“What will happen to him?” Lizzie asked Ralph Grant, when the latter bid her good day as she was working in the garden.
“Flogging,” Ralph said. ‘”But I suppose Mr. Gray will be lenient, and maybe not make a complaint. Flogging is the best that can happen to him. If he gets back to Sydneyton, or Bathurst, he’ll be put on the road gang. He’s not a bad one, only a bit reckless I think.”
It sounded inhuman, but Lizzie said nothing. Zek was a good master. He did care for his employees. Once she would have scorned the idea that a man like that could be honorable in his way. In fact she had believed only ‘gentlemen’, with their carefully-worded conversation, and glum faces, and impeccable morals—at least on the surface of their lives—were honorable. But Zek was none of those things, and Zek was a man to be admired. She was suddenly absurdly proud of him.
“He’s a bad one,” Cook had once told her, concerning a certain guest in the household. “But his father’s a Duke, so he’s invited everywhere. Wickedness can be ignored in a Duke’s son, Banister.”
“It seems unfair,” Lizzie had ventured. “I mean, if he’s bad...”
“Well the world is set down in a certain way, Banister, and we must abide by its rules.”
But why! Lizzie had thought, though dared not voice it beneath Cook’s stern gaze.
“Just you don’t get yourself alone with him, that’s all,” the cook added, maliciously wounding the plum pudding batter with her wooden spoon. “Luckily you’re a plain girl. You don’t have to watch yourself like some others I could name. But this Duke’s son, Banister, he’s not so fussy... from what I hear!”
“You nasty old bat,’” Lizzie said aloud, and clapped her hand over her mouth, as if Cook were really in the room with her and not just in her head. But even so the words had shocked her a little. She had disagreed with something Cook said. In fact, since meeting Zek Gray she had disagreed with lots of Cook’s teachings, and rebelled against the rest. Her ideas of right and wrong had been turned topsy-turvy. Perhaps she was being corrupted?
It was quite warm in the garden, and the afternoon sun beat down on the ground a little more mercilessly than she had expected. But she needed the occupation to clear her mind, and bent to her work with a will. She tried to empty her thoughts of all but the delicate task of planting the seedlings she had sprouted, and pressing the soil about their stems. She was so busy with her work that she didn’t hear the hoof beats until they were upon her, and when the arm scooped down, like an iron band about her middle, she could do no more than scream and cling on.
The ground tilted, and then she was tumbled unceremoniously on to the front of the saddle, gripped quite roughly against a warm, familiar chest, her heart thudding, her breath gasping as the world righted itself.
Shock was uppermost. She seemed all out of order. Her hair tumbling down, her skirts bundled up, showing a good length of stockinged leg and a button-up boot. And then the fact that he was grinning, so obviously pleased with himself, fed her rage until she began to wriggle furiously in his grip. Admiration and pride for him were quite forgotten!
He drew up Star, laughing, and looked down into her furious little face.
“Put me down!”
“Lizzie–”
“At once!” she hissed, eyes blazing.
He sighed, some of the laughter vanishing, and she slid down to the ground. Her eyes flashed, and she lifted her chin to gaze up at him, her hands naturally gravitating to her hips in an attitude of righteous rage.
“How dare you frighten me so? How dare you treat me like a... like a... How dare you! Isn’t it bad enough that everyone thinks I’m your... your mistress, without adding fuel to the fire? Isn’t it bad enough that I have to put up with everyone laughing and whispering behind my back, without you treating me so?”
The laughter had all gone now. He looked grave, his eyes almost rueful, and he dismounted to stand beside her. She narrowed her own eyes at him, and stepped back, uneasily aware that she should never have spoken so to him; and she would not have done, if he had not frightened her witless.
“Do they really think so?” he said in a deceptively quiet, light tone. She saw the gleam of battle in the darkness of his eyes, and the grim line of his jaw.
“Not to my face perhaps, although... but I can feel it. I have no friends here, except perhaps Mary and... and Ralph. Everyone else despises me for what they think I am. Perhaps if I... I were openly what they imagine, it would not be so bad, but they believe I am a hypocrite to boot!”
“Lizzie, I’m sorry.” He did look contrite, flicking her a look up through his thick lashes. “I only meant to teach you a lesson for disobeying my orders. You shouldn’t work in the sun. If I’ve made things worse for you, then forgive me. But you are the housekeeper here. You must show them your authority.”
Authority! What was the use of that, when her position here was such a sham? And now that Mary had guessed her love for him, they would probably pity her as well!
Perhaps he saw something of the misery in her eyes, for suddenly he brushed his finger down her cheek.
“Cheer up! Why not come into town with me?”
“Thank you, no,” she whispered, standing rigidly before him.
“Lizzie...”
“I hate you for doing this to me!”
“Indeed, Lizzie, sometimes I think you must.” Anger lit his eyes now, and she was sorry for putting it there. It was a dangerous, reckless sort of anger. As if he had decided on a course of action and meant to carry it through no matter what.
He came towards her, and she backed away. Out here they were quite open to the watchful eyes of all and sundry, and Lizzie did not want to be the cause of any more gossip this morning.
“If everyone already believes you are my mistress, as you so delicately put it, then what can anything we do matter? We are in a way immune to them, aren’t we?”
His reasoning was faulty. She knew it, but couldn’t for a moment find an argument. He caught her arm, and dragged her up against him. His mouth fastened on hers, brutally forcing a response. His other hand slid over her body with a thoroughness she found horrifying in the circumstances. He let her go almost at once, breathing fast, his eyes daring her to retaliate.
Her lips hurt, and she put a hand to them, staring at him with wide, accusing eyes. “Why?” she whispered.
The lines on his face deepened. “I wanted there to be no doubt whatsoever,” he told her coldly. “You can’t back out then, Lizzie, can you?”
Back out of what? “I don’t understand,” she wailed, and turning began to run blindly back towards the house.
She half expected to feel him grab her again, but he let her go. Tears kept filling her eyes, and her skirts hampered her, but somehow she found her way inside to her room and threw herself down on the bed, sobbing as if her heart would break. She remained there a long time, working at clearing her mind and emotions of all thought of him and her own wicked longings, and when she finally managed to face the household, it was evening.
Jessie met her on the verandah, blue eyes carefully veiled, though Lizzie heard the glee in her voice.
“Mr. Gray informed me he will be away until late tonight, Miss Banister, and not to wait dinner for him. He has gone to the Baileys’.”
Lizzie thought she retained her composure very well, though she had to pretend for a moment that there was a piece of earth still clinging to her sleeve, and brushed at it meticulously.
“Indeed,” she said.
Jessie had evidently been a witness to the wild embrace, and her subsequent rush away from Zek, and drawn her own conclusions.
“It’s a shame about Mrs. Bailey,” Jessie went on smoothly. “Her man bein’ a cripple, an’ all. She’s the sort as needs a real man in her life. Mr. Gray always seems ready to fill the role.”
Lizzie’s chin came up, and she looked into Jessie’s eyes, her own cold as ice. Jessie looked away, flushing a little, and muttered a few words about things to do before depar
ting.
So he had gone to Angelica. Lizzie nodded. Yes, he would marry Angelica, just as he had said he would, and Lizzie would leave. She could not stay now, could she? Life was bad enough, but after that... Perhaps that had been his intention, when he insulted her so before the whole world—it had seemed like the whole world at the time. Perhaps he had meant to make her life so unbearable she would go away and leave him in peace. But it had been he who brought her here! And he who sometimes treated her as if she were a lovely and desirable woman.
She ate little for dinner, and sat alone in the dining room, staring at the long windows. She kept thinking of them together, Angelica and Zek Gray. She imagined Angelica’s white body, as eager and twisting as a snake, and Zek... white hands clutching his black hair, the sound of their laughter. It was suddenly quite unbearable.
She started up as if to run, gazing about her blindly. She saw the decanter quite by accident, and for a moment stared at it. Zek liked a drop of brandy in the evenings. Sometimes he drank too much. She remembered his unsteady footsteps the night of the Baileys’ dinner. With sudden decision she walked over to the table and poured herself some of the liquor in the best crystal glass she could find. She swallowed it quickly, pulling a face.
The heat of it burned down her throat, warming her stomach. She drank again, taking it like medicine. After a moment she felt quite light-headed, and much better. She poured herself a full glass and went to sit by the window, brooding into the darkness.
How dare he treat her as he had? How dare he make havoc of her life because it suited his vanity, his conceit? ‘I like a pretty ankle the same as most men’. What arrogance! And now he was angry with her, just because she had stuck up for her principles and refused to be seduced. Perhaps that was why he wanted to get rid of her so badly? A woman refusing to fall into his arms was bad for his reputation. It was so unfair...
“I’ll never give myself to any man,” she muttered, and clapped a hand over her mouth at the sound of her own belligerent voice. She took another swig from the glass, blinking. Even Cook had a nip of brandy every once in a while. It was good for you, she used to say. Well, what was good for Cook was good for Lizzie!
The room was a little odd, tilting like a ship’s cabin. She wondered for a moment if they were afloat, knowing such a thing impossible but not totally rejecting it.
“I’m worn out,” she said, nodding her head. “Slaving for that. . . that toad.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, tasting salty on her lips. The trouble was, she thought drearily, she wished she was his mistress. Despite the fact that he was a womanizing lecher, a handsome, feckless devil, she wanted to be his mistress. The fact that her conventional, proper soul was shocked to the core by this admission did not prevent her from realizing it was a fact. She wanted to lie abed with him, and comfort him, and be all the things Angelica was to him. She wanted to be beautiful, and gentle, and... and...
Another tear rolled down her cheek, but she brushed it aside. What had he said, when that hussy had waved at them out of the window at Bathurst? ‘I can see you wearing that’. And on the ship, ‘I can see you in blue silk’—Disgusting! She glanced down at her grey gown, plucking at the coarse stuff of the skirt. After a moment she stood up, a trifle unsteadily, and went purposefully into her bedroom.
She had been busy stitching a nightgown for Jane. A lovely, delicate thing with lace at hem and neckline and a blue ribbon threaded through the bodice just below the bosom. It was the sort of feminine, dainty thing Jane would look beautiful in and that Lizzie had never before dared to wear or even think of herself as wearing. She had always thought coarse, sack-like garments good enough for herself—had rarely even envied Jane. Until now.
Another tear ran down her face, and she sipped from the glass, almost missing her lips. “Not fair,” she whispered. “Why can’t I be pretty and little and... and...”
She touched the soft material, and then with sudden clumsy decision began to undress. It took several moments and a number of false starts before she had completed her task, and was able to view herself with a slightly glazed vision. The nightgown fitted her quite well, considering it had been for Jane’s shorter, plumper figure. She fumbled at the pins in her hair, raking it out over her shoulders. She peered at herself, leaning forward to see better. She looked quite pretty, in a blowzy sort of way, she decided.
She was too tall, of course, and too slim. Long legs, though. She tried to compose her features into an enticing smile. She bit her lips, as she had seen Jane do, to redden them, and pouted at herself.
“As good... as good as anyone,” she told herself, and took another drink of brandy, lifting the glass to salute her reflection. “To principles,” she muttered.
Someone moved behind her. A shadow, near the door. She turned in vague surprise, and saw she had not closed it properly. Zek Gray’s astonished face stared back at her from the darkness of the hall. He seemed unable to believe his eyes, and stood staring at her scantily-clad figure for quite some time, while she swayed, and leaned heavily against the foot of the bed to keep her balance. The movement seemed to bring him abruptly to his senses. He shut the door, quietly, to ensure their complete privacy.
“Lizzie, what in God’s name are you up to?” His voice was soft, but harsh with astonishment and anger.
Why was he angry? She almost fell over, and glared back at him sullenly, her mouth drooping. Something in the look was very seductive, and he caught his breath.
“Lizzie, are you all right?” A step closer brought him in range of the brandy fumes, and he noted the glass. His eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing into the hairline, and he folded his arms. “That’s it, is it? Drunk?”
Her toes curled on the floor, and she let her head fall on to her chest, dark hair swinging forward to hide her face. “I thought you were with Angelica. Where... why did you go there?” she demanded belligerently, and a tear ran down her cheek. “And why did you come back? I thought–”
“I went to speak to her on a private matter, Lizzie. None of your concern. And the reason I’m back early is that I finished earlier than I expected.”
She sniffed.
“One would think, Lizzie, you wished I hadn’t come back at all.”
“I know you hate me,” she burst out. “I know you do.”
He looked surprised. “Do you indeed?” His voice was quiet.
She pushed at her hair, her fingers tangling. She frowned, trying to pull free, and he came forward and took her wrist gently in his hand. “Here, let me.” He smelt of tobacco. He smelt, too, of perfume. Angelica’s.
“Why didn’t you stay with her,” she hissed, staggering as the room tilted again, and falling against his chest. “Stay with her, I don’t care.”
He freed her hand, and stood holding her fingers in his own. She glanced at him uncertainly and cleared her throat. She seemed to realize suddenly that she was wearing a negligee, and frowned down at herself, her other hand plucking at the lace on the bodice. It was much too low cut—indecently so—and the swell of her bosom showed over the top, even as her figure showed plainly through the material of the skirt. The brandy effects cleared enough for her to feel a faint shock at her actions, and she cleared her throat again, trying to draw her hand away from his. He tilted up her chin and looked down into her eyes. She felt for a moment as if she were drowning, and gazed back dizzily.
“Lizzie,” his voice was soft, “why did you drink so much of my brandy? Were you so unhappy?”
“Yes!”
He smiled faintly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement and more that she dared not analyze. “Because of what I did this morning?”
“I hate you both. You and... and Angelica. I hate you all.”
His fingers tightened on her chin. “I didn’t mean to make you unhappy. I meant to put it all right. I still do. I’ve told Angel so. Lizzie, I want to marry you.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide and muzzy. Her head felt dreadful, full of cotton wool, and sh
e could have sworn her feet were floating some feet above the floor. He was trying to trick her, he must be. But he was looking at her with such a soft, warm look in his eyes. She watched his face come closer, and felt the brush of his lips on hers.
“I want to marry you, Lizzie,” he said again. “That’s why I did what I did this morning. I mean to make everything up to you, and I wanted to make quite sure you couldn’t back out.”
“I’ve got principles,” she murmured.
That, however, didn’t seem to deter him. He drew her closer into his arms, holding her as if she were porcelain. He kissed her again, deeper this time, and when he drew away she leaned against him, her lips following his.
“Principles,” she breathed, and felt him laughing.
“Lizzie,” he said in a harsh vice, “you’re playing with fire.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Zek,” she said, “I don’t want to be burned.”
He stroked her cheek, making soothing noises, while his eyes shone with something very unsoothing. They glowed, making her feel dizzy and flushed, She bowed her head again, and felt him kiss her temple, nuzzling aside her hair, his lips shifting to her ear, her cheek, seeking her mouth.
“I know,” he murmured, “you’ve been unhappy. Everything’ll be all right though, Lizzie. Everything’ll be all right when we’re married. The talk will stop, Lizzie, you’ll see, and you will be accepted as my wife. And as for me...” his laughter tickled her skin. “Well, I will be able to relax, too, won’t I? There hasn’t been much of that for me, Lizzie Banister, since you’ve been here.”
She hardly heard him. “Do you like my nightgown?” she whispered.
“Most fetching,” he said, and there was laughter in his voice.
“I knew you would! I knew it.”
“Well that’s wonderful. Now, go back to bed. Come on, like a good girl.”
She looked up, her eyes smiling, her mouth wide with her smile. “You’re treating me like a child again,” she reminded him.
He caught his breath, tightening his hold on her. “And you’re treating me like a tame cat, which by God I am not!”
Lizzie, My Love Page 11