Her Australian Cattle Baron

by Margaret Way

  “I feel spent after the plane trip,” Marigold explained, responding to an unspoken prompt from Amelia. “I hate flying and, of course, I’m physically drained. I may appear overly stoic, Mrs. Stirling, but that’s just my way. All the sympathy has centred around Jimmy. I’ve had to learn to be strong. It grew out of my childhood.”

  It was quite a speech.

  And it was so wrong.

  Marigold always spoke as if she were a survivor of a bloody war.

  * * *

  Never had the world seemed so brilliantly clear! Amelia parked the Jeep in the shade of a huge coolabah, its leaves turned edge on to the sun as a protective measure. She knew all about the historic coolabah at Station Creek. It was linked to two relief expeditions to find the ill-fated explorers Burke and Wills. Both men had little or no knowledge of the huge, empty continent that was Australia. No knowledge of the interior. Wills would have made a far better leader. Unfortunately, the impetuous Irishman, Burke, listened to no one and disregarded all advice. It always paid to listen, Amelia had found.

  She had left her camera at home. That had been Anthea’s advice.

  “This is your first sighting. You’re here to enjoy.”

  She was already experiencing enormous pleasure and exhilaration, but a degree of disappointment had crept in. Marigold should have come. But for some strange reason, Marigold was unmoved by the beauty of flowers and the love of literature. It seemed sad Marigold was missing out on so much joy. What did give her great pleasure was jewellery, clothes, shoes, and make-up. Marigold’s aim right from adolescence was to look like a movie star. She would now have the financial resources to cut quite a swath.

  Propelled by adrenaline, Amelia had to restrain herself from running headlong into a waving sea of feathery plumes, coloured lilac into purple.

  “Lamb’s tails,” Anthea called to her, laughing at Amelia’s enthusiasm. She waved an arm towards her right where large green plumes in great profusion waved in the wind. “Pussy tails. You’ll know the paper daisies. The yellow flowers are the native poppies. That great swath of pink over there is the Parakeelya. I’m sure you’ll recognize Sturt’s Red Desert Pea.”

  Amelia looked towards the great ranks of the beautiful creeping vine named after the gentleman English explorer Captain Charles Napier Sturt. It was Sturt who had set out, full of high hopes, to find the continent’s fabled inland sea. In 1845, he did find the extinct inland sea of prehistory, the Simpson desert, one of the most daunting deserts in the world. Sturt’s Desert Pea was the state floral emblem of South Australia. It was a protected species found only in Australia. The petals in the brilliant sunshine radiated a deep, bright red with glossy black central swellings.

  “There are lilies too,” Amelia called to Anthea in surprise. Cool, pure, white lilies in the desert? She began to walk further into the desert gardens, minding where she put her booted feet. The hot sun was drawing out a great multitude of fragrances. Enough to make the head swim. Overhead, came a cacophony of bird calls. The Outback was famous for its bird life.

  “Spider lilies.” Anthea waded in, giving the white lilies the local name. She pulled her large straw hat further down over her eyes. “Those beautiful pink flowers are—”

  “Don’t tell me. Native hibiscus. And those lovely purple flowers?” she pointed to an ocean of blooms, thousands upon thousands.

  “Morgan flowers,” Anthea was taking great pleasure in Amelia’s excitement. Amelia was a born naturalist. She felt inspired by Amelia’s enthusiasm to make a start on her book. She had a great knowledge of desert wildflowers, native grasses, and plants living where she did. To Anthea, her desert home was the heart of the world. Too soon, these glorious desert gardens would fade and die, victims of sun and wind, but for now it was indeed paradise. She was delighted to pass some of her knowledge on to Amelia. Had her beloved fiancé not died and left her so terribly alone, she would have wanted a daughter just like Amelia.

  Instinct told her she might not lose Amelia, yet at the same time, she was convinced something peculiar was happening. Marigold had clamped onto Amelia like a parasite. She relied on Amelia to protect her. Amelia in turn had probably spent her entire life doing just that as some sort of compensation for Marigold’s losing her parents so young.

  Was Marigold being entirely truthful about her baby? Who could tell what was true anymore? Anthea had to wonder what the following days might bring. She hadn’t missed the deadly opposition on Marigold’s face when Amelia had mentioned at lunch she mightn’t go back with her, but stay on. There was something Marigold was desperate to keep quiet. Something she feared Amelia might feel compelled to reveal.

  James was by no means strong, though his mental health had improved since he had returned home. He was trying his best to appear normal, to give Royce all the support he could, but James was no cattleman. He lacked the qualities it took to run a great station. As a boy, Jimmy had experienced considerable difficulty learning to ride a horse. Her brother’s way of throwing his sons onto a horse as soon as they could walk hadn’t worked with Jimmy. However, Royce, as expected, had made the expected grand job of it. No one was sorry when Charles had drawn his last breath. The overriding emotion had been relief. Charles had been a tyrant. Tyrants left damaged people in their wake.

  Once, she had suggested to Royce they could invite Frances to stay. His father had been dead some time. It seemed to her the coast was now clear. She had never blamed her beautiful sister-in-law for fleeing her brother. She had blamed her for many years for abandoning the ten-year-old son who adored her. Frances could not be forgiven for that.

  Royce wouldn’t hear of her tentative suggestion.

  “My mother walked out on us, Anthea. End of story.”

  * * *

  Amelia was finishing dressing for dinner when Marigold burst into the bedroom without resorting to a token tap on the door.

  “I’m a bit worried about you,” she proclaimed, fixing Amelia with cold, blue eyes.

  It had become increasingly apparent to Amelia that since her marriage, Marigold had grown far more aggressive. “You’re frightened I might spill the beans, is that it?” she asked.

  “You can’t bust me,” Marigold asserted, using her new gangster language. “We’re family.”

  “We’re family when it suits you, Marigold.” Amelia reminded her, wondering how their relationship had lasted all these years. Marigold had rarely given an outward sign of affection to any of them. She had behaved toward Amelia as if Amelia was a glorified servant. It had to stop.

  As usual, Marigold ignored what she didn’t want to hear. “You and stuffy old Anthea have grown surprisingly close,” she challenged, as if she found such closeness a real danger to her. “Who knows what you might confide?”

  Amelia finished coiling her hair into an elegant, low-slung knot. “I hate lying, Marigold, but I made a promise. If the truth is to come out, you’re the one with the responsibility to tell it. I don’t believe Jimmy is as accepting of the situation as he appears. I need to warn you as you don’t appear to see it. Jimmy, underneath the swagger, is a very sensitive young man, lacking confidence in himself. He was tremendously disturbed when I last saw him. I find it hard to believe all that torment has gone away. These are early days, Marigold. He needs time. If I were you, I’d take it very easy with Jimmy. Don’t push him. I won’t stand by if he starts to show visible upset.”

  “Boo-bloody-hoo for poor old Jimmy. So you’ll betray me, is that it?” Marigold ran an agitated hand over her fluffy, yellow hair.

  “I can’t think many people would blame me. Your . . . romance with Jimmy had only one purpose. You were after a rich husband. It scarcely mattered if you loved him or not. Jimmy was getting away, so that put increasing urgency on you to rein him in. I’m certain pregnancy had already entered your head.”

  “Pregnancies that have led to marriage are countless,” Marigold said as if it were a course open to all women. “Don’t think I’m going to ask your forgiveness.” />
  “That’s good because I can’t give it.”

  “I won’t lose any sleep about it. My ambition has been fulfilled. I’m Mrs. James Stirling.”

  “For your sins,” Amelia said dryly, turning to face her adoptive sister. Marigold was wearing a low-cut dress that was new. It emphasized a certain ripeness that had overtaken Marigold’s petite body at an early age. It was a beautiful dress that must have cost well over a thousand dollars, but Marigold’s overall appearance was out of kilter with the role she had to play.

  “I see you like the dress.” Marigold ran her hands down over her hips.

  “You look stunning,” Amelia said, with perfect truth. “But is it a good idea? You look more like you’re going to a celebratory dinner than a quiet meal with the in-laws.”

  “What about you?” Marigold flashed back. Her eyes whipped over Amelia as though she were far more elaborately dressed. Amelia was not. She was wearing a fluid ankle-length dress in her favourite shade of violet: sleeveless, high-necked, but her appearance obviously irritated Marigold.

  God had certainly been on Amelia’s side when she was born, Marigold thought with familiar bitterness. It was so much easier for clothes to hang well if one had height. Her signature high heels were an answer to Melly’s willowy height. Melly was such a clotheshorse!

  “I’m hardly overdressed, Marigold,” Amelia pointed out mildly. The family knew Marigold had always longed to be taller. Marigold had always believed they had grown up in competition. How had all these obsessions started?

  “Sorry. No hard feelings.” Marigold dipped her head. “Our temperaments simply don’t match.” It was becoming increasingly difficult for Marigold to hide her true feelings. And why not? No matter what the outcome, Jimmy had married her. She was Mrs. James Stirling, even if she found it difficult to remember at times. She knew she had to remain quiet and careful before she could live out her dream, but it was hard. For all her assets, she realized she might be a tad lacking in patience. The great thing was she was no longer the one in the background.

  No longer in Melly’s shadow. She was starting to get people to sit up and take notice. She was a Someone, the subject of society gossip. That would work for her with the divorce. She was ready to sweep her first marriage away. Her connection with the Stirling family wouldn’t hurt when she found someone else rich, of course. Lots of young women were raised to find a good husband. A rich husband preferably, or at least one who could keep them in style. She knew some of Melly’s university friends had gone to university to find prospective husbands. That made perfect sense to Marigold. Let Melly marry her dull, old Oliver. Marigold hated academics. They didn’t include her in their conversations.

  * * *

  “I need to speak to you after dinner, Jimmy,” Marigold said, unsmiling. She considered she needed to enforce her position, as her sense of entitlement grew.

  “Feel free to speak to me now,” James responded, a ripple passing over his face. “We all know you’re here to discuss divorce.”

  Marigold didn’t beat about the bush. “You’re right,” she said. “We can’t possibly live together after this.”

  “Maybe you should speak privately, Jimmy,” Royce suggested. Marigold appeared to be blaming James entirely for the breakdown of the marriage, let alone the sad fact she had miscarried their child.

  James shook his head, his sun-bleached hair falling onto his forehead. It made him look very young, very vulnerable to Amelia’s eyes. She had a bad feeling about all this, or more precisely about Marigold and her methods. Amelia felt she was allowing herself to be compromised. She could imagine how her being party to any form of deception would appear in the family’s eyes. Especially Royce’s. Her need for him to believe in her grew daily. She couldn’t hide from her own heart. She was in love with him. Surely he had to be a little in love with her? Not just a man who desired a certain woman? She knew it was her move next. Marigold had to be made accountable for her actions. The truth could not be buried. The truth could help Jimmy. She could see how deeply disturbed he was. She suspected Royce did too.

  “I want to be open about this,” Jimmy was saying. “What is it you want, Marigold? Hang on, let me rephrase that. How much do you want?”

  “The kind of money I’m entitled to,” Marigold retorted, as if his even asking was a disgrace.

  There was a moment of stunned silence around the table.

  Sally surprised them all by speaking up. “Is that why you married my son, for the money?” she asked, knowing it could well be true.

  “Not really,” Marigold shrugged. “I fell madly in love with Jimmy. Lots of girls did. Even Melly was attracted to him.”

  Amelia sat back in her chair, knowing Royce’s brilliant, dark eyes were on her. “I think we’ve heard enough of that, Marigold.”

  Marigold smirked like a cat finishing off a bowl of cream. “I know. It’s utterly confidential. You’re promised to your enormously boring Oliver, even if he is loaded down with academic achievements.”

  “You’re like a broken record, Marigold,” James groaned. “There was nothing in the world I wanted more than for Amelia to be attracted to me. We both know she wasn’t. Not in any romantic sense, which is what you’re determined to put about.”

  “That’s okay. Jimmy. I forgive you.” Marigold spoke as though she was the one to show maturity, not James. “What man could fail to be attracted to Amelia?” she asked, coyly.

  “Let it go, Jimmy.” Amelia met Jimmy’s anguished blue eyes. “Please, Jimmy. Once started on something, Marigold persists. Best to let it go.”

  “Why are you here with her, Amelia?” Jimmy implored her. “You must know she hates you.”

  “How dare you!” Marigold lashed out in a big hurry. “Melly is my sister. We grew up together. I love her.”

  “Like hell you do!” James said. “You don’t fool me anymore.”

  Royce intervened. “I think that’s enough!” he said in a hard, emphatic voice.

  James turned his head to appeal to his brother even though Royce was wearing his most formidable expression. “I’m sorry, Royce, but I have to say it. There’s no love in Marigold’s heart for Amelia. If someone told me Marigold had murdered her, I’d believe it. Marigold is a warped soul.”

  “If that were true, Amelia should know it,” Royce said, bluntly.

  Anthea gently touched Amelia’s hand. “Why have you come, Amelia, dear?”

  Why have I allowed Marigold to do these things to me, Amelia agonized. She was less free of Marigold and her schemes than she had ever been.

  “I think a reply might be in order, Amelia,” Royce pointed out in a dark-toned, challenging voice.

  “Allow me!” Marigold cut in loudly. “Melly is my sister. Need I repeat myself? I think it very unkind of anyone who might doubt our closeness. Jimmy is plain raving mad. Melly is here to support me.”

  “With what?” Royce asked, sounding more questioning than kind. “Is she here as your lawyer? Divorce isn’t Amelia’s field.”

  “God knows she sees a lot of broken marriages, Royce,” Marigold said. “We have that in common along with everything else.”

  Amelia sat, her beautiful face as still as a marble statue. “Believe it or not, I’m here for Jimmy’s sake.”

  “And I need you.” James flushed with gratitude, not afraid to admit it. The intensity of his adoration of Amelia was clear to all of them.

  “See, what did I tell you!” Marigold threw up her hands as though neither Amelia nor Jimmy could deny her allegations. She gave Amelia a look so stark she might have been demanding an instant apology. “I’ll need more wine if I have to listen to any more of this.”

  Royce ignored her. It wouldn’t take Marigold long before she would be able to down enough alcohol to keep a football team happy, he thought.

  It was Sally who spoke, her forehead creased in consternation. “I don’t understand any of this. Amelia is here to support Jimmy?”

  “Jimmy’s a wimp,” Marigol
d said, as though that explained everything.

  “You’re the only one here who thinks so,” Royce told her coldly, trying to hold his anger in check. “Enough has been said tonight. None of us can overlook the fact you recently suffered a miscarriage, Marigold. It’s a surprise to find you looking so well.”

  To James’s mind, there was something unspoken in his brother’s last remark. “Hey, what’s going on?” He looked from his brother to Amelia, whose creamy skin had gone very pale. “Have I missed something here, Amelia?” He appealed to her. “I’m not that dense I can’t see you have some anxiety of your own.”

  She knew she was showing outward signs of her inner distress. “You and Marigold should talk, Jimmy,” she urged, accepting blame for putting herself in Marigold’s trap. “I can’t be a part of that discussion.”

  “But you allowed yourself to be dragged into it.” Royce had been staring at Amelia with great intensity.

  Again, Anthea clasped Amelia’s trembling hand. “It’s wrong to blame Amelia for any of this, Royce,” she admonished her nephew.

  “Is it?” Royce returned, a sombre expression on his face. “I think we all saw there was no love between James and Marigold at the wedding. When Marigold told him she was pregnant, he made the decision to marry her. The real challenge for us all is, do we believe Marigold was pregnant at the time of the wedding and subsequently miscarried?”

  Amelia felt her entire body go cold. The fabric of their lives was about to be torn apart, left in a pile of tatters. How foolish it was to lie! One was always caught out.

  Hot colour sprang into Marigold’s cheeks. She gave a gasp of pure outrage. “Jesus!” she blasphemed. She put her hand to her throat as if Royce had attempted to strangle her. “Tell them, Melly,” she snapped. Sainted Melly would be believed. “Tell them about my miscarriage. This is a bloody insult. I can’t believe it of you, Royce.”

  “Believe it,” he said.

  Amelia remained silent. All the support she had given her adoptive sister over the years now seemed for nothing. Clearly, Marigold believed she would back her to the death. The moment had presented itself. She needed to be herself and suffer the consequences. She released a breath of total weariness. She was more disgusted with herself than Marigold, who truly lacked the sensibility to know better.