‘They said I’d stolen a gold watch. I hadn’t; the man who accused me knew it, too, but he was a gentleman so naturally they took his word over mine.’
‘Why did he do that?’
‘He and his friend had tried to molest me.’
‘And?’
‘And I stopped them.’ She smiled. ‘I heard he couldn’t walk right for a week afterwards.’
‘So he tried to get you hanged for it. And you never had the chance to pay him back?’
‘One day I shall.’
‘So you’ll go back to England when you’ve free?’
‘No need to do that. You met him at the dinner party.’
He breathed out very slowly. ‘Arthur Dunstable…’
Another smile. ‘I’d done other things so being sent out was fair, in a way.’
‘That hardly exonerates him, though. You would welcome the chance to pay him back very soon, no doubt.’
‘Indeed I would.’
Beyond the window the light was beginning to fail.
‘You say you’ve done plenty of other things. What things?’
She thought of the thirteen-year-old girl trying to hoist the shawls, the young woman maiming Obadiah Gregory with his poker, and decided she’d said enough. ‘It’s a heavy business revisiting the past. Maybe I’ll tell you some other time. I need to be getting back, in any case.’
‘Another day, then. I look forward to it.’
He stood and smiled at her, this tower-tall man. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. To Catherine’s astonishment he drew her to him and kissed her hard on the lips and released her, looking at her and still smiling, while Catherine, caught between shock and a sudden spurt of desire that set her heart pounding, did not know where to look.
‘I’ve wanted to do that ever since I first saw you,’ he said.
I wanted it too. But Catherine stared at him, unsure how she was supposed to react. ‘Had I been a real lady you would not have done that,’ she said.
‘Had you been a real lady I might not have wanted to do it.’
‘Would that not depend on the lady?’
He laughed. ‘Smart as well as beautiful. I shall have to be careful with you, my lady.’
And drew her to him and kissed her again. This time the kiss and her response went on a long time, with Catherine barely able to breathe or think. When at last they separated her knees were shaking and she was afraid her hair was about to come down. A real lady would not permit such liberties. A real lady would pretend outrage. She might even smack his face. But Catherine was not a lady and had no wish to pretend outrage or smack his face. What Catherine knew was very simple. This man had kissed her and she was lost. If he asked her to stay she would stay.
He did not. ‘I shall escort you home,’ he said.
She was unsure whether she was relieved or not. ‘No need for that.’
‘There is every need.’ A smile glinted in the dark eyes. ‘Did I not tell you there may be bushrangers in the district?’
‘In that case your company will be very welcome,’ she said.
‘Give me five minutes.’
He put on his coat and hat. Rifle in hand he walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. She heard him speaking in low tones to the woman Agnes and caught the word tonight before she heard the outer door slam and through a side window observed him crossing the grass towards the stables. Within minutes he was back with both horses and she went out to join him.
It was dark before they reached Aberystwyth. They had not spoken much and now Catherine was more confused than ever. She owed Dr Morgan so much yet her heart knew that if Mungo Jackson had beckoned she would have stayed with him, careless of the consequences.
Her head was even more confused. Who was Mungo Jackson? He was handsome and charming, obviously dangerous, but those were qualities existing only on the surface. She knew nothing of what he was like underneath. Proof of that was the fact that she would never have believed such a highborn man could be the leader of a gang of bushrangers, but the evidence was there with no possibility of a mistake.
They reined in at the entrance to Aberystwyth’s driveway.
‘Will you not come in?’ she asked. ‘I am sure Dr Morgan would be pleased to see you.’
She could not see his eyes beneath the deep brim of his hat. ‘Another time, perhaps. If I may make a suggestion?’ he said. ‘It might be best if you did not tell the good doctor all that happened on your ride. You could perhaps say you got lost in the woods, by happy chance we met and I escorted you safely home.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I shall do that.’
‘Please give Dr Morgan my apologies and tell him I hope to see him soon. And you too, of course, Miss Haggard.’
She heard the smile in his voice, warm yet with a hint of mockery, and responded in the same vein. ‘I shall look forward to that, Mr Jackson.’
He lifted his hand to his hat brim, touched his heels to the stallion’s flanks and within seconds had vanished into the darkness. Catherine rode slowly up the drive to the house.
Where was Mungo Jackson taking her? Where was she taking herself? She reminded herself of everything Dr Morgan had done for her, of Mrs Morgan’s kindness. She thought how foolish she would be to risk her present comfortable life. None of it made any difference. She was helpless.
Dr Morgan had been worried but accepted her story without question.
‘A truly Christian gesture to accompany you all the way home,’ he said. ‘I shall write to Mr Jackson first thing tomorrow morning to thank him. But you were foolish to go so far and get lost. Who knows what might have happened if he had not found you?’
His concern made Catherine feel guilty but that night she lay in bed staring at the darkness, seeing the man and hearing his laughter, remembering the taste of his lips on hers.
‘I am his,’ she whispered. ‘His. His. His.’
An anthem of praise in the stars-bright night. Later, with joy but also trepidation in her heart, she slept.
THIRTY
The following day Dr Morgan told her he had to go to Sydney.
‘My brother is ill and asking to see me.’
‘Will you be away long?’
‘I should be home within a month. Perhaps sooner.’
Two days after he had left, Catherine had two unexpected visitors. She watched in astonishment as Mrs Switzer stepped out of her carriage; she was not the sort to hobnob with convicts, however ladylike they might pretend to be, and Catherine could not imagine why she was here.
Catherine received her in what she had learnt to call the withdrawing room, with its comfortable furniture, white-panelled walls and windows overlooking the river. Mrs Switzer stared around her with the air of someone who had come to make an offer for the property.
‘Do you not find this room a little dark, Miss Haggard?’ Like her eyes, Mrs Switzer’s voice owned the space in which she stood. ‘Perhaps you could prevail on the doctor to have some of these trees removed? The light would be much improved, as would the view of the river.’
Having made the pronouncement she sat down with a self-satisfied air.
‘Dr Morgan is from home,’ Catherine said.
‘That is why I am here.’
Catherine remembered Mrs Hargreaves’s teaching. ‘May I offer you some hot chocolate, Mrs Switzer?’
‘Thank you, I never drink it.’
‘Something else, perhaps? A glass of canary? A cordial?’
‘Nothing. Thank you. I do not intend to stop long. I came to ask if you have heard the news.’
‘What news is that?’
‘Those black-hearted ruffians have been at it again, Miss Haggard. The property owned by Mr Frobisher the magistrate, not two miles from here, was attacked three nights ago. People are asking who will be next.’
Three nights ago, Catherine thought. The night that she, accompanied by its owner, had returned from Jackson’s Landing. She remembered how he had refused her invitation
to come in and ridden off into the darkness.
‘Was anything stolen?’
‘Grain. Always it is the grain that disappears and the storage barn burnt. Mr Frobisher had been boasting he would hang the lot of them. They left him tied up on the floor with his trousers around his ankles and Mrs Frobisher quite distraught.’
‘It must have been a frightening experience,’ Catherine said.
‘They stole her jewellery,’ said Mrs Switzer. ‘She was always telling us how fine her diamonds were. Well, well, she won’t be able to show them off the next time she is invited to the Governor’s House, will she?’
Catherine suspected Mrs Switzer was not overly distressed by the thought. ‘Personally she suffered no harm?’
‘I understand she is still prostrate. The shock, you understand.’
The words were sympathetic but with an undertone of contempt. Mrs Switzer would never permit a gang of bushrangers to terrorise her.
‘You have no fear yourself?’ Catherine asked.
Mrs Switzer’s lip curled. ‘We have loaded guns in the house and men ready to use them. I doubt the bushrangers would be foolish enough to try anything with us, Miss Haggard. Which brings me to the purpose of my visit. How many staff do you have here?’
‘Three.’
‘And two of them women. Am I right?’
‘And myself,’ Catherine said.
‘Another woman. And how many firearms?’
‘I have no idea.’
Catherine remembered Mr Justice Tench’s expression as he donned the black cap. Clearly Mrs Switzer was about to pronounce sentence also.
‘In other words, Miss Haggard, you would be helpless in the event of an attack.’
‘I do not believe there is any danger of that,’ Catherine said.
‘No doubt the Frobishers thought the same.’
‘But I have no diamonds to steal. Nor do we have barns full of grain.’
‘Do you have no fear for your modesty? A woman alone…’
‘Perhaps you have forgotten, Mrs Switzer. I am a convict. You no doubt remember our conversation on the subject.’
‘I never included you in what was only a generalisation.’
‘I am delighted to hear it.’ Catherine saw that her visitor was both furious and embarrassed and was delighted. ‘A convict learns to look after herself. I appreciate your visit but I assure you there is no need for concern.’
Mrs Switzer was unwilling to give up so easily. ‘I shall send one of our men to protect you.’
‘Thank you,’ Catherine said. ‘But I would not wish to put you to the trouble. I am confident we shall manage very well.’
Nor was Mrs Switzer used to being refused what she had set her mind on achieving. ‘I find your attitude extraordinary, Miss Haggard. I would have thought some gratitude would not have come amiss.’
Catherine was not so far removed from her origins that she could not revisit them when it suited her. Now her voice was purest Somerset. ‘You got to remember my background, see? Tesn’t all of us had the benefit of a gentle upbringing.’
Mrs Switzer’s nostrils were like chasms. ‘I apologise, Miss Haggard, for being foolish enough to offer you our assistance.’
‘Not at all, ma’am. Not by no means. Tes kind of you to have thought of us, most kind. But I reckon as ’ow uz’ll manage.’
Mockery? A reversion to type? All Mrs Switzer could think was that Dr Morgan must have taken leave of his senses to permit such a creature in his house. Her lips were a straight line as she boarded her carriage. A sharp word to the driver and they were off.
Catherine watched as the carriage rattled swaying down the drive. She came for a reason, she thought, and laughed. I doubt it was just to offer protection. Maybe she hoped to catch me in – what do they call it? – compromising circumstances?
An hour later she thought how lucky she’d been the nosy cow hadn’t turned up now. Because at twelve o’clock she had a second visitor and this time it was a man.
‘Mr Mungo Jackson,’ Mr Moffatt announced in a graveyard voice.
Her heart jumped. ‘Did you tell him Dr Morgan is away from home?’
‘I did, miss, but he said he would like a word with you anyway, if it is convenient.’
‘Then you’d better ask him to come in.’
‘If you think it proper, miss.’
She looked at him sharply. His lips were drawn together and he had what she thought was a disapproving expression on his face.
‘I think it is entirely proper,’ she said.
‘Very good, miss.’
When Mungo Jackson came in he was smiling, this man who with two kisses had left his mark on her soul. She stood, glad that her trembling knees were hidden beneath her skirts.
‘Mr Jackson, an unexpected pleasure…’
‘I was passing and thought to pay my compliments to the doctor. But I understand he is from home?’
‘He is visiting his brother in Sydney.’
‘Then I must not trespass on your time, Miss Haggard.’ His dark eyes met hers for a moment. ‘Nor would I wish to cause you any embarrassment.’
‘I believe there is no danger of that,’ Catherine said. ‘In any case I am certain that Dr Morgan would not wish you to leave before you took some refreshment.’ She turned to Moffatt. ‘A bottle of dry sack,’ she said. ‘And two glasses. And perhaps –’ with a sideways glance at the tall man smiling at her ‘– a morsel of cheese.’
‘Very good, miss.’ Mr Moffatt, his straight face secure once more.
‘Please sit down, Mr Jackson,’ she said for Moffatt’s benefit.
The door closed. They were alone.
‘You are well?’ he said.
‘Very well.’
All the better for seeing you.
A lady would be ashamed of such thoughts; she might not be a lady but she knew that. She also knew her eyes were shining and did not care. Why should it be unladylike to have a fondness for another person, even if that person were a man? Fondness, she thought. Now there was a word. She knew very well it was not a question of fondness.
‘I am sorry the doctor is away,’ she said politely.
‘I had heard.’
Blood flushed her cheeks. ‘Then why…?’
‘Subterfuge,’ he said. ‘We must not compromise your good name.’
‘You think I care about that?’
‘A lady must always be seen to be above reproach.’
‘Even if she doesn’t care?’
‘Even then. Especially in your situation.’
‘Because I am a convict?’ For years she had conditioned herself to hide the reality of her situation, especially from herself, although she had used it deliberately at the dinner party. Now she had used it twice in one day, first aggressively to Mrs Switzer and again now. Different feelings, different thoughts but the same situation.
‘It is a condition of your life, like breathing,’ he said. ‘It is foolish to deny the dangers.’
‘Yet I would not have said you were a cautious man.’
‘Perhaps you misjudge me.’
‘I have heard you described as the devil.’
‘Witness the horns and forked tail.’
‘Coming to visit me is hardly the action of a cautious man.’
‘Exercising a sensible degree of caution should not mean avoiding risk altogether.’
‘Perhaps risk is part of the attraction.’
‘Perhaps calculated risks are the spice of life,’ Mungo Jackson said.
‘Yet you tell me a lady must be above reproach.’
‘No. I said a lady must be seen to be above reproach.’
Ah.
The door opened. Moffatt came in with a tray bearing the wine and a round of cheese, knives and plates, which he placed on a side table.
‘Will that be all, miss?’ No hint of disapproval now; the very model of a well-trained servant.
‘Thank you, Mr Moffatt.’
He went out, closing the door quie
tly behind him.
‘Please pour us both a glass of wine,’ Catherine said.
Mungo Jackson did so.
‘Unlike you, we do not make our own cheese. A dairyman comes every day.’ She lifted her glass to him. ‘Your good health, sir.’
‘And yours, Miss Haggard.’
He smiled at her, the dark eyes sending messages, and drained his glass. He returned it to the tray then walked across to stand in front of her chair. He took her glass and placed it on the table by the chair then took her hands and drew her to her feet.
Somehow she fashioned a smile. ‘A calculated risk, Mr Jackson?’
He did not speak but leant forward and kissed her slowly yet with passion. Eyelids. Throat. And finally lips that opened to him while she clung to his shoulders, feeling her world swirling about her. When at last he released her she was unsure her legs would support her so sat again in her chair. Lifting her almost full glass she drained it at a gulp. While her body trembled.
They looked at each other: he seemingly in control of the situation; she helpless, drained of strength.
Without speaking he took her glass, refilled it and gave it to her. With unsteady fingers she raised it to her lips and again drank. Soon she felt her strength coming back. Even so, it took several minutes before she was able to gather herself.
‘Why?’ she said at length.
He looked at her with a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. ‘Why?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘You need to ask that?’
‘What is the point of it? If, as you say, I must be seen to be above reproach?’
He continued to smile at her and she thought: this is what the gypsy saw. ’E’ll make ’ee dance, sure enough.
Mungo Jackson said: ‘Have you ever gone fishing?’
‘I was born in a fishing village. Once I stowed away on one of the boats. Of course I’ve gone fishing.’
‘Why did you stow away?’
‘To be free.’
‘Weren’t you free then?’
‘A poor person is never free.’
‘Like a convict.’
‘In some ways being poor is exactly like being a convict. You want to learn why things are so, but there’s no one to teach you. You want to do things but can’t.’
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