Garrett made a snorting sound but Bobby was undeterred. ‘Why is she living with you? Did you get her pregnant or something?’
‘No, I did not get her pregnant.’
Bobby looked perplexed. ‘Then what, Jack? What else are you hiding from us?’
‘I’m not hiding anything.’ Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Their unerring stares of disbelief finally broke him. ‘I got married, lads.’
Bobby continued to stare at him, unblinking. ‘I don’t believe I heard you right.’
‘I said, “I got married”.’
‘Fool,’ was all Garrett added, before he tossed his bag over his shoulder and left the room.
‘And you didn’t think to invite us?’ Bobby asked, shock still evident in his pale blue eyes. ‘Or to tell us, even? I’m your best mate, Jack. You don’t think I would have wanted to be there when you got married?’
Jack didn’t know what to say. Bobby’s hurt expression cut him to the bone. In his rush to get married, he hadn’t thought that his best friend in the world may have wanted to be there, to stand up as his best man.
Realisation registered on Bobby’s face. ‘You didn’t trust us.’
He could have lied but deep down, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Jack knew it was the truth. Despite the fact they had already met Pru that day on the road—it wasn’t his fault she’d followed him—fear and overprotectiveness had made him want to keep her as far away from this part of his life as possible; and if that meant keeping his friends away from her too, he would do it. He loved Bobby like a brother, and it wasn’t as though he thought of him as competition, the boy was mad in love with Katie the waitress—even if he didn’t know it yet.
‘It all happened so fast. I’m sorry.’
Eventually, a slow smile touched Bobby’s handsome features. ‘Jack the Devil, the old married man.’
‘Not so much of the old, thanks,’ Jack tossed back with annoyance.
‘Is that why you got married? You think you’re getting old? Time to settle down?’
Jack exhaled a breath and sat heavily in a chair.
‘I don’t know how it happened,’ he said, honestly a little shocked at how quickly his life had changed. ‘One minute I was a single and carefree outlaw, the next I’m a married man.’
‘It’s one thing to live with a woman but to marry her?’ Bobby asked. ‘How much whiskey had you had?’
‘None.’
‘None? You got married plain and sober? She really must be somethin’.’
Jack’s face lit up. He felt it, and it was obvious that Bobby could see it by his own returning grin. Concern crept in, and his smile retreated. He didn’t know how much he wanted to tell people about Pru and her background. Her family were still looking for her. He’d seen the poster out the front of the police station in Ballarat. There was no reward for her return, he’d noticed. Granny was too cheap for that. Regardless, Pru had already made it very clear she no longer wanted anything to do with her family.
‘And she knows about your slightly less than legal occupation. Is that a good idea?’
‘That’s how we met,’ he mumbled.
‘What?’
‘I said, it’s how we met.’
Bobby frowned at him thoughtfully for a moment, but finally the penny dropped.
‘You robbed her?’ He burst out laughing.
Jack couldn’t help but smile along with him, until Bobby finally got a grip on his mirth and his expression changed as he put it together. ‘The locket! It’s her! The girl with the old bag for a grandma. You stole her locket and were carrying it around with you for weeks. Do you still have it?’
Bobby had known he’d held onto the locket? His friend saw more than he realised.
‘No, I gave it back to her,’ Jack said. ‘But let’s not tell Garrett that, he’ll be pissed he missed his cut. Actually, I’d prefer if you kept as much of this from him as possible.’
‘So, does this mean Jack the Devil is giving up the road?’
‘Are you mad?’ Jack said, snorting out a laugh. ‘She married me knowing who I am and what I do. In fact, sometimes I think she is a bit too thrilled with it.’
‘She did seem to get a kick out of it that day on the road.’
Bobby had no idea just how much of a kick she got out of it. She’d all but thrown herself at him when they’d got home.
‘No, she won’t ask me to give it up,’ Jack said with certainty. ‘She actually enjoys it.’
‘We’ll see,’ Bobby warned, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘At least let me buy you a celebratory drink before you head home to the little woman.’
Jack thought about it for a moment. He owed Bobby that he supposed. What harm could it do?
‘One drink. And then I must go.’
***
Pru decided that the house Jack called ‘Little Windsor’ needed a lot of love before it could really be called a castle. And by love, she meant work.
Raised a lady in a house full of servants, she’d never so much as dusted a table or made a bed, but she soon got the hang of it. At least she could be thankful that her grandmother had insisted she take cooking lessons from a French chef in London. Gran said the only way a lady could truly know how to set a menu for a formal dinner party was if she knew and understood which courses would complement one another, which cuts of meat to request the cook purchase, and how to present food in a fashionable way.
Washing the clothes was her most hated chore, but Jack had surprised her with one of the latest washboards and a hand wound wringing machine. It was a trade-off, considering he’d really wanted to hire a housekeeper to do the hard work. But Pru wouldn’t hear of it. Never mind his second life, that had him coming and going at all hours of the day and night, she wanted to be a proper wife to him. She’d never liked being waited on hand and foot, with servants always around every corner, no privacy to be found. And so, she worked. She cleaned and tidied and she dealt with the animals which consisted of a goat, that required milking, and four chickens that laid wonderful fresh eggs. With milk and eggs she was well equipped to cook almost anything and to bake the pies Jack was so fond of. She fed and groomed the horses and occasionally mucked out the stables, despite Jack’s insistence that she was doing too much.
When Jack was home, they worked together as a team, fixing broken planks on the porch, and building a fence around the vegetable patch Pru had planted in order to keep the kangaroos out.
And when Jack returned from the highway, she always greeted him enthusiastically. It still excited her to see what he’d managed to pilfer from poor unsuspecting souls making the journey to or from Melbourne or Geelong. She knew her acceptance of his illegal business made her a terrible person, and she didn’t know what sort of person it made her that she became aroused when Jack returned, loaded with money and expensive trinkets. Their lovemaking was always more vigorous and thrilling after a heist.
She wondered if he knew that he radiated pure sexual energy after a successful bail up. His brown eyes would sparkle with mischief, like he’d reverted back to those teenage years when he’d first started ranging the highways. That look he got in his eye had a direct line to the deepest parts of her womanhood, and they inevitably ended up having sex wherever they landed, very rarely making it to the bedroom.
But on nights like this, nights when the sun had gone down and her beautifully prepared dinner sat on the table, with no husband there to share it with her, she felt the sharp stab of loneliness. If only he’d let her go with him more often on bail ups, she wouldn’t be left wondering where he was. The planned heist had been set for the late afternoon. The lowering sun could make a great mask if you used it at the right angle, Jack had told her once.
Looking at the clock on the wall she did the mental calculation. It was a two-hour ride to the choke point, and two hours return. The men would stop in at Ballarat to drop the acquired goods—she never had become comfortable with using the word stolen—with Alfred. Even with the travel ti
me from Ballarat, he still should have been home by now. Perhaps he had decided to stay in town overnight instead. It was a long day and he may well have been exhausted. She recalled he often used to stay at the boarding house before she’d come along. Blocking out the fear that he may have been shot or captured, she placed his dinner by the fire in case he did come home, blew out the candles and made her way to bed.
***
Just before dawn, Pru woke to a racket coming from the front of the house. She’d finally drifted off to sleep just before midnight, but hadn’t slept particularly well, still keeping an ear tuned in case Jack came home. The voices grew louder, and then she heard the front door bang open and something smashed on the floor.
Terrified, she stayed in bed, grasping one of the tall, brass candlesticks for a weapon. When the bedroom door flew open, she let out a little scream, before Bobby all but dragged Jack into the room.
‘Don’t squeal like that, woman,’ Jack reprimanded in a groggy voice, ‘you’ll break a man’s head.’
‘Christ, Jack, you stink,’ Pru said, climbing out of the bed as Jack fell into it. ‘Did you fall into a vat of whiskey?’
‘Aye,’ he slurred. ‘Was playing cards and there was a bottle, and then another bottle and then …’
He looked about him, eyes glassy and unfocussed.
‘How did I get here?’
‘Bobby brought you home,’ she said, sighing with exasperation and examining Bobby. ‘At least he looks like he had the good sense to know when to stop drinking.’
‘I tried to get him to stay in town,’ Bobby said. ‘But he insisted I bring him home to you.’
‘Fabulous.’
‘I’ll go now.’ Bobby looked tired and a little worse for wear, but nowhere near as bad as Jack. ‘My congratulations on your nuptials, Miss Prudence, I mean, Mrs Fairweather.’
‘You think so?’ Pru huffed, standing with fists on hips and scowling at her prize of a husband.
Knowing what was good for him, Bobby disappeared quickly.
Pru pulled on her dressing gown before she turned back to face Jack who lay blinking at the ceiling. ‘Was there some special event that had you out all night drinking?’
‘We were toasting my marriage,’ Jack said, trying to sit up. ‘Come ’ere, my darling wife, and gimme a kiss.’
Pru remained at a distance as he reached for her. ‘And you didn’t think to wonder that your darling wife would worry when you didn’t come home?’
‘You’ll not change me, Prudence,’ he slurred again with drunken anger.
She blinked. Where the hell had that come from?
‘I’m not trying to change you, Jack, I just …’
‘You just need to remember that I am the man and you are the wife, and that means I can do whatever I want without you lecturing me.’
Pru expelled a long calming breath. ‘Is that so? Well then, Jack the Devil, you great bloody bushranger, since you are so experienced in the ways of marriage, you may do whatever you wish for the next however long it takes you to apologise to me for that pathetic demonstration of manliness. But you’ll be sleeping alone and you’ll be doing your own cooking and cleaning, for I am no man’s servant and no wife to be ordered about. I may not be able to change you, not that it ever crossed my mind to try, but you knew I was not the meek and obeying type when you married me, Jack Fairweather, and you’ll not change me either.’
She stormed out the bedroom door, slamming it hard for good measure.
‘Ow! Prudence!’
‘I hope his bloody head falls off,’ she mumbled, and set about pacing the living room.
Outside, dawn began to pale the sky and Pru stepped out into the cool morning, taking a deep breath to try and cleanse the fury coursing through her system. As the sun rose, it dappled through the trees, its warmth weak yet, the beauty of it not enough to mellow her temper.
Weeds had begun to poke their heads out in her newly planted vegetable garden and as she dug in, the manual labour was just what she needed to work off her righteous anger. But as time went on, and the exercise of ripping weeds out by the roots wore her down, she began to feel the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Wiping them away with the backs of her dirt-covered hands she shook her head. No. She would not cry. She would not let him turn her into a blubbering mess.
Eventually, the emotions won out and she sat back on her bottom in the garden and wept. Had she made a mistake? She’d wanted freedom and had thought that by marrying Jack she would be free of all the things that tied and bound a woman of circumstance. All she’d found after only a few weeks of wedded bliss were shackles of a different kind. She hadn’t forced him into marriage, but he seemed to know less about relationships between a man and woman than she did. Although she was sure he knew plenty about affairs of a sexual nature, the emotional elements between a man and woman were definitely a mystery to him.
It would do her no good to think about Jack’s sexual history, and it took a huge effort to push back the fears that he had spent last night with one of his lady friends.
One night with the boys and they had no doubt filled his head full of rubbish about wives changing their husbands and turning into nagging shrews. Her grandmother had all but nagged her grandfather to death and Pru was determined never to become like that. But nor would she sit around and worry herself to death over a man who couldn’t care less that she was left alone overnight while he went out and got three sheets to the wind.
Hunger and thirst had Pru returning to the house. Opening the bedroom door, she saw Jack, still sprawled on the bed exactly as he’d fallen, unconscious and snoring so loudly it was a wonder he didn’t wake himself up.
Closing the door, she left him to his sleep. He’d have one hell of a hangover when he woke and, she thought smiling, she would enjoy that immensely. It might even be a good time to hang those pictures Jack had bought to liven up the walls of the house. A good, well-placed and loud—very loud—nail in the wall ought to do the trick.
Four hours later, Pru was grinding ingredients to make a pie when Jack emerged from the bedroom. He grunted. Twice. Groaned a few more times and then sat down at the dining table where Pru worked the handle on the mincer. With his head in his hands he looked up at her through the hair that had fallen across his face.
‘What are you making?’
‘Pie,’ she said, her tone curt. ‘Beef.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
‘And kidneys.’
And with that she tossed the bowl in front of him. He went green and gagged a little before making a quick exit out the back door.
Revenge was a dish best served with a bowl of slimy looking raw kidneys.
Pru kept grinding and smiled smugly as she listened to him heaving over the porch railing. He stayed outside for a while and when he returned, she’d set about hammering nails into the wall.
‘Christ, woman, give over,’ he grumbled. ‘Can’t you see I’m in pain?’
Ignoring him, she set another nail in place and slammed it halfway into the wall before hanging a pretty tapestry of an English meadow.
He stepped up and took the hammer from her.
She graced him with a glare.
‘Look, Pru, I’m sorry, alright,’ he started. ‘I felt bad for not having Bobby at the wedding, so I let him buy me a drink.’
‘You could have brought him back here,’ she said. ‘We could have celebrated together.’
‘I need to keep you separate from that life.’
‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’ she huffed. ‘I’ve already met Bobby and Garrett. We’ve robbed a carriage together, for heaven’s sake.’ She suddenly felt very worn out. Her anger now depleted, her lack of sleep was catching up with her. ‘Are you embarrassed to be married to me?’
‘No!’
‘Jack, have I asked you to give up anything since we’ve been married?’
‘No.’
‘Do I not make you happy?’
‘Of course you do —’
‘I don’t understand any of this, Jack.’
His hands went to her shoulders, but still she couldn’t let him touch her. The anger might be gone but the pain was still raw. She moved away, out of his grasp, and sat at the dining table.
‘Pru, I never meant to hurt you,’ he said sitting beside her. ‘It will never happen again.’
Lifting her chin, she met his eyes for the first time. The golden brown eyes she loved so much. The sincerity in them was real, even if they were battling the effects of alcohol and lack of sleep.
‘Will you forgive me?’
Before she could speak, the sound of horses plodding up to the front of the house disrupted them. Not expecting company, they both headed out to see who it was.
A dray had arrived with a very large delivery on the back.
‘More furniture, Jack?’
He looked as perplexed as she did at first, but then realisation crossed his features.
‘Oh, of course.’ His face brightened as he rushed down the steps to deal with the driver.
Pru watched fascinated, as he climbed aboard the dray, undid the ropes, and with dramatic flair, ripped off the protective tarpaulin.
‘A piano?’
‘A piano,’ Jack concurred, looking much more lively than only a few minutes before. ‘I almost forgot. Before I went and got stupid drunk, I saw this in the music shop in Ballarat and decided you just had to have it. You said you play piano.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘It’s probably not as nice as the one you had at the manor, but I believe it plays quite well.’ He put out a hand to her and she rushed down the steps to the back of the dray where he helped her up onto the wagon.
Lifting the protective lid, she ran her fingers lightly across the smooth ivory of the keys of the upright piano.
‘It’s in good condition,’ she said, pressing her right hand on the keys to play a chord. ‘The tone is quite good but it might need a retune after having travelled the road from Ballarat.’
She turned and grinned at Jack. ‘I love it.’
‘Enough to forgive me?’
‘That will depend on how quickly you can get a piano tuner out here,’ she tossed back with a sidelong glance. ‘And I’m not kissing you. Not until you’ve had a bath and no longer stink of day-old whiskey.’
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