Savage Possession

by Margaret Tanner

  “Do you know where Martin is?” She dipped a spoon into the plateful of porridge Mrs. Irvine put in front of her.

  “I’m not sure, he didn’t say.”

  “I want him to take me into town to get new clothes. I can’t let the seams out any more, and I can’t bear anything tight.”

  “Yes, it must be uncomfortable for you.”

  “I might go outside and pick fresh flowers for the vases, Mrs. Irvine.”

  “If you feel inclined. There are clumps of daffodils near the back fence. I noticed them when I hung out the washing, I don’t much care for cut flowers myself.”

  “They’re beautiful and they brighten up the castle.” Beth picked up a pair of scissors and hurried out of the kitchen.

  A few clouds scudded across the sky, the sun shone brightly even though it gave out little heat. Mrs. Irvine had not exaggerated masses of daffodils nodded their golden heads in the gentle breeze, while industrious bees buzzed around. The rainbow lorikeets darted in and out of the trees, such beautiful creatures with their bright plumage. She was glad she had started putting out saucers of seed for them.

  Always selective, she cut no more than a few blooms from any one spot. After ten minutes or so, her arms were full of daffodils, and she stood in the yard with her head thrown back, inhaling the perfume wafting up from a nearby lavender bush.

  Martin, hidden from sight behind a clump of tall bushes, drank in her beauty. Her soft sweet mouth curved into a smile, her eyes sparkled, bright as the most precious jewel. What a picture this would make for Sam if he could ever convey it to canvas.

  A cheeky lorikeet flew on to her head, and she laughed aloud. Such a happy sound caused him to smile as he stepped into her line of vision.

  She danced toward him laughing. “Look at the beautiful flowers. I’ll put a vase in every room.”

  “We’ll all end up with hay fever,” he teased.

  “Oh.” Her smile faltered.

  “I’m joking. Mrs. Irvine said you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes, I want you to take me into town.”

  “I’m too busy. I have mares ready to drop their foals at any moment.” He saw the excited expectation die in her eyes and her shoulders slumped. “Give me a month or so until things settle down, and I’ll take you to Melbourne.”

  She turned and trudged off, but he soon caught up. “We could stay a couple of nights at a good hotel, I’ll take you to the Theatre, buy you a whole wardrobe of new gowns. Will that put the stars back in your eyes again?”

  “Thank you, I haven’t been to Melbourne since my parents died.”

  “It’s decided then, we’ll go.”

  She stopped in front of him, and her face peeped out at him through the daffodils clutched to her breast.

  “I need new clothes now.” She stamped her foot and her eyes flashed defiantly.

  His mellow mood evaporated because she suddenly looked like old Fergus. “I’m too busy.”

  “I’ll drive myself in.”

  Her continued defiance both surprised and irritated him. This was not the docile girl he had been forced to marry. “Don’t back answer me, Elizabeth.”

  “I have to go into town. Do you want your baby to be born without clothes?”

  “What!”

  “I need to get linen and wool to make the layette.”

  “Oh, that.” He brushed off her argument with a dismissive wave of one hand. “You’ve got months to go yet.”

  “It takes ages to make things.”

  “We’ll buy the stuff made up ready, save you wasting your energy.”

  “I want to make our baby’s clothes myself.”

  “Enough.” His temper rose. “We’ll get everything in Melbourne.”

  “And what am I to do in the meantime, run around naked?”

  “Make do with the clothes you’ve got,” he snapped.

  He watched her eyes widen and her navy pupils dilate with hurt. She didn’t argue anymore, just walked off with her shoulders slumped. She pushed the kitchen door open, and he regretted snuffing out the happy light that had sparkled in her eyes mere seconds ago.

  “I’ll buy you a whole wardrobe of gowns in Melbourne, all right?” he promised, instantly contrite.

  “My, you did collect a lot of daffodils,” Mrs. Irvine commented with a smile as they entered the kitchen. “Have you time for a cup of tea, Mr. Mulvaney? I’ve just made scones.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He sat down at the kitchen table.

  “I won’t have any tea, thank you. I want to put these daffodils in the vases before they wilt.” He watched her walk out of the room with a dejected slump of her slim shoulders.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Mrs. Irvine asked. “She seemed so excited and happy a little while ago. Ah, you wouldn’t take her into town.”

  “I told her we could go to Melbourne next month and buy clothes. What more does she want?”

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me for saying so, Mr. Mulvaney, she does need the things now. We can’t let the seams out on her gowns anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her clothes don’t fit anymore.”

  “I didn’t notice; she should have told me.”

  “Did you give her a chance?” Mrs. Irvine gave a slight sniff.

  He opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business if she wanted to stay in his employ, then clamped his lips shut before saying something in the heat of the moment, he would regret later. Mrs. Irvine had been with him for about ten years, and few housekeepers would put up with his hot temper and surly moods.

  “I’m not used to thinking about anyone’s welfare except my own.” He grimaced. “I’d better go eat humble pie.”

  He got up and walked out of the kitchen. Elizabeth was not in the hallway even if her handiwork was - a huge vase of daffodils brightened up the dullness.

  “Elizabeth.” No answer. She was not in any of the downstairs rooms, so he took the stairs two at a time. Their bedroom was empty also. Where would she go?

  Striding back out into the hallway, he noticed the nursery door ajar. He poked his head around and she stood with her back to him, rocking the cradle. His gaze flicked over the room. It looked dull and shabby because he had still not got around to having it re-decorated.

  “Elizabeth.”

  She slowly turned, looking so forlorn remorse rent his heart. Once more, he had hurt her with a few thoughtless, hasty words.

  “I’m sorry.” He stepped over to the cradle and pulled her into his arms. “I had no idea your clothes didn’t fit. I’m an unfeeling brute.” The only time he worried about her clothes was when they impeded him in his quest to kiss and caress her naked flesh.

  She rested her cheek against the skin of his throat where it was exposed by the open collar of his shirt. He felt the thrust of her little pot-belly against his thighs.

  “Tidy yourself up, we’ll go downstairs and have a cup of tea before going into town. If you don’t take too long, we’ll have lunch at the Wisteria tearooms.”

  “Thank you.” She planted several quick kisses on his face before darting away. So child-like in many ways, yet a real woman in other ways. Two different women in fact. In bed, she became his storm girl, beautiful, passionate, and uninhibited. In the daytime, she took on the persona of pretty, sweet Elizabeth, with her compassionate heart and gentle ways. Underneath the demure exterior also lurked old Fergus’ stubbornness and the pride of her Highland forebears.

  He glanced into the cradle, the dusty and dirty linings had lace ripped and missing in several places. The room needed complete refurbishment, and he had only about five months to get it done.

  The castle had never appealed to him and many times, he had felt tempted to pull the monstrosity down. He always hated living here as a child, scared and belted into submission by his father. Black Jack’s evil aura still disturbed him even after all these years. Never would he forget the screams of the young maids when Jack beat and raped them, or his mother’
s pitiful helplessness. Her life became so tortured and tormented she eventually ended it. The land and his thoroughbred horses kept him returning over the years, even though his stays were short. He spent most of his time in Melbourne or Sydney pursuing his business and social interests, and he did not plan on changing that.

  Elizabeth would be unhappy in the city for anything more than a short stay. A creature of the wild, she would feel trapped and frightened in the unfamiliar hustle and bustle. Would not move too far away from old Fergus, either, which suited him fine. Her presence in the city for any length of time would prove too restrictive for his social pursuits.

  Once he got over his cravings for her soft, sweet body, he would return to his previous philandering ways because he could not remain faithful to one woman. As his wife and the mother of his child, Elizabeth deserved respect and consideration. There would be no reason for her to find out about any extra marital activities if he acted with discretion.

  There were two choices, renovate the castle, so it would be suitable for her and the child, or demolish it and start afresh. He would think about it later when he had more time.

  He strode into his dressing room to change into a clean shirt, before heading downstairs.

  Beth waited for Martin in the kitchen. She wore a blue velvet gown, and over this a matching cloak. “I’ve buttered some scones for you, and poured out your tea.”

  “Thanks, didn’t take you long to get changed.” He just stopped himself from sneering about the time it took for most women to get ready. Watching her frown made him wonder whether she guessed his thoughts. When he brought the buggy around to the front, he caught his breath, because her arms were full of daffodils and white lilies.

  “Why have you got those flowers?”

  “They’re for little Amy. I want to go to the cemetery to put them on her grave.”

  He lifted her into the buggy. “I don’t want you going there, even Fergus wanted you to stay away.”

  “Please, just for a quick visit, grandfather hasn’t been well, so he won’t have gone for a while. If I don’t call in she won’t have any visitors.”

  She sounded so earnest and wanted to go so desperately, he could not refuse.

  “All right, if you get upset we’ll leave straight away.”

  “I won’t get upset. Grandfather said she’s buried next to her parents so she won’t be lonely any more. Do you believe in an afterlife?”

  “I don’t know, haven’t thought about stuff like that in years.”

  A mile out of town, the cemetery lay serene and peaceful. They left the buggy on the roadside, and as he held the lichen-covered gate open for her, he said. “How will you find the grave?”

  “It’s under a pine tree near the back fence.”

  He took her under the elbow as they picked their way over the rough, uneven ground.

  “I hope we aren’t stepping on some poor soul who doesn’t have a headstone,” she remarked with a worried frown.

  “Everyone here is past caring what happens to them now.”

  They found the grave, two granite headstones for Robert and Flora Campbell, a white wooden cross atop a fresh mound of dirt, with the words Amy Campbell aged six carved on it. With trembling hands, Beth laid the flowers at the foot of the cross.

  “Sleep tight little Amy, you’re safe now.”

  No tears fell, although he somehow knew she wanted to cry. Suddenly her face went white and she clutched his arm. “What if something happens to our baby?”

  “It won’t. Let’s get out of here, these places make you morbid.” The icy cold hand of dread clawed at his throat. She worried about their child. He lived in fear of something happening to both of them. He swore under his breath, cursing himself for bringing her here.

  Once seated in the buggy and they started moving, she brightened up and chattered away, touching his arm often. When she started singing the words of a dirty ditty Alistair must have taught her, he laughed aloud. What would his flash city friends make of this half-child, half-woman he had wed?

  She would have to run the gauntlet of the Temperance Society women today, who once they saw her, would do calculations in their heads. He didn’t care what they accused him of, but if one of those old biddies said anything untoward, he would be hard pressed not to give them a backhander on the spot.

  “What’s worrying you, Martin, you look fierce?”

  “Am I?” He frowned. “If we meet up with any of those old biddies from the Temperance Society, I’m sure they’ll start working out dates in their heads and jump to the right conclusion.”

  “Is that all?” She laughed. “I don’t care. Grandfather said Mrs. Dunstan’s baby was born four months after they wed, and her father used to be a preacher.”

  “Why aren’t I surprised, the pious hypocrite.”

  They pulled up in the main street right outside Dunstan’s general store. “I’ll put in an order for supplies, Mrs. Irvine gave me a list, and old man Dunstan will deliver them in a couple of days. You browse around and buy whatever you like.”

  “Ooh really, anything?”

  “Yes, and as much as you want.”

  Mrs. Dunstan’s eyes nearly drilled holes through her stomach. Beth held her head high and clung to Martin’s arm. Several other shoppers stared at them, her cheeks burned, but she forced herself to smile and greet them cordially.

  “Good afternoon, Dunstan.” Martin strode up to the counter. “I’ve got the usual order here for Mrs. Irvine, if you wouldn’t mind delivering it.”

  “Of course, Mr. Mulvaney. Thursday do?”

  “Yes thank you. My wife,” he raised his voice an octave or two, “wants to buy a few items, give her any help she needs and put everything on my account. Now, my dear, take your time and browse around,” he lowered his voice. “I’ve got business to attend to. I’ll be back in a little while to take you to lunch.”

  “Don’t you want to help me choose?”

  “No, buy whatever you want, I like you in blue, though. We’ll take your stuff with us.”

  “Thank you, I won’t be long. I can’t wait to visit the tearoom. I’ve always wanted to go there only we couldn’t afford it.”

  She tried on several gowns, before deciding on three, and added two lace trimmed nightgowns and fine cotton drawers to the pile of clothes on the counter. She spent more in a few minutes than Alistair and grandfather would earn in a year.

  A young woman with several children in tow entered the store as Beth debated about how much linen and lace to buy. One boy looked about four, a girl of six or so held the hand of a boy barely past babyhood, while another toddler clung to the mother’s skirt. The woman carried a child of eight or so months in her arms, and was obviously pregnant again. The poor things, Beth’s heart went out to them. Though clean, their clothes were threadbare, almost ragged.

  “Sweets, mama.” The boy pressed his face up against the glass, and the girl and toddler also gazed longingly at the multi-colored boiled sweets and candy sticks.

  “I only have enough money to buy flour and sugar,” the mother said in a broad English accent.

  “But mama, just one for my birthday,” the little girl pleaded.

  “I’m sorry, Daisy, I don’t have enough money, we’ll have to wait until your papa starts his new job.” They were pale skinned and from the way they spoke, Beth guessed them to be immigrants recently arrived from the old country.

  Martin strolled in, and Beth rushed up to him.

  “Finished shopping?”

  “Almost, have you got any money?”

  “You don’t need money, put everything on my account.”

  “Please, I want some money.”

  One of the toddlers sent up a wail and the baby soon followed suit.

  “Those immigrants breed like rabbits. About all they’re good at,” he sneered.

  “I want to buy those children a few sweets.”

  “No.”

  “The mother hasn’t got any money, and look at the poor
little things.”

  “You can’t expect to save every stray and waif who comes along.”

  “Please, give me the money we would have spent at the Wisteria tearooms.”

  “You had your heart set on going there.”

  “I know. I couldn’t gorge myself on expensive food, knowing little children wanted sweets and couldn’t have them. You’ve never been poor, so you don’t know what it’s like.”

  Muttering a swear word, he pulled out a few coins and thrust them into her hand.

  “Thank you, thank you.” She gave him a beautiful smile and hurried over to where the children stood, their noses still pressed up against the counter.

  Martin watched Elizabeth kneel beside the girl, bringing herself to eye level. She whispered, he knew not what, but the child laughed. She picked up the boy and let him choose the sweets.

  “Thank you, I really couldn’t let you,” the mother protested.

  “I heard Daisy mention her birthday. She must have some sweets for a present.” Beth touched the woman’s hand. “I know what it’s like to be poor. Up until a few months ago, I couldn’t afford to buy what I wanted, either. I never wore store bought clothes and my shoes were always second hand. Let me buy the sweets, my husband can afford it. He wanted to buy me lunch at the tearooms, but I told him I’d rather spend the money on sweets. Are you recently arrived in Australia?”

  “Yes. My husband has a job on the railways at Glenrowan; he went on ahead, leaving me to bring the wagon with the children. We’ll have to live in it until we build a hut.” The woman gave a weary half smile. “The authorities promised us money before we arrived, didn’t even arrange accommodation for us, so people slept in the streets. It was awful. We sold everything of value in the first few days to survive, even my wedding ring.”

  “How terrible!”

  “I’ve got a few shillings in my purse to buy supplies with; once it’s gone we’ll have to wait until my husband gets paid. I wish we’d never come to this God forsaken country.”

  “Madam, have you made up your mind whether you want the sugar or salt?”

  “She wants them both,” Beth said.

  “I don’t have much money.”

  “Put them on Martin’s account, Mr. Dunstan.”