by Joanna Lloyd
Lizzie squawked, “I ain’t sittin’ here achin’ from head to toe so’s some toff’s bum don’ get itchy.”
The women erupted with laughter and Electra giggled at Lizzie’s outburst.
“Perhaps you’re right, Lizzie. In fact, the scratchier the better I say.” She wrenched the wool off the card.
“Gawd, we’ll have you thievin’ an’ all soon, eh?” The others rolled their eyes and shook their heads.
Electra stood up, stretched her back, and looked around the room. Their numbers had dwindled considerably since they arrived. Many of the women had been sent into domestic service in the homes of free settlers and emancipists. In fact, Mary Buckley and her baby, Freddy, had gone the week before. By a stroke of luck or generosity, the settler to whom Mary had been indentured allowed her to bring her infant. Many refused to take children and the only alternative was the orphanage. Whoever he was, Electra would always be quietly grateful to him. The thought of the pale, thin infant she and Lizzie had delivered on the ship being taken from his mother and sent to an orphanage was unbearable. Electra had hoped there might have been some connection between them after the birth of the baby, but Mary had remained suspicious and distant until she left the factory.
As Electra sat down to continue with the wool, Hetty Bender ran into the room. “There’s someone as comin’ today. I heard the super say so. She sez we has to tidy ourselves up an’ all.”
The women began to straighten their hair and brush down their skirts. Then they paraded out to be inspected.
“This is it,” said Polly Harris. “This is where they takes us for their wives and we get out o’ this hellhole.”
Electra felt physically sick at the thought of some colonial barbarian taking her to his home and his bed regardless of her own wishes. She gave thanks once again that her father had gone to his grave and would not know of this further degradation. Her uncle, on the other hand, would relish the information. She shook her head. Revenge would come and it would be all the sweeter for the waiting.
“Have you heard who’s coming?” Electra asked Mary Poole, who stood beside her in the line-up, fluffing her hair.
“That’s the thing yer see, it’s only one man. He must be an important codger an’ I hear he is real rich like. Prob’ly ugly as sin,” she chuckled.
They all looked up as a large grey stallion galloped across the grounds and was reined to a halt behind the building. The rider dismounted and was joined by the superintendent of the factory. Together they walked toward the women.
Electra squinted at the tall figure; there was something very familiar about him.
“Ooh, he’s gorgeous! Look at them shoulders and the muscles in his thighs,” whispered Polly, with a prod to Electra’s arm.
“This is Mr. William Radcliffe, girls. He has come to select a wife. Stand still and mind your manners while he looks you over,” said the superintendent.
Electra’s stomach flipped as she recognised the face of the stranger from the ship. Her eyes travelled unashamedly from his broad shoulders down to fitted white breeches tucked into knee-length brown boots. A loose brown coat hung unbuttoned to his knees. Aware of the women’s appraisal, he nervously jerked his head and flipped his long, sandy coloured hair out of his eyes. The gesture revealed a small scar under his left eye that, for some reason, softened her earlier resentment toward him. His eyes constantly flashed over to his horse as if he planned a fast retreat and she noticed the fingers of one hand tapping rapidly against his thigh. She avoided his eyes.
Despite her disgust at being lined up like cattle in a sale yard, Electra was surprised to find that she hoped he did not pick one of the other women. He hardly seemed to notice her as he walked down the line.
As the women offered their breasts, jiggled their hips, and made lewd suggestions, the man came to a decision.
“I’m sorry to waste your time but I won’t be choosing anyone today.” He strode to his horse, mounted and reined his mount toward the road. He turned back for a moment; their eyes met, held. Then he was gone.
The shock of his piercing blue gaze amplified her heartbeat, heated her body from her toes to her neck and swept all coherent thought from her mind. What on earth was she about? She was normally such a level-headed woman.
“Well I never,” grumbled Mary, as she strolled back to work.
Electra fell into step beside her and told herself she was relieved. She would have been insulted if he had chosen her.
God help her; she was insulted that he had not.
Chapter Three
“So Will, did ye get yourself a wee wifie?” asked Callum MacDonald.
William Radcliffe unsaddled his horse and brushed the stallion with great plunging strokes, hard and even, which left dark trails across the shimmering coat. His jaw clenched as he struggled with a response.
“I see ye didna’ achieve your purpose then?” His lips twitched. “The right wee lassie wasna’ there aye?”
William took the bait. “Oh she was there all right. A woman to take your breath away and to heat your body through with just one look.”
“Ye have ma interest, laddie. I’ll need the full description ye ken.”
William’s eyes looked past Callum. “Tall and graceful with luscious, you know,” he wriggled his eyebrows at Callum who laughed. “And her hair. A mass of wild curls the colour of the sun on fire. But what fascinated me were her eyes. They were incredible. Almond shaped and tawny coloured with flecks of gold. Enough to stop a man’s heart beat.”
“Aye? Not much to look at then, lad? Not a woman to bother with?” asked Callum.
“Goddamn, Callum,” he said, ignoring the man’s attempt at humour. “I can’t give a woman like that what she needs. It would sentence her to more hardship.”
“Ye’re too tough on yourself, Will. Ye canna spend the rest of your life caught in the past. It’s time to let it go an’ mebbe she’s the one can help ye do it. Besides, we are talking about a convict here, aye?”
“A convict yes, but this one was a true lady, Callum. I don’t know her story but I don’t think I am mistaken.” He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, I had already insulted her on the ship when I went to check on my supplies from England. I would be the last man she would want to wed.”
His mind returned to the small storeroom where she had crouched and watched him suspiciously with her alluring eyes while he dealt with her injury. In those few short moments, she stirred emotions he had thought firmly buried some nine years gone. His leap to her aid on the docks had been as much a surprise to him as it had been to her.
Callum interrupted his thoughts. “Ye know the officers and free settlers will be in to have their pick afore long. If she’s as bonnie as ye say, she’ll be dragged off and wed to someone no’ nearly as kind and honourable as yourself. But I guess ye dinna mind about that then?” said Callum, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Life can just carry on as before, aye?”
William watched the overseer walk away. There was truth in his statement but perhaps he needed to be more certain of this decision to take a wife. It had seemed perfectly reasonable when first it came to him. He was considered a rare commodity in the colony: unmarried, respectable and wealthy. But much to his annoyance, he was pursued relentlessly by every mother with daughters of marriageable age. Then there were the widows and, embarrassingly, a smattering of bored wives. He dreaded every social occasion and had run out of excuses to refuse invitations.
His encounter with the golden-eyed convict beauty on the ship had opened his mind to the advantages of a marriage of convenience. A convict for a wife should give him more control over the situation. Get the predatory mothers off his back and leave him free to get on with business. Not to mention the pleasure of a woman to warm his bed at night. Yes, all in all, it could work extremely well. So why did his intuition tell him he was courting trouble? That she might not be controllable? He flicked his hair from his face. Nonsense, she’ll be too grateful to cause problems.
No hint of dawn had yet softened the night sky when the supervisor roused the women from their slumbers. She ordered the sleepy girl beside her to dump the daily rations onto the floor, which caused dollops of skilly to splash over the bread rolls.
“Get your lazy backsides up and get to work,” she yelled.
The women scrambled for the food and crammed it into their mouths. Electra managed to claim three bread rolls, a piece of dried salted meat, and a bowl of skilly. These she sorted into three meals and hid among her belongings. She looked at the food. At least she would have no problems of weight gain. What would be a problem though was finding a way to change her circumstances.
Although the factory was not Newgate or the rat-infested ship, it was still a prison. Her back ached from weeks of hunching over the piles of wool and her mind hungered for the stimulation of good conversation or a decent book. But she had spent too much energy on anger and bitterness. Now it was time to discover how life worked in the colony.
Gossip, peppered with useful pieces of information regularly passed through the factory with the women. Electra listened, learned, and asked questions. There were stories of convicts being pardoned for information that resulted in the capture of escapees. And for those with a head for business, there was money to be made in the colony. But the most common ways to escape the factory were through marriage or indentured service. Electra cursed the upbringing that, even now, made the idea of servitude unthinkable. That left marriage. She shuddered at the thought of an uncouth barbarian taking possession of her. No, not that.
With a sigh, she turned back to her breakfast. She dipped her bread roll into the skilly and hurriedly pushed it into her mouth before the porridge dripped down her arm.
Intent on this manoeuvre, she jumped when the superintendent returned to inform them they were to be inspected mid-morning.
• • •
After hours of carding, Electra stood to stretch her arms and legs as the supervisor returned as promised.
“I want you all lined up outside the building when the bell rings. There are gentlemen coming to find themselves a wife. Although why they would want to saddle themselves with you lot is beyond me.”
“Will they be throwing their kerchiefs at us mum?” asked Polly, giggling.
“Mind your mouth girl. As they are gentlemen, if they fancy one of you they will drop either their handkerchief or a scarf on the ground in front of you. You pick it up or you stay here with me. Your choice. And you’ll keep those inside your smock or I’ll pull you out of the line,” she said, looking meaningfully at Polly’s breasts.
“I don’ care what they throw; I’ll be pickin’ it up before it even hits the ground,” she said, so’s I can get as far away from you as I can.” Polly tried to duck as her ear was cuffed.
• • •
Electra scanned the faces of the men. William Radcliffe was not among them. She told herself she was pleased not to see him there.
Her eyes remained lowered as one after another, the wife-hunters dropped their scarves at her feet. If she concentrated on each detail of the scarves — the patterns, colours, a stain on one corner, a rip in another — she could ignore the men who held them. There were mumbles of jealousy from the other women until the men, offended by her wordless rejections, hastily retrieved their offerings and dropped them elsewhere.
The supervisor pulled the chosen women roughly into a group. “There’ll be civil ceremonies this afternoon then you’ll collect your belongings and leave with your ever-so-lucky husbands, God help them.”
Polly, triumphant at finding a husband, bumped against Electra as they were herded back to work. “What, none o’ them gen’lemen good enough fer yer, duchess?”
Her reply was drowned by the thunder of hoof beats as another gentleman rode into the grounds. Even from a distance, she could see the glisten of sweat on the stallion’s coat. The rider leapt from his horse and strode toward the superintendent. Electra’s breath caught as she recognised the wide shoulders and sandy coloured hair. She moved closer as the superintendent addressed him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s over, the choices have been made. I will let you know when the next shipment of women arrives, but it won’t be for some months.”
“Did all the women receive offers?”
“They did. This colony is filled with desperate men.”
As he turned to leave she added, “Except the ones with children, oh, and the hoity-toity one.”
He stopped in mid-stride. “The hoity-toity one?”
“Yes sir, the one with the wild hair and strange eyes. There were offers but she wasn’t interested.”
“I would be most obliged if you would allow me a moment with those of whom you speak.”
The superintendent shook her head in annoyance and yelled to the women who lingered outside the shed, pretending not to listen.
Electra walked back to the square and moved into line. She turned back to see Lizzie, pain etched into the lines of her face. The old woman lifted a hand in farewell and turned her back on Electra.
When William Radcliffe dropped his scarf in front of her feet, she did not move. She knew the simple action of bending to pick up his scarf would change her life forever. Such a decision almost choked her with its implications. She resisted the temptation to raise her head and look into his dark blue eyes; she already knew the effects of such an action. Oh Lord, what shall I do? Marriage would mean freedom from the factory. But marriage was permanent, and what kind of husband would he make?
The awkward silence grew until finally he reached down to retrieve his scarf.
“Wait!” For some inexplicable reason, she could not let him leave without her again. She bent and picked up the scarf.
A glance at his face showed the small lines on his forehead relax. He looked at the scarf, inclined his head, and smiled. Electra felt the warmth of his smile and gave a slight nod, but the muscles in her face were too tense to return the smile.
• • •
Some hours later, with her scant belongings strapped to his horse, William Radcliffe lifted his new bride onto the front of his saddle and took her home. To hold her steady while he rode, William reached around her for the reins and tensed his upper arms against hers. She sidled back against his thighs. It would be an extreme test of his willpower to ensure his body did not react to the firm softness of her bottom … too late. A slight shiver ran through her body and he saw the small gold hairs on her arm rise. It seemed his arousal had not gone unnoticed.
A slight grin passed his lips as he breathed her in. Not the normal sweet, flowery scents of the women he knew. It was the strong animal smell of wool fat. A smell he loved. A smell that epitomized everything he had worked for since he came to the colony. He knew better than to comment on it, though.
William had hoped to get to know her a little on the journey home but she was politely uncommunicative. He supposed this was only to be expected. To be selected from a line-up, and then married to a man about whom she knew nothing, would disconcert the most indifferent of women. With time though, she would see the benefits of her situation.
William slowed the horse as they approached the house. The sight of it never failed to stir him. He wondered what this woman, his wife, would feel about the home and property he so loved.
“Welcome to Riverside,” he said with a sweeping gesture of his arm. Before he could help, she slipped to the ground and stood with her hand on the stallion’s neck, taking in her surroundings.
The breeze from the river blew wisps of her red-gold hair around her face as she gazed at the deep verandas that encircled the two-story sandstone building. Her eyes closed as she drew in a deep breath. The air was filled with the powerful scents of eucalyptus and jasmine.
Her eyes wide with amazement, she turned from the house to finally look at him. “It’s like nothing I have ever seen. It’s wonderful,” she said. He felt a swell of pride at her words.
“I
t’s quite a radical design. Different from most homes I would think. It has been built to catch the river breezes in the summer,” he said, as he watched her face. “You’ll find the summers very warm compared to England.”
She nodded, her face once again closed to him.
“I’m sorry the staff are not here to meet you but I still have to inform them of my new marital status,” he continued.
“Really? A spur of the moment decision then?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Something like that,” he mumbled.
Well, she certainly was not backward in saying what she thought. In an effort to return to more neutral ground, William continued with his tour of the home. He led her up the stairs and through the double-carved timber doors. To her left a sitting room was separated from the entrance by ornately carved Chinese screens. It was spacious, with doors that opened onto the verandas and views to the river.
William gestured to a sweeping staircase that led to the upper floor. He followed her up, his gaze assessing her as they climbed. The slight sway of her body, even in the drab prison smock, stirred his loins again. He wondered how long it would be before she came to his bed. When they reached the landing, he moved past her and opened a door off the hallway.
“This will be your bedroom.” He showed her into a sunny room that faced the river. At her puzzled look, he grinned and added, “I won’t force you into my bed tonight.”
She tilted her head. “So, when will you force me?”
God almighty, she would not let him get away with anything. “Ah, actually I hoped my charms would entice you of your own accord.”
She smiled but there was no warmth in the gesture.
“Let’s be clear. This is a marriage of convenience for both of us. I have made a decision based on survival and I do not, and never will, love you,” she said coldly.
At her words, he felt a muscle twitch in his cheek but managed to keep his face blank.