This morning she had seen William arrive outside and for a moment her battered heart had rejoiced at the sight of him. Just as quickly all feeling had seeped away. He was no longer her William but someone else’s. She would have almost preferred he was dead like her father. Then at least she could have mourned him. Seeing his long lean frame, his handsome face full of concern for her, had been the final blow.
The groans and complaints Charles made assaulted her ears. She let go the cloth she was rinsing and it floated in the basin. The water, pink with blood, seeped into it. She watched mesmerised as the fabric was sucked below the surface and slowly sank to the bottom.
“Georgina?”
She turned to Charles. By the look on his face he must have spoken before.
“I said I would instruct Donovan to have that man thrown off the property if he ever sets foot here again.”
She stared at Charles. His pompous manner and his attempt at acting older than his years erased her small gratitude for his help.
“Thank you for everything, Charles, but I can manage from here. Your father needs you in Hawker and Mother and I need some time alone to adjust.”
The pain of his nose was apparently forgotten as he jumped to his feet. “I can stay a few more days.” He tried to take her hands but she pulled them back from his grasp.
“That won’t be necessary.”
His face showed puzzlement at the coldness of her tone. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted him gone.
He gave her a tight smile. “You need some time. I understand. I’ll leave you alone for a while but not for long. Two women out here is not a good thing.”
“We’re fine.” Georgina shook her head. She felt as if she was talking with a mouthful of marbles. “Mr and Mrs Donovan are here, as well as Mr Swan and several shepherds.”
“Well.” He pursed his lips. “Yes. I can see you’re very tired.” He patted her shoulder before she could evade his touch. “You take some time to rest. Let the Donovans look after you and I will return in a week to see how you’re getting on.”
“That won’t be necessary, Cha—”
“I insist.” He shot her a concerned look. “Others may have deserted you in your time of need but I will look out for you.”
She sucked in a breath. Henry Wiltshire’s news the day before had been simply awful but it had explained why, apart from the short notice, so few people had attended her father’s funeral. Supposed friends had turned their back on them. She spun on her heel and left the room with as much dignity as she could muster. There was no sound from behind her mother’s closed bedroom door as she passed. Georgina let herself in to her own room, shut the door and fell across the bed. She didn’t even have the energy to unbutton her boots. In spite of her exhaustion large tears rolled down her face and her body was racked with sobs.
When at last the terrible shuddering subsided and her tears had dried she hugged the soft pillow under her head, longing for sleep to claim her, but it wouldn’t. Finally she dragged herself from the bed and rinsed her face in the cool water of her bedroom basin. She gently patted it dry and inspected her reflection in the mirror. Sad eyes looked back at her from a pale face. She tucked some of the larger curls that had escaped her bun back into place, took a deep breath and opened the door. She stepped quietly along the passage. Still no sound from her mother’s room but she could hear noises from the kitchen. She glanced around the door. If it was Charles she was ready to send him on his way. She couldn’t stand the thought of his self-important voice assaulting her ears again. She was relieved to see it was only Mrs Donovan, who was busy at the fireplace.
“Hello, love.” Mrs Donovan gave her a smile. “You look done in. I’ve just boiled the kettle. How about a cup of tea?”
“Thank you.” Georgina crossed the room and sat at the table facing the window. “I’ll take one in to Mother later.”
“Already done it.” Mrs Donovan put a mug of tea in front of Georgina. “And I coaxed her to eat one of my pikelets. Got to keep your strength up at a time like this.”
A plate of warm pikelets, dripping butter and dollops of dark plum jam, appeared beside the mug. Georgina’s stomach rumbled. She couldn’t recall eating anything that morning.
She had been forlornly looking out the front window, watching, for what she didn’t know, when she’d seen William approach. Knowing he was lost to her had been the final blow. The life she had imagined with him had been obliterated.
“Drink up, Miss Georgina.” Mrs Donovan bustled past. “I’ll be out tangling with the washing if you need me. There’s a pile of bedsheets to deal with. Oh and young Mr Wiltshire left an hour ago. He says he’ll be back in a week or so.” She gave Georgina a sympathetic look but didn’t wait for a response. She closed the door gently behind her.
Voices wafted back to Georgina from outside.
“Decisions have to be made.” It was Mr Donovan’s voice. Her father’s right-hand man.
“Give them some time,” Mrs Donovan replied.
Georgina listened. All was quiet then she heard the murmur of their voices as they moved away.
Steam wafted from the big mug of tea. Georgina sighed and wrapped her hands around it, seeking the warmth for her chilled fingers. No doubt Mr Donovan wanted to talk about stock but she didn’t feel ready for that yet.
She took a sip of the tea. It was hot and sweet and she felt it doing her good. Now Charles was gone she could think more clearly. She had inherited Prosser’s Run. There were provisions for her mother of course, and other requirements. Her father had wanted to maintain control even from his grave. She pressed her fingers to her lips. She hadn’t imagined this was how she would take over the property. Since the deaths of both her brothers, her father had always said the place would be hers once he was gone. She had thought that would take place in some distant time, not just after her twenty-first birthday.
He had used her love of Prosser’s Run to get his way, keeping her from William when she’d declared her love for him, sending her overseas with the promise she could have more say in running the property once she came home. Georgina shook her head. No doubt he had thought she would forget her love for William and find some other more suitable man. As it turned out, neither had happened.
The bunch of wildflowers sat in a jug on the dresser. Mrs Donovan must have found them and put them in water. Georgina would have thrown them out. How dare William bring flowers plucked by his wife’s hand and offer them to her? He had said Jessie; it was a pretty name, and no doubt she was a pretty woman.
Georgina put a hand to her chest as the pain of William’s betrayal returned. It was silly to torment herself with images of him with someone else. She was determined to make a life without him but every now and then a crack in the wall she’d built around her heart reminded her he wasn’t forgotten. Seeing him today had been a shock but she had survived it. She’d prefer not to see him again, but they were neighbours. At least she hoped it would be a long time before she did.
Georgina thought back to the provisions her father had put in his will. One was that her mother was to remain in the house and be provided for. Of course she would look after her mother. It angered her, however, to think it put her mother in the position of becoming a tenant in the place she had made into a home for her husband and children.
Georgina drained the last of the now cool tea and put the mug back on the table with a thud. Another provision was that she wasn’t to marry without her mother’s consent until she was thirty or the property would be sold and Georgina would receive nothing. That rankled even more. Not that she had plans to marry anyone now — she was not going to become anyone’s property — but if by some chance she did decide to marry she wouldn’t be seeking anyone’s permission to do so.
There was a clatter outside. She looked to the window, where a brown light filled the sky. The wind had picked up, carrying dust from the plains with it. Drought had taken hold in her absence. Donovan had said there were decisions to be made. S
he stood up and felt the tug of her skirt as it hooked on the chair leg. She jerked it free. The first thing she would do was change into the pants she had worn before her trip away, then she would meet with Mr Donovan and see what work needed to be done. Georgina lifted her head and strode from the kitchen.
Sixteen
November 1898
Catherine shifted her weight against the pile of pillows behind her on the bed. No matter where she sat she didn’t feel comfortable, and every breath was a struggle. She turned her blurry gaze to the window. She could see dust had coloured the air and it frightened her. The last dust storm had made breathing even more difficult and the doctor had warned her that her heart and chest weren’t up to it. There had been little he could do for her and she’d resorted to taking an extra draught of her medicine. At least that relaxed her.
Her gaze shifted back to the bedroom and to the little bottle on the table beside the lamp. She had resisted taking the special tonic in the first few months after Laura had been born but she’d been so miserable back in Hawker she’d finally succumbed. The doctor in Adelaide had warned her it contained laudanum and was addictive, but she no longer cared. It was the only thing that got her through each day. Her promise to Henry to act as the perfect wife and mother had come at a price.
She struggled upright and poured herself a dose, appalled at the tremor in her fingers. The medicine slipped down her throat and she lay back just as the door burst open.
Laura flew into the room with a book clutched in her hands and Flora Nixon close behind her.
“Mama, Mama.”
“I’m sorry, Catherine.” Flora’s face was full of concern. “I hoped you would be sleeping.”
“I couldn’t get comfortable.” Catherine reached her arms to her daughter, who climbed up on the bed beside her.
“Story, Mama.”
“Your Mama is very tired today, Laura. Why don’t you tell her what we’ve been doing instead?”
“We made cake.” Laura slid from the bed. “I get you some.” She dashed across the room again.
“Bring the one on the plate,” Flora instructed then turned her kind gaze back to Catherine. “How are you feeling?”
“Not so good.” Catherine felt her lip wobble. She sucked it in. There was no point to self-pity but she worried what would become of Laura if anything happened to her.
“Have you had some medicine?” Flora crossed to the bedside table.
“Yes, I’ve just taken it.”
Flora sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “Then you must relax and let it do its work. It looks like another of those nasty dust storms is on its way and you know what the doctor said.”
Catherine took strength from the gentle squeeze of Flora’s warm hand. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do — what we’d all do — without you.”
Flora gently brushed some loose hair from Catherine’s face. “You are a very special woman. I am so lucky to have found work here.”
“And I am lucky to count you as my friend.”
They looked at each other a moment. Two women from such different backgrounds who had been brought together in unusual circumstances, who yet had maintained a true friendship.
Catherine fought to keep her composure. She felt so teary today. “I couldn’t have survived without you, Flora. Living here in Hawker, managing this house and … life in general.”
Flora shook her head and her grip on Catherine’s hand tightened. “You know, don’t you?” she whispered.
“Know?” Catherine tried to smile. “I know you have been a wonderful friend.”
Flora’s usually expressionless face crumpled. “How can you be so kind? Knowing that I … that your husband and—”
“Hush, Flora. There is no point in talking now.” Catherine had vowed never to speak of Flora’s liaison with Henry, but their lives had become so entwined; both Henry and Catherine depended on Flora.
“At first it was purely a business arrangement.” Flora lowered her head.
“I understand the things we do for our children … but …” Catherine had partitioned away any thoughts of her husband and Flora for so long it was as if she was asking about someone else’s life. “Your children have long been grown and able to look after themselves.”
“I … I had grown used to Henry’s attentions, and the comforts of living in your house. I never imagined myself in your place, but I did think that perhaps you didn’t enjoy his attention in the …” Flora waved her hand “… the bedroom like I did.” She looked back at Catherine, her eyes wide. “You must think me wicked.”
Catherine shook her head. “I am surely so also for not putting a stop to it.”
“It is impertinent of me to ask, I know, but if you knew about it, why didn’t you?”
“You were right.” Catherine dragged in a breath. “While my husband was with you he no longer bothered me. I am not so naive as to think he wouldn’t have sought some other company if you had not been … available. At least I knew he was with someone good, someone trustworthy.”
“Oh, Catherine.”
“There’s more.” Catherine looked directly into Flora’s eyes. “If I had left Henry it would have been such a scandal. I couldn’t put my family … my children through that. Instead I used that knowledge to make Henry give me some freedom. He allows me visits to Adelaide each year with Laura. So you see, we have both been wicked.”
Flora put her head to Catherine’s hand and kissed it. “You and I — things are so strange and yet …”
“It is what it is.” Catherine sighed and closed her eyes. “We will speak of it no more.” Her eyes flew open again as she struggled for breath. She put her other hand over Flora’s. “You must promise me,” she whispered, “if anything happens to me you will take care of them.”
“I will continue to take care of you all.” Flora slid her hand over Catherine’s as if they were playing a children’s game. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
Catherine smiled and felt her troubles slip away. The elixir and Flora’s presence were working their magic.
Laura walked carefully back into the room. She balanced a small cake on the plate she held in front of her but it wobbled precariously. The two women who were the centre of her life stopped whispering together and smiled at her.
Flora came to help her but Laura stepped around her.
“I made it for you, Mama.”
“Thank you, my darling.”
Laura was especially pleased to see her mother smile so the lines around her eyes crinkled. She didn’t like it when her mother sounded breathless. Now she looked a little better. Laura clutched the bedsheet that covered her mother and used it to pull herself up onto the bed.
“Why don’t I make a cup of tea to go with it?” Flora left them together.
Catherine put an arm around Laura and drew her close. She pressed her nose to Laura’s hair. “You smell so sweet. How lucky I am to have you,” she whispered.
Laura reached for the locket that always hung at her mother’s neck. It was a pretty heart and Laura loved to hold it. Catherine put her soft warm hand over hers.
“This locket belonged to your great-grandmother, and your Grandmother Harriet gave it to me.” Catherine took a breath. “It will be yours one day.”
Laura gazed into her mother’s adoring eyes. Today they didn’t sparkle. “Don’t be sad. I love you, Mama.”
Catherine kissed the top of her head. “And I love you, my darling.”
Laura’s ear was pressed close to her mother’s chest and she could hear the wheezing rattle she knew meant her mother was having a bad day. Catherine shifted away and took a deep breath.
Laura looked up. Her mother’s smile was gone, replaced by a fearful look.
“Mama?”
“Hello, my two lovely ladies.” Henry came into the room.
Laura gripped her mother’s hand.
“What is it, Catherine?” Henry’s voice was full of concern behind her.
“Nothing.” Catherine fell back against the pillows. “Please take Laura.”
“Of course.” Henry put his hands around Laura’s waist but she struggled to evade his grip.
She put a hand to her mother’s cheek. “Story, Mama,” she pleaded. Stories always made Catherine feel better.
“I … I’m sorry my darling … later.” Catherine gasped.
Laura was whisked into her father’s strong arms. Over his shoulder she got one final glimpse of her mother. Catherine lifted a hand to her lips and pretended to blow Laura a kiss but her hand fell back and her eyes closed before they were out the door.
Edith folded the last of the fine cotton ladys’ nightdresses into the box and closed the lid. Why anyone would spend such a ridiculous amount of money on something they wore to bed she could never imagine. Certainly she had no idea who would purchase such garments there in Hawker but they were among the items Charles had ordered to stock the new extension.
The bigger room next door was to be for clothing, haberdashery and manchester only. The original shop, where she and Mr Hemming were busily checking new stock between serving customers, was to be for groceries and hardware items. Mr Hemming would serve there and Mr Henry would maintain his refurbished office in the back. She was to serve in the new section and Charles would supervise both shops — at least when he was in town.
She gave a small sigh. These last six months Charles had spent his time between Prosser’s Run and his grocery-cart deliveries. She’d hardly seen much of him at all but she had to be patient. Edith would bide her time. She’d had her sights set on marrying Charles Wiltshire from the moment she first met him in his grandmother’s shop.
The unknown was Georgina Prosser. It was laughable really. He was a boy compared to the older, more cultured Miss Prosser. Edith couldn’t imagine Georgina falling for Charles but he was certainly smitten with her. Edith had seen Georgina on several occasions when she’d come to town to purchase supplies. Miss Prosser was always smartly dressed, favouring the narrower gored skirts she had no doubt brought back from overseas. Edith thought them eminently more practical than the volumes of material that swished around her as she moved about the shop. She had resolved to make herself something similar but in a more sensible serge fabric.
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