by Lois Mason
“Henry. “The sinister words of that letter came tumbling back to her, from where they had been suppressed in the dark recesses of her mind.
“Our estates are in South Yorkshire. Oh, how I love that beautiful, wild place, to ride over the hills with the mists still rising from the valleys and the trees ablaze in autumn. I would never have left our seat had it not been—”
He fell silent for an instant, then looked long at his wife, his eyes still blued in the dim glow of gas. “Ah, had I not left, then I would not have found you. The winds of fortune blow fair, even when we think them the bleakest.”
“And they were bleak for you?” Abigail asked.
“Aye, My father... The most generous, hospitable man, with a bounty of love. And if he has any faults, ’tis that he cares too much. Not only for his family and friends, but even for his dogs and horses.
“ ’Tis a long story, Abby, and I’ll not weary you with all its nuances. But the outcome was that he owed a debt of gratitude to a long-standing friend, Edward Fitzjames. Among other things, he saved Father’s favourite mount from sure death. His son, Aubrey, is my closest friend—we grew up and played together when we were boys. His father is a good enough fellow, were it not for the ruthless ambitions of his wife.
“Well, Father asked Fitzjames how he could repay him, telling him that he would deny him nothing. I can only imagine ’twas Mrs. Fitzjames’ machinations that prompted him to demand his request.”
Rob’s eyes glazed. Abigail waited for him to continue. “He asked if his daughter might marry either Henry or myself.”
Abigail’s mind was racing as she barely whispered one word, “Thomasine?”
He had not heard her. “Naturally my father was taken aback. He could never have imagined that Fitzjames would make such a demand, and the proposition was unthinkable. However, he was unfortunately a man of honour; he could not go back on his word. Had there been a question of love ... Well, then the request might have been reasonable. But Henry and I barely knew the girl—she was always a shadow in the background, withdrawing whenever we visited Aubrey. She stayed close to their home, and we never saw her at hunts, or parties.
“My father tried to dissuade his friend, but the man was adamant. I fancy it was Mrs. Fitzjames who was implacable. She is a very formidable woman who could probably make life hell for Fitzjames if her own way was refused.
“The consequence was that it was arranged that I should marry Thomasine.” So it was her after all. Abigail felt a lump rising in her throat. “ ’Twould not have done for Henry, who is heir to father’s title, to form such an alliance. But a second son Besides, the Fitzjames’ were of some standing in the County. And their long friendship with our family ... ’Twas a brilliant manoeuvre for Mrs. Fitzjames, to have her daughter become part of South Yorkshire’s leading family, but hardly brilliant for the pawns. Poor Thomasine! She desired it, methinks, even less than I.”
So another had shared his arms. Abigail was aware that it was to be expected that a robust man like Rob should have flirtations, passing affairs. But a wife ... That was different. Apprehensively, she listened as he continued.
“So we were married. A quiet affair in Bramham, for my father made it a condition there should be no ostentation about the wedding. Even Mrs. Fitzjames had to concede to that.
“Thomasine was sickly, never in the best of health, which was why we had not seen her about much socially. Slowly, she was wasting away. It was consumption.
“I too was sick, but not physically. I was tormented that such an arrangement had been forced. All I wanted was to get as far away from the scene of that diabolical contrivance as I could. And from my father—for at that time, the love and esteem I held for him were almost perverted to hate.
“I thought ’twould aid Thomasine’s health if we emigrated to a land where mists and fogs were rare, a warm sunny country. And Australia was as far away as we could go.
“My mother implored us not to leave, and said that Thomasine had not the strength to withstand the long sea voyage. And that ’twas cruel to take myself so far from her. But I would not listen. My mind was resolved.
Thomasine was acquiescent. I think she would have agreed to anything that would take her away from the whispers and staring she was forced to endure from the village folk. They sensed that the marriage was not right. Strangely enough, her parents were not excessively perturbed by my plans. Perhaps they thought that their daughter would indeed get better, or it may have been that now Mrs. Fitzjames’ dreams were realized she had lost interest in her daughter. I have never believed that Thomasine occupied a special place in her mother’s heart.
“Despite the pleas of my mother and father, we set sail, about eighteen months ago.
“My mother was right. Would that I had heeded her advice! Two months out, and Thomasine had gone from bad to worse. She was buried at sea in that September.”
Abigail looked at the ring on her finger. With horror, she comprehended that it was not his mother’s. A flood of pity for the hapless girl swept over her and she snatched it off.
“It surprises me that you could so easily bestow this again,” she said coldly, handing it back to her husband.
“Oh, please don’t. I cannot bear the hurt in your eyes. You must understand ... There was no love between Thomasine and I. Nor ever could be. Only the compassion of a brother for an ailing sister. ’Twas entirely an arranged marriage as I have explained. Do you not see? Thomasine was chosen for me. But Abby, dear, sweet Abby,” his voice lowered as he enunciated slowly so she could make no mistake about his meaning, “I chose you.”
Clouds were lifting. She smiled, “If you call throwing me out of a coach, choosing...”
“Nay, there you are wrong,” he hastily interjected. “Since I first saw you, walking the ‘Argus’ decks with your dear mother and William ... I knew ’twas none other for me.
“Lightning strikes but once, and it struck for me that windy day on the Tasman. I vowed them, somehow, I would make myself known to you.”
“You were on the same ship from Sydney?” she asked incredulously.
He nodded. “But hidden by a very thick beard!”
Then she saw it. “The coach office! ’Twas you...”
Again his head bowed. “And what a poor show I made of myself then! I was so overcome, I hardly knew what I was saying. I desperately wanted to make your acquaintance but the surprise of the moment ... I was at a loss for words. Then you rushed off before I could apologize for blurting what I did.”
“You weren’t at a loss later,” she said pointedly.
“Nay, but by then I was well prepared and my disguise made me bold,” he smiled in a way that had Abigail’s heart reaching out for him.
“Why did you decide to come to Dunedin in the first place?” She wanted to know all, leave no stone unturned, as if she was seeking to understand the very being of the man she had married.
“Oh, that was a jaunt. I had been in Sydney long enough, and I wished to venture further afield. You see, I could not return home for some time as Thomasine’s parents believed I had caused her death. I will not deny I share a burden of guilt, but the village folk who had sided with me at the time of my marriage were just as quick to side against me now. There were too many evil suggestions circulating the County. I had to wait until my good friend Aubrey had made the truth known.
“To view the scene of a gold rush was as good a preoccupation as any.”
Now Abigail understood the meaning of that mysterious letter. She knew that any baleful connotations were merely illusions on her part.
“And your disguise? Was it because of O’Malley?” she asked.
“Nay, ’twas for you. And I thought ’twould be easier travelling as a miner since you were so intent on going to the diggings by yourself. A very foolish notion,” he reprimanded teasingly. “I decided to become your unseen protector until such a time as I might make myself known to you. However, circumstances forced otherwise.
“O’Malley was sheer coincidence. I knew his father all right. A nasty piece of work if ever there was one, and his son just the same. I was a child when the incident occurred—but ’twas more than poaching that transported him, though I shall not delve into it. ’Tis not suitable for a lady’s ear. My father is a fair man. O’Malley Senior received a light sentence for his crime. I guess his son got wind of my arrival in Dunedin, and if it had not been for you, I should have been readily recognized!”
“Thank the Lord that you weren’t,” Abigail’s sentiments were heartfelt.
“You really mean that, don’t you, my dearest?” he murmured as his love welled up, so that it was almost too painful to bear.
“Miss Abigail! Miss Abigail!” Mrs. Sergeant’s strident voice accompanied her loud knocking at their door.
A bewildered fear clutched at her heart. Whatever it was compelling the woman to intrude so urgently, must be of direful import.
“Oh, Rob! Papa...” she breathed faintly, then almost did swoon for the second time that night, as the door opened and her heart took one mighty, inordinate leap. “Papa!”
Such a reunion it was! Tears of joy and happiness flowed freely down their cheeks as her father hugged her to him, and Billy’s smile reddened his face with bright pleasure.
There was so much to impart ... The joy of her marriage, the sadness of Mama’s death. Samuel Wright dissolved with grief when Abigail gently told him of his wife’s misfortune. Mrs. Sergeant insisted he stay the night, administering a good dose of laudanum as she tucked him into the front bedroom.
“Poor Papa,” Abigail murmured, nestled against Rob much later after all the excitement and maelstrom of emotions had died down and everyone was at last in their beds. “Billy and I have had time to accept Mama’s death, but for him ’twas as if she died in Mrs. Sergeant’s parlour this evening. What is to become of us now?”
“We’ll take him back with us to Sydney. But then, Abby, I’m afraid you and I will have to travel on to England. Father has communicated that I must return home. Henry, alas, is unwell and unable to run our estates, and it is my father’s wish that I should do so. Will you be agreeable to living with my family?”
“You are my husband. Wherever you go, my love, I shall always be at your side,” she breathed.
“God’s truth, Abby, how I do love you,” he murmured, and as he drew her to him she was lost in the pleasure of his avid mouth.
This time there was no interruption to the physical expression of their emotion. As Abigail received the power of her husband’s love, her senses reeled in an ecstasy she could never have imagined.
“And this is your share, Abby.” Her father handed the heavy bag of a knotted bandanna to her. She opened it and in doing so, the hard, jagged, yellow lumps caught the sunlight, glinting like saffron steel.
“But,” she protested, “I can’t take this. ’Tis far too much,”
“Nonsense, girl. An equal share for each of my children, and there’s more in the bank. It means nought to me now that Emily’s...” He could say no more as he choked on the words, then he added, as if to himself, “And not one of my letters reached her.”
“Oh, Papa.” Abigail pressed his hand as if by transferring every inch of sympathy and reassurance she possessed, his burden of mourning might be lightened. “Drink your tea before it gets cold. ’Twill help you feel better.”
He nodded bleakly, his eyes still with the girl he had walked with beside Sydney Cove so many years ago, and did as his daughter bade.
Abigail looked down at the precious metal in her lap, and at her father; he was half the weight he had been when he had left them for his venture, his cheeks hollowed so that the bones stood out sharply above his grey, almost white, beard which he had grown since she had last seen him. For this treasure he had lost his wife, and it was not worth it. No amount of glittering and gleaming would bring back Mama, or compensate.
“You’ll explain to James, won’t you? Why I cannot return? Without your Mama...”
“Aye, Papa,” she hastened to fill in the gaps of his grief. “And Billy? Is he staying too?”
“I hope so. With my children scattered about the world, to have at least one beside me will be consolation enough.”
“I’m sure we’ll be back some time, and James can easily come over here for a holiday to see you. Besides, he may not want to keep the business. He could sell up and join you too.”
“Nay, and I shouldn’t want him to either. He has had his heart set on taking over my business since he was ten years old and helped me with the tanning. I should like him to marry and stay on in the house. That would be greatly satisfying.”
“I’ll tell him. It wouldn’t surprise me if ... well, he’s always had eyes for Sarah MacGregor, as you know.”
“And still has?” He chuckled gleefully. “Little Sally will make him a good wife.”
“Ah, I thought I might find you two out here,” Abigail recognized the voice of the man in whom she knew all her wifely love resided. She looked up at Rob, thinking how presentable a figure he was out of miner’s garb, and saw her brother behind him.
“So, what did you find out?” she asked nervously, praying that their ship would not depart too soon. Now that Papa was here, she was loth to leave him again. But how much easier it would be to leave him with a husband at her side...
“The Anna Grey is bound for Sydney at the end of February,” Rob announced, smiling at the delighted expression on his wife’s face. Had her family not been about her he could have swept her up and smothered her with his kisses.
Abigail clapped her small hands together. “Lovely! We can have more than a month together! I wonder ... Nay, perhaps not.”
“What, Abby? I can see something scheming in that pretty little head of yours,” Rob said, his blue eyes glittering at her happiness.
“Well...” she made a little moue with her mouth, then turned to her father, beside her on the wicker couch. “ ’Tis Mr. Sloane’s tale of the scurvy puts me in mind of what I’m thinking.”
“Out with it, child!” Samuel Wright looked at the same time interested and bemused.
“Fresh fruit is what is needed to cure it, is it not?”
“Aye,” he nodded.
“And beside the Molyneux the land is mostly dry, barren ... But the water that sluices the pay dirt could be raised for irrigating?”
“It could, but, ’twould take money...”
“But you have the money, Papa! What do you think?” She looked earnestly at him.
“For what? Really, Abby, you will have to be more explicit,” Her father was somewhat mystified.
“An orchard! Just what is needed to supply fresh fruit for the diggers, and Dunedin, too. Shipments are not as frequent as people would like. Then the little towns that are springing up around the diggings ... Does it appeal to you?”
Wright looked in wonderment at his daughter and thought what an enterprising young woman she was turning into. “It most certainly does. I could live in an area I have grown to love. There’s nought like the outdoor life! I may have been late in tasting it, but ’tis still not too late to spend the rest of my days in it. Billy? Will you join me? I shall need the vitality and strength of a younger man. Or would you sooner go back to James?”
William’s eyes shone at the prospect. That his sister had already experienced the lure of the backblocks had piqued him considerably. Without hesitating he replied, “Aye, Papa, I’ll come with you.”
“Abby, what a capital idea!” Rob spoke enthusiastically. “And Mr. Wright, if you need any more money for the investment I shall be only too pleased to be part of it.”
Her father grinned at his new son-in-law. There was little doubt his daughter could pick them, he thought, completely ignorant of the true circumstances of their meeting. “Thank you, sir. I shall keep it in mind. Well, Billy! Orchardists, eh? We shall have to advertise for a family man to help us. Two single men need a good housekeeper.”
“Rob?” Abigail lo
oked to her husband and he could perceive that her mind was racing ahead. “What about Ned? Would you think he’d be interested? If there was a good, sturdy, stone cottage with bedrooms for all the children and geraniums up the walls...”
All the men laughed at her fantasies. Trust a woman to jump hurdles in one instance! Just the same, Rob thought, that there was something in what she had to offer.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t all go and ask him,” he concurred. “After all, we have plenty of time until we must go back, that’s if you can face another journey? This time we might take it in easy stages. There are inns along the way, and we needn’t travel to the Tuapeka in one day.”
“Oh, yes, Rob! Do you agree, Papa?”
“Very well. But are you sure you would want Billy and me to come with you? You haven’t had any sort of honeymoon yet, have you?”
“Nay, Papa, we’re not leaving you until the very last,” she murmured softly, and looking up gently at her husband caressed him with her voice. “We have all our lives together for our honeymoon. You do agree, my dear, don’t you?”
“Aye, my precious,” he whispered, consumed with an aching love for this beguiling creature.
She was to surprise him again that evening, with a gesture that so inflamed his passions, he scarcely dared believe such a captivating woman was his.
He was already in bed, zealous to have his arms about her slip of a body, to feel again the soft, firm roundness of her small, high breasts, the smoothness of her satiny skin.
But she made no haste, standing there naked beneath the thin cambric lace-trimmed night dress, her fiery hair shining with each stroke of the brush as she teased it down to tousle about her shoulders.