Heart of the Country

by Tricia Stringer

  That had been a few weeks earlier and she hadn’t seen him again until this morning. He’d been in such a hurry and with the new coat and the hat pulled down over his head, she’d nearly not recognised him.

  Now she was puzzled by what she’d heard. Was he Septimus or Seth? She didn’t know all his business but she was pretty sure the only horse he had was the stock horse that pulled his wagon. The way he’d been speaking it was as if he’d owned this other horse a long time.

  She’d also seen the crash between the two men. Septimus had sidestepped into Thomas whoever he was, she hadn’t caught his last name, and yet he had let the fellow believe the accident had been his fault.

  Harriet leaned her head back against the dray. The trunk beneath her was warm. She closed her eyes, loosened her shawl and wiggled her bare toes in the grass. She turned her face to the sun and inhaled deeply. The air was so much fresher away from the stinking house, where the harlots’ cajoling and the men’s gratification filled her ears. Wet weather had kept them all inside for so long it was a joy to escape.

  Harriet shuddered and pulled her dirty shawl back around her breasts. Thankfully she was young; that and Mabel’s promise to Harriet’s dying mother meant she hadn’t been put to work in the bedrooms yet, but it was only a matter of time. Of course Mabel didn’t know about Harriet’s liaisons with Septimus – the red-cheeked madam would carry on like a headless chook if she were to find out. Harriet kept quiet and earned her keep, cleaning up after the other women and helping in the kitchen.

  “Can you see me now, Mother?” she murmured. “What must you think?”

  She felt a pang of loss for her mother. Harriet’s childhood had been a happy one. She’d been well fed and loved by both her parents, even though her handsome father had been rarely at home. Their little cottage on the edge of the bush near Port Phillip had been filled with laughter and happiness and even more so when he was with them. It had naturally all fallen apart when her father’s real wife had arrived from England. Harriet discovered her mother was her father’s mistress and, as the result of their union, she was a bastard. Her father had been forced to send them away or lose the money his wife’s family had given him to set up a new life in Australia. He was otherwise penniless.

  They had travelled to Adelaide but his promise to follow was never kept, forcing them to take refuge at Mabel’s when Harriet’s mother, with poor sight from failing eyes, was unable to find other work. The meagre purse of money they had left with was soon gone. They had been at Mabel’s little time at all when she had taken sick and died. It took another year for Harriet’s hope that her father would come for her to be totally destroyed. Mabel and her whores were her only family now.

  A wave of longing for the cossetted life she had lost swept over her. No point in that. She swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around herself. Somehow she had to make a change. Now that she knew Septimus was still around she would work out some way to lure him back. He was her ticket out of her predicament and besides, she missed him and what he did to her body. She knew Mabel would soon expect a greater return for her charity.

  “That’s not for me,” Harriet muttered. “I’m not going to live my days flat on my back in a whore house.”

  She was startled from her reverie by a sudden movement beside her. She didn’t have a chance to turn before rough hands grabbed her, one on her breast and one on her mouth. She gasped in some air through the dirty fingers and tasted mud. She struggled but someone had her firmly in his grip. Bile rose in her throat as she sniffed in a breath and the overwhelming smell of pigs engulfed her. Both her arms were pinned to her sides. She kicked with her feet as the man dragged her backwards, behind the dray. She wriggled and twisted. The arm around her body gripped tighter, squeezing the air from her lungs, forcing her to inhale another sickening breath.

  The sound of pigs grew louder. Harriet realised she was being dragged behind the animal yards. The man pulled her through a low door into the dark. She almost choked on the stench. Squeals erupted around them. She cringed in disgust. They were in a pig shed and she was being held by the great oaf who tended the pigs. He was a giant of a man though barely out of his teens. ‘Pig Boy’ they called him. He never spoke even when the whores made lewd remarks implying that the thing in his pants didn’t match the size of the rest of him. No amount of goading extracted a sound from his lips. He would just look at them through blank hooded eyes.

  She prised her lips apart and tried to bite his fingers. He let go the arm that was wrapped around her and smacked her across the side of her head. For a moment she saw stars and the sound of the pigs was replaced by a ringing in her ears.

  He dropped the hand from her mouth and pushed her back against the wall. Her head hit the wooden beam. Once again she almost lost consciousness.

  Her attacker muttered some words, the sounds thick and guttural. Harriet registered vague surprise.

  “You my woman,” he garbled and this time she understood.

  “No, I’m only a girl.” Her voice came out as a whimper, lost in the sounds of the pigs.

  The shawl was dragged from her shoulders. His face loomed closer, contorted into a terrifying leer. “Big diddleys.”

  Once more Harriet understood the guttural sounds. Her heart hammered in her chest. She watched a dribble of saliva slip from the corner of his mouth and pool on his chin. The filthy oaf grabbed her breasts. A jolt of pain forced a shriek from her throat. He pressed his body hard against her. His erection left her in no doubt that what was in his pants was indeed in proportion to the rest of his giant body.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. She’d seen all too closely the results of a customer’s violent abuse of one of Mabel’s whores. The girl hadn’t been able to walk for a week, let alone work. Harriet shuddered. Her young body had only known Septimus’s lusty but careful attention.

  Pig Boy eased away from her and put a hand to his belt. This couldn’t happen. Not to her. Harriet was sure she was destined for better things. She stiffened and pushed with all her might, but he flung her aside. Her scream was lost in the cacophony of noise made by the pigs and cut short as her head banged on the muck-covered ground.

  Four

  Thomas finished strapping the saddle and ran a hand over the glossy hair on the horse’s neck. Pride swelled inside him.

  “You and I are going to get along fine, Treasure,” he murmured into the gelding’s ear.

  That was what Seth had called the horse and Thomas saw no need to change the name. Treasure suited the fine animal and a treasure he was, much better than Thomas had expected he’d be able to get and at a very reasonable price.

  Yesterday his new employer had explained the job and the journey that would take Thomas to the northern property called Penakie. The bullock dray was loaded with provisions and all that was needed today was for Thomas to buy a horse and his own kit. Once again AJ had generously offered a small loan towards these expenses and this morning had directed Thomas to the Horse Bazaar.

  The enormity of the decision had overwhelmed him as he moved among the animals about to be auctioned. There were several mounts he believed would serve him well but they were likely to go for a decent penny.

  It had been most fortuitous to literally bump into Seth Whitby. Thomas noted straight away the sharpness of his grey eyes and the neatness of his moustache. There was also the strong smell of something spicy. Seth was clearly a gentleman already making his mark on the business life of Adelaide.

  The offer Seth made was a good one. Thomas had thought he would have to pay as much as twenty pounds to get the kind of horse he would need. They’d done the deal quickly and agreed to meet in an hour back at Thomas’s dray to take the trunk to Seth’s landlady.

  Thomas mounted the horse and wove through the trees to the road, where he tried to avoid the deep ruts made by wagons. He smiled. At least it would no longer be his job to try to keep the streets passable. The traffic both on horse and on foot grew thicker. Mo
st of Adelaide was out making the best of the sunshine. Ladies carried parasols, children jumped the last of the muddy puddles and a dog chased a bird across the road in front of him but Treasure didn’t falter.

  Thomas felt a building sense of anticipation. A new job and a new horse! As he drew level with the low verandah of the general store he pulled up and dismounted. He had an idea he’d buy himself a broad-brimmed hat like AJ’s. His boots echoed on the wooden floor. The storekeeper turned from the two ladies he was helping and looked Thomas up and down.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, sir,” the man said.

  Thomas studied a shelf of hats. Behind him the two women were discussing the qualities of the fabrics spread on the counter before them. He selected a hat with a broad brim and put it on his head. It felt stiff and awkward. Thomas imagined it would blow off at the first puff of wind.

  “What purpose do you require the hat for, sir?”

  The shopkeeper had left the women to their inspecting and had come to stand beside him.

  “I’m going to work in the bush.” Thomas returned the hat to its place. “An overseer on a sheep property.”

  “In that case may I suggest this one, sir?” The storekeeper selected a light brown hat and offered it to Thomas. “It’s made of a softer felt, so it moulds to your head, and the wide brim will give you protection from the sun and the weather. Most suited to a man of your profession.”

  The hat fit snuggly and was comfortable. He glimpsed the younger of the two women studying him. He noted her pink cheeks, fair hair and nipped-in waist. He was both uncomfortable and intrigued by her scrutiny. The women aboard ship had been married and he’d had little chance to make the acquaintance of any young ladies since his arrival. Where he was going there’d be even less chance. There would be plenty of work to keep him busy.

  “I’ll take it,” he said.

  The hat helped give him confidence to follow his new occupation but he really didn’t have time to waste. He conducted his business swiftly, aware of the continued gaze of the young woman.

  Thomas bid the shopkeeper farewell and left the shop, in a hurry to be on his way.

  He shoved the new hat firmly back on his head and took Treasure’s reins.

  Suddenly a voice shouted across the crowded street. “That’s my horse.”

  Like those around him, Thomas looked in the direction of the voice but a buggy bounced past and there was no one to be seen. Thomas turned back to Treasure.

  “I said that’s my horse, you thief.”

  Thomas looked around again as a man in a top hat and a green velvet coat strode across the now clear street towards him. There were no other horses nearby. Thomas looked at Treasure then back at the red-faced man as he came to a stop and crossed his arms over his rounded stomach.

  Thomas frowned. “Are you speaking to me, sir?”

  “You are the one with my horse,” the man growled and proceeded to run his hand down Treasure’s flank.

  “This is my horse.”

  “Your horse be damned. I’m Charles Bayne and I’ve had this horse for three years. I know my own animal.”

  The horse lifted his head and snickered.

  “There, there, Gideon,” the man soothed. “You’re safe now.”

  “There must be some mistake.” Thomas glared down at his accuser, who was a good head shorter. “I have just paid good money for this horse.”

  A group of people began to gather.

  “Need help, Mr Bayne?” One of the bystanders stepped forward and grabbed Thomas by the arm.

  “Thanks, Jim.”

  Thomas wrenched his arm from Jim’s tight grip and his new hat was knocked from his head in the scuffle.

  “I bought this horse this morning,” he said and bent to pick up his hat.

  “Who did you buy it from?” Bayne sneered.

  “Where’s your bill of sale?” Jim’s fingers poked Thomas in the chest.

  He thought back over the deal he’d done with Seth. The money had been counted out and handed over but Seth had been in such a hurry to get on, Thomas hadn’t thought beyond saddling the horse and setting off on his own journey.

  “I don’t have one but I am meeting the previous owner of this horse back at my dray.” Thomas pushed Jim’s stabbing hand away and turned back to Bayne. “You can ask him yourself.”

  “What’s going on here, Mr Bayne?” A constable made his way through the crowd of eager onlookers.

  “Arrest this horse thief,” Bayne said and waved an arm at Thomas.

  The constable pushed back his round peaked hat, revealing shrewd brown eyes that looked Thomas up and down.

  “I am not a thief.” Thomas met the constable’s look. “I bought this horse earlier today from an acquaintance.”

  “Piffle!” Mr Bayne spat. “Just look at him: he’s no gentleman. I certainly didn’t sell my prize horse to him. It was stolen.”

  The crowd began to mutter and push closer.

  “I know this is Mr Bayne’s horse,” Jim said with a firm nod of his head.

  “All right, thank you everybody. I can handle this from here,” the constable said. “Move along now, please.”

  The crowd muttered and mumbled. Thomas caught a glimpse of a blue and brown patterned skirt. He didn’t look up. He knew it would be the pretty young woman from the shop. Somehow her seeing him caught up in this made it even worse. Those gathered began to disperse except for Jim, who remained close to Thomas, ready to pounce at any moment.

  The constable drew himself up. “I said move along.”

  “It’s all right, Jim,” Bayne said. “I am sure the constable will deal with this thief now he’s been caught red-handed.”

  Thomas opened his mouth to protest but the constable put a hand up in front of him and continued to glare at Jim, who slowly backed away. Finally it was just the three of them and the horse.

  The constable lowered his hand and spoke to Thomas. “What’s your name and where are you from?”

  “Thomas Baker, recently arrived from England.”

  A snort came from Mr Bayne and the constable turned his attention to him.

  “Now, Mr Bayne, if this is your horse as you say, how did you …” the constable paused “… misplace it?”

  Bayne puffed himself up and went red in the face again. “I didn’t misplace it. My horse was stolen by this Baker fellow.” He stabbed the air in front of Thomas.

  Thomas glared back.

  “How and where did he steal the horse?”

  Bayne looked at the constable. “I was on my way back to Adelaide, after some late business at the port. It started to rain and I was tired. I found a place to shelter so I tethered my horse and I must have dozed off. When I woke up this morning my horse was gone. This young thief stole it in the night.”

  “I did not!” Thomas was fed up. This Mr Bayne was obviously a man of some standing around Adelaide but it didn’t mean he could falsely accuse people. Thomas was also aware that even though the crowd had moved away, some were still watching from further along the street.

  “Tell me then, Mr Baker,” the constable said, “how did you come to be in possession of this horse?”

  “My horse,” Bayne snapped.

  The constable ignored him and kept his shrewd eyes on Thomas. “Your turn, Mr Baker.”

  Thomas spoke evenly. “I stayed last night at the accommodation of my new employer, Mr AJ Browne. This morning I rose early to go to the Horse Bazaar. Mr Browne suggested I go there to purchase a mount to suit my new role as overseer of his property. I met a man outside the bazaar who had a horse surplus to his needs and wanted a quick sale.”

  Bayne snorted again. Thomas ignored him.

  “He took me to see the horse in the bush – along the road to the port …” His voice trailed off as he realised how dubious his story sounded.

  “A likely story,” Bayne said.

  The constable ignored him again. “And you bought the horse for how much?”

  “Fifteen po
unds.”

  “He’s a liar,” Bayne shouted. “The horse is worth twice that much.”

  “What was the man’s name?” the constable said.

  “Seth W–” Thomas frowned. “Whitby, I think he said.”

  “Is it on the bill of sale?”

  “I don’t have one.” Thomas began to lower his head then lifted it again with a jerk. “But I am supposed to meet Seth again at my dray. He’s organising storage of a trunk for me. He’s probably waiting for me now. He’ll sort this out.”

  “Very well,” the constable said, “lead us to your dray, Mr Baker.”

  “You surely don’t believe his preposterous story.” Bayne had one hand on the horse and pointed a finger at Thomas with the other.

  “I need to gather all the facts, Mr Bayne.”

  “I’m a busy man.”

  “I’m sure you are, but if Mr Baker thinks he’s bought this horse we need to sort it out.” The constable untethered the reins and looked at Thomas. His expression gave nothing away and Thomas began to realise how precarious his position was.

  “Lead on, Mr Baker.”

  Thomas moved off along the street, past the staring eyes of the remaining onlookers, followed by the constable with the horse and a muttering Mr Bayne. He hoped with all his might Seth would be at the dray waiting for him.

  Five

  “I would like to have spent more time in the dispensary.” Lizzie looked wistfully over her shoulder as the little hut that marked the edge of Adelaide disappeared from sight. Thick bush closed in around them. The wagon, pulled by six bullocks and loaded high with their purchases, lurched beneath her as the wheels rolled down and up through a deep rut in the road. Lizzie gripped the rough wooden seat with one hand and held the brim of her hat with the other. Even though her mother had made some padding for the seat out of bags stuffed with wool offcuts, it was still hard beneath her skirts.