Heart of the Country (12 page)

He agreed with Thomas that AJ's sheep needed to be sorted into groups, mobs he called them, and he offered his sons to help. He was also less harsh than Duffy had been in his talk of the natives, although it was obvious he wasn't fond of them.

They followed the kangaroo stew with a slice of the wild peach pie. It had a tart flavour but was most enjoyable, and very good for them, according to Lizzie. Finally it was Lizzie who urged both men to their bedrolls. Thomas climbed into his hammock and watched her moving around in the firelight. Lizzie Smith was the last person he'd expected to meet out here but he was glad he had. Embarrassed as he'd been over her ministrations, he couldn't help but be taken in by her easy manner and charming smile.

Thomas slept soundly and woke to the vision of Lizzie tending his fire in the predawn gloom. He wondered if she'd even been to bed. They had a mug of tea and a slab of damper and then Lizzie and her father were on their way.

“Come and see us when you are ready for the boys to help with the sheep,” George said, and climbed up onto the wagon seat beside Lizzie. “We can repay your hospitality.”

“I'm not sure I provided much but a fire to sit around,” Thomas said. “Thank you for the food, Lizzie.” He gave her a smile and she beamed back at him. He felt his heart skip. She really was the prettiest woman. He would most definitely have to visit the Smith property soon.

“My pleasure, Thomas,” she said and tied her hat on her head as her father called the bullocks to move forward.

Thomas stepped away from the wheels. He wondered how George did that without a whip.

Suddenly Lizzie twisted in her seat and called back over her shoulder. “You make sure you keep washing that boil, Thomas Baker. Don't let it get dirty.”

Thomas could feel the heat in his cheeks again. In his guilty mind he expected George to stop and ask questions but the older man didn't look back. Thomas returned to the fire and sat with little pain. Silence pressed around him. His feelings of guilt and embarrassment were overtaken by a desire to hear more of Lizzie's cheerful banter. In spite of her forthright ways, he looked forward to seeing her again.

Septimus pushed the last morsel of damper into his mouth and washed it down with sweet tea. He would have to get used to his own cooking again. He sat a moment longer by the fire, sliding his gaze sideways to watch Harriet as she cleaned up the pots. Her hair shone in the morning light, flowing in thick locks down her back. She looked much better than he'd hoped. Her hair hid the scar on the side of her face and, apart from the limp and a slightly bent nose, she had recovered from the beating, as far as he could tell. She'd go to the farmer for good money and Septimus would get on his way back to Adelaide to restock.

Of course he wouldn't return to the area for a trip or two, until she'd settled to her new life, but there were plenty of other farms and little settlements spreading out across the land for him to visit. One day he would come back and Harriet would have a husband and a brood of children. He was doing her a favour really. Better off a farmer's wife than the whore she'd have become under Mabel's tutelage. He stood up and stretched. “Time to go, Harriet.”

She washed her hands with the last of the cooled billy water then twisted her hair up into a knot before tying on the bonnet he'd given her. She threw the shawl around her shoulders. Suddenly she was transformed into a modest young woman. Septimus chuckled to himself. Only he knew any different. He helped her up onto the seat of the wagon and climbed up beside her.

“Come on, Clover,” he called. The horse moved obediently forward, towing the wagon onto the trail he had worn through the bush to the track that led to Burra.

The sun was struggling to shine from a cloudy sky by the time they reached the outer edge of the community. Septimus noted another hut finished. The mine had only been opened a short time but already little hamlets were appearing close by. He stopped the wagon. There were a couple of women here who had wanted some of his Royal Syrup for the coughs and colds that afflicted their families. He had done a roaring trade with it. Today was pay day at the mine so it was worth stopping.

He told Harriet to stay in the wagon while he unwound his Royal Remedies sign. Before he had even finished setting up his little store, the women were gathering.

“I'll take two bottles of your syrup, Mr Whitby.” A small woman had pushed in close, her round face looking from him to the shelves of potions over his shoulder.

“Leave some for the rest of us, Edith,” another of the women snapped. She was tall and thin with a face pinched into a scowl.

He opened his hands wide and smiled. “Ladies, ladies, take your time. I assure you there will be enough to go around, but …” he paused and cast his look over the crowd of women “… I will soon be on my way back to Adelaide, where I hope to restock, so do make the most of my presence today.”

That sent them into a buying frenzy. For a time, Septimus was busy dispensing medical advice with every sale. Finally it was down to two women standing near his horse. He was surprised to see one of them was Harriet. He'd forgotten during the dispensing of his Royal Remedies that he'd even brought her with him.

Harriet reached an arm across the other woman's shoulders and gently propelled her towards him. “This is Mrs Kemp, Seth.” He noted the stumble in Harriet's voice as she said his name. She drew closer and lowered her voice. “She has been having difficulty … keeping with child. I told her you would have something that would help her.”

He looked from her to Mrs Kemp, who appeared hardly any older than Harriet. Worry was forming fine lines across her forehead.

“Rest assured, Mrs Kemp,” he soothed and took her hand. Patting it gently, he drew her under the tiny awning and reached for a bottle of pills from the shelves. “These Queen's Own Pills are just what you need.” He held the bottle and read out the label.
“Queen's
O
wn Pills as taken by many a female royal personage will surely relieve and cure you. Each pill has a specific soothing, healing and curative effect on all female organs and functions. It relieves headache and backache, stops periodic pains and strengthens the womb during the first two months of pregnancy
.”

He took in the look of anticipation spreading across Mrs Kemp's face.

“Now I may not be back in these parts for quite some time and you need to take two pills a day so I am going to let you have this large bottle for the reduced sum of one pound.” He saw a flash of hesitation pass over the young woman's face. It was probably her whole housekeeping allowance. “I wager by the time I see you again you will be cuddling a bonny baby in your arms.” The words tumbled swiftly from his tongue. He gave the young woman another gentle pat on the hand.

Immediately she dug in her purse and pulled out the money. He slipped it into his bag. She took her pills and hurried away.

“Do you really think they will help her?”

Septimus spun around. Harriet was standing close to the wagon inspecting his rack of pills and potions. He raised his hand. She flinched but stood her ground. He didn't slap her as he would have liked to do, but instead began rolling down the canvas side of his wagon. There were still people about and he didn't want to draw attention to the woman he was about to part company with. Besides, she had lured the young customer in. Mrs Kemp might not have been brave enough to approach him if it had not been for Harriet.

“Trust me,” he said. “Those pills have assisted many a woman.”

“It's just that she seemed most anxious to have a baby. Her husband wants children and he beats her when he finds she's not pregnant. Those pills are a lot of money; if they don't work he'll probably beat her for that too –”

“Enough, Harriet. You've brought in a customer but I asked you to wait in the wagon. Go there now.”

They made two more stops. Each time he was busy with customers but he noticed Harriet out of the corner of his eye. She stood on the edge of the crowd, watching, but when the purchasing was finished, she would be back in the wagon.

By mid-afternoon he had sold the last of his supplies. There was still the trunk of items he'd taken from the Baker fool. He'd got rid of the clothes but some of the other items he thought more valuable. He imagined he'd get a better price for them in more established villages. He'd save them till the time was right. The brush and the shawl would be Harriet's dowry. His lips tugged up into a smile at the thought.

Septimus pulled in close to a roughly built hut that was little more than a room where ale was sold. He knew the man he was seeking would be inside now.

“Is this where we will find the people you want me to meet?” Harriet's gaze switched from the hut to Septimus in quick flicks.

“Stay with the wagon, Harriet,” he said. “There's a man who wants me to buy clothes for his wife and, from his description, she's about your size. He'll want to look at you to confirm so that when I go back to Adelaide I can buy the right clothes. He will pay me well to do it. Your job is to smile nicely and
not
speak.”

She gave him a slight nod. He climbed down from his seat, feeling her gaze on his back. He stooped through the small door of the hut. Before his eyes adjusted to the gloom, a hand grasped his shoulder. “Have you brought her?” a voice hissed in his ear.

Septimus shrugged from the grip and turned his lips up in a smile. “Of course, Mr Jones.” He looked around. There was no one but themselves and the owner in the drinking house at that time of the day. “Let me buy you a drink then, Mr Jones,” he said, “and we can finalise our business.” He strode to the crude logs that served as a bar. The big man followed him.

The barman poured two drinks then snapped at Septimus, “Do you want some food too?”

Septimus looked from the ruddy-faced man behind the bar to the nearly empty tin plate in front of Jones. A vile-looking grey slosh lay across the bottom with a few small lumps of some kind of greasy meat barely recognisable as food.

“No, thank you,” Septimus said. The bartender left them to it, busying himself moving bottles from his store.

“You said I could view her,” Jones said.

“Of course you can.” Septimus smiled up at the big man. “She's as eager as you to start a new life, although she won't let on to begin with. She's rather shy.” He took a swallow of the gut-burning brew.

Jones wrapped his hand around his cup and swallowed half the drink in one gulp. “I'm not spending a lot of money on goods I haven't seen,” he said.

Septimus watched him wipe the back of his huge hand across his mouth and tried hard not to recoil as a loud, smelly belch erupted from the big man's mouth. Just for a moment he entertained a pitying thought for Harriet.

“We don't want to involve my dear sweet sister in the financials, do we?” He pulled a concerned look onto his face. “I wouldn't be leaving her here with you if it weren't for her desire to find a husband and settle down in the country, away from Adelaide.” He paused, looked down at his drink and lowered his voice. “Times have been so tough for us since we lost both our parents and all our belongings in the fire back in Adelaide. Harriet has only a few possessions but whatever you give me I will spend wisely on goods to help her make your hut into a home. I'll be back as quickly as I can but the journey back to town then here again would only wear my poor sister out and delay your wedding.”

Jones tipped the rest of his drink down his neck and once again wiped his mouth with his hand. “Where is she?”

“Sitting in the wagon.” Septimus laid a hand on the big man's arm and leaned closer. “She feels very awkward about this. She's eager to marry but she won't show it in public. She's a very proper and modest woman. Once you get her home, she will be happy to be your wife in all ways. For propriety's sake just pretend you are taking a walk in the fresh air. Don't stare at her too much.”

Jones went outside and Septimus took another mouthful of his drink to steady his nerves. There was still so much that could go wrong. He really couldn't predict what Harriet would do – whether she would remain silent and not give the game away.

Jones stooped back into the room, silhouetted by the light behind him.

“She's a fine young woman,” he said and now that he was close Septimus could see the grin splitting his pudgy face.

“Of course. Even though she's my own sister I know a good-looking woman but,” Septimus laced his voice with concern, “you did say you were expecting the priest soon, didn't you?”

“He should be my way during the next few weeks.”

“That's good. I would stay but I am out of goods to sell and the sooner I leave the sooner I'll be back with your supplies.” Septimus hesitated. “These are unusual circumstances, Mr Jones. You do understand I don't want to leave my sister with you if your intentions aren't to make an honest woman of her.”

“I understand but …” Jones's voice trailed off. He looked from Septimus to the door. He lumbered outside again. Septimus thought the game was up, but when he came back through the door, Jones pulled a wad of notes from his pocket. “Here's the money.” He pressed the paper into Septimus's hands and gave them a firm squeeze. “Call me Bill. We are to be family now.”

“Thank you, Bill.” Septimus pushed the money into his coat pocket. He glanced around. The bartender was nowhere to be seen. “No doubt Harriet will be a great companion but may I suggest you don't engage her in lengthy conversation until you've reached your home. She will naturally be a little anxious at our separation; best to leave her to her solitude for a day or so.”

“Whatever you think best.” Bill dug in his pocket again. “There's a list of items but perhaps your sister should check it. There may be other things she'd prefer. Fabric for clothes perhaps? Please buy some with that.”