Lizzie, My Love

by Sara Bennett - Lizzie, My Love

  What had Zek Gray said? “I can see you in blue silk, with... with feathers”? Yes, feathers ... Good God, she thought with a warm blush, what a ridiculous sight that would be!

  It was as if the thought of the man had conjured him up in the flesh, for suddenly he appeared in the glass. A jaunty little gig was passing behind her, reflected quite plainly in the window, and in it were seated Zek Gray and a woman. A pretty little woman with dancing dark curls and pouting red lips. As they passed, she saw Zek Gray lean over and plant a kiss on those red, red lips.

  For some reason Lizzie didn’t understand, her blood ran cold. As though her body had gone to ice—quite numb. And then, just as swiftly, she felt hot, and incredibly angry. Her hands clenched into fists, and it was all she could do not to turn and shout abuse at the retreating couple. The lecher! She stared blindly in at the abundant display of hats. The lying, cheating lecher! Her own flushed, angry face glared back at her, and she met the eyes and saw, beyond the rage, something almost like despair.

  The thought frightened her a little, and she turned away, walking vaguely in the direction of the hotel. Mrs. O’Driscoll was right. He was a heartbreaker. She regained her room, and some of her calm, before he arrived.

  He was in good spirits—and she knew why!—and made polite conversation while he escorted her downstairs to the dining-room. She wasn’t hungry, and hardly ate at all, picking at her food and staring glumly at the congealing gravy. He seemed to notice it at last and frowned at her over a forkful of potato.

  “Sulking, Miss Banister? Or are you ill?”

  Something in the mockery of his voice sounded almost like concern, but she refused to believe it.

  “I’m not hungry, Mr. Gray, that’s all.”

  He shrugged. After a moment he said, “I’ve decided not to start for home until the morning, so we will remain here overnight. Perhaps you wish to see something of the town?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully, some of his good humor leaving him. “As you wish. I have an appointment for dinner, so I will make arrangements for yours to be served in your room, if that is satisfactory?”

  Arrangements for tonight, had he? And she knew what they were!

  “Perfectly. Now, if you will excuse me...” She rose to her feet.

  “Miss Banister?”

  She looked down, her face expressing merely cold inquiry.

  “Do you want an advance on your wages? I’m sure you must wish to purchase some new clothes. Something a little less... intimidating perhaps?”

  “I hardly think a housekeeper is in need of fashionable finery, Mr. Gray. Good afternoon.”

  She strode out of the room, her back ramrod straight. Cook would have been proud of her, rebuffing him so.

  She tried to occupy herself in the afternoon, stitching and reading an improving work, but her mind kept returning to the gig and the kiss she had seen exchanged, and her powerful imagination ran riot.

  ***

  “Miss Banister?”

  A tap on the door, and Lizzie rose and went to open it. She was already dressed and packed and ready to leave. She had been for over an hour now. She had not slept very well, and in the end had come to the conclusion that she was being very foolish. She was going to be Mr. Gray’s housekeeper, nothing more, and from now on must keep that in her mind at all times. If the man wished to act like a Don Juan, it was not for her to object or otherwise.

  “We must retain perfect politeness at all times,” Cook had always instructed her. “What ‘they’ do is no concern of ours, Banister.”

  “Yes, Cook.”

  “We are shadows in their lives, there to serve them.”

  “Yes, Cook.”

  “Keep a proper distance between yourself and ‘them’, Banister.”

  The memories upheld her, and she smiled coolly at him in her best upper-servant manner. “Mr Gray.”

  He eyed her a little uncertainly. “You’re ready?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  “We’ll breakfast first, I think.” He eyed her again, with a hint of suspicion.

  She closed the door, thinking as she did so that he was remarkably fresh-looking for one who had spent the night in debauchery. She supposed, idly, that one grew used to such things in time, and they did not affect one as they did an ordinary human being.

  “What are you thinking of, Miss Banister, to make you scowl so blackly?”

  She glanced up guiltily as they descended the stairs. “I don’t remember.”

  One eyebrow lifted. He let his gaze drop to her grey gown. “Perhaps you are regretting not taking up my offer of some new clothes?”

  “Indeed not! What I have will do very well, thank you.”

  “Oh they’re respectable enough, I grant you.”

  But the thought didn’t seem to please him, and he sat opposite her with an air of reflection. They ate in silence. Lizzie wondered how Jane was. She missed her already. She felt suddenly lost and adrift; as if she had been cast out into an unfamiliar, hostile world. As indeed she supposed she had.

  “This is the third time you’ve sighed so deeply, Miss Banister,” an irritated voice said. “Perhaps you’d tell me what the matter is?”

  She looked up in surprise. “I didn’t realize I had sighed. I was thinking of Jane.”

  “Should that make you so glum? Your sister seemed remarkably happy with the way things turned out. She is very capable of looking after herself. She doesn’t need you.”

  “Thank you,” she hissed, and stood up abruptly. “I shall wait outside.”

  She stood fuming in the morning sunshine, wondering why he was always making her lose her temper. It was as if he enjoyed baiting her into rash retaliations. She bit her lips, blinking away unaccustomed tears. He was right. Jane was perfectly capable of taking care of Johnny and herself. She had shown that while Lizzie was so ill. Jane had grown and flown, and Lizzie must make her own life.

  A hand rested on her shoulder, making her jump. She spun around, glaring up into Zek’s handsome face. He pulled a wry expression.

  “I don’t need to ask what you’re thinking of, grinding your teeth there. Are you ready to go?”

  “Indeed I am!”

  “No last minute changes of mind?” he murmured, putting her bag back in place.

  Was he hoping for one? Well, he would be disappointed. She had agreed to the job and if he was beginning to think he had made a mistake in hiring so virtuous and strait-laced a lady, then that was just too bad.

  “No changes of mind,” she said smugly, and put her hand in his.

  He held it for a moment, looking down into her flushed face. The dark eyes teased her. “I’m holding you to that,” he said quietly, and pulled her lightly up into the saddle behind him.

  She clung to his waist, her cheeks hot, wondering what he was about now. Or was it just another of his ploys to make her color like a fool? He kicked the horse to a gallop through the town, and she concentrated on their surroundings. They were passing a large-ish establishment for drinking when a voice hailed him.

  “Zek!” A woman in some sort of brief, lacy chemisette was leaning out of a top window, her bosom almost overflowing, her dark ringlets falling either side of her pretty pouting face. She waved her hand and he waved back with a grin. They were gone in an instant, but it was long enough for Lizzie to recognize the woman from the day before. She sat stiff as a poker, her silence as condemning as words, as they rode on.

  “A friend of mine,” he observed, amusement warming his deep voice.

  Lizzie said nothing. Far be it for her to air her views to such a rake! Besides, he was obviously past redemption.

  “Is something disturbing you? I feel as if I’m riding in front of a lobster. All brittle shell and cold flesh.”

  “Far be it for me to make judgments upon fellow human beings, Mr. Gray,” she said sharply, and bit her lip on her rashness. He laughed softly. “But you are anyway. You don’t even know who she is, or why sh
e was so friendly. Hardly British justice?”

  “I don’t really care to find out, Mr. Gray.”

  “You prefer to let your imagination take over, eh? I’ve met your sort before. Frustrated spinsters gossiping about things they secretly wish had happened to themselves!”

  “That is not so! If you choose to... to consort with ladies of ill-repute, that is entirely up to you.”

  He shouted with laughter, and she sat in silent humiliation while he made some attempt to control himself.

  “One would think a proper lady would have too much self-respect and... and dignity, to be seen in public in so little,” she added stingingly.

  His voice was dry. “I thought it most becoming on her.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Which means my taste is not worth bothering about, Miss Banister? Well...” he glanced at her over his shoulder, and his smile was wicked. “I’m sure even you would look becoming in it.”

  “How dare you!”

  “I don’t. Shall we change the subject? Tell me, what training have you had in the art of housekeeping? I assume you’re experienced. Your sister told me something about a house in London.”

  She bit her lip. “I worked in a town house for eight years. I began as a ‘tweeny, and moved up to parlor maid. I was even considered for the position of lady’s maid, but illness forced me... that is, I became ill and had to leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “Well I...” Best make a clean breast of it, she thought, and continued in rather ringing tones. “I was in the workhouse for a year after that, but it was perfectly respectable, Mr. Gray, I do assure you–” She felt his back stiffen, and hurried on nervously. “All very clean and proper. We had our own tasks and... and–”

  “Workhouse!” His loud shout made her jump and almost topple off the horse, which also gave a nervous jerk. “You mean to tell me they put you into the workhouse, because you were too ill to work?”

  “Well, they were employing me to work, and if I could not... What else could they do? It’s quite commonplace, Mr. Gray.”

  “And you agree with it, do you?” he shouted. “By God, Lizzie Banister, I’d like to shake you! You calmly stand there and tell me that you let them put you into the workhouse—”

  “I could hardly stop them, and I’m sitting, not standing.”

  He glared at her over his broad shoulder. “You’ve very calm about it all.”

  “There was little I could do at the time,” she retorted reasonably. “I was too ill to argue with them.”

  “Ah!” he said, the anger leaving him.

  He was quiet a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was so harsh she was surprised, and a little afraid.

  “I would like to meet your employers on a dark night, Miss Banister. I would like to, indeed I would.” There seemed nothing to say after that, and they fell silent.

  The land around Bathurst was undulating plains, quite prosperous looking. Large homesteads sprawled on higher land, watching over paddocks of sheep, wheat and corn, and orchards of budding fruit. Summer was coming closer, and the land was getting ready to yield. Lizzie looked about her with interest, for once forgetting to hold herself rigidly away from the lecher in front of her, her hands clasping his waist, her head turning first this way, and then the other.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said at last.

  “I think you echo quite a few voices when you say that, Miss Banister. It took us around thirty years to get to discovering a way over the Blue Mountains, and when we did we found land enough for nearly everyone here on the other side. Rich plains, as you see. Anyone who had sufficient courage, trekked over to find themselves a new home.”

  “But was there not enough before?”

  “The better land closer to Sydney Town, the tracts by the rivers, had been taken by the first settlers. The rest was mostly hard work for little return.”

  There were some men working in a field close to the road they were travelling, and Lizzie watched them, brown backs bent. Another man rode a horse, cantering up and down, his big hat shading his features. He seemed to be watching them.

  “Of course, none of it could have been done without convict labor,” Zek Gray added, seeing the direction of her gaze. “The colony was founded on the backs of convicts, and though they tell me it’s a penal colony most of us are beginning to think the convicts are here for our convenience, and not the purging of their souls!”

  “How far is your farm, Mr. Gray?”

  “Not too far now, Miss Banister. We’ll stop up ahead for something to drink and rest the horse, and if we make quick time we should be there by nightfall.”

  Lizzie sighed. She would never get used to this talk of ‘not far’ and ‘a few mile up the road’, when things were so painfully obviously hours away. What she had thought of in England as quite distant they considered no more than a good day’s drive here.

  They stopped soon afterwards for their lunch. A small tavern with a cool, dim interior played host to them. Zek ordered a tankard of ale, and drank it with a sigh. He caught her eyes over the brim and grinned.

  “Do you want one, Miss Banister?”

  “Thank you, no. Water will be quite sufficient.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve bespoken the back room for you, if you want to wash and tidy up a bit. You look rather tired.”

  “Thank you.” His kindness threw her off balance, and she flushed yet again.

  He put his hand out and lifted her chin, to the amused interest of the other occupants of the taproom. “You look peaky, Lizzie. Are you sure you feel all right?”

  “Of course. I... I’m stronger than I look, Mr Gray.”

  He scanned her face a moment more, and then dropped her chin with another shrug, as though he’d suddenly lost interest. She hurried to the back room to tidy herself, and cool her burning cheeks with cold water. What on earth was wrong with her? She must try and preserve a little dignity. She took several deep breaths, and turning caught the laughing eye of a young woman with dark hair and a dusty, well-darned gown.

  “Sorry, did I startle you? I was just after asking if you had all you needed. Your husband told me to make you comfortable.”

  “Oh, I... that is...”

  “There’s a bed there. Well, near enough to a bed, and you can rest up for an hour or two, he says, until it’s cooler outside. No sense riding out in the full heat of the sun, is there?”

  “He’s not my husband,” Lizzie managed, sitting down on the bench.

  The girl’s eyebrows rose a little. ‘Well, it don’t matter to me if you’re married or not.”

  “I don’t mean ... oh dear.”

  But the girl was smiling and her eyes were friendly.

  “I’m to be Mr. Gray’s housekeeper.”

  The smile broadened. “Ah! I’m a housekeeper myself. Of a sort, that is. I used to be a scullery maid, in England, but since then I’ve been lots o’ things.”

  “Are you a bounty girl too?” Lizzie whispered.

  The girl pulled a wry face. “Not likely. I was sent out, thieving see. I spent a time in Sydneyton, working in a house there, then I come out to Bathurst to help in a confectionery shop the master was startin’ up, but it didn’t work out, so I ended up out here.”

  Another felon! Good God, how did one treat them? She shuffled a moment, smoothing her skirts. “I suppose ... I suppose you meet lots of travelers here?”

  “Quite a few, aye.” The girl frowned. “Did you say you was to be housekeeper for Mr. Gray? Not Zek Gray, is it? I heard o’ him, you see. Is he still wearing the willow for that Angelica Bailey, or is it t’other way round?”

  “I don’t know. That is...” Lizzie’s eyes had widened.

  The girl moved closer. “Didn’t you know anything about it then? I had her in here one day. Like a duchess she was, sweeping around the taproom, finding fault with all. Oh she’s beautiful all right, but...” She pulled a face. “Still, it ain’t your business, is it?”

  “
No, it isn’t... ain’t... I mean, isn’t.” She smiled firmly. “I really am rather tired. I think I will sleep for a moment.”

  The girl nodded. “I’ll leave you then.”

  “No doubt Mr. Gray will tell me when he wants to leave.”

  An eyebrow rose. “So that’s Mr. Gray,” the girl muttered. “I thought it were just one o’ his workers.” She grinned. “That explains everythin’ then, don’t it? I mean, you’d expect women to go mad for a man like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Lizzie lay fuming when she had gone. Women to go mad indeed! For what? A handsome, knowing smile and a bold, bad eye? And who was Angelica Bailey? The little brunette with the red lips in Bathurst? No, she had been pretty certainly, but not exactly beautiful. Angelica Bailey was obviously an experience yet to come!

  CHAPTER SIX

  THEY reached the homestead at evening.

  It was flatter country here, apart from one slope, and on this was set a low, sprawling building surrounded with sheds and various barns and cottages, all black against a sunset of orange and gold and crimson. A number of trees towered on the far side. Lizzie was tired, but still managed to stir some response to the beauty of it all.

  “Is this all yours?” she asked faintly.

  He laughed. “Afraid so.”

  “You said a farm!” she cried accusingly. The image of the English farmhouse faded. It was frightening, seeing this great spread. Lizzie felt uneasy and rather lost at the very thought of it all.

  “It’s called Primrose Hill, but when I took over it seemed to become merely Gray’s.”

  “Gray’s,” she murmured.

  As they drew closer wood smoke stung her nostrils, and she could see a light, and people, approaching. A voice rang out, and suddenly a man appeared at their side. Zek Gray drew his mount to a halt.

  “Mr. Gray!”

  ‘”Ralph. Hold Star.” The man held the bridle, and Zek slid down. Lizzie’s face shone out white and uncertain. Ralph frowned up at her. “Mr. Gray... ?”