by Lena Dowling
Blunt ends pierced the naked skin on her arms and shoulders as they sank down into the straw, but she barely noticed, slipping deeper and deeper into bliss.
Chapter 22
‘You’re going out?’ Nellie said from behind the bar, setting down the spoon she’d been polishing.
‘I’m off to see Mallard,’ Harry said. It had been a good few weeks since he had opened the forge to great success, and every indication was the venture would continue in the same vein. Just as the relationship between him and Nellie went from strength to strength.
‘There’s some land I want to sign up for in Parramatta.’
Hunter had shown him a couple of other properties since, but neither was anywhere near as suitable. With the money from the forge, there was no reason to delay any longer. Hunter had even offered to manage the land until Harry was ready to build.
Nellie’s brows inched closer together. ‘You’re not planning to leave the guesthouse, are you?’
Her concern was endearing, but he had no intention of going anywhere, least of all anywhere without Nellie.
‘There’s no house on the property yet, and it will be a good while before there can be, but I have plans. Here, let me show you,’ he said, fumbling with the buckle on his satchel, pulling the drawing out, and laying it down on the bar front of her, excited to get her opinion.
‘I can’t make head nor tail of this.’
‘This is the drawing room, and this will be my study,’ he said, pointing out the larger rooms at the front of the house.
‘The rooms at the back are for bedrooms. To begin with there will be a lean-to for the kitchen. Once the farm is paying its way, the back can be built up and the veranda extended all the way around later, see.’
Nellie examined every facet of the plan asking more questions, taking it all in.
They hadn’t spoken of marriage. It was too soon for that. But if he bought the farm and things progressed as he hoped, then he and Nellie would be living near but not too near to her cousin.
Nellie too had appreciated the possibilities. She beamed at him.
Nellie’s happiness combined with his own to generate a feeling of lightness. A feeling as weightless as air, as if nothing at all was a burden.
Not until now had he realised how miserable he had been after the affair with Selina.
After that, everything seemed pointless.
But Nellie had brought the colours back, vivid colours and hope along with it.
Now he could sense a future for both of them.
‘What will I do if someone turns up with a horse?’
‘Tell them to leave it. I’ll only be an hour at most and the days are getting longer. There will be time for a job or two when I get back.’
‘You’re working too hard.’ Nellie said, picking up a spoon, holding it up to the light, searching for a smudge.
‘I work too much?’ The hours Nellie put in in a day astounded him, and then at the end of it all she would step up onto the stage and hold the room enthralled in the palm of her hand while she sang.
She was pushing herself too hard, but when an opportunity was put in front of her she would do everything to grasp it. He could no more stop her doing that than he could stop her breathing.
‘It’s all for a higher purpose,’ Nellie said.
‘Indeed.’ Harry smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to show Nellie the land. He imagined a picnic, a private picnic by the river …
He leaned down to where she was sitting, placing his lips on hers, turning a peck into a promise. ‘Tonight, after all the horses are done. I’ll be sure to bring in fresh straw.’
‘Would you listen to yourself, Mr Cocksure.’
‘Cocksure by name. Cocksure by nature.’
Nellie’s laugh rang out a tune.
‘You’re a wicked man, Harry Chester.’
‘Come out to the stables tonight after the show and I’ll show you how wicked I can be.’
***
After Harry left, Nellie worked at polishing the cutlery, making it shine, singing to herself. She was practising something new she had been working on with her fiddler. She’d only had a scrap, nary a wisp of it, something her da had played when she was little. But when she hummed it, Fergus had immediately known the rest. Neither of them could remember the words but Nellie was working on that too, writing some new ones of her own.
‘Give us a rum, will you?’
The voice chilled her to the bone.
She didn’t even have to look to know who it was.
Anthony Tompkins.
‘You’ve got plenty enough of your own. Barrels and barrels of the stuff. What do you want with my rum?’ she said, trying to sound calm.
‘Your rum. Yes indeed. I see Pike came in and paid for your latest lot upfront. That’s cause for celebration, is it not?’
She would save her celebrating for the day she could get her rum some other way, but she knew better than to rile him by saying so. ‘Me licence doesn’t start until six o’clock. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry? Then I can think of a few ways you could make it up to me.’
Tompkins walked around the bar to the side, corralling her between the counter and the wall at the back.
‘If it’s company you’re after, there are plenty of girls workin’ The Rocks,’ Nellie said, pretending not to notice, swapping the spoon for a knife, keeping it covered in the cloth.
Tompkins’ gaze slid down the length of her body, and back up again.
‘You disappoint me, Nellie. I thought we had an understanding.’
‘Piiiiikelet!’ she shouted.
Tompkins’ mouth cocked up one side in a sneer. ‘If you’re calling for that ugly Cyclops not even a mother could love, he’s gone out. I saw him heading out with that mutt of his.’
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. ‘He won’t be long,’ she lied. ‘You need to leave now, or ...’
‘Or you’ll do what?’
‘Or I’ll be reporting you to the constable for harassing me. Now go on with you.’
Tompkins didn’t move.
‘The constable? Surely you’re not that naive?’
The pit of Nellie’s stomach froze with ice-cold fear. ‘You heard what I said.’
He stepped towards her.
‘Get out!’
Her basket fell over the counter, dragging everything sitting on top with it, cutlery clattering across the floorboards on the other side. An arm, tight as an iron band, gripped her around her middle and dragged her down the bar, her feet travelling backwards in double time to keep up.
Her hips copped sharp corners, gouging right and left until Tompkins stopped, slamming her chest against the end of the bar. A hand rank with the stink of tobacco clamped her mouth.
Tompkins let go of her waist then, but it made no difference. The old bar was solid wood. Even if she had been strong enough to move the weight of it, she couldn’t have levered it over. It was nailed to the floor.
Tompkins’s vile breath was as hot on her neck as the breeze swirling around her legs was cold. Sickeningly smooth fingers raked up her leg, drawing her skirts with it.
Trying to beat Tompkins at his own game, that would only make things worse for her and in the end would make no difference.
So she did the only thing left to do. She let herself go slack. Slack like a sack of potatoes and limp as a rag doll.
Tompkins whispered in her ear as sweet as if they were lovers.
‘I thought you’d come round to my way of thinking with a wee bit o’ persuasion.’
Chapter 23
Halfway down the street, Harry turned around.
‘Damn it.’
He had forgotten the house plan he’d sketched out. He had left it on the bar and he’d planned to show it to Tristan.
He hurried back, taking the steps up to the guesthouse two at a time, but at the door he pulled up in his tracks.
In front of the bar was a pile of linen, knives and fo
rks, and a streak of black ink, the guest ledger strewn across the floor, and at the end of the bar a soldier lay sprawled on the floorboards.
Above him, in a white-knuckled grip, Nellie held a crock ready to bring it down.
‘Christ’s blood,’ Harry said hurrying towards her.
‘I told him no but he wouldn’t listen.’
Circuiting the bar, Harry saw that it was Tompkins writhing in pain, holding his knee and cursing, an incriminating gape in his pantaloons. If he hadn’t already been prostrate on the floor, Harry would have put him there. As it was, he itched to put his boot in.
‘Here,’ Harry said, reaching for the crock. ‘Give it to me now,’ he said, but Nellie was frozen. ‘You’re safe now. I promise.’
Only then did she relent, relinquishing the vessel, placing it upright on the floor.
‘Are you hurt?’
Nellie shook her head but her laboured breathing and pained expression told a different story.
‘For pity’s sake. I think she’s broken my leg,’ Tompkins wailed up from the floorboards.
Harry ignored Tompkins’ whining, focusing his attention on Nellie. ‘You are hurt?’
‘Some, but I reckon I’ll live.’
Only when he was sure that Nellie’s injury was not serious did Harry drop to the soldier’s side to inspect the man’s leg. ‘Looks like a dislocated kneecap to me.’
‘Get away from me,’ Tompkins spat.
‘You don’t want it returned to its proper position?’
‘Not by you, sir.’
‘No, quite right,’ Harry said, brushing his hands off one another as he stood up. ‘We should wait and send for the doctor, although I imagine that could take quite some time.’
Tompkins groaned. ‘Just get on with it then.’
Harry crouched down again and jerked Tompkins’ thigh upwards, and applying a great deal more pressure than was strictly necessary, set his knee to rights.
Tompkins spewed forth with a slew of obscenities.
When the cursing eventually subsided to a pathetic whimper, Harry grasped Tompkins by the scruff, and ignoring the man’s screams, pushed him out the door.
‘Did he?’ Harry asked, realisation coming on a sickening wave of nausea.
‘No,’ Nellie said, brushing her hand behind her, pushing down her skirt from where it had caught, folded back on itself. ‘I got at his knee first.’
‘I’ll be taking this up with his superiors.’
‘Harry, please. I don’t want any trouble.’
‘He can’t be allowed to get away with that.’
‘Then why did you fix him up so quick? Why didn’t you make him wait for the doctor?’ she said, her eyes flashing from light brown to amber.
‘I was afraid the surgeon might make too decent job of it. With any luck that limp of his will be permanent.’
Nellie opened her mouth to laugh then, but before any sound came forth, her lips contorted. She clutched at her chest.
‘You are hurt.’
‘I’m fine. I’ve no time for being wounded. There’s work to be done.’
‘Take my arm.’
Rather than subject her to any more pain walking up the stairs, he led her to his room. At the door he stepped ahead, letting her rest on the frame while he plumped his pillows and set them up against the wall. ‘If you’ve broken a rib, it will be too painful to lie flat. You should sit up,’ he said, remembering the doctor’s advice after his numerous falls from his stallion at Ballychirvan.
‘You have to leave things alone,’ Nellie said, once he had guided her onto the bed arranged the pillows behind her.
‘And you need to rest.’
Nellie grasped his hand and looked up at him, her eyes full of fear. ‘If you complain, it’ll only come back on me.’
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he said, gently removing her hand to reach for a blanket folded at the end of the bed.
‘You promise?’
Harry pulled up the blanket. ‘Of course. Now rest.’
Nellie relented, closing her eyes. She looked so vulnerable he had to fight the urge to slip onto the bed beside her and hold her. And he would have, had he not known from experience that for a week or two at least the slightest touch would mean pain.
He pulled the door most of the way closed, leaving it open a crack in case she called for him, then he paced the room like a sentry on guard.
Seeing Nellie in that state, thinking the worst.
Thank God the son of a bitch was in no state to do her any harm when he had come upon him, or he might have been facing the gallows. He could easily have killed the man with his bare hands.
‘We’ve got bookings a doz—’ Pike called, walking through the kitchen out to the bar then stopped mid-sentence, retracing his steps. ‘What’s happened out there?’
‘Tompkins.’
Pike lowered his head and shook it. ‘Jesus. Is Nellie alright?’
‘Yes—apart for a few bruises and a crack to the ribs. She managed to get him in the kneecap.’
Pike turned pale. ‘There will be hell to pay for that.’
‘Can you stay here for a while in case she needs anything?’
‘Nellie won’t thank you for interfering, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.’
‘In actual fact, I have an appointment,’ Harry said. ‘One I should have been at half an hour ago.’
Harry was heartily sick of the man’s attitude.
It might have been Tompkins who attacked Nellie, but Pike clearly laid most of the blame at his door. The only thing that irritated him more was that to some extent Pike was right.
Tompkins had only done this because he was jealous of him and Nellie.
Which was all the more reason he should take some action to have the man brought to account.
Chapter 24
‘And you saw this attack?’ Tristan said, after Harry had explained the reason for his being so late.
‘Not the actual attack.’
‘You didn’t see it?’
‘No, but I saw the aftermath and Tompkins did not deny it.’
‘Where did this incident occur?’
‘In the dining room at the Tullamore,’ Harry said, irritated that Tristan had been paying so little attention to what he had only just told him.
‘And the Tullamore is trading as a tavern, isn’t it?’ Tristan rose from his chair, circuiting an impressive desk to hand Harry a quill. The deed for the land at Parramatta was laid out on the desk and Harry was itching to sign it, but not until he had informed Tristan of what Tompkins had done and elicited his promise of assistance in bringing the man to justice.
‘Guesthouse and tavern—a fact you well know. What are you driving at?’
‘And Miss Nellie Malone is a woman of good character? One with whom Captain Tompkins has had no prior liaisons? Or any other man, for that matter?’
‘Damn it.’ Harry leaned forwards half out of his chair, randomly stabbing at the parchment with the truncated goose feather.
‘Careful, that’s my best signing quill!’ Tristan said, snatching it from him. ‘I’m only pointing out the questions Tompkins’ advocate would ask you if this went to a court martial. That’s if it even got that far. His superior officer is going ask exactly the same questions.’
Harry slumped back into his chair, gripping at the wooden arms. ‘So what are you saying? That I should stand by and do nothing and let Tompkins get away with it?’
Tristan replaced the quill in his marble pen and ink holder in the centre of his desk. ‘You could put your complaint to the Governor.’
‘You think he would take action?’
‘If he knew who you really were, then most certainly.’
‘That’s blackmail. You’ve never agreed with my decision to forego my title.’
‘Irrespective of what I think or don’t think, the Governor is not going to intercede in military affairs on the word of Harry Chester.’
Harry had promised Nellie he wouldn’
t complain to Tompkins’ superiors. On that, he had given his word; but there was another way.
‘And what about learned counsel Tristan Mallard, Esquire. What would the Governor do for him?’
Tristan sighed heavily. ‘You’re putting me in a very awkward position.’
Harry folded his arms, fixing Mallard with a stare.
‘Alright. If it will save you going off half-cocked, I’ll have a quiet word with Rowley Somerset in the first instance, but I can’t promise anything.’
‘Who says I’m going off half-cocked?’ Harry said, still sensitive after Pike’s comment about his intentions.’
‘You care for Nellie. There would be something wrong with you if you didn’t lose your head after something like this,’ Tristan said, handing back the quill then reaching for his hat and coat from the nearby stand.
‘We’re going now?’ Harry said, surprised by Tristan’s sudden haste.
‘We are not going anywhere. You are going to sign this without destroying my pen and then go home and take care of Nellie.’
Harry scratched out his name on the deed. It should have been a moment of triumph, and cause for celebration, the laying down of the first step in his plan for a grand Australian estate. But the moment was hollow. Nellie was injured and there was no guarantee her attacker would receive the justice he deserved.
‘Maybe you can get her to lie still,’ Agnes called out to Harry once he returned to the guesthouse, striding through the kitchen and into the bar. He’d planned to tidy up the mess Tompkins had made but Pike or Agnes had got there first.
Back in the kitchen, Nellie appeared in the chamber doorway.
‘You shouldn’t be out of bed,’ he said.
‘A cup of tea and I’ll be fine. Now tell me you didn’t go and dob Tompkins in?’ Nellie said, settling herself gingerly down at the table while Agnes brought her a cup of tea and piece of shortbread.
‘Don’t,’ Harry said as Nellie raised the shortbread to her mouth but it was too late. Nellie hissed out a painful rattling breath.
‘You have to be careful how you chew,’ he said, taking the shortbread from her, dipping it into the tea then raising the softened biscuit to her mouth.