by Joanna Lloyd
Relieved of coherent thought, William, mirrored by Electra, reacted to the exquisite and urgent need of his body and within minutes they lay spent and exhausted, limbs chaotically entwined.
In the moments before William surrendered to insensibility he whispered, “Thank you for being here.”
“My pleasure.”
• • •
“Did you hear me, Mrs. Radcliffe?” asked Molly for the second time.
Electra looked up at the girl offering her work for correction. Her head throbbed like a war drum, and she found it hard to keep her thoughts in order.
When she first woke, William had already gone but she still tingled from the memory of his warm body and even warmer caresses during the night. So, he had come back and had welcomed her in his bed. She closed her eyes and inwardly groaned as she recalled the amount of French brandy she had imbibed. But any embarrassment at her state of inebriation was overshadowed by the remembered pleasure of their lovemaking. For the first time, it had been free of inhibition and untainted by her uncle’s presence. She shuddered at the thought of having to drink the ghastly stuff each time William came to her. An impatient sound next to her brought her attention back to the girl.
“I’m sorry, Molly, I’m just a bit distracted today. Here, let me have a look.” She scanned the page and was surprised and pleased to find no errors. Molly’s skills were certainly exceptional and with some tutoring, she would easily find work in keeping books. Molly had also returned a novel Electra lent her from William’s library, having read it in only a few days.
“This is very good, Molly. It is all correct.” The girl looked very pleased. “And where did you learn to read?”
The smile turned to a frown and she sucked the inside of her cheek. “I don’t want to offend yer mum, wiv me story. Are yer sure yer wants to know?”
Electra bit her lip at the words but nodded for her to continue.
From when Molly could first remember, there had only ever been herself and her mother. To earn a living, her mother walked the streets and frequented the pothouses. Then she brought the men home. Their eyes were bleary as they stumbled through the narrow doorway, barely noticing the girl. They fondled her mother’s breasts and pinched her backside as she lured them to her bed. The bed she shared with Molly was sectioned off from kitchen with a soiled sheet strung along a piece of twine.
Molly hummed loudly to hide the noises but when the moaning and the slap of sweaty bodies became too much, she shut the front door and sat, huddled on the doorstep in the dark, until they left.
There was a regular client, who preferred to visit on Monday afternoons. He was a short man with a balding head, thin lips and a long, pointed nose that always had a damp, red tip, as if it dripped. The Monday client could read and write. In fact, it was imperative for his job; he was a schoolteacher. One Monday he arrived a little early. Her mother was out so Molly ran to make him a cup of tea with a dry biscuit. While she moved around the room, she could feel his sly, hooded eyes following her. When she handed him the cup, his sweating hand lingered uncomfortably on her own. She pulled it away and held it behind her back as if it was something she could hide from him.
As the man bent down to retrieve a crumb from the biscuit he ate, a book fell from his jacket. Molly forgot her discomfort and snatched it up, asking about its content. He explained it was a collection of Aesop’s Fables and told her if she sat on his knee, he would read to her. She agreed and climbed onto his lap, which was soft and warm. As he read, engrossed as she was in the story of “The Tortoise and the Hare”, she was vaguely aware that his lap had become hard and uncomfortable. It was then her mother walked in, wrenched the girl off his knee, slapped her across the head, and sent her out into the street.
When the schoolteacher arrived the following week, his hooded eyes locked on the girl and he withdrew the book from his jacket. She happily climbed back onto his knee to hear the next story. This time her mother did not return so quickly and when she did, the man paid her the usual money but left without entering her bedroom. Each Monday he read another story from the book while Molly sat on his lap. She didn’t care about the way he shifted under her, she just loved the stories, and her mother loved the money.
One day she had the outrageous idea that maybe he would teach her to read. At first, he refused but then she pleaded, asking if she could do anything for him in return. And so the lessons began.
• • •
Electra was stunned that the girl seemed so calm and undamaged by this experience. She was finding it hard to breathe and looked down to see her hands shaking as Molly finished her tale. She knew her reaction was not just about Molly.
“But how — how could you bear him to touch you?”
“Yer see, mum, I told meself he was only touchin’ me body and could never touch me heart or me soul. Wha’ I got in return guv me a whole new world where I could escape from him an’ the others wha’ come after. That world I kep’ separate from them; it were mine.”
Electra had tears in her eyes. “But you were only a child, just a child,” she whispered.
Molly cocked her head to the side, frowning. “Here, this ain’t jes’ about me, is it? Sumfin’s happened to you an’ all, hasn’t it then?”
The situation could not have been more bizarre. Molly moved to the sofa next to Electra and held her hand, stroking it gently. Electra fought for composure in front of the young girl but Molly’s words, which held a wisdom and experience way beyond her years, broke down the wall she had built to protect herself.
“There, there mum. You cry all that nasty hurt away. Whoever he was, he was jes’ a man. A stupid, cruel man. They don’ know no better. Them sort don’ think wiv their brains, they think wiv their — ” Electra heard no more as she shuddered and choked with the sobbing.
Finally, red-eyed, red-nosed, and exhausted, she hiccoughed an apology to the young girl for the outburst. She realised there was a lightness within her, not felt all these many years, from the emotional release. In sharing her own experience so matter-of-factly, Molly had inadvertently given Electra an opportunity to let go of her crippling burden.
“I bet yer feels good fer gettin’ rid o’ that ‘un, mum? I reckon Mr. Radcliffe might be happy about it too, if yer know wha’ I mean,” she said winking.
Electra laughed through her tears and grabbed the girl in a hug, making her jump in alarm, exclaiming that she didn’t have to get carried away. This only made Electra laugh harder until Molly, amused by Electra’s hysteria, joined in.
William, also nursing a headache, had returned to the house to escape the midday sun and walked in on the two women.
Electra looked up at her husband. She was finally ready to share her secret.
Chapter Eighteen
“What? The perverted bastard!” William shot off the bed, pacing the room angrily. He smashed his fist down onto the table, sending articles flying to the floor.
“The man will pay for what he’s done to you,” he growled.
“Yes, you’re right, he should pay. For all of it. Thank God, I’m finally past the anger and bitterness,” said Electra, trying to encourage him back to bed.
“Well, dammit woman, I’m not!” He pulled on his breeches, and slammed out of the room.
That had not gone exactly as she hoped. But his protective rage told her he could not stand to know she had been abused. He must care for her, more than a little, if the extent of his outburst was any indication. Should she try to find him? Perhaps not. The little she knew of William told her he would need to deal with this alone.
She waited, trying to stay awake but finally drifted off to sleep. Later in the night, Electra became aware of William climbing into bed. He reached over and roughly pulled her toward him, as if to protect her from further harm.
“Are you asleep?” he whispered.
“Not now. Are you all right?”
He grunted in response. “Electra?”
She nodded.
“I
don’t want to ask you details about what that sick degenerate did but … well … did he … ?”
“I was never sure, Will. I don’t think I understood any of it at the time.”
“I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”
“I know you are. I’m all right, truly. Go to sleep.”
As sleep beckoned her once again she could hear him still muttering, “Filthy bastard.” She sighed, comforted in the knowledge that while she was with William, no man would ever have the chance to hurt her again.
• • •
Electra found William’s mood had not improved by morning and when Mary came into the breakfast room to ask him a question, the girl took one look at his face and scuttled out.
Fortunately, a messenger from the governor forced him to display a semblance of cordiality. Governor Macquarie had finally given his full attention to William’s proposal for Radcliffe Wines and expressed an eagerness to discuss the details with him. William left mid-morning to meet with the governor at his residence in Parramatta, his mood considerably improved by the possibility of the new venture.
When he returned, he enthusiastically outlined the plans, formulated that morning. The governor would grant him fifty acres of land to expand his vineyard and assist with the funding of an engineer to design and build the necessary equipment. There would be a group of farmers involved in the project, and the governor would ensure connections with government officials in England for the exportation.
“It is my proposal to the letter, Electra. He hasn’t changed a thing. With the wool, and now wine, our colony will not only be self-sufficient, it will be a thriving economy.”
She smiled, caught up in his excitement and pleased to be included. It was clear he loved this country with all its opportunities, and had no intention of returning to England to live. She pushed the implications of this knowledge away.
“The only problem as I see it,” he said looking at her thoughtfully, “will be the need for every detail of this new venture to be recorded. As a new industry, we will need to know what works and what doesn’t for future production. I’m already overloaded as it is.”
“I can always help, you know that.”
“Yes, of course. But this is going to be a lot of work. I’d rather you weren’t tied down to it.”
A thought struck her. “What about Molly?”
William frowned. “I don’t know. She’s young, inexperienced — ”
She waved his concerns away with her hand. “She’ll be perfect. I can supervise her. She’s a quick learner, and I’m confident she’ll do a wonderful job.”
“Well, if you’re sure. It would certainly help. And there will be money to pay her,” he assured Electra.
“Shall I tell her now?” she asked, rising from the chair.
William shook his head. “I still have something more to tell you.”
She sat down and waited.
“The matter we spoke of last night — ”
“Leave it, Will. There is nothing you can do.”
William’s fists clenched. “If the piece of scum lived here, he would no longer be breathing.”
It was true, she knew this. The man would have stood no chance against her husband bent on revenge.
“However, he doesn’t. So other tactics are called for.” William paused. “I visited Lord Percy on my way home to offer any assistance I can to gather the evidence needed to have him charged.”
“And?”
“Not surprisingly, Gascombe’s greed has caused him to cheat the ship’s captain, who has now put a price on his head. The coward is in hiding but won’t be for long. The net is closing, Electra.”
“But if the captain has him killed, he can never give evidence that will clear my name,” she said, clearing her throat to remove the anxious note that entered her voice.
William moved over to where she sat, reached down and tilted her chin to look into her eyes. “That is why Percy and I will see he is protected until the evidence is given. After that — well accidents happen, don’t they?”
She shivered. “I’m not sure I want to hear more.”
“Then that is all you will hear, my sweet. Now go and tell Molly the good news.”
• • •
“They said it was Mick Murphy and four others. Did you hear anything else?”
“Aye, they raped the fifteen-year-old lass and shot the laddie. The parents werena’ at home.”
Shelagh and Electra had rounded the corner of the kitchen and overheard the two men speaking. Shelagh clapped her hand to her mouth, gasping in horror. The discussion over Sean Sullivan’s affection for Freddy Buckley forgotten. She grabbed Electra’s skirt, pulling her to a stop. They turned toward the two men. Callum shook his head at William as they approached. Shelagh slapped him hard on the arm.
“Ye’re no gettin’ away with no’ tellin’ me, Callum MacDonald. We all deserve to know if we’re in danger.”
Callum scowled at her as Electra joined in, asking what was going on.
Shelagh spoke up. “It’s that mongrel, Mick Murphy, raisin’ bluidy hell again.”
“Who is Mick Murphy?” asked Electra.
“Do ye ken who else is runnin’ with Murphy?” asked Callum, not answering her question.
“There were three who escaped with him who have not been apprehended and it’s almost certain they are part of his gang. As for the fifth,” William shook his head, mystified, “we’ve no idea. And of course they all cover their faces, except for Murphy. The arrogant bastard wants the notoriety.”
Electra’s head swivelled back and forth as they spoke, her frustration building. “Who is Mick Murphy? I have no idea what you are talking about.” She looked from one to the other, waiting for an answer.
William narrowed his eyes at Shelagh and turned to his wife. “He is an escaped convict turned bushranger, mean as they come. It seems he’s gathered a group of other lowlife and they have been robbing the more isolated settlers.” At her look of concern, he added quickly, “We will be safe here though.”
“You said something about rape and a boy being shot. That’s not just robbing, Will,” she said frowning.
He sighed. “No it’s not. I’m going to take some of the men out of the fields and have them watch the house and the cottages. I think it would be sensible if none of the women or young girls at Riverside go anywhere on their own until the man has been apprehended.” He looked pointedly at Electra. “That applies especially to you.”
She pursed her lips and snorted. “What do you think I’m going to do? Run off on my own waving a banner inviting them to come for me?”
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “No, but prancing off into the bush to visit Yaraay at the Pretty Creek Camp will be too dangerous. You are not to go there, understand?”
Her first instinct was to refuse his order but the look on his face made her close her mouth and nod. He was genuinely concerned for her safety and considered it his responsibility to protect her. She decided to let him.
Lost in thought, Electra missed part of the conversation, until a nudge from Shelagh made her look up. “I’m sorry, Shelagh. What did you say?”
“I was asking if ye want to come with me out to the Holbourne place.”
Electra looked at her questioningly.
“It was Annie Holbourne who was raped and her brother Marcus shot by Murphy’s gang. I want to visit the parents and see if there is anything we can do for them.”
“Of course I want to come, er — if that’s all right with you?” She looked at Will.
His eyes widened and he burst out laughing. “Yes, you can. Take Tom O’Reilly with you.” He turned to Callum. “I can’t believe she asked my permission.”
“Well enjoy it, because it probably won’t happen too often,” she said over her shoulder as she walked off with Shelagh.
“Oh, I’m very well aware of that,” he muttered.
• • •
Mrs. Holbourne was deeply grateful for the visit from t
he women. Electra had thought to bring Molly Preston with her to speak with the young girl, Annie. The difference in the girl after an hour in private with Molly was astounding. They did not divulge the details of their conversation, but Molly agreed to visit again and Electra could see the beginnings of a friendship.
By some miracle, the twelve-year-old boy, Marcus, had not been fatally wounded. The shot had gone into his thigh and the bullet had been successfully removed by the doctor. The boy was now well enough to enjoy the attention he was receiving. While Mrs. Holbourne fussed with tea downstairs, Electra went up to Marcus with herbs to poultice the wound to avoid infection. From his bed, Marcus insisted on giving her a full description of the attack and his heroic attempt to protect his sister. He lowered his voice and swore Electra to secrecy, as he knew his mother would be mortified at the story being repeated.
As Marcus began his story, Shelagh slipped into the room, her eyes raised in question. Marcus nodded his permission for her to stay and continued.
• • •
On the day of the attack, Mr. and Mrs. Holbourne had gone visiting, but the children begged to stay at home. Marcus was training a new pony and Annie, preferring to bury her nose in a book, had remained in her room. The bushrangers must have watched the Holbournes leave the farm and waited until midday. At this time the fields were empty for the dinner break, and they were less likely to be seen crossing to the house.
Marcus had tired of training his pony and was tracing shapes with a stick in the dirt outside the back door. Suddenly a hard, sweating hand covered his mouth and another held his body in a firm grip. He turned and twisted until a backward jerk of his arm brought a muffled cry of pain, and he slumped against the wall of the house, sobbing in terror.
“Shut yer stupid mouth boyo or I’ll be after snappin’ ye like a twig.” His assailant spun him round and he looked into the cruel face of the infamous Mick Murphy. The bushranger was a big man with wide, sloping shoulders and eyes like gemstones: hard, cold, and lifeless. A jagged scar ran down the side of his face and through his lips giving him a permanent sneer. Marcus had seen Murphy’s face plastered on posters around town and most inhabitants of the colony had heard of Mick Murphy. That was how the man liked it. Murphy boasted of the rush he felt when his victims recognised his face and shook with terror.