Her Rags-to-Riches Christmas

by Laura Martin

  ‘I’ll have you reported,’ Mr Fitzgerald said calmly. ‘Now if you value your health I would step away from the ladies and get out of my sight.’

  ‘She’s no lady.’ The guard laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it now as if he knew he’d overstepped.

  Alice watched as Mr Fitzgerald took a couple of steps towards the man, stopping only when they were within touching distance. He was calm, but there was an iciness about him that she hadn’t seen before.

  ‘You have no idea what she is,’ he said, shaking his head in disgust at the guard.

  The guard looked as though he would say something more, but then glanced up at Mr Fitzgerald’s figure towering above him and turned and hurried off, looking back over his shoulder to check he wasn’t being pursued.

  ‘What a horrible man,’ Francesca said.

  Alice couldn’t speak. Her heart was thumping inside her chest and her legs felt as though they might give way any moment.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Mr Fitzgerald said quietly, moving to her side. He looped an arm around her waist just as Alice’s legs buckled.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wishing she wasn’t so weak. The man had scared her more than she liked to admit. It was a reminder of what her life could look like right now if Mr Fitzgerald hadn’t stepped up and given her a home at Mountain View Farm a few weeks earlier.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ he said and his voice had a hard edge to it. ‘Never apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.’

  Alice looked up into his eyes and felt the warmth she saw there spread through her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

  For a few seconds the rest of the world seemed to fade away as if they were the only two there. The sounds and smells of the town became muffled and fainter and all Alice could think of was the man in front of her. She tilted her head up, her lips opening just a little, and wished more than anything else in the world that he would kiss her.

  ‘We’ll take our leave,’ Mr Crawford said from somewhere behind them. It was enough to break the spell, even though the Crawfords were subtly backing away.

  ‘We’ll see you at Robertson’s dinner,’ Mr Fitzgerald said, waving to his friends. They waited until the Crawfords had left, then Mr Fitzgerald looked back down at her.

  ‘Come,’ he said, offering her his arm. ‘Let us get this wretched paperwork completed, find the items Mrs Peterson requested, then we can get out of Sydney and go back home.’

  Alice nodded, her head still spinning from the intensity of the feelings of just a moment before. She wished she’d been brave enough to rise up on her toes and kiss him, no matter who might have been looking.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was getting dark and already the temperature was dropping as the sun dipped over the horizon. They should have found somewhere to stay in Sydney, but after Alice’s encounter with the guard earlier in the afternoon George had a strong urge to get her home.

  He felt her shift closer to him as she shivered and reached into the back of the cart to find one of the blankets he kept there for exactly this eventuality.

  ‘Here,’ he said, passing two woollen blankets to her. ‘Put one round your shoulders and the other across your knees. It’ll keep you a little warmer at least.’

  Alice wrapped herself in the first blanket and then spread the second across her lap, reaching over so it covered his knees as well. As she straightened the blanket out her hand brushed against his thigh and out of the corner of his eye he saw her hesitate before continuing on with the movement.

  ‘I’m glad everything is official,’ she said. ‘I was worried they might have changed their minds and wanted me to be punished further.’

  ‘You thought they wouldn’t allow you to come to me as a convict worker?’

  Alice nodded. ‘I know it was unlikely, but I was worried they might refuse, say I had to be taken to one of the factories.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have let that happen.’

  ‘Even you can’t go up against the whole establishment.’

  ‘I would...’ he paused, looking down at her ‘...for you.’ Crawford’s words were swirling round in his head and George knew soon he would have to decide how he felt about Alice and perhaps, more importantly, what he was going to do about it.

  He watched as she bit her lip, worrying the delicate skin, before looking up at him.

  Gently he pulled on the reins, waiting for the cart to come to a stop before turning his body so he was angled towards her a little. While all the things he wanted to say ran through his mind he busied himself adjusting the blanket on her shoulders.

  ‘Alice,’ he said softly. Even in the moonlight he could see the beautiful blue of her eyes, although they looked inkier in the darkness.

  ‘Yes, Mr Fitzgerald?’ she said when he didn’t continue.

  ‘Please, call me George,’ he said, hating the reminder of the chasm that stood between them.

  ‘George,’ she whispered.

  She was looking up at him with affection in her eyes, affection and something else, something hotter and more primal. He knew he had to touch her and lifted his fingers, running them softly down her cheek.

  There was something pulling him to her, something that he couldn’t deny any longer.

  Softly he kissed her, feeling the instant response of her lips, the softness, the heat. She looped her hands behind his neck, pulling him closer to her, and George felt as though something had been unleashed inside him. Something he’d been holding back for a very long time.

  He tangled his hands in her silky hair, wanting to make this moment last for ever. Everything about Alice was drawing him in, bewitching him further. For a second he pulled away, peppering kisses down the line of her jaw and on to her neck, loving the gasp that came from her lips as he teased the soft skin. He was at risk of being swept away and he wanted to check Alice was completely on board with what they were doing.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she murmured, the words lighting a fire inside him.

  He captured her lips again with his, kissing her until he thought he might forget his own name. Somehow Alice had slipped on to his lap and was pressed tight against his chest, her hair falling down over his neck as he pulled her even closer to him.

  ‘Alice,’ he murmured, running a hand down the length of her back. ‘You don’t know what you do to me.’

  She pulled away slightly and in the moonlight he saw her give him an uncertain smile.

  ‘What I do to you?’ she said with a laugh, shaking her head and kissing him again.

  Through her back he could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her skin warming under his touch. He knew he had to stop, had to put some distance between them before he found himself laying her down in the back of the old cart out under the Australian sky. That wouldn’t be fair to Alice, no matter how much they both might want it.

  ‘We should go home,’ he said, trying to control his desire. If her response to his kiss was anything to go by, there would be plenty more opportunity to enjoy one another.

  She nodded, slipping off his lap and on to the seat beside him. George waited until she had covered herself with the blankets again before picking up the reins and urging the horse forward.

  ‘Alice,’ he said quietly after a few minutes of silence, ‘You did want to...?’

  There was fire in her eyes as she turned to him.

  ‘How can you doubt it?’ she asked.

  He thought back to the scared and defiant woman of a few weeks ago, the one that had kicked up a fuss because there wasn’t a lock on her bedroom door. Back then he would never have imagined they would be like this with each other, that she would warm to him quite so much or he would feel so much more than the purely protective instinct that had ben there at the start.

  As the cart trundled through the night Alice rested her head on his shoulder, her breath
ing deep and even, and George felt more contented than he had for a long time. Thoughts of the future, infinite possibilities, began streaming through his mind and he had to remind himself nothing was certain. It had only been a kiss.

  * * *

  They were almost home, at most another half an hour to go and George could feel Alice growing heavy on his shoulder. Her breathing had become deep and regular so he carefully slipped an arm around her waist to ensure she didn’t slip from the cart. As he did so he looked away from the road for a second. When he looked back he almost jumped in his seat. There was a man in front of them, staggering on to the dirt track, holding up something metallic that glinted in the moonlight.

  ‘Stop,’ he shouted, his voice ragged. ‘Stop or I’ll shoot.’

  George pulled on the reins of the cart, slowing the horse down, but making sure not to spook it unnecessarily. As he drew closer he could see the man was in a dishevelled state, his clothes filthy and ripped and his face covered with dust. Even in the moonlight George could see the man’s lips were cracked and bleeding and from the sound of his hoarse voice he hadn’t had anything to drink for days.

  ‘Here,’ George said, throwing down a full waterskin. The liquid would no longer be cool, but the man in front of them didn’t look as though he would be fussy.

  Alice stirred, lifting her head off his shoulders. Her eyes widened as she saw the man in front of them, holding out what he’d professed to be a gun.

  The dishevelled man looked at the waterskin suspiciously before his thirst got the better of him and he picked it up, taking great gulps of the water.

  ‘Not so fast,’ Alice said, her voice calm. ‘It’ll make you sick.’ She’d spotted what he had: the ‘pistol’ was nothing more than a polished metal rod, the same size as the barrel of a pistol, but much less deadly.

  The man was most likely a runaway convict. There were a couple a month who decided to take their chances in the wilderness rather than serve the remainder of their sentence doing hard labour. Most were foolish, unrealistic in their expectations. The Australian countryside could be dangerous, especially if you didn’t know the terrain. The wild animals weren’t used to people in the most part, especially the further you travelled from Sydney, and he’d heard of more than one escaped convict who’d perished before they’d been recaptured.

  Most were recaptured. The guards seemed to take it as a personal affront when one of the convicts escaped and no effort was spared in scouring the countryside. After a week, perhaps two, the convicts were usually found much more emaciated and weary from their attempt at freedom.

  ‘Where have you come from?’ Alice asked, her voice light as if she were making small talk to an acquaintance in the park.

  The convict looked up at her, as if deciding whether to answer the question, his legs buckling at the knees for an instant before he regained his balance.

  ‘The barracks,’ he said eventually.

  George could picture the huge stone building that housed many of the male convicts at least for the first few years of their sentence. They were locked up there overnight, only being allowed out to go to whatever job they were assigned to during the day. Despite its decorative arches and imposing architecture, the barracks were nothing more than a prison really, a place to keep the convicts under lock and key.

  ‘What work were you assigned?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Stone yard.’

  From the man’s appearance you wouldn’t believe he worked twelve hours a day breaking down rocks into smaller pieces. His physique wasn’t suited to the job and George could see why day after day of the monotonous, back-breaking work might get to be too much for the man.

  ‘How long have you been out here?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Four days.’

  It wasn’t all that long, but with the drought no doubt the man had struggled to find any water.

  ‘And what do you plan to do now?’ George asked.

  He had an urge to help the man, even though it would be against the law. To help an escaped convict carried a penalty of its own.

  There was desperation in the man’s eyes as he looked up at them. ‘You’ll give me your cart,’ he said, ‘and any money you have.’ He brandished the metal rod at them, but George could see his heart wasn’t in it.

  ‘You could give yourself up,’ George said as gently as he could muster. It wasn’t an appealing option for the convict. At best he’d be whipped, at worst his sentence might be extended or he could be sent to one of the less civilised colonies to serve out the remainder of his time.

  ‘No,’ the man said sharply, taking a step towards them.

  Beside him George felt Alice stiffen for the first time, her hand clutching his. He would do well to remember the runaway convict was a desperate man and desperate men could be the most dangerous of all.

  Quickly George slipped from the cart, putting himself in between the convict and Alice. The man stopped instantly, looking George up and down, then seemed to decide against advancing any further.

  ‘We can take you back to Sydney,’ George said, trying to keep his voice reassuring and even.

  ‘No.’

  For an instant he thought the convict might lunge for him, try to grab the reins of the cart and make his escape, but instead he looked at George forlornly, turned and loped off into the night.

  A minute passed and then another. When he was sure the man wasn’t coming back George hopped back up to his seat beside Alice.

  ‘Poor man,’ she murmured.

  ‘It’s horrible seeing someone so desperate.’

  They rode in in silence for a few minutes, George keeping vigilant in case the convict decided to return, but there was nothing but the open road ahead of them.

  ‘You look troubled,’ Alice said.

  ‘He could die out there tonight,’ George said eventually.

  Alice shifted on the seat beside him, slipping her hand into his free one and giving it a squeeze.

  ‘You can’t save the whole world,’ she said. ‘It was his choice to run away. Just like it was my choice to steal that bread that led to my whipping.’

  ‘But the punishments don’t fit the crimes. How desperate must he have been, how completely unhappy, to risk everything by venturing into the unknown.’

  Alice nodded silently. ‘The stone yard is a grim place to be assigned,’ she said quietly. ‘Hour upon hour of cracking rocks in the sweltering heat of the sun. I know some men can’t stand it.’ She looked at him, waiting for him to lift his eyes to meet hers before continuing. ‘You saved me, though,’ she said quietly, ‘and I’ll always be grateful for that.’

  George felt a crackle of guilt flare inside him and creep from his centre until it was almost consuming him. She was grateful. Grateful that he’d saved her. Grateful that he’d given her a chance to change her life. That wasn’t what a relationship should be built on.

  Glancing sideways, he took in her serene smile and wished he could work out exactly what she thought of him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alice paced nervously backward and forward across the length of her small room. It only took her ten steps, small ones at that, to go from one wall to the other, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  He’d kissed her. Mr Fitzgerald—no, George, she corrected herself—had taken her in his arms and kissed her. Alice felt her heart soaring and knew there was a huge smile on her lips. Even though everything was complicated she couldn’t help but be happy.

  Glancing at the door handle, she steeled herself to venture out of her room. She needed to face George, needed to see how he would be with her, to see how things had changed. He wasn’t the sort of man to just kiss a woman and then pretend nothing had happened, but last night he’d just given her hand a little squeeze as he’d helped her down from the cart, aware of the Petersons bustling around unpacking everything.

 
‘Courage,’ she whispered to herself. Today she would tell George about Bill. She would confess that she was married, or at least had been when she’d sailed from England. Alice wasn’t sure how he would take it, what his reaction would be. She hoped if she explained that Bill most certainly no longer possessed her heart and hadn’t done so for a very long time he might understand, that he might at least give her a chance to show him what they could have together.

  What could we have together? All night she’d lain awake trying not to let her hopes and dream spiral out of control. George was a good man, a man she would be lucky to have any sort of relationship with, but they couldn’t ignore their differences in circumstance. And Alice knew that however much she liked him, however much she felt the warm stirrings of desire when he looked at her, she didn’t want some short fling. She wanted so much more.

  With a deep breath to settle her nerves she opened the door and marched out into the hall, deflating a little as she began to search through the house, only to find it completely deserted.

  ‘You look like a woman with a purpose,’ George said as he came in through the kitchen door, wiping his hands on a cloth. It looked as though he’d been tinkering with some machinery as the skin of his hands held a hint of the oil and there were a couple of splatters on his shirt.

  Everything Alice had been determined to say flew from her head as he smiled at her. It was a smile filled with warmth, but she could see a hint of hesitation there, as if he were holding himself back.

  ‘Ah, you’re up, Alice.’ Mrs Peterson’s voice. ‘I hope you’re not too tired. Mr Fitzgerald always comes back far too late from Sydney. I’ve told him time and time again it’s not safe, not in these modern times.’

  Alice glanced at George and saw him shake his head almost imperceptibly. They both had kept quiet about the escaped convict they’d encountered the night before. The man might have threatened them, but he’d been desperate and neither of them wanted anything to do with his recapture and subsequent punishment.