“I know.” He crossed the room and wrapped her in his arms. He was gentle, afraid she would break. “But we’ve just admitted we’re not as young as we used to be, and it’s better they’re with their father.”
“I hope so.” Lizzie pulled back a little and looked up at him. “Did you know Joseph drank?”
Thomas had wondered when she would mention their son’s drinking around the fire last night. “A couple of mouthfuls doesn’t hurt a man after all the hard work he’s put in.”
“It was more than a mouthful. He was unsteady on his feet when we went to bed.”
Thomas shrugged his shoulders. “I am sure it was just the chance to relax for a while.” He pulled Lizzie in again and kissed the top of her head. He had been shocked himself to see Joseph pull out a flask when the shearers did.
“I often think Joseph reminds me of Isaac.” Lizzie’s voice was muffled against his bare chest.
“He is like him in some ways.” Thomas knew Lizzie was thinking about her younger brother’s battle with liquor. “But they are very different in others. Circumstances and a terrible experience drove Zac to drink. He overcame it.”
“Not forever. If he hadn’t been drinking—”
“He may not have drowned, I know, but then perhaps he would have anyway. Plenty of sober men have lost their lives crossing swollen creeks.”
“I worry about Joseph.”
“I think you’ll find he’s made of stronger stuff. Already he appears much happier. He has something to live for. It was a tragedy to lose Clara but he knows he must go on for the children if not for himself.”
Lizzie moved away and began her own dressing. “He has plenty of home help now at least.”
“Mary and Millie?”
“Millie seems to have everything under control. I wonder where she slept last night. She has been sleeping in here with Mary.”
“At Binda’s hut, I suppose.”
“I hope so.” Lizzie’s voice was firm, her back stiff as she fiddled with the buttons of her bodice.
“Where else would she be?”
Lizzie turned. “I hope Joseph didn’t let her sleep in the house.”
“Well, there’s plenty of room …”
Thomas’s voice faltered as he took in Lizzie’s stern look, her lips pursed in the way she did if she was extremely put out by something. Not a common occurrence. “You don’t think he would …”
“Take her to his bed?” Lizzie put a hand to her chest. “He wouldn’t be the first white man to take a native woman as his …” She flapped her hand in the air. “Mistress.”
Thomas felt his mouth drop open. Surely that wouldn’t happen here. Black or white, it was not appropriate. He took a step forward then back. He gripped his hands together then dropped them to his sides.
“Look at you, Thomas Baker. You look like a man with ants in his pants.” Lizzie giggled. “Or perhaps a boil on his bottom.”
He looked across the room into the twinkling blue eyes of his wife, remembering the time they’d first met when he had indeed had a boil on his rear end that she had lanced. “You’re teasing me.” He took two strides to reach her and encircle her in his arms again. He bent and kissed her, softly at first then more insistently. Finally they took a breath.
“Well.” Lizzie smiled up at him. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have been so quick to get out of bed after all.”
There was the sound of scuffling and a rattle of the outer door. “Grandma, Grandpa?”
“Our dear little Esther still demands attention.” Lizzie tugged at her hair and twisted it up into a bun which she deftly clipped in place. “Coming, my sweet lamb.” She swept past Thomas but he grabbed her hand. They hadn’t been intimate since Lizzie had been sick. In spite of her frail appearance she was obviously much better.
“When we get home there will be no children to occupy your time.” He kissed her hand. “We shall have an early night.”
Lizzie gave him a slight bob. “Yes, my lord.” She grinned and was gone before he could reply.
Twenty-two
Catherine struggled up from the comfortable chair she’d settled in. She’d only meant to close her eyes for a few minutes. She looked around the tidy sitting room. Their furniture was sparse in this bigger room but met their needs for now. Henry had said they would add to it eventually. Henry! Her glance flew to the clock on the mantel. It was nearly supper time, then with a rush of relief she remembered he’d gone south to visit one of his properties. He wouldn’t be home at all tonight.
She sucked in a deep breath. The smell of something delicious wafted around her. She straightened her skirt and patted her hair then listened. No crying but she could hear Flora singing softly in the distance.
Catherine closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer of thanks for Flora Nixon. She had no idea how she would have survived these last two weeks without her housekeeper. Henry had built her this house. It was certainly grand by Hawker standards but it entailed so much more work than their little house behind the shop.
And then there was the shop. Henry had wanted her help there almost as soon as they’d arrived home. Business had grown in her absence. Henry’s work took him away from the shop more and more and Mr Hemming had deliveries and the telegraph to manage as well as their customers. Catherine had put in the odd hour here and there but today was the first day she’d spent any length of time in the shop. It had been so hot. The first month of summer had produced some very high temperatures already. She had forgotten how hot Hawker could be. That was another reason for her tiredness.
Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. How she wished she was back in Adelaide with her dear mother and Mrs Phillips. She was startled by a knock at the door and turned away quickly, scrabbling for her handkerchief, as Flora came into the room.
“Oh you are awake, Mrs Wiltshire. I hope you are rested. This young man is ready for his supper.”
Catherine pulled a smile on to her face and turned to her housekeeper. “Thank you, Flora.” She settled herself in the comfortable chair she’d just vacated, undid her buttons and held out her arms. It seemed all she was good at was feeding her baby.
Flora crossed the room and poured a glass of water from the jug on the dresser. She placed it on the small table beside Catherine’s chair.
“Thank you, Flora.”
“I’ve made you a meat pie for your supper.”
“Is that what I can smell?” Catherine gave Flora a wobbly smile. “It will be delicious I’m sure.”
“It will keep warm on top of the oven so you can have it later whenever you feel like it.” Flora crossed the room and peered through the front window. “It’s a lovely evening.” She drew the deep green brocade curtains.
“My husband tells me you helped select the fabric for the curtains.”
Flora ran her hand down the edge of one curtain and straightened it. “I hope my choice meets your approval.”
Catherine swept a glance at the curtains. Before Charles came along she would have delighted in selecting the furnishing for her new home but now she wasn’t the least bit interested. “You’ve chosen very well.”
Flora crossed the room. “I’d best be getting home soon or my two will be squabbling. They get very cranky after a day at school.”
Catherine felt a pang of guilt that Flora was here with her and her own children where left alone. “Thank you for all you’ve done but there’s no need to stay any longer. Charles and I will be perfectly all right.” Brave words when at the thought of managing the demanding baby alone all night tears brimmed in her eyes again. Henry often walked the baby in the night if he didn’t settle. How would she manage alone?
Flora stayed where she was, close to Catherine’s chair.
“Forgive me for saying this, Mrs Wiltshire, but you look so tired.” She smiled kindly. “Why don’t you let me take Charles home with me tonight?”
Catherine gaped at the woman.
“I can make a little bed up for him in my roo
m,” Flora said quickly. “I managed to have my children sleeping all night by three months. If he gets upset I can always bring him to you.”
Charles let go of Catherine’s breast, snuffling and grunting. She quickly swapped him to the other side.
“I am sure you would benefit from a full night’s rest.”
Catherine looked from Flora to Charles and back again. Once more she felt tears brim in her eyes.
“Oh, Mrs Wiltshire.” Flora knelt down beside her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, only I know how tiring it can be getting up to babes in the night. Once he’s sleeping through you’ll feel so much better, you’ll see.” Her look was full of kindness.
Catherine sucked in her bottom lip and patted at her tears with her fingers. “You really are so kind, Flora. You don’t know how much I long for a good night’s sleep.”
Flora patted Catherine’s shoulder. “Yes,” she said softly. “I do. In your own turn you and Mr Wiltshire have been so good to my own children, without this job …” Her voice trailed off and she stood abruptly. “I’ll go home now and prepare a bed for Charles, then I’ll come back later and collect him. He’ll be perfectly safe with me.”
Catherine watched her go and then listened to the sounds of her leaving the house. Flora was a truly kind woman. Charles squirmed and fell away from the breast, his little belly full. Catherine put him to her shoulder, got up and paced the room as she patted his back. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. What bliss to have a whole night alone in her bed to sleep. Now she was glad Henry was staying away overnight.
After the rough boat trip from Adelaide to Port Augusta where she’d felt so sick, and then the train journey in the heat that sucked the moisture from her body as quickly as Charles did her milk, all Catherine had wanted was to fall into bed once they arrived at Hawker but Henry had other ideas. He’d taken her on a tour of the shop and then the house. Charles had been asleep by then and when they reached their bedroom Henry had thought he would take her to bed. Catherine had been shocked and pleaded exhaustion.
Since then two weeks had passed and she had managed to keep a distance between them. Even in bed she had made an excuse or feigned sleep but she knew she could not keep him away for much longer. She could see the need in his eyes, feel the pressure of his tongue when he kissed her and the lingering touch of his hands.
Catherine shuddered. Charles’s birth had been long and difficult. She had been sore for so long she couldn’t bear the thought of the pain Henry would cause her, but she knew the time of delaying was running out along with his patience. At least for tonight she was safe and she could sleep, perhaps all night if Flora could manage Charles.
Henry slid down from his horse and rubbed his hands up and down his backside. He wasn’t a good rider, much preferring to use the horse-drawn cart but in this instance riding had shortened his time away from home. He dealt with the horse with only the light of a partial moon to guide him and made his way to the house. It was a large dark monolith against the night sky. Even in darkness it looked impressive. He passed by the lean-to walls of the bathroom and laundry. Later when he had more money he would have them made of stone like the rest of the house. There was also provision for a cellar to be dug with access from the laundry.
He slipped off his jacket and made his way to the kitchen where he lit a candle. He was hungry but for more than food. He wanted to bed his wife. Since she’d been home she had been elusive. The sight of her pink lips and deep brown eyes, her pale shoulders and her full breasts, tantalised him daily. He had missed her so much he thought he would explode at the very sight of her but she kept him at arm’s length. During the night it was either Charles at her breast or she was asleep.
He pulled off his boots then took the candle and made his way along the wide hall to their bedroom at the front of the house. He was very tired but the thought of Catherine’s ripe body gave him energy. The bare floorboards beneath him gave little protest but they would need a runner to soften the echo of the long hall.
In the bedroom he could make out Catherine in the bed. She was covered in a light blanket, her arms resting on top. He held the candle closer and watched the rise and fall of her chest. She was sound asleep. He removed the remains of his clothing and blew out the candle, the mundane tasks helping him to resist the urge to rip back the covers and climb on top of her as he badly wanted to do. Instead he slid carefully between the linen sheets, greeted by the vague scent of lavender and carefully wrapped himself around his wife.
Catherine was instantly awake, stiff in his arms.
“It’s all right, my love,” he whispered. “It’s only I, your devoted husband returned home early.”
“Henry.” She pushed him away. “You gave me such a fright.”
He reached for her again. The room was dark but he could make out the shape of her eyes wide open watching him. He slid his hand between the ribbons of her nightgown and fondled her full plump breasts.
She gripped his hands. “What are you doing?”
“It’s time we were husband and wife again, my love.” He leaned in and kissed her. “In the full sense.”
“I’m so tired.”
“I know, my love, but this will relax you.” He caressed her breasts then slid his hands down her stomach, pulling up her gown to reach the softness below. Desire coursed through him and all he could think of was entering her. He threw back the covers and wrenched her nightgown from her fingers.
“No, Henry. I’m not ready.” Her plea was barely more than a whisper as he pushed into her.
“You soon will be, my love.”
He held himself up on his outstretched arms, lifted himself up and down carefully at first until he could hold himself back no longer. In his frenzy he heard her moans. She enjoyed his attentions. He’d known she would come round. He plunged again and again, oblivious to anything but the pleasure her body gave him. Very quickly he exploded within her and collapsed, spent beside her.
He lay panting, satisfied at last and happy to think they would do this again soon. As his heart slowed its thumping he was aware of Catherine, straightening her nightdress and easing the covers back over her. He reached out a hand and patted her.
“That was wonderful, my love.”
He heard no reply but the fatigue that he’d felt earlier swept over him again and with a smile on his face, he drifted off to sleep.
Henry’s eyes flew open. The first pink glow of morning light ebbed from the edge of the curtains. He glanced over at Catherine. Last night had been wonderful and the way he felt right now he was ready to do it all over again. She was curled away from him, obviously still asleep. He took pity on her. She had probably been up to Charles in the night. He would let her sleep in.
He took his shirt and trousers and made his way to the kitchen. There were enough coals to get the fire started and before long he had the kettle boiling.
He was just about to put his cup of tea to his lips when the sound of the baby stopped him. He stood up, prepared to pick up his son and take him to Catherine but the crying seemed to be coming from the back of the house instead of the front.
His mouth dropped open at the sight of Flora Nixon hurrying through from outside with the baby clutched to her. It wasn’t so much that she was carrying his child from wherever she’d been but what she was wearing that surprised Henry. She had a loose gown over the top of what must be her nightdress.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Wiltshire.” Flora paused in the doorway cuddling the crying baby to her. It was the first time Henry had seen Flora flustered. “I didn’t know you were home.”
At the sight of her Henry felt desire rise in him again. Dear God, this woman wasn’t even his wife but she looked so delightful.
“I arrived late in the night.” He turned his back to her, aware of the bulge in his trousers, pulled on his shirt and went back to his tea to give himself time to regain his composure. He stood in front of the fire with his cup and turned back to Flora. She still ho
vered in the doorway, clasping her gown together with one hand and holding his son with the other. She was a fetching sight. “Where have you been with my son?”
“Mrs Wiltshire was so tired from the night feeds. I suggested Charles was old enough to sleep through. I took him with me to give your wife some rest.”
Flora was babbling. He liked seeing her flustered. He hadn’t seen this side of her.
“And did he?”
Flora looked at Henry, her mouth half open, a questioning expression on her face.
“Did the baby sleep through the night?”
“Oh, no, but he didn’t fuss too much. I got him back to sleep.”
With that Charles gave an extra loud wail as if to dispute what she said.
Henry put down his cup and held out his arms. “Let me take him.”
Flora hesitated then hurried across the room and handed Charles into his arms. She stepped back and her gown fell open to reveal a white cotton nightdress that was so threadbare he could almost see through it. She clutched at her outer gown, quickly wrapping it around her, and backed away.
“I will return soon to prepare breakfast.”
“Thank you, Flora.”
She turned and fled. Henry found the whole incident rather amusing. He lifted his son into the air level with his face. The baby stopped crying.
“Well, well, young man.” Henry bounced him gently up and down. “Aren’t you the lucky one? Sleeping with Mrs Nixon.” Henry kissed the top of his son’s head as the child began to cry again. “Time to wake your mother I think.”
Henry carried the baby up the hall, unable to remove from his mind the glimpse of Flora Nixon’s breast, and the shapely figure silhouetted in the gown.
Twenty-three
Joseph leaned against a tree watching his children play in the shade by the creek. Parrots chattered in the branches over their heads and behind them the hill sloped away to the plain dotted with sheep. Lizzie sat in a chair keeping a close eye on Robert who toddled on stocky legs trying to keep up with his siblings. Ellen had gone up to the house to put her sleeping baby to bed and her husband, Frederick, and Thomas were deep in conversation
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