In a Great Southern Land

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Father tells me you’re serious about moving on.’

  Eve blushed again and looked out the window to avoid those probing eyes. ‘Yes, sir. I have applied for the position of nanny with Lady Margaret Houghton. Mrs Matthews’s sister is the cook there.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Robert said, still staring intently and Eve regretted her impulse to meet his gaze. His eyes were so dark they sometimes lost the brown within the centres, part of his mother’s Italian heritage, apparently. ‘I hope they don’t accept it.’

  ‘Why is that, sir?’ she asked, clenching her hands harder.

  Robert smiled then, causing her stomach to knot. ‘I think there may be better prospects for you here.’

  That made her uneasy. He’d said something similar a few weeks ago, flippantly to his parents but designed to be overheard; something about her ‘potential’ and how he couldn’t imagine her ever being released to another household. He hadn’t elaborated further but there was a private glance delivered to her at the time and, despite her naivety, she knew there was a message within it. Something beyond propriety.

  Mrs Matthews seemed to have picked up on it, whatever ‘it’ was. It was the same message that underscored his tone whenever he addressed her of late and it was in his touch whenever their fingers should collide; a cup and saucer here, hat and gloves there. It left her on edge, affected by the tiny shocks each encounter produced and ever wary of his presence.

  Perhaps he was trifling with her, perhaps it was more.

  ‘Mrs Matthews is making the arrangements…’

  ‘It isn’t Mrs Matthews’s life though, is it?’

  She levelled a gaze of her own then. ‘No, sir. It is mine.’

  He smiled again, in his quick, sudden way that so easily disarmed. ‘It certainly is, Miss Eve, and you are free to make your own decision in this matter, of course. Although you may want to consider what you’d truly be giving up by leaving.’ He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of tobacco and cologne clinging to his coat, a masculine scent that seemed to suddenly fill the carriage. ‘The only people you still consider family, a guaranteed place within the household, the potential to rise to lady’s maid or perhaps even housekeeper one day…’ She knew all of these things. The only reason she really had for leaving was a fresh start. ‘…and employers you can trust.’ His eyes were intense now and as dark as his cloak. ‘You do trust me, don’t you, Evie?’

  ‘Miss Eve,’ she said faintly as his face drew ever closer to hers.

  ‘I prefer Evie. It can be our little secret. Along with this.’ And to her shock his lips were suddenly on hers.

  Eve had been kissed before, well, the odd chaste peck on the cheek, but there was nothing even remotely chaste about the urgent kiss Robert was suddenly stealing. She hadn’t even known such kisses existed until Molly, the maid, had told her of secret trysts she’d shared with the stable hand, John Jackson. ‘Tongues and all, Evie, and so busy with his hands I had to wriggle like an eel to stop things goin’ on so fast.’

  Evie wasn’t wriggling, she was paralysed by shock. Then her father’s face came to mind and she found her resistance, pushing Robert back in indignation that he would do this today, of all days.

  ‘No,’ she gasped. ‘Please, sir…I cannot.’

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered, his breath short against her face as he looked down at the dark material across her breast. ‘I cannot rid you from my thoughts.’

  ‘Y…you should not say such things, sir,’ she said, trying not to lose all composure. Her hands grasped at the bench arms as she strained away from him, her heart beating like a wild rabbit, but he followed and kissed her again. It was difficult to move away now, with his chest close and his hand curving around her chin to the nape of her neck, and it was no longer rushed and desperate, this second kiss. He was turning it into something else, some kind of hypnotic dance, filled with longing and unspoken questions.

  ‘It’s unbearable, watching you,’ he said in a brief, drugging pause, ‘wanting you.’ Robert took to kissing her neck then and she felt a strange, curling warmth unfold as skin met skin; foreign and dangerous, like her body was starting to betray her mind.

  ‘Evie,’ he said again. Too familiar. Too intimate. Too close.

  But that warmth was running down her arms, her chest and deep into her core. Crowding her logic. Stealing her breath.

  ‘Robert.’

  The word felt separate from her, unbidden and removed from sense, and it took a moment for her to register she’d even said it. Then reality slammed its way back through.

  ‘No! I don’t want this,’ she exclaimed, pulling away and dropping any address, even the customary ‘sir’ in her sudden anger at both him and herself. Fortunately, the carriage began to slow as they arrived at the house and he drew back to his seat, breathing hard and dark eyes burning. Then the footman opened the door and Eve scrambled to alight, trying to avoid any further contact, but she couldn’t avoid hearing his final whisper.

  It followed her to bed that night and deep into her dreams.

  ‘Then why did you say my name?’

  Six

  Liverpool, September 1851

  Mrs Matthews was prattling but Eve didn’t mind too much tonight, especially as the conversation was focused on Lady Margaret and the position with her they both hoped Eve would secure. Surely the letter would arrive soon, Eve thought nervously. Autumn’s chill now laced the air, which marked near three weeks of waiting.

  ‘Doris says his lordship owns some prize horseflesh; even lets the servants ride some of the lesser beasts for exercise, which is generosity itself, if you ask me. A good man, Evie, you’ll do well to mind your manners and see if you don’t earn his approval. Speaking of which I’ve a mind to send Doris another letter, just to check, like…’

  Eve drifted off as Mrs Matthews elaborated on her idea of sending a reminder to her sister for the third time that evening. Still, it was better than the constant singing of her potential new master’s praises. Eve wasn’t keen on overly impressing the man of the house. The woman would do just fine.

  Thinking about her own younger master she looked out the sitting room window with growing consternation. He was in town tonight with his set which meant he would likely be coming back late, a good thing, but also likely to be inebriated, which was very, very bad. It was hard enough trying to ignore him when he was sober. When he was in his cups it became pointless. One could hardly disregard the heat in his covert stares, the uncensored desire he now confessed in close whispers as she passed him by. Wine was a truth serum, so her father had always said, and when Robert drank the truth spilt out, like a cup running over, across her body and into her soul.

  ‘You’re so beautiful I can scarcely think, nor talk with sense.’

  ‘It’s intoxicating, watching you. Like a delicious torture.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep last night for tossing in my sheets, knowing you’re just one floor beneath.’

  Then last night, the most dangerous of all.

  ‘You know it’s just a matter of time until we’re together, don’t you?’

  It had made her heart beat hard against its cage, yet there were other sensations at play too. Her own breathing seemed to stop each time he neared, and her skin became strangely more alive, like a sudden hot breeze brushed across it, raising each tiny hair on her arms. An entity ran through the very air between them now and the house seemed heavy under its spell, charging her senses and paralysing all rational thought.

  Eve was being chased down by it, the prey in a hunt, running out of places to deny its existence as Robert pursued her, like her namesake through Eden. And her greatest fear was what she would do if caught. If she would be betrayed by the flaw that cursed both first woman and man.

  Temptation.

  Eve knew she had to resist him; it was sheer madness to succumb. There would be very little sympathy for a young female servant if she was found in a compromising position, favoured butler’s orphan or
no. Women had ever carried the weight of consequence when it came to sins of the flesh; the curse of holding the apple during that first tempted bite.

  Her father had often told her she’d been named Eve to remind her to always listen for truth and never be fooled by the lures of the serpent. Yet, there he was, barely cold in the ground and already the snake was hissing in her ear, offering her forbidden fruit and placing her in danger of losing everything her father had worked so hard to give her: safety, security, respectability. Her only hope at fulfilling his planned destiny for her was this new position – far away from Robert’s presence – but it was becoming an ever more dangerous wait now. Each look and whisper coiling tighter, daring her to awaken sensual pleasures and give in to the oldest sin.

  Mrs Matthews went to make the tea and Evie stood, trying to stretch away such preoccupations as her neglected mending fell to the side of the chair. Outside it was very windy once more, with rain streaking the windows in travelling rivulets and Evie placed her hand against the cold pane, feeling the confines of the house keenly. Dangers lurked without, dangers lurked within. And dangers lurked deep down, inside.

  The door opened and Molly came into the room, struggling with the firewood in her arms. ‘Go on and help me then,’ she huffed and Eve stood to assist her, even though she’d already filled all the grates in the main rooms that afternoon on her own. ‘Don’t see why it’s always up to me to fetch it. Got a splinter for me trouble,’ Molly grumbled, investigating her small injury. ‘Pass me one of them needles and look quick about it,’ she ordered, pointing over at Eve’s sewing basket.

  ‘Get it yourself, y’baggage,’ Mrs Matthews exclaimed, overhearing as she returned. ‘I’ve said it before, Molly Brown, if you’re not the laziest girl to grace God’s green earth I don’t know who is.’

  Molly said nothing but poked her tongue out at the housekeeper behind her back as Mrs Matthews poured the tea.

  ‘Make sure you burn the tip of the needle properly then,’ Mrs Matthews said, turning to pass Eve a cup of tea. Molly mumbled something back and Mrs Matthews rolled her eyes at Eve. ‘Ever acting the poor martyr.’

  Eve sipped at her tea and tried not to smile. Molly wouldn’t appreciate any amusement from her, she knew.

  ‘I hope you can still carry your basket on Saturday. I’ve a long list for the market this week,’ Mrs Matthews told Molly.

  ‘Are we expecting guests?’ Eve asked.

  ‘It ain’t you expecting ’em, is it? It’s the master,’ Molly muttered as she tended her finger.

  ‘Actually, it’s the young master this week. He has friends stopping over Sunday who’ll travel on with you to the hunt.’

  ‘I could make two trips to the market if you like,’ Eve suggested, thinking the more time away from the house right now the better.

  ‘No, I want two trips…ow,’ Molly exclaimed, pausing to pull the splinter out. ‘Bloomin’ stupid thing.’

  ‘We’ll see how we go. We may make do with some of those leftover pears and have Cook make a cobbler…’ The sound of the heavy front door opening interrupted her, along with a chorus of barking from Lady Sophia’s dogs and the low drone of men’s voices.

  ‘Master Robert’s ’ome early,’ Molly said, blowing on her finger.

  ‘So it seems,’ Mrs Matthews said offhandedly, yet she sloshed her tea. ‘Why don’t you trot off to bed now, Evie? I’ll finish off that sewing for you if you like.’ Eve obliged, ignoring Molly’s jealous sniff over what she would undoubtedly view as favoured treatment. Such competitive trifles would usually have bothered Eve but not tonight.

  Her heart rate rose immediately, thumping against her ribs as she made her way swiftly but in silence, the noise of her own blood in her ears; every instinct alert to any sudden movements or noises.

  Passing by the stairs that led to the library she heard conversation, deep and muffled. Eve stilled, pausing to listen, then allowed herself to relax a fraction. Robert was now chatting with his friends and Sir Humphrey over cigars, which should last for some while, as was their habit.

  Robert’s voice seemed to trail her, like a hound on her scent, but it faded once she arrived at her room and locked the door behind her. By the time she’d changed out of her dress and put on her night-rail she’d managed to banish his sound but not his imprint; that seemed to cling to her in a thick, disorientating cloak. Would he come to her this night, filling her veins with that drugging heat? Conflicting both body and mind? She dreaded hearing the tap of his boots, the click of the doorknob, the murmur of entreaties and demands. Yet shamefully the thought somehow excited her too. Both emotions left her restless and she tossed in the blankets and sheets.

  I do not want this, she reminded herself in frustration, tears at the corners of her eyes, yet the memory of whispering his name mocked her. How could she have let her guard down so? She’d never crossed the line between servant and master in her life, not even to forget a curtsey or a teaspoon or a lowering of eyes. She’d been raised to be better than this.

  Eve stared across at her mother’s portrait, now at her own bedside, and her thoughts turned once again to her father, her grief raw as she remembered his favourite advice.

  Look for truth and act truthfully, Evie, and remember: you teach people how to treat you, with each and every thing you do and say.

  The dull tick of the grandfather clock swinging its pendulum echoed in the hall as Eve contemplated that philosophy, guilt tinging each thought. Have I taught Master Robert to treat me this way? To attempt seduction on the very day of my father’s funeral? To proposition me with acts of sin?

  Then the clock struck the hour, interrupting her thoughts, and she forced herself to focus on filling and emptying her lungs instead, slowly and deeply with each tick of the hand. Whatever her part in this flirtation, it was unthinkable anything would actually come of it. Time would save her, she reassured herself. Soon she would be well out of temptation’s way.

  It left her feeling strangely empty but she ignored all emotions now, concentrating on that rhythmical passage of time until, eventually, her alert senses were lulled into slumber.

  It was some time later when she was awoken by a noise at the door and her eyes flew immediately wide. It’s locked; I locked it, she reminded herself. Then Robert’s voice came in an urgent whisper.

  ‘Eve. Eve, open the door.’

  She rose slowly from her bed to stand, barefoot and shivering, and disbelieving as she stared at the thick wood that separated them.

  ‘Evie…’

  ‘You cannot be here,’ she hissed back.

  ‘I have to talk to you, Eve, please,’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t let a door come between us. Open it, I’m begging you.’

  She knew better than to oblige but his tone was unravelling her good sense once more, seeping its way back into her blood.

  ‘You know I cannot…’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ he interrupted, his voice low and close through the edge of the frame. ‘You can do anything you want behind a closed door…not that I would make you, of course. I only want to talk. To see you before I sleep.’

  ‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ she said, wishing the door invisible now in order to read his expression.

  ‘I just want to say goodnight.’

  The great clock chimed three times and it gave Eve further pause. Anyone could hear them in this still, quiet hour.

  ‘I won’t touch you, Eve,’ he said solemnly. ‘I swear it as a gentleman.’

  Such a vow swayed her and before she could further question herself she sprang into action, unlocking the door in a rush lest she change her mind. His handsome face replaced the barrier of wood in sudden revelation, his expression reassuringly earnest with his promise before he entered, and it relaxed her. Slightly.

  He was swaying a little, however, and to her shock he perched himself on the end of her bed, steadying himself then patting the space alongside him. Eve’s wariness returned with force.

  ‘You can trust me. I gave my wo
rd, remember?’

  Eve re-locked the door and sat down stiffly, placing as much space between them as she could. Pulse hammering hard. ‘I am trusting you, sir.’

  ‘And so you can, my Evie. So you can.’ He looked at her properly then, their faces too close, and she could see the faint stubble on his chin, the loosening of his cravat at his throat.

  ‘You should not be here, sir. What if someone hears or sees you?’

  ‘Then I will insist on their silence,’ he muttered, tracing his eyes over her before returning to her face once more. ‘It would be worth it to take this visage into my slumber.’ He was slurring his words slightly and she could smell the wine on him now. It was acridly sweet and mixed with tobacco.

  ‘You risk too much, sir.’

  ‘You risk too little.’

  His dark eyes were boring into hers and she swallowed against the flutter of nerves it caused. ‘There is more at stake for me than there is for you. Sir,’ she added.

  ‘You almost dropped the address then. Perhaps you could also drop more of your guard.’ He lifted a hand to her hair, touching it gently where it fell from across her shoulder. ‘You called me Robert once, as I recall.’

  ‘You promised you wouldn’t touch me…’ she objected faintly, forgetting all formalities now, and distracted from any real outrage as she watched him slide the strands between his fingers.

  ‘I plead an amendment,’ he whispered, leaning closer, ‘if the lady will allow it: I will keep my vow unless you want me to break it.’

  ‘I…won’t…’ His mouth was drawing in now, stopping an inch away from hers as their breath mingled, a heady, strange sensation for Eve. It was as if the wine and tobacco was flowing into her, too, or some kind of intoxicant.

  ‘Kiss me, Eve,’ he whispered, a rawness in the plea, and watching that mouth somehow she fell, despite every possible reasoning, every danger, every last thread of her deserting sense.