During the last couple of years, a number of respectable suitors had tried to court her. There were two or three she quite liked, but they never stirred her heart. She had frozen off their tentative advances with the self-willed strength Ian maintained bordered on arrogance. She soon learnt nothing turned a suitor off quicker than a strong-willed woman who wouldn’t let a man dominate her.
Why should she change her nature? There had to be a man somewhere prepared to treat her as an equal. Clinging femininity was not for her.
“Tea's ready.”
“Thanks, Fiona. I'm coming.”
Ian, seated at the scrubbed table, made to rise, but she waved him back. “Isn't my niece awake yet?”
“No, the hot weather seems to tire her.”
“Oh?” She glanced at Ian and saw the worry etched on his face. A delicate wife, a child and a large mortgage to the bank, he had every reason to be anxious.
“I'll look after them for you.” She squeezed his hand as it rested on the table.
“Who needs looking after?” Fiona's questioning gaze encompassed both of them as she placed the teapot on the table. “I can do things like the other women when their men go off on cattle drives.”
“Well, of course you can, my darling. I didn't want you to be lonely,” Ian soothed. “Jo didn't like working in that Melbourne school.”
“I hated it,” she lied, answering her brother's unspoken plea. “I can't stand the city. I almost wrote a couple of times asking if I could stay for a while, but forced myself not to.”
“You can stay as long as you like. You’re the only relative I’ve got now dear Mama and Papa are dead.” Fiona blinked back tears.
“Thanks, you're sweet.” Jo reached across and squeezed her trembling hand. “If I get too bossy or try taking over, just sit on me hard, won't you?” She laughed to lighten the moment. Fiona’s parents had been dead for three years, but she acted as if they had just passed away. She wasn’t being hard-hearted, but Fiona should look to the future, not dwell on the past. She had a husband and child to love.
I’ve got neither, and my parents are both dead, too. “Did Ian tell you about the coach being held up?”
“Yes. I would have fainted.”
“I still say we could have overpowered those brutes. Oh, let's forget it. I met up with your Mr. Luke Campton.”
Fiona giggled in an endearing, little girl way. “Ian said you argued. I don't know how you dared. He's the most powerful man for miles around. He frightens me and I've only met him a couple of times, but at least he’s a gentleman, not like some of those ill-bred men in town.”
Jo tossed her head. “I'm not frightened of him.” Not physically, but on an emotional level, her susceptibility to him terrified her. “He needs knocking off that pedestal he's placed himself on.”
“Be careful, sis, he's a bad enemy to have. The squatters will stop at nothing to get what they want, and they want all small farmers out. There would be open warfare, except most of the homesteaders are too afraid to stand up to them.”
“Arrogant beast,” she flared. “Luke Campton won't stomp all over us.”
Ian groaned. “You'll get us all hung one of these days.” He gave a sudden grin. “I'd almost like to be there when you clash with him again.”
Did Luke Campton have many women in his life? Of course, a wealthy, handsome man like him would. It annoyed her that she even thought of him at all. Could the love of a woman bring out any tenderness in him? Or was that cold, ruthless arrogance a cover for a softer side that he didn’t want exposed?
To push these unsettling thoughts out of her mind, she concentrated on remembering all the snippets of city gossip they might like to hear. Fiona followed the Melbourne fashions with avid interest. Although fashion as such held little interest for her, she tried to describe everything in detail. A sudden wail from the bedroom had Fiona hurrying off.
“Listen,” Ian whispered anxiously. “Watch out for Campton. He's got it in for us, wants this place because of the creek. I haven't told Fiona, but the bank is pressing me for money, that's why I have to take this droving job. I used up all my capital and had to take out a loan. If the rain doesn’t come soon, I'm finished.”
She nibbled her lip. “I didn't realize things were so bad. Maybe I could get a job. There must be a school somewhere and I wouldn't mind travelling a few miles.”
“There's nothing. The wealthy have tutors for their children. Others learn what they can from their mothers, which in most cases isn't much at all. Some parents can't read or write themselves.”
A plan started germinating in her fertile brain. Before she could think on it some more, the blonde blue-eyed cherub toddling toward them diverted her attention.
“Come here, little princess.” Ian swung her up in his arms. “Meet Auntie Jo.”
At first Lucy acted reticent in Jo's presence, burrowing her head in her father’s shoulder, but she soon persuaded the little girl to sit on her knee. Lucy gabbled away in a baby language none of them could understand.
“You’re so beautiful.” Jo buried her face in the sweet smelling curls. “I could eat you all up, you little angel.”
“She is beautiful. I love babies. I’ll give her something to eat.” Fiona lifted Lucy out of Jo’s arms.
Later, Ian showed her around the property, sparsely grassed, except for the area by the creek. The timber outbuildings and stockyards had a slight list to them, palings and posts were missing, but with no money to employ someone to help, it must be hard for a man trying to cope on his own. Stop making excuses for him.
“It could be a good, productive property given half a chance. The few fences I fixed up got knocked down again, and my stock wandered off. The squatters impounded most of them. We couldn't afford pound dues, so I had to give a bill of sale. There's less than thirty head of cattle left now. I know the squatters have been taking them, but without proof, well...” His shoulders slumped. “I caught young Tim Campton red-handed one day,” he added, bitterness edging his voice.
“Tim Campton? Is he related to the other one?”
“Yes, half-brothers, so they say, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Her interest fired up.
“I don’t know all the scandalous details.”
She refrained from pressing him further because he wouldn’t have bothered to find out, but Fiona would know. She liked gossip as much as the next woman.
“Young wretch laughed in my face when I threatened to report him. The Magistrate's a friend of the family, besides; big brother Luke protects him all the time.”
“They both sound horrible.”
“Tim's parents are both dead. Luke's not married but he reared the boy from the age of about twelve. There's more than eighteen years difference in their ages. Father married twice, apparently.”
“Let's forget about them.” She didn’t want to think about Luke Campton it unsettled her, and she didn’t like to be unsettled when it came to men. “What horses have you got?”
“There's a couple for stock and two for the plough. With a decent team I could plant more wheat. As it is, I've only got a few acres sown.”
“Come on, it isn't like you to be so down. I'm here to help now.”
“My sister is not a field hand.”
“Don't be so stuffy. Women pitch in and do their share on the smaller places, that's a well known fact.”
“You're different, you weren't meant for this.” He waved his arm about in a wide arc. “You're educated and need to marry well.”
“What about you? You're educated, too. For heavens sake, Ian, happiness is worth more than money.”
“Father always hoped you might find a rich American husband.”
She stamped her foot. “I have no plans for marriage at the moment. Besides,” she added with a smile, “who would marry a hellion like me, either here or in America?”
“You’re a beautiful woman. Oh hell. Look at this.” He stabbed his finger toward the creek. “It’s little mor
e than a trickle now, thanks to the squatters damming the water upstream. My cattle have to go right out in the middle to drink. If the drought continues, it will dry up, and then what are we supposed to do? Bloody well starve?”
“It will be better now I’m here to help you,” she soothed. “I’m not frightened of Campton or the other squatters.”
Anger burned through her with every step they took. The squatters were deliberately, callously trying to starve them out. They wouldn’t get away with it, though. Right then and there, she declared war on them. No man intimidated Jo Saunders.
Chapter Two
Who the hell did Miss Jo Saunders think she was, anyway? Luke spurred his horse into motion. That fiery, redheaded witch inflamed his senses, not to mention his groin, made him want to drag her into his arms and make wild passionate love to her. Women were only necessary to warm a man’s bed or give him heirs. He forgot that at his peril.
Damn her to hell for it. Women had never bothered him before. He enjoyed them for the short time it took before they bored him, and then without a qualm he moved on to the next conquest.
He had absorbed the message his father thrashed into him over the years. Women were necessary to satisfy a man's lust or give him heirs. They were treacherous, untrustworthy. Bitterness soured his mouth when he thought of how his father had disregarded his own advice and let lust for Lucille almost bankrupt them. Women deceived and betrayed men when they were at their most vulnerable. No, you’d never see him tied to any one woman. He was grooming Tim for this role, and it would be up to him to sire the next generation of Camptons.
I’ll write to the coach company about that vicious brute of a driver too. Ill-treating horses. Cruelty to animals had always sickened him. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down by thinking of the letter he had picked up. Cassandra, what an idiotic name, had just turned sixteen years old, but her family seemed anxious for a match with Tim.
He crested a hill and came upon Tim's horse grazing in a patch of grass just off the main track. Damn the boy’s rampaging sexual appetite. Most likely he was paying a visit to Bessie Roberts. Jack Mulvaney’s child grew in her belly, but he’d rather the boy come here instead of seducing their young serving girls. It was too inconvenient trying to find replacements for those he had to banish because his brother got them with child. Expensive, too, when he felt obliged to give them money to start a new life well away from Kangaroo Gully. A wife would calm the boy down.
Once Tim was safely married, he would provide Bessie with enough funds to begin a new life somewhere else. The girl did not deserve the condemnation heaped on her by the pious old biddies in town. Knowing Jack, he would probably have forced himself on her. Not that he would ever let anyone know he felt sorry for her. It suited his purposes to be perceived as hard, ruthless and without pity.
Tim had been outrageously indulged by his doting mother. Bloody young fool would end up in real trouble before too long. Even money and influence couldn’t cover up everything. He gave a deep sigh of regret for not having been a better father figure for the boy. Sometimes the weight of responsibility that he had taken on at such a young age weighed him down, but it wasn’t in his nature to show any sign of weakness.
Against his will, his thoughts strayed once more to Jo Saunders. Why had she come here? Ian Morrison verged on bankruptcy - it was common knowledge. In a matter of weeks, the bank would foreclose. Good riddance to him and all other incompetent farmers like him.
Campton land had once stretched over an area of one-hundred and eighty-thousand acres, but thanks to some ridiculous Government Act in the years 1860 to 1861, it had been forcibly whittled down to less than half that amount.
Young Morrison had offered well above market value for the property and I wasn’t even given the chance to make a bloody counter offer. He had heard somewhere that the wife was delicate. No local cattle station would employ him, so the Yankee woman must have come to keep the wife company while he left the district for work. Mulvaney had recently hired men to move a mob of sheep up to Queensland.
Well, Jo Saunders was in for the shock of her life. He would put the pressure on now. He squashed down a twinge of guilt. Hell, he needed Morrison’s land, dozens of families depended on him for their livelihood.
***
Jo and Ian rode towards the police station. The town of Langford consisted of a wide street with verandah-covered shops on either side. Several narrow alleyways with ramshackle buildings led off the main street. Probably where the poorer townsfolk lived, she surmised. The wind gusting up these alleyways kicked up swirls of dust. No such thing as gutters, just a culvert with wooden planks forming a crossing every hundred yards or so.
Carriages, wagons, carts and horses crammed the thoroughfare. After they tethered their horses outside the newspaper office, she found herself being introduced to numerous people, mostly farmers who, like Ian, had sunk all their money into small acreages. Debt weighed heavily on them. One bad season meant financial disaster. No wonder worry etched such deep lines on their faces.
Children, scrubbed clean, wearing worn and patched clothes, chased each other as they ran between the adults. Dark materials dominated. She felt overdressed in her white muslin gown with a soft, red line pattern and sprigs of red roses. The bodice was trimmed with black lace over green ribbon. In retrospect, it would have been wiser to wear something a little more subdued.
The more farmers Ian told her about, the stronger her impression grew of a town divided. An invisible line had been drawn in the dirt, wealthy squatters and business people on one side, struggling farmers on the other.
The police sergeant, a lean officious man, listened without comment as she explained about the robbery.
“You had a pound taken from your purse?” He made the amount sound like a pittance.
Opening her mouth to protest about his indifference, she caught a desperate, silent plea from Ian and the rebuke died on her lips.
As they left the police station she muttered. “Why did you stop me from demanding my rights as a citizen? He's here to uphold the law.”
“The only laws he upholds are for Campton and his kind.”
“It isn't fair! There must be something you can do.”
“Leave it alone or you'll make things worse for us. We're small farmers, remember, second class citizens.” His mouth twisted with bitterness.
His bleak tone cut off the tirade she nearly uttered. Ian had changed almost beyond recognition. He had never been a strong man, but this hopelessness frightened her.
At the side of the police station, a boy wielded a broom with such energy it brought up clouds of choking dust.
“How are things, Benny?” Ian asked. “This is my sister Jo.”
When the boy glanced up, she gasped with a shock. He was a middle-aged dwarf. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Benny.” She smiled. “You're doing a fine job there.”
“Good job, good job.” He gave a slobbering grin. Was he mentally retarded as well? Poor man, pity surged through her.
“Got a dog, got a dog,” he chanted in a sing-song voice. “Mr. Campton got me a dog.”
“That's good, keeping you busy, are they?” Ian asked.
“Busy, busy.” He chortled. “Benny always busy. Wanna see my dog, pretty lady?”
“Not today, thanks, we're in a hurry, but we would love to see him another time, wouldn't we, Ian?”
“Benny like, Benny like.”
She waved to him as they walked away. “Oh, the poor little man.”
“He's happy enough in his own way. Most people are good to him. They give him a bit of casual work here and there. Campton paid for someone to build him a hut in the doctor’s backyard, and I heard that he gives him money from time to time.”
So, Campton at least had a spark of kindness. “You have a doctor?”
“Yes.” He gave a wry grin. “Not a bad sort, when he’s sober, that is.”
“The doctor drinks?” She gave a little jump and he
ld her skirts up as she crossed the culvert, not waiting for brother’s help her.
“Has binges every now and again, gets absolutely insensible. He was a top surgeon in the Crimean war, before going, well, you know.”
“I wonder if he knew the lady with the lamp?” She wrapped her fingers around Ian’s arm as they crossed the road.
“You mean Florence Nightingale?”
She nodded. “Now there’s what I call a brave woman who saw a need and did something about it. That's what I'd like to do.”
“You're a teacher, imparting knowledge to those who wouldn’t receive it otherwise.”
“I know, but I'd like to do something more, I'm not sure what, though. Give me time, I'll think of something.”
He chuckled. “I know you will. It is good having you here. Fiona's a lot happier now.”
A laden wagon lumbered past them. “My, he's got a load up,” she said.
Ian nodded to the driver who responded by raising his whip. “Supplies for Camptons. There's a big charity ball there next week, all the district’s gentry are going, of course.”
How would Luke Campton look in formal attire? Drat the man. She didn’t care about the arrogant beast. He could walk around in a loin cloth for all she cared. She took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. “Were you invited?”
“What do you think?”
He sounded so despondent she wished she could cheer him up. “If I hadn't been robbed, I could have treated you at that nice little tea room.”
He rolled his eyes. “Tea room! I don’t think so. Anyway, I'd rather get along home. I don't like leaving Fiona alone for too long. You know how it is.” He gnawed his lip. “We can come into town again next week for supplies.”
She patted her brother’s arm. “I understand.” But she didn’t. Never having been weak and helpless herself, she couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to be frightened and timid all the time.
The spring sun beat down, unseasonably hot. The white straw hat trimmed with black lace over green ribbons, shaded her face from the worst of the sun.
Fiery Possession Page 2