The gum trees along the sides of the road looked gnarled and twisted, the knots in the branches standing out like large brown bumps. Now and again some trunks appeared almost white, so smooth they might have been planed down by a giant hand. In the distance the dark green leaves were tinged with grey. A few blackened stumps bore testament to previous fires.
Spring flowers decorated the grassed areas between the trees. In one section, the everlastings grew in such abundance they turned the whole hillside into a mass of moving orange heads.
As they passed by a clump of scraggy bushes, three grey kangaroos bounded off into the opposite direction to them. What a strange mixture this country was. Almost mountainous in some parts, yet quite flat in others, a little like the American West where she had spent part of her childhood.
***
Two days after her arrival, Jo decided to put her plans for opening a school into operation. Fiona endorsed the idea and gave her directions to several homesteads where school-aged children lived. As soon as they finished breakfast, Jo borrowed a shirt, breeches and boots from Ian, saddled up one of the stock horses and set off.
Riding through the bush, she laughed aloud at the antics of the multi-colored parrots zigzagging through the trees. What beautiful birds they were. The weather seemed warm for September, the bright blue sky unusual, as summer did not officially start until December. If it wasn’t for the fact they were short of water and feed for the stock, it would be perfect.
She received a warm welcome at most of the homesteads, and found people eager for their children to attend school. Should she call into some of the larger properties? No, wiser to control her enthusiasm at this stage. Phew, she wiped a trickle of perspiration from her brow; the heat intensified as the country became dryer, more barren.
Several thin, miserable chickens scratched in the dirt outside a crude lean-to. It had no chimney, just a pot sitting on a fire outside. Who would live in such a hovel? Curiosity had her dismounting and tethering her horse to a tree stump.
“Anyone home?” She hesitated, debating whether to enter. Suppose it belonged to some unsavory individual?
A sack covering the entrance was pushed aside and a girl, heavy with child, waddled out. A faded torn gown stretched over her swollen stomach.
“How do you do? I'm Jo Saunders.”
“M…Mary Smith.”
“I'm Ian Morrison's sister.”
“C…come in,” Mary invited, with pathetic eagerness. “I don't get many visitors.”
Jo tried to hide her shock. Given a choice, she would have preferred to stay outside. Inside, she saw nothing but a bundle of blankets and skins tossed in one corner and a couple of packing cases. A small faded piece of carpet served as a mat.
“My man's out working.”
“Oh, does he farm around here?”
“No, he's a shepherd for C...Camptons.”
“Is this Campton land?”
“Yes.” The girl, probably not more than seventeen, would be quite pretty if she could keep herself clean, and she was obviously having a baby in a few weeks. Jo shuddered.
“Does Mr. Campton know, er, where you live?” It was the most delicate way of putting it.
“This place belongs to him, isn't much.”
Much! Sickness curdled Jo’s stomach. She wanted to scream out that it was a disgrace for people to live this way. One more thing against Luke Campton, the man acted like a despot. “He should be compelled to provide adequate accommodation.”
“Some b…bosses don't give you anything. This is better than nothing. Nat burned down the hut we used to live in, got drunk and knocked over the lamp. We always get some meat when there's a kill, and fruit and vegetables.”
“A rich man with thousands of acres could give you something better than this, surely?” She couldn’t hide her indignation.
“My man likes living out here. W…want some tea?”
She could just about have killed for a drink, but dared not accept because the poor girl might be low on provisions.
“I'm floating in tea, must have consumed ten cups.” Jo laughed. “Some cold water would be nice.”
A bucket and a dented tin mug sat on a packing case. She took a few dubious mouthfuls of the warm, brackish water.
“Have you got a well?”
“No, we t...take it from the r…river.”
She wanted to leave this mean, smelly hovel straight away. Wanted to confront Luke Campton about letting his workers live in accommodation not fit for pigs.
“S...stay for a while.” Mary clutched Jo's hand. “I don't get any visitors and my man is away a lot. Sometimes I don't talk to anyone for days. I used to work at the big house once.”
“Campton's house?”
“Yes, in the kitchen.” A strange gleam lit up her eyes. “I didn't always look like this. M…Mr. Tim said I was beautiful.”
“Is it his baby?” Her bluntness took the girl by surprise, as her eyes widened and her mouth gaped.
“Not this one.”
“You have another baby?”
“I lost the one M…Mr. Tim gave me. B…belted me up when I told him, h…he nearly killed me. Mr. C…Campton stopped him.”
“You mean Luke Campton knew?” She could not hide her revulsion. Nausea rose up in her throat and it was not from the stench of the place.
“Yes, g…got Nat to marry me, gave him some money.”
“Paid your husband to marry you?” She had never heard of anything so shocking.
“Nat wanted a woman because a shepherd's life is lonely. No other man w…would want me after everything.” Mary's eyes filled with tears, her face crumpled.
Jo’s heart went out to the poor girl. She felt inadequate, lost for words. She wanted to give Mary a comforting hug, but could not quite bring herself to do so in case she picked up some germ and brought it home to Lucy. Fiona would have a fit if she saw the place. “I suppose not,” was the best she could come up with.
“Nat’s a kind man. I'm a g…good wife to him. He's pleased about the baby.”
“Well, of course, he would be.” The poor girl seemed in need of reassurance.
“I'm due in about seven weeks.”
“Who's going to help with the birth?”
“N…Nat, if he's home, I suppose.”
“And if he's not?” Jo went cold all over and a shiver ran down her spine.
“No one, unless Mr. Campton sends someone over, he said he would.”
“Haven't you got some family or neighbors who could help?”
“Don't know anyone much.”
“Mary, I have to go now, but I'll come again.”
“Promise, J…Jo, I don't have anyone else.”
“Of course I'll come. Do you sew?”
“No.”
“What if I bring some things over next time? I can teach you how to sew some clothes for the baby, would you like that?”
“Yes, I haven't got anything. Nat’s going to ask Mr. C…Campton to advance some of his wages, so we can buy things.”
“Don't worry, your baby will have clothes. That's a promise.”
She clamped Ian's hat on her head and left the humpy. It added up to one more thing against Campton.
The late afternoon sun had drifted towards the mountains by the time she left Mary. Ian would say not to interfere with things that did not concern them. But the plight of poor little Mary Smith screamed for justice, and Josephine Elizabeth Emily Saunders would deliver it.
I'll go over and see Campton now. She couldn’t be sure of the way, but as long as she remembered the few landmarks Ian had pointed out, she didn’t doubt her ability to find it. With her hair tucked up under a wide-brimmed hat and wearing Ian’s breeches and a loose work shirt, she would easily pass for a youth. For riding around the countryside, male clothing proved a safer and much more comfortable alternative than feminine attire. Ian had been horrified to think his sister would wear men's clothing, but once she made up her mind, nothing could change it.
>
Half an hour of steady riding brought her down into better country, still scrubby, but it appeared greener, more fertile. Of course, Campton would own the best land in the district. She remembered Fiona saying it was only about three miles from their place, so a detour wouldn’t be too far out of her way.
The words 'Kangaroo Gully' were carved across the gate leading to what must be Luke Campton's property. Set in a green valley, it sprawled out like a small town, with numerous sheds and outbuildings. Contented cattle and sheep grazed on well cared for pastures.
She gasped in amazement when she saw the house, a yellow sandstone single-storied homestead basking in the sun. Solid marble pillars held up the shingle-roofed verandah, which surrounded the building.
The front entrance beckoned through an arched trellis covered with honeysuckle and jasmine. Several acres of garden looked immaculate, with no weed daring to show its face. English oaks and Californian pines mingled with native trees on either side of the winding driveway. A large white marble fountain played softly in the middle of a rose garden. When she thought of poor Mary, bitterness rose up like bile in her throat.
Tying her horse up to the iron tethering rail, she crunched up the path leading to the front entrance. Made of heavily carved wood, the door displayed a stained glass fanlight arching across the top with matching stained glass panels along either side. The windows each contained twelve panels with glazed cedar bars, and there were louvered shutters.
She banged the serpent’s head brass knocker. A young maid opened the door straight away. A small mop-cap rested on her dark curls, and she wore a grey gown. The high collar and cuffs were of spotless white linen, her apron plain, except for a frill about the hemline. Had poor Mary once been similarly attired?
“I'd like to see Mr. Luke Campton,” she announced, before the maid got a chance to speak. “Tell him it's urgent.”
She swept off her hat, causing her curls to tumble down her back. By the shocked expression on the maid's face, she had taken Jo for a man.
“You better go around to the back entrance.”
“I don't want to come inside,” she cut the girl off. “I can wait here. I’m Josephine Saunders, he'll see me. I’ve got urgent business to discuss with him.”
The maid hesitated, then with a shrug of something akin to resignation, left the door ajar and disappeared down a passageway. With her hands thrust into her pockets, Jo paced up and down. The temptation to peek inside to see what the house looked like proved almost irresistible. She didn’t succumb though, in case the big boss came out and caught her. She would not give him the satisfaction of thinking she had even the remotest interest in him or his house.
Along one side of the verandah wicker chairs were set out, perfect for relaxing with a drink after the heat of the day, provided you were rich enough to be able to indulge yourself in such a manner.
She did not hear the tall man come out of the house and jumped when he spoke.
“You have business to discuss with me, Miss Saunders?”
He appeared taller than she remembered, wearing dark pants, with a white cambric shirt opened at the throat, revealing whorls of black body hair. His wide smile showed even white teeth and a deep cleft in his tanned chin. His rugged good looks and powerful male aura caused her heartbeats to escalate.
Attack was the only form of protection she had against his kind of lethal magnetism. “You are the most despicable man I’ve ever come across.” By his angry hissing breath, the first barb reached its mark. “I’ve just left the wife of one of your shepherds.”
His dark eyebrows rose, giving the scar an almost peaked formation. “And?”
“They live in a hovel.”
“You blame me for that?”
“Blame you? Of course it's your fault, you and that… brother of yours. Poor little Mary Smith is expecting a child in a few weeks.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
“They have no furniture, no clothes, nothing, except a little lean-to. Have you no pity?”
“I don't run this place on pity. It's a luxury I can't afford.”
“She doesn't even have anything for the baby.”
“Why should it concern you?” His cold eyes bored into her, hard, unwavering.
“I hate seeing people suffer. Look at this.” She waved her arm around to encompass the homestead. “Compared to her place, it's nothing short of sinful for you to live like this.”
“Was that all?” He didn’t move so much as an inch. Not one flicker of emotion showed in his face. He might well have been a statue carved from stone.
She clenched her fists in her pockets. He wouldn’t help Mary or her child. It had been a waste of time coming here.
“For your information, I gave Nat extra money. I can’t help it if he spent it all on rot gut whisky, and he burned down the cottage I supplied for them.”
She turned on her heel, but after going a couple of paces, remembered the school.
“Are there many family people working here?” She swung back, and as her loosened hair rippled over her shoulders, she caught him staring at it. He lowered his gaze but wasn’t quick enough to hide the admiration gleaming in his eyes.
“Why would you want to know that?”
She jammed on her hat. He was articulate, obviously well educated and intelligent, which made him even more dangerous. “Because I'm thinking of starting up a school.”
“A school!”
His low, deep chuckle, had butterflies dancing around in the pit of her stomach. “I’m a teacher. It's all right for the rich, their children have tutors. A poor man's children should have the same chances. Are there any school-age children who have parents working here?”
“Several, I should think, but they won't attend any school you run.”
“Why not?” Her gaze clashed with his.
“Because I pay one of my worker’s wives to teach them the basics, so they don’t need to attend any other school.” His lips twisted into mocking grin. “Quite frankly, Miss Saunders, you must have better things to do with your time.”
“We'll see. You might think you’re the big boss around here, but believe me, I care this much about you.” She snapped her fingers near his face.
With lightning speed his hand snaked out and grasped her arm. A quick flick of his wrist slammed her up against his hard body. She could feel his warm breath fanning the strands of her loosened hair, smell his intoxicating male scent.
“I am the boss around here, Yankee woman.” His hot lips grazed her cheek, leaving a fiery path in their wake.
“Having trouble, brother?” A young man sauntered up to them and Luke let her go.
“Nothing I can't handle.” He raked the fingers of both hands through his hair.
The younger Campton was tall and fair, but he had the strangest eyes, a washed-out sort of blue. Vicious, that’s what they are. She stepped back keeping panic at bay by sheer willpower, and the desire not to let either of them know her fear.
“I am going to open my school, Mr. Campton. Good afternoon.”
Swinging around, she thrust her hands into her pockets and sauntered towards her horse as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The intensity of Tim’s evil gaze shook her to the core. Once mounted, she stilled her shaking hands by gripping the reins. Only when they were well away from Kangaroo Gully did she slow the galloping horse.
The sun had already disappeared behind the mountains as she dismounted in Ian's front yard, and Fiona rushed out to greet her.
“I’ve been so worried. You should have been home hours ago.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you all right, Jo? You look exhausted.”
“It’s been a long, trying day. Not used to all this country air.” She forced a laugh. She barely had the strength to drag herself inside.
“Leave the horse. Ian will see to it, he's out back.”
With a grateful sigh, she followed Fiona inside; the encounter with Tim Campton had shaken her.
A sinister aura lurked around him. She knew it as surely as she knew that night must follow day.
***
As she ate her evening meal, Jo talked about the families she had visited. “Do you know Nat Smith?” she asked Ian.
“Not really, except he’s old enough to be Mary's grandfather.”
“Poor thing.” Fiona glanced up from eating. “Few men would want her after Tim Campton had his way with her.”
“I know. I saw him today. He’s got the strangest eyes, they… well, they appeared almost colorless, somehow.”
“He should be locked up. I heard he beat up one of the grooms a few weeks ago, all because his horse wasn't saddled on time. Luke had to give the man money so he wouldn’t complain to the police.” Ian stabbed his fork into a carrot.
“Wishing it was Tim Campton?” Jo grinned at his action.
“A terrible thing to admit, but yes, I do.”
“It's strange,” Fiona mused. “A lot of people say Luke is Tim's father.”
“Really?” Jo’s spoon clattered against her plate.
“Yes, his mother was years younger than the father, in her early twenties when they married. Gossip has it Luke had an affair with her.”
“With his stepmother?” The food curdled in Jo’s stomach.
“Yes, he would have been eighteen or so, which would explain why he's so protective of Tim.”
“You women and your gossip! I’d like another cup of tea, please.”
“All right.” Fiona got up. “Luke's father thrashed him with a stock whip, because he caught him in bed with the stepmother, and that came from someone who knew someone working for the Camptons.”
“Fiona, the tea please. Even if it's true, it's none of our business,” he said grimly, “but nothing that happened over there would surprise me.”
Would a man like Luke Campton force himself on his own stepmother? More likely she would have thrown herself at him. Piratical good looks combined with extreme wealth would be a magnet few women could resist. They would be like ripe plums, ready to drop into his hand. I’ll resist him, though. I won’t be an easy conquest for any man.
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