The Convict and the Cattleman (18 page)

“Oh, it does. Of course it does,” she agreed.

He got the feeling she no more knew what she was talking about when it came to business than he knew about bringing up children. Little girls, in particular.

“About the position–”

“I know I must seem young, perhaps ill-suited because of my youth, but I assure you I am older than I look. I turned twenty-three my last birthday. Although I’m a widow with no experience raising children of my own, I enjoy the pleasure of spending time with children. Mr. Server told me you aren’t married, but have a baby girl. I assume you must have lost your wife recently and you have my deepest condolences.” One hand fluttered above her heart.

Jonah wanted to interrupt, but she prattled on. “I don’t expect you to feel that my employment here is a ploy to arrange a marriage between us. I know my father has asked around about you. If he thought for a second you would compromise my position as a lady, we wouldn’t have come. I’m here solely to look after your daughter, Mr. Andrus. I enjoy male companionship, of course, but I take what I do very seriously.”

For a moment he didn’t speak, waiting to see if she would carry on the narrative, or if she’d had her say.

She replaced her hands and blinked.

Her nervousness only made her looks more endearing. Thomas was right; Charity was special and courting her wouldn’t be a hardship. With a woman like her in his household, and his influence, no one would dare speak ill of Olivia. A piece of pink ribbon no longer than his index finger was trapped under the foot of the chair where Charity sat. It must have fallen from Bridgit’s sewing basket. He covered his mouth with his hand, hiding a smile. That was Bridgit, turning up when he least expected it. In his mind, in his bed, a perfect fit in his life.

“Mrs. Burbank, I’m afraid I have some bad news about the position.”

* * * *

Bridgit barely looked up when Millicent bounded into the kitchen.

“Mother, I need a pot of tea for a very special guest.”

“You well know where the kettle is, Millie.”

Millicent filled a porcelain teapot and arranged cups on a tray. She sent Bridgit a sly grin.

“Bother! Come here, girl! Not you,” Martha snapped at her daughter. She pointed at Bridgit.

“Aye, Mrs. Jackson.”

“Take this pitcher of punch out and add it to the bowl. Don’t drop it, or it’s your head,” Martha warned, thrusting a heavy pewter ewer into Bridgit’s hands.

Farjana shot her a sympathetic look. The last two days had been a bit tiring. An endless stream of pastries and biscuits flowed in and out of the cast iron stove. Bess had arrived the previous day, carting along her own contributions. She’d been much nicer when issuing orders than Martha. She’d disappeared, probably off seeing that her daughters stayed out of trouble. Young Davy wouldn’t stray far from the jackaroos, talking to anyone who listened about the horses and tomorrow’s races.

Martha used every advantage to make Bridgit her personal maid. Glad to get away from the kitchen, Bridgit clutched the cool metal container. A few times, she’d been sent out to greet guests and make sure they were comfortable. No one looked at her as though they suspected she’d steal from them, and so far, Millicent had remained too busy taking orders from her mother to make any trouble.

Bridgit transferred the punch from ewer to bowl without mishap. The table, covered with fine linen and vases full of flowers from the garden, looked festive. Men and women mingled around the tables brought from the barn by jackaroos. There was a merry air about the grounds.

Jonah was absent as well, but he’d spent most of the day out front, greeting his friends. She trailed her fingers down the front of her gown. With a few adjustments, it fit like it was made for her. To keep the scars around her wrists from showing, she’d lengthened the sleeves with some ivory lace set against the pale blue damask and added some at the throat as well. Several ladies praised her design. She felt like one of them, a woman with freedom and the right to love, raise a family and enjoy occasions such as this.

“Enjoying the festivities, Bridgit?” Millicent’s sweet tone made her cringe.

Smiling despite the dislike she felt, she answered, “Aye. Looks as if everyone is.”

Millicent’s smile didn’t waver. “I might have a quick word.”

“With me?”

“Mmm-hmm. I thought you should hear this from a friend before the rumors circulate. That way you’ll know what’s truth and what isn’t.”

Bridgit stared. There were no feelings of friendship between them. “Alright. Let’s have it.”

“I overheard Mr. Server and Jonah talking about your...replacement.”

“Is that so?” She struggled against building alarm snarling her stomach.

“She’s attending the party. They say she’s beautiful, but that isn’t the whole truth.”

Still uncertain about Millicent’s intentions, she stared. “And you know this how?”

“Why, I’ve seen her. Her name is Charity Burbank. Her father owns a sheep station outside of Brisbane. Can you imagine? Well, if I were her, I wouldn’t waste my time frolicking around Australia, but she’s decided to take the post of Olivia’s nurse. Calling her beautiful doesn’t do her justice. She looks like one of those, what do you call them, you know the fish-women who lure men into the water.” Millicent waved her hands like a wounded bird.

“Mermaids,” Bridgit supplied.

“Without the dreadful fish tail,” Millicent continued as though she hadn’t asked. “According to Mr. Server, she’s a widow. Young and wealthy, but knowledgeable about children. He suggested Jonah court her because a marriage between them might reap considerable benefits. You know Jonah, he’s no layabout. Upon Mrs. Burbank’s arrival, he escorted her inside. They’re discussing your dismissal and negotiating the terms of their marriage.”

The air seemed thick and heavy with heat. A trickle of sweat pooled between Bridgit’s breasts. She looked at the house, innocent with its whitewash coat and colorful flower decorations. She couldn’t trust Millicent.

The smile the cook’s daughter turned on her was sickening. “It must be difficult knowing you’re days away from returning to the Factory.”

Glaring at Millicent, Bridgit picked up her skirt and stalked off. Blind to direction, she replayed Millicent’s words in her mind. Jonah plotting to send her back. Charity Burbank wearing a wedding dress and becoming Olivia’s foster mother. Worse still, Jonah enjoying his wedding night with the all-too-willing widow.

The lace around her neck threatened to choke her. Fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons at the throat of the gown, she forced the collar open. Beyond the manicured flower garden, no breeze stirred the grass. She stood alone, staring, but not seeing the rolling land before her.

Foolhardy girl.
This isn’t your life. Pretending it is won’t change the facts. It’s gaol for you and nothing else.

16

“What’s got you lookin’ like your best mate’s run off with your favorite dog?” Phil’s rich baritone broke through Bridgit’s dark thoughts.

The hour was late, but as many as twenty people still lingered on the lawn. Someone played a mournful tune on a fiddle and another person accompanied it with a mouth harp. The melancholy music suited her mood.

Abandoned in favor of the fire burning in the pit, the garden made the perfect refuge for someone with a broken heart. At least until Phil appeared. She tugged at the lace on her sleeve and shook her head.

“Not a thing. Why do you ask?”

“Bess said you’d disappeared and I volunteered to find you before anyone caught wind a wild convict was runnin’ loose among them.” He sat beside her on the stone bench, smelling of wood smoke and tobacco. “Has anyone told you what a terrible liar you are?”

She wanted to ask if Jonah had looked for her. Hope against hope it wasn’t to dismiss her, but because of a genuine concern for her safety.

“I’ve never been good at untruths. My mum said God gave some girls fair skin to keep them from developing wicked tongues.”

He smiled as he absorbed the wisdom. “You must be hungry. Dinner was hours ago.”

Ignoring his concern, she pressed her nails into her palms. “May I ask a question?”

“Anything.”

“Did you make the acquaintance of Charity Burbank this afternoon?”

Phil’s face was a mask of interest. “Aye.”

“What does she look like?”

“Look like? Well, she’s...womanly, of course. A bit shorter than you and I’m not tryin’ to say you don’t look like the picture of beauty today, but she doesn’t need to hide either. She–”

Annoyed by his description, vague as it was, she glowered. “Thank you, I get the idea.”

“What is it about her that has you in a dither? Did you meet her?”

“I haven’t.” She hung her head, further annoyed by the loose curls falling around her face. “I thought everyone must know by now.”

“What is it I’m knowin’ that I don’t know?”

“She’s taking my place and she’s going to marry Jonah.” Saying it out loud was no better than running it through her mind.

“Marry?” Phil choked on his laughter. “Who bloody fed you that story?”

Feeling sorry for herself, she sniffled. He removed a ragged handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. She dabbed the tears on her cheeks away.

“Millicent. She overheard Mr. Server telling Jonah what a smart match it would be.”

His brows drew together. “Millicent. If her mum had any sense, she’d bare the girl’s bottom and teach her what liars get.”

“Mrs. Burbank will be a proper example for Olivia. What good is being raised by a convict?”

“Millicent will say anything to cause unrest among those she dislikes. Saints, Bridgit, when I said those things about Mrs. Burbank, it meant nothin’. He doesn’t care whether she’s got a fortune or the proper build for child-bearin’. Everyone knows he’s got his eye on–” Phil broke off. “Speak to Jonah if you’re worried. Take nothing Millicent says to heart.”

Discouraged, she shook her head again. “I can’t. I’m sure he’s enjoying her company. He hasn’t bothered with me today. I didn’t expect him to,” she quickly added.

“I heard he retired to the study a bit ago. Said his head ached and he needed some quiet.” His voice was gentle again and he picked up one of her hands, briefly squeezing it before letting go. “I’m sure he’d approve select company.”

She smiled at him. “Perhaps. You’re very kind, Phillip.”

“Don’t go tellin’ anyone. I’ll never live it down. I’m goin’ back to the party. Plenty of pretty girls to flatter and maybe…” He looked over the bushes, then winked at her. “The future Missus Banner is out there.”

If it were so easy. The people on the lawn were laughing, talking, and placing bets on the races, enjoying Jonah’s generosity. Taking courage from Phil, she stood.

“I think I’ll go to the house now,” she said.

He offered his arm, as though she were worthy of the same attention as women like Mrs. Burbank. “Don’t fret about rumors. They’re seldom accurate.”

Turning the subject away from the still-sharp prickles of pain Millicent’s words caused, she said, “What about the one saying Jonah’s Coalface is the favorite in the distance race tomorrow? I’m afraid I don’t have much knowledge of horse racing. Will you bet on his colt or one of the others?”

“I spent more than a few minutes examinin’ his closest competitor. Coalface is bred for long runs, but this other colt’s got another hand of height on him. I’m thinkin’ of wagerin’ against Jonah for once.”

Many of the people talking about the horses insisted they’d bet on the Laurie Lark bred colt. Bridgit couldn’t believe Phil would go against Coalface. “No! Your own employer’s horse?”

“I wouldn’t want to be on the losin’ side. What makes you think Coalface can pull off a win?”

She smiled, feeling foolish. “He seemed awfully fast the day he charged at me.”

Phil’s eyes twinkled. “Care to make a wager?”

“I don’t have anything to bet.”

“But you do,” he insisted. “If Coalface wins, I’ll milk your goat next week. Imagine findin’ a pail of milk on the doorstep at your ready.”

She liked the sound of that. “If he doesn’t win, what must I give up?”