Her Rags-to-Riches Christmas

by Laura Martin

  ‘You mentioned they were convicts.’

  ‘They were. Transported as very young lads. They came to the farm as convict workers when my father was alive. They were quiet and sullen and scarred by their experiences.’

  Alice shifted, making herself comfortable before taking another sandwich.

  ‘A few months after they arrived it was harvest time and we were all out in the fields. Even my mother used to lend a hand back then. I was working alongside Robertson and Crawford, even though we hadn’t really spoken before. It was hot and everyone was getting tired. I’d just turned around when Robertson sprang on top of me and I saw Crawford leap to one side, flinging himself on the ground.’

  Alice watched as he got lost in the memory. It should have been a scary experience, but by the look on his face all he could see was the good that had come out of it, the friendships it had formed.

  ‘They saved me from a poisonous snake. Robertson tackled me out of the way and Crawford jumped on it before it could spring. They saved my life that day.’

  ‘That was very brave for two young boys.’

  ‘It was. My father brought them into the house and realised they were good lads, just held back by their circumstances. They still had a few years of their sentences to serve out, but Father moved them into the house, educated them beside me, treated them like sons.’ Mr Fitzgerald shook his head. ‘They are the two most generous and courageous men I know and that is partly because someone showed them some humanity during their time here.’

  ‘Your father sounds like a wonderful man.’

  ‘He was. In some ways, at least.’ He paused, looking over at Alice, and she sensed there was some deeper emotion he was concealing about his father, something painful and personal. ‘Do you know what he would tell me to do if he were here?’ he asked eventually.

  She shook her head.

  ‘He’d tell me to remember every single person is worthy of time and attention, every single person deserves to be treated as the best version of themselves.’

  ‘I think your father would be very proud of you.’

  He shrugged, then grinned. ‘What I was trying to say was that Robertson and Crawford share my view that no one should be suppressed due to their background. They would welcome you at their tables, they know what you’ve been through and they know that is not the entirety of who you are.’

  ‘And their wives?’

  ‘I don’t know them well, but Robertson and Crawford wouldn’t marry anyone who believed someone to be inferior purely because of their circumstances.’

  Alice played with a loose thread of wool on the blanket, wrapping it around her fingers before releasing it and repeating.

  ‘Did you ever feel jealous?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Of your father treating them like sons?’

  ‘I was just pleased to have someone to share my lessons with, to run wild in the fields with. We’re quite isolated out at Mountain View Farm and even more so back then. Sometimes we might go for weeks without seeing an outsider.’ He sat up, waiting for her to meet his eye. ‘So will you come to dinner?’

  At his words her heart beat harder in her chest and her skin flushed. She knew he was only asking to be kind, he’d said as much a few minutes earlier. Just like his father had shown Robertson and Crawford there was good in the world, that was what he was doing for her. Still, some part of her felt as though he were asking her to accompany him to dinner. To go as his guest, to ride alongside him, to walk in on his arm.

  ‘If you’re sure it would be appropriate,’ Alice said, suppressing the gushy yes that had threatened to spill from her lips.

  ‘Wonderful.’

  He lay back again, stretching out, and Alice had visions of lying down beside him, resting her head on his chest as he gathered her to him.

  ‘I know we should continue our journey,’ he said after a couple of minutes. ‘But it’s so damn hot.’

  He wasn’t wrong. She felt uncomfortable in her dress and for a moment she wished she could slip out of it and slide into the cool lake for a swim. As the thought popped into her mind she saw Mr Fitzgerald sit up and eye the water as if thinking the same thing.

  ‘I’m going for a swim,’ he said decisively.

  ‘What?’ Her voice came out in a half-strangled squeak, but Alice was too distracted to notice. A swim. In the lake. Right in front of her. Presumably without many clothes on. She swallowed, already images of him stripping naked and striding into the water filling her head.

  ‘A swim,’ he said. ‘I would invite you in, but I know you need to keep your wounds clean and dry.’

  She nodded. Unable to form a single coherent sound. Invite her in, as if it were to have tea with an elderly relative. She glanced sideways at him. He had absolutely no clue as to how much he affected her.

  Alice could only watch as he stood and pulled his shirt over his head. She had to stifle the sharp intake of breath with a hand over her mouth. The memory of him holding her tight to him as they slipped and slid in the muddy pond came crashing back.

  ‘Get a grip,’ she muttered to herself.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Don’t slip,’ she said, managing to summon a smile.

  ‘I won’t. Thanks.’

  He waded into the water with his trousers still on, pausing when he was almost waist deep before diving under the surface. It was a good thirty seconds before he surfaced again, just long enough for Alice to feel a prickle of concern.

  ‘It’s glorious in here,’ he called, kicking on to his back.

  She did feel a little jealous, sitting in the sweltering heat while he must be wonderfully cool, but Alice knew if she went into that water with him she might lose control and do something she would only regret.

  ‘He’s your employer,’ she muttered, planning on listing all the reasons even dreaming about Mr Fitzgerald was foolish. ‘He is far above you in social class. You swore never to let a man into your heart or your life again.’ She paused, closing her eyes and feeling the tears building as the biggest obstacle to her future happiness came to the surface. ‘You’re still married,’ she whispered.

  Unless Bill had been caught and his death sentence carried out she was still legally Mrs Alice Fillips. Trying to suppress the tears, she thought back to the rushed wedding he’d talked her into when she’d first run away with him. Of the heady feeling of coming out of the church a married woman. And the months that followed as she realised what a momentous mistake she’d made in tying herself to a man who disregarded her feelings and even sometimes her existence entirely.

  By the time they’d been hauled away to face the magistrates, her for theft and him for murder, there were none of the feelings of love or excitement left for the man she’d married, only resentment for the lies he’d told her, the stories he’d spun and the promises he’d never meant to keep.

  Now she was in a perpetual limbo. On the other side of the world, unsure if she was still a married woman or if her husband had been executed. At that thought she felt a lump form in her throat. No matter how cruel Bill had been in the end she never wanted to see him hanged. Once they’d been happy, for a short while, and it was that man she mourned, not the one who’d come after their marriage.

  Glancing up, she felt her chest constrict. Mr Fitzgerald was the total opposite of Bill. Kind and generous and not at all violent. But no matter how much she might want him to gather her in his arms and promise her a happy future, she knew it could never be.

  As she watched he stood, the water flowing from his body as he rose up out of the lake. She knew she should look away, knew he could see her staring, but it was as though her eyes wouldn’t obey. As he waded through the water the sun glinted off the droplets on his skin and gave him a golden glow, as if he were a Greek god come to visit her.

  ‘That was the most refreshing swim I’ve had in my life. And I didn’t get eaten by a
crocodile. Today is going to be a great day.’

  ‘What?’ Alice asked, wondering if she’d heard him wrong.

  ‘You know we have crocodiles here in Australia?’ he asked, looking at her with a bemused expression.

  She did, but only vaguely. It was one of those facts that someone had told her on the voyage out here. Like tales of spiders the size of dinner plates and venomous snakes hanging from every lamppost. They’d talked of a gigantic man-eating lizard with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.

  ‘Not here, though?’ she asked, her eyes darting across the surface of the water.

  Mr Fitzgerald shrugged. ‘Probably not. I’ve swum here plenty of times and survived to tell the tale. It is the sort of place they might live, though. A clean, shady spot with shallow banks and deep water. A crocodile’s paradise.’

  ‘Why on earth would you swim here if there’s even the slightest risk?’ Alice shuddered at the thought of a crocodile fastening its huge jaws around an arm or a leg.

  ‘We have sharks off the coast,’ he said with a shrug, ‘and crocodiles in some of the freshwater lakes, it’s one or the other.’ He sat down beside her, his wet trousers clinging to his thighs, little droplets flying off him as he touched the ground and showering Alice in a cool spray. ‘You can’t spend your whole life afraid.’

  ‘Of a crocodile you can.’

  He smiled at her, propping himself up on his elbow.

  ‘So if you’re not afraid of crocodiles and you’re not afraid of sharks, what does scare you?’ Alice asked, checking the undergrowth one last time to rule out the possibility of an overgrown lizard hiding among the shrubs.

  ‘Do you want the truth?’ he asked, lowering his voice.

  Alice nodded, leaning in a little so her face was close to his. It was so tempting to reach out and touch him, to trail her fingers over his cheek. There was an intimacy between them, a closeness that she wished could last, but she knew that as soon as they got up from the blanket and continued their journey to Sydney the spell would break.

  ‘I’m not afraid of venomous snakes or spiders that can kill with one bite and I’m not afraid of the crocodiles or sharks that terrorise the waters,’ he said, his voice low and melodious and his eyes holding hers with a warmth and intensity that made an unbidden smile blossom on Alice’s lips. ‘But I am a little afraid of you, Alice.’

  ‘Of me?’ she spluttered. It was not the answer he was expecting.

  ‘Of you...’ He paused and she wondered if he was going to elaborate or leave her guessing as to his meaning.

  ‘I’m not dangerous,’ she said eventually.

  ‘Not in the conventional sense.’

  ‘Not in any sense.’

  He sat up, the movement bringing them closer together, and Alice was momentarily distracted by the heat of his body so close to hers.

  ‘I think you’re dangerous to me,’ he murmured, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a few seconds.

  Alice felt the air being sucked from her body. Here was the man she had spent the last few weeks trying not to fall for admitting he was attracted to her, even though he knew it would be best for them to keep things strictly platonic. Her heart soared and she silently urged him to do something more. To trail his fingers down her cheek, to pull her to his body, to cover her lips with his own.

  Instead he shook his head and sprang to his feet, pulling his shirt on in one swift movement, and started to gather the lunch things up.

  Alice couldn’t move. She was poised to be kissed, her lips moist and her body willing. Slowly she closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. He was right to not take things any further, of course he was, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she fixed a sunny smile to her face and stood, busying herself with packing the basket so Mr Fitzgerald wouldn’t see quite how disappointed she was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  George felt his whole body tense as Alice rubbed against him. They were nearly in Sydney now, the road was growing busier despite the heat of the day and there was plenty that should be able to distract him, but all he could think of was the woman next to him.

  He’d seen how she had watched him as he swam, seen the naked desire in her eyes and wished he could sweep her from the bank and into the lake. He would strip off every item of her clothing until she was naked under the water, then lift her on to the shore to dry in the sunshine.

  His mind had been imagining similar the entire journey. Two hours of wonderful torture, of images of things that could never be, but that he wanted so much. A kiss, a touch, a night of pleasure.

  Glancing at her, he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the glorious images that had plagued him the past couple of hours. For a moment he wondered about how she looked at him. The affection he saw growing in her eyes day by day and the attraction, the desire. It was at odds with her determination not to be touched by a man again. He knew the memories of what she’d endured on the transport ship and since arriving in Australia would torment her for a long time to come, but he wondered if she was realising not all men were the same. Not all men would abuse their power and their strength. And if she was, what did that mean for him?

  George was distracted from his thoughts by a shout from somewhere to his left, and a smile sprang to his lips as he saw Ben Crawford cantering towards them on horseback, his shirt billowing out behind him. Following at a more sedate pace was his wife, Francesca—a woman George had grown to respect and like during their stay in London.

  ‘Fitzgerald,’ Crawford called, leaning down and clapping him on the back when he reached the cart. ‘And Miss Alice.’

  George felt the warmth he always did when he was with Crawford or Robertson.

  ‘Living the life of a simple farmer, I see,’ Crawford said, motioning to the cart.

  ‘Aye. Simple folk, simple times, simple cart,’ Fitzgerald said, putting on his best country accent.

  Bowing as best he could from his position on the cart, he greeted Francesca.

  ‘Mrs Crawford, it is a pleasure to see you again.’

  She waved away his formality, instead leaning down from horseback and kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’m so happy to see you again,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘And you must call me Francesca, everyone does.’

  She looked very different from the poised and formal widow of a viscount he’d known in London. Her eyes shone with happiness and there was a healthy glow on her cheeks and a hint of a tan on her arms. Her dress skimmed out over the swelling of her belly and one of her hands rested protectively on the bump.

  ‘Francesca, this is Alice. She’s working for me,’ he said, making the introduction.

  Alice was sitting up straight beside him, looking a little uncomfortable.

  ‘Oh, my dear, I heard about the awful time you’ve had of it. Are you quite recovered?’ Francesca asked, moving her horse around so she could talk to Alice directly.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Crawford.’

  ‘I’d like to take a whip to some of those guards,’ Francesca muttered through gritted teeth. ‘They’ve no humanity.’

  Crawford grinned. ‘I keep having to pull her away whenever we see a red coat. It wouldn’t be pretty.’ He looked them over, his eyes narrowing as he noted George’s slightly dishevelled appearance. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘We need to visit the Governor’s office, to make Alice’s position in my household official.’

  ‘Good,’ Francesca said with feeling. ‘While you’re there you should complain about those awful men who nearly cost Alice her life.’

  ‘They’d probably have me up against one of the whipping posts for causing a disturbance,’ George said, although he knew he would find it difficult to hold his tongue if he saw the guards responsible for the gashes on Alice’s back.

  ‘Hardcastle is a
good man,’ Crawford said slowly, ‘but he’s still an Englishman, looking to solidify his reputation before returning home to some higher position. What Australia needs is someone who loves the very earth it is built on. Someone who would dedicate their life to making it a better place to live. Someone with links to England, but who is Australian through and through.’

  ‘You don’t really get the concept of subtlety, do you?’ George asked, shaking his head.

  ‘You’re the perfect man for the job.’

  ‘They would say I’m too soft.’

  ‘You’re kind. There’s a difference.’

  George shrugged. Sometimes he did feel like storming into the Governor’s residence and demanding scores of changes as to how they ran the colony. Slowly things were evolving, slowly Australia was beginning to see itself as more than a place to dump those not wanted in England any more, but there was a lot of work to be done.

  ‘One day the colonies of Australia will unite,’ he said softly, ‘and we will become a country, a commonwealth, whatever the phrase is. People will want to live here—they will come voluntarily for the life this beautiful land can offer.’ George shrugged. ‘But there is a lot of work to do first, but I do not think the English are ready to let their control slip just yet.’

  One day the population of Sydney would be big enough, the free-men would outnumber the guards a hundred to one, and the colony would slowly transform from a place to send convicts to a proper working town that just happened to have been built by convicts. Then would be the time for someone like him to step up. To show that they weren’t just a dumping ground, that Sydney had grown into so much more.

  ‘Mr Fitzgerald is right,’ Francesca said quietly. ‘The colony isn’t ready yet. The people still see themselves as English, many would return to England in a flash. Once they’ve had children, once they’ve built a life they don’t want to leave behind, then things will change.’

  He saw Alice watching Francesca closely, saw the flicker of admiration on her face. It must be hard to be surrounded by men the whole time.