Matilda's Freedom (5 page)

Ah, so this was the way the land lay
. Obviously, the sisters didn’t find her breeches as socially acceptable as their brother had.

‘Why, this is Matilda. She has come all the way from Sydney with me to be your companion …’ Kit’s voice faltered, and for a moment, all Matilda wanted to do was reach out and hug him. In the space of a few seconds, all his excitement and good humour had fled. The fallen look on his face reminded her of a small child who had just been scolded.

‘Companion? We have no need of a companion. We have each other.’

A frail voice echoed from the stairway and saved Kit from having to respond. ‘Christopher. Is that you darling?’

‘Mother!’

He turned on his heel and left Matilda under the disdainful and disparaging gazes of the young Misses Barclay.

‘It’s lovely to see you home, darling, and even better to hear your laughter. Come here.’

Kit took the stairs two at a time and wrapped his arms around the small woman. Her voice might have been frail, but her eyes were as dark and as bright as a magpie’s. Her gaze swept over his head and locked onto Matilda standing in the hallway below.

‘Oh! And who is this? A stableboy?’ The curl of her lip made it clear that despite the ravages her husband’s death had wrought, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her eyesight or her tongue. Even in breeches after a day in the saddle, Matilda knew there was no possibility she could have been mistaken for a boy.

Kit smiled down at his mother lovingly. ‘This is Matilda Sweet.’

Did he not recognise the disdain in his mother’s voice? As if warning her against speaking, Matilda’s silent question was answered by the slight shake of his head. Her stomach sank, and she was gripped by an overwhelming desire to turn on her heel and leave, fading light or not. She would head straight down the road back to Morpeth and then home—except now there was no home.

Kit’s apologetic look stopped her feet. She knew she had to make the best of the situation and that there would be some teething problems. It would take time for them to get to know her, and she them.

Patience, Matilda
.

‘Mother, let me take you back to your room. Bonnie, perhaps you would be kind enough to organise a room for Matilda. I realise our arrival is somewhat unexpected.’ The grim set of Kit’s mouth showed his disappointment

‘Come this way,’ Bonnie said. ‘I’m sure you would like to freshen up. We usually eat in the dining room at around seven o’clock, and Mrs Barclay likes to catch up with all the girls’ news then. Follow me.’

With at least one friendly face to her advantage, Matilda followed the housekeeper past the formal dining room and to the back of the house. Bonnie threw open a door. Inside was a delightful room. A large bed covered in a patchwork quilt stood against one wall, the mattress as plump and feathered as a prized duck. A jug and bowl sat on a timber washstand, over which a mirror hung. Windowed double doors opened onto the veranda and afforded a pleasant view of the garden; as she watched, a cool breeze stirred the lace curtains on either side.

‘This is the guest room. I’m sure you will be quite comfortable here. I’ll bring you some water and you can get cleaned up.’ Matilda saw that someone had already removed her belongings from their saddlebags and brought them in. Her meagre possessions sat forlornly on the timber floor near the door.

‘The girls like to dress for dinner since it is the only formal meal of the day. Just come to the sitting room when you are ready. It’ll give you an opportunity to get to know the girls a little better.’

For one cowardly moment Matilda thought about pleading exhaustion. She was not really sure she wanted to get to know the girls better, but perhaps if she changed into something more suitable, they might all be able to start afresh.

The apprehension must have been clearly written on her face because Bonnie said, ‘Don’t concern yourself too much about the girls. They are young and since their father’s death have been at sixes and sevens.’ Matilda smiled at the open-faced woman. It seemed she would at least have one ally in the household—well, two, if she could count on Kit.

‘I better stop gossiping and give you time to settle in. Dinner will be served in half an hour.’ The door closed gently, leaving Matilda alone with her thoughts. She lifted her bag onto the bed and shook out the checkered taffeta dress Mrs Bainbridge had so kindly given her.

After the fire had destroyed their house, she had been left with nothing but the clothes she’d been standing in. The vicar’s wife had given her a travelling suit before she left Bathurst, and she had turned up at the Bainbridge’s with only that and her riding clothes. Luckily, she was the same size and build as Emily’s niece, Lily, and had inherited the old tartan dress and a serge skirt and blouse. These were the sum total of her possessions—that and the love token her mother had received from her father before he was transported to Australia.

She smoothed the worn copper disc as it hung from its ribbon around her neck, the stippled text comforting beneath her fingers. She had no need to read the inscription as she knew it by heart. ‘
When this you see, remember me until I achieve my liberty.
’

And that was exactly what her mother had done. She had waited three long years, and then at the age of nineteen, had brought it all the way from Somerset to Australia, to follow the man she loved. She had shown such dedication. The copper disc was worthless, just a trinket from an almost forgotten time, but it had meant the world to her mother, and it represented everything Matilda believed in.

Sighing, Matilda sank down onto the bed and struggled with her riding boots. Once she’d removed them, she stood up and stretched her tired muscles. So much had happened, so quickly, that she could hardly believe she had finally achieved her goal. She had a position, a roof overhead, and for the time being would not have to guess where her next meal was coming from.

She shook out her braid and combed her fingers through her hair, and then pulled it into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Suitably clothed in her dress and with her face scrubbed clean, she made her way back to the sitting room.

The door from the passageway to the sitting room was closed. Should she knock or walk in? Until her position in the household was secure, she’d find it difficult to know how to behave. She must talk to Kit about that. She certainly wasn’t a guest, despite the beautiful room Bonnie had shown her to, but neither was she a servant or stableboy.

The reminder of Mrs Barclay’s harsh words stiffened her resolve, and her back grew ramrod straight. Matilda then placed her hand on the doorknob, only to have the door fly open right in front of her.

The momentary shock brought her hand to her chest, but then she grinned with relief at the sight of Kit’s familiar face. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but her heart still stuttered. There was a welcoming look in his brown eyes as he swung the door open for her, holding it back and silently inviting her into the room.

The heady scent of bergamot and something indefinable invaded her senses as she stepped past him into the room. Her pulse soared in response. Hannah and Beth sat on the edge of a small sofa, looking out over the evening garden with sullen expressions. Casting her eyes around the room, Matilda realised Kit’s mother had still not appeared.

‘I have been catching up with Hannah and Beth and have explained to them my idea to have you as their companion. They are quite sure it will be a wonderful experience.’

His words had an unexpected hollow ring to them, but Matilda took a deep breath and decided to take them at face value. What else could she do?

Kit pulled a winged chair up next to the girls and seated her. Then he moved to the veranda doorway and lounged against the doorjamb. His long legs—still encased in riding boots—were crossed at the ankles and his arms folded.

‘I suggested to Hannah and Beth that perhaps one of the first things you might do is give them some riding lessons. We have several horses on the property, and it seems it is a skill they have neglected since I left. I was telling them you were an accomplished horsewoman.’

‘I’m not wearing breeches. It’s undignified.’ Hannah’s rather petulant voice cut across her brother’s.

‘I think I’d like to ride astride,’ said Beth quietly. ‘It would be much easier than balancing with one leg hooked around the stupid saddle.’

‘Beth.’ Hannah’s voice bristled. ‘It’s not stupid. It’s ladylike.’

Matilda took a deep breath before she weighed into the conversation. Getting to know these girls was going to test every ounce of her patience, but she was determined to succeed. This position was a godsend, and she would not allow the petulant pouting of two spoilt young girls to ruin her chances.

‘I’m sure it is entirely a matter of personal choice. All that is important is to be comfortable and safe. Being competent on a horse is a vital necessity, especially since you do not live close to town.’

‘It’s never been necessary before. We take the carriage to church.’ She ignored Hannah’s sulky tone.

‘And what do you do when you want to get around the property?’ Matilda noticed the way Kit’s lips lifted at the corners. He seemed to be finding it difficult not to smile, and his dark eyes glittered with amusement.

‘We walk,’ said Hannah with a shrug.

‘Walking is good for you, but you must get very hot in the summer, particularly if you want to go any distance or explore.’

‘It is very hot,’ sighed Beth, plucking at the heavy skirt and petticoats covering her lap. Her legs swung backwards and forwards, and Matilda could sense her excitement at the unexpected prospect of exploring.

‘In the summer we stay inside, out of the heat of the day.’ Hannah lifted her hand to her face. ‘We must protect our skin. Mother says a creamy complexion is a girl’s greatest asset.’ She turned her face and peered down her nose at Matilda.

Colour flooded Matilda’s face, and she struggled not raise her hands to her cheeks. Her skin had never had the delicate peaches and cream look that Hannah’s had, and she was well aware her sun-streaked hair was probably not what they would call ‘suitable’. If the alternative was to spend her days inside the stupefying humidity of a house, she knew which she’d prefer.

‘Christopher?’

‘Yes, Beth.’

‘Can I have a pair of breeches for riding?’

‘Beth!’ Hannah’s high-pitched voice squeaked in outrage.

Matilda raised her hand to her mouth to cover the smile tugging at her lips. She could easily come to like this determined little girl who had a mind of her own. Kit, however, showed no such restraint, and his bright laughter soon filled the room.

‘Christopher, darling, you have no idea what pleasure it gives me to hear a man’s laughter around the house again.’

Matilda sprang to her feet and turned as Mrs Barclay entered the room. She was dressed in unrelieved black satin, and her frail figure glided across the floor. Matilda stepped away as Kit went quickly to her side and settled her into a chair.

Once seated, Mrs Barclay gazed up at Matilda with a quizzical expression. ‘Oh, my dear! I see we have a guest.’

‘Mother, I introduced you to Matilda when we first arrived.’

Matilda surreptitiously ran her damp hands down her skirt. The woman made her nervous, and she found her beady-eyed scrutiny beyond uncomfortable. Gritting her teeth, she stood and moved closer to the chair, her hand outstretched.

Cold, limp fingers appeared from beneath those long, flaring sleeves and touched Matilda’s for a moment before dropping back into her lap. ‘Oh, indeed. I remember. I see you have changed. Now you look a little less like a stableboy. Christopher, pray explain—to what do we owe the honour of Miss Sweet’s visit?’

‘Matilda’s going to teach me to ride, and I’m going to wear breeches.’ Beth’s excited declaration cut through the tenuous truce.

Kit ignored his mother’s piercing gaze and instead offered her his arm. ‘Mother. Let me escort you to dinner.’

With surprising agility and a swish of her black skirts, Mrs Barclay stood. She tucked her hand into the crook of her son’s arm and peered up at him adoringly as he led her to the dining room.

Beth’s infectious giggle broke the silence as she and her sister jostled and pushed each other, and then fell into step behind them. So there were times when ladylike behaviour wasn’t quite so imperative—probably when their mother’s back was turned. Matilda stored that information away for later.

Despite being ravenously hungry, she wasn’t sure how good the meal tonight would be. The memory of the delightful dinner she’d had at the Bainbridge’s flitted through her mind, and she again longed for the intimate caress of Kit’s attentive gaze.

Conversation over the thin vegetable soup was a monologue. Mrs Barclay barely had time to bring her spoon to her lips as she regaled her son with the story of her husband’s untimely death. Obviously the girls had heard the story numerous times before because they appeared not the slightest bit upset about the gristly details.

She remained silent, content just to watch Kit interact with his mother. His eyes never left her face, and he nodded and sighed in all the right places, but Matilda had the distinct impression his mind was elsewhere.

After the soup came a serving of lamb, potatoes and fresh green vegetables—from the garden, presumably—followed by a peach pie. There was no doubt Bonnie had managed to keep the household running well despite Mrs Barclay’s recent difficulties.

The meal progressed in relative silence, and Matilda watched, intrigued as Mrs Barclay pushed portions of food around her dinner plate. Despite her earlier misgivings, Matilda enjoyed every morsel.

‘A delightful meal, thank you, Mother.’ Kit leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs under the table. His boot brushed Matilda’s skirt and she tucked her feet under her seat with a jerk. ‘Tomorrow, I will introduce Matilda to the stables, and then she can take the girls out riding.’

Mrs Barclay stared at Matilda long and hard, but she refused to drop her gaze or blink. Finally, the older woman looked down and toyed with the remaining piece of peach pie on her desert plate. ‘You intend to take the girls out riding? Where will you be going? Not beyond the home paddock I hope and not unaccompanied. Christopher?’