved the life of your daughter, to his death?”

Mrs. Purnell all but pushed Electra out to the veranda. Lucinda jumped up to follow Electra and was grabbed by her mother, pulled into the house and the door was slammed firmly shut.

• • •

The grounds were deserted when she rode back to Riverside. She left her mare with the lad in the stables and headed for the front of the house. The sound of male voices in the drawing room told her the lawyer had arrived and she prepared to inform them of her failure. As she reached for the doorknob, she heard William speak and hesitated for a moment, listening to the rich timbre of his voice before entering the room.

George Cartel was a tall, thin man with a fine hooked nose. His small intelligent eyes would miss nothing and Electra liked him immediately. As William introduced them, the lawyer’s sharp eyes appraised her astutely.

“Have any luck with Mrs. Purnell, Mrs. Radcliffe?” he asked.

She sighed, wishing she had returned victorious, if only to impress Mr. Cartel.

“I did my best but I think she’s scared of her husband and he has decided Bulanggi touched his daughter. This may sound far-fetched but perhaps this has made him a figure of importance and the truth may not work as well for him.”

“Not far-fetched at all, in fact, probably right on the money,” he said nodding.

William stood from his place on the couch and indicated for Electra to sit while he pulled up a high-backed chair for himself. George Cartel resumed his position on the armchair to her left.

“Did you speak to the child? Did you get any other impressions about the situation while you were there?” asked William.

She sat back, speaking slowly as she thought on her response. “Yes, it was very interesting. Mrs. Purnell was extremely nervous, exhibiting an element of obsession around the cleanliness of the house and her daughter’s appearance.”

“Could you be a little more specific perhaps?” asked George Cartel.

“The child was dressed in her Sunday best and watched carefully by her mother to ensure not a speck of dirt touched her person or clothing. It made me wonder about Mr. Purnell’s expectations, or even control, of them both. I got the impression Mrs. Purnell would be fearful of contradicting him.” George Cartel tapped the side of his nose, nodding in agreement. “But the really interesting thing,” she said, as she sat forward in her chair, looking from one man to the other, “was that the child seemed totally undamaged from the experience. In fact, while her mother was out of the room, she shared the adventure of falling into the river as if it was the most exciting thing that has happened to her.”

William leant toward her. “You’ve done splendidly, Electra. We can work with what you’ve told us and who knows, Mrs. Purnell’s conscience may get the better of her. I would warrant you gave it a good pricking,” he said.

Electra was surprised at how well he seemed to know her. She told them both what she had said as she left Mrs. Purnell and the lawyer slapped the arm of the chair. “Good Lord, madam, couldn’t have done better myself. Wouldn’t like a job would you?”

Feeling a little less like a failure, she left them to work out the finer details of the defence and wandered out to the kitchen to reward herself from Shi Liang’s larder.

Contentedly nibbling the sugar icing off a small cake, she started at the sound of pathetic crying as Mary Buckley rounded the kitchen with Freddy in her arms.

“Oh mum, he won’t stop howlin’ an’ he’s hot like a burnin’ coal. I think he’s got the fever an’ he won’t eat or nuffin’,” she wailed frantically. “An’ look, he’s shittin’ like water.” As if on cue, a light brown liquid ran down the baby’s leg. Shi Liang nudged her toward the door but Electra clicked her tongue at him and put her hand on Freddy’s forehead.

His skin was certainly burning and his cry was not the lusty, hungry cry of a healthy baby. All Electra could think was to get fluid into him and put him into a tepid bath to try to bring down the fever. As for the diarrhea, she was stumped.

Muttering to himself, Shi Liang bustled about the kitchen, put a pot of water on the fire and rummaged for clean muslin. As he handed the cloth to Mary, Shi Liang’s head jerked up and he let out a loud “Hsssst” sound of displeasure.

Yaraay and Waruu, seeking news of Bulanggi, stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Yaraay’s eyes darted to the baby. Her brow puckered in a deep frown. She looked at Electra and nodded her head at the child, seeking permission to approach him. Relieved, Electra grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the baby, placing Yaraay’s hand on his burning skin.

“Haiee!” She shook her head, eyes wide with alarm.

“Get her away from my baby! I don’ want her touchin’ him,” said Mary, pulling the limp bundle away from Yaraay, who backed cautiously toward the door.

Electra put her hand on Mary’s arm. “Mary, I know you’re frightened but Yaraay is a medicine woman and she may know how to get Freddy’s fever down.”

“No mum, you kin do it. You knows what ter do. Yer fixed him last time,” she said, not moving her eyes from Yaraay.

“I’m sorry, Mary but I don’t know anything more than sponging him. Yaraay might know some herbs we can use. I trust her completely. Please let her help Freddy,” pleaded Electra.

Mary looked at Electra, over to Yaraay and then down at her baby. Freddy had become quiet and as she watched him, his eyes rolled back into his head. “Oh mum, do sumfin’ quick. I fink as how he’s dyin’,” she sobbed.

Yaraay disappeared as quietly as she had appeared. While they waited, Electra sponged the tepid water over Freddy’s small, burning body and Mary squeezed water into his mouth. He was too weak to swallow but a little trickled down his throat. Shi Liang, despite his earlier resistance, had now become quite attached to the baby. And in his distress, he hovered around them wailing pathetically until Electra lost patience and sent him outside.

Not long after, she heard an exclamation from William. The noise had brought him hurrying to the kitchen where he collided with Shi Liang, pacing outside the kitchen door. Extricating himself, William peered in the doorway. Electra was aware of his eyes following her as she bent over a small tub, cradling Mary’s baby in her arms and gently sponging his body. Her hair had escaped its combs and hung in ringlets over her face, sticking to the beads of perspiration running down her face and neck. Beside her, Mary was ringing her hands, praying loudly for divine intervention. Despite the surprise and confusion on William’s face, no one stopped to give him an explanation. Nor did he interrupt by asking or make any attempt to leave.

Yaraay returned and squeezed past William into the kitchen. In her hands she had two types of leaves and strips of bark.

Electra looked at the leaves and bark, then over to William, raising one eyebrow in question.

“It’s fever bark,” he said. “Comes from a gum tree. The natives use it to treat fever. And the leaves are eucalyptus.”