Heart of the Country

by Tricia Stringer

  “I don’t believe I will, Mr Browne.”

  “Very well. There’s plenty to be made from this land if you are prepared to work. I have property in the north and I’ve stocked it with three thousand sheep. It’s rugged country. Water’s not so abundant and it’s no place for the faint hearted. There are wild dogs up there and there’s also been trouble with the natives. In spite of that the sheep don’t need shepherding as you would know it in England.” AJ leaned closer. “I have other land to see to and I need an overseer.”

  The word hung in the air between them.

  Finally Thomas spoke. “So you would want me to be your overseer?”

  “I need someone reliable. It’s no easy job. I’ve left one shepherd up there, a redheaded Scot with a quick temper. McKenzie’s his name but he’s little more than useless when left to his own devices. He needs a master.”

  Thomas held Mr Browne’s look across the table. He was a footman. What did he know about shepherding in the bush of South Australia?

  “So now you know,” AJ said. “I need a man I can trust. I am in a hurry but I can wait for the others.” He paused. “Unless you believe you could be that man.”

  Thomas swallowed his doubts. “Will there be some guidance?” he asked.

  “You seem a bright enough fellow to me. McKenzie knows sheep; you’ll learn from him. He’s just not what I call reliable.” AJ lowered his voice. “I’ll pay you sixty pounds a year.”

  Thomas’s reply died in his throat. That was a decent sum of money. It would come with a lot of hard work but he had nothing to lose and he needed the experience a job like this would give him.

  AJ was watching him closely. “I’ll loan you the money to buy a horse and saddle. If you do well, I’ll increase your salary each year.”

  Thomas’s mind raced as he calculated the income. Maybe he could make enough to get his own place one day. His father would have been proud. “It’s a good offer, Mr Browne.”

  “Call me AJ.” The older man reached his hand across the space between them. “Do we have a deal?”

  Thomas hesitated then thrust his own into the firm grip of his new employer. With not much to lose and a lot to gain, he felt a surge of optimism.

  “Well done, Thomas. It’s a good opportunity I’m offering you. It won’t be a ride in your English countryside but I’m sure you’re up to it. Come on.” AJ rose to his feet. “No need to wait around here any longer. There’s a lot to organise. We might as well make a start.”

  Thomas reached for his jacket. No longer would he have to wield a shovel in the endless job of keeping Adelaide’s streets passable. He would still be working for someone else but for a good wage and AJ was already proving to be a most agreeable employer. Outside, the heavy clouds had lifted and broken apart. Sunlight reached his patch of the street. Thomas was happy to take that as a sign his life was improving. He pushed his battered hat firmly onto his head and strode purposefully after Mr Browne.

  Two

  Septimus Wiltshire crawled out from under his wagon. He stretched his arms high then wide, extending his tall frame after a night in the cramped hollow. The damp mist clung to him and shrouded the surrounding bush in its veil. He stood still and listened. The soft snort of Clover, his horse, tethered beyond the wagon, was the only sound. Not even any birds yet. He swept a dark lock of hair from his face and peered into the shadows of the pre-dawn gloom. Nothing. He shrugged his shoulders then stretched again. Maybe it was the cold that had woken him rather than a noise.

  Hoofbeats echoed behind him then stopped. He turned on silent feet, keeping his back to his wagon. The place he’d chosen for his overnight camp wasn’t far from the road that ran from Adelaide to the port. He knew well enough the types who might be afoot at this hour. He eased down, picked up a thick branch and gripped it with both hands.

  Clover gave another snort. A short whicker echoed in return. The hoofbeats came closer and a large shape loomed out of the mist. Septimus lowered his weapon. The horse was riderless. It had a bridle with a short piece of frayed rope hanging from it but no saddle. Clover snorted and shifted behind the wagon.

  “Easy.” Septimus hoped to reassure both beasts. The newcomer pricked its ears and lifted its head.

  “Are you lost, my beauty?” He kept his tone low and took a tentative step, offering his upturned palm.

  The horse eyeballed his hand then gave a small toss of its head.

  “Where’s your master?”

  Septimus cast a look over the horse then behind it. Whoever had lost this magnificent animal would surely be searching for it. He took another step and reached forward. The horse watched him closely but didn’t shift. Septimus gripped the rope.

  “There you are my beauty, safe now.”

  The elegant creature lifted its head but didn’t pull away as he stroked its neck.

  “You were lost but now you’re found. Septimus will look after you.”

  He ran his hand down the horse’s shoulder then along its back to its flank. It was a fine creature. He was already imagining how much he could get for it. More money than he made in a month of selling his lotions and potions. He led the horse to the wagon and secured it with another piece of rope then hurried to his campfire.

  The small fire he’d made to boil his billy the night before was cold. He scraped bark and leaves from the dry area under the wagon and soon had flames flickering. His stomach rumbled and he went in search of the last of his bread. He’d scrounged a loaf from a baker in exchange for a couple of hair-restorer pills. The baker had very little hair left on his head but Septimus was hopeful the two pills and his convincing talk would be enough to encourage the man to buy a whole bottle today.

  While he was at the food bag he dug out the last shrivelled carrot, pilfered from a garden, and broke it in two. He gave the smallest piece to his faithful Clover and the rest to the prize beauty tethered to the back of the wagon. The urge to run his hand over the animal’s fine rump was too great to resist. In the sunlight just beginning to filter through the trees, he could see no distinctive markings. It would be easy to find a buyer for this fine beast.

  “Perhaps I should name you Treasure,” he murmured and patted its neck again. “With the profits from your sale, I can buy a range of wares.”

  Septimus left the horse and returned to his fire, his mind racing with possibilities. South Australia was the land of opportunity and Septimus was an opportunist. There were many settlers spreading out into the country beyond Adelaide. They were isolated and in need of supplies. He would have to move swiftly; find someone to buy the horse, stock his wagon and move on.

  He warmed his hands over the flames and contemplated the money the horse would bring.

  “Steady up, Septimus,” he muttered. “You need a strong plan.” It might not be his usual form of theft but this mission was tinged with danger all the same. He squatted down to think it through.

  Just a few hours later he hovered outside the Horse Bazaar. He’d dressed in his only set of fine clothes for the occasion. Under his long black jacket he wore a green patterned waistcoat over a white shirt. A neatly tied cravat sat around his neck and a broad-brimmed black hat sat atop his head. Not only did he want to give the impression he was indeed the owner of the horse, he wouldn’t be easily recognised by the young girl who lived in the whore house nearby.

  He’d bedded Harriet several times in the stables at the back of the Horse Bazaar before discovering that she was younger than she appeared. She wasn’t worth losing his newly gained freedom over. He’d served out his time in New South Wales and now he was a free man with a fresh start in South Australia. No one here knew his history or anything about him and that’s the way he planned to keep it. He liked his women unsullied and Harriet had been a virgin. A pity to give up the pleasures of her body but he didn’t want some young whore, nor the old madam who kept her, tripping him up.

  He glanced around. It was early yet – the auctions weren’t due to start for another hour. He’d tethered
Treasure a way off in the bush as he certainly couldn’t sell her in the bazaar itself. There was plenty of activity around him: there were men bringing in horses and other men inspecting them, their deep voices mingled with the gentler tones of the few women who had braved the early hour to accompany them. He was looking for someone more gullible.

  “Oy! Watch it.”

  Septimus twisted at the loud shout. His eyes widened. He dipped his head and tugged down the brim of his hat. The lad who’d shouted was leading a horse with each hand. A man had been in his way … a young man Septimus summed up immediately as a new chum, wet behind the ears. From below the brim of his hat he watched as the younger man stepped over a pile of horse dung still steaming in the cool air, adjusted his grip on the new saddle he carried and walked further into the bazaar. Septimus followed a short distance behind.

  “Take a look at this one, sir.” A man beckoned. “He only needs a bit of feed and he’ll do you proud.”

  Septimus watched as his target looked from the man to the poor bag of bones he was tending and shook his head. At least the new chum seemed capable of recognising sorry horseflesh. After wandering a little further into the bazaar the fellow suddenly hefted the saddle higher and turned back. Septimus dodged out of the way between two horses then followed his mark at a safe distance.

  In a clearing at the end of a lane, the fellow stopped beside a loaded bullock dray. Septimus watched from the corner of a building. He wasn’t comfortable here, so close to the madam and her young trap, Harriet. If he hadn’t been certain he’d found the buyer for his horse, he’d be on his way.

  The fellow lowered the saddle to the ground next to a large trunk. He lifted the lid and peered inside. He reached into the trunk and lifted out a silver hairbrush, turned it over in his hands and stared at it a moment, then suddenly dropped it back into the trunk and lowered the lid.

  He stood back and straightened his shoulders. He was dressed in the same brown trousers, white shirt and brown coat as you would see on half the men around; there was nothing special about him, though he was tall and Septimus conceded he emanated a look of strength. He was perhaps in his early twenties, so a good ten years younger. The sound of the bazaar grew louder as the auction began. A look of determination spread across the fellow’s face as he turned to look in that direction. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and stepped away from the dray.

  Perhaps he wouldn’t be so easily fooled but it was now or never. Septimus moved directly into his path and was struck by the new chum’s shoulder. “Careful there,” he groaned. The collision hadn’t been forceful but he staggered back against a fence as if it had.

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” The younger man reached out a hand to steady him. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  Septimus remained doubled over. “Knocked the breath out of me, that’s all,” he wheezed.

  “Would you like to sit?” The man cast a hand towards the trunk beside the dray.

  “That’s very kind.”

  Septimus hobbled forward, leaning slightly on the offered arm, and sat himself down.

  “Will you be all right?”

  “Just need to get my breath back,” Septimus gasped.

  “I should have taken more care.”

  “No harm done.” He brushed at the arm of his jacket and made sure his hat was pulled low on his head, casting a shadow over his face.

  “Thank you for your generosity.”

  “It was an accident. No need for people to be unsociable on such a fine day.” Septimus turned his lips up in a smile and ran a finger along his pencil-thin moustache. He glanced into the deep brown eyes studying him carefully.

  “Since we’ve run into each other perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Seth Whitby.” It slipped off his tongue easily. He’d needed an alias several times before this. He had spent a lot of time perfecting the fine manners and speech patterns of a gentleman.

  “Thomas Baker.” He shook Septimus’s hand in a firm grip. “If you’re sure you are well, I must be on my way, Mr Whitby. Once again I must apologise for my clumsiness. I’m afraid my mind was on other matters.”

  Septimus continued to grip his hand. “It must be important business that has you in such a rush.”

  “I have a new job.” He slipped his hand out of the grip. “I require a good horse.”

  “Then you are in the right place,” Septimus said and stood up.

  “Yes.” Thomas nodded in the direction of the bazaar. “I’ve looked at a couple of fine animals here. It is my hope to secure one of them at a good price.”

  Septimus flung out his hands. “Well, Thomas, isn’t that amazing? We are not only moving in opposite directions but have opposite duties today.”

  Thomas hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “Only that I am about to head out bush and I must get my horse ready for sale.” Septimus put one hand to his chest. “Reluctantly, of course, but it is surplus to my needs. I am in a hurry to be gone and it appears I am too late to put my fine animal into today’s auction.”

  “And I have held you up.” Once again Thomas started to leave.

  “But perhaps …” Septimus laid a hand on his arm. Thomas was slightly taller but Septimus stared directly into his eyes. A frown crinkled the other man’s forehead. Septimus slid his gaze away.

  “Yes?” Thomas asked.

  “Well it’s just that – maybe our accidental meeting could be of benefit to both of us.”

  “How so?” Thomas turned slightly at the loud call of the auction beginning.

  Septimus leaned in closer. “We are both anxious to be on our way. You need a good horse and I have one to sell. If I wait for the next bazaar I will be held up from my departure by a few days and time is money.”

  “I’m not sure I …”

  Septimus could see Thomas was torn between the proposition and the sound of the auction starting without him.

  “Hear me out. You have my word as a gentleman. The horse is an excellent animal. As good if not better than anything on auction today, and he’s used to the bush. I need to be on my way so I am prepared to sell him below the price I could have got at the bazaar.”

  Thomas hesitated.

  “I have him tethered nearby. And as I’m a desperate man and you seem like a genuine fellow,” Septimus lowered his voice, “you could take him off my hands for, let’s say, fifteen pounds.”

  He tipped his face so the brim of his hat kept the shadow across his face, but his eyes held Thomas’s gaze.

  “I’m not sure.” Thomas said. “I’d need to see the horse.”

  “Of course. He’s not far from here.” Septimus placed his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Come with me now and if you like him he will be yours immediately.”

  The younger man looked back at his dray attached to the bullocks.

  “We won’t be long,” Septimus said.

  “It’s the trunk. I was going to find somewhere to store it. The things inside will be no use to me on the road.”

  Septimus eyed the trunk. No doubt half of what it contained was worthless but he had seen the silver hairbrush. “I may be able to help you there as well,” he said, once more smoothing his moustache with the tip of his finger. “Like you, I have things I don’t need on the road. There’s a woman lives quite near here, my landlady, looks after a few items for me. I could add your trunk to mine.”

  Septimus ran a caressing hand over the trunk. Landlady was a generous name for Mabel, though of course he wouldn’t be taking Mr Baker’s trunk anywhere near the brothel and its troublesome inmates. “She charges.” He smiled. “But if you add another pound to the purchase of the horse I am sure I can cover it. You’ll be gone a year or more, I am assuming?”

  “To tell the truth I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “That’s settled then,” Seth said. “I’ll come back for it once we’ve dealt with the horse.”

  Thomas kept looking at the trunk. Once more there was hesitatio
n.

  “We’d better move quickly now. There’s a lot to do and I want to be on my way by midday, as I’m sure you do too.” Seth put a guiding hand on the younger man’s shoulder and pointed towards the street. “The horse is out along this way. Bring your saddle.”

  He strode off. A quick glance over his shoulder saw Thomas following him. Septimus felt the familiar warmth of success spread through his body. He had hooked his man, and now it was simply a matter of concluding their business, coming back for the trunk and leaving Adelaide for the bush.

  Three

  Harriet crawled out from under the dray and sat on the trunk watching the place where the two men had disappeared into the bush. For a moment there she had thought the good-looking stranger must have seen her. He kept staring towards her hiding place, but now she realised it was the trunk that had his attention.

  Septimus hadn’t seen her either. She had been feeding the chickens when she’d seen him pass by. He was walking strangely; dodging along fences, peering round corners, so she decided to follow him. When she realised he was watching the tall stranger, she’d edged her way around behind and under the dray to see what held his interest.

  She hadn’t seen Septimus for weeks but for a while he’d been her lover. He used to have an old trunk stored in Mabel’s stable and he came across Harriet there one day. She saw he was a chance at escape from the whoring life she knew was laid out in front of her. Harriet knew Mabel was saving her for the right well-paying gentleman; someone who wanted a young, untouched woman. It was nearly her birthday, so it wouldn’t be much longer. She decided to make her own destiny.

  She’d learned a lot from observing the other women at their work. She recognised the lust in Septimus’s eyes when he realised she was a virgin. He was aroused by the fact he was her first and only lover. He had been gentle with her and even paid her a few coins. Then he became a regular, secret visitor. Harriet got to know his body and what he liked done to it. He was much older than her and so handsome with his thick dark hair and piercing grey eyes that mesmerised her. She grew besotted with him. Then one day she let slip her true age. She was only thirteen, soon to be fourteen. She had a body that was developed beyond its years and Septimus had made the most of it, but since he’d discovered her age he hadn’t come back.