Beyond Innocence

by Joanna Lloyd

  Then, as a thought came to her, she called out, “Oh and make sure you serve dinner within the hour.”

  Pleased with her show of control, she continued into the house. She might have been mistaken, but she could swear there were angry mutterings and the sound of utensils crashing to the floor. She shrugged. Shi Liang would get used to her demands and if not, well, that was for her husband to sort out.

  • • •

  Dinner began as a quiet affair. The silence punctuated only by Shi Liang noisily placing the food onto the table in front of them.

  “Shi Liang, if you have a problem please tell me what it is. I refuse to sit here and watch you break our best china as you exercise your temper,” snapped William.

  “Ask Missee, she in charge of house now,” he answered petulantly and swept out of the room.

  William’s eyes flicked to Electra’s face but her look was challenging. “You did tell me you wanted me to be the mistress of your house. So I informed Shi Liang he was to consult me on everything.”

  William gritted his teeth. She had succeeded in upsetting the only domestic servant capable of efficiency and dependability. And this was her first night.

  “Perhaps you might just familiarize yourself with how everything works before taking on any duties,” he suggested.

  Her eyes blazed. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

  “Not at all, my dear.”

  “Are you patronizing me, William?”

  He had been right. This woman would not be easy to control. If she would stop looking at him with those golden eyes, he might be able to think clearly. Maybe if he changed the subject, she might settle down.

  He cleared his throat. “What do you think of Riverside so far, Electra?”

  The anger in her eyes softened and she looked down at her lap. “The parts I have seen are very nice. How much land do you farm, William?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Approximately 2,500 acres. Some of it I purchased, some of it was a land grant from the governor. Callum will explain the details when he shows you around.” He took a bite of his pie. “Do you ride, Electra?”

  “Oh yes, I love to ride. I learned on my father’s country est — er, on a country holiday.”

  William frowned, wondering what it was she had nearly said. Although his curiosity was piqued, her pale, strained face stopped him prying. Instead, he said, “I have a quiet mare with a soft mouth. You can ride her and see what you think.” Then as a thought came to him, he added, “I thought we might go into Sydney Town tomorrow and order some gowns for you and any other articles of clothing you need. What do you think?”

  “I suppose so. Ah, would I be seen do you think?” she asked, looking at Shelagh’s ill-fitting work smock.

  “I had given consideration to your borrowed attire,” he said with a slight grin. When you went for your — er, walk earlier, I rode over to a neighbouring property. My neighbour’s wife has given me directions to a seamstress whose shop backs onto a lane. We can leave the horse and cart in the lane and enter unseen. I am hoping she will also have some ready-made gowns we can purchase immediately.”

  “Thank you, William, I appreciate that,” she said.

  He nodded and put a forkful of food into his mouth. It seemed he had done something that pleased her at last. His skin prickled in awareness as she watched him; he could feel it as he chewed self-consciously. If only he knew what she was thinking. Perhaps if he asked her about herself?

  He finished his mouthful and looked up. This marriage business was damned awkward. “I am intrigued by your name. It is very unusual. Do you mind if I ask how you came by it?”

  She blinked at his unexpected question. “My mother loved Greek literature and Greek mythology. She named me after Electra, the daughter of Agamemnon. The name means ‘bright and shining like the fiery sun.’ She said both my hair and eyes reminded her of the sun. I was five when she told me this; it is one memory I hold dear.”

  William did not answer immediately. He was aware she had finally given him something of herself. But what sort of convict has a mother who speaks to her of the great Greek classics? There were too many questions and the damned woman was giving him no answers.

  He tilted his head and looked at her. “She was right. About your eyes and hair. She sounds unusual, your mother,” he said.

  Electra flushed as he continued to stare at her. “Er, yes, I believe she was. I was young when she died and it hurt my father to speak about her. I am left with few memories and little knowledge. I think — I hoped there was some thrilling, foreign heritage, a secret I could have shared with my mother but … ”

  He noticed the pain in her eyes as she spoke and her sudden difficulty in swallowing. Perhaps if he remained silent there may be further personal disclosures, but she turned back to her meal. When they had both finished eating, Shi Liang sent Mary in to clear the dishes. Electra said a polite goodnight and went to her room.

  • • •

  William poured brandy into a wide glass and flopped into his winged chair by the fire. No one had challenged him for many years like Electra did. Except Callum, of course, but he was not disconcerted by Callum. And, damn it, he didn’t want to bed Callum. In the past when life became too difficult, he turned his back and walked away. But there was no walking away this time. He had invited her into his life. And now he must live with his decision. Besides, she had no one else.

  He lifted the glass and let the smooth liquid slide down his throat. As an army officer and now as a landowner, he was used to giving orders and having them followed. Why was she not happy to be a compliant wife? And her air of breeding, where had this come from? Was that the source of her stubbornness, or had that particular trait developed in prison or on the ship? In both places, one would live or die depending on strength of will.

  He closed his eyes and thought about his sister, Avery. They had been close as children but had not been in contact for some years. She too had been fearless, finally defying their father to follow the man she loved. In fact, she and Electra were surprisingly alike. Irritating and opinionated, but somehow admirable. If Avery were here, she would advise him.

  He got to his feet. His head hurt from trying to make sense of the woman. It had been an extraordinary day and now he needed to go to bed. He placed his glass on the mantelpiece and headed for the stairs.

  He doubted there would be much sleep.

  • • •

  Sydney Town bustled with activity. Electra, too distracted by events on the dock to notice much of the town when she first arrived, now absorbed everything.

  They passed a printer and then a produce store. There were vendors with brooms and boots, chickens and fish, calling their wares over the squealing voices of children at play. There were jewellers, hatters, a saddler, and a butcher hurling abuse at a thin, starving dog. This was the most activity she had seen in many months, and she drank it in like a wide-eyed child.

  Finally, William brought the wagon to a halt at the back of a small building that butted against shops on both sides. As they disembarked, a door onto the back alley flew open. A rotund, rosy-cheeked woman frowned at the unexpected arrivals. Then smiled as she recognised William.

  “It’s Mr. Radcliffe, isn’t it? Welcome, welcome to my establishment. I heard your wagon. What brings you here? And who is this?” she said without taking a breath.

  “You are Mrs. Grenville?” The woman’s head nodded in rapid agreement. “It seems you are already acquainted with my name,” William said, with a nod of his head. “I’d like you to meet my wife.” The seamstress showed no surprise at this revelation. “She has only the clothes in which she stands and I require an entire wardrobe of outer and undergarments. Do you think you can manage it?”

  Electra felt the assessing eyes of Mrs. Grenville. The woman tried to keep her face impassive, but was not successful. It was clear she knew where William had acquired his wife. Electra had to remind herself that this was a small town and word of
William’s marriage would spread like wildfire. This was just the first of many such judgments. Her chin rose defiantly.

  “Of course, of course. Come on in, both of you.” They followed Mrs. Grenville’s plump backside into the shop. “It may take some time but we can certainly manage with some ready-made in the meantime. Do you have any preferences, my dear?” she said, turning to Electra.

  “Yes, I think so. Although I am unused to dressing for such a climate as this, I imagine I will need day dresses, an evening gown, hats, shoes, gloves … oh, and I require two split skirts for riding. Shall we go inside and discuss it further?”

  William raised his eyebrows and Mrs. Grenville looked surprised as Electra took control of the situation. The seamstress then turned to William and ushered him out the door.

  “Off you go then, Mr. Radcliffe. Your wife and I have work to do.” The seamstress was already turning Electra to study her shape.

  At the door, he turned back to confirm the arrangements they had made for the afternoon. They were to have a late lunch at the hotel where they would spend the night. He seemed pleased about their evening together in town.

  Mrs. Grenville drew Electra’s attentions from William. “Never thought that one would marry. But then it would be a strong man could resist the likes of you, my dear.” She began to jot measurements on a piece of paper. “I must admit I’m looking forward to the challenge of clothing you in garments worthy of your beauty, Mrs. Radcliffe. Unless I’m mistaken, there is a sparkling jewel beneath this drab exterior,” she chuckled.

  Electra was like a child in a sweet shop. Gasping and ahhing as swathe after swathe of material was proffered for her selection. There were soft linens, Indian cottons, silks, taffeta, and laces, buttons, and ribbons galore. Mrs. Grenville locked the shop door, saying she’d have no one see Electra until she was ready for public display.

  By mid-afternoon, Electra stood beside Mrs. Grenville, resplendent in a soft, deep green day gown. The seamstress had fashioned the gown from a journal image some weeks before and adjusted it to Electra’s size. The waist on the gown sat just above Electra’s natural waistline from where it fell to her ankles with two rows of ruching to weigh the hem. On her head was a straw bonnet with a wide green ribbon, the colour of the dress, encircling the crown.

  Electra’s eyes constantly strayed back to the mirror, unable to believe the reflection before her. She drew in a deep breath, as she battled the tears that threatened to spoil her new dress. To see herself once more as a woman, not as the miserable convict wretch she had been for more than eighteen months, was almost too much to take in. The normally talkative Mrs. Grenville was silent, obviously aware of the emotions playing across Electra’s face.

  Electra’s purchases were placed into the wagon, already returned to the back lane after William had collected a quantity of supplies. She opened the front door of the shop and looked expectantly up and down the street. William was nowhere in sight.

  Seeing her disappointment, Mrs. Grenville suggested she ask a couple of the suppliers if they had seen Mr. Radcliffe. As Electra stepped out, Mrs. Grenville stopped her and called through a small door in the back of the shop to her assistant. A young woman appeared in the doorway, curtsying to Electra. “You can’t go running about the streets on your own, take Bess with you,” she said ushering the girl toward Electra.

  Electra thanked her, and with the girl in tow, headed down the street. The owner of the Feed and Stock pointed her down George Street to Preston’s, the tailor.

  Yes, Mr. Radcliffe had been there, but had continued down George Street to The Rocks. The girl beside her did not speak but every now and then Electra heard a clucking of the tongue as they headed closer to The Rocks area.

  A brisk breeze off the water sucked the skirt around Electra’s legs and she clung to her bonnet that threatened to become airborne. They turned a corner and stopped in front of a large, white stone, two-story building.

  “I wonder if this is it, Bess?” asked Electra.

  “I wouldn’t know, mum. Perhaps we had better ask again.”

  “Good idea.” She looked around and spied a rough looking character leaning against the wall of a narrow fronted building across the road. Without waiting for Bess to accompany her, Electra crossed the road and confronted the man.

  “Excuse me, sir, I am looking for a gentleman. If I describe him, would you be so good as to tell me if you have sighted him recently?”

  The man grinned, as his eyes roved insolently over her body. “Wha’ you need is a real man, sweet’eart, not some prissy gen’leman.” He leaned over, breathing powerful alcoholic fumes into her face. “Now me, I’m all man.”

  As his hand reached toward her, she screamed. Bess had reached her side and, with the man’s mocking laughter in her ears, pulled her back across the street.

  “It’s all right, mum. He wasn’t going to hurt you. He just mistook you for someone else. Why don’t I take you back to Mrs. Grenville’s?”

  The girl’s calm, practical manner quelled the panic and after a few deep breaths, Electra was able to speak. “Thank you, Bess, you are right, I overreacted. But I think I will still find Mr. Radcliffe as we shall both be safer if he escorts us.” She had no doubt that her overreaction was due to her experience with Seaman Critchley. How long would it take for his violent molestation to be erased from her memory? She remembered the girl beside her and forced a smile.

  Bess hailed a young lad who approached them with a sack of kindling over his shoulder. By a stroke of luck, he had seen the gentleman in question and described the house he had entered. Electra thought it strange that he grinned throughout the description but, with her destination so close, put it out of her mind.

  Minutes later, they were hurrying down a side street, following the boy’s directions. Electra had to admit to a sense of excitement at presenting her “new look” to her husband. As they turned down Carter Lane, she vaguely heard Bess protest at something, but Electra hushed her and continued.

  “That has to be it,” Electra muttered. Half a block away was a house fitting the boy’s description. The front door was painted a bright red with a large red lantern above it and each window was covered in different coloured curtains. She stopped in her tracks as she realized just what sort of house it was. Unbelievably, at that moment, her husband stepped through the doorway and turned to bow over the hand of a brightly dressed, blond-haired woman. They appeared intimately acquainted.

  The shock sucked the air from her lungs and turned her stomach. She drew in a deep breath as Bess tugged at her sleeve. Dear Lord, she could not let him see her here. Electra picked up her skirts, turned, and ran, a confused Bess in close pursuit. “Are you being chased by a ghost, love?” said a surprised Mrs. Grenville as Electra burst breathlessly through her door.

  “Huh, huh … ,” she panted, trying to speak. “Please, when Mr. Radcliffe arrives, don’t tell him I went to find him. I haven’t left your shop,” she pleaded with the curious seamstress.

  Electra plopped onto the stool behind her and fanned her face agitatedly. Minutes later, the door opened to admit a smiling, good-humoured William Radcliffe.

  He stopped abruptly as his eyes swept over his wife. “You are an absolute vision, Electra. It will be worth every penny you extort from me, Mrs. Grenville.” He raised his hat to the seamstress and held out his arm to his wife.

  “I can walk without your help, thank you.”

  William looked questioningly at Mrs. Grenville, who shrugged and shook her head. Bess stood beside Electra, her eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown, her mouth pursed in disapproval. Electra turned and marched out the back door to the wagon.

  He climbed onto the wagon next to her. “Would you like to eat now?”

  “No, I just want to go home.”

  “You mean back to the hotel?”

  “No, not the hotel. I want to go to Riverside.”

  “It will be hours before we reach home and we have eaten nothing since breakfast. I don
’t know about you, but I’ve worked up quite an appetite,” he said.

  “You’ve what?” she said in a high-pitched voice.

  A deep primal rage urged her to slap and kick the detestable man, but even slapping him was too kind. He was worse than that vermin, Critchley. At least he never pretended to be better than he was.

  “You disgusting, insufferable cad.” She could no longer hold back the tears of humiliation.

  “What nonsense is this, Electra? I have no patience for histrionics.”

  She refused to look at him. The man didn’t even have the decency to feel embarrassment. The thought of being married to such a philanderer doused any pleasure she had felt in her new clothes.

  When she didn’t answer him, he angrily turned the horses for home. “Very well, we’ll go back to Riverside, but I’m beginning to question my decision,” he said, his voice hard and sure.

  “As am I, sir. Do not doubt it.”

  It seemed fate, in leading her to marriage, was not to be trusted after all. There were few choices for a woman in her situation.

  However, there was one she could make.

  Chapter Five

  By now they would know she was gone.

  Shi Liang would alert William when she did not appear for breakfast and a search of her room would reveal her belongings gone. Those she had arrived with, at least. Electra’s pride had not allowed her to claim the new clothes purchased by William. He could give them to his next convict wife for all she cared. She was done with William and Riverside and would not return. Even if he begged.

  The sight of a large green wattle tree, its soft feathery foliage offering respite from the sun, brought her to a stop. She pressed into its shade and wiped the dust and tears from her face with the hem of her skirt. Shi Liang had washed the smock clean but now the blue cloth was streaked with grime. The calluses on her hands were healing and she sighed at the thought of again spending her days at the female factory, bent over greasy piles of wool. She straightened, peered down the long, empty road and pushed such thoughts aside. No, this was the right decision; at least she would not be one of William Radcliffe’s whores.