by Zana Bell
Georgiana laughed, ‘It’s true!’ Then she added more seriously, ‘The most humiliating thing was that I couldn’t engage the attention of even these dreary fellows. I have nothing to offer in the way of looks or manners, you know.’
She leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck, her eyes averted, but he saw her flush under her hat and felt strangely wrung for the loneliness of the life she’d just depicted, the rejection and hopelessness she’d lived with for all those years.
To lighten the moment he said, ‘Well, given that gloomy picture of country gentility, I think you did exactly right in casting all conventions to the wind, ruining your reputation forever and joining a shipload of disreputable characters to sail around the world.’
It worked. Georgiana gave a gurgle of laughter as she straightened and threw him a look of mock protest. ‘That’s not quite fair. Alec is extremely reputable and as for the rest, they were just following their captain’s lead.’
‘Brat! And just when I was about to suggest we stop so I can make us some tea.’
‘Tea! Oh yes, please. My tongue’s been hanging out this last hour.’
The rest of the day passed very amicably. The road was largely deserted though they passed a couple of Cobb & Co coaches which lumbered and groaned over the deep ruts. They anxiously checked the southbound coaches but never saw Tom’s round country face sardined amongst the larrikin features of most of the travellers. They saw, too, a number of men walking, packs on backs and, as often as not, a gold pan hanging from the straps. They discovered there were a few hotels on the route; a rather grand title for the long, low wooden buildings. The larger rivers had punts which saved their horses from a swim and their belongings a soaking. They maintained a steady pace and felt confident Tom was still behind them as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen. Georgiana couldn’t remember spending a happier day. There had been so many new sights, so many new experiences – and always there had been Harry.
‘What will you say to Mr Sedgewick?’ she asked.
Harry shrugged. ‘To be honest, I have no idea. I’m hoping he’ll recognise my father in me and that will make it simpler to ask if he can prove that my parents were married legitimately. If so, I might be able to clear my name, prove I was framed.’
‘What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just tell us all the truth from the beginning. Why the big mystery?’
Harry brushed his hair back. It was glossy blue-black in the sunlight. He looked rueful. ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I had proof, otherwise it’s such a preposterous tale. I mean, penniless captain discovers he’s an earl. Come on, who’d have believed it?’ He paused then looked at Georgiana. ‘I’m also still not sure what I’ll do, if I do find the proof I need.’
She was taken aback. ‘What do you mean? Claim your rightful inheritance, of course.’
‘And destroy the lives of the only family I have?’
‘They destroyed your mother’s life and yours.’
‘Do I want to be like that, though? I set out with a burning desire to avenge my mother in some way, right the wrong that had been done to her. Also I desperately wanted the money to fix up Sally. But as I calmed down I realised that what I was looking for was merely revenge. Both my mother and my father are dead. It’s over.’
‘Not for you.’
‘No,’ Harry admitted. ‘Especially not with this damned murder charge. If it weren’t for that, I’d be tempted to just leave the matter be.’
Georgiana pushed back the rim of her hat and looked at him. ‘Really?’
He shrugged. ‘Sounds crazy but my grandmother said my half-brother loves the place. He thinks it’s his.’ He added with a smile, ‘Believe it or not, seeing the lengths you were prepared to go to for Charles made me think more about my brother, about how my parents would want me to behave towards him.’
‘You don’t even know him, though.’
‘That’s true, but if I hurt his family, take the only home he has ever known, I’ll also be ruining any chance of us ever getting to know each other.’ He gave a half-laugh. ‘Of course, I can’t be sure he’d ever want to acknowledge his relationship to a sea captain. His mother didn’t. But then, she’s a victim in all this too. As is, in a strange way, my grandmother. She has suffered a lot. The only real villain now is Walsingham.’
Georgiana suddenly understood some of the torment Harry had been going through these past months; discovering he had family after all, only to find that to legitimately claim his place within it, he must destroy it. At the same time, a fortune dangled within reach. More than enough money to save Sally and provide for his motley crew who were, she realised, the closest thing he’d ever had to family. No wonder he’d felt embroiled in such a sorry, sordid situation.
She glanced at Harry. He was frowning, his eyes fixed on the road between his horse’s ears though she doubted he saw it, for he added, ‘To be honest, apart from clearing my name, I most want to talk to Sedgewick to find out what my father was like. Stupid really, for he’s never been a part of my life.’
Georgiana had a flash of her father’s laughing face and suddenly remembered how his moustache had tickled her cheeks when she’d snuggle into his lap for a story. ‘Not stupid, natural. It must’ve been very hard not even knowing your father’s name. Consuela says you have to know who you are and what you are, whatever your past.’
Harry’s smile was regretful. ‘I certainly never knew either – just those infernal whispers while my mother maintained her silence. I see why now, of course – what could she say? I was the only boy in our village who went to school past the age of ten, you know. When I came home for school holidays, I could never play with my old friends. They hated the way I’d learned to talk, hated my manners.’
‘How awful.’ Georgiana’s forehead wrinkled in sympathy. ‘At least I always had Charlie. Was it a relief to get back to school then?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I didn’t fit there very well, either. Always thought if they knew I was nothing but a fatherless son of a seamstress they’d turn on me, so I was determined to outdo them all in every way.’ He laughed in self-contempt. ‘Had to be the best at everything – sport, studies, dares. You name it, I was up for it. Same thing at Cambridge. Made lots of friends but while I could go and stay at their houses, they could never come to mine. It was a relief, really, when I left England and didn’t have to worry about which world I belonged in any more.’
‘But if you can prove you are an earl, you’ll know where you belong.’
‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t sound convinced. ‘What about you, Georgie? Do you know who you are, what you are?’
A girl in love, she wanted to say. But at that moment they came around a bend in the road and she cried out instead, ‘Oh look!’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ahead in the road was a cart, tilted at an awkward angle.
‘Looks like a broken shaft, come on.’
They drew up alongside the man who was in the process of emptying the heavily laden cart. He looked up when he heard the horses coming and smiled ruefully.
‘New Zealand roads!’ he said by way of greeting.
‘They are – interesting,’ Harry agreed, swinging himself down and offering his hand which the man shook. ‘Can I help?’
‘Just unloading the cart. I’ve some tools which may help fix it up till I get home but I have to get the weight off it first.’
Georgiana dismounted too. ‘Right, we’ll help.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say no to some extra hands as it’ll be nightfall before long,’ said the man. ‘Jack Bulton’s the name.’
‘Harry Trent and my – young cousin, George.’
While George led the horses to a nearby stream, Jack and Harry set to work and within a short time they’d patched the shaft sufficiently to make it home.
‘I�
��m most grateful,’ said Jack, dusting his hands. ‘You must come home with me and let me give you dinner.’
‘There’s no need—’ Georgiana protested, as she handed the reins of his horse back to Harry, but Jack cut her short.
‘No need, but I’d be insulted if you refused. My wife’s an excellent cook.’
‘In that case,’ Harry said, ‘we’d be delighted to accept.’
‘Grand. Follow me; it’s just a few miles beyond.’
Twilight was drawing in when they arrived at the farm. The house was small and made from sod, with a wood shingled roof. Jasmine wreathed the walls, smoke came from the chimney and hens scratched in the dirt. The domestic tranquillity brought a lump to Georgiana’s throat.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and Jack smiled.
‘It’s not bad,’ he said, but his pride was very evident. ‘Taken a bit of work to get it where it is, mind.’
‘A bit? You must have worked like a slave to clear the land.’ Harry looked about him. ‘Did you have much help?’
‘Not a lot,’ Jack admitted cheerfully. ‘We help each other out where we can but the other folk around here have their work cut out for them too. Ah, here’s Maggie, my wife.’
A pretty young woman, far advanced in her pregnancy, came out to meet them, wiping her hands on her apron.
‘I thought I heard voices. Visitors, how lovely!’
‘I’ve asked them for dinner and the night.’
‘If it’s not too much of an imposition,’ added Georgiana.
‘No imposition at all. I’m delighted to see new faces. It can be a mite lonely at times. Come in, come in.’
After a brief discussion, it was decided Harry would help Jack offload the cart in the barn while George helped Maggie prepare a larger dinner. Maggie was shocked.
‘Good heavens, I don’t need a young man like you helping me. Do you know anything about cooking?’
‘Not much,’ admitted Georgiana, ‘but I can peel potatoes. It wouldn’t be right with the two of us landing on you like this, that your husband should get an extra pair of hands and not yourself, particularly as …’ she trailed off. Maggie glanced down at her billowing skirts and torn between laughter and blushing, accepted the offer.
‘You’re an unusual young man, but come this way. The company will be welcome, at any rate.’
The kitchen was very plain like the rest of the house, with a large range and a table, but it was warm and comfortable and in no time Maggie and Georgiana were chatting away. Georgiana asked all number of questions about life in New Zealand and Maggie, an old hand having been in the country five years, was delighted to share her experiences. She described how hard it had been when they first arrived; living in a tent, clearing the land by hand, being caught in terrible floods one year and a big snow storm the next.
‘But we’ve survived and here we are today,’ she said with a floury flourish as she put a hastily made apple pie in to cook.
‘And what a lovely home you’ve created. It must be wonderful to think it’s all a result of your own labours.’
Maggie laughed. ‘Well, I don’t like to say so myself but yes, I am proud of what we’ve achieved. It’s better than anything I’d have had back home.’
This led to her telling Georgiana about her childhood in Liverpool, where she and her parents worked in factories until the day she’d heard that servants were needed in New Zealand. She’d caught the earliest ship out that she could.
‘I was very frightened, but in a good way, if you know what I mean.’
Georgiana remembered the terrified elation she’d felt as she’d galloped away from Ashton Hall and said she knew exactly what she meant.
‘Life is lucky though, isn’t it? I met Jack on board – he’d bought the last available berth, just imagine!’
Georgiana wished she wasn’t masquerading. She’d have liked to ask Maggie questions about how she had known Jack was the one. Had she been afraid to give her heart? Questions that would sound strange from a young man. Instead she turned the conversation to daily routines and that took them right up until the men came in, loudly proclaiming hunger.
‘And we’ve fresh mounts for tomorrow, George, thanks to Jack,’ Harry said. ‘I told him about needing to find your sick brother as soon as possible.’
‘Really? That’s wonderful.’ Georgiana’s gratitude nearly caused her to launch into most unmanly fervent thanks but fortunately Jack held up a hand.
‘It’s nothing. I just commented your horses seemed blown so Harry explained and well, there’s no need to say more. I know you’ll return them when you can.’
They dined well that night on roast lamb, fresh vegetables from the garden, followed by apple pie and cream, washed down by Jack’s home-made ale. Harry amused his hosts by restricting the amount his young cousin drank.
‘He doesn’t yet know the punch home-made ales can carry.’
Jack laughed. ‘Mine does at that. Got a kick like a mule, some batches.’
Georgiana was indignant, but as her protestations came over as a youth’s frustration against adult interference, appearances were preserved. Maggie was sorry that their tiny house did not have a spare room and Jack offered the barn, but Harry said he preferred sleeping under the stars and Georgiana said she did too. Maggie did have plenty of blankets because of the very cold winters, however, and these were lent to make a very comfortable bivouac in the front garden. Rolled up snugly, Harry close to her on her left, Georgiana took a deep, blissful breath.
‘Can you smell that bush, Harry? Isn’t it heavenly? I wonder what it’s called. So strange not to know so much. But you know, I think I’m going to be very happy living in New Zealand.’
‘Envisioning yourself a farmer’s wife, young George?’
‘No-o. Not especially. But life is far more interesting in New Zealand. Can you believe it, Maggie makes everything – the butter, jams and preserves, quilts, even the candles and soap! She says her days fly by. She is far happier than my aunt who has everything done for her. I’m never ever going back to England now.’
Harry woke at dawn after a restless night. It hadn’t been easy to sleep with Georgiana sleeping just an arm’s reach away and now he lay on his side, watching her sleep. She had pulled the blanket tightly about her, curls a wild tangle above the rough material. Her mouth was slightly open, her breath slow and soft. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her. Harry shifted and the movement woke her. She opened her eyes which were misty grey in the half-light. For a second she was sleep dazed then he saw her gradually take in her surroundings. She smiled.
‘Morning, Harry.’ Her voice was gravelly.
He couldn’t resist removing a leaf that was caught in her hair, his fingers brushing her cheek in the process.
‘Morning, Georgie.’ His voice was hoarse too, but it had nothing to do with sleep, and he saw that Georgiana must have sensed that too for while she smiled, a question began forming in those expressive eyes – a question he was determined would never come between them. He cleared his throat and tried for a lighter tone, ‘Sleep well?’
‘Mm, like a log.’ She rolled onto her back and groaned. ‘Oh lord, I’m feeling really sore this morning.’
That made Harry laugh. ‘Me too.’ But he sat up as he spoke, becoming businesslike. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll ease when we start moving. We’ve a long day’s ride ahead of us but Jack tells me we should make it to a town called Oamaru if we make good time.’
After an excellent breakfast of slices of mutton and fresh bread, they bade farewell to their kind hosts. The second day’s ride was harder going. Georgiana was clearly tired, though nothing in her manner indicated this. Harry was impressed. Most females would never withstand the punishing speed at which they were travelling, much less without pointing out all the inconveniences and hardships. But the
n, most females would not have travelled so trustingly alone in the company of a man – a man wanted for murder.
Unfortunately, moving about had not helped distract him. Even now, as they made their way along the deplorable tracks New Zealand called a road, Harry was all too aware of the set of her shoulders under her brother’s shirt, the slender waist encircled by a large belt which held up trousers too big for her. The outline of her hips and thighs, the glorious length of her legs were all too discernible despite the bagginess of her pants.
Enough! he told himself savagely. George. He must think of her as George. George the cabin boy. The circus brat who trusted him and who now very slightly slumped with fatigue.
‘This is a good place to stop,’ he said. ‘We’ll take a break.’
Again, he had chosen a place by a river, with trees and plentiful grass for the horses. Somewhat stiffly, they swung themselves down and stretched aching limbs.
‘It’s so hot!’ Georgiana fanned herself with Harry’s hat. Her hair stuck in damp curls to her head and dust rimmed her features. ‘If we are stopping for a while, I might wash in the river.’
Harry began loosening the girth straps. ‘Good idea. I’ll get a fire going and have tea waiting for you when you return. There’s a bend in the river over there. You’ll be quite private – no one’s around.’
After she’d unsaddled her horse and left it loosely tethered to a tree, Georgiana pulled out a clean shirt and disappeared behind the curtain of greenery. He heard splashing and closed his eyes. Focus. He must focus. Get the fire going, fill the billy. The actions occupied his hands but he was all the time aware of the sound of splashes that floated in the hot noon air, above the sound of the cicadas.
Harry was squatting by the fire, tending the billy of water, when she returned, rubbing her wet hair with her old shirt. She hadn’t dried properly and her clean shirt stuck damply to her. It was tucked in carelessly at the waist and she hadn’t done up the top couple of buttons.
‘The water is wonderful,’ she said coming over to the fire. Harry didn’t trust his voice and just nodded. Looking up, he saw a trickle of water run from her hair, down her neck then follow the line of her collarbone before disappearing under the shirt. His silence prompted her to add, a little shyly as if to explain her dishevelled appearance, ‘I couldn’t resist having a complete dip.’