by Joanna Lloyd
“And what did you need from the governor?”
He smiled, surprised and delighted that a woman would show an interest in such matters. “My proposal requested his assistance with access to more suitable land and market contacts in England.”
“I admit to knowing nothing about how things work here, but you say you presented your case well. How could they make a judgment on the feasibility of your proposal based on who you marry?”
“Huh! The English class system is alive and well in our little colony. Also the governor’s advisors see me as a bit of a renegade and don’t always agree with my methods. There is a lot of jealousy and resentment in a small settlement like this. If they can find a reason to refuse me, they will do so.”
“So they would jeopardize the economy of the country out of jealousy?”
“Oh no, they’re smarter than that. My ideas will be given to someone else to develop.”
“But that’s outrageous! Well, there’s nothing else for it. We’ll just have to change their minds,” she said, slapping the table with her napkin.
William laughed at her indignation and felt more than a little comforted by her declaration of solidarity. It seemed there was an astute mind behind her distractingly beautiful face. Even so, he knew there was nothing she could do to change the situation. He refilled her glass and they toasted a prosperous future for Radcliffe wines. At his suggestion, they moved from the dining table over to the fire. Electra shivered and drew a small stool in front of the hearth.
“Are you ready to tell me your story?” asked William, settling into a deep armchair.
• • •
Electra did not respond at first, staring into the fire; her thoughts thousands of miles away, as slowly she went back. Back to the days of safety and privilege as the only child of the Viscount Gascombe. Back to the night when her world began to fall apart.
She glanced over at William and told her story.
It was a night to be indoors. A cold drizzle had discouraged even a brisk walk before supper. Her father had settled at his mahogany desk not far from the fire. The cold had become his enemy lately, seeping into his bones and contorting his face with pain. The crackling heat eased his discomfort.
As usual, Electra had dragged a chair close to her father and immersed herself in her novel.
She heard a loud thud on his desk and looked up as he opened a large red ledger. “Is that the ledger from the business, father? Doesn’t Mr. Abernathy look after that for you?”
“He does, my dear, but he had some concerns of a sensitive nature, and asked that I peruse the figures tonight.”
“Oh,” she said absently, “I won’t interrupt you then.” She turned back to her book.
There were faint mutters and mumblings until her father exclaimed, “Good lord, this can’t be right.”
She lifted her head, but not her eyes, from the book. “Hmm? What can’t be right, father?”
“These figures. They don’t make sense.”
She put down her novel and heaved herself from the depths of the soft armchair. “You’re tired, father. Let me go through them.”
Without hesitation, he moved to give her room. He had finally conceded to her superior skills in mathematics some twelve months ago, although not without considerable resistance. She watched him move painfully over to a small table and lift the brandy decanter, pouring himself a generous dollop. He held it in front of his face, watching the distorted flickering of the flames through the glass before allowing himself a warming gulp of the dark liquid. Then he lowered himself into the chair she had vacated and closed his eyes.
Electra didn’t speak again for over an hour. After checking and double checking the figures, she sighed and looked up. “I’m sorry, Father but I think you’re right. The discrepancies go back over quite a period of time. But the amounts seem to have become larger and less carefully hidden in recent weeks.” She hesitated before laying blame, not wanting her own experiences to influence her. But she had heard her father arguing some months ago with her uncle. Berating him for borrowing money from the company for his gambling debts. Electra thought for a moment and then blurted her suspicions. “Father, I am certain this is Uncle Carlton’s hand.”
Her heart ached as she watched her father’s face crumple. It was clear he had already suspected his brother’s deceit but hoped he was wrong.
She walked over to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “What will you do?”
“I will confront him. Then after I have heard his reasons, I will decide whether to take legal action.”
When her uncle returned to the home later that night, there ensued a violent argument during which her father collapsed. He never regained consciousness and died before morning of a fatal heart seizure.
• • •
As the tears trickled down her cheeks, she searched fruitlessly in the pockets of her gown for a handkerchief. William bent toward her and wiped them gently with his own.
“If you want to stop, Electra, I won’t push you further.” He wanted to do more than wipe her tears. An urge to protect, almost unrecognizable to him, demanded he take her in his arms and smooth away the pain. But he knew there was more and so did not move.
“No, it’s important you hear it all.”
Distraught with grief and anger, she told her uncle she was charging him with fraud and embezzlement. This was her undoing as, forewarned, her uncle tampered with the evidence and paid witnesses who accused her of the crime instead.
“The rest you know. I was sentenced to seven years transportation to New South Wales. I was four months in Newgate Prison before boarding the Liberty. We didn’t sail for a month and even then went no further than Portsmouth Harbor for a further month before sailing for Tenerife.”
William wasn’t a man who could settle for only pieces of a story. Perhaps it had something to do with the need for a full briefing when determining strategy on the battlefield.
“Can you tell me about Newgate? And what about your time on the Liberty? I want to understand it all, Electra. So I can understand more about you.” She flinched at his mention of Newgate and he bit his tongue at such insensitivity. But she lifted her head and looked directly into his eyes as she gave him his answer. He should have known, whatever she was, she was no coward.
“Very well, William. Let me tell you about Newgate and my journey on the Liberty. On one condition.” He nodded his agreement. “We never speak of this again.”
William had seen all manner of horror on the battlefield and engaged with the lowest forms of humanity at one time or another. But, by God, when he heard the stories she told, he felt the blood rise up his neck and into his face and wanted to howl his rage at what she had borne.
“I, I don’t know what to say, Electra.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Even with what you’ve told me, I can’t begin to imagine the horrors you have endured,” he said, shaking his head. “Especially for one coming from the background you describe … ” he stopped, remembering the first time he’d seen her. “Dear God, I should have castrated that wretch on the ship. Will you ever forgive me for my shameful assumptions?”
She shrugged, lost in her memories and oblivious to his agitated state. It was obvious she had said all she intended and did not want to dwell on the painful subject. William, on the other hand, wanted to line every one of the bastards up and shoot them. No, something slower and more painful, especially for the uncle. He had to suppress the urge to push for more details and to demand they seek retribution. She had suffered enough and he needed to let her find some peace. It didn’t matter how new this information was for him, she had already spent months dealing with the trauma. A myriad of thoughts whirling through his head, he glanced over at his wife.
The flickering flames sparked the gold in her eyes and illuminated the clear porcelain of her skin. Relieved from the telling, she seemed relaxed. Her soft lips parted slightly showing the straight line of her perfect teeth. William’s anger dissipated as
his eyes traced the contour of her heart-shaped face, admiring her sculpted cheekbones and long slender neck. She was breathing softly and he was aware of the rise and fall of her breasts and her small pink tongue as she licked her lips, dry from the heat of the fire. An ache spread from his belly down to his groin and he instinctively moved to her side. Kneeling in front of the small stool, he cupped her face in his hands and reinforced by the wine, he brought his lips to hers.
• • •
Although taken off guard, Electra leaned toward him, surprisingly eager for his kiss. The weight of her ordeal had lightened after sharing her story with William. Despite his earlier insensitivity, he had been attentive and compassionate. As he trailed his fingers down her arms, she pushed her body closer. The callused skin of his hands felt strangely sensual against her skin, warmed from the fire. His mouth moved from her lips, tasting the left side of her throat and nuzzling the hollow at the base of her neck. She moaned softly and threaded her fingers into the silken strands of his hair, gently urging his head downward to her breasts. As he slid the sleeves of her gown down to free her breasts, she gasped, as if struck.
She tried to free herself, pushing and clawing at his arms. But William’s confusion with her actions entangled them further as he reached for her flailing arms. In a state of blinding panic, Electra freed one arm, reached behind her and grasped an iron poker, bringing it crashing down onto his back.
“Damn it to hell!” yelped William as he threw her away from him.
They were on the floor, both stunned at her actions. Shaking with terror, she shuffled backwards as her uncle’s face blurred and became William’s again. Through a haze of shock, she watched William reach up and pull himself onto the chair, wincing from the pain of her blow.
She scrambled to her feet and ran from the room. In a blur of tears, she clattered up the stairs, burst into her room and fell onto the bed. Shocked at her own violence, she could only imagine William’s disgust.
As if from a distance, she heard his firm footsteps climb the stairs and stop outside her room. Without conscious thought, she moved to the edge of the bed and waited. There was a light knock and the door opened. But deeply immersed in her shame, she remained still with her eyes lowered.
“I apologize if I acted inappropriately. You were obviously horribly repulsed by my approaches to be moved to such violence. I will make no further move to treat you as my wife in private. I will be courteous and respectful in public and you will be provided with everything you need.”
A shiver stole over her at the chill in his words. She turned her head toward him and opened her mouth to respond. He held his hand up to stop her and left the room.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, as the door closed with a firm click.
She wanted to explain, but how could she speak of the unspeakable?
Chapter Six
Electra sat up, startled from a restless sleep by the raucous mirth of kookaburras outside her bedroom window.
Her head ached and her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. She plunked the pillow over her head and burrowed further into her bedclothes. But it was no good, she couldn’t hide forever. As she slid her feet to the floor, she wondered how she would redeem herself this time. After splashing cold water onto her face, she pulled on her robe and crept downstairs. At the bottom, she bumped into Shi Liang and nearly upended the tray he carried.
“Bleakfast for Missee,” he said beaming at her. “Master alleady gone, long time.”
She heaved a sigh of relief and managed a thin smile.
“Master Callum say he come take Missee see farm, half hour.”
“Thank you, Shi Liang, I had forgotten he was coming. I will see that I am ready in time.” Then remembering the tray, she asked Shi Liang to take it into the breakfast room.
Shi Liang reached the hallway when she had a thought. “Where is Mary, Shi Liang? I haven’t seen her for a couple of days.”
“I keep lazy girl away from Missee.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but we will have to get used to each other soon enough. I will speak with her when I return.”
She sat heavily into the chair, wishing Mary were her only problem. Shi Liang had made poached eggs, toast with her favourite marmalade, and a pot of steaming chocolate. Her appetite had deserted her but in half-hearted deference to the cook, she picked up her fork and poked at the egg, releasing the dark yellow yolk. As she watched it run toward the edge of the plate, she reminded herself that things could be worse. She grimaced. Mary, she could deal with, and William’s anger may lessen. But the secret of her past … ? Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the slowly congealing egg. No, she could never share that with anyone.
They would not understand.
• • •
Callum was already waiting when she came down the back steps. He fell into step beside her as they walked to the stables to saddle up.
“Ye’re no’ very talkative, Mrs. Radcliffe. Has that wee laddie been upsettin’ ye again?”
She looked up at Callum’s gruff, kind face and was about to make a light-hearted response. But changed her mind, he deserved the truth.
“Actually, it is me who has done the upsetting and I don’t think I can mend it.”
“Weel I’ll show ye the farm and then maybe we’ll drink some tea and have a bittie chat, aye?”
She nodded, relieved not to speak of it for the moment.
It felt wonderful to be in the saddle again. The chestnut mare had a rolling gait that made for a comfortable seat. Callum took her first to the sheep pastures where she marvelled at the 5,000 head of near-pure Spanish merinos, imported and bred by the two men. The land was bound on two sides by water, which was advantageous for both crops and animals. Callum pointed out the 120 acres recently planted with Indian corn and potatoes, and 100 acres of wheat. It was certainly impressive. She could understand the pride both Callum and William had in Riverside.
Although it was only spring, the middle of the day had become quite warm so they sought shade in the orchard. Apricots, peaches, and almonds were in full bloom, giving the air a delicious scent. Despite the tantalizing smells, Callum explained the fruit would not be ready to pick for some months yet.
They headed down to the river and dismounted. Callum dipped a cup from his saddlebag into the water and handed it to Electra. She clasped the cup, cool against her warm palms, and drained it in one gulp. Meanwhile, Callum pulled a small pot and a handful of dried tea leaves from his saddlebag. Within minutes, he had gathered dry leaves and sticks and was fanning a small fire. He filled the pot with water, threw in the tea leaves, and hung it on a forked stick over the flames. Once it boiled, they dipped Shi Liang’s hard johnnycakes into the tea. The simple fare tasted wonderful, especially as she had hardly eaten since the night before. Neither spoke as they chewed hungrily on the wet cakes. Electra drew in a deep breath, enjoying the distinctive, earthy smell of the gum trees mixed with the slight peppermint tang of the leaves. She couldn’t help but admit that not everything about this country was unpleasant.
• • •
Before Callum could resurrect their earlier discussion, she spoke. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting your wife, Callum. I would like to thank her for assisting me with clothing on my arrival here.”
“Aye, she greatly looks forward to meeting ye also Mrs. Radcliffe. And ye can be sure she will be up to make your acquaintance afore long. Only the poor lass has been sick abed since ye arrived.”
“Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that.” She stopped. “Callum, before I forget, please call me Electra.” He smiled and nodded, obviously pleased at her gesture. “Is there anything I can do for your wife?”
“Ah no, she’s a braw lassie and will be up and about in no time.”
She nodded and then drew breath for her next question.
“Callum?”
“Aye, lassie?”
“What brought William to New South Wales? Someone with his wealth and skills would hav
e done just as well in England. It seems a strange decision to make.”
“It’s no’ a simple story, lass and one I havena’ the right to tell. I’m afraid ye’ll have to ask William about that one.” He paused, met her gaze. “What about your wee problem then?”
Electra hesitated, not sure how to start. Not sure she even wanted to, but the need to tell someone was too strong and she trusted Callum.
“The details are a bit personal, but I overreacted to an attempt by William to — er, get to know me better and I hit him. With an iron poker. He was incredibly angry with me.”
Callum laughed. “Christ lass, ye’re no’ making things easy for yourself are ye?”
She shook her head, biting on her lower lip as Callum chuckled at her dilemma.
“Dinna fuss yourself about it. He’ll get ower it, but ye may have to put a bit o’ effort into the fixing. That’s if ye want it fixed. Do ye?”
She hesitated, thinking about his question. “I believe so. Yes … yes I do.”
“Weel then, there ye go. Come on, drink your tea and we’ll get on with it.”
Electra’s shoulders relaxed and she felt the tension leave her face. Not only had she shared the problem, but Callum’s probing had forced her to acknowledge the importance of making things right with William — again.
But this time she had not just blundered into a meeting looking like a wild convict; this time she had struck at the very male core of him. The damage, she knew, would be far greater.
• • •
Still pondering her dilemma sometime later, Electra had her foot raised to cross the kitchen threshold when she froze. In the doorway was a bundle of white fur, horribly splattered with what looked to be fresh blood. As she bent to touch the bloodied corpse, she heard a low, guttural growl behind her. Hardly daring to breathe, she turned slowly to see bared, yellow fangs as the dog inched menacingly toward her. Her eyes darted frantically from the house to the grounds — anywhere — seeking help. Fear crawled along her skin as the animal’s teeth gnashed another warning. Where was everyone? Not knowing what else to do, she reached a trembling hand toward the dog.