Fiery Possession (17 page)

Ashen-faced, Fiona rushed out to meet her. “Jo! Jo! The bank’s sold our mortgage, we’re going to be evicted. Where can we go?”

“I've seen Luke Campton. Don't worry, you can stay here. He'll pay the mortgage out so the farm will be yours.”

“Really? That’s nice of him.” Fiona gave a huge sigh of relief. “Oh thank goodness there are still some decent people left in the world.” She clapped her hands. “We’re saved.”

Feeling about a hundred years old, Jo climbed down from the horse. As if suddenly realizing all was not well, Fiona peered into Jo's ravaged face.

“What happened?  Why are you here?”

“Campton sacked me. Wouldn't even pay me for the work I did, said as he didn't hire me, he owed me nothing.”

Fiona patted the horse's head. “You said he would pay out the mortgage. Um, Jo,” her voice trailed away. “You didn't agree to go over to him, tell me you didn't.”

“What else could I do?”

“You can't!” Fiona shrieked. “We'll be ruined!”

“If I don't we starve to death. Not much of a choice, is it?  I'm hungry, what's for tea?”  What a lie, she wouldn’t care if she never ate again.

“Lucy's eaten. I made a stew, one of the Kirkman boys brought over a rabbit. I can heat it up.”

She glanced at Fiona. Always finely built and delicate, she looked almost ethereal now, because she hadn’t been eating properly.

“We can share it.”

They traipsed into the homestead. Jo couldn’t be bothered about cleaning up, just washed her hands and face. Later she would heat some water for a bath. It was tempting to present herself to Luke in a filthy, disheveled state, yet pride forbade it.

The stew tasted good, with pieces of carrot and potato floating around in thick gravy. “Where did you get the vegetables from?”

“Kirkmans gave me a few. I hated taking their charity, they're barely surviving themselves, but I did it for Lucy's sake.”

“Of course you did,” she soothed. If only Fiona and Ian had planned things better, there would have been enough supplies to tide them over for a time, at least.

“You aren't really thinking of going over there?” Fiona sounded almost pleading.

Jo spluttered into her food. “Yes, I'm going.  Not only did he promise to give you the farm free and clear, but supplies will be sent out regularly from the store.”

“I can't let you do it. Ian would turn over in his grave.”

“Do you think he'd rest easily knowing his wife and child were homeless, starving?  He entrusted you to me and I won't let him down, no matter what I have to do.” She licked suddenly dry lips. “Tell me, what's it like when a man, well you know, takes a woman?”

“It can be beautiful.”  Love shone from Fiona’s eyes.

“You loved Ian. It's different for me. Please, isn't there anything you can tell me?  Granny Kirkman said it was so terrible you never forget it.” She clutched Fiona's hand.

“I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. Don't fight him. It will only inflame him more. He's not a callow youth, he's an experienced man.”

“God only knows how many mistresses he's had,” Jo retorted.

“You shouldn't speak so coarsely, you sound like a street woman.”

That's exactly what I'll be when he finishes with me. Bitter bile rose up into her throat. She dared not speak the words out loud as Fiona verged on collapse, with not one vestige of color left in her gaunt face.

“Why don't you go to bed,” Jo said. “You’re exhausted. I'll clean up here.”

“Lucy and I will never forget what we owe you. Somehow we'll make it up to you.”

“Thanks, you don't owe me anything. Only one person owes me, and I'll make him pay some day. That's a promise.”

***

Next morning after packing her trunk, Jo trailed around the property. It slumbered tranquilly in the early morning light and she inhaled the perfume of fresh clean air.

Birds, foraging for breakfast in the gum trees, squawked loudly as she wandered down to the creek. It barely trickled along now, but what did it matter?  There were no crops left and only a few animals.

The bitterness of defeat all but engulfed her. Even at this late stage she tried to rally herself. “Be proud. Don't let him know what his victory cost,” she muttered over and over. Pride would be the only thing standing between her and absolute degradation.

She stretched out on the warm earth, resting her face on folded arms.

“Jo,” Fiona's cry jerked her awake. “Someone's here to collect you.”

The time for reprieve had run out. Slowly, she raised herself from the ground, brushing at the leaves and pieces of grass attaching themselves to her clothes. On leaden feet, she dragged herself to the homestead. Fiona stood with lowered head as she clutched Lucy's hand.

The man from Kangaroo Gully appeared middle-aged and heavily whiskered. As they exchanged a brief greeting, she caught a glimpse of something akin to pity, before he inclined his head.

“Are you ready, Miss?”

“Yes.” She fiddled with the ties on her bonnet. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders as she hadn’t bothered to put it up. It had taken all the strength she possessed to put on a decent gown.

“Don't do it,” Fiona beseeched.

“I have to.”  She kissed her sister-in-law’s ice cold cheek. “Be a good girl for your mama, Lucy.” She gave the child a hug. “I'll be over as soon as I can. We might as well go, mustn't keep the big boss waiting.”

The man made no comment as he helped her up on to the front seat of an expensive, well sprung buggy, and fetched her trunk. All too soon she started her journey to perdition. She waved to the figures on the verandah until they became tiny specks in the distance.

“What's your name?” she asked the man.

“Tom.” 

She wondered if he knew the reason for her going to Kangaroo Gully. Would Luke have boasted about it? The thought made her cringe.

“The little Carson twins haven't stopped talking about their time at your school,” Tom volunteered.

“They were sweet little girls. Do you know their parents well?”

“Jack works with me.  Don't know the wife, keeps mainly to herself.”

“What kind of boss is Campton?”

He hesitated. “Hard but fair, if you don't cross him.”

“What happens if anyone crosses him?”

“He breaks them.”

They lapsed into silence. There was simply nothing left to say, but a dozen questions buzzed around inside her head. What kind of lover was he? How long would it take before he tired of her? How would she feel afterwards? What if someone in town found out?

Kangaroo Gully rested, mellow and peaceful in the afternoon sun. Although there were signs of movement in the distant stockyards, nothing stirred around the homestead. They stopped outside a side entrance archway that was formed by a rose-covered trellis.

The housekeeper met them on the side verandah. “I'm Mrs. Osborne.” Her smile appeared genuinely warm. “Come this way. You'll be in the master suite. This will be your private verandah. It has glass doors opening off your sitting room. That will be all, Tom. Put the trunk on to the verandah before you go. One of the maids can bring it in.”

“Goodbye, Tom, thank you,” Jo called out.

“My pleasure, Miss.” He touched his hat. She followed Mrs. Osborne inside.

Beautiful, solid cedar furniture filled a small sitting room. The walls, painted pale apple green, complemented the ceiling roses and ornate cornices that were a shade or two darker in color.

The bedroom, papered in a tiny floral pattern, had four pendant-type lanterns set out at intervals along the walls. Curtains of plush red velvet, like she imagined they might have in a bordello, covered the windows. She trembled at the sight of a large four-poster bed set on a raised platform.

“There's a dressing room leading to Mr. Campton's room. Perhaps you might like to refresh yourself while I arrange for some tea, Miss Saunders.”

“Thank you. Don't put yourself out for me. I'm used to caring for myself. Miss Saunders sounds too formal, call me Jo, everyone else does. You've gone to a lot of trouble, everything is lovely.”

“He isn't a bad man, you know.”

“Isn't he?” She didn’t even try to hide her bitterness

“No.  He can be hard, but he’s got to be.”  With these cryptic words she disappeared with a swish of her skirts

Curiosity got the better of Jo. She pushed open the door leading to the dressing room and glanced around. Everything appeared of solid good quality. Without even the slightest twinge of conscience, she opened the door into Luke's bedroom, and caught her breath in surprise.  So plain as to be austere, the dark brown carpet exactly matched the window drapes. The walls and ceilings were of stained wood.

She scuttled back into the dressing room where another door she hadn’t at first noticed led to a room with a large bath resting on heavy clawed feet. A full-length mirror hung on one wall, a large china washing bowl and several matching jugs of various sizes sat on a marble-topped dresser. One of the smaller jugs was obviously used for shaving, as a brush, still showing signs of lather on the bristles, rested in it.

Would Luke have a valet? He could easily afford one, yet somehow did not appear to be the type. Apart from his ruthless arrogance, she knew little about him.

Back in the sitting room, she grimaced at her appearance. She certainly didn't look like the usual run of mistresses. No, they would be clad in low cut gowns, their bosoms amply displayed for their master's enjoyment.

Mrs. Osborne, returning with a tea tray, interrupted her thoughts. The tray and matching tea service were of heavily carved silver, but the china was delicate, eggshell thin. One large plate held dainty sandwiches.

“Thank you, I can pour for myself.”  The woman hesitated. Jo smiled to take any sting out of her words. “Honestly, I prefer it.”

“As you wish, Mr. Campton left instructions for you to have anything you need. In the wardrobe are some gowns. He wishes you to wear the green one for dinner.”

Does he indeed, she fumed, when the housekeeper left. How dare he humiliate her in such a fashion?  She stormed into the bedroom, wrenched the wardrobe door open then stopped dead. Before her eyes were an array of gowns, the like of which would normally only repose in a high-class dressmaker's window.

Despising her feminine weakness, she fingered the silks and taffetas. That green matched perfectly with her eyes. It was truly beautiful and would have cost a lot of money. He could easily afford it, probably made plenty stealing cattle and cheating small farmers out of their properties. In all fairness that wasn’t true, much and all as she hated to admit it. He was ruthless and hell bent on having his own way, but she had never heard anything about him being dishonest.

An idea suddenly came to her. Luke Campton wanted a whore, so he would have one. Fortunately, Fiona had insisted on packing her sewing basket. It was tempting to rip half the bodice away, to make it even lower, but it was desecration on such a lovely garment. Instead, she unpicked the waistline, lifted the bodice away and carefully took out one of the front panels of the skirt, from which to fashion another top.

Taking the tray back to the kitchen gave her another idea. One of the scullery maids had rouged cheeks. She managed to catch the girl's eyes, and with a gesture or two arranged to meet her outside the kitchen door.

Just as she decided the girl wouldn’t be coming, she appeared. On closer inspection she looked coarse, frightful for one so young, but it served her purpose.

“Do you have any face make up I could borrow?”

“Ain’t got much. Me sister gave me some, she works at Glory's.”

“I could let you have a pair of silk stockings in exchange for some make up.” 

At this piece of bribery, the girl capitulated immediately. Who wouldn't in her position? Over the last few months Jo had not felt silk stockings against her skin, while this poor thing had probably never worn them.

“Bring me the things as soon as you can, I'll meet you out on the side verandah.”

“Might be a while before I can sneak off. Cook hardly lets us raise our heads, horrible old witch.”

“I'll wait until you come, not a word to anyone though. I'd hate you to get into trouble.”

“No, not a word, I swear.”

She didn’t like putting the girl in such an insidious position, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Back in the bedroom she picked up two pairs of silk stockings. Obviously Luke's fancy women had all the little luxuries a rich man could supply. Her hands shook, yet her nerve endings tingled on thinking about tonight.

The huge vase of roses gave out a heady perfume in the coolness of the coming dusk. It took a long time to alter the gown, but the results were worth it. If nothing else, the sewing made the hours pass quickly.

Darkness had fallen before the girl came. Jo almost went insane with worry in case Luke arrived home first.

“I couldn't get away. Cook made me scrub the hearth again.”

“Have you got the things?”

“Here.”