Colonial Daughter
The Kavanaghs, Volume 1
Heather Garside
Published by Heather Garside, 2017.
Colonial Daughter
by Heather Garside
Copyright 2017 Heather Garside
Draft 2 Digital Edition
Cover Art by For the Muse Designs Copyright 2017
Authors Note: All characters in this novel are fictitious, with the exception of the French priest, Dean Murray, who actually did minister in Rockhampton at the time of this story.
Although in most cases I have made every effort to be true to the geography and history of the area, I have taken liberties with the area on the Dawson River where I have sited Lloyd Cavanaugh’s property. Although Bauhinia Downs did (and still does) exist, its boundaries did not extend as close to the river as I have described.
Also by Heather Garside
The Kavanaghs
Colonial Daughter
Colonial Legacy
Watch for more at Heather Garside’s site.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
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Chapter One
Central Queensland, 1873.
‘They can’t make me go to England!’
There was no-one to hear her but the black crow watching with beady eyes from a nearby gum tree. Seething with helpless frustration, Louise Ashford crumpled the letter into a ball and stuffed the pages inside her sleeve. It was just like her autocratic father to direct her future without thought or care for her wishes.
Clutching at the gate with trembling hands, she pressed her face against the sun-bleached timber and inhaled its homely, comforting scent. With the Queensland sun beating upon the nape of her neck, her parents in England seemed more remote from her than ever.
It would be autumn in England now, the leaves turning gold and brown, then falling to be raked and burnt in blazing bonfires. The air would be cold and bleak with the biting promise of snow. ‘Home’ her parents still called it, even after twenty years. To Louise it sounded a grim, forbidding place, despite their descriptions of green fields and hedgerows and the balmy Devonshire summer. She suspected their memories might be as short as those same English summers.
Beyond the gate, perhaps half a mile away, a dust-pall hovered sluggishly above the trees. Cattle bellowed in the stock-yards, dogs barked and men shouted and Louise longed to be participating in the activity. It had been the same back at Banyandah.
Sometimes she’d been allowed to ride out to watch the cattle being brought in; sedate excursions with a groom or a governess and her younger sister. Her father, her brother and half-a-dozen stockmen had been in charge of the herd, amid the noisy confusion of cracking stock whips, bawling cows and clouds of floating dust. And she had to sit her mount and watch them. Harry Ashford’s daughters didn’t demean themselves by working with the men.
Louise straightened abruptly at the rumble of iron wheels on the dirt road, the soft clop of horses’ hooves and the jingle of harness. She struggled for composure as James’s wife Mary drove up in the buggy, her daughter Sarah seated beside her with a picnic basket at her feet.
‘Louise, I was wondering where you were.’ Mary’s slender hands were gentle on the buggy reins, drawing up the buggy pair with practised ease. ‘I’m taking morning tea to the men. Would you like to accompany us?’
‘Of course, Cousin Mary.’ She hardly felt like being sociable, but the cattle yards as always drew her like a magnet. Louise opened the gate and closed again it behind the vehicle, then lifted her skirts in one hand to step up to the rear seat of the Abbot double buggy.
‘You seem upset.’ Mary clicked up the horses. ‘Is it your father’s letter?’
She nodded. ‘He says I must come to England with Charles. He’s written to Charles and instructed him to collect me, so it seems there’s no way out of it.’
Mary glanced over her shoulder. ‘I wish I could be in your shoes, Louise. I know James has prospered here, but oh dear, I miss the green of England and family and friends...it broke my heart to leave it all behind.’
Louise gritted her teeth, sensing an implied rebuke. ‘I’m not close to my family–and if you knew them better, Cousin Mary, you’d understand why. Charles is the only one I saw much of, as a child. And the colonies are my home in the same way that England was yours. I’m a Cornstalk, a colonial and I love the bush.’ She tossed back her long dark hair. ‘I remember visiting Sydney in July and I hated the cold, wet winter. I’m sure England would be far worse.’
There was a hint of compassion in Mary’s voice now. ‘You’ve no choice but to accept your father’s wishes, my dear. You’re only eighteen and your place is with your family. We love having you here, but we can’t intervene in this. And I’m sure Charles won’t be dissuaded.’
Louise bit her lip. She knew Mary was right. She’d been allowed to stay behind when her parents travelled to England, but it was different now that her father had inherited the family estate and intended to remain there. She’d adored her elder brother as a child, but the gap between them had widened with the years. Charles could be as merciless as her father when he chose.
Mary drew the buggy to a halt under a shady ironbark tree a discreet distance from the yards. It wouldn’t be prudent to go closer, for the smell of singed hide and the bawl of bellowing calves made it obvious the men were branding–not a fit spectacle for the delicate eyes of a lady.
Lindsay, Mary’s youngest son, was the first to join them. He’d escaped his studies to help with the mustering and as he happily set about gathering leaves and wood for a fire, Louise marvelled that this was the same lad who continually procrastinated and fiddled in the school room. Once the billies had boiled, Cousin James and his two elder sons joined the ladies beside the buggy. The stockmen took their pannikins of tea and slabs of cake before retiring to a respectful distance.
‘Hush,’ Mary admonished Lindsay and Sarah, who were chattering excitedly. ‘Run away and play while we adults talk. Louise has some news to tell you, James.’
‘Oh? What’s that?’ James looked up from his tea and smiled at Louise in a friendly, quizzical fashion.
Despite her bad humour, she found herself returning his smile. James was a quiet, courteous man who bore no resemblance to her own family. He was short and fair, while most of the Ashfords, including herself, were tall and dark. The contrast in personality was equally marked: perhaps that was why she liked him so much.
But her mood darkened as she related her news. ‘The mailman brought a letter from Papa. My grandfather passed away in June, but it seems my Uncle George, who was to have inherited, succumbed to a tropical illness in South America. This means Papa is now Squire of Fenham Manor.’ Bitterness constricted her throat, sharpening her tongue. ‘My parents are ecstatic, despite their grief for poor Grandpapa. Unfortunately they now expect me to join them in England.
’
James’s smile faded. ‘It is only right that you should do so, Louise.’
‘Perhaps England won’t be so bad,’ Jack, the eldest boy, commented quietly.
Louise glanced at Jack, a gangling twenty-year-old in dirty shirt and breeches. His bashful admiration had both irritated and gratified her at first, but his confidence seemed to be growing of late. ‘They’ll never allow me to return here.’ Suddenly she was close to tears, clenching her fists in frustration. ‘Oh, damn Uncle George for dying on us!’
‘Louise!’ Mary’s eyes widened. ‘Such language from a lady!’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Louise would have reacted sullenly to a similar reprimand from her mother, but she had much fondness and respect for Mary. And she was only too aware of the Barclay men watching her in astonished fascination. It was fortunate the younger children weren’t listening.
Mary broke the awkward silence. ‘It’s only natural that your family wants you with them. I’m sure they miss you, Louise.’
‘Miss me?’ Louise made a derisive sound in her throat. ‘You don’t know my parents well, Cousin Mary. I’m sure Papa has hardly noticed my absence and as for Mama... She expects me to be her companion now, but she forgets that I seldom saw her as a child. We were raised by nursery-maids and governesses.’ Her fingers curled into fists of frustration. ‘I didn’t know what a proper family was until I came to stay with you.’
Mary’s eyes softened. She looked at James, who took a sip of tea before replying in a careful tone. ‘I’m sorry, Louise, but I think you’ll have to make the best of it. I felt your father wasn’t anxious to leave you with us in the first instance, so I won’t interfere in this now.’
That was certainly true. It was only a chance meeting between her father and James that had led to the invitation, for the cousins hadn’t seen each other in years. James Barclay wasn’t so well up in the world as the Ashfords and her father had been offended by James’ suggestion that Louise act as tutor to his two younger children. But Louise had been determined, thinking it an adventure. She liked children and preferred to believe she would be a useful addition to her cousin’s household.
It had turned out even better than she’d expected. She enjoyed tutoring Sarah and Lindsay, but the closeness and camaraderie of this simple family had somehow exposed the cold arrogance of her own. Now her mother’s idle lifestyle, pursuing the social round of races, charity balls and afternoon teas, seemed shallow and trivial.
She looked up as Mary spoke.
‘Think of it as an adventure,’ her cousin’s wife said bracingly. ‘A chance to travel, to see another country.’
Louise shuddered. ‘Four to five months at sea–I’ll be miserably sick. I’m a dreadful sailor.’
Mary’s face turned grim. ‘You’ll manage, Louise. It’s the children who suffer most. We had two little ones when we sailed from England–Jack was three. He survived but his younger brother didn’t.’
Chastened, Louise bowed her head. ‘I’m sorry, Cousin Mary. I didn’t know.’
She was silent then, but her resolve hadn’t weakened. If the Barclays were unsympathetic, she’d have to make her own plans.
~*~
Later that afternoon, when her lessons with Sarah were finished, Louise walked to her favourite spot by the Dawson River. It was her habit to sit here and read or daydream in leisure moments. Today she was unable to relax. She stood at the edge of the water and tossed pebbles into the still green depths, trying to plan her next move.
There was only one solution. If she couldn’t remain with the Barclays, she must disappear. Lose herself where Charles couldn’t find her.
Her work with the Barclay children had given her some experience as a governess. The position was a step down on the social scale, but she enjoyed useful work and it offered her the chance for the adventure she craved.
She spent the afternoon forming plans and discarding them when obstacles arose. She knew her biggest stumbling block would be Charles, who would do his best to pursue her wherever she went, but gradually an idea formed in her mind.
At last, when the shadows of the river gums stretched long across the water to the opposite bank, she scrambled up the slope and returned to the homestead to bathe and change for dinner.
~*~
James Barclay had settled on the Dawson only five years before and his simple slab home with shingle roof compared poorly to the grand house at Banyandah. The run itself was still largely unfenced, though James and his sons were working hard to remedy that. In the meantime it was a challenge to control the half-wild cattle which led them a reckless chase at mustering time.
Now, as Louise arranged her hair for dinner, she reflected how this pioneering lifestyle appealed to her own restless spirit. Her coming-out in Sydney last year hadn’t been a success. At a time when it was fashionable to be small, plump and fair, she was tall, dark and slender, the strong Ashford features which looked so well on Charles somehow less becoming to a woman. Few men had shown an interest in her and those who did had bored her, much to her mother’s exasperation. The attention she enjoyed here, where unattached women were outnumbered by men four to one, had come as a pleasant surprise.
Tonight, on impulse, she changed into one of her more sophisticated gowns. She hadn’t worn it since leaving Banyandah. The fabric was a striking, green-striped taffeta, with a boned, close-fitting bodice. A flounced overskirt was swept back to bunch and drape over the horsehair bustle at her waist. The skirt finished in a long train which annoyingly persisted in catching on splinters in the slab floor.
Sarah and the older boys gazed at her admiringly as she joined them at the table in the dining room, but Mary raised her eyebrows.
‘What is the occasion, Louise?’
Louise smiled and shrugged. ‘I thought I’d best re-accustom myself to dressing for dinner. I suppose I shall have to do a lot of it in England.’
She tried not to feel guilty about the lie. If her plans worked out, she wouldn’t be wearing glamorous gowns in the immediate future.
Tonight, as always, the fare on the Barclays’ table was tasty but simple. A beast had been killed the day before so there was fresh meat and vegetables from the homestead garden. Mary’s fowls provided eggs and the house cows kept them supplied with milk and butter. A cowboy looked after the milkers and the garden, but the only house staff employed were a housemaid and a cook. Mary Barclay seemed to enjoy helping with the cooking and the lighter household duties–tasks that Mrs Ashford considered far beneath her dignity.
After everyone had retired from the dinner table Louise sought the solitude of her bedroom. The room actually belonged to Jack, but he’d moved in with his brother for the duration of her stay. She suspected he had a crush on her, but perhaps having his privacy restored would compensate for any regret he might feel at her departure.
She walked through the French doors onto the rear veranda, settling on one of the canvas squatter’s chairs and staring out into the starry night. There was a thin sliver of moon in the east, just rising above the tops of the trees. A cowbell tinkled in the distance and further afield a beast bellowed once. A sudden rustle in the garden made her heartbeat quicken. Brown snakes called for constant vigilance, but she told herself it was probably only a harmless lizard. Then a step on the veranda had her turning swiftly, her pulse fluttering. The family seldom ventured out here at night.
It was Jack. He smiled at her hesitantly. ‘I thought I’d find you here. Do you mind if I sit with you?’
He looked ill at ease and Louise wasn’t cruel enough to refuse him. It had obviously taken all his courage to seek her out. ‘Of course not. I was just enjoying the night air.’
Jack crossed the narrow veranda and settled himself on the edge of it, his back resting against one of the posts, his arm lying on his up-drawn knees. ‘It’s bad luck that you have to go to England.’
She nodded, glad to have an ally. ‘Do you blame me for wanting to stay here, Jack? England sounds so crowded a
nd oppressive, besides being cold and rainy and smoky. I know I wouldn’t be allowed to do the things I most enjoy and of course I’d be expected to snare some distinguished gentleman for a husband.’
Jack looked disconcerted. ‘Doesn’t the prospect of marriage appeal to you?’
‘Not particularly. And an English marriage would ensure I couldn’t return here.’ She stared morosely past him, knowing her father would choose her husband for her, or attempt to do so.
‘Louise.’ Jack’s voice was barely audible. ‘Would you consider marrying me instead?’
‘Oh, Jack!’ Her heart gave a sudden, alarmed lurch. She hadn’t expected this. ‘I couldn’t–’
‘Why not?’ He scrambled to his feet and moved to her chair, pulling her up to face him. ‘That way you could stay here. You like it here, don’t you, Louise?’
‘Of course I do, but—’
‘But what?’ She could sense his nervousness and excitement as he continued to hold her arms. ‘I’m terribly fond of you, Louise. Father’s doing well here and we’ll be building a proper house soon. In another ten or twenty years we’ll be as well off as you Ashfords, just you wait and see!’
His eagerness bolstered her confidence, made her feel in control. She’d never been held by a man before, in the romantic sense, yet she felt less naive than the obviously inexperienced Jack. Having Charles as an older brother had seen to that.
One day she’d come upon Charles in the stables at Banyandah, engaged in illicit activity with a female servant. To a thirteen-year-old girl, it had been a shocking and disturbing sight, reminding her of the mating animals her mother tried to prevent her from seeing. The maid was later sent away, the servants whispering she was with child. Louise hadn’t realized at the time that Charles was probably the father and of course he hadn’t admitted responsibility. She often wondered what had happened to the girl and felt guilty that she’d done nothing to help her. Perhaps if she’d told her parents what she’d seen...
‘I don’t care how much money you have, Jack. But I hadn’t thought of marrying you. We’re cousins, after all and Papa wouldn’t be in favour of it.’
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