by Laura Martin
She watched as he waded into the mud. Probably just a few weeks ago it would have been a little pond and in the winter after the rains a cool and refreshing pool, but now it was pure mud, and within a few steps Mr Fitzgerald was submerged up to his knees. She could hear the squelch with every step and saw the effort it took him to lift up his feet in turn to progress towards the middle.
A couple of minutes later he’d reached the middle and was bending down over the little creature.
‘He’s alive,’ he shouted back over his shoulder, a grin on his face. She’d never known a man so invested in the welfare of wild animals before. Most would have ridden on by rather than ruin a good pair of trousers for some creature stuck in the middle of a muddy pond.
Alice watched as he scooped up the little bundle and held it to his chest. From this distance, with the animal covered in mud, it was impossible to tell what it was, but she knew it wouldn’t matter to Mr Fitzgerald. Mrs Peterson had told her he had a love of all living things, from the plants he collected and collated, hoping one day to publish a guide to botany in Australia, to the waifs and strays he rescued while he was out on his farm or further afield.
‘You included,’ she murmured to herself. That was probably how he saw her: a stray, wounded animal who’d needed rescuing. It shouldn’t matter—in fact, Alice should feel pleased that was how he viewed her—but there was a little part of her that wanted him to see more.
Quietly she snorted. Only a few days ago she’d been warning him to keep his hands to himself and accusing him of the most heinous of intentions. Today she couldn’t tear her eyes from his half-naked body.
Slowly Mr Fitzgerald began to make his way back to the edge of the pond, slipping and sliding in the mud, more unsteady than he had been on the way out now he had the little creature in his arms.
He was only six feet away when he stumbled, his foot going deeper into the mud than it had before. The sudden change in depth unbalanced him and Alice watched helplessly as his one free arm wheeled round and round as he tried to keep his balance. She was certain he would fall over, worried he might submerge beneath the thick mud he’d been wading through, but somehow he managed to regain his equilibrium and stay on his feet. Looking up at her, he grinned.
‘Lucky escape,’ he said, taking a moment to steady himself before he started towards her again.
She saw him pull his leg from the mud, or at least try to. The muscle contracted, but his thigh didn’t move. Bending down, he used his free hand to pull at the leg, but still it wouldn’t come free.
‘It would appear I’m trapped,’ he said, looking down slightly bemused at his predicament.
Alice eyed up the mud.
‘Don’t come in,’ he said, ‘Go get help. Mr Peterson will get me out.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Alice said. ‘It’s an hour’s ride back to the house and it’ll be another hour for Mr Peterson to get to you. You can’t stay there for two hours.’
Deftly she slipped off her boots, turning her back to Mr Fitzgerald to unroll her stockings and place them neatly inside the tops. She considered her dress, but there was no way she could strip down to her undergarments, so it would just have to get dirty. From her time spent in the laundry she knew with a little soap and a lot of rubbing any stain could be removed from clothing.
‘Don’t do it, Alice,’ he said. ‘You might get stuck, too.’
Scrunching up her nose at the feel of the soft mud between her toes, she took a step into the pond. The surface was warm, heated by the sun, but as her feet sunk deeper into the mud it rapidly became cooler. She slipped almost immediately, but managed to steady herself, taking small steps as she held her dress up to save it from the worst of the mud.
‘You’re going to get filthy,’ Mr Fitzgerald said, watching her pick her way towards him.
‘Nothing a good soak in the bath won’t cure.’
‘Don’t get any mud on your back.’
Alice grimaced at the thought of the dirty mud seeping into the wounds on her back. She could feel the sting in her imagination.
‘I’m not planning on rolling around in it,’ she said.
‘Nor was I.’
A giggle slipped out of Alice’s mouth as she looked up and saw the mud-covered figure in front of her. He was caked in the thick brown mud up to his waist, but where he’d been struggling to free his leg more had splattered up his torso, with a fleck or two on his face, speckling his neatly trimmed beard.
‘Don’t laugh, Alice.’
She clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to claw back the sound, but it managed to escape. Giving in to it, she laughed out loud, glad to see in a few seconds her laugh had been infectious and Mr Fitzgerald was smiling along with her.
‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you properly laugh,’ he said.
‘You’ve only known me just over a week.’
‘Don’t you think you should be laughing more than once every week?’ he asked, then waved a mud-covered hand. ‘I don’t mean that judgementally, it’s no comment on your character. It’s just sad that circumstances have conspired to subject you to such trials in life that laughing is a rare occurrence.’
She’d reached his side now and stopped, shrugging. ‘Many people would think a convicted criminal shouldn’t be in a position to laugh, to have fun.’
‘Many people are idiots,’ Mr Fitzgerald murmured.
‘How shall we do this?’ Alice asked, gesturing to his leg.
‘Perhaps if I could lean on you it will give me the momentum I need to pull it out of the mud.’
Resigned that she was going to finish this little episode covered in mud, Alice let go of her skirts where she’d been holding them at knee level. Immediately they began soaking up the moisture and felt heavy around her legs.
She held out her arm, feeling Mr Fitzgerald’s strong fingers gripping her gently.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
Nodding, Alice braced herself. Slowly he began to put his weight on her, pulling at his leg at the same time. She felt it shift slightly and widened her stance to give a better base so she didn’t slip.
‘Nearly there,’ Mr Fitzgerald said.
His leg came free all of a sudden and with a rush of movement he hurtled into her. Together they tried to keep their balance, toppling backward and forward until the momentum was too much and they went crashing down into the mud. Alice landed on top of Mr Fitzgerald, her body pressed closely to his, and immediately she was aware of every part of him. He’d landed on his back, the arm holding the little creature out to one side, his free arm instinctively coming up to encircle her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Alice said as she slipped and slid, trying to get purchase so she could get to her feet and off the man whose body she was just a little too aware of.
‘My fault,’ he said, trying to push himself up to help her, but unable to get anywhere in the slippery mud.
He paused, holding her still on top of him and waited for Alice to fall still as well, then he looked into her eyes. It was the first time she’d made proper eye contact with him and she felt the breath being sucked out of her body. His eyes were an intriguing shade of blue, with hints of green fanning out from closest to the pupil. They were kind eyes, eyes that were surrounded by a pattern of tiny lines he could only have got from smiling so much.
Time seemed to slow and Alice imagined herself lowering her lips down to meet his and brushing the gentlest of kisses there. She knew it was wrong, knew it could never be, but her body wanted it all the same.
‘Let’s think about this,’ he said softly. He was looking into her eyes, holding her by the waist so she wouldn’t slip off him. It was the most intimate of positions and Alice wished that they could stay that way for just a few seconds longer. ‘If I give you this little one and put you down on the ground,’ he said, his fingers seeming to burn through the fa
bric of her dress and imprint themselves in her skin, ‘Then I think I can stand. Once I’m upright I will get you out of here.’
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Gently he passed her the mud-covered creature, then slid her off his body, placing her in the mud. Alice felt the coolness of the water seeping through her skirts, but knew it couldn’t be helped. Once they were out of the pond the heat would dry them in no time.
He stood, slipping once or twice, but managed to keep his feet. Then with a strength like none Alice had ever seen before he pulled her upright, surprising her by scooping her into his arms and carrying her across the rest of the pond. Once on dry land he set her on her feet and took the little furry animal from her.
‘Are you injured?’ he asked, looking her over with concern.
Alice shook her head, unable to speak. She felt bereft of the closeness they’d shared and felt like a fool for even thinking it.
‘That didn’t go quite as I planned.’
‘Really?’ she managed to ask, shaking her head. ‘I had scheduled a mud bath into my afternoon.’
He grinned, then looked down at the little animal they’d saved from the middle of the pond.
‘What is it?’ Alice asked.
‘A koala. Beautiful creatures. I’ve got no idea how this one ended up in the middle of the pond, though.’
‘Perhaps he was thirsty and searching for water.’
‘Perhaps. Koalas get most of their water from the leaves they eat,’ Mr Fitzgerald said. ‘They don’t often frequent their local ponds or rivers.’ He shrugged, ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter.’
‘Is he hurt?’
She watched as Mr Fitzgerald studied the animal, wiping some of the mud off with his hands.
‘I can’t see anything obvious. Let’s get him home and cleaned up, then I’ll take a closer look.’
‘Mrs Peterson was right about you,’ Alice said as they remounted their horses. ‘You can’t stand to leave anyone in need without trying to assist.’ She paused. ‘It’s rare to find that in a person.’
‘You’re going to make me blush, Alice,’ he said in mock embarrassment. ‘And you paint me as far more saintly than I really am. I’m just a man who loves his fellow creatures.’
They began the ride home, uncomfortable in the muddy clothes as they began to bake in the sun. Alice kept finding herself stealing glances at the man beside her, remembering how he’d felt beneath her as he’d held her in the mud, recalling the enchanting blue-green of his eyes and wondering what it would be like to have his body pressed against hers in an altogether different situation.
Chapter Eight
George felt as though he were made of stone as he slipped from his horse and handed the reins to a bemused-looking Mr Peterson. On the hour-long ride back to the house the mud had hardened and, although some had fallen off with his movements, there was still a thick layer on both his skin and clothes. Looking across to Alice, he had to suppress a smile. She wore the mud well, sitting regally upon her horse as if she were wearing the finest silks, not a layer of smelly pond grime.
‘I dare not ask...’ Mr Peterson said, darting a look towards the kitchen where no doubt his wife was already shaking her head at the mess.
‘This little koala was stuck in the middle of a half-dried-up pond,’ George said.
‘And you and Alice thought you’d go in and join him?’ Mr Peterson said, his voice thick with disbelief.
George grinned. When he’d been in England he had hated the obsequious way the servants had spoken to their masters. The class differences were so much more pronounced there. Although he employed Mr and Mrs Peterson, and as such expected them to work hard and be polite to his guests, he would hate if their interactions with him were limited by a subservient attitude. He much preferred the gruff sarcasm of Mr Peterson and the admonishing sighs of Mrs Peterson.
‘That’s two strays in a week,’ Mr Peterson said, looking at the little animal. ‘Three if you count her.’ He motioned to Alice.
George looked up at her. In truth, she looked a mess, as he no doubt did. The dress that he had so admired her figure in earlier that morning was completely caked in mud as was what was exposed of her skin. There were even flecks of mud on her face, little splatters as far up as her forehead. Beneath the bonnet that was still perched obstinately on her head her hair had become matted by the mud and the golden-red tones of earlier that day looked decidedly more dull than they had when they’d set out on the journey. In short, Alice looked as though she needed a long soak in a hot bath.
So do you. He tried to suppress the image of sinking into a bath alongside Alice, of her wrapping those slender limbs around him as they submerged together.
George coughed to cover his momentary lapse of good sense. Ever since her soft body had landed on top of him in the mud he’d been struggling to forget the way she’d felt as she’d pressed against him. How the curve of her waist felt beneath his hand, how the swell of her breasts had pushed against his chest. Those few seconds had stretched out and now George knew he wouldn’t be able to look at her without thinking completely inappropriate thoughts.
‘I’ll ask my good wife to get the water heated for the bath,’ Mr Peterson said, handing back the koala to George. ‘No doubt she’ll have something to say about it.’
‘It will take a while,’ George said as Mr Peterson walked back into the house, shaking his head and muttering at the same time. ‘Why don’t we get this little one cleaned up.’
Leading the way into the kitchen, he commandeered the sink, giving Mrs Peterson his most winning smile as he set Alice to heating some water for the koala’s bath while Mrs Peterson did the same for theirs. Once the sink was filled, he tested the temperature and gently lowered the frightened little animal in. Immediately the water turned a murky brown, thick with the mud and debris from the pond. The koala clung to his hand, looking up at him with big frightened eyes and George found himself murmuring soothing sounds to try to calm the little creature.
‘You’re good at that,’ Alice said from behind him. She was peering over his shoulder, watching as he gently cleaned the mud from the animal’s fur.
‘Giving muddy things a bath?’ he asked, unable to help himself.
‘Soothing frightened animals,’ Alice said, giving him an admonishing stare.
‘Hmm,’ he said, unable to think of anything sensible to say as images of Alice sinking down into the bath filled his head. Alice closing her eyes and letting her head drop back as the water washed over her. Alice submerging completely under, only to come up, her skin pink and glowing. Alice standing, the water rolling from her body, as she stepped out of the bath.
He swallowed. He’d always been cursed with a vivid imagination. Right now he could see every inch of her in glorious detail.
Behind him he felt Alice shift, moving closer so he could feel the tickle of her breath on his neck. The sensation sent jolts through his body right to his very core and he knew he was very close to doing something stupid. Something like turning round and kissing her.
With his free hand he gripped the edge of the sink. He was being ridiculous. He barely knew the woman. True, she was pretty and he enjoyed her company despite their rocky start, but she was the one woman in the whole of Australia who’d made it perfectly clear she didn’t want anything to do with men. That she expected them to act on their lusts and subsequently didn’t trust them. She was the last woman he should be fantasising about.
She leaned past him, reaching out to rub a little mud off the koala’s head, her hand brushing his arm, and George almost groaned.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pushed away all thoughts of the woman behind him. He’d promised himself he would make her feel safe again and the first rule to that was not to feel anything but a fatherly benevolence to her.
‘That’s better,’ Alice said softl
y, scooping the koala from his hands and wrapping it in a towel Mrs Peterson had laid out.
After a moment he turned around, watching as she gently rubbed the koala dry, smiling down at the little animal, pleasure lighting up her face.
‘Bath’s ready,’ Mrs Peterson said, her voice breaking through the contented silence that had been between them.
‘You go first,’ George said, holding out his hands to take the koala. Later he would check the little animal over for wounds and injuries, but right now it would be scared enough being in a strange place.
‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ Alice said, although he saw the flicker of temptation in her eyes.
‘You need to keep those wounds on your back as clean as possible,’ George said, motioning for her to go. ‘It’s only a bit of mud, I can wait another half an hour.’
‘If you’re sure...?’
‘I’m sure.’ He watched her follow Mrs Peterson from the room, his mind once again flooded with images of her stripping down and stepping into the bath.
* * *
Alice took a deep breath and sunk under the warm water, holding the air in her lungs for a long as possible before letting a slow stream of bubbles erupt from her mouth. She felt wonderfully clean now, the mud had washed off easily and Mrs Peterson had left her a bar of soap that smelt like honey. Alice had lathered it into her skin and her hair, knowing the scent would linger for days.
Sitting up, she heard the door open and saw the bustling figure of Mrs Peterson walk into the room with a clean dress in her hand.
‘You look better,’ she said, giving Alice an appraising look.
‘I could hardly look worse.’
‘No, quite.’ The housekeeper still hadn’t warmed to her entirely after Alice’s shaky start. ‘Mr Fitzgerald is always getting into scrapes like this,’ she said as she began fussing around the bathroom, ‘but have a care to remember your place.’
‘My place?’
‘Yes, dear. You heard me. You’re not his friend. You’re not his equal. You’re a convict worker, a servant. Mr Fitzgerald might be very lax with his social hierarchy, but right is right and you need to act appropriately.’