Alley Urchin

by Josephine Cox

  When, in a moment, he touched his fingertips to her temple, Emma made no movement at all. When he stroked the silkiness of her rich chestnut hair, she gently stirred. Afraid that she might cry out, he took away his hand from her forehead and, for a while, he stood very still, his arms loose by his sides and his blue eyes, made all the more murky by the drink he’d consumed, raked her face until they knew every finely chiselled line and curve. How greedily he devoured that creamy forehead with its heart-shaped hairline and high, perfectly shaped dark brows; even now, though they were tightly closed, Foster Thomas could imagine Emma’s startlingly beautiful steel-grey eyes at their most magnificent . . . this being, to his warped mind, when she looked on him with the utmost contempt. Oh, but he wasn’t disturbed by it for he had convinced himself that it was all a show, a ploy to drive him crazy with desire. And it had worked! By God, it had worked because, as he gazed on her now, savouring her beauty to the full, there came over him an insatiable and feverish desire to draw back the bedcovers and to gaze upon the sleeping Emma in all her naked loveliness. The more he thought of it, the more urgent became the yearning, until the breath quickened in his throat and his pulse raced with excitement. He had never seen Emma unclothed. Not once had he feasted his eyes on her nakedness. Now the urge was too strong to resist; he must see her, for nothing else would satisfy him this night. And, if he were to slide in beside her, who was there to stop him? Certainly not his father, who was sleeping the sleep of the dead, downstairs; nor Nelly, who was also deeply exhausted. As for Emma . . . even if she had a mind to, she was in no position to object.

  By now, every sense and nerve-ending in Foster Thomas’s body was tingling at the prospect of taking Emma’s nakedness to himself. There was a torment within him which pulled him two ways: he had vowed never to take Emma without her full and eager cooperation, but, having her lying before him now, so warm and vulnerable, and with the raw passion racing through his body when the need in him was as proud and obvious as ever it could be in a man, his resolve not to invade Emma’s beauty without her wanting it as much as he himself did was weakening – already he had lost control.

  As he reached out, with trepidation, to pluck the bedclothes from her, the palms of his hands were sweating and his every limb trembled uncontrollably. Gently now, and all the while holding his breath for fear of being discovered, he slid back the clothes which hid Emma from him. He had suspected that she might not be wearing a nightgown; not when the heat of the day was such that men were forced to cease their labours or fry in the merciless sun. In the dead of night that same heat was so oppressive and suffocating that even when lying still in bed, a body was bathed in sweat.

  Emma was not wearing a nightgown, having come through a feverish crisis when it would have clung to her like a second skin. The doctor had given instructions that Emma be covered up to the chin by the bedclothes, and occasionally flannelled down with fresh water to reduce her soaring temperature. Nelly had allowed no one else close to Emma and not once had she failed in her duty to carry out the doctor’s instructions. So, when Foster Thomas drew back the bedclothes, the sight of Emma’s slender body caused him to gasp out loud. If he had thought her face the most beautiful he had ever seen, then how much more magnificent was her body!

  Riveted to the spot and almost afraid of what his astonished eyes beheld, Foster Thomas scored every detail into his lecherous mind. His eyes narrowed and his desire for Emma was greatly intensified as he let his gaze wander over her nakedness. Even when she softly stirred and turned her head deeper into the pillow, he was so mesmerised that he could not drag his gaze away, nor could he move, although his instincts warned him that Nelly could wake at any minute. Greedily, his eyes took in all that he could of Emma, this adorable creature whom he had vowed to have for his own. He gazed at the long, thick hair which was fanned out over the pillow, its vibrant autumn hues a stark contrast against the starched white pillowcase. He stared long at that lovely face, with its large wonderful eyes and those high aristocratic cheekbones, the perfect full mouth and that chin which, though completing the exquisite oval shape of Emma’s face, was strong and determined, as was her character. Oh, what sensual delights invaded him as he roved his narrow opaque blue eyes over Emma’s youthful, thrusting breasts, so small and perfect with proud inviting nipples standing warm and dark against the creamy whiteness of her breasts. He thought her waist was small but not tiny and the curves of her thighs deliciously inviting, and how impatient he was to tangle himself between those exquisite legs. Too impatient, he chided himself, because already he was aching with such excitement and anticipation that in a minute it would be too late! Quickly he stripped off his clothes to stand naked and desperate for a taste of Emma’s loveliness.

  When with great care, or he would surely give the game away, he inched himself on to the bed, Emma was trembling from being uncovered for so long. She stirred, raising her arm above her head, and softly moaned. In a minute he was on her, covering her nakedness with his own and murmuring tender words against the warmth of her neck. With one arm stroking her hair and the weight taken by his elbow, he reached his other arm down to ease open her legs. When, this time, Emma became agitated, twisting her body this way then that and calling out the name ‘Marlow’, he stayed still, not daring to move for fear she had alerted the others. For what seemed a lifetime, he remained frozen against her, tormented by the touch of his body on hers, but terrified that he might be discovered. But no, Nelly was still deep in the sleep of exhaustion, her rhythmic snores breathing into the darkness like the beating of his own heart. As he waited a moment longer, listening for any sound from the stores below or perhaps a footstep on the stairs, he wondered who was this ‘Marlow’ whom Emma had called out to. How soft and loving her voice had been, almost a caress of his name. He would not forget the name either: as Foster Thomas emblazoned Marlow’s name on to his memory, a terrible hatred crept into his black heart.

  The tender feelings which had smothered him were now tempered with a fury that, even in her subconscious, Emma should cry out some other man’s name! But this ‘Marlow’ wasn’t here, coveting Emma’s nakedness, while he was! For the moment, at least, he was pacified, and in that moment when his whole being flooded with his need for Emma’s heart and soul, he placed his mouth over hers, and gently probed himself towards her. Then with such a tide of ecstasy rushing through him that he thought his heart would burst, he thrust his way deep into Emma, his great excitement causing him to cry out.

  Emma cried out also, but it was a strangled and terrified cry of the kind made by a nightmare which caused her to thrash out at those who would hurt her. In her ill and confused mind, she knew only that she must escape; she must flee from the pain and horror which hounded her, and which had already pushed her over the line between nightmare and reality. When it seemed that in her anguish Emma might betray him, she was cruelly silenced by her assailant’s clenched fist. Being so intent on satisfying the cravings of his own body, Foster Thomas cared not for his unconscious victim’s helplessness, for, in the throes of his madness, he was frantic to gratify only the base primitive instincts which drove him. Gripping Emma into him again and again, he smothered her with his vile body and kissed her nakedness, all the while telling her how she was his now . . . and could never belong to any other.

  Of a sudden, there came another scream as Nelly woke to the horror of what was happening. Almost at once, there was a rush of footsteps into the room and the darkness was penetrated by the light which Roland Thomas carried high before him. With a cry of ‘You filthy bastard!’ he sprang forward, dropping the lantern to the floor and clawing at his son’s bare flesh, his nails digging so deep into it that the blood spurted out like a crimson shower to fall in spattered drops along his back and shoulders. With the might of a demon, he yanked him from the bed and from Emma, who was as still and white as death.

  ‘Oh God! Emma, will yer forgive me, will yer ever forgive me, darlin’?’ Nelly had recovered the lamp which, in his rag
e, Roland Thomas had dropped to the floor and she had placed it on the bedside cupboard. Having drawn up the bedclothes over Emma’s violated body, she was cradling her dear friend’s head to her bosom and sobbing as though her heart would break. ‘Will yer ever forgive me, darlin’ Emma,’ she cried over and over, ‘for I’ll never be able ter forgive meself!’

  It was a night that no one there would ever forget. For although he was an older and slower man, Roland Thomas’s fury and disgust knew no bounds as he thrashed his son unmercifully. First throwing him down the stairs, he took a bull-whip from the stores and, without heed of his cowardly son’s cries for mercy, he brought it down again and again across his bare back and shoulders, the tip of it lashing over his face and neck and cutting so deep that he would carry the scars for the rest of his miserable life. Afterwards Roland Thomas flung Foster out on to the porch, with his clothes and belongings in a heap beside him. ‘You’re a no-good bastard!’ he told his son in a voice that still trembled with rage. ‘Your own mother’s to be buried this day, and you bring nothing but shame on our heads. Let the devil take you, Foster Thomas, because I want nothing more to do with you! Never set foot near me again . . . stay out of my sight. You’re no son of mine. From this day on, I have no son!’ He watched the crumpled figure begin to stir on the porch, and he knew that his words had been heard. It was enough.

  In the darkness, Roland Thomas’s terrible words had also been heard by many of the startled neighbours, who had been roused from their beds by the worst upheaval they had ever been witness to. No one knew what dreadful reason could have provoked such an amiable and mild-mannered man as Roland Thomas, the well-liked and respected trader, to cast his own son from his house, and to issue such strong and awful words that made them tremble. Yes, it was true that Foster Thomas was not the man his father was . . . nor the man his father might have wished him to be, for he was both weak and wasteful. It was also true that the confrontation between them had been a long time brewing. But, so terrible and final, and on the very day in which poor Mrs Thomas was to be laid to her rest? It didn’t bear thinking about. All the same, they were intrigued to know what awful thing had triggered off Roland Thomas’s fury. But, as the trader stormed back into his store, and the son spat in the dust behind him with a look of deep hatred on his bleeding face, something told them that they might never know the truth of what had happened that night, for the old one was too proud to disclose it, and the other too cowardly.

  Chapter Three

  It was a wonderful balmy day, with the sun playing hide-and-seek amongst the clouds, and the gentle breezes blowing in off the sea to cool the land and bring with them the promise of rain.

  Four whole weeks had passed and January had given way to February since the awful night when father had disowned his only son, and that son had fled the area without trace, almost as though he had disappeared from the face of the earth. At first light after the violation of Emma, when Roland Thomas had come down to the porch, there had been no sign of the perpetrator. When the funeral procession had taken Mrs Thomas along the High Street to the churchyard, there had been no sign of her son: not during the service, nor at the graveside afterwards. There was much talk of it for many days following, with people curious to know what had taken place. They declared their sympathies to the grieving husband and he, in turn, quietly thanked them. They expressed their horror and regret at what had transpired between him and his only son, and he nodded gratefully, but made no comment. They fidgeted nervously with their black neck-ties and meticulously adjusted their prim little bonnets; then, feeling somewhat perplexed and frustrated, they went on their way. Roland Thomas was a private man, they knew, and they respected him for it. All the same, that son of his must have committed an evil deed for such a man as the trader to be so unforgiving! But now, with his wife gone, his son gone, and two female convicts residing on the premises, the circumstances at the Thomas store left much to be desired. There was talk that he intended taking on a young lad to help him in the store, and what with the upright and prim Rita Hughes having taken on the role as housekeeper there, they supposed it was respectable enough. What was more, Roland Thomas, a strong, fine figure of a man at fifty-nine years old, was not past taking himself a new wife, no indeed! Who could be more suitable than the blacksmith’s daughter, they wondered.

  Emma could hardly believe her ears. ‘Marry you!’ she exclaimed, an expression of incredulity on her face as she looked at Roland Thomas through astonished grey eyes. ‘Do you know what you’re saying, Mr Thomas?’ Surely she had misheard, Emma thought. Only ten minutes before, she had been busily attending to her duties in the store, feeling grateful to be back at her work, and exchanging pleasantries with the customers. Now, here she was, summoned to the upstairs sitting-room and seated on the stiff horsehair couch opposite Mr Thomas, who was perched somewhat precariously on the edge of a tall ladder-back chair, his homely face wreathed with anxiety as he waited for her answer. But he dared not wait, for he saw the answer written plainly all over Emma’s countenance, so, taking his courage into his hands, he leaned forward in the chair to fix her all the more with his dark, troubled gaze. ‘Think on it, Emma,’ he urged, ‘don’t reject me out of hand . . . not until I’ve been through the advantages of such a union between the two of us.’

  He then went on to explain how he had thought long and hard about the proposition, and how after each painstaking deliberation he had come to the very same conclusion. ‘It can only benefit both of us, Emma . . . for my part, there are two main considerations. The first is that, when my time comes and I’m called to take place alongside my Violet, that no-good son o’ mine won’t be able to get his hands on this ’ere business! The second gives me even greater pleasure: not only will the business come into your capable and deserving hands, Emma – the good Lord knows how hard you’ve worked to make it flourish these past seven years – but I reckon with your energy and clever business head, you’ll take the Thomas name far higher than I ever could! You’ve got youth on your side, girlie . . . and that special inner drive to succeed. Oh, and there’s so much more opportunity now, to expand and prosper in all directions; you must see that . . . Why, you yourself pointed out the openings in the pearl-shell trade, and we’ve got the profits to prove it! And look how you’ve badgered me about the benefits to be got from coastal trade. You can do it, Emma . . . with me alongside you, and our name over that doorway . . . we can branch out in whatever direction you like!’

  As he talked, his dark eyes alive with enthusiasm, Emma was caught up in his mood of excitement. He was right. All he was saying made a good deal of sense, her every instinct told her so. With overland transport difficulties and more settlers arriving all the time, there was a fortune to be made from taking the goods by sea, investing in good, sturdy seagoing vessels and building up a thriving trade along the coast. The openings were there, and the benefits would be most handsome, she knew. What a challenge that would be! What an exciting and demanding challenge! But on her own it would prove to be a very difficult, if not impossible, task, because of the stigma of being a convict and because she was a woman, women being denied a place in the man’s world of business. Yet Emma knew that she could do it, given the opportunity. Mr Thomas was right. She’d work her fingers to the bone and raise the Thomas Trading Business to such a height that its reputation and importance would be carried from one end of Australia to the other and, in time, across the oceans to England and the rest of the world! There was no doubt in Emma’s mind that one day this vast land of Australia would be a great and important country, when it would play an even more important part in international trading. Indeed, it was already beginning to happen, and all the signs were there that Australia was coming into its own. The convict ships had stopped coming some two years ago; there was now partial self-government, and only recently a privately-owned telegraph link with Perth had been installed. Already plans were underway to construct a network of overland telegraph lines which would link not only major citie
s and ports, but countries far and wide. Railways were also being constructed. It was an exciting time, Emma realised, a time of innovation, growth and expansion of a kind unparalleled before. Oh! What she would give to be a real part of it!

  But could she betray herself by agreeing to marry a man old enough to be her father? Could she live such a lie, when there would never be any other man in her heart but Marlow Tanner? No, she thought not.

  Once more, Emma prepared to give Roland Thomas his answer. And once again, sensing that she was about to turn him down, he bade her wait a moment longer. ‘Hear me out, Emma,’ he pleaded. And she did, waiting most attentively, while he outlined how, on the very day of their marriage, he would sign an official contract stating that, from that day forwards, Emma was his full partner, and that, on the day of his demise everything he owned, lock, stock and barrel, would become her property, and hers alone, to do with as she wished, because he knew in his heart that he could not leave his affairs in better hands than hers.

  Emma could have pointed out that he had a son, and that son must surely be included in any such agreement. But she said nothing, for she knew that, as far as Roland Thomas was concerned, he had no son, and that even to mention his name would infuriate and antagonise her employer. Besides which, the very name of that creature on her lips would taste so foul that she would feel tainted ever after! Only now, after weeks of agonising, had she made herself put that terrible night behind her, when he had invaded her body while she lay ill and helpless.