Unto Death

by Lena West

  It had been fun, but she looked forward to when the railway extended this far up the valley. It would make the journey so much quicker and more comfortable.

  The liniment, applied morning and night, had helped, although she was glad to accept Stephen's lift to the ground.

  Doubly glad as their proximity gave her the chance to score a sweet good-morning kiss.

  In spite of her creaky start, she insisted on mounting up once again when they were ready to move out. Intending to start as she meant to go on, as a country woman worthy of presiding over a prestigious homestead, she felt her dignity would be better served riding in at her husband's side, rather than tamely sitting on the wagon seat next to the hired help.

  *****

  Eden Vale homestead occupied a vast cleared space carved out of the bush on the slope overlooking a small stream. Lucy's eyes widened as she took it in. From one end of the broad, shady veranda to the other, its frontage was at least twice the width of her parent's home in Morpeth.

  Six wide, shallow steps led up from the carriageway to the front door, which stood invitingly open. Painted a clean, gleaming white with rich maroon trims, the single storey building was capped with a corrugated iron roof, also painted maroon. A row of lead-light French doors opened to the veranda, evenly spaced along its length.

  The veranda itself curved round the building at both ends, appearing to extend some distance back. Later investigation revealed the building to be in the shape of the letter 'U'. The two wings, bedrooms on the left and dining room, kitchens, laundry and a bath house on the right, with a neat herb garden separating the two, had shady verandas on both sides.

  To the right of the kitchen, there was a separate building, linked to the main house by an open breezeway, where the Murphy family resided. The other estate workers lived in a cluster of smaller buildings back beyond the stables. Add in the various outbuildings, and the whole complex had the appearance of a small village.

  Lucy had known the Fortescues were well off, but this sprawling mansion hinted at serious wealth. No wonder Mama and Papa were so pleased with her marriage.

  The whole household, Thomas Fortescue leading the rush, turned out to meet them as they rode up in style, reining Snowflake and Sultan to a halt at the foot of the front steps. It was Thomas who reached up to swing her down from the saddle while Stephen was dismounting, enfolding her in one of his enveloping hugs.

  “Welcome! Welcome to Eden Vale, Lucy. Eh, but it's good to welcome a daughter home. For that's what you are, Lucy my dear; the daughter I've always longed for.”

  “Come and meet Mrs Murphy, Lucy,” Stephen interrupted his father's effusive welcome.

  “Mrs Murphy, Will's wife, is housekeeper here on Eden Vale.”

  Wiping her hands on her immaculate apron, Bridget Murphy bobbed a curtsy and stuck out a work-roughened hand to Lucy.

  “Pleased to meet ye, Ma'am, I'm sure. These here are my two girls, Colleen and Deirdre,” she nodded over her shoulder at the two, freckled red-heads, neither of whom was any older than Lucy.

  “They give me a hand with the housework. As ye can see, they're twins. Like two peas, they are, so don't worry about telling them apart.”

  Lucy returned the vigorous handshake and smiled to include the girls in her greeting, noting that they were slimmer, younger versions of their mother.

  “Mrs Murphy, Colleen, Deirdre. I'm very happy to meet you. I'm sure we'll all get along well together.”

  The skinny, bewhiskered old chap who'd collected the reins of their horses was introduced as Old Pete, Pete Smith, who was in charge of the vegetable gardens. Lucy had noticed the absence of flower beds. Only a few neglected rose bushes and other assorted shrubs graced the front of the house.

  When time allowed, she would have to make some improvements there. She smiled at Pete Smith, hoping to win him to her cause.

  “In a day or so, Pete, I'd like you to show me round the gardens. They're a particular interest of mine, and I learned plant-lore from my grandmother.”

  “Be pleased ta, missus.” Pete showed his pleasure in a gap-toothed grin.

  “Son, take your wife inside and show her round. Don't dawdle out here in the heat and the dust. Plenty of time to chat later on.”

  Obediently, Stephen led her up the broad steps onto the veranda. About to step through the front door together, they were stopped by Bridget's shriek.

  “No! Not like that, Laddie. Don't you know it's bad luck not to carry a new bride over the threshold?”

  “By Jove, Bridget. We can't risk bad luck, can we now. Do the job right, Stephen, my boy.”

  Stephen backed up, bending to slide his arms under Lucy's knees.

  Laughing, she was only too happy to co-operate, flinging her arms round his neck to make his task easier.

  “Welcome to your new home, Mrs Fortescue.”

  “Thank you darling. I'm so very happy to make my home here at your side.”

  Since she was already in his arms, Lucy sealed her vow with a kiss that promised more to come when the time was right; thrilled to feel her husband's enthusiastic response.

  “Eeh, Mr Thomas, but it does my heart good to see young Stephen so happy after all our worries. That it does.”

  “That it does, Bridget. That it does.”

  *****

  By the time the wagon carrying her luggage arrived, and Lucy had changed from her breeches into one of her pretty new gowns, Bridget and the girls had the table set with the best china laden with scones fresh from the oven, spread with thick, fruity, homemade strawberry jam and cream from their small herd of milk-cows. From there on the rest of the day was quite perfect.

  Until bedtime, when a sour note intruded to shake her confidence.

  Stephen had stayed for a night-cap with his father while Lucy readied herself for bed in the luxurious suite her doting father-in-law had ordered prepared for the two of them. At the opposite end of the wing to Thomas's quarters, it consisted of a bedroom, dressing room, and a connecting bedroom which had been converted to a private sitting room. She heard Thomas say a timely goodnight, his footsteps echoing on the polished wooden floors as he strode off to his rooms.

  Stephen's footsteps, however, led out onto the veranda, not to the bedroom where she waited for him. A match scraped, and she smelt the aroma of his cigarillos, and relaxed. He was simply enjoying a last smoke.

  Lucy waited and waited; so long she almost dozed off. Frowning, she sat up in bed, wondering where Stephen had got to. What could possibly be delaying him for so long? He'd had time enough to smoke a fistful of cigarillos.

  Finally, impatient with waiting, she rose, slid her feet into dainty indoor slippers, threw her favourite lacy robe over her night-dress, and set off to track down her errant husband.

  Her plans to win him back to her relied very heavily on his willingly sharing her bed; there was no way she could afford to let him set an unwelcome precedent by absenting himself from it. There he was, sprawled in one of the squatter's chairs near the corner of the veranda. Lucy boldly walked up to him. Lowering herself onto his lap, she slid her arms round his neck.

  “Darling, our bed is so empty without you in it,” she murmured, trailing a line of kisses down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. Meeting no resistance, she traced the shape of his firm lips with the tip of her tongue.

  This led to a wholly satisfactory interlude. Still in seductress mode, Lucy eased to her feet, her hand out in invitation.

  “Come with me, Stephen darling. We have a perfectly comfortable bed going to waste.”

  Stephen rose, only to hang back, resistance in every line of his suddenly stiff posture. An icy chill wiped the seductive smile from Lucy's face. What had she done wrong? She loved Stephen; all she was trying to do was show him how much; how sincerely.

  Guilty pain struck at Stephen's heart when he saw the stricken look replace Lucy's playfulness. There had been no intimacy between them since his afternoon with Isabella had reminded him so forcibly of his true f
eelings. It hadn't seemed right to make love to Lucy along the road. With Will so close by there had been no privacy at all.

  Wanting Lucy, but unsure of his ability to step back and forth between the two roles, between the affectionate husband and the ardent lover, he'd hoped Lucy would save him from his dilemma for another day by falling asleep. Now he was left scrambling for an excuse which would see the return of her smile.

  “Are you sure, Dearest?”

  Lucy's confusion was plain to see.

  “I don't understand, Stephen. Of course, I'm sure I want to make love with my husband. You've taught me so well, it has become my greatest pleasure. One I've sorely missed during our journey home.”

  She tried to recapture her earlier mood.

  “I didn't mean that. Not exactly.”

  This time the question in Lucy's eyes was left unspoken. Stephen, somewhat embarrassed, continued gamely.

  “I, um, … I thought you might be feeling too stiff; from the hard riding over the last several days. I couldn't help smelling the liniment, you know. It quite overpowered the scent of violets you always wear.”

  Lucy's giggle banished the growing tension between them.

  “I am a bit stiff, but I'm sure I'll feel all the better for my husband's attention, Darling.”

  There was no easy escape. Stephen was trapped; all his arguments countered. He gave in with a good grace. If he concentrated on pleasing Lucy maybe she wouldn't notice his heart wasn't in it. It had worked before. Hopefully it would work again. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to bed.

  Lying back much later, Lucy sleeping peacefully in his arms, a contented smile lingering on her lips, Stephen marvelled once again at how easy it had been. His fears had all been in his own head. As soon as he took the first step in their lovers' pas de deux, he'd lost himself in the moment. Was this easy sexual response to Lucy one of nature's compensations, or was he merely fickle?

  No, his heart remained true to his lover; however much his body possessed the ability to respond to the one he was with at the moment, regardless of who she was. Learning this about himself, he felt a new confidence. He could manage his double life, as long as he remembered where his true allegiance lay.

  10

  I failed to listen to the voices of wisdom and reason.

  Now I have lost all wisdom and all reason.

  Now I have lost all hope.

  For two perfect weeks Lucy was blissfully happy. Bridget Murphy was disposed to be helpful, as were her daughters. Even Pete Smith, preening under her just praise of his work in keeping the kitchens of Eden Vale generously supplied with fresh vegetables and fruit from the orchard, was willing to dig flower beds for her. “Like a few flowers, I does,” he said. “Doan know what ta plant, but. Ye just tell me, like, missus, and I'll do the rest.”

  The promised welcoming party to introduce Lucy had taken place four days after their return, and she had been heartily welcomed by one and all.

  The following days saw the Fortescues receiving visits from their neighbours, foremost among them, Grandmama's good friend Hetty McGowan and her husband, John. Lucy, judged competent to drive the gig alone, ventured a return visit, and planned to make other such visits as well, looking forward to forming new friendships among the other young wives.

  Merton's Store, the only shop for miles around, was next on her list. Hetty had told her they stocked packets of flower seeds. The variety was limited, but they would serve to fill in the spaces between the cuttings and seedlings her new friends were heaping on her from their own gardens.

  Stephen had been the epitome of an attentive new husband, and Lucy laughed at herself for all her wild ideas of needing to resort to devious plots and schemes to win her husband's attention.

  He'd needed no urging or prompting at all. She was so glad she hadn't upset her family with her highly improbable story. Joy put an extra bounce in her step, and the infectious smile rarely left her lips. These halcyon days felt like honeymoon days all over again. When doubts and fears regarding the truth of the upsetting incident in Sydney occasionally forced themselves into her consciousness, she adamantly shut her mind against them, deeming them quite ridiculous.

  Although mystery remained, that horrible day in Sydney, when her world fell apart, had receded into memory now her world had righted itself. Superstitiously, she pretended it had never happened, fearing to call disaster down on her head again by giving the mere possibility of it credence. She had even successfully convinced herself she had mistaken the facts; that Stephen had not betrayed her.

  She convinced herself some innocent explanation of his behaviour existed; she simply didn't know what it was.

  Stephen was once again the affectionate playmate of their Sydney holiday. If she had any complaint to make, it was simply that he still held his innermost self at a distance, while on the surface being the most perfect husband she could wish for. She was still waiting for the declaration of love she yearned to hear, but she refused to consider the possibility of a deeper meaning to these omissions, living and enjoying each day as it came.

  If Stephen didn't love her yet, he genuinely liked her; liked being married to her. Didn't he? His every smile, every caress spoke the truth of that. It was a strong beginning from which a deep, abiding love would grow. She would be silly to get in a tizz over minor matters when really, everything was going so well. It was only because she was so new to married life she even noticed.

  *****

  Lucy filled her mornings with learning the household routines and becoming firm friends with the Murphy women, all of whom were predisposed to like any woman who made Stephen happy. Especially Bridget, who had been a mother to him since the death of his own mother, Georgiana, while he was still a child. He continued to treat the twins as younger sisters, rather than as servants.

  “You've no idea, Mr Thomas,” Lucy, passing along the veranda one morning, overheard Bridget say, thinking she and Thomas were quite alone, “just how happy I am to see that nasty piece of goods get her comeuppance before she ruined our boy.”

  “I know exactly how you feel, Bridget, because my sentiments match yours in every detail. Just you be sure our Lucy settles in happily. She's the perfect antidote to his infatuation.”

  “My pleasure, sir. She's a right joy, and not too high in the instep to dirty her hands helping me and the girls, either. Be sure and I'll be there with good advice any time the dear girl needs it.”

  Bursting with pride at the encomiums heaped upon her head and reassured by their certainty that the disgraceful episode in Stephen's past was done with, Lucy tip-toed away to find another spot to sit and tackle the overflowing basket of household mending for which she had made herself responsible; none of the Murphy women being particularly handy with a needle.

  During the afternoons Stephen often returned early. Ordering Lucy into her riding clothes, he took her exploring Eden Vale. Retracing their rides on the estate map hanging in the library behind Thomas's desk, she soon learned her way about. One afternoon she knew would live in her memory forever, Stephen guided her to a secluded spot where the creek flowed, deep and clear, beneath the shade of overhanging paperbark trees.

  “This deep pool is great for cooling off on a hot afternoon like today.”

  He cast a mischievous glance at Lucy sitting astride Snowflake, fanning herself with her hat.

  “How about it Lu? Fancy a swim? I put a couple of towels in my saddlebags so we can dry off afterwards.”

  “No thank you darling. I can't swim. I don't even own a bathing costume, let alone having it with me.”

  Maybe I will buy a costume, Lucy thought, wistfully. The sight of the lazily flowing water was awfully tempting in the heat of the afternoon. She laughed, imagining herself floundering helplessly in the creek.

  “I wouldn’t mind splashing a bit of water on my face though.”

  Lucy swung out of the saddle, leading Snowflake to the water to drink.

  The clear, ringing tones of Luc
y's laugh stirred the devil in Stephen. No way was he going to meekly accept her refusal.

  After he'd hobbled the horses and left them to graze, Stephen set about coaxing his wife into the water. Her diffidence had taken him by surprise; his bride was usually full of enthusiasm for new experiences.

  “Let me teach you to swim, Lu-lu.”

  He tossed her hat onto the ground behind them, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her till he felt her melting against him.

  “You don't need a fancy bathing costume. Not here.”

  Her blue, passion-starred eyes opened wide, staring as his lips spread in a wicked grin.

  “We just strip to bare skin and jump in. It's great fun. Come on Lucy, I dare you.”

  ‘I dare you.’ Those had always been the words that led her into the kind of mischief her mother had deplored.

  A fact her wretch of a husband well knew. But she wasn't a child any longer. What if someone came riding by and saw them? The gossips would have a field day, and she'd never be able to hold her head up in local society. How could she make Stephen proud of her if she was a social pariah? She pushed herself free of his arms.

  “No. Stephen, I'm sorry, but I just can't. I'm afraid someone will see.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, threatening to spill over. While Lucy dithered, Stephen had quickly stripped, carelessly tossing his discarded garments across a low branch. Hearing the tremble in her voice, he swore under his breath. He'd planned the swimming lesson to be a bit of fun. He'd never meant to upset Lucy. Forgetting his nakedness, he walked across to her. Taking her in his arms again he pulled her back against his chest, making soothing noises as if she were a little child.

  “Hush now Lu-lu. If you don't want to, that's quite alright. I won't try to force you.”

  She gazed up at him over her shoulder, all big eyes and a tremulous smile, setting a flame burning in his gut as it always did when he held her this close.

  Of their own volition his hands slid upwards from her waist to cup her lush curves.